fic: The ribbon and the ring 31/?
Title: The Ribbon and the Ring 31/?
Author: Seraphim Grace
Archive: www.geocities.com/taliasen1256, if you want it ask, I just like to know where they are. http://seraphim-grace.livejournal.com/, http://www.mediaminer.org,
Feedback: Always appreciated and replied to.
Rating: 18 (This is an open rating so I don't have to worry).
Series: Gundam Wing
Pairings: 1x2
Warnings: Angst. Some gore. Some incredibly bad French. 3x4 lemon this chapter
Notes: AU, and features necromancy. Sequel to Lord of Death
Wufei found he liked his new life of order, routine and study with the large and imposing Sir Cameron. He awoke just before dawn and wandered down to the gate to collect the first of two food baskets deposited with the guards and carried it back to the library where he set them out breakfast. Somehow the Seraphim, who fed Sir Cameron, had discovered that he had only one student now for the portions had shrunk but there was still more than enough for two. There was fresh bread and cheese and once a week there was a fresh tin of kir. There was a small allowance for the day, never more than a few silver shillings, but some days it was less, some days more. After breakfast he would perform his katas, for Sir Cameron believed for the mind to work to its best it must also follow that the body worked at its best.
After his workout, which could last anywhere up to three hours, he would take either a basket, or a handcart to the university, where he had been signed up under false pretence, to the library, which overwhelmed even him, the book binders, the scribes, or all of them, with a chit from Sir Cameron and coin enough to pay for what he needed. Once he carried a book to the scribes to have it copied, but mostly he just collected the pages that they had copied. He began, at that point, most every day, to wonder how a printing press worked at it’s most basic.
As he trundled through the streets in a heavy cloak, as winter settled about the city, he would call at one of the street vendors, a pastry stall where he was served by the same girl, a rosy faced girl with hair like wild curling fire that was inexpertly tied back in a braid and a smile that lit up her face like a console. He always bought the same thing, two cheese and vegetable pastries, and two lamb and mint and paid the tuppence with a smile. The girl sometimes engaged him in conversation, always smiling as her uncle, she was adamant he was her uncle and not her father, frowned down at them. He volunteered little of himself but he did quickly learn that the pretty girl’s name was Mae.
It was often late afternoon by the time he returned, picking up the second food basket and ignoring the jibes of the Garvem at the gate, or the workmen, hanging it on his arm as he negotiated his handcart full of books.
He would lay out the food and wine, with the pasties he had bought in town, one of each for each of them, and then when the fire was up in the little room that he and Sir Cameron shared, he would find sir Cameron bundled up in some mountain of books and the two of them would eat, often in silence.
The evenings were spent copying out Sir Cameron’s notes in shorthand and Wufei knew that he was the student and assistant of the foremost mind in the realm and as his mind grew with the knowledge of the history of this strange world he knew he was happy.
“Sir Cameron,” he asked one night in his cot, although the palace was full of wondrous bedrooms and vast beds he liked his soldier’s cot, Sir Cameron, on the other hand, claiming a bad back from years of study where he was hunched over, slept on a straw mattress on the floor, “I think I have a way to reproduce the books quicker.”
Sir Cameron rolled unto his side to look at him. “Really?”
“Yes,” he said, “but I’d need someone to take over my duties for a few days whilst I work out the mechanics of it. I think we could make a press that imprints the writing unto the pages as many times as we need. We had them in my world, they were called printing presses.”
Sir Cameron made a thinking noise and was silent long enough that Wufei thought he might have fallen asleep. “Go to the university tomorrow, you are a fellow there, you can ask for three students to help with your study. I’m sure at least one of them could run around the city for me.” There was another silence as Sir Cameron thought to himself with a harrumphing noise, “of course, who then, is going to get the smiles of the lovely Mae?”
Wufei said nothing, Sir Cameron’s teasing was well intentioned and it didn’t hurt at all when he laughed. But when Wufei finally did sleep he kept seeing the bonny grey eyes and wild fire hair of Mae, and her competent hands, hands reddened from work, and slowly in dreams her wild red hair became strong black hair, her mischievous eyes grew deadly serious and she was MeiLan, stood in Mae’s place. Even in dreams Wufei made the dread resolution not to see her again.
The university of Dathyl of the Jetties was among the premier learning institutions of the world, and it made Wufei feel very small and stupid. It was a vast black stone building that looked more like a fortification than a school. It was burrowed through with offices and catacombs and thin winding corridors so that is resembled nothing more than a rabbit warren and was affectionately called, by the people of the city, the Rathole because of it.
Wufei vaguely knew his way around, he wore a heavy cloak and sturdy clothes were most of the people who milled about were wearing the sort of student’s gowns that had vanished from his own world centuries before. “You lad,” one of the professors, recognisable by the stole around his neck, “here, help me with this.” He had in his arms a vast pile of books that were wedged under his chin and he was trying, rather unsuccessfully to negotiate them somewhere.
Wufei looked at him. “No,” he said, “I’m here on official business, I’m not a student, I’m looking for the bursar’s office.”
The professor blinked once in shock, then again, “bloody pages,” he snapped, “all mouth these days, it wasn’t like this when I was a boy.” Wufei rolled his eyes before walking away.
The bursar’s office was in a part of the Rathole called the Alister D’Cevni wing which was a tall addition that was still considered part of the new building, despite being over five hundred years old. It contained the residences and offices of the higher echelons of the university staff including the bursar, the arch chancellor, the chancellor and the Dean, who was a shadowy figure who hadn’t been seen outside his bedroom in ten years.
The bursar was one of those hugely fat men that nature expects to be jolly and so had in defiance become a rather crotchety man whose mood could be predicted by the colour his ears, which stood at right angles from his bald head, turned moments before the explosion. He had a vein in his neck which throbbed so violently that most had come to the conclusion that it was about to explode at any moment.
Wufei knocked and when prompted entered. He didn’t like dealing with the Bursar, something he had only done before to get his signature, to later discover he had been signed up at the university on some strange study that meant no one questioned him staying with Sir Cameron.
The bursar glared at him under the portrait of a handsome man with sharp green eyes, a strong nose and white streaks at either temple that he knew enough history to recognise now as Alister D’Cevni. “Yes,” the bursar growled. He didn’t speak much, he was perpetually annoyed that he existed and growled instead.
“I have a proposition for the university.” Wufei answered.
“And you’ll be wanting money, I suppose, and sponsorship, you’ll need someone to countersign your application to the university.” The bursar lowered his eyes back to his paperwork.
“I’m already enrolled, I’m a fellow.” Wufei corrected him, “sponsored by Emithi of Amitre and Sir Cameron for outstanding achievements in my field.” Wufei knew that was what it said on his application, he just didn’t know what it meant.
The vein on the bursar’s neck started to throb. “You’re awfully young. You sure, what’s your name, lad?”
“Chang Wufei.”
The bursar stood up and lifted a large and rather heavy book down from atop a cabinet and dumped it on the desk where it landed with a heavy thumb. He opened a page towards the end and scanned it. “I don’t have you here.” He said, looking a little pleased with himself.
“Look under Chang,” Wufei said with a sigh.
The bursar pulled a ribbon on the appropriate page, there was a ribbon for every letter, and checked the list. It was the last name on the list but it was there, next to it was a series of figures and some empty columns. “K’so,” the bursar swore, more amazed than disappointed, “you’re in here, and you’ve got a fellowship.” He sat down again, crossed his arms to prepare for negotiation. “So, what’s your proposal and what do you need?”
“I’ve found a way to recreate pages of text in multiples quicker than the scribes can copy them and with fewer mistakes, but I’ll need some funding for materials, and at least three students to help me with the grunt work.” It was what he had practised with Sir Cameron.
“Really, and how would one go about this miracle, because let me tell you, we’ve tried chemicals.”
Wufei smiled. On the edge of the bursar’s desk was an apple, “May I?” He asked, the bursar nodded. Taking the pen from the desk he dipped it in the inkwell and wrote the word university on the peel of the apple, then pressed it down on the blotting pad where it copied the word out imperfectly. The bursar sat open mouthed in shock. “We can take wooden representations of the letters, cut backwards of course, and put them in a tray to recreate the page, then coat in ink and press on paper. I’ve pretty much got it down, but I will need some people to cut out the letters, to build the press, something like a mangle for drying clothes, and some students to help with the setting of the pages and to take over some of my duties for Sir Cameron, carrying books back and forth, that king of thing.”
From a drawer in his desk the bursar took out a wax slate and made some quick calculations, checked the figures in the book only he understood, “you can do than on your study budget as is,” he said, “the university gives you six hundred crowns a year for your research, and you want three students.” He thought about it, “you can have five. However, if this works the university wants first use.”
Wufei nodded, feeling quite proud of himself as he had taken Dathyl one step out of the dark ages.
Author’s note
Dathyl university is in no way based on the unseen university, in fact I know universities like that, which is probably why the unseen university cracks me up the way that it does.
Author: Seraphim Grace
Archive: www.geocities.com/taliasen1256, if you want it ask, I just like to know where they are. http://seraphim-grace.livejournal.com/, http://www.mediaminer.org,
Feedback: Always appreciated and replied to.
Rating: 18 (This is an open rating so I don't have to worry).
Series: Gundam Wing
Pairings: 1x2
Warnings: Angst. Some gore. Some incredibly bad French. 3x4 lemon this chapter
Notes: AU, and features necromancy. Sequel to Lord of Death
Wufei found he liked his new life of order, routine and study with the large and imposing Sir Cameron. He awoke just before dawn and wandered down to the gate to collect the first of two food baskets deposited with the guards and carried it back to the library where he set them out breakfast. Somehow the Seraphim, who fed Sir Cameron, had discovered that he had only one student now for the portions had shrunk but there was still more than enough for two. There was fresh bread and cheese and once a week there was a fresh tin of kir. There was a small allowance for the day, never more than a few silver shillings, but some days it was less, some days more. After breakfast he would perform his katas, for Sir Cameron believed for the mind to work to its best it must also follow that the body worked at its best.
After his workout, which could last anywhere up to three hours, he would take either a basket, or a handcart to the university, where he had been signed up under false pretence, to the library, which overwhelmed even him, the book binders, the scribes, or all of them, with a chit from Sir Cameron and coin enough to pay for what he needed. Once he carried a book to the scribes to have it copied, but mostly he just collected the pages that they had copied. He began, at that point, most every day, to wonder how a printing press worked at it’s most basic.
As he trundled through the streets in a heavy cloak, as winter settled about the city, he would call at one of the street vendors, a pastry stall where he was served by the same girl, a rosy faced girl with hair like wild curling fire that was inexpertly tied back in a braid and a smile that lit up her face like a console. He always bought the same thing, two cheese and vegetable pastries, and two lamb and mint and paid the tuppence with a smile. The girl sometimes engaged him in conversation, always smiling as her uncle, she was adamant he was her uncle and not her father, frowned down at them. He volunteered little of himself but he did quickly learn that the pretty girl’s name was Mae.
It was often late afternoon by the time he returned, picking up the second food basket and ignoring the jibes of the Garvem at the gate, or the workmen, hanging it on his arm as he negotiated his handcart full of books.
He would lay out the food and wine, with the pasties he had bought in town, one of each for each of them, and then when the fire was up in the little room that he and Sir Cameron shared, he would find sir Cameron bundled up in some mountain of books and the two of them would eat, often in silence.
The evenings were spent copying out Sir Cameron’s notes in shorthand and Wufei knew that he was the student and assistant of the foremost mind in the realm and as his mind grew with the knowledge of the history of this strange world he knew he was happy.
“Sir Cameron,” he asked one night in his cot, although the palace was full of wondrous bedrooms and vast beds he liked his soldier’s cot, Sir Cameron, on the other hand, claiming a bad back from years of study where he was hunched over, slept on a straw mattress on the floor, “I think I have a way to reproduce the books quicker.”
Sir Cameron rolled unto his side to look at him. “Really?”
“Yes,” he said, “but I’d need someone to take over my duties for a few days whilst I work out the mechanics of it. I think we could make a press that imprints the writing unto the pages as many times as we need. We had them in my world, they were called printing presses.”
Sir Cameron made a thinking noise and was silent long enough that Wufei thought he might have fallen asleep. “Go to the university tomorrow, you are a fellow there, you can ask for three students to help with your study. I’m sure at least one of them could run around the city for me.” There was another silence as Sir Cameron thought to himself with a harrumphing noise, “of course, who then, is going to get the smiles of the lovely Mae?”
Wufei said nothing, Sir Cameron’s teasing was well intentioned and it didn’t hurt at all when he laughed. But when Wufei finally did sleep he kept seeing the bonny grey eyes and wild fire hair of Mae, and her competent hands, hands reddened from work, and slowly in dreams her wild red hair became strong black hair, her mischievous eyes grew deadly serious and she was MeiLan, stood in Mae’s place. Even in dreams Wufei made the dread resolution not to see her again.
The university of Dathyl of the Jetties was among the premier learning institutions of the world, and it made Wufei feel very small and stupid. It was a vast black stone building that looked more like a fortification than a school. It was burrowed through with offices and catacombs and thin winding corridors so that is resembled nothing more than a rabbit warren and was affectionately called, by the people of the city, the Rathole because of it.
Wufei vaguely knew his way around, he wore a heavy cloak and sturdy clothes were most of the people who milled about were wearing the sort of student’s gowns that had vanished from his own world centuries before. “You lad,” one of the professors, recognisable by the stole around his neck, “here, help me with this.” He had in his arms a vast pile of books that were wedged under his chin and he was trying, rather unsuccessfully to negotiate them somewhere.
Wufei looked at him. “No,” he said, “I’m here on official business, I’m not a student, I’m looking for the bursar’s office.”
The professor blinked once in shock, then again, “bloody pages,” he snapped, “all mouth these days, it wasn’t like this when I was a boy.” Wufei rolled his eyes before walking away.
The bursar’s office was in a part of the Rathole called the Alister D’Cevni wing which was a tall addition that was still considered part of the new building, despite being over five hundred years old. It contained the residences and offices of the higher echelons of the university staff including the bursar, the arch chancellor, the chancellor and the Dean, who was a shadowy figure who hadn’t been seen outside his bedroom in ten years.
The bursar was one of those hugely fat men that nature expects to be jolly and so had in defiance become a rather crotchety man whose mood could be predicted by the colour his ears, which stood at right angles from his bald head, turned moments before the explosion. He had a vein in his neck which throbbed so violently that most had come to the conclusion that it was about to explode at any moment.
Wufei knocked and when prompted entered. He didn’t like dealing with the Bursar, something he had only done before to get his signature, to later discover he had been signed up at the university on some strange study that meant no one questioned him staying with Sir Cameron.
The bursar glared at him under the portrait of a handsome man with sharp green eyes, a strong nose and white streaks at either temple that he knew enough history to recognise now as Alister D’Cevni. “Yes,” the bursar growled. He didn’t speak much, he was perpetually annoyed that he existed and growled instead.
“I have a proposition for the university.” Wufei answered.
“And you’ll be wanting money, I suppose, and sponsorship, you’ll need someone to countersign your application to the university.” The bursar lowered his eyes back to his paperwork.
“I’m already enrolled, I’m a fellow.” Wufei corrected him, “sponsored by Emithi of Amitre and Sir Cameron for outstanding achievements in my field.” Wufei knew that was what it said on his application, he just didn’t know what it meant.
The vein on the bursar’s neck started to throb. “You’re awfully young. You sure, what’s your name, lad?”
“Chang Wufei.”
The bursar stood up and lifted a large and rather heavy book down from atop a cabinet and dumped it on the desk where it landed with a heavy thumb. He opened a page towards the end and scanned it. “I don’t have you here.” He said, looking a little pleased with himself.
“Look under Chang,” Wufei said with a sigh.
The bursar pulled a ribbon on the appropriate page, there was a ribbon for every letter, and checked the list. It was the last name on the list but it was there, next to it was a series of figures and some empty columns. “K’so,” the bursar swore, more amazed than disappointed, “you’re in here, and you’ve got a fellowship.” He sat down again, crossed his arms to prepare for negotiation. “So, what’s your proposal and what do you need?”
“I’ve found a way to recreate pages of text in multiples quicker than the scribes can copy them and with fewer mistakes, but I’ll need some funding for materials, and at least three students to help me with the grunt work.” It was what he had practised with Sir Cameron.
“Really, and how would one go about this miracle, because let me tell you, we’ve tried chemicals.”
Wufei smiled. On the edge of the bursar’s desk was an apple, “May I?” He asked, the bursar nodded. Taking the pen from the desk he dipped it in the inkwell and wrote the word university on the peel of the apple, then pressed it down on the blotting pad where it copied the word out imperfectly. The bursar sat open mouthed in shock. “We can take wooden representations of the letters, cut backwards of course, and put them in a tray to recreate the page, then coat in ink and press on paper. I’ve pretty much got it down, but I will need some people to cut out the letters, to build the press, something like a mangle for drying clothes, and some students to help with the setting of the pages and to take over some of my duties for Sir Cameron, carrying books back and forth, that king of thing.”
From a drawer in his desk the bursar took out a wax slate and made some quick calculations, checked the figures in the book only he understood, “you can do than on your study budget as is,” he said, “the university gives you six hundred crowns a year for your research, and you want three students.” He thought about it, “you can have five. However, if this works the university wants first use.”
Wufei nodded, feeling quite proud of himself as he had taken Dathyl one step out of the dark ages.
Author’s note
Dathyl university is in no way based on the unseen university, in fact I know universities like that, which is probably why the unseen university cracks me up the way that it does.