shakedown.social is one of the many independent Mastodon servers you can use to participate in the fediverse.
A community for live music fans with roots in the jam scene. Shakedown Social is run by a team of volunteers (led by @clifff and @sethadam1) and funded by donations.

Administered by:

Server stats:

268
active users

#TimeTravelAuthors

13 posts2 participants1 post today
Replied in thread

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 20: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part E

#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 7/13. Most famous person in your story.

We sat staring uncomfortably at each other. The polite chatter in the Hindenburg’s lounge did nothing to ease our awkward silence. Ms. Pang picked up the Champagné cocktail and took a drink.

“Wow, I drank that. It never occurred to me I could eat or drink,” she said.

“You probably shouldn’t. They’re all staring.” With my sudden change of clothes and a floating Champagne glass, we’d made quite the spectacle.

I stood up, took a bow, and announced in a loud voice, “My show opens next week on Broadway. I hope to see you there.” It was probably gauche, but it covered up our various mistakes.

“That was clever,” Ms. Pang said. She had put the glass down and didn’t pick it up again. “Let’s start again. I’m Emily Pang, but you can call me Emily. I’m—I was a reporter. The Nazis revoked my press card, so I was traveling home. In a few days I’m going to die, burn—n… I don’t want to think about it. It was horrible.”

“I’m sorry.” No pointless comfort. What else could I say?

“I’m Luminelle Bijou. You can call me whatever you want except ‘late for dinner.’” The joke fell flat, but it got a grimace, which was an improvement from the distress I’d seen on her face.

“I’m new to this ghost business,” I said, “so there isn’t much I can say about it. Nor can I tell you about my living self. I have no memory of my life. Not even my name. It was Mademoiselle Josephine Baker who christened me Luminelle Bijou.

“She’s quite famous. A communist.”

“I think you’re confused. She’s a patriot and helped us against the Nazis, no matter what Walter Winchell says.” en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walter_W

“I’m sorry. I should know better than to repeat gossip. Though I thought Mr. Winchell was her friend.”

I thought for a moment. “I’m getting my timelines confused. The war and Walter Winchell’s slander are in the future.”

“Oh, you’re from the future? Interesting… I wish I could see what happens. Does everyone end up with personal gyrocopters, that kind of thing?”

I almost spit out my drink. At first, I thought she said ‘gyno-copters,’ which would be a very different invention. One I wouldn’t mention in mixed company.

“But tell me, who else famous have you met?”

“I may have met Elizabeth Bathory and Camilla Karnstein.”

Emily looked blank.

“One is famous for bathing in blood, and the other is a vampire from a novel.”

“You do have charming friends,” Emily said.

Josephine Baker is it, but I’ve thought about visiting Joan of Arc and Amelia Earhart.”

“You’d like Mrs. Earhart. She is a pleasant person. Delightful, but she’ll talk your leg off about aviation.”

Emily began smiling. I liked it. Her face lit up, and her eyes sparkled. They were almost cobalt blue at the moment. The smile faded, and she whispered, “Don’t look, but THEY are here.”

en.wikipedia.orgWalter Winchell - Wikipedia
Replied in thread

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 19: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part D

#Wss633 & #TimeTravelAuthors 7/11 Romance/love triangle?

“The Hindenburg,” I repeated. “And that’s not your sister, but you?”

I took a sip of my Champagne cocktail while I put my thoughts in order. I savored the taste to settle my mind. The drink was simple but elegant, not quite up to the ones at the Folies Bergère. There, they rimmed the glass with vibrantly colored sugar crystals and poured with flair. This had been served politely, without fanfare. That kind of flourish would have clashed with the quiet elegance of the Hindenburg. It was a fine drink, fitting for the airship.

Emily stared at me. “You drank that?”

“Yes, try yours. It is quite good.”

“No, you’re a ghost and you drank that!”

I hadn’t thought about it, but I couldn’t remember any stories about ghosts drinking. Didn’t Buddhists even make a big deal out of how some ghosts drank and ate but could never feel nourished? That must relate to why I stayed inebriated for so short a time. The first part, not the bit about the hungry ghosts. I found the light fizz and warmth of the drink very satisfying.

I shrugged in reply. “So it seems.”

“And your clothes, they aren’t very appropriate.”

True, they were 21st-century casual: jeans and a short brown sweater dress. They must have passed as a costume at the Folies Bergère. I imagined myself in a dress matching Emily’s and wah lah I was in period attire. I #add(ed) a black pearl necklace for flair.

“Don’t do that!” Emily hissed. “You’re putting on a spectacle.”

“My bad.” She was right, of course. Doing things like that where I could be seen wasn’t clever. “This ghost thing is all new to me.”

“I’m new to ghosting and even I know that was stupid,” she added.

I’d wished for a travel companion, and I guessed Emily Pang was it. Not that she was romance material. Heavens, no. I like other women that way, but sharp-tongued women never appealed to me. Besides, she wasn’t even my type. I would just help her and then ask her if she wanted to do some traveling. That’s all.

Replied in thread

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 18: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part C

#TimeTravelAuthors 7/5 Loops 7/9. POST-SIZED snippet (Word: sky)

The standing sister repeated herself, “You can see me.” This time it was a statement rather than a question. The seated sister remained oblivious to us.

I studied them again as I decided how to act. They were more than sisters. If they’d stood side by side, I'd not have been able to tell one from the other, except that one wore white and the other mauve.

I nodded and walked over. “Yes, I see you.”

The seated sister looked up, lips pursed. “Excuse me? Were you talking to me?”

The standing one took my arm. “You must help me, please.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

The seated woman’s eyebrows pinched. “Neither do I. Now, please stop bothering us, or I’ll call a steward.”

“Come, please,” the other woman pulled on my arm and pointed to an unoccupied table. “Let’s talk over there.”

We were barely seated when she began speaking. “I’m Emily Pang, and you might not believe this, but I’m a ghost. That’s me sitting over there. I’m still alive, and I have to warn myself—them. But you think I’m crazy, don’t you? Ghosts, who believes in ghosts? I don’t—didn’t. But it’s true, I’ll be dead in a few days...”

I held up my hand to stop the torrent of words. “I…”

The woman rushed ahead. “...If you would explain to them. I must save them. Please. It’s crazy, but…”

“Stop!”

She shut her mouth with an almost audible snap.

I kept my hand up while I studied her. She looked to be in her forties. Plain, but with a touch of class that her white linen dress accented. Its long lines made her appear taller, but I guessed she was of mid-height. I couldn’t see her hair because of one of those bucket-like hats popular during the Great Depression. Her #sky-blue eyes, almost indigo, were her most outstanding feature.

A steward appeared, perhaps summoned by my raised hand. He gave me an odd look when I ordered Champagne cocktails for the pair of us, but he took the order without comment.

When he’d left, I spoke. “I believe you. I’m a ghost too. Luminelle Bijou, that’s my name.” I almost blushed remembering Mademoiselle Baker.

I would have continued, but she launched into speech again, “Then you must have died here too.”

“Maybe, I don’t know. Actually, I don’t know where here is.”

“The Hindenburg, May 3rd, 1937, on the 6th I burn to death!”

The Hindenburg crash. I’d picked a wonderful spot to appear.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hindenbu
#TootFiction #Serial #NMPrompts #NMTTA

en.wikipedia.orgHindenburg disaster - Wikipedia
Replied in thread

#TimeManager Part 24: Blacking

#wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 07/05

“That’s Sherlock Holmes,” Raven said in a stage whisper.

“Do tell,” muttered Poe, dryly.

Raven stretched, smoothing her feathers. “Autograph, please, Mr. Holmes?”

Watson blinked, his eyes as round as TM’s. Holmes regarded her, faintly amused. “Remarkable. A talking raven. American, by the timbre. Bright, yet prone to absurdity.”

“The criminal,” Watson prompted, redirecting anxiously.

“Disguised as a gentleman, officer, constable, or valet; yet unmistakably of inferior stock.”

“How #can you be sure?”

“The blacking tin. Smears on the chair betray a clumsy hand. One polishes with precision or not at all. The details, Watson; details always betray the breeding.”

Note 1: A tin is a can .
Note 2: As you watch Basil Rathbone on the screen canned ** music is playing #around you.

Replied in thread

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 17: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part B

#Mastoprompt #TimeTravelAuthors 7/5.

My first impression was one of Spartan elegance. It was jarring after the roar and excess of 1920s Paris. Instead of the riotous laughter of the Folies, I heard the murmur of people talking and the occasional clink of a glass all #around me. The room was a lounge lined with aluminum tables and chairs, all lightweight and purposeful. Soft-colored fabrics upholstered the seats: beige, lavender, and gentle pinks. Murals adorned the cloth walls in dreamy pastels: parrots, palms, and Rio’s own Sugarloaf Mountain. It was utilitarian and efficient, a tasteful example of modernism.

From the murals, my eyes were drawn to windows showing the countryside drifting below. A sparkling river was so close that the people on the barges were visible. #Beyond, quaint villages nestled in the morning mist.

Finally, a couple arguing caught my attention. On second glance, the argument seemed one-sided. A woman in a white linen dress addressed her twin sister, seated at one of the tables, in a shrill, New York-accented voice. “You need to listen to me. Please, it’s important. You’re going to die.”

Her sister paid no attention and instead calmly talked to the man across from her. She took languid sips of a red cocktail. Despite her sister’s vehement words, she was as unruffled as the liquid in her glass.

Then it hit me. No one was paying attention to the woman. Normally, if a person makes a scene, people peer at them. Instead, everyone continued their conversations, reading their papers, or watching the scenery go by without blinking.

The woman at the table looked past her sister in my direction, said something to her companion, and laughed. Whatever she said caused the woman in white to turn around. Our eyes met, and shock spread across her face.

She stared. “Madam. You can see me?”

Replied in thread

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 17: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part A

#TimeTravelAuthors 7/3. What are your characters fighting for?

The backstage faded, half there and half not. The Countess’s form receded in a haze. I paused to reflect on her. I didn’t hate her, but I certainly didn’t like her. She had been subtly cruel and hinted at a deeper darkness, but I had enjoyed her company, which made me realize that my ghostly existence might be very lonely.

Last time, I wished to be in Paris during an era of bright lights and gaiety. I had appeared at the Folies Bergère. That was as bright and gay as it could get. If time travel worked like that, you make a wish, and poof, you were there. Then why not do it again?

“I would like to go somewhere where I can find a friend. Someone who can come with me on my travels.” That would be nice, while I tried to figure out who I was—why I existed.

“I want to meet a fellow traveler!”

The last traces of the backstage faded, revealing a brilliantly lit room. I blinked, then assessed my new surroundings.
#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366

Replied in thread

#TimeTravelAuthors Jul 1: Intro

When Carrie went to University, she didn't expect a lot of things. A quantum locked roommate, a time travel assassin, and a pretty girl on her floor are just some of the issues for her to deal with in this present day (ish) time jumping tale.

(Alternatively: When will I get back to writing the Time & Tied sequel? This month. I hope.)

Replied in thread

#wss366 06/30
#TimeManager Part 23: Elementary

CRASH

In the lightning flash, a man’s silhouette.

“Frankenstein!” Raven squawked. “In the door!”

BOOM

The tall figure was lit again.

Poe shuddered. “Was it the gentle monster...

TM’s eyes spun, searching for another timeline.

FLASH

...or tormented to frustrated anger?

Raven fluffed and spread their wings, trying to look frightening. A piece of down floated in the air.

TM broke the mood of excited terror. “Frankenstein was the doctor.”

“Correct,” the figure said in refined Victorian English. He stepped through the door, coming in out of the #downpour, followed closely by a shorter man with a revolver.

After one quick appraising glance at the time-traveling trio, the taller man dismissed them and strode to the table, where he picked up a biscuit. “Made today with local ingredients. He has an accomplice.”

“I have them covered,” the other man said in an educated English accent, his revolver pointed at Poe.

“You can put the gun down. They are time travelers.” The tall man was clearly in charge, but his tone showed no need to be overbearing.

“Bosh, time travelers.” Despite the man’s incredulous answer, the gun wavered and then fell to his side.

The time travelers began to relax, with puzzlement replacing fear. Raven even peeked out from behind Poe’s head. And whispered, “What’s he, a wizard?”

“Look at them,” the tall man said.

“You’re not one to joke. But Time travelers?” his companion answered.

“Crekidy. Crack. Yeah, how did you know?” Raven asked, their head next to Poe’s ear.

Poe grit his teeth and put a hand over his ear, while the shorter man stared incredulously at the “talking” raven.

“Observe—their clothes; clearly from the future. And that one with clockwork eyes, a gnome or leprechaun. Both, I think. They are clearly not part of McFair’s gang. Remember my rule: ‘When the impossible is eliminated, no matter how improbable, what remains must be true.”

Replied in thread

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 16: Names

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/29

Once out in the hall, Countess turned to me. “You have been a delightful companion. Thank you ever so much…” She paused. “Mademoiselle Bijou.”

Was there a hint of mockery there? I was unsure.

“But now, we must part ways,” she continued. “These days, I dine alone. I do hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”

Not at all. I welcomed the parting. That was when I decided: I didn’t like this woman. Not that I regretted meeting her. After all, she had introduced me to Mademoiselle Baker, but I could do without her future company.

“Comtesse? May I know your full name?” Parting made the question feel safe.

“But of course. I am presently la princesse Ghika. Here at the Folies, I am la comtesse de Pougy—or simply Pougy, to friends.”

She laid her ungloved hand on my arm; it was soft and warm—unexpectedly human. With her other hand, she drew back her veil, revealing a matronly face: no longer young, but not yet old.

“Until we meet again, Mademoiselle Luminelle Bijou.” And this time, the mockery was unmistakable.

Her veil dropped. I thought I heard, “or even Elizabeth.” But perhaps I imagined it.

So—where next?

Replied in thread

#wss366 06/29
#TimeManager Part 23: File under Gruesome

“The main event.” Castaneda waved at a colorful procession. At the end was a single-#file line of people in wooden yokes. “Allies or enemies, they all get eaten.”

“Enough.” Poe picked up the comatose Raven.

TM agreed and grabbed a random timeline. Castaneda’s sun-bleached house faded, replaced by a mist-enshrouded moor and a crude stone croft.

Raven woke, shook her feathers, and screamed, “Wet!”

The croft looked warmly inviting, so they entered.

Inside, on the table, were bacon, biscuits, handcuffs, and the file used on them.

Poe selected the file and, making sawing motions, said, “File that adventure under gruesome.”

Replied in thread

#TimeTravelAuthors 29: Free space

The 2025 (Cdn) coins are in circulation, to the point where I received one this month. Apologies for low quality image. But the time travel may now commence.

(For those you don't know, my story requires having a coin with the year of destination. Never travel to the past without a present day coin to return.)

Replied in thread

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 15B: Luminelle Bijou

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/27 #WSS366 #MastoPrompt 06/28

“Mademoiselle, she is asking your name,” Countess said.

Who was she, Countess Elizabeth Báthory? Countess Mircalla Karnstein? Marguerite Chopin? Countess? Comtesse de Pougy turned? All, some?” The names tumbled through my head.

Still puzzling over her identity, I began, “My name, I—I don’t know what…” I caught myself. I had meant to say, “I don’t know what your real name is, Countess?” But that wouldn’t do. How could I #trust that some evil might not befall me if she sensed I suspected?

My tone turned #querulous. “My name? I don’t think I have one. Mademoiselle Baker, you would honor me if you gave me one. I’d always remember your dance—and your face—whenever someone called it.”

The Countess clapped silently, fingers fluttering like moths, and exclaimed, “Charming. Quite charming. So romantic.”

Josephine touched a finger to her chin, as if pointing to the dimple in her cheek. She tilted her head, thoughtful, then smiled. “Luminelle Bijou,” she said. “Mademoiselle Luminelle Bijou. My radiant jewel. A fan I shall always remember.”

At that moment, there was a light knock at the door, followed by the doorman’s voice. “Mademoiselle Baker, a Monsieur La Rothchild is here to see you. He has some magnificent flowers.”

Josephine brought her palms together with a theatrical sigh. “Please excuse me. I must see this important person. But I am happy you came, Comtesse, and I was delighted to meet you, Mademoiselle Bijou.”

Replied in thread

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 15A: Luminelle Bijou

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/27 #WSS366 #MastoPrompt 06/28

Countess—Comtesse? Duchesse?—waved for me to open Josephine Baker’s dressing room. Her gloved hand moved with languid grace, a silent reminder of who held the upper hand.

I glanced at her other hand to reassure myself of my memory. Indeed, oddly, a pale hand showed below the red sleeve of her dress. The absence of a glove could hardly be accidental, but I was unsure of the meaning.

My knock was greeted with, “Entrée.” We entered, finding Mademoiselle Baker #fanning herself before a large mirror. Cosmetics fanned across the vanity in a delta of disorder.

“Comtesse de Pougy, I was expecting you.” Mademoiselle Baker’s French had a heavy American accent. She then gave me a quizzical look. “Your friend’s a vampire, no?”

Countess replied, “A ghost. I didn’t get her name. She is a big fan. She was delightful to watch as you performed. Eyes so big, mouth so wide. Ah, to be young again.”

I was unsure about her comment. “Mouth so wide” didn’t sound like a compliment. And now that she brought it up, I wondered what my name was. “Time Traveling Ghost” and “Ghost” weren’t real names but descriptions. Instead of asking either of those, I asked a third question. “Mademoiselle Baker, how did you know I was dead?”

She tapped the mirror with the fan she had been using. “Your reflection, Mademoiselle Ghost—what may I call you?”

I looked in the mirror. Indeed, the mirror didn’t reflect me. But what caught my eye was Countess' ungloved hand. Not the ungloved hand itself, but its absence. There were red velvet sleeves, one with a gloved hand and one empty. I glanced back at her, and there was a pale hand where the mirror showed a void.

Replied in thread

#TimeTravelAuthors 27: Characters trust each other?

Initially? No one's sure who to trust, and there are a number of betrayals. Once the cast fully comes together, they MOSTLY trust each other.

Caveats are, Carrie doesn't trust herself (or the others in so far as they may do what's best for her, not the timeline), no one fully trusts Glen, and Tori rarely trusts anyone else.

Replied in thread

#TimeTravelAuthors 25: Balance?

*
"We can't trust data for tests we haven't seen.”
“Sure we can, your future’s unchangeable, right?”
“Data obtained that way could still be faulty.”
"You have no sense of adventure,” Carrie argued.
"You have no sense of responsibility," Frank fired back.
"You have no sense of fun."
"You have no sense of paradox."
"You... shut up," Carrie said, giving Frank’s shoulder a shove. He fell off his library stool. "You have no sense of balance," she declared.

Replied in thread

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/28 Balance
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 14

Fallen Angel

Josephine’s act ended, and Ghost sat there, stunned. More than the godlike dancing, it was the joy on Mademoiselle Baker’s face—mischievous, radiant, pure puckish abandon—that stayed with Ghost.

“Would you like to meet the goddess in person?” Countess’s voice broke the spell.

A juggler had taken the stage, balancing a plate on their nose while juggling three balls. The shift was as jarring as vaudeville following Shakespeare at the Globe. Ghost nodded, still too dazzled to trust her voice.

Countess drained her Champagne and snubbed her cigarette in the empty glass, where it briefly sizzled. “Shall we go?” she said softly. The veil had fallen again; red gems sparkled where once were crimson lips and pale skin.

She threaded unsteadily through the tables where tipsy revelers sat, pieces of costume strewn around them. Tinsel clung to her like cosmic threads, a fallen star personified, cast down but radiant still. Voices called out her name: La Comtesse de Pougy, La Duchesse de Gramont, even Madame la Comtesse. She nodded to each with gracious indifference, letting every title stand.

“Who was this woman?” Ghost wondered. The veil was only the beginning—a symbol of an identity woven from shadow. Not even her familiars agreed on her name. The dark hints she dropped made her think perhaps she was someone even older and more sinister than any of them realized. Or perhaps they ignored her subtle hints.

“Madame la Comtesse,” the stage doorman greeted us. “Here to see Mademoiselle Baker? This way, she is expecting you.”

“How are the kids, Louis?” Countess’s voice shifted; no trace of Hungarian remained. It rang with the false warmth of a politician: hearty, too familiar.

“Well, Madame. They were grateful for the gifts.”

“Good. Here is the door we can see ourselves in. Tell the wife I say hi.”

The man hurried back to his station, a smile on his face.

The Countess looked after him, and then in her Hungarian-heavy French asked me, “Do you hate kids too?”

She lit one of her black cigarettes, waiting for an answer that never came, and finally added, “Loathsome creatures. On God’s great balance wheel, less than rats.”

#LesbianHistory

Liane de Pougy: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liane_de
Élisabeth de Gramont: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89li

en.wikipedia.orgLiane de Pougy - Wikipedia
Continued thread

#wss366 6/23 #TimeTravelAuthors Alternate History aspects [Note 1]
#FanFiction #TearmoonEmpire

**** The Norns ****
*** Chapter 4: The Book of Fate ***

“Mmm...” Mai murmured, savoring the rabbit stew the Norns had offered. “So warm, so rich. The wild sage is a pleasant touch,” she enthused over the stew, not noticing the three women hadn’t gotten a bowl for themselves.

The mushrooms were bitter, but they had soaked up the broth and were palatable. Spoonful after spoonful of stew daintily entered Mai’s mouth. “Mum, so yummy,” Mai said around one of those spoonfuls.

Pieces of rabbit and mushroom swam around the bowl, inviting her to dig in. Her spoon took a longggg dive toward the food. It was such an odd spoon. The handle must have been a foot longggg with a ssmiling face.

“Better to reach the fooood,” Mai thought. “Why are you dddoddggging,” Mai thought as the pieces swam away from her sssspoooon. “At last,” she thought, only to have a piece of rabbitttt jjjjump offff her spppooooon.

She looked up at the women to see if they had noticed. Their faces shifted in the firelight. Wwwaving like llllillies in a field. Swwweeeet lllilliees, blessessed by the sunnn.

“Ddddoes itttt ttttast gooood,” Ver… The mature one said? The voice came from very far away.

“I woveeee the Mushhhhrrrrrooom threaaad innto your weeeave… your weeeave… weeeave… eve.”

Like the #pound of surf in a tide worn cave.

Mai didn’t feel good. Her stomach twisted into a knot. Rabbits danced in big, heaping jumps. Mushrooms danced in her head.

The three mushrooooommmm ladies in gray hoooooddddds, smiled. Their lips twisted like the knots in her stomachhhhh…

“Lady Mai. My lady,” it was Anne’s voice issuing from the forest.

“Anneeeee, Anne,” she cried back. “Come, try the steeewww.”

“My lady, Belle is here to see you.” Anne’s voice held a touch of command and cut through Mai’s visions.

Mai opened her eyes. In her lap was the book of fate. She had been reading it because she couldn’t go out for a ride today. The page was open to show a picture of mushrooms with white freckles on their red caps dancing in a circle.

Mai was glad she had read the book. She had learned one important lesson. Never trust women in gray hoods, even if they make the tastiest rabbit stew.

She closed the book and moved on to plan her day. One of her first tasks would be asking the cook if they had any of those red mushrooms.

<Part4 of 4 - #Serial Conclution>

[Note 1] For this one, yes. As a result of reading the book, Mai will avoid eating that batch of poisonous mushrooms. The Norns also referred to several other time-altering events, not that I wrote those.–For my silly ones, not so far.

#microfiction #NMPrompts #NMV366 #NMTTA
#Anime #Manga #LightNovel #Fantasy #Mushrooms #psychedelic
#ティアムーン帝国 #JNovelClub

Replied in thread

#TimeTravelAuthors 23: Alternate history aspects?

One of the pillars of my stories is it's near impossible to change significant moments in history. I also don't enjoy thinking through the repercussions of changes. I use the Quantum Leap playbook, minor adjustments that don't make the history books. Assuming even those changes are possible.

#wss366 6/22 #TimeTravelAuthors
#FanFiction #TearmoonEmpire

**** The Norns ****
*** Chapter 3: The Norns ***

“Urðr, the grumpy, old one,” Mai repeated, then gave up. “Too hard. ‘Uror’ will have to do. Verðandi, the overworked, mature one, I’ll call her Ver. And Skuld, my young guide.”

“I am Mai Tearmoon.” Mai did her best to curtsy in her bulky, wet riding outfit. It steamed in the fire’s warmth. Mai worried it might burst into flames if the fuzzy wool got too hot. She pictured herself bursting like a dandelion head into a puff of fire.

“I am pleased to meet you,” she said, backing away from the fire.

“Worry not,” Ver said.

“Ver, the mature one,” Mai repeated.

“I hold no thread of flame.” Ver #produce(d) a red thread lightly mottled with white, as if to prove her point.

Her words made no sense. “Maybe she’s touched. Weird.”

“Is the stew ready?” Skuld, the youngest, said. “Our guest is hungry, and I see it is the thread you currently hold, sister.”

“Weirdness isn’t exclusive to Ver. The three wyrd sisters, but she’s right. I’m hungry.”

Mai might’ve figured out who her hosts were, if her sugar-starved brain hadn’t gone to sleep hours ago, dreaming of tea cakes and Equestria milk.—Forget that. Mai would never have guessed she was among the three Norns.

“Almost,” Ver said. “The mushrooms are bitter if they don’t cook enough. You must carefully weave fate’s garments.”

“My sister is meticulous. She likes things just one way. While I like wide-open opportunity,” Skuld said.

“I like things that do not change,” Uror said.

Mai whispered to herself, “Uror, the old crabby one.”

“It’s ready,” Ver said, reaching for a bowl.

“At last,” Mai thought while her stomach loudly proclaimed its agreement.

(Part 3 of a #Serial in 4 parts. To be continued.)

#microfiction #NMPrompts #NMV366 #NMTTA
#Anime #Manga #LightNovel #Fantasy
#ティアムーン帝国 #JNovelClub