When one thought of the home of Merlin, Father of the Arthurian Mages, Perfecter of the Latin Magics, Royal Advisor of the court of Pendragon, and general wizard, usually they thought dark stone towers, places hedged in by the moor, perhaps even on a loch, and he most definitely pondering a glowing blue orb. Most would anyway, and most would be very disappointed and perhaps even awestruck to find him where he was and what he does all day, especially around Christmas. Right now, Merlin… is very happy to sit in a lawn chair, basking in the 70 degree temperatures of Miami, Florida. He wears his favorite pair of cargo shorts, and a 'Hawaiian' shirt as it was called. It is a good life, as far as he is concerned.
After the hubbub and… questionable decisions of the first centuries AD, He is happy to simply relax, and no longer interfere in the lives of the 'mortals' as the more callous members of the supernatural community calls them. But… His mind is at odds with his relaxed demeanor. He, the ancient being he is, Master of Magic Mysteries, Keeper and Shepherd of the Line of Pendragon… doesn't know what to get someone for Christmas. Oh, he could get a normal person a wondrous gift that would become a family heirloom, but… he was out of imagination when it came to the… yearly tradition he and a 'friend' had come up with.
Every year, Kamuzu and him exchanged gifts, but of a most unusual sort. The gifts, (which had begun less as general ribbing and a thing of fun, but actual attempts to kill each other in the most creative way possible) would be used to prank the sender on New Years.
So it is with a silent grumble, Merlin got up, stretched, and goes into his trailer, taking the secret portal back to his tower in England to plan his gift.
[-]
Kamuzu was at a party. HIS party. His fine, high class party. Located in the highest skyscraper in Cairo… and he hatesit. Oh, everyone was polite and kind, from the national ambassadors and representatives, to the American business magnates and CEOs. The food was to die for, and the band was one of the best money could buy, but he knew why they were all here. To network andconnect, to shift and weave, to impress and woo him. To wheel and deal and attempt to make him sell out his nation's past and artifacts for a quick buck!
…deep breathes Kamuzu, deep breaths. You didn't survive the whims of Pharaohs and prepared curses that still endure and bring woe and doom upon trespassers. Now all you need to do is massage these graverobbers egos, and you can finally do something you enjoy.
So, with a smile and refined voice he knows is fake, he makes a tinking sound on his glass of fine wine.
"Friends! Thank you for attending the 27th Annual Egyptian Cultural Preservation Societies Christmas Charity Galla!" A pause to allow a short run of applause from people who could truly care less about cultural preservation aside from how much money or clout it could get them, and he continues with false cheer. "But I think it is time to round out tonight. But before we all leave… I would very much like to thank you all for attending, and contributing to this great cause I am the proud founder of!"
Another round of applause, a few meaningless exchange of pleasantries, and Kamazu is off to his workshop, hidden in the sublevels of the skyscraper.
[-]
Merlin, now clothed in his proper wizardly robes, was still in the midst of a conundrum, oh, if he wanted something super malicious, but as the present was to be used on him during the new year, he wanted to keep it from being too malicious, so… what to do?
…Ah, that will do.
Merlin raised up his hands, and began to chant, twisting the magics of the arcane as he wished, bending it to his design and thought.
A hint of the arctic wind, the touch of dragon fire, the charge of static electricity, and finally the smell of fresh tobacco, and he had it. The classic exploding cigar, but now shocking, burning and freezing its victim alongside the usual surprise of exploding.
Kamazu would not see this coming, and with a little luck Merlin would see it before it hit him.
[-]
Kamazu's hands traced over ancient glyphs, papyrus manuscripts, and records of tomb curses, and wondered what he should surprise Merlin with. Perhaps a stack of ink absorbing paper? A curse which made a portal spit one out at a random location? Perhaps a simple amulet which conjured a swarm of scara… actually, no on that last one… to many reminders of *that* one and his patron.
So what should he do…
Kamazu, now out of his stifling two piece and back into his traditional garments, stroked his chin. So many ideas, so little time.
Ah! That would do. An inscription here, a chanted prayer there, and he had it. A cursed ring, which would cause sand to build up in random and inconvenient places where one dwelled, and as Kamazu's place already had sand in random places, it wouldn't be too out of place when it fell on him.
[-]
Yeah… this fought me, and sadly is half finished.
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Duke William of's Secret Santa Short Story Submission
Ahem... Hello, everybody, and Happy Holidays (Specifically, Merry Christmas Eve). Hope you're all able to spend the holidays well, whether you're alone or with family and friends. This upcoming bit of writing is something that I feel is below the standard of quality I would usually wish to achieve. It's this way because the prompt I was given was hard to interpret and write in a way that I could not come up with something satisfactory within two weeks. It was hard for me to figure out just what to do, made doubly so by the secondary challenge by the prompt maker that I ultimately abandoned the challenge. I sincerely wish I could have written something better, but the deadline is tomorrow, and I am just drained from writing this. So I hope you all enjoy what I have to offer, I'm off to bed now.
All chatter went silent as the door slammed open, the grizzled and dour intruder entering the room and surveying it with narrowed eyes.
Commissioner Aronson–a pear-shaped caveman whose eyes sunk into his skull and whose eyebrows seemed eternally furrowed with unimpressed displeasure–growled as he stalked to the front of the room, each heavy step demanding all attention to him alone. Tossing a stuffed folder onto a rable, the commissioner flicked the on switch of a ye-olden overhead projector almost as ancient as he was, which stuttered itself to life after a decade or two with an unpleasant clack clack.
"Alright, people." Aronson spoke, and the detectives stood straighter. "We've got a series of odd cases dropped onto us, and we're going to go through them quickly so that we can get the reports done before the paperwork ruins Christmas. Understood?"
"Clear, sir," every detective barked back instinctively: just the way Aronson liked it.
With a nod sharp enough to cut steel, Aronson then pulled the first photo out of his folder and slapped it onto the projector. "We've gotten increasing reports of a series of unusual crimes being perpetrated around time, and I suspect we've got some hooligans on the loose, burning off their boredom during Christmas break."
The photo projected onto the wall behind Aronson showed off a wooden gate to a pen wide open, with sheep roaming off in the grasslands here, there, and everywhere except inside the pen itself. "For example, we've received complaints from our local farmers about hooligans breaking into their sheep pens and scaring the sheep."
He then swapped out that picture for another one, this one showing what seemed to be the aftermath of a hurricane swirling through some cow pens. "These same farmers have also complained about culprits distressing their cows and stealing milk."
"Hah!" Einarsson, always on time to raise the commissioner's hackles, slapped his knee with a nostalgic grin of cheeky mischief. "That's a classic right there. Ah, reminds me of when I was a kid."
"Did you have hair back then as well?" Helgasdottir, his work partner for ten years and on-and-off "partner" for five, sarcastically sniped as Einarsson mock-glared at her. Both of them became statues, however, when Aronson looked at them. Not a flinch, twitch, or pinch happened; the commissioner could smell fear, after all.
"Do we have any idea of how the culprits look," Cadet Shōyu, newest addition to the force, asked as she adjusted her glasses, fidgeting with the pencil in her hand and clenching the notebook in the other.
Aronson nodded with a grunt–the low rumble imperceptibly tinged with approval–as he placed the next photo on the projector. The photo was a blur, having been taken in the middle of a frantic movement, but there was enough to make out a window with a small conical hat peeking out. It was an undiscernable shade of green.
"We've had witnesses describe a short, pale-skinned person peeping through their windows at night," Aronson stated as Cadet Shōyu dutifully began to jot down more notes, with other detectives in the room doing the same. Though, their pens leisurely trotted compared to how Shōyu's eagerly ran. "We haven't been able to get much more on this little shit, but one detail that all the witnesses agree on is that our culprit had big eyes that seemed to bulge out of his sockets."
"It could be a disguise," Helgasdottir suggested with a click of her tongue. "With those big eyes and pointy hat, it'd distract from anything else that would identify the culprit."
"Alternatively, it could just be a peeping pervert completely unrelated to the hooligans," Einar shrugged. "God knows there are more than a few teen boys with too much time on their hands."
"Not necessarily," Cadet Shōyu said as sbe adjusted her glasses. "This 'peeper' could easily be a lookout and scout for the hooligans."
Aronson nodded with a quiet puff. "That is the most likely theory, yes. Especially with the other cases on our hands."
Swapping in a new photo, the projector showed an image of a ransacked butcher shop, little glass shards littering the floor while the meat was splatter and strewn in all the places where the glass shards weren't. It was if a child had been given free reign in a candy store; if that child had been a meat lover, that was. Then, the commissioner then swapped in more photos; these photos showcasing kitchens that had been turned upside down and left-side right, cracked floor tiles with drawers and forks scattered all over them. There were also crumbs and half-eaten pieces of leaf bread and gingerbread men all around. "Multiple burglaries have been reported all over town, though strangely enough no money has been reported as stolen. Items that have been reported as such, however, include forks, bowls, pans, meat, skyr, and more."
"That's one hell of a Christmas feast these scamps are preparing," Einar remarked with a raised eyebrow and half-smirk.
"I wonder why they didn't steal the money, though," Cadet Shōyu remarked with a pursed lip. "You'd think troublemakers would be more inclined to thievery than just some grocery store goods."
"They probably just wanted attention," Helgasdottir snorted. "Bandits who don't steal money get people talking, even make them think that the bandits are 'misunderstood' or some Robin Hood type of crap."
"It's also technically easier to ditch the stuff they stole than money," Einar added. "After all, kind of hard for the police to investigate missing meat if it's in someone's stomach."
Cadet Shōyu hesitantly nodded in acknowledgment as she tapped her pencil against her notebook, the commissioner's words beginning to blur into unrecognizable static as her mind was pestered by one niggling thought.
If there indeed was a band of brigades lurking about, where had they taken all their loot to?
?????????
?????????
The metal round-end sticks tasted better than the wooden ones. Wood was rough, itchy, and made Its tongue-licker bleed. It didn't like the blood in its mouth, even if the blood tasted like the metal sticks. Askasleikir-sibling had tried to take some as well, but It had hit him with the round-end sticks before Askasleikir-sibling could steal them. Askasleikir-sibling had its own stupid bowls, it couldn't have the sticks as well!
Gluggagægir-sibling did nothing helpful in the scuffle, merely stare. Useless, useless! All Gluggagægir-sibling ever did was stare. At least Ketkrókur-sibling made Gluggagægir-sibling stop; his curvy poker was very effective negotation tool, yes yes! Gluggagægir-sibling was very naughty many times in many ways, and Gryla-mother did not like naughty children. Why Gryla-mother didn't punish Gluggagægir-sibling like other naught children was big mystery, but it wasn't Its mystery to solve. Not if It didn't want to make Gryla-mother upset.
"Children! Dinner is ready!"
Gasp! Gryla-mother had finished preparing dinner! It rushed to where Gryla-mother and her big, black cauldron were, delicious smells wafting from it. Naughty children could never know the taste of good food like that made by Gryla-mother. Naughty children were better off as good food made by Gryla-mother.
And It knew where naughty children were.
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Tempest Warden's Secret Santa Short Story Submission
Right, so it took me awhile to figure out how to do my prompt mixed with other things. Also at one point got stuck on a part. I will say I basicly made a good number of cuts compared to my original plan and to help move past the part I was having trouble with. Granted was a section that's a bit rushed most likely but either way here's what I wrote.
A lone child gazed up to the towering structure before them and the long path leading to it, doing their best to hide their nervousness both about entering the building and the gathering crowd whispering behind them. Clutching their hooded cloak and pulling the hood down to more fully cover their face they wished the wall that separated the small park their destination was in from the wider plaza behind them was actually tall enough to hide them. Even with there not being an official time to approach, more just having a specific week to show up but even then considering who their family was it was inevitable for someone to recognize and spread word of their presence and what it means in this specific city.
With a glance at the crowd behind kept in check currently by the local park rangers and a security force that could be assembled on short notice, though eventually they'd make way for the actual police forces who were still deploying and working on setting things up. Eventually the head of the local rangers and the one tasked to bring them to the park caught their gaze and he made a subtle motion to continue. Taking a calming breath, they advanced further down the path before eventually approaching an unseen barrier. Before them were two simple pillars but beyond them the path was lined by some very familiar statues. Their presence mixed with the reason for them being here worked together to enact a pressure upon them that mixed with their nerves made them stop and their breath to quicken.
In a brief second that felt like it encompassed untold hours they quite quickly started to go through a multitude of thoughts, the noise from the crowd seemingly drifting out of focus and into silence before suddenly the wind picked up. On instinct they quickly moved their arms to cover their face as a barrage of leaves and flower petals flew past, at the same time blowing their hood down to finally reveal their face. Lightly blowing in the weakening wind was long light brown hair done up in twintails with braided bangs, the red and green ribbons attached to their twintails further rang out thanks to the wind blowing around the jingle bells attached to the ribbons. Slowly as the wind died down they opened their eyes revealing them to be of an amber color behind a pair of glasses. Coming to the conclusion nothing else will blow into their face the child lowered their arms revealing a freckled face.
Looking down, they took another deep breath before quietly whispering out, "You can do this Maria."
Eventually, the now named Maria looked back up with a sense of determination and finally crossed the threshold before her. Moving with much surer steps she quietly looked upon each statue as she passed them along with their names and epithet. Only coming to a stop to look at a pair of statues that not only looked similar to each other, but one especially bore a rather close appearance to herself that it was clear to see she was related to the figure depicted in the statue. Quietly gazing into the eyes of the stature Maria briefly closed her eyes before looking forward. Now not far before her was the towering doors leading into a windowless tower, directly before it an archway of weaving roots of large flowering trees whose petals seemed to emit a soft silver glow. Standing under the archway stood a security guard in a far more ceremonial outfit who appeared to be judging her from behind his mask. But as she approached the guard made a subtle nod before stepping aside and allowing her to move before the doorway.
Walking up the few steps, Maria briefly glanced back only to see the guard had suddenly disappeared only to suddenly jump at a sudden sound. Turning back to looking in front, Maria looked wide eyed at the guard suddenly being in front of her, his left hand holding one of the doors open before with a slow and practiced movement motioned with his right hand for her to enter, not once making a noise himself. Soon enough recovering from the surprise, Maria soon enough walked past the guard. Sparing a glance as they just stood there before turning her focus to the room she entered, a barely heard click sounded from behind the door closing.
In front of her was a rather spacious room in an octagon shape most of it being a mix of lounge and reception. Before her was a front desk though some distance away to the left and right were more desks arranged near the walls going at angles, coming up against the stairs starting at each wall and curving out of sight. The right went down while the left went up. But soon enough Maria was brought out of her thoughts.
"Maria!"
Widening her eyes, Maria had just enough time to brace herself as one of the only other people in the room quickly ran over. It wasn't long she found herself in a rather common position this individual often places her in, that being lifted up in the air only to quickly enter a hug and her face squished. Wriggling about a bit Maria looked at the grinning face of the figure who matched the statue she observed from earlier and had only one thing to say.
"M-Mom!"
Soon enough Maria found herself being swung around in a circle as her mother hugged her tightly, rapidly talking that it was difficult to actually pick out what words she was saying but Maria was able to pick up the general summary of her mother being glad she's here among many other things. But soon enough the only other individual who was wrapping up what ever she was working on finally spoke up.
"Will you calm down already Noelle. I'm tired enough having to spend nearly a week around you without you once more doubling in energy in procimidy of another of your children."
Coming to a sudden stop Maria felt her legs briefly tring to continue on the path only to soon enough run out of energy, eventually coming down to rest. Glancing up she looked at her mother currently pouting at the other individual before feeling the grip upon her loosen a bit. While still stuck she was able to lean back some in order to look at whoever spoke up. Only to quickly recognize her aunt as her mother spoke up.
"Aw, but Maria's just so precious Holly! Plus it's finally her turn to experience the event!"
"That may be so, but in case you've forgotten we have to clear our weeks for these events and some people have things to do. Let alone the fact that thanks to you we've had to go through this whole event process for an inordinate amount of time that it's basically yearly."
"I suppose it's a bit much but this is still a very important event for Maria Holly."
"...Ugh, whatever. Let's just get this over with already."
Maria could only watch as her aunt swiftly turned around before speed walking in the direction of the stairs leading up. She continued watching until she felt some more movement as Maria's mother began to move once more while letting out a heavy sigh before finally setting her down.
"Quite sorry about Holly's attitude. Suppose do miss how things once were but…well you know. Anyways, we probably should get going. It's time for you to truly connect with your lineage."
Nodding, Maria quietly followed as they all reached and then made their way up the swirling staircase. Each step taken echoing with the only other things of interest being the lights and a series of paintings depicting a variety of stories. But soon enough they reached a break where the floor flattened out before continuing to more stairs and to the right a large doorway grey in color. Flanking it's sides were tapestries that were polar opposites with each other. One on the left was mainly white and a tree that at its top transformed into a stylized sun. While to the right was one of such deep blue that it could be mistaken as black. Upon it was the depiction of a Cheshire moon bathed in silver fire and looked like it was slowly breaking apart.
Approaching the door it seemed to slowly open inwards without a sound despite its size and the trio entered past it's threshold. Once inside Maria slowed to a stop to take in the vast room they've entered, looking back only to see the door was now closed and looking like it never opened in the first place. Taking a breath to calm herself, she took the moment to slowly look around. Below her was a floor that appeared to be mirrored yet seemed to emit a soft glow that seemed like the only source of light in this room. All around there was a series of self standing stained glass arranged around the room. In the center of it all was a stained glass ring circling a column that ascended far above into a darkness that seemed to have unmoving gears barely poking out into view. Looking closely it almost seemed like the image upon the ring was slowly moving such that one might not notice if they weren't staring at it.
As she watched, she noted her aunt and mother approaching the central ring and in the distance there appeared to be a few other people. But before she could note anything about the others within the room her attention was quickly drawn back to the center ring as the stained glass image depicted on it seemed to be moving faster. Upon it was like a galloping rider slowly picking up more speed until it reached the point where it seemed more solid rather then made of glass until she jolted back. The reason why it was clear to see as in the moment where it was out of sight on the side facing away from her to the next things changed. For instead of the image out from behind the column rode out the rider themselves and the ring suddenly was no longer stained glass but instead a mirrored surface.
Slowly, she watched as the rider slowed their horse down to a trot and took the moment to note their appearance. The rider's horse had a black coat and appeared to wear silver armor while the rider themselves wore a black hooded cloak and scarf and overall it appeared their entire body was covered from gloves upon their hands to their riding boots. Their hood casting a shadow over their eyes as a simple scythe rested upon the side of their horse. She could only stand there as the rider made their slow approach. It felt like she could only hold her breath as the rider's gaze focused upon her. Feeling as if their gaze looked through her and into her soul itself as they rested their hand upon the scythe, but deep down she could know the rider was judging her for something. Almost imperceptible they seemed to tilt their head until at last coming to a stop before her, upon which she briefly looked up before immediately looking anywhere else.
Even with but a brief look she could still remember the appearance of deathly white skin and pale blue eyes piercing into her. How with them being closer she could finally see some past the shadows and note that it seemed the area around their eyes is the only part not covered. The rider though merely observed before seemingly coming to a silent decision and turned around. Quickly they started to ride faster until reaching at seemingly random one of the standing stain glass images. Maria watched as the rider sat up straighter before smoothly pulling out the scythe until they were now holding it with one hand with the other still holding the reins. They rapidly reached their target only to bring their scythe down in a slash. Rather than shattering it, instead it seemed like the scythe was going through a liquid, the pass and ripples caused by their scythe seemingly to cause the image to become more solid rather than the multiple pieces of colored glass even as the rider moved on. Repeating the process to multiple of the other stained glass murals until coming to stop before Noelle and Holly, both of whom Maria noticed looked a mix of confused and surprised but quickly straightened up as the rider approached. With a single motion they re-holstered their scythe before holding out both hands, an action that despite themselves seemed to cause them to both go wide eyed as if not expecting such.
Soon enough though Maria's mother and aunt recovered before finally nodding in understanding, after which the rider returned their hands to their horse's reins and rode off to the side to observe, not once seeming to make a sound with only a cold breeze marking them as having passed by. But soon enough she was brought back out of her thoughts as her mother approached, seeming to clear her throat before speaking.
"Ah, well I suppose this is a bit different Maria. Certainly some variety it seems. Like um…Usually it would be something like only one side of a story being told such as only me or my sister being selected. But this is the first I can recall where we both have to tell things. Let alone the variety in Echoes there is to listen to that've been chosen. …A variety from both Heroes to Villains."
Her mother seemed to go silent in contemplation as she looked around the room. Noting a variety of new figures coming closer but keeping some amount of distance. Some of whom seemed just as confused as who all have been selected as well. Many more of the surrounding stained glass now also mirrors. But eventually her mother seemed to shake herself out of it before continuing.
"Well then, normally how things go is the closest relative selected and part of this process is the first to go. But I suppose since me and Holly were both selected and our story is basically the same one from different views then I guess both of us will have to explain things."
Turning around, Noelle guided Maria over before leaving her positioned before Holly following which her mother took up position next to her aunt. The two briefly looked at each other and seemed like they were having a silent conversation until finally coming to a decision. With a sigh it was Holly who took a single step forward before speaking to start things.
"This is a story that happened not that long ago, yet to many felt like it lasted ages. Let us tell you about when your mother and I were younger."
__________________________
Back to a time when Noelle and Holly were younger, at a age of kid bordering on teens, the twins mostly got along quite well. The main thing separating them being factors such as Noelle being the more energetic and cheerful to the point of many around her being either astonished or just exhausted with the amount of energy she showed. Moved further by the former tendency to speak so quickly a large amount of words that it was sometimes difficult to tell what was said. Compared to her much more calm twin sister Holly.
But it was one day when Noelle seemed to be a bit calmer that she was contemplating something. A question that wouldn't stop bothering her until at last acting on it. A desire to make a change to something in the past. It was during this Winter that somehow Noelle managed to find Santa's secret city in the North and with the assistance of a group many nowadays refer to as her minions and one of whom is Maria's father made their way deep into the city. Soon enough Noelle came across a magical crystal shaped like a snowflake, a crystal that had the ability to manipulate time in some capacity but unknown to Noelle at the time could do so much more. It was at the cusp of Noelle nearly grabbing the crystal when Holly made her appearance and with a few elves confronted her sister.
During this confrontation Noelle would eventually grab ahold of the crystal and remove it from where it was stored. This action marks the point of her being called a villainess who made their mark on this world's history. Her and many of her minions managed to escape and with her theft it slowly started to influence her, causing her to take actions without questioning them. She managed to slow down time itself to the point that each hour was as long as a month. Throughout it all slowly causes the world to be engulfed in an eternal snow storm over time. Furthermore, stealing something that's normally bathed constantly in Christmas magic slowly causes more greed. Noelle would, without questioning it begging to hear a whisper, drive her to steal presents and decorations while ignoring the problems she caused until Holly once more found and confronted her. During which Noelle demonstrated an inexplicable proficiency with ice magic. Apparently at some point something started happening where Noelle also started to spread discord, where she went causing people to begin to fight among themselves and act like jerks. But all the while her personality stayed the same and continued being rather energetic and cheerful despite the actions she was doing.
But during that confrontation something seemed to change and during Noelle and Holly's fight, Noelle did something that unleashed a variety of creatures. Unleashing upon the world a virtual army of Wendigos, living snow men, and giant ice worms. Some of which even still remain to this day. This situation would last for a week to the point where it seemed like Noelle wouldn't be stopped, only a few places such as the North Pole and the hottest places of the world still remained. Until Holly eventually figured out a possible solution and confronted her sister. It was during this confrontation that at last Holly managed to take the crystal from Noelle and return it to Santa who would restore things back to their proper order, or at least what could be done.
Maria stood enraptured by the story her mother and aunt told from start to finish. She looked around and started to suspect one of the reasons meant to tell her the stories from those directly involved. She understood that her family lineage is one that has formed this nation and some have even affected the world, many being either a hero or the villain and many having gone through this process of listening before. But as she would listen to more and more stories, she began to wonder if she needed to do this. If there was perhaps another path and even now she suspects that the rider might be the only one for now who might understand what she's thinking.
90 years later
A now far older Maria smiled as she gently stirred the soup before her, silently listening to the various excited voices behind her at the dinner table as she made the finishing touches. Soon enough she sat aside the wooden spoon she was using before carefully grabbing the pot and taking it to the table. Carefully she sat it down with the variety of other food items spread out before taking her own position at the table. With a gentle smile she made a motion and her family said prayer before quickly fixing up their own servings. All the while she watched and couldn't help but think back on the past. Back to the day when she was young and listened to the stories of her past from both the heroes and the villains. To the always present thought that from that day bothered her and how the nation itself seemed to hold it's breath to see what path she would take.
But she suspects that none suspected what she would go with. Instead she made the simple decision to just live her life, having managed to figure out and take what could be considered a third option. So here she sat, surrounded by family and friends while having made no grand act of heroics or act of villainy. No need as long as she simply lived things to their fullest and happiest. But soon enough dinner would eventually wrap up, soon enough everyone would begin to turn into bed. As Maria wrapped up her final task and made her way to bed she glanced out the window only to pause. Down below she looked upon the rider from so long ago atop their horse. Even after so long and only seeing them once their appearance has stuck with her. But even then she understood what exactly their appearance here might mean. She stood watching as they stood out in the slowly falling snow and understood that the rider was looking at her like she knew they likely knew she was looking at them. Briefly closing her eyes she turned around and looked at her lit fireplace and the variety of pictures above it containing images of her friends and family, along with the places she's been.
With a small smile she turned away and made her way to her bedroom. The next day Maria won't wake and a new stained glass standing on its own would appear in the Tower. But this one would mark a difference, for it would depict one who would go down a different path then those before.
For those who might wonder it. Among the original plan was to further elaborate and tell the story that I did put in. As well as 8 other stories but when I first got stuck I quickly decided to cut out 2 of the stories. In order to get this out I decided to cut out all but one of the stories and by extension who the other people who would've told their own stories are. Figure might as well just go with the story told by her mother and aunt.
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DecaffeinatedOwl's Secret Santa Short Story Submission
Private and confidential, supposedly. Well, never you mind how.
Western Coronel. 45,000 DWT, 160 meters in length. Owned by Western Bulk. Chartered yearly for eight trips hauling half a million tonnes of coal from the Port of Churchill to Thule, Greenland.
Greenland? Greenland didn't need coal. Greenland had 202 million tonnes of provable coal reserves, going completely untouched since 1972, when Qullissat was shut down. And yet there it was: A charter to transport some half a million tonnes of coal to Thule, every year.
Why? Greenland hadn't burned an ounce of coal since the 70s. All fossil fuel consumption was petrol, and less and less every year. Inuit Ataqatigiit had put the kibosh on gas exploration in Greenland's waters, by all appearances for good. What they thought on tapping into the remaining coal reserves wasn't fit for print. And why Thule?
"It's Qaanaaq these days, Tom," Edward corrected.
"Ah, yes, thank you. I'm not thinking aloud again, am I?"
"Loudly, sir."
Thomas snorted, also very loudly. "Qaanaaq. Qaanaaq has barely six hundred people to it, it's barely a village. Six hundred Inuks paddling about for seals—what on Earth would they do with half a million tonnes of coal?"
And yet over the summer, without fail, Western Bulk was chartered to shuttle half a million tonnes of Albertan coal to Thu-Qaanaaq. Half a million tonnes, every year, going---where?
Edward shrugged. "Well, let's look at the charterer." "Jolnir Dahl.
"A toy company?" Snort. "A toy company is importing coal? To Thule?"
"Qaanaaq."
"Qaanaaq, yes, sorry."
"Well. They used to distribute toys in Norway, nowadays they're part of...the Mirage Group? Big group of store chains, based in the Netherlands-- "
"Who are sending coal to Greenland. Edward, this is all topsy-turvy and make no mistake. "
"Well, we're not very well going to find out here, are we?"
---
The props were still turning on the Dash-Eight when they toddled down the ramp, bundled in three layers like Granny had gotten to them. "We should've gone to the Netherlands, Ed. We could've been dining on egg toast and sampling the licorice."
"And getting nowhere fast. I mean, how many layers of corporate cutouts does this go down?"
"What on Earth do we expect to find here anyway? It's not like we're going...to...see..."
It was visible right from the parking lot. A ramble of charmingly rustic shacks, and then, right in the next bay over, a startlingly modern container-ship pier, a brutalist spire of concrete jutting violently into the water. A pair of orphaned warehouses, their roofs looming three stories over the village, completed the absurdity.
"Bloody hell. Those are huge, Ed, how have people not seen this?"
"I don't even see any roads. Not, like, the big ones you'd need." Edward turned to the expanse of snow that was even then encroaching towards the town. "Where is the coal going?"
--
Thomas slammed the door to their hotel room closed. "Dogsleds."
"Bollocks."
"Nope." Thomas stomped around the little coffee table, gesticulating wildly. "Great big canvas sack of coal, stuck on a dogsled and carted off."
---
And that was how it was for the next few days. Every morning Thomas got up just before the crack of dawn
"Must be like eating a whale with a tea spoon," Thomas grumbled into his coffee. "I think it's around, two thousand kilos for a dogsled? So, two tonnes a trip, half a million tonnes...quarter a million trips or thereabouts."
Edward slapped the table on either side of his eggs benedict. "They can't be making a million trips by dogsled! There's not enough days in the year."
"Well, maybe with multiple teams…" Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed at his eyes, snorting. "No, you're right. It's too much, too much by far."
Edward dug his phone out of his jacket and punched up the calculator app. "Well, let's assume they're unloading the whole lot over the course of the year. Three-hundred sixty five days—you said two tonnes per sled?" Thomas nodded, and Edward punched in numbers. " OK, so two thousand trips, three-six-five days...six hundred, eighty-five teams a day."
"Six hundred—" Thomas then shook his head. "That's a small army, Ed, we'd have seen that. There's not even six hundred people living here!"
"A few battalions at least. I don't think there's even six hundred dogsled teams in Greenland these days."
"We still don't know where it's all going, or why it has to go by dogsled."
"Maybe to the North Pole?" Edward suggested.
"Oh, fuck off. You can't be—" buried his face in his hands. "Santa? Bloody Santa and his wee elfs?"
"Well, he's got to get his coal somehow, hasn't he?"
---
"Tom!" Now it was Edward's turn to regret this trip. He knew he shouldn't have let Thomas scare up a snowmobile from somewhere. "Are we quite sure this is a good idea?"
"Is Google Maps still working?"
Edward dug his phone out of his jacket. "Yes."
"Well how lost can we be, then?"
"It's suggesting we jet-ski across the Atlantic."
"Have off it! We'll be fine."
--
They'd moved quite a bit faster than the sled, as it happened, and they'd had to stop behind a hill from time to time and hope they hadn't been spotted yet. It was the third such stop, and Thomas was sprawled over the wheel, faintly fuming, when Edward gasped and leaned into his binocs. "They're gone!"
Thomas perked his head up. "Gone what?"
"Gone! They went around the tree and—gone! Gone!"
"OK, are we sure they're gone?"
"I'm pretty sure, I was looking!"
"Look, I'm not—wait, there's a tree?"
--
It was a wholly unremarkable fir in all respects, save for where it was.
"How bloody far north are we?"
"Not north enough to not have a tree, apparently."
"In Greenland?"
They stomped around the tree. There was a wooden clunk. Thomas glanced at Edward. Edward glanced at Thomas. Edward leaned down and started shoveling the snow aside with his hands. "There's a cellar. Help me clear this—"
"Alright, I'm—" Edward kept digging as Thomas joined him. In what might have been half an hour or so they had excavated a series of cellar door
Thomas swung one of the doors open slowly, grimacing as iron hinges squeaked in protest. Underneath, the dirt had been packed into a hardened floor and a pair of waxed wooden rails set in with posts. The whole arrangement was sloped, sliding, as he opened each door in turn, into a tunnel deeper into the Earth. Edward probed the darkness with a torch. "These rails—you think they run the sleds on them?"
"Maybe. Ed, how is there a tunnel
"Hold on, it's not dirt here, it's wood." Edward stamped his feet. "Maybe--no, it's more like a root.
"A big root. A big, singular root. You don't think the--"
"--the tree? Yeah. Maybe it sprouted from this. Tom, this is way too big to be just that tree, and it just...keeps going..."
Thomas snorted. "A tunnel. Yeah, down the bloody rabbit hole, more like…"
---
"That's a lot of coal."
"That it is. Thomas, I just realized."
"Yeah?"
"So there's four million tonnes in this space, yeah?"
"If the manifest says right."
"And four million tonnes is about nine billion pounds, right?"
"I'll take your word for it."
"And a lump of coal's about a pound."
"Mhmm."
"There's enough here to give everyone on Earth a lump of coal. Exactly enough."
Thomas turned to Edward with an air of the quietly damned. There might have even been the slight quiver o' a lip. "Oh, shit. We've been naughty little boys haven't we?"
---
"I mean, what would your intrepid protagonists do? Panic?"
Edward facepalmed. "Why, exactly what we did. We highed off into faeryland and didn't tell anyone where we went."
"But we told the desk lady!"
"Yeah, in Thule—"
"Qaanaaq!"
"--Qaanaaq. We told people in Qaanaaq, that we were going snowmobiling in Qaanaaq. Now, is anyone going to suspect we ended up at the North Pole? In Santa's workshop, at the North Pole?"
---
Thomas discovered, to his eternal regret, that Sleipnir was male.
I'm not going to have any time tomorrow to work on this, so here's what I got.
A/N: Contains a little bit of depression, emotional suppression, suicidal idealization, brief mention/discussion of suicide, death, slavery, stereotypes, and other heavy topics. Also, nudity.
The grey, dirty slush covering the sidewalk oozed through my worn-out shoes, continuing to chill my sodden socks. The hot water at my apartment was probably still out, so I'd just have to quickly clean off, dry off, and bury myself in blankets once I got home, if I didn't want to lose another toe.
I turned the corner, looking at the bus shelter. The fuzzy orange glow of the digital sign showed up, so at least the city maintenance people had fixed that recently. Once I got close enough that I could read it, I felt the near-constant sinking in my gut as "Route 63: Service Canceled" was revealed to my brain.
"Merry fucking Christmas." I spat, trying to keep from crying.
The other route that went close to my apartment was twenty minutes of walking away. No way I was making it home before midnight.
Maybe I could call - no, my phone died this morning and I forgot to bring my charger. And Craig was kind of a jackass anyways, that I just hung around with because he was sometimes generous with food and beer.
So the fastest way to that other bus stop would be... thataway. I turned on a wafer-thin heel and was off. I was going to take a couple of shortcuts through alleys, but what's the worst that could happen? Getting stabbed would only mean I didn't have to worry about making rent anymore.
Something scuffed behind me, and I found myself turned around.
There was a fox. A fox holding - hey that's my phone!
As if realizing that I realized that, the fuzzball turned and ran, disappearing down a cross alley.
I lumbered into motion, trying to get my body around the corner to keep the fox - and my phone - in sight.
That didn't go so well, as immediately as I turned the corner, something in my chest started burning, I tripped, and then plowed into something soft.
I was surrounded by steam, warm and friendly, arms holding me off ground that was softer than concrete. The hissing of more steam, and the growing... crackle of flames?
I opened my eyes, looking around. There was snow, melting into water and mud, which was drying with whisps of steam.
"Huh?" I let out. "Eh?" I said, when I realized my voice had changed.
"Well, congratulations. And that's an interesting magic you have there." A woman spoke from behind me.
I spun onto my butt, my clothes suddenly cracking and scraping like stiff plastic. The woman standing there was dressing in a thick bomber jacket, unzipped and showing a dark green dress underneath it. Leggings and some knee-length boots completed the outfit.
"Bwah?" I said. Because aside from that, the woman also had a pair of fox ears on top of her head, and at least two fluffy tails visible from the front.
"I am Mako Miyake, and I'm here to help you." She said. "But given you don't seem to have control over your magic right now... hrm."
"Er... mag-" I ducked my head, and screamed and started rolling as I realized my jacket was on fire. I rolled, steam erupting from around me.
"Please. Chill. Metaphorically or literally, don't care which." Mako spoke over my screaming, and the thumping of steam explosions.
My jacket kept relighting itself, so I sat up and tossed that. Then my shirt caught fire. Losing a work uniform was pretty bad, but - oh right, fired. Right before Christmas. Letting it burn, then!
My pants were also on fire. And tighter around the waist. And the fire was... comfortable? I looked over at Mako, who had... she had some kind of shimmery blue fire around herself and her clothes.
"I'm going to be carrying you." She said. "Because I don't want you burning the floors. Got it?"
"But I seem to... be... on fire?" I said, looking at the blackening reminder of minimum-wage drudgery.
"Yeah, you seem fine, and I'm protected, so let's go!" She held out her arms.
"Huh?" I said.
Mako sighed, then bent down and picked me up like I weighed nothing. Her fiery aura was warm and comforting, and I glanced around at my location. Because the fresh snow, trees, and quiet didn't match the city. In fact, there was no sign of the alleyway where I came from. The only marker for this point was a pair of tall, wooden pillars.
Mako trod through the snow, and I glanced down. She had three tails emerging at her waist. And while their bodies all matched the bright gold of her hair, the tips were different. Two were black, matching her eartips, and the center one was a pastel pink.
She was walking along a path, even if it seemed to have snowed since it was last cleared. I twisted around to look at where we were going, only to see a big house. A big, Eastern-style house. Probably Japanese? I wasn't sure. And I also wasn't sure if Mako was Japanese herself. I think that was a Japanese name, but I wasn't completely sure.
Also, Mako was barely leaving any footprints. The last time I played in the snow I was probably... seven? And Mako's prints might have been as deep as mine back then. She certainly wasn't a short woman. And I wasn't that much smaller than I had been before getting... magicked up. I did have both my pinky toes again, so that was a nice benefit.
It didn't take that long to arrive at the house. Mako did... something, and a little fox made of translucent blue fire opened the door for us. The little fox trotted along on the heels of the bigger fox. A few more little foxes scampered past, holding... those were bits of my flaming clothing they were carrying.
Because I was on fire. Right.
A few turns brought us to a door, which by little fox-made-from-fire, revealed a bathroom. A door through that revealed a shower/tub room that I was only familiar by virtue of me being a weaboo.
"Okay, wait here. In here is all heatproof, so shouldn't be an issue." Mako deposited me on the ground. "Feel free to take a shower and soak in the tub. I'm going to figure out some clothes for you, and leave Sandra a note that you're in here so she doesn't barge in here."
"Sandra?" I asked, standing up.
"My other unofficial client, at the moment." She responded.
"Wait, client!?" I asked, with the most unusual flinch I'd ever had. "You're not expecting me to pay something? Because I'm very broke. Oh! And have no job."
"I'm a social worker." Mako said. "'Client' just means 'the person we're helping.'"
"Oh." I said, drooping in an odd way. "I see."
"Yup." Mako nodded. "Anyway, I will see about clothes. I would give you back your phone right now, but... you'd probably melt it."
"It's also out of juice, so not like I could actually use it." I shrugged.
"Well, I guess I'll charge it for you then." She said, and slipped out the door.
"Uh." I said. "So... I guess I'll just take a shower then?" I asked the empty room, flinching at the mirror on one wall. I took a moment to brace myself, then stripped off the charred remains of my clothes.
Which... wow. Boobs. Hips! No body hair! I frowned for a moment, shut my eyes, and turned to face the mirror.
I wretched my eyes open.
"Wow." I said, in my nice new voice. I was a girl! New figure... probably about average for a woman? I didn't look at too many women because I didn't want to come across as a creep. Decently tall, and a bit of muscle, too. I flexed, appreciating the little bit of tone and structure emerging from the padding.
I had long hair, deep red at the roots and brightening into orange and then glowing yellow at the tips. The tips actually curled upwards, rising into the air. My eyebrows were that same deep red. I also had a pair of fuzzy triangular eyes sticking out the side of my head. Like, in place of human ears, unlike Mako's. The fur changed colors along the same gradient, hairs shifting from deep red to bright yellow. A quick touch with my fingers revealed they smoothly merged into my head. And at the end of my spine, a tail.
A fox tail. Fluffy, same gradient as my ears and hair, and soft to the touch. Also, it's huge. Mako's tails were about the size of her arm, while mine was about the size of my entire torso. This was, like, Provence-weight floof.
I was also covered in a bit of ash, soot, and dust. So as for actually getting clean. Shower controls are over there, the switch for the fan is probably one of those right next to the door, a whole bunch of different bottles....
And if I was sort of on fire, I really didn't want to touch things too much lest I melt or ignite them in turn.
It took probably three times as long as normal to get myself clean. Including the fact that water very quickly turned to steam on me, meaning body wash... kinda broke down into grit under the heat.
And it made rinsing myself off harder, too. On the other hand, no more need for hot water for the shower, since I just superheated it right up.
Once cleaned up, I filled the bath with cold water, and slipped in. Within moments it was steaming, and the water started to drop. I moved the handle on the faucet so it started dripping water in.
Baths were nice. When was the last time I took one? Maybe... when I was twelve? Eleven? Why hadn't I taken any after that? Hmmmmmm............?
"Gah!" I shouted, startling right out of the bath. I cupped my shoulder, that had been shaken.
"Good morning?" Mako said, still coated in her own blue fiery aura. "You fell asleep." She loomed through the steam filling the room. The fan was still running, but it apparently wasn't able to keep up with my... magic.
"Huh." I yawned, stretching. "Uh, how long was I out?"
"Like, ten hours. Is the bath that comfortable?" She asked.
"Compared to the floor of my apartment? Yeah it's great." I shrugged, and stepped out of the tub. My skin and hair was already dry, which was nice. I didn't even have to feel evaporation chill. It was also a bit softer, too? Weird.
I panicked about sleeping through the start of my next shift. Then I remembered I was fired.
"The floor?" Mako asked in the meantime.
"Yeah, my mattress got all moldy from something wrong with the HVAC this summer, so I had to sleep on the floor."
Mako winced, her ears curling down.
"Also means I'm not going to get my security deposit back, since it was a furnished apartment."
"I think I am going to be the judge of that." Mako stated coldly. Then she relaxed. "Anyway, initial set of clothes. I'm going to have to figure out how to enchant with nomex or some other fireproof material to get you some final sets of clothing. Put on the armband first, since it's supposed to be general protection."
The pale pink armband was on top of the pile of clothes on the ground. It was threaded with some kind of rubbery plastic throughout it. Pulling it onto my wrist gave me a slight chill, but that passed.
Underneath that was a bra. "That should be the right size." Mako commented, leaning against the wall next to the door, eyes averted. Thankfully.
I grasped it with both hands.
After several moments of indecision and a few more of fumbling, I was now the proud wearer of an enchanted sports bra. Next came panties, jeans, and a top. The panties and jeans had a strap for my tail. Clipping that on was a little difficult, but it was probably easier than trying to fit all that floof through a small, elastic hole. The top was black, had some frills on the edges of the sleeves, and would have exposed some cleavage if I wasn't wearing a sports bra.
Honestly... I wasn't sure how I felt about the idea of having cleavage. On the one hand, boobs. On the other, getting leered at.
I stepped out into the other half of the bathroom.
"Take a look." Mako gestured towards the mirror.
I took a moment to brace myself, and then look at the cute... at the cutie in the mirror.
The clothes were a little messy and mismatched, but that added a kind of charm. And her smile. It was so warm and cute.
Hol up. That was me. I was the cutie.
I was the cutie.
I was the cutie!
"You feeling okay?" Mako asked, hugging me from the side.
I nodded through my tears.
"It is a bit much. Don't worry, you'll adjust." Mako said. "Now, breakfast."
She led me through the house to the kitchen. I glanced at the clock, which said 9:30. I almost panicked about being late for a shift, but then remembered I was fired and didn't have to worry about that for the moment.
Meanwhile, Mako emerged from the fridge with a giant platter filled with french toast. Precooked french toast. Enough food was on that platter to compare favorably with the volume of my entire torso. Actually, even my new one, given I wasn't too much smaller in width or height. And I did have some nice additions with some volume.
"Shouldn't take too long to reheat these." She said. "You want any fruit?" One of her tails flicked at the fridge.
"Sure?" I said, and stepped over to the fridge. There was an entire drawer full of fruit. Like, dang. I grabbed a couple of oranges and shut the door.
"So, let's talk next steps." Mako said, as she slid a giant frying pan onto the stove.
"Name change. We need to get your name changed on official paperwork. Not that hard; we have a clerk in the circuit court for just that reason. Do you have a new name decided already?" She tapped at the stove controls.
A piece of orange in my mouth, I simply shook my head.
"That's fine. It's not like anything is going to happen until the new year anyway. You can try out a few for a little bit." A few pieces of toast went into the frying pan.
"Then you have to update your name with a bunch of other places. And we need to get you a new ID and birth certificate." She stepped back from the stove, and one of her glowing blue foxes stepped up on the counter with a spatula.
"That's a lot."
"Yeah, it was easier when I went through it." Mako said.
"When was that?" I asked.
"1939." Mako said, eyes deep.
That date meant... if she born in Japan... I glanced around the kitchen. There were some paintings, as well as a few... poems? Wall scrolls? But I was enough of a weeb to recognize kanji specifically, so....
"I see." I said after the awkward moment of having nothing to say.
"Yeah, I got lucky." Mako said. "I could have committed suicide, in the name of someone who didn't want it, on behalf of people who would forget about me and never care. So now I'm free, happy, and at peace with myself."
"That sounds nice." I commented, before I shoved another piece of orange into my mouth because that might have been the wrong thing to say.
"Give it time, you'll get there." Mako stepped over and patted me on the shoulder. "Just move forward, alright?"
"I- okay?" I said, my eyes stinging a bit.
"However." Mako turned back around and stepped towards the stove, now holding a plate. "I recommend eating something. You're hungry, right?"
"I... yeah, it's been... seventeen hours since I ate, so probably." I shrugged.
"Girl, you need to pay attention to your body." Mako shook her head as her little fox flipped the toast.
"what" I eloquently responded to that statement. I mean, calling me a girl?
Mako shot me an impressive unimpressed look. The way her entire body rotated, the tilting and detilting of her head, the way her right eyebrow raised then joined the left in forming a flat line, all of it gave the impression she did that a lot. I had to wonder how dense her other clients were if she was doing that look so frequently.
"Anyway, Merry Christmas. You've gotten to sleep in, and you get a ton of french toast for breakfast." Mako said.
"Considering I wasn't expecting anything this year, nice." I nodded. "Thanks."
"You can keep the clothes, too." Mako nodded.
"Thanks?" I replied, finishing my first orange.
"You're welcome." Mako said simply, then held out the plate so her little fox could load it up.
"I, uh, have questions about magic." I said, hand raised next to my shoulder.
"There's an information packet on the table." Mako said, moving past me to the fridge.
"Oh, really?" I said, moving forward and sitting down.
"Yeah, we've been doing this for a couple of decades." Mako removed a small pan from the fridge and set it on the stove. "Informational packets were standardized and improved from year two."
The pamphlet wouldn't have looked out of place in a doctor's office. I started reading it while idly eating my other orange.
That occupied my attention for a bit, until something stuck in my brain.
"Did you speedrun glitch me into this body?" I asked.
"What?" Mako looked at me, and then decided to pick up the plate loaded with warm french toast.
"Right here, it says the reason my body changed is because you awakened my magic while drawing me into a pocket world. Which sounds exactly like a trick out of a speedrun." I stated, pointing at the relevant part of the pamphlet.
Mako gave me a different, flat look. "You know what, sure? I speedran your physical transition."
"Neat." I nodded.
Mako snorted, and placed a plate of french toast in front of me. "Eat up."
"Thank you." I said, and dug in.
"Would you like a fork?" Mako asked, eyebrow raised.
"Oh... sorry?" I said.
Mako rolled her eyes.
"You don't use them?"
"Saves on washing dishes. Besides, my diet was mostly employee combo meals or instant ramen blocks." I shrugged.
"Girl, I have a dishwasher." Mako sighed, then reached out and clapped me on the shoulder. Then she froze. "Wait, wouldn't you need a spoon for ramen?"
I tilted my head. "You don't add water. You just eat the block."
Mako cycled through half a dozen expressions before slumping.
"Let me get you a fork." She eventually spoke.
Two plates later, someone else entered the room. My ears twitched as I followed the motion. I turned to look at probably-Sandra, and found myself looking at... tall four-armed doll-mecha girl. Paneled, flexible skin, green modules and panels at joints, and mechatenna instead of ears. Plus green hair and glowing green eyes. She was also wearing fluffy pajama pants and a tank top with large arm holes.
"Sup." She waved with her lower left arm. "I'm Sandra. You have a new name yet?"
"Er, no." I said. "Not sure where to start with that."
"Why not start with the names of your video game characters?" Sandra asked, sitting down.
"Let me see..." I said, frowning. "I went with Ellie on like twenty games, so I guess that? Also went with Cynthia a few times... Also have a few Rachels and Laurens."
Sandra and Mako remained silent, covering their mouths in a poor attempt at hiding smirks.
"Aren't you going to say something?" I asked, waving my fork.
"Girl, it's your own decision." Mako said. "Trying to intervene in that... not something I want to pass down."
"Hrrm?" I said.
"Name, first." Mako sighed.
"Ellie." I nodded.
"Great. Want a hug, Ellie?" Sandra asked.
"Sure?" I said, only to get enveloped in four arms. They weren't as soft as ordinary human arms, but they were still pretty soft. And I was softer, too, which meant getting hugged went from miserable to wonderful.
"Oh." I said - I sobbed, helpless, in the arms of some stranger I just met moments ago.
When I finally stopped crying, Sandra had me held at arms length, still secured, at my shoulders and elbows.
"Uh, sorry about the snot." I said, looking anywhere but her face. Or body.
"'S okay." Sandra said, sitting back and closing her eyes. "I should be able to clean that easily enough."
"You keep eating." Mako said. "When was the last time you had a decent meal?"
I frowned, and considered it. Was it...
"Never mind." Mako snapped her fingers in front of my face. "Just eat." There were also a couple more plates filled with toast on them in front of me, as well as a pot of some fruit sauce.
"Yes ma'am." I shook my head a few times, then grabbed one of the pieces of toast-
"Fork, please." Mako sighed. "Especially if you want blueberries."
"Yes ma'am." I mumbled, grabbing my fork.
Sandra, meanwhile, stared at her top-right hand for several seconds, before a little black-and-green diamond... diamond-shaped drone? appeared over her hand, and floated over to her chest. A green beam washed over her, leaving behind pristine cloth and... skin, I guessed.
"Oh, you've been practicing your magic!" Mako chirped, grinning.
"Oh no." Sandra murmured.
"Why don't you take over warming up the toast?" Mako continued, and clapped her hands.
Sandra gave her a look, which Mako ignored.
"Give me a moment." Sandra sighed, then held up all four hands in front of her like she was holding an invisible soccer ball. A moment later, another, bigger diamond-drone appeared in shimmering green light, then hummed over to the stove. The little glowing fox jumped off the counter-wait, it should have kept going and hit the floor. Huh?
"So once you've eaten, I'm going to get the boots and jacket I made for you." Mako frowned, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a surprisingly large notebook.
"And then-" She pulled out a pen, clicking it a few times. "-we stress-test your new gear, and see how well it works for protection."
"Stress-testing doesn't sound right for Christmas." I said, gesturing with the fork and nearly spraying Sandra with the blueberries. "Blueberries are pretty good, though." I said around a mouthful of fruit and toast.
"Thanks. But I think you'll like it." Mako smiled warmly, not sadistically.
Once I finished eating that entire giant pile of french toast - serious how did I fit all that in my gut and have it more flat than when I dropped out - and all the blueberries, Sandra offered me a tour of the house, having eaten a relatively more reasonable lunch compared to me while I was devouring a very late breakfast.
The house was surprisingly simple and modern for a kitsune-owned mansion in a pocket dimension. Not modern in the sense of being ultra-sleek, ultra-minimal everywhere, but there were a lot of hints that it was being kept up to date with technology. No smart home things, but still. LED lighting strips above the windows, and things like new doorknobs and power outlets. The furniture was varied and wasn't pristine, clearly used often.
Starting from the bottom, there was a gym, with a few machines, and a storage area. Apparently, there was a floor below that, but since it had the pocket world stuff in it, we weren't allowed in.
"Those are a lot of weights." I said, looking at the racks of metal disks.
"Indeed." Sandra nodded. "One of the near-universal attributes of magical people is their intense physicality. Hence the large amount of weights. Without them, the exercise is just flexing."
On the main floor, there was the kitchen, dining room, living room, a couple of smaller sitting rooms, and the mudroom. The living room had a christmas tree set up - not overdone, but still decorated. There were only a few presents underneath.
The next floor had the bedrooms. "This one is yours." Sandra said. The walls were covered in curtains, a bright, vibrant green. A bed rested in the middle, sheets and pillows missing, and a couple of dressers with drawers askew were on the wall. Light streamed through the windows, picking up dust.
"Who lived here before?" I asked, stepping in gently.
"Mirabelle." Sandra said. "She's a snake-girl. She moved out about a month ago, got a job as an insurance adjuster."
"Really?" I turned to face her.
"Yeah, I think she took inspiration from a constrictor of some sort. Liked hugs a lot. Brown and green scale pattern." Sandra shrugged.
"No, I was talking about the insurance adjuster bit." I said, confused.
"Hey, don't assume everyone is like you. Anyway. The other bedroom is mine. Bathroom's over there." Sandra started pointing, cycling through each arm. "We all pitch in to clean the common areas. Mako will get on your case if your own room isn't clean. Towels and sheets in that closet over there. Washer and dryer in that room. Cleaning supplies by the stairs.
"The upper floors are Mako's. She's got a workshop and her own rooms up top." Sandra pointed up. "Prefers we don't mess with them."
"Okay, got your other clothes." Mako bounced down the stairs.
In the mudroom, Mako handed over socks and boots. A couple pairs of thick boots, actually.
"Oh, these are sturdy." I said, tapping my heels against the floor. The boots were black with purple accents, and had steel-looking hardware. I pushed against the toe box - yup, steel under there, too.
Then came a jacket, beanie, and gloves. They were actually pretty thin, and the jacket had a slit and long tails in the back, fitting it around my tail. The hat had its sides cut out to go around my ears. It was hemmed along those, though.
"How do they fit?" Mako asked.
"A little loose." I shrugged.
"Yeah, Maria won't have space in her schedule to adjust them for a couple weeks, I think." Mako shrugged in response.
"Didn't you adjust my clothes yourself, though?" Sandra asked. She had switched over to a set of slacks, and a coat that covered her arms while keeping their independence. It was also much bulkier than mine, as were her accessories, including a set of four matching gloves.
"Yes, but yours aren't enchanted." Mako said. "Adjusting normal clothes is a function of the Standard Imperial Foxbride, but working with enchanted stuff is another matter altogether. So now that I've enchanted them, I can't adjust them anymore."
With that, we trooped out into the snow, which unlike the last time did not immediately produce steam explosions.
Then my tail brushed the surface, resulting in another hi-thoom and minor shockwave.
The two women looked at me.
"Just keep your tail up for the moment, I guess?" Mako shrugged. "And I don't think snow angels would work for you." As if to rub the point in, she fell onto her back and started wiping the shape with her limbs.
"So the stress-test is just an excuse to play in the snow?" Sandra asked, eyebrow raised.
"Yep." Mako grinned.
"Great." Sandra said, then loped over to the trees, vanishing a few moments later.
"Hmm." I said, then took a few steps off the path, and knelt down. It really had been a while since the last time I had done anything like this.
I dug my gloves into the snow, which thankfully did not explode, and started sculpting. Hopefully no one would knock these down. Given my new form, I should make these a little different. I probably needed a few twigs to make the structure, but still.
The snow was damp, perfect for sculpting. So I focused on the work, resulting in a snow foxgirl. A cone for the base, representing a skirt, two pointy ears sticking out from the head, supported by internal twigs, like my own fox ears. And then more snow packed on the back to represent a fluffy tail.
Some time later, I was rudely interrupted by a snowball vaporizing on my face.
"Sorry!" Mako called. I looked up and found her involved in a running snowball fight, her little blue foxes scooping up snow for her to throw.
A glance behind me showed Sandra, three large drones orbiting around her and blasting the snowballs apart. Or at least some of them, because Mako was a snowball-pitching machine out there, slinging enough snow to force Sandra into cover behind a tree.
Sandra shoved some snow around to create a rough fort around the tree, then hunkered down.
"Come on, let's team up!" She called over.
"Oh?" Mako called. "Ganging up on an old lady? How uncouth!"
Then a barrage of snowballs soared towards me. I dove out of the way, practically soaring... until my face and hair vaporized another chunk of snow. I slapped my tail against the ground under my legs, and slumped into the steam-explosion-formed hollow as a respite from the incoming... well, not fire, per say, covering my clothes and vaporizing against my hair and face. I braced against the ground and leapt again, this time making it halfway to the trees.
It also involved a lot of high-energy phase transition, but I used the resultant hollow for cover as I made a third leap, and from there into harder cover behind a tree.
Enhanced physicality, yeah. Sandra was not kidding about that.
Then the trees rustled, and I looked up just in time to see all the snow in the branches fall. Fortunately, instead of getting cold, melting snow in my coat, I was briefly enveloped in the warmth of expanding steam. Thinking quickly, I yanked off my glove and punched the ground, dropping into the newly formed hole.
With my glove back on, I started rolling out a bunch of snowballs, piling them against the side of my hole. I had maybe a dozen snowballs when incoming snowballs started raining against the back of the hole.
I grabbed three snowballs in my left arm, and one in my right hand. I popped up out of the hole, and threw.
And the snowball promptly shredded, falling apart instantly.
"Too strong for the snow!" Mako cried, and promptly nailed me right in the face. Of course, this did little except obscure my vision for a moment. I grabbed one of my ready snowballs and tried with less power.
The snowball didn't disintegrate, but missed Mako wildly.
Sandra finally managed to hit Mako, who yelped.
"That went right in my ear!" And with that, Mako turned away from me and started slinging snow again.
I took the opportunity to line up a better shot.
It still missed, splattering across the crust of the snow.
My last shot at hand managed to clip one of her tails.
This was a mistake, as she turned to me, and with a fresh supply of snowballs from her little foxes, I was forced back into cover.
I grabbed a few more snowballs, and emerged to find Mako had backed off. Sandra had crouched down, arms paired together by side to churn out a stockpile. Her drones remained with her, drifting slowly.
I crouched to pack my own shots together. Moments passed and snowballs piled up, and then I twitched at a sound from the side.
A storm of snowballs streamed through the air around both of our stockpiles, as we dove for cover. Mako had returned, at an angle to cover both of our supplies. One of Sandra's drones fell, glow gone. It shattered on the fragile snow under the trees, the fragments fading from existence.
"Oh, that's not fair!" I spotted some glowing blue foxes absconding with our own snowball stockpiles.
"All's fair in love and war, ladies!" Mako cried, snowballs rising up around her, all glowing with a blue aura.
There was no dodging that amount of snowy shots, and I was knocked down, my tail smushed against the mud as snow vaporized around me.
"And I think that's match point." Mako said, and could practically hear a grin.
I kipped up, then realized what I'd actually done. I'd never been that agile, even as a kid.
Sandra burst from a pile of snow twice her size. "I am going inside before I catch a cold."
"Yeah, we should get cleaned up before dinner." Mako said.
We trooped back to the door. We removed our shoes in the mudroom, and hung our coats up. Gloves and hats went into a box. And despite snow sticking to the outside of Mako's and Sandra's clothes, mine were clear of powder and still dry.
"Sandra, do you want to bathe first, or should we go in instead?"
"Wait, why are we going in the bath together?" I asked.
"Ellie, you got mud all over the underside of your tail." Mako raised a finger. "Trust me, that's the hardest part to clean."
"Uh, okay?" I said.
"Look, I recognize that you might not be fully comfortable." Mako raised one hand, palm up. "But you'll also be uncomfortable if you don't get the mud out of your tail. And given the amount of fluff that tail has, you're going to need help keeping it clean. So.. gonna throw you in the deep end here, because I don't want you developing bad habits."
"Er..." I leaned back.
"Would it help if I let you wash my tails first?" She tried.
I nodded a few times.
"Okay, let's go."
That meant stripping down together with Mako, and entering the bath room. I kept my bracelet on. If it was mitigating my heat, it might mean I wouldn't ruin the soap and whatnot. The shower beat down on the tiles in moments.
"Alright, let me show you how to take care of long hair. Because I doubt you've had the opportunity to learn before." Mako said from behind me.
I shook my head, hair whipping about, against my shoulders and ears.
What followed was a brief lesson on different kinds of hair products, and how and when to use them.
"Wash the upper part of your body before doing your tail." Mako advised. "That way it won't just get dirty again."
With that bit of knowledge, I washed down my upper body.
"Ready to wash my tail?" Mako asked, setting the stool in front of me and sitting down on it.
"Yep. I nodded, even if she couldn't see me.
"Okay, start with the shampoo." She gestured to the basket without looking back. "Can you start with my center tail?"
"Sure." I said, looking at the pink tip.
"Okay, grasp it a few hand lengths down - yeah, that's a good strength. Use your other hand and start applying a bit of shampoo. Stroke down and then back a bit. It's just like normal hair except the tail shape." Mako kept advising me. "You're probably going to want more shampoo when you do it because of your fluff volume."
Then she started talking about the biology of hair.
"Uh...." I stated.
"Yeah, it's okay if you don't get it. But would you rather I be quiet?"
"Er.. yeah, keep talking." I blushed, grateful that she couldn't see.
The conversation ended once I finished rinsing her left tail.
"Thank you." Mako said, getting up from the stool. "Now, your turn."
"Okay..." I sat down.
Mako was gentle enough, but it was still awkward. I wracked my mind for a topic.
"So you think I'll grow more tails?" I turned around.
Mako froze for several moments, face twitching between tense expressions I couldn't identify.
"I would hope not." Mako spoke precisely. "Because despite how being a kitsune has improved my life... it is still something of a curse."
"Eh?" My ears twitched, as if scanning.
"Kitsune, as well as several other mythical races, are templates. Patterns applied to a person that overwrite parts of them. Especially magically speaking." Mako let go of my tail.
I turned back to face front. I'd expected some response from her about me seeing her in the nude, maybe tell me to face forward, but dang.
"It might be a bigger and comfier box, a box that I fit in better, than what I started with, but it's still a box." Mako stated.
"A template?" I asked, concerned. This seemed a very heavy topic for something I just brought up as a distraction.
"I was not joking when I said 'Standard Imperial Foxbride' earlier." Mako said bluntly. "Some ancient emperor wanted a harem of foxbrides, and was able to create a standardized template that could be applied to anyone. Knowledge, magic, and loyalty, all applied and enforced upon someone."
Okay, this was definitely a very heavy topic to discuss now of all times.
"We're free from external control now, but internally, we still have to fight. Every single foxbride has the same body shape, the same innate knowledge, and the same magic, unless we break it from the inside." Mako's voice was... not exactly stressed, but there was definitely some tension I was hearing.
If I looked back, she might never speak again. Okay, probably not. She'd been through a lot if my knowledge of history was in the right ballpark. And she was still good - mentally well enough to help people.
But still. Do not look at her.
"That bracelet I made?" Mako was probably pointing at this moment. "I had to break through my magical instincts and restrictions to develop that enchanting style. Normally I should only be able to enchant things through calligraphy in a long-dead language on a certain type of paper of an exact size. Using TPU threads woven throughout clothing is not something a foxbride could do, but I have cut a hole in my box to do that. My own efforts have allowed my individuality to shine through again.
"And sometimes breaking a box can have… adverse affects. I don't know if you're familiar with Korean mythology, but…. They fixed it eventually, but from what I understand, it's very much a sore point for the entire community over there. You're either accusing someone who never got that defective programming, which is rude, or you're accusing someone who did get the programming and had to suffer through it.
"You're just a foxgirl who can use fire." Mako sighed. "You don't have a box, you aren't chained from the inside, you have a custom chair."
"So being just a firefox is better?" I asked, head tilted.
"There are disadvantages you are free from, and I would not wish them upon anyone." Mako said. "If there was a way to disentangle the advantages from the disadvantages, then I would have already passed them on to you. But I can't. I still have a lot of work to do on myself, until I'm truly comfortable "
"Oh." I said. "Sorry about bringing it up?"
"Don't worry about it." Mako grabbed me on the shoulder. "This is something I will be bearing for a long time. It's not something I can conceal from myself if I want to make progress. And I don't want you stumbling over this and freaking out."
"Uh, best of luck on your self-improvement?" I tried.
"Thanks, but you also have a lot of work to do on yourself. Mentally and magically, at least. Physically, you're all good. I'll have to remember your 'speedrun' joke for future clients." Mako picked up my tail again.
"Glad you like it?" I shrugged, then looked back again. Mako was completely relaxed, at this point. I know I wouldn't have been that comfortable after dropping that kind of bomb while talking with someone in the bath.
Still, with that fact out in the open, things were a little more relaxed. We finished bathing - Mako wanted to fix up some things in her workshop so she wasn't taking the time to soak, but I did need to wait for my clothes to finish going through the washing machine. Given how my jacket had gotten de-snowed and dried just by me wearing it, I wasn't worried about needing to dry them.
Mako did offer to brush my immediately-dry tail for me, but… I waved her off.
After dressing, I sat down in the living room, on the big red couch. Apparently, Mako had left my phone charging somewhere in here.
A minute of searching through drawers later, in addition to a random set of paint tubes, a sketchbook, and several other things I couldn't identify, I found my phone, connected to a charger and fully charged
It powered on, and after a couple minutes of loading screens, it allowed me to unlock it. There were no missed calls, no messages waiting to be read.
Of course, there was also no signal, too.
Still, I took a moment to check everything. There was Wifi, but it was password-protected.
Trying to guess the password wasn't worth it, so I just put my phone back in the drawer. Then I had a lightbulb moment, removed it again, and took it upstairs to my new room. I left it on the dresser, and came back down.
As I reached the ground floor, Sandra was there, holding a bunch of cardboard boxes.
"Ellie!" She said. "Want to help me with dinner?"
"Sure." I shrugged. "What are we having?"
"Fried chicken." She said. "Apparently that's a thing for Christmas in Japan."
"Yeah, I can do that." I said.
"Thanks." Sandra nodded. I followed her into the kitchen. She put down the boxes on the counter (this was a huge kitchen, even without the not-dining-room dining area.)
"So I'm going to make the batter for the chicken. Can you grab the frying baskets?" Sandra asked.
"Uh, where are they?" I asked, heading to the sink.
"Somewhere to the right of the stove, I think." Sandra said.
Considering the size of the kitchen, that limited me to twelve cabinet doors. Which cost a couple minutes to search through.
"Alright, got them." I finally said, placing a few wire mesh racks on the counter.
"Great." Sandra grabbed a plate. "You see the list on the bulletin board? That's our menu for tonight. We need the rest of the meal too."
Between the two of us, the meal went together... well, not smoothly, but it went together. And it was a big meal. Sandra had a bigger appetite than most women of her size. And considering how much I ate for breakfast….
"Are we going to eat all this?" I asked.
"Yeah, probably." Sandra said. "Downside of magic is the food bills."
We finished... well, we finished before Mako came down for dinner. Sandra turned down the oven and set the timer. The hot food would go in there once it had cooled down.
That was the plan, but Mako arrived downstairs soon enough to make it moot.
We went into the living room and sat on the couch. Just as well, because the dining room was a bit big for three people. Mako put on some anime, and we watched that, sitting together on the couch and eating fried chicken.
"Thank you." I said, as on screen, two of the characters raced down a winding, snowy road on bikes, treating something small like the biggest thing in the world, Initial D music playing in the background, and dramatic screaming
"Aw, we haven't even gotten to the presents yet." Mako leaned over Sandra and gave me a hug.
Sandra snaked her left arms around me and did a partial hug.
"I do think it's mine, too." I nodded. "Even if, well…" I gestured with my chopsticks. Mako's foxfire foxes were on standby to grab any food I dropped and dispose of it in the trash.
"Never gets old, hearing that."
A few episodes later and large amounts of fried chicken, pickled vegetables, and other food later, Mako declared it was present-opening time. The presents were already divided.
My pile was the largest, due to one big one, oblong and pointy. The presents were hastily labeled with my new name on them.
"Okay, Ellie, you get to open one first." Mako pointed at me.
"Okay." I considered whether to open the big one first, and decided for that course of action. "It's a... plush shark?" Blue, big, and also modified with those plastic threads Mako used, probably to make it fireproof.
""It's a Blåhaj!"" Both of them said, cheer evident.
".... Okay, I'm gonna ask for an explanation later." I said, to a pair of groans. "Sorry, but I don't get it. Still cute though."
Sandra opened a watch from Mako, and Mako opened a painting from a friend.
I also got a small "starter pack" of makeup, complete with instructions, a bunch of hair accessories (all enchanted to be fireproof), a complete set of bedsheets, all fireproofed, a couple pillows, also fireproofed, and a calendar for the upcoming year, which was not fireproofed.
Sandra also got a pair of sunglasses, modified to fit her mechatenna but also capable of shifting for human ear shape, and a fancy microphone.
Mako had a bunch of cards from friends and former clients, as well as a bunch of books, paintings, and other art. Surprisingly few foxes displayed in that, but a bunch of them came with magical greetings - foxfire foxes popping out of cards, birds made out of leaves singing songs, and other displays emerging from paper or small trinkets.
"Alright, you two. It is now late, and you need sleep. Ellie, Sandra, merry Christmas." Mako said. "Get to sleep; I'll clean up down here."
I dragged my gifts upstairs, made my bed, and got into a bed for the first time in months. And promptly rolled from my front onto my side, because apparently sleeping face-down with boobs is not comfy.
Then I got out, grabbed my new shark, and brought it into bed, hugging it as I laid on my side. Much more comfortable. As I fell asleep, I wondered what tomorrow would bring, with warmth in my heart for the first time in years.
A/N
Only just realized when I thought about my previous contest submission and the similarities… I'm starting to see a pattern.
This got a bit... like a kitsune tail, it's got fluff, but it's also got non-fluff parts.
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breakingamber's Secret Santa Short Story Submission
Here is my submission. Apologies for running it so close to the deadline.
Secret Santa Short Story for @Fabricati 's Prompt:
One Who Did Nothing
We won?
"Hear ye! Hear ye! The Ashen King is dead! I repeat, the Ashen King is dead!"
O' King in Ash, father to us four, one who ought to rule over all creation… Why did you say nothing?
"The war has ended! The battle is won! Cinder's Legion has surrendered!"
I, your most loyal servant, stood, poised, ready, waiting. With but a word, I would have turned the tides. We… No. Ardor, her so-called band of heroes… struggled mightily against you. The fine boundary… the lightest of feathers would have tipped the scales. I weigh much heavier than a feather.
"All hail Ardor, the Dragonspear! All hail Empezar, swordsman without peer! All hail Durbin, Prince of the Cavern!"
I have never thought you invincible, father. But together, as one, we should have been. Why did you say nothing?
"All hail Rhizome, Star of Saturn! All hail the conquering heroes!"
…You did not have to lose.
Atmosphere in the wagon: celebratory. Rambunctious. Slovenly. Simulated Personality Rhizome disliked it, the noise and ruckus of it. Delta happened to share that opinion to an extent, and so there was no acting necessary: she furrowed her brows and slapped away Durbin's outstretched tankard with her hand. Alcohol spilled. Feigned elvish magic kept it off her dress, but Empezar's jacket was not so lucky.
"Oi!", the black-clad man whined. "Keep your booze off of my person! I swear, the respect I receive in this party…"
"Lighten up!" Durbin roared, several sheets to the wind already. "This is a time for merrymaking, the most jolly of spirits! I know you to enjoy a good drink! Join me!"
Delta knew that Empezar would like to brawl over that minor offense. She also knew that he was filled with just as much relief, in just as warm a mood regarding the circumstances. Why wouldn't he be? Their greatest foe had been vanquished. Their eleven-year battle had ended. They were living in a new age. An age of peace.
Even through the returned scowl, she could make out the bare hints of a smile.
"I'd sooner drink with the elf," Empezar responded as haughtily as he could.
Simulated Personality Rhizome had sworn off alcohol.
"Empy, I don't drink," Delta smiled.
"Precisely. Leave me alone."
Before things could get any rowdier, the leader of their party stepped in, clinking her bottle of whiskey with Durbin's tankard. Simultaneously, she cast a cleaning spell on Empezar's jacket, causing the spilled rum to disappear without so much as a stain.
"Calm down, you two!" Ardor grinned, ear-to-ear. "This is a time for celebration, yes. But if the swordsman without peer doesn't want to drink with his buddies, then so be it!"
Empezar let out a long-suffering groan. "Curse that crier and his moniker. You all received such flashy titles. 'Star of Saturn?' 'Prince of the Cavern'? Was he intentionally rhyming? All anyone cares for me is about my sword arm…"
An ideal time to make a comment. "I care about you, Empy," Delta said charmingly. "We all do!"
"Awww," Ardor cooed. "You two are adorable together."
The wagon hit a particularly large divot in the road. Ardor was forced to steady herself, casually summoning the legendary Dragonspear to hand as a walking stick. Durbin's reflexes weren't nearly as good. More alcohol was spilled, Empezar once again taking the brunt of the splash.
"That, that does it!" Empezar shrilly screamed. I will not have you repeating Ambara on me, so I swear—"
"Ambara was fun," Ardor interjected, reminiscing fondly. "Remember those horrid ten-foot tall monsters? The ones that nearly ate Durbin?"
Durbin shouted indignantly, "Monsters? Those were the royal pets, you nincompoop! It was Rhizome's fault I was even in the pens! She's the one with pacification spells!"
"You know how bad I am at taking the initiative…" Delta demurely said, curling away from the party.
It was this endless stream of friendly bickering, verbal competition, and anecdotes shared, the warm and delightful camaraderie. For all that Simulated Personality Rhizome would have disliked it, Delta leaned in regardless. A flaw in the facade, but…
There was little point in keeping it up anymore, was there? The King in Ash was dead. Her sole purpose, he'd chosen not to employ. What even awaited her, from here on out? Was she to continue playacting as this elven heroine for all eternity?
Delta did not know. This was all she knew. She would ride this wagon all the way to the capital.
Literally.
The gray-stone walls of the Blessed Land's capital stood proudly atop the plains. Weathered by scorch marks, spots where cannon fire had chipped and shattered the stones, true. But defiantly still standing.
A man, clad in a royal messenger's livery, rode out to meet them as they approached the city. His horse pulled alongside their wagon, which did not stop.
"Hail! It is an honor to serve the heroes that slew the Ashen King! It must have been a desperate struggle, to vanquish so wicked yet powerful a mage!"
Simulated Personality Rhizome would have spoken in response, downplayed the feat, and adopted a position of modesty. Delta said nothing and allowed Ardor to respond instead.
"Well met to you as well! Do you have a message for us?"
The messenger nodded. "A message from the royal family! The city is still recovering from the Ash King's Incineration Ritual. Thusly, while they would have liked to schedule it sooner, a parade has been scheduled in your honor, one week hence. As thanks, for your service!"
Ardor gasped overdramatically. "I wouldn't call it service, but I would never turn down a parade! Thank you so much!"
The messenger nodded. "Additionally, as you know, we are holding General Cinder, of Cinder's Legion. He's been cooperative, thus far. Suspiciously so, to the point where the warden suspects he's plotting something." He gestured at the party. "You heroes have the greatest amount of experience with the man; mayhaps you would be willing to talk to him yourselves?"
To her left, Empezar tensed at the opportunity to get even with a man he perceived as his equal. Ardor, in front, readied herself to shoulder the burden of interrogation for her friends. Durbin, even drunk as he was, recognized the gravity of the situation, was prepared to invoke his status as a dwarven royal to qualify. Of the party, Delta recognized that she was the least likely to take on this responsibility. Simulated Personality Rhizome… was conflict-averse. She would be kind, on average, not wanting to see even the most hated foe beaten down, laid low.
"I would like to pay the General a visit," Delta said. As an afterthought, she smiled bashfully, made a show of wincing in embarrassment. "Oh, if that is okay with the rest of you? I thought it'd be fine, since I do not tend to ask for much…"
The guilt-trip worked. Ardor offered to visit alongside her, an offer she politely declined. Good luck was wished. Courtesies exchanged. A meetup for later, established.
From there, she rode off alone to meet up with her father's greatest human lieutenant.
General Cinder was not an imposing man. His frame was wiry, much like Empezar's. His face was soft, not cut from hard angles, unscarred. In his career, he'd taken but a single blow that left a single mark. The tiniest of cuts on his cheek, courtesy of that same dark swordsman.
Empezar was lauded for his skill. But the General was the true peerless swordsman in all of creation. And an even brighter tactical mind. He'd been assigned command of the legion for a reason. If her father had not fallen, Delta had no doubt that he would have outmaneuvered the forces of the Alliance, even as they outnumbered his two-to-one. Even after that end, he could have driven his forces beyond their apparent limits, forced a drawn-out, brutal campaign that would have left the Alliance fractured, if not broken. Victory, still, had not been out of the question.
But he'd surrendered.
"Well, well. Look who it is. What business have you with me, elf? Come to gloat?"
The Alliance warden had claimed that this prison was maximum security. That there was no chance of the prisoners even moving beyond their cells, let alone escaping the complex. Assurances of her safety, that those included would see justice had been filtering in and out her ears for the better part of an hour. Simulated Personality Rhizome was well-trained enough to know to smile and nod accordingly. Delta found it tiresome.
She had already traced three separate paths through the facility, three valid escape routes she could enable. Two of them could not even be traced back to her, especially since she had been granted a promise of privacy. The bluster and braggadocio had been pointless. Wrong.
Quietly, she verified that there were no eyes on their conversation. Examined the enchanted chains holding the prisoner to the wall and floor.
Breakable.
"Silent treatment, eh? I have nothing to say to you," the General scoffed. "Testing my resolve? Prying for information? There is nothing I have not already told. No truth left unsaid. Pointless."
"Would you like to escape," Delta said, simply.
The General was visibly taken aback, but quickly resolved himself. An eyebrow raised, easy glower returning to his face.
"This some kind of test? Or are you looking for an excuse to put me down ahead of schedule?"
"It is a genuine offer," Delta said. "There is no one monitoring this conversation. I can transport you beyond the premises within fourteen minutes. An alarm will not be sounded for at least fifty. You are a resourceful man. You will not be found, if you do not wish to be."
Another sarcastic response was incoming, judging by the General's defiant grin. Delta began to turn and leave. There was only so much she could do for someone unwilling to be helped. This was the most she could do without permission to break cover. A permission that would never arrive, in all likelihood.
"Hold."
Oh?
A backwards glance showed the General's expression once more. No longer mocking, but calculating. A concentrated frown, coupled with eyes that almost saw through her.
"You're not acting normally, are you?" he considered aloud, half to himself. "No speeches on everloving kindness or redemption. No inflection at all. Face might as well be a rock. Where have I seen that before…"
His eyes widened in realization. And then…
He laughed, uproariously.
"You've got to be kidding," the General choked out, between heaving breaths. "You're the fourth. The top-secret fourth Changer. You'd be, what… Alpha, Beta, Gamma, then… Delta? I thought, we all thought there was one more out there, figured you managed to whack some Alliance official. An opposing general, maybe. Not a member of the bleeding Dragonspear's party! This… is the joke of the century!"
Abruptly, his laughter died, eyes refocused. Delta felt the intensity of his glare. An answer he desperately wished for.
"Why did you do nothing?" he asked.
Blink.
"Please clarify," Delta said.
"I've only heard the stories, so correct me if I'm wrong," the General started, slowly, sounding out words as if he is arranging them in his head like a children's puzzle. "The heroes' party. Through trial and tribulation and clever bastardry, you infiltrate the capital. You find the King, right as he's about to perform his ritual. The one that'd burn all our enemies in the world. You fight him. He dies. We lose the war."
"Accurate. They did as you say," Delta said.
"You," he snarled, voice suddenly filled with venom. "Not they. You did that! You were a member of that party. You were right there, at the Ash King's downfall. I very much doubt you'd be standing here having songs written about you if you'd done your bleeding duty! Did the Dragonspear's might fill you with such fear? That you'd cowardly stand and do nothing?"
"No. I was ready to aid him. I would have, if he had but asked. But he never activated my activation key." Delta said.
"If he had asked," he mocked, high-pitched. "Activation key?"
"You idiot. Blithering idiot," the General sneered.
Blazing, scathing indictment.
"He forgot."
Delta blinked.
"My father… forgot about me," she said.
The General laughed, hoarsely. His disbelief of her own disbelief was humorous to him.
"You still call him your father. Your child's perspective remains absurd. Yes, he forgot. You know, well as anyone, that you weren't the first, nor the last sent to stop the Dragonspear. Dozens of experiments, mercenaries and soldiers were employed. You think he remembered you? Your precious little codeword?"
Her three siblings and her. Each was designed to be perfect in their role. They were infiltrators. They could devour a target, make their memories their own, mimic their abilities with a difference imperceivable. Her father had referred to them as 'his greatest creations'. A title she held with honor and distinction.
Their judgements, at times, could be incorrect. Naivety was their greatest flaw, those who had only lived for nine years. Of when to reveal their infiltration, when to fight to the last breath. There was only one man capable of seeing the grandest picture, the scope of the war. They were to wait until his signal, sent magically. Or verbally, in case of an emergency. Then, and only then, were they to reveal their true colors, to turn against those they had once fought alongside. To sabotage for the maximum possible benefit.
That he had simply forgotten about such a valuable asset was a clear tactical mistake, one that she could barely imagine her father making.
Distressing. It was painful to hear.
But irrelevant to the situation at hand.
"I repeat my previous offer. Would you like to escape," Delta said.
The General laughed yet again. Bitterly, this time. His ire was directed at himself, rather than her, which she was vaguely grateful for.
"I have a role in this process," he gruffly stated. "The Ashen King is dead, courtesy of your lack of initiative. But someone must take the blame. Someone has to face the Alliance's idea of justice, and who better than the face of the Legion? Just following the general's orders. If they can't have me, they'll have my officers. They'll cook a scapegoat and parade them about."
He broadly flicked his hand, gestured the best he could while shackled.
"Better this way. One man hangs. The rest go free. You included, apparently."
The idea was foreign to her. She had not considered this possibility. Simulated Personality Rhizome would have, upon reflection, which was interesting. She seemed to believe strongly in honor and responsibility for one's people.
Delta could come around on the idea. Her one responsibility… she had failed it.
Shallowly, she nodded.
Once again, she turned to leave. Once again, the General spoke before she could.
"Satisfy one more curiosity, wouldn't you? Why did you come here? You have no one giving you orders anymore. You had no reason to offer. We have never met. Peace? Comfort? Salvation? Absolution?"
Delta didn't turn to view his expression this time. She could visualize it. A raised eyebrow, a mocking grin. She had seen more than enough of each in her time here.
The General rattled off possibility after possibility, sounding as if he didn't really believe any of them were correct. "Did you hope to restore the Empire, even without its leader? To build your twisted sort of family, having lost the closest thing to a father you had? I have a tale or two to tell on the Ashen King, if you simply wanted to learn more about the man you murdered."
She considered them. Delta shook her head. None of these guesses were correct.
"You are correct. This was unnecessary. I…" Delta said. Trailed off.
"I wanted to talk to someone who understood what it was like to lose," she said, finally.
The General scoffed. "You've lost nothing. You're free, stigmaless. You've the broadest of horizons. Go anywhere. Be anyone. Do anything. Don't lower yourself to my level." His shackles jingled for emphasis.
Delta didn't respond, seeing as how he was patently wrong. Foolishly, she turned back to look at him one final time as the cell's door closed. His face didn't wear scorn, nor malice, or even sadistic joy.
Pity.
The inn her party had rented rooms at was in the merchant's quarter. The quarter was hit hardest by the incineration ritual, as Ardor told her. The three of them had been lifting rubble and putting out fires all day. Durbin and Empezar were all tuckered out, and had gone to bed early. Ardor, though, as was customary for her, was still brimming with a seemingly endless energy. Pacing about their shared room, recounting the day's adventures, and smiling all the while—it came naturally to her.
Delta's calm smile on Rhizome's face, by contrast, was a frozen rictus. Held in place and convincing only due to discipline and design. Her mind was awhirl. It was difficult to pay due attention. She sat still on the bed, back propped against the wall.
…She truly had no purpose anymore. Not since her father's death. Arguably, even earlier. Her purpose, since creation, had been… forgotten about. She did not know when, exactly. It had to have been after the deaths of her siblings, for she was sure she had heard her father's voice at some point not long before.
The activation key sat unused in her mind. She did not… truly need it. Her father's permission was what she had been waiting for. But she could dissolve Rhizome's form away and take upon her true one at will. Did she want to? What would even be the point? Then again, what was the point of remaining as she was?
What was the point of anything?
She might've stayed there, silent, unmoving, for an eternity. Inertia: once an object in motion, she'd ceased to move. Would not move again, her very thoughts and body a cage. Shapes filling her head, of ashes and flames and a last, furious, fatal dance with the one person she had ever loved. His partner whose name he hadn't even known.
…She would've stayed unmoving. But an outside force acted upon her, as she was wont to do. An outside force standing next to her, gazing upon her with concerned eyes.
"Hey, Rhizome," Ardor said, softly. "You've been quiet. Something Cinder said weighing on your mind?"
The intrusion was not unwelcome.
…The Dragonspear was a perceptive person. A social butterfly. She had the kind of charisma that could rally armies to war, turn foes to friends. Did, and used it too. Outward-projecting, but also the cold-reading of an experienced con-man. Always, she'd been the most worrisome person in the party when it came to breaking cover. Empezar was more paranoid on the surface. He didn't question his assumptions after he'd confirmed them, however. Once she'd convinced him that Rhizome was trustworthy, he backed her until the bitter end.
Ardor wasn't like that. Not as paranoid, but she noticed discrepancies. Not as set in stone on her beliefs; her whims and opinions were often subject to change. Delta was emotionally compromised at the moment. She'd need to be especially careful, if she were to avoid arousing suspicion.
…Then again. Why did she care? What future was she trying to enact?
"Yes. Question. You do not have parents. But you have a sibling," Delta said.
Ardor nodded, slowly, unable to see the thread of thought. Confusion began to emerge across her face. Noticing the deadpan, inflectionless delivery, likely. Her natural style of speech, that she was no longer bothering to hide.
"How do you know that he loves you," Delta asked.
Ardor scratched her head, surely realizing something was off. But she took a seat on the bed beside Delta nonetheless, thinking.
Ardor started to explain, slowly, "Tough question. It's not simple. Some people might tell you it's a warm feeling in their chest, or something deep in the soul. For me, though…"
She placed a hand on Delta's head, her hair, mussed it. Simulated Personality Rhizome would resist such intrusion. Delta did nothing.
"...it's in the little things," Ardor continued. "The way he clings to me tightly when we haven't met for awhile, shows he fears for my life. Time he puts into patching my wounds after training. He knows the exact way I like breakfast, just how to prepare eggs and sides of pork. He gets loud whenever we disagree, truly angry if I don't see things the same way he does."
Ardor's eyes were faraway, clearly reminiscing on each act of kindness as she mentioned them. She shook her head to clear away those thoughts and bring her back to the present.
"I've got my own set of little things I remember for him. I'll be happy to see him again, in a week or so. And him, me. We try to make each other happy, so we keep wanting to see each other. That's love, if you ask me," she finished.
An eloquent definition, that more or less coincided with common consensus. The question, in truth, was unnecessary. Merely confirmation.
The Ashen King had never clung to her. He had never expressed fear that she would perish. She had once believed it meant confidence in her ability.
He had never patched her wounds. Always, he'd had his servants and retainers take care of her when she'd been injured. She had once believed that was enough.
He had never once made her breakfast. Let alone know how she enjoyed it.
He had never raised his voice to her, never expressed an ounce of emotion. Every word was clinical, cold. She had once admired it as a measure of his impeccable self control, something to emulate.
He hadn't loved her.
…Did she still have to love him?
"You're being weird, Rhizome. What's up with that? Where'd all your spirit go? Cinder use his magic to suck it all out of you?"
"The General doesn't possess magic," Delta said.
…She no longer saw any reason to hold back. And she, frankly, was tired of thinking about it.
So she told the Dragonspear the whole truth.
Despite all expectation, Ardor sat and simply listened. Not saying anything. Expression barely changing. Even as she admitted her true loyalties in her preferred tonelessness, as she spoke of the true Rhizome's death at her hands, and her recent encounter with the General in the Blessed Land's capital. Only once Delta made it quite clear she was finished did she ask a question.
"So we never knew the original Rhizome, yes?"
"No. You knew her briefly. I only consumed her two days after you first met under Saturn," Delta said.
"Not long, then," Ardor dismissed. "Well. Want to know a secret, Rhizome?
A moment of silence, anticipation. Dramatic effect, from the drama queen.
"I'm not much of a hero," Ardor admitted, so brazenly.
"...Pardon," Delta said.
Ardor got up again, slowly pacing. "I'm not, what's the word. Selfless, right? Never cared for the Alliance, the Blessed Land. It's just too many people. I didn't pick up the spear to protect everyone. That it chose me for my 'strength of character', I think, is just a lie? I'm not like that."
The Dragonspear appeared in her hands once again, ornate patterns blazing softly in the dim light. Broadly, it traced a meandering path across the room, careful not to hit the wall or Delta, still sitting in bed.
"Was never about the world to me. All that matters is my brother. My friends from the orphanage, the matron. That baker that was kind to me. My mentor who trained me, rest his soul. People who've asked for my help. Warriors I've fought alongside on the battlefield."
The tip of the spear came to settle, pointing straight at Delta's face.
"Empezar. Durbin. And you, right?"
Delta… couldn't understand. Ardor was speaking in a dead language, it seemed. One whose words and syllables only tangentially lined up with their own. Because there was no sane person who would say the words she had just said.
"I am unsure if you understand. I killed Rhizome, Star of Saturn. I lied to you for nine years. I would have turned on you had I but heard the command. I should not be accounted for among your allies, friends, nor comrades," Delta said.
The Dragonspear simply shrugged, vanishing the spear. Grinned slightly. "What can I say? Never was the brightest person. Way I see it, you've never hurt me. Helped through all the toughest parts of our journey. I guess Empezar and Durbin probably wouldn't see it the same way, but they're not the ones you told, are they?"
…Yes, Delta had been long aware that Ardor was not a strategist. But she had thought her smarter than this.
"...Imbecile," Delta said.
"Careful, might hurt my feelings," Ardor chuckled. "Anyway, sad to see Actual Rhizome's dead, obviously. But that's in the past. You're here, now. And I care about you. And you, me?"
Did she?
Once, Ardor had been captured by the General, single handedly holding off Cinder's Legion to allow an Alliance encampment to escape with their wounded. Empezar had insisted they mount a rescue, and duelled the General to buy time for them to escape with a wounded Ardor. Simulated Personality Rhizome would have clung to her ally and wept at her ill health, so she had done so. But did Delta mean it?
Delta had patched up her wounds the next day. Simulated Personality Rhizome genuinely did not have medical knowledge. But Delta had learned it, back when she'd been working directly under her father. She'd put it to use, despite deniability allowing her a plausible excuse. She'd justified it at the time as making herself a more useful ally. Did Delta believe something more?
She knew exactly how Ardor liked her breakfast: meaty, overcooked, with an excess of salt and fat. It had been a necessary step, to know her enemy. To be able to ingratiate herself to the best of her ability. She still knew it, now.
…She'd never once been genuine enough with Ardor to raise her voice at her.
"I don't know," Delta said.
"Dang," Ardor commented glibly. "Ouch. Well, you going to stab me, then? Finish what the Ash King started? Seek vengeance? Raise the legions once more?"
"No," Delta said.
"'Course not. We'll figure it out together, then. You can shapeshift into anyone, right? We'll figure out who you are. Who you want to be, what you want to do, where you want to go." Ardor came to a stop in front of Delta and reached out her hand.
"You with me?"
I did this instead of following the spirit of the prompt properly. Came up with a whole band of original characters, a vaguely original backstory, and tried to fit the theme literally, just to avoid it. I'll elaborate more if asked, but otherwise I apparently need to not post it.
Worth it? Ehhhhhhh
It's explicitly not a fanfic of anything, but I did take inspiration from three main sources.
Frieren: Beyond Journey's End: a post-journey character exploration in a fantasy setting with four heroes.
DEATH BATTLE (Bowser vs. Eggman): a loyal child of a defeated villain wondering what to do now.
Limbus Company Canto 7: child angsts about having killed their father.
My submission! For transparency's sake, I submitted the initial draft at... 6:59PM, EST, which was basically a minute before the due date, and completed some final edits at or around 9:30PM, EST.
Life aboard the Cable Street was… more sterile than you thought it would be. You'd grown up on some nameless rock orbiting one of Jupiter's moons, breaking open derelict ships to flog the copper wiring and spare parts. The noxious mix of oil, sweat, and nicotine lingered in your workplace's recycled atmosphere long into the night. You were used to rusting walls, grimy surfaces, dingy lights, dusty ventilators. Any spaceworthy vessel worth its salts had enough redundant systems that one or two maintenance errors never affected the integrity of the whole too much, so nobody bothered. You were all too busy to care. There was a war going on, after all.
Compared to your home, a Void Cutter like the Cable Street was almost painfully clean. You would know. When you first signed on, you spent hours awkwardly fumbling in microgravity with a damp cloth to wipe off anything that didn't shine to your CO's liking. Apparently it was a morale thing more than anything else, some military tradition that the People's Liberation Space Forces had inherited from their Earther roots. Spotless ships make for spotless crew. It helped instill discipline, made some of the long hours of boredom go away.
Something about being in the void messes with your perception of time. It was different aboard the Station, where you had weekends and holidays and could watch Sol appear and disappear over the horizon every dozen or so hours, a gentle reminder of humanity's birthplace amid the stars. Out here, every few months was a different star, and they had to simulate the days and nights by playing with the onboard lighting system. It got hard to tell the days and months apart from each other.
So when, in the middle of your Poker game, your Fire Controlman, Petty Officer Worthing, suddenly turned to you and said, "Hey Leftenant, aren't you Christian? It's Christmas Day, you know," you were more surprised than you should have been.
"The LT's Christian?" asked one of your operators.
"Of course he is. His parents were from Ganymed."
"The hell does that have to do with anything?"
"Everyone on Ganymed is Christian. If your parents are Christian, so are you. It's like being Jewish."
"That's not how that works, Ally. It's a religion, you need to believe in it to be one of them."
"Judaism is a religion, too, ain't it?"
"That's different—"
"Man, will the two of you call or fold already?"
"Hang on, hang on," you said, clearing your throat. "Worthing, you're saying it's the twenty-fifth of December?"
"Yessir," the PO replied. "As of… two minutes, thirty-seven seconds ago."
"...shit," you say, looking down at your cards. "Uh… I fold."
Around the table, the rest of your gunnery crew folded in quick succession, drawing an exasperated sigh from one of your rates, who revealed a Jack-high flush. "New game, everyone?" she asked, eyeing you all sardonically.
"Yeah, deal the cards," you reply. "Maybe don't grin like an idiot next time so we don't catch you out with a good hand."
"Lieutenant. Respectfully, go fuck yourself."
Laughing her off, you bid the dealer to give out the next set of hands.
You treated your gunnery watch pretty leniently. Your Captain didn't seem to care that much these days, since recently you've been getting postings further and further from the axis of conflict with the Federationists. The war had been grinding to a halt for a long time now, with the PLSF and FRSF fighting bleeding skirmishes over a couple dozen FTL Gates and devastated colonies. You weren't privy to the details, but you've heard from the grapevine that High Command was trying to get some voidcraft to "probe" a few of the less-defended Gates, perhaps to scope out an alternate path to victory.
Of course, being a dozen jumps away from the nearest civilized station meant that nobody in their right minds would launch an assault from this particular route. And the Gates themselves weren't actually big enough to accommodate a fleet of sufficient size. This sector of space was, for all intents and purposes, dead.
That suited you just fine.
"My grandmother was an Earther, you know," you say as you put down a call of another ten credits. "She lived in uh… England, I think."
"That a fact?" PO Worthing replied. He looked at his cards, and then to the table, made a disgruntled face, and folded. "I think my whole extended family are spacers. I visited Earth once, on a holiday to Shintokyo. My bones ached for months afterwards. I wasn't built for Earther gravity."
"There's lots of Christians there, right?"
"Ally, for the love of God—"
"No, Hoshikawa, there aren't that many Christians in Shintokyo," you say, chuckling. "They do celebrate Christmas there, though. I think—I think the Americans brought it over. During the Second World War."
"So it's not just a Christian thing?"
"No. It's like—" You pause. "It's like May Day. Everyone can celebrate it, if they want to. Spacers, Earthers, Catholics, Neo-Catholics, Classical Catholics, Dominionist Catholics—"
"Soldiers?"
"...yeah," you reply hesitantly, scratching your forehead. "Of course."
It's near the tail-end of your second consecutive watch and the peripherals of your vision are starting to go black. You try to blink it away. Years of discipline have hardened you against dreariness, but the human body can only take so much.
Unbidden, a yawn erupts from your lips. You stare down at your cards, trying to figure out if you should finally fold, when—
<><><>
"The batteries?"
"All quiet. The 3rd and 5th are reporting… technical difficulties. The rest have failed to check in with Battalion."
"I see. How are we at the front?"
"Well… the boys are a bit antsy, sir, but it's been quiet there as well."
"Have we had any communication with the enemy?"
"...as a matter of fact, sir, some of the troops went over the trench, sir. More of them, by the minute, sir…"
<><><>
"Uhh, Leftenant? Sir?" PO Worthing is holding onto your shoulder, trying to keep your head upright.
As you come to, you realize you're floating at an odd angle. You must have blacked out for a second there. "Shit… sorry. I'm just eager for some shuteye, is all."
Worthing nods. "Shift's over in less than an hour. You wanna lie down, Leftenant?"
"Yeah. It's not like anything interesting ever happens in this posting—"
What you hear next is a noise that will make any military spacer freeze: A low, electronic whistle, followed by a higher-pitched screech. All over the ship, the PA system was crackling to life:
"Now hear this. General quarters, all hands to battlestations. Radar contact has been made with a hostile voidcraft. I say again, general quarters, all hands—"
"Goddamnit, Ally!" one of your rates roared.
In a flash, all of your cards were left floating in microgravity as the four of you assumed your stations around the cramped mass driver cabin. The ship shook, and you started to feel a slight weight push you towards one end of the cabin as the PA announced that the Cable Street was starting to activate her RCS thrusters to keep her broadside towards the enemy. A few moments later, you reached your terminal and, with a few strokes, connected yourself to Commandnet. A flurry of instructions and affirmations fill your ears. You wait for a break in the transmissions, and declare, "Bridge, Gun Fox. We are ready to receive firing instructions."
"Bridge copies all. Gun Fox, be advised, our targeting computers are inoperable, and Guns Chimera and Eagle are unavailable at this time."
"Wha—" You catch yourself. Chimera and Eagle were the only other guns on your broadside, which meant prosecuting this battle entirely up to you. Now wasn't the time to panic. The central computers failed all the time. You'd handle it just like you did at the shipwide exercises. "Gun Fox copies all. Beginning manual operation now."
You snap your head towards your Fire Controlman. "Worthing! Viewscreen! The rest of you, get this gun bearing towards the enemy. Hoshikawa, I'm gonna need some calculations."
The tactical screen blipped to life, and before you stood an image of a Mandela-class cutter closely hugging the red gas giant that served as the only point of interest in this gravity well—besides the star, of course.
"How'd she get so close to us?" You wonder aloud.
One of your rates answers, "I think she hopped into this gravity well while Y-Yavin—" he held back a chuckle. For some reason, the name of this solar system was a big joke among the younger spacers. "—was still obscuring the view of our Gate from theirs. She probably didn't even know we were here until she crested the horizon of the gas giant."
"She seems to be hoping to slingshot around Yavin and back towards her gate, sir," one of your other rates mentions.
"They're just as surprised as we are to see them," you mutter. She could be a scouting ship, in advance of a larger fleet, but that was unlikely. She was probably doing exactly what you were doing—probing the enemy for weakness along an already-untenable front, on orders from on high.
"Hoshikawa? Hoshikawa!" You look around, but can't seem to find your gunner. "Ally!"
"Sir!" She suddenly floats into view, frantically scribbling into a notebook as she eyes the vessel in front of her and the telemetry on the computer. "I'm sorry, LT, sir, I couldn't find my pen. I have traversal and elevation degrees for you."
"Well? Out with it!"
She started to spit out numbers, and your crew quickly obliged. You all felt your cabin turn as it realigned to point towards the enemy. It took about thirty seconds for the gun to finally be in position, but each one felt longer and longer as the hostile cutter slowly thrusted towards your optimal range.
"Gun ready!" someone shouts.
The final authority to fire fell to you. It was the simplest, easiest thing part of your job.
…and yet…
"...give her an adjustment, plus two vertical," you say.
Hoshikawa gives you a look. "Sir…?"
"Could be a solar wind," you reason. Nobody can really argue with you—galactic phenomena tend to be weird and capricious.
Another rate repeated your instructions back to you: "Adjusted! Plus two, vertical!"
You take a breath. "Send it!"
Your cabin lurches as its mass driver shoots a heavy bolt of tungsten barreling towards the enemy. PLSF had some of the best naval batteries in the galaxy—one shot was enough to incapacitate anything smaller than a destroyer, if you were lucky. Of course, it wouldn't come close to doing that kind of damage if the payload sails harmlessly over the target—which it did, barely skimming her hull by what couldn't have been more than a dozen or so meters before being consumed by Yavin's gaseous atmosphere.
"Near miss," somebody reports. "Adjusting, minus two—"
"I'm seeing heat—incoming! Incoming!"
Your eyes widen. "Brace, brace, brace—!" You shout. But it's too late. The projectile is already within spitting distance—
<><><>
The football flies harmlessly over the soldier's helmet. Even so, he flinches, clutching his head, feeling the hair on the back of his neck tingle. He's dealt with too many near misses before not to have a second sense for projectiles.
Another soldier comes running over, speaking frantically. "Entschuldigung, entschuldigung! Normalerweise ist mein Zielen nicht so schlecht, gahahaha!"
"Oi, hand us the ball! Fuck's sake, Fritz, with a kick like that—"
It was a surreal sight, the game that was unfolding before him. Just yesterday, the soldier had been peering down the sights of his rangefinder anxiously towards this particular stretch of No Man's Land, wondering when the Huns would come over the hills.
Well, the Hun was here. And apparently, he was quite proficient at football.
The soldier wandered past the games, not sure what to do with himself. His commanding officer had disappeared into a crowd of other officers—English, French, German. He had no idea what they were talking about, and had no desire to learn. He felt like he'd walked into another world entirely. The guns had stopped, and the planes no longer whirred, and the artillery pieces lay dormant in their pits.
Was this it? Was this all it took to stop the bitterest of wars—a gentleman's agreement?
As he wandered, he wound up in the company of a few of his squadmates who were speaking animatedly with one of the Germans who knew English well. They were exchanging tobacco, liquor, chocolate, and postcards, apparently. As he tried to ingratiate himself with the group, one of the quieter Germans suddenly came up to him and asked, "What is your name, son?"
The soldier hesitated. You weren't supposed to fraternize with the enemy. Then again, you weren't supposed to play football with him either. Or trade luxuries. "...Niles Harrow, sir. Corporal Niles Harrow. You?"
"Sergeant Werner Bamburg. A pleasure."
"Indeed." Harrow paused. "Your English is quite good."
"My wife was an Anglophile," the man explains. "Shakespeare, Dickens…"
"That Dickens fellow had some good writing chops. A bit dreary sometimes, though."
The old soldier chuckled. "Aye. So, my friend here says you sang in a choir?"
"Uhh, yessir. I did, sir. Can't say I was any good, sir—"
"Well, I hope you're simply underplaying your talents. Because my commanding officer is convinced that English boys can't sing half as good as German men, and I bet against him. I could use the help."
"Oh." Harrow chuckled. "Well, sir… I suppose I could oblige…"
<><><>
"...what the hell just happened?"
The projectile had missed, by quite a lot. Thankfully, the suspense had kept everyone looking away, so nobody had noticed you blacking out.
You paused to consider just what exactly the other ship was driving at. Strictly speaking, a Mandela had slightly better targeting systems than a Void Cutter—it was unlikely that they were experiencing the same tech problems, right?
"...gunner, for our next shot, adjust one-point-five vertical, two horizontal."
"One-point-five vertical, two horizontal…"
Once again, your cabin lurches. The tungsten rod flies. And it misses her target, again just barely, again by no more than a few dozen meters.
In response, the other vessel sends a projectile hurtling towards your rear thrusters. It would have been a reasonable shot, disabling your ability to pursue and encouraging you to flee, but it missed. You did note, with some uncertain pride, that it missed by a lot more than your shot did.
Remembering your responsibility to the rest of your ship, you tap into Commandnet and inquire, "Bridge, Gun Fox. What's the status on the rest of our broadside?"
The response is almost immediate: "Gun Fox, Bridge. Remainder of our starboard broadside will remain powered down to increase power to broadside shields, how copy?"
"Good copy." You close the link. "Gunner! Uh… Let's try for their own rear thrusters this time. And—"
"Minus two horizontal from whatever I calculate?" Hoshikawa asks.
"Yep," you reply crisply.
She salutes. "Gimme a second…"
A few more shots go out like that. Near misses, targeting non-critical parts of your respective voidcraft. It was almost like a game that nobody was interested in winning. Your watch worked like a machine, relaying orders with military precision—all to miss whatever you were shooting at.
It was like a dance. No! A song…
<><><>
"Si—lent night. Ho—ly night…"
"C'mon, lads, louder! LOUDER! You're royal artillery, aren't you? Belt like it!"
"Al—les schläft; ein—sam wacht…"
"Lauter, dummköpfe!"
"Round, yon virgin mother and child…"
"Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar…"
"Sleep in heavenly pea—ace!"
"Schla—aff in himmlischer Ruh!"
It was a cacophony of noises, English and Germans trying to out-sing each other as the night went on and drinks went around. There was something curious about the way the troops seemed to want to make "Silent Night" into the loudest carol in the world, but Corporal Harrow couldn't complain.
How could he? Because right now, he was absolutely wasted.
"I've… I've… I've got me a fiancee in Leeds, you see," Harrow slurs. "'aven't 'eard back fro' 'er in a while. This… this whole war has me…"
"Yes, yes, I understand." The German then repeats in his own language: "Ich verstehe, Ich verstehe. A soldier has to hold onto whatever binds him to home. He'll lose himself otherwise."
"You're… like a philosopher, you are! You and your wife both, I bet! You ever… think about… you should… I bet you'd make a good… like… you know, the, the—the one who keeps the books and preserves the gooduns for prosperity!"
"Bibliothekarin? Ah—I mean, 'Librarian'?"
"Tha's the one!" Harrow exclaims.
"...that would have been nice, yes," the old soldier muses. "Maybe in another life…"
"Wot, are you worried you won't make it home?" Harrow asks.
"No." The man grimaces. "My Greta died ten years ago."
That sobers the Englishman up almost immediately. "...oh."
"Ten years ago today, in fact," he says, face pensieve. "I won't be away from her long, though. I can feel it in my bones. I… I'm older than I look, Mister Harrow. I fought at Wissembourg, in fact. There wasn't even a Germany back then. Now look at us."
An awkward silence passes between the two soldiers. The older leans back, staring into the stars, while the younger looks around anxiously, wondering if he's accidentally done something to offend his companion.
"You think this war'll be over before then, Mister—" Harrow quickly corrects himself. "Uh, Herr Bamburg?"
"I do not know." He pauses, and then adds, "I hope so. I'd like to visit her grave before I go."
Feeling like there is nothing more to be said, Harrow remains silent, content to listen to the band and the choir envelop them both.
Suddenly, Harrow asks, "do you play poker, Herr Bamburg? One of my mates has a deck."
"Only if you're willing to wager me some of that French wine…"
<><><>
"LT! Sir!"
You snap out of your fugue. "Did I just fall asleep at my post?" you ask.
"It seemed like it, sir. Our fire mission is complete, sir," Worthing says. "...the hostile craft has disappeared behind Yavin. They're probably in transit out of the system now."
"We won't get a chance to catch her unless we burn our thrusters in pursuit," someone adds.
You try to get your wits about you. The Bridge had yet to rescind the all-hands order, so you still had to hold onto your command until that happened. And then—
And then you—
"...ahh, shit!"
"It's happening again!"
<><><>
The year was 1914. It was the 25th of December, in the earlier months of what would later be called the First World War.
You walk through flooded trenches, trampled lines of twisted, barbed wires, and freshly-dug graves. Past broken pillboxes, uprooted trees, and artillery shell pockmarks. You're chasing the sound of music and laughter, somewhere beyond the horizon, along the vast, browned-out stretch of land where two of the mightiest armies on Earth did battle and bled themselves white for little gain.
A smell wafts in, the closer you get to No Man's Land. Somewhere, somebody is cooking something that smells good—or maybe that's just the scent of alcohol and tobacco. Soldiers huddle around makeshift fires, chattering and exchanging gifts. A football lies on its side, forgotten, the players too busy lounging and drinking to kick.
Near the center, a half dozen soldiers sit around a campfire, playing cards. You hear someone call out "oi!", and turn your head to see Corporal Niles Harrow waving at you. "Wanna join us? We've room for another player."
You're tempted to oblige him, but can not. "I'm sorry," you say. "I have places to be."
"Bahhh. Humdrum! Is… is that what that Scrooge character says?"
"Humbug," his friend, Sergeant Werner Bamburg, corrects him. "If you're not gonna play, at least sit with us. It's cold out there, ja? Rest your legs. Whatever urgent business you are on can wait."
"Yeah…" you reply. "I guess I can stay for a little while."
The players deal out their cards, and a new round begins.
"I wish my whole life could be like this," Harrow says. "Just games amid… friends. Why's it only gotta be one day?"
"If only," Bamburg snorts. "While we're stuck here on Earth, we have to live with the good and the bad."
"I bet it's Christmas everyday in heaven, though," Harrow laughs.
Bamburg purses his lips. "...are you so anxious to know for sure?"
"I—" Harrow pauses. "No! Not at all. I don't plan on meeting the Lord until precisely the moment I want to."
"Bah—bahahaha! Good." Bamburg lightly punches the Englishman's shoulder. "Okay, you bastards. What do you have?"
Hands are revealed, and one of the shoulders exclaims, "Jack-high flush!"
With mild consternation, the soldiers pass the winnings over to the gloating man. "Another round?" someone says.
"Didn't you say you had somewhere to be?" Corporal Harrow asks you. And suddenly, you remember.
"Oh, right. I… I was sent to retrieve you, sir," you say.
The man raises an eyebrow, and you continue: "I'm from the 6th Gun Emplacement, sir. Our CO is asking where one of our gunners is… sir."
"Is he? Damn. Damn…"
The mood changes all around you. Somewhere, someone lets out a whistle. The officers are starting to corral their man back onto their sides of the trench. The war will continue on the 'morrow, and leaders on both sides are anxious for the shooting to start up again.
"I'm, uh, I'm sorry, sir," you say. Harrow waves you off.
"You're just doing your duty, Leftenant. Nothing to be ashamed of." Harrow turns to the German, reaching out his hand. "And you. I… I really hope I don't see you any time soon, Herr Bamburg."
"You—ha! Haha! Me neither!" The old man shakes with laughter, gripping the younger soldier's hand firmly and giving it a shake. "Next time we meet, Gott willing, we'll both be old men. I wish you luck with your fiance in… what was it you said? 'Leeds'?"
Harrow nods. "Say, how do you say 'Merry Christmas' in German, anyway?"
"Frohe Weihnachten. Remember to pronounce the 'nacht' like you're being choked."
"I see, I see… well, Frohe Weihnahkten, Herr Bamburg."
"Close enough. Merry Christmas, Mister Harrow."
The two part ways. The German turns his back to the two of you, walking slowly through the mud towards his side of the war. Harrow turns to you, smiling kindly.
"I think it's time I take you back to where you need to be, Leftenant," he says.
Confused, you reply, "...it's the other way around, isn't it, sir?"
"...sir?"
At that point, you remember that you are dreaming, and everything falls away.
<><><>
When you were a child, your grandmother—who visited Ganymed on occasion—had told you stories about the Christmas Truce of the First World War. It was a miracle, she said. Soldiers on opposite sides of the bitterest of conflicts overcame their fear and their hate and their discipline to fraternize amid each other and wish each other a happy Christmas for a day. It was a moment, no matter how brief, where your humanity could overcome your obligations to hierarchy and nation.
It was a lovely story, and one that you had a lot of time to think about over the years. The Christmas Truce, as a tradition, didn't last, at least not in the form it took in 1914. Even by the very next year, the fighting had grown so bitter and leaders had grown so cruel that nobody was willing to tolerate that level of mass disobedience. Then came World War Two, where some of the biggest and bloodiest battles were fought around wintertime, and opposing forces had been taught to hate the other so fiercely that a Christmas Truce was out of the question. By the Third, wars were fought almost entirely through remote devices and opposing soldiers never had to see their opposite's face.
Was it so much to wish for peace on Christmas Day, so many centuries later? You were a military spacer. You were also pretty sure that you were a true believer, in some respects. The People's Front were, as far as you were concerned, the rightful heirs to the Union. You were in the PLSF because on some level, you believed the war was just.
And yet… several years in, you were tired. And maybe, you didn't want to kill anyone. Not on the Lord, our Savior, Jesus Christ's birthday, at least.
All of those thoughts and justifications were churning through your head as you were lying in the medical bed your crew had dragged you to, wondering how you were going to spin them to the Captain, when you heard the airlock hiss open.
"Captain." You gave her a rigid salute. "Sir."
"At ease, Leftenant," she said sharply. Your Captain was an older woman—some of the other officers whispered that she'd fought in the last Unification War—but no less punctual and severe than befit her rank. "Petty Officer Worthing already wrote me a report, but I want to hear the details from yourself, being the commanding officer of Gun Fox. Do you understand? Are you rested enough to speak?"
"Yes sir," you say. "I am, sir."
"Good. At 0:05, we made contact with an enemy. Circumstances conspired such that your gun was the only one able to respond. Due to operating system errors, the centralized targeting computer was unable to assist, so your gun was operating manually, correct?"
"Yessir."
"And you fired eight salvos, is that right?"
"Yessir."
"Then… let's see… due to a confluence of unknown phenomena within this gravity well that were unmeasurable and unaccounted for in your firing solutions, all eight tungsten rods failed to connect with the hostile vessel, yes?"
"Yes… sir."
"And all nine return fire salvos from the hostile vessel also missed. It's very likely they were affected by the same phenomena—although it would be impossible for us to test this without a dedicated science vessel. Correct?"
"Yessir."
"Great." Your Captain grinned. "I think that's good enough. I hear you took a second consecutive watch. Mind telling me why that is?"
"I, uh—" You turned a little red. "I lost a poker game. Sir."
"You lost—" the Captain snorted. "Well, see to it that you don't wager anything that may affect your performance in the future. I can't have dead-eyed gunnery officers on my ship. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," you say, chuckling. "I already regret it, sir."
"I'm sure you do." Your Captain looked over the report, making a few notes, pursing her lips.
You decide to take this moment to ask, "...permission to speak, Captain?"
She nods at you. "Go ahead."
"You think High Command will buy it, sir?"
"...they had better." She rolls her eyes. "We're the only People's Liberation vessel in orbit of this lifeless star. If they don't trust our reports, they can surely send a ship to investigate the front line themselves, the lazy bastards."
"I see. Sir."
"That will be all." Your Captain flipped the report shut. "You will be confined to this medical ward until you have had a proper night's sleep, Lieutenant. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yessir."
"Good man. Ring for Medical if you need anything." Your captain began to kick herself towards the exit. "Oh, and Merry Christmas, Lieutenant Harrow."
"Frohe Weihnachten, Captain," you say, finding that the words leave your tongue before you've properly thought them through.
"Aye." Your Captain disappeared behind the medbay's airlock, leaving you in peace.
<><><>
As the Captain of the Cable Street resumed her position aboard her Bridge, one of her support staff—a communications officer—hurried to get her attention.
"Message from Captain Oliver Nnadi of the Reconciliation to Captain Elisa Bamburg of the Cable Street, sir."
Captain Bamburg smirked. The message was short and ambiguous, and could be interpreted as a cheer or a taunt. Clever.
"Mirror their message back to them and close the line."
The communications officer repeated her order back to her, and as she watched the Reconciliation—now too far away to be reached by the Cable Street's primary weapons—disappear into the opposite Gate, Captain Bamburg made a silent prayer that the rest of their tour here would be quiet. One day, she thought, the war would be over for good.
One day.
<><><>
Inspirations for this setting include, but are not strictly limited to:
Ostranauts, the video game. Ganymed, is mentioned in the story, is pretty much entirely based off of Port Azikiwe, KLEG, which was built on the IRL asteroid Ganymed 1036.
For the Tyrants Fear Your Might, the Quest hosted on this forum. Portrayal of space combat and the logistics and tactical implications of relying on "gates" for FTL travel were lightly cribbed from that world's intricate setting.
The hangar radio chatter from Star Wars: Battlefront 2. The good one, from 2005.
Thank you very much for reading. I wish you a very merry Christmas, and a happy New Year's.
Phew, finally done. This one was a lot of fun, but I think I got too caught up in research for accuracy that wasn't entirely necessary. Happy Holidays everyone!
Secret Santa Short Story for @Rob Rimsill 's Prompt:
Hope the holiday season has gotten you all fired up and ready for more bureaucratic drudge. I have another incident report for you to take a look at; just want a second opinion on it before I shoot it up to the Director. They've been getting really nitpicky about the weirdest details lately.
Thanks again for helping me out with these. The formatting is really hard to get used to – why do we need to use codenames for everything? Also, ignore the bit in the middle that's still not finished yet. I'm still trying to figure out how to phrase it well.
Best regards,
Jackson Stoll, Ritual Analyst, Second Pillar, 8th Operations Division
You mean, more nitpicky than usual? Maybe that's why you've finally started using the full email signature jaja.
Regarding the report: Yeah, I can totally take a look at it, it's no trouble at all. It took me a while to grasp the style too when I started out, and I'm sure you'll get the hang of it eventually. But until then, us twos should stick together, right?
Best regards,
Tessa Fresco, Ritual Analyst, Second Pillar, 8th Operations Division
You're a lifesaver, Tess. Let me know when you finally get cleared by Toxicology, I'll buy you a drink sometime.
Best regards,
Jackson Stoll, Ritual Analyst, Second Pillar, 8th Operations Division
LUX DESINIT | OBLIVISCI EST SUPERESSE
ABNORMALITY KS-587
Aliases:
'Goblin'
Description:
KS-587 is a small humanoid measuring approximately 103 cm in height. It is similar in build to a proportionally smaller human, with the exception of oversized facial features and longer fingers and arms. Its skin tone is a light beige, and it has no hair. Its teeth are pointed and sharp enough to break skin.
The psychological profile of KS-587 is that of a cruel and mischievous prankster, driving nearby humans to seek comfort in familiar practices. This is hypothesized to be part of its reproductive strategy; if any Christmas decorations – symbolized in the context of KS-587 as any type of ornament meant to celebrate the Christian holiday of Christmas that have been intentionally displayed by a human – that have been touched by an instance of KS-587 are left on display past the midnight of January 5th, they will be transformed into further instances of KS-587.
Due to its extreme skill at evading observation, little else is known about KS-587. Caution is advised.
Known Countermeasures:
While its origins are Abnormal, each particular instance of KS-587 is a biological creature with all the weaknesses that entails. It has no special resistance to any type of damage.
KS-587 relies specifically upon Christmas decorations to spread; the decorations of other winter holidays do not produce further instances of KS-587. However, global suppression of the practice of Christianity has been deemed infeasible due to its widespread cultural influence.
Suppression Procedures:
Standard procedures are sufficient to suppress KS-587 if it can be engaged in direct combat. However, great care should be taken to ensure that a stable mental state is maintained at all times; KS-587's preferred strategy is to harass its pursuers until they lose focus and fall into prepared traps that could have been avoided by alert and aware operatives. It has been theorized that contact with KS-587 has an Abnormal effect on psychological stability, but this has not been proven due to lack of opportunities for experimentation.
Got the annotations mostly finished up, but my computer got haunted by one of the VJ's. Don't reply to this email, yours will get infected too. (Downloading a file is fine though – not enough of a link for it to spread apparently.) Good luck with your report.
Best regards,
Tessa Fresco, Ritual Analyst, Second Pillar, 8th Operations Division
Note to self: edit 'Temp' out of file before sending to director
Make sure to also cut out all of my notes jaja.
1. OPERATION SUMMARY
Deployment Location: Haddam, Connecticut | United States of America Deployed Personnel: 812th Operations Group, 3 local field agents Duration of Deployment: 4 Jan 18:30 to 6 Jan 04:15. Deployment Primary Objective(s): Suppress KS-587 following the failure of Operations KS-587-01 through KS-587-06. Deployment Secondary Objective(s): Minimize casualties to deployed personnel. Minimize casualties to civilian bystanders. Minimize collateral damage to the surrounding area.
This section looks pretty good. Maybe just tidy up the formatting a little, but there are no major issues.
2. INCIDENT DESCRIPTION
Following multiple failures by field agents to suppress KS-587, Suppression Director 'Double' elected to deploy the 812th Operations group, consisting of agents 'Pendant' (Operation Commander), 'Sternum' (Infiltration Specialist), 'Tetrad' (Suppression Specialist), and 'Rattle' (Composure Specialist).They were deployed via nighttime paradrop to the nearby woodland in order to avoid detection by KS-587, establishing contact with the local Division safehouse on Jan 4 at approximately 21:00. After consulting the field agents present, 'Pendant' made the decision to avoid direct confrontation with KS-587 in favor of 'laying a trap.'
Be more specific here. What kind of trap did the Operation Commander decide on, and why was that decision made? The point of an incident report is to explain what happened – don't leave out important details.
The morning of Jan 5, 'Sternum' departed for the last known location of KS-587; the Brainerd Memorial Library. He posed as a state code inspector, visiting to ensure the structural stability of the building. This disguise enabled him to set up various pieces of discreet monitoring equipment within the library, aiming to track KS-587 without it becoming aware of the presence of the Operations group. Simultaneously, 'Pendant' and 'Rattle' began sweeping the town for objects which had been affected by KS-587 and 'Tetrad' questioned the local field agents about their past encounters with KS-587.
After 'Sternum' completed his task, he joined 'Pendant' and 'Rattle' in tracking down affected objects. 'Tetrad' kept the three field agents in reserve as a rapid-response force, herself waiting near the library in case KS-587 was detected. This state of affairs continued until approximately 17:45, when 'Tetrad' successfully engaged with and suppressed KS-587. As a result of the low attendance, there were no civilian casualties.
After this event, 'Pendant' and 'Sternum,' accompanied by one of the field agents, spoke with the town government in order to cover up this encounter, while all remaining agents continued to search for objects which KS-587 had previously touched. At 21:00, they retreated to the safehouse to rest.
You're going through the early parts really fast. Only sort of a criticism – I can definitely see the benefits of getting to the incident itself quickly – but it's not how I usually write incident reports, and I tend to err on the side of more detail rather than less. I don't think I can offer any other advice here.
The next morning, at approximately 06:00, all agents again departed to continue locating and disposing of objects which could potentially be converted into more instances of KS-587 as per its Abnormal effects. Almost the entire town was successfully swept by 21:00, and the work was projected to be completed before the deadline for further instances of KS-587 to appear, but sensors still reported a potential concentration of energy at the former site of the Connecticut Yankee Nuclear Power Plant, which was much more difficult to reach on account of the need to cross the Connecticut River. 'Sternum' and 'Rattle' were dispatched, arriving at approximately 22:30.
Again, very sparse on the details. Did nothing of note happen in the intervening 15 hours?
The nuclear plant had long since been dismantled, but instead of empty remediated wetland with perhaps an old forgotten ornament, 'Sternum' and 'Rattle' encountered CTDEEP workers who were in the process of transferring the dry-storage casks containing the plant's nuclear waste from their current storage below the site for transfer to a longer-term federal storage area. Post-operation ritual analysis discovered that the exterior of one of the dry-storage casks had been stencilled with the phrase "MERRY CHRISTMAS DOE" by a CTDEEP worker, classifying it as a 'holiday decoration' according to the symbolism which KS-587 operated under. After this cask had been 'intentionally placed into a position meant to ensure its visibility' during its removal from its housing by the CTDEEP personnel, KS-587 had touched it, enabling it to be transformed into another instance of KS-587 on the transition from Jan 5 to Jan 6.
Define terms before you use them. I can look up that DOE is the U.S. Department of Energy and CTDEEP is the Connecticut Department of Energy and Environmental Protection, but the director doesn't have time to go searching around for this stuff. Include everything needed to read the document in the document.
At approximately 22:45, 'Rattle' noticed the Abnormality of the cask and moved to recenter it, but due to the wariness and suspicion of the CTDEEP personnel, 'Sternum' was unable to fully convince them to allow the agents access until it was too late for the recentering process to be completed fully. On midnight, Jan 6, the dry-storage cask was converted into an instance of KS-587, exposing the contents – 62 spent nuclear fuel rods – to open air.
Following this exposure, the newly-formed instance of KS-587, the CTDEEP personnel, and agents 'Sternum' and 'Rattle' all suffered from acute radiation syndrome and were subsequently incapacitated. The radiation also disrupted communications between these agents and the rest of the Division forces, alerting them that something had happened. 'Pendant' and 'Tetrad' gathered two of the field agents and organized into an ad-hoc fireteam, leaving the last field agent behind with orders to presume them dead and call in an orbital strike if they lost contact and did not return with appropriate identification within two hours.
I think it would be helpful if you went into a little more detail about the motivation of this decision. The knowledge that KS-587 is suspected to have some form of mind-altering effect makes this a good choice in order to avert a disaster scenario of Division agents being subverted, but without knowing that, it's much harder to understand why this was done.
As all prior instances of KS-587 had already been eliminated and all other potential objects of conversion had been removed prior to the deadline, the fireteam likely presumed that any that were present at the nuclear site would be the only remaining instances in the area of operation. Given that those instances of KS-587 would have been extant for hours at most and the surrounding environment was an uninhabited wetland with little opportunity for improvised traps, they would have likely believed that there would be no issues with discovering what had happened to 'Sternum' and 'Rattle' before engaging in direct combat with any newly-produced instances of KS-587. However, due to the continual use of their delicate sensor equipment, its condition had degraded to the point that they were unable to detect the newly-present radiation hazard until it had already disabled the team's communications.
Unable to contact the safehouse as they had planned, they immediately retreated at full speed, but were unable to clear the minimum safe zone before a MASER strike was ordered, and agent 'Pendant' along with the two field agents were critically wounded and died shortly after. However, due to her more protective armor and better physical condition, agent 'Tetrad' survived with only severe burns and still retained mobility. She performed basic first-aid on herself before returning to the safehouse, arriving at approximately 04:00. At approximately 04:15, 'Tetrad' designated agents 'Pendant,' 'Sternum,' and 'Rattle' as Killed in Action and assigned herself the position of Acting Commander. She then reported back an operation failure and requested a medium-urgency medical evacuation. This concluded the incident.
There's a good skeleton in this section, but you need to be more specific. Include more details and exact times of important events instead of just approximations – I know for a fact you're certified for temporal. You also have a bad habit of assuming knowledge. Just because you're aware of something doesn't mean that the reader is too. Once you flesh it out more though, it should be all good. You seem to cover all of the key points in at least basic detail.
3. FOLLOW-UP
As of Jan 13, the Connecticut government has issued several complaints about the behavior of the 812th Operations Group, focusing specifically on the extensive damage caused by the containment failure of one of the nuclear waste dry-storage casks. Environmental remediation efforts in the area have been greatly set back, and social media rumors have already impacted the global perception of the safety of nuclear energy. The cancer rate in the surrounding counties is expected to rise significantly.
You say what's happened, but there's no recommended follow-up. Not a major issue, but it did pop out at me. Even just the standard 'no action is required' would add a lot here.
Ritual analysis has confirmed that agents 'Pendant,' 'Sternum,' and 'Rattle' died during the operation, crippling the 812th Operations Group. The surviving agent, 'Tetrad,' has shown no signs of extraordinary psychological stress and it is recommended that she be transferred to another Operations Group following her recovery period, leaving the 812th designation empty until a new team can be trained.
The key point of collapse in the operation was the series of events at the nuclear site. Had the agents more quickly recognized that the dry-storage cask had been classified as a Christmas decoration and successfully recentered it before its conversion into an instance of KS-587, the incident would likely have been prevented in its entirety. While the lack of information about KS-587 and its symbology undoubtedly played a factor, Division agents are meant to be elite forces able to make snap judgements in high-stress situations. It is recommended that the standard ritualism training course be re-evaluated in light of this failure.
I know that it's something you're worried about, but I think that your style is one of your strong points. You really nailed the clinical, detached tone. Sitting where we are, it's important that we don't get caught up too much in emotion, and you abstain from it very well. Excellent work!
I've completed the evaluation on Jackson Stoll that you asked for. I'm afraid that your worries were confirmed; he has not appropriately acclimated to the Division environment and it has had serious psychological effects on him. Email logs show that he has attempted to form a friendship with one of his coworkers, Tessa Fresco, and they may even have met in person outside of work hours. He's a high-probability vector for VJ-164 – my recommendation is that you remove one or both of them from their positions as soon as possible and keep them from contacting each other until he has been re-inoculated.
Respectfully,
David Kingori,《¤》Evaluator, Exact Pillar, 8th Operations Division
LUX DESINIT | OBLIVISCI EST SUPERESSE
ABNORMALITY VJ-164
Aliases:
'Holiday spirit' | 'Christmas cheer' | 'Spirit of Christmas'
Description:
VJ-164 is a psychological compulsion that can spread through close physical contact with those already affected, as well as high-symbolism objects associated with VJ-164 such as 'Christmas trees' (see appendix A for a full list). The effects of VJ-164 are categorized into three distinct stages.
The first stage, occurring within minutes of exposure to VJ-164, induces feelings of warmth and joy within affected subjects, as well as a belief in 'the innate goodness of humanity' and the idea that 'all is well.' Higher cognitive functioning is reduced, hindering the ability of the subject to notice inconsistencies with this worldview.
After several hours of exposure, the affected subject will begin to seek out opportunities to spread VJ-164 under the guise of holiday-appropriate activities such as gift-giving, sharing food, and spending time with friends. Subjects afflicted with VJ-164 placed in close proximity to each other will subconsciously coordinate their activity in order to better facilitate the spread of VJ-164, even producing such extreme effects as spontaneous musical numbers in areas with high concentrations of those affected (see Operation VJ-164-17 'Lone Shield').
In the third stage, occurring on December 24 no matter the date of first exposure, those affected by VJ-164 perform a summoning ritual meant to call upon KS-533, consisting of placing a quantity of baked goods and cow's milk in a prominent place before going to sleep. If prevented from performing this ritual or from going to sleep after performing it, subjects grow increasingly irritable and restless, often attempting to escape by force. These effects end at sunrise on December 25, regardless of their success or failure.
After December 31, the effects of VS-164 recede to a mild increase in generosity and kindness, but those exposed remain infected, and the greater symptoms return on December 1st the following year.
Known Countermeasures:
VJ-164 is strongest in the month of December, especially the days leading up to December 25. After the start of January, its power wanes rapidly until the next December. Testing has shown that this effect is tied to human calendar systems rather than the rotation of the Earth; obscuring the date from those affected can hinder the effects of VJ-164 for as long as the deception is maintained.
There is no known cure for VJ-164 exposure, but social isolation of affected subjects has been shown to reduce the potency of its effects, eventually down to a fully dormant state after 2-3 months. However, once exposed, subjects will continually carry a much higher risk of reinfection, and they will progress much more rapidly through the stages of effects if re-exposed in the future.
Some individuals are known to be resistant or immune to the effects of VJ-164. There is no direct test for this resistance, but it is correlated with antisocial tendencies and a lack of empathy.
Suppression Procedures:
Due to its highly infectious nature, all past attempts to suppress VJ-164 in the wider world have failed. Instead, it has been placed under reverse containment procedures, where Division sites are kept free from its influence through strict screening of all staff which cross over the barrier. If any staff member is exposed to VJ-164, they should be removed from their position and placed into isolation until their symptoms are eliminated.
I've completed the incident report for KS-587-07. Please let me know if there are any issues.
Best regards,
Jackson Stoll, Ritual Analyst, Second Pillar, 8th Operations Division
LUX DESINIT | OBLIVISCI EST SUPERESSE
from: Automated Mailing Control System <amacs@opdiv8.gov>
to: Jackson Stoll <jstoll@opdiv8.gov>
subject: RE: INCIDENT REPORT KS-587-07
The email address you are trying to reach does not exist or is otherwise unavailable. If you believe that this is due to a VJ incident, contact Facilities Management <fmhelpdesk@opdiv8.gov>. If you believe that this is due to an NU incident, log out of your computer and immediately proceed to the nearest shelter.
Just tried to email a report to the Analysis Director but AMACS said the address doesn't exist. Can you guys check and make sure everything's all good with the system? Thanks.
Best regards,
Jackson Stoll, Ritual Analyst, Second Pillar, 8th Operations Division
The email address you are trying to reach does not exist or is otherwise unavailable. If you believe that this is due to a VJ incident, contact Facilities Management <fmhelpdesk@opdiv8.gov>. If you believe that this is due to an NU incident, log out of your computer and immediately proceed to the nearest shelter.
DISPATCHER: Hello, you've reached the tech support hotline, how can I help you?
CALLER: Hi. I'm having some problems with my email, I can't seem to get through to anyone.
DISPATCHER: What's your name, sir?
CALLER: Jackson Stoll. I'm with Analysis.
DISPATCHER: Thank you, Jackson. You said there was something wrong with your email, can you explain in a little more detail what the issue is?
CALLER: Sure. I have a report that I need to send up to the Analysis Director, but when I emailed them, the bot said their address was unavailable. I heard from one of my coworkers that there's some sort of VJ that affects emails going around so I tried contacting FM, but I couldn't reach them either.
DISPATCHER: I see. If there's a VJ, then you should avoid trying to fix the issue on your own. I can have a support team sent over shortly, where are you right now?
CALLER: My office. Oh wait, sorry. Second Pillar, two-hundred fifteen degrees theta, sixty-seven phi. I'm the only one without a nameplate on the door yet.
DISPATCHER: Great! There aren't any free teams in your area at the moment, but one is already heading along the Second Pillar already for a different call. Once they're finished with that, I'll tell them to swing by and help you with your email. They should be there within half an hour, is that okay?
CALLER: Much appreciated. If I can't get this working, I'd probably need to send a courier over with a hardcopy, and I'd rather avoid that. Their Pillar is at a weird angle to mine right n—
Faint knocking.
CALLER: Hang on for a moment please, someone's at the door.
Wheels rolling against carpet followed by muffled footsteps.
CALLER: Oh, the team you sent just arrived. That was way faster than I thought it'd be.
???: [inaudible].
CALLER: Woah, you guys are all kitted out. Did you get diverted from suppressing something?
???: [inaudible].
CALLER: Just a second please, I'm on the phone with—hey! Let go of me!
???: We have a noncom, repeat, target is noncom! [uncertain, audio source distant from microphone]
CALLER: Hey! HEY!
Loud sizzling followed by a thump. Several moments of silence.
Sorry for being short previously; they told me I had to 'minimize connective meaning' so that the VJ couldn't spread. But they finally got a priest in to clear out my computer – I'm all good to ramble on again jaja. How did your report go? Were the annotations alright?
Also, I've also still got a weekend leave stored up, if you're available. I hear they're having some kind of music ceremony at the Multiplicative Pillar next week, and those kinds of things are always better with friends. Don't be a stranger, alright?
Best regards,
Tessa Fresco, Ritual Analyst, Second Pillar, 8th Operations Division
The email address you are trying to reach does not exist or is otherwise unavailable. If you believe that this is due to a VJ incident, contact Facilities Management <fmhelpdesk@opdiv8.gov>. If you believe that this is due to an NU incident, log out of your computer and immediately proceed to the nearest shelter.
On mymobile so apologies that this is a bit choppy, but here is the grand list of all of our Secret Santa Short Story writers with the prompts they received.
Content Promotion Staff will be going along later today and adding a note into each story which tags the promoter so they get an alert, but a big list is also useful.
The spoiler policy is no longer in effect, and this thread will stay open for any and all discussions of the stories and the prompts! Thank you so much!
Thank you very much to everyone who submitted a prompt and an entry in this contest. With so many participants and so many wonderful works, it was a challenge to select the best. Nonetheless, having made our decisions, we are proud to announce that the Winner of the SV Secret Santa Short Story Contest is...
Although the sheer number of excellent entries made a decision difficult, our judges uniformly rated this piece as one of their highest selections, praising the depth of emotion and the remarkable characterization and development. Delta's personality and character, and the ways we saw her grow and change before and during the story formed the core of a piece that would touch any reader's heart. This was a story in which every word had a purpose, making careful use of variations in sentence structure and length, the differences between Simulated Personality Rhizome and Delta, and reaching a simple and heartwarming conclusion - this piece set itself a goal and accomplished it with characteristic efficiency. Embodying a narrative of change and growth and finding a conclusion to the journey in understanding and a preparation for the next step, this was a masterful character study, and impossible to forget. A remarkable interpretation of the prompt, this well-written, well-plotted, well-characterized entry is a standout among a field of distinguished competitors.
Furthermore, we'd also like to offer an Honorable Mention to...
This piece was by turns horrifying, awesome, and sweet. Horror is a tricky tightrope to walk, and this story managed it masterfully, remaining suspenseful without ever becoming implausible. With a gripping narrative and a chilling ending, this was a memorable reinterpretation of Santa's association with the Christmas mythos, and a skillful execution of a tricky prompt. The author's ability to construct a complete story from that, one which embodies the modern, more clinical approach to horror, is a commendable feat, and produced a story which was genuinely enjoyable.
This story was a great example of how to take a great prompt and make it even better with an inventive twist. The story of the Christmas Truce is incredibly moving, and the idea of interlacing this with a conflict in the far future was a clever touch. Done poorly, the interweaving of sci-fi space combat and First World War flashbacks might feel disorienting to the reader, or even disrespectful to the subject matter. The story instead managed to make this feel gripping and believable, whilst the conclusion was deeply touching whilst also feeling genuine.
This entry was a touching and also deeply funny piece of family holiday drama. What is especially impressive about it is that whilst it would be easy to take the premise and run too far in the direction of self-parody or wackiness, this story retained a strong emotional centre throughout which grounded it. Whilst absolutely delivering on the prompt and giving the reader some laugh out loud scenes to go with fantastical imagery and ideas, fundamentally it was a really well-told story about a parent reconnecting with their child at Christmas.
With so many entries of excellent quality, this contest was a remarkable success, and we're very grateful to everyone who took part. All of you made this event an extraordinary success, beyond anything we were expecting. We'll leave this thread open for a few more days, for people to share their thoughts on these works and this event, and as always, please feel free to reach out to Content Promotion with questions, suggestions, or requests. Thank you all for participating, and we hope you enjoy the remainder of your winter holidays.
Hope you're all able to spend the holidays well, whether you're alone or with family and friends. This upcoming bit of writing is something that I feel is below the standard of quality I would usually wish to achieve. It's this way because the prompt I was given was hard to interpret and write in a way that I could not come up with something satisfactory within two weeks. It was hard for me to figure out just what to do, made doubly so by the secondary challenge by the prompt maker that I ultimately abandoned the challenge. I sincerely wish I could have written something better, but the deadline is tomorrow, and I am just drained from writing this. So I hope you all enjoy what I have to offer, I'm off to bed now.
