Still: Happy, Ever & After

Random Fragments 07

2008-01-13T14:49:00.000-05:00

Flights of Fancy

This bit of Toby’s story happens – if it happens at all – closer to the end of the second book.

***

For a change, Toby and Blue were sitting alone in a semi-private nook at Joe’s restaurant. They could have joined any number of other groups of diners, but Toby had waved off invitations with hints of having to discuss privileged client matters. Blue actually had some news of the theriomorphs, and that lead to a lively contest over which one of them had had the most unusual clients.

Toby reclined slightly against the rough stone wall, waiting quite peacefully to see whether Blue had a story of creatures stranger than the familially self-destructive clan that Toby had nicknamed the Borgiabeasts. The moment of silence lengthened, and Toby was just thinking that it amazed her how comfortable she felt in both quiet and conversation with Blue, when Blue sighed and spoke.

"I’ve heard of some insects that do worse, but only barely. You’re right, Toby. That has to be the least sensible way to live together... but here I am, laughing at your Borgiabeasts, and I don’t know what dragons do. I mean, I know your mother hasn’t been around much. Is that common? How do dragons mate?"

For a moment, Toby’s whiskers registered surprise, then she relaxed smiling, "We don’t really discuss this much with other people, but ... why not? Mate selection is complicated, but once the decision has been made, they fly together. I haven’t seen a dragon mating dance, but I’ve heard the stories. The first part is more of a contest than a dance ... usually on an uninhabited planet ... they have to make absolutely sure that they are a good match. They aren’t seeking to damage each other, but contests between dragons test speed, manoeuverability, and flame to the very limits of possibility.

"If they are not well suited to each other, the dance ends there. But that almost never happens. Once they’re sure, their dance changes so that they enhance each other rather than competing. They both dance their own family’s dances, and create a new dance that will be the dance of their line in the future.

"When the time is right, when that part of their dance is done, the strongest flyers amongst dragon-kind meet them in the air and carry them into space, allowing them to rest for a while. The mates will already have chosen their star, and they will direct the flyers onto the right approach. If the flyers were accurate, the mates need do little course correction on arrival, and all their effort goes to speed.

"This last part of their journey they do without observers or assistance. When and where they couple will depend on their star and any planets surrounding it. He gives her as much speed as he can, and fertilizes their egg, and then he falls back while she heads directly on to the star.

"Like humans, dragons have evolved to a point where giving birth is no longer as easy as it was for our distant ancestors. We compensate by using gravity as our obstetricians. The mother’s goal is to hit the perfect speed and trajectory so that she slingshots around the star while the star’s pull captures her egg in a close orbit. We are incubated by the star for hundreds of years before a family member, possibly one of our parents, but not necessarily, comes to wait for our hatching and bring us back to their nest.

"Mating is one of the hardest things most dragons ever attempt, many fail, and, assuming both dragons survive they would likely not mate again, and certainly not with each other. There are rumours that some dragons resort to magic or technology to make the process easier, but implying that a dragon was not star-born is almost certain to result in a death duel, so that’s only speculation. Since humans made their way into space, it has become an in-joke that we dragons are so intelligent because for us mating actually is rocket science.

"And there you have it, Blue. You’re now one of the few humans to know the whole story. There is risk involved, but I’d like to think we’re a lot more elegant than the Borgiabeasts."

"Of course you are, Toby. I’ve seen you fly, you’re beautiful... I mean, your flying is." Blue paused for a moment, "But, Toby, it doesn’t sound as though mates actually have much of relationship. Isn’t that ... lonely?"

"Our ancestors were never pack animals, so we don’t have the same drive for clumping that you humans do. Besides, it takes a clan to raise a nestling, so we don’t confuse friendship, love or even family with clan business."

"So... two dragons could be in love, and one might mate with someone else?"

"Mating is about making sure our lines don’t die out; about improving our species. It’s not like sex or anything."

"Woah!" Blue paused, rubbing her temples in frustration, "I’m confused. Sex and mating isn’t the same?"

A small clue began jostling Toby’s synapses, "Sorry, Blue. I thought you understood. Mating is a business transaction, with a few artistic bits thrown in to keep the old folks happy. Sex is ... different."

"Different?"

"Definitely different. For one thing, dragons can have sex without requiring several decades of geneological scrutiny and physical and mental testing by two clans of demonically intense and extremely senior matchmakers. For another, well most dragons only mate once or twice in a lifetime..."

"Sex ... more often?"

"Definitely more often. A lot more choice of partners, numbers, genders..."

"Species?"

"You humans tell stories about knights rescuing princesses from dragons... In the stories dragons tell, the princesses hide their dragons, outwit – or vanquish – the knight on the way back to town, and return to the dragon’s tower to live happily ever after."

Blue smiled, "I could learn to like the story, the way dragons tell it."

Toby bowed, shyly, "Perhaps milady would care to accompany me to a quieter location to watch the sun rise?"

"Silly Toby, it’s barely dark out."

"I have wings... and the sun is always rising somewhere."

Random Fragments 06

2007-11-09T22:12:00.001-05:00

Fluorescent light muted the colours of a large room. Dark wood panelling covered three walls, enclosing the space and further dampening the ambience. An oblong table, it’s deep mahogany cheapened by the artificial light, occupied the centre of the room. Around it, heavy armchairs squatted at attention, their red leather polished and reflecting the fluorescents with a sullen gleam.
At one end of the table, three of the chairs broke ranks in a small scatter of entropic disorder. One had actually fallen to one side, while the other two had shoved back out of square. Deep dents in the carpet showed where they had stood, though the luxuriously thick grey pile had resisted drag marks that might betray any pattern to their movement.
That end of the room was graced by other anomalies. A highly polished brass plated intercom terminal protruded slightly from the table top, the sole interruption to its glowing expanse. Behind the chairs hung a tall lined velvet curtain. It filled the end wall, further absorbing the fluorescents, and completely blocking whatever it covered. The only sign that windows might lurk behind it, being the tiny spill of natural light that slunk under the curtain’s weighty folds.
A faint buzzing could be heard at that end of the room. Possibly the wiring in the lights, possibly some poor lost insect fated to beat its life out against the curtain, searching for freedom outside. A tiny movement betrayed a common housefly as it shifted from one spot to another on the carpet. The fly touched down on a stain, still damp, where something had spilled between chair and window. The carpet there was black with the moisture it had absorbed, and its pile clumped slightly, as though the spill had weighted it down.
Fresh air breached the stale environs, bringing scents of fresh growth and warm spring fields to the fly’s antennae. It merely shifted position slightly, the scent of the spill clearly more to its liking than the bouquet from outside. The breeze also shifted the curtain slightly, and the flash of sunlight that followed did disturb the fly from its feeding. It flew up from the stain – revealed by the sunlight to be a dark rust red – and circled twice before landing again a few body lengths from its original position.
As though beckoned by the intruding light, the curtain swirled open to admit a conservatively dressed middle-aged woman. She turned and fastened storm shutters, then closed and locked the glass doors that had lead out onto a balcony. She glanced around the room, frowning slightly at the disarray. Walking over to the intercom, she reached to the switch then realizing that her hands were liberally stained, nudged it with an elbow instead.
She did not wait long for an acknowledgement, nor did she hesitate in her instructions when the acknowledgement came. "Send in cleaning, they can decide what needs to be replaced and what can be fixed. Tell the VP-Sales that he’s been promoted..."
The unfortunate fly chose that moment to move to a richer area of the stain. Its movement caught the woman’s attention, and with her attention, a knife appeared in her hand. Between the appearance of the knife, the throw that neatly bisected the fly leaving the knife deeply sunk into the concrete underflooring, and the woman’s withdrawing the knife, wiping it and returning it to the sheath from which it had appeared the speaker’s pause was almost imperceptible.
"... I’ll see the VP on the Tobermory Project in my office in fifteen. It said it had some ideas, let it know that if they’re not better than the ones I heard this morning, the Assistant VP will be moving up too. Circulate a memo, the reward for demonstrably useful information on the T Project has just been increased by a factor of ten. Nothing’s changed regarding information that proves not to be useful."
The woman nudged the switch again, turning off then intercom. She took one last appraising look around the room, then then moved to a door concealed in the panelling and left.

Random Fragments 05

2007-11-08T17:10:00.000-05:00

Really Random Fragments 05 & 06

Several months passed before Toby discovered the side effects of her new medication. The university’s surroundings were, if anything, more staid and hidebound than the university itself. Toby had been surprised to discover that unlike most cities that celebrate important moments in their own history, or noteworthy people who chose to dwell within their confines, Zerotown’s most exciting annual festivals celebrated water freezing and the town-wide eruption of the first dandelions of spring. Most of the inhabitants considered talking about the weather to be the height of conversational bliss, the result of which is that Toby did not go out very often. Not going out meant not flying, and not flying meant not discovering that the pills affected her flight abilities.
Of course, the first time she booked out for a holiday, she found herself flying with all the grace and agility of cow launched by a catapult. It took her several embarrassing attempts, over the course of several days, before she figured out that stopping medication twenty-four hours before flying was a good idea.
Sacrificing flight for good grades made ample sense to her while she was at the university of zero. Thanks to tunnels and walkways built for the water-freeze times, he could, after all, walk from her dorm room to her classes to the refectory without even stepping outside. Flying was unnecessary. And, if she thought she might do well enough on her annual final exams to warrant an aerial celebration, she could always stop taking the meds between her last exam and the announcement of the marks.
Unfortunately the balance switched back when she was in Uber Celestia. Foregoing flight would be far too big a sacrifice to exchange for mere concentration. Toby had to resign herself to never being quite on top of her work load. It was a reasonable sacrifice for being able to spend a part of every day in the air.
***
With meds sorted out, school became much less traumatic ... for Toby. For the rest of the school she became the unpredictable one. Often happy to quietly take notes at the back of class, Toby would go unnoticed until something, somewhere, would create a perfect opening for yanking a low level card from a playing card castle of theory, causing the large sections of the entire structure to crumple.
Toby’s favourite incident involved a series of property cases in which the High Court kept on reversing its judgement despite identical fact situations. The Professor had asked whether anyone could explain this, and Toby had caught her eye and solemnly mimed tossing a coin and checking it for heads or tails. The other students never knew why that lecturer suddenly broke into giggles and had to excuse the class early.
Unfortunately even "less traumatic" is not quite the same as enjoyable. Even during the worst end of term, stressed out with too much to do and not enough time to do it in, periods. Toby found some solace in friends who were suffering just as badly. Small breaks were all they could afford, but fifteen minutes with strong coffee and fruit crumble with ice cream at a nearby caf‚ was enough to refresh the mind for several hours more study. Even five minutes hanging out on the top floor over the atrium comparing the hypothetical capacity of automatic weapons and dragon fire to reduce the school’s population of persnickety pedagogues and slimy students. The latter, of course, being defined as anyone that was getting better marks than Toby and her friends.
***
Toby thanked the Majordomo, who left, closing the door behind himself. Toby had stood when the Major domo knocked, but seeing her clients – and the unlikelihood of shaking hands – she coiled again behind her desk and took a moment to examine the four who wanted to become her next clients.
From what Blue had mentioned, she guessed that the leader must be Chauncey. He was grey and sturdy looking, a scar bifurcating one of his long ears, possibly a source for and interesting tale. His muzzle was whitening, and from the look in his eyes, she estimated that he was fairly old in donkey years, whatever that meant.
Mytchell, the protective one, was presumably the large dog that had positioned itself between Toby and its companions. Toby did not know al lot about dogs. She would happily have admitted not being able to reliably tell the difference between a beagle and a borzoi – as long as they both had four legs and tails. That said, she had seen dogs like Mytchell in fields watching or herding sheep, cows, and even on one market day, a farm wife’s seemingly excessive brood of children. Again a grizzled muzzle and certain depth of gaze betrayed Mytchell’s somewhat advanced age.
The last two, Tibbeth and Hepzibah, had not played big enough roles in Blue’s report for Toby to be sure which name attached to whom. Nor could she quite decide between describing the cat as portly or stately. Some word like that which would connote a larger than usual domestic feline that moved with a restrained power. Toby briefly admired the cat’s presence, she might want to practise moving a bit more like that herself. The bird – Toby thought it was some kind of chicken – held itself arrogantly as befitted an avian descendent of the First Ones – those who had created dragon kind.
"Greetings, and welcome to the offices of Happy, Ever & After. Tobermory After, potentially at your service. And the appointment says that you are Chauncey?" the donkey nodded, "Mytchell?" the dog bowed, "Tibbeth?" the cat flicked an ear, "Hepzibah?" the chicken bobbed it’s head. Toby pause, waiting to see which of the creatures would appoint itself speaker for the group, wondering whether they all had the ability to talk, or whether it was just one among them.
Clearly they had decided this prior to arriving, as there was no pause for decision making. Rather Chauncey took a step closer to Toby’s desk, and taped one hoof politely on the floor. Toby looked at him and nodded, raising an eyebrow and asking, "How may I be of service?"
Toby was somewhat taken aback when the donkey did not answer. She had thought that the whole point was that at least one of the animals thought it could speak for the lot. But if the donkey was their leader and he did not speak, then why had they declined Blue’s assistance.
Instead of speaking, however, the donkey looked around Toby’s office, and pointed at her certificates listing the day of her Call to the Bar of Uber Celestia. The donkey focussed on the certificate then at Toby, then back to the certificate, and back at Toby – this time with a quizzical look as if to ask "Are you really a lawyer?"
Toby answered, as though the question had been asked out loud. "Yes, I am Tobermory After, the Lawyer."
6:26
Chauncey made a circling motion with his head to indicate his companions, and Mytchell got up and went over to Chauncey, standing on his hind legs to neatly remove one of the bags hooked onto the donkey’s harness. Chauncey nodded at Mytchell who carried the bag over and dropped it on Toby’s desk. From the noise it made, Toby estimated the bag contained two thousand, seven hundred and fifty three gold pieces, six silver and three coppers.
"Well I’m a lawyer, and that looks like a retainer, you still need to tell me what you think I can do for you, and I need to explain some of the rules of the firm before we can call this an agreement."
Chauncey nodded, then gently nosed Mytchell and the cat. The two sat up and stared at Toby, then Mytchell stood, and suddenly looked every year of his age, plus several. His back swayed, his hips cocked, and he gave Toby an open mouthed blank eyed look that – had Toby not seen him earlier – would have convinced her that he was on the very edge of death. The cat then went to it’s, no his, hind legs, walked over to Mytchell, patted him twice on the head with one paw, and mimed slitting his throat with the other. Mytchell, with consummate artistry, played dead.
The image clicked, suddenly, in Toby’s mind. "Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re all fairly old for your species, and your ... um ... masters? owners? humans? thought it was time to kill you?"
All four beasts nodded.
"So you ran away?"
Four more nods.
"And now you figure your people have changed their minds and you’re looking for the way home?"
Chauncey, Mytchell and Tibbeth all laid their ears back – Chauncey shaking his head, and Tibbeth carefully miming burying the idea in his sandbox. Hepzibah added a derisive squawk to the general disapproval.
"Okay then, so tell me why you folk are here?"
Mytchell went to another of Chauncey’s bags, and after snuffling through it for a second or two, pulled out a rolled scroll, which he put on Toby’s desk, rolling it towards her.
Toby opened the scroll, carefully – just in case it was cursed – and read:
BASIC LAWS for the TALKING KINDS
Those with speech - the talking kinds - do not kill each other. Hunger is no excuse. Anger is no excuse.
Unless it is to prevent a greater harm, they do not cause each other harm.
They do not steal or damage each other’s property. They do not damage the commons, nor do they divert any part of the commons to their sole use.
They assist in maintaining their community and its resources for the common good.
They pay a living wage for work done, and a fair price for all goods, so that all may earn their sustenance.
They provide for and protect the young, and those others who cannot provide for and protect themselves.
They treat dumb creatures with respect. They do not cause them needless suffering. If they are carnivores, they kill their food quickly.
They do not interfere with another’s enjoyment, if that enjoyment does not contravene laws 1-7.
They jointly punish code-breakers who are found to be guilty in a Court of Law. They do not engage in blood feuds or other kinds of personal reprisals.
They do not change this Code except with the consent of two-thirds of those who would be most affected by the change.
***
She read the whole thing through – not because she needed to, she’d memorized it many years before, but to see whether this might be a version that tried to sneak in changes. It was not.
So she read it all again, trying to figure out why it disturbed her potential clients sufficiently for them to want to pay for legal assistance. Unfortunately, the second reading left her no further ahead in understanding than the first one did.
Before a she had a chance to ask, Hepzibah hopped up onto her desk and pecked angrily at the Title of the Code. Or, more precisely, Toby noted, at the words "TALKING KINDS".
Toby was not prone to precognition. As a matter of fact, there had not been anyone with any sort of reliable future sense in her family as far back as the family trees went. And since both her parents could trace their lineages all the way to the first stories of the dinosaurs, she was pretty sure that the family trees went as far as there was family. Yet whether she wanted to consider it precognition, or the burgeoning of some heretofore latent lawyer sense, Toby knew that this case could only mean one thing. Trouble.
***

Radom Fragments 06 Starts Here

***
Toby knew it was possible to challenge laws like the Code, but possible and advisable, or even easy, were all different things. An overhaul of the code to include all non-speaking animals would turn society on it's head. Not to mention making it exceedingly difficult for her to figure out what the heck she'd have for dinner.
But before she could start analysing the potential conflicts of interest – such as her interest in her dinner plate – she would have to figure out whether the clients really meant what she thought they meant. There was hope she was mistaken. After all she had worked for cats before – Maurice was in and out of their office frequently enough that they'd joked about installing a little revolving cat door – and from what she could tell not cat would endorse an idea that got between them and their playing with – and eating – dinner.
"Again, please do correct me if I'm wrong," and there was honest pleading in her tone, "but what you want the firm to do is challenge the main legal code forcing it to be changed so that all birds and beasts are protected?"
Chauncey and Hepzibah looked momentarily interested, but Mytchell and Tibbeth both laid ears back and growled at the thought. Tibbeth decided to take matters into his own claws, and leaped onto the desk, shouldering Hepzibah gently out of his way. Checking to see that he was properly the centre of attention – and slapping Toby's nose when he discovered she was still watching Hepzibah, who had fluttered to the ground and was wandering around apparently looking for a suitable perch – Tibbeth tapped the word "TALKING" with one paw and said "Mrarow, Naow, Pffft." Then he looked at Toby, looked at the document, and, sitting back on his haunches, struck a thinker's pose – one forearm crossed, the other paw under his chin, head slightly angled, and the unfocused stare of one deep in contemplation. He held the pose of a few moments, then returning to all fours, extended one fore claw, and carefully drew an "X" through the word "Talking".
Toby extended one of her own fore claws – a talon longer than Tibbeth's magnificent tail – and tapped the copy of the Code. "You don't want to change the whole code, then. Just the word 'talking', you want it to be 'thinking' instead?"
Three sets of ears flicked forward, Mytchell gave Toby a relaxed jaw doggy grin, and Tibbeth added ten seconds of rumbling basso profundo purr.
"Ah, so then the reason you did not wish to have Ms. Blue translating for you is that you have a problem with the whole 'talking' concept, right?"
Another grin, another short purr.
"You do realize that the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Sentient Non-Dominant Species would likely be interested in your case, and that they would pay your legal fees. This is the sort of case that has the potential to have considerable ramifications – I will need to talk to the partners before Happy, Ever & After will take it on, and then there would likely need to be consultations with a variety of legal scholars. The research costs alone ..."
Toby trailed off as Mytchell reached up and took another bag off Chauncey's harness, then dropped it on her desk. It clinked when it landed, then silence fell over the office. The silence continued for a full minute before Toby cleared her throat tentatively and asked, "Do you mind if I look at this one a bit more closely, I'm not quite sure I believe what I heard?"
Mytchell gave a couple of quick pants, a canine laugh, while Chauncey wickered a snickering sound.
Toby gingerly opened the sack and peered in. Another silence descended as Toby stared, lost in the contemplation of facets. Finally Hepzibah crowed, bringing Toby's attention back to the clients. And, yes, they were clients, now. Toby knew she would still have to consult with the senior partners, but any consultation backed by a sack full of gems of that quality would pretty much begin and end with "How high do we have to jump to get them?"
Grasping her professionalism firmly with all four sets of claws, Toby managed not to say "Wow!", but a certain amount of awe crept into her tone. "Right then. You're not concerned about funding. It's certainly your right to run your case as you wish. I'll bring your matter to the partners tomorrow morning – it's just pro-forma, I'm sure they'll agree that it is an important issue and high time that someone brought the law up to date. The Majordomo showed you where you'll be staying while you're with us? I'll just give you a receipt then, and start on the research so I can give the Partners a bit more context tomorrow morning."
She grabbed a receipt book from one drawer, and hazarded another peek into the bag of gems, just to make sure she'd seen them all, twice, at least... "Yes, yes, a receipt, I'd guess that the contents of the bag are worth, oh, approximately twenty-three million, eight hundred and seventy six thousand, five hundred and ..." another quick check "... seven platinum pieces, at the current exchange rates on Uber Celestia, Gnome Mountain and Uberwald. It would be a bit less in the Underdark, and a bit more, perhaps, on one of the mid-level technological worlds. Not counting the conversion fees, or appraisal fees, of course – that would set you back at least fifteen percent if you went to the open market, likely much more as you'd also need to travel to sell them all at best value..."
Chauncey coughed, and pawed the ground a couple of times. Looking up, Toby realized that both Mytchell and Tibbeth were yawning, and Hepzibah had put her head under her wing and was making delicate bird like snoring noises.
"Sorry, I tend to get a bit, enthused by the money markets, I know it's not everyone's cup of tea. How about I write the receipt for twenty-three million, eight hundred, and we don't try to figure the best exchange rate?"
The animals looked at each other, exchanging ear-twitches and shifts of body language that Toby didn't understand. Finally, Chauncey nodded.
Toby signed the receipt with a flourish, and was getting to her feet to usher her clients out when she saw Blue, still sitting, waiting for Toby.
Conscience warred with avarice. For a brief moment, Toby thought her head might explode, but she managed to channel the energy into an explosive sneeze – and channel the sneeze out the window behind her. As the echo faded back into the surrounding hills, Toby shook herself, took a deep breath and said, "There is one more matter before you leave, today. Chauncey, I believe you met my colleague, Ms. Blue? She has done extensive work with the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Sentient Non-Dominant Species, and has been a valued consultant on several of my cases."
Chauncey nodded, but his ears were back, and Toby could see the three others hackles (and feathers) rising.
"I do understand that you certainly have no need of Ms. Blue's services in communicating with counsel."
The ears started moving forward, while fur and feathers smoothened slightly.
"At the same time, however, you are hiring our firm because Happy, Ever and After are one of the best – if not the best – firms at successfully handling matters for non-human clients. If, in our strategy meetings, we decide that Ms. Blue can contribute to the chances of our succeeding on your behalf, then we will employ her services and expect you to accept that or find alternate counsel." Somewhere inside herself, Toby could hear generations of dragons crying at the idea that the gems – and their owners – might leave. Firmly squelching those voices, Toby took a deep breath and continued, "Furthermore, Happy, Ever and After are an equal employment firm. We hire sentients in all shapes, sizes, and guises. This only works because we fiercely police our non-harassment policy, and apply it to clients as well as staff, contractors, and suppliers. Please understand, we value your business, but it is important that you treat those you meet here as you yourselves would wish to be treated."
The animals looked at each other again, this time starting a much longer exchange of ear-twitches and posturing. Toby hoped that none of them could read dragon well enough to know that she wasn't leaning on the wall; the wall was holding her up. This time Mytchell nodded first. The others shook themselves, while he walked over to Blue, sat in front of her chair, and offered a picture perfect paw shake. Blue laughed, and said something to Mytchell that Toby couldn't quite hear.
Mytchell shook himself, then walked to the door and looked at Toby expectantly. Toby opened it, the dog stepped aside, and the animals left in the same order they had entered.
The door safely closed, Toby slid to the floor and, looking vaguely in Blue's direction, muttered softly "Oh, what gems!" before passing out.
***

Random Fragments 04

2007-11-07T01:10:00.000-05:00

Nano freaking Wrimo, Toby grumbled to herself. In between being sick, new clients, and whatever that strange thing that seemed to be going on with Blue might be, Toby knew she was behind. Yes, Chauncey and his friends would make an interesting chapter or two, but that would require a bit of research. Research that Toby was not willing to do at the moment. What, she wondered, could she write about without any research... Childhood was an option, this was, after all, supposed to be a memoir.
What could she write about her childhood? There were pranks and adventures in plenty. It would make for some interesting stories. At least her friends found them interesting. The After might not consider them in quite the same light. Toby quickly realized that unless she was willing to do quite a bit of research into the statute of limitations on several planes, as well as the statute of limitations in parenting – Was there one? – her childhood would have to remain, for now at least, a closed book.
So, if she wasn’t willing to delve into her childhood, and really did not want to think about her current life until she had had a chance to figure out what on earths she was doing, then really, the only things left to talk about were her schooling and her ancestors.
School did have some interesting moments. Law school in particular. Toby had once described it as a combination between the movie the Paper Chase and the book the Lord of the Flies. but there ought to be a few incidents worth telling – and not requiring a lawyer’s advice before she committed them to paper.
***
The Old man had been disappointed when Toby announced her choice of Law Schools. Harvard, Oxford, Yale and Cambridge all had campuses in many planes. Everyone who was anyone knew about those schools and respected their graduates. The only people who knew of Toby’s choice were it’s own graduates ... and most of them were disgusted enough to call it U of Zero. Afters didn’t even accept honourary degrees from places that small and inconsequential. It wasn’t until Toby pointed out her rather undistinguished placing on her undergraduate degree, and mentioned plausible deniability and the possibility of doing a Masters degree afterwards somewhere more prestigious if she could prove herself at that institution, that the Old man relented.
Toby’s mother had merely pointed out that Kami’s are all home schooled before drifting off beyond earshot of the argument. That was often her way, Toby recognized. Toby could divide her childhood and adolescence into two distinct parts ... one full of arguments, fireworks, and the Old Man – the other full of peace, calm, love, and her mother. Looked at that way, her mother’s recent absences were more remarkable for having taken so long to start than for, seemingly, having no end.
Parental permissions or abstentions registered (and parental contributions towards fees pocketed, of course), Toby headed off to university.
The first few weeks flew past in a blur of events. Speeches from various interest groups in the school – including, Toby was happy to see, a group for dragons, and their friends – then the school brought in speakers – graduates who had accomplished noteworthy successes – to recount the variety of ways that law is an essential part of the structure of the multiverses. Then classes started. The reality of school, a dour place far more interested in hammering names and dates into the heads of students than actually encouraging them to think, was a nasty surprise after the exuberance and ideas of the first introduction weeks. By midterm, Toby’s grades were floundering like a fledgeling whose wings had iced over. She had hoped to do better in Law school, but no matter how she tried, she just didn’t seem to be able to do as well as she thought she ought. The ignominy of being the first After not called to the Bar since ... well, since the Law was invented.. left Toby willing to clutch at straws. Overhearing a group of other students discussion a Bruja who had set up shop on campus and who was dong a rip roaring business in charms and curses, Toby thought to visit, just in case her abysmal accomplishments at school were the result of some sort of ancestral curse that no one had thought to mention to her.
The Bruja was easy enough to find, just follow the distinctively chicken like foot prints cut deep into the snow, at the end of the tracks, either a 5000 pound chicken or the hut of the witch. Nothing as exciting as a five thousand pound chicken had ever occurred to the campus of U of Zero, so the Bruja’s home was where Toby tracked it down.
The Bruja seemed quite unsurprised to see Toby at her door, and calmly invited the dragon inside. The university shunned magic, so Toby was quite pleased to find that the kitchen of the Bruja’s home was large enough to contain a dragon, a human, and a pride of domestic felines. All this despite the outside of the entire house looking too small to contain more than Toby’s head. A reasonably sophisticated space spell indicated that the woman was more than just a hedge witch. After a brief bustle around that resulted in Toby clutching a dragon sized cup of hot cocoa, and the table being set with a platter containing a mix of dragon and human sized cookies, the Bruja asked, “I could guess what brings you here, but what you need may not be what you think you want, so why don’t you tell me?”
“I want to know whether I, or my family, are under a curse?”
“Curses aplenty, I would expect. You can’t be lawyers and judges without that. But I can check to see whether any of them are active and powerful enough to manifest, if you wish.”
“Yes, Yes I would very much appreciate that.”
“Hmm... Alright, I can sell you what you want for 60 gold, for what you need, that would be 200 – and I’ll throw in what you want with that for fee.”
Toby looked around in thought. Yes, the Bruja was clearly reasonably powerful ... or knew someone powerful to buy her home spells from ... Yes, the cats had seemingly randomly arrayed themselves in a pattern of glyphs that read “What you need” in ancient draconic. And yes, all of her reading of myths and folklore suggested that she follow their suggestion and get what she needed. The only drawback? She didn’t have two hundred gold to her name this late in the term, but perhaps there was a way, if only... “Wise one, knowing as much as you do, you almost certainly know that your price is beyond my current means. But you also know that I am a dragon of the After dragons. I can offer you scale oath, and that will be as good as gold anywhere in the multiverse that Afters are recognized. ”
“A scale oath? with what terms?”
“Redeemable from any after for four hundred gold, or a favour worth one thousand gold as officiated by the evaluator on Market Prime, as long as said favour does not contravene any official oath regarding conduct or mores that the After inn question has sworn.”
“Hmm. Yes, that sounds suitable. We can do business on those terms.”
Toby grimaced and picking a scale on one forearm, tugged it off. She handed it to the Bruja, who held it up to the light. Super imposed on the scale pattern that was unique to each dragon were the words of the oath, etched by will into the scale.
The Bruja carefully tucked the scale into a pocket that disappeared as soon as she had filled it. She gathered one of the cats – a fluffy tortoiseshell – into her arms and took her seat at the kitchen table. She sat stroking the cat and muttering softly to it in a language Toby didn’t recognise. Then the cat got up and walked over the table to Toby’s arm. Prrrting a polite request to be allowed to climb, the cat stepped onto Toby’s arm and began to climb over her, stopping in odd spots to sniff thoroughly, and, occasionally sneeze. Finally the cat seemed to be done, and it jumped to the ground , walked over to the Bruja, and jumped back into her lap. The tow of them resumed conversation, until, after a few moments, the Bruja spoke. “As I suspected, your line attracts curses. It also attracts those who can take care of themselves and their families. All of the curses upon you are either magically frozen and gradually dissipating, or Kismetically rewinding and soon to rebound on their casters ... in some cases threefold ... nasty, that.”
Toby chuffed with surprise, managing to turn her head at the last minute so that the small cloud of smoke was exhaled over the stove where it could flow out the chimney.
“So, that’s what you wanted to know. Are you satisfied with that portion of our agreement?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good. Now for what you really need. I could just give you a potion, suggest proper dosage routines, and charge you again each time you needed a refill, however, the cats tell me that I owe you better than that. To do this properly, I will need to step into another room for a moment, please, enjoy the cookies, I shall be back shortly.”
Toby had just finished the chocolate chip, and was reaching for a cookie that smelled deliciously gingery, when the Bruja returned. She had draped a clean white knee-length cotton jacket over her clothes, clipped a stethoscope around her neck and was carrying a medium sized black doctor’s bag in one hand and a couple of lollipops in the other.
Raising one eyebrow in surprise, Toby watched as the Bruja – Doctor Bruja, now, apparently – set the lollipops on the table, sat down and began rooting through her bag. It too was clearly bigger on the inside than on the outside as Toby saw a rather modern looking operating room in one corner of the bag and watched the Doctor Bruja pull out and replace implements ranging from a chainsaw to an electron scanning microscope before she found – and placed on the table – a prescription pad, fax machine and a pen.
“As I said, Toby, there are several ways of doing this, but we both know that this is a mundane little town, mostly full of banal little people. Magic and miracles upset them, and you will need to live with them for two and a half more years to complete your degree. So, a prescription pad, very official looking, and the Physician license number, name and contact information are all registered in all the proper places. My handwriting is the handwriting they expect, and my signature is the signature they have authorized. What could be more mundane than that?”
“Umm...” Toby ventured.
“Wait now, oh impatient one. I will be explaining.” She paused to write something, sign the pad floridly, tear the sheet off and place it near Toby. “That one is for you to take to the drug store, don’t bother trying to read it, just like the other doctors, I write in cypher that only pharmacists can read. This one,” she fell silent as she wrote a slightly longer paragraph on the next sheet, tapped the fax machine twice, and fed the sheet through it.
The fax machine responded to the Doctor Bruja’s taps by turning on – despite not being plugged into any visible power source – found a dial tone – no visible phone source either – sent the fax and happily spit out the original sheet and a confirmation of receipt. Toby’s other eyebrow crept up to join its fellow. She contemplated saying something, but figured she wouldn’t get much past “Umm,” and, why bother interrupting such an interesting show.
“There, all done. Now I explain. You came because you are having troubles with school. You thought maybe a curse, I know not a curse at all. Some people see very well, others need glasses, even sometimes for their third eye. Some people fly between planes, others need spells or devices. Brains are different like that too. Some brains absorb information and can repeat it back word for word after only being exposed to it once. Other brains, sadly, will not absorb information no matter how many times you repeat it. Your brain – like most – is in between the extremes. It is very good at absorbing information, but it is only properly exposed to that information if you are paying attention – and you are not all that good at paying attention to things that are neither predator nor prey.
“The prescription is for attention pills. They should make it easier for you to focus on text books – even though they are neither dangerous nor good to eat. The letter will arrive at the university’s medical centre, it is a referral to a brain doctor there. She is not a Bruja – but she still knows a little bit about a few important things. She will be able to help you figure out ways to get your brain to do what you want it to, and, since she works for the university, you will not need to pay good gold for her advice.”
During the explanation, Toby’s eyebrows had gradually returned to their normal position, then deepened into a frown as the Bruja spoke of brain doctors.
“The Old Man would not approve of me going to a brain doctor, he thinks...”
“It doesn’t matter what he thinks,” the Bruja interrupted, “he is only your father, and you are of an age where you are supposed to be starting to think for yourself. The doctors here have rules about the information they learn about patients. They cannot and will not tell anyone – including your family – about you without your permission.”
“Oh. I will have to think about this. It is a lot to grasp at once.”
The Doctor Bruja handed Toby one of the lollipops, then swept the others, along with the fax machine and prescription pad, into her bag. She stood and gave Toby a semi-formal farewell bow. “Indeed you have much to think on, and, fortunately, you have time to do so. I must change, as my next client approaches. Feel free to take your time with the rest of your hot chocolate, the cats will see you out, and my front door will not lead a client into a space that is already occupied – besides, I think this one will want something a little bit more cave-like, with bats.”
The Bruja left. Toby shrugged, then sat back and ate the ginger cookie with the last of her hot chocolate. Only after she had licked the last froth from her mug, and cleaned up the last cookie crumb, did she stand, stretch, and follow the large black and white cat that lead her to the door.
***
Toby filled the Bruja’s prescription and was pleased, and only slightly surprised, to find that it worked. Where before her class notes often trailed off into doodles or lines that lead nowhere, with the medication she kept on track, and managed to draw meaning from even the most wandering of lectures. That success gave her courage to contact the university medical centre.
The centre had noted the referral letter from a Doctor B. Ruha M.D., Ph.D., Et.C., and staff were happy to set up an appointment for her with one of their preeminent psychologists.
Unfortunately, their preeminent psychologist didn’t have anywhere near as much sense as even one of the Bruja’s cat’s day-old hair balls. Toby realized quite quickly that the only reason to keep appointments was to continue getting prescriptions, and, once the psychologist realized that Toby was not going to permit him to write up her case, he agreed to continue to do so.
***

Random Fragments 03

2007-11-04T23:19:00.001-05:00

Toby was quite certain that she would always remember the conclusion of her experience on Sealokanth. Opposing counsel's malign interference, and intent to defraud her client had been clear at the end. During her stay, she had heard mutterings in the legal community over their general discontent at her speeding what would usually be several years of negotiation into weeks. Apparently opposing counsel believed he had found a suitable revenge.

Its oleaginous countenance spoke as clearly as the finest parchment of its intent not to refund the previous cash payment, merely because it had now received duplicate funds in appropriately abstruse certificate form. Toby remembered swallowing her anger as opposing counsel examined the certificates with insulting thoroughness.

"These seem to be in order. I suppose that all things considered my client would be satisfied to take these and consider the Contract fulfilled." Its voice dripped with condescension and magnanimity as it offered to accept a contract - already, in Toby's mind at least, fulfilled - for a mere extra seventeen percent fee.
Toby had smiled, baring as many teeth as she could, and paused ... considering whether the immediate satisfaction of immolating opposing counsel, its offices, and a large part of the surrounding planet, was worth the multiversal scandal, the opprobrium of the senior Afters, the ridiculous amount of paperwork the Law Society would require of her as explanation, and the eventual possibility of disbarment.
Several minutes had passed as Toby wrestled with her rage. Opposing counsel, watching the frozen rictus of her grin, had backed all the way across the room by the time she opened her eyes and sighed ... without flame. "Your bank is only a few moments away, is that not correct?" she had asked.

Barely pausing for his affirmative, she continued, "We will go there NOW. And you will sign all necessary documents to complete this transaction. Your banker can witness ... I trust the money handlers here have better memories for their oaths of office than the legal profession. Or, perhaps, merely swear better oaths to begin with."

Opposing counsel, perhaps realizing the fragile grip that Toby was keeping on her draconic fury, had been quiet and, almost, chastened in mien, as he followed Toby to the bank. The signing had proceeded with – for Sealohs – unusual haste, and mere hours later Toby, gripping the bundle of contracts signed, sealed, and sweated upon, returned to her client.

As is The Way of Clients, it had expected both her return and her eventual success, so there were no fanfares or fireworks awaiting her arrival. The client accepted the Contract with equanimity, and a muttered "it's about time" that – had Toby not been well versed in The Way – would have resulted in a large local firestorm. Instead, and with a bare minimum of grinding of molars, Toby had merely reminded it that the premium for early completion was to be paid to the same account as the retainer. Final calculations of fees and disbursements would be up to Happy and her accounting team – Toby had completed the tasks she had been retained for, and was leaving.

Winging her way back to Uber Celestia, Toby did her own final calculations. On the minus side, there was no way that Happy could include the double charge as a disbursement and pass the expense on to the client. It would have to be considered a cost of doing business ... or, as Happy was likely to characterize it, a cost of Toby's ongoing education. On the plus side, her part of the fee for the job would cover the extra expenditure of the double charge ... a good thing as Happy would be likely to want to take it out of her salary.

The firm had been discussing adding Sealokanth to the list of interdicted planets – places where, in the opinion of Happy, Ever & After, doing business was either too dangerous (few and far between) or not cost effective (more common, especially since Happy joined the firm). Toby's vote might not count as much as the other partners' in some areas, but she was reasonably certain that her report on the Sealohs would tip their balance into interdiction. Not, perhaps, as satisfying as burning the entire planet down to the topsoil, but, in the long run, almost as good a revenge. Areas on the HEA interdiction list tended to become pariah to the rest of the civilized multiverse.

***

A mighty sneeze, caught at the last second and channelled out the window, interrupted Toby's concentration. Perhaps the somewhat blobby Sealohs were not the best subject of contemplation when Toby herself felt as though she was gradually losing the battle against an onrushing mucus storm. The flames in dragon sneezes are generally enough to render them non-contagious – dangerously hot, but not likely to pass on virii, which was a good thing considering that a handkerchief strong enough to deal with dragon sneezes had not yet been invented. This cold, however, didn't seem to understand that it wasn't supposed to generate snot faster than Toby's flames could incinerate it.

Toby could hear her hoard calling. A nap, just until the next scheduled or unscheduled emergency, would help her feel better. She scribbled a quick note asking Clatter, her secretary (and Ever's spy), not to allow interruptions or eruptions for the next few hours, and then staggered up to bed.

***

Bremen Songs

Several hours later, Toby awoke coughing. Once the spasm was under control, she realized that someone was calling her name from downstairs. Pleasantly surprised not to be being woken up by either a mad axe-waving dwarf or an attitudinal poltergeist, Toby unwound from her hoard and ... trying not to jar her aching head ... struggled downstairs.

Blue was sitting in one of her visitor's chairs, looking somewhat abashed to have had to disturb Toby's rest. "Ever asked the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Sentient Non-Dominant Species to second me to HEA for a couple of days to help with your newest clients. He figured you would need a translator, and since we've worked together before, he thought I wouldn't have any issues with dealing with dragons."

"I hope he thought right, you were a great help with the Blind Mice case – and most of my cases don't end so ... dangerously."

"Of course he was right, Toby, working with you was great – except for the bit where you almost died – but I do have a problem, with the clients, not with you."

"A problem with the clients? I have not had a chance to review their intake interview yet, but I thought I caught something about them being musicians?" Toby was glad that her blush would not be visible through her scales, she knew well that she had several chances to review the file, but paperwork was always at the bottom of her priority list.

"I would not know if they have musical skills, and, really, it's not that I have a problem with them, it's that they have a problem with me. I was giving them the office tour, the same one that Ever gave me when I arrived, and they got mad at me. Chauncey started braying that I was demeaning them, that they had struggled to get this far, and that they did not need a ... um, it's not really important what he called me, let me just say that he made it abundantly clear that none of them wanted a human translator."

"They insulted you? I'll have a word with Ever, they can hire Raven Ravyn and Rayvn if they want – but Happy, Ever & After does not tolerate clients being rude to our staff. To us, perhaps, but not to our employees. You work hard enough as it is, without having to put up with clients in a snit." Toby was on her feet, and starting to fume at this point, only the shock on Blue's face slowed down what would otherwise have been a headlong charge to Ever's office.

"Toby, no. Chauncey, Mytchell, Tibbeth, and Hepzibah need a lawyer, a good lawyer. And, maybe, they have a point about not needing a translator. Chauncey was partly right, they have overcome some pretty high odds to get this far. I think you can help them, I just wanted you to understand why I was going to ask Ever to cut the contract short. I know a bit about office politics – we're not all saints at the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Sentient Non-Dominant Species (and even Francis has his cranky days). I would have felt bad if it got back to you twisted to sound as though I did not want to work with you."

"Hmph. I'll make you a deal, Blue. You sit in on our first meeting. Not as a translator, but as an expert consultant. If their story sounds like something I can handle, AND if Chauncey can apologise for insulting our local expert, I'll take their case. And if I do take their case, then it's up to me to decide whether or not I will need your assistance. Sound fair?"

Blue suspected she would need to think about this meeting later – Toby's passionate defence seemed almost out of character – sure Toby was passionate about helping her clients, but this was a bit much for just a colleague. Those thoughts, however, could wait. The clients expected Toby to be ready to see them, and, if taking Toby's deal was the way to make that happen, then Blue would just have to figure this out later.

"Something tells me that I should not be taking a lawyer's deal without consulting my own counsel, Toby." Blue smiled to show she had not been serious. "But this deal sounds fair, and I trust you to do what's best for your clients in the end."

***

As a partner, albeit a very junior one, Toby had access to all of the staff of HEA. Figuring that these clients ... whatever their issue ... needed to be impressed a bit, she suggested that the Majordomo be the one to bring them to her office, and asked him to take the long way around so that she could do a quick clean up.
Her desk was reasonably neat, she'd taken care to put away open files when she started sneezing. For a change, and in the honour of the unpredictability of a head cold, she'd even moved the piles that usually littered her floor into the fireproof filing cabinet that she almost never used. Toby's motto on filing had always been "out of sight, out of mind" and she counted on the piles reminding her what needed her attention.

Shuffling a small stack of novels onto a top shelf where they would be hidden by the law books was a moment's work. Not that she had anything to be ashamed of – given the nature of the multiverse, Mr. Nix and Ms. Pierce were likely creating worlds that at some point Toby might be called to work in. It wasn't time wasting, it was research! Or, at least, that's what she was prepared to tell her senior partners if they ever found out about her addiction.

Finally, the only thing in her office that didn't look its best was her. A moment in her fire closet nicely fixed the spines bent from restless sleep and whiskers disarrayed by sneezes. Unfortunately nothing but a week's rest would clear up the full ravages of the cold. Perhaps she could look on the bright side and try to believe that the pouches under her eyes merely made her look older and more distinguished. Unfortunately her mirror did not have any inclination to flatter, and the bright side was left severely tarnished by the quick glance she gave its reflective surface.

***

Toby had placed a comfortable armchair in one corner of her office for me. I was out of the direct light falling through her windows, and as well hidden as I could be in plain sight. I found myself enjoying watching her scurry about making sure everything was ready for her clients. It was a side of Toby I had not seen before. In front of clients, or Courts, she exudes confidence. It was fascinating to see the side of her that matches her age, young and concerned with making the proper first impression.

Most of that uncertainty disappeared when she returned from her fire closet. I understood the theory – a room with heat reflecting walls where a dragon could bake in her own flame, burning off dirt and refreshing herself. Yet still the theory seemed strange, to go to flame rather than water for cleanliness. Watching Toby emerge, though, it all became irrelevant. Somehow the fire had burnished her scales, straightened her spines and neatened her whiskers. The somewhat bedraggled dragon who had left the room had been replaced by magnificence.

I was glad for the slight shadow that covered my corner. I doubted the heat flushing my face had anything to do with stray radiation from the fire closet, I'm not sure where that image of Toby was coming from, but it left me blushing.
A brusque rap on the door, saved me from Toby's attention. She curled neatly behind her desk, flashed me a quick smile and nod – as if to say "the show starts now!" – and called for the Majordomo to enter.

I'd never seen the Majordomo before, and I instantly understood why Toby had asked for him to guide the clients. He was one of the biggest humanoids I'd ever seen, so tall he had to duck to enter through Toby's dragon sized front door. He looked as though he might have sat as an artist's model for Hercules when he was younger. Now, older and balding, he was the very image of the type of butler who could manage household staff – and international criminal rings – without ruffling a hair.

His bow to Toby was the essence of correctness, for a bow between equals who – for a brief moment – are pretending to a master/servant relationship. Seeing his command of body language, I was reassured that the new clients would have found him an educational, and understanding, guide.

Chauncey entered first, with Mytchell close on his heels. Tibbeth paused a moment on the threshold to look around, then sauntered in, making it clear that her entrance was entirely her idea. I was surprise that Hepzibah chose to strut in behind Tibbeth rather than riding in, but perhaps that was part of their own posturing for the event.

Random Fragments 02

2007-11-04T02:56:00.000-05:00

Having seen, or at least read about, great areas of the multiverse, Toby knew that making absolute statements was a bad idea. Never, she had learned, describe something as the biggest, loudest, fastest or most expensive ... sure as billable hour quotas, you would find out the next day that there was something bigger, faster or even more expensive. Logic, however, sometimes did not count for much compared to emotion, and at this point Toby was quite willing to say that there was nothing sadder in the multiverse than a dragon with a head cold.

She managed to spend the first day in bed, head hanging out the window so that errant blasts of sneeze driven flame did not damage to anything but a few intrepid tendrils of ivy that had made it past the fifth floor. One day was good, but six or seven would have been optimal. Six or seven, however, were not going to happen with the joint taskmasters of Happy (senior partner this week) and Nanowrimo shouting at her conscience ... well Nano shouted at her conscience, Happy hacked down the door and shouted at her in person. Much harder to ignore that way.

Sparing a bemused though for how Happy explained the firm's overhead in door replacements to the tax gnomes, Toby slithered down to her office to at least pretend to be doing something billable.

After the second time an errant sneeze charred the pages of the factum she was drafting, Toby realized that she would have to make some changes to her office if she was going to continue to work.

A call down to stores found a large heat-proof screen that would cover the bulk of the bookcases, and any brownies that were too silly to leave in the face of Rhino virus Draconis Rufus. Shoving the desk around gave her clear paths towards both the open window and the fireproof cleansing area.

The medical department were eager to supply a continual stream of kevlar hot water bottles, suitable for wrapping around a long and scaly neck. They clearly understood that having a junior nurse running around with hot water bottles caused far less disruption than a dragon taking up most of the beds in the infirmary.

Only the call to the commissary department for hot toddies went awry. The server returned with several gallons of black coffee and a curt note form Happy stating that in her medical opinion this would be far better for Toby's working ability than mere lemon juice and rum.

The coffee helped more than Toby expected, clearing her mind – if not her sinuses – and easing her throat. It also helped her concentrate, a necessary skill since she was trying to work while the carpenters clear away the remnants of the old door and argued with each other as to whether it was worth installing a proper solid core oak replacement, or just something cheap and quick since Happy would likely be hacking the new door apart within the week.

Finally the workers were done, and Toby could write in peace. The Factum – a ridiculous document attempting to persuade the courts of the obvious logical fallacy of applying building codes to magical structures. She couldn't see why it was necessary, a building code, after all, should only apply to things that were built. Not grown, extruded, polymorphed or conjured.

Given that the case was coming before the courts in Bupleureum, it was pretty obviously meddling by the ex-royals in yet another attempt to grab control over what used to be their demesne.

Still and all, the best way to lose a case was to avoid participating in it so that the judge had to rule against you. On that basis alone, her work on this argument was perhaps not wasted. There was some satisfaction to be taken from the work, as well. The clients, a naiad, a dryad, and two cavern dwelling dwarves, had been shocked to receive notices from the town council stating that they must bring their shelters up to code (this requiring the addition of several window or one, and at least two permanent doors), or pay a rather huge fine and have the homes declared unfit for habitation and torn down.

Toby wasn't quite sure whether it was the heat of her argument, or the heat of her fever that carried her through to the end of the argument. Some part of her suspected that she should review the factum before filing it... the part that remembered scrawling something about any judge with an intelligence higher than that of a retarded newt could clearly understand the arrant idiocy of opposing counsel's position. But that was a small part compared to her general relief at getting the factum completed, so, folding it into an intricate origami ball, she tossed it into the opening of the tubes that lead to the office mail system.

First task completed, Toby turned to her desk calendar to attempt to figure out what her next priorities might be. NaNoWrimo loomed large on her list, new clients were due that day or the next, depending on when the arrived on Uber Celestia, and there were several meetings scheduled that she ought to be doing research for.

Looking at her NaNo file, Toby realized that she had left it in mid tale. The Rhino virus hitting her before she could finish unwinding the red tape of Sealohkant.

***

It was easy to remember her ebullience on completing the transaction, and her gambolling and pirouetting on the way back to her client. Equally easy to remember the alarums and screams that met her when she got there. The client was – and this was the first time Toby had seen someone actually do this – running (undulating swiftly, at any rate) in circles, screaming and shouting. The rest of the office was equally in an uproar. One of the lawyers had dissolved into a puddle of tears, with eye stalks protruding from it's centre. The others, not quite so affected, were undulating backward and forward gabbling bits of legal Latin interspersed with their own language and metaversal common.

Toby waded into the furor, trying to calm her client – or at least get him to stand still long enough for her to understand the problem. It took several minutes, a bit of flame, and half a dozen wing buffets before the client could be understood. As best Toby could fathom, a messenger had arrived before her, bearing a missive from opposing counsel. A bit more yelling, and Toby figured out that the message itself was likely under the puddle. Fishing it out, Toby read:

"Estimable colleagues, I regret having to inform you that the real estate transaction regarding the property commonly known as Third Radian, Fifth Sector, Valence Secundus, the legal title of which is Sealohkant Radians Tertius, Lot quinque millia septem centi decem quattuor scripulum, has been cancelled as the terms and conditions were not properly fulfilled. Specifically section 29, paragraph 637, sub-paragraph zzqd, clause mmcmlxiv, dealing with payment, has not been honoured, as we have not received full payment of the funds required, in the contracted form."

Toby's legs weakened, and she almost sat on her erstwhile colleague. She knew that they had assembled the full purchase price. She knew that she had delivered it all to the bank. They had counted it four times before leaving and ten times at the bank – with signatures from the appropriate officials each time it was counted. There could not be any discrepancies, she was absolutely positive of this.

"We need to send a messenger – or, no, I'm faster, I should go myself. There must be some mistake in this, calm down and I will return with an explanation, and a completed transaction, shortly."

This time, Toby did not gambol or pirouette. Her flight was direct, and as quick as she could make it through the damp Sealoh air. Skidding to a stop outside the bank, Toby slithered inside shouting for the Senior Manager. That worthy undulated into the lobby and ducked apprehensively as it saw Toby stance and snarl.

"How may I assist your scary dragonness? We were truly honoured by your dragonage of our humble establishment, and we are certain that we took all possible care to dot every zigle, and cross every pizot. Have we left some detail undone? Have we somehow disappointed your scariness? Ma'am?"

Toby wasn't sure she could speak without flaming, she certainly couldn't remember being this angry outside of battle before, in fact her arm shook as she extended one claw with the message impaled upon it.

The manager extended an appendage, also shaking, but with fear rather than rage. Taking the missive it gingerly brought it to a quivering eye stalk. The combination of quivering appendage and quivering eye stalk slowed its reading speed, but reading contracts was such a regular part of its life that it nevertheless managed to figure out the problem before Toby could explode.

"But, but, Your Dragonness, we counted the payment. I counted it myself, I signed for it, I NEVER sign unless the money is all there, heck I never sign unless ... well ... unless it is for such an honourable creature as you, Your Dragonitude."

"Sssso," Toby gritted out between tightly clenched teeth, "then where did the money go?"

"It went directly into the vendor's account. I can show you the ledgers. Vendor was here, it counted everything too, we got its signature. In quintuplicate."

"Hmph. Then. What. Went. Wrong?!?"

"Do you have the contract with you, Your Dragonness? If I might examine it, possibly I could tell what went wrong."

Fishing under her scales, Toby began removing the volumes of the contract. Even with several interdimensional pockets, it took Toby sixteen scales to carry the complete contract. The Senior Manager did not appear daunted by the size of the document, and merely exuded more appendages, and more eyes, to deal with the multiple volumes.

"Section 29, paragraph 637, sub-paragraph zzqd, clause mmcmlxiv, specifies that the payment of 17.3% of the total – the amount covering offerings due to the Great Symbiont and the municipal taxes – is to be paid in bonds. If I remember correctly, your Dragonness, you brought that part of the payment in electral coin. Not exactly the same."

"Bonds are guaranteed to be cashable into electral coin, the whole point of the Bond is that it has a guarantee, why in the name of all that is holy would it not be acceptable to provide coin instead?"

"Contracts are holy. First there was the Word, and the Word was Written, and the Writing was bound in Red Tape, then the Word became Contract, and the Contract was the World, and the Contract is all that is Holy. Each Word is there by the grace of the Writer, and the grace of the Reader is to follow each Word in its ordinary meaning. Unless, of course, the rules of interpretation indicate otherwise. If you do not follow the Words, the Contract becomes meaningless, and to honour a Contract that has been thus breeched would be to violate the Word, the Writing, the Red Tape, and indeed, all that is Holy."

"So, the word is more important than the principle? In principle the coin was better than a bond."

"We do not understand principles, other than the principle of the sovereignty of the Contract."

"But, it has the money."

"Not in the form required by the Contract."

Toby shakes her head, frowning in disbelief. "This makes no sense."

"The way of the Contract is the only way that does make sense. Always look to the Words, to the Contract, and all will be clear."

"Can I purchase bonds in the correct amount from you?"

"Of course, our establishment is entirely at your service, most honourable one. If you have coin we will sell you bonds, certified cheques, traveller's cheques, or currencies from several other planes."

Toby dug under another scale, withdrawing several bars of electrum, and handing them to the Senior Manager, which passed them on to a more junior manager, from which they were passed several times until reaching a teller of suitably low rank to actually do the work of filling out the bonds. The process began to reverse itself, with the bonds, duly signed, countersigned and stamped, being handed back up the ranks. Unwilling to wait, Toby grabbed them from a Senior teller, nodded a brusque "Thank you" to the manager, and slithered out of the bank.

Taking to the air, Toby quickly winged towards the office of the vendor's lawyer. Although she skidded to a stop outside the office, her entrance was all calmness – at least on the exterior. Bowing and invoking the stance of humble, but determined, petitioner, Toby requested the honour of speaking with the Senior Partner, the being she thought of as opposing counsel.

"As a wholly hypothetical question, would specific performance of the full and proper terms of the contract, be sufficient to keep open the transaction, that was, due entirely to my inadvertent and well intentioned but erroneous mistake in payment, cancelled?"

The Senior Partner pulled in all appendages and rolled backward and forward in deep thought. "Perhaps, in a hypothetical circumstance, were the bonds immediately available, I might consider accepting them and considering the transaction properly closed."

"Amazingly, dear friend, I seem to have some suitable bonds right here, duly issued, signed and countersigned. Should you consider examining them, perhaps you might deem these a satisfactory step towards conclusion."

Extruding several appendages, opposing counsel moved close enough to take the documents, then undulated back out of Toby's reach. It riffled through the banker's bonds, examining them carefully. "These seem to be in order. I suppose that all things considered my client would be satisfied to take these and consider the Contract fulfilled."

Toby smiled, baring as many teeth as she could, and

Random Fragments

2007-11-02T00:10:00.002-04:00

Masochism, Toby thought to herself, has many forms. For a relatively busy lawyer, already over extended by assisting her firm move and expand to a new world, taking on the challenge that is NaNoWriMo, is one of the more severe of those forms. Much easier - and much less painful - to volunteer to overnight in Thunderhall, teach Constitutional Law at Guantanamo Bay, or wrestle Father Time two throws out of three. Even near-death under the carving knife of the Farmer’s Wife was beginning to seem retrospectively rosy in comparison.

Granted that NaNoWriMo appears much more civilized - simple even - before one begins. After all, how can it be that difficult to write 50,000 words in 30 days. That’s only 1,666.66 words per day. National Novel Writing Month doesn’t demand that those words be particularly brilliant, in fact they do not even have to be coherent, unless, that is, the writer has a muse who demands such. Unfortunately for Toby, grandfather After was a muse far more prone to demanding high standards than actually informing how to meet them. He would just point out that when he was a wyrmling, young dragons were expected to compose three thousand words per day — in perfect sonnet form — while simultaneously holding down challenging positions in their family firms, completing post doctorate research on new planes in the multiverse, and holding down positions as lead soloists in the local chamber orchestra.

No sympathy available there at all.

***

I sighed deeply, puffing ash across the scattered parchment covering my desk. One hundred and sixty six words down, only a decimal place stood between me and some much needed sleep on my slowly growing hoard. That decimal place, however, was as intractable as the heart of a Judge. I should know, both grandfather Paykenym After (deceased, but that hasn’t stopped him), and my father Duncrief After - usually referred to as The Old One - are Judges. Dropping NaNoWriMo on my desk was one of grandfather After’s ideas.

He drifted into one of the firm’s morning meetings, with a suggestion for the partners. “Let the young pup learn to write something other than factums and memoranda. She’ll need it when she’s appointed to the bench. Besides, it’s about time an After wrote an autobiography - we’ve skipped a couple of generations, someone needs to keep up with the long memories.”

I didn't say “No.” to After. In fact, at Happy, Ever & After, despite being the After of the current partnership, I don’t have much chance to say “No” to anyone.

Happy’s grunt made it clear that the idea of writing anything for which the firm couldn’t bill was a frivolity of which she could not approve. Then again, rumour has it that Happy left Seven Dwarves Inc. because, despite all of the “hi ho”ing, the rest of the board members just weren’t serious enough about the bottom line.

Ever just looked thoughtful. That’s dangerous with him. Thoughtful elves write epic poetry or decide that it’s time for bow practise to create a new epic event about which to write. Neither of these processes is fun to be around. Especially if you don't want to be volunteered to be the one flying by carrying the target.

Unfortunately After could trump their posturing. He had merely to grin one of those grins that careless folk might describe as skeletal - he is, after all, skeletal - but which somehow manages to show each tooth in greater glistening clarity. Neither Happy nor Ever is properly scared of dragons, us living dragons that is. Dead dragon still walking, makes even them uneasy. As After once explained to me, “I’ve died, and gained by the experience. Dying again will only annoy me... And no one wants to annoy me.”

Of course, once The After left, Happy and Ever made sure I understood that billable hours would remain the Firm's priority. Biographical exercises might make After happy, but they would not add to the firm's coffers, and that meant that the firm would not add to my hoard. The partners will not tolerate any drop in the amount of time I spent with clients.

***

Strangely enough, no matter where she went in the multiverse, Toby found that matters pertaining to real estate had a habit of involving more red tape (or the local equivalent) than a dragon could flame ... even on a full stomach and several casks of the best Brandyburg Bitter.

Sealohkant was a prime example of a realm where transferring ownership of a piece of property had gradually become almost impossible due to the rampant expansion of bureaucratic rules. HEA's client had called on the firm to determine whether part of the problem was that Sealo lawyers had developed a strange ability to digest red tape and were well on their way to creating an ecosystem independent of their actual clients.

A slight glitch in the translation of the letter asking for the firm's assistance had changed "red tape" to "red tapeworm", making the trip to Sealohkant an obvious one to assign to Toby.

At first the relief she felt on discovering that she did not need to deal with red tapeworms inspired Toby to think that the retainer could be an easier than usual jaunt. Then she discovered that, merely to go to Sealohkant required a completing seventeen volumes of forms, in quadrupicate. No one could explain to her, the process of obtaining proper documentation to be permitted to practise law in the jurisdiction. There were rules, but to date, all applicants had died of old age long before completing the process and no-one at the local Law Society was willing to admit to knowing the final forms.

The client, having more money than time, accepted Toby's suggestion that HEA could subcontract through a local firm. Toby would inspire the locals with the fear of god ... or at least the fear of dragon breath ... and do her best to ensure that the transaction be completed within a reasonable time. Picking a firm and providing the appropriate inspiration was quite easy. Unfortunately moving the transaction along required opposing counsel to co-operate ... and they weren't subject to the same encouragement.

Despite what seemed to Toby like months of appendage dragging, the client was quite pleased with the final closing schedule. Toby oversaw the preparation of each document, intent on preventing any last minute delays caused by misplaced commas, or insufficient sealing wax. No detail, no matter how finicky, was left with leeway to go wrong. That, at least, was the plan.

The day before closing, opposing counsel mentioned a small matter of property taxes — unpaid — that Toby's client had offered to pay. Consultation with the client quickly degenerated into histrionics of absurd proportions as the client described in vivid detail each and every conversation with the buyer, and how the buyer had promised payment towards innumerable items only to reneg. The client's bottom line was timing, with costs running a close second. Messengers undulated from office to office carrying ever more intense suggestions for completing the sale.

Finally Toby took matters into her own claws and began airlifting documents between the parties. After several trips worth of exasperation, and the incidental incineration of several innocent topiaries, documents started moving more quickly, and no new objections were raised. By the end of the closing day, a triumphant Toby shepherded several carts full of bank records, contracts and bankers drafts into the the deposit house the parties had selected.

Toby left the deposit house wondering whether, in the long run, she might not have preferred to deal with red tapeworms. At least the worms would only have been out for blood, instead of the brain cells that the red tape seemed to thrive on eating. The whole body shudder that followed that mental image set off several twinges, a couple of aches, and and incipient cramp. All of which convinced Toby that a leisurly flight back to the client's offices would be most appropriate. Indeed, the circumstances almost demanded an airborn victory romp, and, on due consideration, Toby could not see herself denying the circumstances their due.

Even with her ebulliance at the recent victory reined in to avoid causing consternation among her Sealo hosts, Toby managed to fit a refreshing number of gambols, barrel rolls and airy pirouettes into the trip.

***

In a Galaxy Far Far Away

The knife flashed, reflecting the light of the twin suns of Zeteroth. Moving slower then faster, it struck and sliced through the objects in its path. Steel columns slithered to the ground in abstract slices: some neatly split in two, others minced to fragments in the time it took Zeteroth's feeble gravity to claim them. The knife moved on to stone, slicing granite and obsidian as though they were soapstone, then faceting a titanic diamond studded pipe into fanciful filigree.

The blade paused, seeking fresh targets, then began to slice and dice a scattering of artificial substances littering a nearby marble work surface. Adamantium slabs, ceramic, blocks, plastics and sophisticated aglomerations of nanoparticles — intelligent races' best attempts at impervious substance — all severed by the passage of the knife. Organics fared no better: tooth, bone, or claw; branch, shell or scale; all surrendered their integrity before the onslaught of cutting power.

Finally the knife stilled. Stillness descended over the ravaged remains. A door irised open on Zeteroth's surface, and several humanoids in airtight, superclean costumes emerged to start collecting the various shards and remnants. None of them touched the knife where it hung, unsupported, in mid air. Finally, their task completed, the technicians regrouped on the surface of the door, and were drawn back down to the airlock that had earlier disgorged them.

Silence descended on the deserted plateau. For a minute, perhaps two, not even the dust motes — usually restless under the prodding of the remnants of Zeteroth's thin atmosphere — dared break the stillness around the knife.

Then tempered movement brought edges to the trompe-l'oeil immobility that had masked a woman's figure, rendering her, suddenly, apart from the boulders she had blended with. The woman walked over to the hovering knife, then reached out and grasped it. The woman examined the blade, seeing it unreasonably, but apparently expectedly, pristine despite its earlier work. With a shadow of a smile, she knelt and then drew the knife gently across one forearm. Holding her arm so that oil-black blood dripped and pooled on the blade of the knife, she whispered, "The first, had no name, and it failed me. You, the second, I will call Toby's Bane. We will not fail again."

She stood and sheathed the newly named weapon then walked over to the airlock's surface. As she stood and waited for the gate to open, she watched incuriously as the wound on her arm knitted closed, leaving a thin white line.

Safely October

2007-10-16T01:33:00.000-04:00

But I'm seriously considering November... may even have ideas ...