Application; Benton Fraser, Due South
There had been times in his recent past, rather more than a few, in fact, during which Benton Fraser had wondered if perhaps he might be a couple beams short of a bunkhouse. But recently he had come to believe that he was still in possession of his faculties, and more or less in the correct order. Facing his mother's killer at the bottom of an abandoned mineshaft and watching the spirit of his father find peace had been a comforting experience in many ways, although he found as he stood alone in the darkness with the unconscious Muldoon beside him that there was an emptiness in his chest that he hadn't felt since he was a boy.
Still, at least he was certain now that the last few years of Bob Fraser's rather bemusing post-mortem interference in Benton's life had in fact been real, and not some sort of bizarre hallucination brought on by the trauma of knowing that his father had been shot down in the middle of an ice flow by a man who had once been his good friend and partner. Benton had always believed he had more emotional stamina than that.
But when what was once a dark, narrow mineshaft is suddenly a bright, sunny blue sky and a temperature that he would estimate at somewhere between -23 and -25 degrees Celsius is suddenly 27 or 28 degrees, and he finds himself facing what very much appears to be the gates of an amusement park, he can't help but wonder if perhaps he has indeed lost the last of his marbles.
There is a distinctly wolfish yowl from somewhere around 2.5 metres above him and Benton instinctively holds out his arms. Diefenbaker lands in them a moment later, with an extremely put upon whine, but Benton ignores him in favor of staring at the figure of Mickey Mouse bustling towards him. He's beaming and offering his hand to shake.
"Ha-hi there! I'm Mickey. Gosh, it's great to meet you! Welcome to the Happiest Place on Earth!"
Benton blinks once, and then once more just to be sure.
"Oh," he says. "Oh my."
Mickey coughs theatrically. "'What is your name?'"
Benton is used to the question, even if it is normally the rather more accusatory version of 'who are you?' accompanied by the assumption that he is a doorman, bellhop, or circus performer. Still, his habitual response is so ingrained that he gives it automatically, despite the strangeness of the questioner.
"My name is Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father, and for reasons that I do not imagine are terribly pertinent to you just now, although I will confess that I am not at all certain what, precisely, you may or may not find pertinent at this or for that matter at any other moment, I remained for some time, attached as liaison with the Canadian Consulate. However, I am considering a transfer back up north which is where I believe I am, or perhaps I should say was, just a moment ago." His brow furrows in bemusement. "That being the case, might I trouble you to tell me where we are, exactly?"
Mickey seems to ignore him.
"What is your quest?" asks the Cat. It's perched, suddenly, on the roof of one of the gate-stiles.
"Ah, well, that is an interesting question," Benton turns slightly to face him, cocking his head in consideration. "Are you speaking generally or to this specific moment? I am a Mountie, you see, and our official motto is "Maintain the Right," which I suppose best defines my, ah, quest, as you put it. As a police officer it is my duty to uphold the law, protect the innocent, and bring the guilty to justice. Speaking more immediately, I have just now apprehended a set of dangerous arms dealers and a convicted murderer, so in that respect my quest would be to deliver them to the nearest official outpost for processing. That is, if I can find them again... they don't seem to be around anywhere, unless I'm very much mistaken, or possibly hallucinating. Although don't think I-" he flounders, looking around, but nothing meets his eyes except for... Disneyland. "Are you..." he begins, then stops. "That is, is this... are we..." he gives up as Dief whines in his arms. "Oh. I'm sorry," he tells the wolf, and sets him down swiftly.
"'What is the average w..?'" Mickey frowns down at the notebook. "You know, I don't really see why that's important." He flips a page as Diefenbaker eagerly sniffs some peonies. "'If you could be granted three wishes, what would they be?'"
Benton decides that it's entirely possible that he fatally wounded himself falling down that mineshaft, and simply failed to notice in all the hullaballoo of convincing his father not to kill Muldoon a second time and seeing his mother's spirit. Although he thinks it would have been nice if his Dad could maybe have noticed that he was dying, if they could have waited for him a bit. Would that have been so hard? Honestly, he thinks it was altogether rather inconsiderate of them. In fact, it was downright rude.
He opens his mouth to answer when the Cat cuts him off.
"Or," it says, examining its tail with interest, "if you were a genie and someone you were trying to give three wishes to was trying to trick you into giving him more, what would you say?"
"Well," Benton folds his hands stiffly behind him, looking annoyed. "I'm sure if I simply appealed to his common sense and moral centre he would see that he was being unreasonable and selfish, and that there were undoubtedly some very good reasons for the three wish quota. Listen, I don't mean to be impatient, but could you perhaps tell me what is going on here, or where here is, or how my wolf happens to be here but my partner isn't? We aren't... dead, are we? Because I, ah, have been to the borderland. Once. This doesn't exactly look much like it. "
Mickey looks rather nonplused at the next, but reads, "'When the revolution comes, what skills will you be able to barter for food?'"
"I'm sorry, the uh... the revolution?" He scratches behind his ear with one finger, then returns to his earlier stance. Diefenbaker meanwhile is taking interest in the Cat, hopping up on his hind legs and whining slightly. "Dief, no," he says halfheartedly, but since Dief is facing away from him, of course it doesn't do any good. "Which revolution would that be?"
The Cat rolls its eyes in a friendly (and rather disconcertingly out-of-sync) way, and asks, "Milk, dark, or white chocolate?"
Benton wishes for a moment that he were Ray so that he might feel free to roll his eyes right back at it. This is getting ridiculous. "Where I come from it is very cold," he answers rigidly, as Dief barks twice and puts his paws up on the gate-stile. "After a day in sub-zero temperatures and hiking in the snow, a mug of hot chocolate can be quite comforting."
"'Choose the two coolest: robots, pirates, fairies, bears, ninjas, monkeys, vampires, or humans,'" says Mickey, giggling a bit as he goes through the list. "'Explain.'"
"I assume that by coolest you mean 'the best' or 'the most hip' and are not inquiring about the relative temperatures of the subjects in question, in which case the answer I believe would be robots and vampires, as the former are made of metal and the latter are undead. But in regards to my own personal opinion as to which are the most interesting and pleasant, I suppose I would have to say humans and bears. I have little experience with monkeys, although their intelligence would certainly be a point in favor of their 'coolness,' but I have always liked bears, ever since I was a little boy and I wanted one as a pet. Foolish, I know, but I was very young. I also understand that perception of one's existence when dead may be somewhat subjective, but I find it extremely unlikely that this would be it for me."
"Great!" Mickey flips through the blank pages of the notebook at top, cartoon-y speed. "Well, I think that's just about it! Oh, and I'm supposed to ask, 'for your safety: are you carrying anything sharp?'"
"I carry a standard RCMP issue blade, as well as one of my own which conforms to regulation specifications, yes." Diefenbaker makes a jump for the Cat, misses, and lands with a put-out yip, tail wagging. He turns his head to look at Fraser, who offers a shrug in response. The questioning seems to have ended, and he wonders what happens next.
((Here is Fraser of Due South fame. See his profile and wikipedia page for more info on this stalwart, polite, clever Dudly Do-Right, and enthusiastic permission from Ray-mun for the app. XD))
Still, at least he was certain now that the last few years of Bob Fraser's rather bemusing post-mortem interference in Benton's life had in fact been real, and not some sort of bizarre hallucination brought on by the trauma of knowing that his father had been shot down in the middle of an ice flow by a man who had once been his good friend and partner. Benton had always believed he had more emotional stamina than that.
But when what was once a dark, narrow mineshaft is suddenly a bright, sunny blue sky and a temperature that he would estimate at somewhere between -23 and -25 degrees Celsius is suddenly 27 or 28 degrees, and he finds himself facing what very much appears to be the gates of an amusement park, he can't help but wonder if perhaps he has indeed lost the last of his marbles.
There is a distinctly wolfish yowl from somewhere around 2.5 metres above him and Benton instinctively holds out his arms. Diefenbaker lands in them a moment later, with an extremely put upon whine, but Benton ignores him in favor of staring at the figure of Mickey Mouse bustling towards him. He's beaming and offering his hand to shake.
"Ha-hi there! I'm Mickey. Gosh, it's great to meet you! Welcome to the Happiest Place on Earth!"
Benton blinks once, and then once more just to be sure.
"Oh," he says. "Oh my."
Mickey coughs theatrically. "'What is your name?'"
Benton is used to the question, even if it is normally the rather more accusatory version of 'who are you?' accompanied by the assumption that he is a doorman, bellhop, or circus performer. Still, his habitual response is so ingrained that he gives it automatically, despite the strangeness of the questioner.
"My name is Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father, and for reasons that I do not imagine are terribly pertinent to you just now, although I will confess that I am not at all certain what, precisely, you may or may not find pertinent at this or for that matter at any other moment, I remained for some time, attached as liaison with the Canadian Consulate. However, I am considering a transfer back up north which is where I believe I am, or perhaps I should say was, just a moment ago." His brow furrows in bemusement. "That being the case, might I trouble you to tell me where we are, exactly?"
Mickey seems to ignore him.
"What is your quest?" asks the Cat. It's perched, suddenly, on the roof of one of the gate-stiles.
"Ah, well, that is an interesting question," Benton turns slightly to face him, cocking his head in consideration. "Are you speaking generally or to this specific moment? I am a Mountie, you see, and our official motto is "Maintain the Right," which I suppose best defines my, ah, quest, as you put it. As a police officer it is my duty to uphold the law, protect the innocent, and bring the guilty to justice. Speaking more immediately, I have just now apprehended a set of dangerous arms dealers and a convicted murderer, so in that respect my quest would be to deliver them to the nearest official outpost for processing. That is, if I can find them again... they don't seem to be around anywhere, unless I'm very much mistaken, or possibly hallucinating. Although don't think I-" he flounders, looking around, but nothing meets his eyes except for... Disneyland. "Are you..." he begins, then stops. "That is, is this... are we..." he gives up as Dief whines in his arms. "Oh. I'm sorry," he tells the wolf, and sets him down swiftly.
"'What is the average w..?'" Mickey frowns down at the notebook. "You know, I don't really see why that's important." He flips a page as Diefenbaker eagerly sniffs some peonies. "'If you could be granted three wishes, what would they be?'"
Benton decides that it's entirely possible that he fatally wounded himself falling down that mineshaft, and simply failed to notice in all the hullaballoo of convincing his father not to kill Muldoon a second time and seeing his mother's spirit. Although he thinks it would have been nice if his Dad could maybe have noticed that he was dying, if they could have waited for him a bit. Would that have been so hard? Honestly, he thinks it was altogether rather inconsiderate of them. In fact, it was downright rude.
He opens his mouth to answer when the Cat cuts him off.
"Or," it says, examining its tail with interest, "if you were a genie and someone you were trying to give three wishes to was trying to trick you into giving him more, what would you say?"
"Well," Benton folds his hands stiffly behind him, looking annoyed. "I'm sure if I simply appealed to his common sense and moral centre he would see that he was being unreasonable and selfish, and that there were undoubtedly some very good reasons for the three wish quota. Listen, I don't mean to be impatient, but could you perhaps tell me what is going on here, or where here is, or how my wolf happens to be here but my partner isn't? We aren't... dead, are we? Because I, ah, have been to the borderland. Once. This doesn't exactly look much like it. "
Mickey looks rather nonplused at the next, but reads, "'When the revolution comes, what skills will you be able to barter for food?'"
"I'm sorry, the uh... the revolution?" He scratches behind his ear with one finger, then returns to his earlier stance. Diefenbaker meanwhile is taking interest in the Cat, hopping up on his hind legs and whining slightly. "Dief, no," he says halfheartedly, but since Dief is facing away from him, of course it doesn't do any good. "Which revolution would that be?"
The Cat rolls its eyes in a friendly (and rather disconcertingly out-of-sync) way, and asks, "Milk, dark, or white chocolate?"
Benton wishes for a moment that he were Ray so that he might feel free to roll his eyes right back at it. This is getting ridiculous. "Where I come from it is very cold," he answers rigidly, as Dief barks twice and puts his paws up on the gate-stile. "After a day in sub-zero temperatures and hiking in the snow, a mug of hot chocolate can be quite comforting."
"'Choose the two coolest: robots, pirates, fairies, bears, ninjas, monkeys, vampires, or humans,'" says Mickey, giggling a bit as he goes through the list. "'Explain.'"
"I assume that by coolest you mean 'the best' or 'the most hip' and are not inquiring about the relative temperatures of the subjects in question, in which case the answer I believe would be robots and vampires, as the former are made of metal and the latter are undead. But in regards to my own personal opinion as to which are the most interesting and pleasant, I suppose I would have to say humans and bears. I have little experience with monkeys, although their intelligence would certainly be a point in favor of their 'coolness,' but I have always liked bears, ever since I was a little boy and I wanted one as a pet. Foolish, I know, but I was very young. I also understand that perception of one's existence when dead may be somewhat subjective, but I find it extremely unlikely that this would be it for me."
"Great!" Mickey flips through the blank pages of the notebook at top, cartoon-y speed. "Well, I think that's just about it! Oh, and I'm supposed to ask, 'for your safety: are you carrying anything sharp?'"
"I carry a standard RCMP issue blade, as well as one of my own which conforms to regulation specifications, yes." Diefenbaker makes a jump for the Cat, misses, and lands with a put-out yip, tail wagging. He turns his head to look at Fraser, who offers a shrug in response. The questioning seems to have ended, and he wonders what happens next.
((Here is Fraser of Due South fame. See his profile and wikipedia page for more info on this stalwart, polite, clever Dudly Do-Right, and enthusiastic permission from Ray-mun for the app. XD))