Disclaimer: Um, I don't own Professor Snape or the Supreme Kai... I do own
Orriole. I kind of own Kancho. He may be Admiral Piett, but he's my Admiral
Piett, which makes him not quite anyone else's. Okay, fine, George Lucas
can claim Kancho if he wants...
Um, anyway, this arose out of an English class assignment to write a trigger poem or story, and I couldn't come up with anything really, so I just wrote the current conversation between myself and Kancho. And yes, before you ask, I am crazy (and damn proud of it!). This story kind of goes along with my new comic at http://elfandi.keenspace.com . It's all about me and the characters who live in my head. I guess that's the best way to describe this, me and one of the many characters in my head...
Anyway, hope you enjoy it or... something. *shrug*
---
A Plate of Hot Cookies and a Bedtime Kiss
Em sat at her computer, mouse clicking and fingers twitching, but not typing, which was odd because the only program she had open at the moment was Microsoft Word, her word processor of choice, and the only thing she ever really did in it was type. Now she was just staring.
"Hullo, Em."
"Hi, Kancho." Em's voice was clear and smooth as she replied, hiding her momentary surprise at the arrival of her beloved "Kancho," or Lord Admiral Djerod Andries Piett, as he was more generally known. He picked his way gingerly across her clothing- and paper-covered floor to the free standing area behind her computer where a bench had once been. Lacking the bench, he was forced to remain standing. It was hardly the most comfortable position. Djerod was no longer a young man. His once-dark hair was dusted finely with white and his hands no longer bore the strength and exactness of his youth, when he had been able to hit the bulls-eye of a target with his blaster at five hundred meters.
"How are you?" he inquired lightly.
"Good, and you?"
"Well enough. What are you doing?"
"Nothing," she lied.
"Then what's that?" He pointed a finger to a few lines of text on her screen.
"Oh! They're quotes, you wanna hear 'em? Okay, here goes. 'Forever honour'd and forever mourn'd.' 'Ah, youth! Forever dear, forever kind.' 'Forever; 't is a single word!' 'Truth forever on the scaffold,/Wrong forever on the throne.' 'Yesterday, to-day, and forever.' 'His time is forever, everywhere is his place.' 'What shall I do to be forever known,/And to make the age to come my own?' 'Awake, arise, or be forever fallen!' 'And the prophets, do they live forever?' 'For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.'"
He did not reply at first, giving the quotes time to digest in his mind. At last he said, "Thinking of something?"
"Um, erm, well... I have this assignment for English to write trigger poem or story, so I collected these quotes. Well, uh, not really. I mean, I have the assignment, yes, but I collected the quotes for Professor Snape. Or rather, for my Professor Snape/Hermione fanfic."
"The one you're not supposed to be working on."
"Yeah, that's the one. You won't tell him, right?"
"No, I won't."
Djerod finally decided he really ought to sit down and wove his way back to her bed, where he promptly flopped down with a tired sigh and began to work in a notebook he had carried in with him. Em returned to staring at her screen and playing with her mouse cursor.
"Hmm," she pondered.
He gave an uninterested grunt in reply, only half-hearing the noise from her. That piqued Em's curiosity, so she turned in her chair to address him.
"What are you working on?"
"Work."
"What work?"
"Physics. I'm trying to perfect that multiphasic drive design I've been telling you about."
"Oh. And then you and I will take it down the NASA and wow them off their asses?"
"Arses," he corrected with a small smile, "and yes."
"Oh, pfft-" she stuck her tongue out-"I wasn't trying to be British."
"And I'm not British."
"Well, you were played by one on TV. I mean, in the movie. I mean-oh, I give up. As usual, you win."
"As usual, yes." He stuck the corner of his mechanical pencil in his mouth and began to gnaw on the eraser. Em turned back to her computer screen.
"I still don't know what to write about."
"Write about this."
"What?"
"Sorry, wasn't really listening. What was it you asked?"
"Oh, you're horrid. I said I don't know what to write about. I'm too worried at the moment. And sick."
"Worried? About what? Professor Snape again?"
"Yes, Snape again. And Shin. And Orriole. I haven't seen him in ages! And I'm worried about all of them. I know Snape's going to die, I just know it, but I won't believe it. Or is it that I believe it without knowing? And Shin, I'm scared for him! The little guy, all that Supreme Kai stuff and giant monsters and him getting squished. And Orriole I just haven't seen in ages! He stops by and then leaves again? What nerve!"
"You really oughtn't to worry about any of them. They're safe as long as they're here, right?"
"Oh, foo, you're right again as always. But still... I mean, sure, they're okay for being here, but what about the things I can't control? Like J. K. Rowling! I can't control her! Unless you're going to bloody tell me that I can control her and protect Professor Snape from everything bad."
"No, sorry, Em."
"Oh, and you're always bloody right. Blast it. Bloody 'ell."
"Now you're being British."
"Damn straight! And I've got government homework to do."
"What, more homework?"
"I swear, I'm gonna quit and then... Then..."
"Yes?" he prompted, quickly scribbling down an algorithm.
"And then I just don't know. But I'm tired of all this bloody City School stuff. I mean, all this and sit in on meetings for things? But I can't do the government homework because I've lost the papers anyway, so I'll just walk in there tomorrow and say, 'I'm Emperial Teal Atreides-Piett and I quit!' And then you'll say, 'Not bloody likely, do your work,' or some other smart thing like that and I'll cringe because you're right, because you're always right, and say, 'Urg, I messed up again, didn't I, Kancho?' And then you'll go, 'Yes,' or maybe, 'No, you've just got to work a little harder,' or something bloody great like that."
He stared at her, a look of amusement appearing on his face, and said, "How about this. I'll tell you to go look for your government work and you'll do it now."
"Or that," she said sheepishly, rising from her chair. "Fine, fine, I'll go look again. But only 'cause you asked."
"Of course. Not because you enjoy City School."
"Oooh, shut up, you!"
"'Shut up, sir.'"
She stuck her tongue out again and fled from the room, clomping noisily down the stairwell.
This left Djerod a good few minutes to think in silence. His pencil worked its way around a page as he considered the layouts in front of him. They were good, but not great. Still better than most physicists on this planet could manage. Drives were not his specialty, blasters were, but the mechanics behind both were disturbingly similar in a way. It was all about manipulation of energy, that small motion humans (or Rheans, or Corellians, etc., as the case may be) make in an attempt to be masters of their own destinies and thus gods. What had Em's quotations said? "What shall I do to be forever known,/And to make the age to come my own?"
After a few minutes, Em's distinctive stomp on the stairs signaled her return. She was lugging her City School notebook which had become a bloated monstrosity in its weeks of use. There was barely any room for paper to be added. She came in, plopped down on the bed beside him, and began to go through the notebook's contents. First she checked the front cover where new, unsorted papers were stashed, then the Government section, then the back, and finally the front flap again. In exasperation she exclaimed, "It's not here!" and then, as if suddenly coming to a great realization, "Oh!" She jumped up from the bed (causing his pencil to make a stray mark on his otherwise flawless paper) and ran to her bag on the floor, pulling from it her sketchbook. She flipped through its pages a moment before throwing her hands up. "Ugh! They're gone!" Resolutely she returned to the bed and checked the notebook again. Djerod was still mostly ignoring her, intent on finishing the long string of bizarre mathematical computations he was currently writing out. Em gave another cry of startled surprise and revelation and went for a stack of papers next to her bag. "Here they are!" she triumphantly announced, holding the papers up for his inspection.
"Uh huh. Now do them," he said simply, never bothering to look up.
"Oh, you're no fun." She looked around for a writing implement and settled on a nearby pen, only it wasn't the whole pen, just the tube and tip part. A few days ago she'd replaced the ink in one of her favorite pens and simply left the old ink sitting on top of her computer as it wasn't quite empty.
Just as soon as she'd sat down to write, though, she stood back up and went to the computer, opening her favorite MP3 playlist and starting some music. She returned to the floor. "Hey, where's my pen!?" A brief search revealed it to be sitting on the computer table next to the mouse. She retrieved it and sat down again. The stage was finally set for her to work.
At question six, she stopped. "Hey, listen to this, Kancho. 'What did eighteenth-century Americans generally think religion was important in developing?' 'Character needed to maintain a free society.' What a load of bull! Religion builds the worst character ever! All swindlers and panhandlers, like that ... Falwell and those televangelists. Stupid, stupid. And mindless people. That's what religion builds."
"Mhmm." This time he actually was listening.
"Well, ho, I think it's stupid."
"People need something to hold on to, Em, just as you do and I do. Many of them choose religion. It makes the world just a bit easier for them to deal with. As far as building character goes, I do tend to agree with you, as few people follow those religious tenants in such a way as to promote goodwill."
"Would it surprise you to know most criminals in this country are probably Christian?"
"No. Most people in this country are. Now get back to work."
"Yeesh, slave driver."
"A parent has to be harsh on his child, else she never gets anything done. Am I wrong?"
"No..."
"Then get to it." He returned to his work and she to hers.
After a minute or so, she coughed.
"Are you all right, Em?"
"Fine." Then more silence, save for the steady stream of MP3s coming from the computer speakers. "Crap, I have to do my laundry." She stood and began to gather up her clothing. Djerod continued to ignore her.
The clothes gathered, she left the room. Djerod failed to notice the ensuing commotion by the clothes hamper and in the communication between the girl and the people downstairs. He barely noticed when she came in and changed her pants so she could wash the light pair she was wearing. And once she was back out the door, he failed to produce any thoughts whatsoever about Em and focused only on his mathematical computations.
When at long last she returned, it was not to any fanfare or applause, merely to a grunt from the man she called "Kancho." The only thing that had moved in her absence was his pencil across the paper. She ignored whatever implied insult could have been read into the situation and returned to working. It was now midnight.
At twelve-fifteen there were two papers behind her with four to go and Mitsuo Agita's "Burning Tears" from Record of Lodoss War was playing. At twelve-twenty-five the third sheet was finished and "Active Heart," from the same series, was playing on the computer. And at this point the girl frowned and shoved all of the papers inside her bag along with the book.
"Well, that's that."
"That's what?"
"That's all of it I'm going to do."
"You really ought to finish it, you know."
"I know, but I'm also still sick and I need my sleep. And I'm hungry, too."
"Which has nothing to do with it," he pointed out. "You're always hungry."
"See if Max'll be a dear and bring me up something?"
"Oh, Em," he said in exasperation, rolling his eyes. "Do one more sheet. At this rate you'll be able to finish it in, what, ten to fifteen minutes?"
"You've been paying attention."
He put his notebook down. "Of course I've been paying attention. You're my daughter, for Christ's sake."
"Oh, don't say that, you're not even from this planet."
"So?"
"So you don't believe in him religiously."
"Hnf. Like that's ever stopped you from doing anything."
"Oh, geez," she said.
"See? You're doing it yourself. And don't start telling me you've become a Christian overnight."
"Yeah, well, 'geez' is in public, uhm, consideration, and 'Christ' is still religious. It's capitalized, after all."
"Give an old man his idiosyncrasies."
"Hrmpf. Fine, deal, then. One more page, then I'm stopping."
"Then get to it. And what about your English?"
"I've just started page four. First line of it, actually. I'm not sure if it really counts, though, doing it this way."
"What's the assignment?"
"Trigger poem or story. Something triggered by something you've read or something else. I've got those quotes, and that thing from my government book."
"Well, they were they 'trigger,'" he pointed out. He liked the word. It reminded him of the blasters he was so fond of.
"Fair enough. And where does it reach a stopping point?"
"Wherever you like."
"And what'll it be titled?"
"Whatever you like."
"What I'd like is for a plate of hot cookies and a bedtime kiss. I'm not likely to get either of those, am I?"
"Then call the story that."
"What?"
"Call it, 'A Plate of Hot Cookies and a Bedtime Kiss.'"
"Oh, that's so silly it just might work."
"'Ah, youth! Forever dear, forever kind,'" he quoted.
"Ooh, you're so mean..."
"It's twelve-thirty-seven now. Work until three-quarter after."
"Deal." She stepped away from the computer and returned to her work on the floor. "There we go. Gods, that's enough of that."
"Put it all in your bag and get ready for school tomorrow."
"Yeesh, I'm not that incompetent."
"I know."
"Now what?"
"Now go to bed."
"What, no kisses and cookies?"
"We can have a conversation if you like."
"About what?"
"'Life, the Universe, and Everything,' to quote your Douglas Adams."
"Ooh, tempting. But I'd rather work on my Snape/Hermione fic, the one I'm not writing."
"Would you?"
"Um, no, not really. I'm having trouble with it. I've got ten pages or so on 'Return to Hogwarts,' though."
"That's the one in which you..." he prompted.
"Return to Hogwarts and bug Snape out of his mind and generally make an ass of myself, yes. But at least I convinced Snape to come home with me."
"Ah, that one." He hadn't read it, of course, and had only the slightest knowledge as to what events had occurred from talking to Severus.
"Hey, look, here's that piece I did sitting at the park that I was supposed to turn into Kathleen... I left it in my sketchbook, though, and was absent the next day because I was sick. Do you think she'll be mad that it's late?"
"The problem, my dear, is that your teachers do not get mad enough at you. No, she won't be mean, I expect. I rather like that woman. She's quite interesting."
"And a damn good writer."
"Yes, and a damn good writer. You're writing this down?"
"Got to pander to the professor!"
"I thought that was Snape."
Em frowned. "I was making a play on words, a, um, alliteration."
"I know. I was only teasing." He sat forward in the bed, put his notebook aside, and placed his elbows on his knees. "So, what did you want to talk about? Or is the topic at hand 'nothing?'"
"Nothing is a good topic." She plugged her headphones into her computer and adjusted her monitor for its "late-night settings": low brightness and contrast so as to not attract the attention of her "units parental." Then she noticed she was coming up on five pages and said as much to Djerod.
"Well, that's nice," he replied. "We shouldn't waste Kathleen's time on nothing, though, now should we?"
"Aw, c'mon, isn't that what we normally do? I mean, everyone does it! Little bits of nothing..."
"But if we're going to give her a show, we-"
He never got to finish. There was a noise in the hallway and Em quickly shut her computer monitor off. When the sound turned out to be nothing, she left the room and went downstairs to move her clothing from the washer to the dryer, and on the way back was followed up the stairs by her father. This prevented the continuation of the conversation for a good ten minutes as both she and Djerod waited for her father to go to bed, Em pulling at the hairs at the nape of her neck to determine their length and Djerod wondering if he needed a shave. The hairs were shorter than the ones on her arms and no, he did not require a shave at this time.
Upon finally returning to her computer, Em read through the whole story and added some lines of description to the top, thus throwing off the earlier page arrangement by a few lines. She also added the title. At long last they were able to proceed.
"Where were we?" Djerod asked.
"You had just said, 'But if we're going to give her a show, we,' and then there was that noise in the hallway."
"Ah. Ah, yes, as I was saying, we ought to give her something interesting to read."
"How about the ways in which human conversation is triggered by the things we read? ... Is it just me or is this entire thing triggered by the word 'trigger?'"
Djerod laughed. "Probably. But surely we can do better than this."
"Ooh, I bet my dad turned off the Internet when I went down for the laundry."
"I'm sure he did."
She checked. "Yep. And I was gonna finish downloading the soundtrack to Disney's Robin Hood. You know, the one with the fox."
He nodded. "I remember it. That was, what, when you were eight?"
"Well, I was obsessed with it then that summer. Watched it in school that year I think. I don't remember exactly what year. But you've been with me since I was seven."
"Yes. Ten years."
"Wow, where does all the time go..." It was a sobering thought for both of them. "But look at-"
"Just think if I-"
She coughed a few times out of necessity. "You first."
"If I hadn't been here, those would be ten years I would have spent not watching a very intelligent and beautiful young lady grow and mature."
Em was flabbergasted. "You're the only person I'll take that from, you know. You and Mr. Deck."
"Not so, there are others, but the return compliment is appreciated."
"Aiyah, Kancho, did I tell you you're the greatest? Think how bad I'd have been without you!" She chuckled. "I was just going to try and change the subject, yours was so much better."
More seriously, he added, "And those would be ten years I never would have had, period, if it weren't for you. Think of that, and then stop worrying about Severus Snape and Kaioshin."
"You know what? I had quite forgotten them both in this conversation. Do you think I wrote a good English paper?"
With a groan Djerod came to his feet and walked over to gaze at the computer screen with her.
"How many pages is that?"
"Five, but I think they're all pointless."
"Did the assignment say anything about pointivity?"
"Pointlessness."
"Stupid language."
"No, it didn't. Hey, did you realize you were just wrong there for a minute?"
"I-" he began, realizing she was indeed right.
"Ha! That's as good a point as any!"
Djerod grinned and ruffled her metaphysical hair with his hand. "Nobody is right all the time."
"And as usual, you're right. But seriously, on the point thing. Do you think this is going to matter a great deal?"
"It's only as pointless as life is."
She considered that. "Oh, great, now this is a giant philosophical argument on the pointlessness of life."
"All triggered by an assignment and a couple quotes about forever you collected for Professor Snape. Throw in another quote."
"Um, like which one?" She switched to the list of quotes.
"The last one."
"'For men may come and men may go,/But I go on forever.'"
"Or at least your writing does."
"Ah, Kancho, you're mean!"
Djerod leaned over and pantomimed kissing her on the top of the head. "Goodnight, Emperial, my daughter."
"G'night, Kancho, sir."
He turned to leave.
"Hey, wait, where're my cookies!?"
Um, anyway, this arose out of an English class assignment to write a trigger poem or story, and I couldn't come up with anything really, so I just wrote the current conversation between myself and Kancho. And yes, before you ask, I am crazy (and damn proud of it!). This story kind of goes along with my new comic at http://elfandi.keenspace.com . It's all about me and the characters who live in my head. I guess that's the best way to describe this, me and one of the many characters in my head...
Anyway, hope you enjoy it or... something. *shrug*
---
A Plate of Hot Cookies and a Bedtime Kiss
Em sat at her computer, mouse clicking and fingers twitching, but not typing, which was odd because the only program she had open at the moment was Microsoft Word, her word processor of choice, and the only thing she ever really did in it was type. Now she was just staring.
"Hullo, Em."
"Hi, Kancho." Em's voice was clear and smooth as she replied, hiding her momentary surprise at the arrival of her beloved "Kancho," or Lord Admiral Djerod Andries Piett, as he was more generally known. He picked his way gingerly across her clothing- and paper-covered floor to the free standing area behind her computer where a bench had once been. Lacking the bench, he was forced to remain standing. It was hardly the most comfortable position. Djerod was no longer a young man. His once-dark hair was dusted finely with white and his hands no longer bore the strength and exactness of his youth, when he had been able to hit the bulls-eye of a target with his blaster at five hundred meters.
"How are you?" he inquired lightly.
"Good, and you?"
"Well enough. What are you doing?"
"Nothing," she lied.
"Then what's that?" He pointed a finger to a few lines of text on her screen.
"Oh! They're quotes, you wanna hear 'em? Okay, here goes. 'Forever honour'd and forever mourn'd.' 'Ah, youth! Forever dear, forever kind.' 'Forever; 't is a single word!' 'Truth forever on the scaffold,/Wrong forever on the throne.' 'Yesterday, to-day, and forever.' 'His time is forever, everywhere is his place.' 'What shall I do to be forever known,/And to make the age to come my own?' 'Awake, arise, or be forever fallen!' 'And the prophets, do they live forever?' 'For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.'"
He did not reply at first, giving the quotes time to digest in his mind. At last he said, "Thinking of something?"
"Um, erm, well... I have this assignment for English to write trigger poem or story, so I collected these quotes. Well, uh, not really. I mean, I have the assignment, yes, but I collected the quotes for Professor Snape. Or rather, for my Professor Snape/Hermione fanfic."
"The one you're not supposed to be working on."
"Yeah, that's the one. You won't tell him, right?"
"No, I won't."
Djerod finally decided he really ought to sit down and wove his way back to her bed, where he promptly flopped down with a tired sigh and began to work in a notebook he had carried in with him. Em returned to staring at her screen and playing with her mouse cursor.
"Hmm," she pondered.
He gave an uninterested grunt in reply, only half-hearing the noise from her. That piqued Em's curiosity, so she turned in her chair to address him.
"What are you working on?"
"Work."
"What work?"
"Physics. I'm trying to perfect that multiphasic drive design I've been telling you about."
"Oh. And then you and I will take it down the NASA and wow them off their asses?"
"Arses," he corrected with a small smile, "and yes."
"Oh, pfft-" she stuck her tongue out-"I wasn't trying to be British."
"And I'm not British."
"Well, you were played by one on TV. I mean, in the movie. I mean-oh, I give up. As usual, you win."
"As usual, yes." He stuck the corner of his mechanical pencil in his mouth and began to gnaw on the eraser. Em turned back to her computer screen.
"I still don't know what to write about."
"Write about this."
"What?"
"Sorry, wasn't really listening. What was it you asked?"
"Oh, you're horrid. I said I don't know what to write about. I'm too worried at the moment. And sick."
"Worried? About what? Professor Snape again?"
"Yes, Snape again. And Shin. And Orriole. I haven't seen him in ages! And I'm worried about all of them. I know Snape's going to die, I just know it, but I won't believe it. Or is it that I believe it without knowing? And Shin, I'm scared for him! The little guy, all that Supreme Kai stuff and giant monsters and him getting squished. And Orriole I just haven't seen in ages! He stops by and then leaves again? What nerve!"
"You really oughtn't to worry about any of them. They're safe as long as they're here, right?"
"Oh, foo, you're right again as always. But still... I mean, sure, they're okay for being here, but what about the things I can't control? Like J. K. Rowling! I can't control her! Unless you're going to bloody tell me that I can control her and protect Professor Snape from everything bad."
"No, sorry, Em."
"Oh, and you're always bloody right. Blast it. Bloody 'ell."
"Now you're being British."
"Damn straight! And I've got government homework to do."
"What, more homework?"
"I swear, I'm gonna quit and then... Then..."
"Yes?" he prompted, quickly scribbling down an algorithm.
"And then I just don't know. But I'm tired of all this bloody City School stuff. I mean, all this and sit in on meetings for things? But I can't do the government homework because I've lost the papers anyway, so I'll just walk in there tomorrow and say, 'I'm Emperial Teal Atreides-Piett and I quit!' And then you'll say, 'Not bloody likely, do your work,' or some other smart thing like that and I'll cringe because you're right, because you're always right, and say, 'Urg, I messed up again, didn't I, Kancho?' And then you'll go, 'Yes,' or maybe, 'No, you've just got to work a little harder,' or something bloody great like that."
He stared at her, a look of amusement appearing on his face, and said, "How about this. I'll tell you to go look for your government work and you'll do it now."
"Or that," she said sheepishly, rising from her chair. "Fine, fine, I'll go look again. But only 'cause you asked."
"Of course. Not because you enjoy City School."
"Oooh, shut up, you!"
"'Shut up, sir.'"
She stuck her tongue out again and fled from the room, clomping noisily down the stairwell.
This left Djerod a good few minutes to think in silence. His pencil worked its way around a page as he considered the layouts in front of him. They were good, but not great. Still better than most physicists on this planet could manage. Drives were not his specialty, blasters were, but the mechanics behind both were disturbingly similar in a way. It was all about manipulation of energy, that small motion humans (or Rheans, or Corellians, etc., as the case may be) make in an attempt to be masters of their own destinies and thus gods. What had Em's quotations said? "What shall I do to be forever known,/And to make the age to come my own?"
After a few minutes, Em's distinctive stomp on the stairs signaled her return. She was lugging her City School notebook which had become a bloated monstrosity in its weeks of use. There was barely any room for paper to be added. She came in, plopped down on the bed beside him, and began to go through the notebook's contents. First she checked the front cover where new, unsorted papers were stashed, then the Government section, then the back, and finally the front flap again. In exasperation she exclaimed, "It's not here!" and then, as if suddenly coming to a great realization, "Oh!" She jumped up from the bed (causing his pencil to make a stray mark on his otherwise flawless paper) and ran to her bag on the floor, pulling from it her sketchbook. She flipped through its pages a moment before throwing her hands up. "Ugh! They're gone!" Resolutely she returned to the bed and checked the notebook again. Djerod was still mostly ignoring her, intent on finishing the long string of bizarre mathematical computations he was currently writing out. Em gave another cry of startled surprise and revelation and went for a stack of papers next to her bag. "Here they are!" she triumphantly announced, holding the papers up for his inspection.
"Uh huh. Now do them," he said simply, never bothering to look up.
"Oh, you're no fun." She looked around for a writing implement and settled on a nearby pen, only it wasn't the whole pen, just the tube and tip part. A few days ago she'd replaced the ink in one of her favorite pens and simply left the old ink sitting on top of her computer as it wasn't quite empty.
Just as soon as she'd sat down to write, though, she stood back up and went to the computer, opening her favorite MP3 playlist and starting some music. She returned to the floor. "Hey, where's my pen!?" A brief search revealed it to be sitting on the computer table next to the mouse. She retrieved it and sat down again. The stage was finally set for her to work.
At question six, she stopped. "Hey, listen to this, Kancho. 'What did eighteenth-century Americans generally think religion was important in developing?' 'Character needed to maintain a free society.' What a load of bull! Religion builds the worst character ever! All swindlers and panhandlers, like that ... Falwell and those televangelists. Stupid, stupid. And mindless people. That's what religion builds."
"Mhmm." This time he actually was listening.
"Well, ho, I think it's stupid."
"People need something to hold on to, Em, just as you do and I do. Many of them choose religion. It makes the world just a bit easier for them to deal with. As far as building character goes, I do tend to agree with you, as few people follow those religious tenants in such a way as to promote goodwill."
"Would it surprise you to know most criminals in this country are probably Christian?"
"No. Most people in this country are. Now get back to work."
"Yeesh, slave driver."
"A parent has to be harsh on his child, else she never gets anything done. Am I wrong?"
"No..."
"Then get to it." He returned to his work and she to hers.
After a minute or so, she coughed.
"Are you all right, Em?"
"Fine." Then more silence, save for the steady stream of MP3s coming from the computer speakers. "Crap, I have to do my laundry." She stood and began to gather up her clothing. Djerod continued to ignore her.
The clothes gathered, she left the room. Djerod failed to notice the ensuing commotion by the clothes hamper and in the communication between the girl and the people downstairs. He barely noticed when she came in and changed her pants so she could wash the light pair she was wearing. And once she was back out the door, he failed to produce any thoughts whatsoever about Em and focused only on his mathematical computations.
When at long last she returned, it was not to any fanfare or applause, merely to a grunt from the man she called "Kancho." The only thing that had moved in her absence was his pencil across the paper. She ignored whatever implied insult could have been read into the situation and returned to working. It was now midnight.
At twelve-fifteen there were two papers behind her with four to go and Mitsuo Agita's "Burning Tears" from Record of Lodoss War was playing. At twelve-twenty-five the third sheet was finished and "Active Heart," from the same series, was playing on the computer. And at this point the girl frowned and shoved all of the papers inside her bag along with the book.
"Well, that's that."
"That's what?"
"That's all of it I'm going to do."
"You really ought to finish it, you know."
"I know, but I'm also still sick and I need my sleep. And I'm hungry, too."
"Which has nothing to do with it," he pointed out. "You're always hungry."
"See if Max'll be a dear and bring me up something?"
"Oh, Em," he said in exasperation, rolling his eyes. "Do one more sheet. At this rate you'll be able to finish it in, what, ten to fifteen minutes?"
"You've been paying attention."
He put his notebook down. "Of course I've been paying attention. You're my daughter, for Christ's sake."
"Oh, don't say that, you're not even from this planet."
"So?"
"So you don't believe in him religiously."
"Hnf. Like that's ever stopped you from doing anything."
"Oh, geez," she said.
"See? You're doing it yourself. And don't start telling me you've become a Christian overnight."
"Yeah, well, 'geez' is in public, uhm, consideration, and 'Christ' is still religious. It's capitalized, after all."
"Give an old man his idiosyncrasies."
"Hrmpf. Fine, deal, then. One more page, then I'm stopping."
"Then get to it. And what about your English?"
"I've just started page four. First line of it, actually. I'm not sure if it really counts, though, doing it this way."
"What's the assignment?"
"Trigger poem or story. Something triggered by something you've read or something else. I've got those quotes, and that thing from my government book."
"Well, they were they 'trigger,'" he pointed out. He liked the word. It reminded him of the blasters he was so fond of.
"Fair enough. And where does it reach a stopping point?"
"Wherever you like."
"And what'll it be titled?"
"Whatever you like."
"What I'd like is for a plate of hot cookies and a bedtime kiss. I'm not likely to get either of those, am I?"
"Then call the story that."
"What?"
"Call it, 'A Plate of Hot Cookies and a Bedtime Kiss.'"
"Oh, that's so silly it just might work."
"'Ah, youth! Forever dear, forever kind,'" he quoted.
"Ooh, you're so mean..."
"It's twelve-thirty-seven now. Work until three-quarter after."
"Deal." She stepped away from the computer and returned to her work on the floor. "There we go. Gods, that's enough of that."
"Put it all in your bag and get ready for school tomorrow."
"Yeesh, I'm not that incompetent."
"I know."
"Now what?"
"Now go to bed."
"What, no kisses and cookies?"
"We can have a conversation if you like."
"About what?"
"'Life, the Universe, and Everything,' to quote your Douglas Adams."
"Ooh, tempting. But I'd rather work on my Snape/Hermione fic, the one I'm not writing."
"Would you?"
"Um, no, not really. I'm having trouble with it. I've got ten pages or so on 'Return to Hogwarts,' though."
"That's the one in which you..." he prompted.
"Return to Hogwarts and bug Snape out of his mind and generally make an ass of myself, yes. But at least I convinced Snape to come home with me."
"Ah, that one." He hadn't read it, of course, and had only the slightest knowledge as to what events had occurred from talking to Severus.
"Hey, look, here's that piece I did sitting at the park that I was supposed to turn into Kathleen... I left it in my sketchbook, though, and was absent the next day because I was sick. Do you think she'll be mad that it's late?"
"The problem, my dear, is that your teachers do not get mad enough at you. No, she won't be mean, I expect. I rather like that woman. She's quite interesting."
"And a damn good writer."
"Yes, and a damn good writer. You're writing this down?"
"Got to pander to the professor!"
"I thought that was Snape."
Em frowned. "I was making a play on words, a, um, alliteration."
"I know. I was only teasing." He sat forward in the bed, put his notebook aside, and placed his elbows on his knees. "So, what did you want to talk about? Or is the topic at hand 'nothing?'"
"Nothing is a good topic." She plugged her headphones into her computer and adjusted her monitor for its "late-night settings": low brightness and contrast so as to not attract the attention of her "units parental." Then she noticed she was coming up on five pages and said as much to Djerod.
"Well, that's nice," he replied. "We shouldn't waste Kathleen's time on nothing, though, now should we?"
"Aw, c'mon, isn't that what we normally do? I mean, everyone does it! Little bits of nothing..."
"But if we're going to give her a show, we-"
He never got to finish. There was a noise in the hallway and Em quickly shut her computer monitor off. When the sound turned out to be nothing, she left the room and went downstairs to move her clothing from the washer to the dryer, and on the way back was followed up the stairs by her father. This prevented the continuation of the conversation for a good ten minutes as both she and Djerod waited for her father to go to bed, Em pulling at the hairs at the nape of her neck to determine their length and Djerod wondering if he needed a shave. The hairs were shorter than the ones on her arms and no, he did not require a shave at this time.
Upon finally returning to her computer, Em read through the whole story and added some lines of description to the top, thus throwing off the earlier page arrangement by a few lines. She also added the title. At long last they were able to proceed.
"Where were we?" Djerod asked.
"You had just said, 'But if we're going to give her a show, we,' and then there was that noise in the hallway."
"Ah. Ah, yes, as I was saying, we ought to give her something interesting to read."
"How about the ways in which human conversation is triggered by the things we read? ... Is it just me or is this entire thing triggered by the word 'trigger?'"
Djerod laughed. "Probably. But surely we can do better than this."
"Ooh, I bet my dad turned off the Internet when I went down for the laundry."
"I'm sure he did."
She checked. "Yep. And I was gonna finish downloading the soundtrack to Disney's Robin Hood. You know, the one with the fox."
He nodded. "I remember it. That was, what, when you were eight?"
"Well, I was obsessed with it then that summer. Watched it in school that year I think. I don't remember exactly what year. But you've been with me since I was seven."
"Yes. Ten years."
"Wow, where does all the time go..." It was a sobering thought for both of them. "But look at-"
"Just think if I-"
She coughed a few times out of necessity. "You first."
"If I hadn't been here, those would be ten years I would have spent not watching a very intelligent and beautiful young lady grow and mature."
Em was flabbergasted. "You're the only person I'll take that from, you know. You and Mr. Deck."
"Not so, there are others, but the return compliment is appreciated."
"Aiyah, Kancho, did I tell you you're the greatest? Think how bad I'd have been without you!" She chuckled. "I was just going to try and change the subject, yours was so much better."
More seriously, he added, "And those would be ten years I never would have had, period, if it weren't for you. Think of that, and then stop worrying about Severus Snape and Kaioshin."
"You know what? I had quite forgotten them both in this conversation. Do you think I wrote a good English paper?"
With a groan Djerod came to his feet and walked over to gaze at the computer screen with her.
"How many pages is that?"
"Five, but I think they're all pointless."
"Did the assignment say anything about pointivity?"
"Pointlessness."
"Stupid language."
"No, it didn't. Hey, did you realize you were just wrong there for a minute?"
"I-" he began, realizing she was indeed right.
"Ha! That's as good a point as any!"
Djerod grinned and ruffled her metaphysical hair with his hand. "Nobody is right all the time."
"And as usual, you're right. But seriously, on the point thing. Do you think this is going to matter a great deal?"
"It's only as pointless as life is."
She considered that. "Oh, great, now this is a giant philosophical argument on the pointlessness of life."
"All triggered by an assignment and a couple quotes about forever you collected for Professor Snape. Throw in another quote."
"Um, like which one?" She switched to the list of quotes.
"The last one."
"'For men may come and men may go,/But I go on forever.'"
"Or at least your writing does."
"Ah, Kancho, you're mean!"
Djerod leaned over and pantomimed kissing her on the top of the head. "Goodnight, Emperial, my daughter."
"G'night, Kancho, sir."
He turned to leave.
"Hey, wait, where're my cookies!?"