#story: finished

[teabooksandsweets]

A short – but finished – entry for this year's Inklings Challenge. These are ten drabbles serving as glimpses into the story I have planned, and of which I have begun (and intend to finish, and post later on) two different versions. Everything went a little different from my original expectations and plans, but a challenge is a challenge and I decided to make the best of it. So I finished a "miniature" version of sorts, rather than nothing. Some elements are alluded to that will appear in the longer stories.

Team Tolkien // Secondary World Fantasy // Visit the Imprisoned – Shelter the Homeless – Clothe the Naked // Finished – 1000 Words @inklings-challenge

This is not the story as told by the girl who was said to be dark-leaved; that will be a longer story, penned by said girl in her study in the tower.

She has fire and shoes — she knows what these things are now. She is warm, she is at home.

She knows many other things and will tell her tale in time.

This is also not the shorter story, as told not from too far away, which will follow in due time.

This is a glimpse into a faraway world and two lands, both not too far away.

Come along into this world.

Oh, do not ask “What is it?” — let us go and make or visit.

Let us go now, you and I —

and the bird (large, dark, a friend) will show the way, to meet a boar (Great and brown), a doe, a hare, a (strong, brown) bear, the moon, lamp and woman, wolf and man, and another man, who has a beard, and a princess or a prisoner (from what I have heard).

Her first friend in October — the girl's friend, in that land — will show the way.

Let us go.

The Princess in the Tower has shoes and fire, is not warm, is not at home.

The Prisoner in the Tower has no comfort but her conscience. (A clean conscience is no comfort in this place. Contrition is.)

If imprisonment is not undeserved, can liberation be deserved?

Her greatest grief is loneliness. The doe (water-coloured) knows, the woman (by the lamp-post) knows.

The bird (large, dark, the girl's first friend in October) knows snd leads the way, to make a visit, if a visit is her need.

(The damsel in the tower doesn't know; the girl will soon find out.)

For a girl (dark-leaved, they say) who knows neither shoes nor fire, a cuppa is a strange thing, especially if there's tea in it (— especially if there's brandy in the tea).

Pickled walnuts are another surprise if you grew up in a warm, wet forest with only fresh fruit and ripe nuts to eat.

But the greatest surprise is how a fire's warmth feels on cold skin in October air, in a stable, in strange company. Company that looks neither up to you (though you come from the forest) nor down on you (for you are dark-leaved).

Strange comfort.

The Great boar makes no promises, but he speaks the truth. He said the girl would see her tree again.

(Not yet, not yet!)

Said the girl would meet her friends again (vixen, and robin and pale blue eggs).

Said the girl ought to follow him, out of the forest, into the land beyond.

(“The wasteland!” said the girl. The boar accepted this term as hers. The bird called this place “the middle of October.”)

But what was the girl to do?

What could a (dark-leaved) girl do?

Good deeds? Great deeds? (A “naked child” in the middle of October?)

Ground like water, only dry — cold ground, that's what shoes are for. (Are there shoes for breasts? For hands? Ears? the girl wonders. A cape, perhaps, as winter-women wear. No such things in a green-leaved forest.)

The Great boar had brought the fallen leaves — sunlit leaves, golden leaves. Change scares the people of the forest. The dark-leaved children scare them, too, for they are not scared of change.

Following a hot cuppa in the stable, the girl received a cape against the cold. Out of plain kindness — and of good use for a later kindness, also plain.

The doe is the colour of water, and the moon is the colour of milk. (The hare is of the moon, but the girl doesn't know.)

A friend of the bird (her friend!) is the doe. Never seen from the forest, is the moon.

To the tower they lead — to visit the Prisoner.

(“Is she dark-leaved, too?”

“Is that what you call those who have dine horrid things?”

“It's what my people call those who might yet do that.”

“Then we are all dark-leaved except for the Princess, for she already has.”)

But leaves turn dark before they fall.

Every spring come green leaves, unless it is always spring. (So if it is always spring, it can never be spring again.)

The girl wears a crown of dark leaves, but the Princess' head is bare.

The doe leads the way up the moonlit stairs, leads them to the Prisoner.

“Who's there?” a light voice asks (an aged voice of a young throat).

“A friend — and me.”

“Come what for?”

“To see a tree in winter.”

“Oh — is it winter again? No wonder I'm so cold!”

(It's the middle of October, but for the Princess comes another spring.)

In her forest she was dark-leaved.

“But really, it's the middle of October,” she says to her friends. “My spring will come again.”

“You will want to go home.”

“I wish I knew how!”

“What — how?”

“Where!”

“Oh.”

“The forest is not my home. I will go there again (for the Great boar always tells the truth) but it will not be my home, for spring will never come in a forest that is always green.”

Spring comes after winter, after fall.

And yet, one woman's prison is another woman's castle, and one woman's desolation is another woman's solitude.

“Take my cape, for it is cold outside.”

“It's cold in here and you wear but a few leaves around your hips.”

“The fire is warm, you are cold now from within. (I know someone who can warm you with a cuppa tea.) I your woollen dress you are more naked than I am in my leaves. Take the cape and bring it back to the man in the stable, and thank him from me.”

“And then?” asks the Princess.

“Go into the forest, and find out how to turn dark leaves green again.”

And so the women parted ways.

[larissa-the-scribe]

Terrarium Lights 3.4

Previously on Terrarium Lights: Gail got plot-twisted and now she's trying to do something to help about it.

Most of the other customers had already moved on, so the café was largely empty by the time Gail made it in.

Mrs. Mary Seward saw her as she came in, and waved at her.

They knew each other due to the annual festival held at the lighthouse, and because the Sewards had recently started attending Gail's church—though perhaps it was better to say that they were familiar with each other rather than knew each other. They had talked some, and were vaguely filled in on each others' circumstances, but they were little more than pleasant acquaintances who got along well at after-church lunches.

As such, Gail was both surprised and unsurprised that Mrs. Seward came out to serve her personally, instead of the worker that��� did not seem to be there at the moment, actually. Odd. They typically made a point to employ some of the youngsters from the surrounding area.

"How are you doing, Mrs. Goffrey?" she said cordially, pulling a pad of paper out of the front of her apron and smiling pleasantly.

"The good Lord made the sun," Gail replied, sitting down at a hopefully private table further in the corner, "and it's shining as it ought. So I reckon I'm doing well. How about yourself?"

"Busy," Mrs. Seward laughed. "We've had to cut down on some of the days we have extra hands about the place, so it's a bit heavier on us. But business is good. Speaking of which, anything I can get you?"

"One coffee, please," Gail said, "black, no sugar. And if you have any fruit pastries, I think that would go with it well."

"Coming right up," Mrs. Seward confirmed, jotting down things on her pad. She whisked herself away to the kitchen, and left Gail to wonder how on Earth she was going to be able to learn what she needed to. Over-thinking was something she took pains to avoid, but at this precise moment it looked more like she hadn’t done any thinking at all. Another prayer, it seemed, would be in order.

Beside her, she noticed that Samuel had made his appearance, materializing through the doorway as if he had just walked in. He waved at her tentatively, then stuck his hands in his pockets.

Gail nodded at one of the other seats at her (admittedly) small table. Inwardly, she wondered how well she'd manage to deal with a sensitive conversation to someone she didn’t know very well, plus an involved spectator that only she could, but well, it would be rude not to invite him. Besides, it would rather cut down on time (and an elaborate game of mailcarrier) if he could just hear what was going on, himself, and not rely on her second-hand summaries.

He hovered near the table but didn't take a seat.

The last customer (presumably belonging to the one remaining gearmount out front) carried their cup and plate to the kitchen counter, and left with a merry jingling of the café bell.

It wasn't long before Mrs. Seward returned with one of her fruit dumplings and a cup of steaming coffee.

"There you go," she said, sliding the plate onto the table. "Made fresh this afternoon."

"Thank you, Mrs. Seward," Gail replied. The smell of warm dough and fruit—mango, she'd guess—mingling with the strong, bitter smell of the coffee struck her stomach with the force of realization: she hadn't brought any extra food, and she was hungry after having walked this far. "It looks delicious."

Mrs. Seward smiled politely. "Thank you."

Gail patted the table, indicating the seat across from her. "Sit, get off your feet a bit. There aren't any other customers here, and if any new ones come in, you'll see them fine."

Mrs. Seward hesitated.

"How about this," Gail said, "I order one more of the dumplings, and you get a snack out of it, too."

Mrs. Seward coughed a surprised laugh. "I couldn't take your money for food for me to eat in my own café."

"Nonsense," Gail retorted. "I couldn't ask you to sit and share your valuable time with me and not reimburse you fairly. We don't get time to talk often, and I haven't had much opportunity for socialization or chatting with Michael gone."

"Well…" Mrs. Seward sighed. "I suppose that's true. And if I need to get up and working, I'll be able to get back on my feet right quick."

"Of course. I wouldn’t dream of keeping you longer that you’d want."

Mrs. Seward’s smile felt less polite and more genuine. "I'll be just a second."

Gail exerted a great deal of self-control and did not scarf down the entirety of the (thankfully large) dumpling before Mrs. Seward got back.

"Ahhhh." Mrs. Seward sank down into the seat opposite, thin cheeks flushed from the warmth of the ovens in the kitchen. "I will admit, sitting down does feel nice."

"You seem to be quite hard at work," Gail agreed. "Why are the part-timers off-duty?"

"We're needing to save a bit more money just now," Mrs. Seward said, slicing into the dumpling neatly.

Gail was already several forkfulls ahead of her. "Oh? Is the lighthouse not doing so well? Repairs of some kind?"

"No, all of that's going well," she said. Now that she was sitting down and eating, her early reticence had dissipated. "Something else happened that is quite a miracle, so I'm very grateful for it, though at this exact moment it's a bit difficult."

"Oh?"

"Well, it's all a bit strange, but a close friend of my son's showed up again after having gone missing for six years, and we've been needing to pay the doctor to be here regular, since he hasn't woken up for the past three or so weeks."

Gail nearly spat out her coffee. Apparently, she had not needed to be concerned about information.

It, belatedly, occurred to Gail that if something big and surprising had happened—such as a young man appearing at the lighthouse one day—she would likely have had more trouble avoiding the topic than not. She bit down onto her fork with enthusiasm and general gratitude.

Wait.

"Your son?"

"You’re familiar with the annual remembrance festival, right?" Mrs. Seward replied, giving her a quizzical look.

"Well, yes," Gail replied. "We've only been attending since a few years ago, but yes. A festival of remembrance for those lost at sea, and for those brought home again, right?"

Mrs. Seward chuckled a bit, taking a delicate bite of her neatly sliced up dumpling. "Well, it actually isn't specified where they were lost. Your son was lost at sea, though, wasn't he?"

"Aye. David."

"We lost our son six years ago, but it was under unknown circumstances. The next year we wanted to give something back to the community that helped us through such a difficult time, so, in honor of him and those around us who we knew who had also suffered losses, we started the festival of remembrance."

"O-oh." Gail found she didn't have much of an answer.

"But, well, we still haven't found our son. We may never." She pushed her fork slowly into the dumpling, contemplating it. "But, again, we never thought we'd find his friend again, either, so there may be hope yet."

[rowenabean]

The Opening Door

Red wine is spilled upon the galley floor Our captain standing by a broken tray His gloved hands holding shut the airlock door.

His skin has never been this pale before His hands that tremble, his face in dismay Red wine is spilt upon the ship's clean floor

And through the door we see the strangers - four Who run from us, and only one who stays Whose hands are holding to the airlock door

Let him in, captain says, and yet unsure We make a path, and slow he picks his way Through wine that's spilt upon the steel floor

They are gone, he says, they will come once more, Our saviour, green skin fading now to grey, Whose hands are holding still the airlock door.

Till weak he falls, he drops, forevermore His cold and lifeless body blocks the way. Red blood is spilled upon the galley floor; Whose hands are holding back the opening door?

@inklings-challenge

[rosesnvines]

Legend of the Blackberry Sword - Part 2

@inklings-challenge I finally finished!! hope you all enjoy!!

Finally, after a few minutes of intense sword play, Bobby let out a guttural growl and disarmed Gaspar, sending the sword clattering to the back of the stage. The crowd let out a collective gasp. Betty let out a shriek before clamping her hands over her mouth.

"It's part of the play. It's just part of the play," muttered Freddie, but his knuckles were turning white as he gripped the arms of his chair. 

“What makes you, a mere archangel, think you can defeat me? Me, the new master of this world!” shouted Bobby, leveling his sword at Gaspar’s chest. 

“Who is like God? Certainly not you!” came Gaspar’s shout. A cheer went up from the kids in the crowd before several parents shushed them. The pavilion went silent, tense with anticipation of the next part in the story. 

Bobby let out a growl as he stepped forward. "Is that so?" 

"Lucifer!" The narrator's voice echoed across the stage. Bobby let out a whimper and crouched low. The lights dimmed with one light on Gaspar. "Pick up your sword." A blackberry bush next to Gaspar's feet rustled and an elaborate sword rose from between the leaves. The audience gasped. 

"So that's why!" Freddie whispered. "Mr. Bones has been working on that for months!" 

Gaspar grasped the sword and the lights went back to normal. Bobby stood up.

"Lucifer, by order of God, you are hereby banished from Heaven!" 

Bobby let out a yell and lunged at Gaspar. The two fought for several more minutes before Gaspar disarmed Bobby. Bobby slunk to the right of the stage, leaving it with a hiss. The narrator stepped on to the stage from the left. 

"Well done, oh faithful one. Come here." Gaspar walked to him, holding out his sword. The narrator took the sword from him. "Kneel." Gaspar obeyed. "I name thee Michael, for you said, who is like God?" The narrator laid the sword across Gaspar's shoulders, then proceeded to knight him. "And I name you general of the angelic host, for you stood for my honor and glory." 

"I serve only thee, my Lord and God." 

"Rise, Michael, take your sword, and go to your post. There is still much to be done, and Lucifer is not finished with his evil ways. He will be back." 

Gaspar stood up, took the sword and sheathed it. "And we shall be ready, oh Lord." The two walked off stage and the curtains closed. The audience stood and gave a thunderous applause. 

“Wait, that was it?” asked Bert as they stood up and joined in the applause. 

“Yeah man, the main point was the sword fight!” 

The applause grew louder when the curtains pulled back and the three actors stepped to the edge of the stage and took a deep bow. Gaspar was grinning from ear to ear as he took another bow and unsheathed the sword. 

“Mr. Bones finished this just last night! Isn’t it awesome?!” Gaspar glanced at the narrator with admiration beaming in his eyes.

Freddie, Lenny, and Charlie let out loud whoops and jumped up, pumping the air with their fists. 

Mr. Bones let out a booming, hearty laugh. “I’m glad you all enjoyed it! I had a wonderful cast to work with! Now, if you all want to see this rendition of the Blackberry Sword up close, we will have it on display in the dance hall in a few minutes. Until then, enjoy the rest of the faire!” Another round of applause went up as the trio bowed again and the curtains closed. After the applause died down, the crowd began to disperse. 

“By the time we get out of here, the sword should be on display!” quipped Freddie as the Forsters waited for their turn to leave their row. 

“Then we could just head over there and see it,” remarked Bert with a shrug. 

“But so will everyone else!” Freddie added with a whine. 

“Boys, calm down, just be patient! We will see it, don’t worry,” stated Betty. “We still have to play Dragon Fight before the dance, right?” 

Freddie huffed and crossed his arms. “Yeah, but …” 

“The sword will still be in the dance hall when we get there. I’m sure Mr. Bones wants everyone to see it,” Betty pointed out. 

“And I’m sure Bobby will make sure everyone looks at it and admires it,” muttered Bert. 

“Exactly, so don’t worry, but… oh finally!” The crowd had thinned out enough that the group could leave. 

“And you were telling us not to be impatient,” quipped Freddie with a smirk as they filed out of the row and towards the doors. 

Betty rolled her eyes. “It still took quite a while.” 

Greg gasped. “I see Gaspar! He’s waiting by the door!” He pushed his way to the front and dashed towards the doors. The others paused to look for Gaspar, and when they saw him, also took off towards the door. 

His signature grin spread across his face when they joined him. “Took you long enough.” 

“There was a huge crowd!” blurted Lenny. 

“And now everyone’s in line to see the sword!” huffed Freddie as he glanced at the growing line at the dance hall. 

Gaspar chuckled. “But that means no line at Dragon Fight.” He waved them forward. “Come on! By the time we get out, the line at the dance hall should be short enough that we can just get right in!” His eyes twinkled as he glanced at each of them. “Besides, I got special permission from Mr. Bones to take the sword out and give you a close up.” 

The group gasped. 

“Really?” asked Freddie. Gaspar bobbed his head. 

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” exclaimed Betty. 

“Let’s go!” shouted Freddie as he stepped towards the dance hall. 

Gaspar grabbed his arm and stopped him. “After the line is cleared, everyone else will want to get back in line to hold it. Right now, only he, Bobby, and I are allowed to handle it.” 

Freddie sighed. “Alright, Dragon Fight it is.” 

“But I thought you wanted to do Dragon Fight?” 

“I mean, I do, but I really, really want to see that sword up close.” 

Gaspar chuckled and rubbed Freddie's dark curls. “You will! Just, one thing at a time man!” 

"Yeah man," piped up Charlie, "I want to see that sword too! But Gaspar's right, the line for Dragon Fight should be short right now, and the sword will be there till the end of the night." 

"Alright," mumbled Freddie. 

"Yes! Dragon Fight, here we come!" Charlie shouted. Gaspar led the group through the crowd towards the corn field at the edge of the fair.

"Wait, Dragon Fight is a corn maze?" Bert asked. 

Gaspar laughed. "Just wait and see." He led them through a path hewn into the cornfield. A few minutes later, they were standing in the middle of a circle with a gate on the other side, leading to another path. The man sitting at the booth jumped up and shot them a grin. 

"Was wondering where everyone went! Come on in, come on in!" He glanced at the Forsters. "Must be your first time, huh?" 

Greg nodded. "Oh yeah! But, where's the dragon?" He glanced around the circle. 

The gentleman pointed at the gate. "Follow that path to the blackberry field. You will be given three clues to find swords to fight the dragon and escape." He held out his hand. "But first, seven leaves please." 

Gaspar reached into his pouch and quickly pulled out the currency. He winked at the others. "I got this." 

Freddie clicked his tongue. "How much you got hidden in there?" 

Gaspar quickly closed his pouch. "Just what Mrs. Field gave me. Now come on, let's go!" The gate swung open and the group dashed through, Gaspar in the lead. They followed the path to another enclosed area, one full of patches of blackberry bushes, asters, and angelicas clustered around small maple trees. 

"Alright, gents! First clue please!" Gaspar shouted as the gang crowded around him at the entrance. 

A man out of sight answered him. "The clue you seek is very easy to find. Look for the tree with three of a kind." 

"Three of a kind? Three of a kind what?" Bert asked. 

"The only tree with three blackberry bushes, three asters, and three angelicas, that's what!" blurted Charlie before the three of them took off into the field to look. Gaspar stood right where he was and surveyed the landscape. 

"Are you looking for the dragon?" whispered Greg. 

"Yeah, keep a sharp eye out," Gaspar replied. 

"Whatever for?" Bert asked. 

"Because they can go only so far with the dragon. If we can figure out the furthest spot away from them, we can regroup and go over clues without being attacked." 

"Ah, gotcha." 

"Hey, I found it!" Charlie's face appeared from the back of a tree a few feet from them, waving a slip of paper. The group dashed towards him. 

Bert gave him a high five."Nice!"

Charlie grinned. "Thanks!" He opened the paper and read, "Your quest continues, and the danger will grow. The drooping maple hides the next clue below." 

Lenny tapped his chin as he glanced around the field. "Drooping maple …" 

"The danger will only grow," muttered Gaspar as he too glanced around the field. 

"Yeah, where is the dragon?" wondered Freddie as he placed his hands on his  hips and glanced around. 

"Uh, let's, let's stick together, huh? While we look for the drooping maple?" Charlie suggested, a soft stutter to his voice. 

"Yes, but not too close, if we need to scatter," said Gaspar.

"Isn't it a fake dragon?" Bert whispered to Charlie as the group began walking towards the next clump of plants. 

"Yeah, but they have been trying to make it scarier every year and, well, last year's dragon was pretty scary." 

Freddie scoffed. "It's just a fake dragon. Nothing to be scared of." 

Greg pointed to their left and shouted. "There it is!" 

A large paper mache dragon seemed to be flying right at them, closing the distance faster than they had assumed. It was mostly a sickly green, with fiery red eyes, brown horns and spikes, and yellowed teeth in a widening mouth. The legs of two men could be seen underneath the dragon's belly. Freddie screamed. 

"Scatter!" Gaspar shouted. Legs burst into action as the group took off in two directions. 

"Oh, just a fake dragon, huh? Nothing to be scared of, huh?" Charlie quipped. Freddie chuckled nervously.

"Look for the drooping maple!" Gaspar shouted. 

He flew up in the air and one of the men shouted. "No fair! You can actually fly!" 

The other man laughed. "Show off!" 

"You two take that side, we'll look this way!" Lenny said as he led Charlie to the far side of the arena. 

"Yeah, loser buys the Michaelmas Midnight meal!" Freddie shouted. 

"As if!" Charlie shouted back.

Bert's eyes scanned the arena. Where was that drooping maple? It had to have been bending so low to hide the clue. He squinted his eyes at one tree. It did look like it was drooping in comparison to the rest, but it wasn't so low that it was touching the ground. Was that it? 

"Freddie, look!" Bert pointed. "Think that's it?" 

Freddie grinned. "It's got to be. Come on!" The two dashed towards the tree. 

"Bert, Freddie, the dragon's coming towards you!" Betty shouted. 

"Hurry, hurry!" Greg shouted. 

Bert did a baseball slide and got to the tree first. He began feeling in the bushes under the shade of the tree. 

Freddie joined him a moment later. "Hurry! This has got to be the right tree!" he shouted as he began to look. 

"Aha!" Bert pulled a rolled up piece of paper out from the blackberry bush directly underneath the drooping side's shadow. "Got it!" 

"Yow! Go go go!" Freddie jumped up and grabbed Bert by the collar, pulling him away from the tree right as the dragon showed up. 

"Read it, read it!" Charlie shouted. 

Bert quickly unrolled the paper as he and Freddie ran to the next tree. "The swords are in a chest beneath the hollowed tree, the keys are hidden in the bushes at its feet. Three to the left and three to the right, will bring about the dragon's defeat!" He paused and wrinkled his nose. "Who came up with this? I mean, the rhyme works, but the rhythm is all wonky!" 

"Who cares? It's the final clue!" Freddie grabbed him by the collar and pulled him away from the dragon again. "You can discuss proper poetry techniques after we've defeated the dragon!" 

“We’ve found it!” Betty jumped up and down, waving her arms. She and Greg were standing by a larger maple tree at the far side of the arena. “Over here!” Charlie and Lenny dashed towards them and got there in a minute, being closer. 

“Be ready with those swords! They’re coming in hot!” Gaspar shouted as he landed next to the four. 

“Yeah, no kidding!” Freddie shouted. He glanced behind himself and yelped. The dragon was inching closer towards him and Bert. 

“We got it open!” whooped Greg. Lenny and Charlie each grabbed a wooden sword and dashed towards the dragon with whoops. Bert took another baseball slide. Freddie tried to copy, but tumbled instead. 

Freddie sat up, sputtering. “You gotta teach me how to do that, man!” 

Bert chuckled as he helped him up. “You bet!” 

"One, two, three!" Charlie and Lenny shouted out each number as they hit the sides of the dragon. One of the men moaned and the dragon went limp.

Charlie jumped up and down. "We won, we won!" The two men emerged from the dragon using well-hidden doors on the sides. "Oh, Mr. Crane! Did we hit you or Isaac?" Charlie asked nervously. 

Mr. Crane chuckled as he shook his head. "No, I built it this way. You're good. Also, great teamwork!" He raised an eyebrow as he shot Bert a glance. "But apparently my rhythm was off on the last clue?" 

Bert chuckled nervously as he ran a hand through his hair. "I, uh, I didn't know you had come up with the clues, Mr. Crane. I, uh …"

Mr. Crane patted Bert's shoulder. "No need to apologize. The rhythm is wonky, but that was a first draft. I didn't have time to work on it, so," he shrugged, "it is what it is. Besides, it's just for fun. I wasn't planning on publishing it or anything." 

"Yeah, true." Bert shrugged. “I just noticed it, that’s all.”

“Then maybe you can help me with the clues next year.”

Bert blinked. “R-really?” Mr. Crane nodded. Bert grinned. “I’d like that.” 

“Do we win a prize?” asked Greg. 

Mr. Crane bent down to look him in the eye. “You get the satisfaction of beating Dragon Fight.” 

Greg pouted. “But a prize would be better.” 

Mr. Crane chuckled and ruffled his hair. “I’m sure it would, but there is no prize to be won at Dragon Fight. The whole point is to defeat the dragon and win. Which, speaking of, we need to reset the field so the next group can defeat the dragon.” 

“Right, we still have to see that super cool sword Mr. Bones made!” said Freddie. 

Mr. Crane’s mouth twitched. “Right. You go do that and … enjoy the rest of the Michaelmas faire! As for the Forsters, remember to get your Michaelmas Midnight Meal before you head home!” 

The Forsters waved as the group walked towards the front. “We will!” 

"So, wait, what is the Michaelmas Midnight Meal?" Bert asked as they walked. 

Gaspar turned and began walking backwards, an apologetic grin on his face. "Oh yeah, that, sorry. We really don't have many meals on Michaelmas as we snack pretty much all day. But it isn't quite a harvest holiday without a feast, so the Michaelmas Midnight Meal was started." 

"What's in it?" Greg asked.

"Applewood smoked goose with root vegetable stuffing," quipped Charlie with a hungry sigh as he licked his lips. 

"Blackberries, of course, jellies, jams, and pies," stated Lenny. 

"And the different Michaelmas breads," stated Freddie. 

"Root vegetable stuffing?" asked Betty.

Gaspar nodded. "Oh yeah, the usual, dried bread with root vegetables; potatoes, carrots, turnips, onions, radishes, and sweet potatoes." 

Greg licked his lips and rubbed his tummy. "That sounds yummy!" 

"Oh boy, is it ever!" said Charlie as the group came back to the booth. There was now a long line of eager players. 

The man at the booth grinned at them. "You really came at a good time! Thanks for playing! Enjoy the rest of the Michaelmas faire!"

"We will, thanks!" The kids waved as they left. They went on to play a few other games before making their way to the dance hall. There was still a line, but it was much shorter than before.

Freddie rubbed his hands together in glee. "Finally!" He turned to Gaspar. "How did that sword feel in your hands?" 

Gaspar flashed an excited grin. "Oh man, it was awesome! But just wait until you see it up close!" 

Freddie blinked. "Why?" 

Gaspar's grin widened and he snickered. "Just wait, you'll see." 

"Oh, man!" Freddie glanced at the line, counting how many were in front of them. They were moving at a steady pace, but it clearly wasn't fast enough for Freddie. 

Finally, after several fidgety, impatient minutes in line, they were next to see the sword. 

"Ooh, cool!" was the general exclamation. The sword seemed to sparkle under the stronger light of the dance hall. There was a silvery sheen to the blade while the hilt was a dark purple leather with blackberries and leaves etched into it. 

"Can I touch it?" Freddie whispered. 

"Here." Gaspar picked up the sword and held it out. He tilted it slightly to the right and then slightly to the left.

"Hey, what are those purple spots on the sword?" Greg asked.

Freddie gasped as he took a closer look. “Hey he, he used it!” He glanced at Gaspar. “No way!” 

Gaspar smirked. “Oh yeah, he did.” 

“Used what?”  asked the Forsters. 

“Morcrain, a rare metal found only on Havorest with a purple hue to it. Mr. Bones mixed it with the iron for this sword, which makes those purple spots.” Gaspar returned the sword to its case. “So now this shall forevermore be called the Blackberry Sword.” 

“Not the Grape Sword?” 

Gaspar shot Bert a “are you kidding me?” look over his shoulder. “The blackberries on the hilt kinda give it away.” 

Bert chuckled nervously. “Oh, yeah, right.” 

“Plus, purple spots make more sense for blackberries than grapes anyhow, you stink,” quipped Freddie as he wrapped his arm around Bert’s neck and proceeded to give him a noogie. 

 “Come on you guys, we need to get a table! It’s starting to fill up already!” blurted Charlie as he rushed into the main hall. 

Freddie sighed. “Him and food.” 

“Can’t say that I blame him, it’s good stuff,” quipped Lenny with a grin. 

“I agree!” quipped Greg. 

Gaspar laughed. “I do too. Come on!” He led the others into the main hall. There were hundreds of tables and chairs set up, but there was still plenty of room for people to dance, which many couples were doing at that moment. They had to search for a bit, but they finally found a table for their whole group. 

Bert sat back in his chair. “Ah, made it!” 

“But now what do we do? Wait?” asked Greg. 

“Well, we can dance.” Gaspar stood up, turned to Betty, and bowed. “May I?” 

Betty bounced up from her chair with a giggle and a curtsy. “Yes, you may.” Gaspar took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. Bert jumped up and went off in search of Sarah Torres, leaving Greg, Freddie, Lenny, and Charlie at the table. 

Freddie turned to the others. “Now I’m bored.” 

“And I’m hungry,” quipped Greg. The others laughed. 

"Don't worry, midnight is almost here," remarked Lenny. 

"Really?" Greg asked.

"Yup," said Charlie as he pointed at his watch. 

Greg glanced at it. "Whoa, I can't believe it! It's gone by so fast!" 

“Well, considering how late you were …” 

Lenny whacked Charlie’s shoulder. “They weren’t that late. But six hours did go by pretty quickly.” 

Freddie sighed. "Yeah, that's what happens when you're having fun." He glanced at the Gaspar and Betty dancing. He said something and she laughed. "I don't want autumn to end," Freddie muttered. 

Greg blinked. "You live on Havorest, it's autumn all the time!" 

Lenny glanced between Freddie and the young couple. "He means your autumn.” 

Greg pouted as he sat back in his chair. “Oh yeah, me too.” But then he brightened. “But there’s always next year!” Freddie merely grunted. Greg glanced between them before speaking again. “So, it’s still a nice night, are you guys going to sleep outside?” 

Lenny shook his head and sat back with a sigh. “Nah, Michaelmas is one of those days when you want a bed to sleep in.” 

“Where will you sleep then?” 

Lenny shrugged. “Probably with the Fields family. We’ll wait and see what Gaspar decides, but we’ve slept at their house for the past couple of years, so I don’t see why we wouldn’t do it again this year.” Lenny glanced at Charlie. “As long as he keeps his stomach in check.” 

Charlie put up his hands. “I will, I swear!” He licked his lips. “But man, Mrs. Fields knows how to cook!” 

Freddie scoffed. “Everyone knows how to cook, except you.” 

“Why you!” Charlie got up and tackled Freddie to the ground. The two began rolling about, but quickly stopped the instant Mr. Bones’s booming voice echoed through the dance hall. 

“May I have your attention please.” Everyone in the hall stopped. “It is now officially midnight, it’s time for the Michaelmas Midnight Meal!” 

The boys whooped and bounced up off the floor. Lenny and Greg followed them to the now forming line. Betty and Gaspar soon joined them, followed by Bert and Sara Torres. 

Greg waved. “Hi Sara!” 

Sara smiled and waved back. “Hi Greg! Hi Freddie, Lenny, Charlie! How are you guys doing?” 

“Better once I have a plate of food in my hands,” quipped Charlie. 

“Me too!” said Greg. The others laughed. 

“So, um, Sara, how did you like the faire?” Bert asked. 

Sara smiled. “I liked it a lot! It took a little while to get used to the currency, but I think I got the hang of it!” She glanced down the line. “Speaking of, what about this Midnight Meal? How many leaves is it?” 

“Zero,” chorused the boys. 

Sara blinked. “Really?” 

“Oh yeah,” said Lenny with a bob of his head, “it’s free so everyone can eat!” 

Sara smiled. "That's great!" She let out a huff. "Now I can stop worrying about forgetting to switch from dollars to leaves!" 

Bert chuckled. "Yeah, it's confusing at first, but once you have the system down, you're good to go."

Sara turned to Bert. “Oh? Could you explain it a little more?” 

He blinked. “Oh, uh …” 

Freddie chuckled. “He’s still learning himself, but we’ll help him explain.” The group then launched into explaining the system for acorns, the coins of Havorest, and leaves, the bills. As they were finishing explaining the system to Sara, they had reached the buffet tables. They piled their plates with food, a bit of everything, and returned to their table. 

The dance hall became filled with the sounds of plates and utensils clattering as people chatted away during the meal. Almost as soon as they finished, Greg let out a big yawn. 

“Looks like someone needs to go to bed,” remarked Sara. 

“But I don’t want to,” Greg mumbled as he rubbed his eyes and let out another yawn. “Having … so much … fun.” His head drooped a little. 

Bert sighed. “Yeah, we’d better go.” 

Freddie scoffed. “Lucky, you don’t have to clean up.” 

“But I want to,” began Greg. 

“Greg,” said Betty softly, “you’ll be back in the morning, remember? The Michaelmas faire lasts until October second.” 

Greg’s eyes were closed, but he smiled. “Oh yeah, that’s right. Alright, I’ll go to bed.” He peeled his eyelids open and glanced around his chair. “Where’s Jeremiah?” 

Bert pulled his backpack from under the table, the frog sound asleep inside. “Here he is. Looks like he beat you to sleep.” 

Greg yawned. “Yeah, we better get him to bed.” 

Bert pulled the backpacked over his arms and grabbed Greg’s hand. “And you.” 

“Need a linkboy?” Lenny asked. 

Bert shook his head. “Nah, the moon was pretty bright when we came in, I’m sure I can find the path to the tree just fine. I’ll be back if I don’t.” 

“Alright, you two be careful!” Betty called after them as they walked away. 

Bert waved. “Will  do!” 

As he had figured, the moon was bright enough for Bert to find the way to the portal. He managed to get Greg through the portal and back into their house without so much as a sound. He helped him into his pajamas, got him tucked in, and placed Jeremiah in his aquarium. 

“Good night Greg,” whispered Bert. Greg mumbled a reply before Bert closed the door. He got into his own room, changed, and crawled into bed, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

[expelliarmus]

[royaljellyprince]

👁️ 👁️ 👁️

[ithinkthiswasabadidea]

my first play through and also trying to keep everyone from becoming their worst selves is going well why do you ask

[ronanlynchbf]

tshirt that says NO LIVE ORGANISM CAN CONTINUE FOR LONG TO EXIST SANELY UNDER CONDITIONS OF ABSOLUTE REALITY

[erraticprocrastinator]

A reminder to all my lovely fellow writers: progress is progress, even when it isn't. Writing four thousand words in a session is progress. Writing a hundred words in a session is progress. Removing an entire scene because it doesn't flow well is progress. Rethinking your plan for the plot in order to get unstuck is progress. Development looks different for every writer and every story.

[shizuart]

[rijinks]

So I've been binge playing Hades; above dialog is not canon (but the vibes are)

[larissa-the-scribe]

Terrarium Lights, Pt. 3.7

Previously on Terrarium Lights: so they know who the ghost is. What now?

Gail considered heading back to the lighthouse the next day, but, despite her seeming abundance of free time, she did, in fact, have duties to attend to.

She waffled about it over breakfast before deciding that Jonathon knew where to find her. Presumably, he wouldn’t have trouble coming here, since he had been here before and overall seemed in a decent state to travel.

It still all felt like a bit much, a dream where inexplicably you know all the answers but don't know why, and you’re stuck moving in accordance with it all until you wake up and go “what on earth?” She felt that she was moving like she should in this dream, as much as she knew how, but it was all rather disorienting. Maybe a day of cleaning and gardening and being in her own home would help her feel more grounded.

"I suppose other worlds are a little grander, beyond my thoughts," she said to the Lord as she prepared to sweep the house from top to bottom. "I don't quite know as I understand all that was told me yesterday, but, then again, I don't see as that I fully have to."

Half-way through sweeping the second floor, she leaned on her broom and chuckled to herself. "I suppose it is odd that I'd be right fine with the concept of a ghost, showing up in my own garden at that, but then balk at the idea of somewhere I didn't know of. Why, most of this world is a place I don't know, and I can't say that I properly know my own tiny little corner of it. You made all of the knowns and unknowns, and You know, and I'd say that's what matters in the end."

That satisfied her, mostly.

By the end of the day, she felt much better. More awake, and more content with the answers belonging to a dream. Sometimes you just had to accept things as they were. Perhaps she might know more some day, but that day hadn’t come yet. She’d just have to wait for it and keep her eyes open.

For now, she was helping a ghost that God had sent her, one who needed to get back into his body after he'd been lost in another world. Simple enough, in a way.

She didn't know how much she was truly helping, but Samuel—Jonathon, now—did seem to appreciate being able to talk to someone. At the very least, she was involved in the goings on, if only for emotional support.

At the end of the day, she was more tired than she anticipated being. Scrapping her plans of baking that evening, she contented herself with a simple egg sandwich, and once again headed to bed early.

***

She was awoken by insistent, though faint, knocking at her bedroom door.

It took her brain several seconds to realize, through a haze of sleep, what she was hearing, and that it wasn't any of her children—seeing as they had all grown up and moved out—and her husband wasn't there.

Gail sat bolt upright and reached for the double-barreled plasmagun Michael kept loaded and primed for her.

"Hello?" She asked, sleepiness blunting the tough edge she'd been going for.

"Um, hi," said Jonathon's voice from the other side. "I'm sorry if I startled you. Are you… um… awake?"

Gail shook her head to clear some of the cobwebs from them. Wrapping a shawl about her, she tumbled her way to the door. "Well, I am now," she mumbled, tugging the door open.

As her senses caught up with her and she could better see the windows in the stairwell, she could tell that it wouldn't be long before dawn broke.

"Ah… I… I may be a bit early," Jonathon said apologetically, gesturing in a vague manner with his hands. "It’s occurring to me now that I… don't really remember what sleep schedules are."

"Well, I usually sleep longer than dawn," she said, "but I suppose I'm awake now. How can I help you?"

"Oh, um. Well. I didn't want to go into your bedroom, so I wasn't really sure if you were awake. I… can come back later?"

Gail could feel aches in her bone, and a gust of cold threatening her from beyond her blanket. "I believe we may have to set some boundaries in the future," she said with a sigh. "But, as I said, I am awake now. I would have been in an hour or so, anyway. So, what's been eating at you?"

Jonathon looked down at the floorboards, shoulders pulled up to his ears. "Well… I found Samuel."

There was a haggard look in his eyes. Gail guessed that he may have been out searching for the past two nights. Ghosts—or Jonathons, at least— apparently didn’t need sleep, but whatever he’d been doing had taken a toll on him. She drummed her fingers against the edge of the doorframe. "Go sit down in the dining area, and I'll be dressed and down there in a tad."

Perhaps Gail should have been thinking more about the situation, but she was still foggy from sleep. Automatically, she dressed herself and washed her face and arranged her hair, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders to ward off the early morning chill.

She found Jonathon sitting on the table, his legs dangling and swaying ever so slightly as he stared into nothingness, shoulders hunched over.

It occurred to her that his eyes had been staying consistently colored lately. Hopefully that was a good thing.

Gail came down and half-sat, half-leaned on the table beside him.

"It's… um… it wasn’t a very nice sight." He said quietly.

"I see." Gail pulled her shawl closer.

"He's about half-way between here and the lighthouse," he said, “if you go along the coast. I found him this morning."

"How do you know it was him?" Gail asked.

"He was still there."

"Ah."

His shoulders hunched further into themselves. "I… I didn't know what to do. I ran away before he saw me. But… I think I heard him calling after me. And then I found myself here again. So I went to see if you were awake, and then…." He trailed off.

Gail chuckled. "And then, here we are."

"Sorry. I didn't know what else to do."

"It's fine," Gail patted his knee as best she could. "My children have often woken me far earlier with far less reason."

He gave a half-smile response that was more attempt than success.

"So, now that you've found him, what would you like to do?"

"I don't know." Jonathon buried his face in his hands. "I don't know if I can face him. I don't remember hardly anything, and I left him for several weeks, and I don't even know what our relationship ended up being like. What if I did something bad, and now he hates me, and I have no idea? If… if he's still here, is it because of that? Is he… is he dead, because of me?"

"You have only had positive things to say and remember about him," Gail pointed out. "Besides, consistently you’ve grasped ideas and feelings behind your memories, even if you don’t know the actual memories themselves. Hypothetically, that would indicate you would have far more negative feelings associated with your friend if something had gone wrong. So if you don't have any solid reason to assume something horrible happened, I'd say your fears are just working against you right now."

“That’s true,” he admitted glumly. “But also, there’s just… I don’t know. Even that aside, even knowing where he is… that should be a good thing. But it’s… not? It still is, but it doesn’t make me feel better. Which is a selfish way of looking at it, but… I don’t know. I can’t face him. I can’t go talk to him.

[nerdpoe]

Lucius Fox is in the drive thru for some coffee, and like. He's just. He's had a time, okay?

He's stuck on some equations in regard to the amount of torsion a joint would go through if it's half in his dimension and half in another, and it's driving him up a wall.

He's been up for like forty-eight hours, he's tired, he's thirsty, he just wants a coffee, and also how to solve this dilemma.

He doesn't expect the barista in the drive-thru he's ranting about the engineering issues to actually provide decent feedback, and give him a few alternatives.

So he rushes to the pick-up window, not even caring to order, to look at this godsend of a barista.

It's a scrawny kid with black hair and blue eyes, looking startled. Boy can't be more than eighteen.

He asks what college the kid is going to, or plans to go to.

To his absolute horror, the kid-Danny, according to the nametag-says he can't afford college. That he'd had a stint in highschool where he just hadn't been able to focus, and his parents had spent every penny they had on their own inventions.

So that was why he was a barista; because if he worked there for four years, they would offer tuition assistance.

Which.

No. No no no no no.

Lucius pulls around to march into the store, Bruce Motherfucking Wayne already blearily on his phone.

He is getting this kid, and any friend of his, into college.

If Bruce won't foot the bill, he will.

[clouvu]

yknow what. *undooms your yuri again*

[lav3nder-bees]

Nothing like doing your goth gfs makeup before getting your ass handed to you on the battle field

i.e I wanted to doodle something between finishing schoolwork and it kind of got away from me

[xan-from-space]

Senshi is probably the most fandomized character in Dungeon Meshi, and while I don't exactly mind it, I do think he has more depth than that. I find all his little quirks and idiosyncrasies to be fascinating; he's very stubborn and set in his ways about things that seemingly don't matter, he thinks about things that other people don't, he has a deeply set value system that informs everything he does. He cares A Lot, like, this man cares So Much. That's the kind of person you have to be to drop everything to help a random group of adventurers save one woman. But because he feels so strongly about things, he can also be surprisingly immature at times (although he's also the character most likely to admit he was wrong about something). I think part of that is because he's lived in the dungeon on his own so long that he's not used to working with other people. He will extend empathy and friendship to almost anyone, but he does things his own way, and he doesn’t always feel the need to explain his way of thinking because again, he's usually on his own. He's both incredibly wise and kind of childish in ways that seem contradictory at first, but make more and more sense the more we learn about him. Major kudos to Ryoko Kui's writing and pacing to make that transition so seamless and have all those details from his backstory click into place perfectly. And on a wider thematic level, Senshi is kind of a perfect counterpart to characters like Thistle (or any other dungeon lord). Senshi understands the dungeon in ways that even its creator doesn't. Although everyone is scrambling to take control of the dungeon, Senshi is the one who actually takes care of it. He's the one who thinks about things like nutrition and proper sleep and the ecosystem, all those things that it's easy to ignore when you get swept up by the grandeur of it all. He's the most important character to have present in a story that explores life and death and hunger. His constant, invisible presence holds everything together.