Dresden Files: "Politics as unusual" (PG)(for Awanderingbard)
Title: Politics as Unusual.
Ancient Mai’s POV
For: Awanderingbard
Request: “Something with Ancient Mai, perhaps?”
Note: if this isn’t to your liking, simply put “retry” in your reply.
Rating: PG
Beta: Fififolle.
Warnings: all mistakes are my own - including any errors in the Chinese.
Author's Note: This is a theory I’ve had for a long while, actually.
Pairings: mildest Harry/Murphy. If you see any Harry/Mai, I apologize.
Spoilers: ‘Storm Front,’ ‘Things that go Bump’
Characters: Ancient Mai, Harry Dresden, Connie Murphy; brief appearance by Morgan and Mai’s boss.
Length/Word Count: 1613 words.
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. I’m only exploring the characters we’ve seen onscreen.
Short Summary: Since Dresden was kind enough to ask Mai for help, she’s going to help - there’s pressure on her, after all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Location: the BBQ Restaurant:
Each of the Courts has its own preferred written language, and I, Ancient Mai, head of the High Council and unofficial arbiter of the multitudinous Courts of magical beings, have got several dozen sheets on the table before me, each one from a different faction in the various Courts and Court-allied groups. Thus far, they’ve all failed to drown me in paperwork.
At the moment, what holds my attention is that a gang of shape-changers are trying to spark a conflict between the Summer and Winter Courts, using their equine and seal-ish strengths to do as much damage as utterly possible, and since it is on my territory, I fully intend to bring it to a halt - full stop.
Harry Dresden sits down beside me, Morgan standing right behind him.
“What is it, Dresden?” I want to know as I continue working on BBQ-sauce-drenched ribs that’re stacked on my plate. “I’m trying to prevent a war.”
At every table here, each chair has an empty plate in front of it - Dresden’s is no different. “Believe me, Mai, I’m not about to talk you out of it,” Dresden says. This is a wise move on his part, but his next words less so: “I need a favor.”
I glance up at him, and he visibly stops himself from squirming. Good. “A favor?” With my eyes, I tell Morgan to go back to guarding the door; he obeys.
“Yeah.”
“From me.”
“Trust me, if there was anyone else I could go to, I’ve already gone to them.”
A stop of final desperation. It doesn’t insult me - I don’t like being the first thought on anyone’s mind. “What do you have to offer?” I want to know, curious despite myself. He is, after all, a Morningway.
Harry Blackstone Dresden shrugs. “Like I said, a favor.”
I’m afraid my lips crinkle in amusement. “You would trust me to decide what that favor is?”
“Like I said, if there was anyone else…”
“True,” and return my attention and my mouth to my dinner. “Go on,” I say after ripping a chunk off the spare ribs.
No doubt Dresden’s trying not to imagine himself at the mercy of me. “A friend of mine’s got a daughter whose birthday’s coming up soon.”
“No she doesn’t get three wishes,” spitting a pick of gristle onto Dresden’s plate.
“Wouldn’t’ve asked for that,” he assures me. Wishes go horribly wrong with encumbering frequentness. “She’s been really hoping for a few ponies for the party. Not clowns, Mai - I know how dangerous those can be - just some ponies.”
“Do I look like I have a farm outside Chicago?”
“Well, you know, I just figured…” and it looks like he’s decided something, to go by his face. “You’re Ancient Mai - you can do anything.”
“True.” No points for stating the obvious, though, Dresden.
Even so…
“I’ll see what can be done. Her name?”
He hesitates. Names have power, true; but he can’t expect anything to happen if I don’t have an address to send the horses to. “Detective Murphy. Her daughter.” Clever, Dresden, clever; not saying the daughter’s name, and substituting the mother’s name with her title. Clearly Hrothbert taught you well.
And I do know he educated you some on the ways of the Ancient Ones. But there’s much even the sage Hrothbert of Bainbridge never kenned.
“Go,” I say, dismissing him. He takes the hint, saying hi to Morgan again on his way out.
“Dresden,” I mutter. Always pushing things, insisting I do this or that - hold off an investigation just a few hours, go back to resting - so like his mother. No, worse than his mother. And when he’s not insisting, he’s asking. “I’m not a trained monkey,” I mutter to myself, repeating what I’d said a few weeks ago.
=incorrect= the BBQ informs me in spelled-out English across the plate. At the same time, my mind clouds up, my skull filled with a weight that has no mass and is timeless. To quote Dresden, crap!
I don’t bother screwing on a fake smile, no matter how pretty it might be - It can see through paltry masks like flesh. “What may I do for you?” I ask the Ancient One, neither knowing nor curious to know if this is one or several Ancient Ones.
The sauce pools together and parts again, shaping a new word: =catalyst=
Unlike Dresden, I have no power of my own. All my magic and power comes from It…in exchange for one little thing: waiting for exactly this moment. “I -”
=two decade time limit,= It says in my mind, the sauce back to dripping puddles under the steak. =alternative is expiration=
“I’ll do it,” I grumble. Emotions don’t matter to It - those of mine or other peoples’.
Question is, where am I going to find a catalyst for what It wants?
=you know already= and my mind feels empty, which is a clear sign It has gone.
I throw up a little in my throat at the thought of just who was unquestionably meant there (Dresden!) and swallow that digested pap back down. But there’s no argument to be made - I made the deal all those years ago. Now I have twenty years to pay my dues.
And as I plan out how to make Dresden owe me as much as possible, I know I don’t want to know how an Ancient One defines ‘expiration’ - or as dear sweet Milton put it, ‘extinct’ - do they distinguish life and magic?
.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.
Location: the Anna Murphy Birthday Celebration
I stand at the gate that opens to this yard, looking at the chaos within. Parents sit at card tables I assume were brought over, gossiping among themselves as their progeny run around - those who aren’t enjoying themselves at the expense of the gang I forced over here. One child vomits on the gang leader’s polished shoes, and I just want to pat the darling’s head.
I know I won’t have kids of my own. I’ll have someone else’s…no, some-It-else’s. I’ll count myself fortunate to survive the experience; Deichtine and Alcmena did, but they were child-carriers for Things more minor - in the Grand Scheme - than my It.
Pimple-faced teens hold the ropes that attach to the halters on the ponies’ heads, leading the children around the ring at a sedate pace. Perfect torture for Selkies and Kelpies alike.
“Ya’see, Mai,” Dresden tells me, “I knew you could pull it off.”
I don’t say anything to that.
“So,” and reaches for his wallet, like he actually has money. “What do I owe you? For all this, or however much you want me to owe you for.”
“For now, Dresden, nothing,” I say. “You owe me nothing at this moment.”
Good, I made him speechless.
“But one day,” I add, “I will come to collect.”
He swallows, nervous as he recalls his words. “The favor.”
“Yes,” and I can’t help but hiss, which only makes him edge even further into fear. One day he’ll find out I’m not a dragon, and I don’t mind taking a long time to reach that point.
I just have to get it done before my time expires. Great power rarely means great patience.
A woman comes over - “Good afternoon, Detective Murphy,” Dresden says, which tells me who this is. His ears jerk back as he tries to keep from his face the realization that he’s just pronounced some of her name in front of me. Be thankful I don’t bother with names, Dresden.
“Afternoon yourself,” this Murphy replies. “This is great, all of it. Anna’s having a great time.” Anna. A good name.
“Well, none of it would be possible without -”
“Mai Tsen,” I say, introducing myself. “His boss.”
“Boss?” Murphy asks.
“Yes,” I say. “His boss. We’re part of the Society of Stage Magicians, as was his father and my uncle.” Well, the last two-thirds of that sentence was true.
Dresden nods helplessly. This is more fun than I thought it would be.
He makes what I can only assume passed for ‘small talk’ among the Dresden household as he grew up, before he excuses himself to go do something.
That leaves me alone with her. The other woman.
I smile; I sound almost normal…haven’t done that in a long time. No opportunities, I suppose.
“Thanks for doing this,” she says to me. Again.
You’ll make Harry Dresden a fine wife. Perfect for my purposes. Which mostly attend to the complexity of reproduction in Ancient Ones - they make moss look simple.
I shrug. “He asked nicely, and I had a team in need of a use.” Next time, the gangs of Chicago will think twice before stirring up trouble - shapeshifter or fae or whatever - because they’ll be afraid of what they can’t imagine, of what ignomity I’ll force them to suffer through. Politics as usual.
“I’d introduce you to the other mothers here, but…I don’t know you,” Murphy says, which is true. “But I’ve seen you before… Yeah, I stopped by, and you were being carried out of Harry’s.” Technically, I wasn’t being carried - but you know that.
Honesty costs nothing, particularly when it is the benefactor of misdirection. “I was in the neighborhood and needed patching up. He had first-aid supplies.” And I would’ve rather died in that place rather than let the Drake - the larval Ancient One - get loose again; even impossibly-powerful beings have enemies, and their enemies have children and child-holders.
“Not surprised,” Murphy says. “Dresden always comes prepared.” With a chuckle she adds, “Except when he doesn’t.” That would be the Morningway in him.
She looks at me. “So, you want me to introduce you?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The End
Author’s note: put simply, moss has two distinct generations, each with its own size and shape.
2nd note: Alcmena and Deichtine are the mothers of the demigods Hercules and Cúchulainn, respectively.
Ancient Mai’s POV
For: Awanderingbard
Request: “Something with Ancient Mai, perhaps?”
Note: if this isn’t to your liking, simply put “retry” in your reply.
Rating: PG
Beta: Fififolle.
Warnings: all mistakes are my own - including any errors in the Chinese.
Author's Note: This is a theory I’ve had for a long while, actually.
Pairings: mildest Harry/Murphy. If you see any Harry/Mai, I apologize.
Spoilers: ‘Storm Front,’ ‘Things that go Bump’
Characters: Ancient Mai, Harry Dresden, Connie Murphy; brief appearance by Morgan and Mai’s boss.
Length/Word Count: 1613 words.
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. I’m only exploring the characters we’ve seen onscreen.
Short Summary: Since Dresden was kind enough to ask Mai for help, she’s going to help - there’s pressure on her, after all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Location: the BBQ Restaurant:
Each of the Courts has its own preferred written language, and I, Ancient Mai, head of the High Council and unofficial arbiter of the multitudinous Courts of magical beings, have got several dozen sheets on the table before me, each one from a different faction in the various Courts and Court-allied groups. Thus far, they’ve all failed to drown me in paperwork.
At the moment, what holds my attention is that a gang of shape-changers are trying to spark a conflict between the Summer and Winter Courts, using their equine and seal-ish strengths to do as much damage as utterly possible, and since it is on my territory, I fully intend to bring it to a halt - full stop.
Harry Dresden sits down beside me, Morgan standing right behind him.
“What is it, Dresden?” I want to know as I continue working on BBQ-sauce-drenched ribs that’re stacked on my plate. “I’m trying to prevent a war.”
At every table here, each chair has an empty plate in front of it - Dresden’s is no different. “Believe me, Mai, I’m not about to talk you out of it,” Dresden says. This is a wise move on his part, but his next words less so: “I need a favor.”
I glance up at him, and he visibly stops himself from squirming. Good. “A favor?” With my eyes, I tell Morgan to go back to guarding the door; he obeys.
“Yeah.”
“From me.”
“Trust me, if there was anyone else I could go to, I’ve already gone to them.”
A stop of final desperation. It doesn’t insult me - I don’t like being the first thought on anyone’s mind. “What do you have to offer?” I want to know, curious despite myself. He is, after all, a Morningway.
Harry Blackstone Dresden shrugs. “Like I said, a favor.”
I’m afraid my lips crinkle in amusement. “You would trust me to decide what that favor is?”
“Like I said, if there was anyone else…”
“True,” and return my attention and my mouth to my dinner. “Go on,” I say after ripping a chunk off the spare ribs.
No doubt Dresden’s trying not to imagine himself at the mercy of me. “A friend of mine’s got a daughter whose birthday’s coming up soon.”
“No she doesn’t get three wishes,” spitting a pick of gristle onto Dresden’s plate.
“Wouldn’t’ve asked for that,” he assures me. Wishes go horribly wrong with encumbering frequentness. “She’s been really hoping for a few ponies for the party. Not clowns, Mai - I know how dangerous those can be - just some ponies.”
“Do I look like I have a farm outside Chicago?”
“Well, you know, I just figured…” and it looks like he’s decided something, to go by his face. “You’re Ancient Mai - you can do anything.”
“True.” No points for stating the obvious, though, Dresden.
Even so…
“I’ll see what can be done. Her name?”
He hesitates. Names have power, true; but he can’t expect anything to happen if I don’t have an address to send the horses to. “Detective Murphy. Her daughter.” Clever, Dresden, clever; not saying the daughter’s name, and substituting the mother’s name with her title. Clearly Hrothbert taught you well.
And I do know he educated you some on the ways of the Ancient Ones. But there’s much even the sage Hrothbert of Bainbridge never kenned.
“Go,” I say, dismissing him. He takes the hint, saying hi to Morgan again on his way out.
“Dresden,” I mutter. Always pushing things, insisting I do this or that - hold off an investigation just a few hours, go back to resting - so like his mother. No, worse than his mother. And when he’s not insisting, he’s asking. “I’m not a trained monkey,” I mutter to myself, repeating what I’d said a few weeks ago.
=incorrect= the BBQ informs me in spelled-out English across the plate. At the same time, my mind clouds up, my skull filled with a weight that has no mass and is timeless. To quote Dresden, crap!
I don’t bother screwing on a fake smile, no matter how pretty it might be - It can see through paltry masks like flesh. “What may I do for you?” I ask the Ancient One, neither knowing nor curious to know if this is one or several Ancient Ones.
The sauce pools together and parts again, shaping a new word: =catalyst=
Unlike Dresden, I have no power of my own. All my magic and power comes from It…in exchange for one little thing: waiting for exactly this moment. “I -”
=two decade time limit,= It says in my mind, the sauce back to dripping puddles under the steak. =alternative is expiration=
“I’ll do it,” I grumble. Emotions don’t matter to It - those of mine or other peoples’.
Question is, where am I going to find a catalyst for what It wants?
=you know already= and my mind feels empty, which is a clear sign It has gone.
I throw up a little in my throat at the thought of just who was unquestionably meant there (Dresden!) and swallow that digested pap back down. But there’s no argument to be made - I made the deal all those years ago. Now I have twenty years to pay my dues.
And as I plan out how to make Dresden owe me as much as possible, I know I don’t want to know how an Ancient One defines ‘expiration’ - or as dear sweet Milton put it, ‘extinct’ - do they distinguish life and magic?
.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.
Location: the Anna Murphy Birthday Celebration
I stand at the gate that opens to this yard, looking at the chaos within. Parents sit at card tables I assume were brought over, gossiping among themselves as their progeny run around - those who aren’t enjoying themselves at the expense of the gang I forced over here. One child vomits on the gang leader’s polished shoes, and I just want to pat the darling’s head.
I know I won’t have kids of my own. I’ll have someone else’s…no, some-It-else’s. I’ll count myself fortunate to survive the experience; Deichtine and Alcmena did, but they were child-carriers for Things more minor - in the Grand Scheme - than my It.
Pimple-faced teens hold the ropes that attach to the halters on the ponies’ heads, leading the children around the ring at a sedate pace. Perfect torture for Selkies and Kelpies alike.
“Ya’see, Mai,” Dresden tells me, “I knew you could pull it off.”
I don’t say anything to that.
“So,” and reaches for his wallet, like he actually has money. “What do I owe you? For all this, or however much you want me to owe you for.”
“For now, Dresden, nothing,” I say. “You owe me nothing at this moment.”
Good, I made him speechless.
“But one day,” I add, “I will come to collect.”
He swallows, nervous as he recalls his words. “The favor.”
“Yes,” and I can’t help but hiss, which only makes him edge even further into fear. One day he’ll find out I’m not a dragon, and I don’t mind taking a long time to reach that point.
I just have to get it done before my time expires. Great power rarely means great patience.
A woman comes over - “Good afternoon, Detective Murphy,” Dresden says, which tells me who this is. His ears jerk back as he tries to keep from his face the realization that he’s just pronounced some of her name in front of me. Be thankful I don’t bother with names, Dresden.
“Afternoon yourself,” this Murphy replies. “This is great, all of it. Anna’s having a great time.” Anna. A good name.
“Well, none of it would be possible without -”
“Mai Tsen,” I say, introducing myself. “His boss.”
“Boss?” Murphy asks.
“Yes,” I say. “His boss. We’re part of the Society of Stage Magicians, as was his father and my uncle.” Well, the last two-thirds of that sentence was true.
Dresden nods helplessly. This is more fun than I thought it would be.
He makes what I can only assume passed for ‘small talk’ among the Dresden household as he grew up, before he excuses himself to go do something.
That leaves me alone with her. The other woman.
I smile; I sound almost normal…haven’t done that in a long time. No opportunities, I suppose.
“Thanks for doing this,” she says to me. Again.
You’ll make Harry Dresden a fine wife. Perfect for my purposes. Which mostly attend to the complexity of reproduction in Ancient Ones - they make moss look simple.
I shrug. “He asked nicely, and I had a team in need of a use.” Next time, the gangs of Chicago will think twice before stirring up trouble - shapeshifter or fae or whatever - because they’ll be afraid of what they can’t imagine, of what ignomity I’ll force them to suffer through. Politics as usual.
“I’d introduce you to the other mothers here, but…I don’t know you,” Murphy says, which is true. “But I’ve seen you before… Yeah, I stopped by, and you were being carried out of Harry’s.” Technically, I wasn’t being carried - but you know that.
Honesty costs nothing, particularly when it is the benefactor of misdirection. “I was in the neighborhood and needed patching up. He had first-aid supplies.” And I would’ve rather died in that place rather than let the Drake - the larval Ancient One - get loose again; even impossibly-powerful beings have enemies, and their enemies have children and child-holders.
“Not surprised,” Murphy says. “Dresden always comes prepared.” With a chuckle she adds, “Except when he doesn’t.” That would be the Morningway in him.
She looks at me. “So, you want me to introduce you?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The End
Author’s note: put simply, moss has two distinct generations, each with its own size and shape.
2nd note: Alcmena and Deichtine are the mothers of the demigods Hercules and Cúchulainn, respectively.