The first rule of bad decision-making within a story is you do not talk about your suspicions. The second rule of bad decision-making within a story is you DO NOT TALK about your suspicions. The third rule of bad decision-making within a story is you win or you die.
…wait, sorry, that's Fight Club*.
I'd read and watched enough shitty fiction by then to know that the worst thing you could possibly do when you a) suspect you might be slowly going insane or b) suspect the weapon-wielding guys that took your proposal video just hours ago at Comic Con might indeed be some sort of literal axe(and my bow!) wielding murderers would be to not talk to a psychiatrist, the police, or at least your fucking fiancée.
"Two minutes!" I called to Prer again, and to no one's great surprise, I got another playful shout of 'ten minutes!' in return.
Ten minutes. Good.
…ten minutes was all I needed.
Alright, Ida. Think, bitch, think. What in your crazy, short life might've prepared you for the good ol' classic insanity/bad trip/potential axe-murdering rapist conundrum? Do you worry Prerna needlessly and scare her? On the night you were supposed to be celebrating and when she'd already exposed herself and felt so very vulnerable [and yes, yes I did let personal/romantic issues trump rationality, like every damn hero before me. Fuck it.]?
Scott told me once the thing that made a good soldier is essentially the same reason Anakin Skywalker made a shitty Jedi: you had to separate yourself emotionally from the situation in order to survive or you were just as likely to be murdered by the Sand People rather than massacre them, sweet-ass Jedi skills or no. Assess the situation, Ida, I heard Scott's voice. Focus. What's the worst that could happen?
Prerna. Me. Getting hurt. Getting killed.
What poses the most immediate danger?
Legolas and Gimli, whoever the fuck they were. Or weren't. Or really are…
What could kill you?
Legolas and Gimli, and their weapons. And me being so goddamned worried that I was wrong and that I'd be laughed at or labeled unstable or…
I sighed, ran my fingers through my short hair, and literally head-desked. I lay there for nearly a minute, staring morosely up at collage/altar of nerdiness that hung framed over the flatscreen, treated to the benevolent, bewildered stare of a Green brother from my Pizza John poster and a plump, plushy Blearch paperweight beckoning me to snacks and sleep. Finally, I took a deep breath and sat back up.
What use are stories and heroes, myth and legend if they don't teach us moral imperatives and/or how to respond in a crisis? Alright, then. Time to put my extensive knowledge of random trivia/folklore/fandoms to work. Ask yourself, Ida, what would David Wong do?
…get dragged unprepared into the apocalypse by his druggie best friend and an amazing explodable pot-smoking faux-Jaimacan. Go investigate. Make dick jokes. Ultimately be killed and replaced by an evil duplicate of himself who is actually a much better person [uh…spoiler alert. Sorry.]. Make another dick joke. Get the girl anyways. Make more dick jokes. Save the world as your own evil clone through a combination of soy sauce, sentient animals, and sheer dumb luck…and even more dick jokes.
Ooookay. No, then.
What would Sally Sparrow do?
…tell her best friend, go investigate, get said best friend trapped in the past. Go to police, get said policeman trapped in the past. Trust a stoner and a Time Lord she's only met on a televised loop to do the right thing. Basically, her super sleuth skills and judgment of personality nearly get everybody killed and she's only saved by Deus ex Machina*.
Sans a psychologically damaged, mass-murdering Time Lord with a tendency for supervillainism showing up with a TARDIS, I really wouldn't risk it.
What would Sherlock do?
…drag along his best friend, go investigate, make witticisms and nearly get everyone killed then miraculously save the day at the end through a combination of genius, coincidence, and cold-blooded murder with the enabling assistance of Her Majesty's Government [MOFFAT!].
Yeah, no. My big brother is an ex-Marine, sure, but he's got nothing on Mycroft.
What would Harry Potter do?
…drag along his two best friends, go investigate, break the rules, get into a shitload of trouble, and learn the hard way that not trusting the adults or authorities gets your godfather killed and endangers the lives of both your best friends and all your classmates. Make the noble sacrifice, then miraculously come back from the dead thus negating the life lesson of the permanence of Death and importance of accepting it. Swell.
Notice the pattern yet? Even fucking Frodo Baggins never speaks of his suspicions, runs off into the blue by himself, no plans, no guidance…and Sauron almost wins because of it. Of all my many fictional heroes, I know of only one who would've courted Boromir's friendship from the beginning, made Gandalf give them a back-up plan and a rendezvous point, had Gwaihir on speed dial, alerted Aragorn to the problem the very moment he thought Boromir was being tempted, and would not have wandered off alone carrying THE ONE FUCKING RING when the fate of the universe rested on it staying secret/safe, thus changing the fate the Fellowship and Middle-earth.
So then. What would Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres do*?
…remain self-aware and aware of surroundings. Already be prepared for the worst. Alert an authority immediately. Remove said authority or go higher up the chain of command until you find some adult willing to listen to him. Inform classmates of the danger. Go investigate. Seek out lesser evils and attempt to lure those teetering onto the side of logical consistency and rationality using a combination of smarts and decisions of dubious morality that are rationally excusable based on end game scenarios.
Alrighty, then, Ida. Get to it!
Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Step one: eliminate the impossible, and work backwards from there. I couldn't necessarily be right, but I made a conscious effort to be a little bit less wrong.
Bad trip. Insanity. Cosplaying stalkers. Fictional characters somehow coming to life violating everything I know about spacetime, science and reality itself. There. A list of possible explanations for the current crisis in ascending levels of impossibility and/or absolute awfulness. I was still rational/sane enough to have deliberated my way through this and to realize that, you know, given the arguments I'd just made to myself and was about to I was almost entirely certainly fucking crazy, so as far as posing a danger to myself or Prerna besides the paranoia, I was self-aware and okay for the moment. I'd call Scott to get the name of his therapist in the morning.
Okay, so onto fictional characters. Or, as the Professor claimed, "pre-historical" characters on whom the Legendarium i.e. ancient European myths were based. But the seeming appearance of fictional characters from a book/movie in a world with public venues where fans did that in droves, even if it allowed for actual fictional characters to come to life…for them to be cosplaying fans was still a much greater probable outcome than their manifested presence. Einstein and Professor Brian Cox* both think time travel might be possible, so for heroes of earth's ancient [most likely metafictional] past to appear at NYC Comic Con wasn't entirely impossible per se, but still statistically improbable. And made even less likely since they looked like their fictitious book/movie counterparts [I mean, even if they WERE real, would they really bother to read LotR and watch Jackson's trilogy to make themselves more apparent?].
There. Temporary metaphysical/mental crisis averted.
…for now.
[CUE SYMPHONY FOR LOUD, UNSUBTLE FORESHADOWING*]
Which left Creepy Cosplaying Fetishist Stalkers. Less likely than insanity on my list of explanations, but more immediately dangerous. I jumped up, ran to the front door and turned the deadbolt. I already had my mace and taser in my purse, and resolved to keep it on my person at all times. Prerna was still getting dressed in the bedroom, but I knew for a fact the Bible Belter* was still just within a fingertips reach under my side—you know, the perpetually the unmade half—of the bed.
Okay. So for the moment we were secured, and I was aware of the possibility of danger. Next step? Alert an authority.
I didn't call the police. Didn't trust the police. It only takes one charge of biting a corrections officer to make them just a little bit leery, rude, and unhelpful asshats for life. But I did email the landlord and the security guards that maybe that Prerna's 'psycho ex-boyfriend' had bumped into us today and made some threatening gestures, and that he might be armed. Dude was tall, blonde, skinny, with long hair and a ginger sidekick.
There, I surveyed my masterpiece. That should do it.
Aaaand send.
We lived on the twenty-seventh floor. Between the sidewalk and our home there was a magnetic swipe strip on the internal lobby doors, Ernie the ever-friendly day-time Doorman or Fernando who Flaps in the Night, another magnetic key on the elevator and stairs, and at least six security cameras by my last count. Ours was the sort of building where people noticed suspicious activity, with enough nosey moms and neighbors that unusual shit got reported, and quickly [Spiderman gets the security guard sweep down every time he visits, both before and after fucking 'Stop and Frisk'.]. Fuck no we weren't unassailable—our little apartment wasn't the Eyrie*, but we were pretty damned safe.
…I know, I know. It's so damned obvious in hindsight*: the fucking fire escape.
*I mean the Lion King. I mean Doctor Who. I mean Game of Thrones. [I'm looking at you, Ned Stark. Right. At. You.]
*Or in this instance, its lesser known sister-trope 'David Tennant ex Machina'.
*WWHJPEVD? Snap his fingers, obviously. Chaos Legion, bitches.
I mean, he might also have attempted to dissuade the Council of Elrond from destroying the Ring in order to afford immortality to all Middle-earth species, tried to regain Saruman's allegiance, and would've used the Ring to overthrown Sauron then declared a universal democracy and forced Aragorn abdicate the kingship and imperialism of Gondor and the line of Elendil, etc. before placing the Ring in a perpetual scientific trust to discover its inherent properties, thus benefitting all races equally. He probably would've also created four double-blinded Fellowships with each Hobbit and guides not knowing whether they bore the One Ring or not to increase their chances of evading the Dark Lord, but I digress…
*John Green might have a Professional Mathematician at his beck and call, but I've got a Rock God Physics Doctorate Comedian who I can watch on TiVo or YouTube anytime I want.
*The Unfinished Spelling Errors of Bolkien is a must listen for any true LotR nerd who can rhyme Rohan with goin', thinks Denethor's onscreen death is as stupid as a pile of Shadowfax shit, and sincerely believes Khazad-dûm OSHA should sue for some safely rails.
*A gift from Spiderman, of course. And no—Scott and my parole officer don't know about it.
*Insert generic Bronn, son of You-Wouldn't-Know-Him, joke here [Cue laughter, drums, cymbal].
*Spiderman still gets the pat down/call up from Ernie & Fernie, Inc., but before you go yelling 'racism', just remember he brings it upon himself. Just last year Prerna had to convince some stupid mallcop not to taze him/press charges after walking into a Barneys and shouting "Black man in the building! Everybody down!"
*It might not have fucking Elf eyes, but I've heard it's at least 20/20.
