Lone Bunny - DF/RPG
I tend to cycle through fandoms, finding new ones and getting lost for a bit, before returning to old standbys. Supernatural, Thor, and Dresden Files are my big three. Lately I've been attacked by plot bunnies for Dresden Files as I try to stick to my new Mission Statement (plans are doomed to failure) to only work on one Fanfic at a time. But bunnies build up, and before I tackle the next project I thought I'd excise some of these fuzzy ficlets from my brain.
So here's one that doesn't actually have a plot. I haven't even decided where in the timeline it starts other than Post Storm Front and before Mouse is acquired. Also, while I was initially inspired by an old kinkmeme prompt and too many The Gamer crossovers I'm mixing several systems.
Dresden: The RPG
A Dresden Files Fanfic
Rated G
Summary - Instead of running into the Leansidhe when fleeing from Justin, Harry met an altogether different sort of entity in the Nevernever. Now he's got all these nifty pop up screens that only he can see. Too bad he can't tell anyone, they already think he's a Warlock in hiding...
Harry Dresden woke up as he usually did, with a slight crick in his neck and a familiar bit of insanity floating just above his nose. He would never be sure if it was the years of consistent weirdness that inured him to it all, or if something inside him had broken the night he’d cast his first Fuego and subsequently been hauled before the White Council. Harry pawed at the air as he gave a jaw cracking yawn and the near transparent screen vanished like mist in the sun. It had been the same alert he always got after passing out at home: You have rested in [cramped] bed. Mana and Health have restored to 80 percent!
The message was a little depressing, but it wasn’t like he could go out and get a nicer bed. For one thing, the majority of his funds were iffy in their sources at best, and could get him arrested at worst. For another? His bedroom itself was cramped. It wasn’t even originally a bedroom, but a storage area used by the previous apartment handyman. On particularly hot days it still smelled like aged pine and varnish.
Harry’s feet hit the rug as he shifted upright, toes digging into the shaggy material, and began his morning ritual of swiping at the air in route motions that would have even his fellow wizards questioning his need to be committed. Or executed. Everyday little transparent screens that only he, or his war party, could see refreshed themselves and crowded around like puppies after milk. Harry gave most of them only a brief glance before his finger alighted on the minimization icon at the top corner of every screen.
His personal pocket dimension of holding still had the hickory handled axe he’d left within for emergencies, as well as a small stash of gold doubloons, bags of discounted halloween candy, semi-precious stones, questionable potion ingredients, and a baker’s dozen stack of Pizza ‘Spress pizzas. The area map reported no change in the wards, or presence of enemies, though Mister was lurking under the coffee table in his sitting room and what was probably a pixie of some sort exploring his garbage. Susan had left a message on his answering machine, though the cheerful green text did not tell him which one as he dismissed it. He had no active Quests other than the eternally ignored Bright Side of Life which was ongoing and completion of it meant he had learned, mastered, and successfully implemented the skill Death Curse.
As he cleared out the screen clutter, Harry paused at the last transparent plaque, a ripple of discontent moving through him. Different from the rest of the screens it was waiting with strange cheer and bore a familiar (!) header at the top proclaiming: The Experience of Skill: Iron Will Increased! Iron Will [Passive] lvl 14 Exp: 12.57% - Mental Fortitude & Sense of Self Increases. Lowers Susceptibility to [Intimidate] and [Enthrall]. Negates all Fae Glamour at lvl [23]+5 and below. Psychic Assault damage lowered by 38%.
“Damn.” Harry whispered, running his fingers through his bed mussed hair and considered his options. His wards hadn’t reacted, so he hadn’t been attacked in the mortal world, but the realm of dreams and the faerie planes were so closely bordered it was all too easy for the unwary to step from one to the other and never notice. Coma patients did it all the time. That was how you became a coma patient. Harry leaned back on the bed and gestured with right thumb and middle finger as though he were stretching a piece of tacky gum between them. A bit of focus accompanied the action, and immediately a formerly shrunk screen popped back up and even expanded past the morning’s truncated form.
NAME: Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden
RACE: Human
CLASS: Wizard
LEVEL: 23
Title: Shoestring Sleuth
Patron: ???
Apprenticed first under Wizard DuMorne and later Wizard "Blackstaff" McCoy, Dresden seeks to atone for past actions by helping the helpless.
Health: 822/1025
Mana: 1772/2220
Current Status Effects: Marked.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. No status effects, no new ones at any rate, so unless someone had managed to get their hooks into both him and whatever greater power governed The Game his [Iron Will] had weathered the mental attack in the night. He didn’t remember much beyond bits of weird dreams, that maybe he was being hunted through a garden that would do the Red Queen proud, but by what he couldn’t say. The Jabberwocky? Dogs? His Landlady? There had been a woman, too, with pouting lips and hair like freshly spilled blood. Truthfully, the only reason he remembered that much was because he clearly recalled frantically punching the ‘No’ option in the Hound Days prompt that came up.
Harry got up from the bed and began rooting around his dresser for a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt. He was still pulling the latter over his head as he exited the bedroom when Mister bolted from under the table, the great beast running straight for his shins and demanding his due. Harry stumbled, caught himself, and gave his familiar a long stroke from the tip of his nose to the stub of his tail. In a habit born from late nights nursing a bloody, mewling ball of fuzz and rage Harry murmured a quiet, “Spectus”. There was faint twinge between his eyes as the word left his lips. It wasn’t the Sight; in some ways it was worse and some better. A Wizard’s Sight needed no activation phrase merely an internal application of will, and what was seen was the unforgettable raw nature of a thing. [Spectus] boiled everything down to numbers, facts, and flavor text. The one time Harry’s had tried to use [Spectus] in combination with his Sight he’d given himself a bloody nose and lost his memory of the previous three days.
Mister purred like a small engine under Harry’s hands, while under Harry’s gaze the cat’s profile unfolded in blocky green and black.
NAME: Mister Mistoffelees
RACE: Cat, Wandering
LEVEL: 5
Patron: Harry B.C. Dresden
A most magical cat. Prolonged exposure to high concentrations of magical energies have created within him an adept beyond most feline potentials.
Health: 60/60
Mana: 75/80
“Let’s get you some breakfast, hmm?” Harry grinned, scratching behind a scarred and furry ear. Mister yowled and followed his human to the little kitchenette, twineing about Harry’s legs and trying to trip him up, before sitting regally beside his bowl. Kitty kibble filled it with a sound not dissimilar to that of the dry cereal Harry poured into his own bowl, though instead of metal the wizard ate from plastic molded to look like the bottom half of an ice cream cone. Harry ate, and thought. He had no conscious control over [Iron Will], not like his spells or even a few skills such as [Lig-No], but it was a reactive spell. Always on watch. Wary.
Maybe that said something about him more than the skill, but someone had tried to fuck with him last night. The attack had been repulsed, but this wasn’t the first time. He'd gone up three whole levels after the fight with Sells, when it usually took him a year or more to advance. Another two after taking down the Loup-Garou, and the FBI guys hadn't picked up those belts from Goodwill.
Harry munched on the dry cereal in his mouth, watched his own health meter tick up, then slid his gaze down to Mister. Soft brown eyes met self-satisfied gold. “You know, I think someone may be trying to kill me.”
So here's one that doesn't actually have a plot. I haven't even decided where in the timeline it starts other than Post Storm Front and before Mouse is acquired. Also, while I was initially inspired by an old kinkmeme prompt and too many The Gamer crossovers I'm mixing several systems.
Dresden: The RPG
A Dresden Files Fanfic
Rated G
Summary - Instead of running into the Leansidhe when fleeing from Justin, Harry met an altogether different sort of entity in the Nevernever. Now he's got all these nifty pop up screens that only he can see. Too bad he can't tell anyone, they already think he's a Warlock in hiding...
Harry Dresden woke up as he usually did, with a slight crick in his neck and a familiar bit of insanity floating just above his nose. He would never be sure if it was the years of consistent weirdness that inured him to it all, or if something inside him had broken the night he’d cast his first Fuego and subsequently been hauled before the White Council. Harry pawed at the air as he gave a jaw cracking yawn and the near transparent screen vanished like mist in the sun. It had been the same alert he always got after passing out at home: You have rested in [cramped] bed. Mana and Health have restored to 80 percent!
The message was a little depressing, but it wasn’t like he could go out and get a nicer bed. For one thing, the majority of his funds were iffy in their sources at best, and could get him arrested at worst. For another? His bedroom itself was cramped. It wasn’t even originally a bedroom, but a storage area used by the previous apartment handyman. On particularly hot days it still smelled like aged pine and varnish.
Harry’s feet hit the rug as he shifted upright, toes digging into the shaggy material, and began his morning ritual of swiping at the air in route motions that would have even his fellow wizards questioning his need to be committed. Or executed. Everyday little transparent screens that only he, or his war party, could see refreshed themselves and crowded around like puppies after milk. Harry gave most of them only a brief glance before his finger alighted on the minimization icon at the top corner of every screen.
His personal pocket dimension of holding still had the hickory handled axe he’d left within for emergencies, as well as a small stash of gold doubloons, bags of discounted halloween candy, semi-precious stones, questionable potion ingredients, and a baker’s dozen stack of Pizza ‘Spress pizzas. The area map reported no change in the wards, or presence of enemies, though Mister was lurking under the coffee table in his sitting room and what was probably a pixie of some sort exploring his garbage. Susan had left a message on his answering machine, though the cheerful green text did not tell him which one as he dismissed it. He had no active Quests other than the eternally ignored Bright Side of Life which was ongoing and completion of it meant he had learned, mastered, and successfully implemented the skill Death Curse.
As he cleared out the screen clutter, Harry paused at the last transparent plaque, a ripple of discontent moving through him. Different from the rest of the screens it was waiting with strange cheer and bore a familiar (!) header at the top proclaiming: The Experience of Skill: Iron Will Increased! Iron Will [Passive] lvl 14 Exp: 12.57% - Mental Fortitude & Sense of Self Increases. Lowers Susceptibility to [Intimidate] and [Enthrall]. Negates all Fae Glamour at lvl [23]+5 and below. Psychic Assault damage lowered by 38%.
“Damn.” Harry whispered, running his fingers through his bed mussed hair and considered his options. His wards hadn’t reacted, so he hadn’t been attacked in the mortal world, but the realm of dreams and the faerie planes were so closely bordered it was all too easy for the unwary to step from one to the other and never notice. Coma patients did it all the time. That was how you became a coma patient. Harry leaned back on the bed and gestured with right thumb and middle finger as though he were stretching a piece of tacky gum between them. A bit of focus accompanied the action, and immediately a formerly shrunk screen popped back up and even expanded past the morning’s truncated form.
NAME: Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden
RACE: Human
CLASS: Wizard
LEVEL: 23
Title: Shoestring Sleuth
Patron: ???
Apprenticed first under Wizard DuMorne and later Wizard "Blackstaff" McCoy, Dresden seeks to atone for past actions by helping the helpless.
Health: 822/1025
Mana: 1772/2220
Current Status Effects: Marked.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. No status effects, no new ones at any rate, so unless someone had managed to get their hooks into both him and whatever greater power governed The Game his [Iron Will] had weathered the mental attack in the night. He didn’t remember much beyond bits of weird dreams, that maybe he was being hunted through a garden that would do the Red Queen proud, but by what he couldn’t say. The Jabberwocky? Dogs? His Landlady? There had been a woman, too, with pouting lips and hair like freshly spilled blood. Truthfully, the only reason he remembered that much was because he clearly recalled frantically punching the ‘No’ option in the Hound Days prompt that came up.
Harry got up from the bed and began rooting around his dresser for a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt. He was still pulling the latter over his head as he exited the bedroom when Mister bolted from under the table, the great beast running straight for his shins and demanding his due. Harry stumbled, caught himself, and gave his familiar a long stroke from the tip of his nose to the stub of his tail. In a habit born from late nights nursing a bloody, mewling ball of fuzz and rage Harry murmured a quiet, “Spectus”. There was faint twinge between his eyes as the word left his lips. It wasn’t the Sight; in some ways it was worse and some better. A Wizard’s Sight needed no activation phrase merely an internal application of will, and what was seen was the unforgettable raw nature of a thing. [Spectus] boiled everything down to numbers, facts, and flavor text. The one time Harry’s had tried to use [Spectus] in combination with his Sight he’d given himself a bloody nose and lost his memory of the previous three days.
Mister purred like a small engine under Harry’s hands, while under Harry’s gaze the cat’s profile unfolded in blocky green and black.
NAME: Mister Mistoffelees
RACE: Cat, Wandering
LEVEL: 5
Patron: Harry B.C. Dresden
A most magical cat. Prolonged exposure to high concentrations of magical energies have created within him an adept beyond most feline potentials.
Health: 60/60
Mana: 75/80
“Let’s get you some breakfast, hmm?” Harry grinned, scratching behind a scarred and furry ear. Mister yowled and followed his human to the little kitchenette, twineing about Harry’s legs and trying to trip him up, before sitting regally beside his bowl. Kitty kibble filled it with a sound not dissimilar to that of the dry cereal Harry poured into his own bowl, though instead of metal the wizard ate from plastic molded to look like the bottom half of an ice cream cone. Harry ate, and thought. He had no conscious control over [Iron Will], not like his spells or even a few skills such as [Lig-No], but it was a reactive spell. Always on watch. Wary.
Maybe that said something about him more than the skill, but someone had tried to fuck with him last night. The attack had been repulsed, but this wasn’t the first time. He'd gone up three whole levels after the fight with Sells, when it usually took him a year or more to advance. Another two after taking down the Loup-Garou, and the FBI guys hadn't picked up those belts from Goodwill.
Harry munched on the dry cereal in his mouth, watched his own health meter tick up, then slid his gaze down to Mister. Soft brown eyes met self-satisfied gold. “You know, I think someone may be trying to kill me.”