Alphabet Drabble Challenge

F is for Forgiveness, Dorien

Misery awoke with a start as Dorien groaned. It took her a moment to realize that he was dreaming.

“...didn’t mean to…” he muttered, fist clenching and unclenching on the pillow, “Couldn’t… I didn’t see... “

“Dorien…” she said, reaching over to shake him. His hand caught hers and he looked up at her with eyes still shrouded in sleep.

“Forgive me…” he muttered.

“It’s ok, Dorien. I… we forgive you.”

Dorien relaxed his grip and settled back down on the bed, his eyes closed.

Misery sighed and placed one hand gently on his scarred shoulder.

“Now forgive yourself,” she whispered.

As much as she wanted to help Genevriel overcome her dependence on alcohol, Lathra did have a few difficult moments herself during the time Gen stayed with her. Clearing her home of liquor was perhaps the hardest part. She couldn't bring herself to simply dump it down the sink and waste it, especially not the numerous expensive bottles of gin she had acquired from generous patrons and friends.

Instead, she took a crate to work, bringing the collection to Neva. "Donation?" the bartender asked with a smile.

"Maybe we could think of it more as a long-term loan, Neva dear?"

Genny was chattering a mile a minute as the chauffeur drove at a significantly slower velocity, but Maddox didn’t mind. He hadn’t seen her so animated since one of their last deep philosophical discussions on a hill overlooking Arguvan a lifetime ago.

“And then Miel turned on those stray dogs, and they high-tailed it! She was such a good mama, she wouldn’t let anything bad happen to little Jonquil. Miel’s… twenty-one this year. And I suppose she must have outlived her daughter…” Genny’s excitement subsided, then rekindled. “But Miel’s alive! And I get to see her today thanks to you.”

It was nearly time to open the gates to the temple courtyard. Lathra and several other mi’ir, as well as some arads who had spearheaded the donations drive among their wealthier congregation, had spent the morning setting out and ordering all the donated items in a logical, if not exactly aesthetically pleasing fashion. Most of the second-hand items would be very useful to the poorer denizens of the Shade, but a few illegal potted plant cuttings were being surreptitiously removed.

“Ready?” Lathra asked the others, and when they agreed she officially opened the First Annual Interdenominational Serpent Church Jumble Sale.

Zola found it eerie looking at herself, since she wasn’t looking at a reflective surface, but a doppelganger of sorts.

“What do you think?” her spitting image asked in a voice that was not Zola’s.

“Creepy, but also kind of fun. Your voice, though…”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Ysabeau replied, then changed its timbre. “Good evening, friends! And please welcome my good pal, Mico! This one’s for you, Danielle!”

“Okay, now that is really creepy. And it’s Denise.”

“Years of training. And sorry – Denise!” Zola-Ysabeau smiled apologetically. “You’re sure you’re all right with me being you?”

“Well… For an hour, anyway.”

Z is for Zipper

Modern fashion, Hugo felt, was a boon for a gentleman inclined to clandestine assignations. Short dresses could be conveniently slipped off, or at least up, with great facility. In present circumstances, he and his partner, a cabaret patron of exquisite beauty as well as taste, had opted for the simplicity of the latter.

The extended backstage tour having come to a close, the pair were rearranging themselves, she straightening her stockings before tending to her smudged makeup, and he appreciating the advances in men's fashions and the simplicity of doing up his zipper rather than messing about with cumbersome buttons.

O is for Oblivious

Misery wiped her brow. They had been cooped up in Dorien’s bedroom all day hunched over beakers. She’d had enough for today.

“It’s really hot in here…” she said, coyly.

“Mmmm…” he replied, not looking up.

“I think I’ll take my shirt off…”

“Mmmm…”

Misery sighed and pulled the shirt up over her head. She put a hand on her hip and cleared her throat, expectantly.

“Maybe open a window…” Dorien muttered.

She stalked up behind him and grabbed his shoulder, making him look up.

“Dorien, if you’re not fucking me in thirty seconds, they’ll never find the body.”

“...Yes, Ma’am.”

S is for Safe

There was something nice about coming home to walls that has stood in the same spot for thousands of years, after scrabbling around in the dark with Georn as his only human company. Enver wasn't sure which was worse in the undercity – the things he knew about or the ones he didn't. Maybe it was the uncertainty about what he might encounter. Home was stable, and safe.

Even more than the ancient stone, though, when Denise wrapped her arms around him and held him close, Enver feel secure and protected, like there was nothing in the world to worry about.

Of all the things that Maze expected to see in the city's sewers, a tiny red-haired girl was fairly low on the list. "What are you doing here?" he asked her, once they'd both gotten over their surprise at encountering one another.

"What're you doin' here?" she retorted, crossing her arms stubbornly.

"Keeping the city safe. So that people don't come down here and get hurt."

She looked skeptical. "Maybe stupid people'd get hurt. Not me, though. I'm a treasure-hunter."

"Oh yes, I can tell you're an expert," he agreed, smiling. "How about you show me how you got in?"

Denise and Enver were sneaking up on a mushroom fairy, intent on catching it so someone – Aubrienne…? - could experiment with curing the Blight before it was too late.

Ahead, Enver stopped, urgently signalling Denise to move forward. The mushroom fairy’s pungent, earthy smell filled her nostrils, nearly choking her with its strength. Her ears caught a soft, pulpy footstep in the black tunnel ahead, and she ran towards it. Contact! As Denise grappled the thing, it started to glow with a sickening greenish light. Mushrooms unfurled into vile tentacles and Denise looked up into the Princess-Imperial’s ghastly, grinning face.

E is for Extravaganza!

"I just don't see the point of such a huge production without there being a real star," Lydienne said, effectively trapping Theo in her dressing room by leaning in the doorway.

"If you want to think that way," he tried diplomatically, "it was Zola's idea..."

She waved a hand. "That just makes her a producer. She'll be too busy with other matters to really do her...best. I'd hate to see her fail under so much stress."

"I have more confidence in her ability to perform under pressure," he said firmly. "Besides – this extravaganza is meant to be an ensemble production."

V is for Veteran

War had been good for him. He'd come to know himself in those three years, and he'd had a place where that was just who he could be.

Coming home had been an adjustment. There wasn't as much space to breathe. He'd had to be more careful, and he still hadn't been able to hold on to everything he'd had before he left.

It had been a year since the end of the war. Guydain raised his glass to lost freedoms, but he wasn't resigned. He had many advantages – he could yet find a way to stay true to himself.

P is for Peace, Gen

Like clockwork, Genny would be waiting outside of the Military Justice building between Maddox’s workday ending and hers beginning. “You’re going to catch a chill if you keep this up,” he chided her. “You could wait inside where it’s warm, at least.”

“No… I don’t want to start any rumours.”

“Too late; my mystery friend’s already the most popular topic at coffee breaks. That, and how well-rested I look. Theories abound.”

Genny blushed and smiled, then prayed to her One. “There, all done. I wish I could do more…”

“I know. But - thank you for each little slice of peace.”

B is for Bewildered, Jean-Faust

This world often left Jean-Faust bewildered. Instead of rain, a thunderstorm might bring a shower of tiny yellow frogs, or drifts of sparkling dust with a scent of lilacs. Sunsets seemed to last forever, tinting the sky gold, scarlet, purple, colours without names. He was also somewhat fuzzy on how he'd gotten here, honestly. It was like a dream he couldn't wake up from.

But he understood what mattered most: that Eirlys would take care of him, that he would give her whatever she desired. He knew that she needed him, and that he never wanted to leave her side.

"How did you and Xan make it work?" Noren'd had a couple of drinks, so the question was easier. "With you seeing other people."

Justen shrugged. "He's more naturally monogamous, so I had to prove to him that when I went out with someone else, it didn't mean I didn't love him. It took communication, and patience, and once, him tying me to the bed and demonstrating with great force that he didn't want me to go out that particular evening."

"I... suppose that could work," Noren said, wide-eyed. "But I hope I don't have to do it every night."

Adelise was always professional, always intent on the job at hand, and just a little terrifying. She never joined the other lawyers for a drink after work. So Noren was surprised when she produced the bottle of whiskey from her desk.

"You did a good job," she told him as she poured them each a glass. "We wouldn't have won the case without you."

"Thanks," Noren said, blushing. "It was an honour working with you, Mlle. de Beziers."

"Oh," she said, smiling, "you're not finished working yet."

Soon they were entwined on the floor together, drinks forgotten on the desk.

A is for Alone - Clovani

With little to do for the moment, Clovani had begun exploring the ice palace, starting from the top and ending up at the lowest level, set deep into the bedrock. There he found a door that hid an abandoned forge, rusted with neglect but still serviceable.

“Oy!” he exclaimed, “Birdbrain, come look at…”

He turned to the empty corridor behind him.

“Oh. Aye…” he muttered, “Well… ye’d’ve loved it anyways…”

He sighed and stepped inside. With the snap of his fingers a tiny flame flared in his palm. He placed it carefully into the furnace and began to feed it.

Ylva had never been so far from her grove before she came to the Hollow Hall. It was noisy, crowded, and full of strangers. Initially, the constant activity was exciting - she could always find a dance partner or someone to enjoy a conversation. Being one of Lamis' chosen companions gave her a certain prestige, and most people courted her favour.

Eventually, though, flattery and charm wore thin, and the never-ending party tired her. She still liked Lamis, but she liked less having to share him with everyone. She began to long for the quiet, cool calm of her home.