NOTES
A few snippets from Senad's early days.
Written and posted on Senad during 1997-1999.
Go directly to drabble (G)
Go directly to Ernest (PG)
Go directly to Forwrecched (R)
This was posted to Senad before there was even an sxf list. What, me, an oldtimer?? It was the very first piece of Sentinel fiction I wrote, during something of a drabble-craze on Senad. It's set during Hear No Evil. (A drabble, btw, is a story that is 100 words exactly -- no more, no less.)
-----
Noise. So much noise. Deafening.
How can he not be deafened??
A dripping faucet, a scratching pen: insanity waiting for an opening.
How can he stand it? Can't he hear this?
A heart, pounding. Faster, louder. Whose heart?
A buzzing, quickly stifled; alarm, a call to arms? No, just noise. Too much NOISE!
He's happy, excited. He thinks this is great. A chance to learn. A chance to grow.
To sleep, perchance to dream. But there is no sleep, with so much noise. Wish I was still asleep. I think I was dreaming of...
Whose heart is pounding so loudly?
~fin~
A quick explanation for those not on Senad: one of our esteemed list-members has a knack for spotting humorous typos, and writing quick little snippets demonstrating what makes them so humorous. Well, one day she was in a hurry, and in the intro to one of these snippets made a typo of her own, and I just couldn't resist...
At 09:13 PM 9/1/97 -0400, MLF wrote:
> It's only a few hours until zine farr starts in ernest, so I thought
"Hey, Jim, did you notice the new guy today?"
"New guy, huh? Like you're such an oldtimer..."
"Yeah, yeah, all right... but did you see him?"
"Who? Ernest whatsis?" Jim snickered softly. "'Ernest'," he repeated disbelievingly. "The poor guy is never gonna hear the end of it. Hope Simon doesn't partner him with Julio or Bert." A moment's thought, and Jim was doubled up on the couch from laughter.
"Jim. Jim. JIM!!"
"Yeah... yeah, Chief, what is it?" Jim gasped, trying to get himself back under control. "Bert and Ernie!" he muttered gleefully, then manfully restrained a chuckle when he caught Blair's glare. "Sorry. So what was it about... Ernest," he said the name very carefully indeed, "that you wanted to talk about?"
"Did he seem kind of... twitchy... to you?"
"Twitchy?" Jim asked, starting to frown. "Twitchy how? Nervous, guilty...?"
"No, man, just... twitchy." Blair scowled, dragging both hands through his curls in frustration. "I don't know, okay? He just seemed odd, or something. Damn, I wish you'd noticed it. I dunno, maybe it was just me."
"Hey, Chief," Jim said soothingly, walking over to his partner and wrapping him in a hug, "you've got good instincts, and if you say he was acting twitchy, well, then, he was acting twitchy. I'll have a talk with him tomorrow, okay?"
"You will? Thanks, Jim. I'm sure it's nothing, but..." A soft kiss stopped the words, and neither man gave Ernest a thought until the next day, when Jim saw him in the hallway.
"Ernest!" he hailed his fellow officer, watching him carefully. Blair was right; he did seem twitchy. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Sure - Ellison, isn't it? What can I do for you?"
"My partner and I noticed that you seem a bit..."
"Oh, god" the other man groaned, cutting him off. "You mean it shows?? Damn, damn. Look, I appreciate the concern, but..."
"Whoa! What are you talking about? Yeah, something shows, but I don't know what it's about. Look, if you need help..."
"No. No, thanks, but - there's nothing you can do. It'll go away soon, really it will."
"What will?" Jim asked, morbidly curious. The man seemed to be right on the edge.
Ernest looked around, then pulled Jim a little aside in an attempt for some privacy. "It's... zine farr," he whispered.
Jim paled in shock. Instinctively, he lowered his voice to match the other man's whisper. "But - what does that have to do with you?" he asked.
"I don't know," Ernest moaned. "All I know is that this time zine farr seems to be starting in me, and there's nothing I can do about it but ride it out."
Jim eyed his fellow-officer with new respect. To accept the insanity of zine farr with such relative equanimity! Clearly, there was more to this man than met the eye. He was going to be a good addition to the squad, that much was clear. He shook Ernest's hand, wished him luck, and went to warn the rest of the guys to steer clear of the new guy for a while.
M---, I think you meant "starts in earnest" <g>
~fin~
This one has rather an odd raison d'etre (who said slash wasn't educational? New words, foreign phrases... it doesn't get any better than this!). There was a discussion on senad about the words "intercrural" and "interfemoral". I looked them up in my OED to get the word origins and usage on each, and as usually happens when I'm flipping through a dictionary, I found a new word. A very nifty word. Forwrecche, to be precise. So, in my word-origins post, I included a snippet using this nifty new word.
"forwrecche: (obsolete) (trans.v) to rouse to wrath (c.1440, Jacob's Well, [E.E.T.S.], 36., 'I... sorwe more, that I haue forwrecchyd my god, than I drede...to gon to helle.')"
"I don't know, Chief, I really think I screwed up," Jim said.
"Uh-huh."
"I'm serious. You weren't there, you didn't see --"
"Mmm-hmmmmm."
"Blair... Blair... hey! ahh... Blair... Blair, are you listening to me?? Ooohh, yeah, there, yeah..."
"Of course I'm listening to you. I always listen to you. Just tilt your head a little... yeah, that's mmrphhct mmmmm..."
"Blair. Blair, c'mon. (ah!) No, c'mon, I'm telling you, I'm worried."
"MMmmmmmmmmmmmm mpphapha?"
"I think I forwrecched Simon, big time," Jim said worriedly.
"Mmmmm. Not a problem, he'll... you think you what Simon?" Blair asked, sitting upright abruptly and staring, huge-eyed.
"Forwrecched. Big time."
"Well, c'mon," Blair said, trying a laugh that didn't quite work, "what's he gonna do, huh? This is Simon you're talking about! He's your friend, right?"
Jim dropped his head back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. Silence reigned for a few minutes, then the phone rang. Blair answered, then handed it to Jim with a nervous, "It's Simon, for you."
Jim just listened, finally saying in a dead voice, "7 pm tomorrow. Right. Right. Yeah. Bye," and hung up. He raised his head after a moment to look at Blair through despairing eyes.
"WHAT??" Blair shouted, frustrated (on more than one count) beyond belief.
Jim croaked, "Tomorrow. At 7. We, uh," he took a deep breath and said on a rush, "we're providing the loft for Simon's new girlfriend to host a Tupperware party. We have to stay to make sure things run smoothly."
"No," Blair whispered in horror. "Not a Tupperware party! Jim... how could Simon do this?? He knows how you get around Tupperware! My god. Give me your credit cards and checkbook. Now!! C'mon, man, please -- we don't have any room for more Tupperware!"
"I know," Jim whispered miserably, handing over the requested items. "I'm sorry, Chief. God, I'm so sorry."
"But why, Jim? Why is Simon doing this??"
"All I can say, Chief, is never, ever, rouse Simon Banks to wrath. The man's a holy terror when he's riled, and he knows just where to stick the knife."
~ fin ~
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