Post by Ennui on Mar 1, 2005 12:23:24 GMT -5
CHAPTER 1-THE NON-EXISTENT GIFTS OF M. J'ARTAGNAN
The Realm of 667 was a pretty depressing place to live in in 2005. Panics of mysterious, and probably Spaniard, hackers were rife; there was open feuding and duelling in the streets; and the prosperous bourgeouis capital, Miscellaneous (hereinafter called Paris) was falling steadily under the insidious grip of the dastardly Chardinal's guards.
Onto this stage strides a young man, er, woman. We can sketch her portrait at quite a few dashes. Imagine to yourself a Don Quixote at eighteen. No, actually, don't. Imagine to yourself a Lyra Silvertongue with a Sharptongue instead. Complete with a shaggy, drooling wolf-daemon. But this mademoiselle was better dressed and better armed. She had a gleaming fountain pen ("Walter") in her right hand, and she wore a truly splendid hat.
She didn't have a noble steed, instead preferring to ride the friendly and obedient Captiosus.
Mr Dumas, please. This Don Quixote metaphor is really taking us off the rails.
Before J'Artagnan-for so our heroine was named-had left for a life of intrigue and swashbuckling in Paris, eager to join the famous King's Intellecteteers in their struggle against the Chardinal, her father had given her a very long, and very tedious, lecture.
"Neither a borrower nor a lender be. Never sell your body. Don't talk to strangers. Don't do drugs. Don't give in to peer pressure. Respect the King. Pretend to respect even the Chardinal. And never, never get involved with anyone of dubious gender who calls themself Milady."
However, because Monsieur J'Artagnan was an abject pauper (or so he said) he didn't bother giving his beloved daughter anything else as she set off on her quest for adventure. Madame J'Artagnan was more practical, and gave her noble offspring enough provisions to last her to Paris. There was no food for Captiosus, which triggered a long, and tortuously metaphysical, discussion about whether daemons ate or not.
These tender partings dealt with, J'Artagnan set out on the road to glory, full of ambition and naivete, and idly swinging Walter about, while Captiosus made occasional, and predictable, snide remarks. It was a pretty long ride, and the wolf would often pause to "go on strike". But at length J'Artagnan found herself at a seedy looking Inn called "Ye Gruesome Greeting" in the small village of Affairs, and decided to rest for the night, bringing Captiosus to a halt (or conceivably entirely vice versa...)
The Realm of 667 was a pretty depressing place to live in in 2005. Panics of mysterious, and probably Spaniard, hackers were rife; there was open feuding and duelling in the streets; and the prosperous bourgeouis capital, Miscellaneous (hereinafter called Paris) was falling steadily under the insidious grip of the dastardly Chardinal's guards.
Onto this stage strides a young man, er, woman. We can sketch her portrait at quite a few dashes. Imagine to yourself a Don Quixote at eighteen. No, actually, don't. Imagine to yourself a Lyra Silvertongue with a Sharptongue instead. Complete with a shaggy, drooling wolf-daemon. But this mademoiselle was better dressed and better armed. She had a gleaming fountain pen ("Walter") in her right hand, and she wore a truly splendid hat.
She didn't have a noble steed, instead preferring to ride the friendly and obedient Captiosus.
Mr Dumas, please. This Don Quixote metaphor is really taking us off the rails.
Before J'Artagnan-for so our heroine was named-had left for a life of intrigue and swashbuckling in Paris, eager to join the famous King's Intellecteteers in their struggle against the Chardinal, her father had given her a very long, and very tedious, lecture.
"Neither a borrower nor a lender be. Never sell your body. Don't talk to strangers. Don't do drugs. Don't give in to peer pressure. Respect the King. Pretend to respect even the Chardinal. And never, never get involved with anyone of dubious gender who calls themself Milady."
However, because Monsieur J'Artagnan was an abject pauper (or so he said) he didn't bother giving his beloved daughter anything else as she set off on her quest for adventure. Madame J'Artagnan was more practical, and gave her noble offspring enough provisions to last her to Paris. There was no food for Captiosus, which triggered a long, and tortuously metaphysical, discussion about whether daemons ate or not.
These tender partings dealt with, J'Artagnan set out on the road to glory, full of ambition and naivete, and idly swinging Walter about, while Captiosus made occasional, and predictable, snide remarks. It was a pretty long ride, and the wolf would often pause to "go on strike". But at length J'Artagnan found herself at a seedy looking Inn called "Ye Gruesome Greeting" in the small village of Affairs, and decided to rest for the night, bringing Captiosus to a halt (or conceivably entirely vice versa...)