More fills! :)
All prompts drawn from the current iteration of the
Three Sentence Ficathon, hosted by the wonderful
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rthstewart. Come join the fun!
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( 13. ) For
wintersday:
The Magnus Archives, Nicola Orsinov, Unzip my body, take my heart out, cause I need a beat to give this tune, written 2/3/20
Vocalises (150 words)
Contains body horror.-----
"I tried having a heart once, thought it might make a steady rhythm I could use to time our dances and the calliope's call, but they're such fiddly, fickle things, hearts, always racing and jolting and skipping beats -- far too unreliable," Nikola says to the almost-corpse laid open before her, as she hunts around its neck for a new voicebox to replace her current rasping wheeze.
"A voice, though, you can do such marvelous things with a voice, all kinds of swoops, and vibrato, and ventriloquism, and all of it under precise control, so I can not-be exactly who I don't want to be, and make others hear all the wrong things at exactly the worst time -- which is much better, don't you think? Oh, but you can't answer anymore, can you."
She wraps her plastic fingers around the larynx with a little cry of triumph, and snaps it free.
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( 14. ) For
rthstewart:
Update from the admin here, written 2/3/20
BRIEF REMINDER FROM THE ADMIN (110 words)
Fandom = Homestuck. Also, I know this isn't actually a prompt, rth, but I couldn't help myself :p-----
CG: I KNOW IT'S DIFFICULT FOR YOU HEAP OF BLITHERING, SPINELESS NITWITS TO COMPREHEND WITH YOUR HALF-DIGESTED BRAINMEAT, BUT THIS MESSAGE BOARD DOES HAVE RULES, WHICH, AS ALWAYS, YOU CAN FIND AND READ AT THIS HANDY LINK, AND IF YOU DON'T FOLLOW THEM I WILL PULL OUT THE BAN-HAMMER AND BLOCK YOUR FLAT AND PATHETIC ASSES.
EB: no you won't; the only hammer available is the hammer of zillyhoo and you still don't have my permission to borrow it after what happened last time.
CG: UPDATE: ANYONE WHO ARGUES TECHNICALITIES ABOUT HAMMERS FOR NO REASON OTHER THAN TO ANNOY THE ADMIN IS SELF-EVIDENTLY BREAKING THE RULES AND GETS THE BAN-SICKLE.---------------
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( 15. ) For
oceanose:
Any, any, dressing up, written 2/4/20
Birthday Best (150 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives. Contains self-immolation.-----
Jude took her time that evening, picked out a siren-red dress (rayon, of course), styled her hair (plenty of spray to fix it in place), set up a romantic dinner in their living room (so much wood, so much more flammable than the cold, tiled kitchen), and waited for Gretchen to come home.
"Should I have dressed for the occasion?" Gretchen asked from the doorway, in the nervous, half-joking tone she'd adopted recently, as if unwilling to directly address Jude's changes and half-hoping she could pretend them away.
"No need," Jude said with an exultant smile, and then tipped the jug of kerosene over her own head and thumbed a spark from her lighter; the flames that consumed her, that fed her god and warped her bones and razed her life to ash, were more beautiful than any clothes money could ever buy, or any love that humans could sustain.
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( 16. ) For
slippy:
Any, any, kneecapping, written 2/4/20
You and Me Together (225 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives. Contains police brutality. Also twelve sentences long because sometimes structural restrictions are not my friend. *wry*-----
"Daisy, have you seen--?" Basira said, raising her voice to carry outside the car while she rummaged for the pen that ought to be attached to her clipboard.
There was a sudden meaty
crack, a scream, and then a sound like an entire basket of wet laundry falling onto a hardwood floor.
Basira sighed. "Was that necessary?" she said as she slid out of the car to look at her partner standing unrepentant over the quivering body of their suspect.
"My hand slipped," Daisy said, straight-faced and hard-eyed, and if her fingers curled round her baton looked a bit too sharp for a moment, well, it was twilight and the mind played tricks on the eyes even under the best conditions of visibility.
"--report you!--" the suspect wheezed around his moans of pain. "--have rights!--"
Basira looked down at him and reminded herself that he was a person and had rights, no matter what kind of monster he'd chosen to become. The words rang ever more hollow in her mind, but she needed to keep track of them, needed to make sure she kept Daisy safe on their side of the line so far as the higher-ups knew or cared. Then she said in her best brisk, professional tone, "Report what, sir? Her hand slipped."
In the corner of her eye, she saw Daisy smile.
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( 17. ) For
runespoor:
Spinning Silver, Miryem/the Staryk King, a cat may look at a king, written 2/4/20
A Cat Always Lands on Its Feet (185 words)
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I'm still not certain how the cat -- a silky, long-haired beast, sooty black all over with a purr like a rusty metal hinge and a mew like a dying crow -- got into Staryk lands, but cats are well known for their ability to turn up in unexpected places and escape from what should be secure rooms, so perhaps it's best not to question that. I'm also not certain what the cat intended to
eat in a land of perpetual winter, particularly not one whose people are known to be fiercely possessive of all living creatures they claim as their own, but perhaps it's best not to question that either.
The important part is that when I discovered the cat and my husband caught in a staring contest across the white pillows upon our bed, which were now peppered with a healthy dusting of long black hairs, his first impulse was to say, without once breaking eye contact, "I will not bargain with you over whether or not the beast stays," and so, of course, I took him at his word and kept it without asking.
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( 18. ) For
rthstewart:
Bujold-Chalion, Desdemona and Penric, But it's so pretty, written 2/4/20
Priorities in Order (135 words)
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Yes, and expensive, just like all the other books in this collection, which is why burning them is the most efficient way to raise some chaos and ensure the Marquis's attention is firmly fixed on us, Desdemona said while Penric made sad faces over the illuminated bestiary.
"You have no appreciation for history," Penric muttered as he returned the heavy volume to the shelf with its fellows; "I suppose I should be grateful we had time to make sure they're only fancy editions of known texts rather than anything important."
I'm older than half of this heap of papers, Desdemona said as a spark leapt from Penric's fingers to the kindling-dry spines of the books,
and that's more than enough history to give me a better grasp on what's truly important than you'll ever have.
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More to come as the month continues...
