Category: Stories

Alice and the Warden

Alice and the Warden – 1

Autumn

No promises, no pressure.

Given the current circumstances of my life, I’m not going to claim that this is the same quality of writing that I usually strive for. I might not even finish it.

But…

This story kept repeating itself in my mind, so I’m writing it down.

Set in an alternate world where everything would totally happen as described.

Enjoy.

Alice

Alice stirred and turned, half opening her eyes at the morning light that streamed in through the window. For a moment she thought she saw a boy’s face and a bright red jacket before the haze of sleepiness overtook her again, and for a few minutes longer she drifted back into the dream world. When she managed to rouse herself from her bed, she walked over to the window to gaze out at the trees and wondered if the vision had somehow been part of her dream. The branches were sturdy enough, but at four stories high she had a hard time imagining anyone climbing up to catch a glimpse of her. Just when she was about to turn back into the room, there was a crash and she caught a flash of red on the ground.

There was a knock on her door, and she slipped on her dressing gown before calling for her visitor to come in. Warden Hackett entered with the breakfast tray, which he set down on the small round table near the door then seated himself in one of the two chairs. Alice hadn’t realized that she had slept in, but she readily joined him and poured them both glasses of orange juice out of the paper carton.

“I thought I saw something just now,” she said after taking a sip. “A boy, outside my window.”

“Possibly. There has been a rumor going around with the locals that there’s a princess locked away in here,” Hackett replied.

“A princess?” Alice snorted. “Me?”

“You’re starting to look the part,” the warden answered, unusually focused on buttering his toast. “Now that you’ve dropped the motorcycle punk act.”

Alice blushed and compulsively glanced towards the one tiny mirror in her room. It had been about five months since she had last bleached her hair, and the pink dye had completely faded. Makeup, of course, was completely out of the question, though she did like the way that her face had recently taken on a healthy glow. But still, she couldn’t imagine anything remotely princess-like about herself.

“You should publicly announce the truth and put all the rumors to rest, then,” she said sullenly. “That I’m actually a murderess, and I deserve to be here.”

Hackett grunted, but didn’t reply. Something about his averted gaze made her feel guilty and wish that she could take her words back, so she remained silent as they ate breakfast together.

Alice still struggled to understand what sort of effect Hackett had on her, despite the fact that he had been her only companion for four months. He was the warden of the prison, built in an old castle that was surrounded by an even older forest, and while he had pulled a number of strings to place her in a private and comfortable room, he had never made any sort of advancements toward her that would explain the preferential treatment. On the contrary, the first time that she had met him she had attempted to seduce him to win a favor, but he had calmly zipped back up the front of her pleather top and said, “I hope that one day you learn how to conduct yourself with dignity.”

She had been humiliated and outraged, and vowed that she would hate Hackett till the day she died for spurning her so coldly. Damon had come through for her shortly afterwards, and the two of them had escaped and ridden free for a few weeks, until …

It was the word ‘dignity’ that had drawn her back to Hackett and accept her incarceration. It had repeated itself over and over in her mind, and created a deep and unknown longing inside of her heart. Dignity.

“You have a prenatal appointment in an hour,” Hackett said as he placed his fork down on his empty plate. “I’ll be back to escort you after I make my rounds.”

Alice nodded, then asked, “Is the board going to let me keep my baby?”

“They haven’t decided yet.” Hackett stood. “There’s only one way that you can guarantee it.”

“What’s that?” she asked eagerly, standing as well.

“Recant your confession and tell the truth.”

This time Alice looked away. “I’m not ready yet,” she said, her voice sounding faint to her ears. He liked to bring the topic up, and somehow she still failed to see it coming whenever he did. She wondered if he cared so much about justice that he would nag her endlessly until the real murderer was found, then thrust her out into the real world with nothing to support her and her unborn child – it was the real world that terrified her now, so she clung to the walls of her tower and the safety of solitude, where there was no one around to know about her. She was not going to recant until she absolutely had to, and the system was obligated to keep her until it was undeniable that she was innocent.

Hackett carefully set everything back on the tray and counted all the cutlery before he picked it up, not bothering to say goodbye as he left.

Alone, Alice busied herself with getting ready for the day, though she couldn’t help but look at the window repeatedly as she washed and brushed her hair. There were no curtains, and before she hadn’t thought them necessary, living in a prison in the middle of an ancient forest. But she had seen the boy’s face clearly.

She walked over to the window and looked out. She wasn’t very good at judging distances, but she guessed that it had to be twenty-feet to the fence that marked the perimeter, and the branches of the tree stopped well before that point. It seemed very far away now that she was thinking about it. Had she really seen his face?

Alice decided that she would ask Hackett for some curtains, to reaffirm her sense of privacy.

She, a princess … It was an absurd idea.

Alice stopped as she looked at the rack of clothing that had been provided for her. Instead of the usual prison garments, she had been given a few plain white dresses, loosely cut so that they easily accommodated her pregnancy, and the exact opposite of what she had worn before her incarceration. When she had asked about it, Hackett had replied that it was for the “psychological effect,” and left it at that. In the beginning she had felt so uncomfortable and vulnerable in them that she had wondered if he had meant it along the lines of “psychological torture.” With a few months to grow accustomed to them, she had stopped thinking about her clothing entirely.

Dressed in white.

A princess.

Locked in a tower.

Alice laughed then. By confessing to a murder that she hadn’t committed, she had found herself in the center of a fairy tale. Albeit a strange one.

Next

The Black Magus

The Black Magus characters

Autumn

 

I know.

I spent over a year working on the first draft for this novel, and these are the only notes I made on the two main characters.

Lawl.

I confess, I’m terrible with notes, so I often find it easier and more organized to keep all of the information in my head. I don’t create character charts, or worksheets, or blah blah blah, because I make a point of locking everything in my mind.

Which is probably one of the reasons why I don’t fit in with writing communities.

Besides. Most of the time, I just listen to what they have to say anyway.

So, here we are: introducing the two main characters from The Black Magus, my upcoming fantasy romance novel.

Are you as excited as I am?

About Writing, The Black Magus

Title Reveal for the latest novel from Autumn Rain (OMG!!!)

Autumn

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The Scion Suit

The Scions – 1

Autumn

Don’t get excited.

Seriously.

I wrote this section because of insomnia, but for the time being I have no intention of continuing the story for at least several months.

Like I said, I wrote this because I couldn’t sleep, so it definitely could use plenty of refinement. But for the moment, I’m busy with preparing for Christmas/managing kids that are growing exponentially excited every single day, so I don’t really have the brain power at the moment.

Without further ado,

The Scions

Lambert had opened the curtains of the cabin to let in the morning sun, only to discover that a Suit was casting its shadow across his window. He gave himself a moment to let the sight sink into his mind, knowing that it meant Carol had come through for him, and that the Aurigans had accepted his proposal of joining them. Although there had been no other communication, this new Suit was obviously meant for him to climb aboard and pilot back to meet them, wherever they were hidden. His retrieval was nowhere near as grand as Carol’s had been, but it was still happening.

He realized that he was laughing. When he had first seen that mouse of a woman, flustered and nervous as she sat alone in that tiny interrogation room, he hadn’t the slightest inkling that she would one day take him to the stars – literally. The best that he had hoped for out of the acquaintanceship was a promotion in the military.

Instead, Carol had cost him his position as captain. Her following absence had made her encroach increasingly into his thoughts, until he had found himself drunk and alone in his hunting lodge, and she had unexpectedly flashed back into his life. The Suit outside was proof that they would be reunited again, and much sooner than he had hoped for.

Lambert thought about whether or not he should put any lingering affairs in order, or if he should simply disappear without a trace. He had no family, and had ranked everyone he had known as either ‘subordinate’ or ‘superior’ rather than by any metric of friendship. The material items in his life would not miss him.

He walked silently to the bathroom, where he showered to rinse away the sluggishness of a hangover, then very carefully shaved the stubble that had grown over the past few days of apathy and booze. Finally he dressed smartly in civilian clothes, choosing a well-pressed navy button-up shirt and slacks. After giving himself a thorough examination in the mirror, he went outside and hesitated as he breathed in the fresh morning air, marveling at how real and vivid nature around him felt now that he was leaving it forever.

Then he climbed into the Suit.

The interior whirred to life after the door closed, and a computer voice chimed, “User detected: Welcome Guest. Run autopilot program ‘Return home‘?”

“Yes,” Lambert answered, his throat tight. He hated the way the Suit squeezed when it adjusted itself to the user, and had passed over his chance to pilot the original to avoid the repeated sensation of claustrophobia. In retrospect, after it became apparent that unintended side-effects had damaged MSG Hartmann’s brain, it had been a fortuitous decision for him personally. He wondered how the Aurigans would deal with that complication once he joined them – he wasn’t going to spend a second longer than necessary inside the Suit until he knew the answer.

There was a jerk as the jets kicked on and the Suit flew upwards, higher and higher than Lambert had ever imagined himself traveling before. It was surreal to watch the curve of the Earth grow wider and deeper, until it took his breath away to realize that he was now viewing a complete circle. And still, the Suit traveled onward.

As the Earth grew smaller behind him, the moon grew larger before him, and he unconsciously noted the rocks and hills of the surface before the Suit zipped him out of the light and into darkness. There, on the far side of the moon, the Aurigan ship was waiting.

Lambert half expected to discover a hodgepodge gathering of alien ships lurking unseen in the shadow of the moon, all of them secretly observing the nearby Earthlings as they swapped stories and goods with each other. In contrast to his imagination, the single ship was a lonesome sight. However, although the angle was different, he recognized it as the one that had hovered above base, the one that Carol had been sent to investigate then never returned from. He would later learn that it was a simple research vessel, a common and unassuming ship for the Aurigans, but it was impressively larger than any aircraft that existed on Earth.

As his Suit approached the ship, doors opened and he entered into what looked like a cargo bay. When his feet touched the floor, the Suit relinquished control back to him, and left him free to move about on his own. As he flexed, trying to feel natural inside a giant mechanical body, it struck him that his muscles were stiff and sore. A quick check of the Suit’s chronometer revealed the journey had taken close to five Earth hours, and a strange jolt jumped through him. He hadn’t been remotely aware of that much time passing, and wondered how on it had been possible. Had the Suit messed with his brain?

A door on the far end of the room opened, and two more Suits entered, slowly coming toward him. In many ways they were visually identical, and if they had been standing still he would have never been able to guess at who could have been piloting them. But one of them moved with a body language that Lambert would recognize and know on his death bed.

Carol had come to greet him.

Stories

Angel

Autumn

This is something else out of my archives, written ages ago when I was on the cusp of maturity but Not Quite There Yet.

I think it is hilariously over-the-top melodramatic, but it sure is fun to reminisce on how my writing skills have changed over the years.

The heartache gripped her again, painfully constricting her throat as she watched the familiar scene pass her by for the last time. She wasn’t going back. She knew that no matter how her parents reacted, she couldn’t force herself back into the world that they had chosen for her. Yet she grieved at how badly she had failed their expectations.

Angel was now officially a college dropout. After two years, she succumbed to the overwhelming anxiety and depression produced by homework and exams, and admitted to herself that she couldn’t do it. Higher education just wasn’t meant to be part of her.

Her parents had pushed her into enrolling that first Autumn, despite the doubts that she had tried to share with them. They provided her with very little financial support, and made it clear that her continuing to live with them was dependent on her going to school. The thought caused Angel’s throat to hurt again. How was she going to survive? Another thought, dark and unwanted, hoped for a catastrophic falling out, leaving her free from their cold demands.

She was frightened. She was excited. She had asserted herself, and the ax was now poised to fall. It was comforting to know that her parents were away for the weekend, giving her time to collect herself before being struck by the blow.

Thoroughly distracted by the conflicting emotions surging through her, Angel got up automatically when the bus pulled over, and stepped off. As it drove away, she looked around her for the first time, then realized that she had gotten off too early. It would be a long walk to her house. With a sigh, she started down the street.

The sun was touching the western horizon, adding deeper golden tones to the yellow Autumn leaves. Although Angel enjoyed the stillness of the moment, she was worried that it would be dark soon. She had never been outside alone after dark, and didn’t know what to expect, other than the horror stories that her mother had told her. She berated herself for messing up again.

By the time she reached the bridge, the sun had fully set and the streetlights were flickering on. Angel’s heart was pounding, and she was glad to reach the landmark that signified that she was only a mile away from home. During the day she would often come to the bridge to watch the river flowing by, but at night the place seemed menacing. The river was dark, and seemed louder and swifter. Angel stopped in the middle of the bridge, and followed the compulsion to look down into the unknown. The sound of water seemed to deafen her, and for a moment she wanted to throw herself into the swirling depths, unconsciously stepping onto the bottom rung of the rail to lean over farther, yearning to answer the call from below her. Realizing what she was doing, she pushed herself forcefully away from the edge, then turned and hit something soft and warm. She stood stunned, and only when the figure spoke did she realize that it was a person.

“Pardon me,” a deep voice resonated, and Angel’s cheeks burned red as she quickly stepped back.

“Pardon me,” she repeated with a weak voice, then quickly tried to dodge around the man to continue on her way home. He caught her arm in his hand.

“Are you all right?” he asked. Angel avoided looking at him, focusing on his shiny black shoes.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she answered quickly, making a slight attempt to pull away. “Please, let me go.”

He watched her silently for a moment, his hand never relaxing. Angel began to quietly panic, certain that the horror stories she had grown up with were about to come true. After a moment, the stranger said, “I’m certain that you aren’t telling me the truth. A moment ago you acted like you wanted to commit suicide, and now you look like you’re about to faint. Tell me the truth now: are you all right?”

Something in his words made Angel look up with a start, and their eyes met. He wasn’t old, though Angel couldn’t guess what his age was, and his face was stern. His black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and his eyes were dark. He scared and exhilarated Angel all at once, causing her heart to leap and burn with unfamiliar sensations. She felt driven by some unknown force to obey him.

“No, not really,” she said, and he let her go, keeping her in place with his gaze.

“What has you so frightened?” His voice commanded the same obedience; stern, calculating, but not unfriendly or harsh.

Angel’s bottom lip trembled. She was ashamed of the fearful thoughts that raced through her mind, and of the failures that the day’s events culminated in. Even though she badly wanted to, she couldn’t open up to this man. She didn’t have the strength to.

“Don’t cry,” he said in a much softer tone. “It’s okay if you can’t tell me.” Angel nodded, but her refusal to relax perturbed the man. He stared off into the distance, frowning slightly, before saying, “I’m going to get you something to eat to make this up to you. I had no intention of making you feel worse, and it’s now my obligation to fix it.”

“No, no.” Angel resisted feebly. She liked the idea that he had proposed, but she felt like she couldn’t accept it. After she said the words, however, she realized that choosing to drop out of college had changed the course of her life, and that after rebelling against her parents’ wishes in that regard, there was no reason for her to keep following them in this case either. She liked the man, and the way that he exuded strength and self-assurance. She liked that he had noticed her. So, after a pause, she said, “Yes.”

“Are there any places that you would like to go?” he asked.

Angel thought for a moment. There was a diner nearby that she liked, though she had only been there a couple of times before. She gave the name of it and pointed in its general direction, then felt embarrassed for choosing such a casual place. The man was dressed too nicely to want to go to somewhere like that, but he didn’t seem to mind at all. He set off down the sidewalk, then looked back and summoned Angel to follow with his eyes.

“My name is Murrich,” he said as they went.

“Angel,” she replied.

“Very fitting.” Murrich glanced over at her, and Angel blushed.

“I-I bleach my hair,” she stammered. “It’s naturally dark blonde.”

“Your eyes are a beautiful shade of blue.”

She didn’t know how to reply, so she didn’t say anything at all. Murrich seemed to understand how uncomfortable she felt, and remained silent. Their footfalls echoed as they walked, and a cold night breeze pierced through Angel’s sweater, causing her to shiver. He took off his long coat, and draped it over her shoulders. She liked the way it smelled.

When they reached the diner, Murrich held open the door and Angel scurried inside then waited. After a quick glance around, he led her to a booth by the window and motioned for her to sit down, before taking his place across the table from her. The waitress came a minute later, handing them menus and saying something that Angel didn’t quite understand, though she nodded anyway before burying her face in the menu.

“Can I get a dessert?” she asked, then felt childish for doing so. She was worried that she was coming across as immature and needy, and she didn’t want him to dislike her. For some strange reason, she felt that his opinion of her mattered more than anyone else’s.

“You may.” She couldn’t read his tone at all. “Have you thought about what to drink?”

“Chocolate milk.” She was being childish again. Angel hated herself for acting that way. Everyone told her that she was supposed to be strong and mature, but she couldn’t force herself to be something that she didn’t feel. She was inexperienced and easily overwhelmed, so that was the best that she could do.

“Tell me when you decide which dessert you would like.” Murrich looked at her. “I’ll order for you.”

Relief swept through Angel, and she liked Murrich even more for saying that. He was acting like a buffer for her, taking the pressure of having to speak to the waitress off of her, and making it seem like the most natural thing in the world for him to do it. She felt warm at the thought that he was reading her cues, and accepting them without judging her.

“Cheesecake,” she said, her embarrassment fading.

Several minutes later, with a glass of chocolate milk in front of her, Angel felt comfortable enough to say, “I dropped out of college today.”

“Did you like school?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Then that’s a good thing.” He spoke resolutely, without a hint of doubt. Despite everything that Angel had been told about the virtues of higher education, she believed Murrich above them all. “What are you going to do now?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” Angel bit her lip and looked out the window. “I need to find out if my parents are going to kick me out first.”

“I see. I suppose that’s why you went to college in the first place.” Murrich’s expression became unpleasant for a moment, then unreadable again.

“They might not,” Angel quickly said. “They’ve told me things like that before, but then never actually followed through with it.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

Angel became silent as her throat started to hurt again. She wanted to say something, but couldn’t come up with the words. She knew, deep within her heart that she hated the way her parents treated her, and had never been able to say a word in defense of them when past friends had commented on it. She didn’t have friends anymore though.

“Miss Angel,” Murrich said, his voice somehow sounding like soft velvet, “is that why you were going to jump off the bridge?”

“No!” Angel’s face burned with shame at the memory, uncertain of what had happened. “I just . . . felt pulled . . . I don’t know. I don’t want to kill myself.” The way that Murrich was watching her made her even more uncomfortable, and she hated it. She wanted to make him like her, and she was sure that her ineptitude at handling the conversation was putting him off, but she didn’t know how to act better.

“Come.” Murrich stood up. “We’re both finished, and the night is beautiful. We should go for a walk.”

Complying, Angel felt panic surging through her as she walked through the door and out into the world again. She wanted to protest, demand to be taken to the safety of her home, but she felt too weak to do so. She remained quiet, keeping her turmoil inside.

“I’m sorry for distressing you, but I want to show you that the world isn’t as dangerous as you seem to think.”

Shocked, Angel quickly looked at him and exclaimed, “How did you know?!” Embarrassed by the inadvertent admission, she looked away.

He chuckled, stopping to put his hand under her chin and direct her gaze to meet his. “My Angel,” he whispered, “your face is not as blank as you seem to think. It’s in your eyes, the curve of you mouth, and the shade of your skin. All I had to do was look.” Then his hand dropped away, and he continued walking. “I’m certain that I’m not going to enjoy this, but I must ask you: what sorts of things are you expecting to happen, out here in the unprotected dark?”

Skipping to catch up, Angel clenched her jaw as she thought about the answer. Then, forcing the words out until they started to flow on their own, she repeated all of the stories that her mother had told her, shying away from the details but giving the general picture. Sharing such horrible things made her tremble, so Murrich put an arm around her shoulders, holding her protectively as she talked.

When she was done, he said, “I’m not going to lie to you, bad things like that do happen.” He squeezed her slightly. “But not as often as you think. It certainly won’t happen tonight with me here to protect you.”

“I barely know you. For all I know, this could be an elaborate ruse to get me vulnerable!”

Murrich remained calm at Angel’s outburst, answering, “When I deliver you safe and sound at your front door, you’ll know that it’s not.”

Suddenly Angel trusted him completely, assured by his words. Murrich, a man who hadn’t existed for her until a couple of hours ago, had managed to unravel the tangled mess of nerves and insecurity that had been her world for so long, simply by making her feel like he was strong enough for the both of them. Relaxing against his side, Angel murmured, “I hope that never happens.”

“You don’t wish to be safe and sound?”

“I don’t want you to leave me.” Blushing, Angel hid her face. “This is the first time I’ve ever felt safe.”

“Then maybe I shouldn’t.”

“I feel like I was supposed to meet you, supposed to . . .”

Angel was relieved that Murrich seemed to be taking her seriously, and not pointing out the flaws in her articulation. She had never loved anyone before, had never been in a relationship, and she wasn’t sure how they were supposed to start. She was certain that she was doing it all wrong, and moving far too quickly, but she didn’t have any more doubts about whether or not Murrich was meant to be in her life. There was something almost spiritual in the way that she was falling for him, and his acceptance of her confirmed her feelings. She closed her eyes and reveled in the fuzzy warmth that flowed into her from him.

“My Angel,” he whispered, closing his hand around hers. After a moment they began walking again, moving in the direction of Angel’s house.

Stories

Eleta

Autumn

Absolutely none of the writing prompts during this last week spoke to me in any sort of way — too much ‘internet culture’ crap (YES I SAID IT) to spark the imagination.

So I wrote up one of my own ideas to post instead.

Of course, if I worked on my novel instead of posting on Reddit, I’d be a lot closer to being finished with it. You know I’m totally just doing this for attention, lol.

 

Xander approached the lab with trepidation, his combat boots crunching loudly on the deteriorating asphalt with every heavy step. He had received his order to recruit a new teammate, and he knew exactly which old one had to go. While it was going to be a relief to be rid of Adora after her latest antics had nearly gotten the entire team killed, he did not care for the manner in which he had been instructed to carry out the task. The transition was not going to be smooth or pretty.

But first, he had to slog through all the options currently available in the lab. He hated the scientists in their white coats who lorded themselves over the soldiers as their creators. They tampered with life, but they did not understand it; not in the same way the soldiers did.

A new teammate would mean a mountain load of work late into the night. He was not looking forward to it.

He entered the building and went through all of the necessary security checks, then met up with the scientist who had been assigned to assist him. He was a boring sort of man, a balding egghead who didn’t think it was necessary to look up from his clipboard when he spoke. They went to the observation room, and immediately started going over the options.

Xander shot them down without even looking at them. He didn’t need someone who could read minds or levitate objects. “I need stealth,” he argued. “Don’t waste my time on parlor tricks!”

“Hm, lets see here …” the man studied his clipboard, musing in a way that sounded like he was talking to himself. “Ah, you should like this one. She came out of the lab just this morning, and is quite cutting edge.”

“Fine. Bring her in.” Xander rubbed the bridge of his nose, not feeling particularly excited about the prospect. The scientists’ idea of ‘cutting edge’ was never all that applicable in real combat situations, but he still wondered what sort of monstrosity they had created this time. Perhaps if she proved to be adequate, he would recruit her just to insult Adora, who had been getting on his nerves with her vanity of late. It would knock her down a peg before she was booted from the team.

The scientist spoke into his radio, and a few minutes later a door opened in the room on the other side of the one-way glass. Surprisingly, a pretty and slender girl was shown in and instructed to wait. She sat down in the chair facing the mirror, and folded her hands together on her lap in a manner that could only be described as delicate.

“Seriously?!” Xander couldn’t help but blurt, staring as if his eyes would bug out of his head. “She’s not a soldier at all!”

“Ah, don’t let her appearances deceive you.” The scientist chuckled, and for the first time set down his clipboard to look proudly at the girl. “I designed her abilities myself. She can project invisibility on whomever she chooses, and take out all electronic devices at will. She is perfect for stealth.”

“What’s with the long hair?” Xander asked. No one kept long hair on principle, not wanting to risk the hazard it posed in the middle of combat. He thought that he should decline on that matter alone, especially considering that it wasn’t simply her hair that bothered him; everything about her looked like some lonely man had decided to create a living doll for his own enjoyment, from her rosebud mouth to her D cup breasts. There was no way he could work with someone like that. There was no way she could successfully integrate into the team.

The scientist simply shrugged. “We provide their powers, not their personalities. If you want her to cut it, you’ll have to convince her yourself.”

Xander opened his mouth to say what his mind was telling him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was ogling her, embarrassed by his inability to look away. His heart tugged at him, whispering that he was a lonely man and that he could use some enjoyment. Of course, as the team leader, that would be an appalling abuse of power. Even if he recruited her, he would never be allowed to touch her.

“What’s her name?” he asked instead.

“Eleta. She’s the best we’ve ever made,” the scientist replied.

“The best, huh?” He clenched his hands into fists, keeping them rigidly at his sides as he tried to keep his mind clean and focused. She would prove to be too much for him, and he needed to walk away before he got into any trouble. “Invisibility would be useful …” He hated himself. He wanted to punch himself in the face for being so stupid.

Say no. Just say no.

“I’ll take her. She needs to cut that damn hair, though.”

The scientist grinned. “I’ll inform her that she’s been recruited. Take good care of her – we put a lot of hard work into this one.”

Xander grunted, his heart pounding over what he had done as he watched the scientist go into the other room to speak with the girl. For however long he was stuck working with her, it was going to be the sweetest hell he would ever endure.

The Scion Suit

The Scion Suit – Behind the scenes

Autumn

I know, everyone is all like, “Oh my god, she’s beating a dead horse! The story wasn’t that good.”

But ha ha! I intend on turning this horse into GLUE! The only escape is to stop reading my blog, bwahahahahahahaha!

Actually, I’ve had a really crazy week, and now I’m coming down sick/loopy from the stress. Hoo-rah!

ANYwho, some of my personal notes on The Scion Suit:

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20190926_1216053380433230943461363.jpg

I changed a few things for the final version, but you can probably see how things evolved.

Not pictured: Research into military rankings and culture. This was the hardest part for me; I didn’t want to be blatantly wrong, but the only personal experience I have is a handful of conversations with a couple of ex-military guys. I’m not actually sure if Lambert would have had his own office as a captain.

Also not pictured: Lots of brainstorming with my husband. He’s my number one source of inspiration, meaning he comes up with the ideas and I steal them. Just kidding. He knows how to get my juices going. Lol.

Why did I choose that particular prompt?

My method is to sort by ‘new’ then keep scrolling until I find something that stands out to me, and ignore popularity altogether, because I’m an arteest and not an attention whore. I picked that prompt because it reminded me of a reoccurring dream that I’ve had several times over the past few years, and I very nearly wrote the dream as my response. However, I very quickly decided that the dream deserved the time and attention that I put into my novels, and opted to come up with an entirely new story instead. The dream was still a major influence.

Then the prompt got popular. Whoopsie.

So there you go.

Stories

WP – Haunted

Autumn

[WP] The house is haunted. Bloody walls, ghostly figures, shrieks in the night. The lot. But in this economy, you can’t afford to move, so you’re just going to have to sit down and talk things out with the your new spectral housemates. from WritingPrompts

 

It was the shrieks in the night that I wanted to address first. I could live with the bloodstained walls, the ghostly figures standing behind my reflection in the mirror, and the lights continually flickering like it was a party, but I needed my sleep.

I went to the toy store and bought a cheap Ouija board, made of plastic and cardboard. It was pink, too, because that was the only model they had in stock, and the box featured pictures of teenage girls asking silly questions along the lines of, “Who has a crush on me?”

Later. I promised myself. If it worked with getting me a night of undisturbed rest, then maybe I could spend a few minutes indulging in secret questions about my personal life. I couldn’t imagine any demons being attracted to the ridiculously girly thing tucked under my arm, so I was probably safe in that regard.

Home was an Edwardian bungalow. I had loved it so much when I first saw it, I had ignored the warning signs: like the way the real estate agent had refused to be alone and kept looking over her shoulder. In retrospect, I should have realized something was up. But I was caught up in admiring the original woodwork and the rich color of the brick, and didn’t pay her any mind. I guess you could say that I was too busy geeking out.

The housing market crashed before the ink was dry on the paperwork, and now I was stuck. No money to move, and no one to buy. I was the owner of a bona fide haunted house.

It had been months since I’ve slept straight through the night, and there were dark circles under my eyes. If those ghosts managed to kill me, I vowed, I was going to haunt them to see how they liked it.

I set myself up on the kitchen table. I wasn’t sure if the Ouija board would work with only one person, but I couldn’t turn to anyone else for help. It seemed like everyone I divulged my circumstances to either insisted that I needed to see a psychiatrist, or wanted to worship the Devil in my basement. There were a surprising number of really disturbed people in my social circle, to the point that I decided that I needed to reevaluate my life choices.

Later, after I had slept on it.

I put my fingertips on the planchette and said in my most authoritative voice, “I command you to speak! Who are you?”

The lights dimmed and the fixture started to swing, but the planchette remained completely still. I had the feeling that the ghosts were laughing at me.

I snapped. “Fine, guys, whatever! The fact is, I’m stuck here and you aren’t going to get rid of me no matter what. Could you just cool it during the night so I can get some rest? I’m going crazy here!”

This time, everything went completely still, and even the usual bumps that continually sounded in the background were silent.

“Thank you!” I exclaimed, and this time the planchette began to move. It was a strange sensation, as if my hands were pushing it despite my efforts to keep them limp, and I watched it slowly pick out the letters:

S-O-R-R-Y

“It’s cool. You were probably just excited to talk to me, and wanted my attention. Right? You seem alright to me,” I said. I wondered if this was the beginning of a strange friendship with my ghostly roommates, but nothing else happened.

I kept asking questions for another half-hour, but got no other responses. I even, on a lark, asked if there was anyone who wanted to date me, but nothing. Sheesh.

I said goodbye, packed the board up, and went to bed. The next morning I woke up feeling better than I had in a long time, and all the usual hauntings picked right back up, including the ghastly image of a corpse glaring at me in the mirror as I brushed my teeth.

I could live with this.

The Scion Suit

The Scion Suit – Side Quest

Autumn

Author’s Note: Someone said that this story needed side quests, so here you go. #NoOneWillUnderstandMySenseOfHumor

I am currently trying to write a novel while maintaining a real life, so this will be it for awhile.

Takes place between parts 6 and 7

Alternately titled: In Which Carol and Lambert Wash Laundry, Eat Dinner, and Do Not Have Sex.

Scion Suit

Carol returned to her room to discover that she didn’t have any more clean clothes. She had been training with Lambert, and had stripped out of her sweaty t-shirt as soon as the door had closed behind her. It was then, standing half-naked in front of her closet, that she realized she had nothing else to wear.

The smell of her shirt, now that it had been removed from her body, was too unappealing to put back on. She turned to the boxes that she had never gotten around to unpacking, and dug around until she found something that she could wear. A few months ago, perhaps out of some unconscious impulse to prove that she wasn’t actually a boring and lonely sort of person, she had purchased a red satin pushup bra that she had promptly become embarrassed of and never wore. A little more digging produced an old white tank top.

Carol dressed, stuffed her dirty laundry in a big bag, then banged on her door. “Holmes!” she yelled. “Let me out! I need to talk to the captain!”

There was a click as the door unlocked, and Holmes stepped back as she barged through, his nose wrinkling up as the bag passed by him. “Whew-ee! Are you planning on pranking him with a dead cat? Where’d you get it from? Mind if I watch?”

She gave him her best ‘I wish you death’ stare. “No. I just want to talk to him.”

Carol trotted down the hallway, and managed to remember every single turn to get to Lambert’s office without getting lost. She let herself in without knocking, and found Lambert studying over his little notebook at his desk.

He glanced at her, flipped another page, then looked up again, this time openly staring. “Commander!” he barked. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Captain, I need to wash my laundry,” she replied, uncertain over why he seemed especially irritated to see her.

“You don’t need to bother me about that! That’s what Holmes is for.” Lambert kept staring. He attempted once to return his focus to his notebook, but his eyes wouldn’t stray from Carol. It was making her uncomfortable.

“Well, you see, sir…” She shifted uneasily. “Holmes is… normal.”

“What has that got to do with anything?” Lambert was on his feet now. Still staring.

“I’m scared to wash my clothes under the watchful gaze of someone who… I don’t know.” Carol looked down, losing her train of thought as her face grew hot with shame. “I feel safer around you,” she muttered, more to herself. Clearly she had made a mistake in coming there, and even she didn’t know why she had thought that only Lambert could help her.

“Commander,” he growled, skirting around his desk to come towards her. “You don’t have any clean clothes at all?”

“No, sir,” Carol answered. She couldn’t look at him, even when he towered over her and glared down.

“And that’s all?”

His question surprised her. She couldn’t guess what he was thinking, or why he was acting so weird. Maybe she had caught him at a particularly bad time. “That’s all, sir.”

Lambert’s jaw tightened, and he looked down at her for a moment longer. Then, as if tearing himself away, he stepped over to a cabinet and pulled a navy t-shirt out of one of the drawers. “Put this on, commander,” he said gruffly. “You look like you’re working a street corner.”

“What?!” Carol looked down at herself, and blushed heavily at the realization that her bra could be seen clearly through the clingy old fabric of her tank top. She suspected that from Lambert’s perspective above her, he had gotten an eyeful of cleavage as well.

She snatched the t-shirt away from him and quickly pulled it on. It was obviously one of his spares, and she was dwarfed in it. He kept staring at her anyway.

“Give me an hour to complete my paperwork,” he said. “Then we’ll go to my house.”

“I thought there was a laundromat on base, or something,” Carol sat down in one of the chairs, feeling tiny in Lambert’s shirt. At least she didn’t look like a hooker anymore, she thought.

“My clothes need washing as well,” Lambert murmured, moving back to his desk. “And I hate those cheap-ass machines. We’re going to my house.”

“I’m not so sure I want to go to your house,” Carol protested; especially after the way he had looked at her.

“Then get Holmes to take you to the laundromat.” Lambert waved his hand. “Now shut up so I can think.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Lambert kept glancing up at her, then back down, then up again. Finally, after ten minutes, he practically bellowed, “For fuck’s sake Carol, cut it out!”

“I’m not doing anything!” she exclaimed. She had been very careful to sit still and not fidget or make any noise, so she didn’t know what he had yelled at her for. Lambert was behaving very strangely.

He shoved papers into a folder and slammed it shut, then stood. “We’re going. Now!” He had switched into full-blown captain mode, and Carol jumped in response.

“Yes sir!” she yipped.

She had a hard time keeping up with the fast pace he set as they moved out to the parking lot to Lambert’s car. She barely had enough time to toss her bag of laundry into the backseat before climbing into the passenger side, pulling the door closed as Lambert began driving. She didn’t understand what had gotten him into such a foul mood – more so than usual, anyway.

They didn’t speak at all as they left the base. Carol stared out at the scenery as buildings gave way to trees, and she wondered how far out of town Lambert lived. She had a hard time imagining him doing anything that wasn’t centered around the military, so it was an odd glimpse into his private life to realize that his house was so far out of the way. Forty-five minutes passed before they pulled into a driveway.

Lambert’s house was old but well-kept, and surprisingly large for a bachelor who never had the time to go home. He must have paid someone to maintain the lawn and garden. Inside was organized but dusty, and held pieces of a life that he would have liked but never got around too – like Carol with her red bra. There was an expensive entertainment system and comfy chairs in the living room, and a gorgeous kitchen with an ornate shelf dedicated to fancy cookbooks. None of it looked used.

That was why Carol felt drawn to Lambert, and why she trusted him over Holmes even though he continually berated her. They were both hopelessly one-dimensional.

He pointed his thumb towards the laundry room, then went out to his car to retrieve his own dirty clothes from the trunk. His machine was a front-loader, and the only thing in the house that bore any signs of use. It had more buttons on it than Carol was familiar with.

All of her clothes were neutral tones, so she didn’t feel bad about shoving them in one load, but she couldn’t figure out what to do from there. The detergent wasn’t kept anywhere obvious, and she wasn’t technologically savvy enough to figure out how to configure the machine to simply wash without anything fancy. Carol felt herself slipping into a sense of paralyzation as she became overwhelmed.

Wordlessly, Lambert came up behind her and popped a pod into the machine, then pushed a button to turn it on. He was staring at her again, and she was growing tired of his gaze.

“Thank you, sir,” she mumbled, crossing her arms and hunching in an effort to shrink away.

“How old are you, commander?” he asked.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Carol snipped back. She could tell that he wasn’t going to say something flattering, and she didn’t want to give him any ammunition to use against her.

“You’ve obviously been an adult for long enough, so why on Earth does a laundry machine make you freeze up? How did someone like you survive alone?”

“I did just fine!” Carol was annoyed, especially because she couldn’t remember the answer herself. After using the Suit and losing all her personal freedom, she was forgetting what it was like to walk around alone, and she was becoming increasingly anxious outside of her giant mechanical body. It was unfair that Lambert judged her whole life based on the recent changes that she had undergone, and she hated him for it. His eyes narrowed, growing increasingly intense. Carol double checked herself, and couldn’t find anything provocative in the baggy t-shirt she was borrowing. Maybe he was high; it was a well known fact that soldiers used all manner of substances to cope with their jobs, and maybe she had caught him after he had taken a hit of something good.

“Wash my stuff too, and help yourself to the TV or whatever.” Lambert dismissed her, and retreated to the kitchen. A minute later she could hear beeps from the microwave, and imagined that he was preparing a frozen dinner for himself. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food, and she wished that she could have something too, but she didn’t imagine that Lambert was the sort who would share a meal with a subordinate. The long drive back made her heart drop.

Thirty minutes later, she reluctantly went after him to ask for help with turning on the dryer, and found him cooking in the kitchen.

“Sit down, commander, it’s almost ready,” he said, motioning to the kitchen table that had been set for two. “Don’t get excited, all the ingredients were either frozen or canned.”

“What is it?” Carol asked, picking a chair. The situation was surreal.

“Spaghetti. No comments, just eat it.” He brought a pot over and scooped out a big heap of noodles and sauce mixed with ground beef, then did the same for himself. The spaghetti tasted heavily of basil and peppercorn, but was otherwise better than the food they served in the canteen.

They ate in an awkward silence.

When they were through, Lambert helped with the laundry then turned on an old movie, settling down as they waited. Carol sat in the other chair and only half looked at the screen, feeling very aware of him lounging so he could watch her at the same time. The machines couldn’t work fast enough for her liking.

Finally, once everything was washed, dried, and folded, they made the long drive back to base, and Lambert escorted her to her room. Before she closed the door behind her, Carol asked, “Would you like your shirt back?”

“Keep it,” he growled, then stormed away.

Carol was never going to figure him out.

Next

The Scion Suit

The Scion Suit – Outtakes

Autumn

Scion Suit

“CAROL” the space alien announced. “YOU ARE ONE OF US!”

“Oh my god!” Carol gasped. “I never saw this coming!”

“YOU WILL RETURN HOME WITH US, AND LIVE IN HARMONY IN THE SUIT FOREVER. IT IS YOUR TRUE BODY.”

“I knew it!” Carol declared happily.

“YOU WERE SENT TO EARTH AND IMPLANTED IN A LITTLE GIRL. THE REAL YOU IS A CHIP THAT MELDED WITH YOUR HOST BODY. PEACE AND HARMONY FOOOOREEEEVEEERRRRRRR!!!!”

So, the spaceship returned home, and Carol was finally true to herself. The end.