Three to the Sea and One Returned

by Wasureta Yume (和巣礼田ゆめ)
illustrated by Iseya Misu (伊勢谷 美寿)

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/338826.html)

When you need to travel small and quiet and on the cheap, that’s when you hire an elf.

Elven guides don’t ask much money, but they do demand respect. They won’t carry your luggage or serve your breakfast. What they will do, if you don’t piss them off, is get you across the Baltlands without too much unnecessary trouble.

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Anyway, I’m Not That Wonderful

by Wasureta Yume (和巣礼田ゆめ)

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/334172.html)

He shook his umbrella off in the lobby. I was halfway to soaking, especially the ankles of my jeans. The backpack I’ve had since college missed the umbrella’s protective halo altogether. Likewise, the wheels of his navy blue suitcase left a wet trail in their wake on the hotel’s welcome rugs.

He gave his name at the counter, and we took two card keys and rode up the elevator. Quick amenities check: no hot tub or pool, but a coin laundry and a three-treadmill gym he’d probably go off to in the morning before I’d even wake up. The halls were quiet and smelled of carpet cleaner.

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The Lemon Priest

by Wasureta Yume (和巣礼田ゆめ)

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/328719.html)

Malcolm Wolke was no chemist. His role at the head office of the Greater Calgran Glass Company had been in sales and distribution. He knew how to price the glass for a hundred windows or a thousand jam-jars, but he hadn’t the faintest idea how the stuff was actually made.

Why he’d been the one chosen to come out to Miyai, a glassmaking town in faraway Ver, was a mystery to Malcolm. It could be that everyone more suitable for the job was already in a more important position, or had the standing to refuse the post. It could be that the transfer was punishment for poor performance, or maybe a test, that passed successfully would lead to a fantastic promotion. The Board of Directors was so inscrutable, anything was possible.

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by Wasureta Yume (和巣礼田ゆめ)

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/326757.html)

If you were a traveler, stopping at our outpost for a quick fuel-up or a customs check or any excuse to no longer be on a tin can hurtling through the cold vacuum of space, and you happened to look down a certain alleyway to the Monstrous Ink Body Modification Salon, you would quickly turn away. Because it looks like the sort of alleyway where you’d be mugged, kidnapped, and auctioned off organ by organ.

Continue reading “Binselong” »