September 22, 2010
Dystopia.
The good thing about living in a living building was that you didn’t need to worry about door locks. You just had to worry about the door.
Adrian stared blankly at the featureless gray wall in front of him. “Jacob, let me in. I’m really not in the mood for this shit.”
An eyeball popped out of the wall. Not until I’m sure it’s you.
“It is.”
Really.
“Yes. Now may I please come in, or are you going to leave me out here until the feds come?”
Being stared at by a naked eyeball was fucking creepy. I’ll let you in when I’m sure of you.
Adrian’s cellphone buzzed. He flipped it open. “What?”
[you shouldn't be so hard on him]
“Francis?”
[who else don't mind this it's just the damage]
Silence descended. In the depths of Adrian’s mind, something stirred.
[so how is roland]
“Not good. Did you know they added a level to the biohazard ratings just for him?”
[level 5 biotoxins fatal to humans no known antitoxin/treatment multiple delivery systems including transference through environment]
“They’re keeping him in the most insanely secure facility I’ve ever seen.”
[so no go then]
…Wait, what?
“No. And, frankly, he’s more than half crazy over the death of his family; besides, as far as we know, Jacob’s not immune to him.”
Um…
[true true]
Silence came back. Jacob sucked his eyeball back in with a pop.
Adrian tapped his cane on the ground impatiently.
[we've agreed to let you in]
“Finally.” With a weird noise that was half twisting metal and half sucking wound, the wall pulled open. Adrian started forward -
[as long as you tell us who's possessing you]
- and nearly missed a step. “What makes you think anyone is?” Adrian asked nervously.
You’ve been sleeping, Jacob replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Transmission.
Another, really random, short:
“…Francis?”
It’s never a good thing when Jetta gets that rumble in her voice. “Yes?” I asked, flickering through the cameras until I saw her.
She was right behind me, glaring as best she could with a single eye.
…Then again, being glared at by one normal eye and one gaping hole is pretty fucking creepy.
“Were you messing with my eyeball again?”
Oh, she was very angry. “Why do you ask?”
“Because it’s missing. And it’s still broadcasting. Do you know how disconcerting it is to be seeing the inside of a sewer from the perspective of your missing eye?“
“I have a fairly good idea, actually.”
….
“Oh, really? And why would that be?”
I sighed. “Because I can’t disable the feed. Congratulations, your artificial eye has now gone wireless.”
….
….
“Get it back.” Jetta stalked out.
I sighed again and felt for the feed. I’d have to give it legs, but I could get rid of those again once it was back in her possession…
Hell of a Way to End a Meeting.
There was the sound of massive air displacement, and floor supports giving way in protest, and then something falling neatly into one of the lab rooms from the room above.
All conversation ceased. Curious (not concerned, dammit, this was Arkham and they were totally used to the weird shit, dammit!) heads turned. Even Francis had wheeled around to stare warily at the door.
Kathleen, the only truly apathetic person in the room, rolled her eyes and yanked the door open.
A thick tentacle, still wearing Jacob’s hat, whipped at the door almost fast enough to shut it, but Kathleen got her foot in first.
Jacob stopped and pulled his tentacles and other undefinable things back into the shadows. Some vaguely not-colored eyes stared out of the darkness at the assorted observers.
Shyly, he waved a tentacle.
Beowulf turned to the rest of the group. “Meeting adjourned, then?” he said cheerily, and the assembled professors nodded and left before they quite realized what they were doing.
Kathleen snorted. “Pull that again next month, ok?” she ordered Jacob, pivoting on her heel. “A couple more incidents and they’ll give up on staff meetings entirely.”
Parents’ Night.
“You know, being a slut is a lot of work.”
Francis blinked and ran a brief aural diagnostic, not really sure he heard that right. But given that Dr. Cain was leaning on the back of the chair in front of his desk, he guessed he probably had. “Excuse me?”
“And it’s annoying, too. People seem to think it means I’ve left my brain in the wilderness somewhere, especially if I’m going around female.”
“I’m not sure you didn’t. What brought this on? Students hitting on you again?”
It was really eerie talking to Dr. Cain. A blind man shouldn’t be that good at staring someone down. “No, actually,” he said, his fingers tapping out a tattoo on the back of the chair.
And Francis really had been witness to too many firework arguments between the good doctor and his officemate; he kept forgetting how precisely polite the man was. “You can sit down, you know,” Francis said, wincing as the speaker processed a little too accurately and laced his words with tinny annoyance. “It’s not like you don’t have a standing invitation.”
“I’ve rather learned to mistrust them. Better to be a bit over-polite than presume and…” he trailed off as he sat down, precision lost in memory.
“Anyway, so what’s going on?” said Francis, who had no patience with memories. Subtlety was for people who weren’t damaged.
“Oh. Parents’ Night.” Dr. Cain waved one hand as if disdainfully warding off some vile demon.
“Oh. This again?“
“Yes.”
“It’s not like your reputation doesn’t precede you.”
“Thank you. I can always rely on you to put things in perspective.”
“It’s what I’m good at. And besides, you’d think the people who would take issue with a notorious slut teaching their children would be taking issue with other things, like, oh, the certifiably insane thaumaturgist on staff, or the fact that we have a college of thaumaturgy in the first place.”
“Oh, trust me, they do. You should have heard Kathleen raving earlier. They do put her on leave that weekend for a reason, you know.”
“Yes, I do. I’m on the Board. I suggested somewhere remote, this year.”
Dr. Cain looked curious. “Where? Only, I’ve got some money in the betting pool…”
Francis smirked. “I really shouldn’t tell you then, should I? Headwaters of the Amur,” he added as an afterthought.
There was a long pause. “Damn. That’s Central Asia.” Dr. Cain sighed. “Ah, well.”
“Anyway, so what are you going to do about it?” Francis asked, pulling the conversation around with a vengeance.
“About the complaints? Not much I can do, is there?” It wasn’t a question, but it was bitter. “Besides, it’s not like I’m not used to this. People always find something to complain about.”
“So you might as well give them something, eh? Something that you can control, something distracting enough that they won’t pry deeper and possibly find out something you really don’t want them to know?”
Dr. Cain stared.
Francis settled forward in his own chair. “I imagine it’s a lot less painful, getting snide comments about your sex life, than it is to get accused of treason. Of course, the comments about my sex life are entirely the opposite of the ones you get, so I don’t really have a leg to stand on, here.”
“The gossips forgetting you can hear perfectly well?”
“And forgetting their trendy electronics transmit all manner of things to me, even if they’re not designed for it. But I can hardly blame them for that.”
“Well, then.” Dr. Cain looked uncomfortable.
“What?”
“What?”
“Don’t start that with me. You only look like that when you’ve overheard something pertinent you’d rather not share. Spill it, Adam.”
“It’s nothing. Just more snide gossip.”
Francis tapped impatiently on his desk.
If Dr. Cain could see, he’d be staring at something six inches past Francis’ left shoulder. “Apparently, the new thing to do is to wonder whether you’re the only staff member I haven’t hit on because I have a problem, or because something’s wrong with you.”
Francis fought down a smirk. Oh, Adam. Only you. “Well?”
It took Dr. Cain a moment to cotton on, and then Francis got to witness a sight few ever see: Dr. Cain, flustered.
Francis scratched at his desktop again, biting his cheek to keep from grinning. “I’m waiting,” he said in his best impatient-teacher tone.
Impatient-teacher tones hit some deep chord in the human psyche, and have the power to force answers out of anyone, even other teachers. “Er … That is … I ….”
Well, no one ever said it forces coherent answers.
“Dr. Cain, are you saying you don’t think I’m sexy?”
Dr. Cain, the unflappable, spluttered. “What?“
“‘Cause, slut or not, you are allowed to find people unattractive.”
“No, I…”
Francis was openly smirking now. “So you do think I’m sexy, then?”
Dr. Cain went beet red and buried his face in his hands.
“That doesn’t help. Your ears go all red too,” Francis said cheerfully. “And the color clashes with your hair.”
“Thank you, Monsieur Delacroix.”
“And your accent is atrocious, and about a century out of date.”
Dr. Cain made a rude gesture at a potted plant.
“And that wasn’t anywhere near my direction.”
“Francis, if you don’t shut up, I’ll…”
“Kiss me?” Francis asked, all innocence.
He didn’t know it was possible for someone to go so red. Idly, Francis wondered what would happen if the head of Medicine had an apoplexy. Dr. Cain garbled something entirely incoherent and probably not even English.
Maybe it was time to stop playing. “You’ve been flirting with me for ages,” Francis said gently. “Just because gossips can’t grasp subtlety doesn’t mean the rest of us miss it.”
Dr. Cain raked his hands through his hair and straightened, looking off towards the side wall. He was still blushing.
“And besides, the few people to ever flirt more openly with me were only doing it on a dare.”
“I know,” Dr. Cain murmured. “I was in the quad when you strung them up.” He seemed to come to a decision, and walked around the desk. “So who do you prefer, anyway?”
“Huh?”
“Men or women? Or both?”
Francis was grateful he didn’t really blush. Not that Dr. Cain’d notice if he did. “I’ve never really had much cause to worry about that, now, have I?”
One hand landed on Francis’ head with the abrupt gentleness of someone not entirely sure where an object was in space. Long fingers trailed gently down around Francis’ ear. “Now you do.”
But subtlety was something for other people, and Francis was not one to worry overmuch about detail in anything other than music. “Just shut up and kiss me,” he demanded.
And he did.
November 7, 2008
Rewiring.
Someone landed lightly on the roof. Adrian didn’t take his eyes off the door as Amethyst pointed her gun at the ceiling.
“Who’s there?” The sheriff’s question was a command.
A dark, grinning figure dropped down in front of the door. Adrian blinked and shifted his grip on his sword.
Francis tapped on the window. “Can I come in?” he asked in his own voice. Silver glinted at his throat.
Adrian looked back at Amethyst, who nodded, lips tense. He opened the door.
Francis walked in as if he’d never used a wheelchair.
Adrian sucked in a sharp breath. Amethyst’s eyes widened.
“Francis…”
“What did you do?”
Francis gave another sharklike grin. “I spent the past six days rewiring my spinal column and hardwiring my neural net against seizures,” he said. “It’ll probably last until the next thunderstorm rolls in, so let’s get this sonuvabitch already.”
Adrian was already watching the alleys again, waiting for the shooter to move. Amethyst looked Francis over, and nodded.
October 9, 2008
Technopath.
To say he couldn’t feel his body would be a lie, but it didn’t feel like his body. It felt like lead. He couldn’t even blink.
At least he was breathing on his own, now. That tube had not been pleasant.
He really wished he’d just fall asleep and stay asleep – being awake, alert, and utterly unable to move was torturous.
Oh God. He couldn’t even blink.
And the prickle, prickle, prickle of the electrical signals in the room was almost worse, niggling at the back of his brain even when he was sleeping. He was half-convinced he was developing some kind of synesthesia – every ping! of the EKG was literally causing him to see stars.
It was some time later – it’s hard to tell time when you can’t move – that he realized he could see through the security cameras, feel the signals from other patients’ medical devices.
A little time later, he managed to make the wires move…
April 10, 2008
A First Glimpse.
A too-calm, too-precise voice rang out of the darkness. “It’s about time you got back.”
She turned, still holding out her electronic keycard. “Who’s there? How did you get in?”
A faint wheeze, like the whisper of a laugh, reached her ears. The light by her head flickered on; from further in her hotel room, soundlessly, came a man in a wheelchair.
He sat loose-limbed in the chair, completely relaxed; with his bowed head and shallow breathing, it looked as if he were on the verge of sleep. It was impossible to guess his age; he could have been approaching thirty or even older. His skin was eerily translucent; thin blue veins were clearly visible even by the light of only one lamp. One hand rested limply on the laptop he carried.
She frowned; there was something odd about his hand…
He gave another breathy laugh. “Done with the scrutiny yet?” came the false voice she now recognized as coming from the computer. The stranger rolled forward a little more and raised his head.
She gasped, jerking back against the door. That strange brown-black hair, those hooded black eyes with their silver tracings, those fine silvery circuits running up his hands, that she’d mistaken for veins…
This was no stranger.
“Francis Delacroix,” she breathed, fighting not to cross herself. “You scared me half to death!”
He gave her a lazy lizard’s smile. “Too bad it was only halfway, cousin,” said his computer.
Francis’ No-Good, Very Bad Day.
His sister opened her mouth to speak, but before she could draw enough breath, the wires bit deep into her throat and she dropped silently to the ground. Francis wheeled over by her head and bent down to look in her eyes.
“I am not as cruel as I should have been, Marie,” he said conversationally while pulling the wires back into his flesh. “In fact -”
An infant’s wail split the air. Francis froze, dark eyes going wide, one hand still holding a loose coil of wire. Oh, no.
Slowly, he followed the cry through the apartment to its source. No no no no...
Francis entered the small bedroom, drawing up next to a tall crib. Gingerly, he pulled himself to his feet, leaning on the crib’s rails for support.
The baby girl inside shut up and stared at this strange man. He was very odd, and parts of him were all shiny, which was interesting. Plus, he looked a little like Mama. He was okay, then, she decided, and wiggled.
Francis just stared at her.
The infant gurgled and turned red. Perhaps the strange man didn’t understand her. She tried waving her arms at him, and he finally seemed to get the message.
Francis reached down and picked up the girl. She squealed happily, and set about investigating the metal tracings on his arm while Francis unsteadily sank down into his chair. He fumbled for his touchpad and dialed a number.
“Professor O’Neill. This better be good.”
“Professor?”
“Francis? Aren’t you in California?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause. “What’s wrong?” Kathleen asked in a low voice.
Francis stared at the infant, who was now slobbering happily on his arm.
“Francis?”
“…I have a niece,” he responded at last.
December 30, 2007
Grail Castle.
He really hated the south of France. Fucking Pyrenees.
Dr. Cain scrabbled up another cliff, his head pounding from his magically-induced eyesight. He barked his shin on an outcropping, cursed, and kicked it again just out of spite. It hurt his toe, but it made him feel better.
Times like this, he wished he’d never been given the ability to make his eyes work. Then he could’ve told Francis to fuck off.
Dragon talons did come in handy for scaling mountains, though. Dr. Cain wheezed out a laugh. Kathleen had told him he climbed like a gecko. Not strictly true, but amusing nevertheless.
Dr. Cain pulled himself onto what was more or less the mountaintop and curled up in the brush, blending in seamlessly. Being able to turn “green as spring grass”, as his brother had put it, had moments of usefulness.
All in all, thought the scientist, he had too many useful traits. If he were more boring, he’d never have been sent on this damn fool errand.
He poked his watch irritably. “Francis.”
The watch twitched. “What?”
“Why am I breaking into your family’s ancestral castle, again?”
The watch sighed. “Because I’m holding your laboratory hostage.”
“Besides that.”
No response. Dr. Cain poked the watch again. “Francis. If you don’t tell me exactly what’s going on, I’m going to jump off this mountain and go home.”
“Most people ask before they leave, you know,” Francis muttered irritably. “And I told you. Something weird’s up there. I don’t know what, and I can’t exactly scale a mountain, and I don’t exactly trust the rest of my family to check it for me.”
“That’s really a sad commentary on your family,” said a third voice as its owner hunched down next to Dr. Cain.
Dr. Cain promptly punched him.
Or tried to, anyway. The stranger ducked back and got to his feet in one smooth motion.
Something tugged at the back of Dr. Cain’s mind.
The man twitched his disheveled robe straighter, ran a hand over his cropped white hair, and half-grinned down at the green man.
“So, Mordred, has anyone ever told you you climb like a gecko?”
