Time Travel Temeraire snippet
At first, Laurence assumes he's dead.
It's a natural conclusion. He remembers dying, after all.
He and Tenzing were at a function hosted by Wellesley. They were mostly there to support the dragons. Temeraire had long abandoned them to quarrel with Perscitia in the courtyard, with half a dozen ferals watching like it were a jousting match. Wellesley had laid out his grounds to allow room for dragons and men to mingle, but a good portion of the guests retreated inside to avoid the raised voices of the dragons.
Laurence wonders how Temeraire felt about that, later. About not seeing.
He was stabbed. He barely remembers it – just a quick pulse of pain in his chest, looking down. Red blooming over his coat.
Then he was on the floor. People screamed. Tenzing appeared, grappling with a tall and finely-dressed man; he used a dinner-knife to punch a hole in the stranger's throat, in a fantastic spray of blood, and dropped the body at once to kneel by Laurence's side.
He remembers Wellesley barking orders – bandages, water, a hot knife. Have to cauterize it, he'd shouted. Keep pressure -
But Tenzing never spoke. Just pressed down on Laurence's chest, over the wound, without particular panic. Laurence still remembers the grim resignation on his face; Tenzing knew what was coming. Laurence was glad to have him there when he died.
Then Laurence woke up.
The world sways in a familiar way, a rhythmic motion that Laurence registers on a soul-deep level. He's on a ship. But why? Where is Tenzing, Temeraire? Why would they put him on a ship?
“I think the fever's breaking,” says a voice. A naval doctor, disheveled and salt-stained, with long scars down his bared arms. “Oh, and awake too!”
“Well thank Christ,” says another man. One Laurence recognizes.
It's Captain Gerry Stuart – but he looks different, younger than the last time Laurence saw him, with smooth skin and dark curly hair.
Gerry died two years ago.
“Well, Lieutenant! You gave us a scare – how are you feeling?” Gerry asks.
“It's Admiral,” Laurence corrects rather than all the other things he does not dare ask. He hates the title foisted upon him; but it's at least more comprehensible than Lieutenant, and he clings to that rather than demand where did you come from.
Stuart throws back his head to cackle, though the concern doesn't leave his face. “Still perhaps a bit feverish, I think!”
“That might be the laudanum,” says the doctor, also amused. “Why don't you sleep a bit more, Lieutenant?”
“But where is Temeraire? Or Tenzing?”
“I can only assume you had some very vivid dreams,” Stuart chuckles. “You were babbling and babbling for Temeraire – isn't that a ship?”
“Perhaps the flagship of his fleet,” suggests the doctor, and Stuart laughs again. “Get some rest, Mr. Laurence. Holler if you need me.”
They both exit the sick-berth. Laurence stares blankly at the door.
What?
Laurence pats his chest. No wound. He looks down, startled by the pale thinness of his fingers, his youth-soft skin.
Well; not soft. Callouses cover his hands. But even these patterns are different – hard skin in places where he would hold a sword, or pulls ropes. His hands should be more wrinkled, yes; but these callouses faded years ago.
“Where am I?” he asks when the doctor returns. “And what is the year?”
“The year? 1793. You don't remember?”
1793. Laurence was 19 in 1793. A lieutenant for two years, on the Shorewise.
The doctor narrows his eyes. “What's my name, lad?”
Laurence swallows. His stomach churns; for the life of him he can't remember.
The doctor rushes off to retrieve the captain.
_____________________________
Laurence is diagnosed with brain fever, and partial amnesia. Gerry is horribly guilty about laughing, earlier; Laurence could not care less. He is given strict orders to stay on bed-rest for another week, in hope his strength will recover – and his mind.
Laurence doesn't think he'll have any issues working – he's forgotten many of the people around him, true, but he may never forget the way to run a ship. He's far more concerned with learning what happened.
From all appearances, it is indeed 1793. France is undergoing riots, and declared war against Britain in February. Temeraire has not hatched. Napoleon is probably a corporal or general himself, at this point. If he exists at all. God knows, perhaps Laurence is only mad.
But he doesn't feel mad. His memories are too vivid to be mere fever-dreams. A man cannot dream up twenty years of life!
But neither can a man go back to his youth, and live it all again.
I have a dragon, he thinks of saying. There is no war, because I captured Napoleon – an unknown man who makes himself emperor.
Mad. It sounds mad even to Laurence himself. But to imagine that Temeraire was a fever-ridden dream... Tenzing and Granby and China, all of it...
Laurence doesn't share his turmoil with anyone – not even with Gerry, who checks on him fretfully. After a week the doctor declares him well enough, physically. He's paired always with another lieutenant for the first few days on duty, and his shipmates watch him carefully for signs of permanent debilitation; but aside from a moment or two of hesitance, Laurence competently resumes his duties. The oversight lessens.
Laurence thinks about writing letters.
He thinks about writing to Tharkay's late father, who ought to still be alive, inquiring after his son. He thinks of writing to Prince Mianning, asking about the health of Lung Tien Qian. He thinks of writing to young Midshipman Granby, his unwed brother, his dead father...
Not all of them would reply. But he could ask questions. Could verify the truth of things. Unless this, instead, is the delusion.
Is he in 1793, imagining the future? Is he in the future, imagining the past? Or maybe he is already dead, and this is the reality of hell. He came here burning with fever, and now he burns with fear. Surely that is it's own form of torture.
Laurence is ironically given the task of tutoring the midshipman and lieutenant-hopefuls more than any other duty as the weeks pass; his crewmates still look askance, and the more eager of the midshipman become protective. Laurence remains perfectly capable of command; it is only that he can't help but be absent-minded, sometimes, staring at all the crewmen that pass him like they are nothing but moving paintings. Images of a world that no longer matters.
One evening the midshipmen drag him away to a meal with the other officers. It's a noisy crowd; Laurence would find the friendly bustle comforting in another life.
One of the senior officers, Lieutenant Moore, waves him down as Laurence enters. Evidently they used to be friends, given his notably concerned behavior of late. Laurence can't remember the man, and has a sneaking suspicion he died too soon to make a lasting impression.Moore jostles him when Laurence sits at the long table. “Will! Did you get any letters with the last batch?”
A patrolling gunboat brought a satchel of letters just this morning. “I did not,” Laurence says. He's grateful for the fact. He'd found a few pieces of correspondence in his quarters that he dutifully sent on; he cannot imagine writing a letter now, in this confused state.
“Then you've had no news! Robespierre has gone mad. Madder than before, I suppose.”
“Robespierre?” asks Laurence blankly.
Lieutenant Moore double-takes, as does everyone else around them. “Good lord, Will, please tell me you remember Robespierre?”
Right... Robespierre's reign was brief, but this is when he led France. Some of the things the papers published...
Well, at least Laurence has a well-worn excuse for his ignorance. He plays up his malady: “Yes. I think I recall he was... French?”
Groans of horror mixed with amusement echo around the table. “...Well you aren't wrong,” says Moore, looking pained. “He has styled himself the 'President' of their Assembly, which is some stupid way of being king; the French are all mad about removing and adding words right now. I don't know how they expect anyone to hold a conversation.”
“We should... probably educate Mr. Laurence about the war at some point,” some midshipman mutters. Laurence doesn't recall his name.
Moore sighs again. “Anyway. Robespierre is a tyrant, of course. But he's elected someone else to rule France! Barely more than a boy, too.”
Laurence frowns; he doesn't remember what Moore's talking about. “Why would he do that? Did they capture one of the Bourbons?” Declaring himself regent of a child-prince would at least make sense.
“Well, at least you remember them. No; it is some nobody, a young soldier. Not even French! I cannot fathom it.”
It feels like Laurence has been dunked in ice.
For a moment he can't respond. “What was his name? The soldier.”
“Napoleon Bonaparte. He has been chosen as head of their new heresy, the 'Cult of the Supreme Being,' they're calling it; and now de facto head of the government, too. Must be a priest? I don't know, nothing the French are doing makes sense. I expect his little group will be as short-lived as everything else about these riots.”
But Laurence doesn't think so. “...Excuse me; I'm feeling a bit poorly,” he says, rising on wavering legs.
“Yes, you look it! Go on, we'll tell you about the war later...”
Laurence flees.
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i'm rewatching the second to last day of wormhole eclipse convo for the one millionth time because i need parts of it transcribed for my blog post and vitalasy straight up asking "Why do we play?" is killing me. you may as well turn towards the camera and stare directly at me. 2k words of this analysis are spent on definitions of play. stop that
(incoherent vitalazam ramble below the cut real stream of consciousness in here. i guess some of this might get rehashed in the thing i'm Supposed to be writing right now but it won't have the same sense of fervor due to the restraints of proper grammar. consider this a bonus...?)
i can't even articulate what i want to say here fucking. fuck my life. the way this conversation is a perfect capstone on eclipse's relationship. zam spends the entire thing acquiescing to whatever vitalasy tells him but not hearing any of it. because he's still mad but he can't express that, and Vitalasy is still mad (Cannot acknowledge zam's anger at him re: exploits without jumping to his own defense. and then he cuts himself off because he knows that's not helping . purely said that on reflex. it reads like a joke.) and vitalasy Still doesn't understand him at all, is still so intensely frustrated by him. and it's just manifesting as vitalasy digging the two of them into this pit while zam does nothing, doesn't fight back even though he reads it as vitalasy trying to kill him to which vitalasy says "i'm not trying to kill you!" even though moments later vitalasy will offer to ban zam, has been urging him to do it this whole time. because not only is killing zam in this moment made trivial and pointless by the exploits but even if it were possible and it could mean something it Wouldn't mean anything because it wouldn't change anything; banning is synonymous with leaving and despite how relentlessly zam toys with the idea he will never. ever. Ever. actually do it.
he's miserable but he can't put himself before the server the way vitalasy thinks would be best for him and for everyone else because as far as zam is concerned his health and the health of the server are one and the same. he's playing out the exploits and sticking with spoke because it's like, it's almost saying "if you won't see it through I will" to a vitalasy who has in his own words discarded first the exploits and then the server itself. BUT AGAIN: HE CAN'T EXPRESS THIS! HE APOLOGIZED TO VITALASY! it would be wrong to go back on that but the apology was as much of a lie as his relationship with vitalasy always was when they were on good terms.
i mean look at this you can literally watch him course correct over and over again as he remembers what vitalasy wants from him. it never ends. i want to squeeze him until he dies. it's exponentially easier to place the blame on himself but doing that has always just freaked vitalasy out he hates when zam does that so bad. it's the easy way out of dealing with a problem to punish yourself for it.
LIKE OKAY ... what does he want? does he want vi and subz to just fight him? would that be easier? that's always been the expected response that's the counter to the move zam has made on the board. i betray you; you attack me; differences are settled in combat. he talks about fighting at one point like winning and losing have ingrained moral qualities. if someone thinks you're wrong, and tries to stop you, and you beat them, it proves that you're right. but he tried to go against the exploits and vitalasy wouldn't fight him, vitalasy stepped out of bounds entirely and said "i'm not playing anymore, i don't like this game!" after fucking the game over for everybody else, and he never forgave that. and now, vitalasy hates what zam is doing but he's not trying to fight it, he's trying to force zam to do what he did, to stop playing by his own rules. to look outside of bounds. to consider a bigger picture. he is notoriously bad at that.
he likes mapicc so much because they speak the same language. you know how mapicc is able to temporarily settle their differences before the pangi duel and subsequent extremely obvious betrayal by handing a "win" to zam and it Works? it works really well? whatever. whatever
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I dunno man I feel like most statements along the lines of ‘Batman isn’t REALLY x, he’s y’ don’t hold much water because usually, there’s a pretty good chance a number of writers over the years have written him as x, you just didn’t like it or think it doesn’t count for some reason.
For example ‘Batman isn’t REALLY a good parent, he’s actually a bad parent’, when Batman has been written as a good parent by a number of writers, and has, in addition, been written as realizing that he’s screwed up with his children and resolved to fix it by even more. At the same time, stating ‘Batman isn’t REALLY a bad parent, he’s actually a good parent’ is also incorrect, because Batman has been written as a bad parent by a number of writers, either intentionally or not; in addition, the pattern presented by the tug-of-war between writers who believe he should be a good parent and writers who don’t has, over the years, created an unintentional pattern that strongly resembles that of an abusive relationship. So, stating he is a good parent is inaccurate and dismisses a bunch of his canon writing, but stating he is a bad parent also dismisses a bunch of his canon writing and the intentions of the authors that wrote him.
The secret here is realizing that Batman has had so many writers over the years that it’s practically impossible to find a universal truth about him beyond the basic premise and maybe very, very basic characterization keystones. Writers with different beliefs about both the character and the world at large have written him in accordance to their worldview, and sometimes that worldview will align with yours, and sometimes it won’t.
Like, at this point, Batman is more an idea than he is a character. He is the bare-knuckled fight against injustice, but what ‘injustice’ is depends heavily on your worldview, as does what ‘bare-knuckled’ and ‘fight’ mean. Batman has been interpreted in dozens of different ways over the years, and singling out a few of those as the True Batman is largely arbitrary and dependent on your personal taste and belief in what the character should be. The only ‘objective’ measurement you could apply here are the old Golden Age comics, and I think most fans can agree that measuring modern Batman comics by how faithful they are to the Golden Age comics is, more often than not, a little ridiculous.
For the record, I do think that arguing about what Batman should be matters; if right-wing assholes use the character as a mouthpiece for their worldview we can and should critique that, but not because it’s ‘OOC’, but because the worldview espoused by those right-wing assholes is harmful and shitty. Batman should be a good parent, not because it’s ‘OOC’ for him to be a bad parent, but because having your paragon of justice be a child abuser is pretty shitty. Etc.
I don’t really have anywhere specific to go with this, I just think it’s a little strange when people try to view Batman as a character with a clear-cut characterization, rather than a concept that many people have approached in different ways over the years. Can that concept be mishandled? Sure. But it’s usually mishandled for reasons a bit more substantial than ‘a previous writer wrote it differently’.
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