caersidydd: (Rough Draft)
Title: Tale of the Blue Rooster
Wordcount: 685
Rating: K
Comments: This is a true story that I wrote up for my new blogspot blog. The blog is meant to be a record of things that happen on my father's ranch, both past and present. This first entry was meant as a sort of explanation for the name "Blue Rooster Ranch". If you'd like to visit the blog it is blueroosterranch.blogspot.com.

--

Blue Rooster Ranch – Tale of the Blue Rooster

One day, many years ago, my father and I were collecting baby chicks from the incubator. The room was warm and dimly lit and we weren’t paying much attention to the chicks themselves other than to handle with care. We carried them out into the garage and started putting them into the box that would be their brooder for the next couple of weeks. I looked the little birds over, because I have a habit of singling out the one I feel is the cutest to catch and cuddle.

I smiled when I spotted him and announced, “This one’s pretty.”

My father turned to look and said, “Now where did that come from?”

The box held many chicks that were all fairly uniformly either red, or black, or red and black. Not this one. This one was the color of the sky before it starts to rain. I caught him up and we pondered over him for a bit. We had no chickens that should hatch a chick of this particular color and he was the only one amongst his brethren.

“I’ll have to watch that one,” my father said as I put the chick back down.

And he did.

We don’t get too hands on with the chickens, there are simply too many, but when some come out a little quirky, a little different, or a little interesting, my father tends to favor them. He favored this chick, and it grew, and as it grew it showed no sign of losing its queer color. As the other chicks began to grow into their black and red, our little storm colored chick began to sprout little storm colored feathers. And as he grew into his feathers he grew tame. He got bigger, got older, and he followed us around the yard waiting for something edible to drop. This wasn’t entirely unique, even half tame or somewhat wild chickens will do this. The difference was, if we bent down to touch him, he would permit it.

Now he wasn’t completely blue, which was the best part about him. He had a mane of feathers that was fairly yellow. He looked like the sun rising from the clouds. I sometimes called him Sunshine. My father, who always preferred simple, straight to the point names, simply called him ‘Blue’.

My father made sure that Blue had his own harem of ladies, that he was always fed first, and that the other roosters didn’t bother him. Though the last bit was hardly necessary, Blue was a fairly big rooster and could hold his own in a cock fight. But he did it anyway.

I’m not entirely certain what happened to Blue. I went away to university, and one day when I came back I realised he wasn’t strutting about the yard like he ought to be. I wasn’t too concerned. It had been a long while since Blue first hatched, and there are always predators lurking about. Still, it was sad to not see him once I really knew that he was gone.

However, as is the way with all life, the end of him is not the end of his story. Blue fathered many chicks. Some were black like their mums, others came out black and white, but a few were the color of the sky before it rains. Out of those my father kept one rooster and dubbed him ‘Blue’s Son’.

He wasn’t quite as pretty, he wasn’t quite as blue, but he belonged to Blue and that was all that mattered.

Today we are hatching Blue’s great-great-great grandchicks. Blue’s great-great grandson doesn’t have free reign of the yard, instead he and his girls have commandeered the barn, where they are safe thanks to our livestock guard dogs, who I will write about another time. The hens are very hoity toity and don’t like to set, so my father incubates the eggs. They often get mixed up with all the other eggs so we don’t know who is who, and we’re always surprised and happy to see a chick the color of the sky before it rains.
caersidydd: (Rough Draft)
Title: A More Permanent Destination
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters: John and Sherlock
Prompt: None
Word Count: 382
Rating: k+
Warning:
Summary: John is waiting for Sherlock to come home...

A More Permanent Destination

“I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one moment that I am one of them.”

--

48 hours after the fall John was sitting in his armchair at 221B Baker Street reading his paper and sipping tea. Everything was right with the world and for once there was peace and quiet.

Mere moments later a chill went down John’s spine and he sighed heavily. He folded up his newspaper and sat back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the chair across from him. An hour later he was still staring at the chair. Now however, the chair was staring back. Or rather, the unfathomably dark shadow that had taken form in the chair was staring back.

“Right then. Can you talk yet?”

The shadow opened a hole in the region of its head and out poured a cacophony of hellish noise. John winced and the shadow closed its mouth. John had the distinct impression that it was smirking.

“A simple yes might have sufficed. Tea?”

“No thank you,” rumbled the shadow. Gone were the lilting inflections of the baritone, replaced by a deep grating as of stone against stone.

“So what was that all about up on the roof then? You actually had me going for a moment with that ‘note’ business.”

The shadow shrugged one insignificant yet still elegant shoulder, “Just kidding around.”

“Please,” John snorted.

The shadow let out a long, put upon sigh, “Finishing up the ‘game’. Moriarty had a gunman on you this time.”

John snorted again, this time in amusement, “The semtex was a better chance.”

“Indeed. I can’t blame him for being so boring though. He was only Human after all.”

“So where have you been for the past two days? I find it hard to believe falling from a mere five stories took so much power out of you that you couldn’t reform earlier.”

“Oh, I was keeping a promise to our good friend Jim.”

John blinked, “What was that?”

Sherlock finally decided to materialize from the shadows, all six foot pale skin black hair blue eyes of him. He was smirking again.

“Why I promised him we would shake hands in Hell. He was rather surprised to see me.”

“Mm.”

“I think I’ll take that tea now!”
caersidydd: (Default)
Title: "Woman with a Sword
Fandom: Legend of Dragoon
Characters: Albert musing about Rose
Inspiration: Prompt - Woman with a sword
Wordcount: 300
Comments: Written for my Albert character journal

The )
caersidydd: (Rough Draft)
Title: "The Armistice" and "Lies"
Characters: Richard Forenz and Adel Forenz
Inspiration: This weeks Thursday and Saturday prompts in [livejournal.com profile] charloft.
Word Count: 124 and 100
Comments: I thought since Richard and Garrett (aka Adel) are two sides to the same war it would be nice to post these two responses together since I happened to use them both this week. Completely unplanned, but you know what Bob Ross says, happy accidents (or in this case coincidences).

The Armistice

I never knew a world before war. I was born into the war and I inherited it from my father when he died. I have seen people, my people, in times of truce. They go about their lives as though braced for the war to begin again. I wonder: is that how I look to them as well? Was there once a time when people walked freely, without the worry of war over their heads? I do not know. I never saw it. Trite proverbs have little meaning for me. I would give nothing up to go back. I am their king. I can only forge forward. And one day perhaps we will have peace, but for now I thank God for the armistice.

Lies

A lie was what he lived now. What he had been living since he had taken the throne. He lied to his subjects every day. If only they knew what was going on behind the throne, would they care? Would they revolt? Did they love their king enough? Everyone on his council lied to him when they called him king. Alzena lied to him. Somehow he did not fault her for her lies. Somehow, his guilt had let all of this come to pass: the lying, the subterfuge, the power that had been taken from him. He cared no longer.
caersidydd: (Rough Draft)
Who is your second in command? What makes them the one person you can always trust to have your back? How did they become your partner/sidekick? - [livejournal.com profile] charloft

Title: TwinThink
Characters: Nissel
Wordcount: 237
Comments: Nissel is pronounced with a soft (hissing) 's'. Niselle is pronounced with a hard (z sounding) 's'. Also, the 'e' at the end of her name is silent.

Nissel and his older twin sister Niselle had been completely in sync from the day of their birth. There was nothing Niselle thought that Nissel did not also think. They often began and completed each other's sentences or spoke in unison. It unnerved people and the twins, who did it completely unconsciously, had always found that hilarious.

Now, Nissel had been playing second fiddle (or flute really but that is another story) to his twin sister all of his life, not that he minded at all. Few people understood their dynamic. His sister was the thinker. He was the doer. She told him where to go and he went. She told him what to do and he did. She started a fight, he finished it. An outsider might say that she used him, walked all over him, or didn’t appreciate him. They said these things out of ‘concern’ for him. He laughed in their faces. They didn’t know him, or his sister.

Niselle said jump and Nissel jumped. It was not because he had to but because he would have done it anyway.

Nissel had never felt in any way obligated to do something simply because Niselle had told him to do it. The truth was there was nothing that Niselle told him to do that Nissel wasn’t already planning on doing. She was simply their voice.

His life was easier this way. With Niselle by his side he never had to think anything through on his own. He wasn’t stupid. Both twins had been gifted with a kind of dry wit and a sharp tongue. Nissel simply preferred to hide his mental capabilities. If people thought he couldn’t think for himself, and by extension that Niselle could not protect herself on her own, they were already one step ahead of their enemies.
caersidydd: (Rough Draft)
Title: "The Girl Who Came to Court"
Characters: Alzena
Inspiration: Thursday prompt "Tonight, tell us about something or someone mysterious." from [livejournal.com profile] charloft.
Word Count: 150
Comments: There was a ton more to this, then I realised Thursday is a "drabbles" day. I was infinitely pleased because I didn't like where the third paragraph was going. Alzena is from my Legend of Dragoon fanfic (I will complete you one day my love).


No one ever had been quite sure where exactly the woman had come from. She had been brought to court by the old king when she was just twelve years old and made junior tactical advisor, much to the chagrin of the old general who was senior tactical advisor. With her jet black hair, snow white skin, and ice blue eyes the girl seemed more suited to have just stepped out of a fairy tale book than brought up from the midlands. There had been much speculation about here when she was presented to the court. She could not be, they decided, the child of commoners. Her bearing was too noble; her wit was too sharp, her mind was too learned. No common person, let alone a girl child, could have these qualities. And with a name like Alzena, many wondered if the girl was from their country at all.
caersidydd: (Quill)
Title: "We Will Dig"
Characters: Civa and Denartharion (also Grim)
Inspiration: I don't even know! Day dreaming I guess.
Word Count: I did not check
Comments: I was riding the bus on the way to METAPHYSICAL POETRY CLASS and this just randomly popped into my head. I'm pretty awesome that way I guess.

We will dig )

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