Guess who's back?

...me! Finally! After one of the worst nine-month periods of my entire life, where my world was flipped upside down a million times, I'm back. Admittedly, it's with a random story about Mr. Pimms rescuing a kitten, but we all have to start somewhere. I've made some fairly major changes to the story from what I imagined it to be in February, but I'm reaaaaaaaaaaaally excited about where it's going and I can't wait to get started. I should really finish those character descriptions though, they'll definitely be of use to me as Virginia (nee Franny)'s was to me. Still haven't quite gotten her name right, but Virginia is close. Anyway!

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        Mewling and crying, the kitten was swept down the current as its mother batted helplessly at the water, carried away from the only warmth and comfort it had ever known into an abyss black beyond imagining. It looked back, once, seeing only a bright green-and-blue blur with its underdeveloped eyes as it entered the long serpentine tunnel underneath Hyde Bridge. The bridge itself was considered both a marvel of engineering and a complete waste of space, as it exited the river 500 yards from the point of entry in order to showcase the most modern form of bracing spans over long distances, but that mattered little to the tiny being currently underneath it, save that it plunged the poor thing into complete blackness for what seemed an eternity. It drove its tiny paws into the water over and over again, using the brief lift each downstroke provided to gasp a breath before its head was plunged underwater by the merciless current.

It was carried around a bend, and for a moment it found purchase on the bottom, strangely smooth and ridged beneath it, but was whisked away again before it could find enough purchase to reach the shore. This sent the kitten into a complete panic, and it wasted precious energy trying to flail its way to the other side before lack of air forced it to stop, and concentrate on breathing. Suddenly, the water dropped as it crested a small ridge, forcing the kitten completely underwater, pinwheeling it until it had no conception of up or down, and it was only saved by the rock it bounced against, pushing it upward until it finally broke the surface again. Still completely disoriented, it failed to notice the light coming from around the bend as the creek ran free of the bridge, and the sudden brightness as it emerged only served to confuse it further. 

Mr. Pimms was methodically studying the slight sag in Strut 26B as he had been instructed when a loud splashing from underneath the bridge distracted him. He rose in one fluid yet constant (consistent speed?) motion, and strode to the center of the stream in order to investigate. He had been told to collect all data regarding the possible reason for the sag, and noises indicated movement, which could indicate force, which could indicate damage to the strut, which would provide a logical explanation for the angle at which it was currently sitting.

 The kitten, disoriented, almost blind, half-drowned, and exhausted, could do no more. As it emerged from the bridge, it no longer had the strength to push itself out of the water, and thrust upward for one final gasp before it sank underneath, unable to move. Suddenly, it found itself grasped in a hard metal cage, being pulled inexorably upwards into sweet air and sunlight. Shivering and nerveless, it hung limp, concentrating only on drawing in as much air as it could.

Judging by its size, the creature currently in his hands did not possess sufficient strength to damage the strut, Mr. Pimms decided, and was therefore unlikely to be the source of the problem. While it possessed sufficient mass to do damage if propelled at the strut at a high enough velocity, Mr. Pimms regarded that as unlikely as well. Any wielder of an object capable of hurling a projectile at another object with the intention of damaging it would undoubtedly use an projectile that was either harder or heavier or both. Satisfied that he had exhausted all inquiry connected to the strut with the creature, he began lowering it to the place that he had found it.

“Mr. Pimms, what on earth are you doing?!” A whirlwind of scarlet and royal blue descended upon him, resolving itself into Miss Virginia. Mr. Pimms went to tip his hat to her as was dictated, but the movement upset her more than his former lack of propriety.

“No, don’t drop the poor thing!” she cried, holding out her hands as the kitten fell from his. “Didn’t Uncle program you t-wait, give me your coat first, it’s going to shiver itself to death in a moment and I don’t want to ruin my new dress.”

Wrapping it tenderly in the impeccably tailored coat she was given, she cradled the kitten gently against her and dried its face with the sleeve before facing him again, completely oblivious to the fact that she was standing in 2 inches of mud and was not yet ruining her dress but was most certainly making a mess of her also-new shoes.

“Didn’t Uncle program you to preserve the life of a living being if you could?” she said, jabbing a finger at his face.

He shook his head.

“He just programmed you to preserve the life of a human if you could, didn’t he?”

A nod.

             

            Her mouth compressed into a thin line. “Well, until he can make it a permanent part of your programming, I am issuing you a new directive, under the authorization given me by Uncle. If a living being is in distress, preserve its life if you can. Understood?”

             

            Mr. Pimms raised a finger.

             

            “Yes?”

             

            It moved slowly from Virginia, to the kitten, to Virginia again, followed by a slight tilting of the head.

             

            “People are first priority unless instructed otherwise, all other beings in order of the severity of their distress,” she said after a moment, finally deducing what he was asking.

             

            Mr. Pimms nodded, tipped his hat, and splashed methodically back to Strut 26B. He had been told to attempt to resolve the problem today, and Master James would be home in a few hours.

             

           Virginia whirled around and began stomping to the barn, where Cantonia had last been seen nursing her new kittens.

           

           “Poor thing…” she murmured to the kitten in her arms, before glaring in the general direction of the house. “Honestly, he doesn’t think anything through, great scientist or no.”

Nevermind.

Franny's last name is Marlow, same as her uncle and cousin, as she is related to them through her paternal side and would, therefore, be a Marlow. Still debating the spelling, as I feel it would be much cooler with an unnecessary e on the end of it but that would also make it much less authentic. I'll most likely keep the e off.

Character descriptions!

Matt was saying not 20 minutes ago that I should do character descriptions for everyone, and as I'm really having trouble finding Uncle James' voice, I think it would help to put them all into their physical bodies. And of course I have to describe their personalities, since personality and thought is really all I care about as a writer. Though I'm getting better at describing things; I must read more of the poetry of the day as it's helping immensely. Wind-swept moors and a wood standing lonely on a hill...makes my inner romantic swoon a bit. But anyway, the (rough) main cast of Earthshaker (or something. First novel may be Earthcrafter since she doesn't do much shaking. Also cannot call it shaking since that makes me think of Franny shaking her bustle as she sweeps out the yard. Tee hee.)

Franny (Francesca) Hurst (last name up for debate): My dearest, darling, impossible, sensible, stubborn child. Bookish, slightly prissy, moral, quietly pretty, with a sharp tongue that is fortunately rarely unleashed. Although she is frank and fearless among those she loves, she is a bit reserved in the world at large, as her upbringing did not really provide her with much socialization. She adores reading about the latest fashions and loves pretty things, but as she's been raised by an Earthshaker and taught how to do sendings, she can stomach no little amount of dirt (as long as she gets a nice hot bath to herself afterward). She loves to learn, and has a vast trove of random knowledge (since she hopped from interest to interest as a child), and nothing is better to her than sitting in the study with a fresh book, immaculate attire, and a perfectly brewed pot of tea.

Physically, she is is a classic child of that era in that she has a thin build, almost birdlike, and moves gracefully. Spending time out in the arena has caused her to have a smattering of freckles on her cheeks and across her nose, which she hates, and has caused her skin to have a darker appearance than the fashionable lily-white ladies of the the period. This isn't helped by the more olive skin tone she inherited from her half-Spanish mother, though it gives her a bit of an exotic look in her more disheveled moments. She has glossy, straight, light brown hair, which she usually keeps up in a bun or other sensible hairstyle, though she does curl the stray wispy bits and her bangs as a nod to fashion. Her eyes are large and slightly doe-like, giving her an innocent air when open fully, but are usually narrowed in concentration, her nose straight and aristocratic, and her mouth a pretty cupid's-bow pout, lips full and curved slightly up at the corners. She generally looks like an innocent, happy child, but that can quickly change with one of her fierce black frowns.

As she loves fashion, she is always dressed in true Victorian (steampunk!) style. She looks good in darker colors, especially forest greens, and gold, and loves the trinkets her uncle makes for her out of spare cogs and mechanical parts. As she lives out in the country, footwear is generally leather horsewoman boots, sturdy but with a large enough heel to accentuate her figure when walking. Dresses are fashionable but sensible (Terry Pratchett once had a character description that went something like "She had a small fashionable hat, which perched quietly on her head for no discernible purpose, and her only other concession to fashion was a small bum-roll, which achieved a certain perkiness in the rear without the need to wear several layers of dangerously spring-loaded underwear," and that is exactly what I think Franny would be like). She does have a weakness for jewelry, however, and is constantly trying new variations on the various necklaces, rings, and bracelets her cousin brings from London and her uncle makes for her in his workshop. The only piece she has on her at all times is her mother's pocketwatch, dainty and ladylike with its intricate gold filigree on the front and its face open to show the inner workings. Also, she loves intricately beaded or embroidered corsets but rarely gets to wear them as she is a country girl.

Actually, looks like Franny is it for the moment since it's now 1:15 and I've been up since 8 this morning. Stay tuned for James, Edward, Richard, and Mr. Pimms!

The Accident

More Franny coming at you, oh non-existent reader of this blog, since I can't seem to stop thinking about what she would do if situations from my life presented themselves to her (though obviously adjusted for time). Can't sleep since my grandfather died on the 12th and I'm still drifting about in a haze. I'm acting normal, and I feel normal much of the time, but I know it's only because I'm using books to bolster myself up.

I replace what's happening in my life with their lives, and then I don't have to think about all the things I wish I'd said and done with him, the way he always made me laugh, the habit he had of smacking his lips and going "Pah pah paaaaaaaaah" when he was trying to gather his thoughts, and the way he always (always) listened to what I had to say carefully, drinking in every word, and gave me advice as a person that had simply lived longer than me, not as someone who was older and wiser. I feel heartless and callous because I haven't cried much, but I know somehow that it's not because I don't feel the sadness; I've just locked it away and it only comes out every once in a while, in short bursts, like steam from a valve. I also haven't been home yet, haven't seen my grandma and my mom trying to deal with it all, and I know that part of my lack of sorrow is just that I can't accept that he's gone. I talked to him not a week ago, when he had pneumonia and could barely speak, but he was there and I can't understand that he's not anymore. So I hide myself away, grieve in small doses, and pretend that everything's ok, and I just hope to God that the inevitable explosion when it finally does hit me doesn't happen in a public place. What am I going to do without him? He was always one of the highlights of going home for me; even though he did very little he always had an amusing anecdote to share or an observation about something he'd seen on tv. He had such a big heart, and the smallest thing drove him to wonder. I always felt that with him I had found a true friend, a kindred spirit, one that could laugh and talk about everyday things by day and stare up at the stars and speak of the mysteries of creation at night. And now all of that is gone? The personality that shone from every pore, a spirit so big that no room could contain it, is gone? I know he's not really, that he can come visit me as Ryan has lately (and that now he's with Ryan and Ally and all of the people he's lost), but I cannot comprehend the loss. I can't.

And in that numbness I can still be a normal human being, and discuss the matter of his death calmly and sensibly. It struck me as very Franny-like of me, and I figured that the easiest way to understand her is to go through her reaction at the death of her parents, the deaths that drive her to become an Earthshaker someday (starting with the words that began this entire story). I can't go through my Jiggypa's death and feel the emotions, so I'm going along for the ride with Franny.

But I'm tired now, so I'll do it (hopefully) tomorrow.

A page from Franny's Diary (transcribed)

Wrote this a few days ago. I got the phrase "I have of late been wondering..." stuck in my head at work and when I got home I just got out a notebook and this happened. It makes me feel a little better about this story, it's very personable and lacks the "BLEEP-BLOOP-I-AM-WRITING-A-STEAMPUNK-NOVEL" roboticism of the other parts I've attempted. Is roboticism a word?

Anyway.

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April 7th, 18--

I have of late been wondering about what others do with their time. In the novels I read, ladies are always concerned with the gentlemen that surround them, and whispering to each other in general languor seems to be the order of the day. I know Uncle procures these for me as a way of keeping connected to society as a whole, but it does make me want to shout at them sometimes. It seems a strange world indeed where a Ms. N can forever be soliciting the attentions of Mr. H, thought she really prefers Mr. P, but is attempting to save Mr. H from the attentions of the scheming Mrs. B, a widow that wants Mr. H's large fortune, and meanwhile my uncle is telling stories around the table of men getting their arms crushed by boulders or being flung up into the air, to fall from great heights and become unintentional bombs to their fellows below. I cannot reconcile it. What on Earth is the point of getting a husband if he is to be sent off to the front to be crushed by boulders?

But perhaps the fault lies with me. I cannot see the point in getting a husband in any case.

 Mr. Pimms blew a gasket today! It was quite funny, actually, since 'blowing a gasket' is coming into vogue as a means of saying 'had a fit of temper,' and that is exactly what he was doing. I was attempting that trick of James' where he raises three clods of earth and twirls them in a circle over his head, only I was doing it with much bigger rocks. I thought James would be impressed, but he and Mr. Pimms came rushing down the hillside as if being chased by a pack of wild dogs. (If wild dogs could harm Mr. Pimms, of course.) James waved the rocks aside (it still irks me that he control my sendings and I cannot do the same to him. I must ask Uncle how this works) and started shouting about the rocks being so big that they'd crush my head if I lost control. Mr. Pimms was agreeing, waggling his newly articulate finger at me, when he suddenly he rocked violently to one side and there was a 'sproing'ing noise as several small somethings were ejected from his hip juncture.

Ever practical, James ran for the parts while I got a shoulder under Mr. Pimms. I asked what had happened, and James replied, "He threw a gasket," absentmindedly. Then we looked at each other and just started howling. Mr. Pimms was not amused and started shaking his finger at me again, but that only compounded it until James was rolling on the packed earth of the arena floor and I was hunched over, trying to support Mr. Pimms and hold my aching stomach at the same time.

Whereupon Uncle entered and gave us a fierce scolding for not bringing poor Pimms to the workshop immediately. I felt guilty for laughing then, but Mr. Pimms tipped his hat to me when we got him settled on Uncle's work table, so I do not feel so bad. James says Mr. Pimms would be a crashing bore if he were human but I am choosing to ignore him. At least Mr. Pimms will have tea parties with me and pretended to be the Queen when I was trying to figure out how the curtsy to royalty was different from the normal one.

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It sounds a bit generic but I sensed Franny's true voice a few times. This is her at about twelve, I think, since she's still a bit childish but her immense sensibility is starting to show through.