BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - DRAMA

ANOTHERSKY

ALBATROSS 3a
Sunday, February 14, 2010

River Tam's diary at the Academy. Part 3, considering where she's been and where she is now. Ongoing. I've split Part 3 into two parts because of the length, 3a and 3b. For those who want to start at the beginning, Part 1: http://www.fireflyfans.net/sunroomitem.asp?i=22568


CATEGORY: FICTION    TIMES READ: 2251    RATING: 10    SERIES: FIREFLY

Once again, thanks to Bytemite and gilovetodance.

The entries remain cryptic and unordered as usual. Questions, comments, guesses welcome. Have at it.

[Joss is boss, River is not mine, etc. ad nauseum, ad infinitum...] _________________________________________________

ENTRY #????

Do you know what I’ve done? I’ve gone so much farther than the other subjects, as usual. Ha. Great things to be expected, a great and terrible grace. Of course. Everyone knows it from the time they’re two: “a badly painted tiger looks like a dog; a badly carved swan looks like a duck”. I hoped so badly that one day I’d cease to be an ugly duckling, but now, now the power is still hidden behind the portrait-eyes. I can’t figure out who’s in charge of this circus. And they’ve clipped my wings—-I’m no longer allowed out of this room, this cell, except my visits to Mathias and Slawn.

___

ENTRY #????

Ode to Hypnos

Sleep’s warm fingers on my neck A gentle weight on thighs, shoulders, back Head indented in the pillow A little rest.

___

ENTRY #???? I was supposed to be the mouse. Little mouse, sorting through the crumbs—disarming, unnoticed, unbegrudged. And tap into the--taproot. Great tree strangling the stars, and twisted roots rotting away at the core. I just touch the leaves, the twigs from which my steel cocoon hangs. The same paths over and over again. Like repeating sine, cosine, tangent. Hours.

My wingspan was immense—could soar for hours and not get tired.

I thought I was the albatross, so much higher, remote, alone. Vast archangel wings, and nothing between me and sky. Now I know what I am. Regardless of Mathias, I will make my own epitaph.

I am the spanner. I make things not go smooth in the works—important things, things much larger than me. More important than me. I am payment, the girl in white by night who drifts and is tied down, still flapping, still screaming. Ripping out her feathers to make that mattress where they will cut it out. You can always tell a princess—she’s all in white so the dragon can pick her out among the bones. The white hart is bloodless because it’s drained dry, it grants you wishes if you catch it. But the joke is {the one they haven’t understood is}, you can’t catch it. I chase it down dark hallways in my dreams at night, over and over the checkerboard floor, but it knows I’m coming, and springs away, the tiny hooves making an impossible clatter, like Christmas come again on the roof. The floor gleams, even though I thought I saw blood.

It’s funny—I repeat their words, dribble like a baby. Desperate, I ask, ‘cut it out, cut it out!’ and you don’t listen. I’ve interrupted the conversation at the wrong juncture again this time. Always interrupting, little curious River and now I get my comeuppance. I can’t go like a little lamb—it’s not in my nature. But I’m the tool, the instrument of combat, the forbidden war-pipes that will rally their soldiers from foreign planets and rise to the occasion and the rule that will last for a thousand years. I flatter them too much. A thousand years ago we lived on Earth-That-Was. Away from this place.

I inspire fear in foolish mortals under the shadow of an indigo sun. Ha. Caliban, and he was a monster, has a more eloquent tongue than anything I can muster with this broken jaw. Wired shut. Stick the pins in, over and over—- then ask me what I want, bending the rules of your theoretical voodoo.

What I want I cannot have so why are you bothering? Is it entertaining to hear the question when you already know the answer? I can hear everything—it whirls like electrons spinning uncertainly around a nucleus, but those electrons are slowly coalescing. I know you slept with her. I also know who knows—-I think. Is that funny? One of the aides plays games with me—it’s difficult to know which tile he’ll put down. But he allows me to play, because he has no idea what else is going on. So shortsighted, when I am the one locked in the cell, not tall enough for the window.

It doesn’t matter that he can block me, thwarting the only thing I call myself anymore, playing a stupid game with symbolic plastic tiles. He’s got orders for termination—-soon. That’s because he knows. But he doesn’t know what he knows. So this made it particularly funny when I asked for leaves and he brought me autumn ones.

But he’s doomed anyway. It wasn’t entirely an empty gesture. Chivalry lives.

___

COMMENTS

Monday, February 15, 2010 7:34 AM

BYTEMITE


That poor guy. This poor girl.

Nice Miranda reference, with Caliban.

Is sleep death here?

Monday, February 15, 2010 9:18 PM

ANOTHERSKY


What do you make of chivalry?

Yes. Caliban also has speech problems.
Prospero says he musn't tell.

Given that there are two planets named after characters in The Tempest,and that you have to go to Ariel to get an inkling of what happened on Miranda...

No, death is Hypnos' brother. :) However, there are several kinds of "sleep" in the entries. Being on the table(or in that chair), blanking out trauma, forgetting because she wants to forget.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010 11:57 AM

ALIASSE


Chivalry isn't a link with chess (the knight)? - doesn't make sense with there being a reference to plastic tiles...

Tuesday, February 16, 2010 6:00 PM

BYTEMITE


Strange that he can block her, and also "thwart the only thing she can call herself anymore." I'm not sure what that is at this point.

Autumn leaves are dead leaves, aren't they? calls to mind leaves on the wind, but I doubt that's it.

Plastic tiles are Mah Jong, aren't they? And in Mah Jong, there are season tiles? Spring, Winter, Summer, Autumn?

Hmm, Chivalry... I'll try to puzzle that out when brain think better.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010 9:50 PM

ANOTHERSKY


The "checkerboard floor" is like a chess board, but they're playing mahjong. Games that aren't funny are a theme. Chivalry: the kindness or dying for an unknown cause? :) Wicked little joke on her part: chivalry lives and he dies.

Mahjong is a popular gambling game. Besides cultural fusion,it’s unusual as “winning” can run the range of almost entirely luck or entirely skill. Because the game can be more or less rigged, and intentionally lost, there's diplomacy (and occasionally creative forms of bribery and debt-paying).
Playing a game with someone is seen as a friendly thing to do. Nice aide.

There are season tiles, but the leaves are literal. They will come up again.

The game itself was a small detail--after a few more sections you should see the outline better.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010 9:53 PM

ANOTHERSKY


Did anyone like "badly carved swan looks like a duck" ? And don't try to tell me it's luh-suh. Real proverb.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010 1:48 PM

BYTEMITE


I though chivalry comes from "horse"?

Wednesday, February 17, 2010 6:32 PM

BYTEMITE


I liked it. :)

The game itself is a detail. Hmmm. Tricky...

I like that you're pointing me out to directions I didn't uncover the first time. I appreciate it, I can be pretty thick during the weekdays.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010 6:34 PM

BYTEMITE


So back to Mah Jong, the guy is intentionally losing... But he's able to block her, does he know he's losing? Well anyway, is this a metaphor for what happens to him?

Saturday, February 20, 2010 3:28 PM

ANOTHERSKY


He loses his life. And she can't stop it.

The blocking is the irony of this--so much "power" in a stupid little game. All River has left is her wits, so she's contrasting herself with him. And yet he doesn't know he's become expendable.


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River Tam's diary at the Academy. Part 3, considering where she's been and where she is now. Ongoing.

I've split Part 3 into two parts because of the length, 3a and 3b.

For those who want to start at the beginning, Part 1: http://www.fireflyfans.net/bluesun.aspx?bid=22568


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River Tam was once a student at The Academy. Now she has disappeared into the black, and all official records of the years she spent in captivity there have been erased or smoothed over. They no longer exist. But the girl does. Her diary is the only remaining commentary on the horrors of a future deceived. This is her story, told in her own words.
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For those who want an intro, Part 1 is here: http://www.fireflyfans.net/bluesun.aspx?bid=22568




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ALBATROSS 1
River Tam was once a student at The Academy. Now she has disappeared into the black, and all official records of the years she spent in captivity there have been erased or smoothed over. They no longer exist. But the girl does. Her diary is the only remaining commentary on the horrors of a future deceived.

This is her story, told in her own words.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Thanks and big props to patient betas gilove2dance, Steamer, and most especially Bytemite, who has so far stuck through this moonbrain narrative all the way through with true browncoat tenacity. Bravo. Thanks also to ncbrowncoat and a few others who encouraged the concept.

[River copyright Joss & Co., text copyright me, Joss is boss, etc. et al, ad nauseum...]