Page 6 of 6 FirstFirst ... 23456
Results 126 to 133 of 133

Thread: Morphic (R, possibly offensive to some)

  1. #126
    Join Date
    Jan 2004
    Location
    Iceland
    Posts
    4,750

    Default

    Thanks for your review, Draco Malfoy! I'll get my review of Under the Same Sky up as soon as possible.

    Heh, you reviewed just the chapters I don't like. Oh, well. It's only fair.

    On the swearing: yeah, I should probably go ahead and add in some tags to evade the censoring. It was laziness combined with the fact this isn't the main or only place I'm posting it so the uncensored version is on my site anyway, but it is distracting and over time has been bothering me more and more. Size tags actually aren't ideal, though, because not all the styles have the same default font size; in the Dark-type style (which I use), the ones you 'uncensored' show up with one larger letter, which is also distracting. I'm pretty sure it used to be possible to just insert something like an empty [i][/i] tag in the middle of the word, but last time I tried it that didn't work anymore, and I still haven't found a completely seamless replacement.

    Quote Originally Posted by Draco Malfoy
    Switching to Dave as a central character was a smart move; he is considerably more interesting than Brian, I’m afraid.
    This is very much an ensemble story with POVs switching between most scenes, as you may have started to guess towards the end of what you read; Brian was only the POV character in the first chapter because he went to the talk show and the talk show was what I wanted to show. Since you appear to like Dave, you'll be happy to learn that he has more POV scenes than any other character in the fic overall.

    Overlong sentences are a problem of mine. I like to think I've gotten a bit better with that in the four years since I wrote the early chapters, but yeah.

    Quote Originally Posted by Draco Malfoy
    Although I can see bucket-loads of drama, I can’t see some of the humor that your premise promises. Jane’s dramatic departure, the fracturing of a relationship, discrimination at the school… These are all heavy topics. If this was a drama fic, I’d be fine; however, since the chosen genre is (black) comedy, I was expecting some more humor.

    It’s not a problem for now, but if it isn’t rectified soon, you may face troubles further down the line.
    Yeeeah, the thing is this pretty much is a drama fic, believe it or not. When I started it I thought it was going to be mostly black comedy, but it ended up being more of a dark deconstructionist drama taking silly premises and making them into serious business, because I appear to be incapable of writing anything longer than a one-shot that my mind doesn't eventually decide to make depressing. I am planning a rewrite which would make the genre shift less jarring, but if you continue, just... be prepared, because it's only going to get less funny from here. Except for the Dave and Mia extras.

    Quote Originally Posted by Draco Malfoy
    ‘Book of Visions’? Sounds a lot like the Book of Revelations. Deliberate or incidental reference?
    Deliberate. This fictional religion is pretty much a Christianity Expy with Pokémon sprinkled on, and the Book of Visions is its equivalent of Revelations.

    Quote Originally Posted by Draco Malfoy
    Can you “sigh” words? You can sigh and then say something, or say something in a weary voice. But physically sighing words? It must belong to the school of “smiling” or “glaring” words.
    Mm, it's not quite in the same category as using "smiling" or "glaring" as a dialogue tag, because when sighing you are expelling a breath and if you move your tongue and lips while doing so, words are going to come out. I do agree with your criticism in that that's hardly going to be sufficient for three syllables, however.

    (Gabriel is also one of the most major characters, incidentally. If you like Jack too when he appears, I am going to be amused.)

    Anyway, thanks again. These chapters are quite old and going to be very heavily changed in the rewrite anyway, but your comments are appreciated.
    Last edited by Dragonfree; 16th July 2011 at 4:08 PM.

    Chapter 63: Recovery
    The story of an ordinary boy on an impossible quest in a world that isn't as black and white as he always thought it was.
    (rough draft of the remaining chapters finished for NaNoWriMo; to be edited and posted)

    Morphic
    (completed, plus silly extras)
    A few scientists get drunk and start fiddling with gene splicing. Ten years later, they're taking care of eight half-Pokémon kids, each freakier than the next, while a religious fanatic plots to murder them all.

    Lengthy fanfiction reviewing guide / A more condensed version
    Read and I will be very happy for a large number of reasons.

  2. #127
    Join Date
    Jan 2004
    Location
    Iceland
    Posts
    4,750

    Default

    Hello, everyone! I just wrote a new extra. And then I realized I actually never posted the last extra I wrote. So here are both of them, if anybody still cares.

    They also both use the new high-tech discovery of evading the censoring with font tags. So if it has been vitally important to your enjoyment of the fic so far that half of Dave's dialogue consists of asterisks, you have been warned!


    The first one is, unusually, from Mia's point of view. Contains talk of sex, bloodlust and a complete veer off the initial subject.

    Dave and Mia Discuss Relationships

    There were a lot of things that puzzled Mia about people. She had learned to accept it long ago, of course, and she didn’t lose any sleep over it, but it frustrated her because she liked understanding things, and there were a lot of things that involved people behaving in puzzling ways that she didn’t entirely understand.

    Today, for instance, she had noticed two girls in her class discreetly holding hands under the table and sitting a little closer to one another than they normally did and kissing behind the school building during recess, and that made her ask Dave, “What are relationships for?”

    “It’s a sexual exclusivity thing,” he answered after a moment. “In our ancestors, because human kids are helpless as all fuck for several years after being born, it was advantageous for fathers to help raise their children to make sure they survived to adulthood, only they don’t know it’s their kid unless the mother was only sleeping with them. Because it’s the mother’s kid too and she wants it to reach adulthood just as much, she also wants the father to stick around instead of just running off to fuck somebody else. Pairing off into couples who mostly have sex with one another turns out to be a win-win, genes for latching onto one person of the opposite sex and being jealous start to dominate the gene pool, and here we are.”

    “But there are two girls in my class who are in a relationship together.”

    Dave raised his eyebrows, his lips curling into an amused smile for some reason. “Well, the beauty of evolution is that once you get past how brilliant it is, you realize it’s really pretty terrible at its job. That applies doubly to evolved behavior of any kind. The falling-in-love mechanism doesn’t know it’s supposed to be ensuring you have kids; it just makes you fall in love, and as a society we’ve advanced to the point where we don’t really give a damn what it was actually supposed to do anymore.”

    Mia considered this. “So humans are still sexually exclusive even when they’re both girls or not having kids or can just have paternity tests and it doesn’t make sense.”

    He tilted his head a little. “Well, it still makes sense, in a different way. People want to be happy, and evolution works on behavior by programming us to feel good and be happy when we do something it thinks is correlated with having more offspring, like being in monogamous relationships. What they feel doesn’t change just because we know why.”

    Mia nodded, satisfied. People wanting to be happy made sense. A lot of bizarre things really boiled down to people trying to be happy.

    Then she furrowed her brow, because on second thought this didn’t quite make sense either. “My mom slept with you even though she was with my dad, though.”

    “Jesus Christ,” Dave said, suddenly defensive. “When are you going to shut the fuck up about that?”

    Mia frowned, looking out the window. Dave usually made sense to her, but whenever she brought this up he seemed to clam up in the stupidest way and act as if it wasn’t true when it obviously was. “Are you jealous because she’s also having sex with my dad?” she guessed after a pause.

    “No!” he replied exasperatedly. The curious strain in his voice told her that was somewhat closer to the truth than he let on.

    “I don’t think my dad’s jealous. He doesn’t act weird around her the way you do.”

    “He has no reason to be jealous because he doesn’t – as far as I know – just, for fuck’s sake, stop thinking about this.”

    It irritated her when he got upset over stupid things, because she liked him and he was usually better at making sense than most people. Of all the times when people were puzzling it bothered her most when it was him. He was supposed to know better.

    “Why would she sleep with you when she already had my dad and people are jealous and happier in monogamous relationships?”

    Dave made a strange face somewhere midway between pained and amused that then turned into a stiff wince. “You tell me.”

    Mia watched him with interest, starting to catch on. Dave was just confused because her mom didn’t make sense. That explained a lot. “Is it like a love triangle?” she asked after a pause, and suddenly Dave burst out laughing, in a bitter, hollow way.

    “No. The only guy she loves is your dad, love triangles are a horrible plot device in bad movies, and I’d be very grateful if I never, ever had to hear that phrase out of the mouth of a half-Scyther again.”

    She frowned again. “But then why bother having sex with someone else?”

    Dave chuckled spitefully. “Maybe your dad has a small dick.”

    She looked blankly at him and couldn’t imagine why that would be relevant.

    “That was a joke,” he said, waving a hand at her. “Maybe. I don’t even know. Fuck.”

    “Love seems very impractical,” she said after a moment. “There’s no point in it if it’s one-sided. There should be a mechanism to make you fall in love with the next best choice if the first one is unavailable, instead of being hung up on the same one.”

    “Well, people generally do just that after some time,” Dave said, a little reluctantly.

    “Why haven’t you, then?”

    There was silence. She cocked her head, waiting for an answer, watching his reactions: his fingers clutching the steering wheel just a little tighter, the muscles and tendons in his neck tensing a little. Her eyes locked onto the throbbing pulse near his throat, and she felt her senses automatically tuning themselves and reaching out and noticing the smell of the blood rushing through his body and the fact he was not looking in her direction right now and was really very vulnerable.

    He sighed, glancing at her. “Uh, hotdogs?”

    She nodded. That would be nice. She was kind of hungry.

    She noticed his brow furrowing ever so slightly, warily, before he looked away from her again. “Mia, uh,” he said after a moment, hesitantly, “what are you thinking right now?”

    “I’m hungry,” she replied, shrugging.

    “Right,” he said, still wary. He gave her a couple more concerned glances out of the corner of his eye before he opened his mouth again. “Just so we’re clear here, when you say ‘hungry’ you mean ‘let’s get hotdogs’, not ‘I want to tear Dave’s throat out and eat him’, right?”

    “Both,” she said.

    She watched him raise his eyebrows slowly and take a very deep breath. “Okay,” he said, in the slightly slower, carefully leveled voice that he used when he was pretending not to be nervous, “you remember when we talked about self-control?”

    “I won’t eat you,” she said, mildly irritated; she had told him this many times before. “I like talking to you more than I’d like eating you.”

    “That’s great,” he said, still in the same voice, “but you can’t eat people you don’t like, either.”

    “I know,” she said.

    “Tell me why.”

    “Because it would be found out, I’d go to jail and it wouldn’t pay in the long term.”

    He nodded, slowly, without looking at her. “Never forget, all right?”

    It was a stupid question. She didn’t forget.

    Dave parked the car outside the hotdog stand, but didn’t open the door immediately, which usually meant he wanted to say something. She waited and watched him swallow before he turned to her, but even then he didn’t actually speak; he just sat there for a while, looking at her in silence, his eyes very open and concerned. She stared back at the wild blue patterns of his irises and her reflection in his pupils and the shadows of the people on the street moving indistinctly behind her.

    “Mia…” he said finally, leaning slowly back and relaxing a little in the driver’s seat as he squeezed his eyes shut. He took a breath, again like he was going to say something, but then changed his mind. Mia, getting impatient, reached for the handle on the passenger-side door.

    “Please don’t let me down,” he said, turning towards her again, and she wondered why he would keep repeating that when she had gotten it the first time.

    After a moment he turned away, and they exited the car. He stopped by the front to wait for her and offer her his hand, like he always did. In his eyes and his posture and the barely noticeable tremble to his fingers, she could see the subconscious fear that wanted him to stay a safe distance from her and the pure suicidal willpower that refused to back away, and she smiled.

    He didn’t always make sense, and he didn’t always answer her questions, and he didn’t always buy her hotdogs. But he was always willing to make these small gestures to show that he believed she wouldn’t hurt him, and though she didn’t know entirely why she found that so satisfying, she did.

    She took his hand and together they walked towards the hotdog stand.



    The second one happens four years after the creation of the Pokémorphs (so six years before the main body of the fic and the other extras) and is written in present tense, so if that makes your eyes bleed, you have been warned. It's also longer than usual, at seven pages. Also they don't actually get to the hotdogs until near the end.

    Dave and Mia Discuss Hotdogs

    Scyther are fucked-up Pokémon.

    Not only are they surprisingly smart and ruthless predators, but they also have a unique social structure where they group together in swarms only to subsequently make every effort to leave one another alone. They hunt alone, sleep alone and generally mind their own business. They are social, in the sense that other Scyther are an important part of their day-to-day environment and they must have a keen ability to predict and model other individuals. But because their primary direct interactions with one another are battling and mating, they never needed to evolve any sense of compassion or empathy, the way humans understand empathy. It would only have gotten in the way. They understand each other’s point of view, but they don’t care.

    There is a lot of scientific literature on the evolution – Darwinian evolution, not flashy metamorphosis-evolution – of different Pokémon species, and Dave has read a lot of it. And because he likes to know what the fuck he’s doing when he works on something new and interesting, he’s probably read close to all of it when it comes to the species they picked out for the Pokémorph project.

    So to make a long story short, what he’s read about Scyther has given Dave some suspicions about Mia Kerrigan. She was late to start talking, shows little interest in people, only intermittently makes eye contact, and speaks with slightly off inflections. Cheryl is worried she’s autistic. Dave is worried she isn’t.

    He’s no psychologist, but it obviously wouldn’t help to take her to some professional child psychologist who doesn’t know jack **** about Scyther and would have nothing but some autistic spectrum disorder diagnosis to label her with anyway. (Plus he doesn’t trust strangers with anything relating to the Pokémorphs, really. The only way to make sure things get done right is to do them yourself.) So he’s going to attempt to use what he does know to find out what’s going on in her brain.

    It sounds simple and straightforward. From experience over the past four years, he knows never to trust things that sound simple and straightforward to actually be that way.

    So when Dave sits down opposite Mia at the Kerrigans’ kitchen table, he fully expects her to be difficult. For the moment, though, she’s just looking him up and down and still hasn’t said anything, which he knows her well enough to not find surprising. He places his suitcase on the table before he looks at her and says, “Hi, Mia.”

    “Hi,” she responds, her expression the same neutral as ever.

    “Your mom might have told you, but if she didn’t, we’re going to do some experiments. All you have to do is answer my questions.”

    Her eyes flicker vaguely between him and the suitcase. “Why?” she says, just as he’s concluding she isn’t going to answer.

    Dave sighs. “For science,” he says. “It’s not like you have anything better to do.”

    Mia considers it for a moment and then nods. “Okay.”

    Well. That part was surprisingly easy.

    He decides to start with basic empathy. He pulls two pencil cases out of the suitcase and puts them on the table in front of Mia. “They’re empty,” he says as he shows her. “But now I’m going to take this pencil and put it in this one.”

    He does so and closes the pencil cases. Mia looks very unimpressed.

    “Pretend your mom is in here with us and saw that, all right? And now, suppose I ask her to go somewhere else and she leaves the room. Got all that?”

    She nods warily.

    “Okay,” he says. “Now, Mia, where is the pencil?”

    She looks at him like he’s retarded. “You know where the pencil is,” she says. “You put it there yourself.”

    “Yeah, I did,” he answers patiently, “but I want to know if you know.”

    “You showed me where you put it.”

    “Maybe you forgot.”

    “This is stupid.”

    Mia is beginning to turn away, so Dave gives up. “Okay, the pencil is in this one, right?” he says, indicating the pencil case on his left, the one that really has the pencil in it. She doesn’t dignify that with an answer, but he never thought she’d have any problem remembering where the pencil is anyway, so he lets it slide and moves on to the next part.

    He opens the pencil case, takes the pencil out, and moves it to the other pencil case.

    “Where’s the pencil now?” he asks.

    She gives him that this-is-retarded look again, and on reflection he’s starting to agree with her. “Okay, never mind,” he says. “That’s not the point anyway. The point is, if your mom came back in now and I asked her which case the pencil is in, what would she say?”

    Mia looks at him for a moment and then points at the one on the right.

    These kinds of things have always amused Dave. The idea that certain seemingly obvious concepts just aren’t there in the minds of kids for some time is one of those delightfully counterintuitive little nuggets that every so often make you consciously aware of the brain being a machine. He leans a little back in his chair and can’t help grinning. “But how would she know that when she wasn’t in here when I switched them?”

    “Because you wouldn’t make her leave the room like that and then ask her about it unless it was a trick,” she says immediately.

    This is the precise moment where it hits him, for the first time, that she is fucking brilliant.

    He lets out a chuckle of disbelief. “Good point,” he concedes. “Okay, you’re smarter than whoever thought up this test.”

    He puts away the pencil cases, watching Mia. She is looking disinterestedly around, unaware of having done anything impressive or unusual. If it were Jean thinking she’d figured something out, she’d he wearing a triumphant grin and looking expectantly at him, waiting for recognition of her achievement. Mia clearly doesn’t give a fuck about impressing him, and that’s exactly what makes it so impressive. She wasn’t expecting a trick question and looking for the answer he wanted; she just told the truth as she saw it.

    A really stupid idea strikes him, and he flips through his brain for the dumbest riddle he’s ever heard. “Where do Magikarp keep their money?”

    She gives him that look again. “Magikarp don’t have any money.”

    “But where would they keep it if they did?”

    He waits. She clearly thinks the question is ridiculous and shows no inclination to answer it.

    “Give up?” He pauses again for dramatic effect. “They keep it… in the river bank.”

    She looks at him for a long second without changing her expression. “They don’t have any money,” she repeats. “They can’t keep it anywhere because they don’t have any. And they can’t even dig in the river bank, so they couldn’t put it there.”

    “It’s a river bank. Banks keep your money. See?”

    “It’s not a bank. It’s a river bank.”

    Dave grins helplessly at her sheer lack of amusement. She doesn’t even think the joke is unfunny; she doesn’t see the joke at all. Some part of him hopes she never will. The world would be a smarter place if everyone made enough of a distinction between words and concepts for bad puns to be this completely lost on them.

    “But that’s enough of that,” he says and reaches into his suitcase again. “I have another test for you.”

    Mia looks marginally less annoyed at that. She watches his hands as he pulls out a stack of photographs of eyes, then looks back up at his face. She isn’t quite making eye contact, more just looking at him.

    “Okay. Just look at the pictures one at a time and tell me how you think the people in them are feeling.”

    She nods. He shows her the first picture, and she peers at it. “He’s pretending to be angry,” she concludes after a moment.

    Dave blinks and turns the photo around to look at it. “Why do you think he’s just pretending?”

    “The eyebrows are too scrunched. People only look like that when they’re pretending.”

    In retrospect he supposes it’s a little exaggerated, but it doesn’t exactly make him think ‘pretending’. He switches photos, warily.

    “Sad,” she says.

    It only takes a few more photos to completely convince him that she is not autistic because she can read these emotions better than he can. Then, as he continues because he brought thirty photos and he might as well get through them all, another pattern starts emerging. Slowly he starts to get the feeling that she’s processing the pictures in a wholly different way than he is. She notices things like two sets of eyes belonging to the same guy (who, she says, is probably really sad, because he’s better at acting sad than happy). She impassively notes that unusually many of the eyes in the pictures are blue. At that point he doesn’t think he’s noticed any of the eye colors, and for all he knows they could all have been purple. She notices particular wrinkles around the eyes and comments on them (or the lack thereof), the differences between the environments reflected in the subjects’ irises (he doesn’t even know how to respond to that), the wideness of the pupils, and even more ridiculous details that seem to indicate she is actually looking at the pictures and carefully analyzing them, not just instinctively picking up the emotion being conveyed.

    Is this what she does every time she looks at someone’s face? Does it even count, for the purposes of a test like this? He doesn’t know, because he isn’t a fucking psychologist.

    As he puts the stack of photos away, he looks at her and scratches the back of his neck, thinking. He knows there are autistic savants with extraordinary observational skills. He also knows Scyther can pinpoint their prey’s weak points in a split second, before it can react. Maybe this is how they look at everything. So far nothing has been very conclusive. She does seem to have a theory of mind going, with recognition of the idea of others having different knowledge than she does, but that alone hardly disproves some kind of autism.

    The most obvious way to test the theory that her oddities stem from her Scyther genes is now to try to establish whether or not she experiences sympathy or concern for others’ suffering, provided she’s aware of it. Autistics don’t have any problems with that, generally. It’s the becoming aware of the suffering that they can have difficulty with, and Mia doesn’t seem to have any problems with that, even if her way of finding out is a little unconventional. It’s psychopaths that lack compassion. Unfortunately for Mia’s chances of having something approaching a normal mind, research seems to suggest that Scyther are psychopaths by nature, but the point is that though she could coincidentally happen to be an autistic psychopath, that’s unlikely enough to make any signs of psychopathy at this point pretty damning evidence that her Scyther genes had a hell of a lot more to do with behavior than they assumed when they were putting her together. The problem is just figuring out how to test that.

    Part of him feels like he could actually just ask her, because he decidedly can’t picture her lying about it. But he knows that psychopaths are supposedly often good at manipulating people while appearing trustworthy, and no matter how much it breaks his brain to try to imagine this four-year-old girl is a master manipulator, he also knows he can’t make any assumptions when it comes to the Pokémorphs.

    He thinks it over, trying to come up with something that eliminates as many other variables as possible, and then what he actually ends up saying for some reason is, “My dad died last week.”

    Her expression doesn’t change. She looks at him and waits, like she’s expecting him to get to the point. He already knows in his gut that she doesn’t care, doesn’t even realize she should care. And for some reason he’s kind of relieved.

    “Cancer,” he finds himself saying. “I hadn’t talked to him in years. Never even knew he had it. Funny how that works out.”

    Why the fuck he’s dumping this on an empathyless little girl of all people is a mystery to him, but she sits there and considers it, with no apparent perception that this is at all inappropriate. “Then it doesn’t matter,” she says. “If you didn’t talk to him anyway, it doesn’t change anything.”

    She says it like it’s about as obvious as the river bank not storing money. He could be imagining it, but it seems like there’s an accusatory vibe to it, like she wants to tell him he’s being a pussy thinking this is any kind of a big deal. (Did he sound upset? He didn’t think he did.)

    “Well,” he starts to explain himself, because for some dumb reason he feels like he needs to explain himself to the empathyless little girl, “even if you don’t talk to somebody there’s always this part of you that thinks someday you’re going to, until one day you realize that now it’s just too fucking late.”

    He remembers he’s talking to a four-year-old the moment the word is out of him, but Mia at least seems unperturbed. “That would have happened anyway,” she counters. “He would just have died sometime later.”

    “Yeah,” he says, because from an objective perspective she’s absolutely right. He can’t say that knowledge makes him feel better, exactly, but it’s sobering to realize even a fucking four-year-old can see that. “You’re right. Never mind.”

    She looks around for a moment, apparently content to change the subject. Then she asks, “What does ‘fucking’ mean?”

    Goddamn it. “Uh. Not really anything, in that sentence.”

    She tilts her head. “Why would you use a word that doesn’t mean anything?”

    “Grownups do that sometimes.”

    “That’s stupid.”

    “Yeah, isn’t it? I’m sure you’d never do that.”

    “Why do you?”

    He looks helplessly at her. “It’s a swear word. Do you know what swear words are?”

    “Swear words mean something.”

    “Only when you’re really talking about what they mean. I wasn’t talking about what that word means. People say ‘what the hell’ and they’re not really talking about fictional underground torture chambers; they just mean ‘what’. What I said just meant ‘it’s too late’, but I used a swear word because that’s just what people do sometimes for emphasis. You’re not supposed to know that word, so don’t tell your parents I said it. Okay?”

    Mia nods slowly. “So what does it mean?”

    Dave will never, ever, fucking ever forget to watch his language around kids again.

    “You don’t need to know that,” he says in exasperation. “Nobody’s going to talk to you about that for the next ten years.”

    Mia considers that and then shrugs, apparently taking his word for it.

    That was also surprisingly easy. The easy parts with her, oddly, are exactly the parts that would be hardest with Jean.

    He lets out a breath and leans back in his chair. “Speaking of hell,” he says. “Your parents haven’t been teaching you that stuff, have they?”

    “What stuff?”

    “Religion. Big almighty guy in the sky who created the world and forgives your sins, et cetera.”

    She shakes her head.

    “Oh, thank God.” He has never understood how otherwise intelligent people can hold on to their childhood religion well into adulthood, but he supposes he can give them some credit for having the decency to not force it on their own kids. “Well, in case they try, it’s all something gullible people thought up thousands of years ago to explain natural phenomena before they had science. There is no evidence for any of it. But don’t take my word for it; ask them. Then ask them why they believe it anyway because I’d sure like to know.”

    Mia frowns for a moment. “Are my parents stupid?” she then says.

    “Eh,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, your mom’s great. I don’t think she really believes any of it, deep down. She’s just into the community stuff. And your dad… well, he knows his science just fine. I guess he’s just going for first prize in the Compartmentalization Olympics.”

    He expects her to ask what that means, but for whatever reason, she doesn’t.

    There is silence. Mia is glancing disinterestedly around; he gets the feeling she doesn’t quite grasp the idea of conversation so much as individual strings of questions and answers.

    “Mia,” he says after a moment, leaning a bit forward over the table, “do you ever want to hurt people?”

    She seems to spend a second evaluating whether to answer the question before she says, “Sometimes.”

    Dave nods slowly. It’s already becoming increasingly apparent that all the morphs, except maybe Gabriel, have some violent tendencies, so that’s not unexpected. The others don’t really act on them, because they don’t have any problem with the idea that hurting people is wrong. He’s just not sure how well that’s going to work if Mia really lacks empathy.

    “One day,” he says, “you’re going to grow scythes on your arms. They’re going to be sharp and dangerous. When that happens, it’s going to be very, very important that you don’t hurt anyone. Do you understand why?”

    Mia looks at him, probably analyzing the size of his pupils or trying to gauge his motivations in asking that question, and finally shakes her head.

    Dave exhales. This seems to be the best confirmation to date that he’s really created a monster. And yet he doesn’t feel like a mad scientist with an unstable creation that must be kept at bay. She’s just a little girl equipped with a slightly different brain than the rest of us – a really brilliant brain, too, even if she’s also missing a circuit or two. Who knows how much potential there could be in that brain?

    She’s not dangerous, not necessarily. There are psychopaths who lead normal, nonviolent lives. All she really needs is persuasion that she ought to, in terms that make sense to her.

    “Do you like hotdogs?” he asks after a moment of thought.

    Unfazed by the sudden change in topic, Mia nods.

    “So if there was a hotdog on the table that you could have, you’d eat it?”

    She nods again, warily.

    “What if I told you I’d poisoned the hotdog, and eating it would make you very sick for a whole week?”

    She gives him a suspicious glare. “Why would you poison it?”

    He pauses, realizing this probably wasn’t the right way to begin this approach. “Let’s try this again,” he says. “Say there was a hotdog and you were going to eat it, and then I came in and told you actually that hotdog was part of an experiment I was doing and I’d injected it with some nasty bacteria that were going to make you sick. Would you still eat it?”

    “No,” she says, in that obvious, I-question-your-motives-in-even-asking-me-this-question way.

    He nods and leans towards her over the table again. “It’s important that you don’t hurt people,” he says, “because if you do, there are going to be people who think you’re dangerous and need to be locked away, and they’re going to have things their way no matter what we try. You’ll have to eat what they tell you to eat and do what they tell you to do. You won’t be allowed to go anywhere you want or see people you want to see. And they might never let you out. Do you understand now?”

    She blinks at him. She seems a bit caught off guard; he doesn’t imagine anyone has really tried using this kind of pure rhetoric of self-interest on her before. Reward and punishment as people normally think about them are dependent on a system of morality: they rely on the idea that people deserve something-or-other for doing certain things. When people really think punishment is unjust, they want to change the rules; they aren’t content with just not breaking them. Dave doubts Mia would really buy the idea of punishment at all, when she couldn’t properly comprehend why she was being punished. But this is a matter of simple consequences: if you do this, that will happen, grouping the two together so that they must be evaluated as a combination. Mia understood the poisoned hotdog. She has to understand this, too.

    After a long second of evaluation, she nods. He leans back and releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, feeling oddly like he’s just passed some kind of a test.

    Maybe a conventional moral upbringing would completely go over her head, but if she can just be reasoned with on a basis she accepts towards the right conclusion, her rational mind should provide a substitute for everything she’s missing. All she needs is the right line of reasoning, the right argument, the right logic to turn the gears in her head the right way, and then…

    (Challenge accepted.)

    And then everything should be fine.

    “So you said you like hotdogs,” he says. “How about we go out and get some hotdogs right now and talk more on the way?”

    “That would be nice,” she says with evident satisfaction.

    Well, this will be interesting, he thinks and reaches for his car keys.
    Last edited by Dragonfree; 2nd September 2011 at 5:46 PM.

    Chapter 63: Recovery
    The story of an ordinary boy on an impossible quest in a world that isn't as black and white as he always thought it was.
    (rough draft of the remaining chapters finished for NaNoWriMo; to be edited and posted)

    Morphic
    (completed, plus silly extras)
    A few scientists get drunk and start fiddling with gene splicing. Ten years later, they're taking care of eight half-Pokémon kids, each freakier than the next, while a religious fanatic plots to murder them all.

    Lengthy fanfiction reviewing guide / A more condensed version
    Read and I will be very happy for a large number of reasons.

  3. #128
    Join Date
    Jan 2004
    Location
    Iceland
    Posts
    4,750

    Default

    Ever looked at these silly extras and wondered, "Wow, Dragonfree would write about Dave and Mia watching paint dry, wouldn't she?"

    ...

    Dave and Mia Watch Paint Dry

    Mia cocks her head at the wall. “Can you actually see it dry?”

    “No, you can’t,” Dave says impatiently. “You can’t actually watch paint dry. It’s an expression, that’s all.”

    She continues to squint at the paint, unconvinced. “It’s reflecting more light now than it was earlier.”

    He looks at the wall (it looks exactly the same as before), then at her. “No, really, Mia. We’re not going to watch the paint dry. I was joking.”

    She doesn’t look up, already disturbingly into the whole paint-watching thing.

    (Dave wonders dejectedly why he hasn’t yet learned not to joke around her.)



    For what it's worth, that's a drabble (i.e. exactly 100 words). People started talking about drabbles and this stupid, stupid idea popped into my head and I just couldn't resist.

    Chapter 63: Recovery
    The story of an ordinary boy on an impossible quest in a world that isn't as black and white as he always thought it was.
    (rough draft of the remaining chapters finished for NaNoWriMo; to be edited and posted)

    Morphic
    (completed, plus silly extras)
    A few scientists get drunk and start fiddling with gene splicing. Ten years later, they're taking care of eight half-Pokémon kids, each freakier than the next, while a religious fanatic plots to murder them all.

    Lengthy fanfiction reviewing guide / A more condensed version
    Read and I will be very happy for a large number of reasons.

  4. #129
    Join Date
    Oct 2010
    Location
    Graivty Falls, Oregon
    Posts
    394

    Default

    Sniff...

    WAAAAA!

    Will the kitty GONE... Mia, the incomparable no-nonsense girl, GONE...

    Stupid reality... Blasted fact that kids, even Pokemorphs, have about no chance against people with guns who wish to kill them... Accursed fact, that while they die people continue to laugh... Stupid religious extremism...

    ...I didn't read any of the stuff concerning sex, and I'm glad most of the language was bleeped out, but what I did read, was, well, phenomenal. The way you introduced each character, set their personality in stone, managed to make them react perfectly believably, and in ways that almost make me cry about them, even though I read my way through it in like two hours...

    Incredible, I must say...

    Where did you learn to write?
    Last edited by chanseychansey77; 4th September 2011 at 7:50 AM.

  5. #130
    Join Date
    Jan 2004
    Location
    Iceland
    Posts
    4,750

    Default

    Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the story. (And sorry for the sex talk/profanity. According to your profile you're thirteen, and I'd have thought exactly the same thing when I was thirteen, so I don't blame you. But you chose to read an R-rated fic, and that's what you get.)

    I didn't exactly learn to write anywhere; I've just been writing, posting my work online for feedback and giving reviews of my own for many years, and that's always a learning process even though it's slow. The first half of this fic already makes me cringe. :P Hence the rewriting plans.

    Chapter 63: Recovery
    The story of an ordinary boy on an impossible quest in a world that isn't as black and white as he always thought it was.
    (rough draft of the remaining chapters finished for NaNoWriMo; to be edited and posted)

    Morphic
    (completed, plus silly extras)
    A few scientists get drunk and start fiddling with gene splicing. Ten years later, they're taking care of eight half-Pokémon kids, each freakier than the next, while a religious fanatic plots to murder them all.

    Lengthy fanfiction reviewing guide / A more condensed version
    Read and I will be very happy for a large number of reasons.

  6. #131
    Join Date
    Jun 2005
    Location
    Earth
    Posts
    2,071

    Default

    Then she furrowed her brow, because on second thought this didn’t quite make sense either. “My mom slept with you even though she was with my dad, though.”

    “Jesus Christ,” Dave said, suddenly defensive. “When are you going to shut the **** up about that?”
    My initial mental response to this was, She will NEVER! 8B Then I remembered what ultimately becomes of her and made a sadly for a moment. And then I remembered that people in general can't truly be said to never stop doing anything (except for having a limited lifespan) because, you know, mortality.

    Then I managed to let that little train of thought go and resume reading.

    There was silence. She cocked her head, waiting for an answer, watching his reactions: his fingers clutching the steering wheel just a little tighter, the muscles and tendons in his neck tensing a little. Her eyes locked onto the throbbing pulse near his throat, and she felt her senses automatically tuning themselves and reaching out and noticing the smell of the blood rushing through his body and the fact he was not looking in her direction right now and was really very vulnerable.
    I will never stop enjoying her beautiful, creepy-*** mind.

    Well, not while I'm alive, I mean. Unless I lose my memory for whatever reason.

    ...Annnnd so much for me having completely let go of the whole tangent about what a person may "never" do. XD;

    And your dad… well, he knows his science just fine. I guess he’s just going for first prize in the Compartmentalization Olympics.
    Heh. X3

    “No,” she says, in that obvious, I-question-your-motives-in-even-asking-me-this-question way.
    Really liked that bit of description there.


    I think the second of the latest extras was my favorite of them. Again, I really enjoy reading about Mia's mind, and that extra felt like it dug particularly deep into it. Plus the part about swear words was gold.

    Oh, and I feel like I should mention that even just seeing the title of the third one amused me. XD Although I think the lead-in to it in that post that was at least partially to credit for the title making me laugh as much as it did.

    Current Chapter: Chapter 18 – Remnants

    COMPLETE
    Communication banner: Saffire Persian | TOoS banner: CHeSHiRe-CaT

  7. #132
    Join Date
    Jan 2004
    Location
    Iceland
    Posts
    4,750

    Default

    Thanks for reviewing as always!

    Quote Originally Posted by Sike Saner
    My initial mental response to this was, She will NEVER! 8B Then I remembered what ultimately becomes of her and made a sadly for a moment.
    D: I know. Sometimes I forget I killed her off, what with being so conveniently able to write more and more extras that are squeezed somewhere into the timeline before that actually happened. And then I remember and it makes me sadface.


    Anyway, the reason I'm posting right now is that I was bored and happened to remember that I'd never actually made a chapter index for Morphic, so I decided to stick one in the first post, and that made me realize that I never posted the April Fools' Day joke I made last April.

    Basically, I'd hinted vaguely at the possibility of a sequel when I posted chapter fourteen; then, on April the first, I first announced the sequel would be written by a new author and presented a mock first chapter (the new author was my friend lunar_espeon, who has not read Morphic and was just given one-liner descriptions of the characters); then, later that day I retracted that chapter, admitting it was a joke, and instead posted the supposedly real first chapter of the sequel, which was written by me and which I love unreasonably. That was of course also a joke, but I imagine it might amuse some people anyway. (I'm not posting lunar_espeon's fake chapter because it is not my writing and doesn't exactly have anything to do with the actual fic, but you can look on my website if you're interested. I found it hilarious, but that could largely be because, being the author, I am unreasonably amused by all the various OOCness involved. He made Mia have the hots for Dave. Without even having read Dave and Mia Discuss Sex.)


    EDIT: Because apparently I was just that bored, I replaced every chapter except four and six with censor-evading versions, so you can now read Dave's dialogue in its full, non-asterisked glory (chapters four and six don't contain any swearing, probably because they don't have any Dave-POV scenes or parts where Dave is vaguely nervous/irritated/feeling any kind of human emotion). Since the censor-evading versions were created by running a bunch of find-and-replace functions on the versions on my site, this may also have resulted in the correction of typos or other mistakes in said chapters. Yay?

    Now that that's done, I also figured I might as well copy the thread over to Completed Fics now. This thread will stay here in case anyone still wants to review or I happen to write more extras in the future; the copy will be archived for posterity.


    Morphic II: Chapter 1 (April Fools' Day joke, not canon)

    Dave’s doorbell rang at some unholy hour of the morning and continued insistently until he’d stumbled to the door in his underwear.

    “What?” he said, staring at the man who was facing him, looking weirdly shifty. “Who are you?”

    “Graham Williams,” the man replied, glancing from side to side. “One of your interns at the lab a few years ago.”

    Dave blinked. He supposed maybe the guy did look familiar. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “Is that it?”

    Graham took a deep breath. “I… have a confession to make.”

    There was a pregnant pause. Dave said nothing.

    “I created two additional Pokémorphs,” Graham then went on, in a hushed tone.

    Dave stared. “You what?”

    “I made a couple of extras. I thought it’d be interesting.”

    “That makes no fucking sense,” Dave said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “That was my secret project and I sure as hell don’t remember letting you in on it.”

    “You told me in detail how it worked. I think you were pretty drunk at the time.”

    Dave rubbed his forehead. “Oh, Christ. So what sorts of abominations came out of it? I hope you aborted them.”

    “No, actually.” Graham smiled nervously. “They came out perfect. A Mew and Mewtwo morph. I raised them myself.”

    Dave stared at the man again, trying to discern whether he was joking. “Mew… and Mewtwo,” he repeated after a while.

    “Yes.”

    “As in… the mythical pink transforming psychic cat, and the superweapon conspiracy nuts think the government engineered in the eighties.”

    The man nodded.

    Dave waited for a punchline. There wasn’t one. He was way too fucking tired to deal with this (whatever this was) right now.

    Before he’d properly decided how to respond, he’d simply closed the door. That was rude and eccentric as hell, but it was probably preferable to confronting the fact he’d apparently been employing a lunatic (had he? Maybe that was why Dave hadn’t thought he recognized the guy at first). He started to walk back into his bedroom, but before he’d made more than a couple of steps, there came another enthusiastic knock on the door.

    “Look –” he began when he opened it again, but stopped when he realized that Graham was gone. In his place were standing two girls, one short blonde with rounded conical ears and huge blue eyes, and the other tall, pale and disturbingly skinny with long, jet-black hair and stubby ears sticking out of the top of her head.

    “Hi!” said the short one, waving happily at him. “I’m Bubbles! Can I call you Daddy-two?”

    “What the fuck,” Dave said.

    “That’s a bad word,” Bubbles said, frowning. “You can’t say bad words ‘cause then the angels all start to cry and are very sad.”

    “What the fuck.” His brain desperately reached out for the relative sanity of before he’d reopened the door. “Where’s Graham?”

    “Daddy had to go,” Bubbles explained, “because he’s afraid the bad people will find out about him and come with guns and kill us.”

    “And he left you with me?”

    “Yeah!” Bubbles grinned. “You’ll take really good care of us, won’t you, Daddy-two?”

    He stared. The two girls suddenly disappeared into thin air, and then he heard Bubbles’ voice go on behind him (oh, Christ, they could teleport): “Your place is really small. You should buy a bigger house. Oh, and it should totally have a swimming pool! Swimming pools are awesome. I bet God has lots of swimming pools in Heaven.”

    “This sucks,” said a deeper, monotone voice. “I hate my life.”

    Dave leaned desperately out into the corridor, but there was no sign of the man who had brought them here.

    He needed a drink.

    -------

    To his horror, Bubbles and Jean hit it off immediately.

    “…and then Jesus died on the cross, and that’s why you can get into Heaven, but only if you really really believe in him,” he heard the Mew girl explain from inside Jean’s room.

    “Really?” asked Jean, somewhat unsurely.

    “Yeah,” Bubbles went on. “’Cause if you don’t, he’s going to come and judge you. And then he casts everybody who didn’t believe in him into the lake of fire, with the Houndoom and everything, and then there are Slugma crawling all over you – ewww!” She grimaced. “Also there’s eternal torture, and no matter how much you regret it you can’t get into Heaven because you were too late.”

    There was a pause. Then Jean said, hesitantly, “I don’t think Dad believes in Jesus.”

    Bubbles gasped. “Oh! Then we have to convert him quick, before the bad people come for him.”

    “Please kill me now,” Dave said and found it oddly relieving as he downed the rest of his beer to realize that there was in fact now a real upside to the prospect of being murdered.

    “Life sucks, doesn’t it?” commented Raven the Mewtwo morph, who was sitting beside him on the sofa, arms folded.

    “Yeah.”

    “Totally.”

    He looked at her. “So where the fuck does your dad think he got his hands on DNA from the government’s weaponized unicorn project, anyway?”

    “Dude, I’m not a unicorn,” she said, annoyed. “Unicorns are gay. I mean, they’re all rainbows and happiness. I hate that shit.”

    He stared at her for a moment. “I don’t know if you noticed that Mew is a pink kitten that flies around in a fucking bubble, makes cute mewling sounds and plays with people who are pure-hearted.”

    “Yeah, but I’m Mewtwo,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s gray and it’s all badass and shit and can destroy everything. Didn’t you see the leaked CIA video of them trying to talk to it?”

    “The guy who made that came forth and admitted it was a fucking hoax made to promote Battle for the Earth.”

    “Whatever.” She tossed her hair. “They made him say that in exchange for sparing his life. Why do you think he’s still alive?”

    “That’s an affirming the consequent fallacy. You’re saying that –”

    “Dude, don’t get all Latin on me. You aren’t right just because you’re smart.”

    Dave looked at her for a moment and then reached for his beer again, sighing. “Okay. Brick wall. Got it. Never mind.”

    “What’s that supposed to mean?”

    “I’m just a big fan of bricklaying.”

    She stared at him. “Dude,” she said after a moment, “you’re weird.”

    Unfortunately, unlike the legendary sisters, Jean was the very opposite of a brick wall, and Bubbles’ particular brick wall seemed to be getting to her. By now, he discovered to his dismay as he returned to listening to them, Bubbles was trying to convince her that homosexuality was against God.

    “But I think if they love each other…” Jean protested.

    “They don’t love each other!” Bubbles gasped. “The devil made them think they did, but really they love women like everybody else. You just need to show them.”

    “Really?”

    “No,” he called in response, leaning in the direction of the door. “Don’t listen to her. She may be brainwashed beyond help, but you’re smarter than that.”

    In the blink of an eye, Bubbles was standing in front of him with her arms crossed. “You’re brainwashed!” she said, her big blue eyes staring accusingly at him. “Deep down you know I’m right, but you’re just lying to yourself.”

    He gave her a hopeless glance. “Jean, she’s a nut. Please tell me you’re not taking any of this seriously.”

    The Ninetales morph had opened the door to her room and was looking at him; she still looked a little hesitant, but she nodded, seeming somewhat reassured. Bubbles whirled around, disappeared and then pulled Jean back into her room, making a point of slamming the door shut so he couldn’t hear them anymore.

    Dave sighed, ruffling his hair. He needed to talk to somebody with sense before his brain exploded. He reached for his cellphone in his pocket and entered Howard and Cheryl’s number.

    Lucy picked up after a few beeps. “Hi, Dave!” she said cheerfully.

    “Hey, Lucy.” He smiled a little in relief at hearing her voice; she hadn’t talked much lately. “Can I talk to your mom?”

    “No,” Lucy replied. “My parents aren’t at home right now.”

    Fuck. “Oh.” He paused. “Well, it was nice talking to you, anyway.”

    “You too. Oh!” she added suddenly, like she’d just remembered something. “Mia’s back.”

    Dave was silent for a long moment. “What do you mean?”

    “I brought her back. I just imagined she was here hard enough and then she came and – oh, she wants to talk to you.”

    “What the –” he began and then froze as an all-too-familiar voice said, “Hi.”

    It would probably have taken him longer to recover on any other day. As it was, it was oddly easy to accept this on some basic temporary level just while he figured out what the hell was going on. “Mia?” he said after a short pause. “Is that you?”

    “Yeah,” she replied as if nothing were more natural. “You haven’t been around in a while.”

    This didn’t make any sense. Nothing made any sense.

    “You should come over now. That would be nice.”

    “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”

    Mia hung up. He sat there frozenly for a moment, trying to get his brain to form coherent thought. Eventually he stood up, walked to Jean’s room and opened the door.

    “…but I think my dad’s right,” Jean was saying, and some part of him was grounded enough to feel a twinge of pride. Bubbles looked up at him and then appeared in front of him, arms crossed, like she was trying to prevent him from entering the room.

    “Jean, we’re going to the Kerrigans’ place,” he said over Bubbles’ shoulder. “Something’s come up.”

    “Ooh,” Bubbles said, suddenly not cross anymore. “Can we come?”

    “No.”

    Bubbles pouted. “Well, I’m coming anyway.”

    Dave sighed. There was probably no way to stop them coming if they wanted to – if they could teleport, it wasn’t as if he could just refuse to let them into his car.

    “I’ll bet you an ice cream you can’t stay completely quiet while we’re there,” he said instead.

    Bubbles grinned hugely, mimed zipping her mouth shut, and followed them out.

    -------

    It was Mia who opened the door. He spent a long moment just standing there on the doorstep, looking at her, before he reached forward and touched her shoulder. Solid. Real.

    This just wasn’t fucking possible.

    He wanted to say something to her, but what the hell were you supposed to say to somebody who’d inexplicably turned up back from the dead, months after being shot three times in the back of the head? Instead, he just continued to look at her, waiting for that weird suffocating feeling to go away. It didn’t.

    “Where’s Lucy?” he said finally.

    Mia stepped wordlessly out of the way, and he followed her inside with Jean. He had managed, with further bribes of ice cream, to convince Bubbles and Raven to stay in the car, and there was no way he was leaving Jean completely alone with the two of them.

    The Misdreavus morph was sitting on the living room couch in front of the television. She looked around as he approached.

    “Hi, Dave,” she said nonchalantly, like she hadn’t just somehow raised the dead. He stopped near her and squeezed his eyes shut, thinking.

    “Okay, Lucy,” he began after clearing his throat, trying to keep his voice calm. “How did you do this?”

    She shrugged unsurely. “It just happened.”

    “This sort of thing does not just happen.”

    Lucy contemplated it for a few seconds. “I was just here,” she then said, “thinking about what Mia would be doing if she were here. And then I thought about it really hard, and then she came.”

    Some crazy part of him, despite knowing perfectly well that the name was just a historical artifact of less enlightened times, couldn’t help latching on to one stupid, irrational thought: Ghost-type.

    Goddamn it. He was a fucking scientist. He could do this sensibly.

    “Uh,” he began, rubbing at his eyes. “Could you do it again?”

    Lucy looked a little confused.

    “Try doing the same thing but for Will, right here.”

    “I didn’t know him as well,” Lucy said hesitantly. “But I can try.”

    “It’s okay if it doesn’t work,” he said, his voice wavering slightly with a weird rush of impatient anger. “Just do the same thing you did then, all right?”

    Lucy closed her eyes, concentrating. At first nothing happened at all, and he fleetingly thought this was without a doubt the stupidest experiment he had ever done; then, without warning, the air beside the sofa began to shimmer with a strange, purple haze, and suddenly Will was standing there, blinking sleepily.

    Jean ran up and hugged him; he responded in turn, looking a little confused. “Um, hi, Jean,” he said as she started to sob into his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

    Dave stared at the boy who had just appeared out of thin air. This couldn’t be happening.

    “Lucy,” he began hesitantly, “are you manipulating them somehow?”

    She looked vaguely confused by the question; she shook her head unsurely. Will gave him a puzzled look.

    “I mean, are you deciding what they’re going to say or do?”

    “No,” she replied, shaking her head again, looking a little anxious.

    He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think. “Mia,” he said abruptly, turning towards the Scyther morph. “What’s the age of consent?”

    She gave him a blank look. “What is that?”

    He exhaled slowly. Okay. She had Lucy’s knowledge, not Mia’s. Some sort of a physical projection of her mental image of her sister, then. Of course it had to be something like that – the alternative was ridiculous – but still he couldn’t shake off some irrational disappointment, the remnants of an absurd hope that somehow this was actually her.

    He looked at Lucy; she was tilting her head at him. Should he explain it to her? He thought about what she’d been like ever since Mia’s death – not speaking, always that same haunted stare, spending her days sitting around gazing into space. She seemed perfectly content now that her sister seemed to have simply returned. He didn’t have the heart to just crush her hopes again.

    Though actually, he realized suddenly, last time she’d discovered her sister was dead, she hadn’t been crushed – she’d gone into a frenzied rage and knocked out everyone in the vicinity with a Perish Song. Her reaction to finding out again could be even worse, and he wasn’t sure she entirely subscribed to the “don’t kill the messenger” philosophy.

    He shuddered and looked away from her. Jean had just released the Will projection; she sniffled as he smiled awkwardly. “Anybody want to tell me what’s going on?” the boy said hesitantly.

    “You… you died,” Jean said quietly.

    “Oh,” Will said, furrowing his brow. “Oh. I guess I did.”

    Jean pulled him into a hug again, and Will’s frown deepened. “Wait,” he said. “That doesn’t make sense. I’m confused.”

    “Yeah, uh,” Dave began, “Lucy brought you back.” It felt exceptionally odd to speak to him (it?); his head was all hypotheses on what would happen if Lucy left the room or covered her ears or went to sleep, and he wasn’t sure whether he should be looking at Will or at Lucy when he spoke, and if he didn’t act normal Lucy would probably start asking questions and realize something was up. It was starting to dawn upon him that this couldn’t possibly last. Sooner or later she’d have to get suspicious, and who could guess what might happen then?

    “Who are they?” Mia (not Mia) asked suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts; he turned towards her, only to see Bubbles and Raven standing behind him, having presumably just teleported inside. The Mew morph immediately frowned and started to gesture wildly at him in a way that, as far as he could understand it, appeared to imply they’d gotten bored waiting.

    “Yeah,” he began. “They’re, uh…” Why was he even talking to her? It wasn’t Mia. It was some fucked-up figment of Lucy’s imagination that looked and acted like her. He avoided its gaze. “Apparently ten years ago some intern went and made two legendary Pokémon morphs without our knowledge, and…” He trailed off. He sounded ridiculous.

    “That doesn’t make any sense,” Not-Mia said.

    She was right. It just didn’t make any fucking sense.

    He stood there for a moment. He looked around for a light switch, hurried to it and turned the lights off, then on again. Lucy looked at him curiously.

    “What the fuck is going on?” he said. He meant for it to sound annoyed, but it came out more just desperate.

    “We are,” said Raven in a bored-sounding voice. He looked blankly at her; Bubbles sighed.

    “Oh, you just have to ruin all the fun, don’t you?” she said, and suddenly her face began to melt; Dave watched in horror as her skin peeled away from her skull, only there wasn’t a skull; there was a small, pink head with blue eyes and similar conical ears to the ones she’d had before, and then the rest of her body crumpled to the floor where it shrunk away and vanished, leaving a small, pink creature in her place, hovering in a translucent pink bubble. It narrowed its huge eyes at Dave as Raven’s shape shimmered white and turned into a small purple blob.

    “What,” Dave said weakly, backing away without ever really deciding to. “Who the fuck are you?”

    “Mew,” said the creature that had once been Bubbles, disdainfully. “Really, don’t you read?”

    The Ditto by her side morphed into the shape of a man with dark hair and cold, icy blue eyes. A cold shiver trickled down Dave’s spine as Isaac Daniels looked at him and grinned widely, then pulled out a handgun and raised it.

    A shot rang out. Dave instinctively threw himself to the side only to crash into the wall. As his head spun from the impact, he realized that the shot hadn’t been aimed at him: Lucy collapsed, her body disappearing from view behind the back of the sofa, and he could see the Will and Mia projections’ eyes widening simultaneously before they vanished into thin air. He heard Jean scream as he struggled to get to his feet; then the gun roared again, and she was silent.

    “You sick fuck,” he said, his voice shaking, his mind numb as he dragged himself up by the wall, fixing his gaze towards the man with the gun so that he wouldn’t have to see Jean’s body (maybe she was okay, or just pretending). “You’re supposed to be dead.”

    “He is dead,” Mew said coolly. “That’s why it’s up to us to finish our trainer’s job.”

    He stared at the legendary Pokémon in incomprehension as the Ditto pointed the gun towards him, grinning widely. “Don’t worry. You’ll see them again in Hell.”

    This time he had no time to attempt to dodge before it pulled the trigger.
    Last edited by Dragonfree; 26th September 2011 at 5:48 AM.

    Chapter 63: Recovery
    The story of an ordinary boy on an impossible quest in a world that isn't as black and white as he always thought it was.
    (rough draft of the remaining chapters finished for NaNoWriMo; to be edited and posted)

    Morphic
    (completed, plus silly extras)
    A few scientists get drunk and start fiddling with gene splicing. Ten years later, they're taking care of eight half-Pokémon kids, each freakier than the next, while a religious fanatic plots to murder them all.

    Lengthy fanfiction reviewing guide / A more condensed version
    Read and I will be very happy for a large number of reasons.

  8. #133
    Join Date
    Oct 2011
    Location
    SE asia, Phiippines.
    Posts
    691

    Default

    Chapter 1 review. Wait a minute! I read your story at fanfiction.net! I know your story. But ... I guess I only stoppedreading it 2 years ago after that slugma kid died out of hardening and lack of heat

    Anyways, this is the most interesting topic I've read from you.

    Plot: A masterpiece as how you can include religion and science (OF ALL DIFFICULT THINGS) in pokemon. Know about human experiments transporting young humans to the digital pokemon world?! That's a decent thought but to see someone struggle speaking the research is a great execution. I mean it fits the scenario. You know ... chromosome genetics, unobtained human traits, sudden bursts of evolution. Very good questions to ask the theologians and the scientists. a great start as what it means ... "to create your children and raise them as your children". Something from "I Robot"

    Conflicts and Dialogue: A grand way to tell that if you make a risk you are not prepared, you pay the price. The reporter is a good example as to why these scientists did not rationalize their risks and debates. So in the end, they may have to deal with the unwated consequences. "Should we call Scientist Colress about this?"

    Writing: A good balance of deep science and average ordinary spoken words.
    Current Chapter: 36: Inner Mountain Province (Click the Banner above)

Page 6 of 6 FirstFirst ... 23456

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •