I wrote this to aldersprig's prompt "The one thing you don't expect to find in the middle of a giant skyscraper is a sword lodged in a boulder."

For those with spoons or time issues it is 2,198 words long.

One thing you don't expect to find in the middle of a giant skyscraper is a sword lodged in a boulder. Especially not on a 56^th floor mezzanine level where they most definitely had not been a week earlier when you’d lodged the job application that had landed the interview that you were here for now. It made Firenze Howie’s fingers itch.

She’d introduced herself to the receptionist to whom she’d handed that archaically required paper application on her last visit and, when her name was crossed off a list in front of that young lady, commented, “You’ve redecorated since last week.”

“Yes,” the blonde girl in her dirndl-like outfit smiled, “they put it in over the weekend. The Chairman seems very pleased with it. If you’d like to take a seat,” she gestured at the chairs lined up against the solid wall to her left, “Mr Branko will come and get you when the interview committee are ready for you.”

Firenze took a seat, politely nodding to the two people who were already there: Gwendolen Price, who’d been in the same classes at university but whom she didn’t like; and the slightly older man whom she didn’t know but who looked like a minor academic. Gwendolen was fiddling and looking at her watch, from which Firenze surmised that the interviews were running behind schedule. The man, after acknowledging Firenze, went back to reading his newspaper which seemed to have separate columns in Latin, Cyrillic and Chinese characters. Firenze looked around, it wasn’t the sort of waiting area that had magazines for perusal, then pulled her notebook out of her bag and spent the waiting time trying to draw the sword in the stone.

She’d concluded that her first drawing was already a failure just as a dark-haired woman in a black suit stalked her way disdainfully through a doorway that opened off the foyer. She gave the three people waiting their turn a pitying look and carried on to the lift. Firenze attempted another sketch.

In a few minutes a tall, heavy-set man emerged from the same doorway and asked Gwendolen to accompany him. In the half hour Gwendolen was gone Firenze tried two more sketches of the sword and deemed both utter failures. Another man, this one on the verge of being elderly, arrived and joined Firenze and the man with the newspaper.

Gwendolen emerged in much better humour than the dark haired woman and went to the lift without a second glance. After ten minutes the tall, heavy-set man came and fetched the man with the newspaper. Two more bad sketches and the arrival of a red-haired woman later, the man with the newspaper left with something of a spring in his step.

Firenze put away her pen and notebook so as to be ready. As the tall man came across the foyer towards her and she stood, Firenz e first realised he wasn’t human then hoped that she’d kept that realization off her face.

He didn’t so much walk as lope, slowly and the smartly tailored suit camouflaged a very heavily muscled body. Something about the body and movement combination tickled at her memory, then he was there, more than a foot taller than her, and they were shaking hands. “Miss Howie, I’m Jennick Branko, Mr Raitzer’s personal assistant.”

“How do you do?” That seemed so inane, given that part of her brain was trying to figure out what he was.

“Very well, thank you,” his smile didn’t show his teeth as he released her hand. “We’re sorry for the delay but the committee is ready for you now.” He indicated the doorway he’d entered by. “If you’ll come this way?”

“Certainly.” Firenze walked across the foyer with him.

Halfway across, Branko asked, “Are you nervous, Miss Howie?”

“Of course I am,” she managed to say lightly. “I am here for a job interview.”

As he opened the door for her Branko said, “Oh, is that what it is?” He smiled at her, showing sharp teeth in the side of his mouth.

Her mind screamed, “Big Bad Wolf!” But Firenze replied calmly, “Of course, what else could it be?”

“Oh, you never know,” and he smiled again, with his mouth closed.

They had to go down a short corridor to the room where the interviews were being held.  After their exchange, Branko was completely professional. He introduced Firenze to the interview committee and took his seat at a separate table where, it appeared, he was taking notes. The committee itself was: Mr Raitzer, who had olive skin, gray bouffant hair and wore a dark blue pinstripe suit with a navy silk tie; Mrs Knochmueller on his left, who had her hair in a bun, clothes that covered everything inward of her larynx and wrists and an expression of thin, middle-aged prissiness; and Mr Plaister, on Mr Raitzer’s right, who had short, red hair turning grey, wore a morning coat over an embroidered waistcoat and was the only person in the room Firenze was certain was human. The three of them led off with the usual questions about experience and research then, “And would you mind travelling, Miss Howie?”

“When you say ‘travelling’ how far do you mean, Mr Raitzer?” Firenze smiled. “If you mean across the city, then I don’t see that as a problem at all. If you mean further afield, like overseas or to the orbital stations or the Lunar domes, then I’d love to. I realise,” she added cautiously, “that the company might not want me to tell the world where or when I was going but I would need to tell my family that I would be away for time, just so my mother doesn’t get it into her head that I’m lying unconscious in my flat and call the police.”

“A wise precaution,” Mrs Knochmueller smiled as she made a notation on the pad in front of her and Firenze wasn’t sure if she meant avoiding her mother breaking into her flat or letting the committee know there were people who’d care if she disappeared.

There were a few more normal questions and then, from Mr Plaister, “So, Miss Howie, have you ever heard of Maerche?”

“Yes,” Firenze was glad to have a genuine, checkable reason for that, “I did an assignment on the Esmeralda Grennich affair in my last year of university.” No need to tell the committee that she’d actually been there. “It’s an otherwhere, one with many connections to this world.”

“So, you believe in the otherwheres, Miss Howie?” That was from Mr Raitzer.

“I looked into the literature when I was doing that assignment,” Firenze replied. “There are a lot of published papers in physics journals discussing them and they are the simplest explanation for the Esmeralda Grennich matter.”

“In what way?” Mrs Knochmueller’s elbows were on the table and her fingers were interwoven in front of her chin.

“Mistress Grennich’s body was exhumed in 1987 when the cemetery was moved to accommodate the new Shire Council administration buildings. Testing was done at that time which showed that she was not a homo sapiens sapiens narrans.”  Taking in their expressions she added, “which is the current terminology for humans native to this world. Apparently she came from a different branch of the homo sapiens tree.”

“Do you find it disturbing when your research leads you to things you didn’t believe in before, Miss Howie?” That came from Mr Raitzer.

“So far, sir, I haven’t come across anything in my research that was more disturbing than the political and crime sections of the news websites and the printed papers.” Firenze gave him a tight smile and Mrs Knochmueller gave a cough that might have a suppressed laugh.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Howie,” Mr Raitzer smiled at her, “Please see yourself out and we expect to be in touch, one way or another, within a week.”

“Thank you for giving me the interview.” Firenze rose and left, more certain than ever that Mr Plaister had been the only human in the room and that she had been the only one who wasn’t a Maerchen. Smiling at the receptionist on her way out, she thought to herself that, given the dirndl, the girl, although human, was probably from Maerche too. She did know that the place had a mix of peoples and that the locally originating species were known variously as homo sapiens sapiens narrans phobos, homo sapiens sapiens phobos narrans or homo sapiens phobos narrans. As far as Firenze was concerned, “phobos” was the important word and that had her worried. They knew who she was, if not what, and they knew where she lived.

There was nothing she could do about that now, so she went home and had lunch. After she’d eaten, Firenze took the time to drop the permanent illusion she had upon herself and checked her real appearance. She had been told that the Changes in a newly metamorphosed fae could be spread over as much as a decade, so as she’d been Changed for less than two years it never hurt to check. It wasn’t as if she had any relatives she could ask for advice, everyone else in the family was human, except for Great-Aunt Clara and she wasn’t helpful. That lack of contacts meant too that she had no Master to guide her on this or any other subject -the few adult fae she knew either wouldn’t take her on or wanted a price for her indentures that she wasn’t prepared to pay.

Today nothing had changed since last time. Her eyes were still blue, with a ring of gold around the pupil and a ring of silver around the iris. Her hair was still brown except for that one piece in her cowlick that was the blue of her eyes mixed in with gold and silver. Her pointed ears still sat back neatly against the side of her head and her eyebrows were still bifurcated. What had once been freckles and moles on her arms were still drops and flecks of silver and gold on her skin. Firenze sighed, tidied her hair and recast her illusion of her pre-metamorphosed self. It was time to do the rounds of her usual clients, because she certainly wasn’t guaranteed the job she’d interviewed for that morning. A pity, not because she didn’t like her freelance work, but because a fulltime, salaried job would have let her move to a slightly larger flat in a less elderly residential tower.

Firenze’s first stop, still wearing the suit she’d worn to the interview, was at an antiques shop in a sandstone arcade that had been incorporated into a newer tower block. She wouldn’t have been surprised if her client had had something to do with that. He was an older fae, an antiquarian, at least at the moment, and he usually had little jobs for her that involved tracking down an item he was interested in or checking the provenance of something he’d acquired. He usually paid cash but every three or four weeks he’d pay her with a lesson instead.

Today Miles Chambrey was carrying his usual illusion of a thin, elderly, elegantly rumpled man, and when Firenze arrived he was carefully wrapping a small object in tissue paper for a customer. While he was occupied, Firenze busied herself admiring the porcelain display in the window, carefully keeping her hands and shoulder bag away from the actual items themselves. When the customer had gone, Miles made his way over to her and, smiling regretfully said, “Firenze, it’s always nice to see you, but I’m afraid I’ve nothing for you today.”

“A pity,” Firenze shrugged, “but I think I’ve stumbled on something that might interest you.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow in interrogation.

“My attempts at sketching the thing were pitiful, but do you have anywhere I can cast an illusion in private?”

“Of course. Come out into the back room so I can keep an eye on the shop while you do it.” He ushered her into the little section at the back with its tiny kitchenette and a coat rack. “Will this be enough space?”

Firenze took its measure, concentrated on her memory of the sword in the stone and muttered the words of the spell. Colour flowed in front of them and in under a second an image of what she’d seen that morning hung in the air before them. “This was on the 56^th floor of the Harker Building when I went for my interview with Reutz & Hartnell this morning. I’m afraid I only got a look at one side of it but I believe everyone I saw from the company this morning was Maerchen.”

“Well, it’s definitely an Excalibur,” commented Miles. “Maerchen you say?”

“An Excalibur?”

“Oh yes, lots of objects of power have replicas or shadows in different worlds. The question is, why did they bring it here and what’s going to happen next?” Miles seemed to be talking to himself as much as to Firenze.

“I suppose,” said Firenze slowly, “that depends if they’re trying to find Arthur or keep the sword away from him…”

I wrote this to ysabetwordsmith's prompt ""The First of Her Kind".

The Extraterrestial Expansion Grants Committee was in session. “Next we have Dr Rozina Tortosa,” the Secretary read from the agenda. “Dr Tortosa is going to present on the viability of her proposal to genetically engineer settlers for Guel1974e.”

“She would be unaware of item two, wouldn’t she?” The Chairman glanced around the table.

“The information has been very close held,” answered the Committee member who’d presented item 2. “However, as the press release is being issued as we speak, I think we should tell her.”

“Agreed,” the Chairman nodded. “That will allow her to move onto a new project as soon as possible. Ms Gosling, please show Dr Tortosa in.”

The young woman in the dark suit rose from her place at a side table and went to collect the doctor from the antechamber.

Dr Tortosa was a dark haired, olive skinned woman in her thirties who wore a tailored charcoal suit and front buttoning white shirt with a pastel baby sling across her front. “Mr Chairman, thank you for allowing me to present today. I trust all the Committee members have had a chance to review my notes?”

The Chairman spoke up, “Before you proceed, Dr Tortosa, you should know that there will be no colonisation of Guel1974e.” He held up a hand as she went to speak, “It is not because the authorities have decided that there is no viable colonisation strategy, it is because sentient life has been found there.”

“I…see,” the doctor seemed stunned. “I’ve put a great deal into the Guel1974e project. I never expected this.”

One of the committee members, a gene-engineered hermaphrodite with pointed ears said, “Dr Tortosa, please sit down. You seem quite shaken. Perhaps we could discuss your technique and review your viable specimens? If I understand your method correctly, it would seem to have applications beyond your Guel1974e work.”

“Thank you, yes.” The doctor sat down. “The advantage of this method is that you drop the new gene template in over the existing genetic material so you don’t have to design the entire person.”

“You told us that last time,” replied the Chairman. “We’re looking for a proof of concept.”

“Oh, yes,” Dr Tortosa undid the baby sling, “this is Jevva.” She picked the blue skinned baby up off her lap and held it up to her shoulder, patting it comfortingly on its nappy-swathed bottom. “She’s six weeks old, has been meeting all her milestones and her tests in a Guel1974e simulated environment have been excellent.”

“So, she can adjust between a Terran environment and the one on Guel1974e?” That was the military member of the Committee.

“Of course, Colonel,” the doctor spoke calmly around the baby, “my aim was to create human colonists, not a new species.”

“And what will you do with her now that colonisation of Guel1974e isn’t a possibility?” The pointed-ear member of the Committee asked, leaning forward intently.

“Take her home and bring her up, of course.” The doctor looked at the Committee member as if she didn’t quite understand the question. “I had thought she’d be one of the first colonists, but that’s obviously not going to happen. She’ll have to go into something else.”

“So,” the ethical specialist spoke up, “where did you get access to an artificial womb for your proof of concept, doctor? I don’t believe we gave you authorisation for that, last time we met.”

“I couldn’t get access to one,” Dr Tortosa admitted, “so I gestated her myself. Jevva is genetically and bodily my daughter.”

“And the paternal parent?” It was the Colonel who asked that.

“I purchased a sample from a commercial reproductive supplier. As part of their standard contract, I have all parental rights.” Dr Tortosa looked defiantly at the Committee.

“Somewhat dubious, Dr Tortosa,” commented the ethical specialist.

“I would not have done it if I had not been satisfied that it would work.” Defiance was practically hissing off her.

“Dr Tortosa,” intervened the Chairman, “your technique obviously works in at least the short term and we would like to discuss among ourselves the possibility of putting you in contact with certain other projects that could use your expertise.”

She was surprised. “Thank you.”

“And Dr Tortosa,” the pointy-eared hermaphrodite was holding out a small, translucent oblong, “please take my business card. I may not be the only one of my kind, but I can talk to Jevva when she’s older about being the first of my kind.”

I wrote this in response to kelkyag's prompt of "Mayin."

“Oh my,” muttered Ley to her husband Edan as they watched his older sister, Mayin, being guided around the dance floor by the man with a cybernetic hand and eye and wearing the foreign military uniform, “physical competence is very attractive, isn’t it?”

“You think he looks attractive?” Edan looked surprised. “I thought he’s rather…sallow.”

“I’m talking about the way he moves,” his wife gently corrected him, “and he does fill out that uniform well. Plus, of course, he just saved Mayin from the embarrassment of being abandoned mid-dinner.”

At the same time, out on the dance floor, Oberxiao Huhn Jan-li was murmuring, “Although I am happy not to have to drive off my rivals, I could wish, for your sake, that they were more circumspect in withdrawing their suit.”

“Tonight was our first meeting, he didn’t count as a suitor,” Mayin dismissed her brother’s acquaintance with a shrug.

“All the more reason to stay till the end of the evening,” Jan-li said disapprovingly. “If he runs off like that in the middle of introductions, he’ll soon run out of people who’re prepared to introduce him to potential brides. Besides, I could see you were hurt.”

“I’d been beginning to like him,” Mayin confessed, “but he didn’t care for my service history.”

“He doesn’t like for Shadows in the Dark?” Jan-li smiled as he used his people’s nickname for Mayin’s old unit.

“The stories they tell about us are collectively true, if not true for all individuals.” She admitted, “As a group we could be said to lack social couth.”

“That doesn’t change my mind,” he told her as he steered them between two corporate-looking couples. “Now that the music is ending, allow me to present you to my colleagues before I return you to your brother and his wife.” He added, “I’ve been researching your family.”

“Legally?” She tilted her head consideringly.

“Barely,” he admitted. “I’m afraid that since I forced our acquaintance, you have a file other than your service one with your government’s intelligence organisations. I must admit I am tempted to add comments to their notes but I feel that would be overplaying my hand.”

“Almost certainly,” Mayin replied as the music ended and they turned to applaude the orchestra. The Oberxiao had manoeuvred them to be so close to his table at the end of their dance that to refuse to meet his colleagues would have been a public snub. She allowed him to usher her up to the older man at the head of the table.

“Sir,” her dance partner addressed his superior in their own language, “I would like to make known to you my luck witch, the former Shadow in the Night May-in.”

“A pleasure, I’m sure.” The ambassador smiled and the expression around his eyes was amusement.

“Admiral Perger,” Mayin replied in the same language. “It’s an honour. There was a time when I would have worked very hard to be this close to you.”

“I’m sure there was,” the ambassador chuckled, “but those days are behind us now. So,” he leaned back in his chair, “now you have Oberxiao Huhn’s attention, what do you intend to do with him?”

Alright, Christmas is over, it’s almost New Year and I am on leave for a few weeks so I’m going to essay another prompt request. The deadline for prompts to be in is breakfast, my time, on 3 January 2014 which is sometime in the afternoon of the 2^nd for North America.  Prompts are now closed.

So, the rules of this Prompt Request are:

1. There will be one prompt per prompter unless you signal boost, see point 5 below.




2. Each prompt will be in two parts. This first will be:

   
   

   1. a short sentence or phrase;

   
   

   2. a story of mine posted to LJ you want to see more of – it does not need to come from a previous Prompt Request; or

   
   

   3. characters of mine from stories posted on LJ – they do not need to come from a Prompt Request.

   
   



3. The second part will be a word, phrase or short sentence I can use to construct a bingo card. There is a site where you can just add a list and it makes one for you here.




4. For each prompt I write to I will write 300±50 words. I have found that stories sometimes carry me away and you may get more than 350 words due to no fault of yours. (I think 5,550 is about the record – I will try not to do that again. J )




5. I will write one prompt per person, unless you signal boost this Prompt Request or a story from it , in which case I will write an additional prompt per site/platform you boost on i.e. one prompt each on LJ, Twitter, Dreamwidth, etc, for each day of the prompt request you signal boost. I am setting an arbitrary limit of 4 extra prompts per prompter from boosting. You will need to tell me about your boosts because I am not across every site and platform.




6. No fanfic, I just don’t know enough about enough current series and settings to do your favourites justice – give me a name or names and I promise what you get will not be the people you know and love; and




7. Please, nothing that has to be porn – I have to be in the mood to write that sort of thing and I would like to be able to post these stories without warnings. (Yes, I know, 1b & 1c could produce prompts that are almost like that.)

There we are, let’s see how I go.

P.S. I'm not trying to shout in point 1, I just can't get it to be the same size as everything else.