#this one was . literally oddly dictated by some spirits or something.

[29121996]

u know what . sometimes ill have an experience n ill liyerally just be trying to vibe n those fuckers that give me answers n divinely protect me wanna Butt In .

[mostlysignssomeportents]

#6yrsago Pratchett's "Raising Steam": the magic of modernity

Terry Pratchett's Raising Steam is the 40th (!) novel in the Discworld series. It's just come out in the UK (the US edition comes out in March) and it's a tremendous synthesis of everything that makes Pratchett one of the world's most delightful writers. It's a curious thing: a fantasy novel about modernity and reactionaries, a synthesis of technological optimism and a curious sort of romantic mysticism.

Raising Steam follows on from 2007's Making Money, and features the delightful Moist von Lipwig, as well as the characters who often accompany him, such as Lord Vetinari, William de Worde, Adora Belle Dearheart, and, notably, Harry King. It's the story of an inventor, Dick Simnel, who masters steam, invents the railroad, and comes to Ankh-Morpork to make it a reality. Working against Simnel and his "railroading time" is a faction of reactionary dwarfs, deep-down grags who hate modernity and the mixing of dwarfs with the Discworld's other species. The grags inspire a wave of terrorist violence, starting with attacks on the clacks towers and moving onto the railroad itself.

Longstanding Pratchett fans know that the series started off with a light (even slight), silly tone -- one that deepened, book by book, into something altogether more serious. Raising Steam has a lot more of the feel of that early Pratchett, with some very silly wordplay (the Marquis of Aix en Pains!) and a serious quantity of funny/silly footnotes. Even the dwarfish names tilt more towards Snow White jokes than references to Icelandic lore. But as the synopsis above implies, this is also one of the darkest of the Pratchett novels, a thoughtful and often graphically violent story about modernity, terrorism, and technology's discontents.

Longrunning fantasy series have a (deserved) reputation for tedium and repetition, but that's not the case with Pratchett. The Discworld story has steadily moved towards this point, through a narrative that suggests that, at every turn, the march of technology is a force for liberation and human dignity. Raising Steam is, among other things, a novel about universal suffrage, driven by technological change. As communications and transport technology bring the Discworld's distant regions ever closer, the personhood of every species, from golems to goblins, and every gender, is presented as an inevitable consequence.

Pratchett's dallied with the theme of technology as a force superior to mysticism and magic before (see, for example, Pyramids), but never with such a keen enthusiasm. Paradoxically, Pratchett gives technology a kind of mystical spirit -- his railroad is a kind of living god (a kind of positive version of the "gonne" in Men at Arms or the films in Moving Pictures) that ensnares the imaginations of the people who behold it, driving them to spread it far and  wide. And unlike the previous anthropomorphized technologies of Discworld, the railroad is a great liberator, a greater magic than that of the wizards.

Most of the Discworld novels stand alone, but not this one. From the intertextual references (Dick Simnel is the son of Ned Simnel, a minor but crucial character in Reaper Man) to the complex relationship between Commander Vimes and the dwarfs (not to mention the military mystery of Koom Valley, presented in Thud), this is a book that practically requires you to have read all 39 of the previous volumes before you can get to grips with it.

But it's worth it. This is a surprisingly layered and sneaky sort of book. Pratchett's trick of presenting technophilia as a kind of magic is not to be missed. And this is a long book, with an oddly paced second act that includes a literal whistle-stop tour of many new places on the Discworld, places that Pratchett clearly has  vividly imagined but where he's never taken us before. Many of these are, strictly speaking, unnecessary to the story, but on second reading, they give a sense of the world's vastness and a sharp contrast to the collapse of distance created by technological shifts.

Pratchett's health is poor (he has rare, early onset Alzheimer's), and according to the author's note, he dictated this book to his computer with text-to-speech software. It retains an unmistably Pratchettesque voice, but there's something altogether new here -- an oddly purer form. He's never quite balanced whimsy and gravitas as carefully as this, and it works beautifully. This is a spectacular novel, and a gift from a beloved writer to his millions of fans.  

Raising Steam [UK]

Raising Steam [US, pre-order]

https://boingboing.net/2013/11/27/pratchetts-raising-steam.html

[jflashandclash]

Traitors of Olympus IV: The Fall of the Sun

Ten: Sadie

I Play Trans-Mythological Messenger

(or: I Crush a Commander with my Bum)

 A Quick Note from Yours Truly: Jak-Jak the Plague Bringer

           Dear Reader,

                       While I was singing these events to my personal scribe, I was rudely interrupted by a persistent young spitfire, audaciously asserting she could dictate this next section with more eloquence and style. Fortunate for her, spitfires are my style.

                       Her preferred method is using a low quality voice recorder (like a savage). If you have the misfortune of hearing that version (instead of reading it) I am the one accompanying all of her oration in acapella, to set the mood. I hope her insertion does not ruin the retelling of this epic tragicomedy for you. Though, if you do find yourself wanting to smash your face into a wall—as her brother assures you will—please remember that she’ll only be around for a few chapters and that smashing your face into a wall can cause severe trauma, enough so that you will not be able to attend your next bull fight or read the next release of Trials of Apollo.

                       And I promise to wrestle the mic from Ms. Kane should she get too vapid. Without a further drum roll (there’s a drum roll happening on the audio version) here is Ms. Sadie Kane.

                                                                                                 -Jack Flash

           Wrestle the mic? From me?

           I’ve tangoed with enough disembodied spirits to know they can make quite a fuss, but Jack, you’ve got no hands!

           Well, now that I finally got the microphone from that decapitated freak, we can tell this part of the story proper, where I, an Egyptian magician, deliver a Greek message from the future. Don’t worry, it didn’t make much sense to me either.      

           I’ll say one thing for Camp Half-Blood: I was not impressed. Brooklyn House is just better. Sure, they had a lava wall and a bunch of fancy cabins. But they didn’t have an albino crocodile guarding it—just a napping dragon who they should consider replacing due to job negligence—and they didn’t have a baboon running around eating Cheerios. I didn’t even see the half-horse guy that Annabeth had been going on about.

           I might have also been biased, considering my first few seconds at Camp Half-Blood involved me free-falling out of a portal before something squishy broke my fall.

           Sometimes, when you’re traveling by portal, you won’t end up where you plan—oh right. Portals are real. I can use them because I’m a descendent of the Egyptian pharaohs. Long story. At least it wasn’t as bad as the time I appeared three hundred meters above Cairo with a terrified Russian. Thank goodness that Russian could fly. Anyway, enough of flying Russians. Back to Greek demigods about to be obliterated.

           I expected a well-placed cushion or a particularly lush patch of grass had broken my fall. Had I known I was going to fall on top of a boy, especially a boy who was having a rather rubbish day, I would have shifted a few feet to the side and taken the worst of it! Honest!

           “Hey! Aim better when you skydive, lady!” the boy under me cried.

           “Sorry!” I said, scrambling to my feet.

           There were quite a few of them—campers I mean, not skydivers. They were gathered in a clearing around some metal dragon thing. After stopping a giant snake from ending the world a few times, I’d grown to resent giant creepy, scaly things, but it looked like they were trying to repair it, not destroy it.

           The campers stared back and forth from me to the spot several feet above me, like they wanted to disassemble the air particles and figure out how I’d made my brilliant entrance.

           “I need to talk to Annabeth or Percy right away!” I said, clutching a scroll in one hand. Leave it to the gods to make someone as important as me a message runner. Oh, the nerve!

           The boy that I had fallen on stood and placed his hands on his utility belt skeptically. He pushed up a pair of goggles from his face and into his hairline, leaving him with circles of soot around his eyes. With the oil-stained shirt and dirt smudges, he looked a bit like a mechanic or someone who had been hit with a steam train.

           He was Hispanic, with wild black hair, energetic eyes, and elfish features. Somehow, I felt like he’d be a minion of Loki if Norse mythology were real along with the Greek and Egyptian. (Oh, shut up Carter, you can’t assume it’s real. Honestly, my brother thinks he knows everything.)

           The energy and glee in the boy’s eyes seemed to drain as quickly as it came, like my entrance had given temporary amnesia from a bigger problem.

           “Are you one of the new campers?” he asked.

           “Erm, yes?” I said, confident as ever. I couldn’t just say I was a magician. When my brother, Carter, and I teamed up with Annabeth and Percy to stop a dead, evil magician from becoming a Greco-Egyptian god—also long story—we agreed not to have our two worlds mix. Enough apocalypses to stop with one mythology, thank you very much.

           “Which cabin?” He crossed his arms. “Other than the Cabin of Inconvenient Landings.”

           Ah, a smart guy.

           “I prefer the Cabin of Graceful Entrances,” I said and frowned. Carter was much better about remembering this kind of nerd stuff. I had a hard enough time keeping track of all the Egyptian gods, let alone Greek, and I had lived with an Egyptian goddess.

           I wanted to say the Isis Cabin. I vaguely remembered Carter saying something about the Greeks or Romans worshipping her at some point. I knew I should play it safe though. What was Percy’s dad’s name?

           “Poseidon’s,” I said.

           A few of the other campers whispered to each other. The boy laughed, the twinkle returning to his eyes. “Poseidon? Yea right, lady. And I’m a son of Aphrodite.”

           Goddess of Love! I knew that one. (Shut up, Carter. It’s not obvious.)

           “Well, you could be. You’re kinda cute when you smile, in a dorky sort of way. Put you on top of a sea shell, paint your nails, and I’m sure you’d fit in their cabin just fine,” I said. And, if it wasn’t for the grime and dirt, he would have been quite attractive. Not my usual type, but not bad. That, and I’ll admit, I might have hoped a compliment from a pretty girl would speed things along.

           He snorted. “Okay, if you’re working for Eris, this is the worst infiltration I’ve ever seen. Follow me and we’ll see if Percy can fit you into his busy schedule. And, sorry Pinkie—“ He was referring to the pink streak of dye I’d put into my blonde hair. “—but this Bad Boy Supreme is taken.”

           The luster went out of his eyes again as he led me away from the silver lizard and confused campers, past a few fairly impressive buildings that I could only assume were cabins.

           Now, it was my turn to snort. “I said you were cute. I didn’t say I was trying to chat you up or anything. Who do you think you are?”

           “Commander Leo,” he said. We walked through a field that looked like it lost a fight to a crashing helicopter. There were campers bustling all around, preparing battle defenses if I had to guess. But I’m not Greek. This could have been how they picnicked for all I knew.

           “Well, Commander Leo, I have a boyfriend too. Or I think I do.” I sighed, thinking over why I had been so eager to volunteer in delivering this message. “It’s complicated, dating older people, especially deities.”

           The boy rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

           I rarely needed encouragement to do that, but—as we approached an oddly placed ping pong table with a throne and casino-style lighting above it—I found myself blathering to this stranger. “I mean, it is a LOT of pressure. I’m the reason he lives and everything, and that’s great and all, but I want to get him a hobby or a pet. Something else that reminds him that the pyramids will still be in Cairo if I’m not around.

           “I did not mean to literally tell me all about it,” Commander Leo said, though, for a second, his amber eyes flashed with understanding. Not something you expect when you’re discussing problems about your romantic, godly partner.

           We walked up to a meeting that looked awfully boring. I’m sure they were discussing important stuff, “Bla-bla-bla defenses here, bla-bla-bla chimera, bla-bla-bla magical, stolen stick” (oh? Do the Greeks have magic wands too?) but Jack tells me you’ve already heard enough of that.

           I had to wonder why Annabeth was half-asleep and Percy was sitting on such an odd throne.  That didn’t seem his style. They weren’t sitting side-by-side as I would expect of the cute couple, but I suppose business came first. There were other campers scattered around the table, maybe a dozen and a half, all looking agitated.

           From a quick glance at Percy’s expression, I could tell he was resisting the urge to bash his face into the table at the discussion. He flipped his pen furiously.

           “Hey, Water Boy, this chica fell out of the sky and said she’s your sister on your daddy’s side,” Commander Leo said.

           At first, I was offended. Percy scowled at me with irritation like I was a pile of particularly smelly laundry that blocked the end of his chore list. Then his expression lit up with recognition. He grabbed the armrests of his throne. “Sadie! What are you doing here?”

           Annabeth startled awake. Her disoriented gaze found me and she smiled.

           Commander Leo looked completely taken aback.

           I smiled at him smugly. “Told you.” I turned back to my friends. “Hey Percy, Annabeth. Sorry to say that I’m here on official business. Have you ever heard of a bloke called Hermanubis?”

           “He was a popular god when the Romans occupied Egypt, albeit he mostly disappeared afterwards,” Annabeth said, “He was a combination of the Greek god Hermes and the Egyptian god Anubis.”

           I winced, not wanting to think of any more gods in my boyfriend’s head. Walt hosted Anubis, the god of death and would die of an ancient curse if Anubis left. It was complicated.

           “Wait—slow down. Percy, a sister?” said a rather handsome blond boy with stunning blue eyes and enough muscles to punch out a sphinx. He had a cute scar on his lip, probably from fighting a hydra or something else hot Greek heroes did.

           “Not another demigod, right? Is she a nymph? She doesn’t look like one,” said a large Asian boy wearing a flowy purple toga with a military haircut.

           Maybe I shouldn’t have chosen Poseidon.

           “I’ll explain later,” Percy said.

           “Questions after the presentation,” I agreed. “So, half-Egyptian, half-Roman god. Yep, that would be the one. Apparently you’ve been talking to some Necromanteion Oracle or some nonsense? Dead people that use the oracle like a delivery system?”

           A girl with reddish-blonde hair timidly leaned forward. “The Traitors Prophecy, um, I think Rachel was possessed by that oracle when she gave it.”

           “Great,” I said, wanting to rush this along. I rather enjoyed getting out of Brooklyn House, but there appeared to be some eminent destruction underway if we didn’t make it quick. “So, this undead, Greek delivery system had to go through Hermanubis. Something about your gods all fighting each other and your communication being down—er—our communications being down.” Right. Daughter of Poseidon here. “So the oracle had to outsource to Hermanubis to deliver a message. That got to Walt, a host of—”

           “A child of Hades,” Annabeth translated for me.

           “Of Hades?” a girl with golden eyes and cinnamon hair said in surprise. She and a girl with a long back braid and eyes possibly fiercer than Zia’s (my brother’s girlfriend) exchanged a glance. (What, Carter? It’s not like I can measure it with a staring contest.)

           I ignored the whispers around the table and wary glances. “And that message got to me. So, ta-da!” I held up my scroll. “Good to know your g—our gods talk in riddles,” I corrected.

           “We’re getting a prophecy now?” Percy sounded annoyed. “We just sent out two sets of questers.”

           “Usually the gods are a bit more punctual than that. Like, by several millennia, right?” Commander Leo asked.

           “If the gods are all arguing amongst themselves and communication is down, they are a bit pressed for options right now,” the girl with the long braid said. “And I wonder if Apollo had a difficult time with predictions because two Mayan princes were involved.”

           Mayan princes? Great. MORE gods.

           The Greeks were lucky their gods still chatted with them. All of our gods weren’t allowed back in the world right now, least they’d bring chaos with them, another end of the world, and some other nasty nonsense. I had a calling card for Bes, the ugliest and most wonderful dwarf god you’ll ever meet, Anubis and Walt were sharing a body in the mortal world, and my Uncle Amos could chat a bit with Set, but our options were limited compared to before.

           “That’s not the end of it,” I said. “My Uncle Amos has an action figure board in the First Nome that tracks the movement of all mag—all demigods—”

           “All demigods?” the handsome blond asked.

           “How?” a girl with a feather in her hair sounded just as shocked.

           “Action figures?” Commander Leo asked, which I think was the most important question of the bunch.

           “Let her finish,” Annabeth said.

           Seriously, I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this annoying charade of being a demigod, but I kept going. “Anymore questions I can’t answer right now? No? Alright. So Amos’ magical board tipped us off to some activity in Phoenix, Arizona. And being a host of… a child of…” I glanced to Annabeth helplessly. I had no idea what Set’s equivalent would be in Greek mythology. “Chaos?”

           “Eris,” she said absently. Then, her mouth hung open like something brilliant had clicked.

           “Another one?” one of two twin girls said on the far side of the table.

           “Maybe Pax will have to fight to be counselor of the Eris cabin,” said her sister. “A real competition.” The thought of competition seemed to excite those two a bit too much.

           “Anyway,” I said. “Amos is better at keeping track of… other children of Eris. He thinks it has to do with a host of chaos, and a rather nasty one at that.”

           Although Annabeth’s eyes were already narrowed from exhaustion, they further slanted, making me fear she’d fall right to sleep. “I’ll bet that’s Lapis Pax.”

           “That person I heard arguing with Eris? Eris said that henchy is guarding Hemera,” Percy said.

           Annabeth nodded. “We know Hiro is in New York. I would guess Lapis is in Phoenix, Arizona. I just wish I knew why Lapis chose that spot to hide Hemera.”

           I had a few ideas, although I couldn’t give it away without revealing the whole Egyptian thing. From what I knew about Greece, they didn’t have many deserts, so I could guess their home goddess of chaos didn’t have desert affiliation, unlike our lovable Set. (Yes, Carter. I know there aren’t any deserts in Greece! Give me more credit.) If this Lapis was hosting Set, then Set would be far more powerful in his natural environment.

           “We still don’t know how Hemera is connected,” a tough looking boy with a rainbow tattoo pointed out.

           “You said that you have prophecies?” the girl with the long braid and purple cloak said, “They might give us a clue as to the connection.”

           “Right.” I unrolled my papyrus scrolls. When I saw the first, tiny slip of papayrus on top of the second, I almost tossed it away in embarrassment. It looked ridiculous compared to the other one, but Walt suggested it likely important. “Well, there’s actually two. The first is a haiku.”

           “That would be Apollo,” Percy grumbled, slumping into his throne.

           A groan resounded around the ping pong table. At least I knew the gods weren’t trying to pull a prank on me. I still felt awful silly clearing my throat to read out loud:

             “If you read this note,

           It means I will be captured.

           S. O. S! Send help!”

             If possible, the campers looked more annoyed.

           The girl with cinnamon hair and golden eyes frowned. “Last Thalia said, Lord Apollo was locked in a competition with Lady Diana to see who can capture the Teusmessian fox. And he’s been captured too? Or will be?”

           “Another sun god,” the girl with reddish hair muttered.

           “What about the second one?” the boy in the purple toga asked.

           This one would be much more of a pain to read, but at least it felt official.

             “Sand slithers to noon; bells do chime,

           To announce chaos’ course, and sun’s decline.

             Theft: essence of day, then erode to night.

           Parapets decay to beckon the wight.

             Two will leave; five and quart’ return.

           Death of a god, their hearts do yearn.

             Prevail! Trials of Psyche, led by Desire.

           Without arrows of bliss, these pilgrims expire.

             Growth is death and death is growth.

           Cycles again, love phoenix to loathe.

              Sprout ashes of rancor, a new blossom to flower.

           Hearts of the ancients, these youths shall devour.

             End of an era, before night is done.

           Sacred tears and gods fear the day to come.”

             This one got more of a stir.

           Annabeth paled. The red-haired girl put a hand to her mouth. The campers exchanged uneasy glances at the last two couplets.

           “What’s a parapet?” one of the twins asked.

           “It’s a low, defensive wall, sometimes used for concealing troops,” the girl with a braid said. She glared at the scroll, like her scowl could threaten the verses into revealing their riddle. If it could, we could certainly get her a well paying job in the First Nome.

           “I think the second verse is referring to sunset, when Phobetor will keep the Mist barrier down and allow Melinoe, a wight, into the camp. But those next few lines…” Annabeth trailed off, looking troubled.

           “Calex was supposed to go with them,” the redhead said.  

           My head spun. That name sounded familiar. In my adventures, Carter and I had traveled all over the world, in its many layers, but that name wasn’t common enough for it to stick out without importance. We didn’t have any new initiates by that name…

           Annabeth nodded grimly. “In the Trials of Psyche, Eros, or Desire, pulled Psyche from her sleep, brought her to Olympus, and made her immortal. Euna has Joey’s quest box, the last item from the Trials of Psyche. Calex, a son of Eros, must be connected.”

           “It could also refer to Reyna,” Percy pointed out.

           The girl with the braid, Reyna I presume from the way her killer stare made an attempt to scowl Percy out of existence, demanded, “What?”

           Percy shrugged sheepishly. “I meant for Axel. Ignoring how you feel about him—”

           “Wisely,” the boy in purple said and leaned back into his chair, like he was getting ready to duck.

           “—Axel is the one leading them through the labyrinth. And he also received two of the trials, between the whole cereal thing and the ice water. If he’s really into Reyna, maybe having her around will stop him from going crazy and killing everyone.”

           The way Percy said it felt a bit too routine for my taste. Did Greeks often go raving mad? Not to say magicians were much better, but it was good to know who you were working with.

           “Still doesn’t explain how Hemera or Apollo is connected,” Mr. Rainbow-Tattooed said.

           “I’ll bet we can get some answers if we go to Phoenix and beat the snot out of this Lapis person,” I said, rubbing my hands together. It had been awhile since I’d had a good battle. Granted, my magic wasn’t the best suited to combat, but maybe it would give me a good excuse to have Bes visit.

           Percy grinned. “Eris said warriors couldn’t go after Hiro. She never said anything about Lapis.”

           “And while Eris does seem to act haphazard, there must be some reason she kidnapped Hemera,” Annabeth said. “Saving her could disrupt Eris’ plans.”

           “And it is way better than sitting around here without a solid plan,” the girl with cinnamon hair and golden eyes said. She blushed. “Oh—sorry Percy—”

           Percy gloomily waved it off. “It’s okay.”

           “What else can we do to help you with Lapis?” Annabeth asked and it suddenly occurred to me that neither of them was going with me. Annabeth looked exhausted and Percy kept fidgeting, like he couldn’t get out of that chair.

           My heart sank. When I’d come to Camp Half-Blood, I’d partially hoped to repeat some of our adventures—not the Setne trying to take over part, but I wanted to enjoy some quality time with these two.

           I shrugged, trying not to show my disappointment. “Not much, unless you have someone who is lightning proof.”

           Everyone at the table turned to the handsome blond boy with the scar on his lip.

           “Gods of Egypt,” I cried. “Are you really? Fancy that. I’ll take two of him please.”

           “The other ‘one of me’ just left,” he said.

           The beautiful girl with the feather in her hair frowned. “Jason, are you up to—”

           “Yes,” he said in a way that told me whatever might prevent him from going had an embarrassing origin. I’d have to worm that out of him later. “But why lightning? Pax can turn into people, but he can’t use their powers. I assume Lapis will be similar.”

           “Sadie will give you the full explanation on the way over,” Annabeth said, eyeing me meaningfully.

           “Right,” I said. What luck to have someone lightning proof. “Any chance one of you is fireproof too? I assume that would be too much luck for the gods to grant?”

           Commander Leo stepped forward, looking more like a child in a military elf performance than a dangerous ally, and saluted. “Flaming Valdez, here to report. Felix is up and running and I could use this quest to take her for a test drive.”

           His eyes flickered back towards camp. I got the feeling there was something he was hiding from back there.

           Jason frowned and glanced from Percy to Reyna, to the other boy in purple. “Are you going to be okay here without us? If we leave, we might not make it back in time for sunset.”

           “Oh, don’t worry about that,” I said. I’d had to do some ridiculous stuff to get here quickly—tying ancient artifacts to birds and sending them out when you’re hoping no one is looking with strict instructions to fly over a mythical Greek camp. However, getting from New York to Phoenix should have been much easier.

           “You guys go have fun,” Percy said with a weak grin. “Sadie, Jason’s a big tough guy, but don’t bully him too much. And Jason, if you know what’s good for you, I wouldn’t let Leo and Sadie plan any pranks together.”

           Leo glanced over at me. For that moment, the spark erupted in his eyes again. “Pranks? Me? Never.”

           “And I’m a respectable lady,” I chided Percy. “You shouldn’t spread rumors like that.”

           Jason paled slightly, though I honestly couldn’t imagine why. I’m sure this Commander Leo was a reasonable person and I would go easy on him if it was Percy’s request.

           Everyone said their quick goodbyes. Jason gave the girl with the feather in her hair a quick kiss and some minor reassurance. Leo stood beside me, fidgeting with something in his utility belt with one hand as he saluted a goodbye with the other.

           Jason joined me beside Leo and I grinned. “Right, now that all that is sorted,” I said, “how do you blokes feel about jumping into a roaring vortex of sand?”

[macabrecabra]

Okay I got a Papa Reyes prompt but its a bit different than the usual. Instead of being further controlled by the Shimada clan, Hanzo and Genji run straight into Blackwatch's arms while their father's back is turned. Which is good because now they have two talented ninja's with intimate knowledge of the clan, but that also means that there's two more sets of big brown eyes that make Gabe's heart twist. One is running wild and the other is terrified of failure, neither with a decent father figure

I can give you a little something, surec:   Personally though I will forever ship Genji/Reaper but I'll givethe father angle again.  Sorry for it being short :c was hard to come up with a way to fit it all together in a prompt @_@for anon! Title: HerdingDragons Rating: PG-13

Relationship: Dad Gabriel becoming thenew papa Shimada

Gabriel had thought Jesse had been badbut compared to the Shimada brothers, Jesse was a well behavedgod-sent angel who never caused him any stress.

The problemwith the Shimada brothers wasn't that they were bad or did anythingmean-spirited and problematic, but more that they were polaropposites, two separate natural disasters that were occurring at thesame time. Jesse at least had never run in one extreme or the other,not like how Genji and Hanzo worked. Genji was the wild oneand Gabriel wondered if their father had ever once bothered to discipline him, let alone pay attention to him. If an inch was given,the younger Shimada took it twenty miles out. He was an unapologeticflirt with everyone and if he didn't get his way, he was a two yearold tantrum in a twenty year old's body ready to happen. Spoiled,narcissist, smart mouthed, rebel without a cause, but Gabriel couldtell a mile away why Genji acted out. He wanted attention.The boy was so damn starved for any sort of attention he was willingto get negative attention if it meant someone cared enough to lookhis way. There was something really wrong when Genji looked almosthappy he was getting punished for his behavior half the time.Itwas almost heartbreaking to know Genji was  just happy having people yell as it meant someone cared enough to even do that much. Not to mention that sort of mindset fed into terrible habits such as Genji’s obvious drinking problem and his absolutely horrendous idea of “dating” or “being affectionate” always becoming quickly sexual in nature like the only thing he had to offer to anyone was the pleasures of his body and that was all anyone could possible care about. When looked at closely, Genji, beneath the constant laughter and grins, was a really broken soul, trying to appear like he was fine.Onthe opposite side of the spectrum though was Hanzo. The problem withHanzo wasn't that he acted out, the problem, oddly enough, was thathe never did act out. He was married to rules and followed all ofthem to the letter without question or hesitation and if one of themwas so much as toed the wrong way, he was either in Gabriel's officeto report it or in his office to apologize even if Gabriel had noclue he “broke” the rule. This all came though from a cripplingfear of failure Hanzo seemed to have, absolute terror at the idea ofletting someone down which showed that where Genji was ignored, Hanzohad most likely had his parents breathing down his neck at all hoursof the day.

It lead to odd situations of Hanzoliterally waiting on Gabriel to dictate his free time,wanting to train rather than relax or indulge in hobbies that did nothave a “benefit”. Without orders or expectations, Hanzo seemed tobe at a lost at what to do. Sometimes Gabriel wondered if Hanzo wouldnot eat if no one told him what time he was to take his meals the boywas so helplessly married to routine. Hanzo didn't lighten upor let anyone near, didn't drink, didn't participate in anything thatcould be a vice, could be very brusque and appear uncaring, butreally, he was just as damaged as Genji. Two broken dragonsbrought into Overwatch and dumped on Gabriel to put back together.Not the easiest challenge but it was one Gabriel took on without ahint of hesitation. Call him a bleeding heart, but he wanted to helpthe two brats out. Lord knows no one else in Overwatch would take thetime to sort out their issues.

It took time and it took patience andknowing what they needed. “Good work today Genji. Youreally took the initiative out there,” The compliment wassincere and seemed to catch the usual quick witted younger Shimadaoff guard. He stared at Gabriel with a look of surprise before givinga small laugh, looking away with a shrug, “Eh, it wasn't all thatgreat. I'm sure Hanzo-”“Hanzo wasn't on the mission. Hehas his own skills and the like,” Gabriel interrupted, giving afaint smile as he clapped Genji on the back, “and today what Ineeded was a ninja and what I got was a seasoned ninja master puttingthe entire platoon to shame in how well he got in and out,”

The flush rose to Genji's cheeks moreand he looked actually flustered, as if he was not sure how to reactto someone actually praising him. He merely laughed it off like itwas a joke as he rubbed the back of his head, “Oh come on. I'm goodbut not that good!”“I don't give praise like that unlessit is deserved. Just ask Jesse,” Gabriel patted Genji on the backagain, “You did good, just accept the compliment kid,”Genjichuckled, giving a sheepish grin, “I'm just trying to be humble,commander Reyes,”“There isn't a bone in your body that ishumble, Shimada,” Gabriel smirked some, “So why change thingsnow?”

The smile Genji gave was brilliant andhonest, that impish delight more true to his nature.“Noneed to change a thing,” Genji responded, giving an actual sinceresalute and respectful dip of his head, “Thank you for thecompliment commander,”Gabriel returned the salute, showingGenji the same level of respect, “You earned it Shimada. Don't youfret. As soon as you slack off I'll be down here to give you a disappointed look,”That had Genji laughing, shaking hishead, “I'll work hard to avoid that!” he responded before movingto catch up with his brother. Hanzo had been in the doorwaywatching it all quietly, looking a bit confused true, but there was atouch of a smile, as if he was proud of Genji getting praise. Reallyit was only Geni that Hanzo interacted with, mostly due to the formerforcing his way into Hanzo's bubble. It was a calculative move onGabriel's part to, for now, keep the Shimada brothers on separatemissions where they could excel and reduce the obvious friction thatstill lingered. They were competitive with each other for attentionand praise which caused them to bicker a lot more than what wasnormal. True siblings argued, but the two took that to awhole new level if one of them was perceived to be overshadowing theother.  For every praise Gabriel gave to Genji after missions, he didthe same for Hanzo.

Where Genji didn't know how to acceptthe compliment, Hanzo would, with a gracious nod but it was clear henever seemed to really believe what anyone said about him. It was ifeach praise was laced with a lie. That was a trickier barrier toovercome. “You really were pulling your weight. Practicallycarried the team, literally carried Jesse out of there,” Gabrielcommented as he poured himself a cup of coffee casually in the breakroom, “I suppose though you still feel there was something youcould have done better,”Hanzo looked up from where he satin the break room, looking around as if expecting someone else to bethere before looking at Gabriel,eyes wide and lost before he abruptlylooked down, “I can always do better. I was too slow. If I wasfaster I could have done better in supporting the troops. If I hadbeen more attentive and not distracted by Jesse's commentary, I wouldnot have been slow to react and he would not have gotten hurt,”Hanzo murmured. Gabriel gave a slight nod, “Jesse is a hardone not to get distracted by honestly. Brat is loud and honestly, hewas probably asking for it cracking jokes and waltzing around wearingthat bright red serape of his. Still, if you want to practice onimproving your concentration, can always have Genji and Jesse beingthemselves while you train. I'm sure that will imbue in you theability to ignore anything,”

That comment had a ghost of a smiletouching Hanzo's lips as he ducked his head., staring hard into histea to hide his harassment, “I think that would make it hard totrain though. I might not get the full use out of the time,”“Noharm in that. I think the three of you should train together more.You work too hard, you'll burn yourself out from wanting to do any ofit. Better to share the time and share the experience. I always feltbetter training with close friends,” Gabriel responded, smilingjust a bit, “And I'll think you'll find you'll make biggerimprovements and impress even the hardest to please inBlackwatch,”“Maybe I'll consider it,” Hanzo murmured,eyes still on his cup.Gabriel though could see the smallsmile still on Hanzo's face, a smile that was become more and more common to see on the elder Shimada as he slowly began to relax. Itwas the first steps in helping him start to adjust to life inBlackwatch.

Perhaps in time, both Genji and Hanzowould heal from their experiences growing up in their clan. Gabrielcould only hope and only continue to offer his support.

Herding dragons wasn't easy to do, butit was a pastime that well worth his time.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

#5yrsago Pratchett's "Raising Steam": the magic of modernity

Terry Pratchett's Raising Steam is the 40th (!) novel in the Discworld series. It's just come out in the UK (the US edition comes out in March) and it's a tremendous synthesis of everything that makes Pratchett one of the world's most delightful writers. It's a curious thing: a fantasy novel about modernity and reactionaries, a synthesis of technological optimism and a curious sort of romantic mysticism.

Raising Steam follows on from 2007's Making Money, and features the delightful Moist von Lipwig, as well as the characters who often accompany him, such as Lord Vetinari, William de Worde, Adora Belle Dearheart, and, notably, Harry King. It's the story of an inventor, Dick Simnel, who masters steam, invents the railroad, and comes to Ankh-Morpork to make it a reality. Working against Simnel and his "railroading time" is a faction of reactionary dwarfs, deep-down grags who hate modernity and the mixing of dwarfs with the Discworld's other species. The grags inspire a wave of terrorist violence, starting with attacks on the clacks towers and moving onto the railroad itself.

Longstanding Pratchett fans know that the series started off with a light (even slight), silly tone -- one that deepened, book by book, into something altogether more serious. Raising Steam has a lot more of the feel of that early Pratchett, with some very silly wordplay (the Marquis of Aix en Pains!) and a serious quantity of funny/silly footnotes. Even the dwarfish names tilt more towards Snow White jokes than references to Icelandic lore. But as the synopsis above implies, this is also one of the darkest of the Pratchett novels, a thoughtful and often graphically violent story about modernity, terrorism, and technology's discontents.

Longrunning fantasy series have a (deserved) reputation for tedium and repetition, but that's not the case with Pratchett. The Discworld story has steadily moved towards this point, through a narrative that suggests that, at every turn, the march of technology is a force for liberation and human dignity. Raising Steam is, among other things, a novel about universal suffrage, driven by technological change. As communications and transport technology bring the Discworld's distant regions ever closer, the personhood of every species, from golems to goblins, and every gender, is presented as an inevitable consequence.

Pratchett's dallied with the theme of technology as a force superior to mysticism and magic before (see, for example, Pyramids), but never with such a keen enthusiasm. Paradoxically, Pratchett gives technology a kind of mystical spirit -- his railroad is a kind of living god (a kind of positive version of the "gonne" in Men at Arms or the films in Moving Pictures) that ensnares the imaginations of the people who behold it, driving them to spread it far and  wide. And unlike the previous anthropomorphized technologies of Discworld, the railroad is a great liberator, a greater magic than that of the wizards.

Most of the Discworld novels stand alone, but not this one. From the intertextual references (Dick Simnel is the son of Ned Simnel, a minor but crucial character in Reaper Man) to the complex relationship between Commander Vimes and the dwarfs (not to mention the military mystery of Koom Valley, presented in Thud), this is a book that practically requires you to have read all 39 of the previous volumes before you can get to grips with it.

But it's worth it. This is a surprisingly layered and sneaky sort of book. Pratchett's trick of presenting technophilia as a kind of magic is not to be missed. And this is a long book, with an oddly paced second act that includes a literal whistle-stop tour of many new places on the Discworld, places that Pratchett clearly has  vividly imagined but where he's never taken us before. Many of these are, strictly speaking, unnecessary to the story, but on second reading, they give a sense of the world's vastness and a sharp contrast to the collapse of distance created by technological shifts.

Pratchett's health is poor (he has rare, early onset Alzheimer's), and according to the author's note, he dictated this book to his computer with text-to-speech software. It retains an unmistably Pratchettesque voice, but there's something altogether new here -- an oddly purer form. He's never quite balanced whimsy and gravitas as carefully as this, and it works beautifully. This is a spectacular novel, and a gift from a beloved writer to his millions of fans.  

Raising Steam [UK]

Raising Steam [US, pre-order]

https://boingboing.net/2013/11/27/pratchetts-raising-steam.html

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Pratchett's "Raising Steam": the magic of modernity #4yrsago

Terry Pratchett's Raising Steam is the 40th (!) novel in the Discworld series. It's just come out in the UK (the US edition comes out in March) and it's a tremendous synthesis of everything that makes Pratchett one of the world's most delightful writers. It's a curious thing: a fantasy novel about modernity and reactionaries, a synthesis of technological optimism and a curious sort of romantic mysticism.

Raising Steam follows on from 2007's Making Money, and features the delightful Moist von Lipwig, as well as the characters who often accompany him, such as Lord Vetinari, William de Worde, Adora Belle Dearheart, and, notably, Harry King. It's the story of an inventor, Dick Simnel, who masters steam, invents the railroad, and comes to Ankh-Morpork to make it a reality. Working against Simnel and his "railroading time" is a faction of reactionary dwarfs, deep-down grags who hate modernity and the mixing of dwarfs with the Discworld's other species. The grags inspire a wave of terrorist violence, starting with attacks on the clacks towers and moving onto the railroad itself.

Longstanding Pratchett fans know that the series started off with a light (even slight), silly tone -- one that deepened, book by book, into something altogether more serious. Raising Steam has a lot more of the feel of that early Pratchett, with some very silly wordplay (the Marquis of Aix en Pains!) and a serious quantity of funny/silly footnotes. Even the dwarfish names tilt more towards Snow White jokes than references to Icelandic lore. But as the synopsis above implies, this is also one of the darkest of the Pratchett novels, a thoughtful and often graphically violent story about modernity, terrorism, and technology's discontents.

Longrunning fantasy series have a (deserved) reputation for tedium and repetition, but that's not the case with Pratchett. The Discworld story has steadily moved towards this point, through a narrative that suggests that, at every turn, the march of technology is a force for liberation and human dignity. Raising Steam is, among other things, a novel about universal suffrage, driven by technological change. As communications and transport technology bring the Discworld's distant regions ever closer, the personhood of every species, from golems to goblins, and every gender, is presented as an inevitable consequence.

Pratchett's dallied with the theme of technology as a force superior to mysticism and magic before (see, for example, Pyramids), but never with such a keen enthusiasm. Paradoxically, Pratchett gives technology a kind of mystical spirit -- his railroad is a kind of living god (a kind of positive version of the "gonne" in Men at Arms or the films in Moving Pictures) that ensnares the imaginations of the people who behold it, driving them to spread it far and wide. And unlike the previous anthropomorphized technologies of Discworld, the railroad is a great liberator, a greater magic than that of the wizards.

Most of the Discworld novels stand alone, but not this one. From the intertextual references (Dick Simnel is the son of Ned Simnel, a minor but crucial character in Reaper Man) to the complex relationship between Commander Vimes and the dwarfs (not to mention the military mystery of Koom Valley, presented in Thud), this is a book that practically requires you to have read all 39 of the previous volumes before you can get to grips with it.

But it's worth it. This is a surprisingly layered and sneaky sort of book. Pratchett's trick of presenting technophilia as a kind of magic is not to be missed. And this is a long book, with an oddly paced second act that includes a literal whistle-stop tour of many new places on the Discworld, places that Pratchett clearly has vividly imagined but where he's never taken us before. Many of these are, strictly speaking, unnecessary to the story, but on second reading, they give a sense of the world's vastness and a sharp contrast to the collapse of distance created by technological shifts.

Pratchett's health is poor (he has rare, early onset Alzheimer's), and according to the author's note, he dictated this book to his computer with text-to-speech software. It retains an unmistably Pratchettesque voice, but there's something altogether new here -- an oddly purer form. He's never quite balanced whimsy and gravitas as carefully as this, and it works beautifully. This is a spectacular novel, and a gift from a beloved writer to his millions of fans.

Raising Steam [UK]

Raising Steam [US]

https://boingboing.net/2013/11/27/pratchetts-raising-steam.html