MxF Dust on the Bottle

[Mitheral]

Spoiler: Shae Nashwa Marwan

July 2048

Part I
It was a dark and stormy night…

Isn’t that how a lot of these stories begin? The man who moved through the night was tall, handsome. But his face was darkened with a mix of anger and grief. He was a man who had lost everything. Shae could sense him the way a moth senses a light. He was a man in need. And the name of her pawn shop was … Needful Things. The question was was his need strong enough to open her locked door?

The door opened without the slightest hesitation. Shae smiled. A customer in need. In the distance sirens wailed. The man looked behind him, a flash of pain across his face. Then he finished entering the store.

He looked shocked to see Shae standing there. Persian? His face contorted with a hint of even more anger. Then he forced himself to caalm down. He didn’t want to frighten her.

As if ….

“You’re open? The sign said …” he began.

“I am always open to the right customer. Come in. Relax. But please, try not to drip on anything water will harm.”

“Sorry. My apologies.”

Shae smiled. Polite. Yes. He is the one. “So shall we talk about the weather, or would you like to look around. The name of the store is Needful Things. And if I may be so bold, you look like a man in need.”

It was the way she said “Need” that got his attention. He flushed. “I doubt you have what I need. What I really need is a second chance.”

“Perhaps not truly. But why don’t you get out of those wet clothes?”

“What?” Did she mean …

“If you get out of yours, I will get out of mine. My sign says Closed. We could pass the time while the police chase their tails.”

Too many things at once. She was starting to remove her clothes. He couldn’t help but stare. “Uhm … I’m … I was framed.”

“I believe you,” Shae told him calmly. “You do not frighten me. I sense a good man. I sense an honest man. Tell me … honestly … are you tempted?” She gestured to herself.

He averted his eyes. “N-no.”

“Really,” she purred. She had approached him while he was trying not to look and her hand reached down. “All evidence to the contrary.”

He tried not to laugh. “I misspoke. But that doesn’t mean I have to give in to temptation.”

“What is it they say? Ah yes. Resistance is futile.” Her hand moved and deftly unfastened his pants, reaching in. “And you are very, very much in need. So am I.” She continued undressing him. Soon she had him unclothed and had begun to rub herself against him.

He forced himself under control with great difficulty. “What I really need is a second chance.” A pair of cars with flashing lights had pulled up to the front door.

Shae scoffed. “So annoying. Talk about bad timing.”

“Yeah …”

“Come with me,” she pulled his hand to lead him further back.

“I wish …”

“Careful what you wish for.”

He laughed softly. “I think I may have a weakness for double entendre.”

The police had begun knocking on the front door.

“Coming!” she yelled.

“You wish …”

She laughed in spite of herself. She almost felt bad about what she was about to do. The room she had led him to was filled with various Arabic lamps and fancy, brass bound and bejewelled bottles. She stopped at a curio cabinet with a single bottle within.

“Take it. Rub the bottle, make a wish, and pull the stopper. Don’t worry about the police. I will deal with them. That bottle is your way out of here.”

“I’d rather be rubbing you,” he growled. But he did as she had instructed. That was his last momeent of mortality, last thing he remembered before he was being torn apart at a quantum level, incinerated, and trapped in an eternal disembodied state.

For an eternity he had slumbered in a timeless, bodiless limbo, devoid of light. His torment never ended. These were the all consuming thoughts that tormented him. His only other thoughts were about eternity itself and the multiverse. He could understand them. And in some ways that terrified him. In others it excited him. Nowhere and nowhen were beyond his reach. But he was alone in his understanding. Perhaps someday…

Then he felt a change. It was as if a voice was calling his name, yet he had no name. He felt it again. A powerful tingling that touched every piece of whatever he was. It was very personal.

Your Character
Female. Of good character. Beyond that she could be from any time in the past. She could be a peasant or princess. She could be an escaped slave. She could be lost at sea, marooned on some tropical island. She could be an archaeologist exploring ruins, or a diver investigating a sunken treasure.

Posting
3rd Person Past Tense
Decent literacy
I typically manage about a page per post.

 

[Mitheral]

Here is a concept set in 1944, the South Pacific.

Spoiler: Splash Down

In this scenario a female aviator pilot crashes on an uncharted island in the South Pacific. Her plane was a C47, the military variant of a DC3. They had been running a mail / cargo route in 1944 and came under attack by the Japanese. Her copilot didn’t make it.















Her crash is witnessed by a man living on the island, a French man who will call himself Count Quinn DuBois. He is assisted by an impressively tall woman whom he simply calls Jeannie who picks her up effortlessly and carries her all the way to his manor.















Quinn lives like a King. Lord of the island. Just one problem with that. There is just him, Jeannie, and now your character. Not much of a kingdom. Your character will awaken to discover she has been tripped and
bathed. But her wounds are completely healed. A clean change of clothing - minus shoes are there waiting for her.

Quinn will immediately prove a little over attentive. Understandable considering his isolation. He scarcely notices his companion and will be focused on his guest.

About the WASP Program
Yes, women pilots flew US military aircraft during WWII, but they were almost exclusively restricted to non-combat roles within the US as part of the Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASP). While they ferried planes, towed targets, and trained male pilots to free them for combat, Cornelia Fort—an early female ferrying pilot—witnessed the Pearl Harbor attack and was the first female pilot to die on active duty.

Key Facts About Women Pilots in WWII:
The WASP Program: Over 25,000 women applied, but only 1,074 graduated from the intensive Army Air Forces training to earn their wings. These pilots had to be at least 5 feet 2 inches tall and hold a pilot's license, with many having significant prior flight experience. They flew 12,650 aircraft over 60 million miles.

Roles: WASP members transported military aircraft from factories to bases, towed targets for live-ammunition training, and tested aircraft.

Exceptions: While primarily home-based, some women were involved in ferrying planes for transport, and Cornelia Fort, a civilian flight instructor in Hawaii, was near Pearl Harbor during the December 7, 1941, attack.

Sacrifice: 38 WASP pilots died while serving, including Cornelia Fort in 1943.

Status: They were not given official military status until 1977.


Key facts about the age of WASP pilots:
Age Range: Applicants were required to be within the 21–35 age bracket.

Requirements: In addition to the age requirement, they needed a high school diploma, a commercial pilot's license, and, initially, 500 hours of flight time, though this was later lowered.

Training & Role: They were trained "the Army way" in Sweetwater, Texas, and flew every type of aircraft used by the Army Air Forces, including the fastest fighters and heaviest bombers.


Your Character
The aircraft had a crew of two. I probably took some liberties with her career taking her into hostile territory, but this is historical fiction. And it is as good a way to get the characters together as any. Her name, pic, and full background need to be created by you. (You are welcome to use the girl in the pic. Here she is.)

 

[Mitheral]

This one is about a young woman on a failing farm.

Spoiler: Farmer's Daughter

Shae Nashwa Marwan​

July 2048

Part I
It was a dark and stormy night…

Isn’t that how a lot of these stories begin? The man who moved through the night was tall, handsome. But his face was darkened with a mix of anger and grief. He was a man who had lost everything. Shae could sense him the way a moth senses a light. He was a man in need. And the name of her pawn shop was … Needful Things. The question was was his need strong enough to open her locked door?

The door opened without the slightest hesitation. Shae smiled. A customer in need. In the distance sirens wailed. The man looked behind him, a flash of pain across his face. Then he finished entering the store.

He looked shocked to see Shae standing there. Persian? His face contorted with a hint of even more anger. Then he forced himself to caalm down. He didn’t want to frighten her.

As if ….

“You’re open? The sign said …” he began.

“I am always open to the right customer. Come in. Relax. But please, try not to drip on anything water will harm.”

“Sorry. My apologies.”

Shae smiled. Polite. Yes. He is the one. “So shall we talk about the weather, or would you like to look around. The name of the store is Needful Things. And if I may be so bold, you look like a man in need.”

It was the way she said “Need” that got his attention. He flushed. “I doubt you have what I need. What I really need is a second chance.”

“Perhaps not truly. But why don’t you get out of those wet clothes?”

“What?” Did she mean …

“If you get out of yours, I will get out of mine. My sign says Closed. We could pass the time while the police chase their tails.”

Too many things at once. She was starting to remove her clothes. He couldn’t help but stare. “Uhm … I’m … I was framed.”

“I believe you,” Shae told him calmly. “You do not frighten me. I sense a good man. I sense an honest man. Tell me … honestly … are you tempted?” She gestured to herself.

He averted his eyes. “N-no.”

“Really,” she purred. She had approached him while he was trying not to look and her hand reached down. “All evidence to the contrary.”

He tried not to laugh. “I misspoke. But that doesn’t mean I have to give in to temptation.”

“What is it they say? Ah yes. Resistance is futile.” Her hand moved and deftly unfastened his pants, reaching in. “And you are very, very much in need. So am I.” She continued undressing him. Soon she had him unclothed and had begun to rub herself against him.

He forced himself under control with great difficulty. “What I really need is a second chance.” A pair of cars with flashing lights had pulled up to the front door.

Shae scoffed. “So annoying. Talk about bad timing.”

“Yeah …”

“Come with me,” she pulled his hand to lead him further back.

“I wish …”

“Careful what you wish for.”

He laughed softly. “I think I may have a weakness for double entendre.”

The police had begun knocking on the front door.

“Coming!” she yelled.

“You wish …”

She laughed in spite of herself. She almost felt bad about what she was about to do. The room she had led him to was filled with various Arabic lamps and fancy, brass bound and bejewelled bottles. She stopped at a curio cabinet with a single bottle within.

“Take it. Rub the bottle, make a wish, and pull the stopper. Don’t worry about the police. I will deal with them. That bottle is your way out of here.”

“I’d rather be rubbing you,” he growled. But he did as she had instructed. That was his last momeent of mortality, last thing he remembered before he was being torn apart at a quantum level, incinerated, and trapped in an eternal disembodied state.

For an eternity he had slumbered in a timeless, bodiless limbo, devoid of light. His torment never ended. These were the all consuming thoughts that tormented him. His only other thoughts were about eternity itself and the multiverse. He could understand them. And in some ways that terrified him. In others it excited him. Nowhere and nowhen were beyond his reach. But he was alone in his understanding. Perhaps someday…

Then he felt a change. It was as if a voice was calling his name, yet he had no name. He felt it again. A powerful tingling that touched every piece of whatever he was. It was very personal.

*****************




The Triple R Ranch
Crops
Pecans: Often the top cash crop, with New Mexico frequently leading national production.
Chile Peppers: A top national producer, famous for Hatch green chiles.
Hay: Alfalfa hay is a major agricultural staple.
Onions: The state ranks high nationally in summer onion production.
Greenhouse/Nursery: A significant portion of agricultural sales, including ornamental plants.
Pistachios & Peanuts: Major nut crops grown in the state.
Field Crops: Corn, cotton, wheat, and sorghum.
Vegetables/Fruits: Squash, pumpkins, potatoes, apples, and grapes.

Animals
A few cows (at least one or two dairy)
A few pigs
A few horses
Chickens
Fish hatchery (still under construction)

*****************

Her father had been a fighter pilot in the South Pacific. He has seen his way through to the end of the War, well decorated, a Major. As soon as the War was over he had splurged and purchased a couple aircraft through Army Surplus: a P51 Mustang and a C47 Skytrain. He loved flying. Then came the accident. He wasn’t killed, but it had endeed his flying days. Her Mother then fell ill with Cancer. For two years now the farm had been in decline. Her parents had been discussing selling the farm that had been in the family for generations,

With her parents ill, she had tried to take up some slack and decided to sell off what she could. Her father couldn’t be convinced to part with the aircraft yet. While going through the Old House (an old wooden structure no longer fit to live in and used for storage now), she was looking for things to sell at a yard sale. That was when she came across the Bottle.

Her mother had studied Archaeology when she was much younger - before she met her father - or was it how they met. Whichever, the Bottle was among some old Archaeology textbooks, some dig gear and clothing. The woman tried to pull the stopper. It wasn’t the cork variety. And it was very, very stuck. She wasn’t sure, but thought there might be a pattern to the etchings on the bottle, some sort of geometric thing. So she got to cleaning. It was filthy and the soot was getting everywhere.

It was getting late and she was starting to think the bottle was a lost cause. But at least the bottle was cleaning up into something pretty. (I have pictures of the bottle when cleaned up.) She finally decided to give the stopper another try. This time there was no resistance at all. It came right out - with a force so strong she was thrown back and the bottle shot out of her hands and she dropped the stopper. The room began to shake as if the place was being hit with an earthquake. Then the bottle seemed to explode.

When she awoke there was a man standing over her. His eyes … glowed softly. Only he wasn’t quite a full man. He was hovering, his lower legs not quite formed, but instead converging into a mist that led to the bottle. He howtowed as he spoke. “You have released me. You are the Master of the Bottle. I am yours to command. What is your wish?”

​

Posting
3rd Person Past Tense
Decent literacy
I typically manage about a page per post.

PM me if interested.

 

[Mitheral]

Hyborean Era (Conan)

Spoiler: ”Escape”

Shae Nashwa Marwan​

July 2048

Part I
It was a dark and stormy night…

Isn’t that how a lot of these stories begin? The man who moved through the night was tall, handsome. But his face was darkened with a mix of anger and grief. He was a man who had lost everything. Shae could sense him the way a moth senses a light. He was a man in need. And the name of her pawn shop was … Needful Things. The question was was his need strong enough to open her locked door?

The door opened without the slightest hesitation. Shae smiled. A customer in need. In the distance sirens wailed. The man looked behind him, a flash of pain across his face. Then he finished entering the store.

He looked shocked to see Shae standing there. Persian? His face contorted with a hint of even more anger. Then he forced himself to caalm down. He didn’t want to frighten her.

As if ….

“You’re open? The sign said …” he began.

“I am always open to the right customer. Come in. Relax. But please, try not to drip on anything water will harm.”

“Sorry. My apologies.”

Shae smiled. Polite. Yes. He is the one. “So shall we talk about the weather, or would you like to look around. The name of the store is Needful Things. And if I may be so bold, you look like a man in need.”

It was the way she said “Need” that got his attention. He flushed. “I doubt you have what I need. What I really need is a second chance.”

“Perhaps not truly. But why don’t you get out of those wet clothes?”

“What?” Did she mean …

“If you get out of yours, I will get out of mine. My sign says Closed. We could pass the time while the police chase their tails.”

Too many things at once. She was starting to remove her clothes. He couldn’t help but stare. “Uhm … I’m … I was framed.”

“I believe you,” Shae told him calmly. “You do not frighten me. I sense a good man. I sense an honest man. Tell me … honestly … are you tempted?” She gestured to herself.

He averted his eyes. “N-no.”

“Really,” she purred. She had approached him while he was trying not to look and her hand reached down. “All evidence to the contrary.”

He tried not to laugh. “I misspoke. But that doesn’t mean I have to give in to temptation.”

“What is it they say? Ah yes. Resistance is futile.” Her hand moved and deftly unfastened his pants, reaching in. “And you are very, very much in need. So am I.” She continued undressing him. Soon she had him unclothed and had begun to rub herself against him.

He forced himself under control with great difficulty. “What I really need is a second chance.” A pair of cars with flashing lights had pulled up to the front door.

Shae scoffed. “So annoying. Talk about bad timing.”

“Yeah …”

“Come with me,” she pulled his hand to lead him further back.

“I wish …”

“Careful what you wish for.”

He laughed softly. “I think I may have a weakness for double entendre.”

The police had begun knocking on the front door.

“Coming!” she yelled.

“You wish …”

She laughed in spite of herself. She almost felt bad about what she was about to do. The room she had led him to was filled with various Arabic lamps and fancy, brass bound and bejewelled bottles. She stopped at a curio cabinet with a single bottle within.

“Take it. Rub the bottle, make a wish, and pull the stopper. Don’t worry about the police. I will deal with them. That bottle is your way out of here.”

“I’d rather be rubbing you,” he growled. But he did as she had instructed. That was his last momeent of mortality, last thing he remembered before he was being torn apart at a quantum level, incinerated, and trapped in an eternal disembodied state.

For an eternity he had slumbered in a timeless, bodiless limbo, devoid of light. His torment never ended. These were the all consuming thoughts that tormented him. His only other thoughts were about eternity itself and the multiverse. He could understand them. And in some ways that terrified him. In others it excited him. Nowhere and nowhen were beyond his reach. But he was alone in his understanding. Perhaps someday…

Then he felt a change. It was as if a voice was calling his name, yet he had no name. He felt it again. A powerful tingling that touched every piece of whatever he was. It was very personal.

*****************

This story will be told in pictures. It takes place in a tropical jungle in the barbaric world of Hyborean (Conan the Barbarian’s world). Your character is, of course, the escaped slave. Feel free to use her as she is - or you can create a different woman. She could easily be replaced as a kidnapped noble. Her background is for you to create. It does not even have to be specifically Hyboren.

​

​

Posting
3rd Person Past Tense
Decent literacy
I typically manage about a page+ per post.
I normally use PMs, one thread for OOC; one for IC
PM me if interested