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Dec. 11th, 2004 03:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cpolkTitle: A Fabulist Prince (chapter 5)
Email: tori.siikanen@gmail.com
Fandom: Biting the Sun, by Tanith Lee
Rating: General
Content: When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping.
Disclaimer: This is an obscure fandom, so it might not instantly click. but if you dig it, get the book. it's good. This post is a glossary to the slang, and this post is the first chapter.
5.
A Fabulist Prince
"There is no way I'm paying," I shouted at the Dream Room attendant. Really, though, they could have snapped on the receptors and got buckets of emotional energy--hysterical gratitude is preferable, but rage will do in a pinch. "My experience was not satisfactory. At all!"
"Of course, of course, we wouldn't dream of charging," the Quasi-Robot soothed. "This is most irregular. You remained male, you said?"
"Yes! That wasn't what I scripted at all. My emergence from the water was supposed to transform my sex, and it didn't! The symbolism was all wrong."
"Er, quite," the attendant agreed. "And may I add that your grasp of the symbolism is quite adept--transforming polarities from the feminine element of the sea to the masculine element of the air. But why didn't your quarry undergo a similar transformation? Just to satisfy my own curiosity, of course, because your scripting is unusually complex."
My float chair bobbed upwards, and I flailed arms and legs around to keep from tumbling out. "You think so?"
"To be sure, young sir. I rather think you have a career in Picture-Vision ahead of you." The attendant very diplomatically didn't notice my inept sense of balance.
"It was simple. My quarry was a rebel against society, his magics of a forbidden art, and a double mastery--he was also proficient in the magic of the Kingdom of Air. The transformation therefore wouldn't have the same altering effect on his gender." I fiddled with my gyro-stabilizers and the chair obediently began a soothing bob. Picture-Vision! Really! Only Older People worked at Picture Vision...only Older People had jobs, but really those positions were quite in demand. It isn't just anyone who can create the stories for them.
"Fascinating! And now I wonder if there was a subconscious direction to your dream variant," the Q-R said, and my float chair tilted again. I swallowed hard to get the taste of my heart out of my mouth.
"What variant?"
"Subconsciously you also saw yourself as a master of the kingdom of Air, and so your body didn't change. You did do magic while you were out of the ocean?"
"Yes, but the efforts were weak--"
The Q-R interrupted me with a satisfied look. "Just so. You could still do it. That should not have been possible, according to the script you had programmed. Your enemy was supposed to teach you the mastery of the Air, so that the two of you could liberate the undersea kingdom from its blind and tradition bound ways. Such energy!"
"Er, quite," I said. Of course the Q-R saw the whole script, you promok. How else would he be able to address my complaint? His ... enthusiasm for my dream unsettled me. Who cared about such things? They're over in ten splits.
"I'm sure this is just a glitch because your creative talent hasn't been properly honed and trained in fabulism," The Q-R burbled. "Your raw ability is very good, but it must be shaped by the principles of story. Oh my yes, I can see you being a very good producer in a rorl or so. You should endeavour to learn more."
"I do as much as I can, with my allotment at the History Tower," I said modestly. When a Q-R is selt enough to hand you a plum, you pick it...
"Really? Perhaps you need more time there. Learning from tradition--that's very good."
I screwed up my face in doubtful thought. "Well, I could try asking for a greater allotment, but..."
"I'll make a note of it here for the Committee," The Q-R said.
I gasped in spite of myself. "Thank you!"
"Think nothing of it, dear," The Q-R jollied. "One shouldn't waste such potential."
I hopped out of the chair and my own elation floated me out of the Dream Rooms.
Kina had wandered off somewhere, and I didn't feel like looking for him. My drifting feet took me up Peridot Waterway and to the shops. Well. I had just been complaining of my lack of masculine attire, hadn't I? Silk of glass from two vreks ago--I'm amazed I let anybody see me. I scuttled inside.
It was late enough in the day that the Older People were off doing other things, so the shops positively throbbed with upper-ear designed to make Jang giddy. I stumbled around, fingering fabrics, nodding to the hysterical compliments of the Q-R sales attendants. "So groshing!" they cried as I selected this and that, whipping me into a frenzy of histrionic gratitude in every pay-booth.
Honestly, I was so determined to replenish my wardrobe that stealing things just didn't cross my mind.
I exchanged my old rags for newer, more insumatt attire, discarding even the newly purchased for something I liked better. I eschewed certain fashions for my own peculiar style, suiting every colour to Parvati, platinum milk, and Opal Dawn. I stopped at a dressers and had my hair lengthened to mid-thigh, gasping at the tickling burn of hastened hair growth--and then purred as three Q-Rs wound my hair into coiling braided ropes, affixing jewels in a prism of rose, sky blue, moss agate, smoky amethyst, and citrine--they had nothing that would match my eyes, but compromised by using all their colours, gatheringmy braids in a silver and ice clasp etched with the swirling curves that represented wind.
I bought bracers that called attention to the sinewy strength of my arms, but refused the male Jang fashion of a pawful of finger-rings--they would interfere with my grip. I bought a lightsword harness, a clever confection of silver wire and sensor lights, to record and simulate the injuries I'd sustain in duels.
And I bought lightswords. A doubled set, with none of the ornamentation and absurdities that most Jang males sported. I chose hilts that were wrapped with gripskin, the butts enamelled a deep blue, the guards cleverly fashioned to look like blossoming plum branches--real dueller's weapons, not decoration.
A Q-R at the next shop exclaimed that there were boots in a blue cloth of leather that would match exactly, and I watched them mould up my legs, flexing perfectly at the knees under the silver wire leg parts of the duelling harness. Oh, I was derisann--I was a warrior, resplendent in barbarian finery. A young prince in a ransom of jewels and silver, prepared to slay anyone foolish enough to dare steal my riches with speed, inhuman grace and the genius of the sword. I laughed, and Opal Dawn eyes flashed their humour at me in reply.
But I had to go home. All that grateful psychic energy made me tired.
More? Salute and Parry.
Email: tori.siikanen@gmail.com
Fandom: Biting the Sun, by Tanith Lee
Rating: General
Content: When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping.
Disclaimer: This is an obscure fandom, so it might not instantly click. but if you dig it, get the book. it's good. This post is a glossary to the slang, and this post is the first chapter.
5.
A Fabulist Prince
"There is no way I'm paying," I shouted at the Dream Room attendant. Really, though, they could have snapped on the receptors and got buckets of emotional energy--hysterical gratitude is preferable, but rage will do in a pinch. "My experience was not satisfactory. At all!"
"Of course, of course, we wouldn't dream of charging," the Quasi-Robot soothed. "This is most irregular. You remained male, you said?"
"Yes! That wasn't what I scripted at all. My emergence from the water was supposed to transform my sex, and it didn't! The symbolism was all wrong."
"Er, quite," the attendant agreed. "And may I add that your grasp of the symbolism is quite adept--transforming polarities from the feminine element of the sea to the masculine element of the air. But why didn't your quarry undergo a similar transformation? Just to satisfy my own curiosity, of course, because your scripting is unusually complex."
My float chair bobbed upwards, and I flailed arms and legs around to keep from tumbling out. "You think so?"
"To be sure, young sir. I rather think you have a career in Picture-Vision ahead of you." The attendant very diplomatically didn't notice my inept sense of balance.
"It was simple. My quarry was a rebel against society, his magics of a forbidden art, and a double mastery--he was also proficient in the magic of the Kingdom of Air. The transformation therefore wouldn't have the same altering effect on his gender." I fiddled with my gyro-stabilizers and the chair obediently began a soothing bob. Picture-Vision! Really! Only Older People worked at Picture Vision...only Older People had jobs, but really those positions were quite in demand. It isn't just anyone who can create the stories for them.
"Fascinating! And now I wonder if there was a subconscious direction to your dream variant," the Q-R said, and my float chair tilted again. I swallowed hard to get the taste of my heart out of my mouth.
"What variant?"
"Subconsciously you also saw yourself as a master of the kingdom of Air, and so your body didn't change. You did do magic while you were out of the ocean?"
"Yes, but the efforts were weak--"
The Q-R interrupted me with a satisfied look. "Just so. You could still do it. That should not have been possible, according to the script you had programmed. Your enemy was supposed to teach you the mastery of the Air, so that the two of you could liberate the undersea kingdom from its blind and tradition bound ways. Such energy!"
"Er, quite," I said. Of course the Q-R saw the whole script, you promok. How else would he be able to address my complaint? His ... enthusiasm for my dream unsettled me. Who cared about such things? They're over in ten splits.
"I'm sure this is just a glitch because your creative talent hasn't been properly honed and trained in fabulism," The Q-R burbled. "Your raw ability is very good, but it must be shaped by the principles of story. Oh my yes, I can see you being a very good producer in a rorl or so. You should endeavour to learn more."
"I do as much as I can, with my allotment at the History Tower," I said modestly. When a Q-R is selt enough to hand you a plum, you pick it...
"Really? Perhaps you need more time there. Learning from tradition--that's very good."
I screwed up my face in doubtful thought. "Well, I could try asking for a greater allotment, but..."
"I'll make a note of it here for the Committee," The Q-R said.
I gasped in spite of myself. "Thank you!"
"Think nothing of it, dear," The Q-R jollied. "One shouldn't waste such potential."
I hopped out of the chair and my own elation floated me out of the Dream Rooms.
Kina had wandered off somewhere, and I didn't feel like looking for him. My drifting feet took me up Peridot Waterway and to the shops. Well. I had just been complaining of my lack of masculine attire, hadn't I? Silk of glass from two vreks ago--I'm amazed I let anybody see me. I scuttled inside.
It was late enough in the day that the Older People were off doing other things, so the shops positively throbbed with upper-ear designed to make Jang giddy. I stumbled around, fingering fabrics, nodding to the hysterical compliments of the Q-R sales attendants. "So groshing!" they cried as I selected this and that, whipping me into a frenzy of histrionic gratitude in every pay-booth.
Honestly, I was so determined to replenish my wardrobe that stealing things just didn't cross my mind.
I exchanged my old rags for newer, more insumatt attire, discarding even the newly purchased for something I liked better. I eschewed certain fashions for my own peculiar style, suiting every colour to Parvati, platinum milk, and Opal Dawn. I stopped at a dressers and had my hair lengthened to mid-thigh, gasping at the tickling burn of hastened hair growth--and then purred as three Q-Rs wound my hair into coiling braided ropes, affixing jewels in a prism of rose, sky blue, moss agate, smoky amethyst, and citrine--they had nothing that would match my eyes, but compromised by using all their colours, gatheringmy braids in a silver and ice clasp etched with the swirling curves that represented wind.
I bought bracers that called attention to the sinewy strength of my arms, but refused the male Jang fashion of a pawful of finger-rings--they would interfere with my grip. I bought a lightsword harness, a clever confection of silver wire and sensor lights, to record and simulate the injuries I'd sustain in duels.
And I bought lightswords. A doubled set, with none of the ornamentation and absurdities that most Jang males sported. I chose hilts that were wrapped with gripskin, the butts enamelled a deep blue, the guards cleverly fashioned to look like blossoming plum branches--real dueller's weapons, not decoration.
A Q-R at the next shop exclaimed that there were boots in a blue cloth of leather that would match exactly, and I watched them mould up my legs, flexing perfectly at the knees under the silver wire leg parts of the duelling harness. Oh, I was derisann--I was a warrior, resplendent in barbarian finery. A young prince in a ransom of jewels and silver, prepared to slay anyone foolish enough to dare steal my riches with speed, inhuman grace and the genius of the sword. I laughed, and Opal Dawn eyes flashed their humour at me in reply.
But I had to go home. All that grateful psychic energy made me tired.
More? Salute and Parry.
