Prompt-of-the-Week Club

[Sporty]

Tuesday? What's a Tuesday, this is totally still Monday <.< >.>

SPOILER: Click to show

I was always searching for it.

I wasn’t quite sure just what “it” was, to be honest. Love? Fame? Wealth? Maybe humility, if all those stories about life being worth more than fame or money were to be believed. Whatever it was, I was certain I needed it in order for my life to feel… fulfilled? Yes, that’s the word I’m looking for.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t a miserable person. I had a nice job, a cozy house, a caring family, and I was content. Happy. Yet still there were times when it felt like something was missing, and I would renew my efforts to go after it.

Let me tell you, it’s not easy to find something when you don’t know what it is you’re looking for.

Maybe it was because I was single, I’d sometimes think. Perhaps I needed a family of my own, not just parents and siblings but a spouse and children. I was confident enough that those things would all come in due time, but perhaps I needed to double my efforts in finding that perfect someone. Or perhaps I just needed to be patient.

Other times I would wonder if maybe my belongings, or my goals, weren’t quite enough. Did I really have enough of an income to live comfortably? Well, okay, yes. Was my house too small, or perhaps too empty? That family I’d been searching for earlier would probably fix that, but perhaps there was something I could do before then to help it along. Maybe it was time to get a dog.

Maybe I just wanted more of what I had, or a more important job higher up in the company… Oh sweet heavens no, don’t start thinking that way, that’s going down the greedy path and you know better than to think that path gets you anywhere.

Whatever it was, I always seemed to be searching for it. Not blatantly, not in place of my usual activities, just… little by little, out in the shadows, sometimes without even realizing I was doing it.

One day, I found it.

I don’t really know which day it happened, or even what it was I found. I just woke up one morning and realized that I had stopped searching at some point a while back. By now I had gotten a few of the things on my list of possibilities and more, and any one of them could have been that strange ambiguous thing that I had needed all along.

But you know what? It didn’t matter that I still didn’t know, still don’t know, what it was I had been missing and now had. I am happy, but that doesn’t say too much because I have more or less always been happy. More importantly, I am whole.

And as a bonus, here's the story that I was going to finish last week until I got distracted by upcoming Christmas festivities. That is, the one with the "keeping me awake at night" prompt:

SPOILER: Click to show

Elena had a secret.

Now, in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a terribly big secret. Simple fears were common in young children such as her, and even adults would sometimes admit to such things from time to time. Phobias, they called them – a big grown-up word used by big grown-up people, which Elena strived so hard to emulate.

Therein lay the problem, of course. Elena had to be big and brave, just like an adult, because she was a big sister. It didn’t matter that she and Susie were twins – Elena was the elder of the two, by a full three minutes in fact, and her sister was a timid girl who needed the protection and support of a big sister. And even though adults would sometimes admit to secret fears, she could not, because she very specifically needed to be brave.

Brave little girls were not afraid of silly little bugs, Elena thought as she lay in her bed with the covers pulled tight over her head.

Or at least, if they were, that fear certainly made an exception for butterflies.

The plan had been so simple. Susie had wanted a nightlight, to keep the scary monsters of the night away. Elena had found one with a little butterfly as the cover, where the colorful wings lit up with the light of the bulb behind them whenever it was turned on. She had picked it up, Susie had eagerly agreed that it was very cute and had showed it to their mother, and now…

Now, there was a light-up butterfly stuck into the wall of the room that the two sisters shared. It had been such a simple plan. Elena would see the horrible bug, every night; sitting there harmlessly and even helping her little sister fight off her own fears. She would get used to the creepy thing and maybe even see it as a friend and then she wouldn’t have to make excuses not to see the butterfly gardens or play in Jason’s yard near the flowers that always had a dozen of the things flying around.

What a stupid idea. No matter how long Elena stared at the butterfly on the wall, that didn’t get rid of its beady little bunches of eyes or its long probing tongue-thing or the fact that it had too many legs. Even worse, it glowed, drawing her attention to its creepy bug-ness whenever the lights went out. That nightlight probably did a very good job of scaring off the monsters in the room, mostly because it was freakier than any of them ever could be.

That was of little comfort to her. She’d never really been all that afraid of the dark. Now, when she opened her eyes, she had to be confronted with the light. Oh, that light. She wished she could just forget about the whole thing, never have to look in that corner of the room, but the light wouldn’t let her. It even kept her up at night sometimes, because it would not stop reminding her that the butterfly was right there.

Watching her, with its bunches of eyes and probing tongue-thing and too many legs.

No long notes for this one, as both stories were made independently of any pre-existing story/headcanon ideas :3 For the "awake at night" prompt, I thought I would have fun taking a fairly dark/serous sounding prompt and making something simple and relatively lighthearted out of it, with a literal interpretation of the thing keeping someone awake at night (though seeing the other stories, it seems I wasn't the only one going for that kind of interpretation lol). For the "always searching" prompt, I seem to have gone the opposite route by toying around with a vague and abstract premise. It was an interesting experiment to narrate (and write, for that matter) the story how I did, especially since I tried to make the narrator an ambiguous character through never revealing basic things like his/her name, age (beyond being an adult) or gender. It was also a neat exercise in writing with the first person, which I almost never do but which just seemed right for that kind of story.

I'll be back to give a response to the other stories in these past two weeks in a moment, but for now I leave you with this picture that served as a great inspiration for just why Elena's so freaked out by butterflies: link

[Deleted]

Awesome job on these, Sporty! Very nicely done. I like how you twisted both prompts around, haha. I love when people do that. :3 The first one is strangely comforting, I think. A lot of people out there are searching and don't quite know what they're searching for, and this piece seems like it could give them hope that someday that feeling of unease will be replaced by contentment and a sense of wholeness.

And poor Elena. xD Butterflies are pretty terrifying. (That image is wonderful.) Great job exploring her feelings.

[Deleted]

Happy Monday, everyone!

SPOILER: Click to show

“Why do we have to be the ones on scout duty?” Private Menlo Harpe complained as they reached the hangar.

“The captain asked us to,” Major Jadia Cierchneis replied, her hands folded behind her back. “Gentlemen.” She nodded in greeting to a team of mechanics – two of whom were women – who saluted before getting back to work on a skyfighter.

“But we’re not scouts,” Menlo continued, rubbing at his moustache in frustration. It was as white as his curly hair, despite the man only being thirty-one years of age. Jadia was forty-three, and her hair, tucked neatly into a braid around her head, was the same stark snow-color. Everyone in the Falcarius Imperium had white hair from birth. It was a sign of their racial purity, given to them by the First Father.

“Does it matter?” Jadia’s boots clipped sternly against the mana-streaked floor as she stepped over thick cables. “Orders are orders, private. You serve on the Kaus Media, you follow orders.”

Menlo’s eyes wandered over to the titanic automatus brooding in the corner, its finned legs curled against its body and weapons hanging inert. Ten minutes ago he’d been sitting a table away from its operator, a pretty girl who wore her hair down and got dimples when she smiled. He had yet to work up the courage to talk to her. “But why couldn’t Naix and Zimri do it? I was in the middle of breakfast.”

Jadia shrugged, leaning against the side of their skyfighter. The two-person craft bobbed slightly beneath her, though it was tethered in place. “We are currently over Menket. They’ve been strangely quiet lately. If they attack, we’re more capable of defending ourselves than a scout craft.” She shoved on her helmet, buckling the strap under her chin and adjusting her goggles on her nose. “Get in the fighter, Menlo.”

“Yes, ma’am,” her gunner replied with a roll of his eyes.

The pilot’s gloved hands flew over the dashboard and the skyfighter began to hum with power. “Sagitta Six, requesting takeoff clearance,” Jadia quipped into her helmet. With a snap and a hiss, the fighter disconnected from its tethers and the major eased it into the empty central portion of the hangar.

“Sagitta Six, you are cleared for takeoff,” the operator on the other end replied. “Stand by for aperture opening.”

A loud warning klaxon buzzed once, and then the hangar came to life with the thrum of machinery above the constant, comforting hum of the Kaus Media’s great engines. Below the fighter, the floor began to pull away. It twisted and expanded to reveal a pinpoint of light, and then an ever-widening circle. Cold wind buffeted the officers’ faces. Beneath them stretched a sea of dark green.

Jadia twisted the yoke and the fighter dropped. “It’ll be just like a training run, Menlo,” she mentioned, “if that makes you feel any better about it.”

“Not really.” They used their helmet radio now, as it would have been nigh-impossible to hear each other speak over the roaring winds. The Kaus Media retreated above them, a gleaming black-and-copper shape among the clouds. “This is going to be boring.”

The pilot smirked. “Who knows, we might get to blow something up.”

“This is Menket. They’re the most backwoods nation on Zabetha.”

Jadia sent the fighter cruising at a steady altitude, roaming high over the treetops. “That may be,” she agreed, “but they still have some manatech.” A nudge of her chin pointed Menlo to gun turrets obscured just below the forest canopy. “There’s a reason we haven’t overrun them yet.”

“They’re pretty tenacious for a pre-industrial society,” Menlo agreed.

“Yes, and the Noblirim—“ A tremendous, deafening bang split the air. Caught up in a shockwave, the fighter sputtered and listed. Jadia fought with the yoke for a moment and managed to right the craft. “What in the world was that? A sonic boom?”

“Look… over there, on the horizon!” Menlo gasped.

It appeared as though someone had punched a hole in the sky. A bow shock of disrupted clouds curved around an unsettlingly discolored patch of atmosphere, dark and ripe purple like a bruise. Jadia squinted. In the very center was a point around which yellow-white energy crackled and sparked. “What… on… Zabetha…” She threw her shoulders forward and stamped down on the acceleration pedal.

“J-Jadia!” Menlo squeaked, clutching the rim of his dashboard. “What are you doing?!”

“I’ve got to find out what that is!” the major declared in fierce fascination. “I’ve never seen anything like it before in all the Seven Skies!”

“Which is exactly why we ought to go back and report it!” Menlo protested. “You turn this fighter around right now, you madwoman!”

“Good thing you’re not the pilot,” Jadia grunted with a slightly crazed grin.

As they neared the phenomenon, Menlo sat back and stared up at it. “It doesn’t seem to be a storm…” he murmured. “It looks like it’s getting smaller, too.”

“Whatever it is, according to my instruments it’s giving off a load of energy,” Jadia muttered, more to herself than him. “In all areas of the gamut. Electricity, mana, radio waves… Is that a person?”

Menlo blinked at the seeming non sequitur. “What?”

“Good heavens, it is a person! Did they fall from it?!” Jadia jerked the fighter to a stop and the two watched in amazement and horror. Already far below them, a sole figure plummeted headfirst, still trailing energy. The officers were too far away to discern any details, just that it was possibly human.

“We have to save them—“ Menlo began.

“No time,” Jadia cut him off. “They’re too far away and too close to the surface. Even if I flew this thing at them at top speed, there’s not enough room to decelerate to match their rate of fall. They’d end up a splatter on our windshield.”

Menlo made a face at the mental image. “Wait, they’re heading for a lake…”

“At terminal velocity, that’s going to hurt.”

“Confound it, woman, stop being such a cynic.”

“Let me know when you find something I can’t possibly be cynical about.”

As the figure neared the lake, it suddenly burst into light. An orb of energy enveloped it, slowing it from a breakneck pace. It hit the water as though it had fallen from a much shorter height.

“… Like that?” Menlo asked.

“Well played, private.” Jadia eased the craft forward, although they maintained altitude. The sky-spasm was still fading.

Menlo leaned out the side of the fighter. “Can we rescue them now?”

“Well, they might not even be alive—“ Once again, Jadia’s cynicism was ruined by the figure suddenly breaching the surface and floundering for the nearby shore. It dragged itself to land and collapsed. “Oh.”

“So, the rescuing thing.”

“Stall your engines, Harpe.” Jadia looked over her shoulder at him, resting her elbow on the back of her seat. “Does this remind you of anything?”

“That I don’t want to miss out on tea?” Menlo gave her a cheeky smile. “No, I give up.”

“The Heavenly Maiden Prophecy.” Jadia’s brows furrowed behind her goggles. “When Zabetha becomes consumed by war, a maiden will fall from the heavens. Her celestial powers will bring victory to whatever nation possesses her.”

Menlo blinked. “Do… do you really think that old prophecy’s true?”

“The First Father gave it. It must be true.”

The private nodded, his throat suddenly dry. “So… what do we do about it?”

“Sagitta Six to the Kaus Media,” Jadia snapped into her radio as a reply. “Get over here. Deploy Ziz and the rest of Sagitta Squadron. I’m going to need backup. We’ve just found something very interesting.”

Menlo looked at the unmoving figure far below. “Are we…?”

“She’s going to win us the war, Harpe.”

There's an idea for a novel I've been toying with for a while now, and I decided to see what the beginning would look like from the perspective of two of my favorite characters in it to write. The reason I'm so familiar with them is because the plot started life as a roleplay, but then I realized I enjoyed the world and characters I had created so much, that I wanted to take that world and plot concept and turn it into something publishable. (It doesn't use any of my roleplay partner's characters or ideas, of course.)

Jadia and Menlo are so much fun; they actually started as incidental characters but then turned into two of the most prominent people in the plot. The Falcarius Imperium is also obviously my most favorite faction in the world. Not the least because they have airships. They're kind of Victorian England, if Victorian England had been engrossed in a centuries-long global war, lived in cities in the sky, built giant combat mechs, and had a series of cloned rulers.

Oh yeah, I guess we need a prompt for this week, too. Anyone? No one?

[Sporty]

Bah, couldn't come up with anything solid for this week Squid, yours sounds like an awesome concept! I'd love to see it explored more Jadia and Menlo's parts in the story are intriguing as well; by the description, it sounds as though they're the part of the "evil" elitist, take-everyone-over faction, and yet we get to see their point of view and sympathize somewhat with them. Something tells me that this isn't quite a cut-and-dry good-vs-evil kind of war, and I'm curious to see the bigger picture.

Okay, let's see, prompt... Okay, let's try this:
A character is mistaken for someone else

[Deleted]

Thanks! It is fun, even if it is a blatant pastiche of everything I ever liked in fantasy. xD But... that's what made it so fun for me to design. Someday I'll work on the novel more, when I don't have a bunch of other writing projects. xD

And yes, the Imperium is very much elitist and aggressive-expansionist--they have the whole "manifest destiny" thing going on. On the other hand, within their own nation they're very just, their rulers are largely benevolent and selfless, and most Falcarians are incredibly loyal and honest. I liked the idea of having the main character join early on with a faction that in nearly any other story would be the stereotypical Evil Empire, and discover there's much more to them than first meets the eye. Also: giant robots.

Thanks for the prompt!

[Deleted]

Hey, whoa, totally forgot about this! Sorry, was sorting stuff out.

But I have thought of a prompt for this week:

Write about a Neopets character who normally doesn't interest you, in a way that makes them interesting to you.

Rise to the challenge, quill-wielders!

[Sporty]

Ooh, neat challenge! Though, is it bad that I'm slightly nervous that someone might end up writing about one of my favorite characters? It probably won't happen, and it's kind of silly to be so attached to a character that I'd be upset by someone else not liking them as much, but still ^^;

Actually, since nobody wrote anything for last week or put up a prompt for the week leading to today, I'm taking advantage of the fact that I've got a more normal schedule again to write out the idea I had for last week and put it up today, like counting the previous prompt for two weeks or something. It's turning out pretty well so far!

[Deleted]

No, that's not bad. I can totally understand the sensitivity there. But that's why I said "a character who normally doesn't interest you" rather than "a character you dislike". We all have our different favorite and favored characters and character archetypes, and I thought it would be fun to have writers go outside their usual scope of characters they enjoy working with and challenge themselves with a character they can't connect with as easily. I know I already have an idea for a character I never thought I'd find myself writing about.

And that sounds awesome! I can't wait to see what you've got!

[Sporty]

Aah, true. When I was trying to think up a topic I realized that there aren't really any characters that I outright dislike, but I have settled on a one who'd never really caught my attention as a subject for writing about before. There is a difference, like you said ^^

...You know, I think I'm just gonna have to start calling Tuesdays my "second Monday" from now on XD Here's my story for the mistaken identity prompt (this one's Neopet's-related, and as a preliminary note, it's kind of a side-story for the series I'm working on):

SPOILER: Click to show

Jeran’s breaths came out soft and shallow as he led a couple dozen Meridellians and a few assorted others through the sparse forest. It was a pointless gesture, trying to keep as silent as possible when in a large group that had to tramp over dry, crackling leaves, but he was far too anxious for that kind of reasoning when everything from the too-rough fur brushing against his sides to the thick cartilage covering his face like a helmet cried out for him to stay hidden.

It had been several hours since Jeran had awoken from a daze to find himself and every other pet in the castle mutated; several hours since he had learned the hard way that most of these mutants had been brainwashed into a simple, aggressive state and given some sort of order to capture those who still maintained their sanity. He had been forced to flee the kingdom with a handful of friends and strangers, and their destination – what may well have been the only safe place left in Neopia – was still countless miles away and bordered by the Haunted Woods.

Lisha came up beside him. “Illusen says there’s a small town not far from here,” she reported, her voice low. “We’ll need to swing around to the right if we want to avoid it without losing too much time. Jediah can sense one free pet by the outskirts of the town.”

Jeran nodded, pausing in his trek as he turned toward his sister. “I’ll go ahead, then. You all start going around, and be careful.”

Lisha nodded mutely. This was a standard part of the group’s strategy: while they would avoid populated areas for the most part, one of the knights – usually Jeran – would scout ahead to see if they could get a better grip on the situation and pick up any other “stragglers” they could find.

As the sound of the others’ footsteps faded away behind him, Jeran began to make his way toward the settlement. It was slow going, especially for an armoured pet who wanted to muffle the sounds of his movement and remain as inconspicuous as possible.

Finally, the trees began to thin and a road and a few small buildings appeared in Jeran’s view. The Lupe crouched low to the ground, straining his ears to listen for any signs of passerby.

“By Fyora… Kessel, is that you?”

Jeran froze, hardly daring to breathe in the hopes that the speaker had been referring to someone else and hadn’t seen him. That doesn’t sound like something the turned mutants would say, though. This couldn’t be the free pet Jediah found, could it?

The knight’s silent question was answered by a sudden rustling of the underbrush nearby, followed by the appearance of a small Xweetok face through the leaves of the bush he’d tried to hide himself behind. The two scrutinized each other silently for a moment. The Xweetok’s expression was a mixture of reserved hope and caution – not the grim determination and restrained fury he’d seen on every turned pet he’d come across so far.

“Kessel!” the Xweetok suddenly cried, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, I knew you’d come! You don’t know how much of a relief this is,” she went on as she forced her way through the underbrush and wrapped her arms around a now very confused Jeran.

“Uh – um, I –”

“Don’t even start. I know it must be a nightmare up in the middle of Meridell, and I didn’t expect you to get here any earlier.” She buried her face into his shoulder. “I’m just glad to see you safe.”

Jeran felt a sharp twisting in his chest as he began to realize what was going on. This girl – a small-built young adult, now that he’d gotten a better look at her – must be confusing him for a different Lupe knight who was clearly a close friend or family member. It made sense enough, considering how the mutation had masked his and everyone else’s colour and several of their features. It probably didn’t help that he was a fairly average-looking Lupe in the first place.

Jeran cleared his throat and gingerly pulled away from the Xweetok. “Miss... I’m not who you think I am,” he said quietly. “My name is Jeran, and I’m part of a group that’s heading to Faerieland for protection. You can come with us, if you want.”

The Xweetok’s expression dimmed as quickly as it had brightened. “...Oh. Of course,” she murmured. With a forced laugh she added, “How silly of me to make that kind of mistake. I’ve heard of you before, Sir Jeran.”

Jeran sighed. He no longer felt any point in trying to find out more about the town’s state, especially now that he had this new refugee to keep safe.

The Xweetok cleared her throat and said, “I would really like to join you and your group. Before we go, though... Is Kessel with you? I don’t know if you know him, but he’s a Lupe knight about your age if you haven’t guessed already. He’s my brother.” A small spark of that hope Jeran had seen in her before returned, practically pleading for his answer.

Jeran held back a grimace as he opened his mouth to answer, but paused. Just because none of the other Lupes in the group had been armoured didn’t mean that one of them wasn’t this Kessel. He could have been off-duty when the transformation came.

Instead, he adopted a small hopeful smile of his own. “I’m not sure, but there are a lot of knights with us. You can come take a look.”

The Xweetok nodded and accepted his offer to help her up. Quietly, the two of them turned away from the place of lost souls and broken families and returned their sights to the final thread of hope that lay ahead.

Sorry if that last line is kind of weak. I was a little distracted when i was finishing up the story, so I rushed it a bit ^^;

Hmm... Not really too many notes on this one, other than what I already mentioned and the fact that this would take place at some point in between the first and second chapters of the series. One thing I should probably say, since it's not really clearly stated in this short story, is that yes, the mass mutation happened all over the world, and as you probably guessed it was the doing of Dr. Sloth. If there's anything else that I didn't manage to make clear then let me know ^^; But anyway, it was kind of a fun exercise to write a sidestory to the thing I'm working on... The series is pretty introspective, and there are a lot of different aspects of the whole mutation situation that I've been able to work with, but not all of them will be able to fit into the series. This seemed to be a good opportunity to play around with one of them.

[Deleted]

Eep, I'm so sorry I forgot to comment on your piece! I totally meant to, but I got super busy this week. I will give you feedback soon, though!

Okay, here's my piece for last week's prompt which I totally did not just finish writing. <.< Like I said, busy week.

SPOILER: Click to show

Danse Macabre



She’s angry and frustrated and it roils within her. Maybe it’s the buildup of a lot of things today—maybe it’s just one that set her over the edge. It was something her mother did; an insensitive remark from a non-Darigan native; the overcooked marrow at supper. It was the polished black armour she passed in the hall where she caught sight of her own face and remembered that years ago, for a few brief days in Meridell, she was beautiful. For just one shining moment in her life, she was the Court Dancer.

She wants to scream and push things over and kick a door and curl into a ball with her earstalks tucked tight like if she wishes hard enough she’ll disappear.

But she knows that won’t help, it won’t help anything. It won’t free the anger from her soul.

But dancing will.

So she steals over the edge of the Citadel by the dark of night and ventures to the fallow fields below. Her violet paws move through the grass with silent skill, ushering her through dormant pastures and sending her leaping gracefully over hedgerows. All the flocks of Babaas and Zebies have been brought in for the night, leaving the moors as empty as desolation, until morning.

She pauses atop a high knoll that sits serene beneath the stars. A castle once stood here, she notes as she wanders into a sprawling square of broken stone and crumbling arches. Long, long ago, before Skarl’s time, back in the day when her own people were fair and prosperous. Perhaps even before then.

The Citadel floats high and away overhead, blotting out the moon and casting an irregular sea of shadow on the land. The stars above it shine bright, clear, and cold, but the air is moist and off to the east a bank of fog reaches its fingers inland from the sea. Dawn is a long way off.

She takes a breath and bounds atop a pile of rock with the grace of a Gallion. Twisting, whirling, her fire-orange hair swirling, she flits from stone to stone. Her skirts billow and fly after her and she feels like a Faerie as she alights on one rock with pinpoint precision and then floats to the next effortlessly, conveyed by her own momentum.

As she dances she can feel her anger leach out, flicked away into oblivion by each swing of her arms and sweep of her tail. Her bloated lips relax into a smile; her blood-red eyes sparkle with new vigour. The heavy burden on her soul lifts. Her mother is forgiven; there is nothing wrong with being Darigan; the marrow was bad but she’d had Darkberry Cheese for lunch.

She runs up the side of a vaulted archway and pirouettes on the point, lifting her arms to the sky and feeling the movement fill her with energy. Now she is not dancing away the anger—she dances to feed her starving soul again.

Her movements shift from sharp and angular to sinuous and flowing like liquid fire. Bursting with power, she flings herself from the arch and springs onto a thick chunk of rampart that stands like a tombstone, crumbled away on either side. Not slowing nor stopping, she races along the blocks and throws herself again. Wheeling her arms, she twines her magic, weaving it into the sleeping energy of memories left to lie in the dust.

Color rises around her. The stones rebuild themselves and tapestries unfurl over them, elegant scenes of Unis poised near fountains and ladies with their Ukalies frozen in time. Sumptuous rugs sprout from the grass as she spirals down into the center of what is now a great hall, a fire crackling heartily and an extravagant feast spread on the tables. The aromas of Roast Pork and raspberries at the peak of ripeness hang heavy in the air.

Most difficult to summon are the people. She poses in front of the fire and takes another deep breath, filling herself with power. Like a puppet master with strings, she brings her paws above her head, and the court rises with them.

They bob up almost comically, like a Virtupets hologram turning on, but these Neopets talk and laugh and eat in full color, so potent is her illusion. Grizzled knights guffaw heartily and bump mugs with each other; children squeak and nibble at peas. A pair of hulking Ganuthors recline by the fire, rolling onto their bellies and stretching their wings, while an Albat tries to steal a slice of cheese from its owner’s platter.

At the end of the table sits a white Meerca dressed in furs, a simple golden circlet resting on her head as she looks at the Darigan dancer expectantly.

The Aisha curtseys low, her orange hair draping over her shoulders. She knows right now they see her as a tawny brown in color, with perfect features and eyes of a mesmerizing green. She has crafted herself the perfect mask.

The rest of the table falls silent. A blue Moehog child claps in delight and her mother shushes her.

In their eyes the dancer can see a hidden longing, some sort of sad and hungry desperation for any sort of respite from their cares. She wonders what their story is. She wonders how it ended.

The Meerca nods.

With a flourish, the Aisha sweeps into another dance, conjuring every happy memory she ever had. She dances of sun-dappled streams in sleepy afternoon woods, of chasing Lightmites on warm summer nights, of racing Whinnies down dusty roads and young maids whistling folk tunes as they carry bundles of wheat off to market. She imprints every impression of those scenes onto the minds of her audience, leaving them with vague sensations like recollections of peaceful dreams.

She waltzes around the fire as the Ganuthors nod their heads to the rhythm, and delves into the cozy warmth of sitting at the hearth while rain patters on walls of everlasting stone, of falling asleep in your mother’s arms, of storms that pass and at the end the sun’s shining through again. The Neopets at the table have all relaxed, eyes half-lidded, their troubles forgotten for a time.

It is a dangerous gift she possesses, but not all dangerous gifts must be used for evil.

Finally, exhausted, she gives herself one last twirl and then spills into a kneel, bowing her head and splaying her arms. She is finished.

She lifts her weary head and looks past her earstalks to her audience. They meet her with no applause, but she expects none. Instead she sees soothed smiles. She has eased their long-forgotten burden.

The Moehog girl pushes herself off the bench and runs up to the drained dancer. The child reaches into the pocket of her skirts and pulls out a crown of woven daisies, still green and looking like she picked them that morning. She reaches out her hooves and places it gingerly on the Aisha’s head, grinning through her tusks.

The dancer smiles back.

She can hold the magic no longer. Like smoke it all comes crashing down, dissipating back into the ground, the fire snuffed out by a chill night breeze. Her purple paws touch wet grass instead of stone. Somewhere nearby, a Moach chirps.

She cranes her neck to look at the Citadel hovering, waiting for its errant child to return. And return she shall. She pushes herself to her feet, her legs shaking with exertion, and touches the ruined stone one last time before departing.

An unfamiliar weight tickles her hair.

She reaches up and takes off a daisy crown, and holds it to her heart.

She will always be a Court Dancer.

I actually based this a lot around a former classmate of mine who was a dancer and explained to me that dancing for her is a way of getting out all of her negative emotions in a healthy manner. It was a fresh take on dancing that I'd never considered before. I also wanted to write a story about the Court Dancer that wasn't tragic and angsty or portrayed her as a victim--or, alternately, as a mean-spirited beguiler. She's just someone with a really unique skillset.

Also, I want to submit this to the Times (it's just long enough to be a Short Story, yay!), so any feedback and critique would be lovely.

Anyone feel like giving a prompt for this week?

Edit: Awesome job with your piece, Sporty! I love the detailed way in which you describe Jeran’s appearance—I had never thought of the Mutant Lupe’s headpiece being cartilage before but it’s an idea that works quite well.

I kind of wish you’d added even more description in for the other characters’ mutant appearances—I was really curious as to what Mutant Lisha looked like and how she would have been reacting and adjusting to her own new form, as well as her brother’s, and same for the unnamed Xweetok. (I’m also curious as to the odds of both siblings retaining their sanity, which makes me wonder if perhaps that retention is not wholly random—did it only happen to Neopets with great willpower, perhaps?)

The interactions between Jeran and the Xweetok are really cute, and I like the realism in the idea that since everyone’s appearance has been changed, mistaken identities like this would probably be really common.

All in all, very enjoyable!

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*taps thread* Is this thing on? If so, I have a prompt for you! This one's a song lyric.

But one thing I don't know and may never learn:
Are you my shelter or are you my storm?

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Ooh, that's a good one! Thanks, Nat! I haven't been updating this lately because I've been pretty busy and everyone else seems to have been, as well, so it's good to know there's still interest! I'll try to get something written for it this week!

[Sporty]

Eep! I keep forgetting to post here .-. Awesome prompt, Nat!

I know it's fairly late to be saying so, but thanks for the feedback earlier, Surfersquid! I do have more description of the characters' changes in the regular series (mostly in regards to Jeran, come to think of it), but I'd been trying to minimize those kinds of mentions after the first chapter or two for fear of sounding repetitive once readers already have the idea. That's the second critique I've gotten in regards to not putting enough emphasis on the changes, though, so I'll have to go back and see what else I can add in without overdoing it.

And your Court Dancer story is lovely! It does a great job of balancing the day-to-day frustrations of the character with her passions and the talent that she can embrace in more than one way. All-in-all, it's a nice refreshing look at a character whose interpretation could, as you said, too easily fall into either the spiteful villain or angsty victim category. Hmm... I wonder if it would be too late for you to submit it to the "Ode to the Villains" great collab? I know the Court Dancer isn't really a villain in this one, but since she was on Kass' side during the plot and all I'm sure she'd still count ^^ (Heck, Jhudora in my submission doesn't exactly get a villainous role either, haha) Also, bonus points for using "Danse Macabre" as your title, because that piece is awesome and the title is super fitting

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Thanks, Sporty! I'd feel kind of guilty submitting for the collab since my series is still running. ^^; But thanks for the invite. Haha, I've always wanted to use "Danse Macabre" as a title for something. I like the roundabout way in which it ties in with the story.

As for your piece, in regards to description, it's important to not get repetitive, but it's also important to drop the occasional reminder about a character's appearance to jog the reader's memory. As writers we may always have vivid mental images of what our characters look like, but readers tend to forget more easily. I consider myself to be a pretty conscientious reader, but even I often forget what color and species a (non-canon) Neopet character is by the end of the story if those traits were only mentioned early on.

[Sporty]

Aah, true, I hadn't thought about that. Ah well, there's always next time ^^ And you're welcome!

Ooh, oh, I hadn't thought about that either. I still think it won't be too hard for folks to remember "everyone's mutant now" in this case, but you're right, it's better to make sure readers get a sense of that instead of having to remind themselves - not to mention getting across the specific traits and the sense of how alien the strange color would be to the characters. I'll keep that in mind from here on out, thanks