(no subject)
Faces of the Moon, or Five Times Sakura Wasn't There
Title: The Cerberus Dialogues 1/3
Fandom: Card Captor Sakura
Rating: G
Summary: In an English boarding school in the fifties, an elderly schoolteacher tries to have a conversation with a stuffed toy, to the frustration of all parties.
Characters: Keroberous (Cerberus), Yue (Miss Moongrass)
Warnings: Original characters, rhetorical silliness, existentialism
"You! It's you, eh?"
"Eh?" I replied, eloquently. I looked around my schoolroom, again bare after a flock of students back from the hols had inhabited it for a few, nervous-prostration-inducing hours. It was reddish and dim in the late afternoon sun slanting through the windows. The smell of dust and linoleum blended with the tang of slightly-illicit gin brewed by Mr Todd the school gardener and the delicious must of the old books I'd rescued from our library.
There was no-one in the room.
A small, dandelion yellow paw reached out of the book on top of the pile, waved in the air, and sank its claws into the red leather cover, hauling out a small yellow round-eared head, a veritable lion-cub in animate plush who rested its forelegs and chin on the ornate metal edge of the book as if it were the edge of a swimming pool and narrowed its beady black eyes in my general direction.
"You, eh? You're you, eh?"
"Well... yes," I said. "I am me, and you are you, eh?" I proffered a hand. "How very nice to meet you."
"Eh?" The 'lion-cub' looked confused. "No, you're you, er, and I'm me."
"No, I am me," I replied stoutly. "And you are you, er," I paused, struck by a thought, "You aren't mad, are you?"
"Many have asked," the toy said complacently. "Mad like a fox!" he added. "I swear, Clow got all his best ideas from me."
I let that pass. "Am I mad?" I queried (not being in the habit of chatting with stuffed toys, at least not with my conversational sallies returned so amiably).
"Of course not," the toy assured me. "If you were mad, I'd let you know right away."
"That is fine then," I said, reassured. "I am Miss Evelyn Moongrass," I informed him.
"'Evening Moon' - nice," the toy said.
I felt unaccountably pleased. "And you are?"
The toy's ears drooped, and I felt an odd pain in my gut.
"Cerberus," it said, in a very small voice. "Are you sure you're not you, eh?"
"Quite certain," I said firmly, though in truth the particulars were starting to escape me, (perhaps a little too much of the moonshine gin - Mr Todd's brewing being of a very vigorous vintage.)
"Are you perhaps on holiday from guarding the Gates of Hell, Mr Cerberus?" I asked.
He held up a paw. "That's just a namesake. For one thing, I'm not a dog."
"Oh, I see."
"And three heads? Not to put too fine a point on it, but I'm not that tacky. I like your silver spectacles, by the way. The rest is a bit, um, tweedy."
I sniffed.
"No, no, it's lovely," Mr Cerberus added hurriedly. "'When you are Real," he quoted, "'shabbiness doesn't matter.'"
"But I am not Real," I said.
His tiny bead eyes blinked at me.
"At least not to my students," I clarified. "Most of them sincerely believe I vanish as soon as they leave my classroom."
"Their loss!" Mr Cerberus said gallantly.
"Thank you! You are quite the sweetest plush toy that I have ever encountered!"
"I am not a toy!" he roared.
We both froze, then, as the heavy footsteps of the school custodian passed our room, flashing a torch in the gathering shadows of the evening. I did not entirely fancy having to share my secret stock of moonshine, and Mr Cerberus would have his own objections to conversing with that crass and boorish person, or so I imagined.
The heavy footsteps passed. Mr Cerberus went on, sotto voce but with some heat, "It's not how you were made. It's a thing that happens to you. That's what he said. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you're not a toy at all, you're REAL. He promised me, and there's an end to it."
I sniffed. "Fairy stories..."
The door crashed open then, and two of my students, the Reeve twins, skittered into my quiet room with an enormous wicker basket. "Hello Miss Moongrass we brought apples and oranges for youuuuuu," they chorused.
"It's a little known fact," said one, holding up an instructive finger, "that apple pips are the nicest part. Indeed, in old and far off times apples were bred for the pips and the flesh was so solid that when they dropped on the head you could die. That was why Newton invented gravity, so that-"
"Yes, yes, yes," said her sister, pulling her away by the collar. "We had extra in our tuckbox, Miss, and we thought you'd like some... Bye!"
"This proves nothing," I said. "They simply hope that I will 'forget' tonight's homework by the morning. It is entirely class-related."
I stopped then, because Mr Cerberus was not just chomping apples but had stolen my gin!
NOTES:
By this point, Yue's been burying his consciousness deeper beneath his facades. It takes a lot less energy to maintain (so no need to find an energy-donor and suck on them like a bloated spiritual tick until they risk an early death from power-exhaustion, just for instance, say), but the facades get a lot more autonomy. Like Yukito later, Miss Moongrass has no idea she's a front.
illicit gin... otherwise known as 'moonshine' ^__^
"Mad like a fox" "Crazy like a fox" used at least as early as 1944 (there's a book of that title by S. J. Perelman
Miss Evelyn Moongrass 'Evelyn' for the 'evening' sound; 'Moongrass' nicked from Lud-in-the-Mist, a demmed fine novel by Hope Mirrlees (it was actually a brand of cheese). 'Miss' because crankyfemme!Yue appeals to me enormously, and because Keroberous thought it likely that Mizuki Kaho was Yue in the first half of the story - therefore, Yue could reasonably have a female disguise.
"When you are Real shabbiness doesn't matter." this, and other commentary on Being Real come from The Velveteen Rabbit (Margaret Williams) another demmed fine book, (until the point when the Rabbit crept off laden with Scarlet Fever germs, and I couldn't get my mind off the Disease-Ridden Plague Rabbit of Doom. Sorry, New Zealanders aren't terribly fond of bunnies at the best of times. This isn't the image you guys would like to end with, is it. Look! Baby chickies!)
Title: The Cerberus Dialogues 1/3
Fandom: Card Captor Sakura
Rating: G
Summary: In an English boarding school in the fifties, an elderly schoolteacher tries to have a conversation with a stuffed toy, to the frustration of all parties.
Characters: Keroberous (Cerberus), Yue (Miss Moongrass)
Warnings: Original characters, rhetorical silliness, existentialism
"You! It's you, eh?"
"Eh?" I replied, eloquently. I looked around my schoolroom, again bare after a flock of students back from the hols had inhabited it for a few, nervous-prostration-inducing hours. It was reddish and dim in the late afternoon sun slanting through the windows. The smell of dust and linoleum blended with the tang of slightly-illicit gin brewed by Mr Todd the school gardener and the delicious must of the old books I'd rescued from our library.
There was no-one in the room.
A small, dandelion yellow paw reached out of the book on top of the pile, waved in the air, and sank its claws into the red leather cover, hauling out a small yellow round-eared head, a veritable lion-cub in animate plush who rested its forelegs and chin on the ornate metal edge of the book as if it were the edge of a swimming pool and narrowed its beady black eyes in my general direction.
"You, eh? You're you, eh?"
"Well... yes," I said. "I am me, and you are you, eh?" I proffered a hand. "How very nice to meet you."
"Eh?" The 'lion-cub' looked confused. "No, you're you, er, and I'm me."
"No, I am me," I replied stoutly. "And you are you, er," I paused, struck by a thought, "You aren't mad, are you?"
"Many have asked," the toy said complacently. "Mad like a fox!" he added. "I swear, Clow got all his best ideas from me."
I let that pass. "Am I mad?" I queried (not being in the habit of chatting with stuffed toys, at least not with my conversational sallies returned so amiably).
"Of course not," the toy assured me. "If you were mad, I'd let you know right away."
"That is fine then," I said, reassured. "I am Miss Evelyn Moongrass," I informed him.
"'Evening Moon' - nice," the toy said.
I felt unaccountably pleased. "And you are?"
The toy's ears drooped, and I felt an odd pain in my gut.
"Cerberus," it said, in a very small voice. "Are you sure you're not you, eh?"
"Quite certain," I said firmly, though in truth the particulars were starting to escape me, (perhaps a little too much of the moonshine gin - Mr Todd's brewing being of a very vigorous vintage.)
"Are you perhaps on holiday from guarding the Gates of Hell, Mr Cerberus?" I asked.
He held up a paw. "That's just a namesake. For one thing, I'm not a dog."
"Oh, I see."
"And three heads? Not to put too fine a point on it, but I'm not that tacky. I like your silver spectacles, by the way. The rest is a bit, um, tweedy."
I sniffed.
"No, no, it's lovely," Mr Cerberus added hurriedly. "'When you are Real," he quoted, "'shabbiness doesn't matter.'"
"But I am not Real," I said.
His tiny bead eyes blinked at me.
"At least not to my students," I clarified. "Most of them sincerely believe I vanish as soon as they leave my classroom."
"Their loss!" Mr Cerberus said gallantly.
"Thank you! You are quite the sweetest plush toy that I have ever encountered!"
"I am not a toy!" he roared.
We both froze, then, as the heavy footsteps of the school custodian passed our room, flashing a torch in the gathering shadows of the evening. I did not entirely fancy having to share my secret stock of moonshine, and Mr Cerberus would have his own objections to conversing with that crass and boorish person, or so I imagined.
The heavy footsteps passed. Mr Cerberus went on, sotto voce but with some heat, "It's not how you were made. It's a thing that happens to you. That's what he said. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you're not a toy at all, you're REAL. He promised me, and there's an end to it."
I sniffed. "Fairy stories..."
The door crashed open then, and two of my students, the Reeve twins, skittered into my quiet room with an enormous wicker basket. "Hello Miss Moongrass we brought apples and oranges for youuuuuu," they chorused.
"It's a little known fact," said one, holding up an instructive finger, "that apple pips are the nicest part. Indeed, in old and far off times apples were bred for the pips and the flesh was so solid that when they dropped on the head you could die. That was why Newton invented gravity, so that-"
"Yes, yes, yes," said her sister, pulling her away by the collar. "We had extra in our tuckbox, Miss, and we thought you'd like some... Bye!"
"This proves nothing," I said. "They simply hope that I will 'forget' tonight's homework by the morning. It is entirely class-related."
I stopped then, because Mr Cerberus was not just chomping apples but had stolen my gin!
NOTES:
By this point, Yue's been burying his consciousness deeper beneath his facades. It takes a lot less energy to maintain (so no need to find an energy-donor and suck on them like a bloated spiritual tick until they risk an early death from power-exhaustion, just for instance, say), but the facades get a lot more autonomy. Like Yukito later, Miss Moongrass has no idea she's a front.
illicit gin... otherwise known as 'moonshine' ^__^
"Mad like a fox" "Crazy like a fox" used at least as early as 1944 (there's a book of that title by S. J. Perelman
Miss Evelyn Moongrass 'Evelyn' for the 'evening' sound; 'Moongrass' nicked from Lud-in-the-Mist, a demmed fine novel by Hope Mirrlees (it was actually a brand of cheese). 'Miss' because crankyfemme!Yue appeals to me enormously, and because Keroberous thought it likely that Mizuki Kaho was Yue in the first half of the story - therefore, Yue could reasonably have a female disguise.
"When you are Real shabbiness doesn't matter." this, and other commentary on Being Real come from The Velveteen Rabbit (Margaret Williams) another demmed fine book, (until the point when the Rabbit crept off laden with Scarlet Fever germs, and I couldn't get my mind off the Disease-Ridden Plague Rabbit of Doom. Sorry, New Zealanders aren't terribly fond of bunnies at the best of times. This isn't the image you guys would like to end with, is it. Look! Baby chickies!)