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Molten Slag Tears is an exercise in daily writing -- 101 words a day, every day (or thereabouts). Warning: surreal mini-stories within.
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Dec. 13th, 2010 @ 09:23 pm 311. The Breaking Point
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"Dad, I --"

Something snaps inside Verdant, and the force he expected to use for a rebuke manifests itself as a fist instead. By the time he realizes and phases out, he's nearly made contact with his son's face; his hand passes through Mantis's head like water and pulls back clean.

Mantis is screaming anyway, sprinting out of the room as Verdant crumples. What did he just do? He just wanted to remind the kid about what a closed door meant. How could he --

Mercy's going to kick him out, Verdant realizes. Mercy's going to kick him out, and he deserves it.
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eiviiaru:
Dec. 12th, 2010 @ 11:21 pm 310. Down in the Buf Mines
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Fuhransi's been grinding out songs so long that he barely recognizes his sister when she makes it to the front of the line. "Hey, Franz," Jenny says, apparently missing his surprise (thank Pete). "How's the buff business going?"

"I never thought I'd be sick of the taste of Magical Mystery Juice. Must be nice adventuring."

"Eh, it has its moments. Sorry, but… could I hit you up for some Sonata?"

He should have figured, really; when a buffbot is you, even family ties stop mattering. Trying not to envy Jenny too badly, he slugs back another MMJ and gets to work.
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molten slag tears
eiviiaru:
Dec. 11th, 2010 @ 11:52 pm 309. The Merciless Moon
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Suldriel screams as the mass rushes towards her, half flesh and half liquid too dark to be blood. Cursing her slow fingers, she draws and hurls vials of alchemist's lye; the first smashes against a tree, but her second strikes home with a sizzle. The thing recoils, steaming, and soon stills.

Once Suldriel's fear dies down, bitterness replaces it. This duty alone, or this body, she could tolerate, but having both is a curse. One day, it’ll be her blood sinking into the forest floor. Will the moon be satisfied then?

Damn the moon. Sometimes she swears it’s laughing at her.
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eiviiaru:
Dec. 8th, 2010 @ 10:56 pm 308. Patisserie Mysteries
Galen's freshman roommate was, of all things, an aspiring pastry chef. He'd braced himself for messes and loud music, but not for flour smudges and late-night cookie-sampling sessions. Eddie dragged him into so many dishwashing sessions in the dorm kitchen, but for free sweets, it was worth it.

Eddie’s experiments are on Galen’s mind when he first draws Bittersweet; he wants to keep that crystalline unreality of sugar construction central in her design. As he sketches her, he knows exactly how she smells: like the faint burnt-sugar odor that always clung to Eddie’s clothes, as indelible as his eternal flour smudges.
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eiviiaru:
Dec. 7th, 2010 @ 09:25 pm 307. King Holger of the Nearmarsh
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Beyond his borders, they call him King Holger the Wicked, heir of an unspeakable bloodline. They say he poisoned his father, slit his brother's throat, and greases the wheels of his rule with blood; his foul cousins, the Savage People, police his kingdom with black spears and foul sorceries.

Inside his borders, they know better. Whatever strange bedfellows his ancestors had, King Holger is a rational man, and his alliances with the marshland tribes have been mutually fruitful. Still, rumors of King Holger the Conscientious do not keep invaders from the gates nearly so well as King Holger the Wicked does.
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Dec. 6th, 2010 @ 11:57 pm 306. Silver Mercy, Verdant Rust
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Mercy met Verdant in middle school, and she nursed a crush for years, but she didn’t confess until college. It was only then that he became approachable, in the swirl of parties and meet-and-greets that came with the freshman experience. He was bright-eyed, full of secret hopes, and Mercy was eager.

She couldn't have known then, but in retrospect, it was all too clear: Verdant was like a flower blooming, and there was no way it could last. If she'd known how few good years they'd have together, she thinks, perhaps she'd have talked her middle-school self out of the crush.
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eiviiaru:
Dec. 5th, 2010 @ 05:57 pm 305. Ashen Lady, Give Up Your Vows
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Serafina watches the whole execution, from Tavis's ascent onto the gallows to his body being carried away. She's alone with her scrying mirror in silence, and once it's over, she realizes she'd unconsciously curled up, knees hugged tightly to her chest.

All her life, Serafina's despised violence, even as a means to an end. She knows how weak that fact makes her look to her comrades, but she can't abandon her principles just to please them. At least, she always thought so, but as she uncurls and forces herself to her feet, she's no longer sure.

She enjoyed watching Tavis die.
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eiviiaru:
Dec. 3rd, 2010 @ 05:24 pm 304. The Reforging
Structure of Infinity's requisition request is accepted, as she knows it will be, and she receives the starmetal within days of its recovery. She spends a week just staring into its depths: "looking for its destiny," she tells visitors, but really searching for any sign of Mover. She finds nothing.

The rest is mechanical, filling equipment requests, making the most of the starmetal she can. (The more scattered shards of Mover, the better.) Even falsifying her consumption reports to make room for what she'll need is a rote process. She doesn't expect passion until it comes time to forge the chains.
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Dec. 2nd, 2010 @ 11:54 pm 303. In The Footsteps of Ten Thousand Things
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Just walking the streets of Nexus makes all of Chase's instincts twinge: new smells, rattles, strange glints of light in her peripheral vision. She tries not to stray too far from Mantis, even as something in her screams to follow every tempting glimpse of activity. She can't let herself give in, though; if she's going to hunt in Nexus, it's going to be at the same speed as every other tourist.

Thankfully, street food satisfies both hunger and the hunt-urge at once. Chase tracks down Haslanti-style yeddim skewers one night and a perfect sherbet stand the next, grateful to be providing.
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eiviiaru:
Dec. 1st, 2010 @ 11:27 pm 302. Old Bodies of Young Women
"We get one every few years or so," says Welwackett. "Got records going back decades of more. Usually Cani, mostly girls, all with the same markings as that. Last year we got an Orren, all gold, and a... neither-nor." She waves a tentacle unhelpfully.

"Mmm," says Bindabon, deciding it's best to move on "Same story every time?"

"Always. Nobody claims them, and we lay them out there." Welwackett gestures at the window of the temple and the field of dead beyond. The girl's there now, with all her strange sisters, sleeping in the arms of Kvarse. Bindabon owes them all answers.
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