Passing Torches (plus challenge)

[SkyeFire]

My Muse must have gotten into the amphetamines again, or something.
Over in the Recommendations thread, someone mentioned the post-EW Gundam Wing fic "Manifestations", here at www.fanfiction.net/s/2226187/1/
Which I opened up and began reading. Barely halfway through the first *page*, I hit this bit:

---

The sight of the dead machine had been enough to make her feel sick. The thought of Heero climbing out of that, and making it back to the underground safe house was all she could take this morning. The search had been on for nearly thirteen hours now and no other survivors or bodies had been recovered. They had sketchy reports of around twenty-five people unaccounted for, but Relena was beginning to suspect that perhaps those few people had managed to sneak off during the confusion and had chose to avoid relating to the world that they were still alive. Part of her could understand that, and empathize with those who wished to move away from war as someone else entirely
The young man in front of her had made a declaration last night that would no doubt end his life, as he had known it. Heero had sworn that he would never be forced to kill again.

---

And that, right *then,* is when the bunny up and bit me on the...

And, anyway....
--------------------------------------------------
Heero Yuy snapped awake without moving a muscle, or changing the rythm of his breathing. Even his heartrate barely altered.
He could tell that it was late, quiet, in what was obviously a hospital. And he had awakened because--
"Hello, Mr. Yuy."
--there was an intruder in his room. One who knew he was awake.
Tactically, feigning sleep or attempting an attack by speed alone were poor options. Heero elected to open his eyes and sit up slowly, smoothly, non-threateningly. The intruder was seated in the small hospital room's single chair, legs crossed, hands empty and in view, to all appearances casual and at ease.
That is, if one ignored his eyes. If one had not had the kinds of experience that gave Heero those same eyes, and the ability to recognize them in others' faces, no matter how well they were hidden.
This man was dangerous. Deadly in a way that only Heero, his fellow Gundam pilots, and a very few others were. Lethal to a degree where such fine distinctions as "hostility" and "intent" became essentially meaningless.
"You've recently made a commitment," the other man said levelly. "A commitment to never be forced to kill again." He drew out a moment of silence between tham. "You realize that will be a difficult vow to keep."
Heero saw no need to reply to the obvious, as his visitor had seen no need to belabor the equally evident subtexts layering that statement.
"You are not the first to walk this path," the man continued. "Others have gone down this road before you, with varying measures of success. And failure." He stood, nonthreateningly as Heero had, allowing the younger man to match his movement. Standing, they faced each other in the dim silence.
"I have brought you a tool, which you may find helpful." The man's hand moved in a smooth arc, grasping something that had not been there a moment before and tossing it underhand to Heero--
Who caught and half-drew the sheathed katana before he caught his reflex. Something in the blade caught at his conscious attention, and a tiny shock of startlement ran through him as he realized the cause. He looked at his visitor with a raised eyebrow.
"That sword was once the property of perhaps the greatest assassin the world has ever known. Without a doubt one of the half-dozen deadliest men of his entire era, and quite possibly -the- deadliest. That, however, is not the sword he used to kill."
Heero waited.
"No. What you hold is the sword he used -not- to kill, after making a commitment much like your own. After laying down his assassin's blade for the final time, upon the completion of his overarching mission."
A tiny vibration, like a resonance, seemed to touch Heero lightly in a way he could not have quite described. His eyes returned to the blade, despite the tactical risk of such an action.
"In the end, he could not keep that vow completely unbroken. But he did so sufficiently enough that -he himself- remained unbroken. He found a balance, between the assassin he had been and the man he desired to be." The visitor's mouth quirked slightly. "Rather like the harder and softer steels that make up the blade you now hold."
"A stick can kill. So can bare hands," Heero stated, his voice empty and colorless. "A reverse-blade sword is at least as lethal."
His visitor nodded, acknowledging the point. "Indeed. After all, he might as well have used the back edge of a normal sword, with similar effectiveness. But the sakabatou is not simply a blunted length of steel -- it was his symbol. His icon, if you will. A touchstone always at his side, where his assassin's blade had once resided -- a weapon that, in its very use, prevented him from forgetting his oath."
A tiny tremor shook Heero's hands, which he found disturbing. Even more disturbing was the way his hands moved apart without his express command, drawing the sword fully free of its sheath and bringing it to mid-guard. A shaft of moonlight through the (dangerously exposed, sniper threat) window, running down the blade like a drop of quicksilver to evaporate off the chisel-pointed tip.
"I hope you serve each other well," his visitor said elliptically, and turned towards the door.
He was almost there before Heero struggled past the anomalous paralysis in his vocal chords. "Who...? -Why-?" The minute edge of desperation in his voice was dangerous, revealing a vulnerability, but... his need (he should not feel -need-, -need- was dangerous, making one vulnerable and manipulateable) for the answer outweighed the risk.
He should have been disturbed by the hasty ease with which he revealed this weakness, but the part of him that should have cared seemed... numb. Distant. No longer completely attached....
His benefactor paused in the doorway for a long moment before turning around. "His name was Kenshin Himura, and he was a good friend of mine. Before he died, we spoke at some length about other individuals I knew of, his... comrades in peace, you could say, who might need assistance of a... sempai, so to speak." He smiled crookedly in the pale moonlight. "He made arrangements for it to pass into my hands, in time."
He turned to move through the doorway, but was caught by Heero's voice again.
"And you?"
"I?" his benefactor replied slowly, without turning. "I... am a traveler from an antique land." He stepped out the door, around the corner -- and was no longer in the hallway. Heero knew that with utter certainty.
It would be some time before a chance remark from Duo would lead Heero to the literary reference, and the layers of meaning behind it. But for tonight....
He moved the hospital bed and adjusted the curtains until he no longer provided an easy sniper target, but could still see the moon. He raised the back of the bed into a near-seated posture, tucked the sword beside him... and slept more peacefully than he could remember.
In his dreams, a small girl and her puppy came to him, again, but this time in a field of flowers rather than a waseland of rubble and fire. And this time... he was happy to see them again.
---------------------------------------------------------------
So... There are some really powerful parallels between where Heero is at the end of EW, and where Kenshin is immediately after the climactic battle of the Bakumatsu. I never thought of this before, but when it hit, it hit like *lightning.*
Challenge: there have to be other iconic artifacts that could well serve new caretakers. Heroes who could do justice to Captain America's shield, or Excalibur, or Raging Heart, or the Nautilus (the Blue Water version), or John Henry's hammers. All that's needed is some self-insert character to play PanDimensional Express.

[Valles]

---

---

There was a man perching on the ledge of the window, and when he saw him there, on opening the door, Van Salazar de Fanel snatched out his sword and brought it into a high guard. "Who are you?!" he snapped. "How did you get into this part of the palace?!"
The man looked at his host and, for a wonder, did not smile at being threatened by a thirteen year old boy. "The man in the wind and the west moon," he said, and then did laugh at Van's expression. "More seriously, neither of those things matter. I'm just a messenger; here to deliver something into your hands. This."
It glittered in the palm of his open hand, flashing in the sunbeams from the window and with a radiance of its own, small enough to fit easily in its nest yet somehow impossible to assign exact dimensions to. Van's eyes widened as he took in its faceted glory. "What kind of a gem," he breathed, almost against his will, "is that?"
"Not a gem," the intruder told him, with something in his tone that hinted mischief lay in the same direction as duty, then tossed the thing to the young prince in an easy underhand motion.
He caught it automatically, and was transported into a nightmare.
Much later, when he came back to the waking world, he looked up at his... visitor's... concerned eyes and croaked, "Why?"
"Ask him yourself," the mysterious man replied, and then leaned back to fall out the window and out of sight.
By the time Van had recovered enough to rush over and look out after him, the only sign of his presence was the gem-not-gem the young prince held tightly in his fist. "Ask who?" he asked the sunset across the courtyard.
purpose

---

---

===============================================
"Puripuri puripuri... Bang!"

[Happerry]

Belisarius Story!Those who fear the darkness have never seen what the light can do.

[Foxboy]

Placeholder:
Xander (BTVS) is handed a complete set of (really) antique carpenter's tools, by a mysterious woman. The legacy of these tools? They were used by a famous carpenter of the Roman era, whose main claim to fame was not related to his carpentry skills.

---

I smiled as the beneficiary of the Boss's largesse yelled at me.
"I won't be a buttmonkey of fate!" Xander shouted.
"Of course not!" I replied. "No one is expecting anything from you other than for you to do what you would anyway." I tapped that adze in front of the young carpenter and then did a Vanna White turn towards the small axe/hammer, saw, and mallet. "These are just Carpenter's tools."
Xander glared flatly at me. "I can hear Capital Letters."
"All right. Admittedly, these tools might help you make more effective stakes. However, they're just a gift. No strings attached."
"Since when has anything been 'just a gift' when it involves the Powers That Be?"
"It's not from them," I said. "The Boss's son used these before He entered the family business. Use them, or not as you desire." I turned on my heel and walked out of the room. Once I was out of sight, I tensed my AT field and stepped through the Sea of Dirac.
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''

-- James Nicoll

[Evil Midnight Lurker]

Ten-year-old Harry Potter wasn't sure what to make of all this.
The man who'd appeared from nowhere in his closet -- or from the Back of Beyond, as he'd claimed -- had vanished again, leaving only a book behind. A library book, from the look of it, with one of those covers they put on books that had begun to fall to bits, the title embossed in almost silvery print:
SO YOU WANT TO BE A WIZARD
H. Hearnssen

---

"Just who do you think you are, breaking in here?!" Utena Tenjou asked the shadowed man, the sword of her heart pointed toward his. "If you're one of his minions --"
"I am most emphatically not from the Ends of the Earth," he replied with a half-visible smirk, "nor would I do his dirty work on a bet. In fact, I'm here to give you a bit of assistance against him." He nodded toward the other side of the room, a gesture that utterly failed to shift Utena's gaze.
"...There's a sword here," Anthy informed her, "that wasn't here when we went to sleep."
"I have one of my own, thank you."
"Oh, indeed," the shadowy figure nodded. "But that one, though it is of no great use as a blade, has a power that you will find most amusing indeed." At Utena's raised eyebrow, he went on: "In the hands of one who is brave and sure, it reveals the Truth and destroys all lies."
A wicked smile made itself known on Utena's face. "...I think I like that."
--Sam
"Why am I here? Why does my mind have wings? Why do blue midgets hit me with fish?!"

[drakensis]

I watched from the back of the shadows at the back of the hall as they sat on the thrones in the great hall of Windham. They were the light and the darkness of the hall, the lords of Windham.
To the left, still slim and pale haired, King Griffith wore courtly garb and beside him sat the gowned and immaculately coifed Queen Charlotte. He raised one hand to still the cheers of the crowd and began to speak, his silver tongue binding the assembled nobility and gentry to his will.
To the right was another figure, the Battle King of Midland, founder of the new dynasty that would rule alongside that which Griffith had wed into and made his own. Even now he wore plain armour that more befitted a common soldier - a man from the north, a man of great strength... a man king by his own hand. For an instant, our eyes met again and his dark eyes widened and then narrowed as he recognised me.
We both remembered another night, knee deep in a river, surrounded by wolves, swords in our hands. He had been naught but a boy. Now his scarred hand touched the naked blade that rested against the side of his throne, tracing the blocky script engraved into the side of the blade.
'Suffer no guilt, ye who wield this in the name of Crom'
I bowed to my hand to Gutts - black-haired, sullen-eyed, sword in hand - and thought of another who had trod the jewelled thrones of the Earth beneath his sandalled feet. His father's blade had gone to one worthy of it.
D for Drakensis

You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.

[Rieverre]

---

The lights flickered on, even as she shuffled into her apartment, the day's events having finally caught up with her.
Despite Misae's reassurances that things would work out, her first day at a new job, in a new city, hadn't been at all what she'd expected. Then had come dinner, which was hardly better and in some cases worse, and a destroyed restaurant followed by almost getting herself killed more times than she cared to remember capped the whole affair off.
So she grumbled, and groused, shucked her shoes, and cursed infuriating bikers, and soulless supervisors, and lecherous coworkers as she headed past the tiny living room, barely pausing to dump her jacket haphazardly onto the couch and nearly miss a figure in motorcycle leathers sprawled thereon, to finally end up in the kitchen and reaching for the freezer and that chocolate-chip ice cream she'd picked up before the day had gone all the way to heck.
Wait, what was that about a ... ?!
"Yeah, I was wondering when you'd notice," said the other occupant of the apartment, who most definitely should not have been there. At all.
She was maybe Linna's own age, maybe a few years younger, her hair long and straight and midnight, wearing shades of black with red trim here and there.
Linna's brain fizzled when it tried to evoke a response of alarm, and decided to go past that and into exasperation instead. "I've been having a really, really bad day, so if you're here to steal something, just get done quietly and get gone, alright?"
"Actually, it's the other way around," the stranger chuckled, sitting up and stretching. A few telling pops could be heard, making it obvious that she'd been there for a while. "I'm here to give you something."
She placed a sort of disc-shape, that even in full lighting seemed unable to decide whether it wanted to look metallic or organic, on the banged up coffee table.
"And now that that's done, I'll just show myself out."
Which she did, leaving a still mostly befuddled, but now vaguely curious Linna Yamazaki standing there, wondering what the hell had just happened.
Then her attention went back to the ... thing ... on her table, looking for all the world like an attempt at a novelty paperweight gone horribly wrong.
She peered at it.
If it weren't for the creeping fatigue that had been slowly but surely wrapping itself around her consciousness for the past hour or so, she would have been alarmed, concerned, or shown any number of other possible reactions. None of those being actually picking the thing up so that she could make out what one particular bit of it, which looked hastily soldered onto the whole thing in post-production, spelled out.
Oddly enough, in romanji.
"Guyver?"
Surprise didn't even register until the following morning, when she came back to, lying on the couch and with clear recollection of the 'disc' literally leaping up from her hand and heading for her face.

---

When tact is required, use brute force. When force is required, use greater force.
When the greatest force is required, use your head. Surprise is everything. - The Book of Cataclysm

[Black Aeronaut]

Skyfire did say:

---

some self-insert character to play PanDimensional Express.

---

---

One more week until my discharge was official.
As far as I was concerned, it was s shitty deal. The ultimate what-the-hell moment occurs and the UNSC decides that I'm more trouble than I'm worth as a soldier, and so they decided to drop me. I mean, granted, suddenly being made into flesh and bone once again by three goddesses calling themselves The Trinity is pretty out there. But I know what happened to Alita and me.
A sharp trill peirced the air, awakening Alita. I had to grab her hand before she nearly took my head off.
"The hell?" she said as she came, somewhat, to her senses.
"It's the COM terminal. Someone's calling."
"Tell them we're trying to sleep," she replied and rolled back over. I sighed and went over to the terminal and tabbed open the incoming call. To my mild surprise, Captain Keyes was there on the display with a very pensive look on her face.
"Captain? What's wrong?"
"There's a ship out here that's asking for you by name, Rhodes."
"What? Is this some kind of going away joke, Cap'n?"
"Unfortunately, it's not. There is an ancient looking ship holding position just outside the outter defensive peremeter that says that it is the Arcadia and that it will only let Benjamin Rhodes and whatever company he has aboard. We tried to send a boarding party anyways and we got warning shots in reply." I felt my eyebrows inch up.
"I'm surprised you guys didn't destroy it outright."
"Normally, we might. Except, as I said, it asked for you by name, and the firepower that this thing is packing isn't something we'd like to fall into someone else's hands."
"You mean..."
"No word from Command, yet, but I wouldn't count my Jackals before they hatched. CPO Rhodes, you're to report to the flightline at Ft. Whitcomb Starport at oh-three-hundred. There, you, along with a boarding party, will board a Pegasus boarding craft and take possession of the ship calling itself Arcadia. Do you understand, CPO?"
"Aye Captain."
"Good. I'll see you at oh-three-hundred."
...
Alita was distressed about the turn of events, but I reassured her by telling her that I doubted a ship asking for me by name was here to make trouble. She wanted to come along, but she wouldn't have been allowed, she being a civilian and all. I convinced her, though, by telling her that I wanted her to stay there with Amelia.
I was only mildly surprised to see that the Captain herself was among the boarding party. I had to remind myself that she had put herself into even more potentially hazardous situations before. Not my problem unless things got hairy. Once she got back alive I'd let the Brass handle it then. That, after all, was what she got paid to do.
Fajad, the second Manticore after me, was a welcome sight as well. I was glad the Captain had pulled him for this sortie as the only other people that I'd trust to watch my back could not come for one reason or another. I hated feeling vulnerable like this.
As we came into the Arcadia's weapon's range, those big, ominous, looking energy cannons (that looked unervingly like the main guns of old wet-navy battle ships) swung toward us and we were hailed with the simple message: "If Benjamin is aboard, please have him respond."
The Captain gave me a look as though to say, "Well, what are you waiting for?" I signaled the pilot to activate open a channel.
"Arcadia, this is Benjamin Rhodes. What do you want with me."
"Well it's about time!" said an annoyed voice of, by my guess, probably a small man. "Get over here and claim your ship."
"My ship?" I replied with a confused blink.
"Did I stutter? I've been waiting here long enough now and I'd like to get going soon."
"Wait a minute. Who the hell are you?"
"Ah, I guess I better tell you. It's only polite after all. The name's Tochiro and I've been sent by The Trinity to give this ship to someone who'd put it to good use."

---

Well, my character is an SI on the Pandimensional Express and it's not like the UNSC's just gonna give him a ship once they discharge him. You asked. ^_^;;

---

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."

---

[Bluemage]

"I want power. Enough power
to lay this bastard low.
Greater, stronger power."
As Largo and his Super-Buma closed in on her, Priss flailed about, looking for something- anything that could save her from a painful death. Nothing came to her: there was nowhere to hide, no weapons dropped where she could get them, not even that new motoslave that Sylia was developing. She shut her eyes, preparing herself for the bitter end-
-and finally understood.
'I didn't think he was serious. What was I supposed to think? Some cloaked guy came up to me from behind- ruined a perfectly good meal scaring me too- handed me some fancy stick, and left. He told me I'd know what to do when the time came- what a line of bull that was, I thought.'
"Now I understand."
With renewed energy, Priss threw herself to her feet, pulled the mysterious stranger's gift out of a suit compartment, and yelled the words she felt in her heart...
"MARS CRYSTAL POWER, MAKE UP!!"
--------------------
Comments, anyone?

---

My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Brother Atom Bomb of Courteous Debate. Get yours.

I've been writing a bit.

[ECSNorway]

Hmmm. I have a Galactica idea in mind for this, but it's actually a story kernel I'm working on for a I-really-mean-to-write-this-one 'fic...
But, I do want to get something in. So...
---
Mark Pierre Vorkosigan was not amused to find the strange man sitting in his office chair. "Excuse me," he growled, "Just who are you, and why didn't the guards at the gate shoot you or something? That's supposed to be their job, keeping strange people from bothering me while I'm supposed to be working on classified documents and shit like that."
"Oh, I'm nobody important. I was just asked to deliver this." And he left a package on the desk, and simply... vanished.
Two hours later, the box had been scanned, sniffed, X-rayed, checked, re-checked, and gone over by about three dozen other instruments in one of ImpSec's labs, and delivered back to Mark's office with a note indicating that there wasn't anything dangerous in it.
The first item was a simple strip of blue cloth, about half a meter long and five centimeters wide. Attached at the middle of its length was a steel plate, no wider than the cloth and about a palm's length. Engraved on it was an abstract design, a spiralling form with a point on the lower left and a hook of sorts on the upper right.
The second was a letter.
Dear Mark; it read,
I've heard a great deal about your rather unpleasant background and the circumstances that lead up to your having the job you're currently in. I know how hard it is to be the one sending people in harm's way, and how hard you're resisting your employers' attempts to promote you because of that. Your one experience at real fieldwork was a total disaster, and you know exactly how many things can go wrong when someone is on a mission like that.
That said, though, you do have a talent, and you've put it to use. Not just in killing a disgusting specimen of humanity, but in keeping your family sane and functioning in difficult times. Your world needs you, Mark Pierre, and it needs you able to make those hard decisions.
So I'm sharing this little tidbit with you. It's called a hitae-ate, an antique, from... well, from Earth, let's say, for now. It belonged to a man much like you, a smart man who went through hard times and lived in a hard world. He was trained from his youth to be a killer, and he understood that sometimes, mistakes get made and bad things happen... and he was determined not to make those mistakes, nor to let his fear of the possibilities get in the way of doing what had to be done.
Like you, he was a good planner and analyst. Like you, he worked best when he had time to think things through. Sometimes in the field, he didn't, and that's when he had the most problems. I thought it would be of use to you, to have this relic of someone who overcame the same problems you're facing now... overcame, and persevered, and went on to become an advisor to one of the greatest leaders his people had ever known.
Enjoy the gift, Lord Mark, and I hope that it brings you some comfort in your work.
The note was unsigned, of course.
Mark went back to examining the oddity - the 'hitae-ate', whatever that meant. He punched the term into his computer and called for a linguistic analysis.
Pulling the cloth back from the metal plate and peeking between them, he saw some more engraving on the inner surface of the steel. It was definitely odd, but looked somewhat familiar, and he took a quick photograph of it and sent it off to Linguistics to add to his earlier query.
Finding no further clues, he set it aside and went back to the stack of Cetagandan budget reports he'd been going through, to see what he could make of them.
An hour later, his inbox pinged with a reply from Linguistics. Briefly surprised, he glanced over at the mysterious package, and then opened the message.
A hitae-ate, it seemed, was a primitive form of makeshift armor, used in ancient Japan, on Earth. The cloth strip would be tied around the head with the steel plate positioned to protect against sword strikes to the head. Well, the letter did say it was old... just not how old! The other inscription seemed to be words in Japanese, which he supposed made a certain degree of sense. The actual translation, on the other hand, didn't; something about an Earth animal called a deer, and a county in that same ancient Japan. The Linguistics analyst who'd signed off on the report said it was probably the original owner's name - 'Nara Shikamaru'.
--- Owari.
--
Sucrose Octanitrate.
Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode.

[Acyl]

This is probably...terribly badly written, but I wanted to do something. The notion amused me. =P

---

"Okay, okay, I admit I could have introduced myself better, but..."
"KACHU TENSHIN AMAGURIKEN!"
...and Ranma fell back, wincing. He flexed his fingers, trying to bring some feeling back into his hands.
His opponent hadn't just blocked the strikes. He'd parried them. Hard, impossibly hard.
On the other side of the roof, Ranma's opponent stood, clutching a weapon in both hands. Some kind of wooden staff, with a knob on the end.
A curtain rod, Ranma realised, with a start. Martial Arts Draperies? That was new.
"Whoa," the other guy said, "I don't want to fight you."
Ranma narrowed his eyes, studying the man. The guy didn't look like a fighter. He was wearing a zipped-up brown jacket that just HAD to restrict his movements. His jeans and shoes had the same problem. But he'd moved fast, too fast. He had to have some kinda trick.
"Yeah," Ranma challenged, as his mind raced, "then whadda ya want?"
The guy lowered the curtain rod, and scratched his chin. "Well, I'm tempted to say I'm a new fianc, but..."
Ranma glared.
"Kidding, kidding," the stranger said, waving a hand in a placating gesture, "nah, I'm here to give you something."
Ranma looked suspicious. "If ya sellin' a cure, I..."
"Sorry, no cure. Some things...you gotta figure out for yourself. This is just a gift, no magic, no strings attached."
With an flick of the wrist, the guy plucked a package from thin air, tossing it across the rooftop. It spun to a halt at Ranma's feet - who made no move to pick it up.
"Huh," Ranma said, folding his arms.
"It's something that belonged to a...hero. A martial artist. Well, kind of. Chaos...it followed him everywhere. You know what I mean? But..."
Ranma blinked. "But?"
The stranger grinned, tapping his curtain rod in emphasis. "But he never let it get to him. And despite everything, he helped folks, you know? That's what he lived for. Think about it."
Ranma bent down, examining the package, and its plain wrapping. Then suddenly, he looked up, jerking his head.
The guy was gone.
Ranma swept the rooftop, but he was nowhere to be found. There hadn't been movement. No ki, nothing Ranma could sense. But the guy just...wasn't there.
That should have sent alarm bells ringing. Or at least, tripped Ranma's curiosity about a new technique. But...no. He found himself drawn to the mysterious gift. Fingers tore at the string and paper, exposing the package's contents.
Inside was...a trenchcoat. One of those really long ones, like in the movies. A vivid red, with lots and lots of buttons.
Ranma stood, lifting the coat and shaking it out. As he did so, something heavy slipped from the folds of fabric - and Ranma caught it before it could hit the ground.
Silver metal gleamed in his hand.
"A gun," Ranma scowled, "the heck am I supposed ta do with a GUN?"

---

(Yes, curtain rod. I had one as a kid. Favourite toy. It opens windows into different worlds...)
-- Acyl

[Valles]

Well, see, we already have two Knight Sabers - and it occurred to me that it would be hilarious if they lived in the same timeline.
Of course, that would also require...

---

---

The only warning Sylia Stingray had was when the warning light at the corner of her screen flashed red. Only a split second later - far more quickly than anything should have been able to work past the depth of hidden lab's sensors - the door opened.
Later, checking the records, she would find that her guest in fact hadn't come that distance - instead, he seemed to simply step into existence at the same time he appeared in the camera's field of view just outside the very door she saw him open.
By the time he stepped through she had the details cataloged: about a hundred and eighty centimeters, eighty to ninety kilos, caucasian, glasses, dark hair, long, sandals worn with socks, gray trousers with cargo pockets, gray protective vest with more pockets, dark green cloak covering shoulders and down to the floor, hands slightly spread before him, with the palms towards her.
It was a deliberately nonthreatening gesture, and she allowed the singing tension in her body to ease slightly. There were rather too many questions she felt a need to ask him, but since he had the initiative anyway she decided to leave the next move in his hands until she had more information.
He crossed most of the distance to the workbench she was standing by, then bowed politely. "Miss Stingray." He pronounced it as a native speaker of English would, rather than the Japanese approximation she had been hearing all her life. "My personal identity is irrelevant, but I have, for some time, been retained as an agent by a party with vested interests in the well-being of society and humanity as a whole. In the course of my activities, a late friend passed into my keeping an item of considerable value but limited use to myself, and charged me with seeing it delivered to the care of one who might use it both wisely and to good effect."
"What sort of item," she asked, slowly, "and, why me?"
"Because you, and your three friends, need help. As for what, well, it's many things, among them weapon, defense, and artificial intelligence." He reached - slowly and carefully - into one of his pockets, and withdrew therefrom a perfectly ordinary jewelry box, which he then stepped forwards to place on the work surface in front of her. "Its - her - name, is-" and the short phrase that followed was in no language she recognized.
Sylia blinked, "What?" then recoiled as she realized that he seemed to have vanished into thin air in the split-second her vision of him was occluded.
A quick check of the security system produced no sign of him, so, with a sigh, she turned to the thing he had left for her. Several minutes of intensive scrutiny with a variety of instruments failed to reveal any bioweapon, toxin, or nano-agent before she sighed and broke down and reached over to open it.
Inside was only a transparent red sphere, perhaps two centimeters across, on a perfectly ordinary golden chain.

---

---

Yes, Sylia, not Nene. Whatever else she may be, one must keep in mind that the previous owner posessed an extremely practical turn of mind, which just doesn't strike me as being up the computer goddess's alley.
Ja, -n

===============================================
"Puripuri puripuri... Bang!"

[Rieverre]

Heh. Sadly, they likely wouldn't live in the same timeline, unless it was a sort of amalgam. That was 2040 Linna, you see, right after the first episode of the TV series (because the techno-organic Guyver would fit in with that reality better).
It's mostly the reason I had Kuga do the delivery, since he would have insisted he deal with any '32 related ones, even if it wasn't one to 'his' timeline.
The rest of that reason being that, for all her Tsundereness and attitude, she's a lot more restrained than Katz/Katsu in certain settings. The Guardians or Powers or what you will know better than to send or direct him into a particular sort of setting.
Hmm. *snicker* Amusing thought, ...

---

That had been amusing, if nothing else. Familiar with the setting as I was, I'd never really gone out of my way with interest for it.
The prosthetic had been interesting, from an academic point of view ... and it was inventive of them to work through someone I trusted not to screw me over. To a certain extent, anyway.
Yes, I'm paranoid. It's in the job description.
The set of instructions and impropmtu demonstration Caster ... hmm, I guess I should get used to calling him Nathan ... had given me on how to connect and calibrate the damn thing - he said it was an older model of the one he was using - was worth the trip on its own, in any case. Enlightening in quite a number of ways. Not to mention the whole 'touching base with an acquaintance' factor.
Maybe they were trying to make up for that whole Ryvius mess. Well, they were on the right track.
Speaking of which, tracking the 'target' down hadn't been difficult. Just a matter of following the roars.
Big lizards. Big fire-breathing lizards. Big fire-breathing lizareds that also happened to be empaths. What fun.
Makes me wish I'd gone through the briefing a bit more thoroughly - I should have picked up on the fact that they wouldn't be aggressive unless in response to aggression shown in the first place. Oh well.
They weren't exactly complex minds, inherent physical power aside, and Terror works best on those.
I found a relatively secure spot of a cave a quarter of an hour's flight away from there, after I'd stilled the kid's bleeding and stopped the nerve endings from dying, and set about connecting the arm. Didn't take long. The change was immediately obvious, as the enchantments woven into the prosthetic worked against the trauma of the injury.
I didn't extend my stay for much longer after that, and left right after he woke up. Well, maybe not _right_ after, but soon enough for government work.
Besides, I wanted to check in on how Shizuru's part in this whole thing was going.
***
The white-haired man disappeared, leaving the equally white-haired boy with far more questions than answers, and a new arm to replace the one he'd so recently lost - something the shock of he was still working through hours afterwards.
Still, the words that had been spoken to him echoed in his mind, and rather than traumatized he was ... considering. Evaluating.
Luck is a poor substitute for skill, and fortune's a fickle bitch no matter how you try to tame her. Predestination is a crock. Lastly - and bear with me, because this is important - ideals are all well and good, but don't let them blind you, or you'll wake up one morning and loathe the person you see looking back at you from the mirror. Most of all, though ... enojoy life. Otherwise, whatever you do with it will be meaningless in the end.
He ... he had a brother who looked up to him. And people who relied on him. A mother who loved him.
The realization that he'd been considering going into exile after this ... failure ... came, and was savagely beaten down.
By the time he was feeling up to traveling, Folken Lacour de Fanel had come to several decisions. He wouldn't be king. It wasn't ... it wasn't _him_. There was something else out there for him, but that something would require effort, work, and a clear mind. For now, though, he would return home.
Nothing quite drove home the importance of family like a near-death experience did, and he did want to muse further upon the nature of the beast that had nearly taken his life ... in a setting that offered proper perspective.
***
Another place, another time, another world
Shizuru found she was enjoying herself immensly. Likely, she would have done so even if she were to only take in the ambience.
There was just something about Ohtori Academy that spoke to her.
Also, she'd just enjoyed an insight into one of her favorite 'characters', despite the conversation's abrupt nature.
She'd been that edgy once, she realized, before she'd found her equilibrium. A somewhat skewed one, but an equilibrium nonetheless.
The 'gift' she'd been sent to deliver had been recieved with more than a fair dose of skepticism, but then again, Arisugawa-san had never been one to believe in miracles, or unexpected boons, or the like.
That was alright, though. She'd most likely try to follow the scientific method in this case, which would still yield positive results.
"Having fun?" a familiar voice asked, from slightly off to the side. She didn't startle, having become used to her ... acquaintance's? friend's? traveling companions? ... habits. Popping up unannounced in some of the oddest places being one of those.
Katz, which was the first name she'd known him to use and the one she most often labeled him with, was sitting on a small flight of steps leading down to the currently empty track field. He was also fiddling with a trio of roses ...
He noticed the stare and shrugged.
"Yeah, I ran across someone with a habit of handing these out."
One was purple, though faintly tinted with shimmering azure. The second almost shone, paradoxically enough, _black_, with red running along the edges of the petals. The last one, which seemed to occupy more than a fair bit of his attention, looked like it had been cast from bronze at first sight. It caught the light in a most curious way.
"Why exactly are you here? Shouldn't you be off on your own part of this errand?"
"Eh. I got that wrapped up fairly quickly, and I figured I'd try and entertain myself."
Oh, that was never a good sign, she thought.
A moment later, she was proven right. And hung her head.
***
Arisugawa Juri eyed the shortsword cautiously. It didn't _look_ to be out of the ordinary, though the quality was surprising given the obviously rough craftsmanship.
And it was old.
She didn't know how, but she knew this.
A single-edged blade that was meant for hacking rather than slicing, a short and plainly wrapped hilt with a bronze ring on the end ...
Alright. She was willing to ... entertain ... the concept that what she'd been told was at least somewhat truthful.
She calmed herself, forcibly at first, but then falling into that semi-meditative place she habitually visited when she fenced, that 'zone', with ease. Perhaps a bit too much ease?
And she gasped, her mind suddenly 'clicking', facts coming together, deceptions being ignored. A presence, kind, honorable, just, seemed to guide her thoughts ...
To see with eyes unclouded by hate.
The description didn't do it justice.
Then she was forcibly thrown out of the state, dropping the sword, as an explosion sounded in the distance.
***
Shizuru gaped. Then she hung her head. Yes, now the insufferably smug expression made sense.
She turned to Katz, giving him a mild glare of exasperation, even as the unmistakable flash of a detonated plasma warhead faded from overhead.
"You blew up the planetarium."
"Well, no. Not really."
She continued glaring. He continued grinning.
"Vaporized would be more accurate, I think. I'm pretty sure I got who I was aiming for too. The biometrics sensor on that detonator was pretty accurate."
Once upon a time, when they'd been discussing this particular setting, she'd asked him what he'd do if they were ever to find themselves there.
'Bomb the Deputy Chairman's Office' had seemed like such a harmlessly flippant reply to her back then, when she hadn't known him as well as she did now.

---

Oh, and sorry for the hijack, Nate. It seemed appropriate, since you like the setting and that arm was a Noble Phantasm, which sort of qualified it for the position of Epic Artifact.
Or is it too much of an asspull?
OTOH, if _this_ Folken and _that_ Vaan were in the same timeline ... *chuckles*
-Griever
When tact is required, use brute force. When force is required, use greater force.
When the greatest force is required, use your head. Surprise is everything. - The Book of Cataclysm

[Sirrocco]

I am *entirely* clueless as to the transparent red sphere. What series is *it* from?

[Rieverre]

... and as the only thing that comes to mind at a moment's notice, I'm thinking Sylia got herself an Intelligent Device. No. _The_ Intelligent Device.
-Griever
When tact is required, use brute force. When force is required, use greater force.
When the greatest force is required, use your head. Surprise is everything. - The Book of Cataclysm

[Black Aeronaut]

The only thing that comes to mind is the talisman from the not-too-bad-for-kiddie-toons show called W.I.T.C.H.

---

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."

---

[Foxboy]

Red Sphere is from Nanoha, If I'm reading this right.
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''

-- James Nicoll

[Rieverre]

What does Raising Heart look like in idle mode, hmm?
ETA: at least, that was the first and only thing that came to mind over here. I may be wrong.
-Griever
When tact is required, use brute force. When force is required, use greater force.
When the greatest force is required, use your head. Surprise is everything. - The Book of Cataclysm

[CattyNebulart]

I'd also guess Rageing Heart except for the name thing.
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."

[Jeanne Hedge]

---

With renewed energy, Priss threw herself to her feet, pulled the mysterious stranger's gift out of a suit compartment, and yelled the words she felt in her heart...
"MARS CRYSTAL POWER, MAKE UP!!"
--------------------
Comments, anyone?

---

Just what anime *were* you watching in the 90s anyway? Everybody knows that it's Linna who ends up with Mars Crystal Power, not Priss.

Jeanne Hedge
www.jhedge.com

"Believe me, if I have to go the rest of my life without companionship, knowing myself won't be a problem."
-- Gabrielle of Potadeia

[Evil Midnight Lurker]

As for Priss, here's a bit from The Dance of Shiva by John Biles:

---

Somewhere around 23,000 BC or so.
The hooded woman took the baby in her arms. To most people, it
would have seemed a baby like many others. The little girl had no hair
yet, her eyes were squeezed shut, and she bore almost as much resemblence
to a prune as a human being, just like every other newly born baby.
The mother sighed. She was tall, thin, and platinum blonde, her
hair currently undressed in any of the elaborate hairstyles she normally
adorned herself with. She wore a simple white shift, also unlike the
palatial dresses she normally bore. "Must you do this?"
The woman picked up her staff, a long rod topped with an orb.
"If I do not, in 25,000 years, humanity will become extinct in the solar
system. This one alone cannot prevent what is soon to come here,
but where she is going, she will make all the difference in the world.
She is a warrior born, and she goes to a place that needs warriors
desperately." The woman sighed. "I am sorry, my queen. Cherish your
first daughter. I swear I shall never take her away from you."
The Queen sighed. "I know you know things I shall never know.
She..She'll have a good home, won't she?"
"She will live a long life and know much joy." And much sorrow,
but this is not the time to mention that, the hooded woman thought. She
pulled her cloak around herself. She didn't need it, but the baby would.
"There is one who waits for her there, though he knows it not. She will
know love...once she escapes her own stubbornness about it."
The Queen got up and kissed her baby on the forehead. "Take my
blessing with you, my child." The mark upon the Queen's forehead glowed
brightly. "Your power will awaken when you most need it." She laid back
down in the bed. "Go now, before I can change my mind."
The woman obeyed her Queen's command. She raised her staff, and the
world folded around her and vanished. She walked through mists briefly,
then they parted and she stood in an office. She wrapped the baby in the
cloak, and raised her staff. The cloak became a blanket, her own garb
became a conservative suit, dark green in color. She sat down at the
desk, and looked at the set of completed adoption papers on the desk.
Yes, this will work nicely, she thought. Be brave, little one...

---

---

Priss swore. Damn kid takes after me too much. "You say you can
give me the power to stop this thing?" I must be crazy taking this
seriously, but I'm never gonna stop this boomer with my bare hands.
"Yes, but there's a price."
Priss looked down. The boomer was looking for a new 'customer'. "I
don't fucking care! I can't let this damn hunk of junk hurt Sho!"
Sammi smiled. "You have a brave and loving heart." She touched
Priss' forehead with her wand and the heart began to glow. Priss felt her
forehead growing warm as the girl traced an arc, the bottom half of a
circle across her forehead. "Now say the words that come into your mind."
Priss' mind spun. Memories of her recent dream flitted through her
mind, the crystal sword in the fortress and the woman who had called her
daughter. Words spun and danced through her mind. Finally, a memory
stabilized. Herself on her bike, gun in hand, preparing to revenge her
boyfriend's death. A red Mercedes Benz pulling up and a woman stepping
out of it. She was tall, with nice clothing and short dark hair. She had
looked at Priss as if she had known Priss forever and said, "Will you
entrust me with that burning heart of yours?" On that day, Priss had
stepped off of the path to self-destruction, and onto a new path. A
warrior's path. She finally understood why she had trusted the woman, why
she had followed Celia Stingray away from the road of the vengeance that
is as much upon oneself as others to a better way. Words formed in her
mind now, and she gave them voice. "BURNING HEART POWER!!!!"
Light erupted from Priss' forehead and rushed across her body,
which now floated, transfixed in the air above the tree branch. The
whirling energies around her sent tree branches flying everywhere, as her
clothing tore itself apart and reformed into a dark black outfit, rather
similar to her stage costume, though without the blond wig. There were a
few differences. Priss didn't normally wear a golden tiara with a blue
gem set in it on stage, for one thing. She could almost feel power
coursing through her veins, but she wasn't sure how to use it.
"Now what?"
Sammi pulled a short rod out of...somewhere. Priss quickly saw that
it rather resembled a carved wooden sword hilt. "Take this, your rightful
weapon," Sammi said.
She took it. She could see Sho trying to climb the tree. The
boomer had spotted him and was rushing over. "How the hell do I USE it?"
Suddenly, a blue blade of energy erupted from the end of the hilt.
"Right." Priss said, cutting off Sammi as she started to say something.
"DIE!"
She leaped down at the oncoming boomer, aiming a blow down at its
head. The sword cut right through the boomer, meeting no resistance
whatsoever. It fell into two neatly severed halves, which ceased to move.
Priss concluded that hallucination or not, she LIKED this. Sho ran
over to Priss. "Wow, oneechan! I didn't know you were a superhero!"
Priss laughed. "Me neither. Don't tell anyone, okay?"
"I promise!"

---

--Sam
"Everybody was a baby once, Arthur. Oh, sure, maybe not today, or even yesterday. But once. Babies, chum: tiny, dimpled, fleshy mirrors of our us-ness, that we parents hurl into the future, like leathery footballs of hope. And you've got to get a good spiral on that baby, or evil will make an interception."

[Bluemage]

---

Just what anime *were* you watching in the 90s anyway? Everybody knows that it's Linna who ends up with Mars Crystal Power, not Priss.

---

No, no, no! *Linna* gets *Jupiter* Crystal Power, not Priss! Honestly- Linna doesn't have the temprament to be Sailor Mars! She is, though, athletic, wears green, and is slightly boy-crazy much more like Makoto than Rei.
The '90s? Robotech, and about 1.5 episodes of 1st season dubbed Sailor Moon that I managed to catch while my father wasn't looking. I became a serious otaku in about '03, and have and have watched (among many, many others) both BGC 2032 and the uncut, subbed 1st season of SM.
Sylia is obviously either Mercury or Pluto, and I'd have to make Nene Venus, just because of her general energy level (but probably have her split Mercury with Sylia, because of intelligence).
That makes Leon a perfect Tuxedo Kamen (right down to attempted coolness and lack of useful fighting ability), and Largo is already (in my book) an impressibe Jadeite impersonator.
Great, now I'm stuck feeding a Crossover bunny That Should Not Be...Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines...

---

My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Brother Atom Bomb of Courteous Debate. Get yours.

I've been writing a bit.

[Jeanne Hedge]

---

No, no, no! *Linna* gets *Jupiter* Crystal Power, not Priss! Honestly- Linna doesn't have the temprament to be Sailor Mars! She is, though, athletic, wears green, and is slightly boy-crazy much more like Makoto than Rei.

---

NonononononoNO! Linna gets Mars Crystal Power, Lisa Vanette gets Mercury Crystal Power, and Sylia Stingray isn't an ice queen, she's an evil queen (with a thing about vampires)! So there!
Can Linna even cook?

Jeanne Hedge
www.jhedge.com

"Believe me, if I have to go the rest of my life without companionship, knowing myself won't be a problem."
-- Gabrielle of Potadeia

[Bluemage]

---

---

No, no, no! *Linna* gets *Jupiter* Crystal Power, not Priss! Honestly- Linna doesn't have the temprament to be Sailor Mars! She is, though, athletic, wears green, and is slightly boy-crazy much more like Makoto t

---

---

NonononononoNO! Linna gets Mars Crystal Power, Lisa Vanette gets Mercury Crystal Power, and Sylia Stingray isn't an ice queen, she's an evil queen (with a thing about vampires)! So there!
Can Linna even cook? [/quote]
*Why* do you think *Linna* is the best candidate for Mars? I agree with you about Sylia- she really should be Pluto, while Sylvie is Uranus, Anri is Neptune, and Cynthia is Saturn. This even leave Nene Mercury, in deference to her strategic role. I'm not sure if Linna can cook, but the rest is spot-on Jupiter.
Lisa doesn't ever actually fight evil, so how could she be Mercury?Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines...

---

My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Brother Atom Bomb of Courteous Debate. Get yours.

I've been writing a bit.

[drakensis]

It was dark.
This was because NERV holding cells don't have any actual lights. Partly because a certain unnamed commander was skimming the budget to pay for his earthly pleasures (he figured to get the heavenly pleasures without having to actually earn them) and partly because it pleased him to have dark dungeons to throw people in.
Thus, Gendo's only son had no actual lights as he sat on the small bed and moped. He didn't even have his trusty S-DAT player to console him.
"Bloody hell, it's dark in here," observed an accented voice from the other end of the cell.
"What!" Shinji yelped. He'd had a look around the cell in the moments when the door was opened and he was pretty much certain that no one else was in here. "Who's there?"
"I am," said the voice, rather unhelpfully. The owner then apparently managed to take a step directly into the bed to judge by the way it shook and the pungent expletives being uttered. Shinji vacated the bunk and tiptoed over to the door.
"Ow, ow, ow," the voice tailed off. "When I find out what idiot dumped me here without a light I'm gonna make them pay all legal charges for the court case when my knee files for a divorce. Probably on the grounds of abuse."
As threats went, that wasn't terribly intimidating.
"What are you doing here?" Shinji asked nervously.
"Making a delivery," the voice replied. "I've got a... where is it... ah ha, got it." Shinji felt something round and metal pushed into his chest and grasped it automatically.
"Um, what is it?" he asked.
"It's a crown," the voice replied. "And if you're..." He paused. "You are Shinji Ikari, right?"
"Uh... yes...?"
"Then it's for you - just a loan. I've got that and..." More rustling. "Be careful where you sit - there's an eleven inch meat feast pizza on the bunk."
"Why?"
"You're a growing boy, you need to eat more," the voice lectured.
"No, why the crown?"
"Well, the original plan was to send you a backbone," the voice said. "But frankly, male spines are in short supply and I'm not fond enough of you to give you mine. So, this. Put it on and you'll experience the memory of the previous owner."
Shinji blinked and wondered why everyone he knew seemed to believe that he was a useless, whiny coward. Granted, it was true, but... "Uh, who was the owner?"
"Ah," the voice seemed to appreciate the opportunity to explain. "Well, it first belonged to a liche by the name of Xykon, truly unpleaseant fellow. But it later fell into the hands of a young adventurer and swordsman. His father was, well, much like your own. And yet he turned out quite well. Perhaps his memory will help you to deal with yours. Then again, only saints get miracles."
Shinji grimaced and considered the crown. Then he put it on. What the hell. It wasn't like he had anything else to do in here.
His vision sawm, and then he found himself looking at an old man, dark-skinned and white bearded, hovering in mid-air above what looked like some film studio's notion of a magical circle. "Yeah?" he felt his mouth say, and an tightly controlled fury flowed through him. "Well, I think there might be a flaw in your plan, Dad, because... well, because screw you."
"What??" the man shouted, looking indignant.
Shinji's voice continued to have a life of it's own, but he felt a deep certainty that the man who he was inhabiting meant every word. "I would love to say that I couldn't belive that my own father would mess with my life like this, to the point of getting me imprisoned and nearly killed - but I know better. You're exactly selfish enough to do this to your own son, just to quench your own thirst for vengeance. You can't even pretend you did all this for the greater good, because you didn't even know about the gates until Shojo told you."
"Now just wait a -" the man protested.
"ZIP IT!" Shinji's mouth shouted and for a moment, Shinji wished he could see his fathers face with the expression he was looking at. "Everything about this has disaster written all over it. Shojo can't be trusted. You certainly can't be trusted. This whole 'job offer' stinks worse than an otyugh covered in sauerkraut on a hot day."
"And yet, I'm going to accept it anyway," he said, squaring his broadshoulders. "As much as I loathe how you've manipulated my friends and me, Xykon is an actual threat. I'm not going to sit and let him get away with whatever he's got planned just because my father happens to be a self-absorbed arrogant jerk. There are too many lives at stake."
He pointed at the man. "I just want you, personally, to know: If it weren't for the threat to the whole world, I would tell you to shove your 'blood oath' against Xykon up your wrinkled incorporeal ass."
Two Days later
Gendo Ikari stared into space, his distracted expression hidden by his gloved hands. Why did the Third say my ass was wrinkled? he thought. Doctor Akagi has not made any objections... and why would the Third be examining my ass? This is not according to my plans...
D for Drakensis

You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.