Oc Tober Day 26 Writing A Letter

Oc tober day 26 “writing a letter”

Prompts by @icannotreadcursive @thepromptfoundry

“Dear Mother

I am sorry for not writing to you for such a long period of time, It was not my intention but I had a run in with some bad men who took me as their captive wishing to use my abilities as a witch to make them some quick money. Do not worry I am alright now, I was rescued and offered a home by my rescuer and his brother, a pair of princes.

They are very very strange but sincerely kind to me I believe I will be safe and happy here and wish to happily lend them my services; they really need it.

I do so hope you will come and visit as soon as you are able

Your Loving Daughter Rosalie”

Oc tober day 27th/28th “meeting someone important to them for the first time” (day 27 a day late)

Prompts by @icannotreadcursive @thepromptfoundry

Rosa meeting the young princeling Keylas for the first time and feeling enchanted by his presence

OC-tober Day 21: Kisser exploring an unfamiliar subculture

Recently, I’ve been working on a Star Wars fic with a higher than usual number of OCs. The fic isn’t posted yet, but I thought I might put a few of these out there.

Under a cut due to length~ I got inspired~

The original post is here by @icannotreadcursive.

Day 1

~+~

The Aquatic District on Coruscant was not a particularly pleasant place. Despite regulations about water quality and the truly cutting edge filtration systems installed throughout its crown of all-water towers, much of the pollution sunk to the lower levels where filtration was expensive and the inhabitants poor. Coming from a predominantly oceanic world, Kisser didn’t know how Coruscant could possibly have restricted its livable waters to a single district. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t like the answers.

“Keep up,” Finley scolded him  on their internal comms, pulling Kisser’s attention away from the fact that he could barely see the people around him, let alone the buildings they were swimming between. 

The bastard was keeping a SCUBA trooper’s pace, though, so Kisser snipped, “I haven’t been in a suit since Kamino, jackass.”

“Weak,” Finley teased, but he did slow down. “We’re nearly there.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Finley laughed, “They have these snail-sucker critters that they keep around the market, so the water quality’s a lot better. Might even be cleaner than the air at the one near the Temple!”

What Finley didn’t bother to mention was the waterlock that separated the market from the street–Kisser would bet that helped as much as the filter-feeders.

When the water around them had been fully cycled, the doors opened to reveal a brightly lit space both like and unlike any market Kisser had seen. It was lit from every direction with colorful bioluminescence–Kisser couldn’t tell if it was painted on or cultivated or both–and stalls were arranged according to the hollows in a massive column of coral stretching vertically in both directions. The deeper levels decreased in brightness, while the ones above seemed to have something simulating sunlight in the furthest heights–barely detectable from their current depth. Plants and filter-feeders littered every surface not dedicated to commerce, ranging wildly in size and shape. The cacophony of colors substituted for the noise Kisser usually associated with markets, as most vendors and patrons were using various dialects of Republic Basic Sign. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Finley said wistfully. “If the war ends for me, I want to get a place nearby so I can come here every day.”

Kisser simply nodded, still poleaxed by the unfamiliar beauty.

Finley quickly decided that was enough “gawking like tourists” and led Kisser through the market. They were technically there on assignment–an errand for Finley’s General, Fisto–but really it was a thinly veiled excuse to get them both out of their own heads. No use wasting shore leave thinking about their losses; they said Remembrances for that. It was an excellent distraction, and Kisser didn’t mind coming off like an idiot tourist. He was one, really.

One of the more doodads-and-trinkets style shops caught Kisser’s attention, so he swam over to it. When the shopkeeper paid him no particular mind–Finley had warned him to just leave any shop that seemed even a little hostile–he perused the half-flan bin. It was mostly a collection of flawed items: carved beads and clasps that weren’t quite up to standard, woven bracelets clearly done by a still-learning apprentice or a faulty machine, and a variety of other decorative bits and bobs.

He picked up one of the beads–a malformed little fish with luminescent stripes.

The shopkeeper came over and waved to catch his eye. “It won’t glow,” they told him. They were a slim Nautolan, reedy and animated.

“Sorry, again?” he asked, a half-step behind as he adjusted to using RBS in his suit.

They pointed up, then said, “In air, the paint can’t glow. It only glows when there’s enough water.”

“Got it, thank you,” he said, not putting the bead down just yet. “Are they all like that?”

The shopkeeper considered that for a moment, then answered by pulling out some iridescent pieces. “These are shinier when wet, but they’re still pretty dry. If I were making them for air, there’s a varnish I’d use to get the same effect.”

They chatted about materials for a while, until Finley appeared next to Kisser.

“I see you met Portia,” he signed happily. On comms, he said, “I thought you got lost. Glad you’re okay.”

“Sorry, I got distracted,” Kisser spoke, even as he signed, “They were telling me about shell inlays.”

“No worries, trouble’s not subtle around here,” Finley assured him. Outwardly, he said, “Oh, they’ll go on all day if you let them.”

“You let me,” Portia said playfully.

“I have a crush on you,” Finley replied, completely blasé.

Kisser blushed, but Portia grinned toothily and said, “Careful what you wish, little fish.”

Before they left, Kisser bought the bead for Finley.

~+~

Day 22

Day 23: Enjoying a nice drink

Max having tea with their neighbours, Julinha

Julinha is owned by @br0wnieb0x

Prompt list by @icannotreadcursive

Kami-chan and her Little Chef! 🥰

Akami is much better at cooking than baking, so Sasuke is making sure they follow each step closely

Oc-tober prompt 8- ‘cooking’

Prompt list by @icannotreadcursive

I forgot the chickens on the aprons!! Ah but I am too lazy to add them now and this piece gave me angina.

OC-tober Day 24

500 words and we're only just getting to the actual prompt (from @icannotreadcursive), which is "Being cared for by someone they love." But 500! words!! yay!

Verry left her boarding house after lunch on Saturday, not able to face an entire afternoon pretending nothing was wrong. She called Josie’s lodgings from a pay phone, but they still hadn’t seen her. So Verry bicycled around aimlessly for a while, and then found herself near Fred’s apartment and decided she might as well visit.

It was only after she had already gone in that she realized she hadn’t visited alone before, but the doorman didn’t look censorious. “Is Mr. Kennell in?” she asked.

“Yes, miss. Go right on up,” he said. Verry went, relieved; she didn’t think she could have stood an accusation of immorality today.

Fred answered his door quickly after her knock. “Oh, hello Verry,” he said cheerfully. “Looking for Tom?”

“I wasn’t actually. Is he here?”

“Well, as a matter of fact he is. Do come in and sit down. Would you like some tea?”

Tom was sitting on Fred’s chesterfield, holding a book. Verry started for the armchair nearby, but there was a newspaper on the seat so she sat next to Tom. “Oh, please don’t bother,” she said. “I just had lunch.”

“How are you?” Tom asked.

Verry replied politely and made conversation, about her bike ride and the weather and what was in Fred’s paper, but Tom kept giving her concerned looks. She realized she was tapping her fingers and got her crochet work out of her bag. She’d tossed it in without thinking when she left, and the hook had slipped out, so she focused on finding her place, which kept her hands busy.

“Fred said you met someone you knew at Rita’s?” Tom asked.

“Yes, Eileen,” Verry confirmed absently.

“Is she what’s worrying you?”

“No, I’m not worried,” Verry said. Tom frowned at her, not harshly but worried himself, and Verry sighed. “I don’t suppose either of you have heard from Josie?”

“No,” Tom said, looking at Fred.

Fred shook his head. “No, but I wouldn’t expect to. She wouldn’t have my address. Have you not heard from her?”

“Not since Monday,” said Verry, crocheting automatically. “And that was just a postcard saying not to worry about her. But I went to her lodgings yesterday and they said she hasn’t been there since Thursday. And she’s doing dangerous things, and of course we can’t ask the police for help, and I’m just dreadfully—worried, yes.” Tom patted her knee. “You’re sure neither of you have heard anything from her, or about her?”

They exchanged glances. “Verry,” Tom said gently, “I’ve met her once. If you haven’t heard from her, she won’t have written either of us.”

“Oh, I know,” said Verry. “I’m just worrying. I know it won’t do any good. Let’s talk about something else.” She got to the end of a row and looked down at her work. She’d crocheted a solid line of blocks right in the middle of the pattern. “Oh, damn!” she said, and then she burst into tears.

“Poor dear,” Tom said, wrapping his arms around her. Verry sobbed onto his shoulder.

Eventually there was a clunk, and Verry looked around to see Fred putting a tea tray onto the side table. “Here you are,” he said, smiling awkwardly. Tom offered Verry his handkerchief. Verry wiped her eyes and blew her nose and took a cup of tea when Fred offered it.