April Writing Challenge: From Random Page to Story

[Sean *]

It's writing challenge time! To enter, just post a ficlet (300-4000 words suggested) in this thread. When the voting for this month's OTM winners comes around, a voting poll will go up for this as well.

The Challenge: This one is courtesy of Doro's suggestion. Grab the book, magazine, or newspaper nearest you and open up to a random page. Start your story with the first line at the top of the page and end your story with the last line at the bottom of the page.

The rules:

• Characters must be in Hammel canon, but the ficlets are not canon unless explicitly stated.
  
• Entries must be more than 300 words.
  
• You can enter no more than three ficlets. Any ficlets posted after the original 3 will not be considered for voting. If you want to post more, however, have fun.
  
• Story entries must be titled.

[Idalia Tsavaris]

To Begin a Journey
((The Standard Book of Etiquette – Lillian Eichler Watson, pg 270))

“Pink is permissible, if your taste runs that way,” Rebecca Tsavaris said as Idalia wrinkled her nose at the powder pink dress held out before her.

“I don’t think so,” Idalia said, “I mean maybe, just maybe if it were hot pink or black and pink… but this…”

“Oh, you should do blue!” Tressa said brightly stepping out of the fitting room in a knee length sweeping baby blue monstrosity. Idalia collided her face with her hand.

Idalia waved her hands, “Okay, new plan, you are no longer allowed to dress yourselves.” A chorus of laughter followed her, “Red is the color, I’m set on that, so no blue and certainly no blue! Go forth and destroy.” She herself stood up and grabbed her mother and went off in search.

The plus side of having eight sisters, was that there were eight different tastes and eight different dresses to choose from and not one of them was going to be happy at the end of this appointment. Idalia vetoed Aliana and Lenna’s choices immediately, and didn’t even bother trying to explain to Isolade what was wrong with her choice. At least they were all red.

Her mother stepped out of the dressing room in a sweeping maroon gown that lengthened her body and shone radiantly against her olive skin. All her sisters oohed and ahhed at the dress and Idalia knew that was the one. That was the easy one. Mother of the bride was done. Now all that was left was to get the bridesmaids to agree. Luckily, since they were sisters they argued and fought about the whole thing.

“Remember, this is Idalia’s choice,” her mother intervened once when Jenna and Lenna started to get vicious.

When Rebecca bemoaned the dress Naira was wearing, Idalia gently reminded her of the atrocities that they had all worn at Rebecca’s wedding. Finally, all but Tressa, Vivian and Jenna lounged on couches as the three turned and moved in three different, all red, dresses. Vivian’s dress was a floor length ruby, with a swooping cowl and black lace embellishing the front. It was a high contender, though Tressa’s short and light was much more fun. Jenna’s was a long loosely sweeping dress with a high slit and a beautiful silver belt.

“I don’t know about that black lace,” her mother said standing up to pick at it. “And look at the neck, Rebecca your vyziá will be hanging out all over the place.”

“Mom!” Rebecca cried exasperatingly, “It’s not like I’m going to be able to do Jenna’s any better, it’s sleeveless.”

“I really like Jenna’s though,” Tressa said, “I think it’s less formal, but also classy, don’t you think?”

“And we’ll have black sweaters to wear in church,” Naira pointed out.

Idalia nodded, “I really like Jenna’s but I think Tressa’s is lighter and more movable.”

“It’s going to be cold,” Aliana said, “I mean, you’re getting married in fall, in Vermont, a short dress would be much more of a summer thing.”

Good point, Idalia thought, “I like the idea of a long dress, but I like the lace as well, I think mom’s right, we’ve got Greek in us, that neck line isn’t good for anyone… well anyone but Viv.” They giggled as Vivian stuck her tongue out.

Rebecca stood and examined Jenna’s dress more closely. “How much support is there?”

“Not a whole bunch,” Jenna admitted, lifting her dress and watching as it slid back down, “It wouldn’t be very good as a dancing dress.”

Idalia snorted, “Well that’s certainly going to be a problem.” She hummed, struggling, she liked the three dresses, but different parts of all of them.

“Oh! I have an idea!” Lenna said and stood up, dashing out of the dressing room. Silence followed as the sisters and mother looked from each other trying to figure out it one knew anything the others didn’t. Lenna burst suddenly into the room. “I have you answer!” She announced in a Greek accent, “My friend, Athene Pavinakis is a fashion designer, I told her what we’ve got and she said she had some extra time. So… Ida, what do you think of this!”

She practically danced to Jenna and pulled her close to Vivian. “Viv’s straps and this pretty cowl, with Jenna’s dress and neckline. That way we’ll all have straps and can wear a proper bra, and we don’t have to worry about it falling down. And with the straps we can take the back of Viv’s dress. See the cowl, we can put that here on Jen’s dress and voila!”

Idalia tapped her chin and considered the offer, sorely tempted. “How much would this cost?” She finally asked.

“So Athene can’t do it for free, she’s not doing that well… buuuut, because you’re my sister and there are a lot of us, and come on we’re like the perfect family for advertising, she’s going to give us a discount. One hundred dollars per dress.”

Idalia winced, but Jenna looked at her tag, then Vivian’s. “These are one hundred and fifty, if that helps…”

Idalia closed her eyes prepared to make a bold move. “Okay, but, Lenna, tell her to send me her design before I agree and she makes eight dresses, okay?”

“You’ve got it! Oh this is so exciting!”

Idalia grinned and couldn’t help but be excited. If this worked out, it was going to be almost completely done. Heading home in several cars, they congregated in the kitchen, snacking on things that their father had long since stopped trying to get them to stop taking. He’d taken just to making extra. Idalia smiled happily munching on a hummus covered carrot as she watched her father’s soft smile as Lenna gave him a blow by blow of the appointment.

As they started setting the table, her father gave her a quick hug. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening, finally! She’d waited so long for the right one and she was unbelievably happy that in a few short months he would be entirely hers. They bowed their head to pray before dinner and to her surprise, after finishing the prayer her father spoke. “Idalia, I have told this to all of you as you started to get married. Especially when you started marrying xeno…” A weary chorus of ‘dad’ interrupted his speech. He smiled, and shrugged innocently, “But, Idalia,” he reached out and took her hand, “Remember, you are Greek and you should be proud of you. Teach your children well. You have been so successful and I am so proud of you. Honor your culture and your family and remember: The use of a crest that doesn’t belong to you is not far removed from the use of a “phony” title.”

[Vincent Meian]

Daydreams and Play

((From Warhammer: Age of Sigmar - Realmgate Wars: Balance of Power.))


The Path of the Purified. It had a very unusual ring to it, one that made the Japanese man chuckle briefly with amusement. Really? Something so... blunt? It really wasn't poetic at all, the description of this 'holy' trail that was said to have been walked by monks on their final trials. But, it was amusing regardless. Especially now that it'd become something of a summer holiday tradition for those touring the area.

"'Too-san!" The impatient cry reached him as quickly as the hand tugging at the length of his yukata, and Vincent looked down to see the hilariously stern pout on his daughter's face. Struggling not to laugh, he crouched, carefully not touching his knees to the ground so not to damage his silk garment.

"Yes, my star?" A lover of mythology, the father was well aware of the meanings of his younger daughter's name - for him, she was certainly as radiant as the stars in the sky. "What's wrong?"

"You promised to tell her the story of this trail, Father," came a softer voice, and honey gold eyes met a pair of dissimilar colors.

"Ah, you're right," he conceded, standing and taking a hand from both daughters into his own. His older, Appoline, as essential and wonderful to him as the sun she was named for on his left; Cassiopeia, as beautiful and wondrous as the star-chained queen on his right. "The Path of the Purified... let me see if I remember."

There was an impatient squirming from his right, and Vincent suppressed a smile. Instead, he made a humming noise as if thinking. Long legs began a slow walk, easy enough for the young girls to keep up with. "Ah, yes, I remember now.

"In the old days, when the spirits and gods roamed as they pleased, there was a humble trail that lead deep into the mountains in this area. No one really knew where it went, but there were rumors; into a den of demons, to end in a garden tended by Amaterasu herself... some even said that it exited to a spring of the purest water that could heal with a single drink, and bring eternal life to a healthy man. So many rumors brought people from far across the land."

"Did anyone find it?" Cassi's brown eyes stared up at him, petulance forgotten.

The soldier shook his head. "No. Many people tried, and many were lost. Some found their way back where they came, ending up back at the beginning of the trails."

"And the others?" Appoline spoke barely above a whisper, but her father smiled kindly at her regardless.

"No one knows. They disappeared without a trace.

"One day, an old monk came to the path. He had been a follower of the Buddhist way, believing in the peace of all things. He did not know the path that he walked; only that his feet had taken him here. Upon the beginning of the trail, he met a young woman shivering with cold and her lips blue as winter ice. He stopped, gave her his kashaya without concern for himself, and helped her to her feet. 'Why are you so cold, noble lady?' he asked, deeply concerned for a woman to be alone so far from any town.

"The woman looked at him, her eyes as blue as her lips as she answered. 'I have become lost from my hearth,' she explained." Vincent took a moment at a bend in the path to pick up his littlest child and hold her on his hip, replacing his hand in Appoline's with another smile. "'Please, walk with me down the path.'

"The monk did walk with her, and along the way, they met a man whose feet were dirty and sore. The monk gave away his tabi and staff, again without concern for himself, and asked, 'How have your feet become so wounded, good traveler?', as he lifted the new arrival to his feet.

"'I searched for my lady down the path,' the man replied, soothed by the protection his new shoes offered and able to walk once more, leaning on the staff for support. 'You have found her for me, and for that I am grateful. Please, walk with us down the path.'

"The monk obliged, and the trio continued to walk. The sky grew darker, but the monk was not afraid; for the dark and the light are two halves of the same whole, and the light warms us while the dark soothes. The path wound into the mountains, just as it does now, and soon the howl of wolves came from nearby."

"W-wolves?" Appoline looked up at him, unsure.

"Wolves, and other creatures, were much more dangerous in those times. Much larger, and intelligent - not just beasts. The howl of the wolves made the traveler look up, and the monk step to shield the maiden.

"All of a sudden, the traveler began to glow with fire, his entire self awash with heat. 'Go,' he commanded. 'Continue on ahead. I will stop them.' For he was Fudo Myo-o, a messenger of fire and salvation sent to return his lady to her hearth."

"And where was that?" All three jumped at the sound of the voice, and turned. The sight made the tall man grin sheepishly - standing in her own pale yukata, his wife gave a suspicious and disapproving look. "Telling stories again, Vincent? About gods and monsters?"

He laughed. "Of course! And we were almost to the end." Making like he was going to put Cassi down, the man leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. "The Messenger was sent to guide back none other that Wakahiru-Me! The goddess of the dawn, who needed to be lead through the night to stand with Amaterasu and bring forth the day. And then the Messenger called out again as the pair turned away."

Without further preamble, Vincent hefted both girls up and fled off with them, the pair screaming in delight and their mother chased them, laughing. The folk on the path behind them also laughed, as the final words of the story echoed through the trees amidst the perfect laughter of children:

"We must take the goddess to the top of Blackstone Summit, and unless I am mistaken, our foe will find us ere journey's end."



((FIN))


((OOC: This mythological story is TOTAL bs by the way. I made it up on the fly, with only minimal references to anything in particular.))

[Marnie Sullivan]

Buddy Cops: The D&D Edition

((Blueprints for Building Better Girls, by Elissa Schappell, page 101))

“You two aren’t planning to escape, are you?”

Immediately the soft tap ta-taping ceased as the girls’ fingers froze. The guard reached his spear out to clang it lazily against the bars of Marnie’s cell from where he sat. Marnie jumped at the sound; in the cell across the hall, Nory sat cross-legged and unphased by his half-hearted intimidation. Satisfied with their silence, the guard leaned back in his creaking wooden chair and closed his eyes again.

They were children Nory had insisted that the pair of them invent and practice some form of wordless language. Twins did it, she insisted, or at least the butcher’s twins did. Nory swore that they spoke in tongue clicks and were never caught in a lie. Marnie complained about the impracticality of it at first, but eventually went along with it. For a while they even tapped their way through conversations no grownup would have noticed anyway. It was a little secret, a fun game but that’s all it was.

With his chair against the wall between the cells that held Nory and some tiny old woman they didn’t know, Marnie had the better view of the guard, and so she watched him warily. The rise and fall of his chest, straining against too-small hide armor, slowed and deepened. Marnie nodded, and Nory’s fingertips picked up where they left off.

“Useless lump.” She grinned impishly, inviting Marnie to continue.

“...Worse guard than Lady Merra’s dog.” A tiny, yappy thing they often saw running down the street pursued by some poor footman in a fancy uniform.

“Dog has more teeth.”

“And faster.”

Marnie froze again when someone in the next cell stirred; she thought she heard a laugh, but when she looked the old woman was as still as ever. The guard let out a light snore, oblivious.

"...Get out?” Marnie tapped, eyebrows furrowed. They could joke about this particular guard all day, but they had been half-dragged, half-carried down here by guards much stronger and more alert than he was.

“Steal his keys?” Carefully and quietly, Nory unfolded her crossed legs and ghosted over the dirty floor to the edge of her cell. Marnie shook her head.

“Other side.” Sure enough the guard’s keys dangled conveniently from his belt, not so conveniently on the side nearest the old woman’s cell. Even Nory’s long, skinny arm couldn’t reach from there. The pair exchanged a thoughtful look, then turned to the old woman. Could they whisper to her without waking him up? Was she awake herself, or even alive?

But just as the thought passed, a withered hand appeared from within the woman’s robes and rose to her cracked lips, which curled into a smile. Her eyes, now open, sparkled more than the low, flickering light of the dungeon torches should have allowed. Marnie’s own eyes went wide as she watched; Nory, although unable to see the woman herself, vibrated with curiosity. Just as silently the woman lowered her hand to the floor, and her knobbed fingers began to tap in the dust.

“Wait.”

Nory hastily pressed her fist to her mouth to stifle a squeal; Marnie simply let her mouth fall open.

“Witches.”

Marnie and Nory exchanged puzzled looks. They were wearing the dark green tunics that identified magic students, yes, but they certainly weren’t witches yet. They were years off even from their apprenticeships! But as the woman began tapping again Marnie noticed her sleeve, closer to the light than the rest of her, was the pale green worn by full-fledged witches. But if she was so powerful, why was she down here? Why hadn’t she escaped long before this? Why didn’t she -

“Trouble above. Help coming.”

The girls both shot a concerned look at the ceiling; what trouble above? The same guards who brought them here, or something worse they hadn’t seen?

As if hearing their fears, an almighty CRASH shook the dungeon. Dust and pebbles fell on their heads. The guard awoke with a yelp and a fwump as he fell from his chair, sending his spear clattering. He fumbled for it before lurching to his feet.

“None of you lot go anywhere, you hear?” he ordered feebly before dashing off towards the stairs.

“What’s going on? Who are you?” Nory, no longer restricted to their fingertip language, burst straight into questions.

“I’m called Olenna,” the old woman replied, “and I believe my apprentice just arrived.”

Her statement was punctuated with another, smaller crash as the guard toppled back down the stairs and landed, legs sticking out at odd angles. There was a clamoring of voices coming down the stairwell, and Marnie shrunk back against the wall of her cell. Nory, instead, pressed her face to the bars, angling for a better look.

“ - wasn’t the plan, why did you have to - “

“Obviously your idea wasn’t working, anyone could see he was about to - “

“Honestly, why did I even bring you along, you’ve never fought a battle in your life!”

“Says the drow who can’t even use fire properly!”

The voices grew louder as they bounced from wall to wall, coupled with hurried footsteps. As they approached the walls grew lighter, and the flames of the torches grew steadier.

“Fire magic maybe, but keep it up, see if I can’t light you on fire - “

“Over here!” Nory stuck an arm between the bars of her cell and was waving it about, while Marnie frantically gestured for her to stop - they didn’t even know who was coming! “Can you let us out? We’re locked up, and this old lady too!”

By then the bickering pair had reached them; one, a huge woman with night-black skin and snow-white cornrows, was watching the pathway back with her sword drawn while the other, a person in heather green robes, appeared to fiddle with the lock of the older woman’s cell.

“Old lady?” the green-robed person repeated indignantly. “This is Lady Olenna, and she is one of the finest - "

“Oh get on with it, Sophia, I want to go home,” the old woman interrupted her. Sophia’s face flushed and she turned back to her work sheepishly, mouth pressed into a thin line. “The food here is terrible and I’ve nothing to read.”

“Will you let us out, too?” Marnie asked, stepping to the front of her cell. “We’re not supposed to be here anyway, we were only playing around, we didn’t mean to trespass - “

“Whatever you’re down here for, I doubt it’s trespassing,” came the stern voice of the drow.

“But we really didn’t - “

“We’ll explain later,” the drow interrupted firmly. “Right now we need to leave.”

While they spoke, the apprentice witch Sophia made short work of the lock on Nory’s cell before moving to Marnie’s. Once the two were unlocked the girls burst forth and hugged each other as tightly as only friends who perhaps had just escaped a near-death experience could.

“Keep close, young ones,” said Olenna, who was surprisingly spry now that she was on her feet. As they moved to the stairs she added, “Rhea, there are others somewhere on this level. Six, as best I can tell.”

“Witches?” the drow asked; easily the tallest of the lot, she lead the way, with the apprentice witch following behind.

“Yes.”

“Why witches?” Marnie demanded. “I thought after the treaty - “

“Later,” the drow repeated. Once again the girls exchanged worried glances as they trotted along to keep pace with Rhea’s long legs. What did they want with witches, Marnie wondered, even ones as young as they were? Witches helped people. For as long as she could remember, she’d believed being able to take care of people, having the power to fix people, was the greatest, most noble thing a person could do.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The Prince of Air and Darkness
(The Once and Future King by T.H. White, page 260)

It was a unicorn and it had to be killed.

Joshua Bernstein had spent most of his adolescence afraid that he would never meet anyone and fall in love. Instead, he had resigned himself to the notion of marrying a woman as a beard, having a loveless marriage in order to have children and please his parents – particularly his mother. He would never admit it aloud, and half the time couldn’t admit it to himself, but he prioritized remaining in his mother’s good graces far more than most adults would consider reasonable. Then again, most adults had mothers less extroverted and intense than his mother, love her as he did.

Josh had been so resigned to that fate and the need to blend in and appear “normal,” which society coded as “straight,” that he had begun dating Bekah. She was his best friend, they had known one another since the first day of kindergarten, and everyone around them expected it. He’d been nervous, of course, because he knew he was faking his way through it, while at the same time, he wasn’t sure what to do. All of the straight men around him dated so easily and passionately, but he only wanted to talk. Half the time, it didn’t even occur to him that they should hold hands or hug or even kiss.

How relieved he had been when Bekah admitted that she was a lesbian. How utterly liberating to think that they were two sides of the same coin – that he need not feel guilty for using her as a beard, because each was the other’s beard. For the first time, he began to view his future with less guilt, even if he still felt a sense of sadness. At most, he and Bekah could have an open marriage, where they appeared the happy heterosexual couple for all the world to see, but each of them was free to pursue a lover of the same-sex. While that was better than he could have hoped for otherwise, it was less than he dreamed of at night, when fantasizing about what he wanted. A lover on the side meant that such lover couldn’t be paramount in his life, no matter how much he might desire that, and what man would content himself with this type of life, if he had any options? Some men lived out of the closet, after all; this was the 1970s, not the 1870s, and for someone who felt less pressure than Josh himself did, the prospects of a secret love affair might not be enough.

Besides, what could he possibly offer to someone to make such an arrangement appealing?

Those self-loathing thoughts came often, when left to his own devices.

Yet, Bekah liked him, as a friend, and they kept one another’s secrets.

Until they found themselves separated by college, and, worse, Bekah’s secret came to light. Josh didn’t know how their circle of friends found out, since he had never told a soul; perhaps it was because someone heard word of how she had met another girl and they were so happy together. Josh was happy for her, because he wanted her to have the type of life he’d always dreamed of, and he admired her for coming out of the closet.

Then, less than a month after beginning his freshman year at NYU, Josh first met Sean Neville, and he felt what he had never thought possible: raw, overwhelming attraction.

The freshman had been unprepared for the sheer force of the emotion, because his idle fantasies growing up paled in comparison to experiencing it for the first time. He wanted to be around the other boy all of the time, and he began to do everything in his power to make that possible. He memorized Sean’s class schedule and timed the distances between the senior’s classes and his own. He made sure to go to all of the organizing meetings that the Radicals put together. He became friends with Greg, Daphne, and everyone else, putting up with the ribbing about how obvious his attraction was, all so he could spend time with Sean. The older boy was straight, but he never turned him down when asked for studying help, or to go out and get lunch, or if he could walk to and from class with him.

Josh felt like the luckiest person in the world, and he tried to content himself with that. The object of his desires might be straight, but at least they became fast friends, and Sean never teased him or called attention to the crush that the freshman desperately wanted to believe he kept secret but which had, in fact, been so obvious that all of their friends subtly teased him for to his face (and sometimes discussed more openly when he wasn’t present).

He could content himself with that. He would have to content himself with that and the moments that he and Sean were alone together – the friendly hugs and the accidental touches when they were close, and the way that the older boy could make him feel like he was the only one who mattered in any given moment. It was more than he had expected growing up.

With the magazines Josh borrowed from Greg, he could hone his fantasy life, particularly since his roommate was often out of the dorm on dates. Sometimes, he felt embarrassment around Sean, fearful that his friend would pick up on his fantasies through the telepathy and wouldn’t want to be friends anymore.

Months later, he learned that Sean had picked up on those fantasies. Yet, instead of receiving a lecture that began with “We can’t be friends anymore,” the older boy kissed him. Kissed him right out of the blue in the middle of a party.

From that point forward, Josh felt as though he was living in a dream. He wasn’t friends with his mature, intelligent, compassionate older straight idol; he and Sean were dating. He had a mature, intelligent, compassionate bisexual boyfriend who was a senior, and whenever they were together, Josh could only think about how happy he felt.

Also fearful that after another semester, Sean would graduate and leave him behind while he attended medical school.

How special and elated Josh was when his boyfriend chose to attend Columbia, in Harlem but still in the same City. How happy he was when Sean proposed they live together since the older boy needed to find off-campus housing anyway. The telepath proposed they find an apartment in the Village, so that Josh remained close to his classes, his familiar surroundings, and his friends who hadn’t left the City yet. By contrast, Sean would commute the 115 blocks each way every day for classes, in order to accommodate the younger boy.

At the time, Josh had felt grateful; Sean was better with maps and subway schedules than he was, and so this would prevent him from getting lost.

Eventually, the younger student realized that this was the first sign of a pattern that would overtake their lives. Sean would martyr himself to make sure that Josh could avoid inconveniences; Sean would take on too much for himself. Sean would sacrifice everything: his time, his comfort, his money – just to earn a few minutes of attention from his boyfriend.

As the years went by and Josh graduated from college, beginning law school and struggled with the material because so much of his time and mental energy found itself entwined with Sean’s presence and their relationship, he began to feel something he had never thought possible. He began to feel suffocated by his thoughtful, caring, affectionate boyfriend. By the one who asked for so little from him while simultaneously planning their whole lives in between classes and hospital rounds.

Eventually, Josh felt like he couldn’t breathe, and he took the only course of action that came to mind. He broke up with Sean, he moved out of their apartment, and he threw himself into his law studies.

He no longer felt suffocated by the telepath. Instead he felt...he didn’t know how to describe it. Not good. Not fulfilled. All the time he had on his hands began to make him feel the way he did when looking up at the night sky and realizing how insignificant he was. But he couldn’t articulate that to anyone, not even to himself.

Instead, he began taking walks in Washington Square Park, as though that was a better use of his time.

Once, he thought he spied Sean out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned around, he saw no sign of the older man. He flung himself down in the heather and began to cry in earnest - he did not know why.