22.1 (Admin Shenanigans) | {dreadis} March 6th, 2014…
The battle had raged for eons, or a few minutes, those watching had forgotten. Father against daughter, Hathor was choking Ra from behind with a golden chain; sister against sister, Hathor was in turn being crushed by Sekhmet. Husband against wife, Osiris held Isis in a scissor lock. Guy against guy, Apep was doing his best to break Anubis' leg while kicking him in the chin.
None, not those fighting nor those watching, noticed a simple cardboard box slip slowly and carefully through the fringe of the melee to the active Yggdrasil terminal that started the spat.
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.2 (Encyclopedia Brown) | {Crisis} March 4th, 2014…
"Okay, why the heck are you summoning detective zombies and teleporting them to crime scenes this loop?" Sally asked her 'boss', one Leroy 'Encyclopedia' Brown: Local Anchor with a love for mysteries and a completely eidetic memory. Seriously, the boy could remember details from previous loops down to the most innocuous variant and calculate exactly how many loops he'd had since, and even tell her how many of those she was Awake for. It was a feat even robot Loopers couldn't pull off reliably.
"Isn't it obvious?" the boy grinned at his partner and bodyguard in the detective business. The latter even more-so after her tomboyish tendencies soaked up some skills from combat-oriented fused loops. "I'm a necromantic Encyclopedia of translocation!"
Sally groaned and buried her face in her hands. Had she mentioned that his perfect memory made him even more stir-crazy than most?
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.3 (The Lost Fleet) | {dwennon} March 21st & 26th, 2014…
As he Awoke to taking command of the alliance fleet in the Syndic Home System John Geary could only think of a few things, forefront of his mind being, 'What did I do to deserve this?'
And as he was thinking that a large man in an admiral's uniform with a great beard appeared before him and said, "Why nothing lad, and I'm here to tell you what's going on."
"Well, I've started to go insane."
"Ahahah, why no you haven't gone insane yet lad. Nor is this punishment. Time is looping because there's some problems with the universe and I, Dagda the Good, have come to tell you what's what," the newly named Dagda loudly stated.
"Why couldn't it just be impossible odds again, why living stars why?" John Geary said in a way reminiscent of his long suffering.
—ox-oxo-xo—
"So this isn't a test from the living stars," John Geary said in a tired manner.
"That is correct mi'laddo," Dagda the Good replied with, "And time is repeating for other "universes" as well. Yup."
"And at some point others will probably join me and I will go to other universes every so often when time resets."
"That's about right."
"...I'm not sure if this is a relief or the portents of something worse. So is there anything else I need to know?" John said before sitting down and sighing deeply.
"A few things, my daughter is going to send you some reading material and see if we can bring in another Looper to help you acclimate a bit better. Since I can't stay here too long."
"Alright, I just feel the need to ask. Before you go, can you please at least give me some way to improve the food we're stuck with?" John said in a tone that could be considered overly stressed.
Curious at this Dagda asked, "I suppose I could see what I could do, but why?"
"Because every time we start to run out of ration bars before we can get to a friendly base and need to resort to taking rations from enemy ships and bases. With those ration bars being more like a relatively low grade economy types of bars. The first few times through was bad, after a dozen and starting right around needing to take rations from the enemy, it's become too much for me to handle much more. So about all I ask is just some way to make those terrible ration bars less horrible."
Understanding John's plight in a way that not enough of his brethren would, Dagda decided to do something. Pulling out his cauldron of plenty, then from there pulling out a small parcel and handing it to John he said, "There's not much I can do, but here's something to help a little that will only last this loop. I need to leave now but don't worry, a Looper from another universe should be by soon to help show you the ropes." And with that Dagda disappeared.
"Well, there are few ways I can think of this getting worse."
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.4 (The Honeymooners) | {Indalecio} March 27th , 2014…
Two figures in spacesuits stood on the barren surface of Earth's Moon. A sleek spaceship was parked next to them.
"I told you Honey, I told you. One of these days...Bang! Zoom! Straight to the moon!" He mimicked the motion, sending his arm straight up into the air.
"Yes you did Ralph. Yes you did."
"Would you like to try Mars next?"
"Alright."
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.5 (Admin Shenanigans) | {Crisis} March 6th, 2014…
"Hello Zurvan," Morpheus, the god of dreams, greeted his coworker. "How are things going?"
"About as well as they usually do," the admin known as Zurvan, a mostly forgotten deity in the Hub with some common traits with the 'Father Time' being that many mortals liked to depict in regards to New Year celebrations, groused. "The Doctor's propensity for time travel is still crashing Yggdrasil's precognitive simulator every time I try to take it off Read-Only."
Morpheus winced despite how many times he'd heard that. Even with Yggdrasil damaged, the precognitive simulator could plot out every possible path the events in most universes could take and give odds for any given outcome accurate to four decimal places. To actually crash such a thing took an incomprehensibly large number of possible paths.
"I'm doing my best to patch up the possibility for paradoxes, but there's just so many," the god of infinite time sighed. "It's like trying to plug a leaky boat when you've got more leaks than boat. How are things with your project?"
"The 'Once Upon A Time' snarl has at least ten distinct branches that need Anchoring if I'm ever going to get it online," Morpheus grumbled. "Maybe as many as twenty, all irrevocably linked. I'm still trying to figure out what goes where actually."
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.6 Form Letter | {Conceptualist} March 18th, 2014…
Dear [insert name/title of entity here]
We have become aware that you are planning to ascend to a dimensional level that is higher than your base iteration can support. There are more reasons than you are currently capable of comprehending for why this is a bad idea. To put it simply:
DON'T.
Sincerely,
The Executive Administration of the Multiverse
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.7 (ElfQuest) | {dragonraptyr} March 18th, 2014…
"Where do you think we wound up this time?" Skywise asked his chief, glancing down at the human holt below them. "It's not back home, I don't think. The scents are all wrong."
Cutter shrugged, not taking his eyes off of the house. "I think I heard it called the Hub before. Sort of like the Worldpool, I guess." He moved closer to the fence, staying as low as he could. "Here, we're just tales that might be so. Dreamberry visions."
Skywise wrinkled his nose as if he'd stumbled on a stinktail. "I'm not sure how much I like the idea of being someone's dreamberry vision." He watched Cutter laugh as the elf chief crouched quietly. "Let me guess, this holt is where that someone dens?"
Cutter nodded. "It's become a sort of custom, as far as I can guess, to pay a visit." He stood, contemplating his next move. "What do you think, the front of the holt, or the back?"
"Doesn't matter to me." Skywise shrugged. "You're the one who gets along with humans, anyway. You're the chief, Cutter. I'll follow your lead."
"The front it is, then. It'll prove interesting to see what they're doing." He stepped up to the door, rapping on it sharply in human fashion. Stepping back, he listened as muffled voices chattered inside for a moment before loud footsteps grew louder. Skywise hovered curiously behind him, chuckling. "Loud seems to be a trait of all humans." the silver haired stargazer muttered.
Then the door opened, and Cutter and Skywise looked at the very confused face of a Mr. Richard Pini. The human stood there speechless for a few moments, gaping like a particularly slow fish. "You're not reporters. Or well, anything I was expecting."
Cutter shrugged. "We hardly are what anyone expects." He watched the man look at them in no little bit of awe. Strange, but for a teller of tales to meet those figures, it had to be a bit strange. His ears perked as softer footsteps echoed behind the man, and the man's mate peered over his shoulder.
"Look Wendy. Look!" The man sounded almost giddy. "It's them!" he grabbed his mate and spun her about happily. "It's them!"
The woman, Wendy, smiled down at Cutter and Skywise, tears in her eyes. "Hello." She said softly. "It's wonderful to meet you at last."
Cutter smiled back. "Likewise."
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.8 (Middle Earth) | {TheOneButcher} March 29th, 2014…
Smaug looked at the Arkenstone the cornered Dwarves stole.
"Oh! And here I thought you tried to steal one of my gems... But that's just a Fool's Bauble."
Thorin Oakenshield was surprised. "What?"
"A Fool's Bauble! It's a worthless piece of fruit that tries to imitate a gemstone, but tries too hard. Really, diamonds of that size can't exist. But they do taste quite good with pork."
"Taste? Worthless? This is the Arkenstone! Heart of the Mountain! The greatest gem in Middle Earth! My forefathers have unearthed it here!"
At that Smaug let out a great bellow of laughter. "Sure, sure, hahahaha, I can't even eat you for that. It would be mean to eat someone so stupid. You know what? I'll gift that stone to you. In fact," the Dragon pulled forth a great sack from a nook in his cave, "Here, have a few more." And with that he upended the sack over their heads revealing a heap of diamonds as tall as them. All of them identical to the Stone in Bilbo's hand.
"No two real gemstones are exactly the same. But wait!" Smaug said and took a handful of them back. "They don't ripen for another few weeks, so I'll need to retain a few before next harvest. In fact," the Dragon took a handful more, "I think I'll go get myself a few pigs. Talking about Fool's Baubles has given me a craving."
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.9 (Castlevania) | {Valentine Meikin} March 30th, 2014…
Richter entered the room, expecting the usual speech to notice a man in a long white coat and incongruously modern attire slumped on Dracula's throne.
"Hello?" Richter asked, "Where's Dracula?"
"Dead. Long long story," the man offered. "So, never got to meet you in my time... It's... several decades in the future."
"So, how are you here?" Richter asked, completely confused over the fact someone from the distant future was sat in place of Dracula.
"I guess you're Looping..." The man offered, for Richter to nod, "Soma Cruz, the heir to Castlevania."
"Richter Belmont, the heir to the legacy of the Belmont family." Richter replied, "So, I guess you're not planning to destroy me."
"No. No, I wish to admit that I'll only feel my life is complete when I'm on your end of this battle."
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.10 (Monster Girl Quest) | {Xward} March 30th, 2014…
"Accept Illias as the one true god and denounce all others as false idols, and I will forgive past atrocities and protect and care for you as I would any other follower."
The Roper only glared at Luka despite her broken body.
Luka always considered himself of having a good moral compass, of knowing what was wrong and what was right. If he didn't he never would have gone on his journey for co-existence between humankind and monster girls. Then why was he going around in his half-angel form, calling himself "The voice of Illias", beating up monsters to the brink of death, and then asking them to worship Illias and join his growing rebellion against the monster lord? Maybe he had finally gone insane from these loops, maybe he believed his actions would be free of consequence.
...Or maybe it was because he had a horrible vore loop and wanted to actually have a consensual relationship with an angel this time.
Loopers who said that Eiken was bad needed to get their casual asses away from Luka.
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.11 (Middle Earth) | {Saphroneth} March 31st, 2014…
Bilbo Baggins crept through the corridors of the Lonely Mountain, towards the chamber that Thorin insisted the Dragon Dread was using as his lair.
The rumbling snores echoing through the whole mountain suggested that, for now at least, Smaug was asleep.
Eventually he came upon a vast cavern. Lying there, curled into a ball, was a huge red dragon.
And nothing else.
There was no treasure whatsoever, except for a not-particularly-ornate picture frame ten feet high. And the pile of brushes and paints next to it, and the half-finished landscape on it, rather implied that they weren't treasure so much as a hobby.
As Bilbo tiptoed forward, Smaug snorted and opened a single reptilian eye. Which rolled, and then closed again.
Smaug's tail flicked out, pointing to a sign near the door.
Bed-cavern of Smaug the Lazy.
Do Not Disturb.
For Treasure, Take First Left After Stairs.
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.12 (Monster Girl Quest) / (My Little Pony) / (Legend of Zelda) / (Mass Effect) / (Goat Simulator) | {Xward} March 31st, 2014…
"Okay, so lets put aside the obvious question for a second and figure out who's looping. I'm Luka from the Monster Girl Quest Loops."
"The Great and Powerful TRIXIE from the Equestria Loops."
"Ganon from Hyrule."
"Garrus from Mass Effect."
"MAAAH."
"And that is just a regular goat, now the obvious question: why are we goats?"
That was the question on each Looper's mind currently: "Why am I a goat?" When waking up this loop all four of our Loopers were surprised to find out that they had become goats in a small field enclosed by wooden fences. Garrus, a blue-gray goat with a chipped horn on his left side, decided to answer this the best he could.
"Did you expect a reason Luka?"
Luka, a light purple goat with brown spots, sighed and said, "No, I just thought it wouldn't hurt to ask."
Trixie, a sky blue goat that still retained her hat, decided to say something. "Idle chatter will get us nowhere, let's find something to do here. Maybe something to explode if we're lucky."
Ganon, a large, deep brown goat, also wanted to add something. "That may be hard to do since I can't access anything other than my subspace pocket."
Each Looper immediately tried to use any skill that normally traveled with them through the Loops, only to come up blank. Luka summed it up best.
"Well fuck."
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.13 (Burn Notice) | {Detective Ethan Redfield} April 7th, 2014…
My name is Michael Westen. I used to be a spy until I received a burn notice. Now I am living those years over and over again with the help of a trigger happy girlfriend, an old friend who informs on me to the FBI if I'm ever in Miami, family too...if I'm desperate, and any other Looper who is thrown into my Loop. Bottom line: when you're Looping, you're not going anywhere.
Mike's Awakening often occurred just as he received his burn notice from the CIA contact on the other end of his cell phone: "Michael Weston? We have a burn notice on you. You're blacklisted."
Blinking, he closed the phone and returned it to his suit pocket.
When handling negotiations with warlords, you are unable to bring firearms or bladed weapons into the same room as said warlord, unless they are either really confident in their security or really stupid. Fortunately for someone who has a subspace pocket and the ability to draw items from said pocket, this is not an issue. Make your shots count as there won't be a second chance to get it right...
His body turned to where there were no guards to see his actions as a Walther PPK with attached silencer materialized in his hand, already cocked and ready to fire. Before every loop ended, he made sure this gun was well oiled, the parts were in working order, and that it was fully loaded and ready to fire at a moment's notice. The warlord and his men never stood a chance as the American ex-spy took down each one in rapid succession.
If you are in a situation that you need to fake your death, the best way is total incineration. No usable DNA. However, make sure you bash out the teeth of one of the operatives to prevent dental records from being used to identify the bodies, never the man in charge, however. Switch your outfit for that of the corpse's and use a hammer on the teeth. Intelligence operatives will suspect you were tortured by having your teeth beat in. After accomplishing this, attach a bomb charge to another man's body. The same organization will believe a rival warlord sent in a suicide bomber and you were killed as a side note.
With his dirty deed done, Michael climbed out of the window and pressed the detonator. The heatwave from the orange fireball washed over him, but he failed to respond as he disappeared into the heart of the Nigerian jungle, intent on starting a new life as Charles Finley. It should at least get the attention of Sam Axe as he got some distance from the organization and planned his counterattack.
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.14 (Garfield) | {Valentine Meikin} April 14th, 2014…
Garfield got up, glancing around. As far as his life was concerned, he was apparently repeating portions of his life, and he had a simple way to deal with it. His first act was to get a box, stuffing Nermal into it, and mailing it to a random address got off the internet. Secondly, he punted Odie off the table, before giving Jon sleeping pills and himself a ample share of the lasagna supply of the house.
If anything was different about the world, from loop to loop, he'd not noticed. There was one minor difference in each repetition. He'd figured out that Japan didn't send Nermal back because half the addresses he sent the kitten to adopted him on the spot, Siberia usually sent a message apologizing about Nermal freezing to death, and so on and so forth. He now actually knew how to properly dispose of a unneeded kitten. A few more loops, and he'd have a good set of addresses for randomly picking where to get rid of the cutest kitten in America.
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.15 (Monster Girl Quest) | {Xward} April 1st & 3rd, 2014…
A Tall Tail part 1
'Alright then, how should I spend this loop?'
Luka did what most Loopers did when encountering a loop similar to their base-line, plan out what to do.
'I could try uniting the human nations under one flag again, but I still don't know how to deal with the resulting civil war that happens when I start the peace talks with Alice. But first things first, time to remove this ring!'
The most annoying thing to Luka about his loops was that he usually started them wearing his mother's ring. While he was overjoyed the first time to have an intact version of his mother's ring, it quickly grew old as he needed to remember to take the ring off each loop.
'Welp, here goes!'
*POMF* *twitch* *swish*
'...My current loop memories had better explain this.'
Turned out they did. Apparently this loop his dad had small amounts of monster blood in him, but it was enough to do something to Luka. While a half monster and half angel was impossible to be naturally created, his human blood acted as a binding for the dark and light magic within him. The result? Luka had become a male monster.
'Well that explains the tails…'
Specifically an eight-tailed Kitsune. Immediately he put Promestein under 'people I should not meet under any circumstances this loop'.
'…Bounty Hunter Luka sounds like a good loop to do in this situation.'
A Tall Tail part 2
Immediately the first thing that Luka noticed that was different about being a Kitsune, besides the eight fluffy tails (oddly enough his tails felt coarser than Tamamo's), was the colossal assault to his senses. It was hard to explain, while in angel mode he felt like he was a fire going through a field, probably due to the fact that light and dark magic don't normally occur in nature. As a Kitsune he felt like he was a blade of grass in a field, in other words: he felt one with nature. Alice would probably just hit Luka over the head and say: "Stop romanticising this, all it means is that you can smell, see, and run better. And that means you have no excuses for not cooking".
Speaking of Alice…
'Right, I should also get Angel Halo.'
The second thing that annoyed him about his loops besides the ring was that he didn't begin with his signature weapon: Angel Halo. While that would normally be remedied by putting her in his subspace pocket, Angel Halo was a Looping Artifact so she always looped back with him and thus always Awoke at her standard location. Luka wondered whether or not Angel Halo was attached to this Loop or to him as he had not had a loop without her, but that was besides the point. Luka wasn't helpless though, he wouldn't have gone through all those without devising a way to get Angel Halo back. Though his mom helped a bit.
'Alright then, I just put my fingers up to my lips and...'
Luka put both his index and middle finger up to his mouth and whistled. While also reaching out with his free hand.
*CRASH*
With a loud noise Angel Halo burst through Luka's wall and landed into his waiting hand.
Luka smiled. "Good girl." Angel Halo purred in response.
Due to some tips from his mother and some experimentation of his own, Luka had somehow gave Angel Halo a sort of pseudo-intelligence. Along with that he found out he could absorb sealed beings into her and add a sort of "Biomass" to her that enabled the ability to change into different weapon types or possibly make multiples. It was pretty cool.
"Okay, before we do anything we should probably visit Aunt Micaela. She would probably be able to vouch for me if anyone doubts my origins." Though he would probably have to explain the Loops to Micaela, again.
And so Luka set off on his loop, completely ignoring the vapor cloud and mentally cursing purple snake.
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.16 (Admin Shenanigans) | {Kalimaru} April 20th, 2014…
Hephaestus slammed his hands down on the console. "INFERNAL PIECE OF-! URAGH!" In one motion, the volcano god was up and throwing his chair across the room. As it became embedded in the wall, Hephaestus started causing the air around him to heat as he began snarling. "You start these unstable worlds, but when I try to fix them? INCOMPATIBLE, YOU WASTE!" There was a knock at the door. "WHAT?!"
Opening the door, Athena slid into the room. "This a bad time?"
Seeing who it was, Hephaestus took in a deep breath of air and then exhaled great rolling billows of black smoke and ash. "No, it's fine. What d'you want?"
Walking over to the embedded chair, Athena gripped it at one leg and pulled it from the wall before walking it over. "It's the Smash Branch. We managed to trim it down so that it took less space on the Safe Mode Server, but now it's way too dependent on the ties it has with the Non-Safe Branches. Apollo suggested we find a few Branches that could be put into a Safe-Mode that would reinforce it. I came to you to see if you had any candidates."
Taking the chair and sitting in it, Hephaestus pulled up a list of various Loops. "I have a few here if you're interested, but I don't know if they'll do what you want 'em to since they're unstable and all."
Leaning over Hephaestus' shoulder, Athena went down the list until she found a Branch that had been recently tested. "What happened with this one?"
Hephaestus sighed and let out a puff of dark smoke. "Tried to jumpstart it with a fused Loop. Figured the space in Wii Fit would work with the Punch Out setup and population. Just led to errors instead."
"Hmm." Looking further down the list, Athena couldn't find anything else interesting. "Well, Wii Fit doesn't seem particularly 'supernatural', so I think it'll work. Try running the numbers."
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.17 (Admin Shenanigans) | {Valentine Meikin} April 15th, 2014…
Skuld looked at the seemingly innocuous toaster. One of the other Admins had pulled it out of a loop, after it was found that it was, firstly, not in the right place, secondly, not in the right time, and thirdly, had driven a non-Awake person to commit suicide due to its one foible. She manifested a plug outlet, and plugged it in. After a few seconds, it 'looked' at her with a rudimentary camera, then powered up fully.
"Would you like some toast?" the device asked cheerfully.
"No." Skuld asked, "I just want to know why you drove someone to suicide."
"The Talkie Toaster does not drive people to suicide. It makes toast," the device replied, still just as cheerfully.
"Right, I'll just be going..." Skuld began, for it to speak up.
"Would you like a nice croissant to nibble on?" the toaster had asked.
"No," she replied, wondering what was wrong with this thing.
"A baguette?" it tried.
"No," she growled.
"A hot cross bun?" it attempted.
"N-O." Skuld declared, starting to get annoyed.
"Some ciabatta bread?" it tried.
Skuld rooted in her things for that flamethrower she'd been testing before the Loops began.
A short time later, Loki found the smoldering pieces of a electronic toaster in his in-tray.
"So, Why did I get this from Skuld?" he wondered.
'I found a good thing to toast,' Skuld's message about it read.
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.18 (Honor Harrington) | {Albert} April 22nd-23rd & June 24th, 2014…
Later, much later when she had time to consider everything, Honor counted herself very lucky that this insane reset of the universe brought her to while she was still en route to Fearless to take command. It gave her time for paranoia and panic, without giving Nimitz a . . . living target to shred.
It was his reactions as much as anything that convinced her that this was not a simulation. Honor hadn't known how to sense his feelings, back when she'd only been a Captain JG, but even though she was in her younger body – and without the cybernetic replacements she'd used for decades, for that matter – she found herself able to reach out and 'taste his mindglow', to use the idiom that the treecats had insisted was the closest translation to what they called it. (Sort of. Treecat telepathy did not have any form of aural communication in its evolutionary tree, and Nimitz had eventually admitted to Honor that it had been the work of generations to come up with a successful gestalt that allowed memory singers to teach young 'cats how to process the subtleties of meaning from something as alien as precisely-modulated 'purrs-and-chirps-and-howls'.) Since no simulation could hope to mimic something as poorly understood as Honor's empathic sense, she quickly found herself accepting that this was either a very convincing hallucination, or it was somehow real.
It couldn't be real, of course. As much as she hated math, she'd done the same proofs that all Manticoran officer cadets did, showing how even FTL didn't allow a person to tamper with their own 'light cone', which prevented meaningful time travel. But as hallucinations went, this one was damned convincing. And it was a chance at a reunion with friends long-lost to battle and mischance.
That realization sent pure, unalloyed joy through her, which finally calmed Nimitz down enough for the two of them to make themselves presentable enough to take command of the Fearless.
Honor could taste the resentment of Alistair McKeon this time, but her command presence had been honed by decades of naval, feudal, and political experience, and her empathy gave her instant feedback on how well she was doing. McKeon's resentment withered down to a few grumbles in response to her sheer happiness at being onboard.
Even the grav lance didn't really get her down. Oh, sure, it crippled her beloved ship, and there wasn't anything that could be done about that. But she had what she'd need to do the job.
It was tempting to hit Sonja Hemphill with some preemptive arguments that Honor was pretty sure would get the R&D mavin thinking along more productive lines – but the situation in Basilisk needed her, and so she followed the script of events that she recalled, and soon found her ship in unofficial exile, and herself docking with the Warlock to report to Pavel Young.
It took no small amount of self-control to keep from tackle-hugging Paul Tankersley.
Handling Young, on the other hand, was easy. This time, Honor knew how to use cosmetics to soften the last traces of coltish, adolescent awkwardness that would fade away entirely over the next few years, and she could taste how his disdain for her "low" status was almost overcome by the surge of lust Young felt when he saw her. The only difficulty Honor had was when she realized, from how his emotions shifted as he spoke, that Young was seriously contemplating seducing her once the Warlock's refit was complete. Fortunately, she neither killed him nor burst out laughing.
Her conference with her senior officers went a little differently.
"This," she told them, waving towards a graphical outline of their substantial responsibilities, "is what the Navy is supposed to be doing on Basilisk Station. This," waving at a much, much smaller graphic, "is what is traditionally accomplished. However, as soon as the Warlock goes through the wormhole, naval presence in the system will have effectively made a clean break. Let me be clear: The old traditions of this station are now gone. For the next several weeks, we will have free run of this place, and our new tradition is that we fulfill all of our obligations to our station, our Kingdom, and our Queen."
With that, she led them through much the same plan as she had the first time, albeit with a few minor optimizations that she had thought of later. She already had better esprit de corps from them, and with the increased confidence she projected her senior officers found themselves swept along, and much more willing to take her plan seriously than they had the last time.
Things went better, in the main, and Honor's chief personal regret, afterward, was that by hitting the Peep Q-ship in the aft ring with a laser as it tried to flee prevented her from being able to address the Board on the subject of grav lances.
But it wasn't long before the Fearless was turned over to Hemphill as a testbed vessel, and Honor found herself in Silesia, captaining the Heavy Cruiser Fearless, newly commissioned and named. Hunting pirates was very nearly a vacation for her – until a battle with a small privateer squadron saw a missile blast straight through the Fearless's armor and into the command center.
With a start, she found herself en route to the Fearless again, Captain JG again, with Basilisk ahead of her. Again.
This time she tried to stick as close as she could to the original timeline, and Fearless was blown to smithereens in the missile duel with the Peep Q-ship.
In the third repeat, Nimitz immediately began signing at Honor in panic, and they quickly established that he remembered all the long decades of her original life, but not the first two repeats. It did not take him long to calm down, 'cats being less prone to abstract worry than humans, and especially after Honor pointed out that his telepathy was very likely restored to him.
This time, she neutralized the Q-ship, then in Silesia set an ambush for the privateer squadron that kept the Fearless from ever being exposed to more than light missile fire. She drew the mission to Yeltsin's star once more, and in the beginning the touchiest part was handling her parents and Admiral Courvosier, who could both tell that she'd 'grown up a lot' in the last few years.
Houseman was annoying, but at least she'd looked up the buzzwords currently in vogue at Mannheim University of Economics, and was therefore able to converse with him in his native lingo, rather than try anything so gauche as argue with an intellectual using the Queen's Standard English.
The Graysons were amusing, in a way. Another of Honor's research projects had been the ways that male-dominated cultures had allowed for the occasional exceptional woman to lead. Specifically the 'Joan of Arc' phenomenon. So when she was introduced to Admiral Yanakov, she unleashed the full measure of her command presence as well as all the graciousness she'd learned in her decades as Steadholder and Duchess Harrington.
She had Courvosier gaping in minutes, and the Graysons eating out of her hand not too long after.
Knowing what she'd learned from Captain Yu in the original future, and remembering how she'd been intimidated by the Graysons last time, Honor chose to keep the Fearless in-system and send the other, smaller ships on with the convoy. Then, in a move that surprised even Courvosier with her boldness (and willingness to use something that was still highly classified), she deployed her FTL sensor drones far enough out to catch the approach of the Masadan raiders in time to sneak past Thunder of God and Principality and blow the Masadan navy to hell.
Not particularly wanting to spend a year in rehab, Honor smuggled a pair of pulsers to the 'simple family dinner' she was invited to by Protector Mayhew (the switch confused her, until she met him and tasted his mindglow – then she had to keep from laughing as she realized that a nascent 'pro-Honor' faction's first reaction to her victory was to try to figure out how to get her to marry the Protector), and took down the assassins alongside Captain Fox, who was very quick to react once she shot the disrupter out of the hand of the man who would have killed him.
With the FTL drones confirming that Thunder of God and Principality had beat a hasty retreat (and thank God for Yu's evaluation of 'Sword' Simonds), with no Manticoran prisoners to worry about taking out Blackbird was all too easy. And then when Honor's fleet returned before the Haven-built units, sending the Madrigal to alert Manticore was the easiest decision she'd made so far.
Honor was counting on Yu to stall and Simonds to take over the ships, and when the modern Battlecruiser and Destroyer ran away from her sudden appearance she decided she was correct. This time she 'guessed' that the crews were all-Masadan right away, and instructed Rafe Cardones to prepare for the possibility of getting nukes through purely automated defenses.
Two minutes into the fight, the three Manticoran ships launched a combined salvo that managed to get 5 nukes through the defenses of the two Havenite-built ships, gutting Principality and crippling Thunder of God on one side (including an acceleration ring). With the enemy ships unable to flee, the Manticorans closed the range and disabled both ships before boarding and capturing the surviving crews.
After that it was really only a matter of mopping up in Endicott and being made Steadholder(and Countess) Harrington.
Except that, while she got a Reliant-class battlecruiser, it wasn't Nike, and her ship was already on assignment when Hancock station was reinforced. The First Battle of Hancock ended in a painful defeat for Manticore, and Honor still hadn't managed to find out if Paul Tankersley had been killed or merely taken captive when her new ship was destroyed in action in the assault on Seaford Nine.
What if you tried another path? Nimitz asked, thankfully aware of the long future he'd lived with her as well as the most recent stretch of 4 or 5 years.
"Can I afford to, Stinker? The people at Hancock died bravely, but I was so very lucky the first time. The Kingdom needs solid victories at Basilisk, Yeltsin, and Hancock, and that means I need to be there to force things to happen."
But your weapons are about to change, yes? Are they not linked to the lance you so despise?
"Barely. The grav lance can be modified to take down a civilian wedge if you stage-manage all the conditions, and that's what set Sonja on the road to FTL drones and comms, but . . .
"But the power plants for those were then parlayed into the mass drivers that modern missile pods need . . ."
Honor glared at her 'cat. "Stinker, do you have any idea how much math cutting-edge gravitic research requires?"
Nimitz's return look was too innocent to be genuine. The People have never been very good with abstract reasoning.
"I can't just give her the solutions. I have to give her the proofs, as well."
But it could be done?
"Not with all my other duties, not in time to help. But after Yeltsin I might be able to work with her for a while, given that I'll have used the drones, and if I memorize all the math for next time . . ."
Honor still didn't get to Hancock station, and she still fell in battle not too long after, but she was able to memorize all the data she needed to shave at least 3 years off of Manticoran grav research.
"My Lords and Ladies of the Weapons Development Board, thank you for the kind invitation to speak today on the subject of the grav lance." It was the first time she'd addressed the Board since the original time-line, and she'd managed to earn an invitation by using the grav lance to cripple the Peep Q-ship as it began to flee Basilisk.
"Taking down a side-wall is no small feat, especially from a hundred thousand klicks away. Indeed, compared to the performance of a standard missile's penaids, where a sidewall is merely weakened along a tiny area, the performance of the grav lance seems miraculous. As little as fifty years ago, the grav lance would have allowed Manticore to dominate in any capital ship engagement.
"Time, unfortunately, has marched on. The same advances in technology that make a grav lance viable have also conspired to strangle it in its infancy.
"Why do ships approach each other when missiles can strike from millions of klicks away? Because it is a tactical reality that a missile cannot hope to survive the last 30 thousand kilometers of its attack run against a competent wall of battle. The missile is both too close to hope to fool the sensors of a capital ship, and also too close for random vector shifting to prevent point-defense lasers from hitting and destroying it. Even an autocannon, obsolete as they are, can intercept where a missile with a classic warhead must maneuver to as its attack vectors narrow.
"Thus, Ships of the Wall must close to within beam distance in order to inflict decisive damage in a battle. This has been the tactical reality for centuries.
"As a weapon, the grav lance posits that if Ships of the Wall must close to within 400 thousand klicks, they will retain their momentum, and so inevitably close to within a hundred thousand klicks, at which point the grav lance comes into play, the enemy side-walls go down, and battle is decided then and there in our favor.
"This argument enjoys the twin advantages of mathematical rigor and historical vindication. All things remaining equal, the presence of the grav lance would force enemy Ships of the Wall to either adopt this technology, retreat before closing to energy range, or face annihilation."
Admiral Hemphill's expression was very carefully neutral as she cut in. "You have made what sounds like a very good argument in favor of wide-spread adoption of the grav lance. How do you propose to demonstrate the opposite, Captain Harrington?"
Honor smiled slightly. "I will not deny the strengths of the grav lance. As I said, as little as fifty years ago, Manticore would have dominated with this technology. However, that was then, and this is now. The argument for the grav lance has one major weakness: It presupposes that in order for a major battle to be decisively won or lost, Ships of the Wall must inevitably close to close energy range.
"Consider the laser-head missile. A laser-head does less damage, overall, than a contact nuke, but modern grav-lenses permit the missile to hit targets at a range of up to 40 thousand klicks. Again, missiles cannot survive within 30 thousand klicks of a Wall of Battle. These, however, do not have to.
"Against a competent Wall of Battle, the majority of missiles do not survive to within 40 thousand klicks, but some will. If they are laser-heads, they can then inflict damage. What this means, my Lords and Ladies of the Board, is that Ships of the Line can be dealing damage to each other from millions of klicks away, whereas before they had to get to within about 400 thousand klicks before their beams were strong enough to burn through sidewalls.
"The grav lance creates the threat of close-range supremacy, but for the threat of close-range supremacy to dominate a naval battle, the threat of long-range supremacy must be negligible by comparison. That is no longer the case. The threat of long-range supremacy is on the rise as modern navies adopt the laser-head. It can be expected to continue to increase for the foreseeable future, especially as ways are sought to overwhelm or saturate anti-missile defenses. Given how long it takes for ships to close from extreme missile range to energy range, it is now possible – even likely – that one side or another will inflict decisive damage while still outside energy range.
"And once inflicted, the commanding officer of the losing side has the unpalatable choice of whether to attempt to flee through the same storm of missiles that already half-crippled her fleet, to surrender, or to die in a largely-futile attempt to inflict further damage against a foe that has already established superiority.
"The log-jam of outdated concepts has been breaking up out from under our feet for the last few decades. If we have not previously noticed, it is only because there has not been a major war in our lifetimes to settle matters one way or another."
—ox-oxo-xo—
Afterward, Admiral Hemphill sought out Honor for a private conversation.
"I must admit, I thought you were more of a Traditionalist," she began with.
"I am, for the most part. An integrated Wall of Battle will still provide the best anti-missile defenses, even in the face of a missile swarm." Honor quirked her lips. "Or at least I can't imagine anything else surviving the nightmare of hundreds of missiles howling in on their targets. So the fundamental tactical doctrine remains the same."
"Perhaps," Hemphill allowed. "I've ordered some simulations prepared. If they agree with you, it looks like we may need to reconsider our energy/missile/antimissile recommendations. Again."
Honor allowed the quirk in her lips to expand to a wry smile. "I suppose I could be accused of being a jeune ecole sympathizer, because I have to admit I dislike how formalized fleet tactics have become over the last six hundred T-years. The prospect of inflicting decisive damage is an exciting one, but nonetheless the grav lance simply cannot overcome its limitations. I've checked."
"Oh, you have?" Now Hemphill's voice was tart, but Honor simply nodded.
"I was looking for any possible way to extend the range. A grav lance that could strike at five or six hundred k-klicks, for example, would tilt energy combat decisively in Manticoran favor. But the math says it can't really work."
"Does it?"
"If I'm right, we could have reprogrammed the grav lance, stepped down the power in favor of focus, and maybe been able to knock out a civilian impeller at about a million klicks. Or send pulsed codes at FTL speeds, but at a horribly slow rate of transmission."
Admiral Hemhill's eyebrows shot up. "How slow?"
Honor shrugged. "No faster than the firing rate of the grav lance. You could probably send a message faster just by blinking a wedge on and off, albeit with less security. Anyway, I suppose I should offer you the proofs I worked out, even if they're just useful for killing the grav lance a little more dead."
"No, no, I don't mind. Who knows, they might be useful for something."
"Oh?"
"Well, if we start from something a little less clumsy than an entire ship's wedge."
Honor nodded. "Alright. I'll send them over. But I should warn you that math really isn't my strong point, and I can't promise that the proofs are enough for academic rigor."
—ox-oxo-xo—
Later, when Honor was alone with Nimitz:
Did she take the bait?
"I think so, Stinker. Especially since I implied my math was sloppy – it won't take her too much work to arrive at the full proofs, but until she does everything I gave her was just a hypothesis. She'll have a perfectly valid reason to list herself as the main researcher and only give me supporting credit."
Then, as long as she doesn't interfere with us before Yeltsin's Star, this may work out.
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.19 (Middle Earth) | {Saphroneth} April 26th, 2014…
Gandalf strode out of Fangorn at the head of the truncated Fellowship.
"We must make haste to Edoras," he said, his clear voice carrying effortlessly. "The shadow moves more quickly, and darkness grows in Isengard."
He whistled, three long warbling notes followed by a pair of shorter ones.
With a great clap of leathery wings, a red shape swept over the nearest swale and alighted in front of them, landing with great precision.
Gandalf leant forward, scratching the newcomer under the chin. "This is Smaugleafearno, the lord of all horses."
Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli exchanged looks.
"Lad, are you sure you came back alright?" Gimli ventured. "That there's a dragon."
"He has been my friend through many dangers," Gandalf rebuked gently. "And is he not a magnificent specimen? No other horse comes close."
"Neigh," Smaugleafearno said unconvincingly.
"See?" Gandalf asked, bestowing a beatific smile on the three warriors.
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.20 (Inspector Gadget) | {Crisis} April 26th, 2014…
"Penny, as a Looper I have a duty to improve our universe," Inspector Gadget explained calmly, "and as the Anchor, I am always on duty."
"Of course Uncle Gadget," Penny rolled her eyes. She'd tried to explain that he wasn't the Anchor before, but her uncle's weird sense of self importance kept filtering the concept out before it could reach his brain.
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.21 (Selkirk, the Real Robinson Crusoe) | {Kickaha [a.k.a. Ed Becerra]} April 27th, 2014…
Alexander looked around. This was the third time, and he was certain he was going mad. Waking up on the ship, encountering the island, learning to survive - the only changes were how fast he learned. Was he mad? Was time repeating itself? Why would God do this to him?
At least he could remember the joy of his rescue. And the memories helped him in avoiding the evil Spaniards.
But what did this all mean?
He looked around and sighed. Another four long years to endure.
He would pray.
Often.
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.22 (Sherlock Holmes) / (Transformers) | {Kris Overstreet} April 29th, 2014…
"Watson," Holmes said quietly, "do you have your pistol on you?"
Dr. Joan Watson looked around her. "Holmes, we're in your apartment." A second glance. "We're in your KITCHEN. There's no sign of any disturbance."
"Nonetheless I would be comforted if you drew your pistol and had it at the ready," Sherlock Holmes murmured, licking his lips nervously.
"Oh, all right," Watson said, pulling her police-permit handgun from her purse. "But why? What are you afraid of? Air-guns?"
"No. Decepticons."
Joan looked at Holmes, who displayed not the first sign of humor. "Decepticons."
"Yes."
"Evil robots from a children's cartoon and toy line."
"Yes."
"Giant, evil robots, who generally can't fit inside a New York apartment."
"Just so."
Joan Watson couldn't stifle the snort. The snort met a giggle. The two fell in love, and in no time at all they had a litter of frisky baby laughs running all over.
Holmes, after several seconds, couldn't avoid laughing himself at the absurdity, however logical, of his conclusion.
The toaster joined in, its laugh distinctly malevolent.
Holmes and Watson froze into silence, staring at the toaster as it rocked on the countertop with laughter.
After several seconds the toaster noticed the attention. It realized the world was a lot less funny with a nine-millimeter slug about to perforate your none-too-well armored internals.
"Er... er..." The toaster cast about frantically for any words which might save it. "Um... Co-BRAAAAAAAAAAA...?"
That word turned out to be a loser, as the single gunshot verified moments later.
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.23 (Divergent) / (DC Comics) | {Lord Circe} May 1st, 2014…
Tris opened her eyes. It was pitch black, but she could hear the rustling as her fellow initiates moved around her. It was time. The serum had been activated, and her fellow Dauntless were being controlled.
Focusing inward, Tris found that inner space, the subspace pocket that Dick had taught her about, and two objects emerged. One dropped onto the bed, glowing green, and the other fell into her palm. She quickly slipped the small ring from her palm onto her right ring finger, and then pointed it at the softly glowing lantern resting on her sheets.
"From Abnegate home, to Dauntless tower
I call on my free heart's power.
Don't look back, never stand still.
Burn bright, fight on, my Divergent Will!"
Out of the corner of her eye, Tris saw Kristine and Will turning to look at her, before the world shone green.
Tris' Loops were not pleasant, in the most polite terms. They tended to start in one of three places: In front of her family mirror before her test, during the test itself, or at the moment when her blood landed on the coals. The first time she Awoke, she had froze as her mother brushed her hair, before spinning around to hug her. Immediately afterwards, she had shoved her mom away, fearing that she was trapped in a simulation, somehow. But it never ended.
Loops tended to run either until she died, which happened depressingly often in her first loops. She tried to stop the Abnegation Massacre by whatever means possible, but it was almost impossible to convince people of the existence of either the Bureau or the Erudite Conspiracy without them experiencing it themselves. At one point, in frustration, she simply hurled the stone bowl of coals at Jeanine after Awakening there. She died very shortly after that.
If she Awoke early, she could hide her Divergence somewhat, which made it easier to move around, but didn't really help her in stopping everything. She had only successfully ended the Massacre once, by contaminating the "tracker fluid", causing most of Dauntless to become extremely ill. The Erudite moved anyway a little while later.
Then came The Loop. It was how she would always think of it. She had Awoke in a bed, so soft and warm. She had immediately suspected a simulation, but it all just felt real. She had found her parents downstairs. There was a mirror in the bathroom, and the house looked..."normal". She had gone to school, which was completely bizarre, but somehow nostalgic. Her Loop Memories talking, she now knew, but for the first several days, she had wandered, totally confused about everything that was going on. Then the ring came.
She had been sitting on her roof, looking up at the stars, and finally starting to relax, when a small green ring had flown up to her, flickering with green light, and an odd voice spoke.
"Be-Beatrice Pri-o-or of 'rth, y-y-you hav-ave the abili-ity to-to-to overcom-me gr-great fear. Wel-wel-welcome to the Green-en Lanter-ern Corps-s." The ring then slid onto her right hand.
Tris flipped out. She leapt up, pulling at the ring, but it wouldn't come off, and then Tris slid sideways off the roof. By instinct, she twisted, preparing to land and roll on the lawn below. But the impact never came. Tris glanced down, to find her feet hovering a foot off of the ground. She then noticed a faint green glow surrounding her body. The glow flickered twice, then vanished, and Tris landed on the lawn with a gasp.
After another fruitless attempt to pull the ring off, she made her way quickly inside.
—ox-oxo-xo—
It was three days later, at night once again, when Dick, or rather Nightwing, showed up. Tris had been examining the ring. It had seemed familiar to her, in a way that she couldn't quite place. She had kept it a secret from her parents and brother so far, but she was starting to get nervous. She had just made another attempt to pull the ring off when a tap came from her window. She glanced up and gasped. A thin man with black hair and an odd blue and black outfit was crouched on the ledge outside her window, grinning at her.
After a few moments of staring at him, her mouth hanging open, Tris drew herself up and moved over, pulling open the window to demand what he thought he was doing.
"Aha, I knew I would be the one to find you. Man, tricorders are awesome." The man slid into the room, slipping past her easier, even as she lashed out to block him. "Whoa, careful, you could hurt someone like that." He laughed softly, and Tris scowled.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
The man tilted his head. "Don't recognize me? I know I'm not as photogenic as Superman, but you must have heard of Nightwing."
Tris shook her head. Superman was familiar, some kind of heroic flying man, but Nightwing was only a sidenote, something about fighters in Gotham City. She hadn't paid much attention, focusing more on the wonderful feeling of not having to fight for her life and that of her family.
The man shrugged. "Well, the name is Nightwing, and, due to an unfortunate accident with a Star Dragon, you are one of the Green Lanterns of Earth."
"Green Lantern? The ring mentioned that. What the heck is going on?"
Nightwing frowned as he stared at her for a moment. "First off, what's your name?"
"...Tris. Tris Prior."
Nightwing reached into a pocket and pulled out a thin plastic pad. He poked at a digital screen on it for a moment, before nodding. He then looked at her. "Quick question. Has time been repeating for you?"
Tris blinked, before nodding eagerly. "Yeah. Yeah, it has. Has it been happening to you? Do you know why?"
"Whoa whoa." Nightwing held up his hands. "Slow down. Yeah, it has been happening to me. Hold on, I will give you the full run down."
—ox-oxo-xo—
After Nightwing explained about the Multiverse Tree, Yggdrasil, and how it was broken, he described the ring and what it was for.
"The Green Lantern Corps is sort of a space police force. The rings they use are powered by the energy of Willpower. Using it, you can form anything you can imagine, so long as you have power."
Tris' mind shot back to the night she fell off the roof. "Like flying?"
Nightwing grinned as he flopped down on her bed. "Yep." He reached out, and a green ring appeared on his finger. The ring lit up, and the green glow Tris had seen before flowed around Nightwing, replacing the blue in his costume. Slowly, he floated up off the bed, rotating until he was standing upright, before bowing. Tris gaped, before staring down at the ring on her finger. It flickered, but no glow came forth.
"Yeah, it's out of power. You can power it on your own, but it is pretty difficult. Instead, you need to use one of these." Tris looked up, just in time to catch a large green lantern that Nightwing had tossed towards her. She stumbled, glanced at the lantern, then glared up at him accusingly. He grinned.
"There is a standard oath that you can use to access the power, but I find it best to make a personal one. Here's mine:
In dark of night, evil stirred
a distant cry for help was heard.
I heed the call, take up the fight,
Nightwing flies on emerald light!"
Tris stared at him incredulously. "...You have got to be kidding."
Nightwing shrugged as he landed on the floor. "Believe it or not. Weird as it sounds, your oath will really just come to you. Anyway, give me a call if you have any questions."
Tris glanced at the cell phone that she was still getting used to using, sitting on her dresser. "How? I don't have your..." She turned back, to find the room was empty, "...number."
She stepped forward, glancing towards the window, when the cell phone rang. She quickly picked it up.
"Here's my number. *Click*" Tris stared at the phone.
'Ok then.'
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.24 (Welcome to Night Vale) / (Firefly) / (Super Smash Bros.) / (My Little Pony) | {Kalimaru} May 3rd, 2014…
There is a large, floating, white hand above the radio station. Its non-existent eyes scan, looking for something. Perhaps, dear listeners, it is looking for you. Welcome to Night Vale.
*music starts then fades*
Dear listeners. It would appear that our dry little city is playing host to a number of new guests. These guests range in description from normal citizens to adorable small horses and even to disembodied floating limbs. Most of these new guests are an amiable sort, going about their business and pleasantly interacting with the members of Night Vale's community. Some of these guests, particularly the small, adorable horses I mentioned earlier, seem to be well versed in the rules of our community. When asked about these friendly foreign guests, the sheriff's Secret Police had this to say on the matter: "So long as the foreign entities show no signs of hostility towards the members of the Secret Police, they, the foreign entities, are welcome."
Seeing this as an opportunity, members of various clubs and committees have begun drafting the visitors into bizarre and unmentionable hazing rituals. Even our own radio station, from which I am currently broadcasting, has taken liberties to interview one of the visitors. Sitting with me now, in this tiny sound booth is one of the visitors. Would you care to tell us your name?
*a throat is cleared* "Of course. My name is Malcolm Reynolds."
Good to have you on the air, Mr. Reynolds. If you could, could you please explain to the members of Night Vale's community where you came from? Many are curious to know.
*the sound of a door opening, some mumbling* "My apologies, but it would seem that I am not allowed to disclose that information Cecil."
Ah. Then could we know what it is you plan to do in Night Vale? The sheriff's Secret Police are hoping for a forewarning in case they will need to prep the dark chambers.
*more whispering and mumbling* "I believe my associates and I will be taking a vacation in Night Vale. Perhaps take in the sites and sample some of the local cuisine."
Well that's good to hear, Malcolm. Say, before you go, do you know how we can get that large white hand away from the radio station antenna? It seems to be enhancing the radio waves so well that the citizens of Night Vale can hear our broadcast coming from anywhere they place a slightly used magazine. I normally wouldn't complain, but the City Council put a ban on hearing magazines last week, and we wouldn't want anyone having to pay the compulsory organs due to unorthodox broadcast.
*some more mumbling* "We'll see what we can do." *a door shuts*
Very good. Well, you heard it here first Night Vale. Or, if you were listening from between the pages of the nearby news stand, you did not. But for now, dear listeners, the weather.
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.25 (Middle Earth) | {Saphroneth} May 9th, 2014…
"Dragon!" the guard shouted, running inside.
Thráin, son of Thrór, caught him by the arm as he went past. "Dragon?"
"Yes," he confirmed, eyes wide. "It has wings a hundred feet and more long, it is a baleful red and fire seethes within! It will kill us all!"
Thráin released him, and hefted his axe - the ancestral weapon of his bloodline. If he had to run, he would, but he would at least see the wyrm first.
A deep voice rumbled. "Excuse me?"
Thráin blinked. "Yes?" he called, warily. They said wyrms could enspell lesser beings with their voices...
"I'd like to talk to you about Eru."
With a thumping and cracking of stone, the dragon's head and fore torso came into view. It... seemed to be wearing a well-turned out shirt, like that some of the men of Dale wore, and had a pair of spectacles perched atop a terrible snout.
There was also a nametag, the size of a door, with the legend: Brother Smaug.
"I was wondering if you'd given your heart to Eru," he continued, in an all too calm voice. "Only those who have will be saved."
"You mean you'll kill the rest?" Thráin replied.
"No, I mean eventually. It's all in this book. May I come in?"
—ox-oxo-xo—
2.26 (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) | {Crisis} May 9th, 2014…
Splinter had been planning for this particular event in this particular baseline version for a long time now. He loved his adopted sons no less than if they were his own flesh and blood, but...
...it did not mean that he had no more love to give another child that was.
The current variant of Karai, the off-and-on ally of his sons in the realities she existed, charged him in fury, the lie of Oroku Saki, that Splinter had killed her mother, at the front of her mind.
"AAAAHHHHHH!" the kunoichi screamed in rage as she thrust her blade with all her might.
The blade was deflected gently to the side as Splinter stepped inside the teen's guard. Her gasp of terror became one of confusion when, instead of the ruthless blow she expected, she was instead greeted by a warm embrace.
"I loved your mother too much to ever do her harm," Splinter whispered in her ear. "And I despaired the day I thought you lost to me."
"Wha...?" Karai fumbled in confusion.
Splinter could see the surprise in Shredder's face begin to melt into fury and he knew it would be dangerous to press this further. He released his embrace and looked the teen girl in the eye. "Until we meet again, my daughter."
And with that, he took his leave.
—ox-oxo-xo—
On loops and Loops:
Small-'l' loops refer either to non-Infinite Loops situations (such as Groundhog Day mini-loops), or to single loop-iterations.
Capital-'L' Loops refer to ongoing/permanent descriptors in context of the Infinite Loops. (So Loopers are Looping within their Loops, but may not be looping – ie. Awake – this loop.)
2.1: And that's how a non-Egyptian god sharked Adminhood of the Stargate Branch.
2.2: The subsequent lawsuit brought against Encyclopedia Brown by Ash Williams would draw to an abrupt halt when Leroy suddenly realised that his name for that loop-iteration was Jenkins. Which of course led to another lawsuit. Beware the puns, children…
2.3: MREs: the bane of every expeditionary armed force. Everywhere. Everywhen. Ever.
2.4: Totally not what it sounded like. Honest, officer!
2.5: Both did eventually get Looping, btw.
2.6: No, seriously. Don't.
2.7: Wendy and Richard Pini are known for maintaining that the characters of ElfQuest are real to them. And given that 'Hub' loops are only ever Hub-'like'… Well, who knows?
2.8: Trolling: not reserved solely for trolls.
2.9: For a whole new definition of type-casting.
2.10: It is a truism of the Infinite Loops that 'everything is looping'. It really isn't; SFW concerns re. SpaceBattles means that something like MGQ is right out there on the edge of what can be portrayed looping.
2.11: [comment withheld due to gratuitous lassitude]
2.12: Sometimes it's better to go with the goat— er, I mean flow.
2.13: Hey, when they're dumb enough to give you warning…
2.14: An eternity of infinite pest control and lasagna.
2.15: Soul-bonding: in the Infinite Loops, a term more often applied to one's possessions than one's true love(s). And as far as I'm concerned, that's an improvement.
2.16: At some time following this, Adminship was transferred to Hephaestus. Whether this is because Athena and co. succeeded or because they failed is up for conjecture.
2.17: The toaster, incidentally, was native to Red Dwarf.
2.18: Quite often, the line between cause-and-effect and plot armour can be pretty damn blurry. This tends to bite a lot of Loopers in a lot of uncomfortable places.
2.19: Let's…not speculate about what happened to Shadowfax, shall we?
2.20: Some 'Stealth' Anchors don't have a choice about it.
2.21: Fortunately, Selkirk would shortly find himself playing 'Robinson' a majority of the time; the companionable eye-candy was much appreciated. (FYI, Selkirk, the Real Robinson Crusoe was an 2012 Argentine stop-motion film dramatising the real-life inspiration for the Daniel Defoe classics.)
2.22: Well. At least it wasn't obsessed about toast like the last one.
2.23: Divergent is far from the worst place for a Looper to call home. There's a reason Horror is this fic's second genre-tag – and it's not even this reason…
2.24: Yeah, that was pretty much par for the course even before Welcome to Night Vale started looping.
2.25: …Not by the beards of our chinny-chin chins?
2.26: And to think: if Splinter does this many, many, many times over, she might one day just get to remember it afterwards!