OK, thanks to KurtWagner2K for kindly betaing this first bit for me, great input!
Please feel free to critique!
Hope that you enjoy :
Prologue
The low melodious voice rang through the room. It was a voice designed for speaking, soothing and yet compelling. It filled the high-ceilinged room with ease.
It was surprisingly cool inside, considering that it wasn’t air-conditioned, and the day had been quite hot. A man kneeled at the last pew, his head bowed, concentrating on the soft drone of the sermon delivered by the priest with the gifted voice.
The sanctuary was relatively empty at this night sermon, and it was the reason the shadowed man had chosen this service. He was careful to keep the brim of his hat turned down, and his hands hidden behind the pew. No one seemed to notice, caught up as they were in the ritual offering of thanks to their Lord.
The street lamps caused the colored windows to shine dimly, not with the bright sparkling light that they had in the day - but with a more muted tone - like the deep rich glow seen within the heart of a fine gem. The air was thick with incense and candle smoke, with an underlay of the citrus wood polish they used to bring out the luster in the oak pews. The man drew a deep breath, smiling as the familiar scents combined with his surroundings to set him at peace.
When it came time to take the sacrament, he slipped out the door, passing unnoticed in the shadows.
Kurt chose to stroll home along a well-worn path, enjoying the silent mid-summer night air. Attending mass at the small church had filled him with a sense of peace. He had missed the feeling of belonging to something bigger than himself, and was glad that he had decided to attend, even though he had to stay half hidden.
The temperature outside had faded, but still was quite warm. He was freely sweating under the heavy coat, and he could feel a trickle of it running down the dip of his back. Glancing around the area, he found it quiet and deserted. With a slightly guilty feeling he shed his jacket, draping it over one arm, breathing a sigh of relief as his sweat-dampened shirt billowed in the slight breeze, delivering instant relief. His tail swayed gently behind him, happy to escape the confinement as well. He hummed a little under his breath as he strolled along, enjoying the solitude.
A scrunch of gravel behind him caught his attention, and he looked back over his shoulder seeking the source of the noise. The next thing he realized, he was sprawled across the ground, gravel digging into his cheek.
“Damn mutants!” He heard someone curse.
“What is this freak anyway?”
His world spun dizzily. A cool trickle ran from his temple, following the curve of one eye socket and down one cheekbone to fall, pattering softly in the dirt beside him. He groggily reached up a hand to his aching forehead. A pale face loomed suddenly into his view, his sight fracturing it into two fogged shapes, lips curled into a snarl of disgust and fear.
“It’s a friggin’ demon!”
The face quickly retreated, to be replaced by another, deeply pockmarked one. A hand gripped painfully in his hair, jerking his head back.
“Nein. I am no demon.” Kurt managed to croak out. “I mean you no harm. Why are you hurting me?”
The gruff man ignored his words. “Nah, just another god dammed mutie.” The hand jerked Kurt’s head back further, exposing his throat. From the corner of his eye Kurt caught a flicker of reflected silvered light.
With a gasp of belated realization, Kurt reacted, catching the man’s descending wrist. Frantically, he willed himself away. Other than a sickening lurch and excruciating stab to his head that further nauseated him, nothing happened. Kurt found for the first time in many years, he did not have the option of fleeing with his mutant abilities.
The man grunted in surprise as his dazed prey began to struggle.
“Fuck, Carl, get your ass over here! We got to do this quick.”
Kurt felt a sudden weight on his legs and began to panic. Still woozy and confused, he brought his tail up, lashing it blindly. A high screech, and the weight left his legs.
“Rick, it’s got a tail! It hit me!”
The pock-faced man increased the pressure on Kurt’s hair, while struggling to bring the blade to his throat.
“Carl, you idiot, grab the fucking club!”
Kurt scooped his legs up to his chest, and kicked the other man in the side, barely rolling out of the way as a heavy bat smashed into the bloody ground where he was moments ago. He pulled himself into a low crouch, desperately trying to control the blindingly sharp pains stabbing through his head, hands clutching at the grass for support.
The man named Carl, stood frozen, end of the bat still on the ground. Rick had picked himself off the ground, and was obviously sizing up his opponent. He gave a nasty chuckle at Kurt’s unsteady weaving.
“He’ll not be much of a fight, Carl. Quit being such a pussy.”
He circled Kurt carefully though, moving with the confidence of a longtime street fighter. Kurt was having a hard time keeping them both in view as Rick circled behind him.
“Time to go back to hell!” Rick yelled as he leapt at Kurt’s back, knife low in one hand.
Kurt barely managed to turn in time, spinning on one hip, letting the man’s momentum carry him onto his back, while grasping the man’s wrists tightly. He followed the movement through with his legs, lifting the larger man’s weight off the ground, throwing the heavyset man over him. Rick hit the ground a few feet away with a curse, which seemed to finally jolt Carl out of his immobility.
Kurt scrambled to his feet, all grace lost, as he ducked around the swinging club, desperate to escape. He was unprepared for the sharp tug that seemed to jerk his spine from his body, as Rick managed to catch the end of his tail, yanking him back down into the dirt.
All breath fled Kurt as the man jumped onto his chest, straddling him, knife in hand. Kurt managed to catch the man’s wrists again, struggling for his life. In desperation he wrapped his tail around Rick’s throat. Rick went slightly pop-eyed, dropping the knife, hands going to the coil that was throttling him.
Kurt yelped as a hard blow hit him in the shoulder, tumbling Rick off his chest. The next strike caught him in his thigh, causing his quad to contract in a tight immobile knot.
Rick pulled the tail off, now loosened enough to manipulate, and drove his thin blade through the cartilaginous triangle of the tip, pinning it to the earth. Kurt let out a pitiful shriek, the pain of it driving the last remnants of thought from his befuddled mind.
“That’ll not bother us again.” Rick snarled, grabbing the bat from Carl. “Time to finish this.” He brought the bat down, the impact connecting with a sickening thud. Kurt fell limp.
“Rick, I think I hear voices, we got to go.” Carl hissed, plucking frantically at Rick’s sleeve.
Rick turned and trotted off, leaving Carl to catch up as he would.
There will be more, I promise, I just e-mailed some more to my kind beta-ers.
I know, I kind of felt guilty beating the crap out of him but it was one of those ideas that grabbed me one night as I was drifting off and I couldn't resist doing it. You know the odd thing is I am a very peaceable person - where this stuff comes from in the recesses of my twisted little mind is beyond me.
Thanks for the kind comments!
The fight scene was really well-written! God, poor Kurt! I hope that's the cavalry running down the road to find him. Can't wait for the next installment!
This is a haiku;
Now I'm killing syllables;
I like fuzzy elves.
Boy, I sure drug me heels with this one. Been pretty sick. Thanks to my faithful Beta'ers KW2K and ravenigma.
Two
The raw mental cry tore Charles Xavier into wakefulness. He tried to get a sense of the location, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. The only thing left from the brief contact was a feeling of overwhelming pain, and the essence of the man that it came from.
He pushed himself upright, propping himself against the heavily carved mahogany headboard. Pushing out with his mind, he found Scott and Ororo first, sleeping in their own beds just down the hall from his own. Waking them rudely, he left them with brisk instructions, and then sought out another. He found him smoking a cigar in the study, booted feet resting on the expensive wooden secretary.
“Logan!” The man reached a hand up to his forehead, eyes tight at the volume of the professor’s mental shout. “No matter, you need to get up to my room immediately, Kurt is in trouble.”
Logan quickly scanned the area for a place to dispose of his cigar, before grimacing at the waste and dumping it into his half empty beer.
Ororo was the first to arrive, clad only in a thin robe. “Charles? What is the matter? Are you all right?” She flicked on the light beside his bed, and sat lightly on the edge, peering concernedly into his face. Scott burst through the door a moment later, followed by Logan.
“Something has happened to Kurt. I don’t know what, but I can’t reach him. I only felt a wave of pain from him, and then he was gone.”
Ororo flinched like she had been slapped, and Scott’s jaw clenched tightly. But it was Logan that spoke in a low growl. “Where is he?”
“I am not sure, I couldn’t get a fix on him, but he isn’t on the grounds.” Xavier scanned the tight faces around him. “Does anyone know where he may have gone tonight?”
“He may have gone to church, he sometimes goes to Sunday evening mass.”
“All right. Head there then, and work your way back. I will let you know if I hear anything.” Charles slumped back against the bed, frustrated that he could not participate in the more physical search, watching as his team left the room.
Warning: more bad language.
Other than that - fairly tame.
Three
They drove as quickly as they could, while still keeping an eye out for signs of Kurt. A few times they had stopped for a moment, to let Logan quickly search a darkened corner, but he found no traces.
Pulling the car into the church’s parking lot, they found it locked and dark. Logan circled around before coming to a small path that meandered into a park.
“He was here.”
Wasting no time, they trotted along the path, Cyclops scanning the area for danger, while Wolverine scented the air like a prize bloodhound, leading them on. They had traveled about half a mile along the path when he suddenly stopped, with a low threatening rumble in his chest.
“There was a fight here. See how the ground is all torn up?”
Storm knelt down, running her hands over the earth, trying to get a better feeling for what happened, as her sight in the dim night wasn’t as gifted as Wolverine’s. She found a patch of wet grass and brought her hand up to her face, fingers covered in sticky fluid, glinting darkly in the moonlight.
“There’s blood.”
“Yah, and a lot of it too.” Logan was pacing around the area. “I’m having a hard time smelling anything because the blood scent is too strong.”
Scott had been wandering, searching the ground for other signs, and approached a group of bushes to search the shadowed area around it.
The tiny snap of a small twig brought his attention to the furthest end of the cluster of evergreens. Cyclops ducked down, trying to see into the dark depths.
A figure burst out of the low foliage, knocking Cyclops flat on his back as it pounced over his chest. Scott’s hand flew to his visor, but held off as he saw the tail lashing behind the man as he ran. “Storm!” Scott yelled.
Logan had already spotted the figure and had easily caught up with Kurt’s unsteady progress. He tackled Kurt, bringing his arms up and around Kurt’s own, pinning the struggling mutant in a bear hug.
“Geez Elf, lay off, it’s us.” Logan panted, as Kurt frantically bucked and scrabbled against him. His words were cut off as a sinuous tail wrapped around his neck.
Storm and Cyclops watched the two roll in the dirt, shocked at Kurt’s inexplicable behavior.
“Kurt, stop it!” Ororo yelled in her most authoritative manner. This seemed to only strengthen the wild fight.
Cyclops approached the two, only to find himself flung onto his back yet again, the breath knocked out of him by a lucky kick.
Despite his strong rate of recovery, Ororo doubted Logan was going to last much longer, his face was already an unhealthy shade of purple, and his grasp on Kurt was slipping. She could see the sheen of blood that covered the side of Kurt’s face and soaked into dark dull patches on his shirt. Realizing that further physical struggles were inevitable, and that they would only injure Kurt further, she did the only thing she could think of. Calling the most controlled and smallest bit of electric current that she could, she sent it into the two men locked on the ground.
Both jerked and then went limp. Scott pressed a couple of fingers into the side of Kurt’s throat. “Still beating, you didn’t quite fry them.” He shot a dirty look at Ororo.
Amazing just how expressive he could be with his face, even with his eyes covered, Ororo thought irrationally. “It was the only way I could stop them, I didn’t want to lose Kurt, and he seemed bent on running away.”
Scott gently moved Kurt off Wolverine, who was already beginning to stir. “Why is he trying to get away from us though? And why isn’t he teleporting?” He eyed Kurt appraisingly. “I think he’ll come out of it soon, and we don’t need to fight him again. We should probably tie him up or something.”
Ororo disliked the thought of forcibly restraining a friend, but nodded in agreement. “I don’t suppose we have much of a choice about it. With what though?”
Scott looked abashed at that, running his hands over his tight, pocket-less uniform in dismay. “I never thought about that – its not like we were expecting to have to tie anyone up.”
Wolverine sat halfway up and propped himself on one elbow, rubbing the back of his head. “Geez ‘Ro, why the hell did you do that?” Looking at her stern face, and realizing he wasn’t going to get any explanations, he shrugged and rolled over onto one knee, looking down upon his mistreated friend.
“I heard the last bit of what you guys were saying, and I agree. I have never seen him so freaked out. We gotta do something.”
Storm heaved a big sigh and tugged the zipper of her uniform down halfway before twisting around in a perplexing way.
Scott averted his face quickly, and looked over at Wolverine, one eyebrow raised in question, and only got a shrug for a reply.
“Storm?”
She jerked her zipper back up and proffered a wadded up piece of white cloth. All she received were blank looks from both men. “It’s my bra.” She snipped irritably. “And if you dare tell anyone about this...”
Scott held up his hands placatingly, while Logan reached out and nabbed the bra. Turning Kurt to one side he trussed his hands and tail together snuggly, surprisingly gentle. He then scooped the unconscious form into his arms and started back to the car.
During the quick walk back, Kurt slowly began to revive. Logan stuffed him hurriedly into the backseat before he could gain any more awareness. “You’d better pin it, I don’t think that he’ll just sit back here like a good boy.”
They were hastening down the dark road, still a few miles away from the mansion when Kurt’s eyes fluttered open. He took a brief look around, eyes widening in alarm at the site of Wolverine holding him by his shoulders. Quickly figuring out that he was bound, he began to thrash and kick as best he could against the passenger seat. Logan was now perched above him, one bent leg pressing down on Kurt’s legs, while he held his friends upper body back into the seat.
“Laß mich los!”
Storm removed her seatbelt, and turned around in her seat, wedging her head between the seat and the ceiling of the car. “Kurt, relax, we are trying to help you.”
When he saw her Kurt began to buck even more frantically. “’RO! You’re not helping!” Logan growled, amazed at the strength in the lean limbs partially pinned beneath him.
“Halt, verletzt mich nicht!”
Scott sharply rounded the corner into the driveway, throwing Logan from his precarious perch to the opposite side of the car, causing him to smack his head into the right side window.
“Fuck!” Logan roared, righting himself to join the fray again.
Ororo had reached between the two seats and had a hand on each of Kurt’s knees, leaning with all her weight to hold them down. Unfortunately Kurt’s upper body was no longer restrained, and he lunged forward, his forehead connecting with Wolverine’s nose with a nasty crunch.
Scott slammed on the brakes, throwing all of his passengers forward. He leapt out of his door, and ran around the car to the opposite rear door.
Xavier was waiting outside for them with Hank, and he briefly watched the melee that was rocking the car violently back and forth, before raising one hand.
“Stop!”
Everyone froze in place, and he and Hank approached the half open rear door with trepidation.
The first thing that they saw was Scott, leaned halfway in the vehicle, feet planted at an angle for leverage. Ororo was half flopped over the seats, feet planted on the front dash. Wolverine was half sprawled across Kurt, his teeth exposed in a snarl, blood slowing to a trickle from his ruined nose, as his healing factor began to knit the damage. Kurt was barely visible, buried as he was in his teammates.
Hank looked at Xavier. “What in the world is going on Charles?”
“Kurt didn’t seem to recognize any of them, and he is terrified. He is so confused and unsteady, he must have a concussion.” He released everyone but Kurt. “We need to get him inside.”
They sorted themselves out of the tangle of limbs, Logan swiping the back of his arm under his nose to wipe the worst of the blood off. Storm pushed herself back into the front seat and jerked up her zipper, which had come down during the struggles, exposing quite a bit of her cleavage.
“Don’t worry about that on my account, darlin’” Wolverine drawled. Ororo shot him a poisonous glare and stepped out of the car to help Hank and Scott with the immobilized Kurt.
They managed to carry him downstairs and place him onto a gurney. Hank reached to remove his restraints and frowned, his gaze sliding over to Ororo. She just stared deadpan back at him so he shrugged and reached for a pair of blunt nosed scissors, cutting the bindings.
“I’ll need him awake, or at least out of this state before I can examine him, Charles.”
“You’ll need to tie him to the bed then.” Logan countered “I am not about to go chasing his furry butt all over the place anytime soon.”
Hank nodded agreement and left the room to rummage through a drawer in his office, returning with padded restraints. That dealt with all four limbs, but there was still the problem of the tail, the restraints being too loose to be effective. “I can imagine how happy he will be when I have to remove this.” He muttered, winding wide loops of medical tape around Kurt’s tail and left ankle, effectively securing it.
“All right, Charles, you can wake him now.”
Kurt gave a convulsive twist, nearly tipping the makeshift bed over.
“Whoa!” Logan shouted, grabbing the railing to hold the gurney steady.
Kurt looked around, scanning the room with confusion plain on his face.
“Wo bin ich?”
He then spotted Storm, half hidden behind Hank’s bulk.
“Gehen Sie weg von mir, Hexe!” He began to thrash on the bed again.
“Ororo, I think that you need to wait outside.” Xavier stated quietly.
Obviously torn, she hesitated a moment before leaving.
“What is he saying?” Scott questioned, listening to the steady stream of words coming from the Kurt.
“He is demanding to be released. He isn’t referring to us in very complimentary terms. I didn’t realize that he knew words like that.” Xavier gave a wry, sad smile and leaned towards Kurt.
*We are friends, we are here to help you, not harm you.*
The yellow eyes looking into his own tightened in shock.
“Was machen Sie. Gehen Sie aus meinem Kopf!”
*Please relax, we will not hurt you, I know that you are confused now, but we have been friends for a long time.*
“Ja, Freunde!” Kurt replied jerking his arms against his bonds for emphasis.
*We only did that so that we could help you, so that you would not hurt yourself further* Xavier placed one hand on Kurt’s arm. *Someone has hurt you quite badly and you need our help. We will take these off, if you let us help you* He tapped one restraint with a finger.
“Habe ich eine Wahl?” Kurt gave a snort of disgust. “Ich stimme das zu.”
“You can release him, Hank. He has agreed to let us help.”
Hank moved to undo Kurt’s right leg first, fingers deft with the buckles.
“Was ist das?” Kurt immediately recoiled the freed leg, looking at Hank with a mixture of fear and curiosity. He made no attempt to kick or escape, which Xavier was glad for.
*He is your physician, Dr. Henry McCoy. He is also a mutant, like the rest of us. Do you remember anything about mutants?*
Wrinkles appeared on Kurt’s forehead as he thought.
“Ja, Ich weiß, was sie sind. Das Denken ist verletzend.”
“Can you ask him where it hurts?” Hank asked Xavier, fingering the side of Kurt’s head where his hair was matted with blood.
As Logan watched Hank’s seemingly one-sided conversation with Xavier, the rest obviously drifting into telepathy, he noticed that Kurt stoutly refused to acknowledge him. It was if he and Scott were not present in the room. He was surprised to find how much it bothered him that his friend, hell, his best friend, was treating him as someone to distrust. It was also obvious that Scott and he were just taking up space in the already crowded room.
“Come on, Scooter, we better go head out and get cleaned up.” Scott’s mouth thinned to a tight line, but he nodded tersely and left the room with Logan.
‘Laß mich los!”
let go of me
“Halt, verletzt mich nicht”
Stop hurting me
Wo bin ich
Where am I
Gehen Sie weg von mir, Hexe!
Go away from me, witch!
Was machen Sie. Gehen Sie aus meinem Kopf
What are you doing, get out of my head
Ja, Freunde
Yes, friends
Habe ich eine Wahl?
Do I have a choice
Ich stimme das zu
I agree
Ja, Ich weiß, was sie sind. Das Denken ist verletzend
I know what they are. It hurts to think.
I really really really hate giving anything but positive feedback. But I write to improve and I like to imagine others do the same so I hope you will forgive this rare less than positive review.
While I'm not finding anything wrong with the characterization, I'm just not driven by this. I think the problem is that it's just violence and violence for it's own sake is not compelling to me.
Now, it could be that I'm too early, though I did wait several chapters before posting. It could be that the reason behind this has yet to be revealed and if that's the case then my only critique would be simple editing to bring that out earlier so that it doesn't seem like the gratuitous tourture of a character.
I know that as your reading this you're probably thinking 2 things: 1) that these are mutants, they're persecuted by society, feared by many, they will face a certain amount of unfair violence. And 2) Didn't you spend several chapters beating on Kurt yourself? In several different European locales no less?
And you would be correct both times. And after cardiac physiology I will answer to my apparent hypocrisy.
Zam, please don't feel that I would be offended or "hurt" by what you have written! Gosh, that's what I was looking for! I need to know what works and what doesn't work for others in order to improve.
The violence was kind of a means to an end. It's weird for me, as I am not at all violent myself, nor do I enjoy reading stories where violence is the main feature. This is a story line I followed to expand on my normal "happy go lucky/sappy" writing, as I though that I needed to improve the depth of my stories. Looking over it, half of the story is violent (including the chapters that I have yet to get betaed and posted), but I am trying to write in different styles in more short story mode, to practice and improve, before tackling a bigger project.
By "editing to bring it out earlier", do you mean cut the chapters that I have posted already down more and expand on the following chapters (which aren't posted yet) more? Thank you Zam! Any additional stuff that you have to say is wonderful. Bash it to hell, you aren't criticizing me as a person, you are just illuminating what I can do better (I am under no illusions. I know that I have a long way to go - after all I have written very little, and you only get better through writing more and more, and getting feedback).
You seem to be an odd exception to that rule - you write divinely my dear, and I am sure that it will only get better with time.
Anyone else? Come on - I am open to criticism, so criticize!
Okay - Cardiac physiology is over. The P wave preceeds the QRS complex yada yada... I also have a better keyboard. My keyboard at school is this waterproof silicon thing and I... have... to... type... like... this.. on it.
I'm glad you don't mind my feedback. Anyone who's seen me get negative feedback knows that I practically revel in it. But that's me. However, the two things mentioned are actually an important facet of my writing so I might as well mention them.
First, the whole issue of mutant persecution: When I first started reading X-Men fan fic, this was a subject that was covered a lot in many different ways and it's definitely important. Nightcrawler presents an even greater challenge because his appearance is so different and he resembles something out of human superstition and mythology. Therefore, when I started outlining even Angels have Scars I chose to tread very carefully here. It was simply too easy to just assume that everyone was going to beat the crap out of him and more importantly, there's the affect on his personality to consider. Nightcrawler's personality is not that of a victim.
So, when I would read fics in which large or small mobs beat the crap out of Nightcrawler for being a demon, I found myself asking two questions: one was "how old is he?" and the other was "why is he letting this happen?" If the answer to question 1 was that he was young, the answer to question 2 was pretty obvious, but if he was an adult in the story, there needed to be a damn good reason for number 2. I decided that if an olympic class athlete who could teleport was letting regular humans beat him up, then there was something wrong with him in the head.
Given the prevalance of the subject matter, I started to want to see a reason behind it. If he was a kid, it needed to be a character building moment. If he was an adult, there needed to be a damn good reason why he didn't either teleport or fight back. Which leads nicely into point number 2.
If you go back and read throught the events in Brighton in Even Angels have Scars, there's a subtext there which is me reacting to all these stories with "plotless violence". Kurt allows himself to get in trouble because he doesn't believe how far his assailants will take it. When he does teleport it's kind of too little too late. And most importantly, the ONLY reason I wrote any of it was to begin the plotline with Azazel that ultimately lead to the climax of the story. But maybe even more importantly than that, it doesn't come out of nowhere either, the reader is waiting for it. I spent the whole story up to that point setting Nightcrawler up to get nailed and the reader is just dying for it to happen. (Or they should be if I was doing my job right.)
I like self-referential plot-lines (if you hadn't noticed ) and Angels never gets very far without refering back to itself in some way. The concept of Kurt making the choice of either becoming a "fighter" or a "victim" is actually a very important thread throughout the story particularly since it ultimately has to tie into the movie. Nightcrawler in the movie appears to be cowardly, but if you'll notice he always ends up in front in every situation - in the jet, in Styker's base, in Dark Cerebro, he's even up in front trying to re-start the Jet at the end (even though he looks like he has no idea what he's doing). He looks like a victim but he's not and what I wanted to capture was someone making that journey - becoming a person with that kind of camoflage.
Thus right from the start whenever Kurt is pushed in a negative way he turns it around. When Stephani pushes him, he meets Father Dietrich, when Wolfgang pushes him, he makes friends. The only one who really stymies him is Azazel - but that's why that was the plot. Azazel is the real adversary (who never even so much as lays a finger on Kurt). I contrasted all this with a time when Kurt does "allow" himself to be caught. He panics so that he doesn't teleport, doesn't fight back, and Martruska's admonishment is basically what I've said above - the point I was trying to make was that there was a very different path which, until that moment Kurt was NOT going down even though it might have looked like he was.
So, what I was missing in your story was simple motivation. Why was this happening? And most importantly why didn't Kurt fight back. There is one line in which he was surprised that he couldn't flee, but it isn't explained why. You see as harrowing as the idea of him being attacked out of the blue like this is, it's leaving me with some questions, in particular these two: Why didn't Kurt see them? - His eye sight in the dark is better than average, what about these two guys was special. And what were these guys doing out on a path with knives and clubs on such a nice evening? And the questions are watering down the effect!
If you want to revisit this, only if, along with answering those questions, I might consider imagining what this passage might be like if he had fought back. How much more triumphant would those assholes be if their quarry hadn't simply keeled over, had actually been scary rather than just looked scary? Could you give "saint" Kurt a reason to fight back?
This is what I meant by editing - if you had movitivations and reasons - alluding to them earlier either through foreshadowing or direct reference might help the reader understand why this is happening. Otherwise, it's violence for it's own sake which can be enjoyable for some, but for me, I want something I can sink my teeth into.
Hopefully this helps give you some ideas on what I'm talking about. (And if it doesn't, at least you now you have some insight into how I plot things.)
This is brilliant, brilliant advice and as a beta-reader I should have noticed this. I did notice that it wasn't explained why he couldn't teleport, and commented on it. I didn't notice some of those questions that are so vital to a reader and do water down the story as you said. I think it is important as well that he could be a fighter... though I'm not sure at what time the setting is; I'm not sure how old it is.
However, other than this, I think it's getting off to a rather good start. Of course, Paws knows I'll be looking at the chapters even harder after this (though hopefully not as long and with as many problems)
Paws, you have a fantastic approach to criticism, one that is the mark of a master artist. Zam, I can tell your criticism is truly valued by Paws, and I'm sure it'll improve the story amazingly. Judging by your advice and your stories, I'd be honoured to take your approach to looking at stories.
I'm excited by the possibilities. I love serials because they're so dynamic, they flow in one's hands. And this is only helping improve it! Looking forward to more!
ACHTUNG! Alles touristen und non-technischen looken peepers! Das computermachine ist nicht fuer gefingerpoken und mittengrabben. Ist easy schnappen der springenwerk, blowenfusen und poppencorken mit spitzensparken. Ist nicht fuer gewerken bei das dumpkopfen. Das rubbernecken sichtseeren keepen das cotten-pickenen hans in das pockets muss; relaxen und watchen das blinkenlichten.
“Better.” He swirled the last dregs of coffee in his cup, watching the few grounds spin around in the bottom. Grimacing, he set it aside and stretched. “The steroids that I gave him seem to be helping control the inflammation to his brain. The hippocampus and entorhinal cortex areas of his brain were affected, but I do not know how much damage was done, or how he will recover. He has a profound case of retrograde amnesia.” He smiled without mirth at the puzzled frown Ororo was giving him. “The parts of the brain that were damaged control long-term memory; damage to memories that occurred before the accident is referred to as retrograde amnesia – the stereotypical kind that you see in the movies. However there seems to be some promise in that he now recalls some of his childhood and has regained mastery of the English language.”
“Does he remember anything about the institute, or the X-men?”
“No.” Hank sighed and scrubbed his face. “These things take time, Ororo. We won’t know how much he’ll remember for days, months, or maybe years. The brain is such a fragile and unpredictable organ.”
“How did this happen to him? Why didn’t he teleport? He could have beaten those men easily!” Ororo looked more frustrated than puzzled as she took up Hank’s empty coffee cup and placed it in the sink.
“I don’t know why he didn’t notice the men earlier. I suspect that they were waiting for him, but why they singled him out, I don’t know. I surmise that the reason that he didn’t teleport, and did so poorly in the ensuing fight, was due to the damage of the blow to his temple. We still are studying the mechanics of how Kurt’s teleportation works, but I surmise that the confusion and dizziness that occurred with the blow would have negated his spatial perception. It is my theory that if that he cannot control where he would end up, his ability to teleport is shut down, a built-in safety mechanism if you will.” Hank leaned back in his chair, the wood groaning in protest. “Kurt has no memory of his mutant ability. I am unsure if the treatment we are giving him will allow him to teleport again, and I am reluctant to ask him to attempt to do so. I do not wish him to come to harm testing it.”
She turned from him, looking out the window. He could see the slump of her shoulders, and noted for the first time that she was still wearing the stained uniform from the night before.
“Ororo, have you rested at all?” he asked concernedly.
She shrugged, and turned back to him. “I napped a little on a chair; I just wanted to wait to see how he was.” She paused, tracing the edge of the sink with a fingertip. “Is there anything that we can do to help him?”
“It’s just best to let things come as they will. I know it will be hard for everyone, but he will essentially have to learn everything over again, form new relationships, and find his place here. For now he has enough trust in Charles to stay, and it is important that we do not break that.”
Ororo nodded and turned her face from him, leaving the room with her usual confident stride. But not before he noticed the wet trail of a tear trailing down one cheek.
ooch, and I forgot to thank Zam for her critique and a huge thanks to hooded man for his continued determined betaing of this past chapter. Doesn't mean that I am not open to further critism though...
I'm really really really sorry, but it's almost like someone gave you instructions on how to write a fan fic that I am guaranteed to hate. I recognise that you are not doing this on purpose and I'm genuinely sorry I don't like your story because I think the writing is fine and I like writing encouraging, positive feedback.
You have however, committed my very biggest number one most mortal killer fan fic sin! You have mentioned medical jargon.
For some reason I can not stand medical jargon. But Zamweasel, you're all thinking, you have like three whole chapters with a doctor in your story, how could you be such a hypocrite? And to this I will say, there is nothing wrong with characters requiring medical attention, only that the discussion should be in layman's terms, just like how a doctor would speak to her patients in the real world.
In my story, Kurt broke his arm - it was a very specific type of fracture, but the Dr. didn't say "He has a green stick fracture". Nor did he say "He has a closed incomplete midline fracture to radius and ulna with resulting deformity". This was because he was talking to Wolfgang, who is not a doctor and doesn't know crap about the radius and ulna. Instead it all got explained out very slowly in regular words.
Now, in this story Kurt has damage to his hippocampus and entorhinal cortex and I actually had to get out my medical dictionary to make sure I really knew where the entorhinal cortex was what I thought it was. And then I spent about 10 minutes wondering why Kurt had lost his sense of smell because the entorhinal cortex is another name for the rhinal sulcus which is one of those big gray grooves on the side of the brain. And its job is to kind of hook the olfactory bulbs in front up with the piriform lobes on the bottom where sensory information is processed. So, I don't know ... is this the part of the brain you meant? Smell and memory do have a tight association, but knowing the anatomy actually made it more confusing.
To be honest, this is exactly why I'm so against medical jargon. The first paragraph stopped me cold because I got so busy with the particulars of the jargon. First I was wondering what kind of plot implications losing his sense of smell had and then I started thinking "wow, the hippocampus is really really deep in the brain. To damage the hippocampus so much to create amnesia that profound via blow to the skull, he'd be a vegetable due to all the collateral damage to the surrounding cortex." Actually I'm guessing that - I'm not an expert on head injuries but most amnesia is only a few memories right before the accident whereas this is more severe.
I'm all for realism and research and I know you work in veterinary medicine so you have some knowledge there. There's no reason not to use it, just remember what a powerful tool it can be and use it wisely. I can imagine how much more powerfully that scene could have played out if Ororo hadn't understood Hank's diagnosis and he'd spent longer explaining it to her - turning plot exposition into a character moment as well.
Anyway - those are my thoughts. I should respond to some of the stuff on my own writing now that I'm back.
Fair enough. The problem I think is because I am trying to backtrack and explain things better. Backtracking is always an akward way to write. And though, yes, I do have some medical backgroud, what I know about the brain is not much.
So I went websurfing to do some research in an attempt to better explain some of the questions people had, and on two different sites found that the sterotypical "amnesia" that you see on tv is very rare (in almost never ever), but if it was to occur it would be due to damage to these parts of the brain. I know what the hippocampus is, and basically what it does, but I had no friggin clue what the e...cortex was.
So why did I write it in jargon? Because (and granted I have a lesser knowledge of beast) what I have seen of Hank is that he does tend to talk in jargon and use a very high vocabulary, so I didn't think that it would be out of character.
It comes down to a basic thing though - I didn't write it in jargon because I feel comfortable using medical words - I wrote it in jargon because I was having a bugger of a time explaining it. Easy out...but not so easy. Basically I am trying to follow this one through without making too big of a disaster out of it, and learn from my mistakes.
I do realize the value of writing in English as opposed to jargon as who wants to read something that they have no idea what it is saying. Will be more observant in the future about it too.
The only "advantage" that I have in this is that my Dad had a severe head trauma years back (and actually he did damage his hippocampus amongst other things) and though he still has a huge amount of trouble with things like headaches, balance and the like, he certainly is far from a vegatable. He had a very select bit of amnesia from his past (retrograde), but most of his amnesia is with his short term memory since the accident. The brain is a very weird little organ and hard to predict, huh?
Great advise as ever Zam, and sorry to be making this so painful for you but I do love getting it!
Okay, you're right... Some of the jargon stuff you can get away with because it's Hank and he does tend to be loquacious. Still, the responsibility of explaining the terminology is yours though or else you end up with an overachieving veterinary student in another state cracking a medical dictionary and scratching her head - something you definitely don't want to happen.
I can imagine one really good way to use a lot of technical jargon effectively which would be to help show the alienation of the character to the situation. For instance, when I introduced James I had everyone speaking a lot of untranslated German for a little while. (Which, a native German speaker has written to inform me is unintelligible gibberish despite my careful translation efforts.) The point was simply to make the reader feel as lost as James. (unless the reader happened to speak German - then it only made me look lost.)
I scaled back my under educated medical opinion of the state of Kurt's brain damage because I realized I didn't know what I was talking about and was going off on a terrible tangent about crowds outside mansion in 10 years time yelling "give Kurt water". You're right - the brain is the craziest organ in the body - totally unpredictable with a lot of functionality packed very close together. Anything is possible - particularly in the world of the XMen where a single gene can mean you're born with blue skin and a tail or the ability to manifest fire. (Sucks about your Dad by the way. Headaches are a pain in the ass. )
As far as reality goes, I do know that the hippocampus is just about in the center of the brain and the rhinal sulcus is at the very outside (the grey matter) so for them both to be damaged you'd have damage in between. Sometimes "I don't know" is the best explaination. Like when they start talking about the "X gene" I just stop listening - none of it makes any sense so why bother with the fake science? Just "it's a genetic anomaly that can't be explained".
I still think you could use your jargon and not lose your reader. I love the idea of Hank trying to explain it to Ororo using technical terms to define his technical terms, digging a deeper and deeper hole for himself and emphasizing Ororo's uncertainty and sadness.
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but it was one of those ideas that grabbed me one night as I was drifting off and I couldn't resist doing it. You know the odd thing is I am a very peaceable person - where this stuff comes from in the recesses of my twisted little mind is beyond me.
