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edenfallingSo last night I worked on 'Apartment Manager.' Didn't write any actual story, but I filled in background on Yukiko's family (important for scene two), assigned skills to the various teams that passed the second test, and worked out the matches for the third test. That was interesting. See, there were certain people I wanted to have fight each other, but some matches precluded other matches, and I ended up picking random names a few times and resorting to coin tosses to determine outcomes.
I think it will be interesting, though. Not that I'm going into excessive detail on all the matches, but it would be kind of silly to write about the tournament and not show any fighting!
Here is an excerpt from "Nothing More, Nothing Less" (an original story, part of my "Ironheart's War" cycle) to tide you over. Warning: war and blood and death and post-traumatic stress. (Yeah, so the inside of my head isn't always a nice place. I live with it.)
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Nothing More, Nothing Less: Paplewick
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"Your father was Parry Lae, wasn't he." Cory's voice, low and strained, jarred the comfortable silence.
Ketchy looked up from her knitting, startled. Cory faced away from her, shadowed by the low fire. He scratched the poker aimlessly through the ashes under the grate, hunched oddly around his splint.
"Yes, he is," she said. "Do you know him? We haven't heard from him in nearly a year."
The poker stopped abruptly. "I knew him," Cory said. "I was his commander."
Ketchy dropped her hands. Cory swallowed, raising his left hand apologetically. He rested the poker between his legs and sat silently for a minute.
"I was with Ironheart for five years, before Waek Tower," he said suddenly, sketching circles with the poker. "We lived on her, on her dream. After they took her, we ran. We ran north past Ramas to the hills, with nothing left. We thought we were finished.
"But people started coming. Hundreds of people, old, young, sick, lame. They came to fight, to live Ironheart's dream. So Match Dho took command. He told us never to talk about the bad times, to organize and train without slipping and showing the ashes behind the dream."
Cory grimaced, still not looking at Ketchy. "I was good at that. I made them believe even more. Parry…your father believed me. He would have given his life for me, but he never had a chance. He died anyway, at Paplewick. Everyone died at Paplewick.
"I should have known something was wrong after the parley. I should have known the truce was too good to be true, that Cally Nisking had cracked. I knew Cally from before. I should have seen him crack. But I ignored it.
"Cally camped in the valley. My group camped in the orchard, west of the valley. You never camp in a valley. We knew that, but we didn't realize anything was wrong at first, not until the fires started. I told them to stay quiet while Thaney scouted and they listened to me. And when Thaney came back, shaking like the bone-man, they still listened. Tarra help me, they listened.
"We went to the valley, carefully. Even Itchy was quiet for once. The blue-backs came from the north and the southeast, avoiding the hills, but we didn't know that then. So we snuck through the trees to the ridge and looked down. It was…" He swallowed convulsively, hands clenching on the poker.
"We… we just ran straight in yelling and screaming and crying. They ripped us to shreds.
"It was my fault. I took them there. I didn't hold them back. We should have left when Thaney came back. Maybe that's cowardly, but we would have lived. We might have gathered survivors. Nothing we did made any difference in the valley.
"It was my fault."
Ketchy made an unintelligible noise in her throat. "No," she said.
Cory turned away, shadows dancing over his face. "My fault," he repeated. He drew a breath and continued.
"They left around noon. No one was left to face them. We were dead or dying or running away. I remember sitting in a charred tree, watching them leave in ranks and order. I don't know how I got there. I had a lot of knives. There were some Ammunites under me with ragged throats. I… don't remember how that happened, either.
"I remember watching them leave -- grimy, bloody, pasted with shit and ashes. They marched away. I started laughing, because they cared about marching after that, looking like that. I sat in that tree and laughed and laughed and laughed until I puked. Then I cried.
"Later I came down… I found Thaney, Itchy, and Emmer together. I found Gambit, but her scarf was gone, the embroidered scarf her brother made for her. Some whore-maker took it as a trinket, maybe. Satcherry Midgard and Satcherry Korsgard, they hated each other. They died back to back. Math and Moddy were supposed to be with the healers that day. They only would have died faster, when the sick-tents burned. Dead, all of them.
"My fault.
"Parry… wasn't dead. Not quite. I sat there and held him until he died. I couldn't do anything more. There wasn't anything more to do. The healers were dead. There was no water, just mud and ashes. There were no clean bandages.
"He gave me his ring, but I'm not sure why. He tried to talk but he…he couldn't, really. I closed his eyes at the end.
"That evening I sat on the ridge and watched the sun set over the valley. It was the most beautiful sunset I'd ever seen -- gold and purple all through the clouds and the sun just slipping down a crack to burn my eyes. I don't know if I loved or hated Dhaelta more then, for making that valley beautiful.
"So I watched the sun set, just sat there all through the night.
"The next morning, I found Cally. He was dead, so I spit on him. Then I cried and wiped his face and tried to apologize somehow for letting him die, for letting him crack. My fault. Then I puked on him. I looked down and I hadn't wiped off spit. I'd wiped off his face… I think I screamed. I'm not sure. I heard a lot of screams.
"That was Paplewick -- screams and smoke, and that smell… shit and puke and blood and death… Tarra help me, I still remember that. I can't forget."
Cory stared at his hands, the poker dangling limply. Ketchy waited, frozen, her knitting forgotten. He stabbed the ashes angrily, and winced, losing his grip on the poker. It slid along his splinted leg and clattered on the hearth, loud and distracting. He frowned, sketching left-handed circles on his splint, his right hand dangling limp at his side.
"After that the others found me. We left Match to his army and his war. We run, mostly, and kill Ammunites -- soldiers, lords, traders, anyone -- and scout, and pass information to Match and Skilly Hawatch. We try not to get hurt. I don't seem to be very good at that."
He gestured helplessly, then fumbled at his left hand. "I still have the ring. He probably wanted me to bring it home. You take it." He held his hand out to Ketchy without looking, fingers shaking slightly.
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And on a happier note, I got 10 reviews overnight for 'Definitions of Romance' on ff.net. Someone also said I should post it on Portkey.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
annearchy, how would I go about doing that?
I think it will be interesting, though. Not that I'm going into excessive detail on all the matches, but it would be kind of silly to write about the tournament and not show any fighting!
Here is an excerpt from "Nothing More, Nothing Less" (an original story, part of my "Ironheart's War" cycle) to tide you over. Warning: war and blood and death and post-traumatic stress. (Yeah, so the inside of my head isn't always a nice place. I live with it.)
---------------------------------------------
Nothing More, Nothing Less: Paplewick
---------------------------------------------
"Your father was Parry Lae, wasn't he." Cory's voice, low and strained, jarred the comfortable silence.
Ketchy looked up from her knitting, startled. Cory faced away from her, shadowed by the low fire. He scratched the poker aimlessly through the ashes under the grate, hunched oddly around his splint.
"Yes, he is," she said. "Do you know him? We haven't heard from him in nearly a year."
The poker stopped abruptly. "I knew him," Cory said. "I was his commander."
Ketchy dropped her hands. Cory swallowed, raising his left hand apologetically. He rested the poker between his legs and sat silently for a minute.
"I was with Ironheart for five years, before Waek Tower," he said suddenly, sketching circles with the poker. "We lived on her, on her dream. After they took her, we ran. We ran north past Ramas to the hills, with nothing left. We thought we were finished.
"But people started coming. Hundreds of people, old, young, sick, lame. They came to fight, to live Ironheart's dream. So Match Dho took command. He told us never to talk about the bad times, to organize and train without slipping and showing the ashes behind the dream."
Cory grimaced, still not looking at Ketchy. "I was good at that. I made them believe even more. Parry…your father believed me. He would have given his life for me, but he never had a chance. He died anyway, at Paplewick. Everyone died at Paplewick.
"I should have known something was wrong after the parley. I should have known the truce was too good to be true, that Cally Nisking had cracked. I knew Cally from before. I should have seen him crack. But I ignored it.
"Cally camped in the valley. My group camped in the orchard, west of the valley. You never camp in a valley. We knew that, but we didn't realize anything was wrong at first, not until the fires started. I told them to stay quiet while Thaney scouted and they listened to me. And when Thaney came back, shaking like the bone-man, they still listened. Tarra help me, they listened.
"We went to the valley, carefully. Even Itchy was quiet for once. The blue-backs came from the north and the southeast, avoiding the hills, but we didn't know that then. So we snuck through the trees to the ridge and looked down. It was…" He swallowed convulsively, hands clenching on the poker.
"We… we just ran straight in yelling and screaming and crying. They ripped us to shreds.
"It was my fault. I took them there. I didn't hold them back. We should have left when Thaney came back. Maybe that's cowardly, but we would have lived. We might have gathered survivors. Nothing we did made any difference in the valley.
"It was my fault."
Ketchy made an unintelligible noise in her throat. "No," she said.
Cory turned away, shadows dancing over his face. "My fault," he repeated. He drew a breath and continued.
"They left around noon. No one was left to face them. We were dead or dying or running away. I remember sitting in a charred tree, watching them leave in ranks and order. I don't know how I got there. I had a lot of knives. There were some Ammunites under me with ragged throats. I… don't remember how that happened, either.
"I remember watching them leave -- grimy, bloody, pasted with shit and ashes. They marched away. I started laughing, because they cared about marching after that, looking like that. I sat in that tree and laughed and laughed and laughed until I puked. Then I cried.
"Later I came down… I found Thaney, Itchy, and Emmer together. I found Gambit, but her scarf was gone, the embroidered scarf her brother made for her. Some whore-maker took it as a trinket, maybe. Satcherry Midgard and Satcherry Korsgard, they hated each other. They died back to back. Math and Moddy were supposed to be with the healers that day. They only would have died faster, when the sick-tents burned. Dead, all of them.
"My fault.
"Parry… wasn't dead. Not quite. I sat there and held him until he died. I couldn't do anything more. There wasn't anything more to do. The healers were dead. There was no water, just mud and ashes. There were no clean bandages.
"He gave me his ring, but I'm not sure why. He tried to talk but he…he couldn't, really. I closed his eyes at the end.
"That evening I sat on the ridge and watched the sun set over the valley. It was the most beautiful sunset I'd ever seen -- gold and purple all through the clouds and the sun just slipping down a crack to burn my eyes. I don't know if I loved or hated Dhaelta more then, for making that valley beautiful.
"So I watched the sun set, just sat there all through the night.
"The next morning, I found Cally. He was dead, so I spit on him. Then I cried and wiped his face and tried to apologize somehow for letting him die, for letting him crack. My fault. Then I puked on him. I looked down and I hadn't wiped off spit. I'd wiped off his face… I think I screamed. I'm not sure. I heard a lot of screams.
"That was Paplewick -- screams and smoke, and that smell… shit and puke and blood and death… Tarra help me, I still remember that. I can't forget."
Cory stared at his hands, the poker dangling limply. Ketchy waited, frozen, her knitting forgotten. He stabbed the ashes angrily, and winced, losing his grip on the poker. It slid along his splinted leg and clattered on the hearth, loud and distracting. He frowned, sketching left-handed circles on his splint, his right hand dangling limp at his side.
"After that the others found me. We left Match to his army and his war. We run, mostly, and kill Ammunites -- soldiers, lords, traders, anyone -- and scout, and pass information to Match and Skilly Hawatch. We try not to get hurt. I don't seem to be very good at that."
He gestured helplessly, then fumbled at his left hand. "I still have the ring. He probably wanted me to bring it home. You take it." He held his hand out to Ketchy without looking, fingers shaking slightly.
---------------------------------------------
And on a happier note, I got 10 reviews overnight for 'Definitions of Romance' on ff.net. Someone also said I should post it on Portkey.
annearchy, how would I go about doing that?