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mina_de_malfois) wrote2007-10-16 11:07 am
mina_de_malfois) wrote2007-10-16 11:07 am
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2.13 A Letter to Case
As promised, I'll be checking into that rest home now. Please do continue to email me, or I'll be all EMO and BEREFT and other capslocky things.
Also, Defying Convention, or Chapter House, the next installment of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
scifantasy's Case stories, is up. There are no words for how much I love seeing the Minaverse characters wandering around being written by other people; it's like having them come to life, only less creepy. Though I wouldn't, in point of fact, mind if Case sprung to life.
The fundraising print version of Season Two will be available soon--I'll edit in a link when it is. The at-cost print version will be available shortly thereafter. Oh, and the footnotes have been updated.
I cannot tell how the truth may be;
I say the tale as ‘twas said to me.
Sorry, Case. Habit. I’m quoting because I’m in a bad mood, and I’m in a bad mood for one of the best of all possible reasons. I strongly suspect I’m going to have to fork out money I don’t want to spend on a person I don’t even know well. And no, I can’t get out of it. It’s a debt of honor. Don’t laugh. And don’t leap to the obvious conclusion, because for once it’s not that.
Back in our dorm days, Eva once said that honesty and openness weren’t among my virtues, and I’ve remembered that ever since, because she came very close to being right. She just missed one thing: I don’t consider them virtues. But all the same, I would never intentionally lie to someone I like and trust. I know you know that about me, even if some people don’t. So play Father Confessor for a while, will you, old friend? I have a horrible feeling I’ve accidentally lied to Val. It’s almost making me feel guilty. Worse yet, I’ve involved Judy.
Judith’s already headed over to convey our suspicions to Val in person, naturally. You know our Ringmaster: she loves subterfuge and subtlety, but under that she’s the same old straight-arrow Arc, perpetual girl scout and model citizen. Okay, to be fair here, I agreed someone needs to tell Val, stat. It’s bad enough we let her foot so many of the bills. We certainly can’t let her continue to pay for someone who isn’t as advertised, at least not without letting her know.
But damn it, Case, it leaves me in a hell of a position. Don’t tell anyone this, but I nominated my candidate because I felt a pang of sympathy. The young person in question reminded me a little bit of myself. I like to see clever, criminally minded girls succeed and make something of themselves. It gives me faith in the future of humanity. So this is going to cost me, and I mean that literally. If Val pulls funding on this one--and she might--then I’m going to have to foot the bills for Josh myself. I couldn’t live with myself, knowing I’d let the little bastard count on a few years of financial stability and then yanked it away. I may not have scruples, but I have a heart.
All right: I have a few scruples too. Not many. Just a few.
Initially I threw some time at Josh in-game, and then later on at Jen in the flesh, to amuse myself. It’s not often I meet ambitious young con artists, you know, and I couldn’t resist enjoying my discovery. Get your mind out of the gutter--I didn’t touch the discovery, just chatted her up. Don’t wreck my street cred by telling anyone else, Case dear, but St. Schol’s fall term was half over before my instincts kicked in and I decided I needed to do more research into Jen’s background.
I won’t bore or incriminate you with the details of the connections I pulled to get my info. Let’s just say they produced a fascinating story. Jen’s one of a twin--you’ve seen “Rabbit” online? That’s the sister. But, and this is the weird part, no one could get me a definite answer as to whether Jen was Rabbit’s sister or brother. The family had moved a lot, and the former classmates we found scattered across the country told conflicting stories. They agreed on some points, though. Like how Jen and Rabbit--or Josh and Rabbit--used to lie about being triplets instead of twins. That’s an odd twist on the imaginary friend thing, isn’t it? And every informant was in complete agreement that you couldn’t trust either kid as far as you could throw them. They’ve lied, scammed, and robbed their way through life since daycare. Color me impressed.
The whole thing worried me enough that I knew I’d have to bring it up when Judith and I met up at Wands Across. Turns out she was already suspicious too; some of what Mina had relayed to her had put her guard up. Judy was in full Arc mode at the con: ice cold, efficient, organized. Mouthwatering, you know? Between that and my unaccustomed sense of guilt I ended up taking charge of that godawful Vicksburg for her. There aren’t enough martinis in the world to make that palatable, but if it made Judy’s life easier, so be it....Shut up. You've made the same kinds of decisions and you know it, Case.
And then that auction happened. Were you there? I have to hand it to you, Case, if that’s a sample of your tutelage, Eva’s spawn owes you big time. He’s about a hundredfold more assertive than he used to be--not that he was ever shy or lacking in confidence, but he’s acquired more swagger and lost some of his head-in-the-clouds air. His toe-to-toe performance against that cowboy at the auction was damned impressive--not that Judy looked impressed. For a moment I thought she might thaw out long enough to murder one of them, but I doubt anyone else saw any hint of emotion. Priceless. I couldn’t resist tweaking her a bit. “Eva gives that kid way too much allowance,” I said, as casually as I could without laughing. She just gave me a look--didn’t answer, and didn’t tip her hand by raising her own bid.
Anyway. Afterwards she told me she’d already summoned Jen and sent her to Eva’s townhouse. They’d let her cool her heels there all weekend, closely watched by Eva, who isn’t exactly stressed by difficult young women. I don’t know how she puts up with the packs of kids at her camps--personally I’d rather do time than supervise crowds of children. Jen sat it out graciously, according to Eva. She’d been told she was on notice and under review, and thank heavens she has enough sense not to screw up when something as pricey as a university education is on the line. Judy and I drove down there as soon as we could. I felt like the fucking gender police, but what else could we do? Val’s paying to educate young women; we can’t, in fairness, be complicit in subverting that.
I was the one, as usual, who cut to the chase. Only fair: if I’d screwed up, I wanted to know. I tossed the last of my drink down my throat, set the glass down on the table, and looked Jen in the eyes. “Show us your tits, then, lad,” I said, not smiling.
Jen looked unruffled and unoffended. I think she’d been expecting my request. She crossed her arms, took the bottom of her sweatshirt in both hands and calmly pulled it up, flashing a pair of small but perfect breasts. Beneath them her waist was slim and straight, and her abs had the kind of hard-edged definition marines would kill for. I looked her up and down, leaned across the table for a better look, even prodded at her chest with one finger. Behind me Eva was hissing my name in her shocked-and-disapproving voice: het squad, represent. I turned around and gave her my best amused look, and told her I was just checking for scars. And no, I went on, answering the unspoken question: no scars. Not a hint of a micro-scar. Nothing. Those were organic, I’d stake my reputation on it.
“Get dressed, Jen,” Judy told her, and she did.
“Can I go?” Jen asked, polite but bored, as though lifting her shirt for a committee was an uninteresting everyday affair. I nodded, and she left.
“Those were definitely breasts,” Judith said thoughtfully, later on when we were alone.
I agreed. No problem with the breasts, none at all. I quite liked the breasts. “It was the stomach I didn’t like,” I said. “And the waistline.”
“I know,” Judy told me, looking as worried as I felt. That flat, muscled stomach had looked all wrong, somehow, for those youthful, delicate, round breasts.
“I think,” I said cautiously, “I may have made a mistake in choosing this candidate, Judy. A highly unusual mistake.” She didn’t argue.
And that’s how matters currently stand. Do you think, Case, I can possibly have had the bad luck to find an actual, genuine hermaphrodite? Is there even any such thing? Christ, no wonder I drink.
More to the point, do you think Judy blames me?
~N
Also, Defying Convention, or Chapter House, the next installment of
scifantasy's Case stories, is up. There are no words for how much I love seeing the Minaverse characters wandering around being written by other people; it's like having them come to life, only less creepy. Though I wouldn't, in point of fact, mind if Case sprung to life.The fundraising print version of Season Two will be available soon--I'll edit in a link when it is. The at-cost print version will be available shortly thereafter. Oh, and the footnotes have been updated.
I say the tale as ‘twas said to me.
Sorry, Case. Habit. I’m quoting because I’m in a bad mood, and I’m in a bad mood for one of the best of all possible reasons. I strongly suspect I’m going to have to fork out money I don’t want to spend on a person I don’t even know well. And no, I can’t get out of it. It’s a debt of honor. Don’t laugh. And don’t leap to the obvious conclusion, because for once it’s not that.
Back in our dorm days, Eva once said that honesty and openness weren’t among my virtues, and I’ve remembered that ever since, because she came very close to being right. She just missed one thing: I don’t consider them virtues. But all the same, I would never intentionally lie to someone I like and trust. I know you know that about me, even if some people don’t. So play Father Confessor for a while, will you, old friend? I have a horrible feeling I’ve accidentally lied to Val. It’s almost making me feel guilty. Worse yet, I’ve involved Judy.
Judith’s already headed over to convey our suspicions to Val in person, naturally. You know our Ringmaster: she loves subterfuge and subtlety, but under that she’s the same old straight-arrow Arc, perpetual girl scout and model citizen. Okay, to be fair here, I agreed someone needs to tell Val, stat. It’s bad enough we let her foot so many of the bills. We certainly can’t let her continue to pay for someone who isn’t as advertised, at least not without letting her know.
But damn it, Case, it leaves me in a hell of a position. Don’t tell anyone this, but I nominated my candidate because I felt a pang of sympathy. The young person in question reminded me a little bit of myself. I like to see clever, criminally minded girls succeed and make something of themselves. It gives me faith in the future of humanity. So this is going to cost me, and I mean that literally. If Val pulls funding on this one--and she might--then I’m going to have to foot the bills for Josh myself. I couldn’t live with myself, knowing I’d let the little bastard count on a few years of financial stability and then yanked it away. I may not have scruples, but I have a heart.
All right: I have a few scruples too. Not many. Just a few.
Initially I threw some time at Josh in-game, and then later on at Jen in the flesh, to amuse myself. It’s not often I meet ambitious young con artists, you know, and I couldn’t resist enjoying my discovery. Get your mind out of the gutter--I didn’t touch the discovery, just chatted her up. Don’t wreck my street cred by telling anyone else, Case dear, but St. Schol’s fall term was half over before my instincts kicked in and I decided I needed to do more research into Jen’s background.
I won’t bore or incriminate you with the details of the connections I pulled to get my info. Let’s just say they produced a fascinating story. Jen’s one of a twin--you’ve seen “Rabbit” online? That’s the sister. But, and this is the weird part, no one could get me a definite answer as to whether Jen was Rabbit’s sister or brother. The family had moved a lot, and the former classmates we found scattered across the country told conflicting stories. They agreed on some points, though. Like how Jen and Rabbit--or Josh and Rabbit--used to lie about being triplets instead of twins. That’s an odd twist on the imaginary friend thing, isn’t it? And every informant was in complete agreement that you couldn’t trust either kid as far as you could throw them. They’ve lied, scammed, and robbed their way through life since daycare. Color me impressed.
The whole thing worried me enough that I knew I’d have to bring it up when Judith and I met up at Wands Across. Turns out she was already suspicious too; some of what Mina had relayed to her had put her guard up. Judy was in full Arc mode at the con: ice cold, efficient, organized. Mouthwatering, you know? Between that and my unaccustomed sense of guilt I ended up taking charge of that godawful Vicksburg for her. There aren’t enough martinis in the world to make that palatable, but if it made Judy’s life easier, so be it....Shut up. You've made the same kinds of decisions and you know it, Case.
And then that auction happened. Were you there? I have to hand it to you, Case, if that’s a sample of your tutelage, Eva’s spawn owes you big time. He’s about a hundredfold more assertive than he used to be--not that he was ever shy or lacking in confidence, but he’s acquired more swagger and lost some of his head-in-the-clouds air. His toe-to-toe performance against that cowboy at the auction was damned impressive--not that Judy looked impressed. For a moment I thought she might thaw out long enough to murder one of them, but I doubt anyone else saw any hint of emotion. Priceless. I couldn’t resist tweaking her a bit. “Eva gives that kid way too much allowance,” I said, as casually as I could without laughing. She just gave me a look--didn’t answer, and didn’t tip her hand by raising her own bid.
Anyway. Afterwards she told me she’d already summoned Jen and sent her to Eva’s townhouse. They’d let her cool her heels there all weekend, closely watched by Eva, who isn’t exactly stressed by difficult young women. I don’t know how she puts up with the packs of kids at her camps--personally I’d rather do time than supervise crowds of children. Jen sat it out graciously, according to Eva. She’d been told she was on notice and under review, and thank heavens she has enough sense not to screw up when something as pricey as a university education is on the line. Judy and I drove down there as soon as we could. I felt like the fucking gender police, but what else could we do? Val’s paying to educate young women; we can’t, in fairness, be complicit in subverting that.
I was the one, as usual, who cut to the chase. Only fair: if I’d screwed up, I wanted to know. I tossed the last of my drink down my throat, set the glass down on the table, and looked Jen in the eyes. “Show us your tits, then, lad,” I said, not smiling.
Jen looked unruffled and unoffended. I think she’d been expecting my request. She crossed her arms, took the bottom of her sweatshirt in both hands and calmly pulled it up, flashing a pair of small but perfect breasts. Beneath them her waist was slim and straight, and her abs had the kind of hard-edged definition marines would kill for. I looked her up and down, leaned across the table for a better look, even prodded at her chest with one finger. Behind me Eva was hissing my name in her shocked-and-disapproving voice: het squad, represent. I turned around and gave her my best amused look, and told her I was just checking for scars. And no, I went on, answering the unspoken question: no scars. Not a hint of a micro-scar. Nothing. Those were organic, I’d stake my reputation on it.
“Get dressed, Jen,” Judy told her, and she did.
“Can I go?” Jen asked, polite but bored, as though lifting her shirt for a committee was an uninteresting everyday affair. I nodded, and she left.
“Those were definitely breasts,” Judith said thoughtfully, later on when we were alone.
I agreed. No problem with the breasts, none at all. I quite liked the breasts. “It was the stomach I didn’t like,” I said. “And the waistline.”
“I know,” Judy told me, looking as worried as I felt. That flat, muscled stomach had looked all wrong, somehow, for those youthful, delicate, round breasts.
“I think,” I said cautiously, “I may have made a mistake in choosing this candidate, Judy. A highly unusual mistake.” She didn’t argue.
And that’s how matters currently stand. Do you think, Case, I can possibly have had the bad luck to find an actual, genuine hermaphrodite? Is there even any such thing? Christ, no wonder I drink.
More to the point, do you think Judy blames me?
~N