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lotus0kidRating: PG13 for some language and implied violence
Word Count: 955
Disclaimer: Middlecharacters and places belong to Javi Grillo-Marxuach, West belongs to Danny Boyle, I think.
A/N: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
visiblemarket on my advent calendar. Better get this up before Christmas is really gone. I'll post a chapter a day.
Summary: The head of Fatboy in the Mirror Universe gets some visitors on Christmas Eve.
Warning: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR "PALINDROME REVERSAL PALINDROME."
Stave Three
“So, okay,” Wendy says, unable to tear her eyes away from the black form of the Ghost of Christmas Future. She feels him stare straight back at her, without eyes. “You’re gonna show me what will happen, if I... don’t change things.”
The spirit doesn’t answer.
“Well, your... colleagues have had a few persuasive arguments. I, uh... I’m considering your proposal, so... lead on, I guess.”
The spirit walks past Wendy, and the shadows lift from everywhere but around him. The street they are on shines with colored lights and teams with celebrating people. As does the street after that, and the street after that- as if some dam has burst and Christmas cheer is flooding the city.
“Whoa!” Wendy exclaims over the roar of the crowd, “I thought this is what’ll happen if I don’t change things!”
The spirit remains silent, continuing his march through the streets. It takes Wendy several minutes to see through the colors and crowds to recognize where they’re going. They turn the corner onto the street that leads to Fatboy Command, and Wendy stops in her tracks. “Oh.”
The complex is burning. All but the biggest buildings are in ruins or nearly so. It’s a charred hulk being picked apart by the feeding frenzy of humanity that swarms around and through it like piranhas feasting on an elephant’s corpse. Wendy’s too shocked to even be angry.
“Well then... ah, how- how far ahead is this? Don’t tell me-” she lets out a ghost of a laugh, “Don’t tell me I left some moron in charge a decade or two ago and they couldn’t keep control, but... but I’ve retired off to somewhere tropical and without extradition laws?” She picks her way over some rubble, eyes still on the smoking hulk of her stronghold. Speaking of smoke, her eyes are stinging badly as she murmurs, “Don’t tell me West got caught up in this. Please. Don’t tell me.”
The spirit doesn’t tell her. He leads her through some of the damaged buildings, to one with a collapsed roof. He points to a pile of debris and Wendy forces herself to look at it. To see among the plaster and cement a just-visible head and arm. The rest is buried, still and forgotten.
“Your pal Christmas Present lied,” Wendy growls around her painfully tight throat and the tears she swipes away, “This isn’t an empty desk and a gun without an owner. No one’s preserving anything for him. No one’ll even remember him probably.” The wave of sorrowful anger passes, leaving a calm clarity. “That’s for the best though, right? Better he went quick. If the people outside had got to him, if they knew who he was... there’s no telling what they might’ve done.” She turns back to the spirit, “Though I suppose it couldn’t be much worse than what’s been done to me, right?”
The spirit walks on, and Wendy follows. Maybe they do the warping trick, maybe Wendy’s too out of it to notice, but they end up inside Fatboy Command’s private control room. A place Wendy knows all too well. There are voices echoing down the hall towards her and the spirit.
“-still young, isn’t she? Healthy- healthier than most, that’s for damn sure.”
“Not like anyone’s coming to visit her, yeah? Not like anyone will want to see her up and about again.”
“Okay, fine, you made your point. Let’s get down to business- how much?”
“For what, the whole thing? Or are we picking and choosing?”
“If you gentleman can sort out who gets what, I’m sure a division could be arranged.”
“Right, right, well, I suppose we’ll come back then, after we’ve organized our requests.”
“Great. Give me a call and we’ll pick a date to divvy her up. She’s not going anywhere.”
The three voices laugh, and their owners leave a room at the end of the hall. Wendy follows the spirit into the room and doesn’t bother being surprised to see herself, not ten years older than she is now, lying in a cryo-bed. “So this is where it ends. With people dancing in the streets, West dead, and me on ice about to get my organs harvested by a couple of vultures. That’s just... peachy.”
She sinks down then, down into a crouch with her chin on her knees and her arms wrapped around her legs like a child. Takes a deep but shaky breath. “I don’t want it to happen like this. I don’t... I can make this right. Really right.” She takes another breath and presses her forehead to her knees, “God, I’ve been so stupid. I knew it- I knew the whole time that this was wrong. So I lost my dad in mysterious and as of yet unexplained circumstances, I knew that didn’t give me the right to fuck up everything. To make so many people miserable. To hurt my best friend. I did it anyway, but...” she looks up at the spirit, “it’s not too late, right? If I really tried, I could fix it, couldn’t I?”
She reaches up to the spirit, who remains an implacable black effigy of shadow.
“Please. I promise, I’ll change everything.” She gives a watery smile, “I’ll have Christmas every day of the year. I’ll make it right. Please.” She catches hold of the spirit’s crossed forearm. He tries to pull away, but she tightens her grip. “I’ll do it! Whether you want me to or not, I’m going to change! No one will stop me!”
As she stares into the spirit’s living shadow, he spreads and changes, fills with the vague nighttime forms and dimensions of her Fatboy quarters.
“I will change,” she informs the darkness, “I’ll change everything.”
Stave Five
Word Count: 955
Disclaimer: Middlecharacters and places belong to Javi Grillo-Marxuach, West belongs to Danny Boyle, I think.
A/N: For
visiblemarket on my advent calendar. Better get this up before Christmas is really gone. I'll post a chapter a day.Summary: The head of Fatboy in the Mirror Universe gets some visitors on Christmas Eve.
Warning: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR "PALINDROME REVERSAL PALINDROME."
Stave Three
“So, okay,” Wendy says, unable to tear her eyes away from the black form of the Ghost of Christmas Future. She feels him stare straight back at her, without eyes. “You’re gonna show me what will happen, if I... don’t change things.”
The spirit doesn’t answer.
“Well, your... colleagues have had a few persuasive arguments. I, uh... I’m considering your proposal, so... lead on, I guess.”
The spirit walks past Wendy, and the shadows lift from everywhere but around him. The street they are on shines with colored lights and teams with celebrating people. As does the street after that, and the street after that- as if some dam has burst and Christmas cheer is flooding the city.
“Whoa!” Wendy exclaims over the roar of the crowd, “I thought this is what’ll happen if I don’t change things!”
The spirit remains silent, continuing his march through the streets. It takes Wendy several minutes to see through the colors and crowds to recognize where they’re going. They turn the corner onto the street that leads to Fatboy Command, and Wendy stops in her tracks. “Oh.”
The complex is burning. All but the biggest buildings are in ruins or nearly so. It’s a charred hulk being picked apart by the feeding frenzy of humanity that swarms around and through it like piranhas feasting on an elephant’s corpse. Wendy’s too shocked to even be angry.
“Well then... ah, how- how far ahead is this? Don’t tell me-” she lets out a ghost of a laugh, “Don’t tell me I left some moron in charge a decade or two ago and they couldn’t keep control, but... but I’ve retired off to somewhere tropical and without extradition laws?” She picks her way over some rubble, eyes still on the smoking hulk of her stronghold. Speaking of smoke, her eyes are stinging badly as she murmurs, “Don’t tell me West got caught up in this. Please. Don’t tell me.”
The spirit doesn’t tell her. He leads her through some of the damaged buildings, to one with a collapsed roof. He points to a pile of debris and Wendy forces herself to look at it. To see among the plaster and cement a just-visible head and arm. The rest is buried, still and forgotten.
“Your pal Christmas Present lied,” Wendy growls around her painfully tight throat and the tears she swipes away, “This isn’t an empty desk and a gun without an owner. No one’s preserving anything for him. No one’ll even remember him probably.” The wave of sorrowful anger passes, leaving a calm clarity. “That’s for the best though, right? Better he went quick. If the people outside had got to him, if they knew who he was... there’s no telling what they might’ve done.” She turns back to the spirit, “Though I suppose it couldn’t be much worse than what’s been done to me, right?”
The spirit walks on, and Wendy follows. Maybe they do the warping trick, maybe Wendy’s too out of it to notice, but they end up inside Fatboy Command’s private control room. A place Wendy knows all too well. There are voices echoing down the hall towards her and the spirit.
“-still young, isn’t she? Healthy- healthier than most, that’s for damn sure.”
“Not like anyone’s coming to visit her, yeah? Not like anyone will want to see her up and about again.”
“Okay, fine, you made your point. Let’s get down to business- how much?”
“For what, the whole thing? Or are we picking and choosing?”
“If you gentleman can sort out who gets what, I’m sure a division could be arranged.”
“Right, right, well, I suppose we’ll come back then, after we’ve organized our requests.”
“Great. Give me a call and we’ll pick a date to divvy her up. She’s not going anywhere.”
The three voices laugh, and their owners leave a room at the end of the hall. Wendy follows the spirit into the room and doesn’t bother being surprised to see herself, not ten years older than she is now, lying in a cryo-bed. “So this is where it ends. With people dancing in the streets, West dead, and me on ice about to get my organs harvested by a couple of vultures. That’s just... peachy.”
She sinks down then, down into a crouch with her chin on her knees and her arms wrapped around her legs like a child. Takes a deep but shaky breath. “I don’t want it to happen like this. I don’t... I can make this right. Really right.” She takes another breath and presses her forehead to her knees, “God, I’ve been so stupid. I knew it- I knew the whole time that this was wrong. So I lost my dad in mysterious and as of yet unexplained circumstances, I knew that didn’t give me the right to fuck up everything. To make so many people miserable. To hurt my best friend. I did it anyway, but...” she looks up at the spirit, “it’s not too late, right? If I really tried, I could fix it, couldn’t I?”
She reaches up to the spirit, who remains an implacable black effigy of shadow.
“Please. I promise, I’ll change everything.” She gives a watery smile, “I’ll have Christmas every day of the year. I’ll make it right. Please.” She catches hold of the spirit’s crossed forearm. He tries to pull away, but she tightens her grip. “I’ll do it! Whether you want me to or not, I’m going to change! No one will stop me!”
As she stares into the spirit’s living shadow, he spreads and changes, fills with the vague nighttime forms and dimensions of her Fatboy quarters.
“I will change,” she informs the darkness, “I’ll change everything.”
Stave Five
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no subject
Date: 2011-01-05 07:01 am (UTC)Heh. Oh, alt!Wendy, so accommodating.
Oh, ouch. People stealing her organs is much worse than, you know, clearing out the bed linens and clothes and stuff while Scrooge was still warm.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-05 05:39 pm (UTC)Well, again, she's much worse off than Scrooge. He's just a businessman in London- she's the secret dictator of however far Fatboy's influence reaches.