The SSSS Scriptorium

[Róisín]

You are indeed evil. But good stories.

[Lazy8]

...I have absolutely no excuse for this.

I'm subjecting you to it anyway.

The Thirst

[Róisín]

That is some extremely weird crack you have there!

[LooNEY_DAC]

I am not being a copy-Lalli here, as this was planned (but not written) several weeks ago.

Alphabet Soup
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent” fanfic collection
Series 1, Part 24
Complete Links to Complete Links post

Spoiler: A Xylophone and a Zither • show

Apparently, the thieves and robbers who infested the big, dark, scary forest were all also avid musicians, because when they’d run afoul of the Three Bear Warriors who were their sworn enemies, Sigrun, the fiercest Bear Warrior ever ever ever, had pursued them all the way back to their camp and found a veritable dragon’s hoard of musical instruments. Lalli, their newly acquired feline Cub Scout, had suggested that the Bear Warriors and their friend “Goldilocks” Emil Västerström might try starting their own band as a sideline, but Mikkel, the general dogs-body of the trio, had informed him that jazz wouldn’t be invented for another few centuries, and that Bremen was too far away anyways, so that idea was set aside for the moment.

They unlikely foursome finally remembered that they had been on their way to bring some Very Important and Valuable Items back to Trond the Crooked Man that Old Man Olsen, a very unpleasant man who had died some years before, had borrowed and never returned from Captain Ása Hardardóttir’s father, Hörður the Hoarder, so the Bear Warriors and Emil dropped off the big iron pot in which they’d stashed the Very Important and Valuable Items at Trond the Crooked Man’s crooked home just outside the big, dark, scary forest, though they couldn’t hang around to listen to any of his crooked tales.

Most of the instruments had easily found their owners from the local villages, but when the dust from the reclaiming frenzy settled, two instruments remained: a xylophone that had been partly dismantled (but which had all of its pieces), and a zither with most of its strings intact.

Now, a zither was close enough to a kantele that Lalli, a Finn forest cat, worked it out fairly easily; and Emil had been training on the glockenspiel before he’d been sent to live with his uncle and aunt, so he was working the xylophone pretty well shortly. Their impromptu concert, held on the front lawn of the house that used to be Old Man Olsen’s, drew a whole crowd out to hear; but more importantly it drew out the current owner of the house, Reynir Árnason, and the pair of ghosts who liked hanging around him, “Onni” and “Tuuri”.

Emil didn’t particularly like ghosts of any sort, but he was a very well-mannered boy (when he remembered to be), so he had got on “Onni” and “Tuuri’s” good side by being polite to “them”, just as he had the Bear Warriors in the first place. When “they” asked to sing along, Emil looked at Lalli, who nodded, and Emil told “them” it was okay, and this turned out to be a very good idea, because “Onni” was a very fine base and “Tuuri” a sweet alto.

Mikkel and Sigrun still wanted no part of the musical ensemble that was coalescing, but they weren’t opposed to Lalli going and having fun with Emil every so often. So it was that the concerts became a more or less monthly occurrence, always on Reynir’s front lawn. Emil was just getting used to hanging around with the ghosts when…

Spoiler: Authorial Notes • show

Remember, Lazy8, you can never make my crack look normal with yours!

[Róisín]

'Jazz wouldn't be invented for another few centuries, and Bremen was too far away', forsooth! When my kids were little they owned a copy of 'The Musicians of Bremen', with a front cover illustration of all the musicians playing on the back of the ox. I remember that the cat had a little violin, but a zither would be just as funny.

[Lazy8]

I'll admit that that's cracky, but... did you see what I just wrote?

(Also, what's coming up next... erm...)

[LooNEY_DAC]

I'll admit that that's cracky, but... did you see what I just wrote?

(Also, what's coming up next... erm...)

You wrote Mikkel as TSgt Kwan from Galaxy Quest.

[Lazy8]

You wrote Mikkel as TSgt Kwan from Galaxy Quest.

*blink*

I... did, didn't I?

[LooNEY_DAC]

Yep. And now, I'm writing Mikkel as Mikkel (hopefully).

Alphabet Soup
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent” fanfic collection
Series 2, Part 24
Complete Links to Complete Links post

Spoiler: Xenophon Reincarnate • show

“Excess of victory never yet caused any conqueror one pang of remorse.”

“May I talk with anybody else, please?”

Mikkel never got tired of hearing that, even through all the innumerable variations that he had heard: it meant victory, and he had long since learned to savor every little (or large) victory he could wrest from the vapid, fatuous masses he had to deal with on a regular basis; such was his only compensation from the petty cruelties and stupidities they forced him to endure on a near-constant basis.

At first, Mikkel had expected that a new workplace, occupation or employer might prove the exception to the idiocracy in which he had been trapped for all of his life; that hope had long since faded by now, replaced with resignation over the anticipated onslaught of foolishness that always eventuated. So now Mikkel welcomed every evidence that he grated on his more pathologically microcephalic colleagues or employers as much as they grated on him.

Of course, Mikkel’s current teammates grated on him far less than most, so that was a plus. Given that, he had been careful not to unduly antagonize the others, though it appeared his first little prank had left a lasting impression on Emil. Oh, well.

*

“There was something in me that would not rest until I fulfilled a grand destiny.”
“Perhaps their attacks on my character meant that the hour was ripe for my career to begin in earnest.”

As soon as he was certain that the door was securely closed, Mikkel strode briskly from the vehicle, assured in his determination to sortie to Kastellet and bring to light the answers all his instincts told him awaited him there. Once he had the solution in hand, Sigrun would be forced to admit that she had unfairly maligned both his abilities and his acumen in asserting that the sortie should be made.

Quite obviously, Mikkel was the only person on the team suited to make this sortie, as only he had the right combination of immunity to enable him to go without fear, knowledge to enable him to find what he sought, and deductive ability to interpret what he might find. Though some of these qualities were shared (to a sadly limited extent) by some of his teammates, none of them combined these prerequisites in one person as he did. Success would be his vindication.

*

“The sweetest sound is praise.”

“…and the fact that you can carry as much as three random, boring dudes, I like that about you.”

It seemed Sigrun had given some thought to what enconia she might truthfully give Mikkel, which was actually quite considerate of her; Mikkel only wished she didn’t make it sound like she was scraping the bottom of the barrel for such praise. He would forbear mentioning this minor discontent, of course, and try not to dwell upon it aside from this one acknowledgement: ingratitude for efforts made on one’s behalf was the easiest way to discourage reoccurrence of such effort.

“So what I’m saying is: you’re really good at muscles, which is great.”

Mikkel smiled and replied, “I’m flattered.” And he was, despite any earlier eye-rolling. Perhaps Sigrun could have worded her earlier statements better, but the summation was more than adequate to her cause.

Mikkel was of the opinion that one should dwell on the sweeter things in life, as they tended to be the most ephemeral…

Spoiler: Authorial Notes • show

And here’s a short glimpse into Mikkel’s mind.

[Grade E cat]

Three guesses as to who set out to write a one-shot in her "Tuuri and Lalli didn't go on the expedition" AU six weeks ago and ended up producing a four-chapter fic. First two don't count.

I was a little uninspired for the title though. For curious people and making Lazy8's work easier, it's a sequel to "Second chances".

Somewhere, somehow: Chapter1

[Lazy8]

I always appreciate anything that makes my job easier.

[LooNEY_DAC]

So, after the multi-day delay, here's another double update with which I pull just barely ahead of Lazy8.

Alphabet Soup
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent” fanfic collection
Series 3, Part 24
Complete Links to Complete Links post

Spoiler: The X-Y-Z Problem • show

The wizened little detective moved down the line of suspects at a slow and measured pace. The various people in the line fidgeted as he approached, only relaxing when he had passed them. There was only one of them who seemed completely at his ease throughout the ordeal: the murderer.

Throughout all the tumultuous events since he had awoken with a sack on his head, Reynir had managed to keep hold of something that he’d found by his feet in those stables: one of the thriller novels his mother had written long ago.

Reynir’s mother, Sigriður Jónsdóttir, had borne five children, and with each pregnancy, she had been confined to bed for a longer or shorter period in the third trimester. For such a normally active woman as Sigriður, the boredom of this confinement was excruciating; so when her mother-in-law Hildur, herself a well-known writer of steamy romances, had suggested that Sigriður try her own hand at writing something, Sigriður had latched onto the notion like a drowning woman clutching a floatation device.

Thus the wizened little detective came into being; the book Reynir had was the eighth of his adventures, written while Reynir himself was in utero. This seeming coincidence gave Reynir a warm, fuzzy feeling, like his mother was in some way looking out for him from afar.

Through two balloon rides and a vast trek underground, Reynir had carried the book; one might expect that he’d know every page and every word on every page by heart, but he had only had brief snatches in which to pore over the book, so only now was he approaching the book’s climactic passages.

The second balloon ride had perforce been shorter than the first, as the six of them had barely had time to climb in before their beloved island had exploded, damaging their balloon so that it had almost failed them. They’d managed to eke out just enough flight time from it to reach a nearby and greatly inferior island, and were resting briefly before jumping back to work. Fortunately, the island was just as grossling-free as the other had been.

The real question that they were faced with which none of them wanted to say out loud was how they were going to get home—which now seemed more like whether they were going to get home at all than it had at any point in their various adventures. The island had essentially nothing that they could use to even try to get home, and very little that they could use to survive at all.

Fortunately for them, there was a mildly dilapidated cabin that was a relic of the Old Times but would shelter all of them, though the electrical systems were long since defunct.

“You used the Old Time telephone system to pretend you were elsewhere when you were really busy murdering your victim, but what you don’t realize is that phone calls are still tracked and recorded—we can prove whence the call you made originated!”

Reynir sat up. There was a telephone on the desk not five feet from the bed upon which he was lounging, and in a second, his hand was on the receiver. Reynir paused. It couldn’t be that easy, could it? Swallowing hard, Reynir put the receiver to his ear…

…And heard a dial tone.

*

Staying alive until the Icelandic Navy sent one of their ships to rescue them was physically trying, but contact with their loved ones gave them just the boost in spirits that they needed to tough it out.

By the time they reached Reykjavik, their loved ones had had time to get there as well; the dockside reunion must have been quite a sight for any uninformed spectators…

Spoiler: Authorial Notes • show

And here’s an end to the Jules Verne crossover.

Sigh.

+
Alphabet Soup
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent” fanfic collection
Series 1, Part 25

Spoiler: A Yen for a Yen • show

Tuuri watched Reyinr approach while pretending she was unaware of him. Reynir was being uncharacteristically hesitant, and Tuuri wasn’t going to do anything to encourage that hesitance.

Tuuri was driving the vehicle at its customary slow crawl so that the horses tied to the rear bumper could keep up with ease down the road to Keuruu; aside from Reynir, the others were all napping in the back, waiting for the incipient contact Lalli had told them would be minutes away now.

“Turi?” Reynir swallowed hard before he could continue. “Um… What were you planning to do when we get to Keuruu?”

Tuuri paused for a moment before replying, “Well, it’s my home, so… nothing special, really. I mean, we were all down in Mikkeli on that mission, but we all have our own homes we need to go back to… don’t we? Unless… unless some of us might want to stay together?”

A blast of light burst through the windshield before Tuuri could reply. They had finally reached the first line of outposts protecting Keuruu.

*

The six of them went into individual isolation cells for their mandatory quarantine; they were not informed of what was done with the horses. Normally, that would have been that, but because the six of them were, as Reynir put it later, cursed with an attraction for all the worst troubles that could find them, on the day before they were to have been released there was a sudden influx of people who needed to be quarantined, which meant that the four immunes were squashed together in one cell (let’s face it—that’s what they were at that point), and the two non-immunes were put in another.

It was only supposed to be for a day, but the facility was so overwhelmed that it lasted almost another week; Mikkel pointed out that they were lucky that the staff had kept feeding them, considering how great the chaos actually was out there.

*

The two cells had a register through which they could communicate; none of them knew how it was that they could talk that way without risk of cross-contamination, but they accepted it as fact nonetheless. This register was firmly shut, as the two non-immunes were in the midst of a discussion that they felt should remain private to them.

“I’d like us to stay together after all of this is finally over.”

There were a few moments of silence after this declaration.

“Do you really want me in particular, or do you just want someone to be with you and anyone will do?”

Tuuri grabbed Reynir’s cheeks and pulled his head to hers until their foreheads touched, forcing him to look her directly in the eyes. “I want to see what we can be together in the real world, instead of some crazy chase back to civilization.”

*

“It took you long enough,” Onni grumbled as the guards signaled him to accompany them to the quarantine cells.

When the guards finally opened the cell where they’d put the two non-immunes, they found Reynir and Tuuri busily making out.

Spoiler: Authorial Notes • show

And so the race to Keuruu ends just as it began.

[LooNEY_DAC]

Another double update, leaving me with just the Zs.

...but hopefully none of them will give you readers the Zzzzzzzzzzs.

Alphabet Soup
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent” fanfic collection
Series 2, Part 25
Complete Links to Complete Links post

Spoiler: Youth • show

Mikkel Madsen, author of “Mars on a C-Note a Day”, “Love and the Modern AI”, “Pearl-Blossoms Across the Sky (and Other Stories)”, and many more such hard sci-fi tales, ducked as the sword whizzed past his head, wondering why he’d ever agreed to this. A moment later, his opponent had been knocked flat on his back by a redheaded fury: Sigrun Eide, Norse Cinema’s reigning Queen of the Troll Hunters.

Mikkel winced as Sigrun bellowed in triumph before coming to a startling realization: he was actually enjoying himself. This realization was disturbing on a number of levels, but he had other things on which he ought to be concentrating, so he put it from his mind for the moment.

The leather scale armor Mikkel was wearing was well-balanced but still chafed in various places and was getting rather a bit too warm overall. Even so, Mikkel was of the opinion that he was still doing fairly well, considering his inexperience at this type of martial art.

Sigrun’s parents had insisted on Mikkel’s attendance at and participation in these games in Dalsnes; Mikkel had no idea why, but since their insistence took the form of a man even more massive than Mikkel and half his age, Mikkel had acquiesced. Sigrun had met his plane and introduced him to her young pyromaniac friend Emil Västerström, who hadn’t understood a word of Mikkel’s greeting. Emil had introduced them to his friend Lalli Hotakainen, Lalli’s cousin Tuuri Hotakainen, and Tuuri’s light-o’-love Reynir Árnason. Sigrun, far from discouraging this chain of friends leeching off of her hospitality, had been quite enthusiastic about their number; Mikkel only found out why when the aides came to kit him out with the armor.

The annual games included a number of team fights in period arms and armor; the whole group had been volunteered for one such. Sigrun, Mikkel, Emil, Lalli, Tuuri and Reynir were all fighting on one side of the brawl, with an equal number of Sigrun’s parents’ flunkies (all nearly as large as the one who’d summoned Mikkel) as their opponents. Sigrun had immediately taken charge of her group (which everyone thought was a good idea), and had designated Emil, of all people, as her “right-hand viking” (which even Emil thought was a mistake).

The six of them had promptly though informally been split into two groups: Mikkel, Tuuri and Reynir formed the “we can barely defend ourselves” group; while Sigrun, Lalli and (to his own amazement) Emil formed the “don’t worry, we’ll protect you and win this anyway” group.

Fortunately, Mikkel’s leg wound had been healed for quite some time, or this battle would have been even more of an ordeal than it was proving to be. While he, Tuuri and Reynir were indeed only barely holding their own, the three of them were still holding their own, which was better than the alternative at hand.

Mikkel glanced over at the Grand Pavilion, where Sigrun’s parents were seated in seeming unconcern (as far as he could tell from this distance) and regal splendor on the High Dais (just above the Middle Dais, which was just above the Low Dais, which was just above the Battling Pitch). He shifted his weapon and shield as his ire at the situation they’d forced upon him grew. He was an author of hard science fiction, not some hack writer scribbling out pseudo-historical claptrap!

There were only two of their opponents still on their feet; while Tuuri and Reynir were watching in awe as Sigrun, Lalli and Emil surrounded their remaining foes, Mikkel decided to take matters into his own hands.

The one thing Mikkel hadn’t counted on in his spur-of-the-moment plan was that he was going to try to go up against Sigrun’s parents; had he given it more consideration, he would have realized that this could only end badly. In the event, they actually allowed Mikkel to make his way up to the High Dais before Sigrun’s parents took him on personally… for all of the five seconds it took them to take him down.

When Mikkel opened his eyes, his head was throbbing horribly and Sigrun was grinning down at him; her grin was particularly insane, which made Mikkel’s head throb even worse than it was already. Her words did nothing to dispel the throbbing: “I knew there was a reason I like you.” She laughed at his expression. “Purely platonically, Big Guy, though if I liked you the other way, my parents would be all for it after your gutsy try at them.”

Mikkel had absolutely no idea what he reply he managed to make…

Spoiler: Authorial Notes • show

Mikkel’s hard sci-fi snootiness is one of the things that annoys me quite a bit IRL.

…But here’s the end of the nerd-con AU, at least for now.

+
Alphabet Soup
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent” fanfic collection
Series 3, Part 25

Spoiler: The Yowling • show

Well, so Lalli the feline Cub Scout couldn’t sing; that didn’t matter, as neither could “Goldilocks” Emil. The fact that the two of them could play their instruments pleasantly well together was good enough.

Unfortunately, while Emil was inclined to let Lalli yowl his heart out if he so desired, Sigrun, the fiercest Bear Warrior ever ever ever, was decidedly not; or at least, not around her, and Mikkel quite agreed.

This was why Emil and Lalli were in a distant part of the big, dark, scary forest one fine summer day with their instruments. The ghosts who usually sang along with their playing, “Onni” and “Tuuri”, couldn’t come this deep into the big, dark, scary forest, or “they” might offend the local ghost wolves and bears and Bear Warriors, so it was just Emil and Lalli.

They had just started to get a good tune going when they were interrupted by a weird, glowing horse ghost with eight legs. The ghost leapt up on a nearby stump and said,

“Boys, let me tell you what,
“I’ll bet you didn’t know,
“But I’m a zither player too,
“And if you’d care
“To take a dare,
“I’ll make a bet with you…”

It was at this point that Emil pointed out that both places named Georgia were quite some ways away; that the ghost might have better luck with a fiddler rather than a zitherist; and that the ghost should probably be on guard against someone with a sack that might have been obtained from Trond the Crooked Man. Then Emil pulled a small burlap sack from his belt and waved it suggestively, whereupon the ghost decided to take “himself” elsewhere.

Lalli repaid the favor a few minutes later when a wandering huntsman mistook Emil for his quarry, though Emil had sparkling gold hair rather than thick raven tresses. Apparently, the huntsman had been going blind for some time with cataracts. Lalli being a cat knew how to alleviate this problem, so the huntsman left with thanks and a promise to cut them free if they ever found themselves in a wolf’s belly.

“Do you think we should go to some other part of the big, dark, scary forest?” Emil asked Lalli. “It’s getting awfully crowded around here.”

Lalli quietly considered the matter for a while. “Maybe we should go visit my grandmother.”

“Only if we can get the huntsman to stick around,” Emil said firmly. “We may need to take him up on his offer.”

Lalli admitted that elderly grandmothers had a strange habit of being eaten by wolves just as their grandchildren were coming to call, and Emil wondered why uncles couldn’t pick up the habit, as his Uncle Torbjörn had threatened to withhold the pease porridge again if Emil didn’t bring back something nice from his friends.

“That’s why I don’t invite you over,” Emil apologized.

“I might be of assistance with that, if you can help me in exchange,” a nearby frog croaked. “This stump leads to the cave of the Gobbler King. He owes me a favor, so if you ask, he’ll give you something to help.”

“How shall we aid you in return?” Emil asked.

The frog shuddered. “Never sing in this part of the big, dark, scary forest again.”

Lalli and Emil looked at each other and shrugged. In another moment, they had gone into the stump and down a long passageway that led to a sumptuous throne room, where the Gobbler King sat in state. After they’d explained the situation to him, he nodded to one of his flunkies, who presented them with a folding table. “Whenever this table is set up, a magical and unending feast will fill it.”

“Thank you,” Emil said politely, and took the table in his arms.

Emil presented his aunt and uncle with the table, but since Reynir had invited him and the Three Bear Warriors to dine at the house that used to be Old Man Olsen’s, Emil did not wait for them to try the table.

The Gobbler King and the frog had deceived Emil: once opened, the table would force anyone nearby to eat from its feast until their stomachs burst, at which point it would fold itself back up. When Emil returned to his uncle and aunt that evening, he found a tragic scene.

The frog was visiting the Gobbler King when Emil and the Three Bear Warriors came with the table, which saved them some time. The Gobbler King had a magic sword, but before he could finish saying, “All heads off but mine!”, Sigrun had lopped his head off.

Despite successfully avenging his family, Emil was still sad, for he had no idea how to live on his own. The answer came from “Tuuri”, who pressed Reynir to invite Emil to live with him. Emil agreed, on the condition that he could still go and visit the Three Bear Warriors from time to time; and so he, Reynir and the ghosts all got along very well for the rest of their days.

Spoiler: Authorial Notes • show

I’m really not sure how I could have fit more fairy tale stuff in this and still closed it out.

…Did I mention that I’m insane?

[Róisín]

Insane in the best possible way! Laughing very hard here!

[LooNEY_DAC]

Alphabet Soup
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent” fanfic collection
Series 1, Part 26
Complete Links to Complete Links post

Spoiler: A Zap in the Right Place • show

“Only now, at the end, do you understand.” Another foul course of purple lightning sprang from the vile Sorcerer’s gnarled fingers, identical to that which had slain the Evil Tyrant when his failure to rout the Six Sojourners had become apparent. The dire bolts leapt at the Sojourners…

…Only to bend around and concentrate upon the head of the Blue Wizard’s outstretched staff. “There is, indeed, much that you have made plain to us,” the Blue Wizard stated calmly, “but it is not our end that is nigh: it is yours.” And Lalli equally calmly shot the arrow he had readied into the Sorcerer’s belly.

*

They stayed on at the village for almost a week, which nearly ran the villagers out of food, though the Blue Wizard gave them a mysterious gift “from the vaults of Laurelindórenan, the Elven Valley of Singing Gold in the Far West”, which statement caused Reynir Half-Elven to shoot a brief but astonished glance at the Blue Wizard.

Leave they did, though each of them had only the vaguest of destinations in mind. For the moment, this mattered very little, as the way to anywhere they were desirous of going led back along the route they had taken to get to the village: they had followed the dawn here; now they must follow the setting sun.

The dragons and the magicians and all the other trials and travails of the journey East declined to hinder them as they made their way back West, so their journey went faster than they’d thought possible. All too soon, they had reached the spot where the Dwarven caravan had come to grief and Reynir Half-Elven had joined them.

And now, the decisions each of them had been putting off could be put off no longer. Each secretly wanted to remain with the others wherever that might lead them, though each stated that their duty was to return to their homelands, if they could.

Finally, the Blue Wizard broke into their councils. “Enough of this. Lalli, would the Royal Sword turn away any who wished to serve him, especially if you pledged for their valor?”

“Of course not,” Lalli said in surprise.

“Of course not.” The Blue Wizard clasped his hands behind him. “There is a minor village along the Great East Road near the Shire and within the realm of Arthedain, a village where Men, Elves, Dwarves and Hobbits are known to mingle; it is called Bree by those who people it. This area would welcome any who wish to settle there, particularly those who serve the Royal Sword.”

The Blue Wizard paused. No one spoke, though all were watching him intently.

“Lalli and Tuuri Pesky-Door; Mikkel Foundling Son of Man; Sigrun of the Haladin Guard; Emil Dúnduin of Gondor; and Reynir Half-Elven: will you accept a charge that will bind you for the rest of your lives, the defense of the North against the rapacity and depredations of Angmar?”

Fear hit each heart, but sudden joy pushed it aside. Here was what each of them secretly wanted but had feared to ask for, laid before them as a charge—but also as a gift.

The Blue Wizard smirked as each of the Six Sojourners silently nodded in turn…

Spoiler: Authorial Notes • show

A rather more pleasant ending than the next tale—which is why the last post will also be a double one.