Fiona Grey Writes

A follow-on to Octopus Tentacles.

“Take advice from an ol’ hand,” slurred Sarge. He raised his glass of amber liquid vaguely in her direction, sloshing it over the side. It said too much about how far the glass was filled, and this hadn’t been his first refill.

In twenty years, Lisse had never seen the man lose control, and she had to wonder if it was on her behalf, or if it was a manifestation of the general wartime situation.

Or, perhaps, simply because it was a going-away party, and there were few enough of those on board. People hadn’t been making it long enough to get out trending upward of at least three years now.

She raised her own glass. “Hit me with the wisdom, boss.”

“Break hard when you go.” Sarge hiccupped, and took a drink. “Don’t try to play both sides. You keep yourself open to this life, it’s harder to move on.”

She nodded, having heard a more sober version of the same lecture barely a day before. Lisse wasn’t sure she fully understood the concept Sarge kept trying to hammer home, but she thought he was warning her away from a life of the same octopus-smashing drudgery, with none of the benefits or camaraderie of ship life.

“Tha’ girl, she be goin’, gooooo-in’, gahhhhn,” Sarge warbled in an off-key bellow. “Let that be you, aye? Gone. You hear me?”

A fresh wave of recruits spun them around on the bar stools — any excuse for a party, even though she knew perhaps two by sight — and she let herself forget his warnings until hours later, near the end, when she tried to gently extricate herself with one last fond look at everything she’d known for the past few decades.

Starting tomorrow, everything from the clothes she wore to her ability to wander the station — even shuttle to the colony on a whim, if she wished and had the credits — would change.

An arm landed on her shoulders. “No sneakin’ away,” a slightly less drunk Sarge said jovially. He turned to look her in the eye, holding her at arm’s length. “Proud of you. You say goodbye direct, you hear?”

Lisse laughed, tears in her eyes.

“And mind what I said. You go, you’re gone. You don’t look back.”

She hugged him, then whispered in his ear on impulse. “You come find me when you’re ready.”

***

I wasn’t really sure what to do with this prompt from Padre – Going, going gone – because I couldn’t get the Luke Combs song out of my head. We’ll see if it worked!

My prompt went to AC Young – check out disturbing patterns and more over at MOTE!

Her throat cracked and made a rasping sound. Neon lights flashed against her skin, hot pink and pale blue, until Gio pulled the plug on the “open” sign and leaned his bulk against the glass door rather than locking it.

Under the gazes of Gio, Diana, and Haugh, she struggled to speak. And to remember that these were the people that had helped her. Taken her in, provided hearth and home, trained her in a new career when her prospects had poured into the sewer drain along with her art supplies and her mother’s ashes.

This was the first they’d asked her to repay that debt. Consequences are a form of debt, her mother’s memory whispered. And you owe them just the same.

“I don’t understand,” Seraphina said, and this time her voice only cracked slightly. Her position in the tattoo chair felt vulnerable, surrounded by larger than life people – gods? – she’d just found out had been alive for centuries. “You want me to what?”

“It’s for your protection,” Diana said, sweeping silver hair over her shoulder. Ageless eyes the color of liquid moonlight bored into hers, and now Sera realized that her friend had always – until now – made an effort to blink normally.

“We didn’t think they were still looking for us,” added Gio, looking every inch the ancient warrior despite jeans and a leather jacket.

A snort from the corner where Haugh lurked, too dim to see clearly. “We were careless, you mean. We thought there weren’t enough of us left to bother with.”

“Just a quick protection charm,” Gio said. “And some self-defense training in the back room with me. Every morning from now on.”

“Hopefully it’s nothing to worry about and they leave town quickly.” Diana rolled her eyes at another snort. “It’s happened before. Prague, and that Paris suburb—”

“For every Prague, there is a Budapest.” Haugh’s tone was flat.

At that, Gio finally locked the door.

Diana pressed her lips together and gave a curt nod, then turned to the chair. “Sera – Seraphina, angel, I promise that this is only to help. It’s strange, and I’m sure it’s frightening.”

“A protection tattoo, with our magic imbued.” Haugh rustled in his corner, as if about to stand before thinking better of the idea. “Right now, you’re a crack in the armor. A vulnerability.”

“Nice,” Gio muttered less than quietly. “I see why we left it to you to persuade her.”

“I’ll do it,” Sera said, but the words stuck in her throat. She tried again. “I’ll do it. You’ve been so kind, and it’s the least I can do.”

“This isn’t payment,” Diana admonished her gently. “Nothing of the sort between friends. We’d have found another way if you weren’t willing. But it will help us, and I appreciate you agreeing.”

An hour or so later, Sera stared at the design on her wrist, a layer of protective seal and ointment distorting the pattern as glowing ink – imbued with Diana’s moonlight and an undetermined darker magic she thought might be Haugh’s, all traced with a line of invisible fire from Gio – began to fade into an ordinary black.

Or so she thought.

The tattoo on her wrist began to move, turning across her skin like a living thing. Patterns stretched, warm and comforting, like a cat after a nap in sunlight, exploring her wrist as though it was saying hello.

It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, and she’d spent her life surrounded by artistic prodigies, visiting art from long-dead masters of their craft.

“Teach me,” she whispered. Her gaze ripped away from the intricate pattern dance faintly tickling her wrist and shot to each of the three in turn, pleading. “Teach me how to do this. Please.”

***

“Satisfied, my dear?” Nidia swam to where her husband floated in the coral arch gracing their bedroom, watching a school of fish dance around gently weaving kelp. “I can’t say I’ll miss the utter insanity of royal wedding protocol.”

“K’shir is a fine young merrow, and he seems to make Akina very happy.” Brin wrapped his arm around her flukes and tugged her close, heedless of her trailing finery. “I’m glad it’s over. As is our staff, I’m sure.”

Nidia sighed. “I wish the Ma’crey had been less…adamant.”

The king sighed and rested his chin atop his wife’s green hair. “I warned our guards to stay vigilant.”

She twisted her head around, fluttering her tail gently as she gazed upward with wide, iridescent brown eyes. “Just because Akina choose K’shir over their son? The undersea hasn’t forced a marriage in centuries. Even the oracle advised against the match.”

“They are barons,” Brin said with a sigh. “Touchy ones, at that. For all that I’m glad not to have their brat join our family, their clan’s absence from the wedding ceremonies concerns me.”

“Brine and bread,” She wiggled in his arms, a nervous twitch in her dorsal fin. “I can’t believe I missed that.”

“Brine and bread,” he agreed. “‘The shared hearth that brings protection.’ Perhaps the moment has passed, now that the wedding’s done.”

“Perhaps.” She heard doubt in her own voice. “Still. All these years – training to be queen, not just as your queen – and I missed it.”

“And not only were you were busy with protocol and planning, I usually handle our defenses.”

This time, her tail pushed them back into their bedroom as Nidia smacked the water in annoyance. “Doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention to them, especially when a bloodthirsty clan’s claiming offense. Have you heard those hellacious stories they read to the minnows?”

“I can think of something else to pay attention to,” he murmured, and stroked a finger down her neck.

They both froze as bells rang softly in the distance. A scream drifted through the kelp, abruptly cut off. A conch blew, with more bells following, increasingly louder and cacophonic.

“So it begins,” Brin said, and kissed his frozen wife abruptly, lips already harsh with tension. He reached for the titanium spear that guarded their marriage net. “The merrow go to war, and with it, all of Undersea.”

***

This week’s prompt was from Becky Jones: In the distance, the bells rang softly.

My prompt went to Padre: Hidden within the laundry basket was…

Check out more, over at MOTE!

Static crackled, and something unintelligible came from the cockpit.

“Comms are next on the list,” Greaves announced with a sniff. “I’ll do what I can to boost the transmission for now.”

“Ship,” Izz threatened with a wave of her wrench as she headed to the garbled noises. “You don’t have to worry about life support.”

“Life in space is lonely even with you. Maybe I could join the Antelope as part of their crew as we pass in the galactic night.”

She picked up the microphone and held her finger over the button but didn’t press it. “And you’re an illegal sentient AI that needs a human if you want to stay active.”

Silence, blessed silence answered her. She pressed the button, knowing she’d pay for the comment later. It was worth it, with orbital station docking nearly in sight.

“Monster here, planet hopping our specialty, here to serve all your antique salvage needs,” Izz announced in a singsong voice. “Mara, that you? How’s tricks?”

“About that planet hopping,” a familiar voice answered, clearer than she’d heard the radio since she’d bought the ship. “Maybe don’t advertise it, or pick another port. The Antelope barely made it out before they shut down for quarantine. Jo’s been warning every ship headed that way.”

She let out a growl. “I’m low on supplies and fuel, running heavy with goods, and you’re telling me there’s a damn plague?”

“Worse,” a new voice interrupted, this one quieter. “Religious craze. Fringe group when I grew up there, but they’ve been running unchecked.”

Letting go of the button, she rubbed the bridge of her nose and felt her ears pop. “Greaves, start running calculations. See if we can get there.”

“How’s that turn into a quarantine? I can’t just pop in for some fuel and away again?”

“War.” Mara’s voice was grim. “Ships are a frivolous luxury because Balatrog will provide for the planet’s needs. Station’s fighting off fanatics who shuttled up to sabotage the place.”

“Ask us how we know,” Jo said, weariness dragging out his words. “And what that grezeshkin we tossed out the airlock wanted to do with the Antelope. Snuck himself in and tried to take everyone on the dock down when we launched.”

“They’re willing to use technology,” Mara added. “Might know you’re coming already if they made it into the control tower.”

“The whole station’ll burn soon enough,” Jo grumbled. “Glad my parents aren’t around to see it, and that my sister moved to the undersea colony.”

“I might need a tow,” Izz said, and glared at the upper hull. “If my ship would give me the final calculations, I’ll know for sure whether I can make it to Clositside instead.”

Clanks came through the transmission. “What’s that noise?”

“Defense systems activated,” Greaves interjected, sounding more robotic than normal. “Threat detected. Offensive systems activated.”

“What? No, those are my friends.” Izz held out a hand toward the speaker. “Stop!”

“Weapons free.”

***

This week, my prompt came from Becky Jones: Planet-hopping was a specialty of hers.

My prompt went to Leigh Kimmel: Things just felt unfinished.

Check out more over at MOTE!

Marisol sank into the water and fluttered her fins in silent relief. Finally – Tuesday again, and she could breathe underwater properly. These days, it was a once a week indulgence, and normally confined to the bathtub, gills safely hidden by bubbles and the extra-deep clawfoot tub.

But tonight…tonight, her husband was helping a friend with a mysterious truck problem, and that meant she could run down to the creek behind their house, slip into the worn rocks smoothed into a nook the locals called the Devil’s Bathtub, and shed her humanity for a few hours.

It got wearing, being human.

She closed her eyes, then smiled. “Hi, Mama. It’s been a while.”

A sniff, then a splash. “You could come visit more often.”

Mari winced and reached out her arm for a watery hug. “In retrospect, saying I couldn’t swim was a terrible idea. But it was a beach date, Mama. I didn’t know how else to keep him from seeing the gills.”

“That’s not the only thing you’re going to have to worry about.”

She cracked open an eye and winced, then held her hand over her stomach. “I know.”

A twig cracked. “So this is where you go.” Jax came into view, a bottle of water in each hand. “Truck’s toast. Came back and saw you at the edge of the meadow. Thought I’d wander down after you. Nice to see you, Annie. I didn’t realize you could become transparent.”

The older woman splashed water at him, unashamed of her nakedness — or her blunt curiosity. “You’ve known for a while, haven’t you?”

“Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night,” he said. He handed Mari the waters and took off his boots. Sitting down, he tugged off wool socks and rolled up his pant legs to expose pale, bony feet. “Water’s cold. Anyway, sometimes I like to watch you sleep.”

“Sounds creepy.” Annie sounded delighted, leaning onto a nearby rock and propping her chin up with a fist.

Marisol tried to say something. A squeak emerged.

“It’s soothing. I don’t want to wake you, but sometimes I stroke your hair. Wake you up if you’re having a nightmare.” He swung his feet back and forth. “I’m a lucky man, to have you as a wife.”

“I’m lucky, too,” she managed. “Um. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t answer immediately. “Wish you’d told me sooner, but I get it. Crazy world and all. Now’s the time, though, before I see gills on my son.”

Managing a wan smile, she snorted. “Or daughter.”

“Nah.” He snagged a water back and took a drink. “Jackson Junior. Bet he’ll be an Olympian. Swim team, obviously.”

A cough. “We’re going to have to work on my grandson’s name.”

“Mom.“

Jax laughed. “Now, tell me exactly what species I married into, please?”

***

This week’s prompt was from Parrish Baker: “It was finally Tuesday, so she could breathe underwater again.”

Mine went to Becky Jones: After that, it was a hop, skip, and a jump – literally – to Mars.

Check more out, over at MOTE!

“A mandatory leadership development session,” June said slowly.

Sam O’Connor held up a finger, then slicked back his Mohawk with a flourish. “On an adventure course.”

“The place with rope and plank bridges that sway two stories above the earth.”

“And rope nets,” added Christa Pham. “Can’t forget that fun. Or the monkey bars. Which I know I can’t reach without help, because my kid dragged me there last month. The whole thing’s just as rickety as it looks.”

“Or zip lines,” Sam said. “Which I can’t do, because I’m over the weight limit.”

“You are rather a giant,” June noted. “And if we don’t want to do any of those, it’s trust falls in the woods and a 5k obstacle course mud run.”

Christa craned her neck and checked to make sure Sam’s office door was closed. “Who annoyed the dean this time? Or is – er – someone – just being a jerk?”

***

Thanks to Cedar for this week’s prompt: He just wants to be a jerk about it

My prompt went to Leigh: “I said to bring back sausages, not hostages!”

Check out more over at MOTE!

“It’s that time of year,” Bri said with a wicked smile, and dangled a cardboard cup with indecipherable barista shorthand in fat marker. “Intern training.”

Angela shoved back from the monitor with a wince and reached for the offering with greedy hands. “Bless you. Someone in HR has to know this is our busiest time of year, right? Even my eyes hurt because I don’t have time to blink.”

“Aw, you know how to hyperfocus,” Bri replied. “You’re a pro. Besides, the interns need more help than our usual new hires. Workplace norms and what not to wear and all that. It’s like community service to ensure they become functional workplace minions.”

“I get it,” Angela said, and took a sip of what turned out to be a caramel latte. “I do. It’s a lot to ingest on their part – I just wish we had more time to do it.”

“Good,” the other woman said, and smoothed the front of her sweater before depositing her own disposable cup into the cubicle’s trash can. “Because this year, you’re in charge of intern training.”

Caramel latte nearly wound up all over the monitor. “But…!”

“Starting with hyperfocus. Which yes, I realize I’m disrupting. And despite our request for earlier notification, there are thirty interns waiting for you to start in ten minutes. Conference room B.”

Angela chugged the rest of her coffee and charged toward the other end of the building, heels clacking on the tiles while the caffeine burned through her system and her brain spun like a merry-go-round gone horribly wrong.

Let’s see…no, don’t mention the perpetual caffeine addiction, not yet…start with why. Then explain hyperfocus, then zooming in and out, the need for multiple sources…pattern recognition…no, how to develop a baseline comes first…I should have known she was up to something when she brought coffee!

She slowed to a more moderate pace just before making a sharp turn, smoothed her hair – ignoring the slight dampness from her previous hustle – and opened the door.

“Welcome, interns,” she started, and drew a blank. Thirty pairs of bored eyes stared sullenly back in her direction, most looking lost or mildly uncomfortable under dull florescent lights. “Look, I hate this time of year.”

Oops.

That stirred a reaction, so Angela hurried to finish. “Everyone does. This is our busiest time of year. You’re coming in with a ton of questions right when we have the least amount of time to answer them.”

“That’s not fair,” someone complained.

“No, it’s not, and you’re welcome to tell HR that. Any other time of year would be easier for all of us.” Angela studied the room. She had their attention now, even if a few looked ready to bolt.

“The good news is, I’m here to give you a crash course in how to get up to speed quickly. Do well, and you can make a great impression.”

***

This week’s prompt from Cedar Sanderson on hyperfocus struck a little too close to home! It was a trade – check out what she did with jellyfish over at MOTE!

Bryan shut the front door quietly and immediately eased into his favorite plaid armchair with a mostly-stifled groan of relief, keys still dangling from one finger.

A sleepy-eyed Sabrina greeted him, her hair already tucked into a wrap for the evening. She leaned against the kitchen island and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, THAT was a helluva day,” he said, and leaned his head back against the padding. “Tired enough I could fall asleep with my eyes still open.”

She gave him a mischievous grin, and it was as if the decade they’d been married melted away, into the girl he’d dared to court against her father’s glares and barely-veiled threats.

“Did you get the assignment, babe?”

His face cracked into an involuntary grin before whimpering and rubbing his cheeks. “Damn, I’m so exhausted my teeth hurt.”

She tapped one slipper with impatience. “Love you either way, but are we colonizing a new planet or not?”

This time, it didn’t matter how much it hurt. Bryan heaved himself upward and lurched into her waiting arms. “Better get packing!”

***

This week’s prompt was from Becky Jones: “Well, THAT was a helluva day!”

My prompt went to nother Mike: Each year, twelve were chosen.

Check them out over at MOTE!