Fic: Spin Recovery, Part One (PG)
Nov. 1st, 2007 02:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalI've decided to post my WiP on this story direct to my LJ, rather than effectively spam the Terinu forums with 50+ individual chapters as I did recently with the bits of GoG. So everyone reading here can see the story as I try to shape it in the raw, and the forum readers will get the finished product. Hope you enjoy, either way.
Note: The Terinu universe and related characters and situations are copyright Peta Hewitt and used here without permission.
Dedication: To Warren Teachout, who fought the good fight, and won.
The sound of loud squawking, like a noisy but incomprehensible family argument, awakened Rufus. For a long moment he was confused, unable to identify it, until it finally came to him. Vulpine Kin Geese, he realized, followed shortly by, I’m home. He was in his own room, in his own bed, in the house he had grown up in, covered by a warm comforter. He pulled it back over his head, his nose growing cold from the early spring chill coming through the open window. Then he stuck it out again and took a breath. Fresh air. It was amazing how lovely it smelled, compared to the recycled stuff you had to breathe on a station or in a spacesuit.
There was a faint glow from outside as the morning sun began to rise, and he finally pulled himself out from under the covers to peek out the window into the back gardens. As he’d expected there was a flock of kin geese on the lawn, calling out to each other and pecking for errant seeds or burrow beetles in the manicured lawn. To the left of the gardens he could see the low stable building and on the opposite side the edge of the family fields, lying fallow now prior to spring planting. Unlike many token fields held by Houses who took most of their income through urban real estate, industry or investment, House Brushtail actually maintained a working, profitable farm. His House took the title “Farmer Lord” seriously, unlike many these days.
He padded over to the dresser, frowning slightly as he searched for the clothes from his duffle bag. He’d gone to bed early after dinner, pleading fatigue, which wasn’t far from the truth. The trip back home on the liner had taken over a week, leaving him plenty of time to rest and recuperate in his cabin, but tension from his anticipated family reunion hadn’t left him with much chance to sleep.
Don’t lie to yourself, old man. You missed your damned Juno,he thought. The last of his drug supply had probably been flushed into the Suyahar’s disposal unit after he’d been transferred onto the Galapagos ship, to be transported along with the rest of the bizarre gathering of twins he’d fallen into to the edge of Vulpine space. From there he had parted company with his brother and his friends, to sell off the White Knight to an after-market weapons supplier and finally make his way home.
Rufus rubbed the uneven lump of skin that covered the remnants of his empty shoulder socket, the shaved pelt finally starting to grow around the surgical scars. It was perhaps fortunate that his other little problem had distracted him from his break with his addiction. Attempting to adapt to the loss of his arm had occupied much of his time on along the journey back home. Simple actions he’d taken for granted, such as reaching around to wash his back in the shower, buttoning up his coat, or trying to cut his own food, had driven him to distraction. The only thing that had kept him from breaking down in sheer frustration had been the knowledge that he could have it replaced with a cybernetic prosthesis eventually. Soon please, oh Holy Den Mother.
The dresser proved to be empty of his old clothes, though he found his duffle bag folded up neatly in his closet. In it he also found his house uniform, the right arm of the white shirt and uniform coat already folded up and sewn shut. The hint was obvious enough, so after showering he pulled on the pants, shirt and managed to fasten the under buttons of the coat and its throat clasp. The gold braided cord that went across his chest defeated him however, being unable to tie the center knot one handed. After a few moments of frustrated fiddling, he finally called out, “Whitebrow!”
Evidentially the old servant had been waiting outside for just such a summons, for the door opened immediately and Whitebrow said, “How may I help you, milord?”
“Could you take care of this blasted cord, please? And could you also tell me where my civilian clothes are at the moment?”
“Being altered, I believe, sir.” Whitebrow reached over and knotted the cord neatly, though with enough slack that Rufus could probably pull it loose one handed when he needed to.
Rufus raised an eyebrow. “The pants as well?”
“I believe the Lady Brushtail mentioned they seemed somewhat loose, sir.”
Glancing down, he could see that the buckle of his belt did seem to be pulled in a notch or tighter than he could remember it being the last time he’d dressed so formally. “I suppose so. Just try to have them ready by this afternoon. I don’t intend to be running personal errands dressed like this.”
“Very good, sir. Lady Brushtail and Bethany are eating breakfast, I believe.”
A little late, because I’m taking my time getting myself together. Den Mother bless your discreet tongue, Whitebrow. “Then I shall join them. Thank you, old man.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
Informal meals were usually taken in the conservatory one floor below on the northern face of the manor. Rufus stepped in to find his mother the Lady Brushtail and his sister Bethany sitting in an intimate corner, in front of wide windows overlooking the gardens, which allowed the sun’s warmth in to take off the morning chill. The timing of the manor’s staff managed to be near supernatural, for the cook had just laid out his mother and sister’s meals in front of them as he arrived, his own being set down a moment later after he’d seated himself.
“Good morning, Mother, Beth.”
“Morning, Ru,” Bethnay greeted cheerily.
“Good morning, Ru Ofanius,” his mother said in turn, smiling. “Did you sleep well?”
“Like a newborn cub,” he said. “I’d forgotten what it was like to be woken up by the kin geese in the morning. Noisy creatures.” He poked at his scrambled eggs with a fork, noticing for the first time that someone had already buttered the slices of toast sitting on the edge of his plate. He wondered briefly at the creativity of the manor’s chef, and whether his repertoire of dishes that could be eaten with one hand could possibly hold out until Rufus got his arm replaced. Holy Den Mother help the poor fellow if he must provide a formal dinner, with four different sets of cutlery.
“We must do something about them,” Bethany noted. “They’re getting into the flowers in the garden and driving the poor groundskeepers to distraction.”
Rufus chuckled briefly and set about devouring his breakfast, while exchanging a quiet discussion over the garden, changes in the staff during his absence in the past seven years and recent news in Vulpine space.
“Do you have any particular plans today, Ru Ofanius?” his mother asked, finishing the last of her breakfast.
“I’ve requested a doctor’s appointment at the clinic in town,” Rufus said, fishing out his pocket comp from his inner coat pocket. He flipped it open briefly and checked his messages. “Ah, good, they’ve gotten back to me. I’m going in for a physical evaluation this afternoon.”
His mother raised an eyebrow. “That’s hardly necessary, Ru Ofanius. I’ll inform the House’s physician to examine you and arrange your treatment schedule.”
“I don’t much see the need,” Rufus said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “He’ll probably send me along to the specialists I would be going to see anyway. Besides, if I’m not mistaken, I’ve got a bit of a reputation to live down, if the old rumor mills among the Farmer Lords hold true. I think it would do me good to be seen as humble in my return to my home.”
Mother’s voice grew a touch astringent. “I would think you would not want to run the risk of your… condition… become the fodder of gossip in the more vulgar news sources.”
I’m rather more worried about the details of my “condition” becoming fodder for you, Mother, he thought. He had to take it as a given that anything that he said to the House’s physician would eventually reach his mother’s ear, doctor-patient confidentiality be damned. Not that he hadn’t given her plenty of reasons to worry about him, but Rufus preferred that at least some of his life remain private, even if he was to live under his mother’s roof. “I think it’s good politics. If the clinics House Brushtail provides are good enough for the common Vulpine, they should be good enough the common Vulpine’s lords, eh?” he added.
Bethany’s ear’s twitched forward. “That’s rather clever, Ru,” she said, looking pleased. The same could not be said of their mother, alas.
“Of course I’ll have to borrow Whitebrow for my driver, if that’s all right with you, Mother,” Rufus continued. “Can’t exactly pilot a skimmer with one arm, can I?”
“Why couldn’t you just use the auto-drive--, oh!” Bethany began to say, then apparently realized Rufus’ intent.
Mother did as well. Looking mollified, she simply said, “I’ll inform him of his new assignment.” She checked the jeweled chronometer at her wrist and rose. “For now, my own duties must be attended to. A pleasant day to you both.”
After she had gone, Bethany stood up with Rufus, walking with him as he stepped out through the glass doors and into the gardens. “I was wondering what you were going on about, asking that old Whitebrow be given to you as a driver,” she said, drawing her shawl about her in the chill air.
“I haven’t even been home for an entire day yet, Beth. It’s a bit early for Mother and I to start biting at each other’s tails. Hopefully she’ll be content that Whitebrow can confirm I actually am going to the clinic, even if she can’t follow my progress as closely as she’d like.”
“I thought that might be it. You do know she can probably pressure the doctors there as well, don’t you?”
Rufus nodded. “Yes, but she’d have to make a bit more of a fuss, and risk the public scandal she’s trying to avoid.”
Bethany nodded, walking beside him as they took a turn around beds of native Vulpine flowers, the buds just beginning to poke up from the loam. The ground was cool and wet from the dew underneath their foot pads. “How are you, really, Rufus? You looked a fright yesterday evening, but I was hoping that was mostly from time lag coming from the shuttleport.”
Rufus’ mouth turned up. “And now?”
“Now you still look awful, but in a more general sense.”
He nodded, brushing back the tuft of hair that constantly threatened to fall across his eyes. “The, um, accident that took my arm was a major trauma, Beth. The medical assistant on the ship told me later that my heart actually stopped on the table while they trying to do an emergency restructuring of what was left of my shoulder. Add that to my other problems and I was this close to dying right then.” He brought up his hand, thumb and forefinger less than a centimeter apart. “If they hadn’t restarted it… well, I would have been coming home on the liner as cargo, rather than a passenger.”
Bethany’s face looked grave. “What about your ‘other problems,’ Rufus?”
“That’s why I’m going to go the clinic, my dear.”
Her ears flicked back in irritation. “That’s not an answer.”
“Beth, I honestly don’t know how bad off I am right now,” he said. “They might just give me a prescription and send me on my merry way, or they might toss me into a detoxification ward and throw away the key. I don’t know.”
“When you do know, tell me, please Rufus,” she said, anger being replaced by concern on her face. “I’m tired of being scared for you.”
He gave her a short bow. “My word of honor, dear Bethany.”
She smiled once, and dipped him a curtsey in return. “Whatever else, I know I can hold you to that, Ru.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
TBC
Note: The Terinu universe and related characters and situations are copyright Peta Hewitt and used here without permission.
Dedication: To Warren Teachout, who fought the good fight, and won.
The sound of loud squawking, like a noisy but incomprehensible family argument, awakened Rufus. For a long moment he was confused, unable to identify it, until it finally came to him. Vulpine Kin Geese, he realized, followed shortly by, I’m home. He was in his own room, in his own bed, in the house he had grown up in, covered by a warm comforter. He pulled it back over his head, his nose growing cold from the early spring chill coming through the open window. Then he stuck it out again and took a breath. Fresh air. It was amazing how lovely it smelled, compared to the recycled stuff you had to breathe on a station or in a spacesuit.
There was a faint glow from outside as the morning sun began to rise, and he finally pulled himself out from under the covers to peek out the window into the back gardens. As he’d expected there was a flock of kin geese on the lawn, calling out to each other and pecking for errant seeds or burrow beetles in the manicured lawn. To the left of the gardens he could see the low stable building and on the opposite side the edge of the family fields, lying fallow now prior to spring planting. Unlike many token fields held by Houses who took most of their income through urban real estate, industry or investment, House Brushtail actually maintained a working, profitable farm. His House took the title “Farmer Lord” seriously, unlike many these days.
He padded over to the dresser, frowning slightly as he searched for the clothes from his duffle bag. He’d gone to bed early after dinner, pleading fatigue, which wasn’t far from the truth. The trip back home on the liner had taken over a week, leaving him plenty of time to rest and recuperate in his cabin, but tension from his anticipated family reunion hadn’t left him with much chance to sleep.
Don’t lie to yourself, old man. You missed your damned Juno,he thought. The last of his drug supply had probably been flushed into the Suyahar’s disposal unit after he’d been transferred onto the Galapagos ship, to be transported along with the rest of the bizarre gathering of twins he’d fallen into to the edge of Vulpine space. From there he had parted company with his brother and his friends, to sell off the White Knight to an after-market weapons supplier and finally make his way home.
Rufus rubbed the uneven lump of skin that covered the remnants of his empty shoulder socket, the shaved pelt finally starting to grow around the surgical scars. It was perhaps fortunate that his other little problem had distracted him from his break with his addiction. Attempting to adapt to the loss of his arm had occupied much of his time on along the journey back home. Simple actions he’d taken for granted, such as reaching around to wash his back in the shower, buttoning up his coat, or trying to cut his own food, had driven him to distraction. The only thing that had kept him from breaking down in sheer frustration had been the knowledge that he could have it replaced with a cybernetic prosthesis eventually. Soon please, oh Holy Den Mother.
The dresser proved to be empty of his old clothes, though he found his duffle bag folded up neatly in his closet. In it he also found his house uniform, the right arm of the white shirt and uniform coat already folded up and sewn shut. The hint was obvious enough, so after showering he pulled on the pants, shirt and managed to fasten the under buttons of the coat and its throat clasp. The gold braided cord that went across his chest defeated him however, being unable to tie the center knot one handed. After a few moments of frustrated fiddling, he finally called out, “Whitebrow!”
Evidentially the old servant had been waiting outside for just such a summons, for the door opened immediately and Whitebrow said, “How may I help you, milord?”
“Could you take care of this blasted cord, please? And could you also tell me where my civilian clothes are at the moment?”
“Being altered, I believe, sir.” Whitebrow reached over and knotted the cord neatly, though with enough slack that Rufus could probably pull it loose one handed when he needed to.
Rufus raised an eyebrow. “The pants as well?”
“I believe the Lady Brushtail mentioned they seemed somewhat loose, sir.”
Glancing down, he could see that the buckle of his belt did seem to be pulled in a notch or tighter than he could remember it being the last time he’d dressed so formally. “I suppose so. Just try to have them ready by this afternoon. I don’t intend to be running personal errands dressed like this.”
“Very good, sir. Lady Brushtail and Bethany are eating breakfast, I believe.”
A little late, because I’m taking my time getting myself together. Den Mother bless your discreet tongue, Whitebrow. “Then I shall join them. Thank you, old man.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
Informal meals were usually taken in the conservatory one floor below on the northern face of the manor. Rufus stepped in to find his mother the Lady Brushtail and his sister Bethany sitting in an intimate corner, in front of wide windows overlooking the gardens, which allowed the sun’s warmth in to take off the morning chill. The timing of the manor’s staff managed to be near supernatural, for the cook had just laid out his mother and sister’s meals in front of them as he arrived, his own being set down a moment later after he’d seated himself.
“Good morning, Mother, Beth.”
“Morning, Ru,” Bethnay greeted cheerily.
“Good morning, Ru Ofanius,” his mother said in turn, smiling. “Did you sleep well?”
“Like a newborn cub,” he said. “I’d forgotten what it was like to be woken up by the kin geese in the morning. Noisy creatures.” He poked at his scrambled eggs with a fork, noticing for the first time that someone had already buttered the slices of toast sitting on the edge of his plate. He wondered briefly at the creativity of the manor’s chef, and whether his repertoire of dishes that could be eaten with one hand could possibly hold out until Rufus got his arm replaced. Holy Den Mother help the poor fellow if he must provide a formal dinner, with four different sets of cutlery.
“We must do something about them,” Bethany noted. “They’re getting into the flowers in the garden and driving the poor groundskeepers to distraction.”
Rufus chuckled briefly and set about devouring his breakfast, while exchanging a quiet discussion over the garden, changes in the staff during his absence in the past seven years and recent news in Vulpine space.
“Do you have any particular plans today, Ru Ofanius?” his mother asked, finishing the last of her breakfast.
“I’ve requested a doctor’s appointment at the clinic in town,” Rufus said, fishing out his pocket comp from his inner coat pocket. He flipped it open briefly and checked his messages. “Ah, good, they’ve gotten back to me. I’m going in for a physical evaluation this afternoon.”
His mother raised an eyebrow. “That’s hardly necessary, Ru Ofanius. I’ll inform the House’s physician to examine you and arrange your treatment schedule.”
“I don’t much see the need,” Rufus said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “He’ll probably send me along to the specialists I would be going to see anyway. Besides, if I’m not mistaken, I’ve got a bit of a reputation to live down, if the old rumor mills among the Farmer Lords hold true. I think it would do me good to be seen as humble in my return to my home.”
Mother’s voice grew a touch astringent. “I would think you would not want to run the risk of your… condition… become the fodder of gossip in the more vulgar news sources.”
I’m rather more worried about the details of my “condition” becoming fodder for you, Mother, he thought. He had to take it as a given that anything that he said to the House’s physician would eventually reach his mother’s ear, doctor-patient confidentiality be damned. Not that he hadn’t given her plenty of reasons to worry about him, but Rufus preferred that at least some of his life remain private, even if he was to live under his mother’s roof. “I think it’s good politics. If the clinics House Brushtail provides are good enough for the common Vulpine, they should be good enough the common Vulpine’s lords, eh?” he added.
Bethany’s ear’s twitched forward. “That’s rather clever, Ru,” she said, looking pleased. The same could not be said of their mother, alas.
“Of course I’ll have to borrow Whitebrow for my driver, if that’s all right with you, Mother,” Rufus continued. “Can’t exactly pilot a skimmer with one arm, can I?”
“Why couldn’t you just use the auto-drive--, oh!” Bethany began to say, then apparently realized Rufus’ intent.
Mother did as well. Looking mollified, she simply said, “I’ll inform him of his new assignment.” She checked the jeweled chronometer at her wrist and rose. “For now, my own duties must be attended to. A pleasant day to you both.”
After she had gone, Bethany stood up with Rufus, walking with him as he stepped out through the glass doors and into the gardens. “I was wondering what you were going on about, asking that old Whitebrow be given to you as a driver,” she said, drawing her shawl about her in the chill air.
“I haven’t even been home for an entire day yet, Beth. It’s a bit early for Mother and I to start biting at each other’s tails. Hopefully she’ll be content that Whitebrow can confirm I actually am going to the clinic, even if she can’t follow my progress as closely as she’d like.”
“I thought that might be it. You do know she can probably pressure the doctors there as well, don’t you?”
Rufus nodded. “Yes, but she’d have to make a bit more of a fuss, and risk the public scandal she’s trying to avoid.”
Bethany nodded, walking beside him as they took a turn around beds of native Vulpine flowers, the buds just beginning to poke up from the loam. The ground was cool and wet from the dew underneath their foot pads. “How are you, really, Rufus? You looked a fright yesterday evening, but I was hoping that was mostly from time lag coming from the shuttleport.”
Rufus’ mouth turned up. “And now?”
“Now you still look awful, but in a more general sense.”
He nodded, brushing back the tuft of hair that constantly threatened to fall across his eyes. “The, um, accident that took my arm was a major trauma, Beth. The medical assistant on the ship told me later that my heart actually stopped on the table while they trying to do an emergency restructuring of what was left of my shoulder. Add that to my other problems and I was this close to dying right then.” He brought up his hand, thumb and forefinger less than a centimeter apart. “If they hadn’t restarted it… well, I would have been coming home on the liner as cargo, rather than a passenger.”
Bethany’s face looked grave. “What about your ‘other problems,’ Rufus?”
“That’s why I’m going to go the clinic, my dear.”
Her ears flicked back in irritation. “That’s not an answer.”
“Beth, I honestly don’t know how bad off I am right now,” he said. “They might just give me a prescription and send me on my merry way, or they might toss me into a detoxification ward and throw away the key. I don’t know.”
“When you do know, tell me, please Rufus,” she said, anger being replaced by concern on her face. “I’m tired of being scared for you.”
He gave her a short bow. “My word of honor, dear Bethany.”
She smiled once, and dipped him a curtsey in return. “Whatever else, I know I can hold you to that, Ru.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-11-01 10:41 pm (UTC)Great start... more please!
no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 02:49 am (UTC)But yes, this is fantastic, and I look forward to more!
no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 04:01 am (UTC)