rix_scaedu: (cat wearing fez)
I wrote this to the second prompt I'm using on my DW community: [community profile] trope_bingo card. The prompt is "kiss to save the day" and the story is origfic which follows on from From Episode One - "The Dawkins Affair". It runs to 1,907 words for those of you with time or spoon issues.


Damien Lieb was very drunk. That was always the problem with meeting the contact known as Potemkin, the Russian insisted on trying to drink you under the table. That, of course, limited who they could send in to deal with him: Ali was their wheelman and teetotal; Taylor and Watkins were both of more use stone cold sober with their judgement completely unimpaired; and Stan’s liver wouldn’t be up to that sort of shenanigans for months yet. Despite his inability to keep up with the Russian, and swearing each time that he’d never do it again, Lieb was always the man for the job.

Read more... )
rix_scaedu: (cat wearing fez)
I wrote this to the first prompt I'm using on my DW community: [community profile] trope_bingo card. The prompt is "kiss to save the day" and the story is origfic which follows on from From The Pilot - "Out With The Old, In With The New". It runs to 2,146 words for those of you with time or spoon issues.


“No, it’s not happening.” Rose Forkin was on the phone to her mother, standing in the middle of the lounge room of the flat she shared with Taylor, the man with no given name, and talking into her mobile. “Mum, it’s a two bedroom flat – there’s no room for Hayley to stay here. No, she can’t stay in my room because there’s only one bed and that’s a single. Mum, I, for one, don’t believe that would work. Mum, I’m just the flat mate. Taylor is the only one whose name is on the lease, so I’ll have to talk to him about it. Yes, Mum, I will.” She turned around as Taylor wandered out of his room, wearing a batik dressing gown, carrying a coffee mug and heading for the kitchen. “When Mum? Oh soon, very soon. Bye Mum, I have to go.”

Taylor asked, “What was that about? I heard my name.”

“Oh,” Rose, pushed her loose brown hair back behind her ear with one hand, “that was my mother on the phone. She’s got some idea that now I’ve a proper place to live, I should let my sister Hayley come and stay here while she finds a job in Harbour City and a place of her own. She wouldn’t get off the phone till I agreed to ask you about it.” She sighed in exasperation. “Mum always does this – she waits till I’m tired or in the middle of something and then she won’t stop until I say yes.”

“Sounds like a technique Watkins would be proud of,” commented Taylor as he put the mug in the sink.

“He’s the one who kept asking questions the other night when you had people over for cards, isn’t he?” Rose put her phone away and started taking off her summer weight coat.

“With hair that used to be red,” agreed Taylor. “Getting answers is sort of his stock in trade. Are you just getting home? I thought you said you were off work at eleven last night.” A slight crease appeared between his eyes.

“I wound up working a double shift,” explained Rose. “A couple of people from the shift after mine called in sick, so Arvid and I had to stay back and help with the payment run. This sort of thing is one of the reasons I couldn’t keep commuting from Steel City.”

“I can understand that,” Taylor nodded easily, “it’s what, three hours each way by train?”

“If nothing goes wrong,” agreed Rose. “And now I’m going to nuke a frozen dinner before I eat, shower and flake out on my bed for at least six hours before I have to get up and do it again.”

“So, when are you going to ask me about your sister staying here?” Taylor had a faint quizzical smile as he asked the question.

“I’m not,” said Rose as she walked past him to the freezer, her 160 centimetre height overshadowed by his 195 centimetres – not that he loomed or anything. “I’m going to lie and tell her that you said no.” She pulled a single serve lasagne out of the freezer, opened it, pierced the film on top with a fork from the drawer, and put it in the microwave on high for five minutes.

“Is there any reason we shouldn’t help your little sister out?” Taylor wasn’t smiling and the crease between his eyes was back.

“Hayley isn’t my little sister, she’s my older sister and I shared a bedroom with her my entire life, until I moved down here.” Rose took her handbag off her shoulder. “Getting out of that bedroom was one of the reasons I moved out.”

“Oh?”

“Hayley feels entitled to through my stuff to find out what I’m not telling her.” Rose sniffed. “She used to move my things around and put me down when I complained but she’d go off her head if I touched anything of hers, even if it was in what was supposed to be my space. Taylor, I really don’t want her staying here, even just for one night.”

“That wasn’t the dynamic I was expecting,” Taylor admitted. “If she snoops and has other boundary issues, then I don’t want her here either. I need a flatmate to make sure the landlord doesn’t sublease this place while I’m away on extended trips for work. I don’t need an extra flatmate who makes life harder for both of us.”

“Oh thank you, Taylor,” she made a gesture with both hands, almost as if she was going to grab him. “I’d kiss you but-.”

“We don’t have that sort of relationship,” he finished for her.

“Now that’s sorted, I’ll eat and then I’ll call Mum back.” Rose didn’t quite dance her way into her room, but it was close.

Ten minutes later Rose was sitting at the dining table eating her lasagne off a plate, a glass of water on the coaster beside her place mat, when the doorbell rang. Rose looked up from her meal, surprised, and Taylor walked out of his room, doing something with cuff links as he came.

Taylor asked, “Who’s that?”

“I have no idea,” answered Rose, standing up as she did so.

“If you didn’t buzz anyone up, then it should be one of the neighbours,” said Taylor carefully. “Let me see who it is.” He walked over to the door and checked through the peephole. “Brunette with curly hair, sort of about your age and a bit taller than you.”

“Can I have a look?” Rose’s voice had a disbelieving tone which spread to her face once she’d looked through the peephole. She turned and hissed at Taylor, “It’s Hayley!”

“We have to open the door,” Taylor said, “and we’ll have to let her in, but that doesn’t mean that we’re letting her stay here.”

“Right, of course it doesn’t.” Rose put on a fixed smile, took off the safety chain then unlocked and opened the door. “Hayley! Mum was just on the phone about you.”

“Oh good, she said she’d call you.” Hayley was holding a suitcase in one hand. “I spent the longest time finding someone who’d let me into the building. I can’t wait to see our room.”

“This is a security building – I’m surprised anyone let you in because visitors are supposed to be buzzed in by the people they’re seeing. And Mum rang to see if you could stay here; we never agreed that you could.” Rose was still standing stock still in the middle of the doorway.

“Of course, I’m staying here,” Hayley disagreed as if Rose was being simple. “I’m here with my bag aren’t I?”

“I’m only allowed one flatmate under my lease,” said Taylor firmly, “and we’re not set up for overnight guests, so you can’t stay.”

“But I’m Rose’s sister,” protested Hayley, “And where am I supposed to stay while I find a job and a place of my own?”

“Try the YWCA,” suggested Rose crisply. “It’s where I stayed for three months. Or you could stay at home and commute. I did that for six months before the YWCA.”

“I’m a barista,” Hayley pouted. “Who makes coffee and can afford to commute? I had to leave my old job because the boss was getting all grabby and as for staying with the parents. I swear they’ve upped the personal displays of affection since you left.” She shuddered artistically. “It seemed a good time to make the move.”

“It’s still not up to us to provide you with a bed,” said Taylor firmly. “I suggest you try the YWCA.”

Hayley put a restraining hand on the front door, “Can I at least come in and use the bathroom? I haven’t been since I left home; the railway toilets are disgusting.”

“All right,” Taylor motioned Rose to one side to let her sister into the flat.
Hayley asked brightly, “Where will I put my suitcase?”

“Right beside the door,” Taylor told her grimly.

When Hayley disappeared into the bathroom, Taylor locked the front door of the flat and pulled Rose over to the kitchen. “I’m beginning to think,” he told Rose quietly and quickly, “that your parents have kicked her out. You’re twenty-six and she’s twenty-eight so it’s possible that they wanted both of you to move out but only you took the hint. Has she always been hypersensitive to or hypercritical of displays of affection?”

“She’s never liked ‘mushy’ stuff,” Rose confirmed.

“I have an idea,” Taylor said. “I apologise in advance but please play along.” As they heard the toilet flush, he suddenly put his hands on Rose’s waist and lifted her into a sitting position on the kitchen bench. A tap in the bathroom was running as he stepped closer in towards Rose, moved one hand under her chin to tilt her face up, leaned down and kissed her. Just before the bathroom door opened one of Rose’ arms reached up around his neck and her other hand grabbed the front of his shirt.

Hayley coughed and they stopped kissing to turn and look at her, their hands remaining in place. “I’ll just grab my bag and be going.” She had her mobile phone out before she left the room and they could hear her from the hall way outside. Hi, Mum! Just to let you know I won’t be staying with Rose. Oh, he’s almost as old as Dad but the two of them are all over each other.”
Taylor glided, there was no other word for it, across the space to the door so he could close and lock it.

“That was interesting,” commented Rose quietly.

“It certainly wasn’t a chore,” admitted Taylor as he went back to help her down off the kitchen bench, “and – we should never do it again,” he finished in a rush.

“You’re probably right,” agreed Rose as she straightened her clothes. “If we’re going to talk about it, it should be after I’ve had some sleep.”

Taylor reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a phone. “Any talking’ll have to wait till I get back. Looks like I have to go to work.”

“I thought you were on your way to work?” Rose indicated his clothes, business shirt and suit trousers.

“Looks like I’m taking one of those work trips I told you about,” he corrected. “I’ll be at least a couple of days.”

“Ah, one of those ones where I collect the mail and make sure no subletting happens,” replied Rose.

“Exactly,” he flashed her a smile. “I’ll leave as soon as I get some shoes on and see you when I get back.”

Rose smiled back, “Right then, and I’ll get some sleep.”

********************

Several days later Rose, while she was on her way to the railway station, bumped into Hayley. She almost didn’t see her but turned around when she was hailed, “Hey, Sis!”

Her older sister was carrying a tote bag and was wearing black trousers and tee shirt with a coffee logo on it. “Hayley, what are you doing here?”

“I’m on my way home from my morning gig.” Hayley smiled. “I got a job as the morning barista at the House of Beans down by the station, they were short a body unexpectedly, gave me a trial shift when I walked in and here I am. I’m doing evenings at a dessert bar on Cambridge Street, they have a caramel fudge to die for.”

“But where are you staying?” Rose thought of her own problems getting a place reasonably close to work.

“There was a place for let in the block opposite yours. The real estate agent had a number in the window, I called it, they gave me the tour and I was in that night. I don’t know why people say it’s so hard to get somewhere to stay in Harbour City.” Hayley’s smile sharpened. “I must say, it’s got a nicer bathroom than your place.”

“The block opposite ours?” Something clicked in Rose’s mind. “On the sixth floor? The one where three people were found locked in and brutally murdered with no sign of how the killer got in or out?”

“It’s been cleaned and redecorated,” Hayley said defensively. “You’d never know anything happened there.”

“And you’re not worried at all?” Rose presses carefully.

“Why would I be?” Hayley shrugged. “I can’t see why whoever killed them would be interested in me.”

“Okay,” Rose said slowly. “I suppose you got a good deal on the rent though.” Hayley nodded, pleased with herself. “You know that if you go six months without anything gruesome happening to you, they’re going to shove the rent right up, don’t you?”

“I’ll deal with that when it happens,” Hayley shrugged. “Anyway, I gotta go. See you around little sis!” She walked off with a wave, leaving Rose behind her looking slightly bemused.
rix_scaedu: (Default)
I wrote this to a Thimbleful Thursday prompt and it's also the first story for the setting and characters I intend to use for my trope bingo card.

“Hey, Taylor, you’re back!” Jack Miniken waved his wooden cooking spoon at his flat mate as the other man came in their front door. “Look, when you’ve had time to freshen up and put everything down, I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

“Okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Taylor, he never used his given name, carried his bag into his room, shed and hung up his suit jacket, then used the bathroom. By the time he was back in the living area, Jack was dishing up food for two. “I’ve told you before, you don’t need to cook for me, Jack.” The table was already set, so Taylor grabbed beer for both of them from the fridge.

“I always make enough for three or four meals – you’re just not here the nights I zap a frozen dinner in the microwave.” Jack waved a kitchen utensil dismissively. “Besides, I want you in a good mood because you might not like what I have to tell you.”

“What can be that bad?” Taylor took his seat as Jack carried the food to the table.

“I’m afraid,” Jack said as he was putting Taylor’s plate in front of him, “that I’ll be moving out in a month.”

“What’s brought this on?” Taylor asked as Jack sat down and picked up his cutlery.

“My parents are getting on and now my sister’s been diagnosed with this cancer… Well, I think it’s time to move back up there to be close to them all. I applied for a transfer, got it, and I start in the Brisvegas office in five weeks time.”

“And four weeks’ll give you a week to move and be settled,” finished Taylor as he took a swig of his beer. “It sounds sensible to me. I hear their property market’s nowhere near as tight as here.”

“Yeah,” agreed Jack, his balding head with its neat fringe of orange hair nodding in emphasis. “Public transport’s better too, so I won’t have to live so close in.”

“That’s a plus,” Taylor agreed. “I’ll miss you, and your cooking.” He started eating his parmigiana. “You’ve been a good flat mate but I’ll go see our HR division in the morning and put my name down with the flatmate matching service again.” He raised his beer in a toast, “It’s been a great three years and I hope the future goes well for you.”

“Thanks,” answered Jack as they clinked bottles.

**************

The next morning Taylor sat in front of his section’s HR officer as she entered his details into the government agency employee flatmate matching service’s application. She pressed enter on her keyboard, said, “There,” and looked surprised. “Well, that’s odd. An immediate match. The Security Assessment Agency’s flagged this one - they want her out of her temporary accommodation asap.”

“Security Assessment’s involved?” Taylor raised one of his black eyebrows and asked, “Should I get involved?”

“You know you’ll have to consider her first. She’s twenty-six, staying at the YWCA and she’s a junior admin for the National Finance Network. I’ll set up a meeting for you two, shall I?” The HR representative was already writing down a phone number.

“Yes, please.” Taylor nodded. “Let me know when and where. By the way, what’s her name?”

“Rose Forkin.”


rix_scaedu: (Default)
I wrote this to [livejournal.com profile] lilfluff's fourth prompt.

I got drunk last night.  I keep telling myself that.

I went over to Charlie’s to play cards.  Most of the usual group couldn’t come at the last minute, as sometimes happens, so Charlie’d rung around for stand-ins so the game could still go on.  Card night is her mother’s bingo night and she won’t give up the weekly game without a fight.

There were six of us.  Charlie, of course.  Her cousin Deidre’s second- and fourth-last exes, Ben and Tiffany respectively.  Taylor who could only come because her kids were at a school holiday pajama party.  Yours truly and some guy Charlie’d met through one of her work’s suppliers.

Charlie’s mother has views on gambling so games at her place are for points, or in five cent increments or, when we’re broke or silly, we play for fantasy.  Three bottles down among the table, all the five cents in front of Taylor, and we were in the mood for fantasy.

Charlie handed out the paper and the pens then tried to explain the rules.  “You write down what you want to bid,” she said.  “Nothing real.  Nothing from a book.  You can’t put up the title or the estates of the Count of Monte Cristo, but you could put up the Manor of Artelier or the title of Duke of Gornay.”

“Spells,” I reminded her, “you can bid spells and magical weapons.”

“Minions,” added Tiffany who’d played with us before.

“Ah.”  The new guy, he was either Kerry or Gerry, grinned.  “Sounds like fun.”

So we scribbled on our bits of paper, bid outrageously, and I drank lots more wine.  My glass never emptied.  Oh, and I won.

By the time Mrs T came home and kicked us out, I must’ve had fifty bits of paper in front of me.  I said my goodnights and walked out the door with everyone else.  I was taking a deep breath out the front of the house before I walked home when Gerry or Kerry came up to me.  He had my fantasy winnings wadded up in his hand and he pushed them into my coat pocket.

What he said in my ear was, “I cheated.  Mine are real.  Good luck.”  Then he was gone.

At that point I thought he was cute but weird.

Now I’m sober.  It’s morning and according to the chits written in blood lying on my kitchen table, my winnings off Gerry/Kerry include: 3 dark towers; two dread armies; and The Black Sword of Lagloch.  Oh, and I’m Dark Lady of Grean.

So, I have two commanding generals in front of me swearing fealty.  What do I do now?


rix_scaedu: (Elf)
I wrote this to [livejournal.com profile] lilfluff's fourth prompt.

I got drunk last night.  I keep telling myself that.

I went over to Charlie’s to play cards.  Most of the usual group couldn’t come at the last minute, as sometimes happens, so Charlie’d rung around for stand-ins so the game could still go on.  Card night is her mother’s bingo night and she won’t give up the weekly game without a fight.

There were six of us.  Charlie, of course.  Her cousin Deidre’s second- and fourth-last exes, Ben and Tiffany respectively.  Taylor who could only come because her kids were at a school holiday pajama party.  Yours truly and some guy Charlie’d met through one of her work’s suppliers.

Charlie’s mother has views on gambling so games at her place are for points, or in five cent increments or, when we’re broke or silly, we play for fantasy.  Three bottles down among the table, all the five cents in front of Taylor, and we were in the mood for fantasy.

Charlie handed out the paper and the pens then tried to explain the rules.  “You write down what you want to bid,” she said.  “Nothing real.  Nothing from a book.  You can’t put up the title or the estates of the Count of Monte Cristo, but you could put up the Manor of Artelier or the title of Duke of Gornay.”

“Spells,” I reminded her, “you can bid spells and magical weapons.”

“Minions,” added Tiffany who’d played with us before.

“Ah.”  The new guy, he was either Kerry or Gerry, grinned.  “Sounds like fun.”

So we scribbled on our bits of paper, bid outrageously, and I drank lots more wine.  My glass never emptied.  Oh, and I won.

By the time Mrs T came home and kicked us out, I must’ve had fifty bits of paper in front of me.  I said my goodnights and walked out the door with everyone else.  I was taking a deep breath out the front of the house before I walked home when Gerry or Kerry came up to me.  He had my fantasy winnings wadded up in his hand and he pushed them into my coat pocket.

What he said in my ear was, “I cheated.  Mine are real.  Good luck.”  Then he was gone.

At that point I thought he was cute but weird.

Now I’m sober.  It’s morning and according to the chits written in blood lying on my kitchen table, my winnings off Gerry/Kerry include: 3 dark towers; two dread armies; and The Black Sword of Lagloch.  Oh, and I’m Dark Lady of Grean.

So, I have two commanding generals in front of me swearing fealty.  What do I do now?


Profile

rix_scaedu: (Default)
rix_scaedu

May 2026

S M T W T F S
     12
3456789
10111213141516
17181920212223
242526 27282930
31      

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated May. 29th, 2026 10:24 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios