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Back home, I knew of and had frequented easily a dozen suppliers
of martial arts equipment in and about London, from little shops
catering to individual artists through general sports stores to 
wholesalers who dealt in bulk purchases for dojos and schools --
places like Blitz and Shogun International and UK Fitness 
Supplies.  In my role as a combat trainer I liked to do my own
browsing and selection when it came to the tools I used, and had
developed a collection of favorite establishments.  

And wonder of wonders, most of them existed in some form or 
another in this timeline -- something I had gone out of my way to
confirm during my week at 12 Grimmauld Place even though my class 
planning hadn't gotten anywhere near needing them by that point.  
They didn't have the *really* high-end stuff -- apparently the 
"no metahumans" thing in this world included the more extreme 
martial arts styles and masteries -- but what they did have was 
more than adequate for my needs.

Unfortunately, the particular one I wanted to hit was a 
wholesaler with annoyingly tight hours:  9 to 5 on weekdays and
9 to noon on Saturdays.  While I could probably have tried to get
to London immediately after the end of classes one afternoon, it
really wouldn't have given me any time at all to really do the
shopping and bargaining I needed.  So when Saturday breakfast
came, I reminded Albus that I'd be out of the castle much of the 
day before speeding through my meal as quickly as I could and 
still be polite.

Once back in my rooms after breakfast I tugged off my robes to 
reveal the jeans and T-shirt I'd worn underneath ("Ask me about 
my vow of silence!" it read today), and then pulled on both my 
leather jacket and my helmet.  Activated by the pressure switches 
in its lining, my helmet was powered on and fully booted up by 
the time I had the foam pads centered over my ears and my goggles 
seated properly.

Now, as I've said elsewhere, I could cover the distance between 
Hogwarts and London on my bike in less than a half-hour, if I 
really wanted to and didn't mind leaving a sonic boom in my wake.
But in addition to being rather noticeable, it also took half an
hour that I didn't want to spare.  (Yeah, I'm an impatient 
sunovabitch.  Wanna make something of it?)

So I planned on using a different mode of travel.

"System, load song 'Lucky 4 You'.  Play song," I said to the 
computer in my helmet.

   "You always said that I have multiple personalities
    I bounce around somewhere between my dreams and reality..."

I don't know why people are always surprised to find that I use
(and *like*) country-western music.  Yeah, sure, a lot of my
repertoire is based on classic and contemporary rock of all 
types, but I'm hardly *limited* to it -- even if that "Rolling
Stone" reporter *did* dub me "Heavy Meta" in the "Jukebox Hero" 
article.  Pick the right songs, and bands like SHeDAISY and 
Little Big Town can be both very useful and a lot of fun.  But 
some people turn their noses up at country music.

   "So where'd you dig up the audacity 
    To ask of me
    How we've all been doing
    Since you broke our hearts?
    Well, so far..."

Case in point:  according to "Playcount" field in the metadata, 
I've used this song almost two hundred times, but...

"Ooof.  Again country song about woman?  In first person yet?  To 
summon *me*?" Skitz's current personality grunted from behind me.  
The deep, guttural edges of the Russian accent coloring his 
speech identified him immediately to me.  "*Really*, Douglas.  
Can you not find more appropriate way to call us up?"

I turned in place and controlled my instinctive urge to punch him
in the nose.  Just my luck that his simulacrum would manifest as 
the persona I liked least.  "Hello, L'Reaux." 

Yes, a French name for a Russian persona.  I don't understand it,
either. 

He was dressed in the usual outfit his personalities had agreed 
to wear while on duty:  a vaguely military-cut black shirt and 
pants with an inordinate number of pockets.  If he hadn't spoken, 
I would have recognized him as L'Reaux from the antique Russian 
cap and the fascia he wore (the fabric of both crumpled and 
creased from decades of jamming them into pockets when *not*
L'Reaux) along with the ornate silver cross hanging from a chain 
around his neck.

   "Number 5 just cries a river a minute
    7 wants to tie you up and drown you in it..."

Skitz didn't really shapechange to reflect each of his many
personalities, but the sometimes radical differences in posture,
body language and, well, attitude, often made it seem like he 
did.  This particular personality somehow made Skitz's athletic,
dark-haired form seem small and somewhat weak.  Which he wasn't 
by any means -- back when he had been Skitz's current incarnation, 
L'Reaux had actually had a well-deserved reputation for inhuman 
endurance and strength.

He had also had a reputation for thoroughly messing with people's
heads, as well.  Which he kept up even after death.  For example,
"L'Reaux" (obviously) wasn't his real name.  Well, the name he'd 
used when he was the *live* Skitz.  He called himself that partly 
to hide his former identity from the unaware, but also partly for 
the joy of confusing and deceiving people.

Did I mention that he was also a first-class pain in the ass?  (I
know, I know -- pot, kettle, apparent reflectivity indices -- but
I mean, *really*.  Worse than me.)

L'Reaux tilted his head and studied me with his usual intense
stare.  "I suppose you *want* something.  You would not call 
otherwise," he growled.  He tilted his head and twitched a lip in 
a subtle little self-satisfied smirk.  "Of course, there was time 
you summoned up Margaret for little romantic..."

"L'Reaux!" I snarled.

He scowled in annoyance at me.  "Oh, *be* that way."

   "Yeah, 14 just wants to say 'so long, bygones'.
    32 wants to do things to you that'll make you blush..."

"I need a gate to London, L'Reaux," I ground out between gritted
teeth.  "Woolwich.  As close as you can get me to Duke of 
Wellington Avenue, in the Royal Arsenal area."

"What's in it for me?" he scowled.  

"What's in it for you is freedom from pain."  I looked down on 
him -- even though we really were about the same height he 
*seemed* shorter -- clenched my fists, and did my best to be 
intimidating.  "If you *don't* open a gate for me, I will beat 
you to a pulp, and keep doing so until the song ends and you 
vanish.  The entire remainder of your virtual life will consist 
of the most exquisite agony."  

Not that it would really work -- the threat of actual violence 
would prompt L'Reaux to abandon control of the body, allowing 
another of Skitz's personalities to swap in.  (L'Reaux had an 
almost completely overwhelming aversion to physical harm -- "Try 
gettink shlowly killt by incompetent asshassins," he had 
confessed to us one drunken evening at the Red Lion when I had 
teased him about his fear of injury.  "Buildsh character, da?  
Next time idiot ashks you 'what worsht can happen?', you 
*know!*")  Then again, I got along well with most of Skitz's 
other selves; whoever took control would almost certainly be 
willing to open a gate for me.

I wonder what it says about me that my subconscious mind's 
simulation of Skitz defaulted to the persona I liked least.

He seemed to shrink down even further at the threat.  "Okay, 
tovarishch, if you're going to be like *that* about it."  He 
waved his hand palm up.  A square hole in space-time three meters 
tall by three wide opened, revealing an alley with a sun-bathed 
city street beyond.  "Behold."

   "10 would key the El Camino that you love so much
    And there ain't nobody wants to mess with 23."

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself.  "Thank you, 
L'Reaux," I growled before I stepped through to London.  I don't 
care that he's part of some kind of eternal champion.  He's an 
asshole, and he gets on my nerves.  

*I let Hexe bully me about, soplyak.  She has nobility you lack.  
Next time ask like comrade.  Be grateful I don't send dozen tons 
of mud from bottom of Thames to follow you.*  The telepathic 
message came in quickly.  Of course, L'Reaux *had* to get in the 
last word.

As the gate snapped shut behind me and vanished with a little 
"pop", I looked around me.

"That son of a bitch... this is Battersea!" I yelled.

   "Oh, lucky 4 you, tonight I'm just me..."

-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.
Hey, at least he got the right city. He could have sent Doug to Manchester or Nottingham... or Belfast.
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012
Or London, Kiribati...

Seraviel

or london, ontario.
-People may die, but ideas are forever. Je suis Charlie.
Seraviel Wrote:or london, ontario.
Which reminds me that I need to call a particular person who lives there...

Anyway.

Of course he's going to be in the right city - that wasn't really Skitz, it was a facet of Doug's subconscious, and Doug's id and ego aren't at war with each other. (I think.) I was just goofing around.

Hmmmmm... Doug's subconscious manifested Skitz with the personality Doug likes the least... Maybe Doug's subconscious was pushing back a bit, the way it does just before Doug gets a backfire on a new song, and that's why he ended up in the wrong neighbourhood? (Psychoanalysis, by an amateur, based on a written report instead of an interview - that's got to be reliable, right? )
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

Hazard

Or it's Dougs subconcious supplying what it thinks is the most likely response Skitz would have to any request of Doug.
What makes me giggle is that I've BEEN to Battersea. 
On a BAND TRIP of all things. ^_^
To make it worse, L'Reaux put the exit gate very close to and within sight of, but facing away from, Battersea Power Station. So that Doug can't see Battersea's number one landmark until after the gate closes.

-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.
I've been to Hammersmith, which is down the river from Battersea by a bit. He's just a tube ride away from where he needs to go.
L'Reaux reminds me a bit of Max Swell, one of the Badger's personalities. Max is less of an asshole, though, unless you happen to be a homophobe.
Ebony the Black Dragon
http://ebony14.livejournal.com

"Good night, and may the Good Lord take a Viking to you."
Nothing is quite like seeing that gaunt brick and steel shell loom into view on a grey, drizzly day through the window of a train carriage. It's not small by any means, not at all. It's a monster in the fog. a thousand times bigger than an image in a CD-Jewel Case. A small highlight to a weekend visit to attend a con, but one that stuck with me for far longer....

And there're very few places in central London that're more than a short Tube ride away from each other. (Unless the line's down for engineering works, which is the other thing I took from my weekend trip. They show up at the worst times. That lead to an impromptu tour that took us through Canary Wharf)
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
Quote:Ebony wrote:
I've been to Hammersmith, which is down the river from Battersea by a bit. He's just a tube ride away from where he needs to go.
It's not so much the ease, but the time involved.  I've never been to London myself, and thus have never used the Underground, but even if it's better than the New York subway, Murphy always arranges it so that you have to wait on the platform longer than you care for.  Doug's watching his precious shopping time dribble away...  
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

Hazard

That's really the rub for Doug isn't it? Then again, why didn't he go shopping before classes started as clearly those are critical educational materials?
Then he'd have to worry about getting back in time for class...
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

Hazard

... Right, perhaps I should've said before the school year started. It would've been clearer what I meant then.
That's mentioned in material before this passage -- Doug's been evolving his lesson plans (with Dumbledore's blessing) and has decided to add active martial arts training to the fifth and higher years' curriculum.

Oh, and before I forget... the video for the SHeDAISY song.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.