The end of April

19210 words written for 30 prompts, with an average of 640 words per prompt. AWESOME!

Day Thirty

Write about an injury

Tamorn lost the fight. No surprise there, really. Bentu was older and faster than he was, even though he was smaller, and he knew a lot of nasty tricks that Tamorn didn’t. But it was still disappointing, knowing that Loka was going to mate with Bentu instead of with him. He’d liked her.

He landed on the lakeshore, his feet sinking into the damp sand with a soft rasping sound. It was cool against his scales, a welcome relief after the sun-baked stone of the cliffs where the fight had taken place.

The lake was deserted, as it usually was during the fights. No one was interested in fishing or swimming when they could go watch two dragons fight over a third. And that was a good thing, because Tamorn preferred to nurse his wounds in private.

The lake water was cold when he waded in, making him hiss faintly at the shock. It stung in the first patches of raw skin where scales had been torn away, then settled into a gentle ache. As he moved deeper, blood began to tint the water around him, trickling from the bites in his shoulders and haunches, dripping steadily from deeper scores from Bentu’s claws. The worst was near the base of his tail, where Bentu had struck him repeatedly, until scales and skin were completely ripped away and the flesh beneath was shredded. He had heavy muscle there, or Bentu might have scored the bone, but it was still a serious wound, and one he could do very little about. Tradition dictated that wounds from mating fights were to be left alone by healers.

Finally deep enough, Tamorn folded his legs beneath himself and settled into the sand and mud of the lakebed, arching his neck to just keep his nostrils above the water. He stayed still, feeling the burning of his injuries fading slowly.

Eventually the scent of his blood drew fish to him, and there was a kelpie chasing after them. A young one, which darted around him in pursuit of the fish for a while, then lost interest and nosed the messy wound near his tail. Tamorn growled softly. The kelpie fled.

The sun began to sink, turning the cool blue world Tamorn rested in to rich emerald green. He blinked slowly, adjusting to the change, and shifted to take weight off the only foot he’d hurt, stamping on Bentu’s tail to distract him so he could sink his teeth into his unprotected side. This had worked quite well, but Bentu’s tail still had spines, and they still hurt when they went into the pad off his foot.

A burbling whinny startled him out of a light doze. Turning towards the sound, he found that the kelpie had returned with two older kelpies and a mermaid in tow. The four circled him, keeping a respectful distance. Then the mermaid shooed the youngster away and drifted over to float in front of Tamorn.

“A mating fight?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“You were bested, I see.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Would you object to our care? Your blood is exciting a few things that shouldn’t be excited.”

Tamorn bared his fangs in a grin.

“Be my guest.”

It was always good to get around the rules. 

Day Twenty Nine

Write about secrets revealed

Costal cities are always interesting places, as they draw the folk of land and sea and sky together in one place. The shaded corners and comfortable nooks of such cities hold untold treasures.

One such corner is home to The Junk Trunk, an antique shop run by a sweet-tempered mermaid named Kyrie. The front rooms of the shop are filled with china and shelves and vintage clothing and old keys, but it is in the two back rooms that her real merchandise is kept.

Kyrie sells secrets.

The back rooms are accessed by passing through heavy silver velvet drapes that hang in the doorway to the left of the shop counter. It is impossible to pass through them without being seen by Kyrie, and that is how she likes it.

The back rooms look much like the front rooms, scattered with a jumble of items, with a select few arranged on pillows or tables or in glass cases. But these things are very different.

A battered steamer trunk once contained three babies being shipped from a warzone in a desperate attempt to save their lives. Two of them survived the trip.

A pristine silver teapot belonged to a service owned by a highborn lady, who made a tea spiked with a potion bought from a back-alley witch and served it to the boy who tended to her garden, so that she might seduce him.

Carved wooden bracelets are stained deep, deep red by the blood of a priest who was murdered by a young woman who claimed to be possessed by an evil spirit.

The heavy folds of an old quilt were stitched by a grandmother sending her favorite grandchild to the US, not knowing that he planned to vanish into London with the money his family had raised for him.

Inside a gleaming glass case, seven skeletal hands rest side by side, held together by delicate silver wires. They are all left hands, and each ring finger has a wedding band on it. The hands belonged to seven beautiful young women, all married to the same man. He suspected each wife of being unfaithful and arranged a fatal accident each time.

A golden ring has a tiny spike hidden under the setting, once tipped with poison, which saved the life and innocence of a young woman out walking alone one night.

A graying wooden honey stick sits in a silver bowl. The stick saved the life of a single father of nine. He fell ill and refused to let a doctor treat him. His oldest daughter soaked the honey stick in medicine every day and then took it to him with his tea, eventually healing him.

The old iron key hanging from the pull on the ceiling fan opens a hidden door in a castle that was reduced to rubble many years ago. The door led to a tiny garden, in which the prince who lived in the castle hid three unicorns from a hunting party.

When dealing her back room merchandise, Kyrie operates on the trade system. In order to take a secret, you must leave one behind. 

Day Twenty Eight

“I can never say quite as much as I know” (Robert Olen Butler)

Riley doesn’t sleep very well when the full moon is out. The moon no longer draws the animal out of him, the way it did when he was first bitten, but it does make him restless, and he often goes for long walks on those silver nights.

He walks for several hours, and when he returns to the campsite, he finds an elf sitting on the fence near their tent. That it’s an elf doesn’t surprise Riley- the Rockies are a popular home for Mountain and Forest Elves. What does bother him is that it’s a Blue Elf, and there isn’t a drop of salt water until you get to the aquarium in Denver. This far out in the woods, this can’t be right. Still, it could just be coincidence, so Riley approaches quietly but casually, just returning from his walk. The elf doesn’t turn to look at him.

The moonlight turns the elf’s white hair to mercury, hanging down his back in dozens of thin braids. Charms and trinkets hang from them, and it is not until Riley gets closer that he sees that they are made of bone. His arms are left bare, and the dusky gray skin is patterned with every-shifting lines of ink in many colors. It is these moving tattoos that make Riley stiffen.

“Figured it out, have you?” the elf asks, turning on his perch to regard Riley with intelligent golden eyes.

Riley bows quickly, the deepest he can manage.

“May I ask why we are blessed with your presence?” he asks.

The elf shrugs.

“I’ve been following you this whole time,” he says, drawing a leg up onto the top of the fence and resting his chin on his knees. “Or rather, I’ve been following them. You were quite the unexpected addition. And you may speak freely. I’m not your god, after all.”

“Why are you here?”

“Do you object?”

Riley snorts. “It’s never a good thing to have a god following you around. Your kind like getting in the way.”

“You can’t blame me for that. It’s in my nature.”

“Are you trying to keep Hughnin from succeeding?”

The elf laughs, a truly delighted, completely honest laugh that makes Riley frown at him.

“Trying to hinder him? Never! I want the silly boy to complete his tasks. It wasn’t his fault, after all. He would have gone on and done things, had he not died so early.”

“Don’t try to tell me you weren’t behind some of the screw-ups and delays we’ve had,” Riley growls. He hates tricksters, partially because Yuri is one herself, and partially because they’re so hard to pin down. And they’re always causing trouble.

“I am what I am, little wolf. But I have tried to contain myself. This is so unlike the other trials I have watched. He is not like the others. It pleases me.”

“What about it pleases you?”

The elf smiles fondly and toys with one of his braids, tugging at the heart-shaped pendant hanging from it.

“I have never seen the soul fall in love with the guide. Ever. Sometimes, the guide loves the soul, but that love has never been returned, even as friendship. All of the guides have seen the souls as a burden and the souls have seen the guides as a necessary evil. But this.” He waves a hand at the tent, and the side facing them goes transparent. Inside, Victoria and Hughnin sleep together, back to back, with Everest tucked under Hughnin’s chin. “This is beautiful. It is pure. And it is terribly sad.”

“You already know what’s going to happen, don’t you? You’ve spoken with Kitza.”

“My dear sister hates it when I share secrets, so I can never say quite as much as I know,” the god says, but his smile tells Riley all he needs to know. “Let them be for now. Even they don’t understand what it is that they have, and it is such a precious, fragile thing.”

“I wouldn’t have told them,” Riley huffs. “I don’t like to interfere.”

“Good boy.” A long hand reaches out and ruffles Riley’s hair. “Go to bed and dream of the hunt. You will need to be on your guard tomorrow.”

“For wh-“

But the elf is already gone.

Day Twenty Seven

“I can never say quite as much as I know” (Robert Olen Butler)

Riley doesn’t sleep very well when the full moon is out. The moon no longer draws the animal out of him, the way it did when he was first bitten, but it does make him restless, and he often goes for long walks on those silver nights.

He walks for several hours, and when he returns to the campsite, he finds an elf sitting on the fence near their tent. That it’s an elf doesn’t surprise Riley- the Rockies are a popular home for Mountain and Forest Elves. What does bother him is that it’s a Blue Elf, and there isn’t a drop of salt water until you get to the aquarium in Denver. This far out in the woods, this can’t be right. Still, it could just be coincidence, so Riley approaches quietly but casually, just returning from his walk. The elf doesn’t turn to look at him.

The moonlight turns the elf’s white hair to mercury, hanging down his back in dozens of thin braids. Charms and trinkets hang from them, and it is not until Riley gets closer that he sees that they are made of bone. His arms are left bare, and the dusky gray skin is patterned with every-shifting lines of ink in many colors. It is these moving tattoos that make Riley stiffen.

“Figured it out, have you?” the elf asks, turning on his perch to regard Riley with intelligent golden eyes.

Riley bows quickly, the deepest he can manage.

“May I ask why we are blessed with your presence?” he asks.

The elf shrugs.

“I’ve been following you this whole time,” he says, drawing a leg up onto the top of the fence and resting his chin on his knees. “Or rather, I’ve been following them. You were quite the unexpected addition. And you may speak freely. I’m not your god, after all.”

“Why are you here?”

“Do you object?”

Riley snorts. “It’s never a good thing to have a god following you around. Your kind like getting in the way.”

“You can’t blame me for that. It’s in my nature.”

“Are you trying to keep Hughnin from succeeding?”

The elf laughs, a truly delighted, completely honest laugh that makes Riley frown at him.

“Trying to hinder him? Never! I want the silly boy to complete his tasks. It wasn’t his fault, after all. He would have gone on and done things, had he not died so early.”

“Don’t try to tell me you weren’t behind some of the screw-ups and delays we’ve had,” Riley growls. He hates tricksters, partially because Yuri is one herself, and partially because they’re so hard to pin down. And they’re always causing trouble.

“I am what I am, little wolf. But I have tried to contain myself. This is so unlike the other trials I have watched. He is not like the others. It pleases me.”

“What about it pleases you?”

The elf smiles fondly and toys with one of his braids, tugging at the heart-shaped pendant hanging from it.

“I have never seen the soul fall in love with the guide. Ever. Sometimes, the guide loves the soul, but that love has never been returned, even as friendship. All of the guides have seen the souls as a burden and the souls have seen the guides as a necessary evil. But this.” He waves a hand at the tent, and the side facing them goes transparent. Inside, Victoria and Hughnin sleep together, back to back, with Everest tucked under Hughnin’s chin. “This is beautiful. It is pure. And it is terribly sad.”

“You already know what’s going to happen, don’t you? You’ve spoken with Kitza.”

“My dear sister hates it when I share secrets, so I can never say quite as much as I know,” the god says, but his smile tells Riley all he needs to know. “Let them be for now. Even they don’t understand what it is that they have, and it is such a precious, fragile thing.”

“I wouldn’t have told them,” Riley huffs. “I don’t like to interfere.”

“Good boy.” A long hand reaches out and ruffles Riley’s hair. “Go to bed and dream of the hunt. You will need to be on your guard tomorrow.”

“For wh-“

But the elf is already gone.

Day Twenty Six

Once, with another woman

Mari learned fast that you can’t afford to be picky when you’re alone at sixteen. It doesn’t matter that you don’t like mushrooms on your pizza if the only pizza you can get is the cold remains of one left in a pile of boxes on the back porch of a frat house. It doesn’t matter that you hate the way wool feels against your skin if that grey wool sweater is the warmest piece of clothing you can find to protect you from the oncoming winter chill. It doesn’t matter that there is old gum and ink and who knows what else inside the plastic tube in a playground, because the tube is a dry place to wait out the rain.

In a city as large as this one, there was always food to be found somewhere, as nasty as it might be, but it was getting it that was the problem. As a lone girl, and not a very big one at that, she was powerless against groups of other homeless people. She knew not to try and fight them off, because the last time she’d tried she had wound up bleeding and still without the day-old bread she had been defending. What you needed was money.

No one wanted to hire a homeless girl. Not even to pick up trash or mop floors. She got a few jobs distributing flyers and stickers and the like, but they didn’t pay much and there was never any guarantee she was going to get another task. But there was one way to earn enough money to eat properly. She just hadn’t wanted to try it.

It was April when Mari agreed on a fee and climbed into the back of a delivery van with the driver, stripping her t-shirt off and hanging it on an equipment rack, heaping her bra and jeans and panties and boots in a pile at the foot of the rack. He was a pimply loser with no social skills, but he also had no life, and therefore had the money she wanted, and for $150, spreading her legs for him was no big deal.

In May, she heard about a part of town where the cops were either well-bribed or too lazy to care that groups of young people would gather in old garages and back alleys for potential buyers to stroll among. Being small and curvy made her stand out among the taller, paler, skinnier competition, and being fussy about hygiene made her more desirable. She learned fast how to scope out the best mark and coax him into taking her with him.

She even went with another woman once, a big black woman who called her Sugar and made her stay for breakfast, paying extra for another session on the kitchen floor.

She has enough money now, and a tiny, dirty apartment with three little rooms. An independent coffee shop two miles away doesn’t care that sometimes she comes in late. But she still goes downtown to the garages and the alleys, and she still gets into fancy cars with silent men in suits.

Maybe some day she’ll live in a bigger apartment, with water that doesn’t taste of rust and lights that don’t flicker and a view of something other than a brick wall. Maybe she’ll stop going to the garages. But not yet. 

Day Twenty Five

You hear music in the background

Interdimensional travel is a very odd experience. For most people, who travel using BIDA approved Gates, it is a perfectly safe way to get from world to world. Getting there, however, is only the beginning.

A new world-hopper should be warned about entering an active Gate: the first step is a doozy. Putting body parts into places that don’t exist on any plane of reality tends to be like that. Just continue walking until you reach the other side. Don’t worry about getting lost- it isn’t possible. Ignore the music you may hear in the background- it is nothing, and will only serve as a distraction. Falling inside a Gate is never a good idea, so you will be wanting to pay attention.

Chances are that you will be traveling through the Hub on your first trip, and likely on subsequent trips unless you have a reason and a pass to use other facilities or you are lucky enough to be one of the being that does not require a Gate to world-hop. If that is the case, why are you taking a Gate in the first place?

The five Gate floors of the Hub span a total of forty-seven acres by the human standard measurement. This does not include the aquatic Gates, which are contained within a series of large tanks set beneath the other floors. The Hub itself has a total of twelve floors that can be accessed by the general public, as well as eight more that are restricted. Travel between the public floors can be done under one’s own steam, by taking an elevator or the stairs, or by paying a small fee for the localized Gates that only open within the building. Travel across a floor can be accomplished by physical locomotion, by hitching a ride with a BIDA transport, on a moving sidewalk, or on one of the private contractors operating on that floor.

Aside from the Gate levels, there are two other floors within the Hub that are of great importance for the new traveler: Customs, and Concealment.

Customs is always busy, always noisy, and always smells funny. The first-time traveler is advised to use one of the standard customs booths, as the quick booths are only quick if you know how customs works. Be prepared to offer up produce for inspection, be scanned for illegal magics, tested for diseases, and to have your records checked in all three worlds. On a good day, a trip through the booth will have ten minutes, plus fifteen to twenty spent standing in line. On a bad day, you may be there for hours. To make the experience as pleasant as possible, look into what is or isn’t allowed in the world you are traveling to.

Concealment is only a necessary stop if your final destination is the Human world. A majority of the human population is unaware of the existence of other worlds, even of the other races sharing their world. Because of this, all non-human entities are required to conceal any features that marks them as something else whenever they are in the presence of humans. Concealment can be as simple as casting a glamour over oneself or as elaborate as wearing prosthetics, amulets, and fake skins. Travelers must pass inspection by a BIDA official before leaving the Hub.

First-time travelers are advised to make the most of their trip and to return safely. 

Day Twenty Four

Write about a year ago

This time last year, I was fussing over how to pack my life into a bunch of boxes and get it all home to Taos for the summer. This year, I’m still worrying about the packing, but I’m much more concerned with other things. I actually had a final project to do, which nearly didn’t get finished, and a number of other small but significant problems that all lead up to me wanting very much to beat my head against a solid surface until I pass out. Such life, I suppose.

This time last year, I was single but flirting with a handsome fire fighter who eventually became my boyfriend. I had several delightful prospects, in case he turned out to be a jerk. This year, I’m single, having broken up with said fire fighter who turned out to be….a jerk. No real prospects this time, though I’m trying to shake a computer nerd of the worst kind and am looking forward to a summer of pretty young men coming into the airport. This time I can flirt all I want and not feel the least bit guilty about it.

This time last year I was still getting used to the idea of self-medicating. The only times I had willingly done so were when I sprained my ankle and when I had a cold that happily knocked me flat on my back without a warning. This year, allergies, and a plague of headaches that won’t leave me alone have made being wishy-washy about medication a bad idea, though I’m seeking other solutions to my problems.

This time last year, I was coping with a roommate who had just come back from a week spent in a state detention facility for unknown reasons. I was the reason her parents found out she was there, and I’m fairly sure she was not at all pleased with me. On the other hand, her father was so thankful he laid a blessing over my side of the room, eagle feather and all. This year, I have enjoyed a semester without a roommate. No idea why she decided to leave, but I was never given a new roomie. I’m spoiled, for sure, but I don’t mind having a new roommate next fall. I only hope that she is: not a drug addict, not a noisy drunk, not a spoiled brat, not a snob, somewhat social, and not a total slob. I don’t think I’m asking for all that much. Plenty of dorm residents wish for a roommate who fits a long list of requirements that goes all the way down to favorite colors. I just want someone who will live in the same space with me and not drive me absolutely up the wall. Defined personal space and the occasional hello will do fine for me, thanks.

This time last year, I was dreading the long working hours I was going to have to put in, and also dreading the separation from friends. This year, I’m aiming for even longer hours, but plan to call, email, and visit friends whenever possible. I have a workout buddy lined up, dance lessons with the same buddy, and a hopeful visit from school friends in my future. 

I think it’s safe to say that I’m in much better shape this year than I was at this time last year.