ysabetwordsmith: Cartoon of me in Wordsmith persona (Default)
[personal profile] ysabetwordsmith posting in [community profile] allbingo
I made the special S-shaped bingo for the Science Bingo Fest using this public card.


These are the prompts I wrote for: bio-engineering, envrionmental studies, mathematics, rocketry, experiment, optics, sensory technology, biology, genetics.

Here are the pieces I wrote:
"The Open Gate"
"Hercules and the Lions"
"Diced"
"Catching a Comet"
"Empirical Testing"
"Light Weight Technology"
"Cyberhugs"
"A Gathering Ground"
"Mending Spirals"

I also wrote three other things on this card.

They fill the prompts criminology, magnetometry, and entheogens.

The pieces are:
"What You Expect Them to Be"
"The Singing Comet"
"Thorns and Claws"

In the Market

Date: 2014-12-01 04:45 am (UTC)
dialecticdreamer: My work (Default)
From: [personal profile] dialecticdreamer



The shape was all wrong for a thimble, Marose noted, as she picked up the small object made of a shimmering green metal. It hummed at the faintest brush of impact, and the sound resonated happily in her bones. It looked, indeed, like a tiny goblet, a fat, spherical stem dividing cup from base. Deep in that sphere, light flickered.

“How much?” she asked the indeterminate person billing “himself” as a “man” by his battered English Ivy cap and necktie. His body was androgynous, even for the mishmash of spaceborn refugees trapped on a marginal, fimbrial world.

Mismatched eyes met hers, one pupil blown wide, the other constricting to the size of a pinhead. “For you? Give it a good home.” He waved her off with a rustle of the seven-layered clothing all of the adults wore, the layers of thin fabric shifting and shading from mid-thigh to a pool around their hidden feet.

Marose smiled, bowing from the waist. “Thank you... But perhaps a gift in return?” Carefully, she drew a slip the size of her pinky finger from a pocket, revealing inspection and quarantine etchings on the colored side, then, with the grace of a stage magician, offering only a flash of the clear side, and its three precious viable seeds held in the tiny container.

“You do me great honor,” the merchant answered, letting the protective slip disappear up the many folds of cloth in one sleeve.

“The Latin name is on the slip,” she whispered as she moved away. Each step brought another subliminal chime, another rush of mellow, inaudible music.

She had nine more slips, a total of twenty-seven seeds to trade. Her expenses had been recouped by the first three trades, and now she was searching for items much like the not-thimble, to carry back from the fringe of known worlds toward the more populated, more stable worlds. Each step would raise her profits, like a musician singing scales an octave higher in each repetition.

The item was small, the bowl too narrow for her pinky to fit, though its total height was little more than the joint at the base of her thumb. It, if she could find more, would be a wonderful, mysterious prize, worth thousands of times its carrying weight.

Farther along the line of market stalls, a trio of children fluttered in an impromptu game, each dressed in shades of the same color. The children's ages were marked by the number of layers they were allowed to wear and the length of the lowest piece; the oldest in four shades of green ending in ankle-length spruce, giggling and leading the chase as yellow-clad two whose longest chiton reached mid-calf, a long plait of brown hair bobbing as the child ran, held carefully to the hand of a just-walking child in two layers of rusty red which ended finger-widths apart at the knee.

As Marose came within range to feel their footfalls in the soles of her feet, the music in her bones changed. Her thoughts drifted to her age, to the lonely months of travel without... She turned to the nearest merchant whose silvery hair piled high and bound with a strip of ribbon decorated with a dangling pendant marked “her” as “female,” despite the equally silver beard falling to mid-torso. “I find,” she began with a flourishing, respectful bow, “it is time to expand my family tree. Is there a home for orphans within walking distance?”

She felt each word, each gesture indicating the route drum into her body. Unseen in her pocket, the greenish hue of the metal shifted to amethyst.

Re: In the Market

Date: 2014-12-01 01:30 pm (UTC)
dialecticdreamer: My work (Default)
From: [personal profile] dialecticdreamer
I hope that means you like it!

Re: In the Market

Date: 2014-12-01 02:05 pm (UTC)
thnidu: my familiar. "Beanie Baby" -type dragon, red with white wings (Default)
From: [personal profile] thnidu

It does, it does. :-)

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