- Location
- West Michigan
And they're still more responsible than Stargate's Ancients.
Magical Girl Lyrical Taylor (Worm/Nanoha)
- Thread starter Marsyas
- Start date
TimeDiver
Herald of Dis Lev
- Location
- In-between the parallel worlds...
Just barely. In every other respect? Al-Hazred takes ALL the proverbial cake (and eats it whole).
At least there were semi-sane Lantean council members around to go all "NO U!!" to the occasional Janus.
- Location
- Ural, Russia, Earth
"Of course, we don't know what mistakes they made. I mean, they existed for ten thousand years and we have no idea why they ceased to exist. So, just to be sure, the TSAB heavily restricted everything that in any way connected with Al-Hazard. For example, sugar. We quite sure Al-Hazardians drank tea with sugar, and we can't be sure their civilisation wasn't destroyed by sugar rush gone wrong. So, in the TSAB space drink tea with sugar permitted only in presence of at least one AAA-rank mage, just to be sure."
beorn91
Ours mal léché
- Location
- France
Step X: Go to Saint's regular coffee shop.
Step X+1: Enter the line just before Saint.
Step X+2: Comment that "...."
Step X+3: Buy Italian coffee
Step X+4: Drink coffee slowly.
Step X+5: Savor a job well done.
Sakuya's Butler
A refined Butler to a knife wielding Mistress.
- Location
- ↓, ↘, → + Punch
I think someone deserves to get a cookie.
But only if you were thinking of the OVAs and not the TV show (The Wanderers, which is what I have).
And oh yes, Zohar is THAT golden crucifix of joy. Which spans dimensions/parallel worlds and effectively is Raising Heart in thought/action, but with all the powers of a Kaleido-stick from the Nasuverse.
Pity she didn't mention a Galactic Leyline...
Lindy canonically drinks green tea with milk and sugar. She was first seen doing this in the presence of Nanoha (who freaked out), before she was tested to be a top-end mage.
- Location
- Ural, Russia, Earth
Chrono was with them too. More so, he was in his Barrier Jacket, ready to take an action if his mother went mad and tried to kill them all.
Mizu
Software Developer
- Location
- Victoria, Australia
I believe Nanoha freaked out due to how weird it was to combine green tea and sugar, or something? Think it was more of a 'yuck' reaction than anything else, from what I know.
serra2
Himouto! Sylvanas-chan
Looking up the Wikipedia entry was the first time I discovered it was more than just an awesome OVA.
Marsyas
Surprisingly Jellicle
- Location
- Undimensioned and Unseen
Arthur Hansen
Author of no Authority.
- Location
- Utah, behind the Zion Curtain.
There are weird Japanese social inclusions for the TSAB. The tea, meetings set up with Japanese formality (and what snacks are provided). Probably more than that, I bet.
Just have to chalk it up to the intended audience.
mdkcde
"Emotions are prohibited"
- Location
- Nani Sore?
It was explained to me one time that the joke was 0the TSAB researching Earth media to prepare a "familiar" place for Nanoha and Lindy to talk. And they mixed up the tea ceremony with the western custom of adding sugar and cream to the tea.
- Location
- West Michigan
I personally blame it on Lindy being an unrepentant (but not 100% knowledgeable) weeaboo and Admiral Graham being canonically English (even though he didn't show up until A's). A mixup like that was bound to happen.
There is actually a magic dictionary entry talking about this scene. And you're partially right about it from what i can gather with gtranslate the room was prepared to look japanese to help make Nanoha feel comfortable but the clash from suddenly going from spaceship to that room plus various smaller details being wrong made it feel weird.
Azura drawing room! Captain Azura, who takes care of local people's customs and aesthetic sensation "Captain Lindy hands the scenery of" Earth / Japanese! "The surprising thing is that the world's ship's Because the reception room is "Japanese style", it is subtly but, from various things wrong,
Arthur Hansen
Author of no Authority.
- Location
- Utah, behind the Zion Curtain.
Eh, I was remembering later when Hayate did a very Japanese with a local Midchildian general. They didn't really do a lot to differentiate TSAB/Michidian culture as 'different' if that makes sense.
- Location
- not here any more
Translated to the best of my ability:There is actually a magic dictionary entry talking about this scene. And you're partially right about it from what i can gather with gtranslate the room was prepared to look japanese to help make Nanoha feel comfortable but the clash from suddenly going from spaceship to that room plus various smaller details being wrong made it feel weird.
Asura drawing room
The scenery of "Earth/Japanese [people]" was revived by Captain Lindy, who finds "local people's customs and compromise with their aesthetic sense" important.
Nanoha was surprised because the alien warship's drawing room had things that say "Japanese-style", done in a delicate way; however there were various erroneous things.
- Location
- Tokyo, Japan
There is actually a magic dictionary entry talking about this scene. And you're partially right about it from what i can gather with gtranslate the room was prepared to look japanese to help make Nanoha feel comfortable but the clash from suddenly going from spaceship to that room plus various smaller details being wrong made it feel weird.
My translation:
Arthra Drawing Room:
By the hands of the Captain of the Arthra, Lindy, who places emphasis upon "accommodating towards local traditions and aesthetics", the room has been adjusted to recreate an "Earth/Japanese" atmosphere.
What Nanoha is being surprised at, is that a drawing room in a ship from another world looks "Japanese", while that look has subtle, yet numerous, mistakes in it.
I think the effect is to show a Japanese audience that Lindy is indeed, without a doubt, a foreigner.
The "add sugar to green tea" is just icing on the cake.
Fixed that for you =P
Also because I haven't said it recently, thank you so much for help with translations.
Ozymandias
Marsyas
Surprisingly Jellicle
- Location
- Undimensioned and Unseen
So this isn't 7.2. Life got complicated again and my writing time was drastically reduced, and I've only now finally come up for air again and gotten to the point where free time is a thing that exists and that I can occasionally enjoy. Still, as I was working on 7.2, I realized that there was a plot thread that I really wanted to resolve, and that if I didn't do it now I probably never would. It's not the full multi-part interlude I had originally planned before this story's first big hiatus and I realized I needed to get the focus back on the main characters or I'd never get anywhere, but it arrives at the same destination.
-----------------
Magical Girl Lyrical Taylor
(Worm/Nanoha)
by P.H. Wise
Ozymandias
Disclaimer: The following is a fanfic. Worm belongs to Wildbow. The Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha franchise is owned by various corporate entities. Please support the official release.
Thanks to @Cailin for beta-reading!
-----------------
How had it come to this?
The Empire Eighty Eight had been glorious, once. They had stood for something. Meant something. In the criminal cesspit of Brockton Bay, the All-Father had rallied the fearful masses, had given them a banner and a cause. Together, they had driven out the Teeth, turned away the Slaughterhouse Nine, and driven the criminal element that had followed the Japanese diaspora back into the shadows where it belonged.
He, Max Anders, son of the All-Father, had inherited his father's kingdom, and he, too, had done great things. He built the company that had revitalized the city after the collapse of the shipping industry, had become a giant of industry, had sent his lobbyists to Washington, had begun his ascent to the halls of power.
It had all gone wrong with that damned rally.
He'd had a plan to salvage it. It wasn't hard to understand. It had been a problem of bad optics. The average white person, otherwise sympathetic, saw Klansmen and Nazis marching in the street in support of their cause and they started to think maybe they were on the wrong side.
"Who are you?" His voice rang out through the warehouse-turned-community center. A few weeks ago, these meetings had been standing room only. Now, there were seats for everyone and only half the seats were filled.
No. The trick was to be reasonable. Incremental. Max -- Kaiser -- had no illusions about the movement he controlled. They were white supremacists and racists. To be sure, the nature of the position of power he held and the necessity of both its growth and continuation required him to take actions he didn't necessarily believe in, that he occasionally found distasteful, but that was a price he was willing to pay. Had been willing to pay for a very long time. He wasn't a white supremacist himself, or he didn't consider himself to be one, but he played the part for the power it gave him.
"When I ask you who you are, I'm not talking about your name or your occupation. I'm talking about something deeper. I'm talking about your connection to a history, to a culture, to an identity. Too many of us have forgotten who we are. Too many of us have lost our connection to our heritage, replacing it with abstractions and buzzwords. Freedom. Tolerance. Multiculturalism. It sounds nice, but it's not real. A sprinkling of politically correct glitter and shiny buzzwords can never replace the fundamental inheritance that is our birthright, and trying will only leave us empty. Lost. Adrift."
You had to disavow the Ku Klux Klan and the Neo-Nazis. The image you presented had to be one of respectability. And you didn't go around talking about creating a white ethnostate: you started simpler, closer to home. Much safer, much easier to poison the people against such dangerous ideas as multiculturalism and political correctness. Once that was accomplished, steps could be taken to advance the agenda further, but it had to be done slowly. If you did it right, the lobsters would never realize they were being boiled alive. He'd had a plan for all of that. A way forward that allowed him and his to be welcomed with open arms as the saviors of Brockton Bay.
"They call us Nazis."
The Administration Bureau had ruined everything. They had rendered his rebirth of a respectable white center of power in the city utterly irrelevant, and he and his had been consigned to the ghetto that now bore his name.
Kaiserville.
"They call us white supremacists." Kaiser's voice rolled like thunder as he spoke, and his listeners were under his spell. It was almost enough to let him forget how far he had fallen, and how little was now under his rule. "They call us racists and bigots for loving our own culture. For valuing our own past. They call us these things because they are cheap emotional cudgels that they can use to attack us without ever having to grapple with the strength of our ideas. With the righteousness of our cause. They don't know us and they don't know you."
Medhall was gone, destroyed by Behemoth. The insurance would help, but it wouldn't bring back what had been lost. He was king of the ghetto, now, and the only splendid thing left in Kaiserville, but even his finest clothes were no longer quite so fine as they had been.
Rune was gone. Purity was gone. Traitors, both of them. Purity had taken his children with her when she had cut her deal with the Protectorate, and because of her there was fury in his heart that hadn't been there before. Gesselschaft had not forgiven him for the loss of one of their most powerful Masters and the loss of Night and Fog.
Hookwolf stood against the far wall, his upper body swathed in bandages, his arm in a sling. Cricket could not stand at all: she sat in a wheelchair, both legs in casts. Fenja and Menja flanked his podium, wearing their bruises as badges of honor.
In the seats were two dozen of the Empire Eighty Eight, a bedraggled handful of the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan and Neo-Nazis, and twenty some skinhead thugs and embittered fascists. Most of the non-members were leftovers from the rally that had ended in Behemoth's arrival; they had been spared the Endbringer's wrath, but things had not gone well since then. This pathetic lot was all that remained to him.
"... We are the sons and daughters of the West. We are the heirs of Plato and Socrates, Augustine and Beethoven, Nietzsche and Mozart. This is not our end. The teeming hordes of Midchilda and their Administration Bureau would see the legacy of Western Civilization consigned to the dust-bin of history. They seek our irrelevance. But I say to you, this is not our end. This is not the sunset of our Empire. We shall…"
The warehouse door shook as a hollow boom rattled the building, followed swiftly by two more. Kaiser cut off in mid-sentence. Hookwolf and Cricket shifted uneasily, and Fenja and Menja took up guard positions at Kaiser's right and left side.
For a moment, there was silence. Then a woman's voice cried out, "Down with the False Kaiser!" She spoke with a Midchildan accent, but her voice was echoed soon after by the roar of an angry crowd with hundreds of voices: "DOWN WITH THE FALSE KAISER!"
Something snapped inside his chest. Heat rose within him, anger billowing and building into fury. This was the sixteenth such challenger. One had been killed, the rest driven off, but they kept coming.
This one had brought a mob.
His people surged to their feet, many of them reaching for guns.
The warehouse's reinforced door blew off its hinges in a flare of amber light. Through the breach came a teenage girl with boyishly short red hair and vivid yellow eyes. A second girl was at her side, this one much shorter than the first, with long white hair and wearing an eyepatch. A mob of grim-faced men and women followed in their wake, most of them white, most visibly malnourished, all of them wearing expressions of fixed determination.
Kaiser gestured, and a forest of spears unfolded from the ground between his people and the mob, points toward the Interlopers, and though the crowd hesitated, neither of the girls did.
It wasn't the girls who spoke, but a woman from the crowd. A beautiful middle-eastern woman, twenty years old perhaps, her lovely features twisted with scorn. "It's over, Kaiser," she said. "We aren't going to let you run things here anymore. We aren't going to let Nazis have their way with this city anymore. Surrender and we'll turn you over to the PRT."
Metal began to flow out from beneath Hookwolf's skin as he interposed himself between the spears and the girls. "Step the fuck back," he growled, accentuating his words with the grinding of blades and hooks.
The girl with the eyepatch punched him, and all it seemed to accomplish was tearing open the skin on her knuckles against his blades. Then a pale yellow energy began to seep across Hookwolf's body. It formed quickly into a spiralling circuit pattern, weaving into, beneath, and above his increasingly distorted, metallic form.
"The fuck did you just…" Hookwolf began. His sentence ended when his metal body exploded. Heat bloomed in the warehouse, and a dozen cries of pain and alarm came from a dozen throats.
The blast had been both directional and concussive: it had flattened the spear forest and sent a handful of bodies sprawling; the girls came on, and the mob followed after.
He recognized a handful out of the crowd. They were converts to that damned space-religion, people who had abandoned his Empire Eighty-Eight in favor of the Sankt Church, servants of the whore of Babylon. He had been losing people to their soup kitchens and their outreach efforts for weeks now. He'd known they were a problem, but he hadn't taken direct action for fear of an official response. Well, he regretted his restraint now.
Sensible people might have surrendered, but Kaiser's audience had more in common with wounded animals cornered in their lair than with sensible people. Fenja and Menja charged, and rest followed after. Gunfire ripped into bodies and ricocheted off of hastily erected force fields, and the angry mob did not stop. Their angry yells reminded Kaiser more of a roused insect hive than of any sound human voices should make.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. But there, at the end, with his empire in ashes around him, as he marshaled his power against his enemies, Max Anders -- the man who had never believed in his own cause, the man who had cynically played off the bigotry of others in pursuit of power, the false Kaiser of Brockton Bay -- found within his heart a capacity for hate.
-----------------
Magical Girl Lyrical Taylor
(Worm/Nanoha)
by P.H. Wise
Ozymandias
Disclaimer: The following is a fanfic. Worm belongs to Wildbow. The Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha franchise is owned by various corporate entities. Please support the official release.
Thanks to @Cailin for beta-reading!
-----------------
How had it come to this?
The Empire Eighty Eight had been glorious, once. They had stood for something. Meant something. In the criminal cesspit of Brockton Bay, the All-Father had rallied the fearful masses, had given them a banner and a cause. Together, they had driven out the Teeth, turned away the Slaughterhouse Nine, and driven the criminal element that had followed the Japanese diaspora back into the shadows where it belonged.
He, Max Anders, son of the All-Father, had inherited his father's kingdom, and he, too, had done great things. He built the company that had revitalized the city after the collapse of the shipping industry, had become a giant of industry, had sent his lobbyists to Washington, had begun his ascent to the halls of power.
It had all gone wrong with that damned rally.
He'd had a plan to salvage it. It wasn't hard to understand. It had been a problem of bad optics. The average white person, otherwise sympathetic, saw Klansmen and Nazis marching in the street in support of their cause and they started to think maybe they were on the wrong side.
"Who are you?" His voice rang out through the warehouse-turned-community center. A few weeks ago, these meetings had been standing room only. Now, there were seats for everyone and only half the seats were filled.
No. The trick was to be reasonable. Incremental. Max -- Kaiser -- had no illusions about the movement he controlled. They were white supremacists and racists. To be sure, the nature of the position of power he held and the necessity of both its growth and continuation required him to take actions he didn't necessarily believe in, that he occasionally found distasteful, but that was a price he was willing to pay. Had been willing to pay for a very long time. He wasn't a white supremacist himself, or he didn't consider himself to be one, but he played the part for the power it gave him.
"When I ask you who you are, I'm not talking about your name or your occupation. I'm talking about something deeper. I'm talking about your connection to a history, to a culture, to an identity. Too many of us have forgotten who we are. Too many of us have lost our connection to our heritage, replacing it with abstractions and buzzwords. Freedom. Tolerance. Multiculturalism. It sounds nice, but it's not real. A sprinkling of politically correct glitter and shiny buzzwords can never replace the fundamental inheritance that is our birthright, and trying will only leave us empty. Lost. Adrift."
You had to disavow the Ku Klux Klan and the Neo-Nazis. The image you presented had to be one of respectability. And you didn't go around talking about creating a white ethnostate: you started simpler, closer to home. Much safer, much easier to poison the people against such dangerous ideas as multiculturalism and political correctness. Once that was accomplished, steps could be taken to advance the agenda further, but it had to be done slowly. If you did it right, the lobsters would never realize they were being boiled alive. He'd had a plan for all of that. A way forward that allowed him and his to be welcomed with open arms as the saviors of Brockton Bay.
"They call us Nazis."
The Administration Bureau had ruined everything. They had rendered his rebirth of a respectable white center of power in the city utterly irrelevant, and he and his had been consigned to the ghetto that now bore his name.
Kaiserville.
"They call us white supremacists." Kaiser's voice rolled like thunder as he spoke, and his listeners were under his spell. It was almost enough to let him forget how far he had fallen, and how little was now under his rule. "They call us racists and bigots for loving our own culture. For valuing our own past. They call us these things because they are cheap emotional cudgels that they can use to attack us without ever having to grapple with the strength of our ideas. With the righteousness of our cause. They don't know us and they don't know you."
Medhall was gone, destroyed by Behemoth. The insurance would help, but it wouldn't bring back what had been lost. He was king of the ghetto, now, and the only splendid thing left in Kaiserville, but even his finest clothes were no longer quite so fine as they had been.
Rune was gone. Purity was gone. Traitors, both of them. Purity had taken his children with her when she had cut her deal with the Protectorate, and because of her there was fury in his heart that hadn't been there before. Gesselschaft had not forgiven him for the loss of one of their most powerful Masters and the loss of Night and Fog.
Hookwolf stood against the far wall, his upper body swathed in bandages, his arm in a sling. Cricket could not stand at all: she sat in a wheelchair, both legs in casts. Fenja and Menja flanked his podium, wearing their bruises as badges of honor.
In the seats were two dozen of the Empire Eighty Eight, a bedraggled handful of the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan and Neo-Nazis, and twenty some skinhead thugs and embittered fascists. Most of the non-members were leftovers from the rally that had ended in Behemoth's arrival; they had been spared the Endbringer's wrath, but things had not gone well since then. This pathetic lot was all that remained to him.
"... We are the sons and daughters of the West. We are the heirs of Plato and Socrates, Augustine and Beethoven, Nietzsche and Mozart. This is not our end. The teeming hordes of Midchilda and their Administration Bureau would see the legacy of Western Civilization consigned to the dust-bin of history. They seek our irrelevance. But I say to you, this is not our end. This is not the sunset of our Empire. We shall…"
The warehouse door shook as a hollow boom rattled the building, followed swiftly by two more. Kaiser cut off in mid-sentence. Hookwolf and Cricket shifted uneasily, and Fenja and Menja took up guard positions at Kaiser's right and left side.
For a moment, there was silence. Then a woman's voice cried out, "Down with the False Kaiser!" She spoke with a Midchildan accent, but her voice was echoed soon after by the roar of an angry crowd with hundreds of voices: "DOWN WITH THE FALSE KAISER!"
Something snapped inside his chest. Heat rose within him, anger billowing and building into fury. This was the sixteenth such challenger. One had been killed, the rest driven off, but they kept coming.
This one had brought a mob.
His people surged to their feet, many of them reaching for guns.
The warehouse's reinforced door blew off its hinges in a flare of amber light. Through the breach came a teenage girl with boyishly short red hair and vivid yellow eyes. A second girl was at her side, this one much shorter than the first, with long white hair and wearing an eyepatch. A mob of grim-faced men and women followed in their wake, most of them white, most visibly malnourished, all of them wearing expressions of fixed determination.
Kaiser gestured, and a forest of spears unfolded from the ground between his people and the mob, points toward the Interlopers, and though the crowd hesitated, neither of the girls did.
It wasn't the girls who spoke, but a woman from the crowd. A beautiful middle-eastern woman, twenty years old perhaps, her lovely features twisted with scorn. "It's over, Kaiser," she said. "We aren't going to let you run things here anymore. We aren't going to let Nazis have their way with this city anymore. Surrender and we'll turn you over to the PRT."
Metal began to flow out from beneath Hookwolf's skin as he interposed himself between the spears and the girls. "Step the fuck back," he growled, accentuating his words with the grinding of blades and hooks.
The girl with the eyepatch punched him, and all it seemed to accomplish was tearing open the skin on her knuckles against his blades. Then a pale yellow energy began to seep across Hookwolf's body. It formed quickly into a spiralling circuit pattern, weaving into, beneath, and above his increasingly distorted, metallic form.
"The fuck did you just…" Hookwolf began. His sentence ended when his metal body exploded. Heat bloomed in the warehouse, and a dozen cries of pain and alarm came from a dozen throats.
The blast had been both directional and concussive: it had flattened the spear forest and sent a handful of bodies sprawling; the girls came on, and the mob followed after.
He recognized a handful out of the crowd. They were converts to that damned space-religion, people who had abandoned his Empire Eighty-Eight in favor of the Sankt Church, servants of the whore of Babylon. He had been losing people to their soup kitchens and their outreach efforts for weeks now. He'd known they were a problem, but he hadn't taken direct action for fear of an official response. Well, he regretted his restraint now.
Sensible people might have surrendered, but Kaiser's audience had more in common with wounded animals cornered in their lair than with sensible people. Fenja and Menja charged, and rest followed after. Gunfire ripped into bodies and ricocheted off of hastily erected force fields, and the angry mob did not stop. Their angry yells reminded Kaiser more of a roused insect hive than of any sound human voices should make.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. But there, at the end, with his empire in ashes around him, as he marshaled his power against his enemies, Max Anders -- the man who had never believed in his own cause, the man who had cynically played off the bigotry of others in pursuit of power, the false Kaiser of Brockton Bay -- found within his heart a capacity for hate.
Last edited:
SV5195R
C-Weapon
- Location
- Russian Federation
Probably a false-flag operation.
- Location
- Seattle, Washington, USA
Legally speaking, unless Hookwolf has a kill order on him, that was murder. The aggressor cannot claim self defense.
- Location
- Russia
I think that in Worm, transformations such as these work via "the original person is hidden inside the body, in a sac of sorts, while the outside body is more or less a weird mecha thing for them", so I took it as his human body being fine, if shocked beyond belief, while his blender of a "mecha" being the thing that exploded.
Not sure whether that's fanon or canon though.