Subject: Four?
Author:
Posted on: 2013-07-07 13:55:00 UTC
Four is boring.
~
And on the subject of Ispace portals: back in the day, they did use hijacked PPC tech. Nowadays they use trans-dimensional wormholes. The colours derive from red/blue-shifts related to basically breaking space-time, rather than being a purely visual warning as in the PPC.
hS
Following in the footsteps of the first and second iterations, this is the third Monthlyish PPC Writing Challenge. As I wrote for the first version:
Here at the PPC we're very big on writing. We write missions, we rant about the bad writing in badfics, we even play games like Fill The Plothole, which consist of, yep, writing. But at no point do we all sit down and try to improve our writing together.
So. The objective of the Monthly PPC Writing Challenge is to write a short story to a set theme, and then give useful, constructive criticism to other participants.
Here are The Rules:
-Write a (reasonably short) story in response to the Theme below, and post it on this thread. You may use a beta if you wish, but it is not required.
-Give constructive criticism (at least one positive point, at least one negative with suggestions for improvement) to at least one other submission.
-You may rewrite your story based on concrit you receive and repost it, but this is not required.
-Obvious fact, but no flaming! This isn't like the Badfic Contest - the goal here is to write a good story and get feedback from the community.
-You do not require Permission to participate in the Challenge. Neither do your agents need to be approved for you to use them.
-However, nothing written for the Challenge is considered part of the PPC Canon unless you do have Permission, and explicitly claim it as canon.
I think that covers it. Remember that both the writing and the giving of concrit are part of the challenge. (And no, there's no time limit - but there's not usually much point posting on a thread that's left the front page)
And this months Theme:
A character in the PPC hears a knock at their door. They have a visitor - but it's the last person they would have expected...
And remember... have fun!
hS
Hi.i dont know any ppc characters so im doing a self insert.
Kitty Edenwas at her desk, working. Her latest assignment was to sort out the Suvian Colors and find suitable real life matches. Not a pleasant job, especially at 2 in the morning. Well, it was her own fault for slacking off work. There was a rap at the foor. "Come in," Kitty called, not bringing her eyes off her desk. It was probably just a Flower checking in on her. The door creaked open suprisingly dramatically, considering how run down it was. in swept the most handsome hunk of a boy kitty had ever seen. Kity opened her mouth to propose to the unofficial love of her life...
the boy slumped forwards with a delicate moan. Kitty covered her mouth in shock and horror. She rushed forwards to checkhis vitals. She recieved a slap in the face.
"Thanks,"she said, rubbing the slap mark. "I needed that."
The agent who had slapped her sighed wearily. "Yeah, one of the newbies went and got infected with Vambiolaria. Now we've gotta go and exorcise him."
Kitty tried to stem her rapid heartbeat. "I bet hes a real hunk when hes not like this."
The agent laughed sarcastically. "He's the tp computer nerd for the unpopular group. And he has acne."
"Typical."
Kitty sat down and started looking for the ever elusive 'Purite Bledangle'. The othet agent hogtied the Marty-Stu an dragged him out of the room.
Just another day in the life of a PPC agent.
Dum de dum.
...but I don't think I'll have time before this ends up on the next page. Are you planning to do another one, hS? Say...in 1-2 weeks or so? /hinthint/
Pfff, just thought of a dream sequence...which just stopped being a dream sequence. I think.
This is probably canon. It's set sometime after Charlie and Brenda figure out how to get along, assuming they ever do. The mission isn't a real fic, as far as I know.
--
Charlie Shoe sits alone in her RC. Suddenly, someone knocks on the door. She opens it, and, lo and behold...
"Pippin!" she gasps. The hobbit gives her an odd look; she takes it and hugs it to her happily. "Wh-what are you doing here?"
"I'm not Pippin," the hobbit says. Now he's giving her a funny look, and Charlie tries to fight back giggles when she takes it. "My name is Will. I work in the Cafeteria. Did you know the food there's disgusting? It's disgraceful! My friends and I are going to change that."
"You--you will?" Charlie breathes. "Oh, Pip--Will, you'll be the hero of the entire PPC!"
"Of course I will," says the hobbit, and suddenly becomes Will Turner, complete with a sudden puff of smoke. Charlie stares. "Now all I need are some butterflies, an octopus, three jammy dodgers, and a squid..."
And then he starts to become an elephant, and Charlie screams, and then--
"Charlie! Charlie, wake up."
[BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!]
"Shut up, you. Charlie, we've got a mission. Wake up."
Charlie opens her eyes to the familiar ceiling of her RC, and turns her head to blink blearily over at Brenda Loringham. "I just had the weirdest dream..."
"That's what happens when you nap between missions after eating Sue Souffle. Oh, yuck, this idiot thinks she's a unicorn. In PotC-verse. And she falls in love with..." Brenda stops, blinking. "What in the--the Black Pearl? This is a parody, right? Please tell me it's a parody."
"Does she mess with Will?" Charlie sits up, and tries to neaten her now-messy blonde hair.
Brenda hesitates. "She...gores Elizabeth. Ouch. Does that count?"
Charlie gets to her feet and starts reaching for weapons. "She's dead."
"Well, yeah, being gored by a unicorn generally--"
"So's the Sue."
Brenda grins. "Now that's what I like to hear. I knew there was a reason I stopped complaining to the SO about you. And Charlie?"
"What?"
"Put your shirt back on. And take the pink ribbons out of your hair."
"Yes sir'm," Charlie mumbles, and obeys.
So, apologies if my criticims is wrong.
Negative: You did not expand on PPC world after the beep, and you did not explain some abbreviation. What's RC, anyway?. But I'm nitpicking here, and since this is a short story, not very big complaints.
Positive: You manage to leave enough questions in your story to make me want to know more about the mission.
Well, I did my requirement, now to consider writing a new submission.
"Oh, a question, I guess I'll reply to that - but wait, then she'll expect me to concrit as well - I guess I have to now..."
Anyway, yes, there will be another, although I'm not sure when. Actually-monthly might be a bit of overload... we'll see.
~
Your dream sequence was, er, extremely surreal, which I imagine was the point. So you achieved that very well. Charlie's taking of looks was pretty amusing, too.
In the non-dream section, I think you've got the agent-agent interaction pinned down: the 'Well, yeah, being gored by a unicorn generally--' exchange worked particularly well, I think.
I'm not sold on the third-person present tense. I think present tense works well for first and second person, and for 'pseudo-second person' - ie, things like this, where there's an unspoken 'You sit down and watch the following'. I think it also worked well for the dream section - it gave a sense of surreal immediacy to it. But I don't think it works all that well for the 'real' portion. Not entirely sure why, though.
You also filled the dream section with the word 'will', and I'm not sure how intentional it was.
"My name is Will. [...]"
"You--you will?" Charlie breathes. "Oh, Pip--Will, you'll be the hero of the entire PPC!"
"Of course I will," says the hobbit, and suddenly becomes Will Turner...
That's five in three paragraphs. Now, I think that could be used to heighten the surrealism - 'Of course I will - I am Will' - but it reads more like an accident here. I'd actually be really interested to see you take it overboard and create a couple of paragraphs full of Will (the name), Will (Turner, the character), will (the future tense word), will (strength of mind), a will (the legal document), to will (to wish something into happening), to will (to leave something in a will), and any other meanings you can think of, woven into something that makes sense, and can be understood on a reasonably casual readthrough, but is still disorienting.
"Of course I will," said Will. "I will, because I will it so - and my will is strong, and I will will a will into existence - and in that will, I will will to Will the will to do this thing!"
... I think I just made myself dizzy.
hS
[A character in the PPC hears a knock at their door. They have a visitor - but it's the last person they would have expected...]
"Sir Sharpsi, a bit higher, yes, yes, perfect! Ushdag, the spider silk and the cotton should not be on the same shelf! Put them on different shelves! Astaghfirullah, Bilza, why haven't you finished folding? I knew I should have these done back at the factory!"
Dark Lord Aakmal is looking rather undark with his anxiety and fear of possible embarassment at his first shop. He had always walked from door to door, trying to sell the silk to unsuspecting housewives and hooby tailors. But for the first time, he has his own, legal, unsuspicious shop. And oh my, it is in the PPC universe! Well, if the other universe is where his rezeki is, so be it. At least he didn't have to face questioning by the police for employing gorilla lookalikes.
Suddenly, they heard a knock in the door.
"Have we installed the doorbell yet?"
"Yes, My Lord, you did it yesterday."
"I must've connected them poorly. Let me see who's there."
Dark Lord Aakmal quickly runs to the door, unlocking the lines of locks and keypads the Orcs had installed. Aakmal makes a mental note to remove most of the locks later. And encase the holes left with cement. Or mithril, if he knows where to get some.
"Oh, do they have so many precious things to hide here? I thought the cave's where all the preciouses go."
After fumbling at the door for a few minutes, Aakmal quickly opened the door, giving a most sincere smile to... and he lost the smile almost immediately.
"Hello, I heard there's a new shop here. I hope to be the first to visit it. Are you Mr. Aakmal?"
Agent Dafydd. Also known as Maglor, son of Feanor, the participant of The Oath, second in wrath and skill to Maedhros himself. Excellent singer too. Or so what his orcs told him.
"Yes, yes, I am. A moment please, Sir."
Aakmal immediately locks as many locks on the door as fast as he can, walks away from the door, and then shouts as loud as he can.
"ANAK FEANOR!!!" Child of Feanor.
All orcs gets the cue, and hides themselves wherever they could. In the shelf, covered with silk, in the baskets, covering their bodies slightly, even a few that stood in artistic poses, covering themselves in cloth, to give the impression that they are exotic statues from somewhere.
After ensuring everyone is hidden, Aakmal unlocks and opens the door.
"Come in. We, I mean, I, am honoured to receive you. Agent Dafydd, yes? I heard a lot about you." Aakmal says nervously as he extends his right hand to be shaked.
Agent Dafydd smiled as he extends his left hand. Aakmal quickly reaches with his left hand and they shake hands together.
"You must have fever. The shop's cool, yet your hand is sweaty."
"Sorry, sir. Been nervous, first time open shop."
"Watch your grammar, my good man. PPC doesn't take kindly to grammar mistakes. It causes much ruin, and are the Suethors' greatest weapon."
"Thank you for the advice, sir."
"Can I look around?"
Aakmal thought for a second, then nodded, "Yes, sure."
Agent Dafydd looked into every cloth and apparel on sale at the shop. The gambesons, the silk shirts, the cotton, and even some cheap jeans Aakmal had brought from a cheap dealer.
"Your silk, Mr. Aakmal, is quite soft, and nice to look at too. Can I rip a sample?"
"Oh yes, Let me bring it for you."
Aakmal quickly gets a small silk handkerchief. Ushdag's head is exposed by Aakmal's action. Aakmal quickly covered her head with another pile of unfolded clothes.
Agent Dafydd takes the handkercief, hold one side of the handkercief with his foot, and tries to rip it off with his hand. After a few seconds, he gives up.
"Very strong. It must be Shelob's spawn that give you this."
Aakmal can feel his trousers being very wet. A few seconds later, it is. Agent Dafydd laughs.
"Ahaha, Hah, HAHAHAHAHAH! Oh god, you peed in your pants! But no, I'm not here to kill any orcs today. Why not call your workers out? I assure you, I mean them no harm."
Aakmal, looking rather stiff with fear, lifts his hand and motions all the orcs to come out. Everyone uncovered themselves, and slowly walked to Aakmal, then stands silently.
"Thirty of you?"
"We have others at our hiding place." Answered Gul Sharpsi. Aakmal is about to retort, but Gul Sharpsi holds Aakmal's shoulder, calming him.
"Well, as I said, I mean no harm to all you, including you, Dark Lord Aakmal."
Aakmal shoots an alarmed look.
"Oh come on, everyone talks about a new shop, opened by a Dark Lord. Of course I know you'll be the Dark Lord. Dark Lord Aakmal and Orcs' Amateur Boutique and Armourer, all the pamphlets go. Seems like you put Orcs and Spawn of Ungoliant to good use. All Elves would be applauding you, for doing the impossible, at least."
"The Orcs learnt to be good themselves, I only act as their connection to the wider world, Agent Dafydd."
The rest of the Orcs nodded in unison.
"Oh, drop the Agent title. It's Mr. Illian now. Well then, can I have a purchase?"
Aakmal quickly snapped himself out of his own trance. He clapped his hands, and every Orc runs to their respective stations. Aakmal is about to go to the cashier, but Gul Sharpsi stopped him.
"My Lord, perhaps it's well that you take a day off. Clean yourself off. And Mr. Illian, come, let us see what you'd like to buy."
"Yeah, I think I should." Aakmal walks to the toilet for a quick shower.
[Well, how does it go?]
I don't remember doing that. Did I do that?
No, Dafydd. It's just a story. Remember? You did read the rules...
Rules? Rules are for the... er... yes, all right. So it didn't actually happen, even though it says it did?
That's right. I know it's one of the tricky ones, but try to get your head round it
... I'd complain that you're embarassing me, Connie, but I sort of walked into it, didn't I?
Yes, dear, you did. Now, are you leaving a review, or what?
Oh. Right. That. Ahem:
I definitely liked the idea behind this story. Obviously in the real wo- sorry, in Arda, the idea of shopkeeping orcs is ludicrous, but this is the PPC; you can recruit anything you can find, and you can find anything in badfic. And it is a hilarious notion - as is the idea of Ungoliant's children acting as weavers.
(Although, as an aside, I don't think you should mention that to the Doriathrim. They tend to be very wary of spiders in general, and given the place weaving holds in their hearts...)
Dafydd. It's a story.
Sorry. (Also don't tell Vairë unless you're tired of life)
Get on with it, or when we get home I'll-
Um, anyway, so I also thought you had excellent pacing. My appearance at the door was well-written, and the general flow of the story was good. Things were revealed just when you planned them to be, but with subtle lead-up that made it work very well.
Ironically, given 'my' comment on arriving in the shop, I do have to highlight your grammar. You slip between the past and present tenses at random, and your punctuation sometimes gets away from you - ...at our hiding place." Answered... should be ...at our hiding place," answered...
Your overall word-choice is also somewhat strange; not exactly wrong most of the time, but you definitely remind me of one of those agents who hasn't quite learnt English. I suppose that may be inevitable with one who used to speak only the Black Speech, but it's-
Dafydd? It's a STORY. They don't have the Black Speech in the real world. He probably speaks Spanish or something.
Well, my point about the word choice still stands, even if my wife nitpicks everything I say.
Not everyth- oh, a pox on you.
The story in general reminded me of the short fiction we used to see on the network by the PPC General Story owner - Leto Haven, that was his name. So (yes, Connie, I know it's a story, but) it seems appropriate that it crops up again in another shopkeeper. Of course, someone once told me he was dyslexic, so it probably isn't the same issue, but in general terms.
That aside, I thought you had me characterised very well. You remembered about my hand (it's amazing how easy it is to forget), and most of my lines sound, well, pretty much like me. The one I object to is my explosive reaction to the Dark One's accident. I'd be far more likely to greet the sight with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, but not actually comment on it. Still and all, though, for someone I don't believe I've met, a good job.
Of course you haven't met him, it's a story and he's not in the PPC, so... oh, I give up. See you at home, don't stay out too long.
As if I would. I'm done here, anyway. Thank you, 'real' writer person, for an entertaining read.
>Dafydd Illian
Wait, does this mean I have to write a story now? It is in the rules...
Only if you desperately want to. But you can do it at home.
Yes, dear...
"Sir Sharpsi, a bit higher, yes, yes, perfect! Ushdag, the spider silk and the cotton should not be on the same shelf! Put them on different shelves! Astaghfirullah, Bilza, why haven't you finish folding yet? I know I should have these done back at the factory!"
Dark Lord Aakmal is looking rather undark with his anxiety and fear of possible embarassment at his first shop. Once upon a time, he had always walked from door to door, trying to sell the silk to unsuspecting housewives and hobby tailors. But for the first time, he have his own, legal, unsuspicious shop. And oh my, it is in the PPC universe! Well, if the other universe is where his providence is, so be it. At least he don't have to face questioning by the police for employing gorilla lookalikes.
Suddenly, they hear a knock in the door.
"Have we installed the doorbell yet?"
"Yes, My Lord, you did it yesterday."
"I must've connected them wrongly. Let me see who's there."
Dark Lord Aakmal quickly runs to the door, unlocking the lines of locks and keypads the Orcs installed. Aakmal makes a mental note to remove most of the locks later. And encase the holes left with cement. Or mithril, if he knows where to get some.
"Oh, do they have so many precious things to hide here? I thought the cave's where all the treasures go."
After fumbling at the door for a few minutes, Aakmal quickly opens the door, giving a most sincere smile to... and he lose the smile almost immediately.
"Hello, I hear there's a new shop here. I hope to be the first to visit it. Are you Mr. Aakmal?"
Agent Dafydd. Also known as Maglor, son of Feanor, the participant of The Oath, second in wrath and skill to Maedhros himself. Excellent singer too. Or so what his orcs had told him.
"Yes, yes, I am. A moment please, Sir."
Aakmal immediately locks as many locks on the door as fast as he can, walks away from the door, and then shouts as loud as he can.
"ANAK FEANOR!!!" Child of Feanor.
All orcs gets the cue, and hides themselves wherever they could. In the shelf, covering themselves with piles of shirts, in the baskets, covering their bodies slightly, even a few that stands in artistic poses, covering themselves in cloth, to give the impression that they are exotic statues from somewhere.
After ensuring everyone is hiding, Aakmal unlocks and opens the door.
"Come in. We, I mean, I, am honoured to receive you. Agent Dafydd, yes? I have heard a lot about you," Aakmal says nervously as he extends his right hand to be shaken in greeting.
Agent Dafydd smiled as he extends his left hand. Aakmal quickly reaches with his left hand and they shake hands together.
"You must have a fever. The shop's cool, yet your hand is sweaty."
"Sorry, sir. Been nervous, first time open shop."
"Watch your grammar, my good man. PPC doesn't take kindly to grammar mistakes. It causes much ruin, and are the Suethors' greatest weapon."
"Thank you for the advice, sir."
"Can I look around?"
Aakmal thinks for a second, then nodded, "Yes, sure."
Agent Dafydd looked into every cloth and apparel on sale at the shop. The gambesons, the silk shirts, the cotton, and even some cheap jeans Aakmal have bought from a cheap dealer.
"Your silk, Mr. Aakmal, is quite soft, and nice to look at too. Can I rip a sample?"
"Oh yes, Let me bring it for you."
Aakmal quickly gets a small silk handkerchief, exposing Ushdag's head. Aakmal quickly covers her head with another pile of unfolded clothes.
Agent Dafydd takes the handkercief, steps on one side of the handkercief with his foot, and tries to rip it off with his hand. After a few seconds, he gives up.
"Very strong. It must be Shelob's spawn that give you this."
Aakmal can feel his trousers being very wet. A few seconds later, it is. Agent Dafydd smirks. He throws the handkerchief towards Aakmal, and he wipes off his urine on his trousers. Then he throws the handkerchief into the dustbin.
"Mr. Aakmal, why are you peeing in your pants?"
"I, I," Aakmal is weighing whether he should tell him or not, then continues, "Am afraid."
"Of what, Mr. Aakmal?", says Agent Dafydd as he continues to browse through the store.
"Actually, I am the leader of a few orcs. We open this shop to sell our products."
"Oh, I see,
Aakmal gulps on air before pressing his question.
"Are, are you going to kill us?"
"I am here for a visit, not to kill any orcs. Why not call your workers out? I assure you, I mean them no harm."
Aakmal, looking rather stiff with fear, lifts his hand and motions all the orcs to come out. Everyone uncovers themselves, and slowly walks to Aakmal, then stands silently.
"Thirty of you?"
"We have others at our hiding place," answers Gul Sharpsi. Aakmal is about to retort, but Gul Sharpsi holds Aakmal's shoulder, calming him.
"Well, as I said, I mean no harm to all you, including you, Dark Lord Aakmal."
Aakmal shoots an alarmed look.
"Oh come on, everyone talks about a new shop, opened by a Dark Lord. Of course I know you'll be the Dark Lord. Dark Lord Aakmal and Orcs' Amateur Boutique and Armourer, all the pamphlets go. Seems like you put Orcs and Spawn of Ungoliant to good use. All Elves wiil be applauding you, for doing the impossible, at least."
"The Orcs had learnt to be good themselves, I only act as their connection to the wider world, Agent Dafydd."
The rest of the Orcs nods in unison.
"Oh, drop the Agent title. It's Mr. Illian now. Well then, can I have a purchase?"
Aakmal quickly snapps himself out of his own trance. He claps his hands, and every Orc runs to their respective stations. Aakmal is about to go to the cashier, but Gul Sharpsi stops him.
"My Lord, perhaps it's well that you take a day off. Clean yourself off. And Mr. Illian, come, let us see what you want like to buy."
"Yeah, I think I should." Aakmal walks to the toilet for a quick shower.
Firstly, apologies for not notifying the world which Dark Lord Aakmal lives in. I, the narrator, places him in The-Real-World-As-The-Seventh-Age. It may be assumed as a subsidiary world I make of the Tolkienverse, where the ages had changed orcs, elves and other creatures. It may be considered separate, if only by time. There is also where my character gets his orcs, which are now in hiding, although in some places, they may go out and interact with humans safely.
If this world is risking Arda, I apologise beforehand.
And Ungoliant's spawn are not really the weavers. We just take the silk from their nets and cocoons. They are well-tamed by the orcs before I arrive. Also, the orcs already have their own weavery industry before they choose my character to be their Dark Lord.
Oh, I must speak about how orcs of the Seventh Age choose their own Dark Lords. Dark Lords of today are the far cry of the powerful Dark Lords of the First, Second, and Third Age. Dark Lords of the Seventh Age are merely humans serving as mediators between orc villages and to the wider world.
Orcs are most often in hiding, but they still need to eat. The best way to secure their livelihood is through trade, and my character's orcs have been weaving ever since time immemorial. As the Ages progresses, all non-human being have trouble to communicate with humans, thus the need to have a mediator for diplomacy and trade. Thus the requirement of a Dark Lord.
Dark Lords are recruited by allied orc village chieftains, who will find a young man or woman, who will be trained in the ways of the orcs. After the end of the training, the Dark Lord will swear an oath to care, represent, and help the orcs, while delaying the arrival of Morgoth Bauglir by his or her ability, then the orc chieftains will swear fealty to the Dark Lord. Thus, my character isn't the only Dark Lord. There are a few tens of other Dark Lords and Ladies in Sabah itself.
The Dark Lords have to sell the orcs' produce and return the money earned to the treasury, where a committee will distribute the pay to each and every working orc family. The Dark Lord have no say in the distribution except as advisor, but the full power of the finance rests on the Orc chieftains themselves. Dark Lords also have to protect the secrecy of the orcs' existence, while trying to establish connection with other Dark Ones. This is a hard task, especially as some orcs may be hostile to discovery.
And thanks for the grammar correction. I try to make my tense as consistent as possible, but I may slip off, especially when trying to refer to past events.
And English is my second language. I speak Malay firstly.
Will follow up this post with my entry once computer cooperates, and once I finally have this month's Monitor up (it is coming!). For now this is a note so I don't forget.
And now, on to concritting!
This is canon, but won’t happen for a good while yet. Thank you, hS, for picking a topic that allows me to be a tease. Has not been beta’d. Sorry, EF, more seriousness.
Vania jolted awake at a sudden sound, throwing her ponytail into her face as she lifted her head.
Through her obscuring hair and unfocused vision, she saw Sora floating face up with his eyes closed—the “Continue” screen of Kingdom Hearts 3.
Knocking again: the sound that had woken her up. Two hard thuds.
Vania huffed a sigh and let her head her head fall back against the bleen-colored bean bag chair, flipping the ponytail back out of her face.
She addressed a muffled scuffling behind her. “Doooooooc. Would you please get the door when you’re already up? I’m barely awake down here.”
The scuffling stopped. The knock repeated.
“Doc?” Vania tilted her head upwards to see the rest of RC251 upside-down. She was completely alone—no partner and no minis. “Uh.”
Maybe Doc was right about that bug problem.
A really noisy bug problem.
Another pair of firm thuds distracted Vania from her confusion. “Coming! I’m coming!”
“Me too!” shouted Luxury from somewhere nearby.
Vania wrestled her way out of the bean bag chair, spilling more stuffing out of the duct tape holding it together. “If you’re a spam bot, you’re getting thwacked!” Vania warned as she stumbled to the door. She opened it and started to say, “Can I help—” before stumbling back with open mouth and eyes.
“Hello, Vania Tolluk.” The man wore a torn grey vest over a yellow t-shirt, and blue jeans dribbled with dark red splotches. “I see you have a new partner, now.”
“Paul.” Vania’s attention was drawn back to her former partner’s face, and the messy, slightly spiked bleach-white hair above it. She remembered that Paul had done his hair that way to make it look more anime, and remembering that made her remember everything how is he here what did I do get out GET OUT
“I see you remember, now. No more excuses, no more avoidance.”
“Get out!” Vania yelled, her voice rising to a hysterical high pitch. She tried to fling the door shut and back away. The door, however, banged against think vines that were growing in the way, swinging back open, while Vania’s ankle caught on a tree root poking from the RC’s floor. She landed on her back, staring up at Paul, blinking away the raindrops every time they fell too close to her eyes.
Eyes. Paul’s right eye was now all black pupil, while his left was an empty field of white.
“You’re not Paul!” Vania yelled.
“Paul is only a memory now,” said the something wearing Paul’s face. “Thanks to you, Vania.”
“Noooo . . .” Vania moaned and spun around onto all fours, pulling herself away from “Paul,” clawing through video game cases and leaf litter that were wet from the increasingly heavy rain. If she could just reach the console, beat the sound of footsteps following her, and make a portal . . . the console should have been this way, but all Vania could see was the storm-darkened jungle.
“What about Doc, Vania?”
“No!” she shouted, her voice scratchy from anger and screaming. “Get out get out GET OUT!” She flipped over and glared into “Paul’s” inhuman eyes with the animalistic fury in hers. The blood drops were smearing down his jeans from the rain. He leaned in close to her face, frowned, and asked, “Are you going to kill Doc, too?”
Vania gave one long shriek as answer, before closing her eyes tightly and pounding both fists against her forehead. “GETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUT—
“—Get out!” Vania yelled as she jolted awake.
Agent Doc froze with eyes wide at the RC door. “Sorry, Vania. I was trying to be quiet.” He stepped in further and set a pile of books and pamphlets neatly on the floor in front of his bookshelf. “I wanted to look up how to get rid of our bugs, but I used someone else’s RC so the portal wouldn’t wake you.”
Vania closed her eyes and listened to the minis begin to stir again after her outburst. “No, you’re fine. I just woke up from a bad dream.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sorry about that. Do you . . . want to talk about it?”
“Well,” Vania started, then furrowed her eyebrows. She looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds, then shook her head hard. “Apparently not. I can’t remember it at all.” She settled back into the bleen bean bag chair and looked at the TV screen. She nudged the directional pad down twice, then selected, “Load Game.”
That was... pretty scary, to understate things somewhat. The style reminds me somewhat of my own After Midnight - the idea of a reasonably normal situation slowly dissolving into nightmare-madness. I don't know how well my version worked, but yours was very good. You hit the pacing very well, and I really liked the way you introduced the new elements. For instance:
She landed on her back, staring up at Paul, blinking away the raindrops every time they fell too close to her eyes.
You hadn't mentioned the raindrops before - but that's what makes it dreamlike. You have impossible things happen without anyone (ie, the narrator or Vania) commenting on them. It works particularly well here, because we don't (well, I don't) know anything about Paul - I just assumed vines was his thing, until it all got too surreal/scary even for that.
You also hit the description very well throughout - 'Paul's' eyes in particular stood out to me.
There are a few things that bother me - but they are very minor things. You have a typo for the 'think vines' (although that gives me delightful mental images), and I think you missed a great opportunity around 'bleen bag chair'.
I'm also a little puzzled by 'Vania tilted her head upwards to see the rest of RC251 upside-down'. She was apparently looking at a TV(?) when she 'woke up', then leant back into the bleenbag chair... and then tilted her head upwards, and the RC was upside-down? I guess you're meaning for her to be practically horizontal on a bleenbag in the middle of the room, but that doesn't really come across.
I don't particularly the random Lux interjection. I know why you did it, and it's a moderately funny line - but it a) puts Lux into Vania's dream (now there's a terrifying thought), and b) breaks the flow completely. Also c) assumed audibility through walls, but that's neither here nor there.
I'm also a little unsure what Vania's main emotion is during this scene. I mean, no, obviously it's terror - unless it's obviously guilt. I got that Vania (thinks she) killed Paul - but some things ('how is he here what did I do') imply he was about as monstrous as this version, and therefore probably deserved it, while others ("Are you going to kill Doc, too?") suggest she didn't mean to kill him.
Making my own story out of whole cloth, I'd guess there was something about Vania which either caused her to go out of control and kill Paul, or caused Paul to go out of control and try to kill her, with her killing him in self-defence. Either of those would hit the 'terror&guilt' emotion. I'm not sure she'd hit quite that note if, for instance, Paul got possessed by an evil ghost and she had to kill him - because unless she's in the habit of meeting evil ghosts, that wouldn't make her worry about killing Doc.
On the other hand, given how much I've just thought and written about it, I guess it's actually a good way of writing it. ;) You've pulled off the 'tease' thing, I think.
hS
I think, perhaps, I got carried away with posting this so early . . . it relies a bit too much on things that have yet to happen in my spin-off, so your confusion is entirely justified. All the same, I'm glad it at least worked as a standalone scare.
I will say that the thing in Vania's dream is very much not Paul, which I did try to state pretty clearly. ("You're not Paul!" . . . the something wearing Paul’s face.) What it actually was will have to wait, but there are a couple of hints in here.
I intentionally kept Vania's emotion here ambiguous as well, because thanks to her missing memories, neither she nor the audience actually know what happened during the last Mary Sue invasion. Of course, she obviously remembered for a moment here, but again--I'm not telling yet.
"Think vines." Alas that I must edit them out. They sound useful. I actually thought "bleen bag chair" was too easy of a joke, and decided to not spell it out directly and let the reader fill it in. (Which you did. Yay!) I know the Luxury line is kind of Family Guyish, but . . . I rather like it. I think I'll keep it in for now. (Who knows how sound and walls might interact in a dream?)
The looking backwards bit . . . might depend on how one typically uses bean bags? It literally just occurred to me that most people might sit in a bean bag chair, as though it has "chair" in its name or something, whereas I've always used them as a pillow while laying down. Yeah, now I see how Vania tilting her head backwards to see the room upside down was unintentionally horrifying. What if I try:
*adding to the first sentence: Vania jolted awake at a sudden sound, throwing her ponytail into her face as she lifted her head out of the bleen bag chair. She had fallen asleep lying on the floor, with the bean bag as a pillow.
* And at the scene itself: “Doc?” Vania used her feet to slide backwards into the bean bag, tilting her head upwards to see the rest of RC251 upside-down.
Would that read a bit more clearly?
This one's canon.
This is a pretty cool set up for a new, antagonistic character. You've given us Arthur's world(s) view, and sent him running off, leaving our imaginations to fester over what kind of damage he could potentially do. I'm looking forward to seeing where his plot progresses, and how Nathan reacts to future behavior.
The set up to Arthur's intro is also good, though brief. Bringing up Ellipsia's expected long absence, and the console's silence, are good ways to ready a PPC reader for something unusual to come. I do think that first paragraph could have been stretched out a bit more, though, to draw out the reader's feeling of suspense.
Arthur's dialogue is also a bit inconsistent. His first few responses to Nathan are evasive lists of nonsense ("Here, there," "this, that," etc.) Then, Arthur switches to complete, detailed sentences. It's maybe supposed to feel like Arthur is toying with Nathan in the beginning, but the sudden change is still a little jarring. It might be worth it to look at the dialogue there and pace out the progression of Arthur's speech a bit more.
First for your story. I like the interplay between the two characters. There is a very "Darth Vader v Luke Skywalker" thing going on here which works really well. The building tension between them is wonderful.
Also, this, "Wait. Are you trying to friendship speech me?" Awesome.
Something I thought needed work was Arthur's exit. It doesn't quite work for me. Nathan pounces. Arthur portals. Nathan ends up on the floor in front of the portal as it closes. I just think, if he were going for a tackle (which seems evident from him ending up on the floor) that his momentum should have taken him past where Arthur was, and into the portal. I know that is something you don't want to happen in this story, so there should be some reason he doesn't. Maybe he tripped on the polystyrene balls, I don't know.
I think the reason that stands out is that this scene is rooted in the mental and emotional, so the one bit that is fairly physical needs to be strong to stand up with the rest.
Overall, well done. I can tell that we haven't seen the last of Arthur, and I am looking forward to finding out what he's up to and unraveling his mystery.
Now to reply to your concrit for my story. I'm glad the potted fern comes across well. The end of innocence is not something that I went in thinking about, but it is definitely there, now you mention it. And I'm glad those three words had the impact I was hoping for. That section got rewritten at the last minute to put those words at the end of the paragraph, which I think made a big difference.
I apologize for teasing too hard. I was aiming for mystery and I guess I overshot. I am going to try to rewrite it to add in some more information about what all went wrong. I want to keep some of the WHAM!s for the larger story, though. So it's a balancing act.
-Phobos
Catastrophe Theory: Bound and Gagged
I hope you will enjoy it.
-Phobos
Thank you to hS and EF for their feedback. I have, I hope, made things a little more clear. Further comments are, as always, appreciated.
Catastrophe Theory: Bound and Gagged
-Phobos
I must say, I really enjoyed this - possibly because I'm a sucker for a good catastrophe timeline.
I thought you did a very good job of portraying a Legal functionary - there haven't exactly been many of them (actually, are there any named anywhere besides Chiaroscuro?), but you've pinned down what looks like the essence of Legal - unremarkable, but with the wicked sort of dry humour that can also be read as not understanding there's such a thing as humour. That 'I would be in violation' line is perfect.
I also think you pulled off the Potted Fern's speech/thoughts very well. It's got the right mix of anger, resentment and, ah, resigned dedication. You also made excellent use of Flower-type idioms, which is always a plus.
My main concern... well, no, I have two. The first is your insistence on lowercasing the Potted Fern. As far as I'm aware, every single Plant in the PPC's history has been referred to in capitals. One might occasionally see a lowercase used to describe the species of a named Flower - but even then, you'd usually get 'Captain Dandy was, of course, a Dandelion'. I think this derives ultimately from the Narnian habit of capitalising the species of talking animals - it shows up in the Wicked books, as well.
Of course, you've also worked this into the narrative with the 'Potted Fern Official' section - but I don't know that it really fits. I'd be tempted to drop the whole minefield, capitalise it throughout, and tweak the two sentences that needs it from 'It wasn't long before the capital letters started sneaking in...' to something more like 'It wasn't long before the additional title had started sneaking in when agents had addressed the lead Flower. The Potted Fern hadn't done anything to stop it, but it couldn't bring itself...'. It's actually sort of a shame, since that section is well-written and works, but...
That was my 'parenthetical aside' concern. The main concern is that I'm left kind of in the mist as to what's going on in the backstory. The lines like 'that meant having a Plant running the show' and 'So it had been chosen for the Council of Nine' sound like the PFO is part of the leadership of the PPC, though possibly as a figurehead. The stuff about Operation Sweeper and the Department of Resistance sound like it's part of the (duh) resistance against the leadership of the PPC, which could fit with the figurehead idea. But near the end, the PFO is going to tell the Council about the visit... which means they're in on things... which means they can't be who's being rebelled against... which either means they're not running the PPC, even though the opening implied they were, or they are, and the PPC has effectively renamed itself the Department of Resistance under some occupying force. You mention 'the invasion' in passing, but nothing clear.
Obviously, there's no need to spell out everything - it would be a very bad method of storytelling, actually. If, as I'm coming to suspect after repeated readings, the PPC and Council of Nine are under occupation, but secretly working against the occupier - some mention of 'Them' or some other non-specific term would make things a little clearer. Perhaps something as simple as, in the PFO's 'papers' rant, adding The invasion? The hell we've gone through under the Occupation? would clear things up.
If, of course, there is an Occupation. The fact that I can't tell is the basic point of this long ramble.
But that is a very minor point, in the scheme of things. It was a fun story to read, and well written to boot.
And now, I'm going to do some more chemistry (because work is, er, fun?), and then try to rework my own entry...
hS
I'm glad you enjoyed it. Now on to my comments.
It seems the characters really came through well, which is something I strive for. Also, who doesn't love a good catastrophe timeline?
I'm going to leave the capitalization issue alone for the most part, since you and Nesh are covering it so thoroughly already. I will only say that I think both low self-esteem and issues with certain other pteridophyts may explain this case.
As to the larger issue, I will probably have to find some ways to make it more clear. The other story, which I've been working on for a while now, covers most of the backstory. But I know that is no excuse. This scene should stand on its own. Your suggestion of using the word 'occupation' is a good one. That does get much closer to the target than invasion did, so I will likely use it in the eventual rewrite.
Also, I don't think your confusion in regards to the backstory is a minor point, as you've suggested. You are an intelligent guy and if it doesn't make sense to you, after multiple reads, then there is likely a problem on my end. I know what the backstory is, which is why I need people like you to point out if I am not giving enough information. I just have to find a way to strike a balance between giving enough information and not rehashing all the information that I put into the larger story, which really spells out what happened.
Still, for three day's work, this seems to have turned out pretty well. Thanks for your concrit. It has been most helpful.
-Phobos
Au contraire, mon ami! The potted fern has actually never been capitalized (in all of the two stories and one RP log it appears in prior to this), and furthermore, I have noticed in my archiving work that Flower species never or rarely were in the beginning, either. In TOS, by and large, the Sunflower Official is a sunflower; the Marquis de Sod is a daisy; the Lichen is a lichen, etc. Even the first mention of "sunflower official" (in mission 5, "What Might Have Been") is lowercased on Miss Cam's site; I changed it for The Lost Tales because it does get capitalized later on, so consistency.
As to the fern specifically, though, I figure it's lowercased because it's not a director or official or anything much at all, really. It just hangs around and occasionally carries messages, and it certainly isn't that other Fern, which does get a capital.
Or it might be that Nenya never gave it a title in the original story, where it's basically just "that fern that ate my apple fritter," and I took that more literally than perhaps was necessary for the sake of consistency and honoring the original work. >.>
So... I'm not necessarily disagreeing that perhaps it should be capitalized at this point. It's just not true that Flowers, and specifically this one, always have been.
~Neshomeh, who will likely not be able to participate, unfortunately, but will try if inspiration strikes.
I do maintain that in general, most Flowers these days are capitalised - but that may be solely because that's what I do (and I know you've had to call me on capitalising 'Agent' everywhere, too, which I think I've stopped doing). I also didn't know the pPotted fFern had appeared outside that original story (Yes, I did recognise it! That's also the first published appearance of Constance Sims, so I read it occasionally), so there's that. Which is the other story it's been in, out of interest?
My counterexample to the piece of sentient vegetation in question is the Daisy; the one who shows up in the Playscriptes, and was in the Fifth Anniversary RP. Despite having no, er, actual job (seriously, it just hangs around), it's the Daisy, and a Daisy, throughout. The Yellow Roses get the same treatment, and their job appears to be 'pretending the DOOCH is a real thing'. The Weeds, as well, are referred to by their names, but also occasionally by species - we have a Tumbleweed in there somewhere (and a Wild Rose, I think?). All of those capitalise their species, and, er, at least one of them isn't my fault? Okay, the Daisy is mine, and the Weeds were mostly created by me, but I didn't come up with the Yellow Roses!
But inconclusive me-centred evidence aside, I think the thing that bothers me about lowercased Flowers is that their species is the closest thing they have to a name. It feels sort of like a Time Lord being lowercased - 'The Daleks fired their exterminator beams, but the apologist managed to duck behind a pillar. "Morgan!" he yelled. "Any time now would be good!"'
... I'm sorry, I've just sidetracked myself with wanting to create a Time Lord called the Apologist. Um. Where was I?
Nope, lost it. I think I was just typing words because it's fun. Anyhow, in case I didn't mention it in my actual review, it was brilliant to see Legal doing their thing. I really want to write a story about Legal, but don't know if I can do it while maintaining their mystery...
hS
But no, I think you're right that the rest of them are capitalized these days, and they do function more or less like names. I do like Phobos' idea of the potted fern simply not thinking of itself that way, though (and I actually know a guy who doesn't like to be called anything), so I dunno. It's precedent and characterization vs. precedent and standard convention. Tough choice.
The other story it's appeared in is "Gestalt Therapy."
I shudder to think what a Time Lord called the Apologist would get up to...
~Neshomeh
But they're also a Firstborn conceit - which, since they're the role models for all the other Flowers, means the entire, uh, whatever you say instead of 'species' when it's a whole class of being, probably feels a (cultural) need to use them. They don't seem to be attached to their names - otherwise the Weeds wouldn't be happy at just having numbers - but they do seem to have a cultural need to possess a unique descriptor.
But yes, the potted fern could simply lack that cultural imperative. It happens, I suppose.
Ah, Gestalt Therapy. I think I read it back in the day...
(Have you ever noticed that every time something goes horribly wrong around here, it starts with a power cut? You'd think 'dead writers spinning in their graves' wasn't the most reliable form of generation or something...)
hS
Steve Dimond frowned at the door. “Tango?” he called. “Is that you? You really don’t have to knock.”
“But I might if I’m not Tango,” a muffled voice pointed out, and Steve jerked upright, practically falling out of his chair. He knew that voice!
As the door swung open, bounced, half closed again, and hit Steve’s elbow before finally coming to a stop, Constance Illian-Sims watched with a huge grin, stroking the miniature golden dragon on her shoulder. Steve stared at her in bewilderment, unable to persuade his mouth to form any words.
“Well, hello to you, too.” Constance peered into the Response Centre. “Oh, I see you’ve redecorated. Tango’s influence?”
Steve looked around at the red-painted walls, the soft white carpet, the children’s paintings in their frames. “How could you tell?”
Constance snorted. “You haven’t changed a bit. Can I come in? Good.” She brushed past him and perched on the arm of the sofa. “Your son not around?”
“Sons,” Steve corrected, and smiled at Constance’s raised eyebrow. “Luden’s four now, and Jason’s two. And no, they’re in the Nursery. I think my sister’s taking care of them, actually.”
“Oh, yes, the blonde with the not-quite-dead thing going on.” Constance thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess I can’t really pick, considering… but I’m not here to gossip. This is serious.”
“I figured that,” Steve agreed. “Otherwise you’d have shown up sooner than three years after last time.”
“Well, I’ve been busy,” Constance pointed out. “Tanfin’s pretty self-sufficient by now, but Jasmine’s still incredibly needy, and as for Bella and Daphne – well, you know how babies are, I’m sure.” She touched her stomach, which Steve now noticed was slightly rounded. “I just hope this one’s better behaved than some of his sisters.”
Steve nodded seriously. “I can tell this is an incredibly important conversation,” he said. “It’s a good thing you’re not getting distracted by gossip.”
“Oh, hush, you. Don’t you know it’s mean to pick on pregnant women?”
“So I’ve been told. Then I think Ontic told Tango that was sexist, and Elanor - who’s also pregnant now – suggested that maybe it should be ‘never pick on someone who can probably cripple you for life’, and the conversation moved on to maiming.” Steve shrugged. “Life in the PPC, you know?”
“Well, I have a fire lizard, and I’m not afraid to use her, so you’d best be cautious either way.” Constance shook her head. “No, but really. Things out in the Multiverse have been getting… tense. Do you know anything about that?”
“Things are always tense,” Steve pointed out. “There’s an infinite host of Mary-Sues sweeping through the Word Worlds, remember?”
Constance scowled at him. “I meant tenser than normal. Agents have always left us alone before – you know who I mean, all the retirees living in the ‘Verse – but you’ve started stopping us, questioning us. It’s like you think we’re a threat of some sort.”
Steve frowned. “You personally? I mean, I know you’re a dangerous person, but…”
“Me, Dafydd, some of our friends – heck, Tanfin got interrogated a few days ago, and he’s only seven! It’s ridiculous.”
“Um. I think I might know what that’s about.” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Do you remember Kayleigh Leonard? She’s in Bad Slash.”
“The really weird one?” Constance nodded. “I remember you sneaking off with her at Jay’s leaving do, at any rate.”
Steve blushed. “Yes, well. Um, she’s got some sort of theory about there being an organisation out in the Worlds trying to destroy canon – sort of an anti-PPC, I think. She’s been spreading rumours and making waves – you know how she is.”
“Well, I knew about the ‘spreading’ part,” Constance agreed, and Steve’s face grew even redder.
“Well, anyway, people have been getting a bit twitchy about strangers in the Worlds. That’s probably why they’re bothering you.”
“Hmm.” Constance drummed her fingers on the back of the sofa. “Any truth in the rumours?”
Steve shrugged. “I haven’t seen anything, and I haven’t heard of anyone who has. But Kayleigh usually has some foundation for her theories.”
“Hmmmm.” Constance’s gaze stayed defocussed in thought for a moment, and then she stood up abruptly. “Right. Thank you, Steve, you’ve been… well, moderately helpful. I’ll try not to leave it three years this time.” And off she strode out of the door.
Steve shook his head. She hadn’t changed a bit, apparently – same old Constance. She-
“One more thing!” Steve jumped as Constance’s head reappeared around the doorframe. “What did you say this anti-PPC was called?”
“Um, something about plates?” Steve offered. “No, peace… oh, that was it: Ispace.”
“Thank you! See you eventually!” And she was gone.
I have to admit it might be a silly question as I don't follow social networks at all, but it sounds like another Circle of Lemmings...
They're basically an organization dedicated to keeping elves safe across the multiverse, and failing that, anything they see as an elf, which can include elven Sues and elf-like humanoids.
They've shown up most recently in his OFU, though they didn't really come across as an anti-PPC anywhere I saw. They had access to PPC technology, like the portals and the SEP Field, but they had never really tried to destroy a canon.
They didn't seem to care much about keeping to canon events when they were there, since one of Huinesoron's stories showed them helping Thranduil in the Battle of Five Armies and abducting Smaug from Middle-earth to resurrect him after his canonical death, but they didn't seem to want to actively destroy anything.
I'm not sure how Ispace started or exactly what it does to defend the elves and pseudo-elves, so I'm as in the dark about that as you are. You'd think that the initial exposition or one of the Ispace characters would elaborate, but in the initial story they show up in, the start of the organization is told as essentially "a version of one of Middle-earth's Glorfindels from an alternate universe had his horse stolen one day, and in retaliation, decided to set up an interdimensional organization". It seems like a pretty large overreaction, but what do I know? I'm not an elf.
I'm pretty sure they don't have access to PPC technology (unless they stole it). Of the two examples you listed, SEP Fields come from a different continuum entirely, and if you read the description of the portal opening in chapter 9 of OFUDisc, it looks very different to the ones created by PPC portal generators.
As for them being an 'anti-PPC', that was just Kayleigh's opinion, and she's not always the most rational person around. They don't seem to be opposed to the PPC in the same way that the League of Mary Sue factories is, but they clearly have their own agenda, which could easily bring them into conflict with the PPC in certain circumstances - however, in others the goals of the two organisations might line up nicely.
I knew about the SEP Fields being from H2G2, but I'd forgotten that their portals in OFUDisc were red instead of blue until they opened, and caused the dimensional twist effect. Ispace's portals were blue in their first story, and behaved a lot like the PPC portals, but I suppose Ispace must have modified them over the years.
It's a sensible thing to do, considering that Ispace seems to use their portals to transport a large number of personnel over large dimensional distances, while the PPC tends to use their portals primarily to transport a small group of people to neighboring continua, or from an individual continuum to the null zone of HQ.
Now I want to see a story with multi-organization team-ups, where one side is trying to outpace the other, but the organizations composing each side would have differing goals and strained relationships. Ispace would team up with the PPC, and the League of Mary Sue Factories with... I think NASTY is still around. With NASTY, then. It'd be interesting to see what they get up to, since they were never really elaborated on after their first appearance.
Of course, I have no idea what four distinctly separate multi-dimensional organizations would want to go after, but it's possible the Mirror Multiverse would be involved.
Four is boring.
~
And on the subject of Ispace portals: back in the day, they did use hijacked PPC tech. Nowadays they use trans-dimensional wormholes. The colours derive from red/blue-shifts related to basically breaking space-time, rather than being a purely visual warning as in the PPC.
hS
I recognise the LMSF, EPC, I think one of the "book surrounded by circle of stuff" is the PPC, the rest I'm drawing a blank.
... when the posters go up. ;)
hS
Plus I have that one organisation of my own I've talked to you about, but I've yet to find a good opportunity for the MPC to show up.
Ah, the good old I-have-no-idea-what-two-thirds-of-those-logos-mean graph.
So each one of those represents a separate multi-dimensional organization? I'd thought that several of them were just divisions or factions, like the OFU² down there.
How is that going, by the way? Will the first chapter be up soon?
We've just about finished the first draft of the first lecture - we managed to end up with three of the people involved on holiday simultaneously, so it's taken a little longer than planned. Once we get the last few pieces sorted out, it will probably need editing, and then, presumably, publishing.
hS
Steve Dimond frowned at the door. “Tango?” he called. “Is that you? You really don’t have to knock.”
“But I might if I’m not Tango,” a muffled voice pointed out, and Steve jerked upright, practically falling out of his chair. He knew that voice!
As the door swung open, bounced, half closed again, and hit Steve’s elbow before finally coming to a stop, Constance Illian-Sims watched with a huge grin, stroking the miniature golden dragon on her shoulder. Steve stared at her in bewilderment, unable to persuade his mouth to form any words.
“Well, hello to you, too.” Constance peered into the Response Centre. “Oh, I see you’ve redecorated. Tango’s influence?”
Steve looked around at the red-painted walls, the soft white carpet, the children’s paintings in their frames. “How could you tell?”
Constance snorted. “You haven’t changed a bit. Can I come in? Good.” She brushed past him and perched on the arm of the sofa, her pet fluttering its wings for balance. “Your son not around?”
“Sons,” Steve corrected, and smiled at Constance’s raised eyebrow. “Luden’s four now, and Jason’s two. And no, they’re in the Nursery. I think my sister’s taking care of them, actually.”
“Oh, yes, the blonde with the not-quite-dead thing going on.” Constance thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess I can’t really pick, considering… but I’m not here to gossip. This is serious.”
“I figured that,” Steve agreed, closing the door and leaning back against the console. “Otherwise you’d have shown up sooner than three years after last time.”
“Well, I’ve been busy,” Constance pointed out. “Tanfin’s pretty self-sufficient by now, but Jasmine’s still incredibly needy, and as for Bella and Daphne – well, you know how babies are, I’m sure.” She touched her stomach, which Steve now noticed was slightly rounded. “I just hope this one’s better behaved than some of his sisters.”
Steve nodded seriously. “I can tell this is an incredibly important conversation,” he said. “It’s a good thing you’re not getting distracted by gossip.”
“Oh, hush, you. Don’t you know it’s mean to pick on pregnant women?”
“So I’ve been told. Then I think Ontic told Tango that was sexist, and Elanor - who’s also pregnant now – suggested that maybe it should be ‘never pick on someone who can probably cripple you for life’, and the conversation moved on to maiming.” Steve shrugged, waving an arm to indicate the console, the RC, the whole of HQ. “Life in the PPC, you know?”
“Well, I have a fire lizard, and I’m not afraid to use her, so you’d best be cautious either way.” The tiny dragon in question lifted her head and let out a noise halfway between a purr and a chirp. Constance laughed softly and reached up to stroke her pet’s chin. “No, you can stay put for now, Hera,” she said. “I think he’s learnt his lesson.”
“Definitely,” Steve assured her, trying surreptitiously to back away from his visitors. “I’m very good at learning lessons from Constance - I've had lots of practice.” Hera chirped again with what sounded like amusement, and settled down to watch him.
Constance chuckled, still idly rubbing Hera’s chin, but her smile quickly faded. “No, but really. Things out in the Multiverse have been getting… tense. Do you know anything about that?”
“Things are always tense,” Steve pointed out. “There’s an infinite host of Mary-Sues sweeping through the Word Worlds, remember?”
Constance scowled at him, and even Hera gave him a distinct Look. “I meant tenser than normal. Agents have always left us alone before – you know who I mean, all the retirees living in the ‘Verse – but you’ve started stopping us, questioning us. It’s like you think we’re a threat of some sort.”
Steve frowned, leant forwards, then realised what he was doing and straightened up again. “You personally? I mean, I know you’re a dangerous person, but…”
“Me, Dafydd, some of our friends – heck, Tanfin got interrogated a few days ago, and he’s only seven! It’s ridiculous.”
“Um. I think I might know what that’s about.” Steve ran a hand through his sandy-brown hair, spent a second trying to work out a tangle and failing miserably. “Do you remember Kayleigh Leonard? She’s in Bad Slash.”
“The really weird one?” Constance nodded. “I remember you sneaking off with her at Jay’s leaving do, at any rate.”
Steve blushed. “Yes, well. Um, she’s got some sort of theory about there being an organisation out in the Worlds trying to destroy canon – sort of an anti-PPC, I think. She’s been spreading rumours and making waves – you know how she is.”
“Well, I knew about the ‘spreading’ part,” Constance agreed, and Steve’s face grew even redder.
“Well, anyway, people have been getting a bit twitchy about strangers in the Worlds. That’s probably why they’re bothering you.”
“Hmm.” Constance drummed her fingers on the back of the sofa. “Any truth in the rumours?”
Steve shrugged. “I haven’t seen anything, and I haven’t heard of anyone who has. “ He nodded backwards at the console. “Everything on the network seems to stem from Kayleigh... but on the other hand, she usually has some foundation for her theories.”
“Hmmmm.” Constance’s gaze stayed defocussed in thought for a moment, and then she stood up abruptly, almost dislodging Hera. “Right. Thank you, Steve, you’ve been… well, moderately helpful. I’ll try not to leave it three years this time.” She crossed the room in a few steps, pulled the door open, and strode off into HQ.
Steve shook his head. She hadn’t changed a bit, apparently – same old Constance. She-
“One more thing!” Steve jumped as Constance’s head reappeared around the doorframe. “What did you say this anti-PPC was called?”
“Um, something about plates?” Steve offered. “No, peace… oh, that was it: Ispace.”
“Thank you! See you eventually!” And she was gone.
Positive: I enjoy the flow of the dialogue. You do a good job making it seem like normal people talking in real time, which I personally find to be kind of tricky occasionally.
Negative: This could be just me, but I think you need a little more description. Just a little bit. For example, the dragon on Constance's shoulder, what was it doing during all of this?
I am (vaguely) planning to do a minor rewrite in line with your comment - the other piece of description I notice as totally lacking is Steve's movements. I think he just stood there holding the door for the whole story. So I'll try and at least make him move his hands occasionally, as Constance does.
As to Hera the fire lizard queen... she's mostly there because of that 'I've got a fire lizard and I'm not afraid to use her' line, which was supposed to include another mention of her. I'll try and get her to be an actual presence if/when I rework it.
(Yeah, dialogue is sort of my thing. I have a horrible time with action, which is why I really enjoy the almost-MST style of PPC missions, and why Reorg and Crashing Down had massive update gaps surrounding the action chapters...)
hS