(no subject)

[minervasolo]

::caves in::

Give me one of my own stories, and a timestamp sometime in the future after the end of the story, or sometime in the past before the story started, and I'll write you at least a hundred words of what happened then, whether it's five minutes before the story started or ten years in the future.

Anything, original or fanfiction. You can poke me to finish C&S (or DD, or even OUAN), but it probably won't happen here. You know, I really thought I would finish C&S for Christmas. Oh well.

Comments

[nocturnalhippy.livejournal.com]

The further adventures of that fence ;)

But seriously; Lord Christopher sometime when Galahad was still a child.

[minervasolo.livejournal.com]

He watched the child concentrate, sword gripped in sweaty hands, black hair plastered to his forehead. This clearly did not come naturally to him. But he never asked to give up.

Lord Christopher bit his lip, noticed he was doing it, and stopped. Bad habits had to be purged. It seemed like a never ending task sometimes. He closed the curtain, and turned back to his desk, but did not sit down.

Why did he bother? He didn't particularly want the child to be a swordsman. He didn't want to the child to ever have to be. But the child needed to have some skill, or Lord Christopher would find himself dying by the child's incompetence instead. A fever. Food poisoning. A bad fall. At least a sword was quick. It was that or seek out a herbalist to instruct the child in poisons, and then seek to upset the child enought to poison him.

He hadn't hated his own father. He wished he had. The guilt dragged at him sometimes, made him wonder if there hadn't been some way around the curse. But there wasn't. He'd accepted that now, if by accepted he meant 'forced himself not to fight it any more'.

Dignity, that was important. And preperation. And doing whatever it took to make certain the child did not burden himself with guilt and grief afterwards. For the sake of the country. He could not allow himself to be close to the child. He could not let the child love him. He could not hold the child when he cried, or reassure him when he worried, or be proud of him when he succeeded.

Lord Christopher, turned back to the window and opened the curtain. Galahad was frowning at his wooden sword, chewing his lip. Lord Christopher watched his ragged lips move as he counted his way through the sequence, and swallowed as Galahad disarmed his teacher. He began to praise him out loud, but stopped, because talking to oneself was a bad habit.

[nocturnalhippy.livejournal.com]

That was really cool :)

[ultharkitty.livejournal.com]

I would like a drabble about the girls who go into the house of rooms. I think the eldest was Lucy? I'd like to know what happens to her exactly fifteen years afterwards. :)

[minervasolo.livejournal.com]

I keep changing the names around, but the eldest shall be Lucy for now. This is exactly 100 words.

Lucy chews her hair absentmindedly, tapping the biro against the paper, thinking. Alice is always the harder to write to, of the twins. She can tell when Lucy is evading the truth. She wants to know whether Lucy is happy in her job, and whether Lucy is happy with her boyfriend, and whether Lucy is happy, never going back to the House.

Wendy lives there now, learning from the book. She writes to Wendy, not Edward, though she taught Edward to read herself. Alice lives there too, when she's not at university. She graduates soon.

Lucy writes about that, instead.

[ultharkitty.livejournal.com]

Cool, thankyou! :D

I also like the Sir Christopher one :D