Tag Archives: steampunk

Triumphant Return!

As promised, I’ve come back to you!  A new year, a new set of goals for Goggles & Lace, ladies and gents.  So, here’s the plan:

  • All of the Writing Life posts that you didn’t get throughout the last few months, due to the issue I had with WordPress’ scheduling feature, will be released every Wednesday as previously planned.  I’m reworking a few of them to make improvements so you get the best I can offer.
  • Letters from Blackford Hill returns on Thursday, January 5.  You get a new post on Thursday, and after that, it’ll continue every Monday.  LfBH should be concluded by the end of February-middle of March, and will be edited and offered in ebook format around June.
  • In March or April, Goggles & Lace will feature a new weekly series on Mondays to replace Letters from Blackford Hill.  So far, that series is top secret…. mostly because I haven’t the faintest idea what it is yet.  Something Steampunky, maybe.

Beyond G&L, I’ve taken on Milwordy, the challenge to write a million words in a year.  Anything productive counts, so expect to see a bit more from me here.  =]  If this can’t make me more productive, I’m at a loss for what might.

In any case, it’s great to be back!  I’ve missed you all, and I’m looking forward to getting back into commenting on all of your blogs as well!

2012, here we come!

Love,

Kit

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LfBH 13: Trust

The small village they’d managed to find was a godsend. The people were so sympathetic and willing to help. Silas was just waiting for someone to yell ‘Surprise!’ and burst in, yanking them out of this safe haven. A safe haven that was a barn. Felix hadn’t stopped complaining since they arrived, but Silas was just happy to have a dry place to lay his head. After all, the townspeople were kind enough to give them first aid supplies and food, even a pile of blankets to soften the hay beds and keep warm.

“If you die, I swear I’ll have you resurrected so I can personally beat you to death,” Felix said irritably as he wrapped Silas’ battered ribs, the bullet hole in his right shoulder was already doctored and patched the best Felix knew how. “I’m not a fucking doctor.”

“You’re not much a conversationist, either, Count,” Silas grinned, his face pale though he was making the effort to keep the other from worrying. Felix was an unpleasant little bastard when he was worried.

“Conversationalist.”

“I’ll talk how I want. If you need me to, I can just sit quiet an’ look pretty, but I got no one but you to impress out here.” He poked him in the ribs. “And I’d say you’re pretty impressed by my amazing act of heroism back there, huh?” Another grin.

“Shut up, you could have died.” Felix shoved his companion’s head back on the pile of hay. “You still could.”

Silas couldn’t help laughing, though it was through a grimace, a sense of humor didn’t do well for broken ribs.

“Hilarious, I know,” muttered Felix, shaking his head. “But… you know, thank you… for what you did. We’d never have gotten out without you and Phaedra. Even if we lost that girl they tried to save. I wasn’t happy about her being dragged along at first… but I never wanted to see that happen to her.”

“Me, either, but it’s not like we can go back now. We can’t let losing one person take us down. We have too much riding on this escape…. I’m not going back there, Felix, not for anyone.”

The Count only nodded somberly, patching up his companion to the best of his ability—which wasn’t exactly top notch. He was far from a doctor. In fact, the slightest scratches he’d retained as a child were tended to professionally. Tearing bullets out of living human flesh was nerve-wracking, stomach-churning, grueling and unpleasant work. Besides, Silas’ muffled screams into the folded up bridle they’d pulled off the barn wall were enough to make Felix’s hands shake so violently it was a small wonder he didn’t make things worse.

Once finished, the temporary doctor plopped down next to Silas and sighed, arms around his knees as he looked up into the spider-laden rafters. The whispers of Phaedra and Tully two stalls over caught his attention, though he couldn’t make out much of what they were saying. Sleeping in a barn, on damp hay, dirty and caked in flaking blood, his fingers stained from his tending to Silas…. Still it was better than Blackford Hill.

“You’re thinkin’ too hard.”

Felix glanced to Silas, who used what little strength he had to yank Felix down beside him, his unaffected arm looping around him to pull him against his chest.

“Don’t touch me,” Felix grumbled, though there was little weight behind it.

“Shhh, you’re ruining it.”

Felix rolled his eyes. He’d just ripped bits of metal out of the man, he still he was completely placid and ready to just go to sleep. “Shouldn’t you be in excruciating pain?”

“I am, and you’re making it worse by bitching. Shh.”

Felix had to admit, relaxing against the warmth of another body was a special sort of comfort. Or maybe it was just Silas’ body. If anyone else had put a hand on him at this point—well, it wouldn’t have been pretty.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asked, tilting his head up a bit to look at Silas, before he propped himself up on one hand to he could look down at him.

“Why wouldn’t I? You planned this whole thing, and here I am, right? That’s not nothin’.”

Felix gave a little nod, though he didn’t seem satisfied. His eyes drifted down to to the bandage on his counterpart’s shoulder, his fingers brushing over the slowly-blooming bloodstain.

“What?” Silas stilled his hand, and kissed his fingers, dried blood and all.

Felix turned away, cheeks flaring red. “Nothing. Just worried. It’s a big plan. I don’t know if we can—”

“We can because you want it bad enough. It’s going to work out.” Again, Silas pulled him down and kissed the top of his head. “I trust you. Go to sleep.”

Felix rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. “My father will know I escaped. He’ll know I have people with me.”

“Then we’ll compensate. If we can bring down your father, Felix, we can bring down Blackford Hill, and any other places like it in your father’s lordship.”

That was true. Felix wanted revenge more than anything, but his will for revenge was fading now that he was out. Now that the pressure of torture and starvation was lifted. Now that Silas wasn’t dying and he didn’t have the Overseer breathing down their necks about every little thing. Though, if removing his father from the equation brought the ruin of Blackford Hill, then it would be well worth pushing forward.

“Alright. We’ll continue with the plan,” he offered finally, and gave a small, resolute nod.

Silas smiled and gave the Count a firm squeeze. “Good. We’ll plan it out better if it puts you at ease. Just relax and sleep for now. We have time.”

Time. Just last night, time was what they were running short on. Now, they were reasonably safe, even if they had to move within a few days. They had time, and Silas trusted him. Satisfied in that, Felix finally closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

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Writing Prompt: Between Genius & Insanity

Steampunk Demotivational

Writing Prompt Friday lives on!  This week, you’re an inventor.  Give me some insight into your current big project.  Not working on anything, O great inventor?  Tell me how you’re making ends meet, being an inventor with no commissions.  Don’t want to air your dirty laundry?  Give me a typical day in your lab, introduce me to your staff, your favorite materials to work with.

Remember, the world may not see your genius, but that shouldn’t stop you from showcasing it!

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Speak Out with Your Geek Out: Steampunk!

Welcome, folks!  Today’s post is my participation in Speak Out with Your Geek Out, a fantastic blogging movement meant to show the masses that it’s okay to take pride in our geekiness!  We are here.  We are epic.  And we are controlling your entertainment industry.  Learn to love us, because we are amazing.  =]

Kit’s topic of love?

Steampunk!

(come on, folks, are we really shocked?)

Let’s begin by defining: what is Steampunk?

Well, there’s the Wikipedia [link] definition: Steampunk is a sub-genre of science fiction, fantasy, alternate history, and speculative fiction that came into prominence during the 1980s and early 1990s. Steampunk involves a setting where steam power is still widely used—usually Victorian era Britain—that incorporates elements of either science fiction or fantasy. Works of steampunk often feature anachronistic technology or futuristic innovations as Victorians may have envisioned them, based on a Victorian perspective on fashion, culture, architectural style, art, etc. This technology may include such fictional machines as those found in the works of H. G. Wells and Jules Verne.

But Steampunk, to we Steampunks, is so much more than that.  You can mesh the romance of Victorian high society or the grit of the under-privileged with modern luxuries and conveniences laden with brass, copper, wood, and leather!  Not sure if Steampunk can coexist with your non-nerdy interests?  I bet I can prove you wrong.  =]

Fashion

Victorian fashion in the UK, and even in 19th century America and around the world, made a huge statement from the bustle and spats of the late 19th century to the Asian influence brought on by the trade with China and the First Opium War.  Taking those fashion statements, reinventing them with modern creativity and convenience, entwining them with fiction, innovation, and flights of fancy—this is the look of Steampunk.

Most importantly?  Goggles. >=]

Flickr © San Diego Shooter

Flickr © Phinzup

Technology

There’s a fine line separating genius from insanity—and Steampunks can walk it with the best of them.  Steampunks can Steampunk anything!  Computers, guns, swords, cars, anything you can think of that isn’t Victorianized can be revolutionized by the Steampunk community.  The tech of the 19th century meets the tech and imagination of the 21st!

Cell Phone Headset; Flickr © garagemonkeysan

Mouse; Flickr © Irish Typepad

Character

Sky pirates, inventors, engineers, aristocrats, defilers, criminals, and royalty!   Don’t say you don’t want to be a fantastic adventurer, because it’ll never be true!  Dress up as your favorite Steampunk archetype!  Create yourself in an alternate universe where you get a coal-powered ray gun or… a steam-powered motorcycle.  Or an airship.  Mostly, you get to prance around at conventions in bitchin’ 19th century gear and enjoy hugs and photos from strangers.  It’s fun. =]

A picnic for Steampunk lovers, perhaps?

Flickr © Anna Fischer

Wanna live the life?

Try to compete with this modvic in Massachusetts!

Literature and Other Media

Moral of the story?

There’s nothing cooler than a Steampunk!

What’s your geekiest interest? 

Speak Out with Your Geek Out, folks!  Feel no shame, for you are awesome!

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LfBH 12: Stitches – revisited

Do you guys remember Stitches?  It was the first flash fiction I wrote involving Phaedra and Tully.  A Letter from Count Malrais was the first, and together, they sparked Letters from Blackford Hill.   I had to add and alter a bit, but here’s Stitches, revisited.  Enjoy. <3

~+~+~+~

“You haven’t even flinched.”

Phaedra’s eyes flicked up to catch a dreamy smile on her friend’s lips, before glancing back down again. The gash on her forearm pinched together at the top when Tully pulled the thread taut, tying off the third in a series of stitches.

“Would you rather I were howling in pain?” asked Phaedra, her voice soft as it always was, though for once a light humor crept into her tone. The woman was always so severe, Tully couldn’t help but worry for her sometimes.

“Of course not,” replied Tully, pressing the point of the curved needle through the split flesh. Still, Phae didn’t react. “I just… admire your strength.”

She was still smiling. Phaedra gave her head a light shake. Tully baffled her sometimes. It was a long fight to get out of that colony, free from the fences and the locks, and rifles trained on them every second of every day; still, Tully smiled. Even when they were captured, bound and carted off to that awful place, Tully still managed to smile. Fiona was left at the edge of the woods, lifeless. Phae knew Tully was pushing back the pain that dwelt there; the pain that exploded from her love when Fiona took that bullet. There were tears, tantrums, fury from everyone else, dozens of others all desperate for answers….

Tully tried to stay on the bright side.

Phaedra wasn’t aware of any bright side.

Their lives had gone completely out of control, all because they had chosen to share an inn room while Phaedra helped Tully find a cure for that awful cough she’d had. Fortunately, the cough was alleviated, but they had hardly gotten their things packed to go back to work at the bakery, when the door came crashing off the hinges—

Phaedra shook her head and sighed. Going back to the bakery seemed useless now. Would they go so far as to wait for Phae and Tully where they worked?

The small town they’d stumbled across in their escape had no knowledge of the horrors of Blackford Hill. They knew only that the government had a compound there, but were left in the dark about what was held within it. The soldiers made it clear that they would shoot anyone on sight if they came snooping around. Now, huddled in yet another inn room, together, though this time accompanied by Silas and Felix—two married couples on holiday? Could they pull that off?—Phae submitted to Tully’s pleas to stitch the gash in her arm, and rub balm on the bruises and scrapes.

It killed Phae to see the blond’s arm wrapped up in blood-stained linen. Tully deserved so much better.

“Done.” Tully started packing up her first aid kit, and Phaedra lifted her arm to look over the other woman’s handy work. The stitches were clean, and the cut wasn’t even bleeding through the gaps.

“Thanks,” murmured Phaedra, and grabbed a strip of cloth that had been torn from Tully’s underskirt, starting to wrap the newly-sewn arm. Torn and used clothing was suddenly a luxury she’d never appreciated before. “Where did you learn to do that, anyway?”

A sad smile was cast over Tully’s shoulder as she tucked her things away. “I wasn’t always a baker, Phae. Somehow, I don’t expect you were, either.”

Their eyes met, and a silence passed between them, understanding and steadying. Something in that silence earned a smile from Tully, and Phaedra’s eyes fell to the fabric on her arm.

“No. Not always.”

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LfBH – 10: Recruitment

Two minutes after midnight.  @_@  So close.  Also, if you’d like to catch up on the rest of LfBH, you can read parts 1 – 9.5 right here.

~  ~  ~  ~

Broken and filthy, Tully leaned heavily on the outer wall of the barracks. People milled about, walking in aimless circles, shells of the living, ghosts of who they might have been before Blackford Hill. For some, that was an improvement, of course; rapists, child molesters, the vicious and violent. Tully didn’t mourn those losses, but here it was sometimes hard to distinguish the innocent from the evil. Here, they were all savages on the edge of survival.

“No matter how long you stand there, you won’t get any further away.”

Tully snapped back to herself, the man now standing beside her was very suddenly a part of her reality. “Excuse me?”

“You stand here and watch them, hoping the longer you stare, the easier it will be to imagine yourself elsewhere. Maybe there’s some grass over there,” he gestured vaguely toward the mud pit. “Maybe a pub where the overseer’s office is.”

She stared at him, unblinking, the dark circles under her eyes giving her a pained, hollow look. “I’m Tully,” she spoke after several moments, her eyes returning to the wandering people.

“Felix.” He gave a weak snort of laughter, and adjusted his makeshift sling. “I’m a Count, you know. Could you believe that?”

“Not in here, you’re not,” she stated flatly, unfazed by the claim.

“No,” his eyes fell, and he nudged a pebble with his foot. “Not out there, either, I expect. Not anymore. What did you do to get in here?”

“Nothing. I shared an inn room with a woman.” She paused. “As it happens, I am in love with her, but at the time, we hadn’t done anything wrong.”

“She’s here too?”

“Yes, so if you’re thinking of doing anyth—.”

“No! No, it’s nothing like that. I’m here for the same reason.” Felix made a face, and glanced to Tully, swaying a bit on his feet. “If you don’t count the temple full of Satrean priests I burned alive, I suppose. They had it coming.”

Tully’s flat gaze turned to him, a mild question into his sanity behind her eyes. “You are quite the charmer, Count Felix.”

“I just… meant that I was in love with the wrong person. ‘Wrong’ according to them, anyway. The priests killed him. I punished them for murder and for Dacian’s memory. My father though he was being merciful, denying me a hanging and dumping me off here like one more dirty secret.”

“Are you a lonely man, Count?”

Felix’s gaze faltered a little, and he paused. “I suppose I am. Why?”

“I just can’t fathom why you’re telling me all of this.” Again, she turned to the muddy grounds of Blackford Hill, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, biting idly.

Heaving a sigh, the former Count nodded and gave his good arm a small shrug. “You looked as lonely as I am, standing over here. Where’s your lady friend?”

The silence that rested between them was heavy, but Tully fought not to sag beneath the weight of her uncertainty. “She was taken to the overseer house ago.” She drew a quaking breath. “I haven’t seen her since, though… others… say she was dragged out… alive and cursing.” Her eyes clamped shut, and her arms folded across her chest, hugging herself tightly. “No one has seen her since then.”

Felix let his eyes look over the beaten down blond beside him, and he shook his head. The guards here didn’t appear to be treating the women with any special gentleness. She was covered in scuffs and bruises, and he could have sworn there was a faint redness around her neck… like a fabric burn. It was a crime, the things they did to people.

“My friend is missing too. He has been since this morning.” Felix confided quietly, having tried so desperately to keep from facing that he cared for Silas. The other man had been taken for treatment, and hadn’t returned; that always meant he’d come back needing at least a day in bed before he could even move. The bruises, the lashings, the scrapes—it killed Felix to see him like that. Silas was a crass man, but he was also warm and caring…. it was a combination one didn’t see in the upper class.

Taking a deep breath, Tully steadied herself, and glanced to him. “I hope they return him soon, then,” she noted, trying to be cordial, though she wasn’t exactly in the best state of mind for pleasantries.

Once again in a deep, awkward silence, Felix fidgeted a little, and turned with a start as he came face to face with a guard. The man was huge, but… most of them were, and he took a few steps back. “Excuse me.” he said.

“What’s going on here?” asked the guard, big bushy brows furrowed, his eyes centered on Felix.

“Nothing. We were talking.” Tully stated, and looked to Felix, and back to the guard. “Your sort aren’t exactly quality conversation, if you don’t mind me saying.”

The bull of a man brought the back of his hand across Tully’s mouth, and her head jerked to the side. In seconds, blood welled in the split, and trickled down her chin. Felix’s eyes were wide, and took her by the shoulders, looking at the cut.

“What the hell did you do that for?” he snapped at the guard, spinning around to face him, seething. “You can’t make it in the world? Can’t read or write? Can’t follow simple commands? So what? Get a job slapping around girls half your size? It’s lumbering morons like you that belong in here, not us!” He shouted, but instead of striking… the guard only laughed.

That was unsettling.

Tully stood behind Felix, shaking a bit, not giving her ground.

“You wait, boy. Tomorrow’s your day.” The guard said, laughing as he turned and walked away.

Tully stared after him a moment before touching Felix’s arm. “What did he mean by that? What’s tomorrow?”

“Another scheduled treatment. I’m willing to bet he plans on paying me back for this then….” He drew a breath. “We’re not waiting that long. We’re leaving tonight, and you’re coming with us.”

“What?” Tully’s jaw dropped and she tugged on Felix’s un-wrapped arm. “You don’t even know me. Why would you—.”

“Shh! We’re all victims here. Do you want in or not?”

Pausing, she drew a breath and gave a stout nod. “I’m taking Phae with me.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to come without her.” Felix patted Tully’s hand, and smiled. “Good. I’ll come back here at dusk. Be ready.” And with that, he walked away, leaving Tully, wide-eyed, staring after him.

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LfBH 9.3 – Trials: Tully

Author’s Note:  It’s short.  I’m incredibly dissatisfied with this installment.  9.4 will be better, I hope.  Blah.

~~~~

I wanted to blame her.

So intensely, I wanted to push all of the blame for our capture onto Phae; for bringing us to the capital, for booking a single room with a single bed, for not knowing of this threat in the first place. I’m selfish. I know that. All of those things, she did for me without even having to be asked. I could have died, and it’s because of Phae that I didn’t.

Now, standing naked in the center of the compound, I could only focus on this hardship. The waves of freezing cold water hit me over and over, and the girls around me created a chorus of high-pitched squeals and yelps with very bucket thrown. I was screaming, hugging myself against the cold, my skin pale and tight as gooseflesh raised along every inch of me. All this suffering…. and yet I felt detached, a ghost outside my body as they tortured it.

Never-ending torrents of water pelted us, and we were not permitted to move from where we stood. I watched a woman crouch to the ground, curling in on herself, only to be yanked up by the hair by one of the guards. She screamed and I could do nothing.

Phaedra would have done something.

Perhaps that’s the reason I feel such animosity toward my best friend, my love…. She takes action where I step back in fear. I don’t know where that part of me went, but I do remember there were days once when I could stand up for what I loved or be willing to die making my point.

I miss that part of me.

And in that field of filth and mud-spatter, I missed Phae.

They had tied her up when they took me; shackled her to the bed frame, and with much incredible effort, at that. Phaedra terrified me with her strength and will to fight, impressing me constantly since we arrived. The woman I had met in the bakery had been so docile and kind, caring for me in the darkest days of that sickness. The Phaedra I knew here, in this awful detention camp, was filled with fury and willfulness. When others bowed and cowered, she stood in defiance—and was always beaten for it, but never before she got her shots in on a few of the guards. They were growing weary of her, and that was oddly satisfying to me.

It seemed like forever until the water stopped, and a guard pointed back to our barracks. Aching and shivering, we hobbled along to each of our bunk houses. It was becoming routine, with these sessions always serving as my time to contemplate… always feeling just outside myself enough to link my thoughts together.

Once inside, I knelt beside Phae and let out a sob, her free arm coming to slide around me and pull me into her warmth without a word. She may have been shackled to the bed, but her affection was far from lacking.

How could I have ever blamed her…?

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LfBH 9.1 – Trials: Fiona

I was afraid when the treatment started.

They came for me in the small hours of morning, the haze of twilight still fighting against the sun. That was always my favorite time of day….

“Time for your treatment,” the guard shouted, rousing us from our sleep the moment he burst through the door, three others in tow. It felt like we had only just arrived, sleeping a shoddy excuse for a bed instead of the filthy wagon floor. “Girls, sixteen to twenty. Line up.”

My blood froze. Flicking a glance toward my new friends, I must have given away my terror; Phaedra was on her feet in a heartbeat, her finger thrust a hairsbreadth from the guard’s nose.

“I don’t know what ‘treatment’ you plan to give these girls, but so help me, if any of them return harmed, I will bury you.” there was a growl behind her words, a threat that made me quiver.

The guard leaned forward, pushing Phae’s hand aside, nose to nose with her. “We have bitches put down,” he seethed, though Phae didn’t even flinch. The hair on my neck prickled at the silence that followed, tension so thick it was visible. Phaedra didn’t move an inch, her dark eyes locked on him, glaring into that bastard’s face.

He reminded me of my husband. A shudder ran through me, and I had to look away.

“Phae!” Tully had Phaedra by the shoulders, tugging her back. Finally, she relented and went back to the bed they shared. Tully slid behind her, arms lacing around her shoulders to keep her on the bed.

“March them out.” The guard flicked the muzzle of his rifle from us to the door, and the three he’d brought with him closed around us. Myself and five other girls, quaking and crying, were led from the bunk house.

++++

It’s hard to tell what we were faced with. The doors opened into a large barn, the stalls having been converted and swept out. Restraints hung from the rafters and into each stall like tentacles made of chain and leather. Our marching stopped as we caught our first glimpse into this medieval hell, balking at any notion of entry. Who would cross this threshold?

“Move!” One of our captors shoved a pair of girls with his rifle, knocking them into the rest of us to force us inside. I held still, only to feel that same shove, toppling onto my hands and knees. One of the other girls pulled me to my feet just in time to draw my face out of the path of a guard’s boot.

I mouthed a silent ‘thank you’. She only looked away.

My wrist was the first to be seized and I screamed. It was futile. I knew no one would help me, but I screamed and screamed as the man dragged me through the barn, the soles of my shoes skidding until they caught on a floorboard and I toppled onto my face.

He lost his grip. My heart leapt, and so did I. Bolting for the door, I thought I could make it. I don’t know why I thought that….

Pain wrenched me from my optimism, and before I knew it, my feet were over my head, and I was on the floor, a meaty hand tangled in my hair, jerking me backward. Sobbing and screaming, I couldn’t hear anything but my own voice; I couldn’t feel anything but the force of the guard’s hand in my hair, soon forcing my hands over my head. I was shackled.

Shackled.

I fought… I really did. Being strung up like a side of beef leeched any fight I had left in me, and I just dangled there, sobbing, head hung… Shameful. I valued my life, and I wanted to live it. Why couldn’t I free myself? How did I even get here?

I cried as they left me there. Terrified. Alone. Five other girls in the stalls around me, all too terrified to speak. For hours we were left there, or it felt like hours. My shoulders and elbows ached as my own weight stretched them from the ceiling shackles. It hurt to cry. It hurt to breathe.

“Your new life begins now.” A booming voice silenced the sobbing as we all strained to lift our heads and see the man that was now pacing the central walkway between the stalls. “No more filth. No more blasphemy. No more willful ignorance.” He cracked a riding crop against my stall door. “We will begin with gentle coaxing. You don’t want to be the way you are. No one wants to be different. Or shunned. Or cast out. How many of you pretty ladies are married? Raise your hand?”

He laughed . Sick sense of humor…. That didn’t bode well. I suddenly found myself praying to Satreas to just let me go home. I could sneak around under my husband’s eye…. I didn’t want to be tied up anymore.

“Gentle coaxing… You’ll be here like this until morning. Tomorrow, you get a bath from where you hang. Then you go back to your barracks.” He looked into my stall and grinned. “You, though… have to be taught that escape attempts won’t put you in our good graces.”

My stomach churned, and tears welled again, leaking down my cheeks. I hoped Phae meant what she said to that guard. This was a different man, shorter, with spectacles and slicked back blond hair, but the thought of someone being punished gave me solace.

“Unbutton the back of her shirt.”

A sob slid out of me against my will, and one of the guards began to obey the command, the buttons on the back of the murky gray shirt I was issued, same as all the others, were released from their holes. As long as my front stayed covered—

He had no interest in my front. Rolling up his sleeves, that spectacled bastard came around behind me, tugging leather gloves off finger by finger. I only saw his shadow, lifting the riding crop–

My voice felt detached as it echoed through the barn in hysterical screams, as if they weren’t my own, stopping only when the pain became an inflamed and swollen numbness. I saw him come around me again, pulling his gloves back on, the crop tucked under his arm.

“Rest well, ladies,” he said as he retreated, the guards following. I heard the padlock snap shut, and let out a shuddering sigh… and began to weep.

“F-Fiona…?” one of the girls asked, a girl called Sophie, I think. “Are you alright?”

Mustering my voice, I croaked out a weak ‘no’… and silence fell over the barn.

The treatment center.

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LfBH Part 8: Common Ground

I admit, I didn’t think all the ‘getting there’ segments out very well.  I have better pieces in store, I promise.

~~~~

The wagon was full, packed wall to wall. Phaedra could make no pattern of them. A random assortment; men, women, rich, poor, it didn’t seem to make sense. Her fingers slid slowly through Tully’s hair, the blond making use of her lap as a pillow, soothing her the best she could. Her mind raced, eyes flicking from the doors to a barred window at the front, and then to the floor, littered with crying women and angry men.

“What do we do?” whispered Tully, cerulean eyes drifting open, settling on her companion in wait.

“Right now, we do nothing.” Phae’s fingers stroked gently over her cheek, Tully’s eyes slipping shut once again. “It doesn’t do us any good to jump out of a moving wagon. Besides, the door is barred from the outside.”

“But why are we here?” Tully asked, her voice breaking as she clamped her eyes shut on the tears.

“They’re taking people from all over the city,” a girl in the corner murmured, just loud enough to be heard over the dull hum of tears and whispers around her. She lifted her eyes, so dark blue they were almost violet.

“But why? What have we done?” Phaedra pressed, pulling her hand from Tully’s hair as the blond sat up.

The girl curled into herself, hugging her knees, the bonnet she wore slipping slightly to reveal a mop of ginger hair. Phae knew she couldn’t have been more than seventeen. “There have been rumors.”

Sliding off the narrow bench that lined the wagon walls, Tully settled beside her, tugging off the bonnet and stroking her hair. “What rumors?” she asked, her tone soft. “And what’s your name, dear?”

The girl glanced up at Tully and shifted her eyes to Phae. “It’s Fiona… And… Rumors… that people are getting taken right off the streets. I had never sen it until it happened to me.” She began to cry and Tully wrapped an arm around her, tugging her into a maternal huddle, wordlessly directing her to lay her head on her shoulder. “I was just buying flour,” she sobbed quietly, her face turning into Tully’s neck.

“So, what makes us all different? What do we have in common?” Phaedra looked around at everyone. Most of them seemed harmless, cowering and crying. Others looked angry, maybe dangerous, but certainly not pleasant company.

The girl lifted her head and scooted closer to Phae, pulling lightly at Tully’s sleeve to beckon her closer. Creating a tight little triangle, Phae knelt beside the pair as the girl leaned in to whisper.

“They take adulterers, rapists, and flesh-peddlers… people are always saying they take others, too.”

“Others?” Tully tucked a bit of hair from the redhead’s eyes, looping it behind her ear gently.

“Homosexuals,” Phae said resignedly.

Tully made a noise of disgust. That made sense. They were surrounded by men and women whose only crimes were being dissatisfied, poor, or just… different. For the most part, anyway.

“And what did you do?” asked Tully, glancing to Phae, their eyes meeting in mutual concern.

The girl’s head dipped a bit and that bouncy red hair tumbled back into a curtain beside her face. “I was unfaithful to my husband…” she swallowed hard, “with his daughter. We’re the same age.”

Phae shook her head a bit, puzzled. “Why isn’t she here then?”

“I think… she is the one who turned me in.”

A silence settled within their little triangle, the rocking and creaking of the wagon almost painfully loud behind it. A sob broke their pensive quiet, and the redheaded girl leaned into Tully who didn’t seem to have a choice in wrapping her arms around her. Casting a glance at Phaedra, she hushed the teen in her arms, rocking gently with her to quiet her tears.

“I feel like this is redundant, but… now what?” Tully ventured, blue eyes settled on Phae, intense and very barely containing the panic welling within.

Phaedra shook her head a little, and drew a deep, pensive breath. “I don’t know.”

“You have to know, Phae. You always know!” burst out of Tully’s mouth, breaking on tears. The blond rocked back and forth, and Phaedra slid off the bench, tucking a bit of Tully’s hair behind her ear, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

“You didn’t come this far to lose it now, did you? You beat that infection, and you can overcome this. We can overcome this.” Her eyes trailed down the younger girl’s face, and she leaned to brush their lips together.

Tully jerked back, pulling the girl with her. “That’s the whole reason we’re here, isn’t it?” Her glare bore into Phae so hard it almost burned to be under it.

Drawing back, she settled back on the bench, gaze fixed on her hands as she fiddled with her own fingers. It was unfathomable that she and Tully could have been so happy when the girl was all but dying, but now they were faced with imprisonment and that look—Phae closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

“You’re right.” Her voice was soft, all the strength and confidence that usually poured off of her had been stopped cold by Tully’s glare. “Of course you’re right, Tully…. I just–”

“Just? Just what?” Tully’s shoulders rose and fell in resignation and she released the girl in her arms, who scooted back, eyes wide as they flicked between the quarreling women. “I don’t even care what you ‘just’! How do we get out of this?”

Phaedra stared at her. In those few weeks they’d spent together, she had honestly thought they’d gotten to know one another and now… she didn’t even know Tully. How could the girl from the inn have possibly been the same person?

“I love you.”

Tully’s eyes snapped up yet again, and she shook her head. “Phae–”

“I’ll think of something.”

Tully let out a quaking sigh. “I certainly hope one of us does…”

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LfBH: Detention

I know I’m super late, but here it is! <3  Part 6.   I apologize for the quality.

~+~+~+~


“What the hell do you mean?” snapped Felix, dark eyes narrowed at the guard who blocked the early-dawn light streaming through his doorway. Somehow, that made the light even more difficult to bear.

“Your father went to great lengths, Count Malrais. He aims to ensure your safety, and this was the best way he knew to–”

“To what?” Felix flew up from the pallet that served as his prison bed, and began dressing, unabashedly naked in front of the guard. “To spare himself the humiliation? Where does he plan to send me, exactly? We both know he won’t be accepting me back into the family household.”

The guard shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t have the details of your new location–”

The young count snorted in mock amusement, arms folding over his chest as he glared at the guard. “Get out. I’ll be out when I’ve eaten breakfast.”

“You’ll eat in the wagon,” stated the guard, his patience for Felix’s spoiled attitude wearing thin. “I’ll bind you if I have to, Count Malrais. You’re on our time, now.”

Felix shoved his feet into his boots, his face furiously red as he fought the urge to speak. This was growing tiresome. “I’d rather face the gallows.” He muttered, grunting in shock as he was seized by the back of his collar and yanked to his feet, all but flailing like a child against the sudden tug. Set down again, the guard shoved him, palm to his back, toward the door.

“Out.”

“Fine,” he snapped, and trudged in a miniature tantrum out the door. Sure enough, there was a wagon waiting, the back doors open only feet from the door. “There… there are bars on this wagon.”

“Yes.”

Felix’s stomach sank, and, hesitating, he hoisted himself into the back. A wagon with bars; his father sent a message that he was to be spared death, but in favor of what?

The gallows didn’t seem like such a terrible idea all of a sudden.

~+~+~+~

Three days in the back of that wagon, thrown scraps of whatever the guards were eating, Felix was beginning to wonder if his father’s compassion wasn’t actually a ploy to make an example of him. Maybe drag him out to the highway and have him strung up to be pecked at by the birds and boiled in the sun. Lying on that floor, unbound, but still a prisoner, the gallows were a welcoming thought, almost warming.

All at once, the wagon lurched to a stop and the double doors were thrown open, sunlight streaming in as Felix all but curled in on himself, shielding his eyes from the light.

“Out,” snapped the guard standing at the mouth of the wagon, tapping Felix’s cheek with the muzzle of his rifle to drive the point home.

Shoving himself to his feet, the Count groaned as every muscle in his body gave protest. As his eyes adjusted, they settled on the gun, and he heaved a sigh. Outstanding, he thought, stretching as he fought to gain feeling back in his legs.

“I’m not certain that’s necessary,” he muttered, eying the weapon irritably.

“We’re doing your father a favor, Count Malrais,” the guard all but barked. “If you get out of hand, it is within our power to gun you down.”

Felix stiffened, and his gaze faltered, dropping momentarily. “Of course it is….” He grimaced, and stepped out of the wagon, taken by the arms as he hopped to the ground. “Now, what is this ‘favor’ you’re doing my father? Sparing my life? Yes, that’s wonderful. Take me away from the gallows, throw me into a wagon, and dump me in a fenced off mud pit.” He motioned to the vast expanse of land before him as the gates, wound in knots of barbed wire, were pulled open to accept them inside.

“Welcome to Blackford Hill.” The guard lifted his gun, and struck Felix in the center of the back, giving his backside a kick at the same time. Gasping, Felix grunted and stumbled forward, heading through the gates, looking around as the panic rose inside him. That hollow, nervous feeling only grew as his steps became a trudge, the realization slowly welling in him.

“A detention camp…” he whispered, a cold pit forming in his stomach.

“Walk!” That gun struck him once again, and he toppled onto his hands and knees, mud splattering as he hit the ground.

This is my father’s idea of sparing me?” He snapped, pulling himself from the sludge and shaking his arms off. “Has he lost his mind?” He laughed in shock, hands lifting, pressing to his temples as he fought back the hysteria building in him.

The guard once again marched forward, lifting his gun. “I said–”

WALK! YES, I HEARD YOU!” Felix shouted at him, and the rifle caught him across the face. He didn’t recall falling, but as the explosion of stars behind his eyes cleared a moment later, he was staring up at the sky. Turning onto his side, he pushed himself into a sitting position, looking out over the rows of wooden huts, dozens of people, men and women, all peeking out at the ruckus. All dressed in rags. Filthy. Starving. Some bandaged or splinted. He tried to push himself to his feet, looking stunned.

“Now. Walk.” The guard muttered, a bit more calmly this time.
Felix did as he was told, his eye flowering into a bruise, blood leaking from the corner of his lips. Why hadn’t his father just let him be executed? Anything was better than a detention camp. Death was better than a detention camp. Turning around, Felix looked at the guard with the gun, and the other two that had been following along came around the sides of him.

“Why this place?” he asked, trying to look around while his head was still spinning.

“Strip.”

Felix grunted incredulously, and glared at the guard.

“Undress him,” snapped the guard and the other two closed in on the Count, even as he tried to back away. They seized his arms, and managed to strip him bare in seconds, discarding the rags they made of his clothing a moment later.

Shielding himself, Felix ducked his head as two boys approached with buckets of water, and before he could react, he gasped as the frigid water was splashed on him, washing the mud away. Thrown a threadbare towel, he cringed and dried himself, shaking violently as his body tried to adjust to the cold. Brought up onto a deck, he was given clothes, and forced to dress in the same drab rags everyone else seemed to be wearing. Humiliated and freezing, he turned to the guards, refusing to be beaten down… he lifted his chin.

“I’m writing a letter to my father. He can’t possibly have approved of this,” he snapped, but even the tone of his voice was a bit more subdued. The butt of that rifle hurt like hell.

“Your father demanded we bring you here!” The guard snapped, and gave him a shove. “Enough insolence. You belong to us now.”

Felix glared harder. “And if I refuse to take your asinine orders?”

He knew the answer to that. Sure enough, that rifle came down across his face, and as the stars exploded behind his eyes once again, Felix found himself wishing it had been a bullet.

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Filed under Letters from Blackford Hill, Writing