Typo fixed in text! Thanks!
Goddamn Teenagers (Worm, AU/time travel)
FaerieKnight79
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Unless, of course, it's not a spade but a club.
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I remember many many years ago when I was in Junior school (7-11 years old) I was walking to school with some friends and mother was along as chaperone for all of us. This was in the late 1980's. We were discussing something about picks, shovels and spades etc. Anywho, mother wasn't paying much attention to our discussion until I said the fateful words. Forget why the topic even came up, think we'd been discussing how to dig out an underground base or some-such (hey we were young kids planning our dream base).
I'd been helping dad dig out the soak-away for the patio in the back garden over the previous weekend. It was getting on to about 2 meters deep and was still getting deeper. We had piles and piles of soil to be taken away and were planning on using the rubble from a demolished outside toilet (was brick and used to be attached to the back of the house) to refill the hole to allow good drainage of rainwater.
As the conversation on the way to school progressed I was getting frustrated by some of the others calling a shovel (non-sharp leading edge, curved sides to help prevent spillage, good for moving loose dirt, rock or coal) a spade (sharp leading edge, flat, good for digging into compact earth). Anyway, I said something like; "Why can't you call a shovel, a shovel and a spade, a spade" and my mother overheard and hit the metaphorical roof going off on me about "she didn't raise no racist!".
I had *zero* clue what mother was going on about at the time and just stood there utterly befuddled, as did everyone else in the group. Just as a reminder; We were all about 8 or 9 years old back in the 1980's. We were simply discussing digging implements and hadn't had any exposure to any other meaning of the phrase including two kids in the group who were black. Mother eventually realised we had zero clue what she was even going off on me about.... eventually. Might have been the 2 black kids who were with us at the time and me all huddled together wondering what on earth she was going off me for. We (us kids) had been planning on all going round theirs that evening and when mother started threatening to ground me she was utterly perplexed when I said something like "But that means I can't go round their place tonight? We have plans!" which I think is what finally clued her in to the fact she'd utterly misunderstood things.
TL;DR Parent completely misconstrued something I said related to picks, shovels and spades. Jumped to the wrong conclusion and started yelling.
Discussing shovels, picks and spades in an area with E88 as a backdrop is probably going to have that sort of sensitivity ratcheted up to 11.
I'd been helping dad dig out the soak-away for the patio in the back garden over the previous weekend. It was getting on to about 2 meters deep and was still getting deeper. We had piles and piles of soil to be taken away and were planning on using the rubble from a demolished outside toilet (was brick and used to be attached to the back of the house) to refill the hole to allow good drainage of rainwater.
As the conversation on the way to school progressed I was getting frustrated by some of the others calling a shovel (non-sharp leading edge, curved sides to help prevent spillage, good for moving loose dirt, rock or coal) a spade (sharp leading edge, flat, good for digging into compact earth). Anyway, I said something like; "Why can't you call a shovel, a shovel and a spade, a spade" and my mother overheard and hit the metaphorical roof going off on me about "she didn't raise no racist!".
I had *zero* clue what mother was going on about at the time and just stood there utterly befuddled, as did everyone else in the group. Just as a reminder; We were all about 8 or 9 years old back in the 1980's. We were simply discussing digging implements and hadn't had any exposure to any other meaning of the phrase including two kids in the group who were black. Mother eventually realised we had zero clue what she was even going off on me about.... eventually. Might have been the 2 black kids who were with us at the time and me all huddled together wondering what on earth she was going off me for. We (us kids) had been planning on all going round theirs that evening and when mother started threatening to ground me she was utterly perplexed when I said something like "But that means I can't go round their place tonight? We have plans!" which I think is what finally clued her in to the fact she'd utterly misunderstood things.
TL;DR Parent completely misconstrued something I said related to picks, shovels and spades. Jumped to the wrong conclusion and started yelling.
Discussing shovels, picks and spades in an area with E88 as a backdrop is probably going to have that sort of sensitivity ratcheted up to 11.
Ace Dreamer
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Cue the bad joke, told first to me by an Irishman, I believe, on how to confuse someone called 'Paddy', working on building a major road, by creating a line of several spades, and asking him to 'Take his pick'?
I understand racist/nationalist 'jokes' go back as long as there are records, and odds are started with making... unfortunate comments about the 'people who live on the other side of the mountain'...
Where Nazis are bad (among many other ways)? They weaponise this humour, to gain (political) power...
Splattered Cloak
Recovering Line Editor
Somehow, I grew up with the impression that a spade was the little hand tool, and anything with a long handle was a shovel. I suspect that the distinction gets lost or muddied in more urban areas, or perhaps there have been regional differences that get blended together with more mobile populations and centralized production.
But good for Vista! Here's hoping she knows when to stop talking, lest she lose the esteem she's earned.
FaerieKnight79
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Then there were the "smart American/dumb Polack" jokes which were going around in the 80's and early 90's. Which were... really mean spirited in retrospect, but as a kid we didn't know better.
Small hand tool for digging in the flower bed to remove weeds etc would have been a hand trowel. Then of course you had the garden forks, both big and small. For some odd reason they (garden forks) didn't/don't have different names, yet trowels, spades and shovels do... *shrug*. Point of note, a spade also tends to have a flat trailing edge, so when you need extra oomph to get the thing to dig in and you stomp down on it with your foot, you don't cut said foot in half.
But yes, back to the story. Good on Vista for overcoming her fear and presenting the entrenching tool to the big scary Rachel.
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Not Quite Valhalla
"Herr Krieg," Alec said carefully. "Can you hear me?"
"Ja?" Krieg rasped, blinking in a dopey confused sort of way. The man was enmeshed in an elaborate and showy mess of medical equipment, some of it obviously tinkertech, along with multiple IV lines.
Oh, and leather straps. Mustn't forget those.
The room they were in looked like a run-down abandoned building, and the entire set-up reeked of desperation and cut corners. Armsmaster vehemently hated it, but grudgingly agreed it was within the known scope of the groups most likely to spring Krieg.
"How do you feel?" Alec asked. "Lingering effects?"
Krieg tried to shake his head, unsuccessfully. "Wa happen'?"
"You don't remember." Alec stated in reply. "Something with the video game idiots in the Bay, you're in the mountains." He gestured toward the grumpy-looking, scarred combat vet getting a truly amazing amount of money who had no idea this was a legitimate operation. "Herr nurse will give you ice chips, can't give you water yet, might choke. You recover some, then we talk. Need to know what they did to you."
On his way out, Alec turned on the television, which was set to a live feed from a South American television station.
"Ja?" Krieg rasped, blinking in a dopey confused sort of way. The man was enmeshed in an elaborate and showy mess of medical equipment, some of it obviously tinkertech, along with multiple IV lines.
Oh, and leather straps. Mustn't forget those.
The room they were in looked like a run-down abandoned building, and the entire set-up reeked of desperation and cut corners. Armsmaster vehemently hated it, but grudgingly agreed it was within the known scope of the groups most likely to spring Krieg.
"How do you feel?" Alec asked. "Lingering effects?"
Krieg tried to shake his head, unsuccessfully. "Wa happen'?"
"You don't remember." Alec stated in reply. "Something with the video game idiots in the Bay, you're in the mountains." He gestured toward the grumpy-looking, scarred combat vet getting a truly amazing amount of money who had no idea this was a legitimate operation. "Herr nurse will give you ice chips, can't give you water yet, might choke. You recover some, then we talk. Need to know what they did to you."
On his way out, Alec turned on the television, which was set to a live feed from a South American television station.
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Ace Dreamer
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How specific the names are may depend on who you talk to... The trowel-sized one-hand forks are probably cultivating forks of some variety, usually three round tines bent 90 degrees with flattened points on the ends. I know of three tools with longer handles that could fit into the "garden fork" category: pitchforks (long, skinny round tines, for dry hay & grasses), cultivators (usually diamond cross-section tines with significant curvature, and the tips are flattened into ovoid/leaf shapes), and potato forks (rectangular cross-section, mostly flat, usually shorter tee-handle, about 4' overall).
"Hoe" has also been coopted as a slang term (and I am unsure if there's a logical connection), but that's also a category of tools where there are many different ones. There are also many types of trowels other than those for gardening (I'm thinking about masonry right now, but there are others).
Many tools have very specific names, but unless you work with others who use them, and often use many different ones that fit the more-general category names, you'd probably never know unless you're curious and go looking for it. It's not exactly jargon, but comes close.
I'm also looking forward to more of the Alec/Krieg scene, it looks to be entertaining (for us, and probably Alec & Armsmaster).
grommile
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Nah. That's just a result of the dough-door merger in certain varieties of African-American Vernacular English; see also "fo" for "for" and "four", and "mo" for "more".
Not Quite Valhalla, Part 2
"I still think we should have simply dissected the engram," Cranial said in a tetchy tone.
Alec watched the interplay with interest. He wasn't opposed to such measures, but people tended to get fussy about that kind of thing.
"Have you made any breakthroughs," Armsmaster replied evenly, "that would allow for preservation of ego integrity during such a procedure?"
Alec perked up. That wasn't a no!
"Ego death is not a certainty…," Cranial replied petulantly. "We could also do a full duplication run first?"
"Vivisection of a mind does not suddenly become acceptable simply because another different mind still exists afterward," said the boring killjoy from the Kingsmen. "No matter how similar. And if your subject did survive, what would you then do with him?"
Cherish meeped, as Cranial shuffled awkwardly.
Big Blue turned to Alec. "Neurological profile?"
Alec shrugged. "No indications of suicidal intent, no escape impulses. Some of the phantom twitchiness thing from the restraints."
Armsmaster made a note, then turned to Cherish.
Cherish wrung her hands. "Uh, wary but stable? Ish? A spike of frustration when we gave him the Uber and L33t story but not disbelief? We are still close enough I will be able to tell if there is a major change?"
Alec watched the interplay with interest. He wasn't opposed to such measures, but people tended to get fussy about that kind of thing.
"Have you made any breakthroughs," Armsmaster replied evenly, "that would allow for preservation of ego integrity during such a procedure?"
Alec perked up. That wasn't a no!
"Ego death is not a certainty…," Cranial replied petulantly. "We could also do a full duplication run first?"
"Vivisection of a mind does not suddenly become acceptable simply because another different mind still exists afterward," said the boring killjoy from the Kingsmen. "No matter how similar. And if your subject did survive, what would you then do with him?"
Cherish meeped, as Cranial shuffled awkwardly.
Big Blue turned to Alec. "Neurological profile?"
Alec shrugged. "No indications of suicidal intent, no escape impulses. Some of the phantom twitchiness thing from the restraints."
Armsmaster made a note, then turned to Cherish.
Cherish wrung her hands. "Uh, wary but stable? Ish? A spike of frustration when we gave him the Uber and L33t story but not disbelief? We are still close enough I will be able to tell if there is a major change?"
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Missing a word here, but the bland denial by the guy made me chuckle. Additionally, why not vivisect the copy? Less ethically dubious, even if it's still a grey matter... matter.
Typo fixed in the text, thank you!
I expect that Bet has had to establish very, very clear norms that egregious violations of a person do not cease to be criminal simply because they are done to a duplicate, copy or clone. Bet being Bet, any other approach leads to genuine copy human test subjects being vivisected live for your entertainment.
Ace Dreamer
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That's what the coconuts are for? On the outside, normal wood, on the inside, blank human brain tissue designed never to become conscious. Copy from human onto nut-tissue. Study nut. Possibly to destruction.
Of course, someone has to make the coconuts, or, maybe, the tree they grow on. Blasto, maybe? Pity there's no one else, and seeing as The Amy 'doesn't do brains' she wouldn't be able to help with the project...
What that old song? "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts"?
(Please note, this idea recycled from 'Taylor Varga', where The Amy 'taking backups', in case unfortunate things happen to the contents of people's heads, didn't seem like a bad idea... Read-only access to brains probably doesn't risk wrecking them...)
Not Quite Valhalla, Part 3
The woman caressed the screen tentatively. "Is he comfortable," she asked, not looking away.
"Yes," Dauntless replied immediately. "Attempts to awaken him in a more conventional environment triggered anti-evasion measures, but the equipment is at least as good as he would have in a top hospital."
"I wish I could see him."
"Ma'am…"
"I know. My emotional control is not good enough. Those bastards…"
"You could send letters," Dauntless offered. "Photos, especially from before."
She nodded, still not looking away. "What about countermeasures. A delay. A video link. Anything."
"We couldn't be… hmmm." Dauntless paused. "I won't rule it out. This, uh, scenario does leave room for things like that, but it would not be without risk."
She nodded again. "Nothing that would risk serious injury, or long-term effects." She shuddered. "At least, no more than the rest of it." She finally turned to look at Shawn—no he was Dauntless now damnit. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, as much as she tried to maintain her composure. "If it is possible, though…" She turned back to the screen. "I think… I hope it would be good for him too."
Note: Obligatory reminder that while Mrs. James Fleischer loves her husband dearly, she was still entirely onboard with his role as an SS LARPer. She only flipped when she learned that he had been mastered, by Gesellschaft, into attempting suicide upon capture.
"Yes," Dauntless replied immediately. "Attempts to awaken him in a more conventional environment triggered anti-evasion measures, but the equipment is at least as good as he would have in a top hospital."
"I wish I could see him."
"Ma'am…"
"I know. My emotional control is not good enough. Those bastards…"
"You could send letters," Dauntless offered. "Photos, especially from before."
She nodded, still not looking away. "What about countermeasures. A delay. A video link. Anything."
"We couldn't be… hmmm." Dauntless paused. "I won't rule it out. This, uh, scenario does leave room for things like that, but it would not be without risk."
She nodded again. "Nothing that would risk serious injury, or long-term effects." She shuddered. "At least, no more than the rest of it." She finally turned to look at Shawn—no he was Dauntless now damnit. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, as much as she tried to maintain her composure. "If it is possible, though…" She turned back to the screen. "I think… I hope it would be good for him too."
Note: Obligatory reminder that while Mrs. James Fleischer loves her husband dearly, she was still entirely onboard with his role as an SS LARPer. She only flipped when she learned that he had been mastered, by Gesellschaft, into attempting suicide upon capture.
I only care if they are genocidal.Unfortunately,something happened I the 1940s that made it hard to trust people of certain political orientation(s) when they say they're not genocidal.I forget what.
Not Quite Valhalla, Part 4
"Krieg," the old woman said. She wore a casual dress and shawl as if they were a uniform.
"Ma'am," the man rasped warily. The restraints had been loosened, but they knew that he knew that they had ways to incapacitate him if he became violent.
"No," the woman said harshly, "we haven't met. Mrs. Herren."
Krieg nodded. "What happened."
The woman sat primly in the uncomfortable visitor's chair. "We don't properly know." She went to reach into her bag, then sighed. "Took my cigarettes," she said wryly. "Oxygen. Hospitals. As to what happened, you got fucked up, not sure when or who or how many. Getting shot was the least of it, when the healer girl woke you up, you went mad. Attacked her, damn near shot her." She made an abortive gesture, as if she expected to be holding a cigarette.
Krieg winced.
She leaned forward. "No one thing shoulda caused what they be seeing in you. No one in the Bay knows shit, Boston's rolled up, and the clans have never seen the like. Makes you wonder, though, those electric boys, might they have shook something loose? You and the Empire had run-ins with them enough times. Could be something done for you or to you before, meant to help, now going wrong?"
Krieg cursed under his breath.
The woman shrugged. "The Germans aren't talking, least not to me and mine, but something funny is happening abroad. They sure as shit didn't get you themselves. Even tried to stop your pretty little wife coming to see you." She raised a hand at Krieg's alarmed expression. "Don't worry, she got here, she's fine, the boys are trying to find a way for you to talk without risking you going all axe crazy."
"What now?"
"Now?" She leaned back. "You start to think real hard. About what might have been done to you, by who, and how. About who might know, if you don't. Then you sit somewhere quiet with your little wife and stay out of trouble while the boys and me, we start making lists."
Krieg gave her a long, hard look. "Why? You don't like me."
"I fucking hate you," she said, jabbing a finger at him. "But family comes first."
Note: Bringing back CI spite grandma started as a joke, then I realized she actually is someone who could talk to him without setting him off. What is he getting from her? That she doesn't like him, doesn't trust him, isn't telling him everything, but hates someone else more? That's, well, maybe not normal, but at least it is not unusual for a Gesellschaft operative dealing with a Herren clan matriarch from her generation. Particularly since he likely can pick up from bits of her accent a strain of continental French.
"Ma'am," the man rasped warily. The restraints had been loosened, but they knew that he knew that they had ways to incapacitate him if he became violent.
"No," the woman said harshly, "we haven't met. Mrs. Herren."
Krieg nodded. "What happened."
The woman sat primly in the uncomfortable visitor's chair. "We don't properly know." She went to reach into her bag, then sighed. "Took my cigarettes," she said wryly. "Oxygen. Hospitals. As to what happened, you got fucked up, not sure when or who or how many. Getting shot was the least of it, when the healer girl woke you up, you went mad. Attacked her, damn near shot her." She made an abortive gesture, as if she expected to be holding a cigarette.
Krieg winced.
She leaned forward. "No one thing shoulda caused what they be seeing in you. No one in the Bay knows shit, Boston's rolled up, and the clans have never seen the like. Makes you wonder, though, those electric boys, might they have shook something loose? You and the Empire had run-ins with them enough times. Could be something done for you or to you before, meant to help, now going wrong?"
Krieg cursed under his breath.
The woman shrugged. "The Germans aren't talking, least not to me and mine, but something funny is happening abroad. They sure as shit didn't get you themselves. Even tried to stop your pretty little wife coming to see you." She raised a hand at Krieg's alarmed expression. "Don't worry, she got here, she's fine, the boys are trying to find a way for you to talk without risking you going all axe crazy."
"What now?"
"Now?" She leaned back. "You start to think real hard. About what might have been done to you, by who, and how. About who might know, if you don't. Then you sit somewhere quiet with your little wife and stay out of trouble while the boys and me, we start making lists."
Krieg gave her a long, hard look. "Why? You don't like me."
"I fucking hate you," she said, jabbing a finger at him. "But family comes first."
Note: Bringing back CI spite grandma started as a joke, then I realized she actually is someone who could talk to him without setting him off. What is he getting from her? That she doesn't like him, doesn't trust him, isn't telling him everything, but hates someone else more? That's, well, maybe not normal, but at least it is not unusual for a Gesellschaft operative dealing with a Herren clan matriarch from her generation. Particularly since he likely can pick up from bits of her accent a strain of continental French.
Ace Dreamer
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Possibly a re-read would help, but my memory, of this story and canon, is drawing a blank on who the 'electric boys' might be... Tech capes? Lightning capes? Robots? LEO with tasers? Annoyed electricians?
Help?
Uber and L33t. Meant to reflect idiosyncrasies of the speaker—she very deliberately and consciously avoids "video games" and anything related to them. Slot machines, those can be enjoyed in moderation…
Ace Dreamer
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At her age she might be a dedicated 'Risk' and 'Diplomacy' player, even a DnD (Original version) player/ref, and despise games which use 'electrics'?
A ref who runs games set in a fantasy version of Europe, where seriously right-wing French won WW2... And, there's a need to stamp-out annoying resistance movements, among, say, the Germans...
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At her age she might be a dedicated 'Risk' and 'Diplomacy' player, even a DnD (Original version) player/ref, and despise games which use 'electrics'?
A ref who runs games set in a fantasy version of Europe, where seriously right-wing French won WW2... And, there's a need to stamp-out annoying resistance movements, among, say, the Germans...
D&D was after her time. She would likely favor card games, radio and television. Likely knows bridge. Likely knows her way around guns and knives (you didn't come of age where she did when she did without picking that up)
Likely favors wine or even, le gasp, cocktails but bemoans the difficulty in getting both where she has been living. Growing up in Europe means she'll have had a better experience with cocktails as a young woman, since Europe didn't have their cocktail scene destroyed by prohibition. Having grown up where and when she did, however, she'll drink anything if needs must.
Slot machines are OK, as are games of chance like roulette and gambling on things like horse racing. Computers are unnecessarily complicated, and in the post-tinker world, dangerous. Gaming consoles are frivolous wastes of time and money.
Ace Dreamer
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Hmm. If she was age 15 in 1940, Battle of France, she'd be about age 85 in 2010. DnD was 1970s, so she'd be mid to late 40s when that started. From your description I thought she'd be mid 70s in age, at the oldest?
'Risk' appeared 1957, 'Diplomacy' 1959, and I mentioned those because they were a significant number of early DnD players. Could we imagine her as a vicious 'Diplomacy' player?
Viz DnD. Could you imagine her catching teenagers playing DnD, classic fantasy. Trying to ban it. Failing. Deciding to show them how to do it properly. Becoming one of the most terrifying (but still very popular) Games Masters anyone ever heard of?
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Risk/Diplomacy - games that had (have?) the reputation of losing you friends...
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Might be getting her mixed up with her mom—actually now that I think about it you are right, the mom was from Europe, this woman grew up the US and then married the cop.Hmm. If she was age 15 in 1940, Battle of France, she'd be about age 85 in 2010. DnD was 1970s, so she'd be mid to late 40s when that started. From your description I thought she'd be mid 70s in age, at the oldest?
'Risk' appeared 1957, 'Diplomacy' 1959, and I mentioned those because they were a significant number of early DnD players. Could we imagine her as a vicious 'Diplomacy' player?
Viz DnD. Could you imagine her catching teenagers playing DnD, classic fantasy. Trying to ban it. Failing. Deciding to show them how to do it properly. Becoming one of the most terrifying (but still very popular) Games Masters anyone ever heard of?
Oops