05-14-2009, 09:07 PM
A note before I begin. I'm notoriously bad at completing stories I start on these forums. At the time of writing, I have two incomplete pieces that have
been posted here. One is essentially abandoned, since I no longer play the guy. It might be rewritten to feature a different character, however, given that the
plot of said story was reasonably independent of its star. The other...well, I'll get round to finishing the Superball piece someday. The reason
it isn't done is because I've lost my notes. I do know how it ends, but I'd need to write the ending from scratch.
This is somewhat different. How is it different? Well, I'll be posting it in short fragments over the next couple weeks. It's not actually that long -
the delayed schedule due to my being incredibly busy. But see...this is actually complete. It is DONE, as of last night.. Mind, my draft is in script
form, not proper prose - but all the dialogue is finished, as are the 'stage directions' and scenery descriptions. =)
However...I admit this is a rather self-indulgent piece, as it were. It's relatively serious in tone, and I know I don't excel with that sort of thing.
Nonetheless, it's what I was compelled to write, ever since John Prester and his supporting cast emerged fully-fleshed in my brain. Consider this, then, an
introduction to two characters I care deeply about (but nobody else does, yet)...and a rambling treatise on some broader thematic thoughts.
The Eleventh Hour:
Family Business
Jeanne craned her neck, struggling to look past the press of people on the platform. She didn't know it'd be like this, damn it all. She'd
never had the dubious pleasure of taking long-distance surface rail in or out of Paragon. This was nothing like the tidy little tram stations she was
used to.
How the hell was she supposed to find him in this mess? With the crowd milling round, he could walk right past and she'd never even
notice.
Oh, she'd recognize him. She would. But spotting him in the first place would be a minor miracle. Her hand twitched, instinctively going for her
mobile. But no, he hadn't given her a number, and she'd forgotten to ask for one.
Damn. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
As Jeanne stood there cursing, a baby stroller rammed into her from the back, the front wheels smashing against her shins. Jeanne glared as the woman and
child pushed past without any apology. Fuming, Jeanne opened her mouth...
...then closed it, her shoulders slumping.
This was ridiculous.
How on Earth was she supposed to...
Wait.
She snapped her gaze round, staring past the crowd. Coming through the ticket barrier, joining the flow of arriving passengers, was a familiar figure.
"Uncle John," Jeanne yelled, waving her arms. She put as much volume and energy into it as she could muster. At this point, she didn't really
care if she made a scene.
He heard her. That was all she cared about.
Looking up, he caught Jeanne's eyes through the sea of commuters - before a group of noisy backpackers swarmed between them. Jeanne growled in
frustration as her view was blocked. Jeanne tried shoving them aside, but by the time the last heavily laden rucksack was gone, she'd lost sight of him.
She turned her head, searching frantically.
A hand grasped her shoulder, steadying her. "Easy there."
"Uncle John," Jeanne cried, throwing her arms round her older relative.
It was clearly a more emotional greeting than the man was prepared for. He seemed taken aback, at least momentarily. His eyebrows lifted in surprise. To
his credit, he recovered quickly, bearing her weight stoically instead of crumpling under the sudden mass of teenage girl.
There was a pause, before Jeanne realised what she'd done. A faint flush came to her cheeks, and she started to pull away - before her movement was
arrested by a gesture of John's own.
He smiled. It was a small smile, a faint smile - but a genuine one. Jeanne could tell. She'd seen enough of the other kind in the past few weeks.
"Glad to see you too," he said, drily.
Jeanne smiled back. She hadn't seen her uncle in years, but he looked just like she remembered. That was reassuring, somehow. It was comforting to see
a face like hers, after all this time - that distinct mix of dark skin over bright eyes and hair.
He was family.
Jeanne said something. It didn't come out right, though, and after she said it, she couldn't remember what she'd spoken. She buried her face in
the fabric of Uncle John's suit jacket, and tried not to cry.
He seemed to understand, all the same.
"Shh," John murmured soothingly, patting her on the back, "I'm sorry."
She lifted her head. It was hard to make out his words on the noisy station platform, but they were close enough. Her ears were working, even if her brain
wasn't.
"For what," Jeanne demanded.
John looked uncomfortable. "I should have been here," he explained, "I'm sorry I wasn't."
Jeanne laughed, hollowly. "Didn't miss much," she said bitterly, "small funeral."
John winced. His complexion, the same brown as Jeanne's, made it hard to tell - but it looked like he paled just a little. "That's not what I
meant," he clarified, "well, that too, I suppose. But I should have been here...before..."
"You're here now," Jeanne insisted.
It was a moment before John answered. "I am."
Carefully, John unwound himself from the girl and took a step back. His walking stick rapped against the platform tiles as he centred himself.
"You've grown," he observed, sounding almost amazed.
"It has been a while, Uncle John," Jeanne retorted, "did you expect me to shrink?"
John sighed. "A while, yes. Too long."
There was an awkward silence between them, filled by the noise of the busy station.
"Ah," Jeanne said, finally, "do you have...like, bags? Luggage? I mean..."
"Just the one," John answered, indicating the suitcase resting by his feet with a small wave of his cane.
"Oh," exclaimed Jeanne, reaching for the handle, "let me get it."
"No need for that," John rebuffed her, politely, "it has wheels. I'll be fine."
"But with your leg and all," Jeanne objected, "I mean..."
"I'm not an invalid," said John, archly, "if that's what you think."
Jeanne blanched. "I didn't mean..."
"No, no," John reassured her, "it's alright. I'm just being a cranky old man. I assure you, I carry this..."
He shifted the cane.
"...more out of habit than anything else. But if it'll make you feel better, you can take the bag. Mind the left wheel, though, it pulls to the
left."
"If you're not careful," he added, with a conspiratorial grin, "it'll turn around and maim you like the savage beast it
is."
"Will do," Jeanne confirmed, giving a little salute. She laughed weakly at the joke, more relieved that he hadn't taken offence. She extended
the bag's carrying handle, and set off with the suitcase rolling behind her.
"So," John asked, as they left the crowded station, "where to, then?"
* * *
The sun beat down on the busy street beyond the train terminal. It was a hot day, well into summer. As he stepped into the light, John raised a hand to
shield his eyes. As he did, he tilted his head to one side, stopped, and stared.
Jeanne followed the direction he was looking in. "Oh," she said, "guess you haven't seen the War Walls, huh."
"Just the base of them, coming into the city," John replied, looking at the planes of shimmering force reaching up to the sky, "couldn't
get a good look from the train."
Jeanne nodded. "They creeped me out when we first moved here, but now...it's like, I just look up and expect to see..."
"...that," John finished, pointing with the tip of his walking stick.
"Yeah," Jeanne said, "but you'll get used to them, if you're staying."
A look of concern crossed her face.
"Er," Jeanne whispered, slowly, "you are staying, right?"
John blinked, just once. "That's the plan, yes."
He regarded her oddly. "Unless, of course, you don't want me to..."
"No, no," Jeanne spluttered, "that's...I mean...thank you, Uncle John. You didn't have to do this. I mean..."
"No," John corrected her. His voice was soft, but firm. "I did. You shouldn't be alone."
"I can take care of myself," she protested, a little defensively.
John inclined his head. "You can, I know. You're essentially an adult, even by the standards of this society. In my day, you'd already be of
age. I trust you can make your own decisions. But..."
Jeanne wondered briefly at the strange turn of phrase. My day? She didn't press him on that, though. Instead, she prompted: "But?"
"You shouldn't be alone," he said, quietly, "nobody should."
Jeanne absorbed that, not quite knowing how to answer. Eventually, she just nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Thankfully, her uncle seemed equally
inclined to let it pass.
He waved a hand down the street. "So..."
"Right," Jeanne began, drawing herself up and turning her mind back to the business of navigation, "no car, sorry. But since you've only
got the one bag, I figured we could take the tram. If you don't mind, I mean. We could get a taxi, but..."
"No," John laughed, "the tram is fine. I've heard public transport in Paragon is quite good. Famous, even."
Jeanne smirked with the pride common to all Paragon citizens. "Oh, it's the best."
John smiled back. With a deliberate motion, he tugged on his lapels and adjusted his tie. "Well, then. I shall be honoured to ride in one of these
fine conveyances, no doubt fit for a king."
"I don't know about kings," Jeanne quipped, as she lead the way down the street, "but we might see a hero or two."
"Close enough," John said, smiling indulgently.
* * *
-- Acyl
been posted here. One is essentially abandoned, since I no longer play the guy. It might be rewritten to feature a different character, however, given that the
plot of said story was reasonably independent of its star. The other...well, I'll get round to finishing the Superball piece someday. The reason
it isn't done is because I've lost my notes. I do know how it ends, but I'd need to write the ending from scratch.
This is somewhat different. How is it different? Well, I'll be posting it in short fragments over the next couple weeks. It's not actually that long -
the delayed schedule due to my being incredibly busy. But see...this is actually complete. It is DONE, as of last night.. Mind, my draft is in script
form, not proper prose - but all the dialogue is finished, as are the 'stage directions' and scenery descriptions. =)
However...I admit this is a rather self-indulgent piece, as it were. It's relatively serious in tone, and I know I don't excel with that sort of thing.
Nonetheless, it's what I was compelled to write, ever since John Prester and his supporting cast emerged fully-fleshed in my brain. Consider this, then, an
introduction to two characters I care deeply about (but nobody else does, yet)...and a rambling treatise on some broader thematic thoughts.
The Eleventh Hour:
Family Business
Jeanne craned her neck, struggling to look past the press of people on the platform. She didn't know it'd be like this, damn it all. She'd
never had the dubious pleasure of taking long-distance surface rail in or out of Paragon. This was nothing like the tidy little tram stations she was
used to.
How the hell was she supposed to find him in this mess? With the crowd milling round, he could walk right past and she'd never even
notice.
Oh, she'd recognize him. She would. But spotting him in the first place would be a minor miracle. Her hand twitched, instinctively going for her
mobile. But no, he hadn't given her a number, and she'd forgotten to ask for one.
Damn. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
As Jeanne stood there cursing, a baby stroller rammed into her from the back, the front wheels smashing against her shins. Jeanne glared as the woman and
child pushed past without any apology. Fuming, Jeanne opened her mouth...
...then closed it, her shoulders slumping.
This was ridiculous.
How on Earth was she supposed to...
Wait.
She snapped her gaze round, staring past the crowd. Coming through the ticket barrier, joining the flow of arriving passengers, was a familiar figure.
"Uncle John," Jeanne yelled, waving her arms. She put as much volume and energy into it as she could muster. At this point, she didn't really
care if she made a scene.
He heard her. That was all she cared about.
Looking up, he caught Jeanne's eyes through the sea of commuters - before a group of noisy backpackers swarmed between them. Jeanne growled in
frustration as her view was blocked. Jeanne tried shoving them aside, but by the time the last heavily laden rucksack was gone, she'd lost sight of him.
She turned her head, searching frantically.
A hand grasped her shoulder, steadying her. "Easy there."
"Uncle John," Jeanne cried, throwing her arms round her older relative.
It was clearly a more emotional greeting than the man was prepared for. He seemed taken aback, at least momentarily. His eyebrows lifted in surprise. To
his credit, he recovered quickly, bearing her weight stoically instead of crumpling under the sudden mass of teenage girl.
There was a pause, before Jeanne realised what she'd done. A faint flush came to her cheeks, and she started to pull away - before her movement was
arrested by a gesture of John's own.
He smiled. It was a small smile, a faint smile - but a genuine one. Jeanne could tell. She'd seen enough of the other kind in the past few weeks.
"Glad to see you too," he said, drily.
Jeanne smiled back. She hadn't seen her uncle in years, but he looked just like she remembered. That was reassuring, somehow. It was comforting to see
a face like hers, after all this time - that distinct mix of dark skin over bright eyes and hair.
He was family.
Jeanne said something. It didn't come out right, though, and after she said it, she couldn't remember what she'd spoken. She buried her face in
the fabric of Uncle John's suit jacket, and tried not to cry.
He seemed to understand, all the same.
"Shh," John murmured soothingly, patting her on the back, "I'm sorry."
She lifted her head. It was hard to make out his words on the noisy station platform, but they were close enough. Her ears were working, even if her brain
wasn't.
"For what," Jeanne demanded.
John looked uncomfortable. "I should have been here," he explained, "I'm sorry I wasn't."
Jeanne laughed, hollowly. "Didn't miss much," she said bitterly, "small funeral."
John winced. His complexion, the same brown as Jeanne's, made it hard to tell - but it looked like he paled just a little. "That's not what I
meant," he clarified, "well, that too, I suppose. But I should have been here...before..."
"You're here now," Jeanne insisted.
It was a moment before John answered. "I am."
Carefully, John unwound himself from the girl and took a step back. His walking stick rapped against the platform tiles as he centred himself.
"You've grown," he observed, sounding almost amazed.
"It has been a while, Uncle John," Jeanne retorted, "did you expect me to shrink?"
John sighed. "A while, yes. Too long."
There was an awkward silence between them, filled by the noise of the busy station.
"Ah," Jeanne said, finally, "do you have...like, bags? Luggage? I mean..."
"Just the one," John answered, indicating the suitcase resting by his feet with a small wave of his cane.
"Oh," exclaimed Jeanne, reaching for the handle, "let me get it."
"No need for that," John rebuffed her, politely, "it has wheels. I'll be fine."
"But with your leg and all," Jeanne objected, "I mean..."
"I'm not an invalid," said John, archly, "if that's what you think."
Jeanne blanched. "I didn't mean..."
"No, no," John reassured her, "it's alright. I'm just being a cranky old man. I assure you, I carry this..."
He shifted the cane.
"...more out of habit than anything else. But if it'll make you feel better, you can take the bag. Mind the left wheel, though, it pulls to the
left."
"If you're not careful," he added, with a conspiratorial grin, "it'll turn around and maim you like the savage beast it
is."
"Will do," Jeanne confirmed, giving a little salute. She laughed weakly at the joke, more relieved that he hadn't taken offence. She extended
the bag's carrying handle, and set off with the suitcase rolling behind her.
"So," John asked, as they left the crowded station, "where to, then?"
* * *
The sun beat down on the busy street beyond the train terminal. It was a hot day, well into summer. As he stepped into the light, John raised a hand to
shield his eyes. As he did, he tilted his head to one side, stopped, and stared.
Jeanne followed the direction he was looking in. "Oh," she said, "guess you haven't seen the War Walls, huh."
"Just the base of them, coming into the city," John replied, looking at the planes of shimmering force reaching up to the sky, "couldn't
get a good look from the train."
Jeanne nodded. "They creeped me out when we first moved here, but now...it's like, I just look up and expect to see..."
"...that," John finished, pointing with the tip of his walking stick.
"Yeah," Jeanne said, "but you'll get used to them, if you're staying."
A look of concern crossed her face.
"Er," Jeanne whispered, slowly, "you are staying, right?"
John blinked, just once. "That's the plan, yes."
He regarded her oddly. "Unless, of course, you don't want me to..."
"No, no," Jeanne spluttered, "that's...I mean...thank you, Uncle John. You didn't have to do this. I mean..."
"No," John corrected her. His voice was soft, but firm. "I did. You shouldn't be alone."
"I can take care of myself," she protested, a little defensively.
John inclined his head. "You can, I know. You're essentially an adult, even by the standards of this society. In my day, you'd already be of
age. I trust you can make your own decisions. But..."
Jeanne wondered briefly at the strange turn of phrase. My day? She didn't press him on that, though. Instead, she prompted: "But?"
"You shouldn't be alone," he said, quietly, "nobody should."
Jeanne absorbed that, not quite knowing how to answer. Eventually, she just nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Thankfully, her uncle seemed equally
inclined to let it pass.
He waved a hand down the street. "So..."
"Right," Jeanne began, drawing herself up and turning her mind back to the business of navigation, "no car, sorry. But since you've only
got the one bag, I figured we could take the tram. If you don't mind, I mean. We could get a taxi, but..."
"No," John laughed, "the tram is fine. I've heard public transport in Paragon is quite good. Famous, even."
Jeanne smirked with the pride common to all Paragon citizens. "Oh, it's the best."
John smiled back. With a deliberate motion, he tugged on his lapels and adjusted his tie. "Well, then. I shall be honoured to ride in one of these
fine conveyances, no doubt fit for a king."
"I don't know about kings," Jeanne quipped, as she lead the way down the street, "but we might see a hero or two."
"Close enough," John said, smiling indulgently.
* * *
-- Acyl
