NaNoWriMo: Novel info
Synopsis: Lost in Time
Lost
A young girl and her quest to get to know her deceased mother, aided along the way by her future siblings from a magical dream world, and an old diary hidden away in a locked chest that no-one had had a key for in years...
Time
Meanwhile, an adolescent male develops time travel abilities, and accidentally prevents his mother from being born. The universe works to right itself, and proclaims the boy to be adopted. A search for his 'true' family ensues, disrupted by the time travel mentor sent to him from the future.
Two voices, one story,
Lost in Time
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If this sounds interesting, you could help me out and/or find more info at the following links.
http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/node/3021193
http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/node/3055296
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Cover:
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Excerpt: Lost in Time
Really really bad fiction
(aka, an excuse to write poorly written fairy tales.)
Sure enough, next morning, after a light breakfast, Hayley moved off to her study, and sat cross-legged on the floor, with the bag of books beside her. She settled in, then moved the bag over until it was in her lap, and started to rummage through it, looking for that one title the other mother had been after. 'The Princess and... and... What was that title?' she thought to herself, finding no less than three 'The Princes and' titled tales in her bag of strikingly similar children's books. 'Well, I guess I'll just have to read all three...' she mused to herself, plucking 'The Princess and the Golden Staircase' from the pile, because it looked shorter, and was on top. The first thing she read was the title, "The Princess, and the Golden Staircase." she said, grimacing at herself, thinking 'I sound weird, my baby girl is going to think I'm weird, why am I doing this again? It's weird and wrong and not right and not normal, and whyyy?' But, she took a moment, and shook herself, forcing a more confident tone, or trying to.
"The Princess and the Golden Staircase." she read, running her fingers along the title on the cover of the book, before opening it. The artwork was actually quite nice, clear and crisp, in pastel shades. There was the princess, in a beautifully flowing princess like kind of gown, of the palest purple, and long white gloves on her long slender hands, and dainty heeled slippers on her delicate feet, with a pretty little rose bud mouth, and wide blue eyes, and flowing locks of the finest blonde. Hayley grimaced, and ran her hand through her own mousy brown hair. Such unrealistic images! Pretty, though, oh so pretty. Hayley shook herself yet again, she just kept getting carried away and that just wouldn't do, but somehow she continued to read. "Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a wise old king, and he had a beautiful wife, the most beautiful in all the land, to be his queen." Hayley grimaced at the wording, of course the king's wife would be the queen, what kind of story is this? Also, wise old king with a beautiful wife of child-bearing age? Robbing the cradle much? She shuddered, but continued, maybe the princess could redeem this story, though she rather doubted it, it was seeming less and less likely with every word she read.
"Where were we? Right. Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a wise old king, and he had a beautiful wife, the most beautiful in all the land, to be his queen. Life was good for the king and queen, though quiet, and lonely, until the day that the stork..." she trailed off, and looked downwards. "Look, kid, there's no such thing as a stork that delivers babies, midwives deliver babies, doctors deliver babies, but storks... Storks do not deliver babies." the mother to be chuckled softly, then added, "I'll explain when you're older. Way way older. Like, a hundred and three." before turning her attention back to the book, "Alright. Yes. Life was good for the king and queen, though quiet, and lonely, until the day that the stork blessed them... blessed them? Oh, come on... Alright... Until the day that the stork blessed them with a beautiful baby girl, named Cressida Oriana Golden Soul? Gah, that's a stupid name, this is a stupid book, forget this!" she shook her head, closing the book with a decisive snap and stuffing it back into the bag. Cressida Oriana Golden Soul? Man, where do you even start with a name like that? Stupid book. She could write something better... Wait, she could write something better! That was a brilliant idea!
Hugh realises he's not in 1993 any more...
Hugh seems finally to be cottoning on to something being not quite right here, though he's having difficulty placing just what it is. He's sure the watch is involved though, and he looks down to his pocket uncertainly. Eighty eight minutes past eighty eight? It's obviously broken, but why, and how? Shouldn't the display just turn off if it's the battery? And why is it flashing eighty eight minutes past eighty eight, shouldn't it be flashing twelve o' clock? It's making him uncertain and concerned, and his fingers are just itching to pull it out and take it apart, he's always had that hands on eagerness about him, it runs in the family apparently, he's been hearing his whole life about how his grandmother was a real terror for taking things apart and putting them back together, and his mother ran that successful electronics business. Finally, he could stand it no longer, and pulled out the damned thing, whacking it against the swing's supports a couple of times, then holding it up as if to check the time, but with his eyes squeezed shut. Carefully, oh so carefully, he slowly opened his eyes, as if opening them sooner might not have given the tough love approach enough time to work yet, first one eye, then the other... They refocus on the watch, and he grimaces. It's not eighty eight minutes past eighty eight any more, but apparently his watch thinks it's five minutes to eight at night, though he didn't remember it having a twenty four hour style display before... The time haunts him, fifty five past nineteen, nineteen fifty five. That's, hmm, that's almost more of a year, isn't it? He glanced to his cheesy novelty watch, he'd bought it because it had the Delorean on it from Back to the Future on it, with the time where the front window should be, and the fire trails it leaves behind printed on the band. Really quite a cheesy watch, awful and tacky, but it worked pretty well, well, until now, and it was just geeky enough for him. Man, he loved those movies... Wait, nineteen fifty five? Wasn't that the year Marty McFly travelled back to? His knuckles whitened as he gripped the watch tightly, sneaking another peek at it. Yep, it still says 19:55. That's probably just a coincidence though, it must be! There is no other possible explanation.
Finally, Hugh shook his head, and let his arm hang low with the watch in just a loose grip. "Alright, Claw, you want to take a look at this?" he offers, though he doesn't quite hold the seemingly broken digital watch out to her just yet. "Sounds fine to me. Take it, if you can fix it, you can keep it. I can get another." 'I hope.' he thinks, but he doesn't dare say it, as if saying it might give a certain amount of validity to his doubt. There's a niggling doubt tugging at his mind, and for some reason he's trying to think up the advertising slogan used for the watch... 'You'll always know when you are!' wasn't it? Something like that. 1955? Nah, that's crazy, it couldn't be. Time travel isn't possible ... is it? His grip tightens around the watch once more, before he forces himself to relax, raising the watch holding arm stiffly to offer the 'broken' watch to Claw, though his fist remains closed around the watch for the longest moment. Claw has to actually pry the watch from his death grip, but he does slowly uncurl his fingers at her tugging, and relinquishes his watch to her. "So, yeah, if you can fix it, it's yours." he finishes, lamely, as he watches her turn it over in her hands. His expression is forlorn, resigned, but hers is more curious, puzzled, 'as if someone has just handed her a working phaser or something,' Hugh thought, obviously not aware that she wouldn't even know remotely what a phaser is yet.
Claw takes the watch from Hugh, though with great effort, and stares at it for a little while. It's not her grandfather's old pocket watch, that's for sure! She can't help herself, she's gaping at it in amazement, trailing a finger along the printed fire trails on the black rubber watch band. Hugh is staring at her a little strangely now, perhaps seriously rethinking his decision to let her at it, so she tries to make herself focus on the dial. She looks around the rim of it first, looking for the knob to wind it, sometimes that's all that's needed to fix these things, but there isn't one? There are weird protrusions though, buttons? Hmm. Okay, scratch that, let's see if the display tells us any thing more. And there she goes, gaping in awe again, it, it, it has numbers printed on it! No hands, not an hour hand, not a minute hand, not a second hand, just four blocky little numbers. 1, 9, colon, 5, 5. 19:55. Nineteen, fifty five. Nineteen fifty five? That's this year. What use is a watch that only displays the year? That's quite strange... She goes back to turning the watch over and over, then finally shrugs, and has to ask, "What use is a watch that only displays the year?" Hugh's heart sinks at those words, and a strange sour taste enters his mouth. Is she serious? Oh god, she seems serious, why would she joke about that? "And this display, I've never seen a watch like it!" And Hugh's poor heart sinks right down into his shoes, and he staggers backwards a little, and needs to find a place to sit. The swing is perhaps not the best choice with his sudden queasy feeling, but, it's the closest place to sit, and he really needs to sit, now. "Is this some kind of a joke?"
"Oh, if only..." Hugh muttered, looking quite pale now. "If bloody only." How could this even happen? It, it, it makes no sense! Defies all reason! He loved those movies, sure, but he never wanted to live them! Well, maybe, but he never thought he actually would. Oh, god, if this is like the movies, Marty McFry's mother, oh, god, no. His mother wasn't born yet at least, not until 1956, but, oh, no... He stared at Claw suddenly, wide-eyed. Is she, could she be, oh, crap. Panic time. Definitely panic time. Why not panic? Seems like the thing to do in this situation, yes. Panic! "I, ah, it's, it's a joke, yes, ha ha ha!" he laughs nervously, and snatches the watch back, or tries to. Claw pulls it out of his reach automatically, leaving him to lurch about on the swing thanks to momentum. That certainly doesn't help things at all. Honestly, why is he freaking out? He's only just met her, if he can get back home then everything will be fine, she'll go meet his grandfather, have his mother, it'll be great... Won't it? It's got to be, he still feels pretty existy here, so, all is well, surely? Surely!
Writing becomes increasingly recursive...
'Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a wise king and a beautiful queen, though their lives were childless and lonely. One day, the king summoned a seer to his court, her skills were legendary across the lands. The seer took one look at the king and queen, and bowed deeply, "I am honoured," the seer said, "to be in the presence of such greatness." The king frowned, and bade the seer explain what she meant, he was used to respect, sometimes quite extreme, but this was bordering on worship. "Tell me, wise woman, what do you see?" he asked, his majestic deep voice booming and echoing off of the walls of the court.'
'The wrinkled crone peered up at the wise king through half blind eyes, and made a suspicious cackling sound, though it soon devolved into an awful hacking cough. It took her a moment to recover, though the wise king and his beautiful queen just sat there, seemingly unfeeling to the outside observer, but really just powerless to help. Finally, the aging seer looked directly at the beautiful queen, but spoke to the wise king, "My liege, my king, a curse put upon your line in your father's era has made you unable to bear children."'
'The wise old king stood from his throne, his face quite the unnatural shade of red, flushed with his livid anger. "GET! OUT!" he roared at the crooked old crone, before turning abruptly, his long royal robes swirling about behind him as he stalked off to his private chambers. The beautiful queen remained frozen in place, glaring at the seer until she left. The seer gave the beautiful queen a knowing look, with a glance downwards to the woman's womb, then back up to meet her eyes with her frosty glaze. Oh, yes, she knew.'
'The wisened old seer left the wise king's court then, secretly thinking the king was a bit of a fool, but his healers would surely verify her verdict. Unless they were spineless cowards and weakling 'yes' men. Gah, the king would never discover the truth, she realised, exactly too late. The crone of a seer had hobbled right on out of the castle, though she had not made it quite as far as the castle gate. She noticed the guards eyeing her suspiciously, but she didn't quite cotton on until she noticed the beautiful queen's hand maiden at the front gate, talking with the guards. It could've been innocent flirting, but somehow she doubted it. The poor old seer had not a chance, the guards were coming at her from both directions, from the castle and the gate, they'd reach her soon enough...'
'The wrinkled old crone was caught, and in quite good time, the wise king and beautiful queen certainly had well trained guards and staff, that's for sure. She surrendered willingly, which the beautiful queen's hand maiden found slightly unnerving, but the arrogant guards merely laughed and rubbed their awesome capture in her face. "Ha ha ha! Weak old woman! Foolish crone, you can't escape from us, we're the best of the best!" they taunted her, unnerving the beautiful queen's hand maiden even more when even that failed to elicit a response, not even a glance or a flinch or anything, from the crone.'
'They'd caught and carted away the seer, but the beautiful queen's hand maiden seemed to be weakening to the poor old woman's weaknesses, and strengths, especially the way she made her weaknesses her strengths. It was really quite a sight to see her walking alongside the guards, none held her, yet she didn't run, she didn't try to escape, she just let herself be led away. Surely she knew what fate awaited her? If she were truly a vile witch with untold amounts of evil spells and hexes and curses, like the beautiful queen claimed, why did she not use them to escape? It, it didn't make sense! Not a bit. "Why?" the beautiful queen's hand maiden found herself asking, over the taunts and jeers of the brutish guards. The hunch backed old crone merely looked at the beautiful queen's hand maiden, meeting her gaze for but a moment, but in that moment, the hand maiden was the one to break the gaze, and withdrew her question, making some excuse of having to be somewhere, and rushing off as if the devil himself were at her heels.'
'The crone spent the next few days in a cold dank cell, and assumed, and rightly so, that the wise king was being looked at by his sycophantic healers and mystics, all people who would say that he was fine. Or risk imprisonment by the wise king's beautiful queen. The beautiful queen's hand maiden was beginning to doubt both the wisdom of her wise king, and the beauty of her beautiful queen. Oh, sure, the queen was beautiful in a physical sense, but her attitude and temperament left a lot to be desired, and she wondered if the beautiful queen was even capable of love, because she certainly didn't seem to be capable of friends, she was hostile to everyone, her hand maiden and the wise king included.'
'The beautiful queen slipped away at some point, to visit the withered old crone. It was a quiet day down in the dungeons, they really didn't have much call to go locking people up at the moment, the wise king was at least a wise ruler, if a little dense in matters nearer and dearer to his heart. The beautiful queen strode in all calm and full of purpose, she was going to hear from the crone, or rather, interrogate the crone, force the crone to confess to whatever she felt like making the crone confess to, something juicy, get her put to death... The very thought had the beautiful queen practically salivating, she was a very 'off with her head!' sort of ruler. Her delicate heeled shoes clacked as she walked down the cobbled corridor, clackity clack, clackity click, clickety clack. The seer heard her coming, no doubt had forseen this, but she showed no weakness, she merely sat in the exact center of her cell, legs crossed with the ease of a limber youth that she appeared to lack, eyes closed, back to the cell door. She was calm, at peace, the beautiful queen would provoke no rise from her.'
'The beautiful queen seemed irritated at the sight that met her when she reached the crone's cell, did no one have the decency to be a gibbering wreck any more? And couldn't the guards have roughed her up, just a little? In fact, she seemed to be too well fed, judging by the untouched and bountiful offering of royal fare. Spoilt little so and so! Ooh, it made the beautiful queen so mad! She had half a mind to storm in there and rough the infuriating crone up herself, since she was clearly the only one around here who could do anything right! She resisted the impulse, though she did bang on the door, pretending not to have noticed the seer's quiet meditation like state.'
'The seer didn't even react! This made the beautiful queen furious, and she grabbed at the nearest guard with uncanny strength, and shoved him at the door with a snarled "Open this!" The normally rough guard submitted meekly to the beautiful queen's will, fumbling for his keys, and pretending to unlock the door. He dropped his keys more than a couple of times, with sudden nerves, the beautiful queen's slender frame had far more strength than his brutish bodybuilder physique! How could that be? But, eventually he 'unlocked' the door, though it hadn't actually been locked as the seer had made no attempt to escape, even the guards felt pity now and then. The beautiful queen shoved the guard out of the way before he could open the door, and stormed on in, her royal robes billowing out behind her.'
'"Seer!" snapped the beautiful queen, though she stopped short of touching the grimy old woman. "Look at me, seer! LOOK AT ME!" the beautiful queen screeched at the wisened old crone, finally stalking around to the other side of the cell, to face the seer. The old woman's eyes remained closed, but her lips quirked upwards in a brief smile, she had won this round, the beautiful queen had allowed her own position to be dictated by a 'lowly peasant'. The beautiful queen didn't notice the smile, and it was just as well, she probably would have put the aging crone to death right then and there. The seer let the beautiful queen stew for a moment, then opened her eyes, staring right into the beautiful queen's soul. Or, the old crone realised, with a shock, the beautiful queen's complete lack of aforementioned soul!'
'No soul? How? The crone was thrown for a loop at that, giving the beautiful queen the upper hand. Not that the beautiful queen had been the slightest bit aware of the shift in power, she had always thought SHE had the power, and only she. It pleased her to see the seer so shaken to her core, though she would not have felt so happy with that state if she had known what had caused it. The seer resolved to keep silent, steeling her will against the beautiful queen, fearing the worst, but determined to fight whatever the beautiful queen tried to throw at her.'
'The beautiful queen circled the elderly wise woman, smirking in a decidedly malicious manner. Her deliberate pacing did give the seer time to compose her thoughts. She dimly recalled some old legend of another imprisoned wise one. Suddenly, though she gave no outward sign, an idea struck, and the seer pondered her words, choosing her phrasing most carefully. "I don't suppose you'd like to hear about your future?" she asked, predicting the beautiful queen's utter refusal, and inwardly smirking when she is proved correct. "Ah, never mind, it might make you happy, and I'm not sure I like you." the seer finished, falling stubbornly silent immediately after finishing that sentence. This, well, this infuriated the beautiful queen, infuriated her and intrigued her. She simply HAD to know, now, but she also knew the seer would never tell HER, she's the enemy...'
'The queen threw her hands up in disgust and stalked out of the cell, shouting at the guard to come lock it up again. She kept up that stomping stalk right back to her chambers in the castle, though she did stop just as she exited the dungeons, and look behind her, with a wistful expression. Could there be something in her future that would make her happy? Oh, she should go back, but she shouldn't give the old hag the satisfaction, but, but, oh, that crafty seer! She knew exactly what she was doing, and the beautiful queen resolved not to let her, under any circumstances...'
'The next day, the beautiful queen found herself standing at the wise woman's cell. She was noticeably more polite to the guard this time, though she was even less patient than she had been the other day. The seer noticed this, and allowed herself a small outward smile, as she was safely facing away from the beautiful queen.'
'This time, the queen remained by the door, almost meek, for a long moment, before slipping around to stand in front of the seer. "What do you see, old crone?" she snapped, but the crone didn't take offense. She merely closed her eyes, and began to muse aloud. "You will have a long and fruitful reign," she began, and the beautiful queen's eyes lit up with greed. When the seer seemed to have been quiet for too long, the beautiful queen prompted her, "Yes, yes, long fruitful reign, what else?" she near begged the elderly woman to tell her. The seer had to act fast to disguise a chuckle as a cough, but she continued as urged. "You and yours will have three beautiful children," and here the beautiful queen paled noticeably, the seer had hit a nerve there, though it may just be the woman's, because the beautiful queen is still a woman, albeit one without a soul, natural yearning for children. But, the seer reminded herself, this 'woman' had no soul. "A boy, a lady, and a man." the seer continued. The beautiful queen was perplexed by the odd phrasing, though it had been carefully chosen by the seer to provoke exactly that reaction. "A boy?" she asked, "Not a man?"'
'The seer didn't move, though she would certainly have nodded otherwise. "A boy, yes. I'm afraid your first child, well, you will have two other healthy children." Focus on the positive, yes, make the beautiful queen wonder and worry just what the negative is... And, again, her plan was working flawlessly. A little too flawlessly perhaps though, as the beautiful queen backed away at that 'prediction', then walked out of the cell, calling for the guard in a slightly shaky voice.'
'The seer smirked, and went back to her meditation. The beautiful queen would, would,' Hayley trailed off, and frowned. "Would what? Gah." She realised she was stuck, and sighed, resolving to pack the tapes and the tape recorder back up again. She'd work on it some more tomorrow, surely.
Life in the year 4042
It was going to be a long day for Ethan, and that was before his nightly jaunt to whatever the hell other time they wanted him to bugger off to now. One of these days he'd just disappear to a time with a bed and sleep the whole damned trip away. He'd earned it! He may have seemed slack to Hugh, but Hugh was not his only mentee, not by a long shot. There were precious few with the ability to travel through time, precious precious few. Ethan sighed, and thought back to his 'class mates', all of them exactly his age, the previous class four years older, the next four years younger. But not all of these three classes, nor the next, 'graduated'. After the class of four thousand and eighteen they began to select the students a little more carefully. Ethan supposed this made things easier for those future students, but it wouldn't have helped him.
There was a test, they figured out, when the first group, the four thousand born group, reached the age of eighteen, in the year four thousand and eighteen. Later that year, they began to test their 'pupils' for this. Ethan was ten. His best friend was found not to have the, well, whatever it was that they were looking for. A gene? Perhaps. In fact, most of the class wound up leaving the course, leaving the facility, and, Ethan could only assume, returning to their families.
He used to lay awake at night, before he learned to travel through time, those eight lonely years, and wonder what became of his pals, of Jane G and Jane B, L'zar, and Joe. The gang. The quintet. The five boys were all close as close could be, but Ethan turned out to be the only one with the gene. It was heart wrenching, watching them leave, they didn't want to go, he didn't want to stay... Sometimes he wondered, even now, if they remained together, on the outside, kept their friendship going, like they'd said they would. The five of them. Forever. Ethan sighed. It was going to be a long day.
He went about his business, dropped his daughter off at play group, though his wife wouldn't part with their son just yet. Thankfully she just had a desk job, she could get away with bringing a baby to work, as long as he was quiet. And, luckily, he was a quiet one. He had the cutest little cry. It was cute because it wasn't deafening. Sometimes Hugh was glad for his work, if he wasn't a time traveller, he wouldn't have the near coma like state of sleep that he was rewarded with after a trip to another time. It certainly kept him sane, being able to get a full night's sleep, but, so little was known about time travel, and it had never seemed particularly conducive to lucidity in the first place.
He sighed, and pulled up beside the supermarket booth down on the corner, getting out and punching his order on the overly worn keypad. Finally, the thing beeped at him, spitting out his receipt chip, he'd need that when the delivery arrived. Ethan sighed again, and climbed back into his vehicle, sending it off towards the facility, where time travellers were raised and taught and studied. God how he hoped today wasn't a study day, he hated those! He parked the vehicle and walked in, shopping chip rattling in his otherwise pocket, stopping to chat with one or two people that he was vaguely acquainted with, he hadn't had any real friends here since he was ten.
Finally, he couldn't put it off any longer, and he waltzed on up to head office, with a confidence to his swagger that he definitely didn't feel. It wasn't every day that he was called up to head office, and that never usually meant good things. A raise would be nice, he thought, with two young children to provide for, but he doubted that was on the cards. It was either more work, or more study. They could never fire him, and he hated them for it, but they needed each and every time traveller they could get their hands on, he knew. If he quit, that would mean more work for some other poor bastard, and that wasn't the way he'd like to leave things. He hated the self indulgent pricks who did leave things that way, complete and utter bastards the lot of them!
Actually, he'd heard of another leaving, just lately, burn out they said, the pressure became too much, time madness set in. God how he hoped that never happened to him. The poor fool was just ten years older than he was, could the training and circumstances have improved that much over a decade? He had to hope! And there he was, standing at the door to the head office. His boss's boss's boss awaited, or perhaps even his boss... He hoped not though, she was a real hard arse, former military, or so they said. There hadn't been a military at all in nearly fourty five years, not since the big disaster of four thousand. Some things are big enough that the world finally pulls together, or fragments so far that they have to spend more energy picking up the pieces than they can spare to fight. Four thousand was one of the latter. Ethan sighed, yet again.
He finally worked up the courage to knock on the door, and it slid obediently open. Not for the first time, Ethan thought there was something lacking in these doors, a certain personal touch that the doors of old used to evoke, with their forcing people to get up and answer. Sure, this was more convenient, some might even argue more elegant, but, it just wasn't the same. Ethan sighed again, he was getting far too old for this. He stepped through the doorway, and the outer door slid closed. The inner door didn't open just yet, and Ethan knew he was being scanned. Standard procedure. He heard his bracelet of time beep, locking him to the present until he stepped through those doors again, but he just waited for the scans to conclude, he'd been through all of this before, nothing was new, it was, on the whole, a very boring procedure. It did kind of make it a pain to answer one's own door, he had to concede, but still, the old style had more, well, style.
Finally the inner door slid open, allowing Ethan to progress into the large and well lit office of his boss's boss's boss. But Ethan's boss's boss's boss wasn't here, no, at his seat, behind his desk, was Ethan's boss's boss's boss's boss, a terrifyingly cruel woman, in her eighties, but every bit as fit as a woman in her forties. Ah, the wonders of rejuvenation technology and medically assisted diet. He had no doubt the good boss's boss's boss's boss kept a strict fitness regime as well, she was former military after all. It was her, Shannon Yang-Smythe, that had founded this facility, and, though she had always talked peace, Ethan had his doubts about her true motives. She ran the place like a barracks, or whatever it was that the military folk used to run. She treated the infants and children as recruits, cadets, with all the rules and punishments that that implied.
Ms. Yang Smythe didn't even look up from her work, sliding a flatscreen monitor across the desk towards Ethan, basically inviting him to take it, though it's quite frosty as invitations go, downright frozen even. That was fairly normal behaviour for Ms. Yang Smythe though, so Ethan made his way across the overly large room towards the desk, thinking, and not for the first time, that this room really was pointlessly large. Such a frivolous waste, it seemed, but Ethan had long ago realised the real reason for it, it was to put the visitor into an unsettled state, uneasy, intimidated. And, he had to admit, it worked more times than it failed.
About when her victim, er, visitors were halfway across the floor, Ms. Yang Smythe put down whatever she was currently working on with an air of frustration, and glared over her half moon spectacles at this unwelcome intruder, who dared to step foot in her office! No one ever survived that look with a request, they only ever came by when called, ordered, by she herself. She didn't even *need* those silly half moon spectacles, she had perfect vision, she could land a death glare with perfect precision from five hundred paces.
Ethan shook off the imperious glare, it only set him back for a moment. He almost detected a smile from Ms. Yang Smythe at his comparative lack of hesitation, but he shuddered and wrote it off as a trick of the light, that was all. A hideous grinning death mask trick of the light. Shudder. The flat screen monitor was picked up gingerly, not because he was afraid to break it, but because he didn't want to set off the touchy touch screen. He skimmed the orders printed on the screen, grimacing briefly at the phrase 'take on ... as mentee.' It was repeated several times, with names in place of the dots of course.
He was beginning to wonder how he'd possibly handle this increased case load, just because he was a time traveller didn't mean his time wasn't limited, when he noted another name at the bottom, in smaller text. "Desali Dixon?!" he all but shouted, his raised voice echoing terribly off of the walls of the large office. Hmm, good acoustics in here, not that he really cared about that. He was fuming! Not even Ms. Yang Smythe's dreaded death glare could put the fear of Ms. Yang Smythe, for she was a terror greater than god, or so she liked to believe, into him. Not even the death glare? Well, that was irritating, thought Ms. Yang Smythe, she had never been resisted before!