Music: Prisencolinensunainciusol

 Adriano Celentano:

StV: A Favor For Your Mother, part four

Julie sat in the study with Mr. Maddox, the gray-haired older man who was currently guarding her mother -- or working with her, or something. He'd been introduced to the household as one of the Prophet's Angels, so maybe her mother was working with him instead. Regardless, he had instructions for her, so she kept herself still and attentive.

"This will be your story," he said, and she nodded. "You are Emma Vilde Gundersen. Three years ago, you woke up with gray skin, and the other features appeared over the next few weeks. Your parents took you out of public school and you were homeschooled for the last three years. Then you got swept up in a raid, and taken to a processing center -- which is where you will be when you have to explain this. You will be placed with one or more young people, all captured Deviants. Your job is to act scared and make friends with them."

"Friends?" she asked, shocked and mildly disgusted. Deviants were... well, they were Damned, except that they came to it on their own instead of by rejecting the Prophet's chosen gifts. 

Mr. Maddox studied her for a moment, then clarified: "So long as they see you as a friend, all will be well. The Prophet does not ask you to become friends with them, merely to pretend to it."

Oh. Well, that was nothing new; half her social circle consisted of that sort of friends. "I..." She made her voice firm. "I can do that." 

Mr. Maddox nodded. "We anticipate that they will either escape or be rescued, and take you with them. If that does not happen, we have someone on the inside who will see you safely removed -- and then we will attempt to insert you some other way."

"I understand," she said, and then reiterated. "I am to pretend to be a prisoner, become a friend to my fellow prisoners, and escape with them so that they do not suspect me."

"Precisely," Mr. Maddox said. "Young Angel, I look forward to seeing what you bring to the new world."

StV: A Favor For Your Mother, Part Three

Julie didn't immediately know what had happened. 

She was lying on her back on the floor, with both her parents crouched over her. Had she passed out? Had she fallen?

"Move slowly," said the Prophet. "It will take some time to adjust to your new strength."

That voice brought it all rushing back: the Prophet touching fingertips to her forehead, the flood of divine power pouring over her, filling her to overflowing. The sudden flash of connection, of understanding, the silent fire of being at one with all things, lost now except for a fading memory. 

She suppressed a sob. 

Her mom looked terrified. Her dad looked over at the Prophet: "Holiness, is she...?"

"You are Blessed," said the Prophet, addressing Julie directly, "but your Blessing is unique, for you among all of us will be able to take the appearance of the Damned."

Oh, you want me to be a spy. Why didn't you just say so? Julie motioned her parents back -- she'd heard tales of accidents at this stage of the ritual -- and then climbed slowly to her feet. It was ridiculously easy, and his Holiness had been right: if she'd tried it unprepared, she would have accidentally hurled herself at the ceiling, or maybe through some of the furniture.

"I rise, ready to serve," she said, completing the ritual, and the Prophet smiled beatifically. 

"Your work will begin soon," the Prophet assured her. "For now, regard yourself in the mirror."

The chapel in their home held mirrors on the wall; she approached one of them, looked at herself, and blanched. Her skin was gray, pebbly, and her eyes were actually glowing red. Her hair, incongruously, looked the same as it always had. 

"Now," said the prophet, "remember yourself as you truly are. Find that connection. Focus on it."

Julie tried, and watched in awe as she felt her skin shiver and reform, returning to her much of her former appearance, only... younger. A little more awkward. She looked like a fucking teenager. 

"Perfect," breathed the Prophet, and she hid her shock automatically. "You will be our agent among the deviant and damned, and you will lead the way to bring them low."

Julie resisted the urge to look at either of her parents, and focused on the Prophet instead. "As you speak, I obey." 

"Now, change yourself back."

Julie looked into the mirror again, blinked, and tried to picture herself as she'd awoken: grey skin, glowing eyes... She felt the change sweep over her. What has his Holiness done to me? She pushed the thought down immediately. Maybe taking a Deviant form brought Deviant thoughts with it; she'd have to be careful about that.

"It will take a few days to fully adjust," the Prophet cautioned her. "Then, you will be ready."

Dauntless: The Goblin and the Kobold

Galbra sighed to herself as she paced the deck. A fucking Urd, here on this ship. And she's not only charmed the feathery barbarian, she survived a knife to the belly. There was only one way forward... 

...And she hated it. 

"Hey," she said, from her spot on the deck. 

"Kurtulmak!" shrieked the kobold, and threw herself into the air. 

That was satisfying, at least, Galbra thought. "So you're staying around."

"You're still here!?"

"Yeah. Thought about it, decided to hang around. If I promise not to try to stab you again, will you settle back down?"

"...Maybe? I mean, you stabbed me pretty hard."

"I promise not to try to stab you again. Not unless it's self-defense or I've warned you first."

There was a long pause. "All right. I think Archangel still wants to kill you, though."

Galbra sighed.  "Of course he does. What I want to know is, what's your angle with him?"

"Aside from his massive bird-cock and the fact that I can't possibly get pregnant?"

"Yeah. Aside from that."

"You're a clever one, aren't you? Work it out."

 As answers went, it was precisely as unsatisfying as Galbra had expected, but that didn't bother her at all. She'd been planning to do that anyway, and at least now they were talking.

Writing Busy

So... I lost track of the previous dark fantasy project, as you might have guessed from the world-building stuff I've been posting here. Current project is Horny Superteens, and I'm... seven chapters in? Yeah. It's not smut, exactly, but it could be if I wanted to fill in the more explicit bits. So far I've been fading to black instead.

And yeah, some of that is probably because if I'm writing Horny Superteens I'm not reading the news and getting depressed about the fall of America and the fact that we're not going to have Social Security by the time I can truly retire. The chance to imagine myself as a horny teenage superhero just starting to decide how to build his powers is, well, a wonderful escape from all that. 

The new job remains a profound relief -- the extent to which this is just a much better environment to be working in is hard to overstate, even if yesterday's meeting drained most of my brain of anything resembling thought. But, I mean, that was the new CFO and the Director of Finance wanting to learn more about how our financial workflows were set up, and look at some possibilities for making them more efficient. At Old Job? Gods, I'd never have been allowed anywhere near a meeting like that, and the IT folks who were allowed to talk would have spent the whole time giving them incorrect information. 

I wish I was mistaken, or even bitterly exaggerating, about that. 

I'm not. 

This is SO MUCH BETTER. 

Meanwhile, in my copious spare time, I'm plotting out a possible future book where a necromancer and a mad scientist find themselves in competition over the fresh graves at the local cemetery. So hey, I have a likely future project. 

Secondborn has been doing better at school; I've also bought him some axes, and he's been taking apart some excessively large stumps that we'd brought over to our back yard. I figure, it gets him outside, in the sunlight, and exercising, and even given the cost of a good axe these days it's still cheaper than therapy. I had given him one of my old knives to work out his angst with, but, well...

 

Yeah. He has a lot of angst to work out.

Music: Wake The Dead

Chuck Prophet: 

StV: A Favor For Your Mother, part two

Her mom looked more like a slightly-older sister, just as her dad looked like potential boyfriend material to her friends -- and for the same reason: the Holiest, the Prophet and his blessings. And now it was her turn, and she found herself unaccountably worried. Just how young would she look? Would people still take her seriously? And more importantly, what the hell was going on here? Julie supported her parents and the Age of Rebirth, but the last time they'd discussed her potential induction, both her parents had insisted that she should be at least thirty, with an established career and her own fortune and influence.

Which meant they wanted something. Or the Prophet did. 

Her dad led her over to where the Prophet was standing next to her mother. He was tall and strong, larger than either of her parents, with eyes like stormclouds and a face like an Old Testament judgement. If anybody was going to lead world back to making sense, she thought yet again, it was going to be him.

"Ah," he said, as she approached. "Julie. A pleasure. I realize this comes unexpectedly, but the Age of Rebirth is facing a challenge, and your mother has need of your assistance."

"I suspected so, Holiness," she said, setting aside her misgivings and miming a curtsy. "I stand ready to serve."

"Your faith will be rewarded," he said, "and your rebirth will be a benefit to all of us."

"Would it be a failure of faith to ask what blessings you intend, and what you want me to do with them? I will do your will regardless."

Her father frowned and shook his head sharply, but the Prophet smiled, unperturbed. "Your curiosity is natural, and not to be criticized when you come willingly. I will make you persuasive, like your mother, but also strong and fast like my angels. There is a young man who has caused us some considerable trouble; your task will be to trap him."

Julie considered that, but only for a moment. "As you say it, Holiness, so shall it be done."

She knelt, trying not to think of anything as he approached.