Writing Prompt: That was when I invented it

Cassius Carson leaned back in his chair, and flicked a copper strand into the air. It sailed with a practiced ease into a pile of similar junk. He grinned and templed his fingers. "So what exactly are you looking for?" He said, rolling his head to face me.

"The White Guard are seeking someone named Daniel Craigsen. They seem to think he was involved in Zelena's death."

"Danny boy?" Cassius scoffed. "Danny's a simpleton, a coward, and a gentlemen besides. If he had anything to do with Zelena, it was likely a setup."

I shrugged. There was too much evidence pointing both ways for me to feel comfortable committing to a side. I said as much to Cassius.

"Greyson, you're a sap. Look, if you accept the official story that Danny did it, you have to explain who's working so hard to make him look good. On the other hand, if Danny's innocent, and someone's trying to make a chump out of him, then you only have to explain who'd benefit by putting the guilt onto his shoulders."

He had a point. I didn't know Daniel well enough to assume he was innocent, but I knew Cassius. Cassius had a good sense for people, even if no one ever got along with him.

"I'll keep that in mind," I said. "But I'd still like your help finding him."

"I don't know where he is." Cassius said with a shrug.

"He's fled to the Northern Wastes, actually." I said quietly. "Humphry thinks he knows the tribe, but we need help locating them. They move around a lot."

"So, if I might skip ahead a little, you need some artifact that could track Danny, or more likely, you want something that will speed up the searching."

"Yeah, and-"

"And," Cassius continued, holding up a hand, "You need something that will be immune to the Chaos Storms, even though nothing is immune to them."

I smiled. "Cassius, you're the best."

"No, well, yeah." He leaned forward. "You're lucky, I happen to have something almost exactly like that."

"Really?" I sputtered. "I expected this might take you some time."

"It did. About six months ago. I was studying the storms, and discovered a few things of note."

"Why were you studying the chaos storms?"

He stopped, then grinned. "No reason." And whistled as he led me down to his lab.

Writing Prompt: Hopefully the batteries would run out and he would stop talking soon.

The phone rattled in its cradle, the buzzer struggling to rattle the rusted joints. I poured some coffee into my cup, and stirred it with a dirty spoon. There was a pause, then it started again. Humphry leaned in close, resting his tan cheek on the dirt-stained desktop, his eyes going cross-eyed slowly as he stared at it. "What does it want?" He asked quietly.

Humphry was originally from the northern wastes. Because of some nasty chaos storms, artifacts largely didn't function there, and those few that did had a tendency to overload. The Gremlin Nomads made their homes there, and were fascinated with the technological marvels of their southern neighbors, and often collected broken scraps to study and trade around. This obsession gave their camps the appearance of mobile junk-yards, and there was a popular rumor that Gremlins sought to break things so that they could be taken back North.

Realistically, Gremlins weren't cursed. When it came to technology, though, they were curious and just the slightest bit clumsy. Humphry was more careful than others of his tribe, though likely that was due to experience. He had been exiled from the Northern Wastes many years before, and had lived comfortably inside the Empire, both above ground and in the under-city. Still, the most random things struck his fancy.

"It wants me to answer it," I replied, watching him carefully. The phone was not in the best of shape, and was just about to join its brethren in a Gremlin Camp. I had kept it going with a bit of luck and some small skill, because without it, I would likely be out of a job.

"Are you going to do it?" He grinned. "I would. It seems excited."

"Not this time, no." I went back behind my desk and collapsed into my chair. My feet went to their comfortable place on the corner, just a few inches shy of where Humphry crouched. The coffee was excellent, sweatened in the Jakara style, with red berry jam, cocoa powder, and the tiniest bit of rum.

"Why not?" His oversized eyes quivered with the rejection, and he looked like he was going to cry.

"Because it's the King's hour," I replied. "And only one person ever calls me during King's hour."

"The phone?" He asked innocently.

"The phone is not a person. It's just an artifact for communication. Someone is using another phone, somewhere, to contact me."

"Oh." His face curled in thought, "So it's like shouting, or smoke signals."

"Mystical shouting, but you're not far off."

"What a wonderful trick!" Humphry clapped his hands with excitement.

"It's... It's a good trick," I finally concurred. Let him enjoy the mundane. The buzzer began to clatter again, and Humphry went back to staring at it.

"I think the person wants to talk to you," He said quietly.

"I don't want to talk to the person, though. I'm allowed to not answer."

"Can I answer?" He asked. "If you're not going to."

I stopped just shy of stopping him, then grinned. "Sure Humphry, answer the phone. But you must swear to tell her I'm not here."

He thought for a moment, then nodded. "It's a deal!"

I gestured my acceptence to him, and sipped from my cup as he scooped up the phone. He balanced the phone in his hand, then carefully put it up to his head. "Is anyone there?"

Even from where I was sitting, I could hear her reply, "Where's Greyson."

"He's not here." Humphry announced, then winked at me.

"Where is he?" Her voice was harsh, and Humphry winced.

"I don't know." He replied, then, "I have to go."

He slammed the phone back onto the cradle, then sat back in the wooden guest chair. "I didn't like her." I nodded, and he grinned. "But I love this! Can I do this more?"

His eyes were practically glowing, and despite myself, I nodded. "Sure, as long as you're staying here, you may as well make yourself useful."

And that's how I Humphry the Gremlin became my secretary.

Writing Prompt: What a day to start daydreaming.

It was a midmorning when the cab dropped me off in front of Archer's place. He lived in one of the two-story brick houses that clustered along Cardonia's south wall. It was given to him as his reward for service during the Cabal Wars, and he treated it with the reverence such a gift deserved. The yard was over-grown with weeds, the stone steps were cracked and neglected. The house was covered in soot, and the bush was overgrown to the point of absurdity. A small wooden sign was staked into the ground, and glossy black letters read:
SAMUEL ARCHER
INDEPENDENT INVESTIGATIONS
**NOT GUILD CERTIFIED**
Below it were several smudges where, originally, he had scrawled his daily prices. He had tried to remove them, though I never found out if they were too low or too high.

I took the steps two at a time, nearly tripping as one came loose under me. His front door was never locked, and opened into a waiting room, which as far as I know had never been used. Beyond the waiting room was the door to his office, which usually stood open. The fact that it was shut implied that he had a client, and protocol implied that I should then wait to see him. Protocol was, at that moment, a complete waste of time. I threw open the door prepared to apologize, but unrepentant.

"Archer," I said, then stopped. He sat alone behind his desk, twirling a burnt out crystlamp on his desk with one hand. His other hand clutched a glass of Red-Amber spirit, the last from the bottle that sat on the floor. He didn't react to my sudden entrance, his gaze fixated on the inside of the sphere.

"Archer," I said again approaching. "Damnit, this is important!"

"I heard," He replied, his voice calm. "You don't need to get so worked up, Greyson."

I disagreed, of course. "You heard? I just came straight from the chamber. How could you have heard?"

He smiled, weariness in his eyes. "These kinds of decisions are made long before anything is proposed in the Chamber. " He sighed, then a flustered look crossed his face. "Where are my manners, can I get you a drink? The bottle is empty, but I have another stashed in my desk."

He pulled it out and gave me a conspiratorial smile. "Always have a stash , Greyson. Always. If you've learned nothing else from me. Learn that. It makes everything better."

"Damnit Archer, I don't want your liquor!" I went to the window and looked out, but couldn't see the street from where I was. "I need to get you away from here. Maybe put you down in the undercity, somewhere."

He had returned to staring at his burnt-out crystlamp. "Do you know, we still used torches and laterns when I was your age?" He said, grabbing the sphere and holding it up. "These were known to exist, but the common man would see them only in palaces, temples, and other very wealthy buildings. Now, even I have one. The same is true for the cars, the pistols. I have spent my years opposing the Cabal, but I can't help but feel that maybe they were right."

Archer let the sphere roll from his hand. It bounced on the desk, flickered slightly as it obsorbed the kinetic energy and attempted to convert it, one last time, into light, then it rolled onto the floor. Archer watched it roll, wobbling, across his floor. "I think it's time, Thomas. They want to arrest me, then fine." He leaned back in his chair, his girth stretching his stained shirt. "I'm too old and too tired to care. Let them come."

I wanted to scream at him, but he had taught me to control my anger. I wanted to drag him by his hair down to the curb, but he had taught me that strength was always a last resort. Instead I drew my pistol, calmly, and put it to his forehead.

"Sam," I said quietly, forcing him to looking into my eyes. "You're drunk, and you're a screw up, but you're my friend. Get your coat."

He stared at me, and sighed again, then snatched the bottle from his desk. "Why are you doing this to me? Why can you let me die in peace?"

I forced a grin. "I know you. You'd rather go out in a blaze of glory than rot away in a cell. You're morose now, but as soon as you hear those sirens, you'll fight. You'd never survive, of course, but you'd do it anyway, just to be spiteful."

"So? What's a few coppers, more or less?"

"I don't care a bit about coppers, but there will be a much better battle for you to die fighting for. I promise."

I held the door for him as we left through the back. We heard sirens as we followed the wall away from his house. Immediately, he scowled. "Greyson, I do believe you were right. There's something about that siren that just pisses me off. Who do they think they are?"

I wanted to reply, but nothing came to mind. Instead I pushed through a bush out onto a sidestreet. Archer followed, life returning to his step. "Gods, but it does feel good to be alive!" He exclaimed. "If for no other reason than to show those sons-of-bitches. So, what now?"

Archer stared at me, and I realized suddenly our roles had become reversed. For a decade, I had followed his every movement, learned every trick he would teach. Now he waited patiently for me to lead. It was unsettling.

"Let's get you out of sight," I said, trying to project confidence.

He nodded. "Good idea. There's an entrance to the undercity near the gate."

"It's too well known," I said, looking up the street. We couldn't stay here. I began to walk west. "We'll have better luck at the docks."

"Docks it is, then." He said, falling into step beside me. It was almost like old times.

Almost.

Let's Call You Cara (Flash Fiction)

Let's call you Kara.

You're beautiful. I think I tried to tell you that once. We were at a party, and I had probably a little too much to drink. I wanted to impress you by not using a pick up line, so I started to make my way over to you. You were sitting on the second-floor balcony, your legs dangling carelessly over the party below. I sat down next you, and smiled. You turned your head slightly and returned the smile. I don't think I ever said the words I wanted to say.

Let's call you Mary.

You're a genius. At least, from my perspective. We shared a class one semester, and during tests I would race to finish before you. Sometimes I did, and sometimes I didn't. You always got the better grade, though. I asked if I could borrow your notes on the day I was sick. You said no, but you said it with a smile.

Let's call you Sarah.

You're unique, dressed in a green gogo dress, with furry artic boots in the middle of september. Your sunglasses were star-shaped, and glittered in the pale light. Your backpack had SoundWave stuffed in a mesh pocket, and I asked you politely if he still transformed. You replied that he did, and played music besides. I envied you.

Let's call you Jennifer.

You helped me jump my car in the parking lot, even though I had no cables and no way of showing my appreciation. It was well after last call, and most of the other patrons had gone home. I was having a bad day, and the battery dying was almost the last straw. You were smiling, showing me where to attach the cables. You drove away when it was all done, and I felt much better, even though I didn't make it home.

Let's call you Alice.

I heard you were getting married, and I'm sure it's going to be great. The man, from what I hear, is simply fantastic. He's nothing like me, and maybe that's okay too. Your wedding should be spectacular. I've always imagined you'd have a rockstar life.

Let's call you Diana

I've never told you how I really feel, even after we slept together, and I've never let anyone know who you are. That night, while you slept, I tried to stay away, drinking in every moment. You were having a bad week, and needed release. I was a quick lay, nothing more. I knew this, and so I held you and eventually slept. You were gone when I woke up.

Let's call you Wendy

Maybe we'll see each other again. And maybe I'll find someone who can erase all these beautiful memories. Until then, I'll let myself think of you just before I sleep, when everything is quiet, dark, and hidden. I hope you're happy now, wherever you've wandered off to. I want you to be.

Writing Prompt:
I didn't understand what she was talking about and I didn't care.

She wore high heels, bright pink and covered with splatters of ink. Her legs bore the standard mark of an elf: low muscle, sleek, and long. She looked like a child, her red silken dress obviously designed for a human frame. She smiled, though, and it glowed. She held a cigarette in an extender, its plastic gleaming under the flickering neon lights.

"Telama nu?" She purred. I shrugged.

"I don't speak elf," I replied quietly.

She blinked, and looked the slightest bit hurt; her oversized eyes glistened. "Nola Ellanna?"

I sighed, and pulled the faded photo from my pocket. A warlock friend had given it a few passes in color, but the rain and moonlight was sapping it back to it's natural amber hue. The girl in the image was human, in her Sunday best, and smiling like nothing in the world would ever be wrong. I hoped that was still true for her, though the job seemed to imply that it wasn't. While some people did simply disappear, fleeing to a neighboring kingdom or even into the mist, all the signs pointed to trouble.

And in Harbro, trouble was most likely to be found in the underground.

"Have you seen this girl?" I asked the elf. She took the picture, glanced at it and rubbed the back of her neck in thought. A car passed on the cobblestone road, its tires cutting a streak through the puddle; its engine purring seductively. The elf flinched at the sound, then smiled apologetically and again stared at the picture.

"Decono, elma... Nola ryo mana," She finally said, passing it back.

"You haven't seen her?" I asked as I tucked the image back into my raincoat.

I don't think she understood my words, but she caught my drift and shook her head. "Ryo mana, nola."

I nodded and passed over a KingFran. Her eyes lit up at the bill, small through it was. She held it up to the streetlight, grinning visibly. I nodded politely at her and stepped past her into the neon-lit doorway, following the long dark stairway into the underworld.

Random Poem, 2008

Found this in my archives, Enjoy:

I think I spilled my coffee on your seat.
I was going to offer to clean it
all up, but
You had already driven off, and
I'm not sure I will ever see you again.
If you ever change your mind
I will have the cleanser ready.
With a little scrubbing
and love
I could truly make it shine.