Daniel Jess Gibson
22nd July 2004, 05:00 PM
[NGE][Discworld][Fusion][Fanfic]
The characters are the property of Terry Pratchett, the situations are
the property of Gainex and Hideaki Anno
C&C , MSTs are welcome
E-mail: dan_s.comments@worldnet.att.net
Other fiction available at:
http://home.att.net/~dan_s.comments/
Author's note: I have no excuses this time.
Neon Genesis Wossname pt 2
Imustn't - run - away, Imustn't - run - away, Rincewind thought it
was a good saying, it let him keep a good steady stride, as he ran away.
He didn't look behind him. He still thought Commander Vimes was
cheating. A Watchman chasing him was supposed to shout bloodcurdling
oaths or shoot at him with whatever missile was the national favorite.
It was traditional, historic even, it was also immensely encouraging.
Instead, Vimes was just running behind him, not even trying to sprint
after him. Just a steady pace as if they were running together. Like
he thought, cheating. Rincewind figured he'd lose Vimes in the forest.
Dodging among the trees, he could still hear Vimes behind him.
Trees don't grow limbs that fast! was Rincewind's last thought for a
while.
----------------------------------------
"Good - job - Captain," Vimes panted as Carrot Ironfounderson
lowered his arm and stepped out from behind the tree.
"I believe this was part of the script," Carrot said, slinging the
unconscious 'Wizzard' over his shoulder.
Both men turned to the crashing sound behind them. The sight of a
40-meter tall ape coming through the forest was something neither man
was comfortable with.
"You were supposed to be helping us," Vimes shouted.
"Ook," the Librarian replied.
"Why do you have a shovel?" Carrot asked.
The Librarian hid the EVA-scale shovel behind his back and tried to
look innocent. "Oook?"
"The one you're hiding behind you," Carrot replied, pointing at the
handle and blade that they could still clearly see, "And where is the
Luggage?"
"Ooook?"
"Come on, we can discuss this later," Vimes said, "Put your hand
down, I want to get back. Not you Captain."
"Just giving you a leg up, sir," Carrot told him.
"Eek!" the Librarian put a 2-meter across palm where the two
watchmen could climb aboard.
"Wasn't there an alert?" Carrot asked, "Shouldn't you be out
there?"
"Ook," the Librarian said dismissively.
"I think Commander Vimes might like to see that. We might charge
the - them - with inciting lascivious behavior," Carrot said.
"You got all that from an 'Ook'?" Vimes asked.
"An 'Ook', sir," Carrot corrected.
Vimes decided to drop the subject.
----------------------------------------
"Grandfather, I don't think the American audience can understand
him," Susan told plugsuited figure beside her. Her gaze kept being
drawn to his chest. Her grandfather had read that Rincewind had to
grope him. Since Death naturally lacked the necessary targets, he'd
asked for help. Susan just wished he hadn't gone to Nanny Ogg. One
grapefruit, halved, would have done the job. From what she'd heard
about Rincewind, a few potatoes would have had the desired effect. Two
watermelons with 'any-tom-ical authenticalatin' bits' seemed . . .
excessive.
THANK YOU, NO, Death told the small red-haired blue man.
The figure leapt onto the table, then confronted Death
face-to-face, then forehead to forehead. "Bigjobs!" There was a sound
like a gong made of eggshells. The Nac mac Feegle landed on Death's new
prosthetics, then slid to the table with a surprised expression.
The Death of Rat kicked the small figure off the table, then tugged
on Death's sleeve. SQUEAK.
WE ARE CONDUCTING AUDITIONS, Death said tiredly, YOU DO WANT SUSAN
TO HAVE THE BEST AND MOST APPROPRIATE PARTNER, DON'T YOU?
SQUEAK! The Death of Rat shook its bony fists and hopped up and
down, sounding like an angry maraca. SQUEEEAK! It grabbed at its red
robe, and the scythe altered to appear as a tiny sonic glaive. SQUEAK?
SQUEEEEEK!
Susan hid her smile. Something else had caught her eye. "Excuse
me."
WE HAVE ANOTHER CANDIDATE, Death indicated the pointy hat,
decorated like a magpie's hoard, shuffling onto the stage.
"I trust you two," she kissed her Grandfather's cheek and patted
the Death of Rats, "You'll do the right thing."
She stepped into the corridor, out of sight of the others. Binky,
Death's horse awaited, seemingly worried about something. She stroked
the soft nose, got a gentle nuzzling in reply. "Grandfather has been
quite cross, where have you been hiding?"
Binky wickered softly and glanced back at the paper carefully tied
to the saddle's pommel. Susan recognized it was a page from the guide
book that let the current participants see what the original people and
things looked like. The picture was black and white. No, Susan
realized, The subject was black and white.
"This character is just the comedy relief," Susan told Binky, who
nodded. "All right, I'll tell Grandfather, I guess you'll be able to
watch out for me better this way. How are you going to fit in that tiny
refrigerator?"
An irritated snort from Binky told her it wasn't her problem.
After all, Death's horse could go anywhere.
She wandered back into the audition chamber.
I CAN ASSURE YOU, Death was telling the irate hat, IF NO BETTER
CANDIDATE PRESENTS ITSELF, THE JOB IS YOURS.
"There is no better candidate! I'm tired of doing stunt double
work in Rowling's stuff! That two-bit felt hack! He's just a prop, a
humorous tool! I am the Archchancellor's Hat. I am an artiste!"
The Death of Rats looked ready to turn it into dust bunnies.
NEXT, Death announced with all the finality he could summon, which
was both considerable, and barely sufficient.
The grumbling hat continued, but left the stage.
I AM SORRY, SUSAN, Death said quietly, NO SUITABLE CANDIDATE HAS
PRESENTED ITSELF. I HAD HOPES . . .
"Binky doesn't want the job," Susan said as she set the picture on
the table, "He's found a more suitable role."
OH, DEAR.
Susan turned to the Death of Rats, "Your friend Quoth, is he
available."
There was a small clatter as Death of Rats fainted.
HE WAS MY SECOND CHOICE, Death admitted, BUT WE SHOULDN'T LET HIM
KNOW THAT.
"Agreed."
----------------------------------------
It was an elf maiden, a very shapely elf maiden, a very shapely elf
maiden with a very definite come-hither gaze, a very shapely elf maiden
with a very definite come-hither gaze wearing enough leather, silk and
chain mail to make perhaps four decent dresses. Since the creature in
question was nearly 40 meters tall, that left very little to the
imagination. It was also very dead, its head resting near the rest of
the body, which made everything almost manageable. The two massive
whips it carried seemed not so much weapons as . . .
"It's very . . . " Carrot managed, finding his eyes drawn to
various places, and a few very embarrassing thoughts. He tried to
loosen his collar.
"Yes it is . . . " Vimes agreed, "Isn't it." He glanced at the
cigar he'd been handling and quickly tossed it away, putting his hands
behind his back.
"Ook," the Librarian commented, giving the impression that a
fur-covered bean bag chair would have been more effective.
"Who - who is handling the clean up, sir," Carrot said when the
Librarian turned for home and blocked their view.
"A contractor from the Nerima district," Vimes consulted his notes,
"She claims she'll be able to grind it up and sell it. Whatever 'via
grass' is."
Carrot, still looking very embarrassed, only nodded.
----------------------------------------
Ponder Stibbons was locked in a battle to the death, he wasn't
about to let it get the better of him. All it takes is speed, he
thought silently as his hand hovered over its target.
Then it rang.
"HelloPonderStibbonNERVcentral!" he gasped, to a dial tone. He
carefully replaced the handset and waited. It had been doing this for
days! It would ring once. A few minutes later, it would ring again,
once. It shouldn't have bothered him, he should have just shrugged it
off. Yet there was something maddening about it. It had started that
morning last week, in his quarters, moving on to the cafeteria, he'd
moved five times just today and it followed him. The nearest phone
would ring, once; then it would ring again, once. All day, all night.
"Mister Stibbons, you need a break, some tea." Aoba, aka Mustrum
Ridcully told him.
"I'm fine Archchancellor," Ponder said, preparing for another
attempt, it would ring soon, and he'd be ready.
"Mister Stibbons, I am your Archchancellor, I'll tell you when you
need your tea. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Archchancellor." Ponder stood up and walked past him.
The phone in front of Ridcully rang. Ponder froze, Ridcully
glanced at it. When it didn't ring twice, he went back to polishing his
crossbow. It rang again, once, again Ridcully ignored it.
"Aoba - Archchancellor, aren't you going to answer it?" Ponder
asked as he stood there, he could feel the sweat beading on his
forehead, his hands clenching and unclenching, "It might be important."
"No." Ridcully sighted down the length of the crossbow. "If it's
important, they'd stay on the line." He fitted a quarrel in the bow
sighted again.
It rang again, once. Ponder couldn't stand it, he leapt at the
offending instrument. His leapt was mistimed and poorly executed. He
wound up tangled with the cord and the Archchancellor.
"Mister Stibbons?" the Archchancellor asked in the voice of the
terminally patient. Your terminus, not theirs.
"Yes, Archchancellor?"
"Been at the dried frog pills, Mister Stibbons?"
"No, Archchancellor!" Ponder insisted.
Ridcully helped the other man up. "Word from the wise, Mister
Stibbons."
"Yes, Archchancellor?"
"Start."
Ponder walked off dejected, It is only a telephone. Then it rang
again, just once. Ponder turned, he could answer it he knew he could.
Except the Archchancellor was staring at him, smiling in that knowing
way of his. As if he actually understood! He doesn't understand! he
raged inwardly, his eyes touching the phone, it taunting him that way.
Ponder glanced at the Archchancellor again, and slunk off to get the
tea.
----------------------------------------
Mustrum Ridcully looked around, "You can come out now. I'll be
explaining it to Mister Stibbons all presently." Now Ridcully was
angry. The boy had some daft ideas, but he was faculty.
The swarm of gray monoliths appeared, replacing the command deck.
He will be ours, eventually. Ridcully remembered them saying.
"I don't see it," Ridcully said, he didn't hate much, but these
things definitely took the cake, and you _never_ took a wizard's cake.
"He'll see it was just a trick. No path into darkness, like the book."
Darkness? Book?
Ridcully knew he had them.
"One ring to rule them all and one ring to find them, one ring to
bring them all and in the darkness bind them." The screaming did not
stop for several minutes.
----------------------------------------
The alarms brought the entire crew to alert status.
"Report," Granny ordered, putting on her 'Commander' glasses.
"It's another angel, Gran-" Magrat stopped when she looked up and
saw the stare, "Commander."
Granny nodded down to the girl, "That was a little too fast," she
said to Gytha and the Patrician.
"The artillery seems to have little effect," the Patrician reported
as the flashes appeared on the surface of the blue translucent
octahedron. Inside the elven crew were preparing something.
"It's going to try to bore into the base?" Granny asked quietly.
"That's what the script said," Nanny agreed, "Do we sent the ape
out to get parboiled?"
"No." Granny sat, stared at the screen.
The `Angel` headed towards it's position and started lowering the
drill.
DUUUU DUNT! The sound shook the entire complex.
"What is that?" Vimes demanded.
I LENT THE LIBRARIAN MY ORGAN, Death explained.
"I've met Igors who do that," Nanny said.
"Put it on the screen," Granny ordered.
DUUUU DUNT! Sounded again as the image of the Librarian appeared.
Because of the scale, he had with what looked like a stiff thread in
each hand poised before what looked like a toy organ. DUUUU DUNT!
"Who is John Williams, and where exactly is Spielberg?" Vimes
shouted over the noise as he tried the read the sheet music the
Librarian was using.
DA DANT. DA DANT. DA DANT. DA DANT.
"I think we have handled the problem," Granny said as the
Elfangelion took its final position. As the drill touched the ground.
There seemed an impossible moment as the elves sensed their doom. The
Luggage erupted from the earth directly beneath it. Its lid wide
open, legs flailing. The Luggage snapped up the machine, swallowing
it whole. It landed, sat there, looking as if it desperately wanted a
toothpick.
"Does that take care of it?" Vimes asked, more than a little
shaken.
Rincewind squirmed as all eyes turned to him. "It always kept my
underwear clean."
"I'd call that a yes," Vimes said, lighting a cigar. Glanced at
Magrat when she coughed theatrically. "You should get that seen to."
DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN.
"Someone tell him to stop, we won!" Granny covered her ears and
shouted over the din.
.---Anime/Manga Fanfiction Mailing List----.
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| Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject |
`---- http://ffml.anifics.com/faq.txt -----'
The characters are the property of Terry Pratchett, the situations are
the property of Gainex and Hideaki Anno
C&C , MSTs are welcome
E-mail: dan_s.comments@worldnet.att.net
Other fiction available at:
http://home.att.net/~dan_s.comments/
Author's note: I have no excuses this time.
Neon Genesis Wossname pt 2
Imustn't - run - away, Imustn't - run - away, Rincewind thought it
was a good saying, it let him keep a good steady stride, as he ran away.
He didn't look behind him. He still thought Commander Vimes was
cheating. A Watchman chasing him was supposed to shout bloodcurdling
oaths or shoot at him with whatever missile was the national favorite.
It was traditional, historic even, it was also immensely encouraging.
Instead, Vimes was just running behind him, not even trying to sprint
after him. Just a steady pace as if they were running together. Like
he thought, cheating. Rincewind figured he'd lose Vimes in the forest.
Dodging among the trees, he could still hear Vimes behind him.
Trees don't grow limbs that fast! was Rincewind's last thought for a
while.
----------------------------------------
"Good - job - Captain," Vimes panted as Carrot Ironfounderson
lowered his arm and stepped out from behind the tree.
"I believe this was part of the script," Carrot said, slinging the
unconscious 'Wizzard' over his shoulder.
Both men turned to the crashing sound behind them. The sight of a
40-meter tall ape coming through the forest was something neither man
was comfortable with.
"You were supposed to be helping us," Vimes shouted.
"Ook," the Librarian replied.
"Why do you have a shovel?" Carrot asked.
The Librarian hid the EVA-scale shovel behind his back and tried to
look innocent. "Oook?"
"The one you're hiding behind you," Carrot replied, pointing at the
handle and blade that they could still clearly see, "And where is the
Luggage?"
"Ooook?"
"Come on, we can discuss this later," Vimes said, "Put your hand
down, I want to get back. Not you Captain."
"Just giving you a leg up, sir," Carrot told him.
"Eek!" the Librarian put a 2-meter across palm where the two
watchmen could climb aboard.
"Wasn't there an alert?" Carrot asked, "Shouldn't you be out
there?"
"Ook," the Librarian said dismissively.
"I think Commander Vimes might like to see that. We might charge
the - them - with inciting lascivious behavior," Carrot said.
"You got all that from an 'Ook'?" Vimes asked.
"An 'Ook', sir," Carrot corrected.
Vimes decided to drop the subject.
----------------------------------------
"Grandfather, I don't think the American audience can understand
him," Susan told plugsuited figure beside her. Her gaze kept being
drawn to his chest. Her grandfather had read that Rincewind had to
grope him. Since Death naturally lacked the necessary targets, he'd
asked for help. Susan just wished he hadn't gone to Nanny Ogg. One
grapefruit, halved, would have done the job. From what she'd heard
about Rincewind, a few potatoes would have had the desired effect. Two
watermelons with 'any-tom-ical authenticalatin' bits' seemed . . .
excessive.
THANK YOU, NO, Death told the small red-haired blue man.
The figure leapt onto the table, then confronted Death
face-to-face, then forehead to forehead. "Bigjobs!" There was a sound
like a gong made of eggshells. The Nac mac Feegle landed on Death's new
prosthetics, then slid to the table with a surprised expression.
The Death of Rat kicked the small figure off the table, then tugged
on Death's sleeve. SQUEAK.
WE ARE CONDUCTING AUDITIONS, Death said tiredly, YOU DO WANT SUSAN
TO HAVE THE BEST AND MOST APPROPRIATE PARTNER, DON'T YOU?
SQUEAK! The Death of Rat shook its bony fists and hopped up and
down, sounding like an angry maraca. SQUEEEAK! It grabbed at its red
robe, and the scythe altered to appear as a tiny sonic glaive. SQUEAK?
SQUEEEEEK!
Susan hid her smile. Something else had caught her eye. "Excuse
me."
WE HAVE ANOTHER CANDIDATE, Death indicated the pointy hat,
decorated like a magpie's hoard, shuffling onto the stage.
"I trust you two," she kissed her Grandfather's cheek and patted
the Death of Rats, "You'll do the right thing."
She stepped into the corridor, out of sight of the others. Binky,
Death's horse awaited, seemingly worried about something. She stroked
the soft nose, got a gentle nuzzling in reply. "Grandfather has been
quite cross, where have you been hiding?"
Binky wickered softly and glanced back at the paper carefully tied
to the saddle's pommel. Susan recognized it was a page from the guide
book that let the current participants see what the original people and
things looked like. The picture was black and white. No, Susan
realized, The subject was black and white.
"This character is just the comedy relief," Susan told Binky, who
nodded. "All right, I'll tell Grandfather, I guess you'll be able to
watch out for me better this way. How are you going to fit in that tiny
refrigerator?"
An irritated snort from Binky told her it wasn't her problem.
After all, Death's horse could go anywhere.
She wandered back into the audition chamber.
I CAN ASSURE YOU, Death was telling the irate hat, IF NO BETTER
CANDIDATE PRESENTS ITSELF, THE JOB IS YOURS.
"There is no better candidate! I'm tired of doing stunt double
work in Rowling's stuff! That two-bit felt hack! He's just a prop, a
humorous tool! I am the Archchancellor's Hat. I am an artiste!"
The Death of Rats looked ready to turn it into dust bunnies.
NEXT, Death announced with all the finality he could summon, which
was both considerable, and barely sufficient.
The grumbling hat continued, but left the stage.
I AM SORRY, SUSAN, Death said quietly, NO SUITABLE CANDIDATE HAS
PRESENTED ITSELF. I HAD HOPES . . .
"Binky doesn't want the job," Susan said as she set the picture on
the table, "He's found a more suitable role."
OH, DEAR.
Susan turned to the Death of Rats, "Your friend Quoth, is he
available."
There was a small clatter as Death of Rats fainted.
HE WAS MY SECOND CHOICE, Death admitted, BUT WE SHOULDN'T LET HIM
KNOW THAT.
"Agreed."
----------------------------------------
It was an elf maiden, a very shapely elf maiden, a very shapely elf
maiden with a very definite come-hither gaze, a very shapely elf maiden
with a very definite come-hither gaze wearing enough leather, silk and
chain mail to make perhaps four decent dresses. Since the creature in
question was nearly 40 meters tall, that left very little to the
imagination. It was also very dead, its head resting near the rest of
the body, which made everything almost manageable. The two massive
whips it carried seemed not so much weapons as . . .
"It's very . . . " Carrot managed, finding his eyes drawn to
various places, and a few very embarrassing thoughts. He tried to
loosen his collar.
"Yes it is . . . " Vimes agreed, "Isn't it." He glanced at the
cigar he'd been handling and quickly tossed it away, putting his hands
behind his back.
"Ook," the Librarian commented, giving the impression that a
fur-covered bean bag chair would have been more effective.
"Who - who is handling the clean up, sir," Carrot said when the
Librarian turned for home and blocked their view.
"A contractor from the Nerima district," Vimes consulted his notes,
"She claims she'll be able to grind it up and sell it. Whatever 'via
grass' is."
Carrot, still looking very embarrassed, only nodded.
----------------------------------------
Ponder Stibbons was locked in a battle to the death, he wasn't
about to let it get the better of him. All it takes is speed, he
thought silently as his hand hovered over its target.
Then it rang.
"HelloPonderStibbonNERVcentral!" he gasped, to a dial tone. He
carefully replaced the handset and waited. It had been doing this for
days! It would ring once. A few minutes later, it would ring again,
once. It shouldn't have bothered him, he should have just shrugged it
off. Yet there was something maddening about it. It had started that
morning last week, in his quarters, moving on to the cafeteria, he'd
moved five times just today and it followed him. The nearest phone
would ring, once; then it would ring again, once. All day, all night.
"Mister Stibbons, you need a break, some tea." Aoba, aka Mustrum
Ridcully told him.
"I'm fine Archchancellor," Ponder said, preparing for another
attempt, it would ring soon, and he'd be ready.
"Mister Stibbons, I am your Archchancellor, I'll tell you when you
need your tea. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Archchancellor." Ponder stood up and walked past him.
The phone in front of Ridcully rang. Ponder froze, Ridcully
glanced at it. When it didn't ring twice, he went back to polishing his
crossbow. It rang again, once, again Ridcully ignored it.
"Aoba - Archchancellor, aren't you going to answer it?" Ponder
asked as he stood there, he could feel the sweat beading on his
forehead, his hands clenching and unclenching, "It might be important."
"No." Ridcully sighted down the length of the crossbow. "If it's
important, they'd stay on the line." He fitted a quarrel in the bow
sighted again.
It rang again, once. Ponder couldn't stand it, he leapt at the
offending instrument. His leapt was mistimed and poorly executed. He
wound up tangled with the cord and the Archchancellor.
"Mister Stibbons?" the Archchancellor asked in the voice of the
terminally patient. Your terminus, not theirs.
"Yes, Archchancellor?"
"Been at the dried frog pills, Mister Stibbons?"
"No, Archchancellor!" Ponder insisted.
Ridcully helped the other man up. "Word from the wise, Mister
Stibbons."
"Yes, Archchancellor?"
"Start."
Ponder walked off dejected, It is only a telephone. Then it rang
again, just once. Ponder turned, he could answer it he knew he could.
Except the Archchancellor was staring at him, smiling in that knowing
way of his. As if he actually understood! He doesn't understand! he
raged inwardly, his eyes touching the phone, it taunting him that way.
Ponder glanced at the Archchancellor again, and slunk off to get the
tea.
----------------------------------------
Mustrum Ridcully looked around, "You can come out now. I'll be
explaining it to Mister Stibbons all presently." Now Ridcully was
angry. The boy had some daft ideas, but he was faculty.
The swarm of gray monoliths appeared, replacing the command deck.
He will be ours, eventually. Ridcully remembered them saying.
"I don't see it," Ridcully said, he didn't hate much, but these
things definitely took the cake, and you _never_ took a wizard's cake.
"He'll see it was just a trick. No path into darkness, like the book."
Darkness? Book?
Ridcully knew he had them.
"One ring to rule them all and one ring to find them, one ring to
bring them all and in the darkness bind them." The screaming did not
stop for several minutes.
----------------------------------------
The alarms brought the entire crew to alert status.
"Report," Granny ordered, putting on her 'Commander' glasses.
"It's another angel, Gran-" Magrat stopped when she looked up and
saw the stare, "Commander."
Granny nodded down to the girl, "That was a little too fast," she
said to Gytha and the Patrician.
"The artillery seems to have little effect," the Patrician reported
as the flashes appeared on the surface of the blue translucent
octahedron. Inside the elven crew were preparing something.
"It's going to try to bore into the base?" Granny asked quietly.
"That's what the script said," Nanny agreed, "Do we sent the ape
out to get parboiled?"
"No." Granny sat, stared at the screen.
The `Angel` headed towards it's position and started lowering the
drill.
DUUUU DUNT! The sound shook the entire complex.
"What is that?" Vimes demanded.
I LENT THE LIBRARIAN MY ORGAN, Death explained.
"I've met Igors who do that," Nanny said.
"Put it on the screen," Granny ordered.
DUUUU DUNT! Sounded again as the image of the Librarian appeared.
Because of the scale, he had with what looked like a stiff thread in
each hand poised before what looked like a toy organ. DUUUU DUNT!
"Who is John Williams, and where exactly is Spielberg?" Vimes
shouted over the noise as he tried the read the sheet music the
Librarian was using.
DA DANT. DA DANT. DA DANT. DA DANT.
"I think we have handled the problem," Granny said as the
Elfangelion took its final position. As the drill touched the ground.
There seemed an impossible moment as the elves sensed their doom. The
Luggage erupted from the earth directly beneath it. Its lid wide
open, legs flailing. The Luggage snapped up the machine, swallowing
it whole. It landed, sat there, looking as if it desperately wanted a
toothpick.
"Does that take care of it?" Vimes asked, more than a little
shaken.
Rincewind squirmed as all eyes turned to him. "It always kept my
underwear clean."
"I'd call that a yes," Vimes said, lighting a cigar. Glanced at
Magrat when she coughed theatrically. "You should get that seen to."
DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN.
"Someone tell him to stop, we won!" Granny covered her ears and
shouted over the din.
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| Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject |
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