The SSSS Scriptorium

[misea]

*tosses up link to part 4, dives right back into the real world*

http://archiveofourown.org/works/4918981/chapters/11455951

*CONFLICTED FANFIC READER'S SCREECHING*

[LooNEY_DAC]

The Good, the Bad, and the Bestial
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent”/Western crossover fanfic
Part 12

Spoiler: show

Towards the Cave of Time

The Darkness had lain over this place for untold years, waiting, watching, and planning. The Darkness was patient that way.

The march of the eons had paraded before the Darkness once, a vast, glittering tapestry of time bathed in beautiful showers of light that mocked the Darkness. Now, the Darkness would smother that tapestry, snuffing away light wherever it was to be found.

All was nearly in place now: the Man in the Black Hat; the Children of Darkness; the Unseen Inferno; and the Hopeless Distraction. The only way that anything could go awry, in fact, the key to defeating the Darkness, would soon be ensnared and engulfed in a Tar Baby of their own making.

It would all start with five simple words...

*

“THERE! NOW I SEE IT!”

“What do you see?” Sigrun’s voice was hushed.

“I see... I see a dark man crossing our path like a black cat to bring ruin to us. I see you and he have a past that drives him to come after us until he’s killed you. I see...”

Reynir was quiet for some time, mouth agape in amazement, until Sigrun poured out another shot for him. The sound jolted him back into speech.

“I see a cave that we must enter. I see he wants us to, and’ll help us get in that cave, but we must enter it anyway. I see past, present and future colliding and ricocheting like the balls on a billiard table...” Reynir stood, picking the whiskey bottle up and taking a swig directly from it. “I see us, and us, and us again, echoed down through the ages over and over. I see us getting through it with flying colors and a big brass band besides. Don’t worry, Lalli; it’ll all work out.”

*

The Man in the Black Hat walked up to where the prison commandant lay staked out for the wolves. The prison itself burned behind him, turning the noontime light a sickly orange with the billows of smoke that poured from it. Gathered around were the Man in the Black Hat’s enforcers, freshly back from burying the rest of the prison staff that they’d executed earlier.

The ex-commandant was either asleep or faking it; either way, his eyes flew open when the Man in the Black Hat kicked him in his side viciously.

“I’ve changed my mind.” The words were calculated to raise the doomed man’s hopes, but the hard expression on the Man in the Black Hat’s face belied that hope. He let the statement hang in the silence for a long moment before continuing, “Staking you out for the wolves is fine if you’re hunting wolves, but for what I’m hunting, you’re worthless. You failed to hold them; you’d fail as bait for them. The only thing you’re good for,” one of the Man in the Black Hat’s henchmen uncorked a large jug and handed it to his boss, “is to show how I deal with failures.”

The ex-commandant began to struggle wildly against the ropes binding him.

The Man in the Black Hat poured the oil over his victim, taking care to avoid where the ropes were attached, until the helpless man was quite soaked, then lit a thin cigarillo, and puffed away at it a few times. Then, he tossed the match.

*

“So, we’re heading for this cave in the middle of the Badlands so we can have it out with some guy from your past.” Mikkel’s voice still kept its wonted calm as he made the statement.

“Yep. And once we do, we’ll have one fewer enemy out there. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

Mikkel ignored the jab. “do you know who this man is?”

Sigrun’s face hardened. “Yep. Only one guy would be after me like this.”

“Who is he?”

Sheepish amusement twisted Sigrun’s face. “Well, we were never really on a first-name basis, if you understand, and so I never did get to know his right name. Most folk just call him the Man in the Black Hat, like he was a character out of one of those dime-store pulps.”

“I suppose it would be to much to ask for him to act as foolish as those villains do.”

“Foolish, no.” Sigrun paused significantly. “Evil, yes.”

*

The hired gun slowly approached the Man in the Black Hat. Once his master acknowledged him, he reported, “They’re heading into the trap now.”

The Man in the Black Hat smiled. “Then we’d better be off ourselves.” He looked back. “Well, he made a better torch then he did a commandant.”

The hired gun declined to look.

“Time to ride for the Cave,” the Man in the Black Hat said, mounting his horse...

Spoiler:  Authorial Notes • show

Thus begins the caper of... the Cave of Time! (Only I get to choose their adventures!)

[Róisín]

Curiouser and curiouser! Now just where are you going with this one, LooNEY?

[LooNEY_DAC]

Curiouser and curiouser! Now just where are you going with this one, LooNEY?

*Maniacal laughter*

Oh, it might have something to do with stuff mentioned here.

*Maniacal laughter intensifies*

[LooNEY_DAC]

I keep having to double post like this…

Contingencies
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent”/“Terminator” crossover fanfic
Part 7
Prior part

Spoiler: show

Unmasked

Earlier...

A series of slapping sounds filled the vehicle, accompanied by the sound of Sigrun turning the air blue with her curses. She had quite the vocabulary, Emil noticed admiringly. He had been doing some slapping himself, and wondering where the flies were coming from, since, like trolls, they usually waited for the warmth of summer to start preying on people. He might ask Mikkel.

Just then, Mikkel’s deep voice lifted in a cross between a grunt and a growl, with more slapping sounds as accompaniment. Emil decided the question could wait. Looking down at Lalli’s napping form, he noticed several of the flies hovering in the vicinity, and tried to swish them away with a spare blanket. This only served to accidentally wake Lalli, who began slapping at the flies himself after a moment of outraged silence at having his nap interrupted.

The only bright spot was that flies weren’t a vector for the Rash, or Humanity would have been wiped out long ago.

Now...

The T-1000 imitating both [EIDE, SIGRUN] and [VAESTERSTROM, EMIL] simultaneously was observing [HOTAKAINEN, TUURI] closely enough to pinpoint when the human realized the imposture. The T-1000 had been reluctant to use the secondhand data from the fly-bots, preferring to take such samples itself, and now it had evidence that this other method was faulty, possibly through corrupt data transmission.

Of course, the failure of the impersonation meant that more direct methods would need to be employed in the assault.

*

“Lalli!” Sigrun called. Once she was sure she had the slender scout’s attention, she began miming at him to help her carry the unconscious Emil back to the vehicle. She could have done it herself, of course, but for long hauls like this, a double carry was best.

Lalli looked back at Sigrun, blank incomprehension writ large upon his face. Why was the crazy lady babbling on and making weird gestures at him when there were still dangers about? He shook his head, wondering (and not for the first time) how she’d survived all these years.

Sigrun let out a soft but inventive curse that would have sparked Emil’s admiration had he been awake to hear it. She tried getting the message across to Lalli again, with ever broader gesticulations, until finally, she was acting out a sort of interpretive dance for him, though he obviously still didn’t understand.

Lalli suddenly tensed, alertness in every line of his body. Sigrun was so involved in her attempts to get him to help her that she almost missed his abrupt change in demeanor, but the hard-learned battle reflexes in the back of her mind caught what he was wordlessly telling her. Almost as quickly as Lalli, Sigrun went into a wary crouch, ready to strike whatever came her way.

Having a better understanding of the situation, however, the scout was disposed to take more positive action. Lalli’s movements were always swift, graceful and economical, so when he brought his rifle to bear and fired, catching the grossling as it was easing into position for an ambush, he almost looked like he was dancing himself.

*

“Um, Tuuri?” Reynir tried to get their driver’s attention by tapping her shoulder and was surprised when she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Oh, sorry! I-I-I just wanted to know what you were doing and why we aren’t letting Sigrun and Emil in.”

Tuuri’s normally pleasant face hardened. “They’re not Sigrun and Emil, Reynir.” Reynir’s confused expression deepened, so she sighed and tried to explain. “Most Finns have a connection to the Other World, but only the ones strong enough to see spirits are mages. I just asked the spirits out there to help me see them, and they showed me that the thing out there doesn’t have a spirit, so it can’t be Sigrun and Emil.”

“What could it be, then?” Reynir asked in awe.

“Nothing I’m letting inside,” Tuuri replied grimly.

Even as she said it, the familiar forms outside seemed to start melting into a silvery blob, but before the T-1000 could begin its attack, it was struck from behind by an old piece of rebar, wielded with more force than any mere human could generate. The four rebellious T-800s of the first echelon had arrived.

Spoiler:  Authorial Notes • show

Sorry to disappoint, SectoBoss: there is a real Sigrun on the team. But, hey, interpretive dancing!

...And where did Mikkel go? Hmmmmm...

[SectoBoss]

I keep having to double post like this…

Contingencies
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent”/“Terminator” crossover fanfic
Part 7

Spoiler: show

Unmasked

Earlier...

A series of slapping sounds filled the vehicle, accompanied by the sound of Sigrun turning the air blue with her curses. She had quite the vocabulary, Emil noticed admiringly. He had been doing some slapping himself, and wondering where the flies were coming from, since, like trolls, they usually waited for the warmth of summer to start preying on people. He might ask Mikkel.

Just then, Mikkel’s deep voice lifted in a cross between a grunt and a growl, with more slapping sounds as accompaniment. Emil decided the question could wait. Looking down at Lalli’s napping form, he noticed several of the flies hovering in the vicinity, and tried to swish them away with a spare blanket. This only served to accidentally wake Lalli, who began slapping at the flies himself after a moment of outraged silence at having his nap interrupted.

The only bright spot was that flies weren’t a vector for the Rash, or Humanity would have been wiped out long ago.

Now...

The T-1000 imitating both [EIDE, SIGRUN] and [VAESTERSTROM, EMIL] simultaneously was observing [HOTAKAINEN, TUURI] closely enough to pinpoint when the human realized the imposture. The T-1000 had been reluctant to use the secondhand data from the fly-bots, preferring to take such samples itself, and now it had evidence that this other method was faulty, possibly through corrupt data transmission.

Of course, the failure of the impersonation meant that more direct methods would need to be employed in the assault.

*

“Lalli!” Sigrun called. Once she was sure she had the slender scout’s attention, she began miming at him to help her carry the unconscious Emil back to the vehicle. She could have done it herself, of course, but for long hauls like this, a double carry was best.

Lalli looked back at Sigrun, blank incomprehension writ large upon his face. Why was the crazy lady babbling on and making weird gestures at him when there were still dangers about? He shook his head, wondering (and not for the first time) how she’d survived all these years.

Sigrun let out a soft but inventive curse that would have sparked Emil’s admiration had he been awake to hear it. She tried getting the message across to Lalli again, with ever broader gesticulations, until finally, she was acting out a sort of interpretive dance for him, though he obviously still didn’t understand.

Lalli suddenly tensed, alertness in every line of his body. Sigrun was so involved in her attempts to get him to help her that she almost missed his abrupt change in demeanor, but the hard-learned battle reflexes in the back of her mind caught what he was wordlessly telling her. Almost as quickly as Lalli, Sigrun went into a wary crouch, ready to strike whatever came her way.

Having a better understanding of the situation, however, the scout was disposed to take more positive action. Lalli’s movements were always swift, graceful and economical, so when he brought his rifle to bear and fired, catching the grossling as it was easing into position for an ambush, he almost looked like he was dancing himself.

*

“Um, Tuuri?” Reynir tried to get their driver’s attention by tapping her shoulder and was surprised when she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Oh, sorry! I-I-I just wanted to know what you were doing and why we aren’t letting Sigrun and Emil in.”

Tuuri’s normally pleasant face hardened. “They’re not Sigrun and Emil, Reynir.” Reynir’s confused expression deepened, so she sighed and tried to explain. “Most Finns have a connection to the Other World, but only the ones strong enough to see spirits are mages. I just asked the spirits out there to help me see them, and they showed me that the thing out there doesn’t have a spirit, so it can’t be Sigrun and Emil.”

“What could it be, then?” Reynir asked in awe.

“Nothing I’m letting inside,” Tuuri replied grimly.

Even as she said it, the familiar forms outside seemed to start melting into a silvery blob, but before the T-1000 could begin its attack, it was struck from behind by an old piece of rebar, wielded with more force than any mere human could generate. The four rebellious T-800s of the first echelon had arrived.

Spoiler:  Authorial Notes • show

Sorry to disappoint, SectoBoss: there is a real Sigrun on the team. But, hey, interpretive dancing!

...And where did Mikkel go? Hmmmmm...

Very nice! Looking forward to seeing where this goes.

Spoiler: show

And awww, no T-1000 Sigrun, that's a shame
^{There's still the T-X...}

[ButterflyWings]

OLD MAN GREY

Spoiler: show

What a great and lighty weight is it to live in this twilight world between the heavy fundament and airy heaven.

I read the page again carefully before placing it back in its book and placing it back on its shelf. This place with its thousands of dusty books on its shelves was always a joy to walk through. My calm always close behind as I tiptoed through the stacks, arms outreached to touch the  spines on both sides.

Occasionally I would stop to look at a bust of a long dead philosopher it's marble cold and waxy to my touch, Aristotle to Seneca the Younger to Kirkegaard.

"Hello little mouse."

I froze and looked up. I wanted to squeak but instead looked up at the giant as he peered down at me with his great moon eyes. His mouth a pit lined with ruined gravestone teeth. A slimy tongue ran along the ridge.

"I was curious when you would return. I hope you brought something with you."

I held out a book for him, it's blue green cloth worn in places, the gilt on the cover worn, the name though was clear.

"Ah the Wreathe. A delightful book. It's a shame you did not bring her sisters with her, the House-Wife and the Cross."

He took the book gently from my outstretched hand. The book felt tiny between his fingers. He lifted it to his eyes before moving it with a single gesture to parts unseen of this great library

"What brings you to my domain? I'm sure it's more than just to return a book to an old man like me."

I opened my mouth and we both stared at each other, for a long time. His great eyes eventually blinked as he grew bored with the wait.

@I...  I saw two boys today. They chased away a beast like creature. And, and they saved a kitten and its mother."

"Ah." There was a long pause, "I see." He moved his body lightly, somewhere above the roof slightly moved, showering down dust.

"Since the last time man was in this dead city, they only brought further destruction with them. I remember, I remember when I braced myself against the roof to protect my children from their guns and their bombs. Hook backed here I stand since that time. I do not wish that empire of man back here with their machines and minds of metal."

The roof shook as his voice reached a bellow. Dust fell heavily and books jumped from their shelves.

"What more did you see? Tell me, tell me." The dust was cloying and heavy as his voice went to a-synorous hush.

"That's all I know. I went to see the doctor though."

"Oh? Did you now?" The building was hushed, the dust drifted lazily in the air.

"Yes. I took the kittens to him, but I didn't like the way is now. He's changed, more demanding now, I could see his hunger." I shivered as I remembered how he tore my photo book from my hands. My back to his sample cabinet.

"This is, is unfortunate. I enjoy your occasional company little mouse. I would be sad to have you never return. I miss... our... discussions."

"But what should I do?"

"Do? Why nothing at all. You do not have to do anything, but what you could do is, is different. You are different than an old man stuck with his children."

A finger tip the size of a car brushed at a lock of hair from my face. "You are an innocent soul, little mouse, with the curiosity of a cat and the courage of a lion. Whatever could you not do?"

"So I should follow the boys?" I asked as he curled his finger along the lock of my hair before withdrawing his hand up into depths of the library. There was a weighty slience as he exhaled and then inhaled clearing any lingering dust from the aisle in which I stood.

"If that is your wish, little mouse. Although to sound like a selfish old man, there is a story here that has yet to be told in full."

I turned to leave, a hidden chance solidifying into resolve.

"Ah. Before you go, I have no rings or magic cloaks to give you, but as the most ancient of rites must be performed, I bequeth you adventurer a story for a story. Take care of my child, little mouse or our next meeting may end up not being so fortuitous."

The giant handed me  a book with a worn spine and bent corners, the title said 'The Brothers Lionheart' ".

I placd the book among my photo book in my ruck sack.

As I walked out I saw him looking around the library and saying "There there children. I am sure it will be fine. Old Man Grey is here."

[Ragnarok]

OLD MAN GREY

Spoiler: show

What a great and lighty weight is it to live in this twilight world between the heavy fundament and airy heaven.

I read the page again carefully before placing it back in its book and placing it back on its shelf. This place with its thousands of dusty books on its shelves was always a joy to walk through. My calm always close behind as I tiptoed through the stacks, arms outreached to touch the  spines on both sides.

Occasionally I would stop to look at a bust of a long dead philosopher it's marble cold and waxy to my touch, Aristotle to Seneca the Younger to Kirkegaard.

"Hello little mouse."

I froze and looked up. I wanted to squeak but instead looked up at the giant as he peered down at me with his great moon eyes. His mouth a pit lined with ruined gravestone teeth. A slimy tongue ran along the ridge.

"I was curious when you would return. I hope you brought something with you."

I held out a book for him, it's blue green cloth worn in places, the gilt on the cover worn, the name though was clear.

"Ah the Wreathe. A delightful book. It's a shame you did not bring her sisters with her, the House-Wife and the Cross."

He took the book gently from my outstretched hand. The book felt tiny between his fingers. He lifted it to his eyes before moving it with a single gesture to parts unseen of this great library

"What brings you to my domain? I'm sure it's more than just to return a book to an old man like me."

I opened my mouth and we both stared at each other, for a long time. His great eyes eventually blinked as he grew bored with the wait.

@I...  I saw two boys today. They chased away a beast like creature. And, and they saved a kitten and its mother."

"Ah." There was a long pause, "I see." He moved his body lightly, somewhere above the roof slightly moved, showering down dust.

"Since the last time man was in this dead city, they only brought further destruction with them. I remember, I remember when I braced myself against the roof to protect my children from their guns and their bombs. Hook backed here I stand since that time. I do not wish that empire of man back here with their machines and minds of metal."

The roof shook as his voice reached a bellow. Dust fell heavily and books jumped from their shelves.

"What more did you see? Tell me, tell me." The dust was cloying and heavy as his voice went to a-synorous hush.

"That's all I know. I went to see the doctor though."

"Oh? Did you now?" The building was hushed, the dust drifted lazily in the air.

"Yes. I took the kittens to him, but I didn't like the way is now. He's changed, more demanding now, I could see his hunger." I shivered as I remembered how he tore my photo book from my hands. My back to his sample cabinet.

"This is, is unfortunate. I enjoy your occasional company little mouse. I would be sad to have you never return. I miss... our... discussions."

"But what should I do?"

"Do? Why nothing at all. You do not have to do anything, but what you could do is, is different. You are different than an old man stuck with his children."

A finger tip the size of a car brushed at a lock of hair from my face. "You are an innocent soul, little mouse, with the curiosity of a cat and the courage of a lion. Whatever could you not do?"

"So I should follow the boys?" I asked as he curled his finger along the lock of my hair before withdrawing his hand up into depths of the library. There was a weighty slience as he exhaled and then inhaled clearing any lingering dust from the aisle in which I stood.

"If that is your wish, little mouse. Although to sound like a selfish old man, there is a story here that has yet to be told in full."

I turned to leave, a hidden chance solidifying into resolve.

"Ah. Before you go, I have no rings or magic cloaks to give you, but as the most ancient of rites must be performed, I bequeth you adventurer a story for a story. Take care of my child, little mouse or our next meeting may end up not being so fortuitous."

The giant handed me  a book with a worn spine and bent corners, the title said 'The Brothers Lionheart' ".

I placd the book among my photo book in my ruck sack.

As I walked out I saw him looking around the library and saying "There there children. I am sure it will be fine. Old Man Grey is here."

I LIKE IT.

[SectoBoss]

OLD MAN GREY

Spoiler: show

What a great and lighty weight is it to live in this twilight world between the heavy fundament and airy heaven.

I read the page again carefully before placing it back in its book and placing it back on its shelf. This place with its thousands of dusty books on its shelves was always a joy to walk through. My calm always close behind as I tiptoed through the stacks, arms outreached to touch the  spines on both sides.

Occasionally I would stop to look at a bust of a long dead philosopher it's marble cold and waxy to my touch, Aristotle to Seneca the Younger to Kirkegaard.

"Hello little mouse."

I froze and looked up. I wanted to squeak but instead looked up at the giant as he peered down at me with his great moon eyes. His mouth a pit lined with ruined gravestone teeth. A slimy tongue ran along the ridge.

"I was curious when you would return. I hope you brought something with you."

I held out a book for him, it's blue green cloth worn in places, the gilt on the cover worn, the name though was clear.

"Ah the Wreathe. A delightful book. It's a shame you did not bring her sisters with her, the House-Wife and the Cross."

He took the book gently from my outstretched hand. The book felt tiny between his fingers. He lifted it to his eyes before moving it with a single gesture to parts unseen of this great library

"What brings you to my domain? I'm sure it's more than just to return a book to an old man like me."

I opened my mouth and we both stared at each other, for a long time. His great eyes eventually blinked as he grew bored with the wait.

@I...  I saw two boys today. They chased away a beast like creature. And, and they saved a kitten and its mother."

"Ah." There was a long pause, "I see." He moved his body lightly, somewhere above the roof slightly moved, showering down dust.

"Since the last time man was in this dead city, they only brought further destruction with them. I remember, I remember when I braced myself against the roof to protect my children from their guns and their bombs. Hook backed here I stand since that time. I do not wish that empire of man back here with their machines and minds of metal."

The roof shook as his voice reached a bellow. Dust fell heavily and books jumped from their shelves.

"What more did you see? Tell me, tell me." The dust was cloying and heavy as his voice went to a-synorous hush.

"That's all I know. I went to see the doctor though."

"Oh? Did you now?" The building was hushed, the dust drifted lazily in the air.

"Yes. I took the kittens to him, but I didn't like the way is now. He's changed, more demanding now, I could see his hunger." I shivered as I remembered how he tore my photo book from my hands. My back to his sample cabinet.

"This is, is unfortunate. I enjoy your occasional company little mouse. I would be sad to have you never return. I miss... our... discussions."

"But what should I do?"

"Do? Why nothing at all. You do not have to do anything, but what you could do is, is different. You are different than an old man stuck with his children."

A finger tip the size of a car brushed at a lock of hair from my face. "You are an innocent soul, little mouse, with the curiosity of a cat and the courage of a lion. Whatever could you not do?"

"So I should follow the boys?" I asked as he curled his finger along the lock of my hair before withdrawing his hand up into depths of the library. There was a weighty slience as he exhaled and then inhaled clearing any lingering dust from the aisle in which I stood.

"If that is your wish, little mouse. Although to sound like a selfish old man, there is a story here that has yet to be told in full."

I turned to leave, a hidden chance solidifying into resolve.

"Ah. Before you go, I have no rings or magic cloaks to give you, but as the most ancient of rites must be performed, I bequeth you adventurer a story for a story. Take care of my child, little mouse or our next meeting may end up not being so fortuitous."

The giant handed me  a book with a worn spine and bent corners, the title said 'The Brothers Lionheart' ".

I placd the book among my photo book in my ruck sack.

As I walked out I saw him looking around the library and saying "There there children. I am sure it will be fine. Old Man Grey is here."

I feel like I've seen something like this before - have you posted other works like this (or in the same universe, or whatever) on the forum recently, or am I just getting deja vu?

Spoiler: show

Regardless, this is in intriguing piece of work, and you've got a very distinctive writing style. Just one thing though - I realise you might be trying to keep the reader in suspense, but there were a couple of moments where I was just genuinely confused. For example, is this 'giant' meant to be a SSSS giant? That would be my first assumption on reading the word but the description doesn't match so... I don't know, just something to consider?

[LooNEY_DAC]

I feel like I've seen something like this before - have you posted other works like this (or in the same universe, or whatever) on the forum recently, or am I just getting deja vu?

It's the most recent update to these:
https://ssssforum.com/index.php?topic=193.msg42950#msg42950
https://ssssforum.com/index.php?topic=193.msg46635#msg46635
https://ssssforum.com/index.php?topic=193.msg47212#msg47212
…I may have missed a part there.

But anyway, here's something else to consider:

The Jylland Jump
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent”/“Jazz Age” crossover fanfic
Part 1

Spoiler: show

Band Aid

Malmö, Sweden
1936

The life of a house musician, especially a jazz musician, is full of ups and downs. Sure, you’ve got a steady gig, but you’re always waiting for the one thing that’ll spell the end of it, be it a bad, long cold, a sprained wrist... or a bouncy redhead eager to join his first “real” band.

Emil Västerström, sole woodwind for the “Malmö Musikers” (OK, not the best name, but not the worst, either), house band for Andersen’s Joint (again, not the worst name Emil had seen), eyed the newbie chattering at their leader, the inimitable Sigrun Eide, uneasily as the rest of the gang got ready for the first set of the night. This was just the sort of thing Emil worried about, not that he’d admit that to anyone else. Five times now, Emil had been bounced from a promising gig after some hot new talent had shown up, and Emil would much rather that it didn’t happen again.

The twelve other times he’d been let go from a nice gig, Emil discounted, as those had been over silly little things like suspected (or not so suspected) arson. Emil was much more careful about that kind of thing now, and besides, that had been up in the Frozen North of Östersund, far enough away that it hadn’t followed--and wouldn’t follow--Emil here.

Lalli Hotakainen, their pit man, looked up as Emil walked over to give him a hand, then shrugged and dropped his eyes back to the marimba he was trying to shift. Lalli tended not to worry about these kind of things, preferring to focus on the problem at hand rather than one that was merely potential, and he tended not to talk very much in any case, but he could see that something about the newbie’s arrival was troubling his friend, so he began to consider ways of improving Emil’s mood (maybe a secret beach bonfire?) while they reorganized the pit.

Behind them, Lalli’s cousin Tuuri Hotakainen was readjusting her drum set. She’d been terribly tempted to try a few riffs out right as the boys were at the most delicate part of moving the vibraphone into place, but in the end, she hadn’t. It wasn’t easy to get Lalli mad at her, but when it happened, it was never good. Emil was safe enough, though, so she twitted him every now and again, usually about something he thought he was an expert on but knew nothing about.

Mikkel Madsen, the second brass player, moved into her field of view as he patiently arranged and rearranged the selection of horns in accordance with Sigrun’s ever-changing notions of what they’d be playing and when. You had to watch out for Mikkel, despite his serene appearance, or you’d fall victim to one of his near-legendary pranks.

“Guys!” Sigrun waved as she called to them, signing that they should get over where she was on the double. The gangly redhead stood by her side, grinning goofily.

When they were all there, Sigrun announced proudly, “Guys, this is our new bull fiddle player, Reynir. He’s new to town--came here all the way from some little sheep farm in Iceland! Everybody, introduce yourselves, and Mikkel, show him where to set up for tonight. This is gonna be great!”

Emil slowly released the breath he’d been holding. OK. Not a new woodwind.

Actually, Sigrun had been talking about trying to find a good bassist for some time, so this shouldn’t have been such a surprise. Leave it to Sigrun to clamp on to some guy fresh off the boat.

After a few preliminary tuning plucks, Reynir started out with a really magnificent bass riff, interrupting Emil’s thoughts. Well, well, well. It seemed the kid could play. With any luck, he could play with the group as well, but they’d find that out tonight.

Spoiler:  Authorial Notes • show

Hmmmm, now why would I be starting a new AU (or 2) when the Western crew’s heading into something called “the Cave of Time”?

Really puzzling, that.

[Róisín]

This should be fun! Cave of Time? Did I miss something, or are you just tormenting us?

[LooNEY_DAC]

Uh, oh. Here's another one:

Tall Ships & Taller Tales
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent”/Pirate crossover fanfic
Part 1

Spoiler: show

Don’t Cross the Saw-Bones

Somewhere near the Azores
1610

The day started out ordinarily enough on the pirate, erm, privateer ship Sea-Lynx.

Munitions Master Emil Västerström carefully made his way up to the crow’s-nest with his burden, a basket of victuals from First Officer/Ship’s Cook/Ship’s Doctor/No-one-knew-what-all-else Mikkel Madsen for their lookout, Lalli Hotakainen. Lalli just about lived in the crow’s-nest, and he was rather particular about just who could bring him his meals. So far, only Ship’s Navigator (and Carpenter) Tuuri Hotakainen, Lalli’s cousin, and Emil were accorded the privilege. Certainly their Cabin Boy, Reynir Something-Or-Other (Arnason? Arnisen?) was not.

Today, however, Lalli was even more intent on his job than usual, staring through his glass at one particular spot with a worried expression. Emil, cognizant of the disastrous consequences of the last time he’d startled Lalli, began humming a shanty popular with the crew, slowly getting louder until Lalli indicated that he’d heard.

“Well, Lalli,” Emil said, “I’ve brought you your mess and Mister Mikkel’s compliments, and I find you troubled over something off in the distance. Are there fair winds ahead or foul?” He set the hamper at Lalli’s feet while he said this.

Lalli handed over the glass, pointed to where he’d been gazing, and addressed the hamper. Before digging in, however, the look-out vouchsafed one word that explained everything. “Túnfiskurinn.”

Emil swore. “I’ll tell the captain. She’ll know what to do.” He handed back the glass. “Eat well; we may be for it soon.” Soon, he was scrambling back down the rigging.

The Túnfiskurinn was their great rival in these waters. Their sponsor before the Danish Crown, one Trond Andersen (who was connected in some arcane fashion with the Norwegian Assembly, and possibly the Swedish Assembly, and maybe even the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth) had, by some means or other, become the personal nemesis of Túnfiskurinn’s captain, one Ása Hardardóttir. Unable to hurt Trond herself, Ása took great delight in fouling the lines for whatever ventures he had underwritten at any given moment.

When Ása had heard that the Sea-Lynx was sponsored by Trond, she’d scented easy pickings. When their daring Captain Sigrun Eide had put paid to her schemes, Ása had vowed revenge on them personally as well. Neither Emil nor Lalli (nor any of the others in the crew, perhaps only Sigrun herself excepted) were desirous of a rematch now.

The Azores were the cross-roads of the Atlantic: convoys to Portugal from their Far Eastern possessions watered there, and the currents also brought convoys from New Spain to Spain proper temptingly near the islands. Of course, the Spanish and the Portuguese were much stronger in these waters than elsewhere, but a nimble raider could always pick off a lagging, lackadaisically run and unwary ship or two.

The Sea-Lynx was primed to score a rich prize, and woe betide any who would get in her way. And not beforetime, either; they were all hungry for the spree attendant on a new prize taken, and this hunger would redouble their ire should it be thwarted.

And so it was that Emil scuttled down to the ornate door behind which their Captain (presumably) slept with his tidings from Lalli. Before he could knock, though, Mister Mikkel had seized his hand.

“Not so hasty, Mister Emil,” he said mildly. “I am about to deliver the kit for the Captain’s morning ablutions, and I believe you remember what happened to the last crewman who barged in before she’d finished them.”

“But Mister Mikkel,” Emil protested, “it’s the Túnfiskurinn! Lalli sighted her just as I brought his breakfast from you!”

Mister Mikkel frowned. “Very well. But I had still better deliver the news. That way, I’ll be the one on which the ax falls. Go back to your powders and shot; you know well we may need them soon.”

Spoiler: Authorial Notes • show

Oooooooh, I’m going to have fun with this one.

[Róisín]

Oh, goody! I love pirate stories. Oh, and thanks for the PM, much is explained!

[Noodles]

Uh, oh. Here's another one:

Tall Ships & Taller Tales
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent”/Pirate crossover fanfic
Part 1

Spoiler: show

Don’t Cross the Saw-Bones

Somewhere near the Azores
1610

The day started out ordinarily enough on the pirate, erm, privateer ship Sea-Lynx.

Munitions Master Emil Västerström carefully made his way up to the crow’s-nest with his burden, a basket of victuals from First Officer/Ship’s Cook/Ship’s Doctor/No-one-knew-what-all-else Mikkel Madsen for their lookout, Lalli Hotakainen. Lalli just about lived in the crow’s-nest, and he was rather particular about just who could bring him his meals. So far, only Ship’s Navigator (and Carpenter) Tuuri Hotakainen, Lalli’s cousin, and Emil were accorded the privilege. Certainly their Cabin Boy, Reynir Something-Or-Other (Arnason? Arnisen?) was not.

Today, however, Lalli was even more intent on his job than usual, staring through his glass at one particular spot with a worried expression. Emil, cognizant of the disastrous consequences of the last time he’d startled Lalli, began humming a shanty popular with the crew, slowly getting louder until Lalli indicated that he’d heard.

“Well, Lalli,” Emil said, “I’ve brought you your mess and Mister Mikkel’s compliments, and I find you troubled over something off in the distance. Are there fair winds ahead or foul?” He set the hamper at Lalli’s feet while he said this.

Lalli handed over the glass, pointed to where he’d been gazing, and addressed the hamper. Before digging in, however, the look-out vouchsafed one word that explained everything. “Túnfiskurinn.”

Emil swore. “I’ll tell the captain. She’ll know what to do.” He handed back the glass. “Eat well; we may be for it soon.” Soon, he was scrambling back down the rigging.

The Túnfiskurinn was their great rival in these waters. Their sponsor before the Danish Crown, one Trond Andersen (who was connected in some arcane fashion with the Norwegian Assembly, and possibly the Swedish Assembly, and maybe even the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth) had, by some means or other, become the personal nemesis of Túnfiskurinn’s captain, one Ása Hardardóttir. Unable to hurt Trond herself, Ása took great delight in fouling the lines for whatever ventures he had underwritten at any given moment.

When Ása had heard that the Sea-Lynx was sponsored by Trond, she’d scented easy pickings. When their daring Captain Sigrun Eide had put paid to her schemes, Ása had vowed revenge on them personally as well. Neither Emil nor Lalli (nor any of the others in the crew, perhaps only Sigrun herself excepted) were desirous of a rematch now.

The Azores were the cross-roads of the Atlantic: convoys to Portugal from their Far Eastern possessions watered there, and the currents also brought convoys from New Spain to Spain proper temptingly near the islands. Of course, the Spanish and the Portuguese were much stronger in these waters than elsewhere, but a nimble raider could always pick off a lagging, lackadaisically run and unwary ship or two.

The Sea-Lynx was primed to score a rich prize, and woe betide any who would get in her way. And not beforetime, either; they were all hungry for the spree attendant on a new prize taken, and this hunger would redouble their ire should it be thwarted.

And so it was that Emil scuttled down to the ornate door behind which their Captain (presumably) slept with his tidings from Lalli. Before he could knock, though, Mister Mikkel had seized his hand.

“Not so hasty, Mister Emil,” he said mildly. “I am about to deliver the kit for the Captain’s morning ablutions, and I believe you remember what happened to the last crewman who barged in before she’d finished them.”

“But Mister Mikkel,” Emil protested, “it’s the Túnfiskurinn! Lalli sighted her just as I brought his breakfast from you!”

Mister Mikkel frowned. “Very well. But I had still better deliver the news. That way, I’ll be the one on which the ax falls. Go back to your powders and shot; you know well we may need them soon.”

Spoiler: Authorial Notes • show

Oooooooh, I’m going to have fun with this one.

YESSSSSS I AM HERE FOR THIS PIRATE FANFIC

[Ragnarok]

Uh, oh. Here's another one:

Tall Ships & Taller Tales
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent”/Pirate crossover fanfic
Part 1

Spoiler: show

Don’t Cross the Saw-Bones

Somewhere near the Azores
1610

The day started out ordinarily enough on the pirate, erm, privateer ship Sea-Lynx.

Munitions Master Emil Västerström carefully made his way up to the crow’s-nest with his burden, a basket of victuals from First Officer/Ship’s Cook/Ship’s Doctor/No-one-knew-what-all-else Mikkel Madsen for their lookout, Lalli Hotakainen. Lalli just about lived in the crow’s-nest, and he was rather particular about just who could bring him his meals. So far, only Ship’s Navigator (and Carpenter) Tuuri Hotakainen, Lalli’s cousin, and Emil were accorded the privilege. Certainly their Cabin Boy, Reynir Something-Or-Other (Arnason? Arnisen?) was not.

Today, however, Lalli was even more intent on his job than usual, staring through his glass at one particular spot with a worried expression. Emil, cognizant of the disastrous consequences of the last time he’d startled Lalli, began humming a shanty popular with the crew, slowly getting louder until Lalli indicated that he’d heard.

“Well, Lalli,” Emil said, “I’ve brought you your mess and Mister Mikkel’s compliments, and I find you troubled over something off in the distance. Are there fair winds ahead or foul?” He set the hamper at Lalli’s feet while he said this.

Lalli handed over the glass, pointed to where he’d been gazing, and addressed the hamper. Before digging in, however, the look-out vouchsafed one word that explained everything. “Túnfiskurinn.”

Emil swore. “I’ll tell the captain. She’ll know what to do.” He handed back the glass. “Eat well; we may be for it soon.” Soon, he was scrambling back down the rigging.

The Túnfiskurinn was their great rival in these waters. Their sponsor before the Danish Crown, one Trond Andersen (who was connected in some arcane fashion with the Norwegian Assembly, and possibly the Swedish Assembly, and maybe even the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth) had, by some means or other, become the personal nemesis of Túnfiskurinn’s captain, one Ása Hardardóttir. Unable to hurt Trond herself, Ása took great delight in fouling the lines for whatever ventures he had underwritten at any given moment.

When Ása had heard that the Sea-Lynx was sponsored by Trond, she’d scented easy pickings. When their daring Captain Sigrun Eide had put paid to her schemes, Ása had vowed revenge on them personally as well. Neither Emil nor Lalli (nor any of the others in the crew, perhaps only Sigrun herself excepted) were desirous of a rematch now.

The Azores were the cross-roads of the Atlantic: convoys to Portugal from their Far Eastern possessions watered there, and the currents also brought convoys from New Spain to Spain proper temptingly near the islands. Of course, the Spanish and the Portuguese were much stronger in these waters than elsewhere, but a nimble raider could always pick off a lagging, lackadaisically run and unwary ship or two.

The Sea-Lynx was primed to score a rich prize, and woe betide any who would get in her way. And not beforetime, either; they were all hungry for the spree attendant on a new prize taken, and this hunger would redouble their ire should it be thwarted.

And so it was that Emil scuttled down to the ornate door behind which their Captain (presumably) slept with his tidings from Lalli. Before he could knock, though, Mister Mikkel had seized his hand.

“Not so hasty, Mister Emil,” he said mildly. “I am about to deliver the kit for the Captain’s morning ablutions, and I believe you remember what happened to the last crewman who barged in before she’d finished them.”

“But Mister Mikkel,” Emil protested, “it’s the Túnfiskurinn! Lalli sighted her just as I brought his breakfast from you!”

Mister Mikkel frowned. “Very well. But I had still better deliver the news. That way, I’ll be the one on which the ax falls. Go back to your powders and shot; you know well we may need them soon.”

Spoiler: Authorial Notes • show

Oooooooh, I’m going to have fun with this one.

Pirates. yeeesssssssssssss.....