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Post by Dante on Jun 20, 2012 4:13:16 GMT -5
Don't worry, BSam. It was wonderful. Marvellously poignant, and considering the ship, I think it captures the spirit of the original scene (or the retelling of it, anyway) very well.
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Post by Cafe SalMONAlla on Jun 20, 2012 5:37:51 GMT -5
I for some reason have no memory of the last few books Drink? Anyway, that's great, and you don't need to apologize for it being so short. I'm very happy to have had four entries already.
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Post by BSam on Jun 20, 2012 17:22:55 GMT -5
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Post by Invisible on Jun 20, 2012 17:32:43 GMT -5
Wait. So the ship is The Great Unknown and Fiona? And I thought my ship was inventive!
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Post by Cafe SalMONAlla on Jun 21, 2012 5:57:16 GMT -5
------ Your ship was pretty inventive, Beth, but I do agree - wow! He's taking weird very seriously.
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Post by BSam on Jun 22, 2012 10:17:49 GMT -5
Always do, I'm sure I wrote one in the past which involved the crows from the vile village.
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Post by Dante on Jun 22, 2012 11:46:33 GMT -5
~~~ Naglfar by Dante
“I knew I’d find you one day,” Lemony whispered.
It had been many years since his beloved had disappeared – destroyed, they all said, or else, deep in hiding. “And not for you,” they had all added, sternly, disconcerted by his passion. “Isn’t it time you got over it now, after all that’s happened?” they asked. But true love wasn’t something you just got over. Especially not when there was still hope. Hope that one day you would find her. Hope that one day you would rescue her where all others had abandoned her.
And now, his wildest hopes had come true. After years without any sight of her save that one blurry photograph, taken shortly before the fire, browned with age and crumpled from having been stuffed back into his pocket after another failed enquiry, he had received a tip-off about a body seen floating offshore. Lemony hadn’t hesitated for a moment; if he hesitated, she was lost. Without telling his niece where he was going or even locking the door, he had rushed out of his office, taken the stairs three at a time, and burst out into the street, running for the next trolley.
She came into view as he staggered through the crunching sand and clacking pebbles, each determined to catch his footsteps and hold him back. So many years had passed, and yet he recognised her immediately. She hadn’t changed; every contour of her body, that noble bearing, was just the same lying in the sand as it had been when he’d glimpsed her, with rapturous hope at her survival and crushing despair at being unable to follow, flying the fire all that time ago.
For those few moments, love blinded him to her injuries. When his mind cleared, his face drained of blood, until it was pale as the few clouds scurrying across the sky, chased by the wind that loved them so. “What have they done to you…?” he gasped.
Gently, careful not to disturb or further damage her broken frame, he pulled her up the beach, resting her in a patch of soft sand where the grasping tide could not catch and pull her back. It was the effort of moments to return to retrieve her spilt belongings, wrenched from her hold by the battering waves, but he still did not turn away from her; he scuttled crab-like down the beach to pull them from the sand. After so many years without seeing her, he couldn’t waste a single moment.
A soft groan slipped from her frame, but Lemony was not concerned; this was how he knew she was still alive, and not shattered completely by the ravages of the storm. He knelt beside her, laying a gentle, soothing hand upon her bow, and spoke calming words in the shadow of his breath. “I never gave up on you…” he murmured. “Beatrice…”
Yes, it would take a long time to heal her; harder still to smuggle her warped and damaged form away from the beach and to a place of safety, where he would have the space and time he needed to help her recover. His niece could help; the girl owed her namesake her life, after all. But at long last, after years spent locked in his own heart, his love could be free; every cloud was white, every wave was still, the horizon was open for them to set out, as he had once promised they would, on a grand journey wherever the wind in their sails would take them. All it would take was a night class in carpentry, some new timbers, and a fresh layer of caulk, and she would be ship-shape again.
Lemony lay blissfully in the sand besides the true love of his life. True, nobody else understood his attachment to the small, bed-sized ship he’d been chasing after for years, although when they made out the nameplate tacked to the hull they rolled their eyes and sighed. Yes, theirs was a weird love, he knew. But she was a weird ship – his weird ship.
His Beatrice. ~~~
[Naglfar by Dante - Lemony/Beatrice]
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Post by Hermes on Jun 22, 2012 14:47:36 GMT -5
Wow, Dante, that's weird.
OK, I don't think my ship is really that weird, but it's certainly overlooked, squashed between the Klaus/Fiona and Klaus/Isadora supporters. So I thought I might as well submit this. It's another part of my (perhaps never to happen) future project.
To Touch his Hand (Klaus/Friday).
Friday Caliban stood, with some trepidation, at the door of the café. She was there to meet someone she had not seen for more than ten years.
A few weeks before, reading an article on snakes for a school project, she had been struck by a passage about a snake misnamed ‘the Incredibly Deadly Viper’. It brought back memories of a snake she had met, and three children whom she had known, all too briefly, long ago on a remote island. The author’s name was unfamiliar, but suddenly she had realised with a start why: ‘Eukalius Abelard’ was an anagram of ‘Klaus Baudelaire’. She had inquired about him at the library, and had heard that he was a mysterious person who lived a reclusive life; but the librarians had suggested she write to him care of his publishers. She had written, without much hope, and was amazed to receive a reply; he was indeed the boy she had known, and he suggested that they meet, next time he came to the city to see his kind editor. She suggested a place to meet – a little café which served root beer floats, near a school she had once attended – and now here she was, about to see him.
The door of the café opened and two people came out – an older man along with a girl of about ten, perhaps his niece. Friday plucked up her courage and went in.
‘I’m here to meet Mr Abelard,’ she said. He was not there yet, so she took a seat, ordered a root beer float, and waited, trembling. Would she recognise him? Would he still like her? Would they find anything to say to each other?
A few long minutes passed, and then the door opened and there he was. He had changed surprisingly little; though a grown man, he still had a boyish look, and wore glasses like the ones she remembered. She waved, and he came over to her.
‘Friday? I’m so happy to see you!’ He took a seat and, on her advice, ordered a root beer float for himself. She was a bit annoyed that he had not recognised her straight away, but of course she must have changed much more than he had in the last ten years.
‘So,’ he said, ‘Tell me what you’ve been doing since we last met.’
She began to tell her story. How her mother, with many others, had died on the great outrigger carrying them to land, refusing the bitter apple that might have saved her. How she had found, to her great surprise, that her father was still alive, and gone to live with him. How she had been recruited to the secret organisation that her father belonged to – dragged away by her ankles, perhaps the last child ever to be recruited in this way, for the organisation was now in decline. How she had attended the organisation’s academy for some years, learning its mysteries and codes and disguises. How, when she was thirteen, seeing the organisation seemingly fading away with little useful work to do, she had decided to move to a regular high school. (Soon afterwards the academy had closed down, and been converted into a secretarial school.)
‘So what school are you at now?’ Klaus asked.
‘Roewer High’.
‘Really? That’s amazing. Violet was there. I would have gone there myself If it hadn’t been for the fire. By the way – this secret organisation you were in.’
‘Yes?’
‘Does the expression “The world is quiet here,” mean anything to you.’
‘It certainly does. Are you a volunteer?’
‘I was once. I haven’t been involved for a long time. I wasn’t sure if the organisation still existed.’
‘It does, though I think it’s a shadow of what it was. But tell me your story now.’
Klaus told his story. How he and his siblings had decided to return to the mainland. How a great storm had wrecked their boat, and how he had, with difficulty, swum to land in a remote bay among the hills. How, climbing up a valley, he had come, tired and hungry, to a monastery where they took him in and cared for him. How he had discovered a great library there, and resolved to stay and devote himself to study. How he had begun sending articles to literary journals, under a pseudonym, and so had started making a name for himself.
‘But you don’t know what happened to your siblings?’
‘No. I don’t even know if they are alive. I survived, so they may have done, but I can’t be sure.’.
‘That’s really sad. Have you ever tried to find them?
‘No. I’ve thought of it sometimes, but I don’t know where to begin. And – I guess I’m afraid of discovering the worst. But I suppose that’s silly, really. If they are dead, it’s better that I should know. Once I used to console myself with false hopes that my parents were alive, but in the end I accepted that they were gone, and I think that was for the best’.
Friday looked at him. She realised that there was a deep sadness in him. Perhaps that was why he lived such a reclusive life. She had suffered tragedies in her life too, including her mother’s death, but at least she had a loving father and friends. It would be good if Klaus could find his family once again. And they had been her friends too; she would like to meet them, if she could.
‘Klaus – how would it be if I helped you search for them? Even if I’ve dropped out of the volunteers, I still remember a lot of the investigative methods they taught me. I’ve done a few investigations in the last few years. I managed to find you. Perhaps I could find your siblings as well.’
‘Friday – would you really do that?’
‘Why not?’
‘Well then – I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll write some notes on everything I remember about my siblings, and send them to you, to help you in your investigations. Then next time I come to the city we can meet, and you can tell me what you’ve discovered. Or you can visit me if you prefer – I only live a couple of hours journey away.’
‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble,’ said Friday. ‘I could just write to you with my discoveries.’
‘No, I’d like to see you again. You cheer me up – just talking to you this past hour has made me feel more cheerful. Come and see me. I live in an old university town – there are a lot of old buildings, and a river and beautiful gardens. It’s worth seeing.’
‘All right,’ said Friday. ‘In that case I will come. The way you’ve described it, it sounds lovely’.
‘Very lovely indeed,’ said Klaus.
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Post by Dante on Jun 22, 2012 15:07:38 GMT -5
The ending just makes it. Excellent, Hermes. I really like your vision of the future - the way each chapter reads like an epilogue in itself.
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Post by Hermes on Jun 22, 2012 15:25:22 GMT -5
The ending just makes it. Excellent, Hermes. I really like your vision of the future - the way each chapter reads like an epilogue in itself. Thanks, Dante! I wondered if the ending was overdone, but then without it, this wouldn't be a shippy story at all. The larger plan is that the stories will start out looking self-contained, but gradually come together. And I realise I haven't commented on the the other stories here, all of which I like. I hope the rest of you won't be offended if I say I find BSam's particularly beautiful.
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Post by Christmas Chief on Jun 22, 2012 15:51:54 GMT -5
Dante, the play on the identity of Beatrice was excellent and well planned. I don't think I'd be able to hold out as long as you did.
Hermes, that was very touching. I agree, the parallel in the last line was perfectly played. Maybe by the time 667 is twenty years old you'll have the entire fic finished, scattered across various contests from over the years.
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Post by Hermes on Jun 22, 2012 15:59:02 GMT -5
Do I detect a note of criticism, Sherry Ann?
I think this will be easier to write than TGG, so it may advance rather more quickly.
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Post by Christmas Chief on Jun 22, 2012 16:01:36 GMT -5
Do I detect a note of criticism, Sherry Ann? Why, not at all, Hermes. It's entirely your right to leave whatever you like unfin No, I really do enjoy your work, in fragments or otherwise.
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Post by BSam on Jun 22, 2012 16:09:58 GMT -5
Bravo Dante, Bravo.
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Post by B. on Jun 22, 2012 16:10:14 GMT -5
Guess the ship.
----
There was something about her, something different from the moment she entered The Queequeg. Woman had been on his noble submarine before, his own wife and Kit Snicket, but she was different. There was something strangely beautiful about her, although he could not place it. It might’ve been her eyes, or the way her hair hung in little wet strands from being washed down The Stricken Stream. Either way, she had an uncanny resemblance to her father.
She followed with her siblings along the dark damp hallways of The Queequeg over the many twisting and dripping pipes, as he Captain Widdershins led them to the main room to meet his step daughter. When she greeted Fiona she spoke in such an enchanting voice, more beautiful to his ears than the sweetest chorus of The Little Snicket Lad
He watched her when she wasn’t looking, her every moment and it was as if he could almost look right inside at the complex thoughts going on in her head. For one so young she had a look of unnatural determination- a youngster who had been through many things in such a short space of time.
He was sad to see her go, after Fiona and her siblings as they walked into the darkness to retrieve the object, almost as if they were venturing into the great unknown itself. He had to leave his submarine though, there was no choice.
Captain Widdershins watched the ever small figure of Sunny Baudelaire disappearing and vowed that one day she would be his.
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