Happy Hogswatch, gehayi!
So, this is late, and as of yet incomplete, but have the first part of your fic. I hope you like it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.
Title: Susan and The Raven
Author: Quinby
Rating: PG-ish for... meh. Who knows. It's pretty bland.
Summary: Belief is about to fall apart again, and it's down to Susan.
Author's comments: This is parts one and two of what will be a four-part fic. Stay tuned! The stanza titles are from The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe, and some of the dialogue in the second stanza is taken either whole-cloth or in spirit from "Light My Candle" and "Another Day" from the musical Rent by Jonathan Larson. Apologies to Poe, Larson, and Pratchett.
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December...: First Stanza
“Miss Susan, why are the monsters coming back again?” Twyla looked up at Susan, a tiny hint of frustration in her face.
Susan had been surprised how much little Twyla had grown up over the past year. “I do not know, Twyla, We are ready for them this year, are we not?” Susan sighed, pulling the covers up over Twyla's shoulders. “I believe your mother bought an extra poker last month. She remembered what happened last year.”
“I know, Miss Susan. I just want to know why they are back. I thought that the skeleton-man sent them all away.” Twyla curled up in the blankets. “It's hard to get to sleep sometimes with all of them being noisy in my closet.”
“Perhaps counting sheep is in order, Twyla.” Susan stood, and walked to the door, blowing out the candle in the process. “I'm sure you will think of something. You're resourceful.”
Shutting the door behind her to a muffled comment from Twyla, Susan crossed the hall to her room, getting into bed and pulling out her book: Hublandese Logic for Logicians. Before she could get two pages in, a rapping sound came at her chamber door.*
“I am done with you. This is no time to come back. Hogswatch is in two weeks, and Twyla is finally growing up for once.” Susan sighed, exasperatedly staring at the ceiling.
“Oh, come on, It's Hogswatch time. You should have time for an old friend.” The window opened and Quoth flew in, shaking snow off of his wings. “Besides, we need you.”
Susan sat up, leaning against the headboard of her bed. “No. Go away. I am not getting into this again. I want to finish my book and sleep.”
“The beasties are back, aren't they?” The raven perched on a bowl of nuts that Susan had brought up from dinner.
“How do you know that?” Susan swung her feet out of the bed, claiming her dressing gown from the coat tree. “Oh, wait. You're one of them. Of course you know.”
“It doesn't matter how I know, it matters what is going on.” The raven pecked at the nuts for a moment, then straightened. “Belief is slim around this time, especially in the Century of the Fruitbat where everything and everyone is so cynical. One little mistake and everything will fall off of its rocker.”
Susan stared at the raven, torn between picking it up by the wings to throw it out the window and actually listening. “Alright, let us say for a moment that I buy that explanation. What does that have to do with me, or why am I being pulled into this?”
“You can change things.” The raven seemed to shrug. “You can put things back the way they ought to be.”
Simple enough, Susan mused to herself, slightly ironically, simple enough if it doesn't have talking ravens and monsters under the bed. “That's the why, but you still have not told me the what.” She paused. “He's not doing it again, is he?”
Ruffling his feathers impatiently, the raven shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Part of belief is stories that have seeped into culture. What most people don't realize is that all stories have to come from somewhere. This one's personal. Up in an attic, there is a man, sitting on a couch, staring, and pining for his lost, dead, love.”
Susan interrupted. “That is the....”
Before she could finish her sentence, Quoth cawed loudly. “Don't say that word!” Calming, he went back to pecking at the nuts. “Yes, it's that story. Well, the man got up and left. He's living a new life, meeting other girls, and totally forgotten about her.”
“A man moving on with his life and giving up an obsession is not anything belief-shattering.” Susan sighed. “Good for him. Now may I get back to my book?”
Before she could sit down, a scuttling came from the floorboards and a small bony rodent in a cowl with a scythe climbed up the bed's leg and onto the mattress. SQUEAK-SQUEAK SQUEEEEEEEEEEAK.
“The rat's apologizing for being late to the party. Lord Rust was ratting his cellar and there was a whole genocide he had to attend to.” The rat turned his skull thankfully towards the raven, who went on with barely a nod of his beak. “No, actually. You can't get back to your book. If we don't get this guy back to pining for Lenore....”
“Then all of belief will shut down, I get it.” And in a bare moment, Susan did get it. “Alright, both of you, rat and raven, please shut your eyes.” Walking over to the closet, she started putting on something more sensible than her dressing gown and nightclothes.
SQUEAK.
“The rat wants me to remind you that he doesn't have eyes.” The raven sounded perterbed. “And I can't close my eyes.” Before Susan could say anything, he squawked. “I'm turning around, I'm turning around. Don't get your feathers in a flutter.”
It was only a moment before Susan was dressed and on the street, following the Death of Rats and the raven.
*Actually, it wasn't her chamber door. It was the window. **
**Poetic license is vital in these circumstances.
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor: Second Stanza
It wasn't long before Susan tired of the one-sided chatter between The Rat and the raven*. “Can you two please keep your conversation to a minimum?” She sighed, but before she could continue, they walked up to the Mended Drum and the raven turned.
“Chatter's over. Our guy's in there, chatting up the frizzy dark-haired dancer from the Pink Pussycat club.”
Susan slipped into the bar, looking around for the man in question. Before long, she spots him, the dancer's tight blue leggings standing out a mile. The man's attire almost made her turn around, however. “I thought that was gone.”
“What?” The raven perched on her shoulder as the Rat disappeared into the floor boards for his own Duty.
“That.” Susan points at the man's flimsy shirt, which read The Band With Rocks In. “I thought this was about belief, like last year.”
The raven seemed to shrug as he flapped his wings. “It's all tied together. He was caught up in that mess somehow, but now he has to be pining for his lost love. Belief is a strange thing. Now, go talk to that boy before he leaves. He has to go back to his attic.”
Shrugging the raven off of her shoulder, Susan strode over to the table, slipping into the seat that the dancer left. “Listen, you.... look familiar.” She blinked at him a couple times.
“What? You think I look like an old boyfriend of yours or something?” The man snorted and ran a hand through his shaggy hair.
Susan shook her head. “No, I'm just sure I've seen you somewhere else before.”
The man looked down at his shirt and sighed. “Did you go to the free festival? That's where I worked...”
“Yes!” Susan sat up. “They used to beat you up.”
“It was a living.”
“Oh. Well... I'm sorry.” Susan sighed and leaned back in the chair. “Listen, you need to go back to your apartment.”
He stared at her, unseeing for a long moment. “Why would I want to do that? Listen, I'm just getting over my dead girlfriend, and finally thinking about doing something else with my time. I got my guitar out last night...”
“I'm sure that's good for you, but it's not that simple.” Susan sighed. This all just felt so backwards, so wrong. “There isn't life outside of your apartment, really.”
“You are one hell of a strange woman.” The man stands, setting his jaw. “Who do you think you are, barging in on me and my girl? Hey. The door's that way. The day's almost out anyway.”
"There might not be a future or even the past if you don't listen to me.” Susan crossed her arm. “Life is yours to miss, and if you don't go back to that flat....”
The man snorted. “You want to prove me wrong? Come back another day.” He stomped out of the Mended Drum, hands in his pockets. The man turned down a couple side streets and lost Susan quickly.
“I can't control my destiny. No other course, no other way.” Susan stared at the ceiling for a moment, then left the bar
“Well, that went well, my dear.” The raven flew back from gods only knew where, and perched on her shoulder. “Now we just have to make certain that he stays there.”
“If I remember right, there is a raven involved....” She turned to Quoth, carefully.
“No. I don't do the N-word.” He ruffled his feathers.
“Not even for the entirety of the world, not even for belief?” Susan sighed. “Where are we going to get a talking raven at almost midnight?”
“How am I supposed to know? I'm just the one that tells you things.” He ruffled his feathers again. “Now, the wizard who thinks he owns me was babbling the other day to one of his clients about someone up at the university who made a magical clockwork raven. Maybe he could...”
“So you expect me to walk into the University and ask for the guy who made a clockwork raven?” Susan scoffed at the idea.
A man in a pointy hat shuffled by, then stopped and turned around. “How did you know about the clockwork raven, miss?”
“A little bird told me.” Susan sighed. “Let me guess, you're the man with the raven.”
“Er, yes. It's not actually clockwork, though, it's an intricate magical movement mechanism that creates a simulated raven-like creature....”
“Well, can I borrow it?” Susan sighed. “I can pay you for it if you want.”
“I hadn't gotten to that part yet, miss.” The man sighed. “It doesn't work. All it seems to do is sit on whatever it is put on and say 'nevermore'.”
“Well, if it does not work, then it should be quite simple to give it up.” Susan's face was impassible.
“Well, er, I guess I could give it to you.” The man rummaged in one of the massive pockets in his robe and pulled out the quite-lifelike raven. “Just... if you get tired of it, bring it back to the University, and tell someone to give it to Stibbons.” Shrugging the man shuffled off.
Susan eyed his retreating back. “That was a bit too easy.”
“Don't question it!” The actual raven squawked. “Belief is a strange thing, isn't it?”
“Nevermore!”
Susan stared at the thing in her hand. “I believe that we should get rid of this thing as soon as possible.”
SQUEAK.
“The rat agrees.”
*Because, really, SQUEAK, no matter how enthusiastic or expressive does not make for a two-sided conversation,
Title: Susan and The Raven
Author: Quinby
Rating: PG-ish for... meh. Who knows. It's pretty bland.
Summary: Belief is about to fall apart again, and it's down to Susan.
Author's comments: This is parts one and two of what will be a four-part fic. Stay tuned! The stanza titles are from The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe, and some of the dialogue in the second stanza is taken either whole-cloth or in spirit from "Light My Candle" and "Another Day" from the musical Rent by Jonathan Larson. Apologies to Poe, Larson, and Pratchett.
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December...: First Stanza
“Miss Susan, why are the monsters coming back again?” Twyla looked up at Susan, a tiny hint of frustration in her face.
Susan had been surprised how much little Twyla had grown up over the past year. “I do not know, Twyla, We are ready for them this year, are we not?” Susan sighed, pulling the covers up over Twyla's shoulders. “I believe your mother bought an extra poker last month. She remembered what happened last year.”
“I know, Miss Susan. I just want to know why they are back. I thought that the skeleton-man sent them all away.” Twyla curled up in the blankets. “It's hard to get to sleep sometimes with all of them being noisy in my closet.”
“Perhaps counting sheep is in order, Twyla.” Susan stood, and walked to the door, blowing out the candle in the process. “I'm sure you will think of something. You're resourceful.”
Shutting the door behind her to a muffled comment from Twyla, Susan crossed the hall to her room, getting into bed and pulling out her book: Hublandese Logic for Logicians. Before she could get two pages in, a rapping sound came at her chamber door.*
“I am done with you. This is no time to come back. Hogswatch is in two weeks, and Twyla is finally growing up for once.” Susan sighed, exasperatedly staring at the ceiling.
“Oh, come on, It's Hogswatch time. You should have time for an old friend.” The window opened and Quoth flew in, shaking snow off of his wings. “Besides, we need you.”
Susan sat up, leaning against the headboard of her bed. “No. Go away. I am not getting into this again. I want to finish my book and sleep.”
“The beasties are back, aren't they?” The raven perched on a bowl of nuts that Susan had brought up from dinner.
“How do you know that?” Susan swung her feet out of the bed, claiming her dressing gown from the coat tree. “Oh, wait. You're one of them. Of course you know.”
“It doesn't matter how I know, it matters what is going on.” The raven pecked at the nuts for a moment, then straightened. “Belief is slim around this time, especially in the Century of the Fruitbat where everything and everyone is so cynical. One little mistake and everything will fall off of its rocker.”
Susan stared at the raven, torn between picking it up by the wings to throw it out the window and actually listening. “Alright, let us say for a moment that I buy that explanation. What does that have to do with me, or why am I being pulled into this?”
“You can change things.” The raven seemed to shrug. “You can put things back the way they ought to be.”
Simple enough, Susan mused to herself, slightly ironically, simple enough if it doesn't have talking ravens and monsters under the bed. “That's the why, but you still have not told me the what.” She paused. “He's not doing it again, is he?”
Ruffling his feathers impatiently, the raven shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Part of belief is stories that have seeped into culture. What most people don't realize is that all stories have to come from somewhere. This one's personal. Up in an attic, there is a man, sitting on a couch, staring, and pining for his lost, dead, love.”
Susan interrupted. “That is the....”
Before she could finish her sentence, Quoth cawed loudly. “Don't say that word!” Calming, he went back to pecking at the nuts. “Yes, it's that story. Well, the man got up and left. He's living a new life, meeting other girls, and totally forgotten about her.”
“A man moving on with his life and giving up an obsession is not anything belief-shattering.” Susan sighed. “Good for him. Now may I get back to my book?”
Before she could sit down, a scuttling came from the floorboards and a small bony rodent in a cowl with a scythe climbed up the bed's leg and onto the mattress. SQUEAK-SQUEAK SQUEEEEEEEEEEAK.
“The rat's apologizing for being late to the party. Lord Rust was ratting his cellar and there was a whole genocide he had to attend to.” The rat turned his skull thankfully towards the raven, who went on with barely a nod of his beak. “No, actually. You can't get back to your book. If we don't get this guy back to pining for Lenore....”
“Then all of belief will shut down, I get it.” And in a bare moment, Susan did get it. “Alright, both of you, rat and raven, please shut your eyes.” Walking over to the closet, she started putting on something more sensible than her dressing gown and nightclothes.
SQUEAK.
“The rat wants me to remind you that he doesn't have eyes.” The raven sounded perterbed. “And I can't close my eyes.” Before Susan could say anything, he squawked. “I'm turning around, I'm turning around. Don't get your feathers in a flutter.”
It was only a moment before Susan was dressed and on the street, following the Death of Rats and the raven.
*Actually, it wasn't her chamber door. It was the window. **
**Poetic license is vital in these circumstances.
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor: Second Stanza
It wasn't long before Susan tired of the one-sided chatter between The Rat and the raven*. “Can you two please keep your conversation to a minimum?” She sighed, but before she could continue, they walked up to the Mended Drum and the raven turned.
“Chatter's over. Our guy's in there, chatting up the frizzy dark-haired dancer from the Pink Pussycat club.”
Susan slipped into the bar, looking around for the man in question. Before long, she spots him, the dancer's tight blue leggings standing out a mile. The man's attire almost made her turn around, however. “I thought that was gone.”
“What?” The raven perched on her shoulder as the Rat disappeared into the floor boards for his own Duty.
“That.” Susan points at the man's flimsy shirt, which read The Band With Rocks In. “I thought this was about belief, like last year.”
The raven seemed to shrug as he flapped his wings. “It's all tied together. He was caught up in that mess somehow, but now he has to be pining for his lost love. Belief is a strange thing. Now, go talk to that boy before he leaves. He has to go back to his attic.”
Shrugging the raven off of her shoulder, Susan strode over to the table, slipping into the seat that the dancer left. “Listen, you.... look familiar.” She blinked at him a couple times.
“What? You think I look like an old boyfriend of yours or something?” The man snorted and ran a hand through his shaggy hair.
Susan shook her head. “No, I'm just sure I've seen you somewhere else before.”
The man looked down at his shirt and sighed. “Did you go to the free festival? That's where I worked...”
“Yes!” Susan sat up. “They used to beat you up.”
“It was a living.”
“Oh. Well... I'm sorry.” Susan sighed and leaned back in the chair. “Listen, you need to go back to your apartment.”
He stared at her, unseeing for a long moment. “Why would I want to do that? Listen, I'm just getting over my dead girlfriend, and finally thinking about doing something else with my time. I got my guitar out last night...”
“I'm sure that's good for you, but it's not that simple.” Susan sighed. This all just felt so backwards, so wrong. “There isn't life outside of your apartment, really.”
“You are one hell of a strange woman.” The man stands, setting his jaw. “Who do you think you are, barging in on me and my girl? Hey. The door's that way. The day's almost out anyway.”
"There might not be a future or even the past if you don't listen to me.” Susan crossed her arm. “Life is yours to miss, and if you don't go back to that flat....”
The man snorted. “You want to prove me wrong? Come back another day.” He stomped out of the Mended Drum, hands in his pockets. The man turned down a couple side streets and lost Susan quickly.
“I can't control my destiny. No other course, no other way.” Susan stared at the ceiling for a moment, then left the bar
“Well, that went well, my dear.” The raven flew back from gods only knew where, and perched on her shoulder. “Now we just have to make certain that he stays there.”
“If I remember right, there is a raven involved....” She turned to Quoth, carefully.
“No. I don't do the N-word.” He ruffled his feathers.
“Not even for the entirety of the world, not even for belief?” Susan sighed. “Where are we going to get a talking raven at almost midnight?”
“How am I supposed to know? I'm just the one that tells you things.” He ruffled his feathers again. “Now, the wizard who thinks he owns me was babbling the other day to one of his clients about someone up at the university who made a magical clockwork raven. Maybe he could...”
“So you expect me to walk into the University and ask for the guy who made a clockwork raven?” Susan scoffed at the idea.
A man in a pointy hat shuffled by, then stopped and turned around. “How did you know about the clockwork raven, miss?”
“A little bird told me.” Susan sighed. “Let me guess, you're the man with the raven.”
“Er, yes. It's not actually clockwork, though, it's an intricate magical movement mechanism that creates a simulated raven-like creature....”
“Well, can I borrow it?” Susan sighed. “I can pay you for it if you want.”
“I hadn't gotten to that part yet, miss.” The man sighed. “It doesn't work. All it seems to do is sit on whatever it is put on and say 'nevermore'.”
“Well, if it does not work, then it should be quite simple to give it up.” Susan's face was impassible.
“Well, er, I guess I could give it to you.” The man rummaged in one of the massive pockets in his robe and pulled out the quite-lifelike raven. “Just... if you get tired of it, bring it back to the University, and tell someone to give it to Stibbons.” Shrugging the man shuffled off.
Susan eyed his retreating back. “That was a bit too easy.”
“Don't question it!” The actual raven squawked. “Belief is a strange thing, isn't it?”
“Nevermore!”
Susan stared at the thing in her hand. “I believe that we should get rid of this thing as soon as possible.”
SQUEAK.
“The rat agrees.”
*Because, really, SQUEAK, no matter how enthusiastic or expressive does not make for a two-sided conversation,