#sophie rose beauchene

[ashknife]

🍎 RED APPLE — where was your oc born? do they still live in/around their place of birth or do they live somewhere else? how do they feel about their birthplace?

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

🍎 RED APPLE — where was your oc born? do they still live in/around their place of birth or do they live somewhere else? how do they feel about their birthplace?

Those are some really interesting questions. Boy, do I have to make up a bunch of crap all the details for you!

Sophie was born on her parent's estate right in the middle of a dinner party. Her mother, Madame (yes, really, that is her first name), tripped over a patch of mushrooms growing on the lawn. Madame went into labor (Sophie was due around that time, anyway), and the little girl came out within the hour. Since several doctors were present at the party, the medical emergency was in good hands. Madame grew a distaste for fungus, and that grew into abject hatred the more Sophie took to mycology over the family publishing business. Sophie has mixed feelings about the estate. She enjoyed many grand adventures there, but she suffered greatly from her parents' abuse and neglect. She lives far away in Chrysanthemum forging her own life away from them and their money. Alex was also born in the family home. This was far less dramatic. His mother, Rosemary, went into labor with him while out in the fields with her husband, Benjamin. He brought her home, alerted the midwife, and by that evening the newest addition to the Chamberlain household arrived to the delight of mother, father, and three siblings. Alex also lives far away from home in Chrysanthemum, where he is attending a military college. He has fond memories of home and wishes he could return, but it was destroyed in an enemy attack a year after his studies began.

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know

(Just gonna go with Sophie here.)

People assume Sophie has heterochromia. One eye is green while the other is a deep purple. What they don't know is that the purple eye is completely blind, a result of a chemical burn. Rather, it's completely blind according to human standards. She can perceive leylines through it, something she acquired when eating a rare mushroom she found as a child. She is one of a small number of humans who can do this. Normally, this is how the giants can perceive the world around them (they can't see visible light).

Because Sophie can perceive the leylines, she is capable of weaving them and performing magic, but she's far more interested in mushrooms and cooking. In times of distress, she has grasped at them and created different kinds of chaos that ultimately saved her skin, but usually at great cost.

Although estranged from her family, she has used her publishing roots to establish a grassroots publication about mushrooms in the Chrysanthemum area for local mycologists and chefs. She effectively created an underground mycology association that has advanced local study, enhanced local cuisine, and stymied mafia efforts to import fungus-based drugs. There have been a few attempts to take her life due to that last bit.

Thanks for the ask! That was fun!

[ashknife]

Gunthir's Memory

This is a short story set in the world of one of my WIPs. I wrote this for @inklings-challenge for the Inklings Christmas Challenge. It clocks in at just under 4800 words. I do apologize for going over, but since only the people in my writing group are familiar with Giants Among Us, I needed to put in a lot of explanatory text. Hopefully, it does well to explain strange aspects of the story without being burdensome.

This was fun to do because it finally gave me an opportunity to do some worldbuilding with my giant race and work on the nature of magic, and bring some history to a story taking place in the far future.

This takes place in another world and contains themes of hope and future reconciliation. I guess that keeps me within Team Tolkein. Being partly a war story, it contains some violence and death, but it is by no means Mortal Kombat graphic.

Story after the break.

Sophie hummed a cheerful tune as she strung a line of tiny mushroom charms on the Christmas tree to complement the many jewels and baubles already hanging from its branches. Tonight, she was the honored guest of the giantess Sigrid, a well-respected figure among the denizens of downtown Chrysanthemum. Her residence took on a mythical quality after being one of the few buildings to survive unscathed after Vignt’s attack the summer before. Viewable through the living room window and across the street, Le Petit Fleur, where Sophie once worked, still lay in ruin since its owner perished in that attack. This was as close as Sophie dared come to that cafe.

“Are those mushrooms?” Sigrid asked with a confused look on her face. “They hardly look like it.”

Sophie anticipated this. She rummaged through her sack of decorations and pulled out a preserved baby portobello mushroom. It was roughly the same size and shape as the ceramic charms. She pulled a charm off of its string and brought it and the mushroom to the giantess.

“Here,” she said as she placed the charm in one huge hand and the mushroom in the other. Sigrid closed her hands and felt the objects in each, her kind, wrinkly face producing more wrinkles in her concentration. The crystal focus between her eyes sparked briefly: a sign of delight. Her eyes lit up as if to confirm this, and she laughed.

“You humans are so crafty! They look nothing alike to me, but they feel like the same shape. How wonderful!”

Sophie understood. Ever since the day she ate a sliver of the rare legendary mushroom, tuber magicae, she saw the leylines on top of her normal sight. Giants like Sigrid saw the leylines with the aid of their focus, a crystalline organ that grows out of their forehead just above and between their eyes. They couldn’t see the material shape of things like humans do, only their leylines, a form of energy difficult to detect. The charm was a simple, spiky bright blue shape, very much like the natural earth. The little preserved mushroom was an alien knot of lines full of colors. Most giants found the products, especially the artificial reproductions, of humanity to be a delightful puzzle, just as humans are mystified at the magic giants can produce through their understanding and manipulation of the leylines.

Sigrid returned the items to Sophie, who returned the charm to its string and the mushroom to its bag. She pulled out another string of mushroom charms, these shiitake, and placed it around the tree.

Nearby, a grandfather clock solemnly struck seven o’clock. What street lamps were repaired lit up outside, as did colorful lights. Some decorated old homes, stalwarts who survived and stayed the course. Some were new lights decorating rebuilt homes, flashing brightly in defiance. Some decorated unfinished repairs and ruins, a gaudy tribute to the fallen.

“Just an hour to go,” Sigrid said.

“Until what?”

“We sing.”

“You mean that really happens?”

“Of course, dear. Not all rumors are false. Do your people not sing carols at Christmas? You have so many!” Sigrid lit up in delight again. “Oh, I so enjoy your carols! I do miss Jotunheim, but you humans keep things so lively for little old me. Ah, and this year, our song should be special for you.”

“How so? Isn’t it just ‘O Come, O Come, Emmanuel’?”

“Yes, dear, but it has significance for the Jotunn. How shall I explain this? Oh! I know!”

Sigrid stood up from her chair. Seated, she seemed like a somewhat larger version of someone’s old grandmother. Now, she stood erect at nine feet tall. The high ceiling of this building was for circulating air, but it also served as a comfortable living space for one aptly called giant. Sophie, at a mere four and a half feet tall in her mid-twenties, seemed like Sigrid’s young grandchild in comparison.

“I need to get a blanket and stoke the fire. See the star on the tree? Please get it.”

On other trees, stars were the centerpiece crown. On this tree, it was a simple affair of thin silver wire. In fact, the wire seemed too thin to hold any shape, and there was barely any wire present, yet Sophie could see it was teeming with energy. Sophie reached gently for the star, and it was her turn to gasp in delight. The wire held its shape because the air around it wasn’t air but a completely transparent crystal. It glowed at her touch, but it was heavy, and it soon filled her with a sense of unease. Behind her, Sigrid returned with a large blanket arranged in a small comfy chair. The stoked fire produced a warm, comfortable flame.

“Sit here,” Sigrid said. Sophie sat down carefully as she attempted to process her awe and dread. She noticed a little movement on the right side of the star. A single leyline dangled free, seemingly disconnected from the rest of the star.

“You already noticed it. Good. If you can see them, you can move them. It’s just a matter of concentration. Focus your sight on the dangling line, feel it like you feel your spirit.”

Sophie stared hard at the star, then closed her eyes and shook her head. That wasn’t the right way. She breathed deeply and slowly until she felt a sense of calm, and then she opened her right eye, the one blinded by acid. Now, she only saw the leylines. She reached her fingers for the lone, dangling line, concentrating on its feel, and touched it. She gasped again, excitement welling up within her. Soon, her fingers passed through the line.

“No!” she said. She slowed her breathing and tried to return to a calm state, now more difficult because she did something new and amazing. Sigrid, behind her, sang a quiet tune. Sophie latched on to that and calmed herself. She opened her right eye again, reached for the dangling line, and got a hold of it again. She carefully placed the dangling end back to where it should go. A sudden shock jolted her. The star flashed brightly, blinding her vision.

************

Sophie looked around her, but it wasn’t her body. She was a giant, and she was surrounded by other giants. She looked all around her, unable to control her actions. She tried to speak, but nothing happened. Whatever this giant was doing, she could do nothing but watch. Was this a dream, perhaps?

All around, buildings burned and fell to ruin. Bodies lined the streets. They appeared to be on the outskirts of some city. Just over a hill was something glowing a dark purple. Sophie’s giant host and the others around her hid behind trees and rocks. The air was thick with fear. A distant shriek gathered everyone’s attention. Sophie’s host quickly spotted the source: a disgusting worm-like creature stood on its spindly legs on what was left of a roof. It brandished its claws in a clear pattern as it screeched. It then spoke words as alien as it out of its toothy mouth. Several more appeared around the building, all of them facing right where the giants tried to hide.

“Gunthir!” one of the giants shouted.

“I see them!” Sophie’s host replied. “We need to make a run for it!”

“But they’ll catch some of us…” said another.

“Aye, some of us will die if we run for it. But all of us will die if we stay,” Gunthir said. Tired grunts acknowledged his wisdom.

Summoning the last of their strength and will, the group leapt to their feet and sprinted toward the dark purple beyond the hill. Even faster were the strange creatures pursuing them. It was clear they would be overtaken by the time they crested the hill. They would not make it to safety in time. Still, the giants ran with everything they had.

Two of the elderly giants, having reached their limits, stopped and turned to face their foe. They grabbed a fistful of leylines and yanked, erecting walls from the earth.

“Father! No–” cried a young giantess. Gunthir grabbed her arm and pulled her forward.

“I am sorry, but do not let their sacrifice be in vain,” he said. She fought her tears and kept running. She dared not look back even as the worm beings tore the wall down and devoured the pair. It bought them precious seconds, and it may have been enough.

The group crested the hill and descended to what appeared to be some sort of purple hole in the fabric of reality. Two elderly giants flanked the hole and strained to keep it active. A small company of soldiers guarded them. Many of them sported hastily bandaged wounds. Some were missing limbs. None of them were in any shape to fight. Despite this, they readied their weapons as the group charged for the portal. The few who could not hold a weapon any longer did what they could to encourage the group forward and help them through it.

The soldiers surrounded the group just in time to engage their enemy. The civilians panicked and stepped over each other to get through the portal. Gunthir stopped short and helped the wounded soldiers get people up and through. The defenders, brave and valiant, fought hard but were too exhausted to put up much resistance. They were quickly torn down.

“GO!” demanded a soldier missing an arm and half another as he threw himself as a shield to the worms. Gunthir picked up the last of his group and jumped into the portal. Time and space seemed to both compress and expand as a chaos of sight and sound surrounded him. It was overwhelming and disconnecting. Was this real? Did he die?

Suddenly a new forest came into view. It was dark except for the light of the portal situated in the middle of a clearing. Giants crying out of pain, whether physical or emotional, surrounded him, but it was calmer, unhurried. Their enemies did not exist here, wherever here was.

“Gunthir,” said an elder giant flanking the portal. “Are there any more coming?”

“No,” Gunthir said. “Nobody else is coming. The Shrill, they’re…” He choked up. This was his first opportunity in days to rest. His body refused to work on adrenaline now that it wasn’t needed.

“We’ll close the portal. Please rest. We will need your leader–”

A shrill scream and a wicked claw emerged from the portal.

The trees came alive as giants regained their vitality and ran as far from the portal as fast as their bodies would allow. Gunthir looked around for a sword, stick, rock, or anything weaponlike.

“Get back, Gunthir!” the giant said. “We have to close the portal NOW!”

“I’ll hold them off so you can do it safely,” Gunthir replied.

“There is no time!” The old giant removed an arm from the portal, which visibly wavered and tried to collapse. He weaved force into the leylines and threw the young giant out of the clearing. For one moment, they locked eyes.

“Live,” the old giant said.

As Gunthir flew into the trees, the elder giants let go of the portal, causing it to collapse on itself. The resulting explosion killed everything within the clearing and ten feet into the trees. Gunthir landed just outside that radius.

Gunthir’s adrenaline kicked in once more. He stood up and raced back to the clearing. A few seconds was all his body could give him, though. He collapsed onto the ground in a heap of sobs. A chorus of lament joined him throughout the forest. For what seemed like hours, he lay on the ground and grieved. He could not move any longer. His body was completely worn from running. There weren’t many here in the forest with him. Was this all that escaped Asgard?

A light touch on his back restored a modicum of strength to his body. Gunthir looked up. A young giantess in tattered robes, her face as tear-stricken as his, looked down upon him.

“Mayor,” she said. Gunthir instinctively looked down at this beard and grabbed the large beads that held its braids into place. There were three beads of semi precious stones: opal, jade, and alexandrite. These beads, in that order (top to bottom on a male’s beard, left to right on a female’s necklace), marked the office of Mayor, the leader of a community of any size. It was a high office that garnered tremendous respect. Gunthir’s community was over ten thousand strong. They spent a week fleeing to the nearest portals, always getting just cut off at just the last moment until this final portal. In their flight, their numbers dwindled considerably. Only twenty made it to safety if it could be called that.

“I am that, aren’t I,” he said.

“The leylines are different here, but I’ve given you what strength I can,” she said.

“I…thank you,” he said. In the following silence, he covered his face and shook it, hoping she was an illusion. When he let his hands down, she was still there.

“I can’t,” he said. “I don’t think…”

“Please, we need you,” she said.

“Most of my people are dead.”

“Most of everybody is dead.”

“Aye.” He wiped the tears from his face. “What’s your name, lass?”

“Brunhild.”

“Brunhild. Will you advise me?”

She stepped back with a flash of green from her focus. A sign of surprise.

“Mayor, I couldn’t possibly–I’m just a nurse.”

“But you’re convincing to do my job in the middle of our despair, and most of our people are dead. So will you advise me?”

“I’ll do my best,” she stammered.

“Thank you, Advisor. I wouldn’t ask for anything more. What is being done now?”

“The wounded,” she said. “We set up a triage center nearby. We need help gathering them.”

“That’s a good start.” Gunthir stood up, dusted himself off, and cleared his throat.

“Jotunn! Hear me now! I am Gunthir, Mayor of Burnside! I invoke the right of my office over this gathering! Is there anyone who dares challenge my right or my office?”

All around, the laments lapsed into silence. Several giants approached the charred clearing, some limping, some sporting cuts and other minor injuries, and several in surprisingly good health. From them, a giantess stepped forward. If Sophie were physically present, she would have gasped. It was a much younger Sigrid.

“I am Sigrid, temporary Mayor of the camp below. I yield my authority to you, Gunthir.”

Gunthir regarded her for a moment.

“Will you advise me?”

“Of course, Mayor.”

“Join Brunhild at my side, Advisor.”

Sigrid nodded and joined them. After a few moments, another stood forward.

“Gunthir of Burnside, there are none who challenge you. Lead us well!”

The gathered giants raised their fists, as did some of those laying on the ground.

“Gunthir! Gunthir! Gunthir!” they chanted. Gunthir held up his hands to quiet the assembled.

“The wounded! Get the wounded to triage! If you are of able body, help the one who is not. Do not let any more of our people die!”

The assembled issued a loud grunt of assent and carried out their assigned task. Gunthir and Sigrid joined in the manual labor as Brunhild used her healing gifts, shaky as they were, for first aid. Gunthir had never seen so much blood and gore even during his flight to the portal. Many had slashed abdomens from Shrill attacks. Some were missing limbs. Some were missing entire portions of their body from the explosion. He could not get the image of a child screaming while snuggling a severed hand, the only part that was left of her mother, out of his head.

Sigrid instructed Gunthir in all the intelligence she was able to gather before his arrival. The portals to escape the Shrill were all erected hastily and all possibly lead to new worlds. There was no way to tell how many worlds now contained Jotunn, much less if they were all safe to inhabit. This assumed that none allowed any Shrill through. This world was at least inhabitable and even a little similar to Asgard, but it didn’t appear to have any other people around. There were no signs of civilization anywhere.

“This world seems familiar. It almost feels like Midgard,” she reported.

“Midgard? The little people? Humans?” How long had it been since he’d been there? Almost everyone who went to university spent time there causing trouble for its inhabitants. Sophie would gasp again if she could. What did the giants have to do with Old Earth?

“There’s no sign of them, and this place does feel a little different from that. The leylines are far more natural.”

“Oh,” he said. “That’s a shame. We could use their help, I think, and perhaps a little familiarity.”

“We couldn’t possibly go out playing gods again,” she objected.

“I wouldn’t think of it. We need friends, not supplicants,” he said.

After several hours of work, the wounded were gathered into the makeshift triage camp receiving care. Several giants wearily stood guard, while the rest slumped up against trees or lay on the ground for much-needed sleep. Gunthir wanted to do the same, but a new issue came to his attention.

“I found something you should see,” Brunhild said. She led him through the forest. For the first time, he took notice of his surroundings. It was a pine forest, and many of the trees were healthy and tall. They probably went undisturbed for centuries aside from whatever wildlife lived here. If there were animals around, the giants likely scared them off with all the ruckus they brought. He said a silent prayer of forgiveness. Soon, they arrived at Brunhild’s discovery.

“Look,” she said, pointing to a small pine tree, about six feet tall. It was a healthy tree, but it would not be for long. A charred rock, unmistakably from the portal clearing, was lodged deep into the trunk, and it was nearly cut off.

“It’s…a Christmas tree,” he muttered.

“Aye, Mayor, just like what they use in Midgard,” she said.

“What day is it over there?”

“I think it’s somewhere at the end of their year. December 24, I think.”

He did some mental calculations as the Midgardian and Asgardian calendars were nearly the same.

“I think you’re right, Advisor. Get someone to finish the job here and have it taken to the camp. As soon as we have rested a few hours, we should transport everyone we can there.”

“Aye, Mayor,” she replied.

A few hours had passed when the sun rose from the east. A solemn caravan, bolstered by the short rest, processed through the forest back to the camp with the healthy and slightly wounded carrying those worse off. Through Gunthir’s leadership, only five more perished through the night. Already, the camp underwent clearer organization about where people could sleep, heal, and work.

The pine tree discovered earlier rested in the center of the camp. What tiny bit held on to the stump and roots were cleanly cut off. A mound of dirt and rocks held it in place. Several whispered about the tree, especially those who at one time or another journeyed to Midgard. Were there humans around? Would they ever be able to see them again? The only ones among this group who could approach the ability to create portals were the ones who let the one collapse and explode to prevent the Shrill from invading. They were cut off from home as much as anywhere else.

Gunthir said nothing. Rather, he pulled the beads from his beard and ripped a strip of cloth from his shirt. He strung the beads, tied the cloth into a loop, and placed the makeshift ornament upon a branch of the tree. Several giants gasped. Of course. This is what the little people did. One by one, they gathered around the tree and placed ornaments upon it: valued trinkets, jewelry, some pretty rocks around the camp, anything to spruce up the dying tree. By nightfall, the tree was near overflowing with decoration, a memorial to their lost Asgard, to their lost civilization, and to their fallen.

Gunthir studied the tree. The top remained unadorned. Everyone knew the humans placed an angel or a star on top, but there was nothing around that would suffice, or even the materials to craft one. A tug at his shirt brought his attention below to a child. It was that girl, and she still clung to the severed hand of their mother. She pulled off a magnificent ruby ring from the hand and held it up as she dropped the hand. Gunthir shed a tear as he took the ring and nodded. With a motion, he weaved a hole into the earth and buried the hand. Then he approached the tree.

He took the ring and tried to fit it on the tree. The ring fit around the top branch, but the wood would not bend enough to let him tie it around the ring and secure it, nor was there enough room to use any cloth or string.

“Do we have a botanist?” he called out.

“Aye, mayor,” a young giant answered. She left her group to join Gunthir at the tree and studied it for a few moments. Then she lifted her hands and gingerly picked at leylines all around the tree, carefully rearranging them so that they connected to the tree’s main trunk. Little by little, the branches drooped a little lower and a few needles fell off. A small swell of tree formed in the trunk, which she guided to the top branch. She then pulled a few more lines at that branch so that it grew a couple of inches. She carefully bent the lines further and caused the growth to form a hook perfect for the ring to become the tree’s star.

“Well done, botanist,” Gunthir said. “You are quite skilled.”

“Thank you, mayor,” she replied, bowing before returning to her group.

Gunthir again weaved the leylines and produced a small light. He inserted it into the ruby of the ring, bathing the tree and everyone around in a soft red glow. He knew it should be a white light, but somehow this seemed to be fitting. At least, nobody bothered to question it. He weaved again, and again, and again still. Smaller lights adorned different jewels and jewel-like baubles on the tree until it was a radiant sight to behold. After he lit the last ornament, he stepped back to allow everyone to view it. By this time, the sun had fully set, and the camp was lit solely by this tree.

For several moments, the camp was silent aside from the muffled cry and sniffle. Gunthir did not know what to say or to whom he should pray, but a song the humans sang seemed appropriate, so he cleared his throat and sang.

O come, O come, Emmanuel And ransom captive Israel That mourns in lonely exile here Until the Son of God appear Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall ransom captive Israel

As he progressed through the verse, the camp slowly joined in until everyone sang. They marched through each verse as new rounds of lament and sobs erupted. Together, they mourned. Together, they celebrated Christmas.

As the song wore on, Gunthir felt strength leaving his body. Those nearby caught him. They brought out a cot, lowered him gently onto it, and started carrying him to the infirmary. As the song completed, he fell asleep.

************

Sophie drew a sharp breath. She felt as if she hadn’t breathed in ages. Gunthir’s memories flooded through her in some twisted form of recap that merged with her own. The portal exploded near Le Petit Fleur. Giants of old and customers of last summer were shredded by the impact of the exploding portal, Vignt’s bombs, and the storefront glass. She lay on the floor, guarded by the front counter, as the severed hand of the giant mother fell next to her followed by the head of her boss, which had just been cleanly removed from his body by a large shard of glass, the life quickly fading from his eyes.

In a quick, fluid motion, Sigrid grabbed the small trash can next to her easy chair and placed it under Sophie, who grimaced with indecision. Should she scream? Cry? Vomit? Faint? As she was already halfway bent over the trash can, her body chose the third option. Sigrid stroked Sophie’s short, maroon as she spoke comforting words to the young woman. Vomiting turned to dry heaving, and when her body could not do that any longer, Sophie fell back into her blanket pile and cried.

Sigrid held her guest closely and slowly rocked her until she calmed down. She pulled a nearby couch sheet off its seat and weaved some moisture out of the air and into the cloth. She gently washed Sophie’s face with it.

“I am so sorry, my dear,” she said. “I had no idea Gunthir’s memory would affect you so.”

“It was fine, but then it got mixed with the shop and the bombs, and…and…”

“You are in the present now. Gunthir has long passed. Vingt is not here.”

“How…how are you…?” Sophie gestured incomprehensibly, but Sigrid nodded.

“Some of us are blessed or perhaps cursed with long lifespans. That is a story we don’t have time for tonight.”

“What about those worm beings?”

“Worm beings?”

“They killed everything…”

“Oh. Did you see the Shrill? As a human does?”

Sophie nodded slowly.

“Oh, my. That’s very interesting. We have so much to talk about! But, first, we need to get to the rooftop. It will be time to sing soon. Oh, and don’t you worry about the Shrill. They haven’t been seen since the portal exploded.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s almost 7:45.”

“But, the memory lasted…” Sophie tried to count the hours on her fingers.

“Funny things, memories and dreams. They don’t seem to care about the passage of time. Now, up with you. Let’s get to the roof.”

Sigrid helped Sophie up. The young woman took a few unsteady steps before gaining confidence that she would not become sick again. Sigrid wrapped a cardigan around her for the chill night and handed Sophie her coat. The two left the building and climbed up the exterior ladder to the roof. They were three stories high, which commanded a good view of Chrysanthemum’s downtown and nearby neighborhoods. They had a clear view of the large, sparkling Christmas tree standing majestically in the middle of the city square. Sigrid weaved a small, ruby light in her hands. Other ruby lights appeared, sporadically dotting the city rooftops. There were not many giants in Chrysanthemum, being a human city, but there were more than Sophie thought.

“The humans call this planet Paradigm because the paradigms and promises that led them to migrate from Earth meant nothing when the Federation crash landed. The few that survived were forever cut off from their people, and they may not have if we Jotunn had not already been here. We, too, have an unkind name for this planet: Purgatorio. We are paying for our sins here. Funny enough, though we secretly meddled with your people and treated you as little more than curiosities and experiments, humans have been our greatest source of hope. Even now, amid this damned war, we believe in you.”

Sigrid watched as Sophie absorbed this, and then she faced the city Christmas tree and sang.

O come, o come, Emmanuel…

The faint voices of the other giants joined hers as they sang in lament and hope. The familiar song never felt so alien, and yet it wasn’t all that different than before.

Rejoice! Rejoice! …

As they reached that, the sporadic voices seemed to grow louder. No, they weren’t getting louder. There were more voices. In the streets below, out of open windows, and climbing on rooftops with candles and lanterns were humans joining in song with the giants, carrying their laments, mourning their losses, and carrying hope for salvation both now and for the future. Sophie wept and joined her voice with the city’s.

Some movement below caught her eye. Patrolling the street was the Rose Company. It was rare to see her friends fully uniformed and armed. Captain Miller held up his hand to order a halt. While they, too, sang, Alex produced a small wreath from his pack and placed it on the ruins of Le Petit Fleur. When the wreath was in place, Alex rejoined the formation, and Captain Miller ordered them to march forward.

Sophie nodded. She needed to restore and reopen the cafe. Her cafe.

[ashknife]

The Mushroom Girl (1st Draft)

Well, it’s about time to bring some writing over. I will do this slowly as I have time. Most of these will need extensive work done.

This piece features Sophie Rose Beauchene, the daughter of a successful book publisher. What she wants in life is not what her parents want for her.

Sophie tore through her wardrobe. She had many fine dresses. Some were made with lace, some made of fine silk, and others simply works of master tailoring. For a special occasion such as today, they may as well have been sackcloth. Clad only in underwear, she pulled out different tops and bottoms and modeled them in the mirror. She discovered many combinations for future engagements, but nothing worked as she wanted. The one outfit she needed was nowhere to be found, and everything else was far too formal and pricey. She finally found a pair of slacks and a shirt with soft pink and white stripes. It looked like leisurewear for afternoon tea. It was the best she could do. She sighed like a drunk war veteran.

“Mademoiselle?” came a knock at the door.

“What?” she called out.

“Are you dressed yet? It’s been two hours. Your breakfast is cold.”

“I’m almost ready, Francine,” she said.

“Very good. I will inform your mother. She is getting impatient,” Francine reported.

Sophie sighed again. There would be another lecture for wasting her time. She couldn’t help it if she didn’t have all she needed to make a good impression. Those impressions were important. They led to opportunities. Her father was very careful to teach her that. Even at age ten, it wasn’t too early to start making those good impressions. So what if it took hours to get this right? It was time well-spent. Only, she couldn’t find the right outfit for their visitor, so the time was wasted anyway. She could already imagine Madame Beauchene’s lady-like irritation rolling out of her mouth. Sophie punched the wardrobe with a childish grunt.

She was halfway into a follow-up kick when something in the back dislodged and fell to the wardrobe’s floor. She made a little skeptical squeal as she reached for the tardy garment. This was it. This is what she was searching for. She grabbed the pink-striped shirt and modeled it with the newfound pair of overalls. Perfect! With this, she would be ready for mushroom hunting at a moment’s notice. Given the new mushroom section in the estate garden and the varieties of fungi growing around the mansion grounds, surely there would be an opportunity to do a hunt with their guest, the brilliant Dr. Mario Girvin, mycologist.

Within minutes, she emerged from her room in her preferred outfit with her maroon hair hastily brushed. She grazed over her cold breakfast like a starved horse, going for the fruits, pastries, anything that was already in small pieces. She smothered a neatly folded napkin with her face, threw it back on the tray with an overly ceremonious show of grace and refinement, and ran down the hall still chewing on a strawberry.

Madame Beauchene stood dutifully outside the study. Her elegant, professional dress suggested a different sort of meeting than Sophie expected. Adding to this hunch was a large scowl dominating her powdered face.

“Sophie!” she hissed. “Look at you! Francine…”

The maid, who was standing nearby, promptly produced a handkerchief. Madame Beauchene yanked it into her possession, licked it, and scrubbed her daughter’s face while Francine brushed crumbs off.

“Seriously, daughter, you could have spent time last night worrying over your clothes. Now we have to spend even more time making you presentable.” Sophie’s scalp tingled as long fingernails corrected her rushed hair job.

“And…” Madame Beauchene started before taking a second, hard look at Sophie’s attire. “Actually, never mind. You actually showed some forethought for once. Maybe you are starting to grow up. I’d rather you get those rags dirty.”

“Good morning, mother,” Sophie said as she rolled her eyes. Then she yelped as Madame Beauchene boxed her ear.

“Don’t talk back to me, young lady. This business will be your empire one day, sooner than you think. You will learn to act properly.”

“Yes, mother. Sorry, mother,” she mumbled.

A weathered, well-tanned old man in a white suit emerged from the foyer stairs down the hall with the assistance of Jacques, the butler. The man wore a clean straw hat and leaned on a white cane in his right hand as he walked. He used the cane as if it were a part of his body. His limp was barely noticeable. He wore the joyful little smile of a life well-lived, and his eyes were full of that same life. His joy grew just a bit brighter as he approached the ladies.

“Madame Beauchene, it is good to see you, mon amie,” he said with open arms.

Madame threw the handkerchief behind her, which Francine expertly caught and hit. The lady opened her arms and gathered the old man in a polite hug.

“Good morning, Dr. Girvin,” she said a bit brighter than normal. “I hope your trip was pleasant.”

“Yes, Madame, the Lostani mountains are always a beautiful sight. And this must be your daughter?” he indicated toward Sophie with his free hand.

“Yes, this is Sophie,” she said. Sophie curtsied the best she could in her overalls and extended her visibly shaking hand.

“I am Sophie Rose Beauchene. I am pleased to meet you, Dr. Girvin,” she said with all the awkward nervousness she couldn’t hide. Dr. Girvin laughed, knelt in front of Sophie, and clasped his hands around hers.

“I am pleased to meet you, too, Sophie. Now, there’s no need for nerves. We are already good friends here, yes? In fact, I can already see you’re already dressed for the main event.” His eyes grew a little brighter in anticipation of his little hunt. Sophie couldn’t help but return his smile.

“Until then, here’s a specimen you don’t get to see around here often.” He let go of her hand. In her palm was a mushroom picked from the eastern islands.

“Lentinula edodes!” she breathed. “I’ve always wanted to get that in my collection! Thank you! Thank you!”

“Go put that in your...collection,” Madame Beauchene said as she valiantly hid her disgust. “Dr. Girvin and your father need to discuss business.”

“Yes, mother,” Sophie said as she purposefully walked a normal pace back to her room. She closed the door behind her gingerly before sprinting to the spare closet and throwing that door open.

Inside were shelves of several varieties of edible mushrooms. To each side were carefully dried and preserved samples of other mushrooms, many of which bore notes of faraway places where Sophie was allowed to travel. She knelt and retrieved a sample bag and a card from a box of supplies. She carefully wrote the name and species of the shiitake mushroom on the card, placed it in the bag, and pinned the bag to a free spot on the wall. She then grabbed a small straw basket with holes woven into it, placed the mushrooms in it, and hung it up near an open window to dry them out.

She surveyed the mansion grounds outside the window recalling every place where she could find fungus. The good doctor would surely know of even more places where she could discover more samples. There was something weird, alien, about fungi that tantalized her imagination. They grew like plants and spread like diseases. There was something animalistic about their behavior. If only she could grow up faster and run away to some school that would teach her more, maybe she could even find uses that would satisfy even her father’s business.

“Mademoiselle,” Francine said as she knocked at the door.

“Coming!” Sophie said as she jumped, nearly knocking over her new prize. She held up her hands and bowed slightly in supplication to the angry mushroom spirits inhabiting the basket before leaving.

-------

Sophie carefully crawled under the mansion, flashlight in one hand, and basket in the other. The mushroom hunt two years ago with Dr. Girvin was educational. Her collection of samples expanded twofold within a month after that hunt, and she learned many ways to keep samples as well as grow more of her own. She grew past collecting just anything she could find. She was now on the hunt for rare species.

She learned through one of Dr. Girvin’s books that truffles grew underground under different circumstances, though they were difficult to find without a sensitive sense of smell. For months, she crawled through the surrounding forest and under all the buildings on the mansion grounds, but she had yet to find one. Today, however, would be different. Jaques received new garden tools recently, and Sophie was sure he would not miss his old rusty hand trowel. She could finally properly dig for her treasure. Madame Beauchene would be thrilled her nails wouldn’t be so caked with dirt.

She made several small holes near wooden supports that went into the ground, but nothing came up. More random holes dotted the open ground, also with no luck. Perhaps she needed to dig more than a few inches. Something in her said making holes like that near the house supports might not be a good idea, but perhaps some deep holes in the forest might yield something. Maybe that was the ticket. She started to crawl her way out, but then she suddenly stopped.

She could feel it. It was a faint twinge, a slight buzz of the mind. The ground in front of her held something. Beads of sweat formed all over, and she shivered from the sudden chill. Something was definitely there. She grabbed the trowel and dug quickly. The buzzing grew a little stronger. She slowed down a bit, hoping not to accidentally slaughter whatever specimen she found. About half a foot down, she found it. A silver mushroom the size of a baseball. It crackled with blue sparks every so often. She held it up to her face, eyes wide and mouth agape. The buzzing turned into tingling. Faintly, she could see webs of blue lines darting this way and that, pulsing with some energy. Most of them converged onto this one mushroom.

Her heartbeat quickened. Her breathing came close to hyperventilation. She let out shy bursts of laughter, not sure if she should laugh freely, cry, or remain silent in dire reverence of the event. Slowly, laughter won out as she battled to keep her hands still.

“T-t-t-tuber m-magicae!” she half-shouted in between bouts of laughter. She stumbled upon the diamond of mushrooms, one of if not the rarest breed of fungi on Paradigm. Fungus infused with the power of the leylines. Just touching it was a gift. In history, Sophie would be known as the fifth human to see actual leylines, just like the Jotunn. She found a magic truffle, and the mushroom she found was worth more than twice the combined wealth and assets of the Beauchene Publishing Company.

Just then, she grew still and silent. She looked all around her, searching for suspicious onlookers. After several tense minutes, she gently hugged the truffle, gave it a slight peck, dusted off  the bottom of it the best she could, and took a tiny bite of it. The flavor was incredibly pungent, like a strong cheese. When she swallowed it, her body suffered a major jolt as if she had been shocked. She went blind for a few moments. When her vision returned, she could see the leylines in addition to her normal vision, only they were now a faint white.

She giggled as she put the mushroom into a sample bag. Not many get to try rare mushrooms like that. She needed to show Monsieur Beauchene what she found. He would be thrilled to hold such a priceless treasure.

Monsieur Beauchene was busy supervising a crew making renovations to the mansion gardens. He didn’t bother looking up from his plans as he instructed her to walk as her noisy footfalls approached him.

“Hello, dear,” he said absent-mindedly.

“Father! You have to see this!”

He looked up and nearly choked on his air. Sophie stood before him in her overalls covered in dirt and mud holding the mushroom to his face. From the look on his face, she may as well have presented him with a dropping from his dog.

“Sophie, what are you doing?” he demanded. “I have told you over and over again not to go out digging like that. It’s unhealthy, unladylike, and you are certainly a target for kidnapping for our enemies!”

“But, it’s a magic truffle!”

“Magic truffle? Now you’re having delusions of grandeur! I am certainly making the right decisions today, that’s for sure.” He yanked the mushroom out of her hands, crushed it, and threw it to the side, which his dog, a little toy poodle, chased after. Then, in one swift motion, he brought that hand back across her face with a loud smack.

It took a few moments for Sophie to register her surroundings again. Her body tingled again, now with fear. She was painfully aware of the sting on her cheek and the man in front of her. The din of the garden crew seemed to be extra clarified as they continued to work.

“That horrid closet of yours is cleaned out and now holds proper clothing. That mushroom display here is also gone,” he said.

“But what abo--” she started.

“He’s dead. Passed away last night in his sleep. He won’t be viewing it any longer, and we don’t need that display anymore, anyway. We have a strong relationship with his university publishing their books.”

The toy poodle made a high-pitched screech. Both looked down to see it convulse violently before dying next to the remains of the mushroom, its last meal.

His face nearly blood red, Monsieur Beauchene grabbed Sophie’s shirt and pulled her to him.

“You. Will. Give. Up. Your. Foolish. FANTASIES.” Each word came with a slap across her face, after which he threw her to the ground. “Starting tomorrow, you will begin studies in business and trade. You will be too busy to deal with such low brow interests best left to peasants and low-lives.”

He left the gardens as he called for Francine. A tense argument followed that ended with a clear, “You’re fired!”

Sophie slowly started picking herself up. A hand behind her grabbed the back of her shirt, speeding the process and leading her to her bathroom. Madame Beauchene lectured Sophie along the way about the ways of proper women. Upon reaching their destination, the mother threw the child into the bathroom, slammed the door shut, and demanded she be rid of her filth within the hour, or there would be further consequences.

--------

Angry hands dove into the warm, sudsy water and pulled out a saucepan. Sophie gritted her teeth as she scrubbed the remnants of old soup off of it, and then she smashed it into the sink full of pots awaiting a rinse. Even being eight years ago, the memory felt no less raw. She cursed under her breath as she punished the soap off the pots through hot tears. Though she could barely see the sink before her, the faint white leylines let her see what she was doing. It was a hard but useful skill she taught herself.

The bell jingled as the front door of Le Petit Fleur flew open. She quickly wiped her tears and composed herself.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” she said quietly.

Behind her, what sounded like a wooden crate landed on the counter.

“I found these at the market today,” came Alex’s voice.

“What?” she asked as she turned around. On the counter was a case full of lentinula edodes. Her stomach churned a bit, not sure if she was happy to see these or not.

“Shiitake,” Alex said. “Fresh from the eastern islands. I think you said one time that you liked making a soup out of them.”

Bless this boy, he remembered something, and without an argument. That seemed odd in itself.

“But, why?” she asked.

Alex concentrated really hard before he answered.

“Because you’re our, uh, petty champ, uh, pigeon?” he said.

Sophie mouthed the words quizzically as the heat built up inside her again.

“Get out,” she blasted with a commanding finger pointing the way. Alex did not waste time following those orders, though he looked perplexed at what was going on. Sophie chunked mugs out the door after him, which smashed furiously onto the street. She then grabbed the case of shiitake mushrooms with criminal intent.

“Petty champ pigeon, huh?” she said as she contemplated what to do with the offending mushrooms. “I’ll show you something petty, you little sh--”

She froze and looked down at the mushrooms. Petty? Petty? Little? Petit? Champ pigeons? She put the case down as she mouthed the words again, over and over. She then snorted and doubled over in laughter. She fell onto her butt, and for ten minutes, she wallowed in her newfound mirth. When she could finally breathe and compose herself, she climbed back up, wiped her tears again, and finished the dishes so she could clean the mushrooms.

Later that evening, Alex quietly came in with his unit and hid behind a menu. The others noticed but said nothing, figuring it was more of the same as they talked about the day’s classes. Sophie took their table, as she normally did, got their round of drinks, and as she was about to leave, she knelt beside Alex.

“Je suis ton petit champignon, oui?” she whispered in his ear. She could feel the heat of his face as he tried not to laugh at himself.

“Lo siento,” he replied. “I can’t pronounce Vigntian.”

“T’adore,” she said, patting his head as she went to fill their orders.

Tonight, they would get the best soup in the house. More tears came. If only she could serve Monsieur and Madame Beauchene the same.