Ecce Animus, Ecce Homo

[ContinualNaba]

(Technically, I did this for some la-de-dah elective paper on creativity an hour ago. It's an integration of a piece were there is an original universe, but one has to write in case nobody has read it to begin with. That said, it's a university piece, and at least four of the characters made it in to the same one.)

Of all the places for a story to start, this doesn’t seem like a probable scenario. Bright skies, young students pleasantly chatting with each other around wooden tables and metal chairs (And, as always, a slightly less pleasant and most definitely louder ‘chat’ in the middle quad between the university and student reps) seconded by a proliferation of opened lunchboxes and empty bags.
According to the laws of narrative, this is the kind of place where a Dragon warps in through a portal, torches the town and leads the conveniently named and lifestyle’d hero back through the portal in a bizarre and quite unlikely sequence of events that lets him change the world. Or a world, as general wish fulfilment tends not to hold tack with reality quite as readily as you might think.

There were no pseudo-medieval coats of arms at this university, nor flags that needed constantly changing, repairing and all those other little grievances that freshmen get shanghai’d into. There was a gate at the main entrance, looming and wrought of cast-iron that would prevent anything up to a semi from entering the compound (According to popular rumour, even the semi had difficulties, waking up the Dean and tugging at a thrombosis). This was as much for show as anything, while the only paved entrance went through the front, the stone wall flanking it only went for another twenty metres in each direction until it gave into the cluster of parks surrounding the complex.

Surprisingly, the only regular visitors were people old enough to be the parents of students, and they generally were. Some went in with appraising faces, others with thinly veiled familiarity and slight disgust at that fact – or perhaps even disgust at their disgust. Some were nonchalant, some were pretending to be nonchalant, and some decided just to gawk at the students as they strolled to their destination.

Not that the students for the most part appeared out of place, most universities tend to have a few strange cases in any particular sector. The difference with this university, though, was it’s... difference. The faculty had little touches here and there as they strolled through the campus – constantly watching and showing slight concern over even slighter actions by the students. One girl’s soft drink monitored, one boy’s exertion in trying to calm down the student rep noted, the state of another girl’s feet keenly observed. It was subtle, but slightly unnerving to see so many lecturers and patrons treat the entire scenario as a massive game of big brother.

But the main flow of the story begins with a brash and reckless student rather than a wiser and more experienced teacher, as these stories tend to do. Otherwise a great deal of drama could be conserved by thoughtful application and actually putting pieces together as to why the primary love interest is taking notes when you talk about your aversion to kryptonite. Here is the branching of ways – the students could be magical, mechanical, able to alter the physics of the universe or achieve technical singularity with the ease that would make a transhumanist froth at the mouth, or they could all be geniuses. Each of them could possibly wield at far too young an age the power to destroy civilisation, capturing monsters that could stop time, or riding dragons at speeds that would turn their bones to kindling and their eyes to jelly. Chances are they all have very obvious accents that would give you an easy insight as to which stereotypes you need to keep in mind.

As it turns out, it’s not so sugar coated. Several students are missing a limb or two, some wear eyepatches, some move strangely, and one particular girl –the one with her feet under scrutiny- has no arms whatsoever, opting to eat her boxed meal by wielding her utensils in her toes. The student rep has, in the few minutes she’s been arguing, not actually said a word out of her mouth aside from an indignant huff and heavy breathing. Her hands, however, blur like brawling hummingbirds as she signs complicated signals like ‘redundant’ and ‘restock’ and, due to her energetic nature and lapse of care, ‘acidophilus yoghurt’. The student beside her is obviously showing the stress as he tries to keep up with her incredible pace, stammering a translation to the red-faced man contending the reallocation of vending machines and signing his replies in turn.

“-while I appreciate the gesture, we’ve had no reason to shift the machines back into the dorms. Can pyramids and sticky carpets are point enough in this ca-“ The teacher, a rotund and almost thug-faced man with a crop of blond hair countered, politely pausing with a twitch under his eye when the male student held up his hands to show that his mute colleague had an urgent interjection. The boy turned to the woman at his side, engaging in what appeared to be a furiously paced conversation, going by the speed at which their hands moved. Satisfied with the structure of her latest argument, the rep folded her arms and frowned at the translator as he justified her disagreement.

“Apparently the mess caused on the seventh was due to a rally of some kind-”

“Held in the dorm corridors?” The man responded, obviously amused.

“Y-yes.” He stuttered, not yet comfortable with the pressure placed on being an only interpreter, “The Anti-Feminist-Republic-Against-Integrated-Domination group were celebrating their annual anniversary and happened to run out of rum. After they ran out of whiskey. And Vodka.”

“How did anyone-“

“Moving on to the point,” the boy hastily interrupted before embarrassing questions were asked and hid his growing unease behind more sign language, “The student association and its representative body cannot be held responsible for a purely unforeseen event owing to the actions of a... what is that word? Rep-pre-hen-si- Reprehensible minority of those it supplies. Especially when they have always kept their activities to the rooftops up till now.” He huffed a sigh of relief, the student rep had made the phonetics of the word clear, but the sharp and angry manner in its execution made him think of a harsh stabbing.

Perhaps the growing tension had had its effect, perhaps it was the fact that there was at least a little truth in their words, but the university rep shrugged his shoulders in resignment. “We could probably argue like this all day, but eventually it’s going to end out of my jurisdiction. Fine. Two machines in each dorm-"

The woman gave a crafty little grin, eyes lighting up with mischief as she haggled with her hands.

“Four, end and middle.”

“Two, front and end.”

“Three, one for the side block and front and end.”

“Two, with a snack machine at the front.”

“Three and a snack machine, same positions.”

The older rep sighed and pinched his nose, “Is she going to be like this all day?”

“Uh... yes, you blithering idiot.” The younger man blanched as he unconsciously relayed both question and answer. The older man snorted in amusement as the woman glowered at him, not intimidated in the slightest while her assistant quickly stumbled over an apology.

“Sorry, I thought-“

“Two and a snack machine, the third arrives a week later for a month’s probation. Final offer.”

With a victorious cresting of her eyebrows, the mute rep signs dramatically, the effect spoiled by a piece of flying paper choosing to entangle in her fingers and be irritably ripped away.

“Accepted.” The translator gave a small smile of his own, watching his boss pick shreds of old fliers out of her long sleeves. He didn’t particularly notice the man punch in the conclusion of their little spat into his blueberry as he left, choosing instead to wait until his boss calmed down enough to pay attention.

And here I thought you didn’t like Melon soda. He signed to her when he caught her eye.

She averted her gaze, picking up a juice carton and draining the container dry with an audible crunching of plastic and cardboard. I don’t. What I want doesn’t matter. Student rep, remember?

Her assistant couldn’t help but grin at the sight of her still holding onto the container by biting the straw to free her hands. It looked awkward and ungainly, not at all like the girl he knew.

You look like an idiot, Shizune.

If Shizune was affronted, she only narrowed her eyes as an indication. Yes, but in the morning I will not be holding a carton between my teeth. You, on the other hand, will still be Hisao. It’s a hollow victory, but...

He laughed; trust you to remember that part of European history. He stretched his fingers, keeping his ears peeled for a pop or crack. Ever since he had taken sign language class two years ago, they had been flexed and extended and twisted far too much to build up nitrogen in the joints. He could always tell if their relationship was strained if they actually began to make noise.

Hisao.

He looked out the corner of his vision to see her folded arms and .50 cal glare. This was definitely one of those periods when he’d gladly buy some body armour and life insurance, but his bag was heavy and essential and running at the speeds he needed to escape the situation would probably kill him. Literally.

It was Kenji, wasn’t it.

He flinched, Kenji had been his first... friend, if that was the right word, when he’d transferred to his second high school. Paranoid about feminist conspiracies, he’d founded AFRAID on his first week at university and tried every trick imaginable to recruit him into the strangely well-reinforced ranks. Luckily, Hisao had a little experience with forced recruitment, and managed to dodge almost everything. Almost.

You got me. He decided to admit it, but why did she look so... charged?

How did you know about what they were drinking?

Snap. He had tried to avoid letting on that he had been drafted out of desire for free malt liquor. He really had no excuse, though, for the implications of taking part in an anti-feminist crusade when his partner-slash-girlfriend was for all intents and purposes a... well... girl.

I cleaned up the bottles?

Kenji is three staircases up, Hisao. And besides, you were sick for all of the eighth. And a little bird happened to be up there as well, hidden in disguise as a boy.

He couldn’t hide it; his eyes flickered to where the armless girl was now dozing on the surface of the table to their right, her plain trousers and shirt a testament to the need for lower-extremity freedom of movement. Shizune followed his gaze, and gave a smug little smile.

Somehow, in a hall filled with revelling drunkards, somebody has both the dexterity and the sobriety to make can pyramids with their feet. Three guesses, Hisao.

How did-

Fingerprinting powder. You’d be surprised how often I have to match her toeprints.

Going to such lengths to discover the source of a commotion, Hisao noted to himself, that’s Shizune for you. And they must have been absolutely plastered to have not noticed that Rin was there.

That’s a little terrifying. Hisao made no effort to hide the discomfort on his face, while his boss pushed up her glasses and smiled.

I’m the student rep. It’s my job to know everything.

It’s a little stalker-ish. Hisao wasn’t really complaining, most people would have been put off by Shizune’s intrusion into supposed parts of their private life, but Hisao had learned long ago that she really only pulled it with him, since it was just a playful power struggle. He’d keep as many little secrets from her as he could (The bigger ones tended to explode in his face) and she’d rout his defences and find as many as possible. Sounded depraved and abusive on paper, actually turned out to be more fun than they had realized.

How can I stalk my own boyfriend? The way she signed it was a little more different than normal, and he began to understand the undertones of her concern. Alcohol was a problem by itself, given his condition, his medication and the effects a depressive relaxant could have on his heart, but the lack of inhibition and common judgement could easily force him into over-exerting himself into a more likely case of arrest.

You were that worried? I really only took a shot, and once Rin turned up I stayed the course to make sure she didn’t get... you know, drunk guys, large group, single defenceless girl-

She wasn’t defenceless when she belted you in the di-

Pleasedon’ttalkaboutthat. Anyway, I was well within my limits. Hisao resisted the urge to shudder; groin injuries and ghost pain were some of the less well considered parts of his memory. Shizune gave a silent laugh in recollection, before pressing on to the next topic.

So you got hungover over a single shot? Eighth day sicknesses?

... Shut up.

Silly little man. She peered at her watch, her smug expression vanishing as she realised the time. Come on, Structural Management’s starting in ten minutes. If the projector’s broken, you’re going to have to let me copy notes.

They gathered their bags, rising from the table and giving a quick cursory glance at the papers Rin had fallen asleep on. Unsurprisingly, the little artist had decided to take a major in Graphic design and classical studies, with one of the papers showing the rough sketches of the statue she was designing for the unveiling ceremony at years end.

It’s going to be like the festival mural all over again. Shizune ‘sighed’, you’d think Emi could motivate her into something.

Hisao slipped the bag around his shoulder to let his other hand move freely, You can’t rush art, I guess.

As they passed the entrance into the business sector, Hisao glimpsed the words that had become the unofficial motto of the school as the glass doors opened. Rin, in her own strange way had forged a plaque in metalwork and had a request for replicas to decorate the buildings in the university. It was plain bronze, square and unassuming, but the words captured therein always reminded Hisao of exactly what his condition, Shizune’s deafness and the constant difficulties of life were.

In the long run, not much. What you thought and did was what mattered.

Ecce Animus, Ecce Homo.

Behold the mind, Behold the man.

[ContinualNaba]

Ah, bugger it. I was thinking about continuing this, because it was pretty fun to write.

I forgot to ask for feedback. Yes, I know I skimped on a few details, but there you have it.

So, feedback?

[chaix]

first, because the nitpicky part of me is going nuts: animus is closer to soul than mind.

other than the intro being a tad long and feeling a bit off, I liked it.

[Smoku]

go, go continue. It barely begun.

But I read the first parts and was like "WTF?". I have a feeling you can cut it to: "I can give you awesomeness and magic but.. I give you cripples in a university! ta daaah". Which didn't make a lot of actual sense but the story is well made. I like it

[Xuan]

A very well made talk... It feels like er... No purpose but beautifully detailed. Could have fit in as a page of a novel anytime.

[ContinualNaba]

Cheers, guys. So, perhaps a list of short stories to make to bide the time until the full version is released would be on the list!