Wapsi Square Forum

FreeFlier wrote:

jwhouk wrote:"Al, why is there a blue police box sitting outside in the driveway?"

"Oh, bloody hell, not HIM again..."

Who?

/flrrd/

--FreeFlier

"Yes. How he got the damn term 'Doctor', we have no idea..."

FreeFlier wrote:

Dave wrote:

Pompeii. "Excuse me, sir, there's some lava here to see you."

. . .

I think you have the wrong volcano . . .

Pompeii and Herculaneum were destroyed by pyroclastic flow.

Quite right... although the pyroclastic flows originate from fluid magma, just as lava does. It just de-gasses pretty abruptly when the pressure falls, and blows apart into Chunks O' Rock.

I was actually quoting from an old Doonesbury, in which Uncle Duke had been appointed as governor of American Samoa, and had failed to keep to the approved schedule of virgin sacrifices to keep the local volcano gods satisfied. His butler had to announce an unexpected visitor and the quote was too good not to use.

This was shortly after the typhoon, and the sudden blizzard (which his adviser said not to worry about, because "the snow never sticks"). Duke had an interesting tenure there.

Warrl wrote:

DinkyInky wrote:

Warrl wrote:...iessin?

Nope.

And before you ask, no, not Talia either. She's a mage, not a Bard.

No, Elspeth is the mage. Talia is Queen's Own Herald.

Her name is not Talia, she's(Tal) a mage not a Bard(like Taliessen).

Being medicated for bronchitis makes touch typing difficult(I misplaced my shiny keyboard, so touch typing ahoy).

I know who they are, I just really, really, really dislike those poncy white clad white talking pony riders...I loved Fiddler Faire though, but no. Misty rather dislikes fanfic...a lot...so no...no naming characters after any of hers. Besides, Tal's full name is pretty.

FreeFlier wrote:

Dave wrote:

Pompeii. "Excuse me, sir, there's some lava here to see you."

. . .

I think you have the wrong volcano . . .

Pompeii and Herculaneum were destroyed by pyroclastic flow.

--FreeFlier

"Miss Inform... do we have any appointments with a ..." looks at the note, "...pyroclastic flow... today?"

"Al..." Greg looked a bit askance over the recent intrusion, "Gallipoli? Market-Garden? Did that numbskull haul you back in time?"
Al gave Greg a stern look then readdressed his coffee... "... could've taken the DeLorian, I suppose..." he muttered much to the general amusement of the table.
"What... is he referring to?" Glytch asked Atsali.
"GnI doan' nooo," she replied through a mouthful of pickled carrots.

Glytch cast a suspicious glance at Al and made a mental note to watch out for signs of temporal meddling. Time travel was one of those things he didn't take chances with.
"Al... You just got a few extra years from that cup of coffee Neil for you. I suggest you don't spend them all in a millisecond." Glytch said, glaring at the old Brit from under his hood and very pointedly towards Daisy.
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," Al nodded, understanding. "I intend to savor my time here."
"Good, because I don't know how to safely destroy a time machine."
Al gulped.

"Glytch, there are many good reasons why I agree with you. That particular twit has been the source of more than a few of the grey hairs I sport - and I thought myself well rid of him and UNIT years ago. I made the mistake of accompanying him on a wanderjahr or two - much to the detriment of my peace of mind.

This is why he got ridden out of town on the equivalent of a rail - with a few very strong indications that his presence was not welcome, I might have you notice.

Do trust that your elders have a bit of common sense on these things, please. As for destroying a time machine safely - there are ways."

With this statement hanging unfinished in the air he selected another dessert from the demolished remnants of the tray and started in.

"Could someone pass the coffee? Thanks..."

...

"Was that... who I think it was?" I asked no one in particular.

"Yes. Though it's a bit odd that he didn't have the scarf on," Al said as he sipped on his coffee. "But that damned machine hasn't changed."

Sipping, nibbling, Al regarded the table’s inhabitants. The ingress of that wretched child (and Al was going to have a talk with her parents about his niece’s antics) and her effect on one of his guests was disconcerting, to say the least. Then the arrival of that Gallifreyan pest – well that just flat-out ruined the tenor of the evening in no uncertain terms.

Finishing second dessert, he contemplated and rejected another cup of coffee, and tried to decide how to wrap things gracefully. It was obvious the couples around the table had other plans for the evening, in Greg’s case at least involving treatment for a severe case of priapism.

Conversation at the table was beginning to flag, and folks had finished their drinks and nibbles. As he didn’t hold with smoking a retirement to the smoking room was not in order, so another tactic was needed.

With a look down the table a signal passed to Daisy, and experienced hostess that she was, she stood, stretched, collected her place setting (with a nearly-untouched steak on it) and headed for the kitchen “to get this wrapped – shame to waste it”.

With that, the signal passed. Folks began to stretch and move, the empty dessert trays were stacked with dishes, and these then headed for the kitchen. Al was pleased – the night other than interruptions had been everything he’d hoped for and more – and was a magic way to begin their life in New Alexander.

In the middle of this Edward appeared, as expected. Rather than working the table, however, he came up to Al and bent low to speak in his ear.

"Pardon me, sir,"

"Don't call me...oh, what is it Edward?"

"There's a Jenkins here to collect Miss Sterling."

"Thank you, Edward. Does he have an excessively large Great Dane with him?"

"No, sir."

"Just as well. I will need to get Miss Damhnait up and about, first, so offer him a coffee and ask him to wait."

“Very good, sir. I will do so.”

First things first, however, some things needed to be dealt with.

Collaring Phix as she left the kitchen, Al pulled her aside to a spot where they could talk.
“Phix, dearest, I am afraid your young one has managed to terrorize one of my guests. While I love my niece dearly, these antics have to stop. The little beast buzzed the table and scared Ms. Damhnait severely. She’s in the kitchen in meditation at present – I have no doubt she’ll be fine, but really….”

"I'm afraid it's partially my doing. I know her mother, Tal. She had a dalliance with...let us just say an unsavoury character, and Nudge and I got her out of the area, heavily pregnant. Helping her control her magecraft, now chaotic due to her child having magic, we brought in a few people to help her until the child was born. One was a human martial arts master, who she later married."

Here she whispered, "One's grumpy, the other one mutters instead of cursing."

Al swore.

"When the child showed signs of her Father's heritage...she nearly killed her cousin, and left him with a white streak in his hair where she burned the life out of him, we called in women with the same...attributes as her Father.
They gave her a Choice. When she chose to keep her gift and use it to help instead of harm, she lost all memory of the paranormal world...as did her friends Jet and Jill. She sees all humans as mages. She doesn't know about shapeshifting, and she sees magic everywhere, and doesn't consider Fae, Elves, Sphinxes...none of it. They used to spend weekends in the Library. I do miss them, but it was necessary. She will be like this until she decides to learn about her birth Father. Seeing Aeternia most likely triggered a...fear block. I am sorry.
Had I known she was here, I would have kept away. I am truly sorry Al. We are trying to contact her Mother now to find out if and when it will be safe to expose her to...us."

Now even more worried, Al stepped into the kitchen himself. The traffic had slowed and nearly stopped – the dishwashers had been filled and gurgled to themselves, and the rest of the tidying would be left to the morning. After folks cleared out, it was going to be an early night for him as well - he was badly overtired.

Sterling still sat in the corner, a small smile on her face. Knowing what he did of her history, he knew what this was – a withdrawal due to traumatic stress. He’d seen it before – and all warriors handled it a different way, each to his own. Greg’s reaction was to prep for defense, and his…didn’t bear thinking about right now.

“Well, there’s only one way about it. Go for the hard-wired reaction.” Al hated like Hades to do it, but getting her to come up and out was the primary problem here – and doing it by tapping her on the shoulder could have…disastrous consequences for someone.

Standing well back, Al turned on his command voice, took a deep breath and shouted, “DAMHNAIT! FRONT AND CENTER! FALL IN! NOW! NOW! NOW!”

The reaction was immediate – and her hard-wiring took over and gave him exactly what he wanted.

From the lotus position Sterling shot into the air, performed some truly improbable midair untangling of limbs, and hit on her feet in perfect attention.

“SIR YES SIR! STAFF SERGEANT-” at which point her higher faculties awoke, and she clapped both hands over her mouth in horror, then dropped into full brace. Her eyes finished clearing, and she realized where she was – though her posture did not alter an iota.

“Staff Sergeant? Your officers were people of remarkably limited vision if that was your separation rank, my dear.” Al was speaking conversationally and quietly now, trying to reestablish contact on a less-strident note.

“I do sincerely apologize for my method of summoning you from meditation, but to be honest I was afraid to merely tap you on the shoulder. Knowing your prowess with weapons and martial arts it seemed to me to be a very poor idea.

Again, my sincere apologies.”

Still Sterling stood, in full brace. There was something deep-seated going on here Al saw that needed a trigger key.

“AT EASE! DISMISSED!” One of those should do it.

With that, the spell was broken, and Sterling stood, thoroughly unsettled because of her method of summoning but back in the here and now.

“Are you all right? I wouldn’t have bothered you, but your limousine is here – and honestly I was very concerned about you. From your reaction to the events in the dining room – which I had nothing to do with and sincerely apologize for – you have a certain level of post-traumatic stress disorder – as both Greg and I suffer from also.

If I can offer an ear or some level of support – or you’d prefer to speak with someone else - I am more than happy to give you what you need, and I sincerely apologize for the silliness. The perpetrators will be dealt with, and I have already spoken to them.”

“No, luv…it’s all right. There are some things that just never fade – and this is one of them. I apologize for shouting as I did – and causing a fuss. I didn’t ruin dinner, I hope.”

“Bugger dinner. My only concern here is for you. Are you going to be all right?”

“I’ll be fine. I should get back to my hotel – it’s been a very long and very confusing day – brilliant in spots but very long.” With that she collected her shoes and began to re-tie the ribbons that held them on, moving slowly.

Al held his tongue – he’d said what needed to be said, and the next move was hers. If she wanted help or anything he could provide, she’d ask.

When she was ready, Al offered his arm, and Sterling, amused by the old-fashioned gesture, took it. They walked from the kitchen and headed for the door to the entryway, and Sterling’s car. The others, noticing the movement, also gathered to say their goodbyes – Daisy especially, both as hostess and being very concerned about her friend.

The driver, seeing her exit and knowing who she was, set down his coffee at the fire pit and hurried to the door and through it to prepare the car.

“Oh, boy! We get to see the PeptoMobile again!” Cinnamon joked, subdued but merry.

Glytch countered with “Betcha it glows in the dark – Cherenkov radiation…”

Sterling chuckled, quietly, but held her silence.

After a generally unsettling day Al mentally cringed at seeing the wretched pink limousine again. As he walked his guest out to her car, company following, he was astounded at what met his eyes.

A Rolls-Royce - mid-seventies, by the look of it - Mulliner Park Ward by the look of the limousine coachwork, so a cousin to his sadly-departed drophead.

Painted in a delicate champagne pink, it stood, gracefully reflecting the lights from the house, interior lit.

"That is just perfect."

"Cinnamon, my dear, THIS is what a pink car should be, as opposed to that neukulturny monstrosity you all showed up in."

"It made a statement!"

"Yes, the statement was "I have NO CULTURE!". Please dear, if you wish to avoid offending your poor old stepfather, note this car - it quietly speaks of grace and breeding....things your mother shows in great quantities - which you might do well to emulate."

At the end of the walk the Rolls waited, her driver attentive at the passenger’s entry door.

Sterling, trying to leave with what little dignity she had left, regally threw her shoulders back and said,

"Jenkins?"

"Yes Miss Damhnait?"

"Take me back to the Grand."

"Yes Miss Damhnait."

AN: Thank you Al for well, 99.99% of this gorgeousness? I give you an idea, and you blew me away. The letter is perfect. --Dinky

“Wow. What a day.”

The extended girly time with her new companions had completely wiped away any trace of stress she’d had. The utterly decadent spa time, topped with lingerie and clothing to suit her highest expectation had completely blotted out the insanity of the morning.

She silently begged Al’s pardon for the continued disruption to his day, but it was all for a good cause – and was the least he could do for Daisy.

She looked down at her pinky – the blue and white CA script there reminded her of what had happened – and filled her with the warmth of acceptance. There was a lot of depth to these women, one and all. Having them as friends…was just wonderful. Sterling envied the dorks’ taste in friends – they’d outdone themselves with this batch.

Sterling wondered if she could talk that little auburn beauty into modeling when she did the Dangerous Women reveal – with her comfort with weapons she’d be a natural.

The strange incident that occurred at dinner gave her an ache in her temples, so she'd decided to delete the thought. She was grateful to Al for the offer of small-talk regarding her PTSD, but how does one discuss a mage battling discreetly in the middle of desert warfare? She just couldn't burden the old soldier, as he most likely had his own demons to wrestle. She'd still keep the kind offer open...just in case. Looking at the clock, she decided against calling Chris and Maggie, as they'd likely be asleep, regardless of their offers to "be there 24/7/365 and yes, even then." she felt it extremely rude, even when she knew they understood, really, really understood her.

Jet and Monica prolly headed home the mage way, so bedtime after a quick workout and shower. Crisco Kid was avoiding her for once, so she was taking full advantage of it. She'd get Dalerian's take on it later.

Unthinking, she slipped the card from her purse, and slipped it into the lock to open the door. The lock clicked, and the door swung aside noiselessly. Sterling entered, and stopped in her tracks.

On the hall table was a huge bouquet – two dozen Sterling Silver roses exquisitely arranged in a cut-crystal vase, no crap fillers, all class. The intoxicating perfume from them had permeated the room, and Sterling stopped to inhale deeply before walking over.

A parchment envelope with her name hand-written on it rested in the blossoms.

She opened the wax seal that held it closed, and unfolded a sheet of matching paper. Nice weight, expensive watermark. Classy. On it was a short letter.

To: Miss Sterling Damhnait
......Grand Hotel – Penthouse Suite
......Minneapolis, Minnesota

Where can I begin?

What happened today at Richer Engineering was simply wrong, and quite stupid. A young reporter with an excess of zeal and a remarkable lack of scruples very nearly managed to get herself killed – and all of it would have been my fault.

I encourage my reporters to be aggressive, and to pursue a story – but not at the violation of their journalistic code of conduct. Her violation of the ethical standards of my organization would have resulted in immediate dismissal – had it not been for your intervention.

Your further offer of the exclusive on the first pages of your Twin Cities photo-book utterly floored me – especially after what had happened. That offer puts you in an exclusive stratum of humanity – those that can correct – then forgive and move on. For this I am personally eternally grateful – and proud to make your acquaintance.

As well as owing you a personal apology – and this note is not a replacement for that – I also owe you a debt of gratitude. As a newspaperman, one becomes jaded and distrustful of the human species. You have shown me the error of my ways there, as well – and I am forever grateful for that.

Should there ever be anything I can do for you on either a personal or professional level do not hesitate to call on me.

Yours,



Michael Klingensmith.

The letter was hand-signed “Mike” – and the handwriting matched the addressing of the outside of the envelope.

"What a day."

Quick change of clothes to workout ones, she unpacked her Jian and began with a bow.

Her workout was minimal, punching home cleansing and shielding, and...release.

Wiping down and repacking her Jian reverently, she hit the shower to clean the sweat and makeup off her.

Showered, she laid back in the enormous bed and examined her thoughts.

"What a day."

I finally remembered to do it . . .

Just Old Al wrote:"Glytch, there are many good reasons why I agree with you. That particular twit has been the source of more than a few of the grey hairs I sport - and I thought myself well rid of him and UNIT years ago. I made the mistake of accompanying him on a wanderjahr or two - much to the detriment of my peace of mind.

This is why he got ridden out of town on the equivalent of a rail - with a few very strong indications that his presence was not welcome, I might have you notice.

Do trust that your elders have a bit of common sense on these things, please. As for destroying a time machine safely - there are ways."

With this statement hanging unfinished in the air he selected another dessert from the demolished remnants of the tray and started in.

"Could someone pass the coffee? Thanks..."

So . . . how do you feel about a mad scientist who owns both a Brown-DMC (albeit with an improperly tuned flux capacitor) and a TARDIS?

/puts a haunch of therapod in the pun jar/ (Beware of weapons-grade puns.)

--FreeFlier

Seek and destroy all temporal modification technology. Mind-wipe owner and anyone who has had access to or knowledge of aforementioned temporal modification technology, including himself, leaving only enough memory behind so Glytch remembers finding the tech, who made it, and destroying it. Nothing will be spared that could be used to figure out how it works.

Time travel opens up a can of worms that Glytch will not tolerate. He knows how a butterfly's wing beat can cause a hurricane. Can you imagine how much havoc a humanoid with a car could cause? The displaced air alone could spawn any number of weather patterns not present in the unaltered timeline. A word said to the wrong person at the wrong time could cause global thermonuclear war.

There are very few technologies where the potential risk is too great to be justified by potential benefits. AI and Time Travel are chief among them.

The only way Glytch will allow an AI to continue to exist is if said AI is raised like any child, treated like any child, and is incapable of direct interface with the Internet. In short, it has to be emotionally and psychologically equal to a human, if not intellectually.

As for Time Travel? NO. Glytch will destroy any and all machines made to alter time in any way, shape or form with extreme prejudice... And will do so even more thoroughly than Bud did with the Calendar Machine:

He will disassemble it down to the quark level and spread the resulting particles through the solar system after making sure they don't have any residual temporal-modification capabilities or properties. If a particle is found that is capable of screwing with time, he will try to destroy it and then give it to May, Phix, and Al and tell them to kill it dead, and will absolutely not allow them to study it for any other purpose than to know how to kill it dead.

Glytch is terrified of how much time travel can screw up the universe.

Sterling won't be able to keep her dignity. Glytch lost his during his rude awakening by Sarge and Al. It's only a matter of time, really.

GlytchMeister wrote:Glytch is terrified of how much time travel can screw up the universe.

Glytch doesn't trust Niven's Law any further than he could throw a TARDIS.

Glytch doesn't want to end up being stranded on Dinosaur Beach.

GlytchMeister wrote:Sterling won't be able to keep her dignity. Glytch lost his during his rude awakening by Sarge and Al. It's only a matter of time, really.

It's because she's a Lady that she is able to retain her dignity.

DinkyInky wrote:

GlytchMeister wrote:Sterling won't be able to keep her dignity. Glytch lost his during his rude awakening by Sarge and Al. It's only a matter of time, really.

It's because she's a Lady that she is able to retain her dignity.

Suuurrre. That's how it works. Alright.

Just bear in mind you are writing alongside a mischievous, complicated scoundrel of a mad scientist, an experienced British multi-disciplinarian engineer, and a... A... A Sarge.

If we three masters of Hijinks cannot at least put a dent in her dignity, we aren't doing our jobs right.

GlytchMeister wrote:If we three masters of Hijinks cannot at least put a dent in her dignity, we aren't doing our jobs right.

Technology can help. There is a high-calibre undignifier easily available, with no permit being required. You don't even need an artistic license. It's usually referred to as a whoopie cushion.

DinkyInky, I would purely love to see the look of outrage on your face just now... 'cept I suspect I would not be allowed to survive the experience...

That shadow is glaring at me.

...

I'm gonna get going. Have fun, Dave.

Gentlemen, and I use the term VERY loosely, Sterling is a member of CA. As such (though she certainly does not need it) she is under the automatic dignity coverage part of the CA membership policy.

Do you ...ahem, gentlemen..really want to irritate the CA A-list by trying to deliberately ruffle her feathers?

I suggest not.

Dave wrote:

GlytchMeister wrote:If we three masters of Hijinks cannot at least put a dent in her dignity, we aren't doing our jobs right.

Technology can help. There is a high-calibre undignifier easily available, with no permit being required. You don't even need an artistic license. It's usually referred to as a whoopie cushion.

DinkyInky, I would purely love to see the look of outrage on your face just now... 'cept I suspect I would not be allowed to survive the experience...

If a Lady set off a Whoopee Cushion, it's deliberately done. I've had folks try that on me for decades. How I sit in a chair determines whether or not that gag works. I can set one off without a sound.