LPF Week 17 - Vigilance
Mar. 12th, 2019 02:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwangoWhen Fiona Cassien's name came up in conversation at high society gatherings, there were two aspects of her person most likely to be discussed. One was that she was, depending on one's point of view, either carving out exciting new discoveries on the frontiers of science or trampling all over the laws of nature and God. The other was that she complained all the time. Of the two, it was the latter that was more frequently discussed, and not just because it was the subject less likely to devolve into friendship-ending bickering.
Fiona's current foremost complaint was with much of human civilization's compulsive need to bury objects of value with corpses. As far as Fiona was concerned, it was a waste of valuables, and she was convinced that many people shared her view, and only perpetuated the practice due to societal pressure. It would be simply scandalous if she didn't bury valuables with her dead uncle even though he had no possible use for them now that he was dead. Also, the likelihood that he would be buried with valuables made it that much more likely that unscrupulous persons would dig up his corpse in order to steal said valuables. Should this happen, she would then have to pay for his body to be re-interred, possibly with a new collection of valuables, which might then result in the process repeating itself. Fiona was tempted to have inscribed on his tombstone "Buried with Nothing of Value," but knew enough about the human mind to know that this would absolutely guarantee his grave was robbed in a matter of hours.
It was not that he had not loved her uncle - she had, in fact, been quite fond of him. He had been a sensible and practical man in a world that seemed to be filled with credulous idiots, and she was quite certain that he would rather she spend money on new glassware, surgical tools, rare isotopes, or even eye of newt rather than bury his body in an expensive box along with his rings, his best cuff-links, and his prosthetic eye that according to urban legend was actually a giant ruby.
Fiona had an idea for a possible solution to this problem, and invited her colleague Kasimir over for coffee so she could bounce the idea off him. Kasimir was ideal for this sort of thing because he was an intelligent, thoughtful man who would understand any technical language that might arise during the conversation, and because there was no possible way that he could misconstrue the invitation as any kind of romantic overture. Also, he was willing to put up with her complaining.
"I was thinking I might make something to guard Uncle Valerian's grave," Fiona said before either of them had even managed to sip their coffee.
"It's lovely to see you too, my dear," Kasimir said. Then he rather theatrically rubbed his chin and considered her statement. "Hmm. That sounds ghoulish and horrifying. I approve. How many tentacles were you planning to give this something?"
"Kasimir, not everything needs to have tentacles," Fiona said. Kasimir's eyes grew wide with astonishment. He stiffly placed his cup on the table.
"Fiona, you are dead to me," he said solemnly.
"Oh, stop it," Fiona said. "Fine, I won't rule out tentacles completely." Kasimir smiled and picked up his coffee cup.
"I am pleased to renew our friendship," he said.
"Yes, I too am pleased that the terrible rift between us has been mended. But seriously, I was thinking that some kind of guardian - a very conspicuous guardian, mind you - would say to the world that I don't want anyone digging up Valerian's corpse. But, since that will also convey to certain people that it might be worth digging it up, it's got to be able to follow through and discourage people in an overtly physical manner."
"You mean you want it to be able to rip off people's arms if necessary," Kasimir said.
"Well, obviously."
They discussed the matter at considerable length. In the end, they agreed that the guard really only needed to be active at night, because who robs a grave in broad daylight? It needed to be able to see in the dark. It needed to be able to incapacitate two or three physically fit adult men wielding shovels. It should look terrifying. It should have at least three tentacles.
It felt like a cliché, but she also gave it eyes on the back of its head.
Several weeks and a dozen or so fatalities later, after the debacle had completely run its course and the renegade creature had been tracked down and "decommissioned," someone at Fiona's hearing asked why she didn't just cremate her uncle.
"Don't be stupid," she said. "What if I wanted to talk to him?"
Fiona's current foremost complaint was with much of human civilization's compulsive need to bury objects of value with corpses. As far as Fiona was concerned, it was a waste of valuables, and she was convinced that many people shared her view, and only perpetuated the practice due to societal pressure. It would be simply scandalous if she didn't bury valuables with her dead uncle even though he had no possible use for them now that he was dead. Also, the likelihood that he would be buried with valuables made it that much more likely that unscrupulous persons would dig up his corpse in order to steal said valuables. Should this happen, she would then have to pay for his body to be re-interred, possibly with a new collection of valuables, which might then result in the process repeating itself. Fiona was tempted to have inscribed on his tombstone "Buried with Nothing of Value," but knew enough about the human mind to know that this would absolutely guarantee his grave was robbed in a matter of hours.
It was not that he had not loved her uncle - she had, in fact, been quite fond of him. He had been a sensible and practical man in a world that seemed to be filled with credulous idiots, and she was quite certain that he would rather she spend money on new glassware, surgical tools, rare isotopes, or even eye of newt rather than bury his body in an expensive box along with his rings, his best cuff-links, and his prosthetic eye that according to urban legend was actually a giant ruby.
Fiona had an idea for a possible solution to this problem, and invited her colleague Kasimir over for coffee so she could bounce the idea off him. Kasimir was ideal for this sort of thing because he was an intelligent, thoughtful man who would understand any technical language that might arise during the conversation, and because there was no possible way that he could misconstrue the invitation as any kind of romantic overture. Also, he was willing to put up with her complaining.
"I was thinking I might make something to guard Uncle Valerian's grave," Fiona said before either of them had even managed to sip their coffee.
"It's lovely to see you too, my dear," Kasimir said. Then he rather theatrically rubbed his chin and considered her statement. "Hmm. That sounds ghoulish and horrifying. I approve. How many tentacles were you planning to give this something?"
"Kasimir, not everything needs to have tentacles," Fiona said. Kasimir's eyes grew wide with astonishment. He stiffly placed his cup on the table.
"Fiona, you are dead to me," he said solemnly.
"Oh, stop it," Fiona said. "Fine, I won't rule out tentacles completely." Kasimir smiled and picked up his coffee cup.
"I am pleased to renew our friendship," he said.
"Yes, I too am pleased that the terrible rift between us has been mended. But seriously, I was thinking that some kind of guardian - a very conspicuous guardian, mind you - would say to the world that I don't want anyone digging up Valerian's corpse. But, since that will also convey to certain people that it might be worth digging it up, it's got to be able to follow through and discourage people in an overtly physical manner."
"You mean you want it to be able to rip off people's arms if necessary," Kasimir said.
"Well, obviously."
They discussed the matter at considerable length. In the end, they agreed that the guard really only needed to be active at night, because who robs a grave in broad daylight? It needed to be able to see in the dark. It needed to be able to incapacitate two or three physically fit adult men wielding shovels. It should look terrifying. It should have at least three tentacles.
It felt like a cliché, but she also gave it eyes on the back of its head.
Several weeks and a dozen or so fatalities later, after the debacle had completely run its course and the renegade creature had been tracked down and "decommissioned," someone at Fiona's hearing asked why she didn't just cremate her uncle.
"Don't be stupid," she said. "What if I wanted to talk to him?"
no subject
Date: 2019-03-16 10:02 pm (UTC)