Tag: more odds than ends (Page 3 of 26)

Other Realms

October 14, 2025 / fionagreywrites

Lieutenant Bork held in a twitch – other than that understandable tremble of one or two fingers against the stiffness of his new uniform – as his new commanding officer approached, bouncing slightly in the eighty percent gravity.

“Welcome,” Lieutenant Colonel Antelope said, hand outstretched. The squadron commander snagged a miniature candy bar and pushed the bowl across the admin’s desk toward the younger officer.

Dan shook his head and swallowed hard. The station’s recycled air was already wreaking havoc on his throat.

“C’mon,” Antelope said, taking a moment to study Dan while he chewed the treat. “Let’s do the tour and get you situated before we chat. Leave your kit here, other than the emergency oxygen.”

“Yessir.” Dan managed the words, wondering how training hadn’t pounded nerves right out of his limbic system. He grabbed his kit and tucked it out of the way, then scrambled to follow.

“It’s an old station,” Antelope said casually. “Several put together, actually. Bit of a maze, and we’re scattered all over. Restrooms, just here.”

Dan shook his head at the raised eyebrow. They kept walking.

“All right then. Archives on the left, wiggle around” – which really was the most appropriate term for the hallway, as if the planners couldn’t make up their minds on how wide the path should be, or the direction, or even what height – “we’ll keep going, but that door on the right is one of our big collaboration partners. You’ll work with them a lot, but they’re all playing an offsite today.”

“Space golf?” Dan asked hesitantly. It seemed like everyone in training had been mad for the game, or thought they could play with the greats.

“Krav maga,” Antelope answered. “We do PT with them, too.”

“Sweet, sir.”

“Ah, some personality begins to show underneath all that respectful attention.” Antelope cracked a grin, and Dan matched it faintly. “You like martial arts?”

“It’s great exercise and training,” he answered truthfully. “But it seems awfully aggressive as the first thing you learn about me, now that I think about it.”

“Then tell me more. Where do you call home? How was the launch?”

The men kept walking as they talked, until Antelope stopped in front of a double door. “Portal to the dragon realm,” he dropped with a wink. “I’ll introduce you to Sergeant Sparkles in a moment. Brace for impact.”

***

This week’s prompt was from AC Young about a portal to the dragon realm, but I wanted to do something a little different. Real dragons or hyperbole? You decide.

My prompt about grief and loss went to Becky Jones.

Find more, over at More Odds Than Ends. Want in on the fun? Email odd prompts at gmail dot com with a prompt and let us know if you want to trade or submit a spare. Or just snag one and post once you get your creativity on!

All This and a Herd in Space

October 6, 2025 / fionagreywrites

“We’re supposed to fit all this in there?” Laurie clutched her work gloves in one hand. The yellow leather showed between thin, twitching fingers, as if she couldn’t decide whether to turn them in or toss them to the ground. She settled for clutching the buckskin with both hands.

“The herd is just over 1,450, and we’ve got to sort them all for auction, herd, and colony,” Wayne drawled. He handed her a long pole with a flapping piece of plastic dangling from one end. “Don’t worry. You just pay attention to what’s going on and keep the gates open or closed. We’ll get the bison herd where they need to go.”

“So what’s this?” She grasped the pole tentatively with the same hands as the gloves.

“Wave it to keep them moving when they’re angry about being herded into the chute for health checks.” He picked up her cowboy hat and plopped it on her braids. “You’ll know. Don’t worry so much. Let your instincts take over, yeah?”

Laurie watched Wayne walk over to the other hands, slapping them on the shoulder casually. She was the only rookie this year, and the only woman, but this job promised access to the colonies after three seasons. The only way off-planet faster involved things she wasn’t willing to do.

Her eyes fell on the spaceport that towered over the Black Hills. Who’d have thought that bison would not only make a comeback in North America, but start populating space?

“Ayy!” Wayne yelled. “Pay attention!”

Hooves thundered, with the air filling with angry snorts. Shaking, she unbolted the gate and hid behind the metal bars, hoping it was the sufficient protection the head gamekeeper had promised.

***

This week’s prompt was from Leigh Kimmel: We’re supposed to fit *all this* in there?

Mine went to nother Mike: To everyone’s relief, the cow declined the offer of a flight home.

Find more, over at More Odds Than Ends!

That Kind of Day

September 30, 2025 / fionagreywrites

June groaned and looked up from her phone. “I figured out why the Dean’s mad at me again. And this time, he might have a reason.”

Even Peter’s laughter sounded Irish sometimes, rolling and somehow kind. He reached for her feet, clad in thick boot socks, and began rubbing. “Tell me?”

“Well, I may have spilled coffee on my keyboard again.”

“June.” He stopped working the magic on her feet, then restarted after her small noise of protest. “You needed a new laptop again already?”

“Worse,” she muttered, and draped her upper half over the couch’s pillows dramatically, waving her phone. “Nothing like a stuck key to make your day Interesting. With a capital letter I.”

He fought to keep a smile from aggravating her further. “What’d you do, accidentally volunteer for everything or start a reply-all email chain?”

“Pretty sure I sent him an email that ended in nothing but the letter F, over and over…”

He could not restrain the awkward cough.

***

This week’s prompt about a stuck key was from Leigh Kimmel – watch for pattern additions from my prompt to nother Mike, and find much more (and play along yourself!) over at Odd Prompts. Cheers!

The Library

September 23, 2025 / fionagreywrites

Look in between. Rianna ran the words through her head on repeat, no matter how much she didn’t want to hear them anymore. Her mother’s words had replaced the lyrics to the latest K-pop song, infectiously and incessantly catchy.

Her mother’s words, a whispered false hope that dementia hadn’t quite stolen the voice that had once been strong enough to call her to supper no matter how far Rianna had strayed in the neighboring woods.

“Look in between,” she muttered, and bit her tongue with a blandly pleasant smile at the woman exiting. Rianna stabbed her badge toward the turnstyle entrance and dropped the lanyard over her head, then headed for the elevators. It doesn’t matter that I know it won’t make sense, I just want to know what she meant.

She nodded to her boss, who barely acknowledged the greeting while barreling toward the building’s coffeeshop. Too dear for Rianna, these days, not with saving her pennies in the hopes that Mama could go into a nicer home when it finally got to be too much for family. And it would, eventually, the doctor and social worker had made that clear.

“Look in between,” sang Mama’s voice to the beat of the migraine-inducing chirpiness that echoed inside her skull. Rianna jabbed her thumb at the button for her floor, glad she was for once alone in the windowless box.

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Look in between.

The elevator stopped with a lurch. Rianna clutched the railing and swallowed. There was still power, for now, and it told her the box was suspended four and a half flights above the ground.

Do something. She poked the button for her floor again, with no result, then tried every other button. It took several minutes to pry open the call box, only to find the handset missing.

Look in between. The words were more than an irritant now. She thumped her fist on the door.

The metal pulled back smoothly and silently.

“Oh. Hello.” An elderly man with wispy tufts of white hair greeted her. He was surrounded by shadows, arms were full of books, and an expression of surprise on his face. “I don’t get many visitors to the Library.”

She stepped into the room cautiously, one hand on the doors. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but the elevator got stuck and then dropped me off here.” She gave a short laugh and let her hand slip. “It seems to think I’m halfway between floors.”

The man nodded gravely. “Indeed.”

“Er.” Air moved behind her. She whirled to find the doors already closed. “I need to get to work.”

“No,” the man said kindly, and somehow she wasn’t as concerned as she should have been. “Your need must have been very great to find your way here.”

Rianna’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. Endless shelves filled the room, as far as she could see. Stacks of books mixed with scrolls, scraps of random paper, and even what might be a clay cuneiform tablet, if she squinted. The scent of old paper reminded her of hours spent in the library, chasing research projects.

The man set his books down and settled behind a heavy mahogany desk, well-scarred and stained with splotches of ink. “Now. What brings you to the Library of Last Resort?”

***

This week’s prompt was inspired by Parrish Baker: The elevator stopped between floors in the last place she thought to look.

My prompt went to Becky Jones: He was a modern-day noir detective, with all that came with it — but the cost of helping her was higher than even he’d suspected.

Find more, over at MOTE! And don’t forget, you can join in anytime. Get a prompt sent to odd prompts at gmail dot com to trade tonight, or snag a spare tomorrow!

Questionable First Days

September 16, 2025 / fionagreywrites

“Welcome to Zama Industries!” The chirpy woman’s black curls were hidden by a white industrial hard hat. She extended her hand, followed by passing an identical helmet and a visitor’s badge. “I’m Reika.”

“Lizbeth. Thanks.” She’d worn a bun this morning, anticipating the spaceport construction tour. “Really excited to be here.”

Reika gave a half-smile. “I doubt we’re going to launch anytime soon. Still, at least seventy-five percent of the space colony’s cargo is already scheduled go through the orbital port here once it’s finished.”

Lizbeth followed Reika over a metal catwalk that overlooked the start of the construction base. What must be the elevator shaft loomed starkly overhead, leaving them in shadow. A metal bot moved its limbs in perfect unison, creeping steadily upward

“I’m afraid watching the spider climb the drain spout isn’t very exciting…”

“No.” She couldn’t hold back her grin. “I spent all of university hoping to help build our path to the stars. It’s why I went into engineering.”

Reika’s reserve broke — as much as Lizbeth thought it ever did, at least. “I did the same. I wish everyone had your enthusiasm for the project.”

“Oh?” Her brow furrowed. “Have there been protests against it?”

“Protests, demonstrations, threats, the lot.” Reika grimaced. “I’m afraid we’ve had to increase our security. That’s why we had you come in the tunnel entrance this morning. But don’t worry —”

An alarm blared, with blue flashing lights turning the few others visible this early a ghastly corpselike hue.

“—we’ve taken quite a few precautions. Nothing to worry about. If you’ll follow me? I’ll give you the evacuation handbook once we’re back inside the offices.”

***

This week’s prompt was from nother Mike: Watching the spider climb the drain spout wasn’t very exciting…

My prompt went to Parrish Baker: The alert blared to life just as he sat down at the piano stool.

As always, don’t forget to check out everyone’s submissions, and jump into the prompt challenge if you’re interested!

Gravity Waves

September 9, 2025 / fionagreywrites

“This drive’s longer every time we make it,” June said, staring at New Hampshire’s small town streets. Far nicer than her tiny apartment, if she were honest, but she was beginning to dread the nightly trip to the Langes’.

Even more than interactions with certain coworkers, if she were really being honest. That was saying something, after the latest round of service commitments snidely dumped in her lap. Her jaw hurt from the forced smiles and quiet acceptance, as though

From the driver’s seat came a laugh that quickly wheezed into a muddled cough. “You inherited a house, not an unwanted mother-in law.” Peter grinned, his shoulders shaking slightly with repressed mirth. He slid his silver SUV into an open spot in front of the brick townhouse. “There aren’t gravity waves pulling you in, just legal duties.”

“Feels like a gravitational pull,” she muttered, then pointed at the moving curtain that spilled lamplight onto the grass. “There’s your mother-in-law figure.”

“Also known as a neighbor,” he corrected. “She’s lovely. Baked us cookies and everything.”

She opened her door. “Tiny flavored rocks, you mean, delivered as an excuse to interrogate us.”

Peter pulled their bags from the backseat. “Aye, perhaps. But would you rather go through a dead man’s possessions with or without some flavor?”

Taking her bag and shrugging it onto her shoulder, she mimicked the motion with her free hand, then dug into her satchel for the key. June jutted her chin toward the stained glass door, aware of Dolly watching from next door. “I don’t know what to do with this place.”

“Well…” Peter twisted his head from side to side. “I had to pick up a package at the front office today. Heard them complaining about some woman swordfighting.”

She groaned and stuck the key in the lock, already knowing to give it a slight twist right before attempting to open the door. “Don’t sell this place in case I get kicked out, you mean.”

“Grand,” Peter agreed. “Besides, you’re still in boxes. Other than the swords, it’d be an easy move.”

***

This week’s prompt was from Becky Jones: The drive was longer every time they went to the house.

Update! My prompt did not go to Leigh Kimmel but to Parrish Baker: The rocky path was filled with unstable scree – and recent footprints, showing clearly after the morning’s gentle rain.

Sorry, Parrish!

Check out more, over at MOTE!

Marmalade Pirates

September 1, 2025 / fionagreywrites

Last week, WordPress wouldn’t let me post and I gave up. This week, WP finally let me make multiple updates that I’ve been trying to get done for two months. I am both happy and annoyed. I don’t know what that means for this story. Let’s find out.

“Last night’s storm was quite the rager,” Tabitha ventured, having come to the end of her morning news feed. She set her phone on the table, glad of the sunlight coming through the porthole. “More tea, love?”

“Please.” Bert absently pushed air until his hand knocked over his nearly empty teacup. Cold liquid spilled over his fingers and onto the reclaimed driftwood table. “Ah, blast.”

Straightening the cup, she poured a fresh batch in while snagging a towel with her other. “We’d best check the storm damage after brekkie.”

“Saw a lot in the news about strange damage.” Bert shoved his phone out of harm’s way and started sopping up the mess – and the one he’d made of his water glass as well. At least he’d managed the runny eggs and toast before getting the clumsies. Still, it wouldn’t do; he’d need to pay attention to any repairs.

“Oh?” Tabitha returned the kettle to the tiny stove and quirked an eyebrow. “Glad we battened the hatches.” She snickered. “I still love that we can say that.”

He smiled indulgently, knowing most women would have run at the bare suggestion of moving onto a restored pirate ship. His wife, however, promptly bought a hat with a giant feather and learned how to fire the cannon.

“Yes, if you read between the lines, it’s a lot of unusual things. Dismissed, of course. Unreliable witnesses. An awful lot of them, though.”

“Waves of frogs and raining fish and the like, is it then?” She snagged the last toast corner and waved it, leaning against the counter. “Mind?”

“Have at it, darling.” He pushed the marmalade pot in her direction. “One person swore there was a unicorn in the midst of a panicked sheep herd.”

Marmalade acquired, Tabitha poked a corner into her mouth and chewed the honey-wheat slice she’d made just yesterday. Swallowing, she wiped her hands to make sure any lingering stickiness was gone and tugged on the porthole curtain. “Well, I…hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“Where would you say we anchored last night?”

“Off the coast of Cornwall.” Bert sighed. “I supposed we should’ve properly found a port, but it blew in so fast, and anchoring seemed the right choice at the time.”

“And where would you say we are now?”

He joined her, head tucking close to hers as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

Silence filled the galley.

“I s’pose…” Bert cleared his throat. “Well, it does appear to look like every movie scene that’s been filmed in Central Park, now doesn’t it?”

They both stared in more silence for a few minutes.

Eventually, Tabitha realized the pirate ship was drawing a crowd of onlookers, most pointing cameras toward them. “Can’t avoid it, even in New York City, I expect.”

“What may or may not be New York City,” Bert corrected, pushing his glasses up his nose firmly. “They don’t seem jaded enough.”

“I’m more worried about how we’ll get a pirate ship out of a pond,” Tabitha said drily. “Or if we’ll need to use the cannon to blast our way out.”

“Or where we resupply for the journey back to Cornwall.” Bert wandered toward his laptop, fingers already twitching.

She sighed, knowing she’d be lucky to pull him away from his research now, and prepared to handle the three uniformed policemen cautiously heading toward the ship.

***

This week’s prompt was from nother Mike: When the storm was over, they found themselves floating in a pond in Central Park…

My prompt went to Leigh Kimmel: A rose by any other name will stab with wick’d thorns just the same.

Portals

August 19, 2025 / fionagreywrites

“Beep beep.”

Josiah carefully twisted the paintbrush in a final swoop and tucked it into a bag until he could properly finish the design or clean his tools. He looked up finally to discover a petite brunette in her early twenties, gazing eagerly at him with sea-siren eyes, lids covered in a shade of glitter not he’d not seen in his 264 years.

“I like your mural.” Glitter girl reached forward with a wistful hand. “Always loved that cartoon while growing up, even if it was old-fashioned. An escape, whenever he wanted it. I guess that’s what you get from this hobby, huh?”

Her hand, he observed, glowed faintly red at her fingertips, which had nothing to do with her azure-painted nails that — unsurprisingly — also shimmered. The portal tremored, and he swallowed his sharp admonition that she was about to disturb the still-drying paint.

Glitter showed no sign of noticing what happened, nor his sudden friendliness.

“I expect you’d like to travel through yourself,” he interrupted smoothly.

She stared, then stuttered. “Ye-yes, of course. But there’s no secret faeryland beyond the brick. It’s just a cruel dream.”

“Good,” Josiah said, and seized her wrist. “I’ll show you.”

She tugged her arm, pulling back to no avail. “Let me go!”

He smiled, exposing fangs. “But my dear Glitter, you already gave your permission.”

***

Well, I went dark with nother Mike’s prompt this week (and have plans to expand this one to something even darker, yikes!): Painting 3-D tunnels on the sides of buildings was his hobby… and a memorial to Roadrunner cartoons!

My prompt went to Becky Jones: He’d sentenced her to a life of alarm clocks.

Find more, and play along, over at More Odds Than Ends!

Downsizing

August 12, 2025 / fionagreywrites

“It’s never been checked out,” Lisbeth hissed. A woman two tables over fluttered her wings and a man wearing headphones that she suspected might be a technowizard looked up at the disturbance before going back to their respective archive projects.

She blushed, cleared her throat, and remembered her scribe’s vocal training. A low tone and soft voice carried less than a whisper, despite the echoes of the archival hall. “Sorry. We’re running low on space, that’s all, and there’s not a single record of anyone using this book.”

Lisbeth thumped the book down atop the librarians’ shared counter and felt her cheeks flame as the library’s users stared.

“Let me see that file.” Richard coolly pushed his spectacles toward glassy blue eyes with an ink-stained finger. “Ah, yes, this one. It stays.”

“A single look and that’s it?” Lisbeth was quietly outraged. “We have four hundred tomes in transit, and there’s not enough room.”

“True,” Richard answered amiably. His authority and calm befitted the head librarian position, as did his patience. “I applaud your candor and willingness to speak up, Cadet Lisbeth. Tell me, however, where do we work?”

She stuttered. “The – the library.” Her voice rose until it was nearly a question.

“Indeed,” Richard answered, pressing the tome into her waiting arms. “More specifically?”

“The King’s library?” She glanced around at his gesture for her to continue. “The…the magic library.”

“Uncouth to put it so bluntly, but yes, we are in charge of the kingdom’s archives, both magical and historical.” He leaned forward, sharp-pointed nose zooming so close she nearly forgot to look beyond the cracked glass of his lenses. “And what do you think happens every so often in a magical library?”

“We run out of room,” Lisbeth said uncomfortably, and tugged the book close to her robes.

“And what do you think happens when a magical library runs out of room?”

She shook her head, confused.

“It grows,” he said softly.

Lisbeth’s internship hadn’t felt real until that moment. Her own magics were small, and it was easy to think of the larger magics as illusions, or powered by technowizard mechanics.

Now the weight of her chosen career field began sinking onto her shoulders, and she felt every missed drop of the caffe she’d missed this morning as she struggled to study the hall that had seemed so familiar only moments before. “It grows,” she repeated. “Grows?”

“This particular book catches fire whenever it leaves the protections of this hall,” Richard said quietly. “Balefire. The pages aren’t damaged.”

Gulping, she realized the implication, and hastily shoved the volume back onto the shelves. “But the person carrying it…”

He nodded. “It will never be checked out.”

***

A fun one from Parrish Baker this week, with a bit of a tweak: The librarian discovered that one book in the collection had never been checked out—and when she opened it, she understood why.

And hey, it was a trade week, so check out what Parrish did with mine: “Of course it’s only cheesecake.”

Find more and play along, over at More Odds Than Ends!

Lesson Planning

August 5, 2025 / fionagreywrites

“What in Hades?” Peter tripped over the pile of books blocking the door and caught himself on the doorframe. Coffee bobbled precariously in his free hand.

June snatched it before the sweet nectar of life known as caffeine could escape and damage the books. “How are you not used to my research process by now?” She savored a gulp. “I pile books and print out journal articles, all in an organizational schema that no one else can understand.”

“Powered by copious quantities of coffee and little else,” he said drily.

She toasted him and took another sip. “Mmm. Thank you. And for the waffles earlier.”

“Bit of a hazard, dear.” His lilt was teasing, mostly.

“I’ve got it worked out, mostly, although your input would really be invaluable…the problem is, the faeries are SO very unpredictable.”

“You say that as if they’re real.” Peter pushed his computer glasses atop his head and smiled. “Far be it for an Irishman to argue with you about the Fair Folk, that’s for certain sure.”

June shrugged. “Why disavow it just because I’ve never seen it? I’ve seen stranger, and Mom…” She trailed off. “Well, supposedly Faerie is where Mom spent some time, out of time, as it were.”

“Aye,” he said gravely, and rested a hand on her shoulder.

A few moments passed before she shook off her fugue. “Well, anyway, that pile is on types of fae, because you need to know what to deal with, and over there is types of magic, and that enormous teetering tower by the window is on bargains.”

“There used to be a windowseat in the vicinity of that tower,” Peter said fondly. “And you have ink on your nose.”

“Yes, well, so far it seems that the lecture will be mostly on why bargaining with the fae is a bad idea.”

***

A quick one tonight thanks to Becky Jones’ prompt: Fairies are SO unpredictable. Mine went to Leigh Kimmel: “It’s only a marginal risk.” See those and more, over at MOTE!

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