October 31, 2004
“So to get the spin-orbit coupling for this situation, we’re supposed to start with the Dirac equation, like this.”
The blonde infant on Leofric’s lap had absolutely no interest in quantum electrodynamics. The pencil, on the other hand…. Leaning forward, Sigruko grabbed at it ineffectually.
Leo hesitated for a moment before handing it to her with a smile and picking up another. His daughter banged her newly-acquired pencil against his, giggling happily. “Sword!”
Leo’s smile turned into a grin as he lightly returned the tap. “Sword fight!”
October 31, 2013
Leofric tightened the last knot and sat back with a sigh. “There, now we just wait for her to wake up.”
“Then what?” Zita crouched down next to him and prodded gently around the bite on his shoulder. “Tell her she’s been a bad girl?”
“Close.” Leo smiled, not very happily. “I was thinking more explain why she’s lucky she’s not dead.”
“And how to Mask,” she added absently before murmuring healing Workings over his injury.
Leo looked over the Ellehemaei who’d attacked them (and was now unconscious and tied to a tree). She couldn’t be more than eighteen, with pointed canine ears, a matching tail… and rough scabby patches of badly-shaved fur visible on her arms and neck. “And how to Mask,” he repeated.
Author’s Note: The name “Deathstroke” is… basically a placeholder, but it’s good enough.
“I found you.”
Leofric grinned at the unassuming and surprised-looking man. The “man” who had been terrorizing the region: murdering, stealing, torturing, and generally making the look bad. The moster Leofric had been tracking for no less than half a year.
They spoke of one who could find anything. The stories differed in their description but a few constants remained: a beautiful red-haired woman with eyes like a sunlit forest, and a smile which could melt the hardest of hearts or strike fear in the sternest of warriors.
She could find your ideal lover, they said, or your long-lost child. She could find for you a buried treasure, or the answers to your greatest questions, or the weak point in your enemy’s plan. She could find artifacts from ages past, the one who bears the face from your dreams, the place where, when the wind blows just right, the stones sing a melody so beautiful it will haunt you for the rest of your life.
She could find you anything, they said, but always for a price.
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She was cursed.
Everyone else in her class was getting cool Changes – like flaming wings or poison tails or rainbow tattoos – but Desdemona? Not her. She got to be a statue. All day long.
Miss Frost is property of B and I apologize for any terrible mischaracterization in advance.
The two blondes sat in silence, the just-left-but-only-for-a-moment third member of the group seeming to have taken all the conversation with him. It was not an entirely comfortable silence as they both pretended to ignore the surreptitious looks cast by the occasional stranger; quick glances at their hair accompanied by hushed remarks to their own companions.
One of the two – a small, delicate-looking young woman with uncommonly fair hair – picked up her tea and took a careful sip, then replaced the cup on its saucer with equal care. The other – a sandy-haired young man – pushed gently at the handle of his own cup, rotating it a fraction of a circle.
The silence continued for several seconds too long before the young man quietly cleared his throat and looked up. Continue reading