Rm w/ A Vu

An Obstacle That Came Between [AMcG's Alice]

2009-12-24T23:07:12Z

An Obstacle That Came Between
American McGee's Alice
Warnings: spoilers for American McGee's Alice, title taken from Lewis Carrol's "They told me you had been to her..."
American McGee's Alice (c) Electronic Arts
Summary: Intermission in the blimp. v short

Room 3 ~ Fortress of Doors

An Obstacle That Came Between

Passing by a rocky column Alice got a glimpse of a small figure dancing madly, but before she could get a better look, the blimp had passed on and the column faded away behind them into the dark.

The elder gnome leaned over the back of Alice's eat in the blimp and began to speak."There's a Skool,” he told her, pronouncing the misspelling carefully, “inside the Fortress, where you'll find certain items for creating a concoction that will make you small."

Alice raised an eyebrow. "What items exactly?"

"Items," the elder insisted. "Items, girl. You'll know them when you see them."

Out of the darkness ahead, a thin bridge materialised, leading to a large wooden drawbrigde, drawn shut up to the wall.

The elder cleared his throat nervously "Speaking of seeing things, we should avoid the Card Guards's notice,
hang on! ... Ahhhhhh! Dammit! We've been seen." The gnome leant hard to one side, pulling the blimp away from the bridge as a card guard who had been patrolling on the drawbridge path signalled their presence to the fortress guards. Soon the bridge was dropping down and the blimp climbs steeply over wall as the diamond guards continued to shower the balloon with diamond-shaped ammunition.

Alice clung tightly to the edges of the basket as they approached a strange swaying house in the dark void, surrounded by more high walls, adorned with guards on the battlements. The elder skilfully twisted the blimp away from the line of fire, down to one side of the outer wall.

Puffing slightly, the elder took one hand from the controls to point to narrow ledge outside the wall.
"Eventually, you must break through such walls... but for now, jump!"
Alice did.

Scripture [myst fic]

2009-10-31T17:15:37Z

Title: Scripture
Fandom: Myst
Prompt: #171 - bastard (bastarda- gothic script used for minor documents in 14th century europe) (tamingthemuse ) and unthemed #1: prompt9 - waiting (mission_insane )
Warnings: minor spoilers for Book of Ti'ana.
Rating: G
Summary: in which Catherine Writes and wonders

Myst (c) cyan worlds inc.

Scripture

Candlelight flickered over the walls, etching patterns of shadow like scripture onto the old grey stone. Most of the lanterns had long since been extinguished, and now only the small lamp on Catherine’s desk remained alight, its tiny flame doing little to illuminate the majority of the enormous room. >She shivered, pulling her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, anxious that she complete the task set before anyone came to check on her progress. Her handwriting had been forced to improve dramatically since being taught the strange swirling script of the D’ni, as the Linking Book were reliant upon legible script.

Atrus had told her of how one of his earliest experiments had been burnt by his father; Gehn complaining that the boy’s script had been so inelegant that the words had become confused and would have constructed an Age of chaotic unpredictability. After her own first trials at Writing, and seeing just how much was possible, Catherine had mused on what Atrus’ first muddled attempt would have truly been like beyond the link – perhaps more akin to her own fantastical creations than his usual orderly constructions.

Although her love’s Ages always showed a beauty and thoughtfulness that characterised himself, Catherine sometimes wished that he would allow his dreams free reign as she had tried to – to build an Age that defied the laws that governed so many worlds, and made the eye wonder at what it beheld. He lacked the freedom of imagination she had felt herself gifted with from birth; he was a builder or an architect – his mind made to design with care and precision, following the laid-out rules of previous attempts; while Catherine always wanted to be an artist – taking pleasure in the shape and design of the letters that made each world as an artform of their very own.

Catherine had listened with delight to Atrus’ tales of his grandmother Anna – another artist seemingly after Catherine’s own heart. Atrus had described her as a figure of strength and knowledge – one who held her world about her like a cloak and embroidered the pattern of her life onto its cloth, influencing everything she touched, and making it an artwork as beautiful as her imagination could conceive. How the Rivenese girl longed to meet this woman.

Catherine finished the final letter on the page with a sweeping curve and set her fine pen to one side. Holding her dark hair back from the damp page with her fingers, she blew gently on the last few lines to help the gleaming ink dry, watching the blue-black colour seep into the parchment. Reaching into the shallow bowl set into the top of the desk she sat at, Catherine lifted out a small handful of fine white sand she and one of Gehn’s other students had fetched from the Age of Remedan’s shores a few days earlier. Sprinkling a pinch of the sand over the page turned patches of the grains a deep blue as they quickly soaked up excess ink still marking the lettering, helping preventing smudging which could also disrupt the Link (and incite Gehn’s rage).

Catherine wiped her ink-stained fingers absently on her dress to remove any wet ink, before picking up the sand-covered page and tipping the sand carefully off into a well on the far side of the desk, giving the parchment a gentle shake to detach any grains that stuck to the ink. She set the page between sheets of rough blotting paper and slipped the entire thing into a loose-leaf book that lay waiting for more pages – a Descriptive Book in construction, half-filled with D’ni script in Catherine’s careful hand, every phrase blending together to make a world come to life.

You Gave Us Three or More [AMG's Alice]

2009-10-24T20:51:54Z

You Gave Us Three or More
American McGee's Alice
Prompt: #168 - As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death (tamingthemuse )
Warnings: spoilers for American McGee's Alice, title taken from Lewis Carrol's "They told me you had been to her..."
American McGee's Alice (c) Electronic Arts

Room 2 ~ Pandemonium, part II

You Gave Us Three or More

A large wooden door to Alice’s right creaked open as if expecting her (‘and when cards attack you, why shouldn’t a door expect visitors?’) and so she turned down the corridor it revealed, finding a second door that swung open as she approached, followed by a broad, twisting staircase.

At the top of the stairs, however, Alice was surprised by two more card guards bearing the spade symbol she had seen before, accompanied by a red diamond card. Quickly dispatching the two spearholders as they ran down the stairs toward her, Alice was shocked as a red flash sliced across the top of her arm. She spun around to see the diamond card lowered his bayonet to fire a second razor-edged diamond at her. Of course, Alice found her own long-range skills had been improving with all the exercise and skewered her opponent on the vorpal blade without much hassle.

A large glowing heart piece hovered serenely in an alcove of the cardguard’s hall and Alice calmly picked it up, watching intrigued as the cut on her shoulder faded away, leaving only a faint ache.

Down the hall, lieing in a pool of green flame in the centre of a small table, a skull-headed key glittered like a diamond. ‘This must be what the old gnome meant, by a “diamond holding the key”’, thought Alice, picking it up. Climbing the stairs beside the table the girl pushed open a final door to find the way blocked by a swirling green-tinted vortex, through which she stepped with barely a hestitation.

The world seemed to spin dizzily for a moment, before a barred gate appeared out of the darkness, rising to reveal the large room in which Alice had last seen the old gnome. But some things had changed – both raised platforms were manned by diamond card guards, and as Alice stepped beyond the gate she was attacked by a third guard lurking to one side of the ledge. Dodging the swinging spear, she slashed with the kitchen knife, cutting the guard in two as flying diamonds rained down around them.

‘How do I get them?’ Alice wondered, sheltering behind one of the rambling huts beside the ledge she stood on. The guards were well out of her range with the knife, and venturing down the path towards the rope that lead up to the nearest guard’s platform brought her easily within their fire. A lump in her pinafore pocket bumped against her knee, and Alice pulled out the deck of cards she’d picked up outside the guard room.

‘Fifty two pickup’, thought Alice, ‘I wonder...’

The cards were very light and Alice tossed one out over the slimy green water in experiment, watching it spin delicately before embedding deeply with a ‘shik’ into the rock wall opposite Alice’s hiding place. The girl smiled. ‘Slice and dice.’

Once the cards had dissolved into showers of light, Alice was already swinging from the rope onto the nearest platform and approaching the door beside which she had last seen the free gnome. The door, which had been locked when she passed it before, now stood open, revealing a familiar swirling green vortex, dotted with stars.

On the far side, a stony balcony stretched away into complete darkness. A strange hot-air balloon was settled by the door, with a pedal-driven propeller behind it, and sitting at the controls was a familiar figure in crimson trousers.

“You have the key!” shouted the Elder gnome. “Very resourceful. Rabbit’s confidence is not misplaced. He is no fool.”

Alice folded her arms, settling her blade back into her apron pocket. “I certainly hope he is not.”

The girl climbed carefully into the basket as the gnome began to pedal fiercely and the balloon took off into the pitch dark sky.

“Use the key to free my clan from the oppressive burden they carry.” The elder suggested. “Any fight against the Queen’s tyranny is a good fight. They’ve suffered...”

Alice interrupted in vague annoyance. “I’m sure I’m very sorry for them, sir, really I am. But what about me getting small?”

Asylum ~ Multichapter fic for American McGee's Alice [masterpost]

2009-10-18T21:49:54Z

This is the master post for my fiction-rewrite for American McGee's Alice.
Thanks go to lady Tanaka for the game script

INCOMPLETE. parts 1-6 out of ?

Chapter	Part
Room One ~ Dementia (I-IV)	I -Involved in this affair II -Though they were mine before III -He trusts to you to set them free IV -My notion was that you had been
Room Two ~ Pandemonium (I-II)	I -He sent them word I had not gone II -You gave us three or more

He Sent Them Word I Had Not Gone [AMG's Alice]

2009-10-18T20:03:21Z

He Sent Them Word I Had Not Gone
American McGee's Alice
Warnings: spoilers for American McGee's Alice, title taken from Lewis Carrol's "They told me you had been to her..."
American McGee's Alice (c) Electronic Arts

Room 2 ~ Pandemonium, part I

He Sent Them Word I Had Not Gone

Through the doorway Alice found herself on a high platform above green bubbling water.

‘Not something I want to touch’, mused Alice, looking down.

“Hanging ropes are as good as step ladder to those who know how to use them.” commented the Cheshire Cat, fading into view ontop of a nearby chimney stack. He turned his head pointedly to look at a rope swaying gently in the air beside him, before fading with his smile.

Alice eyed the rope carefully and took a deep breath along with a step backwards, ‘Here goes’... She leapt, her skirts ruffling in the wind, and gripped the rope tightly with both hands as she touched it, swinging dramatically out over the pool. To her fright, however, she couldn’t hold on and slipped suddenly straight off at the end of her swing, tumbling down onto the boards on the far side of the water.

Brushing herself off and getting to her feet, Alice stood quickly, unwilling to show weakness to either the Cat (whom she was convinced could see her even when he wasn’t visible) or the hated gnome who stood glumly at the water’s edge nearby.

“Why do you pursue me to this desterted place?” he grumbled, as Alice noticed that this villager lacked the glowing stone chained to his back like the others.

‘if I’m going to get help, politeness worked last time so lets give it another go,’ thought Alice.

“To benfit from your wisdom.” She tried, hoping flattery was a good idea.

“Even blurred vision is valued by the blind.” Sighed the old gnome. “If I were clever, would I cower in this slag heap? I’m not wise, Girl... I’ve just grown old.” He puffed heavily on his pipe, making Alice wrinkle her nose at the foul smell.

‘Enough of this chitchat then,’ thought Alice vindictively. “I wish to get very small. No bigger than a mouse. Do you know how I might do that?”

“only that?” said the gnome, sounding surprised. “Oh yes, I could manage that... for a price.”

‘everything comes with a price’ muttered Alice to herself, wondering just how much the Queen was paying for the villagers. She shook her head.

“I have nothing of value.”

The old gnome raised bushy eyebrows tinited with the purple smoke from his pipe. “you have nerve and your health. Mine nearly gone.” He waved his hands to indicate the rusted nails and broken boards of the mine, his right hand trailing the smoke of his pipe. “I’ve seen too much suffering...and I smoke to much, you see.” He dragged hard on the pipe as if to emphasise his point.

Alice scowled. “What must I do?”

The gnome looked behind him, down a passge that ended in a sloly climbing staircase. “In the Card Guard’s compound a particularly rough diamond holds the key. Retrieve it, I will... repay the favour.” With these words he vanished into glittering light.

‘perhaps thats how he’s evaded capture for so long,’ thought Alice, heading the way he had indicated.

Up a thin corridor she climbed, the boards broken or crushed beneath fallen rubble in places, until a small mine-lift marked the end of the passage. Standing carefully on the pile of broken rocks in the cart and holding her arms in, she rode the metal track up to a higher level. As she reached the top, the cart gave a sudden jerk, causing Alice to loose her footing and she sat down heavily, half sprawled across the cart. The lift loosened it’s bolts automatically and the cart started to roll down worn and twisted tracks deeper into the mine.

Passing out through a door way, the tracks ended sharply, flinging the cart down a long drop into more of the bubbling green water Alice had seen earlier. To save herself from joining it, the girl used the slowing of the cart as it passed over the boards to jump neatly onto the safety of the platform... Only to come face-to-face with another of the Queen’s card guards.

Alice swung her trusty blade, slicing him in pieces across the middle and he vanished with a gasp like his predecessor.

A column of glowing flame caught Alice’s eye beyond the card’s dissolving body and she approached to find a deck of playing cards floating serenely in the cold fire. Picking it out, she found the very edge of each card was razor sharp, almost as if it had been highlighted with metal.

The familiar voice of the Cheshire cat cut through her thoughts – “52 pickup is a staple of juvenile humour, but when the deck slices and dices, it’s no laughing matter.”

‘I used to be rather good at 52 pickup’, Alice told herself happily, remembering better days, ‘Daddy wouldn’t play after I beat him three times in a row...’

My Notion Was That You Had Been [AMG's Alice]

2009-10-10T17:23:08Z

My Notion Was That You Had Been
American McGee's Alice
Prompt: #168 - Every Tom, Dick and... tamingthemuse
Warnings: spoilers for American McGee's Alice, title taken from Lewis Carrol's "They told me you had been to her..."
American McGee's Alice (c) Electronic Arts

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

My Notion Was That You Had Been

As the village elder turned away alice ran further up the boards, to examine the tiny hole through which Rabbit had passed. She was too big at the moment, but perhaps the hole could give her a clue? To Alice’s surprise and horror, a card guard, appeared around the nearest corner, and, with no warning nor question as to her presence, swung his spiked lance in a sharp downward sweep. Alice’s hurried leap onto the nearby staircase was the only thing that kept her from being cut in two and almost without thinking she threw the kitchen knife she had picked up as hard as she could at the spade-symbol that marked the card’s chest.

Her aim was good, more by luck than anything else, and it pierced the centre of the card. He gave a heavy groan and collapsed to the boards before dissolving away as he had never been. Alice looked back to the elder, but the gnome gave no indication that anything untoward had happened, and continued at his toil.

‘Perhaps such things are common here now’ thought Alice with some sorrow, and turned down the corridor the card had come from, her knife having returned of its own accord to sit comfortingly in her hand. Unsurprisingly, a voice from a ledge just above Alice’s head began to speak; “Only a few find the way; some don’t recognise it when they do; some don’t ever want to.” Almost before Alice had had time to look up at the Cat’s grin, it vanished back to wherever the Cheshire Cat went when it wasn’t visible.

‘Perhaps he’s there, and just unseen’, thought Alice, pulling herself up on the ledge where her guide had been sitting a moment ago. ‘Maybe he’s like Diana’s smile in cat form – and when he doesn’t smile, he vanishes along with it.’ The idea amused the girl for several minutes as she wandered idly along the creaking boards of the Village of the Damned.

The gnome seemed a little younger than the others, although bent and bowed with misery and the heavy orb in the dim light, it was difficult to tell for sure. He raised his gaze to meet Alice’s and questioned: “Rabbit told us a champion would come. Are you that champion?”

‘Really’, Alice thought, ‘ever since I arrived in wonderland, every Tom Dick and Harry in this godforsaken village is asking if I’ve come to rescue them; why is it all of a sudden my duty to help the people of wonderland? I only came in after Rabbit.’ After the rambling answers she received from the other village inhabitants, Alice thought that humouring them would perhaps work better than her usual blunt tactics. “Perhaps.” She agreed, “Can you get me inside the Fortress of Doors?”

Unfortunately, this gnome’s reply wasn’t much help either. “Oh no. Wouldn’t dare. Since the upheaval, we’ve all become gutless halfwits. I can barely risk crossing the road.”

‘And how many roads are there in Wonderland?’ mused Alice. She thought it best not to ask.

“But,” continued the gnome, lowering his voice. “Make your way to the mines – the deepest pit – there’s one wiser and braver than myself who might help. He still lives free.” This last was said with a wistful tone of amazement, as the gnome returned slowly to his travels.

Venturing further up the twisting boards, Alice peered carefully down into the glowing green lake several stories below her platform. She had considered asking the air about her where to go next from this dead end, but even as she contemplated it, the purring tones she had come to listen out for sounded from a lower platform jutting from a hole in the wall a little way beyond the level.

“Every adventure requires a first step.” The cat waved a paw at her in greeting and his grin appeared to widen at her faint scowl at his cliché. “Trite, but true, even here.”

Alice took a little step back to gain a sure footing before making the jump as carefully as she could onto the ledge beside the cat. He faded away as she strode past into the darkened corridor extending into the rock. However, the heroine of our tale neglected to notice the faded sign hanging above the entrance, or if she did, the double meaning of the motto was lost upon her.

“Yur Mine”

Set a fire in our flesh [lotr fic]

2009-10-03T20:33:12Z

Set A Fire In Our Flesh

Fandom: Lord of the Rings
prompt: #167 - antapology (tamingthemuse )
Warnings: spoilers for Return of the King, mentions of character death, insanity, suicide, attempted murder, use of movie-script.

So passes Denethor, son of Ecthelion.

Set a fire in our flesh

We will light a fire in our flesh. Denethor and Faramir shall burn - a funeral pyre like that of the ancient Kings of Middle Earth, long before the founding of Gondor's realm. Gondor deserves not to be remembered - for it has fallen to the Dark Lord in this broken Age. I have made sure however, that we shall not be associated with the ruined white city and its lands, but as a line greater than the wasted, watered blood of Isildur.

Never did I think to outlive my children. When their mother died, I often caught our youngest son weaping, and I thought him weak. He showed none of his brother's strength - a shy, delicate child, who spent his hours of study daydreaming and enraging many of the most expensive tutors I could call to attend to him. Often I thought to send him away; make a man of him

"If I should return, think better of me, Father." My eyes, already aching with the fumes of the oil soaking into the wooden staves below us, itch stronger as I remember my son's last words. I had thought to deny his line descent when he rode out to recover the lost garrison of Osgiliath

riends in Rohan once spoke of white shores and green rolling hills, grass that waved in the gentle wind under a shining sun; lands beyond waking eyes or mortal feet. We shall enter this new world as great men, me and my sons.

The Meaning of Flowers [Petshop fic]

2009-09-26T19:09:10Z

The Meaning of Flowers
Fandom: Petshop of Horrors
Prompt: #166 - albatross around your neck (tamingthemuse )
Warning: angst (sorta?), character death (sorta?), spoilers for The Flowers and the Detective, part 1 (volume 4).
Italics is Count D speaking, using direct quotes from the tokyopop official english translation.

In which Leon looses a friend

EDIT: rewirtten on 21st december 09

Nothing quite prepared Leon Orcot for the sight of his bedroom when Jill helped him limp through the door to his flat after a week in hospital. The white paint of the windowsill was covered with a scattering of crinkled, dark brown leaves, some escaping down onto the olive green bedspread. Leaning awkwardly over the footboard, the detective tried to pick one of the small pieces up between his fingers, but it was more fragile than rice paper and crumbled to dust between his fingers, leaving only a faintly sweet smell and a coating of black grit on the pad of his thumb.

"Oh, your plant!" Jill exclamied from the doorway. "I didn’t even know you had any." She said in a guilty tone, stepping over to look at the wilted husk in the pot. "I’d have come to water it if I’d known."

Leon shook his head. "It’s alright. It’s just a plant." He pushed away the clenching feeling of sorrow in the pit of his stomach. "It’s just a plant", he muttered again, and turned away, unable to look.

I’m sure after a few days you’ll grow to absolutely love it. Her name is Gattolotto. Treat her nicely.

Leon wasn’t quite sure whether to feel smug or insulted at the Count’s gift – the man had been so scathing of Leon’s ability to look after any kind of living creature it had really gotten his hackles up (he still couldn’t decide if it had mask some kind of pronouncement on his care of chris). Yet, even if it was only a rather boring looking plant, Gattolotto, as the count had called it (her!), had seemed like D thought the detective capable of at least some form of parental responsibility. Knowing the count, he probably thought even scrubby pot plants were more important than human beings. Still, if the Count thought Leon could take care of the tangled mess of leaves in the pot, then Orcot wasn’t about to prove him wrong.

He’d eventually managed to find a nice, sunny (brightly lit – she doesn’t like to hide!) place on the windowsill in his bedroom, wedged between an overflowing ashtray and a half-full bottle of vodka. Leon had to admit it wasn’t really much like a flower, even if Count D had called her (it!) a “flowering plant”, – thorny tendrils half masked by rough three-pointed leaves. Leon had half expected something to happen after the bizarre dream of the vines encompassing his room, binding him to his mattress, so the sudden production of thin stalks in the morning – each bearing multiple tiny ruby buds – hadn’t really been surprise. Odd coincidences seemed to be part of anything concerned with D and his petshop and the abrupt blooming of Gattolotto wasn’t anywhere near the peak of freakishness.

The detective had taken to carrying it around the house on his day off when he changed rooms, setting it on the kitchen table while he ate (talk to it – be affectionate!) like the Count had suggested. Of course, he would have rather hung himself from city hall by his underwear than admit he’d been talking to a bunch of flowers like some kind of tree-hugger.

A good relationship requires a balance of spirit and chemistry.

He’d been reckless – going in like that without back up, and when the thugs had showed themselves he’d reacted without thinking – only to get shot for his troubles. Hours later, while Jill bit anxiously at her nails in the hospital corridor by the operating room, in the darkness of Orcot’s apartment brilliant crimson flowers, many-petaled among the deep green leaves, blossomed for a moment, releasing a heady perfume into the air... and died.

She bloomed for you, Officer Orcot. And her red flowers have fallen in your place.

And on the other side of town, Detective Leon Orcot took another breath.

He Trusts to You to Set Them Free [AMG's Alice]

2009-09-20T09:55:58Z

He Trusts to You to Set Them Free
American McGee's Alice
Prompt: #165 - Crushed tamingthemuse
Warnings: spoilers for American McGee's Alice, title taken from Lewis Carrol's "They told me you had been to her..."
American McGee's Alice (c) Electronic Arts

Part One, Part Two

He Trusts to You to Set Them Free

Through a lopsided wooden archway, a pillar of green flames held a long kitchen blade, floating in mid air. The fire itself was quite cool, feeling more like a breeze than flame on Alice’s skin as her fingers closed around the worn handle of the knife. She held it up to the dim red light to examine its edge – ‘for a blunt weapon is of little use’, she thought – as she approached the Cheshire Cat, sitting primly at the base of a wooden ramp twisting up the cavern wall.

“Your knife is necessary, but not sufficient. Always collect what’s useful.” The cat advised, his eyes glowing in the low light as Alice continued to test the blade against her left thumb, frowning to herself at the chipped edge.

The cat growled quietly in warning, “Reject only your ignorance and you may survive.” And vanished, leaving Alice to reluctantly store the unsheathed blade in the pocket of her pinafore.

At a movement to her left, the girl looked up to see, beyond another toiling gnome, the White Rabbit, wringing his black-gloves front paws together before bounding towards a tiny hole in the far wall. To Alice’s astonishment, the rabbit seemed to shrink dramatically as he approached the gap, until no higher than the bulbous purple mushrooms growing beside it.

‘How is one to follow him now?’ Alice wondered as the rabbit vanished into the dark.

Running up the sloping boards to look at the hole, Alice’s path took her past the third villager in the doomed mine, and he turned to watch her, twisting his neck to look at her from under the heavy stone he carried, before letting it droop again in misery.

Alice linked her hands behind her back, and rocked on her toes, contemplating him. “Everyone seemed completly dejected. Are things really as bad as all that?”

“The truth would reduce ye to a blubberin’ baby.” His voice was noticeably deeper than the others, indicating his age as clearly as the worn ‘Mayor Elder’ sign over the door to the decrepit hut he guarded. He seemed somewhat sceptical of Alice’s appearance however. “Are you the saviour Rabbit has bin tellin’ us about all this time?”

The girl shook her head, flicking her dark hair over her shoulders. “I shouldn’t think so. I’m a person, and just now I wish to get very small.” Leaning forward to show him (‘For even if he stood straight, I should think he is several inches shorter than I am.’ Alice thought), she held her forefinger and thumb close together to show the size of the gap in the wall. “About this big.”

The gnome shook his own head. “Calls for serious twistin’. Ya’ll need to go sideways, not forward.” He sighed, “If I knew how, I’d go sideways meself.”

“Not twisted,” the girl corrected, “small. I wish to become about this big.” She held up her fingers again.

The villager bent down to rest his hands on his knees to take some of his burden’s weight, and lowered both his voice and his gaze. “The Fortress of Doors holds such secrets. But ‘twill take more than a wish to get inside.” It seemed all he would say on the subject as he turned back to his work.

Having become used to the Cheshire Cat’s sudden (if sometimes rather cryptic) advice, Alice barely blinked when the cat faded into view on the boards nearby.

“Doors have locks; locks have keys, which you don’t have. Let’s hope the doors are open.”

Alice thought of her blade. “And if not, there may be more than one way to skin a cat, if you’ll pardon the expression.” She resisted the urge to smirk at the Cheshire Cat’s unsettled grimace at the phrase.

“A most unpleasant metaphor. Please avoid it in the future.”

Though They Were Mine Before [AMGAlice]

2009-09-12T17:58:11Z

Though They Were Mine Before [Alice, part 2]
Fandom: American McGee's Alice
Prompt: #164 - possessed (used in the sense of ownership) tamingthemuse
Warnings: spoilers for American McGee's Alice, title taken from Lewis Carrol's "They told me you had been to her..."
American McGee's Alice (c) Electronic Arts
Part One is HERE

Though They Were Mine Before

The Village of the Damned was an unsettling place. From the moment she entered, Alice wanted to leave again. Fallen pipes and jagged rocks blocked many of the passages that weaved between the crude huts, while hidden lamps illuminated the walls and buildings in garish, sickly colours. But the tunnel skywards was the only way in, and not something she could use to get out again. She hurried onward, spying in the distance a hunched figure stumbling wearily along the creaking floorboards. As she drew nearer, Alice noticed the gnome (for that was what he clearly was – he looked just like the pictures in her storybook, hooked nose and all) carried a large glowing stone, bigger than his head, in a harness over his back. The gnome was bent beneath the weight of his burden, made worse by the large bronze padlock that held the harness straps in place around his chest.

The gnome shuffled around to face her and eyed the girl. “Our land is destroyed; our spirit crushed.”

‘What a way to start a conversation!’ thought Alice, but the mournful lilt in his voice helped her hold her usually sharp tongue; she had heard such a tone before. “Reminds me of the asylum. Is there no joy here?”

Alice got the impression the gnome would have sneered at the idea if he hadn’t been so steeped in misery.

“Slavery and happiness do not dwell in the same house.” He groaned, and turned abruptly away, staggering under the weight of the stone as he pattered off down another path. Alice listened until the flapping of his sandals had faded under the constant background hum, thinking about the changes inflicted upon Wonderland since she had last visited.

Her musings were interrupted however, as the Cheshire Cat’s voice broke into her reverie. “When the path is problematical, consider of leap of faith.”

Alice spun quickly on her heel to scowl at the riddling creature, ready to chastise him for sneaking up on her, but her anger turned quickly to confusion as she considered his words.

Her puzzlement must have shown in her face as the cat sighed, and, showing more than his usual amount of helpfulness, gestured with one claw-tipped paw towards a plume of steam rising from a large crack in the boards ahead. “Ride the wind.” He suggested, and vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.

After he had gone, Alice cautiously inspected the fuming crevice. The steam, despite Alice’s infuriated common sense, was quite cool – it would do her no harm if it could indeed support her weight as the cat had implied. ‘It will have to do, I suppose,’ she thought, ‘as there is no other way to go.’ And with that, she leapt as far as she could into the heart of the plume. The steam tumbled her, skirts billowing, over the gap between green-glowing rocky walls, to deposit her on the far side of the chasm, a little shaken, but unharmed.

Picking herself up, Alice strode with as much confidence as she could muster up a creaking ramp, to where a second gnome, similar to the first inhabitant of the village, watched her with some suspicion. ‘At least,’ Alice reassured herself, thinking of the dust on her pinafore, ‘I don’t need to be worried about my travel-worn appearance among these folk – why, his trousers are almost more hole and dirt than cloth!’

The gnome took a few steps backard as she came closer and held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Stir up no trouble, stranger. The Red Queen’s agents are ruthless.” He warned.

Alice folded her arms behind her back but stood her ground. “I’m not afraid of her, or her creatures.” The image of the Queen of Hearts – her elaborately embroidered skirts held in place by her chain of state, fanning her furiously red face with a heart-topped sceptre, while screaming “Off with her head!” – came to Alice’s mind. She smiled, unafraid. “Never was, really.” Alice looked accusingly at the gnome. “You should stand up to them.”

But the gnome shook his head. “Defiance is useless. While the Queen reigns, only death can release us from this misery.”

“Or her death, I suppose”.

The gnome, to Alice’s annoyance, looked quite terrified at this suggestion. Alice stepped forward to grab him before he could run off like his colleague (and really, these creatures could have quite a turn of speed, even with the heavy stones that they carried), but she was again interrupted by a familiar voice: “Meta-essence is the life force of Wonderland; that of your enemies is especially potent. Collect what you can. Use it wisely.” The Cat purred from beside a large glowing ruby crystal, half hidden by a fallen pipe some way further down the path.

Turning back to the gnome, the girl found that he had vanished, seemingly as abruptly as the Cheshire Cat often managed. Scowling petulantly at the tendency of Wonderland’s creatures to appear solely to pester her, and disappear before she had finished speaking to them, Alice stormed off down the path the Cat had chosen to collect the floating ruby (for really, it was rather pretty...), this “meta-essence” although the mention of ‘enemies’ was a little troubling.

Involved in This Affair [AMG's Alice fic]

2009-09-05T18:54:33Z

Involved in this Affair

American McGee's Alice

Prompt: #163 - solipsism ~one’s own mind is all that exists. The external world and other minds cannot be known and might not exist. (tamingthemuse) 500+ words

Spoilers for American McGee's Alice, Title taken from Lewis Carrol's "they told me you had been to her..."

American McGee’s Alice (c) Electronic Arts

Involved in This Affair

“Save us, Alice! Save us!”

The rabbit’s voice sounded strained and hoarse as it echoed in her ears. The bed in which she lay seemed to drop out from beneath her, and she screamed in fright as she fell into darkness. Her skirt billowed about her legs, the wind whistling around and whipping her long brown hair into her eyes. Surprisingly, her fall slowed as she neared the mossy ground and she landed with barely a bump on the dull grey-green grass.

‘Odd,’ thought Alice, dusting off her pinafore as she stood, ‘I could have sworn I was in my nightdress but a moment ago.’ Looking up, there was no apparent end to the great shaft above her head, the tunnel stretching up into the shadows. Alice turned abruptly as she felt eyes upon her.

“Please don’t dawdle Alice, We’re very late indeed!” That said, the White Rabbit tucked his pocket watch back into the single pocket of his torn velvet waistcoat and dashed – as only a rabbit can – into a much smaller opening in the earthy wall infront of her. Mildly startled by Rabbit’s obvious nervous trembling, Alice was moving to follow him, when, before the tunnel entrance, another familiar figure faded into view.

His broad smile was somewhat marred by the prominent fangs that pushed at his bottom lip, and Alice was rather concerned to see the Cheshire Cat’s habitually sleek coat of fur thin and ragged, one . ‘Still,’ she thought, ‘a friendly face is always welcoming upon arrival to a strange place, and this place is certainly that.’

Holding out her hand to pet the bony skull of her companion she remarked, “You’ve gone quite mangy, cat, but your grin’s a comfort.”

Alice would have thought it impossible for a face fixed in a permemnent smile to scowl but she got the distinct impression that the Cat was doing just that. “And you've picked up a bit of an attitude." He snarled. "Still curious, and willing to learn,” He tilted his head to one side, making the joints in his emaciated neck crackle, “I hope..?”

Nodding a little, embarrassed by the Cheshire Cat’s lack of faith in her, Alice took a few steps towards the cave entrance, her eyes turning to the stunted shrubbery dotting the rocky ground. At least the appearance of her friends had made clear that, once again, Alice had found her way into Wonderland. ‘However,’ mused the girl to herself, ‘it appears that the Queen’s domain has changed somewhat since I last came here. The landscape here-abouts is totally unfamiliar.’ She glanced back at the Cat, who was watching her silently, his frozen smile gleaming eerily in the faint light that filled the caves from no discernable source. ‘Her subjects have changed rather too, and more than a little.’

“Wonderland’s become quite strange.” She turned to the Cat, hands upon her hips. “How is one to find her way?”

If anything, the Cat’s grin became wider. “As knowing where you’re going is preferable to being lost, ask.”

‘I was asking. Right now.’ Alice thought sulkily, but didn’t reply.

“Rabbit knows a thing or two.” The Cat continued, waving a ragged paw in the direction of the tunnel through which Alice’s nervous ally had hurried. “And I, myself, don’t need a weathervane to tell which way the wind blows. Let your need guide your behaviour. Pursue Rabbit.” With that suggestion the Cheshire Cat faded away, his trademark expression hanging in the air for a moment, alone, before dissappearing in turn.

Frozen in Time [Myst fic]

2009-08-29T20:57:45Z

Title: Frozen in Time
Fandom: Myst
Prompt: #162 - stalemate, august memory challenge (tamingthemuse )
Warnings: spoilers for Myst, Riven, Myst III Exile, Myst IV Revelation and Book of Ti'ana.
Rating: T for implied character death
Summary: These Ages are waiting, waiting for those who will never return.

EDIT: re-written on 21st dec 09

Myst (c) cyan worlds inc. Thanks to the wonderful video walkthroughs of filardodesigns on youtube, which meant Ididnt have to dig out my old copies of the games (not to mention my desktop which is the only computer I own which will play them) to remind myself of Selenitic and Channelwood.

1000 words exact - each paragraph is 100 words!

Frozen in Time

1. 93rd age
Perpetual twilight gleams off the rocks, turning dark stone peaks a myriad of reds and golds. The ocean here, stretching as far as the eye can see, is neither blue nor grey, but a perfect reflection of the burning sky. The entire world glows with the flames of its sun. Within the lonely tower, four linking books surround the cage, closed and silent, but one lies open. The panel flickers and flares silently under the artificial light as dark clouds chase bright flames across the surface – the link is dead; its adjoining world consumed by the power of the Fissure.

2. Haven
Life is abundant here – from the chattering mangrees in the flourishing jungle, to the gentle zephyrs picking their way through the crowded swamp, to the hunchbacked camoudile prowling among the grasses of the savannah. Many years ago, the balance of the Age’s nature was disrupted, first by the arrival of the Hunter – bearded and vicious - and then by the murder of the giant predator of the Age, but the world has since recovered. The circle of life is maintained indefinitely. Nothing changes here and the Age waits; predator and prey, herbivore and carnivore, deadlocked under a humid sun-bleached sky.

3. Jnanin
Delicate linen-white clouds drift idly across a pure blue sky. The sea is stirred by a stiff breeze; waves washing against the cliffs and skipping up the beach. Sheltered from the wind, the lake forms a perfect mirror to the sky, disturbed only by the occasional flicker of fish. Four pale tusks rise from the rock, the largest topped by a circular room, panelled in gleaming maroon and forest green. This Age has never known native inhabitants - only a prisoner, trapped by the greed and wickedness of others has lived here and he, like his captors, is long gone.

4. K'veer
An Age in darkness. Sealed shut by fallen debris, this room is all that remains lit – its lanterns powered by a technology lost in the mists of time. The archways of the eight doors, once finely painted and inlaid with delicate stones retrieved from a thousand other Ages, have crumbled and faded. The tiled floor is marred by a jagged crack that cuts the room in half from ceiling to floor, scattered with chunks of the walls and ceiling. The air is dry and dusty like the tomb the Age has become – a monument to the lives its fall claimed.

5. Stoneship
Thick mist surrounds the sharp black rocks in the darkened sea, obscuring the more distant peaks as the grey sea batters the worn planks of the broken ship, and the fish swarm beneath the ocean’s swell. Deep within the cliff-face, behind watertight doors, the candlesticks and chandeliers are still lit in abandoned rooms. They are markedly different in appearance - rich elegance and coats of arms mounting the doorway, in sharp contrast to dark minimalism of panelled walls. Still the murals remain as bright as the day they were painted, the beds neatly made in anticipation of their occupant’s return.

6. Selenitic
Sounds flood the Age; the bubble of the brook echoes between the red leaved trees, while the wind whistled through the tunnel beneath the caldera lake. The rusting barriers of the walkways tremble with the constant rumble of the flaring chasm below, in contrast to the unreliable ticking of the clock by the lakeside path. Red clay urns mark the steps down to the garnet columns, the crystals singing their endless tune into the surrounding fog that masks the distant corners of the island. The satellites turn slowly atop their mast, searching for the only light in this lifeless world.

7. Mechanical
The island, once stretching for miles, has sunk completely beneath the waves, but the storm that heralded the enemy’s approach has ended since the last natives disappeared. The water swirls around the giant cogs and between the supports of Atrus’ fortress. The tiled corridors stretch throughout the main building, illuminated by the hourglass-shaped lanterns. Elaborate blades and sharpened maces decorate the walls that hide a secret room, suspicious flasks and an electrically charged cage. Down the metal-lined hall, an empty chessboard stands beside the carven throne, while a royal couple stare coldly down from their engravings across the abandoned chamber.

8. Spire
The wind sings through the sweeping arches and twists about the pillars, carven by ghostly hands. The Age has never had a true native, though the prisoner it held wandered these halls for twenty years, kept company only by the thunderstorms that still growl and clash in their violet clouds above and below. The hanging vines sway gently in the breeze, their delicate fruit bulbs ripening in the cool air. No-one shall ever taste them again, for the way to the castle in the sky is lost. Suspended in relative peace between the cloud layers, the crystal palace floats on.

9. Myst
Two boys used to play upon this lawn, wrestling and chasing one another around the rough pines, their small feet pattering along the wooden dock, watched fondly by an old lady seated in a wicker chair in the bright sunshine. Their mother would bring out drinks and cake to the small table by the old woman’s side, and their father would drag himself from his library to talk and laugh with his family. It was an Age filled with life, but only death remains, and the island hears nothing but birdsong and the gentle wash of waves against the pier.

10. Channelwood
The frogs croak in time to the aching whine of the boards and ropes, lulled by the sway of the sea around the tree trunks. The rain patters down from a solid grey sky, making the all-encompassing lake surface shiver. The bare trunks run with water, barely shielded by the sparse pine needles at their apex. It is perfect for the dark moss growing thickly everywhere, contrasting with the sickly grey bark of the dying trees. The windmill turns slowly on its lonely rock, winding the battery at its base to light the way for residents that have long fled.

guess the Ages mentioned if you're bored enough. If not, they're in WHITE (highlight to read) beside each number.

Far Off and Rather Like a Dream [Shakespeare fic- Tempest]

2009-08-22T20:51:22Z

Title: Far Off and Rather Like a Dream
Fandom: Shakespeare - The Tempest
Prompt: #161 - Fool's Paradise (promptsfrom tamingthemuse )
Warnings: Original characters, prequel/missing scene, nefarious plotting, flashbacks galore, spoilers for the tempest
Rating: G, action/adventure

In which Prospero, rightful Duke of Milan, remembers how he and baby Miranda were driven from their home.

Far Off and Rather Like a Dream

The emerald lizards sunbathing on the the dusty rock scattered suddenly as a shadow fell over them; wedging their narrow bodies into the natural crevices in the cliff-face. The bearded man lowered himself carefully onto a flat part of the haphazard wall built at the cliff's edge, laying his staff across his lap. Eyes, grey as the storm now clearing from the horizon, swept over the width of the small island and Prospero, great magician of the Arts and rightful Duke of Milan, gave a sly smile as his gaze took in the distant shapes of three separate groups wandering his domain. They would pay for their treachery and dishonesty, he had vowed so many years ago, and now retribution was finally within his grasp.

----- Twelve years ago -----

"Miranda? Miranda?!"

Emilia bit her lip nervously as she ducked back from the balcony and ran further down the twisting staircase, her heavy skirts lifted out of the way of her hurrying feet. She almost skipped over the last step and, throwing a glance about the small courtyard at the bottom, darted across the empty space, clutching her cap to her brow. She disappeared through the ornately carven arch into the walled gardens, calling again; "Miranda?"

Puffing and blowing, her large face turning a deep pink, Paulina followed at a much slower pace, making sure heft the embroidered hems of her skirts out of the dust. Ignoring the progress of her older colleague, Emilia was already searching the gardens, peering through each ivy-wrapped arch in turn to call for their young charge.

"Miranda?!" she admonished the scented air above the flower beds, "It is not the behaviour of a duchess to hide from her lessons." The governess bit her lip again, and said, half to herself, "Where are you, my lady?"

At that moment, Emilia noticed a movement in the low shrubbery that bordered the tulip beds. Stepping closer, sure enough, she was rewarded with a flash of ginger hair as a small figure in olive silk wriggled back out of sight. "Miranda!"

To Emilia's surprise, the moment the little duchess's name had left her lips, Paulina rose like Venus from the waves on the far side of the shrubbery, showing a turn of speed her younger colleague had never expected. Clucking worriedly, the matron bore down upon the child. Sweeping the little girl up in her arms, out of the flowerbed, Paulina dropped with a heavy thump to her knees; yellow linen skirts spilling about her on the grass.

As the matron gasped to regain her breath from her short sprint, Miranda tumbled down her lap to lie, giggling, on the embroidered skirts of her guardian. To both her carer's annoyance, she seemed in great spirits. The little girl clapped her hands at the sky and laughed.

"Poleena win! Poleena hide now!" Gleeful at having coerced the nervous Emilia and stoic Paulina into playing her favourite game, the three-year-old duchess of Milan struggled onto her slippered feet, her face wreathed in smiles. Paulina, always dutiful, smiled tiredly back at her young charge, while Emilia settled discontentedly on the lawn beside the pair, tucking her feet beneath her.

Thank goodness, she thought, no-one had seen the frantic castle-wide search for the duke's daughter. With both dress-maids Hermione and Viola taken to bed with a headcold, the care of the ever-wilful Miranda had taken far more effort than usual, and the strain was beginning to test Emilia's nerves to their limits.

Miranda's youngest attendant might have taken to her bed herself had she known that, high above the gardens, their antics had infact been keenly observed. Prospero's robes swirled about his ankles as he descended the tower staircase. He turned away from the sun-heated balcony over the gardens to step deeper into the cooler stone corridors of the castle, the smile flitting about his lips fading into a frown of concentration as his thoughts shifted to the worn book of incantations he carried.

Steps echoing dully on the flagstones, the Duke of Milan passed swiftly by the cahmbers of state where the duke would normally hold council with the govenors of the city and strode deeper into the private quarters of the castle. Prospero knew he could rely upon his brother Antonio's financial mind to deal with all queries levied to the Duke's office, leaving him to turn his own mind to the mysetries of magic - if only he could leave all the pomp and ceremony of his position behind completly, Prospero mused, he would be able to focus fully on his two loves - his only daughter, and the exploration of the Magical Arts. Alas, it was not to be.

Piecewise Interpolation [Myst fic]

2009-07-25T20:00:49Z

Piecewise Interpolation

Prompt: #157 - Juxtapose (tamingthemuse ) and unthemed4: cocoa (mission_insane )
Warnings: G rated, mentions of character death, spoilers for Myst IV:Revelation

Myst (c) Cyan Worlds Inc.

The children of Atrus celebrate his birthday in different ways

Piecewise Interpolation

Clasping the steaming mug in both hands, Yeesha took careful steps across the kitchen balcony and over the bridge. She'd always enjoyed the gentle sway of the chains holding the moving parts in place over the lake but this time she didnt dare put the usual spring in her steps and feel the planks move - mother had given her a duty to fulfil (after much pleading on Yeesha's part) and now it was up to her to show how grownup she could be. The liquid sloshed fitfully round the rim of the container as she stepped onto the far balcony and Yeesha, staring intently at her burden, slowed to the pace of an elderly snail. Her toes touched the edge of the raised step up to the main room and the little girl paused to look at the mirrored glass of the double doors over the top of the mug in contemplation - both hands were occupied; how to open the door?

Atrus opened his eyes sleepily and watched as the door to the bedchamber opened to reveal his five year old daughter, who, to her father's bemusement, gazed for a moment around the room before removing his heavy journal from the desk and using it to prop open the door. As she dissappeared back outside - her delicate brow still creased in determined concentration -, Atrus pushed himself upright in bed and reached for his glasses.

Almost immediately, Yeesha returned holding a large ceramic mug carefully in both hands. She shuffled across the floor, step by step to her father's beside, frowning seriously at the contents of the mug the entire way. Still rather confused by his daughter's efforts, Atrus reached out to take the mug from her. As he lifted it away, the sweet scent of its contents assailing his nose, Yeesha's scowl lessened - her gaze moved from the mug up to his face - and then melted completely into a beaming smile.

"Happy birthday, Daddy."

Sorrow [deathnote fic]

2009-07-18T19:04:47Z

Sorrow

for the tamingthemuse prompt #155 - Sorrow (def: a great sadness, esp. associated with loss or bereavement; grief; unhappiness; woe), and for "S" of an A-Z of DeathNote on fanfiction.net. I was thinking about the funeral scene of four weddings and a funeral which always makes me want to cry, but it could be quite a lot of films.

DeathNote (c) Tsugumi Ohba

In which Misa explains the concept of bereavement to Ryuk

Sorrow

Humans really were interesting. Ryuk watched, intrigued, as the blonde model sniffed dramatically and dabbed her painted cheekbones with yet another tissue, her watery eyes never leaving the glowing screen as the flower-decked coffin was lowered into muddy ground and the overhead narration came to a sorrowful close. Light had long since grown tired of Misa's clinging habits during her favourite films and had slipped off to his computer hours ago, but Ryuk had stayed to watch; not the film, but Misa's rapidly shifting emotions in response to the drama unfolding.

Light's emotional (or, more often non-emotional) reactions to the world, only ever became visible when his own life or beliefs were threatened in a significant way, which Ryuk found fascinating enough, but Misa's tendency to weep for minutes or become giddy with delight over the lives of non-existent characters was a prospect that had never even occurred to the shinigami. On reflection Light's own responses were reminiscent of a death god; centred only on his own wellbeing, while Misa's could only be described as purely human. As the scene ended and the film paused for a commercial break, Ryuk raised a puzzle that had been swirling in his mind for some minutes; one which, unusually, only Misa could answer: "Why cry for a dead body? For the death of a man who didn’t exist?"

The model jumped a little in her seat at the end of the sofa and turned her head to look at the previously silent death god in some surprise. He repeated the question.

Misa blinked and considered. "I feel sorry for him." She'd got to know Ryuk somewhat over the months and so forestalled the next question, "Even if he isn’t real, I know how I'd feel if he was, so I cry."

"But he's dead. He feels nothing, knows nothing. Why is death sorrowful?"

"Oh, not him. I mean the one at the funeral. The ones left behind." Her voice wavered a little at the last word and another sniff accompanies. "Doesn't Ryuk have someone he would never, ever want to lose?"

The shinigami gaze remained blank. Misa tried a different tack.

"Um... well, what does Ryuk like best?"

The reply was immediate and unhesitating. "Apples."

Though the comparison was rather ridiculous, it would have to do. Misa watched her distorted reflection in the bulbous eyes and attempted to school her expression into one of seriousness. "Then imagine if you could never have any more apples, ever again. Think how terrible it would be, how much you would miss them. When I see a funeral I think how sad I would be if my beloved Light died, and before I know it, I'm crying my eyes out over-- oh!" The break had ended without her notice and the blonde model twisted back round in her seat to reabsorb herself in the lives of the cast.

Hours later, the television now dark as Misa slept peacefully in the double bed down the hall, lulled by the tapping of her husband's fingers on the keyboard, the silence in the lounge was broken only by a muttering no other mortals could hear. Behind the sofa, Ryuk crouched, unblinking in horror, and whispered, as a religious fanatic would say a blaspheme; "Never again... no more apples ever again...”

R is for Reaper [DeathNote fic]

2009-02-22T00:48:38Z

R is for Reaper

Fandom: DeathNote
Prompt: #135 -nihilism and Feb challenge (tamingthemuse ) and "R" of A-to-Z of DeathNote (fanfiction.net)
Warnings: G, no spoilers, minor characters.

AN: Nihilism is the view of no real existence. What's less real than a shinigami? thus this was born. I didnt intend it to be over 1000 words, nor in present tense, but it developed that way, so... february challenge too!

R is for Reaper

The skulls click and roll, their short horns scratching the dry earth, finally coming to a stop to one side of the shallow trough, prompting the watchers to lean over eagerly to observe the result.

"One on each side! What did I say? Ha! Pay up, pay up!" crows the shinigami sitting closest to the pit, the fan-like protrusions around the base of his head flapping in excitement.

His companion doesnt answer and raises a thin scarred finger to scratch the eye-ridge of the cattle skull masking his features. He receives a whine from the winner of their gamble.

"Gooooookk..." Dellidubully shakes the neck-fans again and scowls petulantly through the eyesockets of his own bone-mask. "Come on, you have to pay up, it's the rules." He glances round at the other watchers, hoping for support. He doesnt particularly wnat to start any kind of fight (it's never worth the effort when neither participant can be injured), but Deli has known for some time that reputation is everything here (what else have they got, after all?), and besides, he really rather wants that bead-charm Gook bet halfway through the match.

Shidoh is huddled closest, but the moment Deli looks at him, the timid shinigami abruptly burries his face in the heavy cloth about his neck; slitted eyes refusing to meet the gambler's gaze. Deli's glance skips over Dalil, who has already lost interest and is drawing in the dirt with what appears to be a human femur. He doesnt even try to coerce Kinddara into siding with him one this; the dark pinpricks of her eyes are already flicking between the two gamblers, trying to see if theres any possibility of a bloodbath. Her delight in violence has always worried Deli somewhat.

Delidubully eyes Gook again and nudges the loser with the horn of one of the goat skulls they were using to bet on. He tries again, "Gook, I won. Hand it over."

Instead of Gook, Deli's response is over to his right, as Meadra inches over to them; her fat lips parting from around the banana she holds in both hands, drool dripping down her double chin. "Pay him, Gook." she lisps, blank white eyes blinking slowly. She turns to Delidubully, "I wish to play next." Her stubby hands cradle the half-eaten banana close to her chest. She looks down and smiles as her lunch like a mother to her child. "...After I have eaten."

Deli decides to ignore the sluglike shinigami with her food obsession and pokes his cattle-masked friend once more.

Gook shuffles his feet on the dusty ground, and still doesnt respond, one clawed hand fingering the beadcharm still hung about his neck. His long legs are bent up on either side of him as he sits on the low, blackened treestump, raising his knees well up to the level of his ears (or where his ears would be if he had them) wedging his furry shoulders between his thighs. Hunched over like that, he looks rather like those frightened human Deli sometimes sees in the slums on earth; grownup children trying to squash themselves into places they only fitted when they were much smaller. As Deli watches, Gook appears to curl up even further under his scrutiny.

Luckily for Gook, Deli's observation is interrupted by a sudden humanoid shape looming inbetween them. They both glance up.

"Zerrhogie?" Gook's usually soft voice is even quieter than normal, making the clicking of teeth against the inside of his mask more prominent."And what did you find in the human world?"

Deli is about to admonish Gook for obviously changing the subject away from their unfinished bet, but the gleeful expression that suffuses the new arrival's wrinkle-lined face pulls him up short.

"Oh the THINGS I found..." Zerrhogie cackles in a sing-song voice, waving his hook-hand tauntingly infront of Gook's nose. "I found that the humans are dying faster than ever, I found fear, and sudden ends, and Notes where they should not be!" He now has everyone's attension and the performer in Zerrhogie makes him stand straigter, fluffing out his feathered head-dress. "I found many pretty things, and wild things, in the human world -".

Gook's mumur breaks through the silioquy. "And Ryuk?"

Zerrhogie's mood abruptly dissapates somewhat as he remembers why he ventured out to the humanworld in the first place. "Ryuk is indeed there. I spoke to him. But I do not think he will be back soon." This is greeted with some surprise. Shinigami did not often spend prolonged periods in the human world (mostly due to the extreme, and often distasteful, weather conditions that plagued the planet) and Ryuk had already been gone for some weeks of human time.

Zerrhogie sighs rather mournfully at the thought of his friend, his headdress sagging slightly. "He is... taken up with following a human child around. One who can see him." He decides not to mention that Ryuk has given the boy a DeathNote, it would probably be more trouble than it's worth and Ryuk's habits are already viewed as strange by the majority of the shinigami.

Deli blinks. "Following? Like a pet? And the human lets him?"

Zerrhogie nods and grins a little again. "And feeds him apples. You know how much Ryuk likes apples."

The idea of humans gifting food to Ryuk is pondered by the small group for a few moments and then Dalil pipes up: "But why keep Ryuk to follow like a pet?" She snorts derisivly and expressivly, making the gold beads hanging from her head-piece swing. "He's not even cute."

There is some nodding from the other listeners, just as Shidoh asks "But Ryuk could get apples anytime; the humans couldnt stop him. Why stay with some child?"

Zerrhogie smirks round at both queries and spreads his arms in an encompasing gesture, the withered skin hanging loose from his bones. "Because... he's interesting."

Delectare [Kuroshitsuji fic]

2009-02-14T23:24:19Z

Delectare ~ French. lit. "to please".
a.k.a That Butler, So Pleasing *winkwink*

Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler)
Prompt: #134 Delectable (tamingthemuse</lj> )- 1) highly pleasing, enjoyable. 2) delicious, appetising
Warnings: G rated, no spoilers.

Delectare

Stir chocolate, butter, sugar and one tablespoon of golden syrup over a low heat until molten.

It was, Sebastian decided, somewhat pleasant to cook while everyone else rested. The young earl was officially the Queen's obedient servant, ready to spring into action at every request made by her majesty, however, even the most dutiful of guard dogs must be allowed some respite from their tasks. And so, on the early hours of the Sabbath, the manor was often silent as its occupants (except for house's loyal butler) lazed their Sunday away.

Sift the flour and cocoa together.
Add flour and cocoa to the chocolate mixture and beat thoroughly.
Beat eggs and milk to form a thick syrup and slowly pour into mixture, whisking constantly until light and fluffy.

Indeed, it was generally considered unwise within the British nobility to spend the Sabbath doing anything more strenuous than prayer, although Ciel had never been one for attending church anyway, and the nature of his butler had provided a welcome reason for the boy to excuse himself the chore of going. One of the few things in his otherwise extensive repertoire that Sebastian was incapable of was stepping on consecrated ground, making churches forbidden to him, a trait that never failed to amuse his young master.

Spoon mixture into loose-bottomed greased tin, 8inches in diameter.
Smooth surface and bake in preheated oven for 40 minutes until firm.

Shortly after assessing Ciel's nature, Sebastian had added a small amendment into the contract which made it clear that, while Ciel's orders would be followed to the letter, any demand that would cause the demon disembodiment could be ignored without sacrificing the deal. The young earl had agreed to the clause, and then, being an eight-year-old boy, had taken great delight in requesting the exact details of what conditions would cause the demon's destruction, to the extent that his butler had been forced to distract him with discussions of the next day's dessert menu.

When cooled, slice horizontally into 3 discs and soak each in 1/4 cup of cherry syrup and 1/2 teaspoon of kirsch.

Desserts had always been a staple part of Ciel's diet since gaining a butler capable of creating delicious masterpieces within hours of any request the boy had yet made. Today's pudding, however, was particularly important, rather than just an energy-saving technique for placating an irritable Ciel (although, if this date on the previous year was anything to go by, Sebastian was sure that an irritable Ciel would be the least of his problems). As the Earl was now, or would be within a few hours, a true 'teenager', Sebastian had taken it upon himself to add a little spice - in the form of german cherry-wine - to the normal festivities surrounding the birthday of the head of the Phantomhive estate, if only to provide personal amusement on an occasion which was certain to stretch even a demon's nerves.

Heat 1/3 of the double cream until simmering and add chocolate. Remove from heat and stir gently until smooth. Allow to cool.

Unknown to the rest of the household, the demon had quickly found that, despite his naturally dark and self-serving mindset, he rather enjoyed the creation of the elaborate cakes and sweets, even though he himself never ate them.

Whip remainder of double cream until thick and spread onto two of the discs, pressing in the maraschino cherries. Assemble cake with cream forming internal layers.
Cover top disc and sides with chocolate cream mixture.

Eying the delicatly constructed gateau, Sebastian smirked proprietarily. Humans might delight in these concoctions of ground plant-matter and fermented fruit juices, but as a connoisseur of temptation, the demon had his sights set on something more delectable to the palette than anything even the grandest earthly kitchen could provide.

Decorate as desired, and serve.

A/N: dictionary.com suggests heavenly as a synonym for delectable. Ciel also means heavenly. Thus this was born. The cake is Black Forest Gateau; recipe (in italics) is curtousy of TheTimes:Food supplement. Actually BFG wasnt invented until 1915, 14 years after Queen Victoria's death, so Sebastian wouldnt have heard of this, (unless he's a time traveller as well as a demon) but... mmm, cake.

Distinction [PSoH]

2009-02-07T23:21:42Z

Distinction
fandom: Petshop of horrors
Prompt: #133 Bias (tamingthemuse) - [observer bias] - when the interpretation of a result is reliant upon and affected by the interpreter.
Warnings: G rated. slight spoilers for Chapter 4 of Volume 8: The Flowers, the Detective, and the Detective's Little Brother.

Petshop of Horrors (c) Matsuri Akino

A/N: all writing in italics is directly quoted from the offical Toykopop manga translation of the aforementioned chapter.

Distinction

The D's had seen many things. Even in the last few generations civilisations had risen, become wealthy and powerful and then collapsed back into dust. Whether suddenly in war or disaster, or slowly through famine and disease, the humans who inhabited the earth had come and gone, leaving only their increasingly destructive influences behind them. The scarred land was then allowed to heal, little by little, before the next generation of mankind tore into her once again.
The old Count D lent against the smooth cypress tree, its branches spreading thickly and suddenly like a parasol above his head, and tilted his gaze up to look at the one thing had barely changed about the world since long before he could recall. Far above him, the first stars glittered in the darkening sky, just as they had done for millennia, and the full moon glided into view. The consistency, when about him everything else rotted under human hands, brought a rare sincere smile to the Count's lips.
He remembered nights, long ago, when he taught his grandson the names of the stars in every language he knew, and the child drank in the information with delight, and begged for more, just as his father had done before him. The old Count had feared that his beloved grandson would become twisted in the same way; this yearning for knowledge, and so, instead of teaching about the world as it was, the Count had searched his memory for tales of what the world could have been; the stories of earth told a thousand years before in emperor's courts when he himself had sat entranced on golden cushions and the flowers weaved their heady perfumes into the air.Far away, in a familiar petshop, the youngest D sipped his cup of sweet tea and remembered.

Chris, look closely; doesn't the surface of the moon resemble the shadow of a rabbit pounding a cake?
In ancient China, they called the moon rabbit 'Gyokuto'. They believed he was powdering medicine for the people on earth.
In Japan, on the other hand, they believe a race of immortals rule the moon. They say that one of them, Princess Kaguya, shines her beautiful light on the earth to lead men astray.

After Grandfather had left on his tours, searching for evermore exotic and rare 'pets', D had obediently continued his wishes and served as the petshop's owner, bearing his ancestor's mission of returning the earth to it's true masters, one wretched human at a time. And yet, whenever he could, he had slipped aside and indulged in his old love for stories; learning the ones his grandfather had not told him, refreshing the others in his mind. Stories of love and life and death and tragedy, the tales dreamed up by humans to explain (often to their children: the askers of the eternal question "why") the things they did not truly understand.
He heard of how rains of fire were retribution from an angry god; how the stones had been granted eternal life because, unlike all other things, they had no children; and how mermaids lured sailors to their deaths and bloodthirsty werewolves roamed deep forest under the light of the full moon.

Count, is there still a bunny on the moon?
No. 35 years ago three brave Americans landed on the surface of the moon... and killed him.
There is no moon rabbit anymore nor is there a race of immortals or a beautiful princess. On that day mankind lost them forever.

Mankind had believed in giants and fairies and elves and greater powers once. But slowly, these beliefs had faded away, and science had taken its place, explaining what had before been an indelible mystery: the rains of fire were erupting volcanoes caused by movement in the earth's molten core; mermaids and werewolves only humans or other natural creatures mistaken in the dark forests or the depths of a raging sea storm (and D knew that half the mermaids seen were indeed just that; real merpeople were far too bright to go anywhere near the self-destructive humans if they could possibly help it.)
In their struggle to understand, humans had corrupted what they sought to explain, turned it into something else entirely, and D found he could only watch with sorrow as mankind separated themselves from Mother Nature through their desire to know everything about it. Would they stop once they knew? D doubted that mankind would ever be happy before they ad crushed and examined all they could, even if it meant there was no going back. Ignorance was indeed blissfully precious, if it would only allow the humans to relinquish the suffocating possessive grip they held on their planet; a child's ignorance doubly so, for it was ignorance without pretense.

Hey, Count... Maybe... the bunny just found a good place to hide.
Perhaps you’re right. For all we know, the bunny, Princess Kaguya and all the immortals are standing outside, and gazing up at us, together.

Rescue[myst]

2009-02-01T00:09:34Z

Rescue

for tamingthemuse prompt 132 - trap and mission_insane prompt fantasy:hero
fandom: myst
warnings: quite strongly veering towards veovis/aitrus this time, possibly onesided, so implied M/M.
Rated for blood and such things. spoilers for the Book of Tiana.

Rescue

I had just set a foot on the carriage step that had arrived to take me back down the new shaft when the first tremor struck, making the lanterns in the walls swing on their safely chains. I thought little of it; Aitrus had confidently told me that tremors, though uncommon, were rarely dangerous and almost never breached the shaft walls. Now, lying alone and only half-conscious on the floor of the suspended carriage, several thousand spans above the cracked, nara-lined floor, I wonder if I am going to die.

From outside of the broken carriage, a sharp cry of fright sounds and then a sudden slam against the wall as the vehicle is hit by a large weight, making the whole apparatus shudder and my heart leap into my mouth. The doorway darkens abruptly as a figure blocks the light and he swings himself inside the box. The carriage gives a lurch, the metal bolts holding it to the wall groaning. Then, with a screech of tearing metal and an echoing snap, the top bar gives way, and the carriage drops several spans before the bottom bar catches it; the movement throwing my new companion to the floor beside me. My shoulder spasms again and I curl my fingers in the plush seat coverings and screw my eyes shut, attempting to ride out the pain.

When I open my eyes again, a dark, blurred figure is crouching over me. The pounding in my head has begun to summon black and purple spots to dance before my eyes as I struggle for breath. The bruise-like markings swell to fill my sight - the drumming in my head disintegrating to form a monotonic crackle - just as the blurred face swims into view.

Aitrus...

------ Some Weeks Later ------

His hand on my forearm raises goosebumps and I shiver as the hairs on my upper arms tingle faintly - cold - as if crying out for a similar touch. I drop my gaze from his immediately and wrap my unbandaged arm about my body in a slightly theatrical manner and give a bolder shudder in the hope that he will take my previous movement for a reaction the cooler breeze that now drifts up around the balcony from the darkening waters of the lake below. Luckily, it also gives me an excuse to remove myself from his reach, although, as soon as I’ve done so, I regret the loss. This is dangerous.

His eyes are a cool grey, the rim tinting orange from the glow of the lake algae beneath us as he leans over the balcony railing, and outlining his fine cheek bones in relief. He is not a handsome man, a little surprisingly perhaps as his mother is renowned for being a great beauty before child, and illness, and age wore her features into something more fitting for a happily married woman. Aitrus takes after his father; particularly in the traits common to the major D'ni guild-families; pale skin and light grey eyes, ringed with thick, adjustable lenses from an early age; narrow shoulders and broad flexible hands.

Even as young as he is (younger than me, although not by much) his mouth is set closer to a worried frown than a smile, and, from this unusual angle of light, I can see two shallow creases are already permanently etched upon his brow. This last aspect worries me and I voice some of my opinions before I can stop myself: "You're still frowning, my friend. Is such seriousness warranted?"

Faintly startled at my own unusual attention, I quickly turn my own eyes back to the distant cavern wall and the lights of the homes opposite, not wanting my concern to be taken seriously either; hoping that he doesn’t gauge that I am perhaps spending more time examining his appearance than I ought. But luck appears to be with me, and instead (rather to my surprise) out of the corner of my eye I catch a bemused look cross his visage, and then Aitrus laughs.

"Serious, am I? Mother would agree with you, I fear. She often tells me that I was born old and spend too much time searching for what may go wrong, than admiring all the good things around me. 'Be glad of what you have while you have it', she says." Aitrus smiles wryly. "She's right, of course, but in practice it's somewhat harder to do." His smile, even one as faint and depreciating as this one, is warm and, realising I have turned my head back to look at him, I have to rip my gaze away again to the dark walls.

"Perhaps," Aitrus muses quietly, half to himself, "it will get easier to be glad." He is silent for a moment and then, in almost a whisper. "Today... here...it is easier."

I don’t answer. The distant bank is picked out in lantern light only now (the lake algae has faded to black once more) and the distinct chill of D'ni night fills the halls, just as a radiant warmth heats my bones, but somewhere in my head something is screeching an alarm. Nothing is this easy; nothing

Tantalus [part II - greek myth]

2009-01-25T01:05:28Z

Prompt: #131 - Gargantuan (picture of child 'pushing' huge boulder) [tamingthemuse ] which reminded me that I hadnt finished this. greek myth = tenuous link
fandom: Greek Myth, Tale of Tantalus
Warnings: death, ressurection, mild torture, tweaking of greek myth, purple prose

Tantalus ~ Part 2</lj>

After the feast was finished, Tantalus wandered home in a daze; Hermes having deposited him once more at the gates of the white city. The city slept before him, lit only by the lamps of the waiting (no night-watchmen were needed in Sipylus; peace reigned supreme for the people and crime was unheard of in this piece of earth-bound heaven). Still the wine goblet hung heavy in his coat pocket, knocking gently against his leg as he walked over the clean cobbles, an iron grey sky above on the cloudy night, and as the young king walked in silence through the darkened streets, his fear returned.

Always his thoughts turned to how he could help his people, his family and those he loved, but now he feared that he couldn’t live up to the things he had promised the gods, those oaths of perfection he had made with such belief in all the Sipylus could accomplish; that it could rival the very realm of the gods? What was he thinking?!

In the middle of the street he sank to his knees in despair and his hands shook as he clasped his head: what could he do? The mocking tones of Discord rang in his ears as he thought back and all he could see before his eyes was her smirking face.

That lying tongued serpent, he thought. I’ll show her, 'Discord', justly named. I will live up to my promise; there must be something within my realm that can be given to the gods, not in shame but in pride.The most precious food to me shall be most delicious, but what can it be?

He rose once again to his feet, and trudged onwards, now in the upper slopes of the mountain; the towers of his castle glittering in the predawn light before him, and Tantalus sighed painfully at the beauty of his home.

But as he passed though the gates pondering the question he had been heckled by every step of his homeward journey, his spirits lifted, for there, running down the tree lined path to greet him was his favoured son: Pelops. Tantalus had other sons, more gifted, more wise, but his favourite was Pelops, for the young boy's beauty, not yet a man, shone like the stars in the sky, as he were a gift from the gods themselves..

Tantalus’s thoughts stopped in their tracks and he froze in horror at his own realisation as his beloved child flung himself joyfully into the young king's arms. This was his most precious thing; the most choice creature not only within the realm of Sipylus but upon the surface of the earth. Was he then required to sacrifice his own child to the gods' table?

Tantalus stared down at his son’s ebony curls in despair; this must not be so... but what if the gods already KNEW of this fact? Perhaps that was why Discord had believed he could not serve them so choice a dish, because he had not the stomach to gift them what was most precious to him (Discord's tenacious grip tightened on his soul).

No. The punishment, the torture that might be inflicted upon his people, his wife; the beautiful Dione, and his other children would be wrathful indeed if he deceived the gods in this too (Discord's words filled the cup in his pocket and its weight almost brought the young king's knees to the ground where he stood).

He had already broken one of the most emphatic rules of Olympus and taken the drink of the gods from their own table. But now, perhaps they would forgive him if he could prove his loyalty in this promise: hold his oath above all. Tantalus was in agony, but as he gathered his beaming child in his arms, he knew what he must do (In the darkness of her hellish realm, Discord smiled).

------------------------

That night, as Pelops slept, his father smothered the boy, and then, tears dripping down his cheeks, sliced the ivory flesh into tiny pieces, before boiling the meat in a huge cast iron cauldron. The flesh of a pure human soul is said to be a fine delicacy, and from the great bowl, the most delicious smell emerged, filling the halls of the white castle of Sipylus as the Gods of Olympus gathered in the dining chamber for the promised feast.

Zeus took his place at the head of the table as guest of honour and the king of the Gods and watched, a small frown marring his handsome face as the others were seated. Lady Demeter continued to mourn her missing daughter loudly, while Hermes had excused himself from the feast in order to descend to the Underworld to request the flower goddess Persephone's return from Hades, casting lingering dark mood over the remaining Olympians.

The spread that Tantalus, desperate to please, laid before them was indeed sumptuous; sweet oil-dipped vine leaves wrapped about rice and fish, wine made from sun-kissed grapes, fish fattened on shrimp and saltwater; and in pride of place at the centre of the enormous table, the gleaming pot containing (unknown to the diners) the white flesh of the boy-child, Pelops. Tantalus served his guests with aptitude and discretion, offering to the weeping Demeter the choice cut; Pelops' left shoulder. Wiping her tears from her fine eyes the Harvest goddess, whom in her torment over her own child had not eaten for many days, lifted the sweet-smelling meat to her lips and took a bite, smiling through her watery gaze in appreciation of the taste, while Tantalus let out a sigh of relief (though his heart clenched painfully inside).

Suddenly a hand reached between the auburn-haired lady and the immortal King and lifted what remained of the shoulder joint from her grasp. Demeter turned in bemusement to watch as Zeus deposited the meat back into the cauldron and handed the entire pot to Fate, his normally blue eyes dark with emotion. Tantalus could only watch in horror as the cauldron began to boil again though it sat only on the cool wooden table before the pale form of destiny. At the lord of the sky's wordless gesture, Fate called each piece forth from the bubbling water and, as the Gods and Goddesses watched, her magic stitched bone and skin and muscle together once more. But her resurrection came up short, for she could not join the left arm; the shoulder was part-gone.

Demeter gasped, "A child?!" her eyes began to fill with fresh tears. "Poor innocent...." She lifted the ivory plate she had used from the table and laid it against the pale, unmoving torso that hovered - captured by Fate's power - above the pot, and in her hands the solid bone moulded into the smooth curve of a new shoulder, to which Fate gratefully stitched the left arm.

"It is done." Fate's voice whispered through the silent hall as her opaque eyes turned to face the sky-Lord, who stood by with a deep frown now settled on his features.

Zeus nodded and waved a broad hand over the closed eyes of the boy-child that lay still on the table. A moment passed, and then with a gasp that echoed from the high ceiling, Pelops jolted upright, a hand flying up to his throat as if reaching to pull away a suffocating grasp. His sight cleared and the boy stared 'round in astonishment at the gathering. Demeter, momentarily distracted from her woe, was reaching forward to hug him, while the other Gods stared in amazement at the obvious care with which the earth had created this beautiful child. The only gaze around the hall that was not following Pelops' every move was that of Zeus, whose stormy glance had settled in fury upon the Father of this destruction. Tantalus tore his eyes from his living - breathing! - Son and shrunk suddenly in terror at the rage in the sky-God's expression.

Zeus' voice echoed like the justice of the Heavens, "Tantalus! Pitiful, cowering man; fool and charlatan; thief of the food of the Gods; thief of life, of purity and innocence! Never have my gifts been so disrespected! “The God seemed to grow as his anger filled the cavernous hall and even the other Gods pulled back, shielding the shaking Pelops with them as they retired. Zeus ignored them, focused only upon the tiny king of Sipylus prostrate on the ground at his feet. He raised a hand and made a sweeping motion in distain.

"If my generosity is so worthless, then I see nothing of yours is worth a place within my domain. Let all your kind be banished for your folly."

The king of the Gods turned on his heel, his cloak of clouds lifting him into the winged chariot that had borne him down to Sipylus, and as the flaming horses' hooves struck sparks from the white floors of the hall, the great slabs beneath the unshod feet cracked wide open. Tantalus found himself tumbling into burning darkness; a gaping chasm formed and the entire city began to crumble out of sight; its people running in panic as their homes and possession were swallowed by the encroaching hell.

----------------------

Tantalus sank to his knees, sitting deep beneath the earth. Punishment eternal was with him now, created and endorsed by the king of the gods himself.

The branches of the fine fruit tree stretched far above him, and among the glossy green leaves, brilliant red apples in soft waxy skin shone in the light of Tartarus's deep glow. Around his ankles flowed the crystal clear waters of a gentle stream, the fresh smell of each droplet tantalising his senses. But whenever he reached above his head, the branches bearing their delicious gifts would twist, as if sentient, away from his grasp so that not a morsel could ever reach his fingertips, let alone touch his dry lips, and when Tantalus knelt at the roots and cupped his hands to take a mouthful of the glittering water at his feet, the swift flowing stream would recede just as quickly before him into the ground so that not even the dampness of the river bed remained. Thus it was that he would remain; forever tortured by his eternal hunger and thirst, never dying (for Tartarus was a land of life amidst the hell) and yet never to be satisfied.

One who thinks to fool the gods is a fool himself.

Visitor [Myst]

2009-01-18T00:55:31Z

Visitor

fandom: Myst
Prompt: #129 - administer (tamingthemuse ) and unthemed#4 -trouble (mission_insane )
warnings: possible aitrus/veovis if you're looking for it. AU, no spoilers. set during the book of Ti'ana
800 words, G rated.

In which Aitrus is ill, his mother threatens Veovis, and laughter is prohibited.

</lj></lj>Administer - give; bestow, particularly medicine or aid.

Illness was rare in the d'ni. The genes which gave them century-long life also provided for a sturdy immune system. As a result, sickness was often treated with as much ceremony as more joyful circumstances, with relatives and friends paying frequent visits to the bedside. aitrus lay shivering in bed beneath the thick covers, his hairline damp with sweat. He ached all over, and his eyesight - not good even in normal circumstances - blurred and swayed with every tiny movement of his head, making Aitrus feel distinctly nauseous.

Visitors had been dropping in to whisper their wishes for his recovery all the previous day. Various aunts and uncles had milled about the room, reassuring his parents of their certainty that the young guildsman would be back to full health within a few days. Aunt Ranya's new husband had paraded the corridor outside (well out of reach, in case of infection) and reflected at great length on his own brushes with sickness in his younger days, in what Aitrus privately felt was a rather smug manner. Even Aitrus' grandmother - herself breaching her fourth century and a survivor of almost every disease the D'ni could suffer from - had come to sit by the bed in the late afternoon and pat his shirtsleeve absently, murmuring about the remedial properties of lemongrass and water all the while, until his mother had led her away with the prospect of a cup of tea, leaving Aitrus in peace.

He's slept most of the day away, according to the dial above the mantelpiece, though he felt as exhausted as he had the previous day; his rest had been frequently disturbed by vague, unsettling dreams, leaving the young man with a sense of undefined anxiety. While he had been sleeping, someone had come in to light the grate and now the fire crackled merrily on the far side of the small chamber, although the occasional snap of a burning log was as loud as a gunshot to Aitrus' throbbing head.

The guildsman soon found himself drifting, his half-awake state giving birth to blurred memories and imaginings, each distorted and faded, as if seen through curved glass or reflected in the nara-lined walls of the tunnels in which the surveyors spent most of their working lives. The pictures blended and merged, shifting from his grandmother's wrinkle-lined face, to Guildmaster Telanis' stern frown, to the great hulk of one of the cutter machines, to the intricate compass and scales that sat in their case on his work-desk.

As if called by this last vision, the heavy wooden door to the chamber opened at that moment to admit the one visitor Aitrus had been hoping for since he had been confined to his room. Veovis peered carefully round at the bed and gave his usual open smile upon seeing his friend watching him.

"I had hoped you were awake. I was given strict insturctions not to rouse you if you were sleeping." His smile widened, creasing the thin lines forming at the corners of his eyes, making the expression seem much more geniune, before smooothing out into mock-worry. "Your mother can be rather fierce".

"She is somewhat of a mother-dragon, as opposed to a mother-hen." Aitrus agreed with a faint laugh, whihc quickly devolved into a hacking cough and a bout of sneezes. Veovis, who had taken a seat on one of the low chairs by his friend, quickly handed over the flask of water from the bedside table, brow creased anxiously, and self-consciously patted Aitrus' back until the fit subsided.

"No laughing then." The young lord settled down, pushing his cloak off his shoulders to drap over the back of the chair he sat in. " Or else your mother will burn me to a cinder."

Aitrus tried not to splutter with laughter at this and ended up with an undignified snorting into a hankercheif. He pulled a face at the phelgm taste in the back of his throat and took the water flask Veovis had absently cradled in his hands, to sip gently. The sneezing had at least cleared his sinuses, but had left Aitrus feeling light headed and the headache had returned with avengence. "I'm sorry, my friend, but I think maybe I should try to sleep again. My head feels like rock; the kind that gets tunnels bored in it." he grimaced.

Veovis nodded and rose to his feet, speaking in a low voice. "I shall cut my visit short then. Rest well and recover, Aitrus."

"Could you refill the flask before you go?" Aitrus handed over the now empty container, pushing the cushions of his bunk flat with his other hand. His eyes began to close despite the drumming pulse in his temples almost as soon as he lay down, Veovis's soft suede shoes on the rug the only sound apart from the dying snicker of the fire, before the low sweep of the door announced the lord's silent departure.

The Princess & the North Wind [original fic]

2009-01-01T00:17:20Z

This a bedtime story my mother used to tell at this time of year, celebrating Yule (or yuletide). so its not quite original except for the random bits i've added in. certainly my mum's version wasnt 2200 words long!!
a little bit late for the december holiday challenge, but I'm pretending its not!

prompt: #128 - Paltry & december holiday challenge. for

The Princess and the North Wind

tamingthemuse
original fiction, G rated.

</lj>

Far away, in a kingdom where the days were often dark and the sun lay low, and throughout the year snow lay upon the ground, there lived a king who ruled his lands with kindness and just wisdom. His people never went hungry and their homes, and hearts, were always warm, despite the harsh climate of the country.

The monarch lived in a fine palace, high upon the slopes of the tallest mountain in the kingdom, the tallest tower huddling just a little lower than the peak itself. The King doted upon his only child and beloved daughter, whom, it was claimed, shone like the stars. Anxious that she should want for nothing and worried that the Princess would miss the care of a mother as her own had died in childbirth on Yuletide-night; the King gave his daughter everything she could desire. But this had made the girl proud and petulant, for nothing was ever good enough to meet the beauty of the Princess Anya.

Our tale begins on the evening of the Princess’ sixteenth birthday, when preparations for the yuletide festivities were in full swing and the Princess stepped down the polished marble staircase to the great hall, her maid having dressed her in newly-bought finery for the special day. "M'lady, such beautiful fabrics!" the lady-in-waiting had exclaimed, and they were. Her scarlet silk dress rustled the sharp heels clicked against the marble steps as she descended the stairs to attend the feast laid out for the birthday of both the Crown Princess and the God of Winter.

The great yellow tallow candles let off thin streams of smoke, spiralling up into the roof, said to drive out the spirits of the past year’s dead, while the whole hall smelt strongly of ginger spice, rising from the hot biscuits piled in intricate shapes on huge platters lining the tables.

The King, a smile upon his lips, stepped forward proudly to greet his beloved child, and set a wrapped box before her, intricately tied with curling violet ribbons. The Princess beamed happily at the glittering paper and hastily tore open the wrapping, eager to see this long-awaited present.

At last, Anya thought breathlessly as the thickly decorated paper crackled and unravelled under her fingers, the most beautiful jewels in the world, as Father promised; jewels worthy to hang on the silver chain about my neck. The paper dropped away into her lap and she ignored the elaborately carved lid of the wooden box in her haste to see inside. Forgetting her usual dignity, she almost yanked the box open and saw, nestled in deep russet-coloured velvet inside, was a string of pure white pearls that glowed in the candlelight. Each tiny globe was no bigger than her littlest fingernail and appeared perfectly pale and smooth.

The king smiled as she stared down. "Flawless stones for my flawless little girl." and he reached out to lift the pearls from the box to string them about the Princess' ivory throat.

But after a second’s stunned silence, the Princess scowled and raised a hand to catch her father's wrists.

"But they aren’t real jewels! Jewels for a princess should be diamonds or sapphires; glittering gems to hang about the silver chain around my neck. Pearls are paltry, ugly things, barely fit for a chamber maid!"

With that angry outburst, the Princess snatched up the peals and tossed them at the skirts of the petite maid whom had helped to dress her that morning and who had admired her clothing so much. Fit for her indeed! The princess thought and picked up her own skirts to storm upstairs, almost upsetting the three cooks who were at that moment carrying in the giant birthday cake, sculpted into the shape of a fairy-tale palace out of pure white marzipan. She did not even spare them a glance as they staggered out of her way and stamped up the steps to the tower, letting the heavy door slam closed behind her.

Silence reigned for a few moments in the great hall after her departure, but then the old king sighed, wringing his hands, and sank wearily into his throne, leaving the two young ladies-in-waiting to the Princess to quietly gather up the scattered pearls (both of them slipping one or two shining droplets into their pockets to gaze at later).

----------------

That night Anya awoke suddenly, lying still-clothed on the bed covers. She rose listlessly, stretching her cramped muscles, and rubbed her palms over cheeks stained with tear-tracks from petulant weeping. The tall balcony windows rattled gently, the wind whistling along the stone outside. Anya turned to the windows to draw the heavy curtains, but paused to watch the thick snow-laden clouds scudding across the sky, playing hide-and-seek with the moon. The wind whistled again, and this time Anya thought that among the sounds she could hear a voice calling to her.

Princess, beautiful Princess. The voice resonated along the battlements, its sound like the breaking of icicles and the distant rush of an avalanche, the very essence of winter. Anya laid one ivory hand against the window pane and stared out into the night. When she was a child she had often heard that the frozen god of the North Wind led the winter sprites in their merry-making at yuletide, his birthday...and hers.

Breathlessly she called out in eagerness, her tantrum at dinner forgotten; "North Wind? I am here. Have you come to wish me well on our birthday?"
.
The North Wind chuckled with a noise like footsteps on frozen leaves. More than that, Princess. The yuletide night is fine; come out, and see.

Without a second thought, Anya undid the latch that held the windows and stepped out onto the high balcony, staring eagerly round as the clouds chased each other across the sky.

"Have you brought me a present, North Wind? Will you give me the most beautiful jewels in the world to hang upon the silver chain about my neck?"

A flurry of snow met this question and more laughter. A gift worthy of your beauty, then. Look up, Princess, look up.

Leaning on the balcony railing, Anya gazed up at the thick clouds. As she watched, the North Wind blew the clouds back and an almost full moon rode out into the sky, and around it the stars glittered into life.

"Oh North Wind" sighed the Princess, wrapping her arms about herself in the chill night air, "The stars are more beautiful than any earthly jewel. Would that I had a star to hang about my throat."

Do you see the mountain's peak, Princess? asked the North Wind. She turned obediently to the snow-capped rocks that rose above the palace to the north, and gasped. For upon the mountain top the stars shone brightly, as if the sky was balanced there.

Climb the mountain, Princess, and pluck the stars from the sky for your necklace. Climb and I shall give you jewels worthy of a Princess.

-----------------------

The side door at the foot of the tower stair case wasn’t easy to unlock, but Anya threw her weight against the handle of the bolt, feeling the wind pulling at the far side of the door. She flung it open and dashed down the steps, frosty tendrils teasing the edges of the cut rock on either side. Had she glanced back, she would have seen the heavy door swing shut behind her, its far corner grazing the side of a large bowl of sweetened porridge set out by the scullery maids for the frost-sprites of Yule.

Climb up and I shall give you the stars for your necklace, sang the North Wind. Laughter sounded about her, the whistling chuckle of the frozen God. Climb, Princess, climb.

The North Wind danced about her as she climbed, tugging at her cloak and nightgown, as cold as ice, his invisible fingers plucking at the edges of her skirts. and freezing her skin with his breath. She wrapped her clothes more closely about her and set her jaw in determination. The wind had promised the beauty of the stars for her birthday; she had only to reach the mountain peak.

-----

Up she went, the North Wind her constant companion, eagerly pushing her on at every step. Over stones and snow she trudged, clambered on all fours in places, slipping and sliding on the frosty ground, so keen to reach the summit she did not notice as the cold stone numbed her fingers and the gleaming snow seeped through her delicate slippers to chill her toes. The night wore on and still she climbed, closer and closer, higher she went and the colder it grew. The stars got closer, glowing in the sky. The rock became smoother and Anya scrambled up the last few steps to the tip of the mountain, the wind catching at her cloak and looked up. But of course the stars were far too high, gleaming in the sky.

She scowled. "North Wind! You promised me the stars for my necklace."

The North Wind hummed through the air, his cold breath slicing into her clothes. And starlight you shall have, Princess. Look down, Princess, look down.

Anya stepped toward the edge of the large flat rock that topped the mountain and gazed down into the valley on the far side of the mountain. Anya stared in delight at the hollow; it was as if a piece of the night sky had fallen down to rest between the mountains, filling the valley with stars. There are your jewels, Princess. called the North Wind, pride filling his voice, as thick as the fallen snow. Go down, go down.

The Princess wasted no time. She jumped the short drop off the plateau rock, and started the long descent down the mountainside, but quickly found that the slope was steeper than she realised. Each rock was coated in a thin layer of ice, and Anya gasped in fright as her feet slipped out from under her, sending the Princess sliding dangerously down the mountain. The sharp black rocks tore great rips in her skirts and cloak, and the delicate skin of her already cold palms and fingers was shredded by the jagged edges as she tried to stop herself, the loose stones and gravel careening down beside her. Tumbling dizzily, she slipped and slid, dropping over boulders as half the mountain appeared to join her wayward descent.

The North Wind danced on the rushing snow and stones about her, tugging more debris into the fall until the Princess was riding a small avalanche into the valley. Go down! he cried, laughter crackling with the snap and rattle of the stones. Go down!

Down she went, helter-skelter, until she landed with a bone-shaking thump, a deep snow drift cushioning the Princess' landing. Blinking dazedly, Anya saw the patch of night was not four foot from where she lay. Hastily, she dragged her shivering body out of the snow drift and collapsed to her knees on the edge, where Anya reached out bleeding fingertips for the nearest glittering star... and cried out in bitter disappointment. For where the shining star glittered under her hand, she touched only the ice of the frozen mountain lake, smooth as glass, reflecting the night sky above as perfectly as a mirror.

Foolish girl. said a low hissing voice by her ear. Silly little girl, so puffed up with pride that she forgets all she has for what she wants. The North Wind chuckled, his tone as cold and harsh as his words. There are your jewels, Princess; nothing but a false impression of worth. Know yourself, Princess, know yourself and weep.

Princess Anya sat by the ice-covered lake, gazing at the reflected stars. She thought of her warm bed and room, and pulled the soaked, ragged remains of her cloak about her, but it did nothing to shield her from the cold. She thought of the string of pearls she had thrown back in disgust and pride, and tears began to prickle under her eyelids. She thought of her kind, forgiving father, and the birthday cake she had refused to eat, and buried her head in her skirts as tears crept out to stream down her face.

As she lay curled at the lakeside in the snow, the far horizon slowly turned first pink, then golden as the morning sun glided in stately splendour over the mountains, lighting the snow until the whole mountain appeared ablaze with pure white light, and the stars faded away in the face of day.

Anya, damp and shivering from the snow, and miles from home, lifted her head as the fir trees at the frozen lake's nearby edge rustled and she started in surprise as a young man stepped out from below the snow-laden branches. He was dressed as if the cold that suffused her own body was nothing to him; his tunic and cloak of fine silks, ranging from midnight blue, to dazzling snow-white, his only concession to the ice surrounding him in the white fox fur edging his boots and doublet. He reached her side and in silence put out a hand to help her to her feet.

Princess Anya rose, wiping the tears from her eyes, puzzled. "Who are you?"

The stranger bowed and gestured to her throat. Anya touched her collar bone instinctively, and then looked down in surprise, for hanging from the silver chain about her neck were three perfect jewels that glittered every colour in the morning sunlight.

They are your tears. The most beautiful, most precious jewels, worthy of a Princess, and a Queen. For your birthday and your hand. His voice rang like the shattering of icicles, and Anya smiled.

THE END.

Most Certain [Orginal fiction ~ Vanilla, part 1]

2008-12-06T23:40:41Z

Vanilla ~ Part one: Most Certain

Fandom: Original Fiction ("Vanilla"... I can see this becoming an ongoing series)
Prompt: #124 - "Great minds have purpose, little minds have optimism" [phrase prompt] for </a></b></a>tamingthemuse

"Ah, Commandant 'Amelin, Tahiti you will enjoy, I am most certain. It is a glorious isle."

Great minds have purpose, little minds have optimism

The Governor was a large man; his stomach appeared to lead the way while he strode (he never walked anywhere, only strode) before the little procession descending the pier, his left hand proudly gripping the lapel of his new tailcoat, the short plait of his white wig of office bouncing lightly on his high collar with each step.
He stopped abruptly before the gentleman who had just embarked from the frigate, and spread his arms wide in geniality. "Bonjour, Commandant 'Amelin! Welcome to Tahiti!"

The young man he was addressing bowed hastily in an attempt to hide the twitching of his lips. He had been warned that the new Governor of Tahiti Island was a hearty character, in both body and personality, but seeing the beaming red face, was almost too much for Commandant Hamelin's stretched nerves to take. The journey from the far side of the Polynesian islands had been a particularly bad one; their navigator being struck ill shortly after leaving the last port, Manila, and the weather, in short, had not been kind. As Hamelin raised his eyes again to meet his new host's twinkling smile, the world seemed to sway under the blistering sun, and the young man was forced to shake his head to clear the sweaty fog that had clouded his vision for a moment.

Governor Dumont, who had been jovially expounding on the wonders of the island, paused in his praise of the local peasants' attitude toward his recent commission as Governor, and rolled forward at the waist to lay a warm hand on the shoulder of the Commandant's royal blue jacket.

"Ah, Commandant... You appear a little dazed. No doubt you are tired from your long trip." He patted the stiff linen in a fatherly manner and, with a gentle rotation on one heel, began to steer Hamelin down the sun-bleached wood of the pier to the dock steps. "Such a way, Manila, such a way indeed, I am most certain. Why, I remember my journey to Tahiti. Most exhausting, all that rocking and swaying weeks on end..."

On the short trip (by a blissfully steady and shaded coach) back to the Governor's house in Papeete, Alphonse Hamelin was pleased to note that the Governor did not require much, or indeed any, participation from his audience when orating on a subject. Dumont sat back in the opposite seat from his guest, and, linking his large hands (complete with the gold ring of office) over his ample belly, seemed content to chatter on in his lilting tenor about whatever subject he chose, filling the air with a rippling ocean of nonsense syllables.

"Ah, Commandant 'Amelin, Tahiti you will enjoy, I am most certain. It is a Glorious Isle; such a fabulous time we have had here, my dearest Isabella and I. Isabella is my dear and dutiful wife, you know, the centre of my heart. You will love her, I am most certain; a wonderful, clever creature." Dumont's smile, if possible became wider. "I could not live without her. You know, she often says to me ' Great minds have purpose, little minds have optimism.' And that is what you shall see here, Commandant! If we cannot be great, at least, then, we must try to be happy,eh?"

A wink followed this rather abrupt piece of philosophising, and, while Hamelin wondered if Gerard Dumont was truthfully as simple as he first appeared, the Governor slipped seamlessly back into his proud exclaimations on the beauty of the surrounding countryside.

Hamelin leaned back against the plush velvet of the carriage seat and listened obediently as the Governor rambled on about the delights to be sampled on his 'Glorious Isle', of which he was sure his guest and accompanying crew would be able to explore to their hearts content once settled into their quarters; "No expense spared, quite the quality your fine self will be used to back in the heart of the colonies, I am most certain."

Despite his own exhaustion, Hamelin returned Dumont's eternal smile as earnestly as he could manage. He was going to like this man, he was 'most certain'.

A/N: Tahiti is french, hence the random french words. The setting is 1848 for reasons that will be explained later.

Not Warranted [Heroes fic]

2008-11-30T00:34:01Z

Not Warranted

Fandom: Heroes
Prompt: #123 - Despair [word prompt] for tamingthemuse & co-inspired by the "hope" demotivator @ despair.com
Very minor spoilers for episode 3.2 -the butterfly effect. strangely cheerful considering subject matter.

Matt considers purpose, meaning and the sociability of vultures in the African desert.

Written for day 29 of fannanowrimo, 737 words
Heroes (c) AuntieBeeb and Tim Kring

</lj>Not Warranted

Hope, Matt had decided in the small part of his brain that wasn’t screaming for water, might not be warranted at this point. Oddly enough, the same small part seemed to think that despair wasn’t much of an option either; why give up and lie down in a desert when no-one knew where he was. It wasn’t as if staying put would give a greater chance of someone finding him, since the one thing Matt was quite certain of was that no-one was looking for him. After all, the only one who might even have the foggiest where he was (matt certainly didn’t) was Peter. And not normal, sane, sensible peter either; that futuristic, scarred, gun-wielding version, and Matt really wasn’t expecting him (or anyone whom he might tell about Matt's involuntary jaunt halfway round the world) to come to the rescue.

Matt stumbled on over the scrubland, bits of sand scratching at his feet where it had slipped though the air holes in his trainers. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck, dampening the collar of his jacket for a moment or two before the heat of the sun dried it out again, leaving only an uncomfortable gritty feeling of salt down his shoulder blades. His throat grated as if he'd attempted to swallow an emery board, but, after hours of walking over pretty much featureless terrain, he'd fallen into an almost dreamlike state; thoughts cruising along whatever path they wished.

It figured, he thought fuzzily, that - as "Officer Parkman" - Matt had been on all the defence courses offered, and required, by the LA police department, and even most of the ones foisted on him in NYPD (half of them mind-numbingly similar to the previous lot), but not one of them had included basic survival training - at least not any training relevant to being abruptly stranded in a desert with no way of telling which way to go. But at least 'going' gave him some sense of purpose; he'd been drilled - by his dad, by school, and then by LAPD training college - that 'having a purpose' was the best way to go about life; not necessarily having a goal, but a purpose for being that you attempt to follow every day, even if that purpose was just being at the gate every afternoon to pick Molly up from school, of being there for a small girl who'd lost everyone else.

There had been many times when Matt had wanted to get rid of his power (and just as many times when he'd been achingly glad of it) but never before had he truly wanted to exchange it for some other way of being a "hero". Sure he'd been fleetingly jealous of Claire’s inability to get injured (especially with the amount of scrapes he got into in his job) and who wouldn’t be rather envious of Peter's apparent talent for mastering any and every gift that came his way (although, if Matt were honest with himself, he'd have been the first one to panic if he'd contracted poor radioactive Ted's "power"), but now any way to get out of here he would have welcomed with open arms.

He'd tried stretching out with his telepathy at first - straining his "mind's ear" as Mohinder had once referred to it, to find some hint of which direction to go in. But the silence - absolute quiet unlike anything he'd ever experienced - had resounded in his head, and he quickly gave up on his power being of any use out here. What was the point in listening when there was nothing to hear?

A vulture eyed him suspiciously from a nearby bone-white tree branch. (everyone knew what a vulture was, even though Matt could quite honestly say that he'd only ever seen them on television before, and wow [commented the inquisitive part of him, which seemed unreasonably enthusiastic about the whole ordeal] weren’t they big?!) He'd noticed them before, just sitting around or spiralling on the air currents in the distance, but he was starting to wonder if they weren’t getting more frequent.

Do vultures only start to gather if they think you're about to die, or are they just hedging their bets? he wondered. He wished he'd paid more attention to that Attenborough documentary Molly had forced him to watch. Despairing was so much easier when you were certain about the facts.

Tantalus, Part I [Greek Myth]

2008-11-23T00:57:37Z

Tantalus [Part I]

Greek Myth
Prompt: #122 - Thirst (tamingthemuse )

Rewrite of the greek myth of Tantalus, with some liberty taken.

</lj>Tantalus ~ Part One

King Tantalus stared down from the white tower of his palace at the newly built walls of his city, and smiled. Sipylus, they had called it, in honour his grandfather, and every able-bodied-man had done his fair share of the work to make their new home as strong and indestructible as it was beautiful; each two-tonne stone that made up the walls' base carved from shining white granite. The new king of Lydia had praised his people for their hard work, and now, as the sun rose over the Aegean Sea and the city climbing the mountainside gleamed in its light, his pride in the achievement knew no bounds.

The gentle clink of fine china roused Tantalus from his day dreams, and the young king turned, just in time to watch his wife emerge through the sheer silk curtains that separated the balcony on which he stood from the main chamber within. But to his surprise, instead of embracing him as she usually did when they rose in the morning, the beautiful lady Dione stepped quietly to one side of the entrance and stood demurely with her eyes lowered. Worried, Tantalus took a step toward her, but before he could speak, a second figure strode through the curtains and gave the King a sweeping bow.

“King Tantalus of Lydia," said the young man as he straightened, "We have heard the praise of your people for your courageous leadership, your wise counsel and your cunning in battle. They pray that you are rewarded for all that you have done for the kingdom of Lydia, and We shall recognise this wish."

A lifetime of leading had taught Tantalus to appear in control at all times, but even he could barely keep himself from gaping, for before him stood no mortal being, but Hermes himself, the messenger of the Olympian Gods. The golden-haired young man beamed cheerfully and bounced from one sandal-shod foot to the other.

"You are summoned, King Tantalus, to the halls of Olympus." There was no greater honour in the history of men than to be invited to dine at the table of the Gods, and Tantalus of Lydia, beloved by his people, had at last been recognised. Hermes extended one hand to the young king and, without a second thought; Tantalus grasped the offered fingers firmly. The messenger, delighted at being the bearer of good tidings for once, smiled even more broadly that Tantalus had thought possible, wrapped his arm around the mortal's waist, and, without warning, leapt gracefully over the balcony wall, into the air. Tantalus gasped in fright and clung tightly to the god's tunic as the messenger's winged sandals swept them both up into the sky.

Sitting in state at the very table of the gods, Tantalus gazed at the feast laid out in splendour before him; each dish perfection as befitted the gods. Once he had eaten his fill of the food, he was actually rather thankful that most of the gods - after their initial attention - had moved on to other things. The rosy-cheeked Dionysus had already filled his gut with the heady wine (Tantalus had noticed with some awe that the god's cup magically refilled itself immediately once the last drop was drained) and was now slumped over onto the lap of his wife, Ariadne, whose long thin fingers combed affectionately through his hair as he slept.

Demeter, who had arrived late to the gathering on account of her missing daughter, had finally ceased her sobbing and was being comforted by the beautiful Aphrodite at the far end of the table. The dark god Hades, being the reason for young Persephone’s sudden disappearance, was not present at all, much to the distress of Demeter and the annoyance of his brothers. The remaining seven Olympian gods and their consorts were mostly engaged in conversation over their cups while their chief, Zeus, surveyed the scene with a proprietary air. The chief of the gods lounged in his throne at the head of the table; one leg draped over the armrest, his chin propped up on his left palm while the circlet of polished gold nestled in his hair glowed with light. Tantalus became a little blinded by his majesty and glanced away when the god's eyes moved in his direction.

As the food was slowly cleared from the plates, Zeus stirred. Rising elegantly from his throne by the head of the table, the king of the gods reached over to a nearby side table and lifted up a tall thin decanter, on a tray, surrounded by many ornately etched glasses. From the base of the tray four thin metal bars rose up around the decanter and merged to form a ring about the stopper, holding it firmly in place *. A single tap of the god's finger caused the inscribed ring to vanish and Zeus plucked out both the bottle and the stopper, and tilted it to the rim of the first glass.

Tantalus realised that the great hall, from the white, ivy-bound pillars, to the cloud-riven ceiling far above, had fallen silent. All eyes were watching as Zeus leisurely poured a measure of the crystal clear liquid into every glass. As each glass was filled, the child Ganymede, who had remained seated on the steps at Zeus' feet for the duration of the meal, carefully took it and placed it before an Olympian god or goddess. Once they all had a share, Zeus, to the watcher's surprise, did not put down the decanter, but plucked another glass from the air and filled it to the brim. Ganymede carried it down the length of the hall to Tantalus's seat and set the glass on the table with a shy smile.

Tantalus tore his gaze from the sparkling liquid to meet the Sky Lord's amused smile. Zeus' eyes glittered as brilliantly as the gold that adorned his throat and fingers, and, awed by this apparent gift from the most proud of all the gods, Tantalus' mouth turned as dry as the Syrian Desert and he could not speak a word.

"Take up your cups," Zeus commanded in a voice well used to authority, and every deity's hand reached forward. "Today, the wishes of the sipylenes are granted; their beloved king dines with us, and is given the gift of ambrosia, so that he may rule wisely for as long as his city shall stand." A herald of agreement met this proposal. The glasses, Tantalus' with them, were raised and the mortal king sipped his first taste of immortality. A sip was at first all he could bear; the heady perfume rising from the glass almost overwhelmed him while the sun itself appeared to explode behind his eyelids as the deathless elixir suffused every cell in his body. Gasping quietly to himself in wonder - awed by the honour he had been granted and dazed by the ambrosia's power - Tantalus simply clasped the tiny chalice in his lap and let the slightly viscous liquid swirl round, catching the light, while the gods returned to their toasts and carousing.

Feeling rather out of place, Tantalus let his mind drift to those he felt more in his league. He thought of his people, his gentle Queen and most of all, his beloved son and heir, Pelops. Wistfully, Tantalus imagined they could share this bounty and fortune with him, but he knew in his heart that the likelihood of the gods - even ones as spontaneously generous as Zeus - granting immortality to all his kin was very low indeed. But as he daydreamed, Tantalus was struck with an idea; an idea so wonderful and yet so dangerous that it made him shudder violently, almost spilling with precious ambrosia he still held. Looking carefully around the table to make sure he was not being observed, the now-immortal king picked his empty wine goblet off the table and brought it down into his lap beside the glass of ambrosia. Glancing up every few moments he carefully poured the shimmering liquid into the sturdier (and comparatively plainer, though nothing on the god's table was less than beautiful) wine cup under the table, and with a quick movement of his hand, slipped the now half-full wine cup into the depths of his pocket.

Placing both hands back on the table, alongside the empty glass, Tantalus stared quietly at the wood between his fingers and tried not to think of what might happen were he to be caught with the coveted drink of the gods in his pocket. It was forbidden to remove the precious liquid from Olympus, or to give it to any but those sanctioned by Zeus himself, but Tantalus could think only of his wife and child; of rewarding the faithful sipylene people who had given him this opportunity with the same gift he himself had been granted.

A gentle touch to his arm made the young king start, and he looked up from the table to see all eyes had turned once again to Zeus... who in turned was staring straight at Tantalus. He froze in terror that he had been caught already, but quickly noticed that, far from appearing angry, the Lord of the sky was watching patiently, one hand raised as if keeping the other deities silenced in preparation for a speech. The god's gaze drifted over the other feasters for a moment, and then, "Tantalus?"

The weight of the cup in his pocket seemed to increase exponentially as Zeus' eyes swept back to the young king, and Tantalus trembled, clasping his hands before him. His throat grew suddenly dry as the god seemed to await a response to an unasked question. Fearing that the god could read his deceit in his eyes, Tantalus bowed his head and sought desperately for something with which to distract the famously tetchy god.

"My Lord," he began, "Such a glorious feast has been laid before me, I cannot think of words to express my thanks at your generosity." (Here, Tantalus glanced hastily round at all of the seated gods and goddesses, knowing that each would take his grovelling as directed at them; proud as they were.) "Thus all I can do if offer a seat at my humble table in the White Palace of Sipylus, and hope that it may carry at least a portion of my gratitude." Keeping his head low, Tantalus risked a glance up at Zeus, still lounging sideways in his throne, and breathed a sigh of relief when the golden-haired god inclined his head in acquiescence.

However, to the mortal's barely concealed horror, a sudden snort came from the far side of table. Dionyus had roused from his slumber and leant, blinking, towards the mortal king.

"What’s this? A feast?" A drunken giggle issued from the god of wine's lips.

"Yes, my Lor--" began Tantalus, eager to have found a topic with which this god at least was sure to be agreeable to. But before he could finish, a delicate girl at the god's side and gave a snort of her own

"Ha! And how shall this mortal feed us? With the ragged cuts of beasts that feed on filth and wallow in mud?" she smirked and turned a gimlet-eye on Tantalus, "We are gods, and yet you would deign to serve us?"

Dionysus stared at her, while around the table murmurings began. Mud...earth-beasts... fit for mortals alone... Enraged at this slight upon his city, Tantalus' anxiety melted away and he sprang to his feet.

"Oh, great Lords and Ladies, it is true that mortal fare cannot be comparable to the delights of Olympian kitchens, but in honour of your attendance I shall strive to serve the most sumptuous, the most precious and perfect meat that may be found upon the globe, if only you would grace my table with your presence."

He gave a sweeping bow to as much of the room as he could physically manage and silently blessed the silver tongue which had helped him out of more than one tight spot on Earth, as the surrounding deities smirked and preened at his address, each one smugly agreeing to attend the feast Tantalus had promised.

A/N: The decanter used by Zeus is called a Tantalus because it shows you whats there, but is locked shut, and thus tantalises. The gods/godesses mentioned [for those who care at all] are:
Dione (not technically a goddess in this legend, but shares the name of one of the minor pleides)
Hermes (messenger & god of travellers & thieves[ like tantalus!]),
Zeus (god of thunder/the sky and king of the other gods),
Dionysus (god of wine, parties & merriment),
his wife, Ariadne (goddess [though mortal in some legends] of weaving who was one of the few greek goddess who remained faithful to her husband),
Demeter (goddess of harvest, who got mentioned 'cos she has a bigger part later on in this legend, mother of Persephone)
Aphrodite (goddess of beauty and love)
Hades (god of the underworld, who will also have a bigger part later, and husband-to-be of the kidnapped persephone)
Ganymede (cupbearer to zeus, like dione he's not a god, but an immmortal human. often said to be a zeus' lover in most legends)
Eris (minor goddess of discord & chaos)