Hero's Manual: Chapter 10
Sep. 13th, 2006 12:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sickle_storiesA/N: Mycroft is Sherlock Holmes’s brother (coincidently, also Thursday Next’s uncle, in Jasper Fforde’s series), and Pike was a vampire in the movie-version of BtVS, (though I first got that name from Buffyworld’s actor list for their Season 8). This chapter ended on a darker note (if you take it seriously) that I’d originally intended. I couldn’t help myself from paraphrasing ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ultra_lilac, quoted in metaquotes as saying: “People should never be baked into pies, you monster! The pastry overpowers the delicate bouquet of flavours in human flesh!” Gwen’s shout of “campfire” comes to you thanks to Listener who noted the rhyme in one of her poems. *pimps*
Chapter 10: Uncle Mycroft
“So you’re the hero,” said Mycroft as he sipped his tea. “How’s it going?”
“Pretty well, I think,” said Hero, elated at his most recent victory. “I’ve already saved and swept with the Damsel—”
“I’m—pffrmp—sorry?,” said Mycroft, choking on his tea.
“I’ve swe—”
“He claims to have swept me off my feet with his gallant rescue,” interjected Gwen.
“Ah, that’s all right then,” said Vicky.
“And now I’m winning the Confrontation,” finished Hero.
“Winning?” The disbelief dripped from Mycroft’s voice as he looked Hero over.
“Fifteen points to ten,” said Quasi as he read the Risk instructions.
Mycroft raised his eyebrows at Vicky. “I don’t remember there being a Confrontation of this type described in your handbook.”
Vicky grunted and fiddled with his tea cup.
“There was a whole chapter on it in mine,” said Hero. “I read it twice, because I found lots of references to it in the index.”
“Probably ‘dismemberment, see Confrontation’ and the likes,” mumbled Quasi.
“No,” said Hero, “though I was pretty tired by then. Gwen can tell you kind of state she found me in in the morning.”
Vicky set his cup down and edged closer. “Why was she there with you in the morning? Did she find you in a ditch? A pub? House of ill-repute?”
“Nah, in her kitchen.”
The three other men hissed as one, filling the room with the sound of very angry snakes in a very small basket.
“What were you doing in her kitchen?” said Vicky, enunciating with care.
“I’m staying over at her place,” said Hero, unaware of the sudden tension in the villain and his men.
“Rules! Against the Rules!” shouted Vicky, standing up. “You can’t be with the Damsel prior to the Confrontation!” Vicky effortlessly roared out capitals. “She’s Neutral Ground!”
Quasi shifted in his seat, staring hard at Vicky. Mycroft shook his head in shame-by-relation.
“But the dragon—”started Hero.
“You can’t have the Damsel! Get out of her Lair! That’s the whole point of this Confrontation! What do you mean—” Vicky stood still for a moment, then quietly sat down, smoothing his pant legs.
Quasi sat down slowly, slipping something shiny back into his vest pocket. “Hero, would you please explain the circumstances which brought you to Damsel’s home?”
“A dragon burnt my place down,” complied Hero, suddenly aware of Quasi’s stature.
“Why?” pressed Mycroft. “Dragons don’t go about burning things at whim, you know.”
“My landlord dealt in alchemy. He needed a dragon’s egg.”
“Oh, right,” said Mycroft. “Probably Elixir #49.”
There was a long silence, during which Vicky fiddled with his buttons and Mycroft drank the last of the tea and then gave Quasi significant glances whilst he mimed pouring more tea. Quasi ignored the two as he fiddled with something in his vest pocket.
“So,” said Gwen, “Mr. Pike, what do you do?”
“Hmm?” said Mycroft, lowering the teapot and turning to Gwen.
“Well, your nephew’s an Evil Villain.” Inwardly Gwen cursed at having pronounced capitals as well. “Are you interested in the business?”
“That’s a very bright question, Damsel.” Mycroft smiled and touched the side of his nose. “Very bright. But no, I’m not a Villain, nor,” he gestured to Quasi, “a Henchman.”
“Hey! I’m the butler. That’s loads better than a henchman.”
“Of course, Quasi. Butlers are a whole different set of cards. No, I’ve already got a job over at the local bar.”
“The Dark Closet?” said Gwen.
“You’ve heard of it?” said Mycroft, surprised.
“No, just that Quasi mentioned there was a bet—ow!” Gwen rubbed her arm and glared at the butler. Her glare promptly died and she thought fast. “He said it was better than going to the pubs ‘round my place.”
“It might be better, but I wouldn’t suggest you go there,” said Vicky. “Not saying they’ll kick you out, but…”
“You probably wouldn’t leave the same,” finished Mycroft, tactfully veiling the fact that Gwen would be used to make Bloody Maries (aimed at the vampiric clientele, but ordered by most monsters), Brain Freezes (for the zombies) and Steak and Kidney Pies (for the werewolves, though they complained the pastry overpowered the flavour human flesh).
“Oh…” said Gwen, wondering why the two were shifting uncomfortably.
“Let’s start the Risk game, shall we? And get the whole Confrontation over with,” said Quasi, rubbing his hands in very fake enthusiasm. “Gwen, would you do the honours of reviewing the rules with the adversaries?”
Once the rules had been explained, re-explained and demonstrated with drawings and, eventually, finger puppets, Gwen renewed her exploration of the living room. She avoided Mycroft, who was acting a bit strange. During the finger puppet demonstration he’d crept along the edges of the room towards a window. Standing well to the side of the window, he’d used a fire poker to close the windows. Now, as Gwen stared at him from across the room, he was standing in front of the mirror, wrapped up in the curtain, stealing short glances outside.
“What! You can’t invade Asia with that!”
Gwen turned and watched as Hero tried to wrench something from Vicky’s hand while Quasi rocked his head in his hands.
“It’s mine! You’re puny battalion can’t defeat me,” said Vicky.
Although she felt great sympathy for Quasi, Gwen walked further away from the players. She examined the painting that hung over the fireplace; a sad dog dressed in a coat stared back at him over a hand of cards. She glanced at Mycroft, who’d stopped hiding behind the window and was instead taking a moment to straighten out his vest with the help of a small mirror that hung by the doorway. There was something strange with—
“You’re a campfire!”
Mycroft turned at Gwen’s shout. “What?”
The players stopped their scuffles and looked up at the commotion. Quasi paused his stopwatch and rubbed his eyes wearily.
Gwen managed to stop swallowing her tongue. “You’re a vampire!” she repeated.
“Oh?”
“You have no reflection!” she pointed again.
Mycroft turned to face the mirror again. He observed the room, the tea-tray and the figure of a very tired Quasi. “My dear, that’s a still-life painting.”
Hero stood and walked towards the door. Gwen squinted but saw that he wasn’t reflected in the mirror either, and that the Quasi in the mirror was wearing a hat, whereas flesh-and-blood Quasi wasn’t.
“But…” she said, pointing vaguely at Mycroft and then the mirror.
Mycroft waved his hand before the mirror, which failed to do its job and thus proved to be a painting. He then walked towards the still-life painting featuring a sunset, waving his hands in a little “Ta-da! You’ve just won a fabulous prize!” gesture, and did the same with the garlic-and-pestle painting. “These are still-life paintings,” he said, and walked towards the window. “This is a window. See how it opens?” he said, staying well behind the curtains. “And this is a mirror.” He pointed: “See, there’s a little you in there, all confused-looking, and there is a little Vicky, and a little Hero, and that bundle there is Quasi and—good garlic, I seem to be missing.”
Gwen nodded feverishly.
“Well,” said Mycroft, putting his hands in his pockets. Gwen and Hero stared at him. “What? I never said I wasn’t a vampire.”
To a confused Gwen, the only thing this explained was why Mycroft looked so much younger than his nephew.
“You can’t be a vampire,” she said.
“Says the girl who’s guest had his house burnt down by a dragon.”
“That’s nonsense.” Gwen turned to the other men and realized that they were serious. About everything. (Except maybe the Muppet thing; that she couldn’t believe.)
“Oh dear,” sighed Mycroft. “Here, move aside a bit.” He sat down between Hero and Gwen. “Quasi, would you mind getting us more tea?”
“No.”
“Now would be nice,” hinted Vicky.
“I hate making tea,” said Quasi as he played with the die.
“Quasi,” warned Mycroft, “I think it’s time for you to make tea.”
The butler looked up and saw Mycroft bobbing his head emphatically. A glance at Vicky proved that his master was making strange gestures which had nothing whatsoever to do with the making of tea.
“Oh! That tea. I’m on my way.”
He was halfway to the door when Gwen noticed he’d left the teapot behind. She made to get up from the sofa, wedged as she was between the cushions and the vampire, but Mycroft lay a heavy hand on her shoulder.
“Never you mind, dear. Vicky’s got a great number of teapots.”
“Some of them new,” added Vicky.
“Shall I tell you about RIPUS?”
“Rip us?” said Gwen.
“Here,” said Mycroft as he offered her a card, “should you ever need us.” He turned to it over. “That’s our slogan.”
“It’s just intermission,” read Gwen. “What’s with the bat decoration?”
“Committee decision, I’m afraid.”
With that, Mycroft began telling Gwen about the club that his friend Frank Lydaid had introduced him to. New members to RIPUS (Rehabilitation for the Inconveniently and Prematurely Undead Society) were accepted on the basis of their having been vampirified without due notice. This occurred due to a confusion over un-killing orders, semi-assassination orders or, occasionally, as tasteless practical joke. Most other vampires were turned for a suitable sum from the applicant or as part of the family heritage. Whilst Vicky and Hero continued their game, Mycroft quietly sang the club’s anthem, “Keep your nail and plank, Mr. Undertaker” and his personal favorite, “You’ve got no stakes (so don’t keep me down).”
“Tea’s ready,” said Quasi before disappearing again down the hall.
At Gwen’s confused look, Mycroft stood up and offered her his hand. “I think Quasi’s finally made the tea-room habitable.”
Gwen stood up and watched the two players for a moment, wondering what to do. Mycroft glanced at the open door and fiddled idly with his vest-buttons.
“Nephew,” said Mycroft, “your butler has everything ready now.”
“Does he?” said Vicky, springing up. “Splendid! Come, Hero.” He clapped an arm around Hero and walked him toward the door.
“But what about the game?” said Hero, struggling briefly with his host.
“Never you mind. I’ll have Quasi bring it.” At Hero’s mistrustful look, Vicky added: “He won’t steal your armies, I swear it.”
Mycroft took Gwen’s arm as they followed the pair across the room.
“You know, my dear, I’ve grown to liking being a vampire. It’s not something I’d pass on to my children, should I choose to adopt, but still, can’t complain.”
“After you, please,” said Vicky as he gestured Hero through the door. A muffled thud, followed by a grunt and another heavier thud was heard from the hall. Vicky flashed a smile at Gwen as Mycroft tightened his grip on her arm.
“What’s going on?” said Gwen, slowing her steps a little as they neared the door.
“Oh, nothing. Just Clyde wandering about, bumping into things,” said Vicky as he left the room.
“Yes,” continued Mycroft as he gently guided Gwen to the door, “what a wonderful un-life it is—” They entered the hallway, where Gwen caught a glimpse of Hero lying on the floor. She tried to free her arm from the vampire, but he’d been right about the benefits of being un-dead.
“…and won’t you have fun in Vicky’s cellar.” With that, Mycroft lay a hand over Gwen’s nose and mouth.
“Dungeon of Scary Things, Uncle.”
“Oh, quite right.” Mycroft released Gwen who flopped unconscious to the floor. “Quasi, carry Hero, would you?”
“Just a moment,” said Quasi as he scrutinized a small candlestick. “It’s dented.” He looked accusingly at Vicky then placed it back in his vest pocket.
“Ten points to Victorious for capturing the enemy,” said Quasi as he lugged Hero over his back. “Though the boy was beating you at Risk.”
ultra_lilac, quoted in metaquotes as saying: “People should never be baked into pies, you monster! The pastry overpowers the delicate bouquet of flavours in human flesh!” Gwen’s shout of “campfire” comes to you thanks to Listener who noted the rhyme in one of her poems. *pimps*“So you’re the hero,” said Mycroft as he sipped his tea. “How’s it going?”
“Pretty well, I think,” said Hero, elated at his most recent victory. “I’ve already saved and swept with the Damsel—”
“I’m—pffrmp—sorry?,” said Mycroft, choking on his tea.
“I’ve swe—”
“He claims to have swept me off my feet with his gallant rescue,” interjected Gwen.
“Ah, that’s all right then,” said Vicky.
“And now I’m winning the Confrontation,” finished Hero.
“Winning?” The disbelief dripped from Mycroft’s voice as he looked Hero over.
“Fifteen points to ten,” said Quasi as he read the Risk instructions.
Mycroft raised his eyebrows at Vicky. “I don’t remember there being a Confrontation of this type described in your handbook.”
Vicky grunted and fiddled with his tea cup.
“There was a whole chapter on it in mine,” said Hero. “I read it twice, because I found lots of references to it in the index.”
“Probably ‘dismemberment, see Confrontation’ and the likes,” mumbled Quasi.
“No,” said Hero, “though I was pretty tired by then. Gwen can tell you kind of state she found me in in the morning.”
Vicky set his cup down and edged closer. “Why was she there with you in the morning? Did she find you in a ditch? A pub? House of ill-repute?”
“Nah, in her kitchen.”
The three other men hissed as one, filling the room with the sound of very angry snakes in a very small basket.
“What were you doing in her kitchen?” said Vicky, enunciating with care.
“I’m staying over at her place,” said Hero, unaware of the sudden tension in the villain and his men.
“Rules! Against the Rules!” shouted Vicky, standing up. “You can’t be with the Damsel prior to the Confrontation!” Vicky effortlessly roared out capitals. “She’s Neutral Ground!”
Quasi shifted in his seat, staring hard at Vicky. Mycroft shook his head in shame-by-relation.
“But the dragon—”started Hero.
“You can’t have the Damsel! Get out of her Lair! That’s the whole point of this Confrontation! What do you mean—” Vicky stood still for a moment, then quietly sat down, smoothing his pant legs.
Quasi sat down slowly, slipping something shiny back into his vest pocket. “Hero, would you please explain the circumstances which brought you to Damsel’s home?”
“A dragon burnt my place down,” complied Hero, suddenly aware of Quasi’s stature.
“Why?” pressed Mycroft. “Dragons don’t go about burning things at whim, you know.”
“My landlord dealt in alchemy. He needed a dragon’s egg.”
“Oh, right,” said Mycroft. “Probably Elixir #49.”
There was a long silence, during which Vicky fiddled with his buttons and Mycroft drank the last of the tea and then gave Quasi significant glances whilst he mimed pouring more tea. Quasi ignored the two as he fiddled with something in his vest pocket.
“So,” said Gwen, “Mr. Pike, what do you do?”
“Hmm?” said Mycroft, lowering the teapot and turning to Gwen.
“Well, your nephew’s an Evil Villain.” Inwardly Gwen cursed at having pronounced capitals as well. “Are you interested in the business?”
“That’s a very bright question, Damsel.” Mycroft smiled and touched the side of his nose. “Very bright. But no, I’m not a Villain, nor,” he gestured to Quasi, “a Henchman.”
“Hey! I’m the butler. That’s loads better than a henchman.”
“Of course, Quasi. Butlers are a whole different set of cards. No, I’ve already got a job over at the local bar.”
“The Dark Closet?” said Gwen.
“You’ve heard of it?” said Mycroft, surprised.
“No, just that Quasi mentioned there was a bet—ow!” Gwen rubbed her arm and glared at the butler. Her glare promptly died and she thought fast. “He said it was better than going to the pubs ‘round my place.”
“It might be better, but I wouldn’t suggest you go there,” said Vicky. “Not saying they’ll kick you out, but…”
“You probably wouldn’t leave the same,” finished Mycroft, tactfully veiling the fact that Gwen would be used to make Bloody Maries (aimed at the vampiric clientele, but ordered by most monsters), Brain Freezes (for the zombies) and Steak and Kidney Pies (for the werewolves, though they complained the pastry overpowered the flavour human flesh).
“Oh…” said Gwen, wondering why the two were shifting uncomfortably.
“Let’s start the Risk game, shall we? And get the whole Confrontation over with,” said Quasi, rubbing his hands in very fake enthusiasm. “Gwen, would you do the honours of reviewing the rules with the adversaries?”
Once the rules had been explained, re-explained and demonstrated with drawings and, eventually, finger puppets, Gwen renewed her exploration of the living room. She avoided Mycroft, who was acting a bit strange. During the finger puppet demonstration he’d crept along the edges of the room towards a window. Standing well to the side of the window, he’d used a fire poker to close the windows. Now, as Gwen stared at him from across the room, he was standing in front of the mirror, wrapped up in the curtain, stealing short glances outside.
“What! You can’t invade Asia with that!”
Gwen turned and watched as Hero tried to wrench something from Vicky’s hand while Quasi rocked his head in his hands.
“It’s mine! You’re puny battalion can’t defeat me,” said Vicky.
Although she felt great sympathy for Quasi, Gwen walked further away from the players. She examined the painting that hung over the fireplace; a sad dog dressed in a coat stared back at him over a hand of cards. She glanced at Mycroft, who’d stopped hiding behind the window and was instead taking a moment to straighten out his vest with the help of a small mirror that hung by the doorway. There was something strange with—
“You’re a campfire!”
Mycroft turned at Gwen’s shout. “What?”
The players stopped their scuffles and looked up at the commotion. Quasi paused his stopwatch and rubbed his eyes wearily.
Gwen managed to stop swallowing her tongue. “You’re a vampire!” she repeated.
“Oh?”
“You have no reflection!” she pointed again.
Mycroft turned to face the mirror again. He observed the room, the tea-tray and the figure of a very tired Quasi. “My dear, that’s a still-life painting.”
Hero stood and walked towards the door. Gwen squinted but saw that he wasn’t reflected in the mirror either, and that the Quasi in the mirror was wearing a hat, whereas flesh-and-blood Quasi wasn’t.
“But…” she said, pointing vaguely at Mycroft and then the mirror.
Mycroft waved his hand before the mirror, which failed to do its job and thus proved to be a painting. He then walked towards the still-life painting featuring a sunset, waving his hands in a little “Ta-da! You’ve just won a fabulous prize!” gesture, and did the same with the garlic-and-pestle painting. “These are still-life paintings,” he said, and walked towards the window. “This is a window. See how it opens?” he said, staying well behind the curtains. “And this is a mirror.” He pointed: “See, there’s a little you in there, all confused-looking, and there is a little Vicky, and a little Hero, and that bundle there is Quasi and—good garlic, I seem to be missing.”
Gwen nodded feverishly.
“Well,” said Mycroft, putting his hands in his pockets. Gwen and Hero stared at him. “What? I never said I wasn’t a vampire.”
To a confused Gwen, the only thing this explained was why Mycroft looked so much younger than his nephew.
“You can’t be a vampire,” she said.
“Says the girl who’s guest had his house burnt down by a dragon.”
“That’s nonsense.” Gwen turned to the other men and realized that they were serious. About everything. (Except maybe the Muppet thing; that she couldn’t believe.)
“Oh dear,” sighed Mycroft. “Here, move aside a bit.” He sat down between Hero and Gwen. “Quasi, would you mind getting us more tea?”
“No.”
“Now would be nice,” hinted Vicky.
“I hate making tea,” said Quasi as he played with the die.
“Quasi,” warned Mycroft, “I think it’s time for you to make tea.”
The butler looked up and saw Mycroft bobbing his head emphatically. A glance at Vicky proved that his master was making strange gestures which had nothing whatsoever to do with the making of tea.
“Oh! That tea. I’m on my way.”
He was halfway to the door when Gwen noticed he’d left the teapot behind. She made to get up from the sofa, wedged as she was between the cushions and the vampire, but Mycroft lay a heavy hand on her shoulder.
“Never you mind, dear. Vicky’s got a great number of teapots.”
“Some of them new,” added Vicky.
“Shall I tell you about RIPUS?”
“Rip us?” said Gwen.
“Here,” said Mycroft as he offered her a card, “should you ever need us.” He turned to it over. “That’s our slogan.”
“It’s just intermission,” read Gwen. “What’s with the bat decoration?”
“Committee decision, I’m afraid.”
With that, Mycroft began telling Gwen about the club that his friend Frank Lydaid had introduced him to. New members to RIPUS (Rehabilitation for the Inconveniently and Prematurely Undead Society) were accepted on the basis of their having been vampirified without due notice. This occurred due to a confusion over un-killing orders, semi-assassination orders or, occasionally, as tasteless practical joke. Most other vampires were turned for a suitable sum from the applicant or as part of the family heritage. Whilst Vicky and Hero continued their game, Mycroft quietly sang the club’s anthem, “Keep your nail and plank, Mr. Undertaker” and his personal favorite, “You’ve got no stakes (so don’t keep me down).”
“Tea’s ready,” said Quasi before disappearing again down the hall.
At Gwen’s confused look, Mycroft stood up and offered her his hand. “I think Quasi’s finally made the tea-room habitable.”
Gwen stood up and watched the two players for a moment, wondering what to do. Mycroft glanced at the open door and fiddled idly with his vest-buttons.
“Nephew,” said Mycroft, “your butler has everything ready now.”
“Does he?” said Vicky, springing up. “Splendid! Come, Hero.” He clapped an arm around Hero and walked him toward the door.
“But what about the game?” said Hero, struggling briefly with his host.
“Never you mind. I’ll have Quasi bring it.” At Hero’s mistrustful look, Vicky added: “He won’t steal your armies, I swear it.”
Mycroft took Gwen’s arm as they followed the pair across the room.
“You know, my dear, I’ve grown to liking being a vampire. It’s not something I’d pass on to my children, should I choose to adopt, but still, can’t complain.”
“After you, please,” said Vicky as he gestured Hero through the door. A muffled thud, followed by a grunt and another heavier thud was heard from the hall. Vicky flashed a smile at Gwen as Mycroft tightened his grip on her arm.
“What’s going on?” said Gwen, slowing her steps a little as they neared the door.
“Oh, nothing. Just Clyde wandering about, bumping into things,” said Vicky as he left the room.
“Yes,” continued Mycroft as he gently guided Gwen to the door, “what a wonderful un-life it is—” They entered the hallway, where Gwen caught a glimpse of Hero lying on the floor. She tried to free her arm from the vampire, but he’d been right about the benefits of being un-dead.
“…and won’t you have fun in Vicky’s cellar.” With that, Mycroft lay a hand over Gwen’s nose and mouth.
“Dungeon of Scary Things, Uncle.”
“Oh, quite right.” Mycroft released Gwen who flopped unconscious to the floor. “Quasi, carry Hero, would you?”
“Just a moment,” said Quasi as he scrutinized a small candlestick. “It’s dented.” He looked accusingly at Vicky then placed it back in his vest pocket.
“Ten points to Victorious for capturing the enemy,” said Quasi as he lugged Hero over his back. “Though the boy was beating you at Risk.”
