Alphabet Drabble Challenge

Post your finished drabbles here and I will cross them off the list!

V is for Vodare - Aubrienne

“Vodare?” Dorien asked, giving Aubrienne a strange look.  “Not exactly your usual...”

For her part, Aubrienne looked equal parts tired and worried.

“Do you have it, Dor?” she asked, sighing.

“Uh, yeah, I’m pretty sure I do,” Dorien replied, rummaging through his supplies.  “Yeah, here we go.  This is a big month for it, what with end of term at the Castalia.”

Aubrienne took the vial, giving it a long-suffering look.  She hadn’t slept well since the attack, and she wouldn’t until she was ready for that fey son of a bitch.

“What’s it for?” Dorien asked.

“Peace of mind.”

K is for Kill, Ralf

It wasn’t that Ralf enjoyed killing. It was a job, and really it wasn’t much different than being a soldier. Sometimes problems just needed solving.

He was good at that.

He’d seen enough people that enjoyed it to know the difference. You could see it in their eyes; in the way they lingered over a kill just a little too long. The war had been full of that type. But that kind of thinking got in the way. It made you sloppy. He was more professional than that..

But then, there was nothing wrong with taking pride in your work.

P is for Penguin, Zola

“You want me to do what?” exclaimed Zola, eying the bizarre costume.

“Wear it. Sing a few innocent songs. Just for an afternoon. You’ll bring some sparkle to the eyes of poor little war orphans. You don’t want to let down the war orphans, do you?” Hector asked.

“So it’s a benefit concert. What kind of creature did you say this was?”

“Penguin. Some flightless bird that lives on a snow-covered waste of an island. It won’t just be you.  All the band musicians will be penguins too.”

“It does look kind of like a tux…”

“Yeah, you’ll be cute.”

Y is for Yams - Denise

“I don’t know,” Denise offered skeptically, eyeballing the strange vegetables her uncle had dropped off.  “What are they?”

“Yams,” Serge-Yves replied cheerfully, amused at Denise’s wariness.  “We’ve been eating them for months now.”  He paused, adding, “I promise, they’re safe.”

“Bake, fry, boil; what’re we talkin’ here?”  Denise asked.  She gingerly picked one up,  still not entirely convinced of their wholesomeness.

“Whatever you want, Den,” Serge-Yves responded, suppressing a laugh.

“Well, there’s some leftover roast, so some bubble and squeak would do,” Denise said, mostly to herself.  She was grumbling about ‘weird carrot-potatoes’ as her uncle made a judicious retreat.

R is for Redhead

Zola opened her dressing room door with a smile and gave a twirl as Hugo stepped inside.

"What do you think, dear? Will this outfit knock 'em dead or what?"

He frowned. "You know you always look stunning, but I'm not certain about that wig."

Zola fluffed her cherry-coloured bob and turned up her nose. "You might be taking your issues with redheads a teensy bit too far, Hugo dear – I look adorable!"

Hugo raised his hands in placation. "Oh no no! That's not it at all, Zola darling! It's much more serious than that – it clashes with my scarf!"

W is for Wait - Gen

In the army they had a saying: It’s not the shells that will break you, it’s the seconds between them. Gen was beginning to realize that applied to civilian life too. Each day she woke with a strange combination of dread and eagerness, and each night she went to sleep with an icicle of doubt in her heart. At least the drinking had helped pass the time. Soon she wouldn’t even have that.

“Maybe today.” That was what she told herself every morning. “Maybe today the shell will fall and I’ll finally know.”

So far today had yet to come.

M is for Money - Puce

“I’m telling you, with your brains and my contacts… it’s easy money, man. In a year you could have more bread than you know what to do with.”

Dorien nodded. The idea was intriguing, and he certainly needed funds right now.

“What kind of profit margins are we talking?” he asked the scruffy man across from him.

“Eighty percent, minimum,” Puce said, grinning, “And you never have to sell a gram if you don’t want to. I’ll handle that end.”

“What about startup cost?” Dorien asked, “Who’s gonna bankroll this operation?”

“Don’t even worry about it. I’ll handle that, too.”

S is for Shitfaced, Gen

Back at her boarding house with empty silence closing around her again, the voices in Genevriel's blood became deafening as if to make up for lost time. But she still understood only four words: We are all one.

The notebook in which she’d been keeping track of drinks fell to the floor, forgotten, as she downed glass after glass. “What do you want from me?!” she cried.

She tore off her gloves and stared at her hateful, hideous arms. The voices had come with the mark. Without the mark, maybe they’d go?  She grabbed her bread knife and began sawing.

B is for BABIES

(I was aiming for Nattering and hit Babies instead)

Korisse's jaw dropped when she opened the package. "Oh Hettie! It's beautiful!"

Her friend had asked her for hand-me-downs for her brother's child, and Korisse hadn't suspected any ulterior motives. Every scrap of the quilt she now held brought back some memory of her daughter's earliest years.

Hettie chuckled, looking pleased. "It's always nice to put in work for someone who appreciates it-"

Korisse interrupted with a fierce hug, sniffing back tears.

"It's the most wonderful, thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me."

"Shucks, girl – it's just a quilt..."

"It's not 'just' anything. It's wonderful. And you're a wonderful friend."

C is for Challenge

"I was thinking some big feather plumes, and silver sequins on the bodices to really catch the light," Gabby continued, glancing over a Hettienne.

"You should have plenty of that sort of thing already."

"Not that match for all the girls. Besides, they've all been used and reused so many times, no one finds them exciting any more. I want to use something new."

"New, eh?" Hettie's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "When are you planning to open this big new number?"

"Beginning of the month?" Gabby grinned at Hettie's scowl. "Don't be like that – you’re always saying you like a challenge!"

Haft was disposable. He and his fellow warforged were built to stand in the place of human soldiers, to take the bullets and spells that were meant for them.

"Why would they do this?" he asked Sgt. Charlier. "Why would they make us feel if we're only going to feel pain?"

"Beats me," the sergeant said. "I guess you needed to be able to think, and it's hard to think without feeling - humans who can do that, well, aren't quite human."

"So being created to die makes us... more alive?"

"No different than the rest of us," Geff agreed.

I is for Indecent.

"I'd like to place a complaint about the last act."

Tits didn't recognize the woman who had stormed into her office, but she already disliked her. "Oh really."

"Yes! That woman's assistant was completely indecent!"

"That is rather the point," she replied icily.

"Having one of those.... people on stage, all exposed like that! I like a good bit of fun, but no one wants to see that much grey flesh. Indecent and disgusting."

Tits looked over at Geff and Haft as they appeared in the doorway. "Escort this woman out, please. We're not interested in catering to her kind."

Denise had a suspicion that Enver wanted more from her than just holding hands. She'd heard her mother's warnings about moving too fast, and the consequences that could follow, and she knew she wasn't ready for any of that yet. Mireva told her that there were fun things you could do without going all the way, but she wasn't sure she was ready for those quite yet either.

Besides, sometimes she had the feeling that the 'more' that Enver wanted might be something more important than sex. For now, though, he seemed happy to wait for her, and hold hands.

U is for Ultimatum, Gen

After her first highly distressing scouting mission, Private Doucette was wandering dazed through the encampment when a hand closed on her shoulder and spun her roughly around. “Look what’s back! It’s Man-thing. We’ve been taking wagers, Doucette – do you have a cock in your pants or a cunt?”

A knife whistled through the air and planted itself in the wood just shy of her attacker’s ear. “Doucette’s ours, Talbot. Fuck with her and you fuck with us. Come on, Doucette.”  

As Spider led her away, he whispered “’Course, if you fuck us over, don’t count on my protection next time.”

X is for Xtravaganza, Tits

“I think you need to shake things up a little, Tits. We’re good – all the acts, I mean – but we’re same old same old. You need something new and sizzling hot to draw the crowds back after your run of bad luck.”

“I’m not sure, Gabby. Seems like a risky business.”

“But what’s a business without risk?” both women recited simultaneously, laughing.

“So… what are you thinking?” Tits asked.

“Well you know Mom spent that time in the dream world? There were these fucking erotic performance artists called belldancers…  Find some acts like that, and call it a triple X-travaganza.”

J is for Joy, Dorien

Dorien ran his fingers through Misery’s curls, careful not to wake her. It felt like a long time since he had felt this way about someone; felt that strange mixture of love and lust and comfort. It was a joy that seemed new each time he looked at her or touched her grey skin.

But the elation brought with it a tinge of terror. He had been here before, and each time he’d been hurt. She was right, though. He needed to move on. There was nothing in the past but pain. Only the future held the promise of happiness.

T is for Trance, Aubrienne

Aubrienne exhaled the swirling, blue smoke slowly, her eyes slipping closed almost involuntarily. Colors exploded behind her eyelids, fading into gentle hues that swirled and sank, only to rise again more intense than before. A piece of her consciousness meandered through her own mind, lazily poking at memories, teasing at fantasies, flitting like a breeze down corridors lined with hazy faces and hands that she remembered from long ago. A single gentle voice called to her from across the vast emptiness of time.

Dorien chuckled. She would be gone for at least a few hours, if he was any judge.

O is for Outed, Zola

Zola knew she probably ought to have said something sooner. But Bright was a sweetheart and they were having fun and, maybe a bit selfishly, she didn’t want that to end if it turned out he wasn’t okay with her particular assets. Those assets, however, had a way of making themselves known regardless of her wishes.

Bright was polite enough to look surprised, but he didn’t pull away. “Gosh,” he said instead.

Zola blushed. “I hope it’s not a problem.”

With a playful smile, Bright slid his hand along her thigh and under her skirt. “Not even a little one.”

Z is for Zither, Zola

“Baby, I got it! ‘Zola on Zither’.  It’s got a nice alliterative thing going, that’ll catch everyone’s attention.”

“Hector… NO. I don’t play the zither! And I’m not going to learn it when I know I have the talent to make it big as myself! Are you actually trying to ruin my chances before I even get to shine, or what?”

“Mico baby… You’ve got a good thing going – why ruin it with this woman schtick?”

“My name is Zola, and I’m sure Theo will help me find a more competent agent, if you find that so difficult to understand.”

"So, they're living together? Are they like – together together?" Mireva sounded a little dubious, but just shrugged.

"I guess so? I mean, I ain't never asked or nothin', but they're real close. Why?"

"Well, Ralf never struck me as the type to go for guys, that's all..."

Denise narrowed her eyes. "No it ain't – what?"

"Well... If they were shadar-kai, I'd put money on Ralf bein' with him just to get ahead. But you're gonna tell me it ain't like that."

"Well it ain't. They were close since the war, that's all." Denise scowled. "It ain't like that at all."

"The girls at work are always comin' an natterin' on to me about their problems, like I give two shits. I think they got bets goin' to see if they can get me to do more than yell at 'em."

"I know how that is. People in the business can act quite friendly, but all they really want is someone they can show off, or a name they can drop, I suppose. It's all quite overbearing." Korisse smiled. "It helps, sometimes, to think of what you might say to them, even if I don't dare say it."

Hettie laughed, grinning.

"Lathra, darling, you wouldn't believe things one has to put up with while travelling!" The woman seated across the table sighed dramatically. "Maybe not everyone can afford to buy an entire train car, but otherwise what's the point?"

Lathra smiled politely. She'd accepted the dinner invitation as an opportunity to meet new potential clients, but she could already tell that it was a bust. As with many of the upper class, the guests were more interested in the novelty of a Shadar-kai cleric than in their spiritual health.

Still, the evening wasn't a total waste: the wine was quite excellent.

"The city's too noisy and crowded," Osmyn said. He was nestled against Geff's side, pretending it didn't bother him as his lover smoked a cigarette.

"If you stay here after the war, you'll die," Geff told him flatly, as though that thought didn't stab him through the heart. "Someone will string you up as a traitor."

"So? There are places other than Diablotin. I could go anywhere."

"Are you going to make me say it? I want you to come with me because I love you. There."

Osmyn smiled. "That's a much better reason to put up with the city."

When Argent was taken to the monastery for training, he imagined it would be like a fairy tale. After all, he was a poor orphan and he'd been chosen for a special destiny, to find and slay demons - surely there would be quests and glory and possibly a princess involved too.

As it turned out, there was a princess, but she owned a nightclub where he waited on tables. It wasn't quite what he'd envisioned when he first started down this path. And the demons, he suspected, wouldn't just walk in, order a drink, and wait to be killed.