The Dresden Files / Bob / 50. Writer's Choice
Title: Misnomer
Author: Cyloran
Characters: Bob, Harry
Challenge: Bob
Word Count: 724
Rating: G
Summary: Bob takes offense.
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files do not belong to me. Just passing through.
Table: Here There be Ghosts
"It's preposterous! Ludicrous!" Limited by his invisible tether, Bob paced the length of the laboratory and back again, arms gesticulating to punctuate each and every word. "The very idea is absurd!"
"Careful. You're going to run out of adjectives in a minute."
"-Outlandish, outrageous, laughable, inexcusable --!"
"Alright, already!" Harry threw up his hands in surrender. "I get the idea! You're a little upset."
"A little upset?" Bob demanded with righteous indignation. "I assure you that I am more than just a little upset! I have not even begun to voice my opinion on the subject!"
"Bob! It's just one paragraph. Less than four lines."
The ghost stiffened as if he had been slapped. "It is more than 'just' a paragraph. It is a glaring error and a personal affront!" Bob glowered at Harry. "How would you feel if you opened the morning paper to find that you'd been categorized as a … a … jester?"
"I've already been accused of being a clown, Bob. It's one of Kirmani's favorite insults. I just consider the source and let it go."
"Easy for you to say. You have the ability to defend yourself against such slander," huffed Bob. "Whereas I can only endure it."
"Look, I'm sorry I ever brought it up, okay?" sighed Harry. Who knew the old spook would be so touchy about such a short little reference? "I just thought it was kind of funny."
"Funny?!"
"Not in a ha-ha way," he said hurriedly. "I meant funny-weird. This guy obviously didn't have a clue what he was talking about."
"Obviously," concurred Bob with frigid disdain. "Unfortunately, that will not stop the casual reader from accepting his slander as fact."
"I don't think you have too much to worry about there. It's hardly on the best seller list." Harry picked up the crux of the argument, a wafer-thin volume smaller than the average day planner. "Look at this thing. It practically screams vanity press. There can't be more than two or three copies in existence."
"One is entirely too many."
"Seriously. Does it really bother you that much?"
The ghost narrowed his eyes at the younger wizard. "No more than Morgan's distrust and Mai's false accusations bother you," he said crisply.
Harry winced. Touché.
"Okay, fine. I've got the perfect solution then," he said and carried the book to the small cauldron on the work table.
"What do you intend?"
"I'm going to turn it into paper mache."
"You mean to destroy it?" asked Bob, incredulous. Clearly that was a solution that had not occurred to him. "But the book does not belong to you. You yourself said you 'borrowed' it at great risk from Mr. Marcone's associate."
"Possession in nine-tenths of the law," replied Harry as he fired up the Bunsen burner.
"If you destroy the book, Marcone will undoubtedly feel honor-bound to try and kill you in retribution."
"Been there. Done that." Harry picked up a beaker and poured a base liquid into the receptacle. "John'll get over it -- probably the next time I stop a werewolf or another one of his colleagues from trying to eat his face."
"You would do that? Obliterate a priceless volume and endanger yourself just to salve my wounded pride?"
"Watch me."
"I see." The ghost frowned. Perhaps he was taking the offending paragraph too personally. Not to mention that it went against his nature to see a book destroyed -- especially one that might get Harry very dead. "Leave it be," he said grudgingly.
Harry held the tome poised over the cauldron. "You sure?"
"Yes," sighed Bob. It was not worth the risk.
"Alright. But personally? I think it needs a little editing." Harry opened the book and promptly ripped the offending page out of the binding. Wadding the brittle paper into a crumpled ball, he dropped it into the simmering mixture. "There. Much better."
Bob leaned forward to watch as the page wilted and was consumed.
"The very idea, referring to me as a mere air spirit,'" he said tersely. "They are capricious, vague, and have exceedingly short attention spans -- hence the 'air' portion of their composition."
There was a tiny blurp! as the last fragment vanished in a cloud of acrid green smoke.
"Happy now?" asked Harry.
"I must admit, that was somewhat satisfying," Bob confessed. "And surprisingly therapeutic. Thank you, Harry."
"Anytime, Bob."
Author: Cyloran
Characters: Bob, Harry
Challenge: Bob
Word Count: 724
Rating: G
Summary: Bob takes offense.
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files do not belong to me. Just passing through.
Table: Here There be Ghosts
"It's preposterous! Ludicrous!" Limited by his invisible tether, Bob paced the length of the laboratory and back again, arms gesticulating to punctuate each and every word. "The very idea is absurd!"
"Careful. You're going to run out of adjectives in a minute."
"-Outlandish, outrageous, laughable, inexcusable --!"
"Alright, already!" Harry threw up his hands in surrender. "I get the idea! You're a little upset."
"A little upset?" Bob demanded with righteous indignation. "I assure you that I am more than just a little upset! I have not even begun to voice my opinion on the subject!"
"Bob! It's just one paragraph. Less than four lines."
The ghost stiffened as if he had been slapped. "It is more than 'just' a paragraph. It is a glaring error and a personal affront!" Bob glowered at Harry. "How would you feel if you opened the morning paper to find that you'd been categorized as a … a … jester?"
"I've already been accused of being a clown, Bob. It's one of Kirmani's favorite insults. I just consider the source and let it go."
"Easy for you to say. You have the ability to defend yourself against such slander," huffed Bob. "Whereas I can only endure it."
"Look, I'm sorry I ever brought it up, okay?" sighed Harry. Who knew the old spook would be so touchy about such a short little reference? "I just thought it was kind of funny."
"Funny?!"
"Not in a ha-ha way," he said hurriedly. "I meant funny-weird. This guy obviously didn't have a clue what he was talking about."
"Obviously," concurred Bob with frigid disdain. "Unfortunately, that will not stop the casual reader from accepting his slander as fact."
"I don't think you have too much to worry about there. It's hardly on the best seller list." Harry picked up the crux of the argument, a wafer-thin volume smaller than the average day planner. "Look at this thing. It practically screams vanity press. There can't be more than two or three copies in existence."
"One is entirely too many."
"Seriously. Does it really bother you that much?"
The ghost narrowed his eyes at the younger wizard. "No more than Morgan's distrust and Mai's false accusations bother you," he said crisply.
Harry winced. Touché.
"Okay, fine. I've got the perfect solution then," he said and carried the book to the small cauldron on the work table.
"What do you intend?"
"I'm going to turn it into paper mache."
"You mean to destroy it?" asked Bob, incredulous. Clearly that was a solution that had not occurred to him. "But the book does not belong to you. You yourself said you 'borrowed' it at great risk from Mr. Marcone's associate."
"Possession in nine-tenths of the law," replied Harry as he fired up the Bunsen burner.
"If you destroy the book, Marcone will undoubtedly feel honor-bound to try and kill you in retribution."
"Been there. Done that." Harry picked up a beaker and poured a base liquid into the receptacle. "John'll get over it -- probably the next time I stop a werewolf or another one of his colleagues from trying to eat his face."
"You would do that? Obliterate a priceless volume and endanger yourself just to salve my wounded pride?"
"Watch me."
"I see." The ghost frowned. Perhaps he was taking the offending paragraph too personally. Not to mention that it went against his nature to see a book destroyed -- especially one that might get Harry very dead. "Leave it be," he said grudgingly.
Harry held the tome poised over the cauldron. "You sure?"
"Yes," sighed Bob. It was not worth the risk.
"Alright. But personally? I think it needs a little editing." Harry opened the book and promptly ripped the offending page out of the binding. Wadding the brittle paper into a crumpled ball, he dropped it into the simmering mixture. "There. Much better."
Bob leaned forward to watch as the page wilted and was consumed.
"The very idea, referring to me as a mere air spirit,'" he said tersely. "They are capricious, vague, and have exceedingly short attention spans -- hence the 'air' portion of their composition."
There was a tiny blurp! as the last fragment vanished in a cloud of acrid green smoke.
"Happy now?" asked Harry.
"I must admit, that was somewhat satisfying," Bob confessed. "And surprisingly therapeutic. Thank you, Harry."
"Anytime, Bob."