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fic_promptly prompts. They're 220, 270 and 210 words long.
Prompt: Haven, Audrey, newspaper clippings
Old words, new wounds
She flicks through the yellowing pages of old copies of the Haven Herald, spread out before her on a table in the back room. She's tried the online archive already, but seems like she doesn't know the right words to use to find what she needs. Either that or, as Dave told her, "there's nothing to find."
She doesn't believe that. Duke found out about the Hunter, and Lucy's disappearance. Dave and Vince—she can hear them, out front, talking quietly to each other—could tell her more and she wishes she knew why they won't. At least they're not stopping her from making her own search.
She starts with the story about Lucy's disappearance. Goes forward for a few weeks. Nothing. Goes back. And back. Nothing. Maybe Dave was right.
"We're heading home." Vince's voice makes her jump. She looks up at him, looming in the door, and he gives her an apologetic smile. "You'll have to pack up for the day."
"I think I'm done." Audrey shuffles the papers together. "But thank you for letting me look."
Heading back to the Gull, she realizes she was hoping to find something, anything, that will make it easier to tell Nathan. Above her, it's growing dark and the stars are beginning to shine out. Another day gone. In forty seven days, they'll begin to fall.
oOo
Prompt: Any, Any, To the lighthouse
The fault lies not in our stars
From the back seat of Nathan's truck, Audrey watches Duke. She can see his skin sagging, his hair growing whiter, liver spots appearing on his hands: growing old before her eyes. Nathan takes the turn to the lighthouse a little too fast, the truck rocking. He glances across at Duke, his expression anxious, and pushes the truck forward faster. Next to Audrey, Abby is staring out the window, her hands clutched tightly around the pile of towels in her arms.
Is this my fault? Audrey wonders to herself. If I hadn't stood Duke up....
She doesn't blame Duke. He's a free agent; he didn't owe her anything. And it wasn't like dinner together was an actual date—okay, maybe a first date. But it was more of a bet, really. She certainly hadn't been planning on sleeping with Duke afterward, no matter how well they'd gotten along.
But if she hadn't stood him up, hadn't totally sucked as a friend, then Duke would have never had a chance to become Helena's prey. If she hadn't ignored his phone calls for most of the day, so they had more time to fix this....
So, yeah, this is her fault. Every step of the way, she's made it worse. Which means it's hers to fix, too. So she can be a better friend. Hell, so she and Duke can even be friends at all.
She leans forward, peering up at the lighthouse looming closer, and throws up a silent prayer to whichever gods are playing sport with Haven lives: Please let me be able to figure out how to fix this.
oOo
Prompt: Any, any, "You're on fire!" "Thanks!" "No, I mean--"
Firestarter
Nathan wrestled Morton to the ground and handcuffed him, making sure Morton's palms were turned inward to face his own butt. Why couldn't Haven have ordinary arsonists—the kind who used gasoline and matches, rather than throwing fireballs from their hands? He got back to his feet.
"You're on fire," Audrey said, holstering her gun.
"Thanks." Nathan rolled a shoulder, surprisingly pleased by the compliment.
"No, I mean—" Audrey stepped forward and beat at the hem of his jacket.
"Oh." Nathan twisted his head, trying to see how bad it was.
"It's okay. You're out." Audrey was looking ruefully at the scorched end of her scarf. She must have wrapped it around her hands to protect them.
"Thanks." Again Nathan rolled his shoulder. She must think him such an idiot.
She glanced up and caught his eye, before dipping her head toward Morton's prone form. "The other way, too." She grinned at him. "That was a pretty neat move."
He felt the color rush to his face. Clearing his throat, he mumbled another, "Thanks."
Audrey had turned away and was hauling Morton to his feet. "Now let's get this guy back to the station and see if we can figure out a better solution to his Trouble than asbestos gloves."
fic_promptly prompts. They're 220, 270 and 210 words long.Prompt: Haven, Audrey, newspaper clippings
Old words, new wounds
She flicks through the yellowing pages of old copies of the Haven Herald, spread out before her on a table in the back room. She's tried the online archive already, but seems like she doesn't know the right words to use to find what she needs. Either that or, as Dave told her, "there's nothing to find."
She doesn't believe that. Duke found out about the Hunter, and Lucy's disappearance. Dave and Vince—she can hear them, out front, talking quietly to each other—could tell her more and she wishes she knew why they won't. At least they're not stopping her from making her own search.
She starts with the story about Lucy's disappearance. Goes forward for a few weeks. Nothing. Goes back. And back. Nothing. Maybe Dave was right.
"We're heading home." Vince's voice makes her jump. She looks up at him, looming in the door, and he gives her an apologetic smile. "You'll have to pack up for the day."
"I think I'm done." Audrey shuffles the papers together. "But thank you for letting me look."
Heading back to the Gull, she realizes she was hoping to find something, anything, that will make it easier to tell Nathan. Above her, it's growing dark and the stars are beginning to shine out. Another day gone. In forty seven days, they'll begin to fall.
Prompt: Any, Any, To the lighthouse
The fault lies not in our stars
From the back seat of Nathan's truck, Audrey watches Duke. She can see his skin sagging, his hair growing whiter, liver spots appearing on his hands: growing old before her eyes. Nathan takes the turn to the lighthouse a little too fast, the truck rocking. He glances across at Duke, his expression anxious, and pushes the truck forward faster. Next to Audrey, Abby is staring out the window, her hands clutched tightly around the pile of towels in her arms.
Is this my fault? Audrey wonders to herself. If I hadn't stood Duke up....
She doesn't blame Duke. He's a free agent; he didn't owe her anything. And it wasn't like dinner together was an actual date—okay, maybe a first date. But it was more of a bet, really. She certainly hadn't been planning on sleeping with Duke afterward, no matter how well they'd gotten along.
But if she hadn't stood him up, hadn't totally sucked as a friend, then Duke would have never had a chance to become Helena's prey. If she hadn't ignored his phone calls for most of the day, so they had more time to fix this....
So, yeah, this is her fault. Every step of the way, she's made it worse. Which means it's hers to fix, too. So she can be a better friend. Hell, so she and Duke can even be friends at all.
She leans forward, peering up at the lighthouse looming closer, and throws up a silent prayer to whichever gods are playing sport with Haven lives: Please let me be able to figure out how to fix this.
Prompt: Any, any, "You're on fire!" "Thanks!" "No, I mean--"
Firestarter
Nathan wrestled Morton to the ground and handcuffed him, making sure Morton's palms were turned inward to face his own butt. Why couldn't Haven have ordinary arsonists—the kind who used gasoline and matches, rather than throwing fireballs from their hands? He got back to his feet.
"You're on fire," Audrey said, holstering her gun.
"Thanks." Nathan rolled a shoulder, surprisingly pleased by the compliment.
"No, I mean—" Audrey stepped forward and beat at the hem of his jacket.
"Oh." Nathan twisted his head, trying to see how bad it was.
"It's okay. You're out." Audrey was looking ruefully at the scorched end of her scarf. She must have wrapped it around her hands to protect them.
"Thanks." Again Nathan rolled his shoulder. She must think him such an idiot.
She glanced up and caught his eye, before dipping her head toward Morton's prone form. "The other way, too." She grinned at him. "That was a pretty neat move."
He felt the color rush to his face. Clearing his throat, he mumbled another, "Thanks."
Audrey had turned away and was hauling Morton to his feet. "Now let's get this guy back to the station and see if we can figure out a better solution to his Trouble than asbestos gloves."