In an attempt to motivate myself to write more, I'm dusting off an old story that won't be finished until it's epic-length. I'll post it in chunks. Feedback, especially concrit, would be appreciated. Feel free to throw out speculation. I may even respond to some of it. It's not fanfic per se, but it does make side-references.
EDIT: sorry about that, folks. I ran afoul of some bizarre nonprinting termination characters.
First block as follows:
------------------------------
It had been a long bloody day at the office. I work security for transdimensional customs in this little metaplane I call home, and while we don't have as many folks coming through as, say, Deva, we are something of a nexus for a number of the anime worlds. On the good side, that means that we have enough traffic to give a serious boost to our economy, technospiritual development and reality factor without our culture being utterly consumed by outside influences. On the bad side, it's anime. The vast majority of anime planar travelers are either prone to violence or downright evil. That's where I come in. Customs separates the good from the bad, gets people adjusted to working on our terms, and tries to make sure that we don't get overwhelmed by any one thing all at one go. I'm one of the folks providing the much needed muscle for those efforts.
In any case, enough digression. As I said, it had been a long bloody day at the office. We had to repel not one but two attacks by tentacle monsters from two entirely different dimensions, and the second one spawned a bunch of parasitic larvae that took over an hour to clean up even after we finished banishing it. I had to break up a fight between a little pig-tailed girl and some feral guy with burning purple hands, and go straight from that to reasoning gently with a squad of moronic katana bishonen who had challenged one of the inspectors to a duel of honor. Finally, just to cap the day off, some blasted backwater's idea of a supervillain managed to sleaze the mystic wards long enough to teleport into the city at large. That last one involved some serious paperwork for the boss, and he expressed exactly how he felt about it at the after-action review. I hate it when we let the boss down - it's not like his job doesn't suck enough by itself. A long bloody day.
So yeah, I get out to my car at about 7. It's a nice set of wheels - dark blue Saturn. It's not too expensive, it looks nice, it handles great, and gets good mileage. A few years old, but still hanging in there. Does what I tell it to, without fuss. Nice car. I pat it in a friendly fashion and murmur a few appreciative words to the inhabiting spirit, settle into the driver's seat, and head off down the road. The radio is playing Leonard Cohen, the traffic is moving at a fair clip, and for a brief, shining moment I start to unwind.
Then everything comes to a screeching halt, I nearly crash into the car in front of me, and I wind right back up again. Curses enough to curdle the blood of the unborn roll through my mind. I spin the dial over to news, and my day gets that much worse. The nice lady on the radio is talking about some freak that looks like a supervillain. He's running rampant through a few of the major interchanges, tossing bolts of chaos lightning. He's done a ton of property damage, shot the commute all to hell, and given a few elected officials headaches with his telepathic demands. Literally. Apparently he isn't good friends with the concept of fine control in his psionic powers. The best part about it is that apparently he's the guy who sleazed through Customs just a few hours ago. Wonderful! What a glorious cap to a glorious day. I hate being the thin black line some times. He doesn't seem to have killed anyone yet, but still.... I hate being the thin black line and failing.
So one of the superforce strike teams gets called in, and they manage to send the guy running and then give the highways makeshift repairs. They tried to run him down, but apparently his stealth powers are pretty good and he gave them the slip. With that mostly dealt with, the traffic mostly clears up, and It only takes me about two hours more than normal to get home. By the time I pull into the driveway, I'm done with the ugly little cycle of frustration, depression and self recrimination this sort of thing always sends me into, and now I'm just tired. I perform the parting ritual with my car - not well, but I'm sure she understands, and make my way up to my house. My hearth spirit greets me, and I ask for her report.
"Well, Domitor, there are the traditional monthly bills come in. Nothing out of the ordinary, and everything seems to be accurate. I can deal with those myself, if you would will it"
I nod and gesture assent-with-thanks
"You have a number of neighbors who have contacted you with respect to some disturbance at the highway interchanges earlier today." She notes my reaction. "I can appear to have lost those, if you would will it."
I wince, and gesture assent-with-thanks. It's nice to have an assistant who's willing to look incompetent from time to time. I already feel bad enough about the whole thing. I don't need anyone else jumping on my back about it.
"Finally as per your standing orders, I have given sanctuary to a young lady, who is now asleep on the couch."
Huh. Well, that's unusual. I give her formal dismissal, bow, remove my shoes, and enter. I figure that anyone sleeping on the couch isn't all that time critical, so I take a while to change out of the traditional plain black suit and thin black tie into a somewhat more comfortable worn blue jeans and flannel. I don't do well with normal social interaction while in uniform. It always makes me feel like I should be intimidating someone.
Once I've taken care of that, splashed some water on my face, and in general made myself feel a little less official and a little more human, I head down to deal with the new waif on the couch. I detour through the kitchen and snag some cheese and crackers, then into the living room...
...where I do my best pole-axed steer impression for a few moments before finding my way to a chair and remembering to breathe again.
She's not just any young lady, she's a mahou shouju. She's one of those cute little girls with mystic powers, who wear magical sailor suits with thematically appropriate accessories and fight against evil and wrong. She's maybe all of seventeen, and right now she's sleeping on my couch.
I just sit there and watch her for a while. Her chest rises and falls gently with each breath. Her face is angelic in slumber, and for a short while she seems to have found peace. That can't be common in her line of work.
"Hearth spirit."
"Yes, Domitor?"
"If anyone troubles her, destroy them utterly. Contact me regardless of success."
"Yes, Domitor."
"Dismissed."
I get up, carrying the miraculously unspilled cheese and crackers, and go back into the kitchen. No need to wake her. It's been a long and tiring day, after all. I'll just eat my snack and make an early night of it.
now I wonder which magical girl that is, or is it an original? interesting enough so far. Somehow I'm picturing the hearth spirit looking somewhat like an anime pale-robot-girl-in-lots-of-black-lace not sure where that comes from.
E: "Did they... did they just endorse the combination of the JSDF and US Army by showing them as two lesbian lolicons moving in together and holding hands and talking about how 'intimate' they were?"
B: "Have you forgotten so soon? They're phasing out Don't Ask, Don't Tell."
Chobits maybe?Those who fear the darkness have never seen what the light can do.
Well, two things he wrote:
She looks about 17 and she's at peace, which is rare for her line of work.
So...some suppositions:
She's been in the "business" for quite some time and survived. That means either extremely lucky or already has the experience of a veteran, or both.
Of course, she could only "look" 17, in which case she might be a magical "woman" rather than a girl.
So..is she solo or part of a group?
where is her familiar?
__________________
Into terror!, Into valour!
Charge ahead! No! Never turn
Yes, it's into the fire we fly
And the devil will burn!
- Scarlett Pimpernell
the magical girl is original to this story. Actually, everyone except one-sentence cameos is original to the story, though they do borrow heavily from genre tropes. Other details will be filled in as the story continues, or won't as the case may be. Our man Vincent isn't big on gratuitous description. Speaking of which...
----------
Dreams... dreams are wonderful things. You can do whatever you want, without hurting anyone else, and without upsetting anyone at all. I love dreams. As for telling you what my dreams are? Not a chance. They are mine. You cannot have them.
The raucous blaring of the alarm clock wrests me from blessed slumber. I hate mornings. I could go into loving detail about the degree of that hatred, but for now, I will leave it simple. I hate mornings. Apparently, however, the alarm clock is not moved by my feelings on the matter. It continues to buzz. Snarling, I crawl over far enough to turn the bloody thing off with a flailing limb and struggle out of bed. It is an accomplishment, and I am tempted to declare victory and go back to sleep, save for one thing. Breakfast. Most important meal of the day, breakfast. Best consumed within half an hour of first waking. Breakfast will save me. I pull on the uniform and stumble down toward the kitchen. Mmm... breakfast. Wait, wait, hold on a moment. There is something wrong. There is a cheerful singing in my kitchen. My kitchen does not sing. My spirits do not sing. I live alone. Who is singing in my kitchen?
The last of the cobwebs flees my mind as I drop into combat readiness. I am calm, decisive and prepared. I am, if need be, death itself. I have no fear.
"Hearth spirit."
"Yes, Domitor?"
"Who is in my kitchen?"
"It is your new waif, Domitor. She woke at sunrise."
"I see. Thank you, Hearth spirit. You may go."
I can skip breakfast today. It's not that big a deal.
I greet my vehicular spirit, get into the car and head out. I've gotten out the driveway about 15 minutes earlier than usual, from skipping the bit of my morning ritual that involves food, and it actually cuts 5 to 10 minutes off the driving time. I'll have to remember that. I spend some of those spare moments after parking in picking up a smoked salmon with the works at the local bagel shop. I'm doing pretty good. I slept well, had a nice commute, and now I'm happily digesting a truly excellent bagel as I walk in the door, past the outermost security cordon, and through the madding bloody hordes of reporters. Of course, they all fixate on me. They always do. Part of the gig. I, in turn, must treat them in a polite and controlled fashion, in spite of the seething antipathy that I bear for them and all their kind, matured slowly over my time here. Also part of the gig. Unfortunately, the working blacks make it obvious who I am, so there's no hope of escaping unrecognized. Fortunately, they also give me other options.
"I am sorry, I have not been permitted to comment at this time. Please move aside. I'm sorry, that's classified. Please make way. You are obstructing a Customs Official in the lawful pursuit of his duties. Please do not force me to react accordingly."
I'm not real good at being friendly while in uniform, but it certainly does make some things easier. I still have to deal with their noise, but they move aside, and soon enough I am through the second security cordon and past them.
I'm inside, and I head to the dispatch desk to check in. I ask Marie what sector I'm covering today, and she tells me that I need to see the Boss. It's not a happy "see the Boss" either. Right, then. I head off to face my doom.
The boss is at his desk, running paperwork, and puts it to one side so that he can see to my business immediately. That's worrisome. The Boss gives you more and more priority as the jobs get worse and worse. He starts by talking to me about the rogue.
"First of all, I thought you should know, it wasn't your fault. He came through Omega gate 5."
Omega gate 5? I've never heard of an Omega gate 5. I've never heard of an Omega gate anything. My confusion shows plainly on my face.
"It's a classified, and you've just gotten need-to-know. The Omega gates are gates that, for one reason or another, aren't connected to the Concourse. They're all classified for one reason or another, and you're not cleared for any of the others, so don't even ask. Omega 5 is our Hell-world gate. It's designed to attract the worst of the demonic incursions into kill-zones so that they don't overrun any of the friendly realms. It's also nice because we can deal with them in places that don't have any civilians."
"Sounds...pleasant."
"Worst duty in the force. That's the problem. The team we had down there was too good. They worked too well together for us to break them up. We left them down there too long, and they've started to snap under the strain. Now we have to get replacements down there stat so we can pull them out and let them get started on the psychological restructuring. Congratulations. Your danger pay just tripled."
I sat in the chair and blinked for a bit.
"No way to decline?"
"Needs of the Force. Still, it's not quite as bad as it sounds. We're trying to avoid having the same problems this time around. You'll be on a day on, day off schedule, alternating between working with them down there and light duty on the Concourse with me. Hopefully it'll help keep you sane, and if you do start to go, we'll have people around who know you well enough that we can tell."
"Uhhh... thanks. I think. Still, I guess that's a lot better than it could have been. Okay. I'm in. Tell me where to go and how to get there, and I'm gone."
He hands me an envelope, and I go.
-------------
Oh - and any sort of critique anyone might be able to come up with would be helpful. If there's something odd or wrong or whatever, I want to know, and I've been over the story enough times myself that I'm not likely to find anything under my own power.
I can't see anything really wrong myself. There are a few things that I would change myself, but I'm sure that can be chalked up to differences in writing styles.
Black Aeronaut Technologies Group
Aerospace Solutions for the discerning spacer
"To the commissary we should go," Yoda declared firmly. "News
of this kind a danish requires."
Actually I think it's very good.
It does remind me a little of "The case of the Toxic Spell Dump" over at Baen - but only in the way there's technomancy involved...and ye olde grumpy inspectors
![[Image: smile.gif]](http://www.ezboard.com/intl/aenglish/images/emoticons/smile.gif)
I think what I like best is that it reads like a new Manga... but isn't. And isn't recycling plot ideas from other Manga.
...Worst thing about Manga/anime is that really they're all very alike in setting and character. Your story is managing to be very Manga without being a rehash of... 'super techno-magic people with angst ridden issues fight each other and bad guys a lot with random sexual innuendo for variety' ...
...well, so far anyway
Raphael
I gotta agree. This is both original and damn good, and I wanna see more of it. Can't think of any negative comments.
Well...okay, the formatting sorta gets to me...no line breaks or indents between paragraphs, makes it slightly harder to read.
But that's just me, and it's a seperate issue from the quality of the story. Which is great.
-- Acyl
Side thing - I may be having a bit of difficulty with the next bit, but I've got a fair block after already written. Would you prefer to wait and see it all in order, or jump around a little?
Well, I figured out the problem I'd been having, and mostly it was that the direction I was going in was a little off from the directin I wanted to be going in. So, I'm going to have to replace a it of what you've already read.
Also, since I just wrote this, I won't have the non-printing character translation error problem I'd had before. Might as well toss you the entire thing. It is also the case that since I just wrote this it hasn't been gone over nearly as much as the rest. Please bring any editorial stuff to my attention - especially if this doesn't flow well with the narrative before (or after).
So, after a short rewind...
------------------
"First of all, I thought you should know, it wasn't your fault. He came through Omega gate 5."
Omega gate 5? I've never heard of an Omega gate 5. I've never heard of an Omega gate anything. My confusion shows plainly on my face.
"It's a classified, and you've just gotten need-to-know. The Omega gates are gates that, for one reason or another, aren't connected to the Concourse. They're all classified for one reason or another, and you're not cleared for any of the others, so don't even ask. Omega 5 is our Hell-world gate. It's designed to attract the worst of the demonic incursions into kill-zones so that they don't overrun any of the friendly realms. It's also nice because we can deal with them in places that don't have any civilians."
"Sounds...pleasant. So how in the Kings Realms did this guy manage to sleaze the teleport wards? If this gate is really that ugly there's no way you'ld have anything less than the best."
"You're right. We had the best wards that magic could bind. They were strong enough to bounce demigods, and even slow mid-range godlings. We had wards that were more than sufficient."
"Boss? Boss. That was the past tense. Why were you speaking in the past tense, Boss?"
"We left the last team down there too long. They were too effective, too good at what they did, and we didn't want to pull them. It cost them too heavily in psychological damage, though, and there was no one there to see. Their lives were fraying around the edges, and the mage on the team was a Priest of the Kind Ones."
I bury my face in my hands. "Oh, no. Don't tell me. Let me guess..."
"He wove a fate-shield."
"Of course he did. And, of course, to make it strong enough to matter for a place like that...."
"He tied it into the wards."
"And the strain of denied fate built up until there were enough holes to teleport through."
"And now we need you to lance the boil."
"And now you need me to lance the boil. Of course you do. What's happening with the priest?"
"He betrayed his oath to the Force. He's out. He's also suffering some severe karmic backlash from the Divine for using his powers in a way that has harmed others. We're remanding him to his temple with a Lesser Dishonorable, with a review for cleansing upon request of the head of his order, for once the debt's been worked off. No further punishment."
Surprising, for something akin to high treason. "You're letting him off awful light."
"We never should have left them down there that long in the first place. It doesn't excuse, but it is extenuating."
I nod. I may not agree with them on this particular case, but it's good to have leadership that can accept responsibility every once in a while. He fills me in on the details.
This thing has to be done in cycles. For one thing, they know my limits, and know that there's no way I'll be able to run this little game without recovery time. For another, they want the opportunity to reinforce the wards in between draining sessions. I'll be on a steady team, specially selected for the purpose from various other teams in the Force. We'll come on as a team, we'll go off as a team, and we'll have light duty on the days we aren't in the pit. For pit days we'll have something close to a traditional eight-hour shift, with initial plan being twice a week. He'd like to pretend we're getting a luch break, but that would be silly. We're getting ration bars instead. My shift will be starting in half an hour, and the rest of the team will be there ten minutes prior. It's not like they'd want to show up *after* me, after all. My job is to keep going as long as I can, doing what I do, and theirs is to take advantage of the situation. He gives me a special code for the restricted teleporter, and a chit for the armorer and I'm on my way.
The armorer is a bit of a gun freak, and a little repressed. He has all of these beautiful *toys*, you see, and he never gets to let anyone *use* them. I pass my chit across the table, and his face lights up like it's Stone's Day.
What do you know? It *is* Stone's Day. He asks a few probing questions about my fighting style, digs around in the back a bit, and comes out with a thing of beauty. It's a short-barreled belt-fed automatic shotgun. He loads with hellstoppers. He takes a look at my paired Godhammers, and nods approvingly before handing me an infinity clip for each - one with awakened silver, the other with magebane steel. My eyebrows raise. That *can't* be cheap. He takes a look at my attuned fighting knife, and admits that he can't come up with anything better, but tries to make up for it by offering me grenades. I cough, and remind him that I'll mostly be fighting in melee, and he gives it up. Finally, he asks me if there's anything I can think of, anything at all, that I might want.
"Honestly? I'm a bit worried about the shotgun. It's a lovely peice of equipment and all, but I'll be spending most of my time in melee, or near-melee. What the heck am I supposed to do with it when I'm knife-fighting?"
His eyes light up, and he scurries off into the back again, only to return with a pair of iron rings. One goes on my right hand, one goes on the shotgun, he places his hands on both, and invokes a bit of the Enchanter's Art. Following instructions, I grasp the pistol-grip with one hand, then will it away. The shotgun goes away. I will it back again. It comes back again. He offers to get me some armorweave, but I turn him down. Honestly, it'd just slow me down, and it'd burn off way to quick to be useful.
I giggle all the way over to the telepad, willing the shotgun out and back again. I'm practicing. It's important to practice new capabilities before you head into battle. It is.
The teleporter drops me off at a security desk, and the guard there wastes no time in directing me to a nearby vault lock. I guess they know I was coming. I pass through the first door and come to the second. There, I take my time on one last full check before I hit the pressure plate. There sure won't be time after. I almost... I almost feel it. Then the door cycles, and I'm through. Then I do feel it. There is a dam here - a holding back of fate, and my presence is making it fray. My fellows are watchfully waiting, each following their own techniques to stay more or less alert without growing bored. A few of them look up, sensing something. Then the dam springs a leak, and a quicklly-widening river of the stuff of fate starts pouring through my core. Half the room turns to look at me, ranging from mild confusion to near-awe. The other half doesn't even notice. I laugh.
"All right!" I holler. "Everybody up! Showtime!"
Ten seconds later, the breach alarms start going off, and portals start spawning at the far end of the room, pumping out hords of unknown uglies. I hear a startled voice from behind. "How the hell did he do that?"
I smile, and get ready to do my job.
It's ugly work. It's ugly, ugly work. I kill with the shotgun. I kill with my pistols. I kill with my knife and with my bare hands. Still, that's not the important bit. The important bit is that while I'm kiling I scream and threaten and ridicule and stand in the middle of the bloody room and light up on magesight like a phosphorus grenade and Momma Fate keeps pouring that dammed-up randomness through me and reality goes all pear-shaped where I'm at. It's just who I am. Every single magic-sensitive creature who walks, hops, slithers or crawls through those portals immediately identifies me as the biggest threat in the room, and does their damndest to take me out. Hundreds of hostile spells home in on my position, only to find at the last moment that they just don't care enough to stick to me, and they're a little too far from home to stick around. Hundreds of hostile warrior-types try to attack me and I dance the chaos dance. Do you know how to fight when the laws of probability turn into vague guidelines? I do. Momma Fate loves her baby boy, yes she does. I fight for hours, and I kill by the dozens, but while the enemy is focused on me, every one of my compatriates is killing by the hundreds. If we're lucky, we get five to ten minutes to breathe between assaults. It's glorious, and I'm running on the rush.
Then, finally, the rush isn't enough. I start to slip a little. I start to burn out. The flesh wounds I'm taking stop sealing up by themselves, and then I take a hit to the head, and then one of the clawed things punches a hole through my chest. That's going to leave a mark. I start to backpedal, coughing up blood. It's not a short distance back to the lines, but I've had to go further with worse injures before, and a few shots from the pistol - for cover, now, not effect - manage to slow up my closest pursuers just enough for the cannon crew to take them out. The medic catches me, and starts to call up a healing effect.
"No, dammit." I hiss. "Out of the room. Get me out of the room." She freezes for a moment and I fix her with the stare. Normally it doesn't work on other agents, but she's just seem me at my best, burning with chaos, and it works on her. Works well enough, anyway. I can hear the door hissing open as I black out.
I come to again just outside the security desk. I guess the medic took me seriously. The head wound is all fixed up, whatever it was. The hole in my chest has been healed, and yep, there's the scar. I'm actually feeling pretty good, for a guy who's just woken up from battle injuries. I start to sit up, and then the last of that rush fades, and I collapse back down again.
First, my body seizes up. Then every major muscle group in my body, and most of the minors burst into pain. It starts as a simple full-body ache, and quickly ascends to sheer agony. I make a little keening noise - all I can do with my mouth and vocal cords locked like they are. Then I hear footsteps - footsteps going away from me - and the sprinklers come on and drench me with cold, cold water, so as the pain starts to fade I have cold, wet, and shivering to take over for it. My keening subsides to a sort of pathetic whimper.
I... I don't *like* withdrawal.
Then that stage, the cold and wet and shivering and not as much but still quite a lot of pain stage, that takes a while to go away. I lie on the floor, cold and alone and miserable, and I wait. Half an hour or so after the sprinklers started going off, the outer door to the Bad Place opens up, and the medic comes out, and sees me. There are shocked and horrified apologies. For myself, I am not shocked and the apologies don't mean much, but I'm not in a state to actually communicate any of this, so I don't. I just lie there miserably until they manage to bring me a blanket and a warm drink and the medic starts to heal what's wrong with my body again. The occasional whimpers fade. The sobbing begins.
I've just been in there killing people. For hours. I was killing actual, living, thinking people, and I was enjoying it. I was laughing. It was *fun*. It's even my job. I kill people for a living, and for no better reason than that their portal came out the wrong place. I killed them by the dozens, and by the thousands I helped them die. I killed them and I mocked them while I was doing it, and I stood in front of them and I dared them to kill me. I stood there on the razor's edge and danced with imminent death over and over and over again. I could have died in there, and I paid no attention to it whatsoever, and one day it's going to kill me. Heck, with the scedule we've got set up down in this hell-hole, there's a good chance that "one day" is going to be some time this month. My body is wracked by self-loathing and fear, and I cry like a broken man.
I really, *really* don't like withdrawal.
I cry until I'm exhausted, until I just lie there panting on the floor, and then I lie there for a while longer. When I finally manage to look up, the medic is beside me, just waiting. I cough.
"Sorry about that."
Wow, that hurt.
She puts a finger to my lips, and then runs a hand along my throat. I feel the tingle of her magic, and then the pain just goes away.
I love the healing arts.
She tries to apologize back. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you like that. I..."
I cut her off with a gesture. "It's not what you think. It's the price of doing business. I took a little too much from the hand of fate, and she had to balance the scales. I knew something like this would happen. Don't worry about it. How did things go after I left?"
She told me. After I quit the field, the enemy turned to assault the rest of the team in force, but the team had been ready for it, and had beat them back. The medic herself had managed to make it back through the portals in time to account for a good number of the creatures - she was a devotee of the balancer, and drew the life that healed us out of them. I fiddled around a bit. My life-flows didn't *feel* any different, so it was probably okay. They had beaten back three waves before the enemy finally broke, and the three other mid/close combat specialists had all taken injuries that required her help. After that, though, the portals had stopped. They'd just stopped dead, and it had been calm for the last half-hour. Then the relief shift had come in, and our time was over, and wouldn't I like to head home?
------------------
So, Response? Thoughts? Criticisms" (I'd love to get concrit if anyone has any.) Simple confirmation that people are still reading this and would like to read more?
Only thing I can think of is a little more explanation of what exactally a Fate Shield is, unless your hiding that for plot reasons.
Also, I found it kinda odd that he just took off in the morning without talking to his houseguest.--
Jimmy Hendrix is calling me! He's telling me to defeat Klingons! CAPTAIN PICARD!
--
If you become a monster to put down a monster you've still got a monster running around at the end of the day and have as such not really solved the whole monster problem at all.
>Boss? Boss. That was the past tense. Why were you speaking in the past tense, Boss?"
the Boss? Boss. is a little akward esspecially with the third boss at the end.
Maybe:
>Boss? That was the past tense. Why were you speaking in the past tense, Boss?"
>I giggle all the way over to the telepad, willing the shotgun out and back again. I'm practicing. It's important to practice new capabilities before you head into battle. It is.
I almost believe him.
a bit puxuled about the character in general, but intrigued enough to keep on reading. It's good stuff.
E: "Did they... did they just endorse the combination of the JSDF and US Army by showing them as two lesbian lolicons moving in together and holding hands and talking about how 'intimate' they were?"
B: "Have you forgotten so soon? They're phasing out Don't Ask, Don't Tell."
- on the "Boss? Boss." thing - well, I don't see the awkwardness, but then, I know how it's supposed to sound in my head. It works about as well either way for me, so I'll go with your suggestion.
- puzzlement on the character - part of the style I'm trying to run this with is to vaguely hint at lots of deeper underlying foo. So, really, part of the point is the slow unfolding of character. If the feeling is that you don't know everything you might want to know and are curious, that's good. If the feeling is that something seems to contradict, that's bad, and I'd like to know more detail. If the feeling is that you don't know everything you might want to know and are annoyed - well, I'm not quite sure how to fix that, but I'd be interested in hearing a bit more in-depth on the problem.
- Fate Shield - partially as above, but also goes into some of the deep metaphysics. I actually feel a bit as if my problem was going into too *much* detail here - there's enough that it breaks past the "That's odd. I wonder what's up with that?" feel, but not enough to explain, and I feel like it'd be easier and more in keeping to go with less rather than more. On the other side, this is being told in a fairly character-driven narrative, by a character who pretty much assumes that you know as much about the world as he does, so there's not really *going* to be any in-depth discussions. (Believe me, if I let him turn into exposition boy, there'll be nothing *but* in-depth discussions. I'm sorta like that.)
The actual explanation as follows: (skip past if you don't want to be spoiled).
So, first of all, you have to know about Reality. Reality is basically your ability to insist that the world works like you think it does, rather than like the other guy thinks it does. Dimensions have reality, people have reality, and certain places of power have reality. Planes with more reality tend to breed people with more reality, and people (as always) vary. If you're a spellcaster trying to throw around magic not native to the plane, and the plane has more reality than you do, you won't be able to do much with it If you're a spellcaster throwing magic at someone who doesn't believe in or agree with your particular brand of magic and they have more r-factor than you do, they'll tend to shrug it off (though there's certainly a degree of home-plane advantage here.) Vincent's home plane, Erath, has a fairly high R-factor, due to its importance in transdimensional trade and its habit of luring in, soaking up and destroying demonic invasions. Vincent, in turn, has one ofthe highest R-factors on the plane. He's got the highest in the Force by a fair margin. This is handy, because it means he can soak up hostile magic like there's no tomorrow and laugh about it. It also makes him more generally durable, and, at his level, gives him a small degree of healing factor. If he'd had the intelligence to go with that R-factor, he'd have made a terrifying combat mage. As it is, he managed to scrape a BA in spiritmastery with a lot of hard work and a solid B+ average, and devotes most of his efforts to improving himself in the physical realm. CustSec doesn't mind that one bit.
Now, Reality has another effect. In particular, unusual stuff happens. In this world, however, randomness doesn't happen randomly. Rather, warps and strains in probability form over time more in some places, less in others, untill the pressure gets high enough, something odd happens and they get released. Having someone with a strong R-factor pass by is like poking at them - the chance that the odd thing happens right then, to them, goes way up. A Fate-shield works exactly the opposite way - it shores up the strength of the local probability field so that the stresses don't burst through - at least, not until they get to be too strong for the shield. Since demonic invasions are a little on the unusual side, this meant that the shield over Omega-5 made them happen a lot less frequently - but that the shield was straining under the weight pretty quickly too. By now there's enough of a strain on it that they *can't* just take it down - they don't know what would happen, except that it'd be bad. Thus, they bring in our friend Vincent, to poke a little hole in the shield for a while, and try to drain it off, bit by bit.
So, given that, do you have any suggestions on what more to include as explanations? Maybe a few descriptions to swap around or nomenclatures to change up, so as to make it intuitive enough not to jar? Perhaps a bit to take out so as to reduce the confusion? I'm all ears.
Oh, and did anyone figure out any of this on their own?
I'd say just toss in a line about how it it warps probability to make demonic invasions less likely and your good to go.--
Jimmy Hendrix is calling me! He's telling me to defeat Klingons! CAPTAIN PICARD!
--
If you become a monster to put down a monster you've still got a monster running around at the end of the day and have as such not really solved the whole monster problem at all.
Okay. Took out the phrase "Fate shield" and put in something a little more explanatory. The conversation flows more or less the same, but it should be easier to understand. Thanks for the suggestion. Works well. Next block as follows. Longish one this time.
--------------------------
I turn back in all the gear I'd drawn from the armorer, exchange the remnants of my unifrom for a new one, and stumble out to my vehicle. I'm better, but I'm not great. The emotional suck is still there, even if it's more annoyance now than anything else, and I manage to bang into a truly impressive number of protruding surfaces on my way to the parking garage. I give her a grumpy hello, fire her up, and head straight into the snarl of traditional rush-hour traffic. I hate my life. Then some blighted half-brain cuts me off and I get within about three heartbeats of blowing away whatever he's got left in there before I forcibly calm myself down, and remind myself that it would only make the commute worse. Forget it. The saved time just isn't worth the stress. I dump about ten miles an hour and hit the side roads. I start, ever so slowly, to relax.
It's just not my week for relaxing in the car.
"You know, Domitor, you're going to have to speak with her sometime."
"What? Kiura?"
"The new waif. You can't avoid her forever, you know, and if you keep trying, she's going to start thinking that you object to her presence somehow."
"It's not that. I..."
"I know. She doesn't. I can't tell her. You have to. Soon."
"Hey! Wait a second! Since when do you have the right to tell me how to run my social life? We have a contract. It specifies my duties and your duties. Kibitzing ain't on it."
"Given the way you botched the ritual last night, I have the right to do whatever I damn well please, 'Domitor'. Technically, our contract was terminated for failure to deliver on your part. New Moon, remember? I was supposed to get a Lesser Communion, not some weak attempt at a Parting. Fortunately for you, I happen to like you, and I've been doing my part anyway."
I blanch. She's...
"Keep your eyes on the road! I can do a hell of a lot for you, and I have, in spite of how it might look to the Iron King. Hell, I'm riding herd on three loose wires and a cranky brake system as we speak, but I can't do a thing to save you if you get into an accident under your own power. Got it?"
I manage to avoid wrapping myself around a tree. I start breathing again. "Got it."
"Now, I didn't want to bring this up just yet, because I know you're having a rough time of it right now, but given that it's already out in the open, it'd be real nice to negotiate a new contract sooner, rather than later. I'd rather not let this situation get back to the wrong ears, and I certainly don't want to wither away for lack of binding. Whaddaya say, hmmm?"
Her voice makes it quite clear that this is not, in fact, a question. "Sounds like a plan."
"In the meantime, lets just get home without killing either one of us. After that, I think that you really need to sit down and have a little chat with the poor young thing. I do know why you've been avoiding her, but I don't care. Telling her might be nice, but even if you don't, you better at least talk with her a bit. Got it?"
"Got it."
"Gooood."
I'm still sweating. I'm still driving. Oh, Allfather, I'm still driving.
One nerve-wracking hour later, I pull into the driveway.
I park the car, and turn off the engine. I take off my seat belt. I open the door and calmly step out. I close the door behind me. No outward signs of fear. Never show outward signs of fear anywhere you might be seen, particularly not in uniform. I perform for her the rather ornate ritual of gratitude and supplication, using the small quantity of Primal Iron that I'd been keeping in the glove compartment for just such a contingency. I make absolutely certain to do every part of it exactly right, with all the optional flourishes. Then I bandage my left hand, and make my way over to the house, a bit lightheaded.
Behind me, I could swear I hear giggles.
The drained and battered form of my hearth spirit meets me at the door.
"Domitor. Forgive me. I have failed you." She begins to fade away.
Kings be thrice damned! I hastily sketch an icon of binding in the air, and staple what's left of her to this plane of existence. It's ugly, it's brutal, and I hear that being on the receiving end it hurts like hell, but there's no way that I'm about to let her die. I tear the bandage back off, as harshly as I can. Blood still flows. Good.
"Drink."
"But, Domitor..." Her voice is a whisper, the words costing her real effort.
"Drink, Hethia. By the contract that binds us together, I compel you."
What is left of her coalesces painfully around my wound, and the blood that drips from me is slowly drained away. I feel a tingle as for a second time, the two of us are connected by the Primal Covenant. And if it happens for the third and final? Well, she's competent, polite, and loyal. It wouldn't be so bad. After a time, she regains something close to her earlier form and releases her hold. I bandage the wound once more. I even manage to stay on my feet.
"Are you well?"
"I can resume my duties."
"Can you maintain?"
"I can maintain."
"All right, then."
I release the power of the icon, and though she wavers briefly, she manages to keep her form. I pause a moment that we might both catch our metaphorical breaths.
"Hearth spirit. I greet you. I have returned to my home, and would have your report."
"Domitor. I greet you. Be welcome. I must regretfully report that I have failed you. I await your judgment."
"True judgment cannot act without understanding. What are the circumstances?"
"A wielder of arcane magics troubled your waif while she was on the premises and as per your orders I sought to destroy him. He crippled me and departed with the girl. As per your orders, I sought to contact you, and found that I had not the remaining wherewithal. I failed in both tasks, and I await judgment."
"I will not punish you for failing at a task beyond your ability. Determine what you would have required to succeed at each task and inform me at the earliest convenient moment. That is all that I require. Have you aught else to report?"
"No, Domitor. The day has otherwise been peaceful." She pauses. "You are... very kind."
The last is spoken so softly that I can barely hear it. I pretend that I have not.
"Good. I intend to enter and spend an hour in recovery and preparation. At the end of that hour, I intend to hunt this magician. At that time, you are to give me all information you can acquire on him, particularly with respect to where he might be now. Understood?"
"Understood, Domitor. By thy will, so it is done."
I stumble inside. Sometimes I hate being so damned Real.
Exactly one hour later, I'm at the door, showered, fed, back in the blacks and equipped with a few surprises from my toy chest. I've taken two iron pills and about a gallon of OJ. I almost feel up to par.
"Hethia. Talk to me. What do we have on this guy?"
"He's foreign, Domitor, of the same plane as your waif. He has displayed the ability to fly; counter, deflect, and disrupt my powers; throw chaos lightning on par with a shotgun of R-factor 3; and compel and control the girl through dark incantation. The process looked unpleasant. He was last seen heading west, and there are sorcerous emanations from about twelve miles that direction that are consistent with what I sensed off of him here. The tracer I placed on the girl has been dispelled, presumably after discovery."
"Check. What's his legal status?"
"Nonexistent, Domitor. He appears to be the rogue who arrived yesterday. I have not yet informed the authorities."
Twice is merely coincidence. I get that happy little tingle, all up and down my spine.
"I see. Thank you, Hethia. You have done well. If I do not return before dawn, contact the enforcement division and tell them everything you can. Otherwise, there is no need to waste their valuable time. Dismissed."
Time for a little after-hours work.
It's a good day... no... it's a great day for a walk. Unfortunately, twelve miles is a bit far to hike, particularly since I really, really don't want to give him time to get away. So, biting the bullet...
"Grand and glorious spirit of vehicular travel, I would humbly request of you a boon."
"Oh, wow! Not just the major ritual of gratitude, but an actual full Boon? This is so cool. Okay, whaddaya want?"
"A man has done me many injuries, and I burn with a desire for vengeance. He lies twelve miles from here, and I fear that I cannot catch him without aid. I pray that you will assist me in hunting him, and in returning here with one he has taken from me."
She pauses for a moment, likely communing with Hethia. She pales.
"Woah. Right... this is deep. Umm... yeah, okay. Granted. I shall aid you in this to the utmost of my ability, until his body lies unmoving, his heart beats no more, and you and yours are returned here safe. In return... what the hell do I ask for? In return, you are bound to forge with me a new contract, before the sun rises thrice, including first Covenant."
I close my eyes for a moment. Right. So be it. At a time like this, what's a bit more blood between friends?
"My thanks for your assistance in this hour of need, Great spirit."
The door pops open by itself, and I slide in. The shades go on, the engine starts, and the two of us go hunting.
Nine miles in, the shadows start to flux and flow around us. By the tenth mile, they've coalesced into shadowfiends, and look like they're about to attack. Something's going on here that I don't understand. That's bad. On the bright side, I've just given Kiura two deity-level rituals in quick succession, and we're within the influence of one of them. If I'm lucky, she'll be able to tap into a bit of omniscience.
"Kiura, where did he manage to pull together enough power to draw up dark minions on short notice? That's supposed to take weeks without a Gate."
Kiura swerves to avoid a diving Thing, and I pop the sunroof, getting my sidearms ready.
"For major manifestations, maybe, but a hole's good enough for creatures like these."
I rise up, and take a seemingly suicidal position, feet braced on the front seats, body up through the sunroof, facing backwards.
"A hole, okay, fine, a hole, but still, there aren't any holes around here. Haven't been since the Forbidding."
As I say that, I see my first shot and take it. I miss, but barely, and it gives us some breathing room. Thank the Kings we're not in a residential area anymore.
"Weren't any holes, Domitor. Past tense. Now there is one, just a couple of miles away, and it's growing bigger."
One of them dives at me. I duck as best I can and curse as Kiura's swerving slams me against the side of the sunroof. I manage to put three rounds into its chest before it can pull away, though, and it drops, unraveling, to the pavement. The others shy back.
"Right. No time for distractions, then. Where is he?"
"He's in the abandoned factory coming up to your left, but it'll take time to lose these guys, and longer to take them out."
She's right. There are fifteen of them now. No time.
"Got it. Lure as many of them with you as you can and take them somewhere for someone else to kill. I'm gone."
I holster my weapons, boost out through the sunroof, and try to aim for something soft. I miss. Her protests trail away as she keeps going, and I push to my feet in time to catch four of them who came to investigate me before they get in claw distance.
I'm battered, I'm bruised, and there are four of them, but the rune is already in my hand as I come up. I speak its Name. Searing light erupts from the stone in my palm, and the four around me follow their brother into nothingness. The bound spirit of Cleansing is released and departs, singing for joy. I hadn't wanted to use that one so soon, but if the perp has a Hole, than I have no time. I run.
The first door I come to is locked, wooden, and rotted. Busting through it barely slows me. I don't have a clue to the layout of the place, but by now I'm close enough to the reality-warp that he's working that I can track it by the wrongness. I make my way past rusting hulks of ancient machinery, too out of date to be worth running or refurbishing. The robotic dog market never quite took off like they'd hoped.
I'm moving as quickly as I think I can afford to, quiet as I can. I don't hope to surprise him. It's far too late for that, but there's a lot of cover around here, and if I make much noise, It'll be way too easy for him to surprise me. I'm keeping my movements quiet and my ears peeled. Finally, I turn a corner and I see the twisting mass of the Hole. The girl is in front of it, chained to the floor, and there's some sort of an energy conduit connecting them, draining her. There's a spot just opposite hers where the perp is obviously supposed to be, and it's empty.
And that's when he hits me in the back with a major stream of Chaos Lightning.
The cloth of the Uniform, ragged and torn from my brush with the road, burns off immediately. The spellweave underneath lasts a little while longer, but this kind is meant as a one-shot to save you when you didn't expect to get hit at in the first place. We don't get to take the good stuff home. It shreds under the continued assault, and the magics start clawing at my skin. My shoes explode. Even as me, this hurts, which means that the hole or the ritual or both have seriously boosted his power, because there's no way that that's just R-factor 3, and it's more of a plasma beam than a shotgun. Still, that's okay, because I have my next little toy out, and this one doesn't even take a verbal. I reach my hand into the stream and open my spastically clenching fingers. A spirit of Karma is released to go back home, and that means that Asshole gets to ride the lightning. He doesn't seem to like it any more than I did. I close in on him as soon as I can get enough control over my limbs, and I get my hands on him as soon as he stops doing his light bulb impression.
You know, I should keep him alive, for questioning, or for trial, or something.
I should, but I won't.
I pick up his spastically twitching body at the shoulders and decorate a support beam with the contents of his head.
And then it hits me. I've just killed a man while he was under the fading effects of a Karma spirit. Specifically, a Karma spirit that I threw at him, and one that didn't have any real reason to like me.
And that's why I stand, muscles twitching spastically, unable to move as a surging stream of darkness pours out of his body into my own. It pours out of his dead heart into mine, leaping through the air and flesh and bone in between, and then into my bloodstream, where it flows into every part of me, and anchors in hard.
Imagine for a moment that every drop of blood in your body has suddenly been changed into acid. Imagine that feeling. It felt just like that, but good. I'd have been a lot happier if it hadn't felt good.
I drop to one knee. Right. I've just been infected by something huge and dark, and I already burned Cleansing on those creatures outside. Thay's not good, but I don't have time to deal with it right now. I'll fight it off later. I pull myself back up, and turn toward the Hole once more. It looks a little larger, and it's still draining the girl. Time for the obvious fix. I stumble over to her, pulling out the last of my three general purpose runes. I hate to burn them like this. They take way too long to make, but she looks like she's fading, and I have no idea how long she has left. I hold it in one hand, and thrust the other into the conduit. The connection breaks, withers, and is gone. The Hole starts to close. Okay, I get one good break this trip. Freedom goes back in the pocket, unused, and I manage to catch my poor, abused waif before she hits the ground. This week has not been kind.
She looks up at me, caught in my arms, still chained to the floor. She manages a weak smile, and I can't imagine how. I must look pretty frightful by this point.
"You came. You actually came."
Then she passes out, still chained, still in my arms, still smiling. She's amazingly cute like that.
I slump to the floor, still holding her, and just watch her for a while. I want... No. There is too much to do. I set her down gently, and look for a way to free her.
Twenty minutes later, the Hole is gone, the chains are broken, I've cleaned up the evidence, and I've recovered everything that looks like it might still be magically useful. That's the good news. On the other side, I'm stripped to the waist, I'm armed, I'm wearing a set of combat long johns that will never be regulation again, I have no shoes, and I'm carrying an unconscious teenage girl who still has manacles with short chains hanging from her wrists and ankles. It's not a good day for a walk.
I don't have to walk. I reach into my spirit links and touch the Boon that Kiura granted me. Five minutes later, she shows up. I lay the girl carefully in the back, and we head home. Twenty minutes later, we are home. Twenty minutes after that, sleep. Blessed sleep.
The raucous blaring of the alarm clock wrests me from blessed slumber. I hate mornings. I throw a flailing arm over far enough to turn the damned thing off, and then take a moment to consider my situation. My car's spirit is unbound, I have a waif who's probably still suffering some ill effects, and probably shouldn't be left alone, and there is a strange extraplanar thing living in my flesh. Okay. This qualifies. I reach for the phone.
"Hey, Marie. I'm really sorry, but I gotta call in sick today."
"Is that a you wanna call in sick, or a you gotta call in sick? I know that yesterday took a lot out of you, but...."
"I know. It's not that. It's really a long story. Do you want the true explanation that will make you happy, or the true explanation that will tell you what's really going on?"
"Today? Today, just make me happy."
"I got some sort of freaky infection, and I don't really know what caused it. Right now, I don't think I'm safe to drive. I'm gonna stay home and try to fight it off, and if that fails I'll find some way to come in so the docs can look at me."
"Fair enough. Whatever special assignment it was won't need you for today or tomorrow. How likely do you think you are to have everything fixed by Fire's day?"
"Fire's day? I'll be as well as I'm likely to get. I'll be in to work at that point one way or the other in any case. Oh, and tell the boss that the rogue that got through the other day isn't going to be a problem any more."
"I... right. I should ask, but I don't want to know. Just one thing. Is that an absolute confirm?"
"Severe trauma to the head followed by the appearance of death. Seperation of head and heart. Destruction by fire of both pieces. I'm about as sure as I can get."
"Check. Rest well, then. I'll explain it to the boss."
"Marie, you are a spirit of kindness and mercy. Thanks."
That's it. We hang up, and now it's time to get on to the more challenging parts of today. Well, first things first. Breakfast. When I get downstairs, the waif is still very much asleep on the couch, so I have a bit of time. I use it. Twenty minutes later, I have the definitive breakfast spread prepped and ready. I wander in to wake her.
"Hey, sleepyhead. Time to wake up."
"Go 'way. Don't wan' train." She gamely makes the attempt to burrow further into the covers.
"No training today. It's still time to get up."
"Don't wan' fight badguys neither."
I run a quick situation check, just to be sure. "No need. No badguys here. I did make breakfast, though, if you're up to vanquishing that."
"Breakfast?" She manages to open a bleary eye at me.
"How do you feel about waffles, crushed strawberries, sausage and OJ?"
This time, both eyes open. "...umm. Okay."
A few minutes later she meanders into the kitchen, and slumps down into the seat closest to the door, just in time for the first waffle. She smiles at it dreamily for a moment, then dives in with a ferocity that's almost awe-inspiring. It's the most adorable thing I've seen in years. I keep them coming until she slows down a little, and then manage to get one for myself. Once we're both eating at normal human speeds, I figure it's time to start talking.
"Well, since I never really had a chance to say it before, welcome to the house. You are officially my guest, and under my protection."
The Wards resonate with my declaration. Admittedly, they aren't all that much, but I like to hedge my bets wherever I can. I spear a sausage.
She pinkens a little, and mumbles in thanks.
"Also, I'm going to need to know everything you can tell me about what happened yesterday, and who that guy was who grabbed you. He obviously wasn't a friend."
"Oh, umm..." She pales, and grabs for her neck, feeling across the smooth, creamy skin. She looks me straight in the eye, confusion plain upon her face.
"It's gone."
"Well, yes. It was evil magic wrapped around your neck. I didn't think you'd want to keep it."
"He said it couldn't ever be removed. Something about an eternal compact."
"Did you sign anything?"
"No."
"Did you agree to anything?"
"Well, No."
"Then it wasn't a compact that involved you. Breaking it took five minutes and a freedom rune. More OJ?"
She seems to need a bit of time to adjust. I allow it. We've got time. Finally, she speaks, looking down at her plate.
"What's... Do you know how long we have until he gets here?"
"Don't worry about that. He's dead. He won't be chasing you any more."
She looks up again, shocked. "He's dead?"
"He's dead. Dead dead. I killed him. Unless he has some external magic to bring him back to life at a distance, he won't be coming back."
She shakes her head, looking troubled, but fighting through it. "He would have, back home. I don't think he has anything here."
"Good. Do you know much about him? There's some things I need to know about what he might have been doing."
"He was my arch-enemy after he embraced the darkness. Before that, he was one of our strongest allies. I'd never imagined he would die. I couldn't... nothing we had could really kill him, so when I had the chance, I dragged him with me through the Pillar. I think he just wanted to get home, but he needed me to do that. If he'd gotten back with me there wouldn't have been anything else I could do." She shudders. "He was going to... to...."
She stops talking, but is still breathing hard. I start to get up. She coughs a couple of times, then breaks down completely and I barely get to her fast enough to keep her from hitting the floor.
I catch her awkwardly with one arm, and she latches onto it. I try... I don't know. I try to figure out what to do, but I get nothing. Eventually, I settle for just putting my free arm more or less around her and mumbling in a sort of reassuring way while the arm she's holding gets wet. It couldn't hurt. I guess it helps. It probably helps.
Eventually she calms down enough to get a bit more control of herself, or maybe she just runs out of tears. I would... well, normally I get people comfort food at times like this, but there's still a fair bit of breakfast on the table, so I sort of gesture weakly instead. She nods, and takes a deep breath, and nods again, and looks a bit better, and goes back into eating with one hand.
Half a waffle and two sausages later, I clear my throat.
"Excuse me. Could I have my arm back, please?"
"It's a nice arm. I wan' keep it. Mine."
"Yes, it is a very nice arm, but I want to keep it too, and it was mine first. Please give it back."
She sighs an enormous, put-upon sigh, gives my arm a fond kiss farewell, and lets go, diving back into the food.
"Thank you. Now, are you going to be okay?"
She freezes, and then turns her neck to look up at me with accusing red bleary eyes. She's staring at me and I'm caught and I have no idea what I just said and then she blinks and relaxes a little and sighs. "Yeah, I think so. I just... well, yeah."
"Okay. Good. Let's just forget about the bit about his plans for the moment. There's something else I need to know, about. After he died, some sort of dark energy thing left him and infected me. Can you tell me what it is? Maybe how to get rid of it?"
She gets a weird expression on her face. "You're just.... You.... No. Nevermind. You got the Dark Inheritance? That's... that's... well, I guess that makes sense, actually." Her face goes through a bunch of different emotions while she's saying this, and I don't really understad any of them, but it ends up as a funny smile, and she turns back to the food when she's done, still smiling, so I figure I can't be doing *too* badly.
"It means you're the newest Lord of Darkness. You'll probably get some pretty impressive powers out of the deal, but what you get seems to depend on who you are. There's some prophecy that applies to you now, and at least a few people who will now want to kill you in the hopes of taking your place. It means you were at least a little dark to start with, and the inheritance will want to make you darker. It'll do what you tell it to, most of the time, but it has a bit of a mind of its own, and the darker you are, the happier it is."
"What sort of prophecy? Why are you smiling?"
"It's... you might rather not know. You said you want to get rid of it, right?"
"I plan to. It sounds like it's maybe heavier on the power and lighter on the corruption than I first thought, but I don't really trust powers that have their own agenda, and I don't like the feeling that I can't trust everything that lives inside my skin."
"Well, if you do manage to get rid of it, it won't matter, and you'll be happier not knowing. If you don't, and decide to just give in and live with it, I'll tell you more. Fair enough?"
Now she's smiling like she's got a secret. I really don't understand women sometimes. Still, I understand about things you'ld rather not know. The plan works for me.
We finish the meal more or less in silence, me pondering over the implications of what she's just said, and her mostly keeping her eyes on her food and occasionally shooting me glances with the "I've got a secret" smile attached. It's.... No. No, nevermind. It is what it is. After the meal she takes over cleaning the dishes, and shoos me out of the kitchen. "You cooked, after all." All in all, it's probably a good thing. Once I'm away from her, I remember that there are *other* things that I need to be doing with my day as well.
--------------------------
This was the bulk of my saved stuff, so there's not likely to be another post quite so large ever again. Still, feedback of all sorts is welcomed, encouraged, and appreciated.
No-prize points to the first reader who figures out why Vincent was having trouble talking to the girl. Extra super double bonus no-prize points if anyone figures out the crux of the thing that the girl wasn't telling him. (I don't *think* I've left enough clues yet, but I'm willing to be proven wrong.)
I have no clue why he wouldn't want to talk to her, but her reactions to the whole inheritence thing, combined with the tropes of her genre, the existence of a prophecy and the fact that the late, great, lightning-tossing Darkmage was at least a former ally...
Hm. Is that a romance I smell cooking?
^_^
Ja, -n
(who hopes it is, as he's a sap for that sort of thing)
===============================================
"Puripuri puripuri... Bang!"
Quote:
(Bride/Groom), take you (Groom/Bride), to be my (wife/husband), to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.
I don't know why but for some reason I automatically assumed this was what you meant.Those who fear the darkness have never seen what the light can do.
Mayyyybe.
I do try to take care of my genre tropes. If you look around real close, and bear that in mind, you can probably make a few other interesting predictions.
Actually, you win a hint. The two bits I was talking about are both parts of the recipe.
I will have to insist on something a bit more specific for the no-prizes, though, or perhaps just a little clearer.
Also, in response to happery? No. That will most definately *not* be the ending. It will be a romance. It will have a happy ending. The likelihood of words even remotely like that being in the aforementioned happy ending though? Not large.
For the record, I also intend to *subvert* a few genre tropes along the way.
Quote:
If the feeling is that you don't know everything you might want to know and are curious, that's good.
It's this, though bordering on annoyance. Try adding some details, most irrelevant and others not relevant till much later to the character. Have him shave in the morning so you have some excuse for self contemplation or something, thinking about getting a haircut, wondering if they cleaned up the mess by gate 7 yet and so forth. It can easily be as puzzeling as the rest but at least we would have mnore pieces.
E: "Did they... did they just endorse the combination of the JSDF and US Army by showing them as two lesbian lolicons moving in together and holding hands and talking about how 'intimate' they were?"
B: "Have you forgotten so soon? They're phasing out Don't Ask, Don't Tell."
Quote:
"Good. I intend to enter and spend an hour in recovery and preparation. At the end of that hour, I intend to hunt this magician. At that time, you are to give me all information you can acquire on him, particularly with respect to where he might be now. Understood?"
"Understood, Domitor. By thy will, so it is done."
Geeze, and I thought they where friends. This sounds more like a drill sergant. Then again he has been through a emotional rolercoaster what 3 times now that day. I pitty him.
Good stuff, I hope you write more. The later stuff is better than the early stuff, so there has been some improvement, but I don't know what.
E: "Did they... did they just endorse the combination of the JSDF and US Army by showing them as two lesbian lolicons moving in together and holding hands and talking about how 'intimate' they were?"
B: "Have you forgotten so soon? They're phasing out Don't Ask, Don't Tell."
Actually, it's not so much what *he's* been through as what *she's* been through. About five minutes before that line, she was in the process of dissovling away into oblivion, holding on only through sheer will, so that she could report her utter failure to the guy who happens to be the focus of her existence. Not exactly a happy place. The rigid rules of the Full Formal Greeting meant that she could just give what she knew were the correct responses, and not have to actually think about what had just happened on a personal level. It gave her a bit of much-needed emotional distance.
Mind you, you do have a point. That's one of the things I should be sliding at least a better hint of into the story. There's no real reason to hide it, and no good way to introduce it later. I'll have to think about it.
Another bit.
----------------------
I perform the Morning's Greeting ritual with Hethia before leaving the house, and notice that she's looking rather better. She asks me for some insight on different tech-based security measures, and then goes back to puttering with her requirements list. I smile as I head out the door. I have a bit of a soft spot in my heart for her. I suppose, given last night, I always will.
Kiura waits in the car as I collect the ritual ingredients, and manifests on the hood as I light the last candle of the Negotiation Circle. It's not strictly necessary, but it does make things a little more straightforward. Also, I got us into this mess by ignoring the niceties. I'm not about to make that mistake on the reparations. The incense wafts between us and we haggle.
"Kiura, Child of Iron, Spirit of Travel, I, Vincent Keddington, Spiritcaller Third Class, greet you."
"Hi, Boss."
"By the Power of the Granted Boon, I am compelled to offer you a new-forged Compact, including First Covenant. Do you still wish this thing?"
"Oh, yes." A little gleam comes into her eye.
"For my part, I require what you have always given me. You will inhabit and bless a vehicle of my choosing. You will fix any problems that you can. You will compensate for any problems that you cannot fix. You will inform me before any problems occur that you cannot compensate for. You will do what you can to ensure that I remain safe at all times while within your domain, and to aid me in my travels. You will not act against me, or do any thing you know to be harmful to me, unless I give express permission or command. Are these things within your powers?"
"They are."
"Is there aught here unacceptable to you?"
"There is not."
"What would you ask in exchange?"
She seems deep in thought for a little while.
"Well, for starters, I'd like a pony."
And we're off.
The first hour is a long and patient process, where I calmly discuss with her what I can and can't provide. It takes a while, but I'm arguing her down, and I think I'm doing so reasonably well. She's listening to what I say, she's taking it into consideration, and every once in a while, when I make a particularly good point, she bends a little. This is doable, I think. I can handle this. Then I make a mistake. About an hour and fifteen minutes after the the opening, while she's insisting that I agree to take her to see her congresscritter at least once every election cycle, I make a supporting argument about how spirits aren't allowed to vote. She's horrified. She requires that I donate a sizeable amount of money to whichever pressure group is heading up the fight for enfranchisement of spirits. I point out that there is no such group. She requires that I start one. It goes downhill from there.
At about the two hour mark, I actually go back and *offer* her the pony, just to try to get her to drop some of her more egregious demands. I could do it, if the pony were small enough. My backyard is just about big enough to handle a Shetland, and I could cobble together some sort of mostly-iron saddle to let her ride the thing. By then, of course, she's decided that she doesn't want one after all. I get the distinct impression that she's toying with me.
At about the three hour mark, as I'm attepting to point out to Kiura that she can't actually *eat* ice-cream, the girl brings out sandwiches for lunch. I realize that I've not yet asked her for her name. I feel a bit embarrassed by this, and I don't ask this time either. I do thank her for the sandwiches. Just to be on the safe side, I take an extra sandwich, and bestow it upon Kiura as a burnt offering. The girl smiles and goes back inside. Kiura smiles, and eats her sandwich-spirit.
As soon as we're done eating, Kiura pauses, looks thoughtful for a bit, and then makes a proposal which is far more easonable than any she's made all day. It's a little unusual. There's First Covenant, of course. There's the normal run of connection and recognition rituals, a little heavier on the communions, a little lighter on the greetings. She insists on the right and obligation to tell me when I'm about to screw up one of the aforementioned rituals. That's a little odd, but given that she actually seems to *want* to be bound to me, it makes sense, and I sure don't mind. Then she asks for an obligation on my part to talk with her on the way to and from work, and the right to hassle me about my private life.
And that's it.
It's about the strangest set of requirements I've ever heard of, but at this point, I'm not arguing. I agree as fast as I can, before she can change her mind. Again. And then, then I ask her, in a weary voice, what changed her mind. She tells me it was the sandwich. Her blood sugar was low, and she's feeling much better now. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make any sense at all, starting from the fact that spirits don't have blood sugar, and working up from there, but, you know? I'm still not arguing. We both formally accept the terms of the contract and swear to them, and I break the circle and make my painful way inside. It takes a while for your legs to recover when you've been sitting in seiza for just under four hours.
----------------
At this point, I'm trying to work through what to run next. There are a number of ways I could go. I have a good idea of what I'm going to be doing the next day, but not so much for the afternoon. If anyone has any preferences on area's they really want to see more of next, well, I figure that making the readers happy isn't a bad thing. Please do feel free to weigh in. Also, as always, responses of any kind, and concrit especially, are appreciated.
Quote:
Geeze, and I thought they where friends. This sounds more like a drill sergant.[/qupte]
"Friends" is a relative term. Look at it this way - he's still her employer, of sorts. Her boss, as it were. No matter how well they get along usually, that's still there. It reminds me of, well, Blackaeronaut's story and what we said about familiarity in a military chain-of-command. It can exist, and a soldier can be genuine friends with a superior. That doesn't mean that when something goes wahoonie shaped, you won't still snap back to protocol.
Or put it another way. I ran into my cousin a few times when I was in National Service - we were working around the same base for a few months. First cousin, known him all my life. But still, I was just an NSF Corporal. He's a career Major. So, of course, when I ran into him in uniform, I called him sir, and acted with familiarity but appropriate respect. If one or both of us were out of uniform, tho, it's all "Hey." "Hey, how's your mom?" "She's good." ... etc.
So, context.
As to the story itself...
I'm liking this more and more. I think, on balance, I do like the way you're dealing with the guy's world - the whole 'assume you know what I'm talking about' thing rather than exposition...letting the reader infer, or draw their own conclusions. It makes everything, I dunno, more real and richer. There's something to be said for explanation, but this is definitely good as well.
Mm. Romance and happy endings. =)
-- Acyl
The Negotiation between Vincent and Kiura had me sniggering the whole way through. I'm starting to really like Kiura. ^_^
Black Aeronaut Technologies Group
Aerospace Solutions for the discerning spacer
"To the commissary we should go," Yoda declared firmly. "News
of this kind a danish requires."