[Changeling] Predator (Gehenna: control, solicit, companionship from <user site="livejournal.com" us

[lslaw.livejournal.com]

Soft rattle of the control chains under her feet. Her weight tugging at the staples in his chest. Scent of her blood and the soft rasp of laboured breath solicit his sympathy, but he hides this from her; she is a hunter and wants no kindness.

He lifts his head as her claws dig in, shifting his leg so the blood pools under her lapping tongue. He allows her her fill without complaint, for as little as this is, it is companionship of sorts.

[Changeling] Strategy (The Turk: protect, defend, deny from <user site="livejournal.com" user="seph_

[lslaw.livejournal.com]

There are two main ways to protect one's pieces: one can defend, counterattacking at every opportunity, drawing the adversary into traps and disposing of his ability to harm; or one can deny, evading the attack, removing the opportunity to draw blood.

As a cautious and tactical player, the Turk has always favoured a mixture of the two, using denial to enamble his defence. It is much harder when the pieces do not know their place, yet conversely more important to choose the correct tactic.

He knows that people do not like being compared to game pieces, so he would never compare Penny Dreadful to the queen, yet she is. She is the flexible, powerful one in the Motley and he knows that he must keep her safe and free to act. She will insist on putting herself in the line of fire, however; opening herself up to attack.

So be it.

He will simply have to defend with all his art, watch her assailants for opportunities and weaknesses, and keep his wits and his swordstick sharp.

Three words: spectre, disease, Americana from skinny_cartman

[annwfyn.livejournal.com]

( Some liberties taken with background etc )

[Requiem] Suffrance (The Headhunter: disapprove, recreate, sleek from <user site="livejournal.com" u

[lslaw.livejournal.com]

In the candle-lit meeting room a boy watches, fascinated, his young mind being shaped by what he sees and hears. The rustle of skirts, the air thick with sweat - inevitable with so much fabric - and the heady rhetoric of liberty.

He feels a glow of pride as the crowd applaud his mother; knowing how his father would disapprove makes him clap all the harder.

He watches as another of the speakers - a woman whose passionate intensity had left in its wake the only true silence of the evening - approaches his mother; watches them talk, his mother's body angled towards the other woman as though drawn on unbreakable strings.

In the future, he will recreate himself, as will she. She won't know him for the child who watched her, but he will know her. Sleek and inebriate and blood-spattered, she will see his disapproval, but not understand that what he can not help despise is not the blood or the booze or the sex, but the contentment she now radiates in place of all that passionate rage.

A short and silly piece of tat that didn't come from three words.

[seph-hazard.livejournal.com]

“Just to shut him up”, Penny muttered to herself as she stared down at the plate in front of her. “It's not as though it's difficult.” The scrambled eggs looked like congealed slime, seeping thin white liquid into blackened toast. Oozing yellow lumps quivered greasily on Penny's fork and in her mouth they disintegrated like jelly. The bread was brittle and tasted of charcoal, bitter and dusty as it snagged in her throat.

Food isn't important. It's fuel, a timewasting practicality that must be ticked off the mental list at least once a day lest body and soul should no longer stay together. It's a low priority, an inconvenience all too easy to forget. Essential but unseemly, despite the fuss everyone seemed to make about it. It seemed a real kick in the teeth, then, that it was all so damned disgusting.

Penny sighed and stood to scrape the plate off into the bin. She'd take the rubbish out before she went back up to the workshop and leave the smeared crockery out on the kitchen counter. In the morning, she could say she'd already eaten and Gehenna would be none the wiser.

Unprepared for this new death.

[seph-hazard.livejournal.com]

Control, knowledge, slip from lslaw. I think. I may have lost track of who gave me which words. From the Hatfield game on Saturday, which ended with surprise!urathacorpse.

( The death of a werewolf. )

Three words: Stars, Flight, Depth [from adze]

[annwfyn.livejournal.com]

Just writing a haiku seemed like cheating, but I quite like them and haven't written one in an age. So I decorated a little.

An administrative persepctive

[seph-hazard.livejournal.com]

This was going to be a three-word fic, but then I started writing it and realised that I needed to switch perspective and turn it into something completely different.

***

It was largely accepted by those who knew Ian Bester that he was a bright young man with a shining future. Upon graduation he had chosen to spun blue chip corporations for a more philanthropic career in NHS administration despite the significant limitations this placed upon his future earnings, and his friends, family and fiancée all agreed that this had been jolly decent of him. He was by and large happy with his decision, though every now and again something happened that caused him to regret it.

( The most pressing of those happenings was Matron Whyte from Floor Three. )

[requiem] William Drake Three words Duplicity, smoke, cleverness from Alison Holloway

[connororeilly.livejournal.com]

The smile played easily across his lips as Drake sat at the head of the table. The other two members of the first estate of York sat on either side of him Dr Walker to his right and Mr Ashleighs to his left.

"Gentlemen taking York from Dre and Eve will take cleverness, we cannot just attack like mindless Carthians. In a head on fight Eve's minions will tear us to pieces, but luckily we have resources that can even the playing field."

Dr Walker sat forward

"Another one of your patented smoke and mirrors campaigns Lord Drake?"

Drake stood up and walked over to the window, looking out over the Vale of York he saw the night mists floating through the trees at the edge of the property and his enhanced eyesight picked out the movement of Hargreaves and Dupont patrolling the grounds. Drake's smile remained on his face as he tried not to let the others know how worried he was over this "case". Dre was easy to deal with, a dumb thug who thought with his muscles Drake knew he could crush Dre without breaking a sweat, but Eve was a different proposition entirely ancient, powerful, and backed by an extensive brood of childer all of whom would kill for her or die for her without thinking. This would take a special kind of duplicity to win the day in York. God how he hated religious fanatics.

"Through misdirection, thou shalt do war. It is my speciality isn't it?"

[Forsaken] The only game that mattered.

[meltedcandle.livejournal.com]

Baseball is a stupid game. Three strikes and then you're out. It was never played in a cool, dark, enclosed area. Arthur nearly got all his strikes in one go. Probably wouldn't have taken three although there would have been a lot more. He was the last person who deserved such things, there were others far more suitable to take such anger and hatred out on.

First strike was a hard, fast pitch that went straight by and into the glove without even giving him a chance to move. He saw it coming, he just couldn't react.

The second strike was a curve ball that came out of nowhere, an off hand over heard comment that set the blood pounding in his ears and filled his mind so full that it almost blinded him.

And the third...the third he knew was coming but couldn't do anything about it. Not there. Not then. Not after he felt the presence of the stone crumble away to nothing more than dust in his pocket. Once they'd done he'd say something. Alastair meant well but he wasn't a child and he wouldn't be alright in a few minutes.

Cricket was a far better and more sensible game.

So he focused on the next innings. On the batting plan. On the opposition.

He didn't have chance to think about what it was about the defacing of the Green that set him off. In other games the sight of human entrails hadn't even caused him to blink. Maybe it was just the inherent mockery in the gesture, or the casual disregard for human life, or maybe it was the fact that in a different time and place that could have been his sister being used to mark the boundary.

It was a quick innings. Turned out the home team were expecting them. His one, sole consolation was that he didn't go out for a duck.