Welcome to the writing playground, or: The general repository of rough, unserious, and unfinished original works.
Think of it as a bit like a sketchbook, but for words.
Primarilly another attempt at getting myself writing more, but if you'd like to see what I have, feel free to browse.
The mountains of Luxor rose up like a hand to catch them, nestling the ship in the soft palm of its valley as a child might cup a firefly in the softness of its grasp.
Senetor Bahst remained unimpressed, professional scowl set firmly in place despite all efforts of the vista to ease it from his face.
In truth, he would love nothing more than to relax. It was, after all, the intended point of all this in the first place, this vacation.
All the meticulous planning and scheduling, met by rescheduling, with meetings put on hold even as the petty planet bound empires whined endlessly.
Petty one-planet represenitives and their over-bloated egos persistantly sucked at his precious time.
Then, when at long last everything was in order, Irim, of course, had to intervene.
He was watching Bahst right now, openly preffering the planes of his rival's face even to the sweeping vista now taking the ship into its lush green grasp.
Bahst, however, was better than that. Not for nothing had he climbed the ranks of galactic power, and he kept his face inscrutably pleasant all throughout their long descent.
Make it so Bahst is touring to certify Irim's world, rather than setting it up so he's just "on vacation."
This better explains why someone so powerful would just go along with the whims of this one dude he doesn't even like.
"It is, of course, still a work in progress." Irim, evidently unwilling or unable to endure his companion's silence, opted to begin the conversation himself.
"So I see." Bahst hummed, taking some small pleasure in the sour look that passed across his companion's face. Rich scion of an ancient line Irim may be, but in terms of raw experience, the boy was quite simply outmatched.
The two stepped out of the ship, afterburners still smoking great, iron-scented plumes behind them as their feet whispered through the unburnt lines of imitation meadow, patches of biological grass made obvious by the flashfire started from their craft.
The field itself was obviously a work in progress, it's natural verdance yet to be completelt replaced with materials suited to handling metal super-heated from atmospheric entry.
"It's still a work in progress, of course." Irim said, his face still searching Brahm's face, and Brahm's face still inscrutable as he took in the defects of the young scion's plaything world.
The rest of the field is up next." Irim continued, still keeping the full of his attention on Bahst's expression, wholly unaware of this inspection's inevitable end, or, if he was aware, pretending not to know.
"We would have had it done before now, but the mountains -" he waved a fine-boned hand, artistically sculpted by the galaxy's finest geneticists into something that was, in Bahst's opinion, a touch too effeminate.
"- Took more work than we thought. The damn Hriquilari -" He uttered the name of the planet's original owners with the practiced ease of a well worn curse. "Had an entire civilization buried under those. Claimed they had no idea there!"
Irim Scoffed. "And they call themselves honest traders."
"You forget the technological capacities of savages." Bahst replied, "If the Hriquilari are to the level I have heard them to be -" As detailed by master Irim's exalted matron, extensively. "I do not doubt they could have simply forgotten it was there."
"Well, they should very well have written it down then, shouldn't they!" Irim snapped, before abruptly remembering who he was talking to. "--Sir. But anyways, it's caused me quite a bit of trouble. It's too good to simply demolish, but renovating it up to proper standards has put the primary landing feild almost two weeks behind."
The two strolled across the charred remains of grass, making their way across the blackened waste onto the moving walkway already installed into the dirt.
Bahst gave a sigh of relief at the sight. It seemed the boy's priorities were not completely hopeless, after all.
As soon as he stepped into the path of the rolling metallic streamers, Bahst felt himself swept up into the rolling walkway's motion, each step turning the landscape into a new blur of color from the speed of his traversal.
A girl goes missing in the woods, and her parents find only a decrepit and scary doll left behind. They soon learn that the doll is actually their daughter. And she's alive.
When Mrs. Springer announced the return of her daughter, the whole town was appalled.
Certainly, the initial loss had been tragic, loosing children to the woods always was. But such children, once lost, were meant to stay gone. Any kind and loving parent would make sure of it.
But it was well known that Mrs. Springer was no such thing.
She had never been quite right since she lost her husband, unfortunate as she was to have witnessed him impaled during his off-duty hours by a shadow he had failed to notice looked nothing like his own. Once exposed, a shadow was easy enough to kill, but not so easy that Mister Springer was gotten to in time. He was gone before the last of its mouths had finished screaming.
"Damn you! God damn you!" The tears that had streamed down her cheeks had been heartbreaking. "You let him die!"
Her parents went not long after. Genevieve and Theodore Springer, both honorable members of the town, turned themselves in.
"It's okay, dear, it's okay." Genevieve had tried to comfort her daughter before she was lead away.
"No." Mrs. Springer had wept, reaching for their infected fingers between cold iron bars. "It's not."
So when the woods took her daughter, perhaps it should have been expected that Mrs. Springer would pretend she wasn't truly gone.
Mipsy was frankly surprised when she opened the door. Both she and Earnest had done so more from a sense of obligation than any expectation that she would reply. Mrs. Helga Springer had been such a good townswoman for such a long time, going straight to the break in just wasn't the neighborly thing to do.
"Oh! Welcome, welcome!" Helga threw open the door and angled for a hug, her smile only fading when Earnest dodged out of her attempted hug. She didn't look infected, but one could never be too sure.
"Is something wrong?"
"Just here for a check in, Helga." Mipsy said. "We know you're daughter is...unwell, so the council sent us over to make sure nothing spread."
"The council." Helga scoffed.
"They protect the town." Earnest reminded her.
"by killing good people and spreading dirty lies!"
Earnest grimaced. He had never been one for blasphemy.
"I know it's been hard, Helga." Mipsy cut in. She would have put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but the risk of infection was still very real. Unable to emphasize through touch, Mipsy focused on channeling everything she had into her voice. "That's why we're here. We're neighboors, we take care of each other, and all we want to do is make sure you're well. You can show us that, can't you? That you and your daughter are alright?"
Helga's lips thinned, raking the couple over with narrowed eyes. Mipsy, tastefully dressed and affable in a way that she could only hope read as sincere rather than professional, and Earnest, true to his name, with hands clasped in front of him to stop the reflex to fiddle.
They had both gone with hidden weapons only, on her suggestion. It made it easier to gain a target's trust.
She watched the subtle interplay of wants and choices dance across the woman's face: Loneliness, joy, suspicion, and desire passed over her expression as she made her choice.
"Fine." The woman snapped. "But don't hurt her. Promise me that."
"I promise." Mipsy lied.
Helga nodded, and swung the door open to let them in.
The house appeared largely unchanged, if a little more dusty, since the last time Mipsy had seen it. Pictures of Mister and Mrs. Springer lined the walls in happy poses, drapery and curtains hung sun faded and only slightly dry rotted over dark wood paneling.
The dolls, however, were new.
"It is nice to have some adult company." Helga said, quite oblivious to the strange decor. "Little Bethany has been thriving - so much more than she was before, but she's quite the handful. I've been afraid to ask for help, with those dirty council members poisoning the minds of every Jane, Dick and Sally against her, but with you -" She took a deep breath, a satisfied sigh from lungs too long constricted, "I could convince all the rest, and we could be happy again."