#serialephemera

[cobaltash]

Lynesse Deara ~ Half Elf ~ Bard

Lynesse belongs to @serialephemera ! Thank you for playing!

[kmlaney]

A friendship of long-standing note / Adventures and heroes we wrote / At this time of year, / I want to be clear: / Your friendship keeps spirits afloat. // Merry Christmas to you, and a New Year full of peace and plenty!

A limerick for me! Thank you so much!

[brightephemera]

tag test

[kmlaney]

41. comfort food, character of your choice.

First thing that came to mind: Pan Ju Lei and Cookie

She poured the tea. The spout was terrible. It splashed tea on the table and into the saucer--which was no doubt why it was there--saving the tablecloth but making a mess around the cup. Ju Lei set the teapot down with a sigh. She picked up the metal soup spoon--the kind for customers, not the ceramic one she kept to herself--and sampled Cookie’s soup.

It was a nice clear chicken broth. There were some bits of chicken at the bottom along with carrot and peas. Flat noodles--he insisted they were dumplings but they definitely weren’t proper dumplings--swam in the golden liquid. She closed her eyes and savored a second spoonful.

It wasn’t exactly like the soup she remembered as a child. It didn’t have the same vegetables or seasonings or even the right kind of noodle. It was different in nearly every way. Yet, always, it tasted like home. 

Cookie stuck his head in from the kitchen. “So? Soup good?”

“The soup is good,” Ju Lei replied. She set the spoon down for a sip of tea, which was also good despite the lousy teapot.

Cookie snorted. “You always say that,” he said.

“Because it is always good,” Ju Lei said. “It would be better with duck, though.”

“You and ducks. Always ducks,” Cookie grumbled. “You know how hard it is to grow ducks in Nevada?”

Ju Lei smiled over her teacup. “Yes, I do.”

[brightephemera]

The OCs of the Bright!verse. I can talk indefinitely about any one of them.

[kmlaney]

Spotify Wrapped, Prime sampler: 17, 41, 43!

17 is Hurry Up and Wait by the Ben Miller Band. This one has a strong beat, fun percussion, and generally interesting stuff in the rhythm section. Vibe fits for my Bad Luck Phil playlist.

41 is Bottom of the Lake by The Builders and The Butchers. This one I really like the vocalist and the lyrics. Also from Bad Luck Phil playlist, though more at a general Mistlands vibe.

43 is On the Road by Me And That Man. Ok so by not-really chance all of these are on Bad Luck Phil's playlist. This one got theses from lyrics, good beat, and distorted guitar.

[kmlaney]

WIP word ask: smooth, silk, dust!

It should come as no surprise that "dust" is the clear winner here in terms of occurrences, at 34. "Smooth" has 12 hits and "silk" only three.

As they appear in WIP, under a cut because long:

Smooth. 12 occurrences: 

Don’t know why he needs to know, especially out of the blue. The hackles I barely smoothed down from yesterday go back up. 

I drink the last of my coffee and set the cup on the table. I’m still mentally smoothing prickles.

Nice. Smooth. I wouldn't know good stuff from really good stuff but it’s definitely not the rock bottom cheap stuff.

The makeup smoothed her face and corsetry slimmed her waist and spangles distracted from the rest.

Their hands are smooth and warm.

Soft, like a black barn cat nuzzling my hand but under the smooth fur are porcupine spines.

I’ve seen some drivers don’t care much about their team; this one’s confident and smooth. They pull up to a stop and wait for hostelers to get hold of the horses before handing off the reins to one of the grooms and climbing down from the seat.

Marshal Doughan shakes himself and smooths down his vest. “I do, Phil,” he says, emphasizing my name.

“It’s true. You used to say it all the time.” I resist the urge to run a finger over the smooth wood shelving.

Shopmaster Ephriam stands and brushes his coat smooth. “I am so glad you asked, Bedeviled.”

He recovers a bit of composure and smooths his hair with one hand. “I will not have this creature sow dissension among my most trusted companions.”

Originally a tack-room or grain store, maybe. Nicer now—the floor is smooth, there’s a desk with a blotter, and a cut-glass inkwell and lamp.

Silk. Three occurrences. Only three? Huh. Interesting:

And Crumley would answer, “That would be a hundred dollars, sir, for a fine walnut coffin and silk lining, and to properly prepare the body for an interment.”

Stained and varnished wood or raw? Silk, satin, canvas or cotton lining?

“Oh, I see how it is. You need someone to lever this beast out of the mire. Someone who’s not wearing a silk coat and complaining they didn’t pay fare to push.”

Dust. 34 hits on dust, including variations such as dusty (adjective) and dusts (verb) but excluding duster as an article of clothing or as part of knuckle duster:

Dust motes drift in the light until the closing door renders them invisible again.

Gray, all gray. Gray hair, gray skin, gray eyes, gray lips. Gray clothes. Gray like the dust of the world settling into corners and imagining it’s alive.

Dry as dust and hot as hell and it’s barely out of spring. Too early for berries and quine-apples, too late for maypop. 

A tiny breeze kicks up, sending billowing dust across the road. The birdwarden’s ribbons flutter.

The air is dry and oily. Hot. Dusty. I taste salt on my lips. Salt and pitch.

She swaps it for a fresh one. “Ought to be good if the dust hasn’t gotten to it.”

I ream the bore harder than I should and it screams as the brush scrapes against the metal. Black dust and other gunk drifts downward out of the end of the coach gun’s left barrel.

The surface odors are the same as in any of ours: old makeup and greasepaint, mouldering costume components, sweat, powder, and perfume, and of course the ever-present dust. Underneath, though, is something more rank.

“Gotcha, Bren,” replies the girl holding the middle pair, a chestnut mare and a dusty black gelding.

Clean-shaven, wild wavy hair squashed beneath a floppy hat, ruddy freckled complexion clear under the line where they’d been wearing a bandana to cut the dust. 

Frown lines furrow the dust in their forehead for a second before they speak. “I’m grabbing chow. You got ‘till I’m done to convince me.” 

Given I don’t breathe unless I want to, I don’t choke on the damn dust kicked up by a six-horse team. 

Unfortunately, it also makes it hard to see past the immediate vicinity and our dust cloud is a dead giveaway of our approach.

I point out a bit of dust kicked up on our left to Bren. They acknowledge with a nod.

The riderless horse is still running in our dust but falling behind.

Dusty as fuck. Hot as fuck too. Fortunately the flies have plenty of targets to choose from so no one notices I’m attracting more than my fair share

Before I know it all I see is the sky and dust. The shops and stalls stream by, framing the view until they vanish. 

Just like in the song, he’s all in black, from head to toe, graveyard dust powdered his hair the color of bone.

Cree himself, hand on the coal-dusted shoulder of the poor slob he coerced into his drinking contest, pushes his hat up with one thumb. “Oh ho! New player?” he asks

Mr Buchwald dusts off his gloved hands. “Mercury does not employ known killers,” he says, partly to me and partly to the Deputy.

I drop my hands back down to the cot, sending up a puff of dust and insect parts. 

Bare feet shuffle in the dust. Their hair is scraggly and unkempt and some vague shade of filth and desperation.

The constant wind whips the dust away and into town, which is something of a blessing.

Off in the distance is a dark, dusty, pile.

It’s a cloud of gray dust or billowing smoke.

Spinning scribble circles filled with smoke and dust push close to my face. 

I stick a leg out to block its path and it spins to a halt, its forward motion going sideways like a child’s top made of dust and smoke.

I hold a hand out to the cloud of smoke and dust that’s Bad Phil’s shape in this place, wherever it is.

I blink a few times to wipe the dust from my eyes and take stock of what remains of me. 

 An older woman—Eva, her name is Eva—in a dusty dress performs close tricks with cards and coins. 

A vivid taste memory crosses my tongue, of picking one from the tree and taking a big bite, the soft sweet-tangy fruit almost bursting in my mouth. Then it’s gone, like so many other pleasant memories. Reduced to ash and dust. 

Maker Lewis opened the windows and the constant breeze from the pass brings in fresh air and the dust.

 Maker Lewis is most of the way down. His horse leaves a trail of dust. 

Not like I’d enjoy the taste, all dry and dusty. I eat the whole package, crumbs and all, despite it being a poor substitute for meat fresh and warm.

[lesabear]

Art Positivity Meme

I was tagged by @serialephemera to post my favorite five pieces of art I have created. Like her, I’m a writer, so that’s fic. With no further ado...

One Light in the Darkness (ongoing, incomplete/on hiatus) - A story which incorporates the Sith Inquisitor story from SWTOR into the personal story of Veresia Martell, the daughter of a Jedi and retired Republic trooper who was enslaved by the Empire. It has murder, mayhem, a forbidden romance with a Jedi and more murder. Probably my hardest character/story to write because of Veresia’s psychological scars and trying to balance her inner conflict with the obstacles outside of her.

I Remember Me (ongoing, incomplete/on hiatus) - The corresponding story of Veresia’s brother Ayrs, the newest commander of Havoc Squad. Ayrs is haunted by guilt rather than a desire for revenge like his sister, and the story’s about him learning to let go of misplaced survivor’s guilt and ‘live again’. It’s lighter than the other fic, focusing more on Ayrs’ humorous (and hopefully cute) attempts to woo one Elara Dorne, as well as his cantina adventures with Jorgan and other members of the Republic military.

In terms of shorter stories....those can be found in the Short Fic thread on the forum or in my tumblr tag (sometimes both!). Of the latter, I would say my favorites are...

Veresia and Khem Val (aka the Murder Buddies) celebrating the holidays

Amitia and Kira travel to Corellia to spend Life Day with Amitia’s parents

A story set in KotFE from Elara’s PoV following Chapter 1

Stupid fluff where Ayrs and Jorgan go shopping try to find a shirt to impress Elara with.

I don’t draw much but I’d also throw my Chiss self-portrait out there.

I will tag... @smolbirbfren, @pedanticsoothsayer, @casialegacy and @bionitelke