Scenes from 4 upcoming fanfics....

[lavanya_six]

Yo. Here are excerpts from 4 upcoming fanfics of mine, of which only 3 will probably see the light of day.

Comments are welcomed.


-=-=-

 

"Hey," she said, apropos of nothing, "remember that time I totally kicked that blue tin can's ass?"

 

There were no lights on in the apartment. Only the kaleidoscope of colors from a muted television provided any illumination in the night. Against her guardian's face, the resulting contrast was sharp; highlighting each age line, crevice, and the odd pock mark. Misato looked twenty years older.

 

Asuka didn’t feel any younger.

 

The other woman's voice was low and flat. "Yeah. You really pissed off Ritsuko with your AAR."

 

Asuka snorted softly. With several month's distance, it was easy in retrospect to see it hadn't been smart to phrase her coup de grâce of the berserker Unit-00 as 'doing George Romero proud'. "Whatever," she said, voice rough. "Doctor Bitch just wishes she had been the one to ice Rei."

 

She waited. Misato said nothing. Asuka took a sip of the beer attached to her hand. "The Commander was there too, you know."

 

That finally drew some reaction from her guardian. Misato tilted her head a fraction of an inch and regarded her with a cool, guarded gaze. "Huh."

 

"Yeah. Me and him were the only people awake. Told me to keep his part secret for whatever reason -- like I'm going to tell the bastard 'no' when I was already on thin ice."

 

"Smart."

 

"He had this abortion in a suitcase. It was crazy."

 

"That was ADAM, the First Angel. It blew up my dad."

 

"Figures," she grunted. "You don't like my hair, do you?"

 

"I liked you better with long hair. It made you look taller."

 

"Hmph. That's what heels are for."

 

"Keep telling yourself that, Shortbread."

 

"You know what? I will, Major Bitch."

 

They slipped back into their comfortable silence, each wide awake even in the middle of the night. Asuka found she couldn't bring herself to finish off her beer. The term 'dead soldier' kept turning up in her mind.

 

"Asuka," Misato said, "were you scared when Unit-00 attacked you that time?"

 

"No."

 

"No?"

 

She grunted.

 

"What about when it's against nine at once?"

 

Asuka closed her eyes and savored her mild buzz. "We'll find out tomorrow, won't we?"

-=-=-

 

Much as the Germany people grabbed hold of the legend of Der Dolchstoß after their nation's defeat in the First World War and their subsequent humiliation at Versailles, the Wizarding Community in the United Kingdom and elsewhere found comfort in the ideology of the Bagmanist. Coined after the Minister of Magic at the time, Ludo Bagman, many 'Proud' wizards and witches felt the Ministry of Magic had unduly folded in the face of an easy victory over people who couldn't even use magic.

 

Opinion on the 'true' root-cause of Bagman's surrender varied amongst the Wizarding Community. Amos Diggory, who served as Undersecretary in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures until 1998, wrote in his collaboration A History of the Magical Peoples of Albion that:

 

"...wariness tarred every soul, and the prospect of another war so soon after the climax of the last seemed a burden too impossible to bear. On the evening of the Fourth of November, I was walking between two meetings booked atop one another only to happen upon... [an] acquaintance of mine, an Auror of no little reputation in battle, openly weeping in the hallway. This Auror confessed to me... several of their trainees had fallen to Muggle force-of-arms in a small skirmish before they'd had chance even to draw their wands. This shocked me, for even the Death Eaters had not dueled so disrespectfully." [11] [12]

 

This accusation, that Technologists fight unfairly and without honor, was bandied about in the Interwar Era. Critics, both within the Wizarding Community and without, counterattacked that 'Proud' wizards and witches were overlooking many of the sins of the Death Eaters, such as torture, mind-control, rape, and extrajudicial executions of those that were considered 'undesirable' under the racist Blood Classification System (BCS). [13] Other, such as Griselda Marchbanks, founder of the Society for the Preservation of Our Heritage, or as it was more commonly known, the Heritage Society, placed the onus on Minister Bagman's decision to not fight for legal independence on the behalf of the British Wizarding Community. While the Heritage Society did represent several legitimate Wizarding concerns in the Interwar Era, most notably on the Apparation Licensure Debate that dominated the 1987 General Election, it was often subject to accusations of racism and sapientism. The Heritage Society, for instance, never officially abolished internal use of the BCS, as shown on internal membership files recovered after the Society's suspension in 1997. [14]

 

However the most common complaint launched against Bagman and his fellow appeasers was the notion that the Wizarding World would have won an open war against the Muggles. As the Heritage Society's infamous wartime President Dolores Umbridge stated to a closed meeting of the Executive Board during the height of the 1995 Azkaban Crisis:

 

"The day is fast approaching, Minerva, when all of us will see the truth. You can choose, as poor Albus did, to side with the half-breeds and Muggles. Or you can side with the Light. We... are the superior race." [15]

 

As with Der Dolchstoß, such opinions were silenced by a second war; the Specter War, or, as the Wizarding Community prefer to name it, the Second Wizard-Muggle War.

 

-From Between the Wars, McGraw-Hill, 2016

 

 

[11] The identity of this unnamed Auror has been the subject of much debate. While eyewitness accounts are varied, the Ministry of Magic's record-keeping, spotty in the best of circumstances, provides no Auror duty-roster for 4 November 1981.

 

[12] Amos's son, Triwizard Champion Cedric Diggory, once noted in a 1994 Guardian interview that his father had instructed him at a young age that, "Gentleman never fire the first curse, but they always fire the last."

 

[13] For an in-depth history of the Blood Classification System, I recommend Hermione Granger's perennial classic Human Blood, Human Magic.

 

[14] Primary categories included the Pureblood/Half-Blood/Muggleborn trifecta, as well as subdivisions of discerning any possible Non-Human Sapient ancestry in a candidate's ancestry going back seven generations. A special section on each file noted who the applying candidate was married to (specifically, their BCS status) and, if they possessed siblings or children, who they were married to (and their BCS status).

 

[15] Which is more than a bit rich, considering Umbridge's paternal grandmother was a lily-white Muggleborn American who emigrated from the American South in 1896 due her family's property being confiscated by a fanatical racist town sheriff in the aftermath of the Plessy v. Ferguson court decision.

 

 

 

No one, save perhaps those of the Baby Boomer generation, could have presaged the sheer social upheaval of the Interwar Era in Britain's Wizarding Community. In hindsight, the turmoil of the early 1990s should have predicable. While witches and wizards were portrayed, not inaccurately, as eccentrics, hippies, and comparatively liberal on matters of gender and sexuality, there was always a deep undercurrent of reactionary conservatism among the Ruling Class even aside from the much-publicized Blood Classification System.

To put matters into perspective, consider the faculty of the crypto-fascist Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Of the sixteen faculty members in 1980, eleven were Pureblood, four were Half-Blood, and one was a non-corporeal sapient (i.e. a 'ghost'). Aside from the rotating Defence Against the Dark Arts chair, legendary for its sometimes macabre turnover rate, no Muggleborn had been on staff since 1930. No Muggleborn had held the title of Headmaster since Janus Abott (1819-1829).

Of the three non-human sapients on staff, two held strictly essential but ultimately powerless positions. Rubeus Hagrid -- a former half-giant student at Hogwarts expelled in 1943 under dubious circumstance with no chance to appeal and no due process -- was dependent entirely on the goodwill of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore for his livelihood, despite possessing an extraordinary knowledge of Magical Creatures and Beings. The true tragedy of the crypto-racist ideology underpinning Hogwarts -- and indeed all of the pre-Unmasking Wizarding 'World' -- was best embodied, however, in staff member Argus Flich.

 

Branded with the title of 'squib' by the society that birthed him, Flich lived a Second Class existence in perpetual service to an institution dedicated to uplifting the minds of the worthy, i.e those that could perform magic. Flich, while officially employed as castle Caretaker, instead served as the sole contact many Hogwarts students had with squibs. Exploited by his employers, Hogwart's hidden curriculum taught impressionable witches and wizards that squibs like Argus Flich were worthy only of disrespect and mockery.  

Muggles were no better off. Indeed, while Hogwarts created a permanent Muggle Studies class in 1947, it was never made compulsory until 1982. Yet even with the many necessary revisions made to the school's curriculum, Prime Minister Thatcher still represented an inherently corrupt counterrevolutionary capitalistic system; the racism and sapientism laced throughout pre-Unmasking Muggles Studies was replaced by capitalistic, anti-individualist propaganda designed to make Hogwarts students good worker bees that would labor tirelessly and quietly on behalf of their new corporate overlords.  

With this in mind, it is clear that even so-called 'liberal' academic institution like the former Hogwarts School were, in truth, bastions of reactionary conservatism that talked a good game of liberté, égalité, fraternité but were in reality poisoning the minds of the next generation with half-truths and doublethink so as to perpetuate the racist aristocracy their Pre-Unmasking society was based upon.

What Thatcher, Bagman, and Dumbledore all overlooked as they blazed their Third Way was that history is an inevitable, unstoppable struggle between the oppressed and the oppressor, and just as the failed revolutionaries of 1968 advanced themselves and their chosen causes through higher education, so too would Generation-W find the means to free themselves from the shackles of centuries old system of control. To paraphrase a famous World War One era song: How 'Ya Gonna Keep 'Em Down at Hogwarts? (After They've Seen Cambridgeee).

-- excerpted from Hogwarts: A People's History, Harper Perennial, 2005

 

-=-=-


A famous scientist once insisted that God does not play dice with the universe. This is actually a misquote. Albert Einstein, speaking of quantum mechanics, actually said, "...and inner voice tells me that it is not yet the real thing. The theory says a lot, but does not really bring us any closer to the secret of the 'old one'. I, at any rate, am convinced that _He_ does not throw dice."

Albert, as on many other topics, was quite right. Aside from the obvious, that quantum mechanics is a shell game played by physics professors to keep their tenure, an omnipotent omnicesent being who created Time and Space and all that (Jazz included) the game of dice is far from entertaining. After all, what appeal can dice hold when there's a Lott to kick around?

_He_, being _Him_, had a great deal of experience in screwing around with _His_ creation. And, if _He_ might be so bold, a fair bit of talent at it. Sure, other Gods and Goddess and assorted Power-That-Be'd played their games, but _He_ was the champ. Compared to him, Nyarlathotep was a hack, Tzeentch was that runt who lives down the street and skins squirrals for kicks, and Xanatos was a guileless fool playing for pennies. Not exactly competition.

Recently, _He_ had deigned to entertain _Himself_ by testing the will of a seemingly ordinary mortal. _He_ had thrown demons and evil 'gods' and all manner of terrors at this mortal and yet the mortal had triumphed over every adversity laid before him. Granted, the mortal lost his hand, but the chainsaw he added was really a net-plus when you looked at things in the long-term. Quite sexy, really.

_He_ may not throw dice but _He_ does swing both ways. Sometimes _He_ wonders if _He_ got carried away with the idea of breasts. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and no one was really complaining Down There, but _He_ knows _He_ can be impulsive. It's a flaw. A perfect flaw, but a flaw nonetheless.

Ah well, _He_ tells himself, there will be time for that Adam and Steve thing later.

While the chainsaw-wielding mortal had proven quite entertaining, it was time to move on to something new. So _He_, in _His_ infinite wisdom and eternal boredom, looked out onto the majesty of _His_ creation and picked a new sucker to lick good.


 
-=-=-

 

My first impression of Forks, Washington: shithole.

 

I hadn't even arrived in Forks before I made this judgment. I didn't need to be there to know its quality. After twenty plus years in my hometown of Arkham and eleven years working for the Bureau I'd seen enough backcountry to smell places like the Forks from twenty miles downwind. They were always little podunk hovels in the middle of nowhere, home only to forgotten dreams and rampant teenage pregnancy. The kind of quaint, folksy place you passed through on your journey from somewhere to somewhere. Maybe you'd stop there to refill your BMW's gas tank and muse that, hey, this must be a nice place to raise kids, but then forgot it about when you got back on the interstate.

 

The truth was that anyone with half a brain wanted out of the sticks. I had, growing up. I saw my future in my parents and grandparents, who ended up drunk at their local dive bar of choice one a week with the same friends they'd hung out with in high school. If I hadn't made something of myself, I'd probably have a kid or five now getting wasted in the backwoods just like I used to, and I'd have taken my mother's stool at The Lantern or The Dog Pound.

 

Aside from being one of the rainiest places in the continental United States, the case file I reviewed on the drive there informed me that the Forks used to depend on timber for its economy, but since the decline in that industry the 'city' (and I use that term loosely) relied on jobs at two local prisons to support it.

 

So, shithole.

 

The GPS on the dashboard chimed. "Finally," I grunted. "Thank God."

 

Andrew said, "I need to take such a piss."

 

My partner for this case, a twitchy-looking Agent named Andrew Legrasse, had been loaned to me by the Seattle office. Officially, this was his case. In reality, the freaks were all mine. He may have been in the driver's seat for all nine hours of the drive down to Forks but I was the one who'd cracked the New Orleans cannibal ring and put the Oklahoma Mounds Killer away. Legrasse knew it too, otherwise his bosses wouldn't have brought me in.

 

We exited the 101 and drove on in exasperated silence until we came across a dinged green sign posted along the road. It read:

 

WELCOME TO

Forks, Washington

 

Someone had defaced this part of the sign with an obscenity, scratching out the top part of the 'o' in Forks and scribbling a bit onto the 'r'.

 

Below this it helpfully informed passing motorists:

 

Population 3,120

 

Not anymore, I thought darkly.

 

"Y'know," said Agent Legrasse, "my old man used to talk about Forks. He and his fishing buddies used to drive out here every season." Legrasse glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "Used to say it was the best salmon and rainbow trout grounds in the state."

 

"I can't picture you Angling." Collecting matchboxes, maybe.

 

"My team placed Fourth in American Bass Tournament Trail at the Coulle Playland last year."

 

"Huh." That was almost interesting. "So is it?"

 

"Is what?"

 

"Forks? The best salmon and rainbow trout...?"

 

"Dunno. Dad never took me fishing out here."

 

"Why not?"

 

Agent Legrasse shrugged.

 

As we drove into the heart of Forks, I took note of the bewildering greenery of the locale. Living in DC, I viewed plants as something one visited in a park. The Forks was filthy with needles, leaves, lichens, and things I didn't even have names for. The greenness seemed not merely to be a symbol of fertility but a vibrant lifeform unto itself; if a color could take on thought and feeling, it did so in Forks, Washington. 

 

I revised my opinion of Forks, Washington then and there: green shithole.

 

"Pretty country," said Agent Legrasse, bringing the SUV around a curve in the road. "Must be a nice place to raise kids."

 

"I bet Police Chief Swan thought the same thing."

 

"Probably," mumbled Legrasse. "Did the M.E. ever get off his ass with that report?"

 

"Yeah. The hospital emailed it to me about two hours ago." I fumbled with my Blackberry. Already at 33 my thumbs weren't what they once were. "Wild animal attack," I read off, scanning the rest of the email as I did so. "But he doesn't say how a wild animal locks the doors on the way out."

 

"Or why."

 

I grinned. "Or that. God, what rubes. Do you know how many 'wild animal attacks' there have been in the last two years in or around Forks?"

 

"Eight."

 

I'll admit I was surprised he knew. Most tour guides I've been stuck with on assignment don't know their ass from their elbows. The freak cases always seem to attract the Bureau's resident fools. I can't tell you how many people I've worked with who've made it through Quantico but whose best instinct, upon investigating a ritualistic murder with occult overtones, is to arrest the first teenage Goth they come across in an IHOP at 2am.

 

"Yes." I put my Blackberry away. "Whoever this Dr. Cullen is, he's either a moron or guilty of something." 

 

Around us, the woods began to clear, giving way to seedy-looking one-street kind of town. Legrasse looked at me and asked, "Do you think he's covering for the girl?"

 

Yes, actually, I did, but gut instincts weren't admissible in a court of law. "I don't think anything yet. I just want to stretch my legs, take a piss, and talk to the girl."

 

We pulled off to a dilapidated Mobile station and answered two of my wishes.

-=-=-

Comments

...

[shanghairain.livejournal.com]

If you ever, say, decided to run a Delta Green campaign online, I would play in a heartbeat.

I think you did an excellent job with the Mythos feel in the last piece.

Re: ...

[lavanyasix.livejournal.com]

Thanks! I was a little worried about getting the Mythos feel right since I've never done a story in that universe before.

[blueinkedlines.livejournal.com]

Seconding the previous commenter. I'm absolutely smitten with the tone of the final excerpt. ♥

[lavanyasix.livejournal.com]

Thanks! I'm pretty shocked by the positive response to it so far.

I've posted the rest of Chapter 1 on the front of my LJ.