Courage and Stupidity and Soup
Title: Courage and Stupidity and Soup
Author: darkfaerieclaw
Story Continuity: Battle For the Sun
Rating: PG-13 for language
Wordcount: 1146
Summary: Cyprian gets a pair of uninvited guests and feels compelled to preach the obvious to the short-bus choir. Somewhere along the way, values are revealed, and all three are idiots.
Misplacing your cigarettes is somewhat akin to losing your skin - you notice it's missing after a while, and there may or may not be hysterics involved if you don't get some yesterday. Of course, the soup was ready and the guests were waiting, so I had to put off demolishing in the kitchen drawers a third time in pursuit of holy tobacco in favor of serving my unfortunately uninvited guests.
The kid's name was Cliff Knight “until further notice,” and the whore was Kristen Morrow by birth and Sweet Thing by trade. Cliff reacted worse to the sight of the soup, possibly being less used to swallowing unpleasant things than his poor female companion. He looked at me as I was sitting down to eat my share, and he said, “What, did you run out of gruel? What is this?”
“Pea soup,” I said, eating a little faster than I normally would so I could get back to looking for my smokes. Cliff's face twisted a little more, and he said, “Looks sort of like vomit. And I've never smelled any peas that stank like...” he made a vague motion with his hand that could have been anything from a compost heap to an alchemist's lab.
“You don't eat it, you don't eat anything,” I said. I motioned to Kristen, and said, “She's eating.”
“It tastes like slime pudding,” Kristen said brightly. Cliff moaned at about the same time I remembered I was trying to kick the habit, and that I hocked my last pack of cigarettes for some rare seeds. This was a tragedy, as far as I was concerned, because a smoke could have saved my nerves hell and, if the night went as wrong as I thought it would, it would save Cliff's life, or at least his throat. “Stop whining,” I said to Cliff, “and I'll let you have some fruit instead.”
“No, thanks,” Cliff said. “I...invited Kris and me over for a specific reason, actually.”
“I guessed it wasn't the food,” I said, staring meaningfully at the still full bowl of soup. Cliff blushed, glared, and said, “Uh, yeah. Well, uh...are you going to stay here and deal with Don Reynaldo?”
“Well,” I said, “I can't swim with concrete weights, and I never really wanted to try, so-”
“Okay,” Cliff said. “So you're going to be...?”
“Moving on,” I said. “Both of my parents kicked off when I was about sixteen, and I've gotten around since. Before I settled here in Daldain last year, I was a traveler, and I plan on continuing in that vein.”
“Oh,” Cliff said, lighting up slightly. “Okay, then. Good. Come with us.”
“You know that it will be dangerous, wandering around the world?” I said.
“Well, yeah,” Cliff said. “That's kind of the point.”
“I hereby warn you, as the responsible adult, that you will likely face dangers more manifold than the likes you find in a pack of rabid, synchronized PMS-ing teenage girls and accidentally borrowing enchanted history textbooks from Eudora U. You know, the stuff you should be worrying about.”
“Oh, we know,” Kristen said. “That's the appeal!”
“Hn. Where are you headed?”
“Anywhere we can get work as slayers,” Cliff said. “Your magic would do us good. You're a mage, right? I've never seen magic performed with just a snap of fingers before, no components.”
“That's because I'm a mystic,” I said.
“What's the difference?” Cliff said, shrugging his shoulders expertly. I said, “Ability, education, and about twenty thousand silver.”
Naturally, the kid was confused, so I clarified: “Mystics can do a lot more than your run-of-the-mill mage, and with less to go on. We...were also taught different things about ethics, the nature of magic, god, and humanity, all that mystical shit. And we were generally paid a lot more for whatever magical ritual we were employed to perform. The going rate for a typical exorcism performed by a typical mage is ten thousand silver, for expenses, trouble, and so on. For a mystic, it's thirty thousand, the idea being that if a mystic performs an exorcism, there ain't nothing haunting the affected place ever again, which is complete bullshit; the exorcism and spiritual blocker only last for about two millennia.”
There was a silence that usually heralds the exiting of information out one ear, and then, from Kristen: “So are you coming, or not?”
“Sure,” I sighed. “You two will likely die on your own, and then I'll have saved you for nothing, though goddess knows why I did it in the first place. I need a lesson in the differences between courage and stupidity.”
“Oh, that's a cakewalk,” Cliff said. I raised my eyebrows. “Is it?” I said. Cliff nodded.
“Courage,” he said, “is risking your life to save the one you love.” He risked a glance at Kristen, who was finishing her pea soup in grand style by drinking from the bowl. He sighed, half lovelorn and half annoyed. A martyr and an attention whore in a single mind. What lovely company I'll be keeping, I thought.
“While stupidity...” Cliff said, fishing for an example. “Stupidity,” he said after a while, smirking, “is drinking the entire vile serving of one's pea soup.”
Kristen threw her spoon at Cliff, like she was four instead of twenty-two, and beamed fondly at him. “Stupidity is,” she said, softly, “kissing the wrong boy. Or boys. Or girls. Or, um, all of the above. Courage is finding and keeping the one who feels like home.” Kristen turned to me and missed a starstruck smile from Cliff. She said, “What about you, Cyprian?”
“I don't know about courage,” I said, “But stupidity is letting yourself be taken advantage of, and I've shown plenty of that tonight. Pick up your spoon, Kristen, and both of you rinse your dishes out.”
“But you'll never see them again after tonight,” Cliff whined. I said, “It's the principle of the damn thing. What are you waiting for?”
Courage? That was easy. Courage was watching your father die, fast and bold and hard, and your mother follow, slow and quiet and painful, within two years of each other, and telling mother that you'll live, and actually keeping your word when all you wanted to do was see if you could bleed the pain out. Courage was a mother who kept her calm and dignity for her son and her pride, and who wrote novel after ill-received novel simply for the love of words. Courage was a father who used his life to defend the village he loved and still had wits enough at the idea to yell to his friend that the friend owed him rounds at Earl's Bar for each demon he slayed, if he was too pussy to fight himself. Courage was as easy as breathing. And as hard.
Author: darkfaerieclaw
Story Continuity: Battle For the Sun
Rating: PG-13 for language
Wordcount: 1146
Summary: Cyprian gets a pair of uninvited guests and feels compelled to preach the obvious to the short-bus choir. Somewhere along the way, values are revealed, and all three are idiots.
Misplacing your cigarettes is somewhat akin to losing your skin - you notice it's missing after a while, and there may or may not be hysterics involved if you don't get some yesterday. Of course, the soup was ready and the guests were waiting, so I had to put off demolishing in the kitchen drawers a third time in pursuit of holy tobacco in favor of serving my unfortunately uninvited guests.
The kid's name was Cliff Knight “until further notice,” and the whore was Kristen Morrow by birth and Sweet Thing by trade. Cliff reacted worse to the sight of the soup, possibly being less used to swallowing unpleasant things than his poor female companion. He looked at me as I was sitting down to eat my share, and he said, “What, did you run out of gruel? What is this?”
“Pea soup,” I said, eating a little faster than I normally would so I could get back to looking for my smokes. Cliff's face twisted a little more, and he said, “Looks sort of like vomit. And I've never smelled any peas that stank like...” he made a vague motion with his hand that could have been anything from a compost heap to an alchemist's lab.
“You don't eat it, you don't eat anything,” I said. I motioned to Kristen, and said, “She's eating.”
“It tastes like slime pudding,” Kristen said brightly. Cliff moaned at about the same time I remembered I was trying to kick the habit, and that I hocked my last pack of cigarettes for some rare seeds. This was a tragedy, as far as I was concerned, because a smoke could have saved my nerves hell and, if the night went as wrong as I thought it would, it would save Cliff's life, or at least his throat. “Stop whining,” I said to Cliff, “and I'll let you have some fruit instead.”
“No, thanks,” Cliff said. “I...invited Kris and me over for a specific reason, actually.”
“I guessed it wasn't the food,” I said, staring meaningfully at the still full bowl of soup. Cliff blushed, glared, and said, “Uh, yeah. Well, uh...are you going to stay here and deal with Don Reynaldo?”
“Well,” I said, “I can't swim with concrete weights, and I never really wanted to try, so-”
“Okay,” Cliff said. “So you're going to be...?”
“Moving on,” I said. “Both of my parents kicked off when I was about sixteen, and I've gotten around since. Before I settled here in Daldain last year, I was a traveler, and I plan on continuing in that vein.”
“Oh,” Cliff said, lighting up slightly. “Okay, then. Good. Come with us.”
“You know that it will be dangerous, wandering around the world?” I said.
“Well, yeah,” Cliff said. “That's kind of the point.”
“I hereby warn you, as the responsible adult, that you will likely face dangers more manifold than the likes you find in a pack of rabid, synchronized PMS-ing teenage girls and accidentally borrowing enchanted history textbooks from Eudora U. You know, the stuff you should be worrying about.”
“Oh, we know,” Kristen said. “That's the appeal!”
“Hn. Where are you headed?”
“Anywhere we can get work as slayers,” Cliff said. “Your magic would do us good. You're a mage, right? I've never seen magic performed with just a snap of fingers before, no components.”
“That's because I'm a mystic,” I said.
“What's the difference?” Cliff said, shrugging his shoulders expertly. I said, “Ability, education, and about twenty thousand silver.”
Naturally, the kid was confused, so I clarified: “Mystics can do a lot more than your run-of-the-mill mage, and with less to go on. We...were also taught different things about ethics, the nature of magic, god, and humanity, all that mystical shit. And we were generally paid a lot more for whatever magical ritual we were employed to perform. The going rate for a typical exorcism performed by a typical mage is ten thousand silver, for expenses, trouble, and so on. For a mystic, it's thirty thousand, the idea being that if a mystic performs an exorcism, there ain't nothing haunting the affected place ever again, which is complete bullshit; the exorcism and spiritual blocker only last for about two millennia.”
There was a silence that usually heralds the exiting of information out one ear, and then, from Kristen: “So are you coming, or not?”
“Sure,” I sighed. “You two will likely die on your own, and then I'll have saved you for nothing, though goddess knows why I did it in the first place. I need a lesson in the differences between courage and stupidity.”
“Oh, that's a cakewalk,” Cliff said. I raised my eyebrows. “Is it?” I said. Cliff nodded.
“Courage,” he said, “is risking your life to save the one you love.” He risked a glance at Kristen, who was finishing her pea soup in grand style by drinking from the bowl. He sighed, half lovelorn and half annoyed. A martyr and an attention whore in a single mind. What lovely company I'll be keeping, I thought.
“While stupidity...” Cliff said, fishing for an example. “Stupidity,” he said after a while, smirking, “is drinking the entire vile serving of one's pea soup.”
Kristen threw her spoon at Cliff, like she was four instead of twenty-two, and beamed fondly at him. “Stupidity is,” she said, softly, “kissing the wrong boy. Or boys. Or girls. Or, um, all of the above. Courage is finding and keeping the one who feels like home.” Kristen turned to me and missed a starstruck smile from Cliff. She said, “What about you, Cyprian?”
“I don't know about courage,” I said, “But stupidity is letting yourself be taken advantage of, and I've shown plenty of that tonight. Pick up your spoon, Kristen, and both of you rinse your dishes out.”
“But you'll never see them again after tonight,” Cliff whined. I said, “It's the principle of the damn thing. What are you waiting for?”
Courage? That was easy. Courage was watching your father die, fast and bold and hard, and your mother follow, slow and quiet and painful, within two years of each other, and telling mother that you'll live, and actually keeping your word when all you wanted to do was see if you could bleed the pain out. Courage was a mother who kept her calm and dignity for her son and her pride, and who wrote novel after ill-received novel simply for the love of words. Courage was a father who used his life to defend the village he loved and still had wits enough at the idea to yell to his friend that the friend owed him rounds at Earl's Bar for each demon he slayed, if he was too pussy to fight himself. Courage was as easy as breathing. And as hard.