Priscellie's Livejournal

Alera map is here!

2009-11-18T04:40:25Z

The time is finally upon us! Check out the map I illustrated for Jim Butcher's First Lord's Fury, which hits stores November 24th. For those new to my mapsquee, FLF is the sixth book in the internationally bestselling fantasy series The Codex Alera. I'm so thrilled to be a part of it.

Download the map as desktop wallpaper in about every desktop size imaginable:

800x600
1024x768
1280x800
1280x1024
1400x900
1600x1200
1920x1200

I'm eager to hear your thoughts. :D

Dear Yuletide Santa... (2009)

2009-11-13T04:15:05Z

Dear yuletide Santa,

Hey, there! Thanks so much for signing up for this ficathon. I hope you enjoy working with my prompts. If they don't inspire you, don't worry. I'm sure I'll love whatever you create, and I want you to have as much fun as possible writing it! Feel free to throw anything and everything out the window if you're not enjoying yourself.

To begin, let me tell you a little about myself. I'm an unrepentant (yet hopefully not tinhatted) shipper who tends to orient towards canon and subtextual canon ships. I prefer not to read slash stories pairing characters who are canonically straight. Of course, these prompts lend themselves more to gen fics than shippy ones, but if for whatever reason you want to go a different direction, I felt inclined to throw that out there.

I enjoy reading fics from almost anywhere in the emotional spectrum, though I tend to shy away from soul-sucking angst-wallowing and excessive violence. Anyway, my prompts don't really lend themselves to soul-sucking angst-wallowing, so I think we're good on that count! Character-bashing is a major turn-off. I delight in seeing characters enjoying themselves and each other, and I dig banter and UST with a backhoe. "Competence porn" is always a treat.

I actually haven't read much fic in the Castle and Leverage fandoms, so if you have an idea that you worry might be too "used" in the ficbase, don't worry! Chances are high I'll never know. As for Codex Alera, seeing as how there are scarcely a dozen fanfics in existence, I don't think you're likely to encounter that problem! :D

Codex Alera: I want to see Ehren on a mission! Sneakiness is a plus. Tone and supporting cast (if any) are up to you.

Ehren is one of my favourite characters in the Alera series. I'm fascinated by the development of his character--he grows into a man capable of deadly ruthlessness and keen intelligence, yet he never loses the bookish, unassuming, meek exterior that characterized him in his first appearance in "Academ's Fury." His exploits are a delight to read about, and I want to see his loyalty, competence, and innovation in action.

As for the mission, you can play it straight or for laughs--whatever tickles your muse! He could be on a covert mission from Gaius, or he and Tavi could've gotten roped into a harebrained scheme with Max at the Academy, or something else completely. Whatever inspires you!

If you can't stand the idea of writing Ehren and curse my name for suggesting him, I also adore Kitai.

Castle: A Castle family outing. Hijinks ensue!

I can't get enough of the teasing yet rock-solid supportive bond between Castle and his family. I'd like to see them on some sort of family outing together, complete with the merry madness that tends to follow Castle around. How intentional the "family" part of the outing is up to you--Alexis and Martha both have a knack for showing up to places unexpectedly. If it suits your fancy, an appearance from any of the folks at the NYPD would not go amiss. It's always fun to see Castle thrown slightly off balance by the intersection of the different spheres of his life. Again, whatever gets your creative juices flowing!

Leverage: Parker, Hardison, and Elliot plan a scheme of their own.

I love seeing these three interact in any context. I'm curious to see what would happen if they needed to put their heads together. Maybe Mom and Dad are bickering again, and the trio needs to shake them out of their drama. Maybe a job goes south, and they lose contact with Nate and Sophie. Go wild!

I take great glee in Parker and Hardison's bizarre, shuffle-footed overtures, so if you want to throw in any hints of that dynamic, feel free!

Thanks again! I can't wait to see what you come up with.

Fic: Fading Away [Codex Alera]

2009-10-30T06:01:39Z

Title: Fading Away
Fandom: Codex Alera
Characters: Araris, Isana, and Tavi.
Recipient: lexkixass
Word Count: 4,610
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: Hmm. You should be good if you've read through Cursor's Fury.
Prompt: Pre-FoC; Fade watching both Isana and Tavi through the years.
Summary: Written for alera_ficathon. In the wake of Septimus' death, Araris wrestles with conflicting loyalties.
Disclaimer: Isana, Araris, Tavi, and all assorted characters and concepts belong to Jim Butcher.

Thanks to tigerkat24 for the beta!

One day after Septimus’ death, the singulare, the principessa, and the young heir to the realm were ushered through the gates of Riva and directed to the refugee camp without ceremony. No one asked their names.

Araris Valerian kept one hand on the hilt of his gladius and the other on Isana’s shoulder. He could feel her shivering beneath her cloak, something he doubted had anything to do with the chill weather that descended on the land as the sun edged towards the horizon. Her whole upper body was curled around the child in her arms, as if trying to keep her slight frame between her son and any potential dangers. Her eyes darted around nervously below drooping eyelids, scoping out every deepening pool of shadow and evaluating every passing stranger despite her mounting exhaustion.

The young woman’s fear only added to his disgrace. It was an affront to the years he’d spent training in swordsmanship and other forms of combat, and worse, it wasn’t unfounded. He’d failed to protect her little sister--what guarantee did she have that he could protect her son?

He tightened his grip on the weapon, and the metal dulled his rioting emotions to a blurry grayscale. He couldn’t let himself feel the weight of his failure or the agonizing ache of Septimus’ death, not when he needed all his wits about him. Not with so powerful a watercrafter so near, already staggering under the burden of her own grief.

"Not far now," he said, then compulsively wrinkled his nose and quirked each side of his mouth in turn. The odd tension in his facial muscles was a constant irritation.

Isana sighed. "It will wear off faster if you keep that up," she reminded him, her voice low and exhausted. Araris once again schooled his expression into one of neutral stoicism. Isana had endured more than enough in the past day--he wouldn’t let himself be responsible for giving her more work.

After crafting whole the worst of the physical trauma of childbirth, Isana had mustered the strength to shift his features somewhat. It was a task far more challenging and rare than performing a similar crafting on oneself, and he found himself once again in awe of the young woman’s skill and fortitude. The crafting would have to be reapplied often, and the similarity to his natural face was still strong, but he was unlikely to be stopped in the street. The resemblance was more familial than uncanny. Besides, no one would be looking for Araris Valerian, the greatest swordsman in Alera, shepherding a new mother to the safety of the great city’s walls. Especially since he was supposed to be dead.

On the far side of the city, past the outer walls, the refugee camp loomed in sight. Isana’s breath caught in her throat.

"It’s like we never left," she whispered, dismayed.

The camp was an orderly array of white tents, identical to those the legions used in the field. In fact, the camp was laid out in an imitation of legion fashion, down to the layout of the mess area and privies. It took conscious effort not to gravitate toward the equivalent of the Captain’s tent. No matter what the muscle memory of nearly a year in the Calderon Valley signaled, no Princeps lodged there.

They found a tent for themselves on the periphery, butting up against a crumbling stone wall that must’ve once served as an additional fortification for the city. It was an awkward space for two adults, but it offered a haven from the cold north wind and some degree of privacy from the rest of the camp, and they were in no position to be choosy. There was some refuse strewn about, but it wouldn’t take much effort to clean. Octavian, woken from his nap by the sounds of the city, began to cry, and Isana sat down to nurse him as Araris made their tent more inhabitable.

In some ways, he mused, the presence of an infant could be an advantage for a pair of travelers seeking occasional moments of privacy. True, they were likely to be inundated with visits from well-wishing women during the day, but they would be able to speak openly at night without fear of being overheard. No person who valued his rest would set up his bedroll anywhere near a newborn.

Unsurprisingly, the first of their visitors was a young camp woman, only a few years older than Isana. Seeing that the baby was garbed only in Araris’ cloak, she scurried off to find extra blankets and swaddling clothes for the infant. It would be a far cry from the regal red and blue silks Sep had described decorating his own nursery, which he had merrily incinerated at five years of age upon manifesting his first fury, but it would do. Araris remembered Sep laughing about the excessive pampering his mother had inflicted upon him--he’d never had much use for material possessions--but seeing the way he’d doted on Isana, witnessing the reverent way he’d regarded the growing presence in his wife’s belly, Araris knew he had been prepared to lavish his son with his own brand of doting insanity, every bit as dramatic as that he had been subjected to as a child.

The woman soon returned with the promised blankets and a subtribune from the Third Rivan. He took down their names (Araris used an old alias), and gave them a rundown of the basic amenities and regulations of the camp. It was nothing new. Araris had given similar speeches himself, when the Crown Legion was sent to Forcia to lend support after a particularly violent typhoon.

Afterwards, the subtribune showed Araris and Isana to the mess tent, which had been set up to feed the influx of refugees. It was populated almost entirely by women, children, and the elderly. There were precious few men of fighting age, and fewer still in fighting condition. One of them was seated alone, quite an accomplishment in such a crowded environment, though the reason why became apparent to Araris when the man turned his head. A livid red scar stood out from the flesh of his cheek, three lines the breadth of his little finger forming the shape of a capital "I". Ignavus -- coward. He winced with every chew, as the action of his jaw pulled at the healing skin.

Araris wrinkled his nose in disgust. Beside him, Isana inhaled sharply.

"That poor man," Isana breathed.

"He deserted his men. What greater crime is there?" said Araris, eyes fixed on the brand.

"It’s barbarism."

"It’s the law. The actions of one man can steal victory from defeat. This man was a legionare. Legionares don’t abandon their shield-brothers in times of need. They stand and fight, even if it means their lives. Excuse me, my lady."

Araris pushed past a trio of gossiping women and fetched two bowls of stew.

* * * * *

Like the journey to the city, the meal passed in relative silence. There was nothing to say that didn’t sound frivolous, next to the intimidating scale of the subject they could only discuss in private. When they finally emerged from the tent, the last hints of color had left the sky, leaving the surrounding landscape blanketed in darkness. The city’s furylamps blazed blue-white against the black, a beacon for the clumps of refugees who were still trickling in every hour or so from the causeway and the dense pine barrens that surrounded it. The light glinting off the city’s own forest of majestic, slender towers was visible for miles in all directions.

Araris expected Isana to return to their tent afterwards--she’d nearly nodded off in her stew more than once--but she headed south instead, away from the furylamps’ welcoming glow. He followed her to the banks of the nearby river Mars, which coursed down its route from the hills dividing Riva and Phrygia to the sea well south of the isthmus of Calderon. There was an open space that must’ve been well-trafficked during the day among washerwomen and the like, and it offered a clear vantage point, where one could see the refugees approaching the city.

Isana passed Octavian to Araris long enough to take off her boots and socks, then took him back as she sat and slipped her feet into the gently rushing river and seated herself on a large stone. He regarded her as she watched the edge of the forest for new arrivals. She seemed prepared to keep her vigil all night.

"He isn’t coming, Isana," Araris said.

She trembled at that, but her face remained impassive. "I know."

"If he’d lived, he would’ve contacted us by now. These are refugees, not legionares. He won’t be among them."

"I know," she said again, louder, her voice thick.

"Why are you torturing yourself, then? You need to sleep. I’ve seen master metalcrafters crack under less strain."

She turned to glance up at him, then returned to her initial position. "I need to see them, Araris. I need to see the men and women and children my husband died protecting from the invasion. I want to see the moment they see the city and realize they’re safe." She drew her wedding ring from its chain around her neck, where it gleamed in the distant light of the city’s furylamps and the stars above. Octavian reached for the ring, grasping at it with short, stubby fingers, and Isana withdrew it from his grasp.

She met her son’s unfocused gaze for a long moment, his green eyes luminous. "We need to hide him," she said. "We’ll call him by another name. We’ll raise him like any other boy, far from the reach of the high lords. Far from anyone who might seek to do him harm."

Araris gaped at her, thunderstruck. "You can’t mean that. We need to take him to the capital, to Gaius and Lady Irena. They can help us protect him--"

"Like they protected their son?" she seethed, her voice suffused with rage and pain. "I want nothing to do with that… that crowbegotten old slive!"

"He’s the First Lord…"

She wheeled on him. "He’s a man who was so preoccupied with politics he let his son die. A man who was too busy snubbing and sneering at the high lords and Senate alike, he courted the wrath of those who would seek to unseat him. He is arrogant. His power base won’t hold out much longer. His days as the First Lord are numbered."

Araris scrambled down next to her, making a hushing gesture. "Watch your words," he cautioned. "That borders on treason."

"It’s not treason; it’s the truth," she scoffed. "I don’t wish his downfall--far from it. Weakness in Gaius translates to weakness in the realm, and when leaders fail to lead, the innocent and vulnerable are always the first to suffer. But if Gaius’ power wanes, his ability to protect my son will diminish, as well. And in exchange, he will be made the target of every cutter in Alera."

"Then assure that Gaius’ power does not weaken. Restore the heir he lost."

She shook her head, disgust written plainly in her features. "I have no stomach for politics. I would have endured them for him." A sudden clenching of her jaw failed to disguise the trembling in her lower lip. "Without him… I will not become a plaything for Gaius. I will not put the lives of myself and my son at the mercy of one man’s whim."

Araris was at a loss. "At least speak with Lady Irena. A mother would sympathize, and women have a way of bending their man’s ear. Men can make strange and extraordinary changes for the women they love."

"No," Isana said simply, her tone tight with conviction. "I will not put my trust in politicians."

He marveled at her a long moment, searching for a chink in her resolve. Finally, he bowed his head in surrender. "As you wish, my lady," he grated.

They were both silent for a time.

"So we keep Octavian’s identity a secret," Araris said. "We claim him to be the bastard son of some unremarkable legionare. We tell no one the truth, not even family. Not your brother, not… Miles."

Isana nodded numbly, but then her face grew hard once more. "Octavian. We can never use that name again. We cannot even think it." She looked straight at him then, her green eyes daring him to question her. "Tavi," she said, her jaw tight. "His name is Tavi." No one will know differently. And…" Her face went slack. "Oh. Oh, furies, no," she moaned. Her whole body sagged, and she held the boy tighter to her chest.

"He can't be my son," she said in a whisper, her voice agonized. "We can’t have been the only survivors of the Valley who knew Septimus had a woman. There might be someone who could recognize me as the Princeps' lover. Someone who could see Tavi and guess his age and draw the right conclusion. We can’t… We can’t… Oh, Septimus! Oh, my son!"

Her tears fell then. Her breath hitched in deep, heaving sobs that made Araris’ metal-numbed heart ache in sympathy. He let the crafting slip slightly, allowing himself to feel some of the emotion he’d until now suppressed, and his whole being was at once ablaze with the despair of loss, the bitter tang of impotent frustration, and the mad desire to do anything within his power that might ease the agony that so tormented this extraordinary woman.

"He’ll be your son," Araris promised, steel in his words. "You will feed him, bathe him, clothe him. You will teach him the ways of the world and love him as any mother loves her child. We’ll tell the world he’s your nephew, Alia’s boy. But you’ll know the truth. And deep down, so will he."

"Alia," she whispered, gasping as she tried to master herself again. "Her eyes were brown, like father’s. "Bernard and I got our mother’s eyes. So did Oc--Tavi."

Araris quirked a sad smile. "Stranger things have happened."

Isana nodded, still shivering. She ran a finger down the sleeping boy’s cheek, feeling the impossibly soft skin, and wiped a distinctly un-regal dribble of drool from his chin.

"Am I doing the right thing, Araris?" Isana finally asked. "Am I making the right decision?

No, Araris wanted to say. Find someone stronger to be his champion. Someone who won’t abandon his lord to die.

"What does your heart tell you?" he said instead.

She inhaled deeply. "That a son’s place is with his mother. Not in being used as some political bargaining chip."

"Then with his mother he will stay." He put a hand on Octavian’s head. "I promised Sep I’d take care of you both, and I intend to keep it."

She nodded mutely. The passion and despair that had granted her power left her deflated and brittle in the wake of her tears. "I’m so afraid," she confessed. "I don’t know how to stop what’s happening."

"Try thinking in smaller terms. Think about what you can do to keep Octavian safe. Think about what’s within your power to change, and we’ll go from there."

Isana choked out a desperate little laugh. "Within my power? We're up against a cadre of high lords and ladies, the most powerful furycrafters in the realm, determined to unseat Gaius from the throne. They killed Septimus. They killed him, Araris. We can hide, but we can’t defeat them. What chance have we against such a foe?"

"There’s more to power than furies," he began, but she shook her head, turning away. He touched her jaw, gently turning her face to meet his gaze. "Listen to me. Septimus didn't love you for your watercrafting talents, Isana. He loved you for your strength, your courage, your loyalty, your compassion." Her eyes drifted shut, but no more tears escaped from them. She covered his hand with hers, and his breath caught in his throat for an instant. He swallowed and continued on. " Our enemies don’t know the child exists, or we would have been hunted down already. You have power, Isana. Knowledge is your power. Love is your power."

She inhaled deeply, her breath ragged. "My love couldn’t save my husband, Araris. Or my sister."

"No," he agreed, "but their love saved you and your son."

She looked up at him, eyes shining wetly. Her voice was small, but steady. "I always thought they’d be with me. That we’d always be there to support one another, to make ourselves more than we thought we could be alone. Septimus was going to do such great things for the realm. I looked to the future, and it was him. He filled every corner of my world. I was going to be beside him every step of the way, pushing him to greater victories and consoling him in defeat. And Alia had such talent, such warmth, such passion." Her voice broke. "I was so curious to see what she would become."

Araris was silent for a time. How did one console a woman who had lost so much? There were no words of comfort or hope that didn’t sound hollow to his ears. There were some wounds only time could heal. There were some wounds that never healed at all.

"Sleep," he said, finally. "You’re exhausted. Things will look more hopeful in the morning. We can endure this together."

She nodded, though it was easy to see she didn’t believe his words. She was simply too tired to dispute them. "You’ll watch over Tavi?"

"Always," he said, taking the infant.

He supported her exhausted body as they made the walk back to the camp. Once at the tent, he watched her take off her shoes and fold a pair of blankets into a makeshift bedroll. She got in still fully clothed. She would need a nightgown and several changes of clothes, he noted, plus a heavier coat, if they were to endure the heavy Rivan winter. The winds from the northwest gusted fast and bitter over the Sea of Ice, and the gales that blew south from beyond the Shieldwall could freeze a man to the bones.

He stepped out of the tent into the chill autumn air and adjusted Tavi’s blankets, so he would be better insulated from the cold. He held the boy, bouncing him gently, as he took in the world to come. It was a quiet night, for the most part. In the distance, he could hear the faint murmur of conversation elsewhere in camp, the clinks and thumps of men at work, and the muffled hubbub of a living, thriving city just beyond the walls. It all rightly belonged to the child in his arms, from the ocean to the west and south to the Shieldwall to the north to the edges of the Marat continent to the east, just a hundred miles distant.

A thousand miles to the west stood Alera Imperia, seat of the realm’s power. Here in Riva, they could scarcely be further from its influence. He wondered if the news had reached Gaius yet. He wondered if the First Lord knew somehow without being told.

He wondered once more if he were doing the right thing. Isana was thoroughly convinced of her mission, but Araris was still far from certain. He was willingly participating in a deception that could alter the very power structure in Alera.

If it came down to it, circumventing her resolve would be easy.

He could steal away while Isana slept, get word to Gaius, and end this charade with a retinue of Knights Aeris to convey them all from this sorry backwater to the heart of Alera Imperia, forcibly if need be. Lady Irena would welcome the mother of her grandchild with open arms. Gaius might not like it, but the choice between a legal heir and a future power vacuum was a simple one.

Yes, it would be easy. Easy as seeing affection and trust turn to hate in the eyes of the woman he loved.

Isana trusted him not to betray her. Septimus trusted him to keep her and the child safe. How was he supposed to reconcile the two? Was he allowing his wretched love for her to color his decision? In bowing to a grief-stricken woman’s will, was he betraying the realm?

Septimus chose me because he knew I love her, not in spite of the fact. He knew her happiness and security would be my greatest concerns, and that neither can exist when she has lost the ability to trust those around her. Sep chose the man who would do just as I have done so far: challenge her decision, but ultimately honor it. His jaw set. Of course, he also chose the man who threw his own brother under a wagon to stop him from getting himself killed in a duel.

His heart thudded painfully in his chest at the thought of Miles. He thought of the rage and pain in his brother’s face, the agony greater in Miles’ heart than in his body. He still lived, but he was lost to Araris forever.

Could he do it again? Could he hurt her to save her? If the situation were as clean-cut as Miles’, yes. If he were convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that going to Gaius was the only answer, he would do it, and crows take his treacherous heart. But he wasn’t. And without that surety… No.

Miles was gone. Sep was gone. Aldrick and Eolus and Flavian and the rest of his sword-brothers were gone. Isana was all he had left. He couldn’t lose her, too. A hard, bitter certainty solidified in Araris’ gut. Gaius Sextus could go to the crows. He lost the right to a controlling interest in the child’s future when he failed to protect his son.

Araris looked down at the child in his arms. Tavi, then. Not Octavian. It was such a small name. A tiny name for a tiny person. His eyes were closed again in easy slumber, but the vision of the boy’s eyes at his birth was a fresh memory. Sep’s extraordinary green eyes had shone up at him for a moment, as if commending him to his next assignment as singulare. But he couldn’t be a singulare, could he? If Tavi would not be Octavian, Araris Valerian could not watch over him without drawing attention.

A chill stole over him, and he held the child closer, though there hadn’t been any wind.

He and Isana hadn’t discussed it. She was so fixated on the short-term goals, he doubted if it had even occurred to her. Leave it, then. She had enough difficult decisions weighing on her heart--let this one be his alone.

Tavi was to be an ordinary child, raised in ordinary circumstances. No enemy would look twice at him. If Araris was to serve his lord effectively, he would need a similar disguise. The day’s worth of experimenting with an imposed watercrafting demonstrated that anything prolonged was out of the question--but he nevertheless needed to become someone unworthy of a second glance. He needed to kill or conceal every part of himself that might draw the wrong sort of attention. He needed to throw up a veil so opaque no one could look past it. He needed to hide so thoroughly not even his brother could see through the disguise. He’d offered up his body, his strength, his intellect in service to his lord. Now he would give up everything that defined him as a man.

The distorted, wincing face of the disgraced legionare in the mess tent burned in his memory as brightly as a brand. And the harder he tried to push the image from his mind, the more it dominated his thoughts. He thought of the shame and ignominy spreading to himself, smothering the record of all he’d fought for in life, and he shuddered.

He thought of Miles, the night before the fateful duel was to be fought. Araris had begged him to step aside, but his little brother would hear none of it. "I challenged him, Rari. I can’t back down from that," he’d said. "I’m a crowbegotten singulare to the Princeps of Alera, man! Everything we do reflects on him, and Sep’s already lost one of us to disgrace. I won’t heap further shame on him by forfeiting a duel while the whole of the Realm is watching."

"And you think getting yourself killed is the proper alternative?" he’d spat.

Miles had glared at his brother. He was still an inch shorter than Araris, and Araris had made certain he knew it. "There’s no way out, Rari. I’ve seen how people treat cowards. Crows, I’ve seen how you look at them. People stop seeing you as a man. You become a thing, an embodiment of everything they once counted on, but which failed them. You’re the reason their father, their brother, their husband, their son, their friend didn’t come home. You are worse than an enemy--an enemy you can rely on to work against you. A coward abandons his shield-brothers when they need him most." He shook his head. "I’m no coward, Rari. And if you’re so afraid of Aldrick you’d rather disgrace the House of Gaius than see me stand for my honor and beliefs, maybe you should ask yourself if you are."

Araris shuddered at the memory. Perhaps the disguise would have a seed of truth, after all.

Part of him wanted it, cried out for it, even. He wanted the world to see his failure and to spurn him for it. He’d lamed his brother and participated in the dismissal of one of the greatest swordsmen in the realm--all told, he was responsible for three of Septimus’ bodyguards being absent the night he was slain. That failure would become a mantle so thick no one could see the man who carried it.

He would live to see himself die. He would learn what history remembered and forgot, what truths and lies would grow in the telling, and what parts of him would simply fade away. He already knew of one simple lie that had been made true: Araris Valerian died with his lord.

Something like peace settled over him. There was still so much work to be done, but he had a mission now. He ducked back into the tent to put Tavi to bed, and perhaps to catch an hour or two or rest himself. He started when he saw Isana seated in the tent, waiting for him, boots at the ready. When she saw him, her shoulders sagged with relief.

She must have sensed my reluctance. She needed to know where my loyalties lay.

"Did I pass?" he asked.

"I had to be certain," she said, though her tone was almost apologetic this time. She took Tavi as he began to remove his gear, and tucked the infant in a nest of blankets beside her, between their two bedrolls. In the minute or so he took to finish, she’d already fallen asleep.

He lay down on the second bedroll, so near her, but separated by a gulf that could not be measured in inches or feet. He extended a hand to touch one perfect, chubby little arm, which had worked itself free from the blanket. He smiled as five tiny fingers wrapped around one of his.

"Hail Tavi of Riva," he murmured, and his eyes drifted shut.

Reminder!

2009-10-23T11:46:33Z

Heads up: the ficathon ends in ten days! Stories can be posted anywhere during the window from October 25th (this Sunday) to November 1st (a week from then). I can't wait to see everyone's story!

Last Day for Alera Ficathon Sign-Ups!

2009-08-23T17:03:17Z

A reminder: Today is the last day to sign up for the alera_ficathon! Sign-ups close at midnight EST tonight. We have nine fabulous participants already--let's see if we can't recruit more!

Sign up here, then tell your friends!

Alera Ficathon

2009-08-15T00:38:36Z

Because I clearly don't have enough going on already...

In preparation for the release of the final book in the Codex Alera, I've launched the first-ever Codex Alera ficathon! If you're interested in participating (or just want to see the results when they're posted in late October), check out alera_ficathon. Sign-ups end August 23rd.

Favourite Photos?

2009-07-08T02:07:09Z

I'm thinking of applying to the Soho Photo gallery. To be considered, I have to submit a portfolio for review, consisting of 12-15 photographs, and I want to know if you guys have any favourites! My gallery is here.

Bronx Zoo Photos

2009-04-21T04:23:28Z

Last weekend, my friends Craig, Shecky, Sue, and Sue's mother ventured out to the Bronx Zoo. I finally got around to uploading my images! Warning: This post is not for the faint of modem.

Plus a few others I liked, but which didn't make the cut for display on my website:

I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Pillow Fight Day Photos!

2009-04-06T03:00:00Z

Yesterday, Craig and I participated the the Fourth-Annual NYC Pillow Fight! In between getting walloped from every direction by a crowd of over a thousand people, I managed to take a bunch of photos!

As always, comments are very much appreciated!

Museum of Natural History photos

2009-04-03T18:22:35Z

Matt and I went to the Museum of Natural History last weekend, and it was awesome. Naturally, I brought my camera with me!

Comments are very much appreciated!

A Trio of Photo Sets

2009-03-23T22:22:05Z

After over a year of nothing, I finally have photos to share again! There are three sets, so you may want to steer clear if you're on dialup.

Curios

Basketball

Brooklyn Botanical Gardens

These were actually taken last year. I'm not sure how I failed to post them before!

And two bonus photographs, from my trip to the Inauguration:

Fandom Stocking!

2008-12-19T03:31:27Z

I'm participating in fandom_stocking!

Won't you stuff my stocking?

Fic: The Other Son

2008-11-13T05:32:44Z

Written for dresdenficathon!

Title: The Other Son

Fandom: Dresden Files bookverse
Characters: Thomas, Harry, Justine, Susan, and an unexpected guest or two
Prompt: "Thomas on Harry. Let's see his POV on his baby brother. I don't want slash of any sort, just brotherly shenanigans." --tigerkat24
Word Count: 4,846
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Thomas Raith has a brother.
Spoilers: Up through Blood Rites
Disclaimer: Thomas, Harry, and all other assorted Dresden-y characters and concepts belong to Jim Butcher and Penguin Books.

Link: Read it at The Archive!

Dear Yuletide Santa (2008)

2008-11-12T19:32:45Z

Dear yuletide Santa,

Thank you so much for writing a story for me! All three of these fandoms are woefully underrepresented in the fic department (especially Codex Alera--ye gods!), so I'd be delighted to receive a story for any of them.

I'd like to apologize to being so unspecific in my request. This is my first time participating in Yuletide, and the examples the site gave were only a sentence each, and so that's how much I wrote. I was shocked when I received my prompts, all of which were several paragraphs in length! Now I feel I did you a disservice. Hopefully, I can correct that now.

To begin, let me tell you a little about myself. I'm an unrepentant (yet hopefully not tinhatted) shipper who tends to orient towards canon and subtextual canon ships. I prefer not to read slash stories pairing characters that are canonically straight. I enjoy character interaction most of all (I can't get enough witty banter!), so don't feel forced to come up with a complex plot. Of course, if plotty stories are your thing, I welcome them!

I enjoy reading fics from almost anywhere in the emotional spectrum, though I tend to shy away from soul-sucking angst and excessive violence. (Anyway, my prompts don't really lend themselves to soul-sucking angst, so I think we're good on that count!) I enjoy smut, but as character is paramount for me, I'm not as fond of straight PWP.

I'm actually one of Jim Butcher's betas, so you don't have to worry about spoiling me for anything Dresden or Alera.

Fandom 1: Jim Butcher -- The Dresden Files

Molly and Ramirez are two of my favourite characters. I think they'd be hilarious when first spending any real time with each other, as they've both built up such facades for themselves, and the weird tap dance that would likely ensue is going to be worth watching. The issues between them are considerable, namely the long-distance aspect and the fact that he's a Warden and she's a paroled ex-Warlock, and it might be interesting to see if and how they would deal with them. Whatever gets your brain juices flowing!

Of course, if their dynamic doesn't inspire you, I'd welcome any Molly-centric or Ramirez-centric story.

Fandom 2: Jim Butcher -- Codex Alera

Tavi and Kitai are one of the most grounded, equally matched, devoted, and just plain bizarre pairings in my fandoms, and it's a crime that I've never found any fic for them. I'd welcome a fic featuring any aspect of their relationship, from simple companionship to elaborate heist-pulling to battle planning to politicking to their weird style of romance. They're extraordinary on their own, and even more so together.

Fandom 3: The Middleman (TV)

I actually haven't read much fic in this fandom, so if you have an idea that you worry might be too "used" in the ficbase, don't worry! Chances are high I won't know. :D

As I said in my request, I want something that taps the weirdness and joyfulness of the show itself! I adore the friendship dynamics in the show, especially between Wendy and Lacey and Wendy and the Middleman, and I revel in the screwball nature of the Monsters of the Week. I would totally love an Ida cameo, but don't feel required to include her. If you want to toss in the obligatory pop culture references, some other sci-fi fandoms I dig include Firefly, Buffy, Doctor Horrible, Doctor Who, the new Battlestar Galactica, and old school X-Files.

In the end, if none of what I've said here appeals to you, just do whatever makes you happy! I'm so grateful to you for signing up, and I don't want you to be miserable. No matter what you write, the fandom and I will be ecstatic. I look forward to seeing what you come up with!

In fannish love,
priscellie

Fic: The Body

2008-09-11T12:36:06Z

Title: The Body
Fandom: Dresden Files bookverse
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Through Small Favor
Word Count: 732
Summary: Luccio comes to terms with her new skin. Harry/Luccio.

Link: Read it at The Archive!

Fic Roundup

2008-09-11T04:05:52Z

I've gotten somewhat lax in posting! Here are a few stories I somehow neglected to share before:

Title: A Personage of Noble Rank and Title
Fandom: Dresden Files bookverse
Summary: Written for quick_silver985 at dresdenficathon. My prompt: "Morgan seems a little grumpy. Oh, I wonder if there's some interesting story in his background that made him the way he is today... some tragic love, perhaps. Or the loss of of a dear friend, sibling, or parent. Who knows? Let's see a fic about it!"
Word Count: 9,185
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Mostly through Summer Knight, with some Dead Beat.
Link: Read it at The Archive!

Title: Fifteen-Minute Ficlets
Fandom: Dresden Files bookverse
Summary: A friend of mine holds weekly writing chats, in which participants are given fifteen minutes to crank out a ficlet based on a prompt. I've expanded upon and polished up a few of my favourites!
Rating/Spoilers: varies. Each fic is marked.
Link: At The Archive

Disclaimer: The Dresden Files belongs to Jim Butcher and his ferocious guard dog, Frostbite Doomreaver McBane.

Fic: Small Mercies

2008-04-09T21:40:10Z

Title: Small Mercies
Author: priscellie
Rating: PG
Fandom: Dresden Files bookverse
Spoilers: Through Small Favor. If you haven't read it, don't read this.
Summary: Nine people react differently to the events of Small Favor. A series of drabbles.
Word Count: 900

Read it at The Archive!

As Any April Fule Kno

2008-04-01T17:00:08Z

Happy April Fools' Day!

It's been quite a while since I've done anything in the Harry Potter fandom, but when Heidi asked me to contribute another April Fools image for FictionAlley this year, I couldn't say no! For those unfamiliar with the tradition, each year artists contribute an image of the FictionAlley main page mascots dressed up as characters from another fandom, or of characters from another fandom taking the place of the main page mascots. It's all very silly and fun and a great opportunity to showcase some of the fandom's artists. The full list of participants is here!

My crossover fandom... do you even have to guess?

Featuring Fanon!Malfoy as Thomas, Hermione as Susan, Harry as... Harry, Ron as Toot-toot (I am so, so sorry), Ginny as Murphy, Cedric as Michael, Luna as The Archive, and Crookshanks as Mister.

Not sure why the image is so light and desaturated. Something is screwed up in my Photoshop's "Save For Web" function.

Fic: Turnabout

2007-12-04T21:57:49Z

Title: Turnabout
Author: priscellie
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Dresden Files bookverse
Spoilers: Through Proven Guilty
Summary: Having your apartment set on fire can ruin your whole day. Fortunately, there are consolations. Harry/Murphy.
Disclaimer: They're Jim's! And he does such lovely, wonderful things with them!
Word Count: 1,237

Read it at The Archive!

More Photos, Plus More Dr. Sketchy's!

2007-11-15T18:44:04Z

Oooh, artist love meme in Glock's LJ! Give me love, and let me know when you add yourself so I can give you love in return!

I've finally gotten around to posting my artsy photos from the massive Sappy Lincoln Narratives road trip, from the beginning of this summer. Maybe someday I'll actually write a blog entry about it! See photos from Dinosaur National Monument, Arches, Mesa Verde, The Grand Canyon, Antelope Point, Zion, Grand Canyon Caves, and Havasupai!

Clicky!

Then hurrah, the Doctor Sketchy's tradition continues! This session had a caveman theme, and the model wore half a gorilla suit, which made for some hilarious poses. She was also a lot more playfully bawdy with her poses than the previous model--such as posing with a banana in her mouth for TWENTY MINUTES. Great fun!

I arrived a bit late (I worked all of Saturday, until Dr Sketchy's began) and missed the 1-minute and most of the 2-minute poses.

Some 5-minute poses: Here and here

Contest: Best Use of Creationism, 5 minutes (I won! Go me!)

A 20 minute pose

Contest: Best Use of a F***ed-Up Anglican, 20 minutes. Note my doodle of King Henry VIII saying "Hellooooo, wife #7!"

Contest: Best Setting, 20 minutes. There had been jokes earlier about Sunset Boulevard, so that's where I put her.

Sketch dump -- Dr Sketchy Edition!

2007-10-28T17:48:26Z

Good grief, it's been AGES since I've posted anything artsy! I know I open every art post with a resolution to draw more, but hopefully I actually mean it this time. I've just discovered Dr. Sketchy's Anti-Art School, antidote to the common figure drawing class! I had crazy fun, and I'll definitely be roping together a group of friends for the next session on November 10th.

1-minute poses: 01, 02

First Contest, 5-minute pose using my left hand. I won!

5-minute sketches: 01, 02

Second Contest, 5-minute pose of Something Terrifying. I was in the Top Three!

Warning: the following are not safe for work!

10/20-minute sketches: 01, 02, 03

Third Contest, 10-minute pose with Best Use of Cthulhu.

Fic: Marbles, or Lack Thereof

2007-10-28T05:54:25Z

Title: Marbles (Lack Thereof)
Author: tigerkat24, terioncalling, dark_puck, priscellie
Rating: PG
Fandom: Dresden Files bookverse, Discworld
Spoilers: Through Proven Guilty
Summary: A slip of the tongue for Molly in a delicate spell results in a Discworld crossover! Round-robin for gypsyjr, because her life sucks right now.
Disclaimer: They belong to Pterry and... Bjim?
Word Count: 4,914

Link: At the Archive!

Fic: Visitation Rites

2007-09-23T04:33:28Z

Title: Visitation Rites
Author: Priscellie
Rating: PG
Fandom: Dresden Files bookverse
Spoilers: Through White Night.
Summary: After the events of White Night, Molly muses about the good fight.
Disclaimer: They clearly belong to Jim Butcher. And Jim Butcher clearly belongs to his wife Shannon and son JJ.
Word Count: 2,665
Author’s Note: Written for seasonaldresden. Mad props and sweet, sweet love to xheartrockx for organizing the event! And muchas smoochies, as always, to my brilliant beta tigerkat24.

Read it at The Archive or Seasonal Dresden.

And also, in a dazzling exercise of convenient timing, my latest project just went live:

The Archive: Presenting a venue for Dresden Files fanfiction that is searchable by verse, pairing, level of spoilers, rating, and genre! Post your stories, get reviews, and read and comment on the works of others.

Two Dresden Birthday Ficlets!

2007-09-18T04:55:05Z

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO CHOCO, AND HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY TO PUCK!

To celebrate the twin happy occasions, GG, Kat, El, and I wrote round-robin Dresden Files ficlets. Both are PG. The first has no spoilers to speak of and takes place shortly before Grave Peril. The second has major spoilers for Blood Rites and Proven Guilty and takes place in some indeterminate time after White Night.

For Choco:

The (Un)Romantic Exploits of Harry and Susan

It had been a long day. There had been enough long for several long days, actually. What started out as a simple job to find a lost engagement ring became a wild goose chase across three counties and six different forms of transportation, two of them aquatic, three of them now victims of my involuntary wizardly EMP field. Finally, the ring was restored to its rightful owner, just in time for me to take the world's fastest ice-cold shower and attempt to look more or less presentable for my date.

-----

Showering, changing, and making sure Mister had food took a record half hour, which meant I'd only be about ten minutes late. Assuming nothing went wrong and there wasn't any traffic.

Luck just wasn't with me that night.

Nearly forty minutes late, after fighting my way through three traffic jams (one caused by an accident, one caused by a woman screaming at her boyfriend in the middle of the street, and one caused by the simple fact of too many people on the road), I shambled into the restaurant, hopefully looking suitably contrite.

----

Susan uncrossed her long, elegant legs and lifted a single eyebrow at me. "Well?" she said.

My girlfriend happens to be extremely talented. In that one word, I heard "you're late," "very late," "there had better be a good explanation," and "about now would be good."

----

"Oh, you know. The usual. Out seeking thrills and peril and so forth. No excuse, I know. Shall I commit seppuku in your name?"

I swiftly caught the balled-up napkin that flew toward my head and tucked it into my collar as I took my seat.

----

"I appreciate that you took the time to shower behorehand this time," Susan murmured teasingly. Her black dress was strapless and unadorned, and her makeup was simple, but with her striking features and legs that went on for miles, she could make a burlap sack look amazing. "Any of it worthy of a story?"

---

"Not this time. Besides. Even if it was, I couldn't tell you. That would be unprofessional." I grinned across the table at her. "You look great."

----

"Thank you," she said, and smiled demurely. "You look rather less haggard than usual. And, my, did you actually shave?"

Normally I would have protested this cavalier treatment of my looks, but since she leaned across the table to stroke my chin with a single finger, I wasn't complaining.

---

"I even wore fancy aftershave. You know me. I buy only the best that the dollar store has to offer. Where're the menus?"

"I took the liberty of ordering for you," she said, giving me a sly smile. "Lab tests have proven the human female is very adept at pattern recognition."

---

My face lit up like a kid at Christmas. "They serve burgers here? I was expecting to have to eat something I couldn't pronounce."

"They do on the children's menu," she said, still smiling that devastating smile. "I ordered two of them, as they looked pretty small. If anyone asks, you're a pair of very advanced ten year olds."

"I don't deserve you," I said gratefully, taking a swig of the Coke Susan had ordered for me.

---

"You're right. You don't." She smiled at me. "What held you up?"

"Traffic. A lot of traffic."

----

"For forty minutes?"

I shrugged. "There may have been acquisitive magpie faeries involved as well, but not recently." A memory nagged at me, and I amended, "Not that recently."

---

"It says certain things about your life," she said, sipping from a provided glass of water with a wedge of lemon in it, "that such things are so un-noteworthy. Perhaps you should consider an alternate occupation, one that attracts less trouble. Like, say, hermit."

---

"Au contraire," I said. (See? I can be cultured too, you know, hamburgers aside.) "Even hermits are not safe from acquisitive magpie fairies." I reached the bottom of my glass, and the straw made a loud sucking sound.

At that, our food arrived. The waiter gave me the inevitable snooty, distasteful look the French had refined to an art form. "Pour la belle madame--" he said, pronouncing the name of Susan's dish as he placed it before her, a series of syllables that sounded like an embarrassing medical ailment. "Et pour les petits garçons," he added in a sarcastic, disdainful tone, eyeballing me with his nose as he set down my miniature twin plates.

---

I grinned up at him, and responded, in my absolute best fake-little-boy voice, "Mercy buckets, mister!"

Susan snorted into her water. "Mature, Harry. Real mature. I can't take you anywhere, can I."

---

"It's my rakish charm," I said. "You love me for it."

"Wiseassery is more like it, and it's one of those things I strive to change about you." She heaved a long-suffering sigh and gave me a smoldering look under her eyelashes. "I'm sure I'll learn to stop trying eventually. Given proper inducements."

----

I laughed politely at the remark and took a large bite of a small burger. It wasn't bad. Y'know, for the French. I was about to make a comment to that effect when one of the walls of the resteraunt was blown apart.

Every eye was drawn to the ex-wall, where a tall man dressed in white leather was standing, holding fistfulls of flame.

"Dresden!" he screamed. "I found you! And now I will have my revenege!"

The air was tense. The patrons were scattering. The waiter had fainted. I stood up and faced the man, who was poised to blow us all away.

"...do I know you?"

----

The tall man in white leather spluttered for a moment.

"Well?"

"You--I--YOU STOLE MY BIKE."

Really. Hardly a reason to be throwing fire about. I shoved Susan under the table (I'd apologize later) and took out my handy-dandy blasting rod to return in kind.

-----

Another date down the drain, I thought with a sigh, exchanging blows with the idiot in leather. Well, at least this one wasn't my fault. Mostly.

I wonder if presenting Susan with the idiot's head would make her feel better...

And for Puck:

Save a Horse

The shirt was old, nearly worn-out, and barely legible, a testament to the number of times Harry had worn it over the years. To bars, to school, on dates, once or twice to a Council meeting (always safely hidden under his robes). He hadn't quite dared wear it to work yet, but that didn't mean he wouldn't. This shirt deserved to be worn as often as possible.

It was black, with a white stenciled bronco for decoration, but he didn't wear it for the decoration. He'd've worn it with the phrase alone.

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.

-----

Thomas had dropped by unexpectedly to pick up some things of his that he had forgotten and not at all to hork a few beers. It had happened to be laundry day for Harry, and he was wearing his favorite shirt.

It took Thomas a whole five minutes to stop laughing. After that, Harry got out the plant mister.

-

A few judicious squirts later, Thomas was finally able to speak again.

"Is this your newest campaign to get some play, little brother? Because as one with considerably more experience in such matters, I can assure you there are better ways. Yanni, for example," he smirked.

-

"Now, if I was wearing this to get some play, don't you think I'd be wearing it somewhere with, you know, actual females?" He artfully stole one of the beers out of his brother's hand. "Besides. I like this shirt."

-

Thomas shook his head. "Imagine that. You've learned to flirt with girls who are actually there."

"Bite me," Harry said, eloquently. In the ensuing noogie-fight, the subject was closed.

------

The shirt's next airing was quite accidental. Molly had just succeeded in inadvertently combusting her first potion, splattering herself with smelly blue goop in the process. She hadn't had the chance to replace her spare clothing stash since the incident with the slime golem the week before, so she raided Harry's closet for something to wear while her shirt soaked in the bathroom sink. She opened the middle drawer of Harry's secondhand dresser and immediately burst out into a fit of giggles. "Is this yours, Harry?" she said, holding it up gleefully.

-

"Is what mine?" he asked, from the other room where he was waiting while he changed. He'd really rather not give Charity Carpenter another excuse to try to break his nose. She'd probably succeed this time.

"Save a horse, Ride a cowboy," she called back, still giggling.

-

"Uh, yeah, it's mine," Harry said, the sense of impending doom overwhelming him. "Why? You want it?"

-

Her smile widened. If she smiled any wider, the top of her head may have fallen off. "This is a lovely garment," she said. "I bet its existance would speak worlds about your character to my mother."

"...name your price," muttered Harry, pinching the bridge of his nose.

-------

"...well, you can't keep wearing that one, there's blood all over it!" Murphy said, from the other side of the bedroom door. "Green blood! I am not taking a man wearing green blood to my family reunion."

"Picky, picky," Harry muttered, grabbing the first shirt he found from his drawer and pulling it on over his head. "Fine, I'm good to go." He opened the door.

Murphy turned around and stopped, her lips moving silently for a moment, then clapped a hand over her mouth. A few muffled sniggers escaped.

-

Harry stared at her, bewildered. "What?" he said. Murphy didn't dare open her mouth, else she release the building flood, so she just pointed at his chest. Slowly, he looked down...and turned beet-red as realization dawned.

As quickly as he could, he turned his back to Murphy. "So, uh, I guess I'll go...change...then..." he stammered.

-

"No way," said Murphy with a snort of laugher. "I need to get a better look at this. 'Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy'," she read. She shook her head in disbelieving amusement, giggling uncontrollably. Giggling. Murphy. Harry couldn't help but notice the way her nose and cheeks turned a frankly adorable shade of bright pink when she laughed. He wished he saw it more often.

"This shirt breaks new records in class, Harry, even for you," she said, once she'd gotten the giggling under control.

-

"That's me, classy to the core," he said.

There was a minute of somewhat awkward silence, then, "I should really change out of this now."

"If you insist."

-----

Magic crackled in the air as Harry ran, making all his hair stand on end. He ducked a flying blob of pink plasma, hurled at him by the unknown assailant, and finally made it to Ramirez's makeshift barrier. Ramirez grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him to safety. Then he looked down and noticed the text. He let go, so that it might be more readable. The young Warden goggled. "That shirt... is amazing."

Harry grinned weakly, out of breath. "I've often thought so."

"Assuming we survive," Ramirez said, jumping beyond the boundaries of the barrier to loose a stream of watery green magic from his entropy glove, then leaping back to safety, "any chance I can borrow it some time?"

Harry snorted. "Molly's already seen it. She bribed me for for a night off our lessons so she could go to some concert in exchange for not telling her mother about it."

"Did she say which concert?"

"Do you mind focusing on the people trying to kill us?"

"Ah, but that is part of my charm," Ramirez said, loosing another volley. "I can multitask."

"Impressive--FUEGO!--I bet you can even walk and chew gum at the same time."

"I have trophies."

-------

Morgan looked Harry up and down, sighed, and said, "No."

Harry grinned. "Yes."

"No. You're a Warden now, Dresden. We have a certain reputation to uphold. I anticipate this will be difficult with you, but you can at least not wear the shirt. And keep your mouth shut."

"You're oppressing my sense of humor," Harry said.

"Wear the damn cloak, Dresden."

-----

Two wizards - one younger, one older - stood outside a large brick building, each holding a can of beer. The two drank in relative silence. For awhile, anyway.

The elder wizard broke the silence. "Hoss?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Now, we all know your opinion of the council as a whole."

"Yes, sir."

"And that you can just about tolerate the lot of them on the best of days."

"Yes, sir."

"And even if you get a bit snappy at times, the majority of them are willing to take it in stride."

"Yes, sir."

There was a long pause. The two continued to sip their beers.

"...but did you have to wear that shirt with your robes open while you gave your report?"

"Yes, sir."

Yet another silence.

"I knew I would live to regret it when I got you that rag."

"Yes, sir."

"The look on Langtry's face'll keep me warm on cold nights for the rest of my years."

"Yes, sir."

-----

"......" He stared at the shirt. For a very long time. He went very still. Staring at the shirt. Yes. Staring.

Then he started laughing. "'Save a horse. Ride a cowboy.' Well, Dresden, you just made my day. Deirdre, come have a look at his shirt."

"Hmm?" she lazily wandered over, mouthing the words to herself, then rolled her eyes. "It's not that funny."

"Ummm...can we get back to the killing bit? This is a touching father-daughter moment and all, but...I'm starting to get bored."

Nicodemus turned to face him for a moment. "...It would be a shame to get blood on that shirt."

"A real shame," Deirdre added, rolling her eyes again. "So?"

"...We'll be seeing you, Dresden. Come, Deirdre."

The two Denarians left.

"..."

"Ummm...."

"Hello?"

"...I'm still tied up and hanging from the ceiling?"

"Hello?"

"...damn."

Photos From the Potterdammerung!

2007-07-23T01:23:08Z

I come bearing photos from the Union Square Book 7 release party! I put them behind a cut as not to kill your layouts. The accompanying text is completely SPOILER-FREE, and I ask that any comments you leave be spoiler-free as well. If you're on a slow connection and would rather view the images separately, they're in here. Mega-love to pockyslash for taking a bunch of the photos of me in costume and for introducing me to a nearby restaurant with DELICIOUS green tea ice cream!

Working the main events were four fantastic individuals, dressed as Hogwarts professors. I don't know if they worked for the bookstore or if they were hired actors, but whoever they were, they were AMAZING, and they really knew their stuff! I was so impressed with them. (And several people actually asked me if I was the "official" Trelawney, which made my day!)

Only kids age 15 and under were allowed in the costume contest, which was disappointing, but I got my picture with two mini Trelawneys! SO CUTE, OH MY GOSH.

Assorted costumes!

The insane crowds...

MIDNIGHT!