[open]

[heirring]

WHO: Wysteria & YOU
WHAT: Anchor-related adventures and/or drama in fantasy September.
WHEN: Kingsway
WHERE: Various
NOTES: Some anchor and rift-related peril; open stuff is in the comments, but may use this as a catch-all. If an open prompt doesn't suit you, feel free to wildcard me or hit me up and I can write something bespoke. Prose or brackets is a-okay.

Comments

[heirring]

She is meant, it occurs to Wysterua only afterwards, to be dictating correspondence to him. But that's all right; she can recite her reply to Mister Brown after they discuss Holden's field work. Indeed, this is a far more compelling subject than even the Markham scholar's pleasantly gossipy candor (and is indisputably a preferable subject of conversation compared to ominous anchor developments or how she should rest).

"Good, good. And there have been no failures? No misfires or jams? What is the rate at which you're able to reload? Did you time it?"

[acreage]

He did, in fact, time it.

So he's able to give her specific answers; more specific, in truth, with these practical considerations than the more magical, or even the earlier jargon he'd struggled with. Papers and writing implements sit in his lap, forgotten. This is preferable, too, in its way — something to offer her, prized data about her invention that she worked so hard to make.

"It'd be faster," he says, "to reload if the slugs were lighter. That'd help with mobility too," though mobility is an ongoing question with any long gun, "and no jams, but I've been kept it well-oiled — probably better than would be doable for someone using the thing more often. The trigger starts to catch after a few shots, get harder to squeeze."