#mythpunk — Public Fediverse posts

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 132, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK

#Wss366 Cain #TimeTravelAuthors 9/10. Whatever

“Coom,” my strange little companion said, pulling me toward the tables. We sat down cross-legged. If Emily had been there, I would have called it “criss-cross applesauce” to mess with her.

There it was again! That name! Who was Emily? She must be important.

The brilliant indigo eyes of a woman surfaced in my mind. She was sipping soup with her face hidden behind ivy on the…

Then it was gone again.

“Hurburth?” Weena said, poking me in the ribs.

I smiled at her and looked around. We were sitting near the edge of the room. Their clothes were either drabber or brighter than those at the further tables. Some wore wrinkled or stained items. Still others displayed faces painted with berry dye or colored mud. One had a bandaged hand, and a strawberry birthmark marred another’s cheek. From the way the fairies avoided him, you’d have thought he bore the mark of Cain. And then there was Weena, with her fire-scarred face.

“Misfits and outcasts,” I said.

Emily… I mean, Weena.

She piled fruit in front of me, and I ate it absentmindedly as I studied my environment.

The little people’s manners were atrocious. When they finished something, they tossed the remains on the floor. They grabbed at the food and threw it at each other.

My companion carefully watched me eat and imitated me. Unlike the others, who laughed and talked like unattended kindergartners, she chewed silently and only spoke when her mouth was empty.

Eventually, she stopped, her brows knit, and touched one of my breasts. “Not Hurburth?”

“No, not Hurburth.” I pointed to myself. “Henrietta.”

“Henreetaa?”

“Henny.”

“Henny,” she repeated, getting it correct.

I nodded.

“Henny, luke Weena?”

“Luke?” I thought. “Luke? Oh, ‘like!’”

“Like,” I said, pointing first at myself and then at her. “Henny, like Weena.” I spread my hands wide.

When we finished eating, it was growing dark inside the building.

“Come,” I said and led her to the stairs leading to the platform.

They were in poor shape, with broken treads and gaps. I wondered if it would be safer to face the Morlocks than to climb.

#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 132, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK

#Wss366 Cain #TimeTravelAuthors 9/10. Whatever

“Coom,” my strange little companion said, pulling me toward the tables. We sat down cross-legged. If Emily had been there, I would have called it “criss-cross applesauce” to mess with her.

There it was again! That name! Who was Emily? She must be important.

The brilliant indigo eyes of a woman surfaced in my mind. She was sipping soup with her face hidden behind ivy on the…

Then it was gone again.

“Hurburth?” Weena said, poking me in the ribs.

I smiled at her and looked around. We were sitting near the edge of the room. Their clothes were either drabber or brighter than those at the further tables. Some wore wrinkled or stained items. Still others displayed faces painted with berry dye or colored mud. One had a bandaged hand, and a strawberry birthmark marred another’s cheek. From the way the fairies avoided him, you’d have thought he bore the mark of Cain. And then there was Weena, with her fire-scarred face.

“Misfits and outcasts,” I said.

Emily… I mean, Weena.

She piled fruit in front of me, and I ate it absentmindedly as I studied my environment.

The little people’s manners were atrocious. When they finished something, they tossed the remains on the floor. They grabbed at the food and threw it at each other.

My companion carefully watched me eat and imitated me. Unlike the others, who laughed and talked like unattended kindergartners, she chewed silently and only spoke when her mouth was empty.

Eventually, she stopped, her brows knit, and touched one of my breasts. “Not Hurburth?”

“No, not Hurburth.” I pointed to myself. “Henrietta.”

“Henreetaa?”

“Henny.”

“Henny,” she repeated, getting it correct.

I nodded.

“Henny, luke Weena?”

“Luke?” I thought. “Luke? Oh, ‘like!’”

“Like,” I said, pointing first at myself and then at her. “Henny, like Weena.” I spread my hands wide.

When we finished eating, it was growing dark inside the building.

“Come,” I said and led her to the stairs leading to the platform.

They were in poor shape, with broken treads and gaps. I wondered if it would be safer to face the Morlocks than to climb.

#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 132, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK

#Wss366 Cain #TimeTravelAuthors 9/10. Whatever

“Coom,” my strange little companion said, pulling me toward the tables. We sat down cross-legged. If Emily had been there, I would have called it “criss-cross applesauce” to mess with her.

There it was again! That name! Who was Emily? She must be important.

The brilliant indigo eyes of a woman surfaced in my mind. She was sipping soup with her face hidden behind ivy on the…

Then it was gone again.

“Hurburth?” Weena said, poking me in the ribs.

I smiled at her and looked around. We were sitting near the edge of the room. Their clothes were either drabber or brighter than those at the further tables. Some wore wrinkled or stained items. Still others displayed faces painted with berry dye or colored mud. One had a bandaged hand, and a strawberry birthmark marred another’s cheek. From the way the fairies avoided him, you’d have thought he bore the mark of Cain. And then there was Weena, with her fire-scarred face.

“Misfits and outcasts,” I said.

Emily… I mean, Weena.

She piled fruit in front of me, and I ate it absentmindedly as I studied my environment.

The little people’s manners were atrocious. When they finished something, they tossed the remains on the floor. They grabbed at the food and threw it at each other.

My companion carefully watched me eat and imitated me. Unlike the others, who laughed and talked like unattended kindergartners, she chewed silently and only spoke when her mouth was empty.

Eventually, she stopped, her brows knit, and touched one of my breasts. “Not Hurburth?”

“No, not Hurburth.” I pointed to myself. “Henrietta.”

“Henreetaa?”

“Henny.”

“Henny,” she repeated, getting it correct.

I nodded.

“Henny, luke Weena?”

“Luke?” I thought. “Luke? Oh, ‘like!’”

“Like,” I said, pointing first at myself and then at her. “Henny, like Weena.” I spread my hands wide.

When we finished eating, it was growing dark inside the building.

“Come,” I said and led her to the stairs leading to the platform.

They were in poor shape, with broken treads and gaps. I wondered if it would be safer to face the Morlocks than to climb.

#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 131, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK

#Wss366 Register #ScribesAndMakers Share something you've been working on this month. #TimeTravelAuthors 09/9. laugh

Weena led me into the building through an arch decorated with elaborate carvings of dancing nymphs and satyrs. Like everything else, time had left them battered. The building’s inside was the same: a huge vaulted chamber hung with brown tapestries so faded that any patterns had long since vanished. The floor was constructed of slabs of a metal resembling aluminum. While free of tarnish, countless feet had worn deep channels along the fairy folk’s paths. Raised tables of polished granite ran the length of the room. At only half a meter tall, they were an ideal height for wee people to kneel and eat the fruit heaped upon them.

Silken pillows clustered in the center of the chamber between the tables. I remember from “The Time Machine” that this is where the fairies slept huddled together. I shivered as it #registered that this was also where the Morlocks selected their meals from the helpless fae.

A broad mezzanine ran beneath the stained-glass windows. I would later discover that dilapidated stairs ascended to it.

I pointed to the balcony and spoke to Weena in pidgin English. “Sleep, you, me.” I used sign language to help.

She #laughed, nodded, and said, “Hurburth, foony.”

#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 131, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK

#Wss366 Register #ScribesAndMakers Share something you've been working on this month. #TimeTravelAuthors 09/9. laugh

Weena led me into the building through an arch decorated with elaborate carvings of dancing nymphs and satyrs. Like everything else, time had left them battered. The building’s inside was the same: a huge vaulted chamber hung with brown tapestries so faded that any patterns had long since vanished. The floor was constructed of slabs of a metal resembling aluminum. While free of tarnish, countless feet had worn deep channels along the fairy folk’s paths. Raised tables of polished granite ran the length of the room. At only half a meter tall, they were an ideal height for wee people to kneel and eat the fruit heaped upon them.

Silken pillows clustered in the center of the chamber between the tables. I remember from “The Time Machine” that this is where the fairies slept huddled together. I shivered as it #registered that this was also where the Morlocks selected their meals from the helpless fae.

A broad mezzanine ran beneath the stained-glass windows. I would later discover that dilapidated stairs ascended to it.

I pointed to the balcony and spoke to Weena in pidgin English. “Sleep, you, me.” I used sign language to help.

She #laughed, nodded, and said, “Hurburth, foony.”

#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 131, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK

#Wss366 Register #ScribesAndMakers Share something you've been working on this month. #TimeTravelAuthors 09/9. laugh

Weena led me into the building through an arch decorated with elaborate carvings of dancing nymphs and satyrs. Like everything else, time had left them battered. The building’s inside was the same: a huge vaulted chamber hung with brown tapestries so faded that any patterns had long since vanished. The floor was constructed of slabs of a metal resembling aluminum. While free of tarnish, countless feet had worn deep channels along the fairy folk’s paths. Raised tables of polished granite ran the length of the room. At only half a meter tall, they were an ideal height for wee people to kneel and eat the fruit heaped upon them.

Silken pillows clustered in the center of the chamber between the tables. I remember from “The Time Machine” that this is where the fairies slept huddled together. I shivered as it #registered that this was also where the Morlocks selected their meals from the helpless fae.

A broad mezzanine ran beneath the stained-glass windows. I would later discover that dilapidated stairs ascended to it.

I pointed to the balcony and spoke to Weena in pidgin English. “Sleep, you, me.” I used sign language to help.

She #laughed, nodded, and said, “Hurburth, foony.”

#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 131, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK

#Wss366 Register #ScribesAndMakers Share something you've been working on this month. #TimeTravelAuthors 09/9. laugh

Weena led me into the building through an arch decorated with elaborate carvings of dancing nymphs and satyrs. Like everything else, time had left them battered. The building’s inside was the same: a huge vaulted chamber hung with brown tapestries so faded that any patterns had long since vanished. The floor was constructed of slabs of a metal resembling aluminum. While free of tarnish, countless feet had worn deep channels along the fairy folk’s paths. Raised tables of polished granite ran the length of the room. At only half a meter tall, they were an ideal height for wee people to kneel and eat the fruit heaped upon them.

Silken pillows clustered in the center of the chamber between the tables. I remember from “The Time Machine” that this is where the fairies slept huddled together. I shivered as it #registered that this was also where the Morlocks selected their meals from the helpless fae.

A broad mezzanine ran beneath the stained-glass windows. I would later discover that dilapidated stairs ascended to it.

I pointed to the balcony and spoke to Weena in pidgin English. “Sleep, you, me.” I used sign language to help.

She #laughed, nodded, and said, “Hurburth, foony.”

#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 131, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK

#Wss366 Register #ScribesAndMakers Share something you've been working on this month. #TimeTravelAuthors 09/9. laugh

Weena led me into the building through an arch decorated with elaborate carvings of dancing nymphs and satyrs. Like everything else, time had left them battered. The building’s inside was the same: a huge vaulted chamber hung with brown tapestries so faded that any patterns had long since vanished. The floor was constructed of slabs of a metal resembling aluminum. While free of tarnish, countless feet had worn deep channels along the fairy folk’s paths. Raised tables of polished granite ran the length of the room. At only half a meter tall, they were an ideal height for wee people to kneel and eat the fruit heaped upon them.

Silken pillows clustered in the center of the chamber between the tables. I remember from “The Time Machine” that this is where the fairies slept huddled together. I shivered as it #registered that this was also where the Morlocks selected their meals from the helpless fae.

A broad mezzanine ran beneath the stained-glass windows. I would later discover that dilapidated stairs ascended to it.

I pointed to the balcony and spoke to Weena in pidgin English. “Sleep, you, me.” I used sign language to help.

She #laughed, nodded, and said, “Hurburth, foony.”

#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 11: Post 119, 1191, The Castle of Nicosia

#Wss366 North #TimeTravelAuthors 07/25. unite/together

Things in the council chamber soon settled back to how they had been before, with people ignoring me. I was small potatoes and, having incurred the ire of Sir Conrad, I was not someone to befriend.

Meanwhile, talk of King Richard advancing from the #north towards the Holy City was rife at one end of the room. On the other side of the room, Sir Conrad was extolling the need to #unite under his banner, emphasizing how feuding over the throne of Jerusalem weakened the defense of the lands they’d secured. I couldn’t help wondering what would happen if I warned him that he would be assassinated by the end of next year.

Silence fell as two knights entered and ascended the dais. Everyone rose, and the Templars dropped to one knee. The rest of us bowed our heads as a lean, muscular man followed them. His face was that of a warrior: short, grey-streaked hair, darkly tanned, a trimmed beard, and a scar over his left eye. A lapin dressed as a Templar page stood on either side of him.

His human attendants announced, “Sir Robert IV de Sablé, Grand Master of the Holy and Valiant Order of the Knights Templar, Lord of Cyprus.”

#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Slowburn #Templar #Templars

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 10: Post 96: 1191, Nicosia, Cyprus

**#Wss366 Shining #TimeTravelAuthors 04/29. Author's choice/promo

“Come,” said the hooded figure, beckoning toward the rear of the tavern. “They love not sorcerers here. Nor foreigners, as your clothes mark you.”

I followed him closely across the crowded floor, flanked by two guards. The murmur of complaint that continued wasn’t reassuring, but the crowd parted for our guide as if he were Moses at the Red Sea. As we reached an exit, he turned and addressed the room. While I didn’t understand the words, they silenced the complaints.

Beyond the door, we emerged into a dusty alley stinking of refuse or worse. Overhead, the sun blazed down, #shining hot enough to fry one’s brains. I wished I could change my clothes to the coarse linen tunics worn by my guards, but it seemed unwise to resort to “sorcery.” It was a balance between looking outlandish or confirming I was a sorceress. I made the obvious choice not to make things worse.

“We should hurry,” our host said in French. “The Franks will know of your arrival soon. They govern with Satan’s iron fist.”

I translated for Emily, who nodded and kept pace with us.

We threaded our way through twisted alleys, drawing suspicious stares and the occasional sign against the evil eye. The people we passed were of a swarthy cast, wearing loose robes, tunics, and turbans. They spoke a multitude of languages, none of which I understood.

There was a sense of tension and distrust beyond what our mere presence could explain. There were furtive glances up and down the street and hushed voices instead of gossip.

“Do you think we're in Nicosia?” Emily asked me.

“Are we in Nicosia?” I, in turn, asked our guide.

“Nicosia, 907 Anno Martyrum or 1191 by your calendar.”

“Yes,” I said to Emily. “And I think he knows we're time-travelers. Why else would he tell me the year?”

Emily nodded again, while my guards gave me an evil glare. The youth soon explained, “It is best not to speak the language of the invaders. Al-Malik Rīchārd is not well-loved.”

As he finished speaking, shouts and the sound of running feet broke the uneasy murmur of the street. Soon after, men ran past us in disorganized ones, twos, and threes. Cries of “Hoi Naítai,” “Hoi Phrángoi,” “Al-Faranj,” and “Fursān al-Haykal” filled the air.

My guards drew their daggers, and we turned to retreat, only to be met by the crowd surging back, milling about like trapped sheep.

“Alas!” our guide cried. "The Franks! We've been betrayed!"

#TootFic #MicroFiction #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Slowburn #Yuri

#Goldilocks and Three Grim Fates: This On is too Hot: Part 2

#Mythpunk #Horror
#Wss633 #Mastoprompt

Clair meanwhile, had drifted to the bookshelf. “They’re bound funny,” she called over to us.

“It’s just leather,” Rebecca said. Her face was red from blowing on the fire, but it was going now and had begun to warm the room.

“No, they’re icky, all crinkly to the touch and slimy. They make you feel weird.”

“Then don’t touch them,” I said.

“But they’re interesting,” Clair replied.

I shrugged and turned to Rebecca, saying, “She’s our daughter, all right.” Rebecca nodded.

“This book is too hard, but you might like this one.” Clair handed me a thick book. On the spine was written “Das Kapital. Kritik der Politischen Ökonomie.”

Clair was right; it made you feel funny: sad, like you were listening to someone crying. For a moment, I thought I heard someone shouting in Russian, followed by a scream.

“And this one is too simple,” Anastasia said, waking me from my daydream. She handed a copy of “Lang’s Blue Fairy Tales” to Rebecca.

I blinked; the room was fuzzy. “Anastasia?” That wasn’t right. I meant Clair. That was my daughter’s name.

Puzzled at my confusion, I watched her walk to the bookshelf again. Her white dress sparkled in the firelight.

She took out a third book. “#Dope! This one is just right,” she said in an odd voice: distant and sinister. She was holding a copy of “Ivanhoe Continued: The Burning of Rebecca.”

“Ah,” Rebecca gasped. I turned, expecting her to object to the “Goldilocks” game again, only she wasn’t there. All that was there was the wall, stove, and blaze in the fireplace, all seen as if in a distorted mirror.

“Mom?” Claire said and walked past me—diamonds draped her snow-white dress—she stopped at the fireplace, gazing at the blaze, which was going nicely, making the air smell faintly of pine smoke. Then I choked as a whiff of burned meat reached me.

Clair screamed, “Mom!” and pointed to the fire.

Wreathed in fire was the image of the woman I loved tied to a stake. The flames licked around her. You could all but her screams. Rebecca. Our Rebecca was there. Ivanhoe’s Rebecca. A witch burning for our sins.

2/4

#TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #NMFic #NMV366 #NMSAM #Ivanhoe

#Goldilocks and Three Grim Fates: This On is too Hot: Part 1

#Mythpunk #Horror
#Wss633 #Mastoprompt

Rebecca closed the cabin door, shutting out the winter wind and snow that blew in. Our breath hung in clouds in the still, cold air of the room. We might be trespassing, but it was better than sitting in our stalled car.

I called out again, “Anyone home? Sorry for intruding, but our car broke down, and it’s freezing.”

Again, there was no response. The owners had probably gone to town to avoid the blizzard that was in the forecast.

We really shouldn’t have been on the road, but Grandma had grown tired of us and had hinted, “Thanksgiving is over. Wouldn’t you prefer sleeping in your own beds?”

My girlfriend moved past me to the fireplace. “I’ll light a fire. Why don’t you see if there’s food? We can leave money on the table when we leave to pay for any inconvenience.”

Clair had already begun exploring and called from the door at the far side of the room. “It’s a bedroom with three beds: one big, one small, and one in between. This one is too…”

“Don’t say it,” Rebecca called to her. I wasn’t sure why the joke bothered her so much, but it did. Rebecca had always been the stricter of the two of us and got peeved if I interfered, so I kept silent.

While the two did their thing, I began looking for food. The can on the table proved to be red bean soup made by a Japanese company. I’d always thought a sweet bean drink was weird, but I guessed it was popular. It was funny finding it here in the middle of the Bitterroot Mountains, and I wondered if the owners were Japanese.

A cupboard next to the stove proved more fruitful. There was some cup ramen, tins of diced tomatoes, a package of sun-dried #prunes, and a couple of kilos of rice.

Part 2 in the next post

#TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #NMFic #NMV366 #NMSAM #Ivanhoe

#Goldilocks and Three Grim Fates

#Mythpunk #Horror
#Wss366 #Mastoprompt #ScribesAndMakers 11/22

“...But I did not shoot the #deputy…” Bob Marley’s wail trailed off as our car stalled.

“I told you to get the car checked,” Rebecca said.

“I did. The mechanic said it was in A1 shape, just some minor gremlins in the electrical system.”

From the back, Claire added, "Or a plot to get two lovely ladies alone on a lonely country road." I could picture her shaking her golden, sausage-curls as she said it, a sly grin on her face.

“Cute,” I replied. I could always count on my daughter to say something clever. But she was right; it was a lonely road. Trees hemmed us in, and large fluffy flakes drifted down between them.

To our left was a yellow steel gate with a “No Trespassing” sign. Beyond, the occasional moon #illuminated a rustic cabin. Weeds poked through the snow casting shadows like claws. The only welcoming thing in the scene was a path where someone had trampled the snow, leading to the building.

“I know it says no trespassing, but I’m going to see if someone is home,” I said, opening the car door.

A blast of arctic air met me, smelling of an upcoming storm. I shivered and pulled my coat tighter.

My girlfriend and her daughter joined me. The younger one explained, “No way we’re letting you leave us. Everyone knows ‘Jack the Gripper’ preys on beauties left alone in stalled cars.”

“It’s ‘Jack the Ripper,’” Rebecca corrected.

“Nya ayh, it’s ‘Jack the Gripper.’ He’s from the game ‘Seven Maidens House.’”

It was too cold for this debate, so I walked over to the gate, which was fortunately unlocked.

The snow on the path crunched underfoot, leaving footprints. The dark, empty windows of the cabin didn’t encourage me. Still, a phone line running to it tempted me onward.

Silence met the door’s rattle when I knocked. I knocked louder, thinking perhaps the owner was asleep. This was also met with silence.

“That's weird,” I heard Rebecca say. “Three mailboxes.”

“This one is too big. And this one is too dented. But this one is just right!”

“Don’t say #cursed things,” Rebecca reprimanded Claire.

“I’m going to see if it’s unlocked,” I called over my shoulder, interrupting their squabbling.
To my surprise, the door opened easily, and flicking a switch produced a warm electric light.

The building’s interior was cozy. Three rocking chairs stood in front of a fireplace with wood stacked next to it. A handleless hatchet rested against the pile. To one side, there was a wood stove with more wood. A single frying pan rested on it. In the center of the room was a table with a cheery, red-checkered tablecloth, three place settings, and a mystery soup can. I guessed the door in the back led to a bedroom.

The room's most surprising feature was a ceiling-high bookshelf crammed with leather-bound books. They weren't the collector's type with gold trim and fancy titles, but old volumes weathered by time.

(1/4)

#TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #NMFic