Scarlet Mitchell ⚒️ The Gerzean Blade out NOW!😍

@scarletvmitchell.bsky.social

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Writer in multiple genres (pen name of Kristine Page), eclectic pagan polytheist, anthropology nerd, Bowie fan, Aikidoka, recently took up guitar, she/her Debut mystery novel available here: https://scarletmitchellwrites.wordpress.com

Sliver of a photo of a book with a dried flower on it.
Flamenco shoes with red skirt flaring above
A rabbit
The foursome trooped into the lobby. The receptionist, Cass, let them into the offices and led Fernandez to the cabinet where the artifact was kept. Talia quickly checked her phone while Fernandez unwrapped and inspected the item. No message from Brian. Where is he? “Oh, my,” Justine gasped in awe. “Look at that!” By the time Talia looked up again, he had already folded it back into its paper, placed it carefully in a slim oblong box, and slipped it into his leather satchel. “My colleagues should be here any moment,” Talia tried to stall.
The cat sat regally on the edge of the fence that attempted, unsuccessfully, to block the view of the dumpster behind the dining hall. Helena now knew enough to look for him, and saw a pair of ragged trousers draped over the edge of the bin. She worried for a moment, until he stood again, pulling a heavy plastic bag with him. Her heart broke a little that anyone would feel the need to dumpster dive for food. She piled her plate high at the buffet, twice, finding herself much more hungry than usual. Remembering the man with the cat, she decided to spend two more meal tokens to grab a couple of fresh box lunches for him, even if it would mean she'd have less points to get her through the end of the semester. She would manage alright. He and the cat were gone, however, when she came back outside
My lock scream saying 8:45 Mon Aug 3. The image is of a waterfall splashing down several levels of a shale cliff interspersed with bright green moss.
The crew in Columbus had a series of warm-ups they would often do before a run, and Helena started to do them, shyly at first. It was one thing to be caught on a rooftop unauthorized. It was another to be caught on a rooftop doing jumping jacks and barrel rolls by herself. Before long, though, she was taking runs at the wall. There was better privacy here than at the chapel and she felt more relaxed. She tested herself first, kicks against the brickwork lifting her higher and higher each time, reminding her body how to do what it knew how to do. Finally, on a fourth run, she threw her hips up and over, kicking herself into a flip. She didn’t quite stick the landing, but at least she’d landed mostly on her feet, which was encouraging. Two more attempts and finally she stuck the landing properly, drawing a proud smile to her face. When she looked up, she was startled to realize she had been observed and her smile fell off. Standing on the ledge of the roof was the same young woman she’d seen last night in the woods, the same one who had found her on another rooftop before that. Caught again. Would she finally report her? Helena worried what her therapist would make of her continued habit of trespassing in unauthorized areas and the burn of a blush reached all the way to her ears. Excuse me, she thought, I’m just gonna go die for a minute. I’ll be right back.
She heard the smack of feet landing heavily behind her, but kept her eyes ahead, scanning for any dangerous spots or any opportunities she might take. A convenient connection between gable and roof took her all the way up, with Kiandra on her heels. Her experienced eyes had already been taking in the campus architecture for weeks now, but it was her first time trying to do anything at speed and she hesitated when she came to the rotunda. The other woman didn’t, passing her and skirting it, without a hitch in her step, all the way to the edge. Kiandra leaped through the air, out into seemingly nowhere. Helena nearly skidded to a halt, but when she saw the tree Kiandra had chosen to break her fall, and the branches organized as if specifically to act as a ladder, she kept her stride. The fearful thrill of flying through the air made her whoop out loud when she caught the branch and tumbled herself to the ground hard, off-balance, but still on her feet, pounding after the woman in the black sweatshirt. She followed as she dashed across the street with a wary glance and then effortlessly hopped a fence into a backyard. Helena came tumbling over the fence just as the other woman had climbed yet another tree and bounced onto a private balcony. It was about now that Helena
The warm wind that had swept over the dusty plain had been replaced by a more refreshing breeze that rushed through the valley, filtered by the picturesque trees. They stopped at the rivers edge, near where the astonishingly blue cataract splashed down onto chatoyant jade boulders. Here, it collected in a cobalt pool before rushing through the multi-greened valley. Helena took Serasthial’s cue when he knelt to splash some water on his face and arms, washing dust from his skin. She wondered at its uncanny blue. Was it some kind of mineral deposit, or something else? “Is this the River of Souls Ozzy mentioned?” She asked. Serasthial squinted a look of puzzlement, as if the question made no sense. Do you see any souls here, Helena? “No,” Jim answered, his great face looking wise and sympathetic. She wondered how old he was
Nora- Chestut hair in a bun, brown eyes under furrowed brow. Unsmiling. Wears a brown suit jacket over a green blouse.
The Orangerie was coming into its own. Bayle had taken to coming up here to clear his head from the stress *redacted sentence* bringing it to life in just the short few weeks he'd been on board. Begonias, cornflowers, nasturtiums, dianthus, and thornless rose bushes had been planted in huge, ornate planters dotted along the center of the walkway. It was a seemingly wasteful use of coveted grow space on the station that could be used for more useful produce, a sign of the Hermitage's grandeur. None had yet bloomed, but the resulting fragrance of healthy greenery and fresh soil perfumed the air.
seeing this, she splashed through the waterlogged grass and knelt at his side. She heard a gargling in his throat. His eyes fluttered open. He turned to her and clutched at his throat, his face red and eyes pleading. She hefted him on to his side and hit him in the back a few times. She watched in horror as muddy water poured out of his mouth and nose, grey sediment sifting into the water at her knees. She grabbed her phone with her other hand and called it in. He was by no means stable by the time the ambulance left the street. He hadn’t stopped coughing and choking long enough to say anything coherent, but at least he appeared to be alive and capable of survival when they’d loaded him into the van. Soaked to the skin and trembling, more from shock and horror than cold, Charlie dialed Jack.
She placed her beer down on the pavement and hauled up the grate. She was a professional. This was fine. She knelt on the edge, lowering her face into the opening, but she could see nothing, even with the light from her phone. Ok then. She picked up her pint and sat on the edge, legs dangling down into the gap. She looked at the beer, then down into the hole, then at the beer again before putting it to her lips and chugging the remainder of the liquid. When she set it neatly on the pavement beside the hole, the foam slid deliriously back down the side to rest at the bottom as if it has just had the most satisfying experience of its life. Charlie balanced on a couple of crossbeams as she lowered herself carefully into the hole. She worried vaguely about traumatic dismemberment, but what were the odds of that happening to her twice? Then, with a thrill, she felt the wind and heard the distant rumble. She aimed her light into the beams and supports, waiting, her heart in her throat and a smile on her cheeks.
“Floor?” She asked. Her face was heart-shaped and earnest, her eyes a mesmerizing hazel. She had to be in her mid-twenties, just a bit younger than Charlie herself, and very pretty. “What?” “What floor do you need?” Asked the woman, pointing at the control panel. “Uh… eight please,” Charlie guessed without turning around. “There are only six floors,” came the bemused response. This was only getting worse. “Right. That’ll do.” The woman gave her a strange but not unkind look before punching the button marked six. They stood in an awkward silence for another moment before Charlie realized she was still staring and turned away. Finally, blessedly, the doors slid open again on the fifth floor. Charlie combed a handful of flaxen hair that had fallen out of her ponytail back against her head and faced the doors, watching the petite woman stride purposefully out into the hallway and tried to get her bearings. She thought about saying something by way of apology, but by the time she considered her next move, the doors had slid shut again. In the moment it took her to reach the next floor, Charlie had made a decision. As soon as the doors parted, she dashed through them and scanned the hall for the emergency stairs. Finding them, she ripped open the door and careened down them, vaulting over the railing and landing in the middle of the lower stairs, somehow not twisting either ankle, barely slowing as she crashed through the door to the fifth floor, hoping she hadn’t missed her. She caught sight of the woman again as she burst out into the hall. The petit woman had only made it a few yards away from the lift in the time it had taken Charlie to ride to the next floor and make her mad dash back down. The woman turned around to face her with a confused
Stone bridge over. Tiny creek with a tiny, arched opening that looks more like a doorway in a stone wall than a bridge.
Trestle Bridge over Upper Falls at Lechworth State Park, NY
The dark spire that stabbed the sky from the top of the dome shone gray against the black above. She knew there were bells up there, but she’d never heard them ring. Perhaps it was the silence, the chill, or maybe the effect of the beams from the chapel’s spotlights being swallowed by the blackness of the night sky, but an unease began to overtake her, sending another shiver down her spine. As she approached the corner of the math building on her way back to her dorm, she noticed something moving across the quad. It was a small animal, larger than the ubiquitous campus squirrels, and she stopped as it darted towards the path. A cat, she realized, a dusty gray thing with one crumpled ear. She smiled, relaxing her shoulders, and wondered if this was someone’s pet or a stray. As it crossed her path, it leapt up onto a pile of old clothes which sat abandoned on a bench. The cat didn’t seem wary of her at all, settling down to wash itself as she passed. “Well, hello,” she said, offering it a rare smile. “Hello,” answered the pile of dirty clothes. Startled, Helena jumped about a foot in the air, gasped, and took off running, blindly. By the time her brain had put the pieces together and recognized that what she’d first seen as a discarded pile of dirty clothes had actually been a thin man in a baggy coat with dark eyes and, apparently, a pet cat, it was too late to turn back and apologize for her rudeness. The man was not there in the morning
Reluctant Hero The reluctant hero is a protagonist who refuses their heroic tasks and has to be pushed into the fantasy plot. They might suffer negative consequences for their reluctance, or be simply forced unceremoniously into the plot for comedic reasons. Either way it’s a practical, funny trope fitting you as a practical, funny person! If you enjoyed this quiz, consider following me on Bluesky @TheodoreSnapdragon where I’ll be posting updates around a very fantasy anthology, a dragon-themed Dragonthology made by the IncSpec writing discord! Or maybe check out my own free fantasy novel on Royal Road: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/145331/mage-by-blood
“And here is Site 85.” He indicated the entire set and unlocked them. “These are just the physical grave goods we recovered, of course, but they are really something.” The bulk of the research material, the soil samples, stratigraphic records, and photographs, without which the finds would have been virtually meaningless, were stored elsewhere. In archaeology, context is everything. A stain in the dirt could make all the difference in understanding what an item meant, what kind of structure had been present, or how it had been used. Was it a dwelling and a hearth, with post holes and ash stains showing the legacy of someone’s millennium gone childhood home? Or perhaps an outdoor midden or trash pile, stacked high with the refuse of a forgotten culture? These were often treasure troves for archaeologists, broken shells and smashed pots telling the story of entire livelihoods and bringing the people who lived there vibrantly back to life. Talia had once read an entire cookbook based on what had been found in a third century Roman pit toilet
Full wrap cover for The Gerzean Blade by Scarlet Mitchell. Front (right side)shows a woman leaning against a car with a map in her hand. She gazes across a stone knife which stands like a monolith in the middle of the road towards dusky St. Louis on the other side. The back (right side) is a very dark and shadowy image of a stepped pyramid on a grassy plain with the same knife in front of it. Written across this is the back blurb as follows: She used to dig up bones. Now she digs up secrets. Talia Griffin has a master’s degree in archaeology, a little blue hatchback, a broken heart, and a dream- to carve a niche for herself as a private investigator. When an ancient Egyptian knife inexplicably ends up at a Native American archaeological site in Illinois, she sees a chance to prove herself. But it will mean working with a man she hates, an old rival who ran off with the woman she loved. Then her client is murdered. As the web of secrets and lies grows more dangerous, the frenemies must find answers before the body count rises. Spine in between with title and author. Credit for this Cover art by artworkbyemily1@gmail.com
“What are you doing here?” Helena asked it, puzzled. “Mrr…” it murmured in response and didn’t move. “Are you lost? Where is your owner?” She looked around for the man she’d seen twice associated with this animal, hoping he was alright. “How did you get in here?” “Mrrup,” It said, unhelpfully. She slowly stepped towards it. When she got about three feet away, the cat turned and walked a few feet down the hall, before turning to look at her expectantly and sitting down on the thin carpet again. “There aren’t supposed to be any pets in the dorm,” she scolded it, as if it could understand her. She looked around again for its owner. There was no sign of anyone in the hall. Thinking to either befriend the animal or escort it somewhere safe, out of the jurisdiction of the resident assistant, she continued to walk slowly towards it. “Mrrup,” it chirped at her again, rising to its feet and walking purposefully further down the hall. It did not seem spooked by her, or cautious. It looked back at her hopefully, as if wanting to be followed. She complied, too curious to back down now. The cat pranced confidently further down the hall to the closed door, then lifted one paw and politely patted it. “You seem pretty smart,” Helena commented as she opened the door for the little animal, who darted outside and then sat on the path, watching her expectantly in the glow of approaching evening. She stood for a moment, considering, then shrugged and tucked her keys in the pocket of her sweatshirt. Outside, the cat lead her, marching
A roilong dark sea
Chapter 3 Cahokia Mounds State Historic Site, IL Friday, 8:00 a.m. The interpretive center was a small, low building that fused rustic, classical, and contemporary styles in equal proportion. The roof bore a stylized resemblance to the grass thatched huts that had once crowded the area in the ancient city’s heyday. It stood demurely in the shadow of an impressive pyramidal earthwork visible a half mile to the north, a feature known as Monks Mound. Asymmetrically tiered and grass covered, save for a long flight of stairs added in modern times, it stood nearly one hundred feet high and covered more than fourteen acres at its base. This sexy showpiece of ancient architecture was the envy of almost every state archaeology program east of the Rockies. Across the access road from the center lay a broad plain that stretched along the eastern side of the park, edged by a stand of trees. A dignified white egret stood fishing at a little spill in the slowly flowing water that cut across the prairie. In the distance, the water emptied into a small wetlands area, but instead of the expected sulphuric odor, the air carried a refreshing metallic scent that hung in the morning mist rising from the ground. Talia crossed the empty lot, stepping over markings on the pavement indicating where ancient houses had once stood, and headed toward the wide glass doors that were still locked at this
"Who's there?" She shouted. The silhouette moved in an odd way, the way shadows change their shape against a wall, a skulking, undulating movement. It made no response. She couldnt see any details in the low light, not even sure whether it was male or female. "This is a restricted area, municipal employees are... Jack!" As she spoke, the figure suddenly rushed her. The confined space made it difficult to maneuver. It tried to tackled her as it flew past. She deftly sidestepped the attack but caught her heel on the sloped floor, pitching forward. It shoved her down into the water before taking off upstream towards Jack. "Charlie!" He saw her light go out and vaguely saw two shapes struggling. He strode towards her, the water pulling against his legs. "Look out!" She coughed and gasped as soon as she could get her head above water. The figure had rushed passed her and was headed upstream. She had dropped her light and couldnt see anything but Jacks beam shining into her eyes from a distance. She threw her hand up to sheild against the blinding light and lurched towards him against the current, trying to catch her assailant before it could reach him. A moment later, Jack had reached her and was grabbing her arm to offer support. She coughed a few more times, spitting gritty water out of her mouth and nose. "Where did he go?" She looked around, finally grabbing Jacks light from his hand and shinning it up and down the tunnel. She was sure shed seen the figure run upstream towards Jack, but now he was nowhere to be seen. She didnt understand. How had he slipped away so fast? "Are you alright?" "Did you see him? Where did he go?"
“You ever seen a blood sacrifice, son?” Mr. Pocket asked, his face grim. Captain Breight wheezed with laughter. "We have something a little like it back home,” Bayle offered. “The first time a new recruit draws blood on a piece of machinery, they're considered a true miner. Assuming the injury isn't too severe, it's said that the ship accepted them as crew. I can't even remember mine. Dad says it was a pinch from reloading a bit, but Mom says it was this gash on my arm from scraping too close to a portal, like a dumbass." He raised his arm to show Nora the barely-visible scar that ran down the side of his forearm. She blinked approvingly, but he found himself suddenly self-conscious. The actual act was nearly a non-event. A few people gathered around Mayor Alder at the podium and eventually she lifted up a hand to show everyone a pinprick that was too far away for anyone to really see, before plunging her hand into a gallon of apple brandy. The gallon was promptly taken outside and not seen again. With her finger cleaned and bandaged, she then announced the dances.
Octopus. Red
Moray eel with its characteristic grumpy face.
A sea-turtle
A dark, roiling sea.
Two dolphins.
Sand dollar marked "alive". It is brown and round with a star shape on the top.
Cover of The Gerzean Blade by Scarlet Mitchell. An enlarged stone knife stands in the middle of a road like a monolith. On the sunny left side of the image, a woman leans against a car with a map in her hand beside a grassy plain. She gazes thoughtfully across the knife the the dusky sunset right side of the image, where the St. Louis skyline glitters in the distance.
Picrew of a blond woman with a high ponytail, a braid across her forehead, a grin, and a knife.
She made her way briskly down the rear skybridge behind the archive. It was less ornate than the main passages, intended more for staff than guests, but still held its charm. There seemed to be nothing on board that didn’t display the decadence and legacy of the wealthy family who’d created it as their refuge. Turning to the right from the rear lobby on the first ring, she quickly got an overwhelming sense of going backstage, surrounded by storage closets and pantries, the walls more plain and functional. Cooking smells hit her nose well before she caught sight of the kitchen, and her stomach growled a little from her light breakfast. The chef was humming, already at work on something. To her surprise, it was Mr. Chevaliet himself working an auto-pot on the hot-tray alone as she watched through the scullery pass-through
"These are going to be a hit with the harvesters!" Yuli proclaimed with her mouth full. "Hoping they'll be a hit with everyone. Harvest season is a long way off yet." "What's it like? Harvest season?" Bayle popped another nugget in his mouth and considered the menu glowing behind Solomon's shoulder. "You haven't been through here during a harvest season?" "I came on last year just after, I think." "Ah, well, it gets pretty nuts. You'd think half the people in the Commonwealth were coming through the orbital. The rings are packed. The population of Avalon doubles at least. It gets even worse when tourist season starts cuz they're overlapping with the harvesters." "What's there to see down there, anyways?" "Haven't you been down?" "Not yet." "I suppose... it's been winter since you got here, not so much to see. But it's really beautiful now that things are warming up. In the fall, all the trees turn colors and drop their leaves. Tourists spend thousands and thousands to spend a week in the cute little
A blindingly bright peridot green blazer
Moodboard for Rooted in Stone, sapphic Gargoyle YA Urban Fantasy- A stone face with its mouth open, like a fountain. A crow surrounded by twinkling stars. A stone angel in an attitude of contemplation, as on a grave. A stone hallway, like in a cathedral, leading to a pretty window. Colorful twinkling pastel lights, out of focus.
Moodboard for the Gerzean Blade. Tagline “Bones she could handle. Flesh was another matter… Images include crime scene tape, a library, a hand caressing Egyptian hieroglyphs, cuneform writing, a low shot of a long road, a hand sticking out of mud, an archeologist picking at a find in the ground, a broken car window.
Moodboard for Rooted in Stone. Tagline: She thought her heart was stone… it would take a gargoyle to prove her wrong… Large central image is a doorway in a very dark, arched hallway of an old stone building. The huge, heavy oaken door is cracked halfway open to the outside. Outside, we see a very bright, vividly colored rainbow of sparkling light starbursting to halo the door, clearly a strange and wondrous land beyond, which contrasts with the moody shadows of the interior. Around the edge of this image, as a backdrop, are, the buckles of a lesther jacket, crows flocking around the steeples of a misty church, statue of an angel clasing hands over heart and peering at the sky, a dark-skinned mermaid with a turquoise tail, a girl in half-shadow glaring out at the viewer, a crow perched on a fencepost.
CHAPTER 1 Gargoyles A large crow burst into the sky from the chapel roof in a soft cacophony of black wings. Helena Ogilvie examined the building, assessing the seventeenth-century carvings as the shadow of the bird passed over her. The chapel loomed over campus, a great gray silhouette cutting across the afternoon sun. She propped her phone against the haunches of an elegant griffin statue to catch a video. Music pumped in her ears as she lined up for a run at the wall. She smacked into it face-first, catching herself with her hands and pushed back. Then she made another test run with a jump-kick. Her boot thudded against the stonework, lifting her body satisfyingly into the air, weightless, but not quite high enough for a flip, and landed on her feet neatly. People liked to remind her that her thick-soled, knee-high boots weren’t made for this kind of thing, but she practically lived in them and had proven their assumptions wrong time and again, for years. Another run and another jump, a little higher this time. A fourth run and she threw her hips up, but her body panicked in the air and wouldn’t let her finish the maneuver, sending her to the hard stone on her rear. Her elbow scraped on the granite and she nearly slid down the time-worn grand stairs. She caught herself against the bottom of
Cover for The Gerzean Blade by Scarlet Mitchell. A giant stone knife stands in the middle of the road like a monoliths. Woman on the grassy, sunny left side leans against her car with a map gazing perplexed across to the dusky sunset right side and the St. Louis skyline.
Photography assignment,” Helena muttered. She tried to conjure a more up-beat attitude but failed. She liked her roommate, but struggled to perform the geniality she felt was expected. Genevieve didn’t seem to mind and just nodded, looking around the garden as if admiring her choice of subject. Then she paused with a delighted smile, looking over Helena’s shoulder. “Oh hey, look! A cat!” Helena spun. “Here kitty, kitty…” Genevieve squatted down and put out a hand in invitation. The gray cat with the crumpled ear crouched among the flowers. As soon as it realized it had been spotted, however, it scooted nervously around the corner with its tail tucked between its legs and dashed off. “I think I saw that cat last night,” Helena remembered. “What cat?” Genevieve stood up, giving her roommate a baffled look. “That one… The one that just ran off?” “There’s a cat on campus?” “Uh… yeah… um… I think it’s a stray.” “Oh. Cool. I’ll have to keep an eye out. I’ll, um… I’ll see you later.” “Right.” She managed to offer her a friendly half-smile as Genevieve continued on her way. That was weird, right? Helena spent a moment walking around the building, but the cat did not reappear.
A poem tucked to the far left justification. The word “End” is centered at the bottom. A song of black wings- The color of night Unfurled in flight Of the past they whisper And sparkle with every light They sing of forever, forever A feather in every hand Everywhere across the land To lift our hearts together.
Five buttons on a ribbon. From the top, cherries, "Museum Nerd" an elephant, "she/her" and a promo button for the local indie radio station in Milwaukee.
noticed or cared about her night wanderings. Helena struggled into her boots and headed out onto the moonlit campus, intent on jimmying her way into the chapel through a back door. If she wanted to figure out what was going on, that seemed like the best place to start. The rainstorm had passed hours ago leaving the night clear and cool, the quad peaceful and empty. Bright lights posted at every bend and corner of campus, however, took a lot of the mystery out of the night. The security cameras that perched like owls on the posts took the solitude out of it. Helena expected this was meant to keep the campus safer, but it took the edge off her late-night excursion to find herself in near daylight, watched. It was all too safe and cozy. Hopes of her cloak helping to keep her hidden, rather than standing out like a shapeless shadow in the permeating lighting of campus, were disappointed. She felt a little like a displaced trick-or-treater. All the lights made her itch. Approaching the chapel, the situation didn’t improve. The way it was lit from the outside reminded her of famous landmarks she'd seen on her trip abroad, as if to make sure that no tourist missed the grandeur even in the dead of night. She sensed her quest was ill-advised. If she was going to investigate the chapel, she’d have to find a more clever way than breaking into it in the middle of the night.
“I'm not sure my opinion is relevant. I may not share their views, but I have never had a negative experience.” Even without having poured over etiquette manuals recently, Bayle knew it was never considered polite to criticize any religion, especially as the TCH were offering to keep his job from shutting down. His misgivings about the church were his own private business, not his employers. “What about those lost ships?” “I don't know, Sir. That was generations ago. I’m given to understand that most templars interpret 'the singularity' as a metaphor these days.” If the church was going to be generous with the Hermitage, Bayle saw no reason not to be diplomatic towards them. “I'm not so sure. It doesn't sit quite right with me. I like their enthusiasm for science and exploration, but I don't much care for their evangelism and isolationism. It feels… if I
vaguely towards the planet below. “Never-mind asking people to jump in from elsewhere in the five galaxies.” “And registering as an accredited full-time school in the commonwealth system…” “Out of the question! We’d be in direct competition with Ambergris University and Grailhead. Even if we had the capacity for that, we’d never pry away the quality of instructors we’d need to make it worth it. I have no interest in making enemies at my age.” The doctor sighed and stared into the distance, his eyes glazed as they peered in the direction of the elaborately decorated wrought-iron cages that held the most precious volumes in his collection. Bayle felt a little helpless. He’d never been a scholar himself, and had little understanding of the intricacies of the academic set. But, being the only two people on board the lonely station, there was no one else for his employer to bounce ideas off of.
Chapter 2 Bayle Chevaliet hummed pleasantly to himself as he set the fine silver tea service on the matching silver tray and opened the brass filigree door to the dumb-waiter. The car was gone. Again. He smacked a white-gloved hand onto the counter and glared down the passage, but the impossibly long, dark tunnel was not designed to be glared down and revealed nothing. Unfazed, he pulled his favorite rolling cart from its dock. Cheered by its familiar rattle, he headed for the rear skybridge, passing through a lobby that had been cleverly designed to transform into an escape pod. Should the need arise, it could come detached from the station, whisking its baroque settee, rich burgundy carpeting, and gilt-framed paintings right along with it. A jaunt up the long tunnel that led to the second ring of the station brought him to an identical lobby, this one carpeted in a deep blue. He eyed the antique deep-space hard-suit that stood in the alcove like a suit of armor. The suit eyed him right back through the dirty glass and wisps of cobwebs, accusingly. He’d been meaning to get into the unit and clean it, but just hadn’t had a chance yet. The suit was no longer suitable for its intended purpose, and even today’s standard emergency suits would never fit his bulk in any case. There had been discussions about switching them out for functional ones, in case of disaster, but there was a lot yet to be done on the station, and his employer still struggled with the idea of disposing of or selling off any of the station’s antiques.
Jack lay back, pulled the coverlet up to his chest, and closed his eyes, determined to make the most of the night and try to get just enough sleep to be functional in the morning. He'd need all his wits to get them home safe. "Good night, Charlie," he muttered. "Good night, Jack," She chirped. He tried to relax into the way-space between alert consciousness and sleep, but his companion bounced around looking for a comfortable position. A dog barked as a horse clopped by outside. He intentionally steadied his breathing and finally Charlie lie still. There was blessed silence for a moment, but something felt off and he peeked over at her. She was facing him, eyes open, looking very beautiful, her flaxen hair tousled on the fluffy feather pillow. Uh oh. Now is a very bad time for stupid ideas like looking at me with those sparkling green eyes in the darkness... "You know," She said, innocently, "fleas can be a problem in these old style mattresses." Jack turned towards the ceiling and clapped his eyes firmly shut again. "You're not going to talk me into sleeping on the floor. Sorry." "Of course not. You'd get nibbled by the rats." His eyes flew open, glaring at the bare ceiling beams. "Go to sleep," he snapped. A moment later and still feeling her eyes on him, he turned in irritation. "You're forgetting something very important,” he growled. "What's that?" "You have to deal with me all day tomorrow, and you know what I'm like without my beauty sleep." She giggled, conceding the point and rolled over. "Sorry. Sleep tight..." There was a single breath of peace, then a light *snirk* "No." "Don't let the..." "Shut up." "... bed bugs bite! *snirk*" (Not enough room for the whole snip, but she tickles him and it makes him mad, then they just fall asleep.)
Two clips of banter. First= Jack pulled up to hide behind a dumpster and catch his breath. “How did I get involved in this mess?” He gasped. “This was your idea!” Charlie accused. “No, it wasn’t. I was a psychiatrist!” He lamented. “And Im a head case… Go team!” She flashed him a manic grin and two wild thumbs-up. “We gotta go,” she continued, dropping the smile and grabbing his wrist… Second clip: Jack: Meanwhile you’re The Bride of Frankenstein over here… Charlie: The bride? THE BRIDE!? J: Well, you know what I mean… C: Yeah, that I died, someone stole my body, and now here I am making your life difficult, but I am no bride, you sexist POS! There was none before me! I am the Eve to no ones grotty Adam! I am THE MONSTER… the OG! J: Sorry, sorry… C: Not to say I wouldn’t fuck a monster… J: Don’t need to hear about all that…
Brian could comment on this revelation, Talia nearly dropped her phone when it buzzed with a message from Brace. “Are you still in?” it asked. Uh oh. “Yeah, why?” she typed back. When the answer came, it was a single word, in all caps. “BAIL!” “Out. Now,” she said to Brian, pocketing her phone and sliding the drawer closed. Talia shut off the lights and looked through the conference room toward the exit. The showroom seemed clear. They shut the archive doors behind them. Nothing could be done about locking them. They repeated the process, holding their breath and peering through the showroom toward the lobby before passing through the next doorway. Talia put a hand on Brian’s chest to keep him from rushing out into the lobby. She looked toward the windows, trying to see as much as she could outside, but it was a poor view. “Talia… I think that's smoke.” She followed his gaze and saw it, smelled it. Gray-white smoke drifted down from the plastic grate overhead, oozing out of the ventilation system like a sinister whisper. “Huh,” she said. “Yeah. I think you’re right. Where’s it coming from?” There was a faint sound, like the rapid patter of rain through the ventilation system. The building. The building is on fire. Where is the alarm? Smoke was quickly gathering along the ceiling in the lobby. “Go!”
“Have you rested well?” He asked. She nodded, lying to his face. He apparently hadn’t been observing the loft last night. “Good. It’s important to recharge after a battle like that. I understand your energy was drawn upon.” She shrugged, not quite sure what that meant. “The spectral energy we use has some limits. We are in this world at the sufferance of Sola who feeds us, replenishing our energy. That’s why most of our guardians reside on the exterior of the chapel, within reach of sunlight. Those of us who make the interior of the chapel our home must use alternative means. In my case, it is an ideal situation, since shadow energy works quite differently than…” “What’s Sola?” Helena interrupted, tired and still trying to catch up. Julian looked at her quizzically for a second, then caught himself. “The um… Oh… of course. If I may explain…” Helena examined Julian’s face and noted the similarities it bore to one of the cherubs she’d seen peeking through the woodwork. He cleared his throat. “The story begins before time itself, when there was only the Darkness…” His voice changed, taking on a heightened, formal mannerism similar to her professors in the hobbit-hole lecture halls.
"Atheism doesn't preclude biases, it merely changes their flavor. No one is perfect, Ms. Montgomery." "Charlie, please. We don't have to be formal. I never much liked my Dad's name anyhow.” He half turned to eye her up and she grinned at him. She was pretty confident she could roll with whatever this partnership turned out to be, as prickly as he seemed. The doors opened and he stepped out, turning to the right. "This is me, here... us, rather," he pointed at the first door they came across, then hesitated before entering. She waited for a moment as he gathered his thoughts, something in his face changing, irritation falling away a bit. "I've been rude, Ms... Charlie. I apologize for how I've been speaking to you." Though he still held his head at a proud angle, his eyes seemed genuine, meeting hers properly for the first time. She scoffed through her grin, waving off the apology. "Don't worry, I’m used to it. You’ll find I have a high tolerance for verbal abuse and disregard. You’re about to tell me I've come to the right place…” she winked and laughed gamely. This made him turn fully towards her, some concern in his face. “No, of course not. You don't deserve to be spoken to that way. I'd like to apologize and start over. I'm Jack Carter," he said, extending a hand to shake. "Charlie," she answered, accepting the gesture, just as thrown now by his sudden tone shift as she had been by his original coldness. "It's nice to meet you, Charlie, and I look forward to working together." "Same," she grinned. For the first time, Jack answered with the slightest of soft smiles and a small nod, then swept a long arm towards the office like a magician revealing his latest trick. "And here we are. It's a bit more cramped than some of the offices around here, but
Two electric guitars hanging on hooks behind my front door, offset from each other neatly. One is a red stratocaster style, the other a black Les Paul style.
A terrible scrawl of a highly elliptical orbit around a poorly scribbled sun. There are notes around the orbit that are largly illegible due to my awful handwriting but you might pick out words like "First Winter" and "Second Summer" along with notes like "4-5 wks" or "2months"
Brian was having a hard time understanding what this woman did as a job or if she knew how linear time worked. “Ma’am, I don’t know how to explain to you that we won’t be able to get vanilla orchids to you today. One or two if we have several weeks to prepare, but it’s just not physic…allly….” Brians voice dropped off as he watched the two women walk out the door and heard the little bell ‘ding’. Far too short a visit to have provided any sort of bridal showcase. A bad sign. And Jasmine was nowhere in sight. “Damn.” “What did you just say to me? Are you refusing to serve us!” The woman’s voice had gone shrill and loud. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but vanilla orchids are physically impossible to get for you right now. I don’t know what else to say. We have other flowers that might…” “No! It’s the Tahitian ambassador! We need those orchids!” “Ma’am, please, if you could lower your voice, I can hear you better if you don’t shout.” Brian was very puzzled. Laying 200 extremely rare orchids that may have been illegally obtained in front of a representation of the nation from which they had possibly been stolen seemed like a diplomatic no-no, but Brian was a simple florist, so what did he know? “I’m supposed to get orchids! What the hell am I going to do if I cant get…” The woman was in full panic and Brian pulled the phone away from his ear. Now, Jasmine suddenly appeared next to him and slammed a pot onto the counter overflowing with flowers. “Jasmine.” She hissed. Her own name. “What?” “Jasmine,” she repeated. Had she gone potty? He stared at her. Had he gone potty? Then he spotted it, the pot. It was overflowing with white star Jasmine. “How much you wanna bet the governor has never seen a vanilla orchid?” “…And I’ll be reporting you to the better business bureau-” “Ma’am, ma’am, I have some good news ma’am. Turns out we just got a shipment of orchids in and we can get napkin rings for you tonight. I’ll just bill the offices, will that be satisfactory?” “What?”
Awkward sketch of a planetary orbit around a badly sketched sun. Marks all around that are somewhat unintelligible because of my bad handwri5ing, but there are numbers like "2 months" or 4-5wks"
have been the one freaking everyone else out. No one’s gonna hit me without making all the girls on staff mad. That’s another thing I don’t mind so much. The attention from the ladies makes living on black olives and green peppers almost worth it. I honestly can’t remember how it ended up this way. Some days I’m pretty sure it’s just always been my life, living like a squatter in the kitchen of a Shakey’s pizza. Did I have a life before this? But then sometimes I do remember. How else would I notice the way Steph’s clothes fit her. That’s not normal thoughts for someone like me… and I’m pretty damned sure I don’t remember being around others like me, either. You’d think I’d remember parents or something. Or being bottle fed, or something. I dunno. It’s warm and safe here. Well, mostly safe. If anything happened to me, everyone knows the early crew would avenge me, so I just try to stay out from underfoot during rush and otherwise, everything’s pretty good. I know I wouldn’t make it on my own. I wandered around the back alley one time and it was… well, shall we say… a hostile environment. Usually, I hide under the salad station during shift, but at night, when the lights are out and everything’s turned off, I go ahead and curl up on top of the ovens after they’ve cooled a bit. It’s warm up there and Jackson will give me a hug in the morning when she pulls me down
green velvet carpet. The next time he saw Nora, she was among the crowd, shouting orders like a drill sergeant at the delighted children, who fell in line, giggling with anticipation of the first game. Then they were off, parents cheering as their kids raced chaotically back and forth with long strings of colorful ribbon in a contest that Bayle had very little understanding of. He joined in the shouts, egging on Darrett and Darly as they ran around with murder on their faces to best their neighbors and friends. The only way he knew who had won was by the jumping and shrieking of the winners and Darly’s prominent pout. It had been a while since he’d thought about what it would be like to have kids, but his immediate feeling of warmth towards the Kildares gave him pause. It was a question for someday, when he wasn’t so worried about whether he’d even have a job three months down the line
please let us know.” The man nodded, but before Charlie could turn to go, Jack was starting his own line of questions. “Have you worked here long?” The man didn’t answer, just gave him a confused look, “I mean you are familiar with the new development over here on River Rd.” “Sure,” the man replied, not seeming to have an opinion about the project either way. “I’d imagine there’s a lot of talk over pints about it, about who it’s good for and who’s lost what.” “Sure,” He shrugged again, not adding anything. “Has there been anyone in particular that seems to have a lot to say on the subject?” The man seemed to grow wary of them a bit and shrugged wordlessly. Jack perching himself onto one of the stools and ordered a pint, despite the early hour. “The reservoir upstream has cut into a number of properties,” Jack continued conversationally, “I’ll bet when those people get a couple of drinks in them they vent their ire.” The man shrugged again, pulling his drink. Charlie took a seat next to her colleague, waiting on his lead. “You’d be surprised. Not too many of those old codgers are worried about loosing land.