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1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?
2: What scene did you first put down?
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4: What's your favorite line of dialogue?
5: What part was hardest to write?
6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?
7: Where did the title come from?
8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?
9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?
10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?
11: What do you like best about this fic?
12: What do you like least about this fic?
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14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?
Word count: 895
Pairing: Red/Sybil
Note: I received the prompt a while ago and just finished it recently thanks to the new song.
“Prompt - red and Sybil have a passionate love affair, both having to keep it from their closest friends I.e the camerata and boxer”
In the silence between soirée and sundown they found smiles and stolen kisses. Sybil couldn’t embrace her singer after performances where eager crowds and a diligent bodyguard clamored for attention, Red’s eyes on them, validation, recognition, safety, and more.
There was nothing particularly safe about their liaisons. Two public figures courting each other also courted the attentions of the press and potentially career-ruining scandal. Sybil Reisz and her precious singer could meet for luncheons and tea in quaint cafes while sharing secret smiles, but the real assignations had to wait for when other eyes turned away.
In soundproofed recording rooms Red tightened her grip on platinum curls and traded hungry kisses with her lover. She wrote lyrics bursting at the seams with passion, intimacy, and mysteries, then sang them for ravenous audiences who devoured and begged for more. In the front row sat Sybil, beaming and keeping her peace with the restless listeners. She would let the world hear her lover’s songs. Red’s beguiling voice was too powerful to be consigned to quiet rooms and solitary ears.
Cloudbank demanded its tribute, and the woman in gold filled its stages with melodies to clench the hearts of a million. When the last beats faded away, thunderous applause roared through the Empty Set like a tsunami. It morphed into something more than the people bringing their hands together; the rumble shuddered over the stage as if the building spoke to Red, saying: I am pleased.
-
While the two of them together were smart enough to fool the press, their close friends weren’t so easily diverted. Mistakes had to happen eventually, and someone would be tipped off. A pair of silken underwear like liquid gold, left in a crumpled heap on Sybil’s bed, sparked Royce’s curiosity when he visited the facilities during a meeting. He walked into the middle of the Kendrells’ planning with a spindly thumb rubbing against the smooth lingerie. “Sybil, you… ah, left this.” Her red face and lightning-fast reflexes caused the architect to blink as Asher snorted, leaving her to stalk off with the telltale panties. After they’d closed the plans and sent back stray Process, Grant offered to walk her home. This was presumably to badger her about the incident.
“If you’re seeing someone, you know we’ll be fine with whoever you choose,” came his familiar rumble. “We’ve been, well, I’ve been waiting for you to settle down with a partner for years. You’re a woman of the people, Sybil, and you love intensely.”
“There’s nothing to tell about the situation. I’m happy where I am, partner or no partner.” Her lips pursed in a moue of annoyance. “Rest assured, if I ever do decide to have a serious significant other, then I’ll make sure she believes in our cause.”
“I don’t believe in taking the reins here, Sybil. What I do is for myself. For Cloudbank. Cloudbank in the metaphorical sense, and not the people sense like it is for you.” Burning lips left a bruising mark on Sybil’s skin, making her gasp and tremble. “You shine for everyone.”
“I shine for you,” the blonde promised. “Only you, Red.”
Grant couldn’t know. He’d certainly want to use the songstress. Sybil certainly did: if Red had even once shown a hint of an inclination to be more political about Cloudbank, she’d have immediately invited her lover to join them. Red never showed interest in overhauling the city by force, even if it was for the better.
No. It would be better to keep her out of the way. Let her sing uninterrupted, as a bright spark of hope for meaningful change.
-
The Camerata’s suspicions were nothing compared to Red’s… bodyguard. Sybil always wondered what his Selections were. He seemed to have a sharp eye, a quick tongue, and no compunctions about making her feel as unwelcome as possible. She could see the look in his eyes when he watched over her singer, and understood him better than he might have guessed. Few could avoid the siren-call of Red’s songs, to start. When one managed to get close, she also showed quiet intelligence and easy grace; her self-assuredness made her a pleasure to be around.
He was half in love with her already, of course. Sybil had been in that position once, too. Nevertheless, the socialite made sure he stayed out of the way. He’d never be dear enough to Red for her to care what he felt. And somehow, Sybil couldn’t muster up anything but satisfaction for his thwarted romantic intentions.
-
…Before the green dawn Sybil dreamed of pattering rain and puddles. Her forehead was tucked between Red’s chin and the pillow, giving her enough darkness to continue dozing. Something about the way they meshed in a warm, sprawling tangle of smooth silk and skin sent an incredible ache through her ribs and into her chest. Soon her other half would wake and take the shuttle back to Highrise.
One arm slid around her back to sink slender fingers into pale hair. Red shifted closer as her breathing lightened, seeking warmth in the chilly pre-morning dimness, and Sybil synchronized her own breath into slow, quiet inhales.
She could handle this. The situation might be precarious, but she knew how to walk along the edge and come out unscathed. There had to be a way to keep both Red and her plans for Cloudbank.
Word count: 1638
Main Character: Farrah Yon-Dale
Note: Posting this here to keep a record while I work on my prompt requests.
Over a month!
Thirty-five days!
Two weeks had been what she'd expected, would have been terrible by itself, but this was 2.5 times longer than acceptable. She had to make a petition. Surely Administration would give her a reprieve for what was really a minor transgression, wouldn’t they? Compared to Mr. Shasberg's boasts that he'd fly into the northwest area of Goldwalk this was such a trivial matter. After all, it wasn't as if she was harming any portion of whatever was going on in the O.P.I. district. The skies above, briefly painted a glistening sapphire for the solstice, would never come into contact with any of the city buildings.
As Farrah stalked around the cul-de-sac she rubbed both hands together. There was no need for passersby to see her so discomposed, with her usually dreamy gaze replaced by fury and despair. Her suitor could comfort her, she knew they would. Still, she could handle this on her own.
The prototype electronic canvas lay on some pillows in a corner of her living room where she'd thrown it in a fit of anger, and shame kept it there for now. It still worked, of course, but if another skypainting made itself known she'd be snapped up by the local Administration or the Precinct before she could say "I'm off to the Country." The skypainter could barely stand to go outside where concerned citizens would offer their sincere condolences and remind her about just how much she had lost. What would they know about freedoms denied? All they had to do was vote and make it so.
A nearby terminal's chiming broke her out of her self-pity. Smoothing out her rose colored skirts, Farrah glanced up at the boringly familiar expanse before stepping over. Her pink icon flared then disappeared with recognition, pulling up the personal message portion. The usual ticker text caught her eye, and she glanced down with a disgusted sound.
Re: Petition. The title caught her eye. Before anything else she scanned the sender line.
Administration! And not just any, but one from Central. Administrator Kendrell, the eldest of their number, and most reliable of the bunch. He hadn't been part of the group who'd personally banned Farrah from painting, too, which had to be a plus.
Ms. Yon-Dale, the missive read.
Blatant defiance of front-page directives is no laughing matter, I'm afraid. If one citizen rebels then it paves the way for more to ignore the rules, until the entire power structure we have built and maintained in Cloudbank comes tumbling down. I know that as one of the younger members of our fair city that you've grown up in a different era and have become used to the way things are now. Regardless, Administrative directives are in place for the good of all citizens, and certain actions can undermine the careful balance of power as much as the unrest that simmers in those who dislike the freedom of the absolute vote.
However, I am in complete agreement with you in that you were doing no harm to the closed-off section of Goldwalk. My fellow administrators did not consider all aspects of your skypainting, and they assumed you'd gone much further into the northwest district to actually make your art. It is clear to me that you did not transgress too far into the offline area, and remained safe at all times.
I would like to discuss this matter further with you in person. There are a few ways your sentence could be lightened, but I'll require your full cooperation. --G. Kendrell.
So there was hope! She twirled on the spot, finally gripping the edges of the terminal when her legs tangled up on each other. A weak giggle at her situation was hardly enough of a reaction, but already her fingers danced with a quick reply. He must have been waiting for her; within a minute the screen popped up with coordinates. He'd see her at once! And not a day too soon.
Oh, she should have dressed better! Farrah skipped the two blocks to her house and barreled inside, leaving the door wide open in her wake. The most sensible dress in her wardrobe would be best for meeting an Admin, so she threw it on and grabbed a coat. The canvas went in one pocket and a nearby jar of chemicals weighted the other. Clutching the brush in her fingers, the skypainter used the familiar object to steady herself as she slipped on shoes and headed out. If she had a chance to demonstrate how her occupation worked that could help her case.
Despite her newly found enthusiasm Farrah still skirted the main walkways and docks. People tended to draw erroneous conclusions and gossip at the slightest change of demeanor, and she didn't want the news to spread before anything got settled. This had to go completely right.
The northwest side of Bracket Towers bustled with life ahead of her, but Farrah craned her neck skywards to follow the lines of the buildings. She assumed from the coordinates that the Administrator would take her to a better place to converse once they met up, so presumably he'd meet her here.
A light tap on the skypainter's shoulder made her turn, then beam up at the broad-shouldered man. "Ms. Yon-Dale." The same greeting from the message, of course. Grant Kendrell offered her his arm with a returned smile. "It is a pleasure to see you. Shall we?"
"Certainly," Farrah answered, placing her hand on his elbow before they turned toward a smaller collection of lit buildings. To preface the walk she asked, "How have you been?"
The administrator glanced down at her before giving an appreciative nod. "Much bereft. The skies over Goldwalk miss their favorite artist, as does the city. It's a shame when the chief among us are restricted. Hopefully, though, we'll be able to rectify that." They shared another careful smile.
She had never before entered the building they walked into, which seemed relatively new and rather small. The empty lobby led to a single hallway down which the two of them walked. Her taller companion didn't seem to be interested in more conversation as of yet, so she held back the questions on the tip of her tongue. How much could Farrah's sentence be shortened? Would she be able to demonstrate where she'd gone? Perhaps there was a hope for leniency provided she do something for the city.
In the end they stepped into a room at the back where three other people awaited them. Farrah could certainly recognize the acclaimed organizer and event planner Sybil Reisz, as well as Asher Kendrell who made up the other half of the Kendrells and was an editor of the OVC. The third man escaped her memory. His white coat with odd sleeve symbol and pens in place reminded her of a reporter or architect, perhaps.
All three stood from their chairs when Farrah entered with the Administrator. "Well done, Grant," said Ms. Reisz with a tip of her head to him. He inclined his chin before turning to shut the door.
"Why are they here?" Clear eyes darted between the occupants during her demand. There was no reason for a reporter, a socialite, and an unknown to be here unless they could help with her problem. Perhaps they would portray her as a penitent painter to get on Administration's good side? It was unlikely, but possible.
All four ignored her question, sending a rising tide of irritation into the flush on her face. The dark-haired man pulled an odd device from behind his chair and offered it to the broader man; it was some huge teal and good tool with a red eye in the middle and a triangular hilt. Farrah's frustration mounted as the other Kendrell circled behind her. Why wouldn't they acknowledge her? "What's going on?"
"Sit down." His monotonous order gave her a moment's warning before the editor gripped her shoulders with bruising force and led her to a chair. Seething, the skypainter attempted to push up in vain before settling in the seat.
The unknown member stepped over to help Asher keep her in place. "No use to fight it," he explained, oddly calm and willing to talk with her. "You could say we're, doing you a favor. One... which many would die for."
"Royce." Ms. Reisz gave him a sharp look as she tapped the Administrator's arm. The blonde seemed to hardly notice the fact that her colleagues were pinning Farrah down. Her eyes slid over the wriggling woman without a hitch, as if scanning the crowd for someone important. Something more important than this.
Grant Kendrell stared at Farrah with pity in his dark eyes. The finality sent alarms ringing through her head and she struggled even harder, but no scream emerged during the battle. Every ounce of oxygen seemed to have fled her lungs as Asher and Royce tightened their grips. "I'm sorry, Ms. Yon-Dale. I hope you'll understand when we've changed the city to meet its full potential. You, though, are a crucial step in the process." Her silent expression of outrage met stony gazes. How could they do something like this in Cloudbank?
There wasn't time. Her suitor wouldn't know where she'd gone. No one would know. They'd think she ran off. They'd think—
The blunt blade pierced her breastbone with barely a sound. A ragged breath slid out of her and she slumped, staring at Grant's fingers on the pommel.
Farrah's body felt cold, frozen and numb, like every hint of warmth had been sucked into the object that stuck out of her chest. Before her eyes the world fragmented and came apart, falling down into endless reams of code and building her anew.
Send me a number and I’ll write a micro story using the word or phrase
(creator note: I recommend 3-10 sentences but go for a longer piece if you really feel it! Replace pronouns as needed for the character / point of view)
Hey guys! Wanted to let you know i’m still working on the two prompts i got (both for sybil and red <3) and the first one will be out sometime soon!! Got a lot of stuff on my plate that needs me to pay attention to it first
Word count: 750
Pairing: Red/Sybil
Note: A small piece for a guilty ship.
The balcony from the Terrace Apartments could have overlooked the bay, if it weren’t for the number of buildings that crowded the view. From rounded fence posts that hemmed in the greenery up top one could gaze down into the streets below and plot a route, even if it would be quite a walk to get down to the piers and canals.
Cloudbank floated and thrived on top of the sea; water flowed like lifeblood through its brightly lit arteries and veins. One could hardly move fifteen blocks before meeting a canal or a fountain, Sybil mused mutely as she leaned forward. Of course, boat rides did horrifying things to her carefully combed hair, so she barely got to experience the thrill of zipping around on a personal watercraft.
Sybil heard a rustling of leaves as her companion stepped from the glowing entryway of the apartment to stand at her side. Her shoulders slumped an inch as she dropped the pensive expression for a relaxed smile.
“There’s no need to raise the facade, Sybil.” This female voice was low and pleasant; she’d once likened it to honey that could instantly switch from warm and flowing to cool and crystallized. “There has to be a time when you can be yourself. And if not with me, then when?”
“It’s not always an act,” came the easy reply, “and certainly not when you’re involved.” Technically truth. There was little need to hide herself around the other woman, or at least not any more. Red had always seen through the event planner when she put on her best semblance of sociability. “Really,” Sybil continued airily, “you’re one of the few I can be myself around. It’s nice to not be the Visible Host all the time.” The smile flickered like an open flame before steadying.
A sigh lost itself in a breeze that flew past, then one arm settled around the blonde’s lower back. “You’re never invisible to me. Not who you really are.” Red’s chin nestled into pale curls in the growing gloom, her presence so near that her warmth eclipsed the glow from the golden door. Something about the singer shifted Sybil’s world very slightly, as if the rising tide swept along her beach then receded to pull off the clutter that usually littered it. Her course of life had been irrevocably altered, bent out of shape and fixed into a new course of gravity, one that waxed and waned with Red’s company.
“No, I’m not,” she whispered to the streets below. Red could see through her, in a way that made her squirm uncomfortably with the rawness of exposure. And yet they were together. There had to be something in little Sybil Reisz, subjective Sybil Reisz, that drew the songstress to her above others. Something good in her that she herself couldn’t conceive, perhaps. Someday Red would tell her.
When her elbows grew tired of resting on the fence posts Sybil straightened to face the entrance. That meant Red had to stop leaning over, but she easily moved to rest on the socialite’s front. “Dearest, I can’t lean here or I’ll have a permanent groove in me,” Sybil admonished. At her lover’s pout she conceded, “But we can stay here a little longer.”
Her arms fit snugly around her singer’s waist, making the inches between them seem like nothing. The amber light tangled itself in Red’s hair from this angle then set it aflame in radiance. Those who attended her concerts would never see her with soft smudges at the corner of her eyes from removing her makeup, would never know she went out in a simple nightgown and bare feet, would never hear her turn off the light at midnight and set down her book as Sybil scooted closer between the sheets. Even for her partner’s sake the singer barely gave out information on herself. It wasn’t easy to set aside her questions and analyzing, but when around Red one had to live in the moment.
And that moment, right now, was flawless.
Except for the metal digging into her back. With a shimmy upward Sybil attempted to find a better position as Red chuckled into her collarbone. Her lips thinned and she rolled her eyes, which meant she missed the movement from below until a sinfully soft mouth met her own. The best response to that, of course, was to pull her lover up so they could share a proper kiss. They had the night to themselves, after all.
