[Fic] Three Sentence Ficathon 2021 fills, part eleven
Batch the eleventh. :)
All prompts drawn from the 2021 iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon (post one and post two), hosted by the wonderful
rthstewart. The ficathon is now closed to new prompts, but you can continue filling prompts and commenting on other people's fills for as long as you like!
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61. For anonymous: Any, any, illuminated manuscripts, written 3/6/21
Be Light Made (280 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives
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Library of Jurgen Leitner, Catalog Item #732: An illuminated manuscript copy of Genesis 1:1-4, single page, held within two pressboard report covers; the text appears to be from the Douay-Rheims translation, which is notable in that the work is clearly hand-scribed on parchment rather than a hand-illustrated printed text or an engraved print, despite the technologies prevalent at the time of the English College, Douai's work.
Main Effect: When read aloud, the text produces a clear, bright light that illumines a sphere of thirty-foot radius around the page, in which no shadow is present and all things are visible, including the interiors of normally solid objects; when read silently, this effect is apparently limited to the perception of the reader; and in both cases, the effect dissipates after approximately seven minutes.
Secondary Effects: One reading produces no obvious negative effects, aside from the frequent horror and revulsion at the sight of normally hidden aspects of the world; however, with each subsequent reading, whether silently or aloud, and regardless of the length between incidents, the effect doubles in its duration for the reader -- note that this extension does not apply to a bystander within the thirty-foot radius who simply hears the words; for bystanders, the original seven minute duration continues to apply no matter how many times the text is overheard -- until it becomes effectively permanent, with a duration longer than the reader's projected lifespan; additionally, because the light penetrates normally solid objects, closing one's eyes provides no relief; the long-term effects of such expanded perception have thus far been impossible to determine, as the initial test subject committed suicide and no other assistants have volunteered to replicate the experiment.
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62. For anonymous: Twelve Dancing Princesses, any princess except the eldest or youngest, forgotten middle child no more, written 3/7/21
Escapism (335 words)
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We all knew the dancing would end someday: that either one of the suitors would discover our secret, our father would tire of the riddle and marry us off one by one, or our mysterious underground escape would turn into a trap.
For my sisters, the very transient nature of our freedom made them reluctant to question -- why did the passageway open to our hall? why did the princes not court ladies of their own realm? why were we not permitted to stay once our shoes were worn through? -- and I admit I was too afraid myself to risk upsetting the spell, to the point where I laughed at a good dozen men's deaths by our father's decree (though in truth, when one considers the many wars he provoked and the draconian laws he set forth, a dozen foolhardy princes and knights are scarcely worth mentioning).
But with my eldest sister married to a soldier, our father passed away, and my other sisters shipped off one by one to marry strangers in lands as foreign as the underworld yet far less free, I remembered the twigs and the cup my brother-in-law carried out of the earth as his proof, and it dawned on me both that a seed remembers its source and that bricking up one door does not preclude opening another: and so I put my old skills to the test once more (did you think my eldest sister brewed the sleeping draughts herself? don't be a fool; her interests always lay in taxes and budgets, as our youngest sister's interest lay in music, my second-eldest sister's in embroidery, and so on -- we are twelve people, not an indistinguishable mass) and stole both myself and those relics out from under the watchful castle guards; for an escape is not complete if it merely enlarges the bounds of one's cage -- when I next venture into that shining, underground land, I shall return to a home where I alone control the lock and hold the keys.
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63. For anonymous: Any, any, two perfect pears, written 3/9/21
Grin and Pear It (160 words)
Fandom = Doctor Who
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"'Two perfect pears' is a contradiction in terms, because there is no way on this or any other planet or plane of existence that a pear can be anything other than a foul waste of water and fructose," the Doctor said, glaring at the fruit basket Martha was poking through in the TARDIS kitchen.
"Pear blossom's awfully pretty, though, and you can't get the trees or flowers without the fruit," Martha said, twirling one of the pears -- a lovely, firm green fruit, with just a hint of blush near one side of its base -- and wondering if she trusted the grateful farmer's market vendors of New New Earth to have washed their produce before presenting her and the Doctor with a fresh and delicious reward.
"I cannot believe your lack of imagination, Martha Jones -- what about grafting, or cloning, or genetic engineering, or--" the Doctor began, only to sputter into undignified silence when Martha grinned and took a juicy bite.
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64. For
syrena_of_the_lake: Looney Tunes, any, oh what heights we'll hit, written 3/9/21
First Contact (155 words)
-----
"I'm not entirely certain, but as of our most recent intercepted radio transmission, I believe that Earth hasn't given Mars diplomatic recognition, let alone begun sending live embassies," Marvin said, pointing his disintegrator at the gently sizzling brown-furred creature at the bottom of a new impact crater near Argyre Planitia, surrounded by what looked like the debris of an unreasonably large cast iron pot with a clamp-on lid and some sort of primitive spring-launch mechanism; "Hands up and explain yourself, Earthling spy."
The furred creature stuck one arm straight up, waving a tiny white flag with I SURRENDER blazoned across the fabric -- exactly the sort of cowardly move a spy would make, Marvin thought, and also self-evidently not an explanation; he readied himself to shoot.
"Meep meep," an unfamiliar voice said from behind him, and Marvin had just enough time to turn and see a feathery blur bearing down before the impact knocked him flying.
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65. For
eagleoftheninth: Narnia, any, the kind of odd spirits and whatnot you get in Calormen and/or the Lone Islands, written 3/31/21
Quiet Neighbors (370 words)
-----
The lands beyond the reach of Aslan's voice did not spring to life all at once, joyous and undeniable; they woke slowly, gradually, over decades and centuries (or faster, if gods or humans moved in and took an interest), and so the spirits of the land were sparser, shyer, interwoven with those who walked their lands as folktales and whispered glimpses rather than friends from whom one could, if not precisely borrow a sack of flour or a pat of butter, then certainly exchange casual gossip; they were quiet neighbors.
There was a well-spirit who lived on Aravis's father's estate in Calavar, who had bargained generations past for a plate of honey-cakes and one silver coin each new moon -- so long as the contract was kept, the well stayed sweet and full, but should anyone miss a month, the old slaves whispered, the water might turn to salt or sink down past the reach of any mortal arm; when she arrived in Narnia and curtseyed to a naiad, Aravis wondered if that well-spirit had ever taken human shape, or chosen a gender, or asked if there were others of its kind; she knew, now, what it felt like to be alone in a strange land, to be treated with propriety but rarely with true respect, and she would not wish that on anyone regardless of their nature.
There was a tricky stone between Arsheesh's hut and the village, which liked to shift its place -- never when anyone was watching, but some mornings its bulk loomed above the rutted path, some days below, and now and then precisely in the middle where Shasta had to thrash his way through brambles and scrub to get around it; always around, never over, because even a minor spirit had its pride -- and he wondered now and then why the stone failed to bury Arsheesh and Anradin the way rumor said it had buried a minor Tarkaan who came to collect taxes in the form of two dozen slaves three generations past; but human feet fell lightly upon the earth and words carried even less weight, and in the end the departure of one foreign foundling must have seemed no great loss to a stone.
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66. For
rthstewart: Bujold -Penric's Demon, Penric and Desdemona, dressed to kill, written 3/31/21
Aftermath (200 words)
Set in the bad period between Penric's Fox and Masquerade in Lodi.
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There are two main points to consider when dressing for any event, Desdemona said as Penric lay on his bed, staring up through the darkness at the wooden beams and boards of his ceiling and trying not to think about either the pain in his wrists or facing the judgment of the Mother's clergy tomorrow; First, always choose something in which you can move freely, because one never knows what chaos may break out; second, consider the effect you intend to produce in your audience -- to stand out, to go unnoticed, to entice, to appall, or any other reaction -- and ensure that your clothes, your hair, your speech, and your bearing work together to enhance that effect.
"What effect do you think I should aim for?" Penric said, voice still a little hoarse from their morning fight, but no less flat than it had been for months now: hollowed by the endless string of deaths and failure.
Horror and shame, since evidently sympathy and sense are in low supply in these parts, Desdemona said; Wear your braids to remind them which god has truest claim on your soul, and leave your arms bare -- I can take care of the rest.
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I really do need to crosspost a lot of my more recent fic to AO3...
I also really do not want to deal with the logistics. Blargh. 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 2021 iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon (post one and post two), hosted by the wonderful
rthstewart. The ficathon is now closed to new prompts, but you can continue filling prompts and commenting on other people's fills for as long as you like!
---------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------
61. For anonymous: Any, any, illuminated manuscripts, written 3/6/21
Be Light Made (280 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives
-----
Library of Jurgen Leitner, Catalog Item #732: An illuminated manuscript copy of Genesis 1:1-4, single page, held within two pressboard report covers; the text appears to be from the Douay-Rheims translation, which is notable in that the work is clearly hand-scribed on parchment rather than a hand-illustrated printed text or an engraved print, despite the technologies prevalent at the time of the English College, Douai's work.
Main Effect: When read aloud, the text produces a clear, bright light that illumines a sphere of thirty-foot radius around the page, in which no shadow is present and all things are visible, including the interiors of normally solid objects; when read silently, this effect is apparently limited to the perception of the reader; and in both cases, the effect dissipates after approximately seven minutes.
Secondary Effects: One reading produces no obvious negative effects, aside from the frequent horror and revulsion at the sight of normally hidden aspects of the world; however, with each subsequent reading, whether silently or aloud, and regardless of the length between incidents, the effect doubles in its duration for the reader -- note that this extension does not apply to a bystander within the thirty-foot radius who simply hears the words; for bystanders, the original seven minute duration continues to apply no matter how many times the text is overheard -- until it becomes effectively permanent, with a duration longer than the reader's projected lifespan; additionally, because the light penetrates normally solid objects, closing one's eyes provides no relief; the long-term effects of such expanded perception have thus far been impossible to determine, as the initial test subject committed suicide and no other assistants have volunteered to replicate the experiment.
---------------
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62. For anonymous: Twelve Dancing Princesses, any princess except the eldest or youngest, forgotten middle child no more, written 3/7/21
Escapism (335 words)
-----
We all knew the dancing would end someday: that either one of the suitors would discover our secret, our father would tire of the riddle and marry us off one by one, or our mysterious underground escape would turn into a trap.
For my sisters, the very transient nature of our freedom made them reluctant to question -- why did the passageway open to our hall? why did the princes not court ladies of their own realm? why were we not permitted to stay once our shoes were worn through? -- and I admit I was too afraid myself to risk upsetting the spell, to the point where I laughed at a good dozen men's deaths by our father's decree (though in truth, when one considers the many wars he provoked and the draconian laws he set forth, a dozen foolhardy princes and knights are scarcely worth mentioning).
But with my eldest sister married to a soldier, our father passed away, and my other sisters shipped off one by one to marry strangers in lands as foreign as the underworld yet far less free, I remembered the twigs and the cup my brother-in-law carried out of the earth as his proof, and it dawned on me both that a seed remembers its source and that bricking up one door does not preclude opening another: and so I put my old skills to the test once more (did you think my eldest sister brewed the sleeping draughts herself? don't be a fool; her interests always lay in taxes and budgets, as our youngest sister's interest lay in music, my second-eldest sister's in embroidery, and so on -- we are twelve people, not an indistinguishable mass) and stole both myself and those relics out from under the watchful castle guards; for an escape is not complete if it merely enlarges the bounds of one's cage -- when I next venture into that shining, underground land, I shall return to a home where I alone control the lock and hold the keys.
---------------
---------------
63. For anonymous: Any, any, two perfect pears, written 3/9/21
Grin and Pear It (160 words)
Fandom = Doctor Who
-----
"'Two perfect pears' is a contradiction in terms, because there is no way on this or any other planet or plane of existence that a pear can be anything other than a foul waste of water and fructose," the Doctor said, glaring at the fruit basket Martha was poking through in the TARDIS kitchen.
"Pear blossom's awfully pretty, though, and you can't get the trees or flowers without the fruit," Martha said, twirling one of the pears -- a lovely, firm green fruit, with just a hint of blush near one side of its base -- and wondering if she trusted the grateful farmer's market vendors of New New Earth to have washed their produce before presenting her and the Doctor with a fresh and delicious reward.
"I cannot believe your lack of imagination, Martha Jones -- what about grafting, or cloning, or genetic engineering, or--" the Doctor began, only to sputter into undignified silence when Martha grinned and took a juicy bite.
---------------
---------------
64. For
syrena_of_the_lake: Looney Tunes, any, oh what heights we'll hit, written 3/9/21
First Contact (155 words)
-----
"I'm not entirely certain, but as of our most recent intercepted radio transmission, I believe that Earth hasn't given Mars diplomatic recognition, let alone begun sending live embassies," Marvin said, pointing his disintegrator at the gently sizzling brown-furred creature at the bottom of a new impact crater near Argyre Planitia, surrounded by what looked like the debris of an unreasonably large cast iron pot with a clamp-on lid and some sort of primitive spring-launch mechanism; "Hands up and explain yourself, Earthling spy."
The furred creature stuck one arm straight up, waving a tiny white flag with I SURRENDER blazoned across the fabric -- exactly the sort of cowardly move a spy would make, Marvin thought, and also self-evidently not an explanation; he readied himself to shoot.
"Meep meep," an unfamiliar voice said from behind him, and Marvin had just enough time to turn and see a feathery blur bearing down before the impact knocked him flying.
---------------
---------------
65. For
eagleoftheninth: Narnia, any, the kind of odd spirits and whatnot you get in Calormen and/or the Lone Islands, written 3/31/21
Quiet Neighbors (370 words)
-----
The lands beyond the reach of Aslan's voice did not spring to life all at once, joyous and undeniable; they woke slowly, gradually, over decades and centuries (or faster, if gods or humans moved in and took an interest), and so the spirits of the land were sparser, shyer, interwoven with those who walked their lands as folktales and whispered glimpses rather than friends from whom one could, if not precisely borrow a sack of flour or a pat of butter, then certainly exchange casual gossip; they were quiet neighbors.
There was a well-spirit who lived on Aravis's father's estate in Calavar, who had bargained generations past for a plate of honey-cakes and one silver coin each new moon -- so long as the contract was kept, the well stayed sweet and full, but should anyone miss a month, the old slaves whispered, the water might turn to salt or sink down past the reach of any mortal arm; when she arrived in Narnia and curtseyed to a naiad, Aravis wondered if that well-spirit had ever taken human shape, or chosen a gender, or asked if there were others of its kind; she knew, now, what it felt like to be alone in a strange land, to be treated with propriety but rarely with true respect, and she would not wish that on anyone regardless of their nature.
There was a tricky stone between Arsheesh's hut and the village, which liked to shift its place -- never when anyone was watching, but some mornings its bulk loomed above the rutted path, some days below, and now and then precisely in the middle where Shasta had to thrash his way through brambles and scrub to get around it; always around, never over, because even a minor spirit had its pride -- and he wondered now and then why the stone failed to bury Arsheesh and Anradin the way rumor said it had buried a minor Tarkaan who came to collect taxes in the form of two dozen slaves three generations past; but human feet fell lightly upon the earth and words carried even less weight, and in the end the departure of one foreign foundling must have seemed no great loss to a stone.
---------------
---------------
66. For
rthstewart: Bujold -Penric's Demon, Penric and Desdemona, dressed to kill, written 3/31/21
Aftermath (200 words)
Set in the bad period between Penric's Fox and Masquerade in Lodi.
-----
There are two main points to consider when dressing for any event, Desdemona said as Penric lay on his bed, staring up through the darkness at the wooden beams and boards of his ceiling and trying not to think about either the pain in his wrists or facing the judgment of the Mother's clergy tomorrow; First, always choose something in which you can move freely, because one never knows what chaos may break out; second, consider the effect you intend to produce in your audience -- to stand out, to go unnoticed, to entice, to appall, or any other reaction -- and ensure that your clothes, your hair, your speech, and your bearing work together to enhance that effect.
"What effect do you think I should aim for?" Penric said, voice still a little hoarse from their morning fight, but no less flat than it had been for months now: hollowed by the endless string of deaths and failure.
Horror and shame, since evidently sympathy and sense are in low supply in these parts, Desdemona said; Wear your braids to remind them which god has truest claim on your soul, and leave your arms bare -- I can take care of the rest.
---------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------
I really do need to crosspost a lot of my more recent fic to AO3...
I also really do not want to deal with the logistics. Blargh. If you want to comment on this post, you can do so over here on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)