From 7dc482080402a9fe079d0967b8ab1432eb627c64 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Madison Scott-Clary Date: Sat, 3 Feb 2024 16:38:51 -0800 Subject: [PATCH] update from sparkleup --- writing/post-self/marsh/index.md | 3 ++- writing/post-self/marsh/prophecies.md | 39 +++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 2 files changed, 41 insertions(+), 1 deletion(-) create mode 100644 writing/post-self/marsh/prophecies.md diff --git a/writing/post-self/marsh/index.md b/writing/post-self/marsh/index.md index bef64527..3ba3b050 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/marsh/index.md +++ b/writing/post-self/marsh/index.md @@ -66,7 +66,8 @@ NB: It's frankly astonishing how few cats there are in this story. Fix that. This seems to be heading toward a mixed novel/anthology project with *Marsh* being the primary work and the stories surrounding/in another volume adding to the world. * [.] [Nasturtiums](Nasturtiums) -* [.] [Kaddish](Kaddish) +* [ ] [Kaddish](Kaddish) + * [ ] [Prophecies](prophecies) * [ ] [So Far](so-far) ## Other stuff diff --git a/writing/post-self/marsh/prophecies.md b/writing/post-self/marsh/prophecies.md new file mode 100644 index 00000000..9155385e --- /dev/null +++ b/writing/post-self/marsh/prophecies.md @@ -0,0 +1,39 @@ +To step into The Bean Cycle was to be immediately assailed by sound. There was, as always, the muted howl of steam wands bringing milk up to temperature, and mixed in, as ever, was the clatter and clicking of work being done on bicycles. Wheels were spun, chain was dragged through derailleurs, tires were changed. Milk was steamed, espresso was made, names were hollered out. + +It was not the type of din that Slow Hours expected for the one she and If I Dream were looking for. It was too uneven, this wall of sound. Too unpredictable. The steam wands were too piercing and the occasional clang of a wrench or raucous laughter over some story of a crash too jarring. + +She looked to If I Dream, who merely shrugged. + +Scanning the cafe-*cum*-bike repair shop revealed little. It was certainly well populated enough, with every table in use and few enough empty chairs. In the corner by the window, a crowd of some synthetic creatures of some sort had gathered, looking vaguely feline but with glassy faceplates showing LED-light eyes in sets of fixed expressions. While they were all far shorter than Slow Hours — who one would be hard pressed to describe as tall — the couch that they were sitting on looked to be barely able to hold their weight. + +Even if it was not the type of place for the target of their search, it was still incredibly endearing, and she made a note to herself to return some day. + +"Afternoon, friends," the barista said, grinning to them. "Two mochas? Extra whipped cream?" + +Caught off-guard by having her order guessed for her, Slow Hours froze, brow furrowed. + +If I Dream elbowed her in the side, murmuring, "I have canvased this place before. Do not worry about it." More loudly, she said, "Precisely. Thank you, Hasher." + +Still frowning, Slow Hours allowed herself to be guided down the counter to wait for their drinks to be picked up. She set up a cone of silence over her and her cocladist, more for the relative quiet that it offered than for privacy. + +"Are you sure this is the place?" she asked. + +If I Dream nodded. "Yes, quite sure. Hasher was the one who tipped me off, and I...have seen her outside." + +"You are already watching her, then, yes?" + +The panther smiled faintly, gave an even fainter shrug. "I am nothing if not myself." + +"Then why did you not just go speak to her yourself?" Slow Hours asked. "Or bring me straight to her?" + +If I Dream rolled her eyes. "My dear, I *just* said that I am nothing if not myself. That is not my role in this. That is yours. This is the story we are telling, yes? We are stepping into a cafe and ordering a coffee. We are seeing what this is like, this place where she has been parked the last week. We are speaking with Hasher." + +Sighing, she nodded and leaned against the counter, poking at the anodized sheet of aluminum that covered it. Thankfully, it seemed to be coated with some thin sheen of resin to keep the texture reasonable and noise down. "Well, alright. You are the sneaky ones." + +"Do you not also live in stories? I thought that was part of your whole shtick." + +She snorted. "Well, okay, good point. I suppose I am still a little rattled, is all." + +"'Rattled'?" If I Dream laughed. "*The* Slow Hours of the Ode clade is rattled?" + +"Yes, yes," she said, waving away the comment with a grin. "I really do see your point about the story, I am just finding it hard to slow down, perhaps. When you said that you had heard something, I was ready to race to find her, to have to jump through all the hoops of a fetch quest, so to hear that you already know precisely where she is, that you are already watching her, makes waiting for a coffee like this feel like a waste of time."