Sequel of sorts to Problem Child
The cy’Lightning students were unusually quiet for a Saturday morning. They were getting ready for their weekly cy’ree meeting, which was normally somewhere halfway between a class and hanging out with friends. Today, however, they were anticipating it with a small amount of dread, cleaning up from the latest of breakfasters and talking in tense undertones.
The Valkyrie is in the city.
The rumor spread through the school like wildfire, some with a hint of trepidation, others with excitement. And all of them watched Professor Inazuma teaching his classes as normal, wondering if he heard the whispers. The Valkyrie is coming.
Prompt: add insult to injury
“Why are you always so pissed off?”
“Ha ha funny.”
“No. Dammit, Dez.” Jake frowned. “I’m serious.”
Desdemona stared at Jake like he’d grown a second head or something. Continue reading
Prompt: piece of cake
Claude was abruptly pulled out of his book by the sound of a plate sliding across a wooden surface. He looked up, blinking in a half-daze as he mentally reoriented himself into reality, and stared at the coffee table in front of him.
“What’s that?” It was a stupid question, and not the one he meant, but he was still half in the world of his book.
“She is your Student.”
“I know.” Leofric frowned – not at Dairine, though the fact that he was speaking with her meant it was in her direction anyway. Continue reading
Vidrou, sa’Tree-Hugger – more commonly known as Vid or Viddie – hummed quietly as he inspected his orchard. It was summer, which meant the seasons for peaches, plums and nectarines. Never mind that their home in ex-Michigan was nowhere near the right climate. He might not be able to change the weather, but he could change the trees. Combined with his diligent and affectionate caretaking, this meant come midsummer, there were fresh peaches.
Aside from tending to the trees, gathering fruit for the next few days was Vid’s main purpose in being out at the orchard this sunny afternoon. The basket slung over his shoulder was already half full, bearing a mix of red plums and yellow peaches.
“Papa, papa, look!” Seven-year-old Tilden raced across the grass, ignorant of the scrapes and dirt on his shins and elbows. He bounced to a stop in front of his father, proudly displaying a nectarine. “I picked it myself, just like you showed me.”
Written for the Thimbleful Thursday prompt: throw down the gauntlet. I squeaked in at 439 words!
Desdemona barely restrained herself from punching Jake into the wall. “What the hell–”
“Desdemona cy’Fridmar,” he interrupted, waving the glove he’d just smacked her with in her face, “I challenge you to a duel.”
For Thimbleful Tuesday, coming in at 211 words.
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Mix one measure of oil with two measures of water.
Nathan stared at his notes, resisting the urge to bang his head on the table. He was sure of the translation, it was simple enough Latin. Unfortunately, it was proving somewhat less than simple to do.
He’d tried the obvious solution, first. Take the oil, take the water, splash in some alcohol, mix it thoroughly, pour it over the powdered lambskin on the specified arcane circle and bam. The da… stupid thing had burst into flames; he barely managed to save the book. His notes were quickly converted to ash, forcing him to spend the next few hours retranslating the entire segment.
Next, he’d tried just stirring it vigorously with a whisk and pouring it out before the two had separated again. Thankfully it didn’t catch on fire that time, but it didn’t do anything much at all. He spent the next few hours cleaning up the oily puddle on his worktable.
Now, Nathan was back to staring at his notes and contemplating mixing the notoriously unmixable. He sighed, slumping down in his chair. How am I supposed to do this, he thought, staring out the window at the snow.
Grabbing his measuring cup, he raced out the door.