Team Shmoop: "Amita the puppet" (for "Puppet")
Title: Amita the puppet.
Gen Round.
Team Shmoop for the word “Puppet.”
word count: 1,190.
Author: Keenir
Pairing/Characters: Amita, Ganesh, Charlie, Larry.
Rating/Category: PG-17/Gen (mild het thoughts)
Spoilers: Harvest, various s2 and s4 episodes. (haven’t seen the finale yet, though)
Summary: Amita is host to an Uul, an alien which, when it choses to, takes complete control. After three years of not doing so, her Uul is calling the shots.
Notes: when I volunteered to do the word “puppet,” my first thought had been to use the Puppetmasters (from the Heinlein movie), though not the Goa’uld (which I’ve tended to use the Puppetmasters with)…but I convinced myself that I could make my own being of suitable control -- which is a part of why this is late: I had trouble with that.
Warnings: Foul language peppered in here.
This fic was written for the Angst vs Schmoop Challenge at numb3rswriteoff. After you’ve read the fic, please rate it by voting in the poll located here. (Your vote will be anonymous.) Rate the fic on a scale of 1 - 10 (10 being the best) using the following criteria: how well the fic fit the prompt, how angsty [or schmoopy] the fic was, and how well you enjoyed the fic. When you’re done, please check out the other challenge fic at numb3rswriteoff. Thank you!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You have to wonder, Charles,” Larry said, “that the reaction hasn’t been more pronounced.”
“You mean,” Charlie said, voice distant, mind still preoccupied, “the Uul.” Off Larry’s nod, “Well its hard to imagine how things could be more violent. I mean it isn’t like they haven’t been the targets of attempted assassinations,” and by radicals of every faith.
“True, but not to what I’d been referring. I was speaking of us. Humanity. Aside from a few isolated instances, there haven’t been any Uul-related deaths since they arrived.” Three-point-five years ago.
“That’s probably because they haven’t given us anything. Most of those initial deaths were from despair that they’d been made - at best - redundant.” The victims had all been intellectuals, mathematicians, physicists and the like; of bricklayers, steelworkers, and even farmers, not a single suicide.
“Thus we were saved by their hoarding tendancy.” The Uul had insisted, when asked, that they were neither here to give nor to take, not to be worshipped or to convert.
‘We are here,’ the Uul had said often, ‘to receive.’
“Better than the alternative,” Charlie said. He welcomed this conversation, as it provided a distraction; he knew Amita could look after herself, but he worried about her, friend or not, friend or more, he was still entitled to be concerned about her.
“True, true, very true. But it worries me that they steadfastly refuse to answer whether or not we’re alone in the universe.” just us and them?
“Maybe they think the answer’ll scare us more.”
“Than their refusal? I suppose it’s possible, but -”
The phone rang. Charlie picked it up before it’d finished its first ring. “No? And you checked - I see. No, no, thank you. Yeah, I appreciate it.” And hung up.
“Any news?” Larry asked.
“Oh there’s news,” Charlie said. “Nobody’s seen Amita,” and none of the people in the morgues match her description. She’d left him a note, saying she needed some time, and that’d been a week ago.
* * * *
The lights were bright. The lights were shiny. The lights were from a passing police car in pursuit of some kid.
It wasn’t a normal occurance, what’d happened. She knew that. A week ago, Amita had given her Uul free reign to go where it wanted to go. After three years of making all the decisions, it was only fair to not argue when it finally spoke up.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
The only answer was the feel of sand underfood, the slap of tides against bare legs -- all that from Ganesh, the name she’d given her Uul. Even with trousers and shoes on, if Amita’s eyes weren’t open, she’d have wondered how she’d gotten from downtown to the coast in less than a minute.
“Something good?”
A cool breeze tickled her calves.
Amita smiled.
In the twinkling of an eye, her hands gripped the iron railing and flung herself over the side. Amita’s pulse and breathing would’ve skyrocketed if she’d had any say in it. Her pupils would have gone wide, again, if she’d been in control. Landing in the alley below, legs flexing. Nose flared instinctively, then her head turned in the direction she’d been heading. And, as if a gun had fired, she broke into a run.
Stopping at street corners, dodging strollers and joggers. Following the rules of travel was something the Uul did everywhere they went. Particularly here.
But none of the running was by Amita. Not even instinctive or habitual jogging, the sort of one-leg-then-the-other that everyone does. She was just along for the ride. Seeing and sensing both through her own senses, and through Ganesh’s memories - thankfully, she wasn’t the one running.
Without anything else to do, Amita returned to what she’d been doing earlier: reflecting on where her life had been going when Ganesh had decided to go for a walk…
Her parents had, once again, proven unable to come and meet Charlie; couldn’t even come and see her. He may’ve been trying to do otherwise, but Charlie wasn’t paying too much attention to her, aside from asking her to run a simulation for Don. Her students were getting increasingly rowdy. And… Amita sighed.
Ran further, farther, jumped back to avoid being struck down by a sonofabitch speeding through the red light. Clear glass panes underfoot and on all sides, starlight peering through the floor.
Adrenaline poured through her body as Amita remembered Charlie giving attention - serious attention - to every woman but her, which was at least better, in her opinion, than him ogling every woman including her. The professor of religion and philosophy just last week, consulted for that case. Those adoring grad students falling over themselves to convince Charlie to tutor them. And so many more over the years, that Amita had to dredge her mind to find the good parts. The colors of a supernova, the feel of rain in a desert, the cry of life.
Charlie ignored her when he didn’t want something from her…be it her kisses or her solutions to math problems, it was the high point of life now. And she didn’t like that.
Feeling his host slowing, Ganesh checked the innards and found that the reduction in speed was unnecessary, so he sped her up again, and sent a chemical to her brain to induce positive thoughts.
Amita tried remembering her childhood, years of trying to be whiter than the white kids, using her brain to know what to do and what to avoid. Sunlight dappling the shallows in springtime.
At the beach at last. Amita and Ganesh smiled.
Finding a spot of clean, loose sand, Ganesh let her collapse, didn’t stop her from falling asleep lying in the sands.
* *
When Amita awoke, she was just offshore, looking right at the California coast.
Joy sang in her heart, giddiness enveloping her, delight coursing through her fingers and toes and arms and legs. Took a deep breath, savoring the salty air, the smell of hot dogs being slightly overcooked, the fish scent of - well, fish.
“We accomplished what we needed, and we came here,” Ganesh told her. And she knew he was talking about them - and yet also about his own people.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked.
He projected an answer to her mind: a spry and boisterous child running laps around a spindly grandma. “We were the same way, once.”
* *
“Amita!” Charlie said when she returned to the office, shutting the door behind her with a quiet “hi”.
As it had been for the past three years, the puppet was running her life with the strings sitting by and watching.
Not five seconds went by before Larry made one of his observations - astute and giggle-inducing all at once.
And it was back. Her realization, the one that’d come to her in the giddy haze out at sea:
It wasn’t just fun to solve problems. It was familiar. It felt good, satisfying. It was, Amita realized, the reward after the race for survival; the prize for thriving despite the stresses and neglects.
It was worth it, having friends like these.
******************
The End
Gen Round.
Team Shmoop for the word “Puppet.”
word count: 1,190.
Author: Keenir
Pairing/Characters: Amita, Ganesh, Charlie, Larry.
Rating/Category: PG-17/Gen (mild het thoughts)
Spoilers: Harvest, various s2 and s4 episodes. (haven’t seen the finale yet, though)
Summary: Amita is host to an Uul, an alien which, when it choses to, takes complete control. After three years of not doing so, her Uul is calling the shots.
Notes: when I volunteered to do the word “puppet,” my first thought had been to use the Puppetmasters (from the Heinlein movie), though not the Goa’uld (which I’ve tended to use the Puppetmasters with)…but I convinced myself that I could make my own being of suitable control -- which is a part of why this is late: I had trouble with that.
Warnings: Foul language peppered in here.
This fic was written for the Angst vs Schmoop Challenge at numb3rswriteoff. After you’ve read the fic, please rate it by voting in the poll located here. (Your vote will be anonymous.) Rate the fic on a scale of 1 - 10 (10 being the best) using the following criteria: how well the fic fit the prompt, how angsty [or schmoopy] the fic was, and how well you enjoyed the fic. When you’re done, please check out the other challenge fic at numb3rswriteoff. Thank you!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You have to wonder, Charles,” Larry said, “that the reaction hasn’t been more pronounced.”
“You mean,” Charlie said, voice distant, mind still preoccupied, “the Uul.” Off Larry’s nod, “Well its hard to imagine how things could be more violent. I mean it isn’t like they haven’t been the targets of attempted assassinations,” and by radicals of every faith.
“True, but not to what I’d been referring. I was speaking of us. Humanity. Aside from a few isolated instances, there haven’t been any Uul-related deaths since they arrived.” Three-point-five years ago.
“That’s probably because they haven’t given us anything. Most of those initial deaths were from despair that they’d been made - at best - redundant.” The victims had all been intellectuals, mathematicians, physicists and the like; of bricklayers, steelworkers, and even farmers, not a single suicide.
“Thus we were saved by their hoarding tendancy.” The Uul had insisted, when asked, that they were neither here to give nor to take, not to be worshipped or to convert.
‘We are here,’ the Uul had said often, ‘to receive.’
“Better than the alternative,” Charlie said. He welcomed this conversation, as it provided a distraction; he knew Amita could look after herself, but he worried about her, friend or not, friend or more, he was still entitled to be concerned about her.
“True, true, very true. But it worries me that they steadfastly refuse to answer whether or not we’re alone in the universe.” just us and them?
“Maybe they think the answer’ll scare us more.”
“Than their refusal? I suppose it’s possible, but -”
The phone rang. Charlie picked it up before it’d finished its first ring. “No? And you checked - I see. No, no, thank you. Yeah, I appreciate it.” And hung up.
“Any news?” Larry asked.
“Oh there’s news,” Charlie said. “Nobody’s seen Amita,” and none of the people in the morgues match her description. She’d left him a note, saying she needed some time, and that’d been a week ago.
* * * *
The lights were bright. The lights were shiny. The lights were from a passing police car in pursuit of some kid.
It wasn’t a normal occurance, what’d happened. She knew that. A week ago, Amita had given her Uul free reign to go where it wanted to go. After three years of making all the decisions, it was only fair to not argue when it finally spoke up.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
The only answer was the feel of sand underfood, the slap of tides against bare legs -- all that from Ganesh, the name she’d given her Uul. Even with trousers and shoes on, if Amita’s eyes weren’t open, she’d have wondered how she’d gotten from downtown to the coast in less than a minute.
“Something good?”
A cool breeze tickled her calves.
Amita smiled.
In the twinkling of an eye, her hands gripped the iron railing and flung herself over the side. Amita’s pulse and breathing would’ve skyrocketed if she’d had any say in it. Her pupils would have gone wide, again, if she’d been in control. Landing in the alley below, legs flexing. Nose flared instinctively, then her head turned in the direction she’d been heading. And, as if a gun had fired, she broke into a run.
Stopping at street corners, dodging strollers and joggers. Following the rules of travel was something the Uul did everywhere they went. Particularly here.
But none of the running was by Amita. Not even instinctive or habitual jogging, the sort of one-leg-then-the-other that everyone does. She was just along for the ride. Seeing and sensing both through her own senses, and through Ganesh’s memories - thankfully, she wasn’t the one running.
Without anything else to do, Amita returned to what she’d been doing earlier: reflecting on where her life had been going when Ganesh had decided to go for a walk…
Her parents had, once again, proven unable to come and meet Charlie; couldn’t even come and see her. He may’ve been trying to do otherwise, but Charlie wasn’t paying too much attention to her, aside from asking her to run a simulation for Don. Her students were getting increasingly rowdy. And… Amita sighed.
Ran further, farther, jumped back to avoid being struck down by a sonofabitch speeding through the red light. Clear glass panes underfoot and on all sides, starlight peering through the floor.
Adrenaline poured through her body as Amita remembered Charlie giving attention - serious attention - to every woman but her, which was at least better, in her opinion, than him ogling every woman including her. The professor of religion and philosophy just last week, consulted for that case. Those adoring grad students falling over themselves to convince Charlie to tutor them. And so many more over the years, that Amita had to dredge her mind to find the good parts. The colors of a supernova, the feel of rain in a desert, the cry of life.
Charlie ignored her when he didn’t want something from her…be it her kisses or her solutions to math problems, it was the high point of life now. And she didn’t like that.
Feeling his host slowing, Ganesh checked the innards and found that the reduction in speed was unnecessary, so he sped her up again, and sent a chemical to her brain to induce positive thoughts.
Amita tried remembering her childhood, years of trying to be whiter than the white kids, using her brain to know what to do and what to avoid. Sunlight dappling the shallows in springtime.
At the beach at last. Amita and Ganesh smiled.
Finding a spot of clean, loose sand, Ganesh let her collapse, didn’t stop her from falling asleep lying in the sands.
* *
When Amita awoke, she was just offshore, looking right at the California coast.
Joy sang in her heart, giddiness enveloping her, delight coursing through her fingers and toes and arms and legs. Took a deep breath, savoring the salty air, the smell of hot dogs being slightly overcooked, the fish scent of - well, fish.
“We accomplished what we needed, and we came here,” Ganesh told her. And she knew he was talking about them - and yet also about his own people.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked.
He projected an answer to her mind: a spry and boisterous child running laps around a spindly grandma. “We were the same way, once.”
* *
“Amita!” Charlie said when she returned to the office, shutting the door behind her with a quiet “hi”.
As it had been for the past three years, the puppet was running her life with the strings sitting by and watching.
Not five seconds went by before Larry made one of his observations - astute and giggle-inducing all at once.
And it was back. Her realization, the one that’d come to her in the giddy haze out at sea:
It wasn’t just fun to solve problems. It was familiar. It felt good, satisfying. It was, Amita realized, the reward after the race for survival; the prize for thriving despite the stresses and neglects.
It was worth it, having friends like these.
******************
The End