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[personal profile] maculategiraffe
So it's been way too long since I wrote anything in the Slave Breakers 'verse. I miss these guys. And I get plot bunnies. I've just been kind of working on Maiden for awhile. But Maiden needs a rest as I plot towards the conclusion and get the replies-to-comments post wrapped up.

Anyway, for the holidays, since I failed at getting out a holiday story, here are four Slave Breakers plot bunnies that have wriggled in, post-Lee, in 100-word drabble form. I'm pretty sure I'll end up writing all these stories, eventually. Of course, if you guys find them intriguing, that will be incentive. :) Plus-- I did say five-- a bit (not spoilery for the story so far) from the next chapter of Intake Counselor.





"You can't be serious," said Yves. "I'm only in my second year."

"You were a bit of an atypical freshman," Professor Blythe pointed out. "The work you've done on your own is already impressive, but since arriving here-- well, frankly, you have a responsibility to the mathematical community."

"I don't speak the language!"

"They have translators," said Blythe. "It is an international conference. And your work speaks for itself."

"I--" Yves shook his head. "I couldn't afford it."

"The university will cover it," said Blythe, and leaned back in the gesture that, from a professor, meant dismissed. "Think about it, Yves."





The door to the bedroom that had been Jer's-- still was, going on Holden's "he's in his room"-- was open. Lee walked in.

Jer was lying on his back on the bed. He looked up, but didn't move as Lee came in and sat down next to him.

"What's going on?" Lee asked after a moment.

"I got your letter," said Jer flatly.

"Which letter?"

Jer just looked at him.

"Are you mad at me?" Lee asked nervously. "What did I say?"

"Fuck," said Jer, and put his arm over his eyes. "You really don't know, do you?"





"Master?"

Bran reached out, with the hand that wasn't holding the phone, and plucked the girl's wandering hand from the air, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Just a second," he said, as the ringing at the other end of the phone line gave way to a voice. "Hi, Yves. Is Holden there? Thanks." He looked up at the girl, seeing her wide, sightless eyes turned in the direction of their linked hands. "You okay, Ella?"

Ella nodded.

"Master--" she began again.

"I really wish you'd call me Bran," said Bran, and into the phone, "Hi. Um, I have a-- situation."





"Frankly," said Alix, "I didn't expect to be doing business with you ever again."

Argounov nodded. "And yet."

"I don't trust you," said Holden.

"Surprise." Argounov shrugged one shoulder, a gesture Holden remembered and loathed. "I haven't given you much reason to, I admit."

"You think?"

"Settle down, Holden," said Alix. "Nikol, what exactly are you proposing?"

"What any other client would be proposing," Argounov answered. "Except that there are six of them."

"Why?"

"My daughter--" Argounov began.

"Don't fucking call her that," said Holden evenly. "She's not yours."

"Be that as it may," said Argounov, "I'm doing it for her."






Hanna raised her eyebrows. "So you believe in God?"

"Sure," said Tricia, dropping her head back on the couch; she looked sleepy and pink-cheeked and well fed, and very pretty. "You don't?"

"I wasn't raised to believe in one god," said Hanna, who was starting to feel a little sleepy herself; she sipped more wine and straightened her shoulders. "My mother had a dozen. Odin, Thor, Baldr, Freyr and Freya, Frigga, Njord, Hel..."

"Those are the names of your gods?"

"Not mine," said Hanna, shrugging. "I said my mother's. If there are any gods, they haven't done much to make me want to talk to them."

"We don't always understand God's plan," said Tricia vaguely.

"So you think God had a plan that involved me getting sold into sex slavery at fifteen?"

Tricia looked up at her, stricken. "I--"

"I'm sorry." Hanna took a deep breath. "I don't know where that came from. I don't-- talk about this stuff a lot. Not with people who--" Don't understand. "Don't know about it already."
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