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fic_promptly prompts. They're (respectively) around 335, 305 and 290 words long. The fourth one was written for a prompt from scribblesinink and is around 375 words long.
Prompt: Any, any, fighting fate
It's a thin line
"You know, Jordan said it usually takes some kind of emotional trauma to trigger a Trouble." Audrey took a sip of her coffee and went back to studying the case records of Troubles from back when she was Lucy.
"Figures." Nathan, sitting at his old desk on the other side of the room behind his own stack of reports, gave her a sharp-eyed look. "What brought that on?"
"I was just thinking...." Audrey turned over a page. "You said your Trouble came back when you and Duke fought, after you found out he wanted to use your friendship as a cover for his smuggling."
"Right." Nathan wasn't sure he liked where this conversation was going.
"So...." Audrey turned over another page. "I was just wondering why that was so emotionally traumatic." She looked up at Nathan for a moment, one eyebrow raised. "I mean, it was Duke, right? According to you, the two of you never really got along. So, you know...." She flipped over another page. "I'm just wondering why you cared so much."
Nathan stared at her. He wanted to say, "I didn't," but the words stuck in his throat. Because Audrey was right. He had cared. When Duke had come back to Haven, he'd seemed different—a lie, of course—and Nathan had... warmed to him. Wanted to spend time with him. Wanted....
He didn't even know what he'd wanted. Just... more of Duke.
He saw Audrey was watching him again. Her mouth twitched in amusement when she caught his eye. "Maybe you should think about that," she suggested, offering him an overly innocent smile.
She bent back over the files. Nathan went on staring at her. Thinking. Trying not to think. About Duke, and how crazy Duke made him, and how he wanted—.
"Hey!" Audrey's exclamation broke into the memory of hitting Duke, because if he didn't hit him he was going to—. Coming back to the present, Nathan saw she was holding out a file. "I think I got something here...."
oOo
Prompt: Author's choice, author's choice, Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it.
A Glass Half Full
Duke took one look at Audrey's face as she walked into the Gull and reached for the ingredients for a dirty martini.
"Bad day?" he asked, as she settled herself onto a stool.
"Uh-huh." She raised her eyebrows when he pushed the drink across the bar toward her. "What's this?"
"On the house." He shrugged. "You looked like you needed it."
She snorted as she pulled the drink closer. "Thanks. I think." She took a sip and then saluted him with the glass.
"Better?" Duke leaned forward, resting his crossed arms on the bar, regarding her anxiously. Sometimes he wondered when she slept, between searching for the bolt-gun killer and trying to figure out what might happen when the Hunter arrived and her apparent need to resolve every remaining Trouble before then.
She fiddled with the base of the glass with her fingers. "Yeah, I guess." She sighed. "There's just some days when it feels like you can't fix anything, solve anything."
"But some days you can," he reminded her quietly. "You know, my dad always said: 'Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it.'"
Audrey gave him a look that suggested maybe now wasn't the right time to spout off that particular piece of philosophy. "Or life is ninety percent disappearing for twenty seven years and ten percent coming back as someone new?"
"Yeah, well, my ninety percent is trying to make sure that doesn't happen this time around." Duke tried to keep his tone light, though he meant every word of it. He nodded at the drink. "You need me to keep those coming?"
"Nah." Audrey smiled at him, some of the tiredness around her eyes falling away. "I'll finish this and then get some sleep. After all, tomorrow might be a ninety per cent day...."
oOo
Prompt: Author's choice, author's choice, read it and weep.
Family legacy
Duke pours himself another glass of wine, takes a drink, regards the journal sitting on the table in the middle of the small circle of light cast by the lamp. The last of his father's bequests: along with the family blood-trouble and the Cape Rouge, he's been handed a final request.
Kill Audrey, who was Lucy, who was Sarah....
Duke wonders how many generations this has been going on. Does Audrey—with whatever name she arrives with—always kill the Crocker men? If he works his way back through the journal, deciphering the various shades of impossible handwriting, will he find each of her many names? Be able to tie her appearances to the gravestones and church records that note the deaths of his ancestors, all the way back to the first one, the one who commissioned the boxes?
His grandfather only met Sarah in the minutes before she killed him. His father knew enough about Lucy to search for her but, apparently, not enough to find her—or not soon enough. As for himself and Audrey....
He pushes away the journal, takes another drink.
He still loves the Cape Rouge, though he might not have accepted her if Dad had given her to him straight. He's ambivalent about his Trouble: it's not all bad all the time, even if he can't embrace it the way Dad wanted him to. But this? This last request? The revulsion he felt when he first read Dad's words has only grown stronger since.
He hoists his glass in a toast to his father's spirit. "Sorry, Dad. No can do." Blood may be thicker than water, but—as the box says—love conquers all. He'd rather die at the hands of the woman he loves than be the one to kill her.
oOo
Prompt: Unpacking suitcases.
Baggage
Audrey hefted her case onto the bed and wearily unzipped it. It seemed a lot longer than thirty six hours since she'd packed it, back in Colorado. And a lifetime since she'd been deciding what to put into it before she made the trip.
She lifted out the hastily purchased red wig, idly smoothing down a few stray strands. Once, she'd been Sarah. Once, she'd had a baby. She wondered if there were any betraying marks on her body, just like the scar on her foot that had confirmed she was also Lucy.
Turning to the mirror, she pulled up her top, examining her reflection. No obvious stretch marks on her stomach. What else should she look for? And how much of each incarnation survived, anyway? Not hair color, if the wig in her hand and the photos of Lucy's mousy locks were anything to go by – but the scar on her foot and the shape of her face said some things did remain the same from one lifetime to the next.
Shaking her head, she dropped the wig into the trash can, adding the fussy cardigan and ugly skirt that had fooled June Cogan. She doubted she'd need them in the time left to her. It would be hard enough simply to be Audrey, here and now. Hard enough to figure out what to tell Nathan and when.
Her camel hoodie lay folded on top of the rest of her clothes. She put her hands on it, remembering the feel of Duke's fingers against her skin as he slipped it from her shoulders, the feel of his lips on her neck as she came to her senses: realizing what she was doing and what a very bad idea it would be. Something else that was going to be hard to figure out: what to say to Duke, what to feel about Duke, now she could no longer pretend to herself that she didn't know what he felt about her.
Shaking her head, she scrabbled for her toiletries and cosmetics, before banging the lid of the case closed and dumping the whole thing back on to the floor.
Unpacking it all—the feelings as well as the clothes—could wait until she'd gotten some sleep.
fic_promptly prompts. They're (respectively) around 335, 305 and 290 words long. The fourth one was written for a prompt from scribblesinink and is around 375 words long.Prompt: Any, any, fighting fate
It's a thin line
"You know, Jordan said it usually takes some kind of emotional trauma to trigger a Trouble." Audrey took a sip of her coffee and went back to studying the case records of Troubles from back when she was Lucy.
"Figures." Nathan, sitting at his old desk on the other side of the room behind his own stack of reports, gave her a sharp-eyed look. "What brought that on?"
"I was just thinking...." Audrey turned over a page. "You said your Trouble came back when you and Duke fought, after you found out he wanted to use your friendship as a cover for his smuggling."
"Right." Nathan wasn't sure he liked where this conversation was going.
"So...." Audrey turned over another page. "I was just wondering why that was so emotionally traumatic." She looked up at Nathan for a moment, one eyebrow raised. "I mean, it was Duke, right? According to you, the two of you never really got along. So, you know...." She flipped over another page. "I'm just wondering why you cared so much."
Nathan stared at her. He wanted to say, "I didn't," but the words stuck in his throat. Because Audrey was right. He had cared. When Duke had come back to Haven, he'd seemed different—a lie, of course—and Nathan had... warmed to him. Wanted to spend time with him. Wanted....
He didn't even know what he'd wanted. Just... more of Duke.
He saw Audrey was watching him again. Her mouth twitched in amusement when she caught his eye. "Maybe you should think about that," she suggested, offering him an overly innocent smile.
She bent back over the files. Nathan went on staring at her. Thinking. Trying not to think. About Duke, and how crazy Duke made him, and how he wanted—.
"Hey!" Audrey's exclamation broke into the memory of hitting Duke, because if he didn't hit him he was going to—. Coming back to the present, Nathan saw she was holding out a file. "I think I got something here...."
Prompt: Author's choice, author's choice, Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it.
A Glass Half Full
Duke took one look at Audrey's face as she walked into the Gull and reached for the ingredients for a dirty martini.
"Bad day?" he asked, as she settled herself onto a stool.
"Uh-huh." She raised her eyebrows when he pushed the drink across the bar toward her. "What's this?"
"On the house." He shrugged. "You looked like you needed it."
She snorted as she pulled the drink closer. "Thanks. I think." She took a sip and then saluted him with the glass.
"Better?" Duke leaned forward, resting his crossed arms on the bar, regarding her anxiously. Sometimes he wondered when she slept, between searching for the bolt-gun killer and trying to figure out what might happen when the Hunter arrived and her apparent need to resolve every remaining Trouble before then.
She fiddled with the base of the glass with her fingers. "Yeah, I guess." She sighed. "There's just some days when it feels like you can't fix anything, solve anything."
"But some days you can," he reminded her quietly. "You know, my dad always said: 'Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it.'"
Audrey gave him a look that suggested maybe now wasn't the right time to spout off that particular piece of philosophy. "Or life is ninety percent disappearing for twenty seven years and ten percent coming back as someone new?"
"Yeah, well, my ninety percent is trying to make sure that doesn't happen this time around." Duke tried to keep his tone light, though he meant every word of it. He nodded at the drink. "You need me to keep those coming?"
"Nah." Audrey smiled at him, some of the tiredness around her eyes falling away. "I'll finish this and then get some sleep. After all, tomorrow might be a ninety per cent day...."
Prompt: Author's choice, author's choice, read it and weep.
Family legacy
Duke pours himself another glass of wine, takes a drink, regards the journal sitting on the table in the middle of the small circle of light cast by the lamp. The last of his father's bequests: along with the family blood-trouble and the Cape Rouge, he's been handed a final request.
Kill Audrey, who was Lucy, who was Sarah....
Duke wonders how many generations this has been going on. Does Audrey—with whatever name she arrives with—always kill the Crocker men? If he works his way back through the journal, deciphering the various shades of impossible handwriting, will he find each of her many names? Be able to tie her appearances to the gravestones and church records that note the deaths of his ancestors, all the way back to the first one, the one who commissioned the boxes?
His grandfather only met Sarah in the minutes before she killed him. His father knew enough about Lucy to search for her but, apparently, not enough to find her—or not soon enough. As for himself and Audrey....
He pushes away the journal, takes another drink.
He still loves the Cape Rouge, though he might not have accepted her if Dad had given her to him straight. He's ambivalent about his Trouble: it's not all bad all the time, even if he can't embrace it the way Dad wanted him to. But this? This last request? The revulsion he felt when he first read Dad's words has only grown stronger since.
He hoists his glass in a toast to his father's spirit. "Sorry, Dad. No can do." Blood may be thicker than water, but—as the box says—love conquers all. He'd rather die at the hands of the woman he loves than be the one to kill her.
Prompt: Unpacking suitcases.
Baggage
Audrey hefted her case onto the bed and wearily unzipped it. It seemed a lot longer than thirty six hours since she'd packed it, back in Colorado. And a lifetime since she'd been deciding what to put into it before she made the trip.
She lifted out the hastily purchased red wig, idly smoothing down a few stray strands. Once, she'd been Sarah. Once, she'd had a baby. She wondered if there were any betraying marks on her body, just like the scar on her foot that had confirmed she was also Lucy.
Turning to the mirror, she pulled up her top, examining her reflection. No obvious stretch marks on her stomach. What else should she look for? And how much of each incarnation survived, anyway? Not hair color, if the wig in her hand and the photos of Lucy's mousy locks were anything to go by – but the scar on her foot and the shape of her face said some things did remain the same from one lifetime to the next.
Shaking her head, she dropped the wig into the trash can, adding the fussy cardigan and ugly skirt that had fooled June Cogan. She doubted she'd need them in the time left to her. It would be hard enough simply to be Audrey, here and now. Hard enough to figure out what to tell Nathan and when.
Her camel hoodie lay folded on top of the rest of her clothes. She put her hands on it, remembering the feel of Duke's fingers against her skin as he slipped it from her shoulders, the feel of his lips on her neck as she came to her senses: realizing what she was doing and what a very bad idea it would be. Something else that was going to be hard to figure out: what to say to Duke, what to feel about Duke, now she could no longer pretend to herself that she didn't know what he felt about her.
Shaking her head, she scrabbled for her toiletries and cosmetics, before banging the lid of the case closed and dumping the whole thing back on to the floor.
Unpacking it all—the feelings as well as the clothes—could wait until she'd gotten some sleep.