This came from [personal profile] lilfluff's prompt "An unexpected dinner guest brings long awaited news" and runs to 629 words.

The letter arrived as part of two satchels of mail that Falco had collected in Magenda when the first mail ship arrived after the annual storm blockade of the Howloon Straits.  He had bounced up to the front door of the family home just in time for dinner with his usual uninvited but impeccable sense of timing. The house on Crense Street was still the family home, even though most of Falco's generation had moved out.  Despite that, when the assembled family sat down at the table there were still fifteen people plus an empty seat.

The satchels sat untouched on the coffee table in the lounging room while they ate because, as Sachi had said, the mail could wait another hour, but the meal would spoil in the same time.  It was a good meal: fish dumplings with Grandma's own sauce, meat and potato stew with steamed green vegetables, and pome pie with cream and cinnamon ice-cream.  When it was done, they loaded up the dishwasher, turned it on, cleared off the dining table, and took their after-dinner drinks into the lounging room.

Because he had collected the mail and the satchels were his, Uncle Falco conducted the sorting and handing out of the mail.  There was a pile for the house on Crense Street and another for the house ten minutes away on Hortense Square.  A stack of small packages was for the house down south on the inlet coast.  There was a sheaf of letters for Aubley who travelled back and forward over the road into the interior.  Presumably, any mail for Uncle Falco's house in Magenda had been left there before he set out because nothing for him came out of the satchels.

The mail for the Crense Street house further broke down into family mail and individual mail.  The family mail was, some of it, addressed to Great-Grandpa who had built the house as a young man and then gone into the grave as an old man thirty years ago.  Some of it was addressed to the house because various matters concerning property didn't care who owned or resided on the property.  The rest of it was addressed to Grandpa, who mainly let Aurin deal with such things these days.  Everyone at the table, except Falco himself, got at least one piece of individual mail.  There were technical, professional and hobby journals.  Private letters and catalogues.  Bills, invoices, and three boxes of tabletop miniatures.  Finally, there was one pale blue envelope left, addressed by hand in a flowing black script, and sealed with a flattened, patterned dollop of red wax.

It was directed not to a name but to the Paterfamilias.

Grandpa and Aurin looked at the letter for a long time, and then they looked at each other before Grandpa picked the envelope up and opened it.  He read through the words on the pale blue page, and then passed it to Aurin, saying, "Read it."

Having read the letter, Aurin commented, "So, this is what our missing brother has been doing with himself."

Sachi sat up straighter.  "Cherune?  Is that letter from him or about him?"  She and Grandma clutched each other's hands.

"Sort of both," replied Aurin cautiously.  "I mean it's from the Comptroller Imperious Maximus in Trineum but it's also saying that Cherune is the new Comptroller Imperious Maximus."

"How did that happen?"  Aurin's wife, Zeline, looked flabbergasted.

"I don't know.  He doesn't say," replied Aurin.

"Wait," put in Sachi.  "Doesn't the Comptroller Imperious Maximus have to be married?"

"Well, yes," said Grandpa.  "There was a big fuss when I was a boy because the incumbent's wife left him."

"So, who did our brother marry?"

Aurin looked over the letter again.  "You know, I didn't miss it.  He really doesn't say."

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(Dreamwidth is supposed to autopost to here for me but doesn't seem to be doing it for me today so this story may wind up here twice.)

I wrote this to Joanna Stabler-Kimmel’s prompt “I would like to see antagonists being more cheerful and helpful and kind to the protagonist than the protagonist's allies usually are.”  For those of you who track such things, this may or may not be a new world, but it is one that has hyper abilities, otherwise known as super powers.  It came in at 6,921 words and because I couldn’t find a good place to break it into pieces, I am posting it in one fell swoop.  I hope you enjoy it.

Merser realised that her eyes were closed and opened them.  It was harder to do than she expected, and she realised that she felt groggy as well.  Her body ached in enough places that it felt like she hurt all over, and she was lying on her side.  When her eyes sorted out the whole focussing thing, she was looking at the green and grey flecked gravel road surface.  She'd been riding her bike in her teammate's slipstream for the speed boost while they got away from Slicker's men and then, suddenly, there'd been a school bus stuck in the intersection when Fixer had forced the lights to change for them.  She closed her eyes again as she tried to recall what had happened next - Zimma, on the faster and more mobile bike, had zigged but Merser had been blocked by traffic on either side of her and hadn't had that option.

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I wrote this to my Patreon patron M.B.’s prompt “Wheels within wheels.” It came in at 2,147 words. It is also set in the same universe as my Polynesian space empire, but it is a long way from there – this area is much nearer Earth.

Erni and Brun were shining their hand lights around the space they'd entered, trying to get an idea of how big it was and what was inside it.  Their ship's sensors had told them that there were no detectable active power sources or systems as well as no detectable life signs, but that wasn't always the whole story.   "There's Armesan and Romaji stuff in here," said Brun.  "So, whatever this place is and whatever is going on, it's been around for at least a thousand years."

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It Was A Quiet Evening

I wrote this to Conrad Wong's prompt on Patreon of "an adventure (scene) *entirely* at home". It came in at 791 words.

A light glow bloomed into existence, dimly illuminating the room from a corner as a female voice from the room's doorway said, "You could just have come to the compound's gate during something resembling business hours and asked to see me, you know.  If you can't afford to pay coin, I'm open to barter."

He turned around to see a female figure wrapped in an overlarge lounging robe standing in the doorway.

"So, what's a pretty high elf doing in my library in the middle of the night?"  She was hitting a note between exasperated and amused, and from her expression she knew that calling a male high elf 'pretty' would annoy him.

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Adventure At Home

 I wrote this to Lyn Thorne-Alder's prompt on Patreon " "An adventure without leaving home or coming within 2 metres of anyone else."  :-D  Or just without leaving home, if that's easier."  So, here we are, 1,130 words later.


Edith Carlsson was climbing up into the roof space of her house because her visiting sister had been complaining of hearing things shifting around in the night.  Edith would have put down rat poison and left events to take their course, but Joanne insisted that it wasn't a rat-like noise.  A brief discussion had established that 'rat-like' to Joanne meant squeaking and scrabbling, or even chewing sounds, and she was definite that what she was hearing was objects being dragged along.  This meant that Edith climbed the step ladder, opened the access panel, and climbed through it into the space above her ceiling.  She really, really hoped that there weren’t rats.


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I wrote this to my Patreon patron, ColleenR's prompt "I'd love something positive and wholesome, please!" and "a glorious garden". It overlaps with the end of Travelogue: Part 4 and came in at 1,886 words.

Saylie Chaterhalm was in her front garden, taking an outside break from the tasks her mentor had set her, when her father arrived at her garden gate.  His presence was so unexpected that she just stood there looking at him, in stunned surprise.  He was, of course, inappropriately dressed for Bolton-on-the-Edge where sewn seams came apart due to the village's proximity to the Reality Ravine.  Additionally, his finely tailored suit was made of wool and the waistcoat he was wearing was silk, so consequently he was beginning to look overwarm.  For his part, he was looking at her as if he didn't know what to think and Saylie assumed that was because he'd never seen her wearing anything like her current garments - not only was she wearing a sari-like outfit with a bodice that relied entirely on heavy fusible lining and knots to do its job, but the colour of the sari was magically changing from green through to purple and back again.

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Prompt Request April 2020


Now I have finally finished the March 2019 prompts and had a few directionless days off, I think it’s time to put out another prompt request.  I am hoping to get this one done in a month, but it would help if I can keep things under five hundred words a piece.

Prompting has been open to my patrons on Patreon for a day and a bit now and is now open everyone else.  While everyone gets their ideas together, I will just go and use the intimidating fitness app, have breakfast, or start playing the Final Fantasy VII remake – I was not into video games at all when the original came out.

I plan to write two prompts for each Patreon patron and a story extension for each Patreon Experimental Reader.  Everyone else who prompts will get one prompt written to.  However, I will write one extra prompt or one story extension for each social media platform that you boost this prompt call on.  You will need to tell me where you have boosted so I know what I owe you.

So, please leave me up to five prompts in the comments below.  No theme this time around but no fanfic please (I would probably get it horribly wrong), no erotica (I have to be in the mood), and no apocalypses/diseases/pandemics please.

I look forward to seeing what you suggest.

This entry was originally posted at https://rix-scaedu.dreamwidth.org/127090.html. There have been comment count unavailable comments there.

More Games

 This follows on from Games That Are Played and runs to 793 words.  I owed the original prompter another story, and tried to stay in the area of the original prompt.  This is also, and it has taken me long enough, the last story for my prompt request in March last year.

"Lady Muiyn, please take a seat."  Her host indicated a comfortably upholstered chair of Imperial manufacture.

"Thank you, Ambassador."  Muiyn swept her ankle length skirts to one side and sat.  The entire office was very Imperial, possibly to remind any local visitors exactly who the ambassador was representing.  "I take it that you’ve had correspondence from His Imperial Majesty to expect me?"

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"Next" Begins To Happen

 I am finishing off my March 2019 prompt request and I owed [Unknown LJ tag] another story.  When I managed to corner him on one of our mutual social media sites, he said he'd like more of the Apocalypse Bingo series of Mixed Luck, Change Can Begin Slowly, and Manoeuvres in the Dark.  So, here we are.  This follows on from the first story and is partly concurrent with the second two.  It runs to 1,737 words.</span>

Esel and Charl had returned to his level of the bunker and packed up as many of his possessions as they could carry.  Esel had asked if there were any trolleys or sleds they might be able to use but there wasn’t anything that they could get up the stairs to the carpark, so they only took what they could carry themselves.  When they reached the top carpark level, strewn with debris but light enough that they didn't need torches, she said, "Perhaps tomorrow we can find the makings of a sled?  If we do, then we can get a lot more of your gear out of there."

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