[Fic] Three Sentence Ficathon 2021 fills, part three
I love this ficathon! ♥ ♥ ♥
All prompts drawn from the current iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon, hosted by the wonderful
rthstewart. Come join the fun!
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13. For anonymous: Now I want all the scenes of them practicing sword-fighting ;), written 2/5/21
Master Class (160 words)
Companion to Whoso Pulleth out This Sword. Long-time readers may remember Sir Vladislav from Secrets, my retelling of CoS from Ginny's point of view. :D
-----
"I know the Room of Requirement can provide almost anything, but I think a live teacher is a bit beyond its abilities, and there's a limit to what anyone can learn from an instruction manual," Neville said as he and Ginny paced back and forth before the blank stretch of wall.
Alarmingly, Ginny grinned: "Oh, don't worry -- I asked our instructor yesterday, and since he's already part of the castle I'm sure the Room can move him around without much trouble."
When the door appeared, she flung it open onto a bare expanse with a polished wood floor and an intimidating number of sharp, antique weapons mounted on the wall. "Hello, Sir Vladislav!" she called; "This is my friend Neville, and we're here to learn how not to kill ourselves with swords."
The suit of enchanted armor waiting in the center of the room set its gauntlet on the pommel of its broadsword and bowed.
Gulping, Neville did the same.
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14. For anonymous: any, any, justice delayed is justice denied, written 2/5/21
A Sheath Rusted Shut (70 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives. SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 193!
-----
When they descended from the Panopticon and reported what they'd found, Melanie aimed a bitter smile in Jon's general direction.
"You should've let me kill Elias while I still had a chance," she said; "Even if it did mean we all died with him, better that than this. Now I could stab him in the eyes a hundred times and he wouldn't feel a thing -- where's the justice in that?"
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15. For
eagleoftheninth: Any fandom/characters, this tumblr post: https://wantshapesthem.tumblr.com/post/641796522747543552/an-apocalyptic-cult-prophetically-warning-that-the, written 2/5/21
Wiggle Eschatology (175 words)
Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia
-----
"No, I don't have any stories about the end of the world," Feathersnap said to the humans on her flatbed raft, which she was poling slowly across the marshy shallows of the Shribble; "I don't believe in the end of the world."
"But surely the end of the world is the worst thing that could possibly happen," one of the humans said, with a note in her voice that suggested she was the kind of person happiest in the middle of an argument, "and the Marsh-wiggles are acknowledged throughout Narnia as the experts on all the ways things can go wrong; therefore you must have some predictions."
Feathersnap shook her head dolefully, setting the decorative shells and fishbones on the brim of her hat swinging: "Ah no, I see where you've grabbed the wrong end of the stick and got muck all over your hand; if the world ends, that means there'll eventually be an end to all our problems, and I promise you we're none of us getting out of this mess that easily."
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---------------
16. For
acequeenking: Any / Any, For every mystery, there is somewhere, somewhere, who knows the truth. Perhaps that someone is watching. Perhaps… it’s you, written 2/7/21
And Now a Word from Our Sponsors (160 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives
-----
"What's that meant to be advertising -- a remote webcam-activation service for stalkers?" Melanie asked, barging into Georgie's recording studio with blithe assurance of her welcome (which was fair enough; the little 'recording' button Georgie'd rewired to do a Braille display along with the red light hadn't been on and Georgie was always game for a distraction from rehearsals).
"A new true crime webcast from some American newspaper," Georgie said, slipping her headphones down around her neck and spinning her chair to face her girlfriend, hands outstretched to meet Melanie's own questing fingers; "It is a bit pretentious, isn't it?"
Melanie snorted. "God, can't you just imagine Jon reading it in that-- that voice he uses for statements?"
"Yes, and now I'll have that stuck in my head all day," Georgie grumbled.
"The horror of it all. Let me see if I can give you something better to focus on," Melanie said, and let Georgie guide her in for a kiss.
---------------
---------------
17. For
alexaseanchai: any, adopted by a cat, written 2/7/21
Re-Socialization (1,045 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives. As you can see, this one got away from me a bit. *wry*
-----
One of the first things Georgie did, after she regained enough of herself to feel -- not better, no, but like better might be a possibility someday in the future -- was look up a local RSPCA branch and volunteer to help socialize rescued cats.
"I have limited mobility right now," she said, "but I grew up with three cats, I can provide a warm lap and act non-threatening, and I do very good 'stop that' body language and hisses when kittens get too enthusiastic with their claws."
"Indoor work, then -- can you manage three to six on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons?" the volunteer coordinator asked, and that was that.
After a couple months of socializing traumatized cats, forcing herself into gradually extending daily walks, and slowly dipping her toes back into contact with her emotions (except fear; for some reason fear hadn't started to reappear, even in an attenuated, washed-out form like her other emotions had when they began to seep back), Georgie asked if she could switch to fostering instead. "I think I have enough energy back to give one or two cats my full attention," she told the volunteer coordinator.
Her first assignment was a pair of kittens, both gray tabby and fluffy enough to withstand an Arctic winter, who had been found in a box floating in circles on top of a storm drain. The rescuer had called them Dreadnought and Torpedo, on account of their nautical exploits.
"Those are terrible names," Georgie said as the male kitten (slightly fluffier than his sister, but distinguishable mostly by the widow's peak mark on his forehead whereas his sister's stripes didn't start until between her ears) cheeped in protest that she wasn't instantly refilling his dish of kitten-safe wet food, "not dignified enough or properly silly, and I refuse to use them. We'll call you Sir and your sister Dame until I think of something that suits. What do you say to that?"
The newly renamed Sir yawned, displaying his tiny, needle-sharp teeth, and squeaked.
"Quite right," Georgie agreed, and plopped another dab of food into his dish.
It was humbling, being responsible for two tiny lives -- and also made her feel more fully alive than anything else. Yes, the moment she died would feel exactly the same as this present moment, all things would end, and the universe was ultimately a machine slowly losing tension and winding down to futile silence, but here and now there were two kittens cheeping and purring and getting into absolutely every corner of her flat. Georgie knew it made no deep, existential difference if they died now or twenty years later, but she told herself firmly that those years certainly made a difference to the cats in question, as well as a difference to her... and for the first time since the corpse had spoken, she halfway believed it.
By the time the kittens were scheduled to be spayed and neutered, Georgie had settled on better names. The female kitten, now revealed as a daredevil with a penchant for escaping into the building hallway and loudly accosting Georgie's neighbors for adoration sessions, was the Pirate Queen. The male kitten, quieter and more dignified (insofar as any kitten had any sense of dignity), as well as more standoffish and prone to watching events from the top of the bookcase, was the Admiral.
"That way you both command your own fleets," Georgie told them, "and you can work together or against each other depending on the tides of politics, which explains both your spats and your cuddlefests." The kittens, busily engaged in a mutual grooming session, ignored her until she danced the bedraggled remains of a sock over the heads and they collapsed in a tangle of legs and eager chirping.
Georgie laughed.
She kept moving the sock on autopilot, too surprised by her own laughter to pay attention to her body. She would have expected it to sound rusty, awkward, like a battered engine coughing its way to ignition. Instead, it sound normal. Like she'd never forgotten how, like joy had been lurking within her all along.
The Admiral dug his claws into the sock and tried to climb it like a rope. The Pirate Queen stood on her hind paws and swatted at her brother.
"You're a heavy boy," Georgie said, and dropped the sock so the kittens could squabble over its possession.
The Pirate Queen won and trotted off with her spoils of war. The Admiral claimed Georgie's lap in compensation, and let her pet his belly, fingers sinking deep into his soft grey fluff.
"I think you've been claimed," the RSPCA vet said when Georgie hauled the two kittens in for their procedures.
"What?"
"Look at them -- she's off charming the world, but he's stuck to you like a burr," the vet clarified.
Georgie glanced down at the Admiral, who was, true to the vet's description, huddled in her arms like she was a knight in shining armor ready to defend him against the dangers of this strange, loud, bright place, purring up a nervous storm. Meanwhile the Pirate Queen was making love to the assistant vet tech's ankles.
Inexplicably, she felt herself flush. "I didn't mean for either of them to get attached."
The vet shrugged as the tech lifted the Pirate Queen onto the examination table. "It happens -- sometimes people adopt cats, other times cats adopt people. Is there any reason you couldn't keep him long-term?"
"I'm going back to uni this fall," Georgie started, then paused. "But he'll be old enough by then that I can leave him alone while I'm in class, and I can work to make sure I have a long break around lunch. Do you think I'd be approved, if I asked to adopt him?"
"So long as his health is good and your flat checks out, I don't see why not," the vet said. "There's always a percentage of foster placements that turn into forever homes, and you probably weren't going to continue fostering while attending university anyway. I can put in a word, if you're worried."
"I think I'd like that," Georgie said. "Yeah. I'd definitely like that. Thank you."
She scratched behind the Admiral's ears, and smiled when his purr rumbled through her slowly refilling heart.
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18. For
alexseanchai: any, a cat's job is never done, written 2/7/21
Partnership (180 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives
-----
His Person was in the quiet room again, and he knew a Good Cat wouldn't interrupt while she hunted just like she didn't interrupt while he chased the tricky red dot, but she'd been in there for so long and it was nearly Dinner Time.
Fortunately he knew how to get in -- leap, catch the lever, let his weight pull down, twist and kick just so until the door swung open -- after which he trotted across the floor, leapt onto the Desk Of Don't Touch, caught his Person's eye, and very deliberately swatted one of the scratchy black things.
"Admiral, no!" she said, but the note in her voice said 'playing, chase-and-pounce' and also 'tired and hungry,' so he knew she didn't mean it; when she gathered him into her arms and carried him to the kitchen, humming under her breath the way that was almost like purring, that only proved what he already knew: sometimes he needed her (to open the Cans of Wet Food and scratch the hard-to-reach places), but sometimes his Person needed him just as much.
---------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------
More to come as I write them. :) If you want to comment on this post, you can do so over here on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)
All prompts drawn from the current iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon, hosted by the wonderful
rthstewart. Come join the fun!
---------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------
13. For anonymous: Now I want all the scenes of them practicing sword-fighting ;), written 2/5/21
Master Class (160 words)
Companion to Whoso Pulleth out This Sword. Long-time readers may remember Sir Vladislav from Secrets, my retelling of CoS from Ginny's point of view. :D
-----
"I know the Room of Requirement can provide almost anything, but I think a live teacher is a bit beyond its abilities, and there's a limit to what anyone can learn from an instruction manual," Neville said as he and Ginny paced back and forth before the blank stretch of wall.
Alarmingly, Ginny grinned: "Oh, don't worry -- I asked our instructor yesterday, and since he's already part of the castle I'm sure the Room can move him around without much trouble."
When the door appeared, she flung it open onto a bare expanse with a polished wood floor and an intimidating number of sharp, antique weapons mounted on the wall. "Hello, Sir Vladislav!" she called; "This is my friend Neville, and we're here to learn how not to kill ourselves with swords."
The suit of enchanted armor waiting in the center of the room set its gauntlet on the pommel of its broadsword and bowed.
Gulping, Neville did the same.
---------------
---------------
14. For anonymous: any, any, justice delayed is justice denied, written 2/5/21
A Sheath Rusted Shut (70 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives. SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 193!
-----
When they descended from the Panopticon and reported what they'd found, Melanie aimed a bitter smile in Jon's general direction.
"You should've let me kill Elias while I still had a chance," she said; "Even if it did mean we all died with him, better that than this. Now I could stab him in the eyes a hundred times and he wouldn't feel a thing -- where's the justice in that?"
---------------
---------------
15. For
eagleoftheninth: Any fandom/characters, this tumblr post: https://wantshapesthem.tumblr.com/post/641796522747543552/an-apocalyptic-cult-prophetically-warning-that-the, written 2/5/21
Wiggle Eschatology (175 words)
Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia
-----
"No, I don't have any stories about the end of the world," Feathersnap said to the humans on her flatbed raft, which she was poling slowly across the marshy shallows of the Shribble; "I don't believe in the end of the world."
"But surely the end of the world is the worst thing that could possibly happen," one of the humans said, with a note in her voice that suggested she was the kind of person happiest in the middle of an argument, "and the Marsh-wiggles are acknowledged throughout Narnia as the experts on all the ways things can go wrong; therefore you must have some predictions."
Feathersnap shook her head dolefully, setting the decorative shells and fishbones on the brim of her hat swinging: "Ah no, I see where you've grabbed the wrong end of the stick and got muck all over your hand; if the world ends, that means there'll eventually be an end to all our problems, and I promise you we're none of us getting out of this mess that easily."
---------------
---------------
16. For
acequeenking: Any / Any, For every mystery, there is somewhere, somewhere, who knows the truth. Perhaps that someone is watching. Perhaps… it’s you, written 2/7/21
And Now a Word from Our Sponsors (160 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives
-----
"What's that meant to be advertising -- a remote webcam-activation service for stalkers?" Melanie asked, barging into Georgie's recording studio with blithe assurance of her welcome (which was fair enough; the little 'recording' button Georgie'd rewired to do a Braille display along with the red light hadn't been on and Georgie was always game for a distraction from rehearsals).
"A new true crime webcast from some American newspaper," Georgie said, slipping her headphones down around her neck and spinning her chair to face her girlfriend, hands outstretched to meet Melanie's own questing fingers; "It is a bit pretentious, isn't it?"
Melanie snorted. "God, can't you just imagine Jon reading it in that-- that voice he uses for statements?"
"Yes, and now I'll have that stuck in my head all day," Georgie grumbled.
"The horror of it all. Let me see if I can give you something better to focus on," Melanie said, and let Georgie guide her in for a kiss.
---------------
---------------
17. For
alexaseanchai: any, adopted by a cat, written 2/7/21
Re-Socialization (1,045 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives. As you can see, this one got away from me a bit. *wry*
-----
One of the first things Georgie did, after she regained enough of herself to feel -- not better, no, but like better might be a possibility someday in the future -- was look up a local RSPCA branch and volunteer to help socialize rescued cats.
"I have limited mobility right now," she said, "but I grew up with three cats, I can provide a warm lap and act non-threatening, and I do very good 'stop that' body language and hisses when kittens get too enthusiastic with their claws."
"Indoor work, then -- can you manage three to six on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons?" the volunteer coordinator asked, and that was that.
After a couple months of socializing traumatized cats, forcing herself into gradually extending daily walks, and slowly dipping her toes back into contact with her emotions (except fear; for some reason fear hadn't started to reappear, even in an attenuated, washed-out form like her other emotions had when they began to seep back), Georgie asked if she could switch to fostering instead. "I think I have enough energy back to give one or two cats my full attention," she told the volunteer coordinator.
Her first assignment was a pair of kittens, both gray tabby and fluffy enough to withstand an Arctic winter, who had been found in a box floating in circles on top of a storm drain. The rescuer had called them Dreadnought and Torpedo, on account of their nautical exploits.
"Those are terrible names," Georgie said as the male kitten (slightly fluffier than his sister, but distinguishable mostly by the widow's peak mark on his forehead whereas his sister's stripes didn't start until between her ears) cheeped in protest that she wasn't instantly refilling his dish of kitten-safe wet food, "not dignified enough or properly silly, and I refuse to use them. We'll call you Sir and your sister Dame until I think of something that suits. What do you say to that?"
The newly renamed Sir yawned, displaying his tiny, needle-sharp teeth, and squeaked.
"Quite right," Georgie agreed, and plopped another dab of food into his dish.
It was humbling, being responsible for two tiny lives -- and also made her feel more fully alive than anything else. Yes, the moment she died would feel exactly the same as this present moment, all things would end, and the universe was ultimately a machine slowly losing tension and winding down to futile silence, but here and now there were two kittens cheeping and purring and getting into absolutely every corner of her flat. Georgie knew it made no deep, existential difference if they died now or twenty years later, but she told herself firmly that those years certainly made a difference to the cats in question, as well as a difference to her... and for the first time since the corpse had spoken, she halfway believed it.
By the time the kittens were scheduled to be spayed and neutered, Georgie had settled on better names. The female kitten, now revealed as a daredevil with a penchant for escaping into the building hallway and loudly accosting Georgie's neighbors for adoration sessions, was the Pirate Queen. The male kitten, quieter and more dignified (insofar as any kitten had any sense of dignity), as well as more standoffish and prone to watching events from the top of the bookcase, was the Admiral.
"That way you both command your own fleets," Georgie told them, "and you can work together or against each other depending on the tides of politics, which explains both your spats and your cuddlefests." The kittens, busily engaged in a mutual grooming session, ignored her until she danced the bedraggled remains of a sock over the heads and they collapsed in a tangle of legs and eager chirping.
Georgie laughed.
She kept moving the sock on autopilot, too surprised by her own laughter to pay attention to her body. She would have expected it to sound rusty, awkward, like a battered engine coughing its way to ignition. Instead, it sound normal. Like she'd never forgotten how, like joy had been lurking within her all along.
The Admiral dug his claws into the sock and tried to climb it like a rope. The Pirate Queen stood on her hind paws and swatted at her brother.
"You're a heavy boy," Georgie said, and dropped the sock so the kittens could squabble over its possession.
The Pirate Queen won and trotted off with her spoils of war. The Admiral claimed Georgie's lap in compensation, and let her pet his belly, fingers sinking deep into his soft grey fluff.
"I think you've been claimed," the RSPCA vet said when Georgie hauled the two kittens in for their procedures.
"What?"
"Look at them -- she's off charming the world, but he's stuck to you like a burr," the vet clarified.
Georgie glanced down at the Admiral, who was, true to the vet's description, huddled in her arms like she was a knight in shining armor ready to defend him against the dangers of this strange, loud, bright place, purring up a nervous storm. Meanwhile the Pirate Queen was making love to the assistant vet tech's ankles.
Inexplicably, she felt herself flush. "I didn't mean for either of them to get attached."
The vet shrugged as the tech lifted the Pirate Queen onto the examination table. "It happens -- sometimes people adopt cats, other times cats adopt people. Is there any reason you couldn't keep him long-term?"
"I'm going back to uni this fall," Georgie started, then paused. "But he'll be old enough by then that I can leave him alone while I'm in class, and I can work to make sure I have a long break around lunch. Do you think I'd be approved, if I asked to adopt him?"
"So long as his health is good and your flat checks out, I don't see why not," the vet said. "There's always a percentage of foster placements that turn into forever homes, and you probably weren't going to continue fostering while attending university anyway. I can put in a word, if you're worried."
"I think I'd like that," Georgie said. "Yeah. I'd definitely like that. Thank you."
She scratched behind the Admiral's ears, and smiled when his purr rumbled through her slowly refilling heart.
---------------
---------------
18. For
alexseanchai: any, a cat's job is never done, written 2/7/21
Partnership (180 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives
-----
His Person was in the quiet room again, and he knew a Good Cat wouldn't interrupt while she hunted just like she didn't interrupt while he chased the tricky red dot, but she'd been in there for so long and it was nearly Dinner Time.
Fortunately he knew how to get in -- leap, catch the lever, let his weight pull down, twist and kick just so until the door swung open -- after which he trotted across the floor, leapt onto the Desk Of Don't Touch, caught his Person's eye, and very deliberately swatted one of the scratchy black things.
"Admiral, no!" she said, but the note in her voice said 'playing, chase-and-pounce' and also 'tired and hungry,' so he knew she didn't mean it; when she gathered him into her arms and carried him to the kitchen, humming under her breath the way that was almost like purring, that only proved what he already knew: sometimes he needed her (to open the Cans of Wet Food and scratch the hard-to-reach places), but sometimes his Person needed him just as much.
---------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------
More to come as I write them. :) If you want to comment on this post, you can do so over here on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)