Iron Author, stolen from stakebait

[camwyn]

I'm supposed to be working on four or five other things at the moment, but I could do with a bit of a challenge. Between Hellblazer: Hogwarts and Who Ya Gonna Owl? (which I will be working on this weekend), I've got two very large story arcs to hand. I've also got a novel that I started writing ages ago and have stalled on recently. I would like to write something small and interesting from an idea kicked to me from someone else... and this time I'm not going to ask you to write first. If you've been around for the first rounds, you know the drill. If not, this is a common writing exercise, inspired by cadhla and suitably adapted.

You can have fanfiction

Give me a character and one thing more -- a mood, a genre, a situation, an episode -- and I'll write you at least a drib right here in the comments. (A pairing and a situation are okay too, if you'd prefer. However, I am far more proficient at genfic.).

If you're on my friends list I suspect you already know what fandoms I can handle. Not taking any requests for people from Joss Whedon shows, as I never really watched them to begin with. If you're not sure, ask, and I'll see what I can do.


Unlike stakebait I am not proficient in poetry, so you're not gettin' any.

On the other hand, you're free to ask for original fiction.

Give me a genre (mystery, science fiction, porn, etc.) and a starting point, be it situation, character, dilemma, etc. And I will write you a dribble of original fiction -- most likely brand new, but possibly using a world or characters I've created in the past. I reserve the right to try to turn one of these into a real story and sell it, in the unlikely event that I'm attacked by inspiration.

Afterwards I'll do up a post or two with links to each comment, so people don't have to wade through the threads to find them.

Comments

[ocean-song.livejournal.com]

Chinese female warrior (posing as male) trapped in India, meets up with fair maiden not aware of gender thing, who is also a spy. Any time frame or context you like, as long as there is good music, flowers and chai! ;)

[camwyn]

Her name was Aishwarya, and she was a dancer. Very fair were her features, though her skin was dark as the western dusk. Alone of all those in the village of her birth, Aishwarya had escaped the wrath of Sitala. It was said that when the pox-goddess' fire had burned all the rest of the children, she had looked on the face of Aishwarya and repented. It might have been true, or not; none lived who were willing to say. But it was true that she was very beautiful.

She served in the halls of the foreign overlords, the British, whom men called the Raj. A strange thing it might seem to be sure, but they had use for dancers- use beyond the common run. Men besotted by drink and music might yet hold their wits close, but when Aishwarya danced there was no man alive who might hold his tongue should she wish for him to speak.

* * *

Aishwarya scowled, kicking a bundle of fallen flowers out of her way as she stormed off the stage. Behind her she could hear hooting and clapping, and the sounds of frantic begging in at least three languages; she ignored it. "Rashmikant!" she called, stalking towards the rooms the Embassy had set aside for her. "Where are you?"

"Right here, mistress." Rashmikant's head popped out of the suddenly-open door. The little man had been her servant since childhood; she trusted no one else around her things. "Did it work? Have you finally-"

"No." She flung the door the rest of the way open herself and threw herself onto the divan just inside. "I don't understand it! I have done everything, everything the texts say! Are the Chinese made of stone? Is he blind?"

Rashmikant nibbled his lip, then scurried off for a moment. Her face buried in the pillows, Aishwarya could still hear the sounds of chai being brewed. She sighed theatrically and rubbed at one eye with the heel of her hand. "He is not blind, mistress," Rashmikant answered over the sounds of steam. "I have seen him in the market, arguing over colored cloth. He can see, I am sure of that."

"Arguing over-" Aishwarya sat up. "Tell me he didn't see you?"

"No, mistress, of course not," Rashmikant hastily reassured her. "I have not approached him, I swear! I have only watched him from the safety of crowds. He cannot have seen me."

Aishwarya sighed, nodding. "Very good," she said, and then she pouted. "But if he is not blind, then why is he not even the least bit moved? Every other man the British send to see me- even those poor Datil eunuchs! All of them respond. He does not. He sits there in that uniform, with his helmet at his side- you would think-"

"Think what, mistress?" asked Rashmikant, who had gone to fetch the tea.

"He is a sailor. He has been at sea for months. Even if he were the sort to lie with other men at need you would think there would be something!" She shook her head and said in a mournful tone, "The consul will not forgive me if I cannot get this Chinaman to talk. Not in a hundred years!"

Rashmikant started to speak, but there came a soft knock at the door. Sighing, he offered his mistress her tea before setting the tray down and trotting off to answer.

Aishwarya sniffed the tea briefly and sipped at it. Reluctantly, she admitted to herself that it was good. She was in no mood to allow anyone else more success than that today. Rashmikant would just have to wait for his praise.

As if on cue, the little man appeared. His eyes wide and the palms of his hands pressed together, he said, "Mistress- it is the Chinaman. . ."

She scarcely had time to get to her feet before the visitor shouldered his way in. To her surprise, he was not so tall as she had thought- he stood a bare half-head taller than Aishwarya herself. Perhaps it was the manner of his hairstyle, pulled back tightly into the same bun most of the Chinese in this city wore? That made sense. His face was more angular than most of the Chinese she'd seen, bearing a hint of what might have been the look of Tibet. No- not Tibet, Aishwarya thought. Nepal. The angles were far too delicate to be Tibetan. Anyway, he didn't have the barrel-build of the wild mountain folk. The Chinese naval uniform hid much, but what she could see spoke only of whipcord muscle and innate grace.

Continued from prior comment

[camwyn]

Suddenly aware that he was looking back at her, Aishwarya dipped her head and curtseyed after the British fashion. He was smiling, a most peculiar smile that hinted at ulterior motives. That was an excellent sign. Perhaps this would be easier than she had thought.

Unfortunately, he spoke.

"Miss," said the sailor, still smiling, "I wanted to congratulate you on your performance tonight, but. . . " There came a small chuckle. "My name is Zhong Xueping. I've served the Dragon Throne as a sailor in the Imperial Navy of the Ten Thousand Islands since my husband's death five years ago. If it's me you're after, I'm afraid you've been wasting your time."

Re: Continued from prior comment

[ocean-song.livejournal.com]

Wow wow wow! You are so wonderful! I'd forgotten all about that! OMG!!!! That is frigging excellent. If you wrote a whole book of that, it would be a best seller and a fucking brilliant movie!!!

*grins* I should a-muse you more often!

Re: Continued from prior comment

[camwyn]

Talk to cadhla. Her universe. I only did the Asian side of it.