Have you seen my wife, Mr Jones?

[lslaw.livejournal.com]

( Fear and Flood )

October challenge - Rose Red

[akonken.livejournal.com]

For once, one of Rosalba's parties had been successful. She smiled as she cleaned up the dishes, humming to herself. So many people had come, and they had all seemed to have a good time. She hadn't spoken much - too busy making sure everyone had enough food - but she had listened.

Once the castle was clean as a whistle, she climbed the stairs. She was tired, but it was very worth it. It had been such a lovely party, so open and friendly. Aside from a few tense moments everyone had gotten along quite well.

She got to her room at the top of the stairs and softly closed the door.

She brushed her teeth and washed her face before changing into her pyjamas. Then she sat down on her bed.

Rosalba pulled out a mirror. "Mirror, mirror, in my hand...Please reveal my mistress's land."

And in the mirror there was another castle, far grander and more glorious than the one she was in. As always, it took her breath away. Soon she was face to face with her Lady, that most beautiful of all the Gentry.

"What do you have for me today, my precious child?" her mistress asked in a voice like silver bells. Rosalba glowed under her loving gaze as she began to share the secrets she'd been given by the dozens of Lost she'd spent the day with.

October challenge -- Kentucky National Guard

[jholloway.livejournal.com]

( I'll put my knapsack on my back, my rifle on my shoulder... )

Oktober: Part 2: Mark Dourif: Moment of Weakness

[hardwired.livejournal.com]

ooc: All apologies for the semi plagarism inside. But it seemed like a bit of fun.
( Read more... )

Reversal of Fortune (Promethean Oktoberfest)

[badgersandjam.livejournal.com]

Yes, I'm supposed to be asleep.  Damn it.  Anyway, here's a snippet.  I'm not sure how much of this will make sense if you're not Reb, as a lot of it is (as far as I know, but Reb is a crafty bugger) not in the player domain yet.  Also, I'm claiming complete poetic licence with regard to the topography of Saudi Arabia.

***

Reversal of  Fortune.

 

So that was it.  Her family were trying to kill her.

They’d come damned close today, too.  Even closer a few months ago.  Her nickname was “Nine-Lives,” and she’d gone through a fair few of them.  Fortunately, as long her azoth burned bright, she had lives to spare.

Farhana al-Faroukh paced in the desert shelter that she’d built in the hills outside Jeddah.  Not the one she used when she was masterminding the resistance against the drug barons who ran the area (her father and brothers) but a different one, a bit smaller, a bit higher up the rocky outcroppings, closer to God.

She dropped to her knees and said a prayer.  She wasn’t allowed to pray in the mosques, but out here, who would know?  And anyway, divinity was relative.  All Prometheans knew that,  Galateans especially.

Ah, yes.  Galatea.  She’d have a word with her when she caught up.  Which she would.  She’d set out tomorrow, having briefed her successors in the resistance on how to continue; the hidey-holes, the secret passages, the berths and vehicles her family used.  So there was only one thing left to do.

She knelt by the prone figure on the floor, and looked at him.  Fair hair, fair skin, and half-smile on his lips.  She adored everything about him—the cut-glass accent, the vague gestures that belied a sharp mind, the very Englishness of him.  Everything was ready.  She leaned over and placed her lips in his in a lingering kiss.  Spark leapt to spark, and her lover opened his eyes for the first time.

“Time to go, my love,” she said.  “My Corsair, my Don Juan, my Byron.”