Family Values, Part Three
December 13th 2006 15:26
Family Values, Part Three
Thursday, November 26th, 2054
Gteams Heartland Division, personal quarters of Crone. 14.45
Crone hobbled about, using the Staff of Ages like a cane. She'd elongated it's normal hook and split it in places to work like a walking crutch which caught her arm and allowed a place for her hand to go. She looked at herself in the mirror and wondered if she'd forgotten to polish something.
She looked striking in the dress blues of the Marines. Her white hair, pulled back, French braided and bobby-pined into place, not a single strand missing. It'd taken her three hours to get it right, and another forty minutes to get the dress uniform on.
While she had the rank of Commander, rarely, if ever did she use it. In fact, she wondered when the last time she wore this uniform was. Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. She gave a half smile and said, 'enter.'
Her granddaughter opened the door and peeked in. “Grandma?” She asked. Then her eyes got wide. “Grandma?” She said quizzically.
“Yes little one. Do come in.” She turned, and winced as she did. Magic was great stuff for healing, but when you're old, you're old, she thought.
He daughter followed the little one in. “Wow, mom. You look fantastic. I can't remember the last time I saw you looking this sharp.” She grinned. She was wearing a slinky black spaghetti-strap dress that was high enough to be interesting, and low enough to be tasteful.
Crone reached out her hand and the Cloak of Shadow wrapped around her, hood falling back against her cervical spine. She fastened it's silver fabric with a Celtic Broach.
“I must say, I've never been to a military thanksgiving.” Jennifer said.
“Nor have I. But with your father on Terror Alert Orange, and his sister's cooking, well I felt we were safer eating here.” She said.
Jennifer cocked her head at her mother. “What is wrong with Aunt Selma's cooking?” She said as they walked out onto the airfield, and toward a well-lit Quonset hut.
“Nothing a good Chinese take-out couldn't cure.” She said, dryly.
“Moth-ther.” Jennifer squalled.
“Shush.” Her mother said.
The guard did not recognize Crone at first, and looked at her ID on her breast, and the looked at her.
“Commander?” He quizzed.
“Yes, Lieutenant?” she looked at him, expecting a question.
“I guess I've never seen you in dress blues before, ma'am. To be honest, I didn't know you were a Marine. I thought you were a grunt, like the rest of us.” He smiled.
“Oh, no. I'm a jarhead.” She smiled sardonically. “Gteams, as you know, is a multi-disciplinary operation.”
“Yes ma'am, I do.” He smiled, and held the door for them.
Crone declined to have her cloak taken and was seated, with her daughter and granddaughter at the head table. Dr. Reis, in his full RAF dress uniform sat to her Left. Gears, dressed in his Olive Dress Army uniform was to her right. Denise, in Air force Blues next to him.
To their right, a smaller table had been set, and, after Jennifer had whispered something into her daughter's ear, and her daughter smiled and kissed her mother on the cheek, went to sit there.
She sat up properly, like the little lady she was. Three other children were there. At the head of that table, was Firepower, in a proper dress, ribbons in her beautiful crimson hair. Throughout the meal, Denise would wink at her and try to make her giggle.
Firepower was the oldest of the child mutants. To her right was a six-year-old boy with one large cyclopean eye called Vizier. Crone's granddaughter didn't even blink twice at this. Completing the quartet was Indigo, a girl of seven with blue, rough skin covered in scales. Her eyes were glassy and he was clearly not used to the large social setting. Firepower had been placed in charge of them, and they all knew her well enough to trust her. DarkStarr, in turn was placed in charge of all of them. They all liked her quite a lot, as she'd been taking a lot of time with them all lately.
BD14 sat on the other side of Gears. He did not have service in front of him, as he did not consume food, but was, in fact, consuming a glass of wine.
Crone eyed this as service droids brought to their table a selection of beverages to them, and all of the other support staff.
While Gteams heartland was one of the most automated military bases on the planet, it was found there were some things droids could not do well, and this included decent cooking.
This night, however, everyone had off. The Mission Monitor Board's main terminal had been redirected to two or three boards here, and it was quiet, for the most part, other than the orange terror alert, but they always had that on the holiday.
Each table had between eight to fifteen people, and trimmed in harvest colors. Most had decorations, and some had the names of the specific teams or groups. Denise's mother had come over to visit, but when the food arrived had scurried back to her table; she was the head of culinary services for the base, with the rank of Captain in the Air Force.
A group of droids came in, bearing large trays of salad and vegetable platters. These were well received, as were the meat and cheese plates. A makeshift stage with a robotic band played Chopin softly.
The alcohol flowed freely, and Crone and Dr. Reis were well on their way to one of their infamous drinking matches. His wife frowned at him several times during the evening, but after the sixth double scotch, he didn't care.
At a certain point, the turkeys arrived. Some were real, some were soy, and one of each was brought to each table, with it's condiments. A sliced tray, sent to the children's table, arrived along with pre-made plates.
Crone stood, and tapped at a glass as the serving occurred. She leaned against the staff of ages in a combination of hip pain and drunkenness, one fighting against the other.
“Ladies, Gentlemen.” She called.
“Mutants, humans, and droids.” She continued.
“Pagans, Christians, Muslims, Jews and Hindi.” She concluded.
“It is my pleasure to bring you all together in this room. We represent some of the finest minds, greatest skills and most diverse population. We have come together, for this American holiday, called Thanksgiving.”
She took a deep breath, and had the entire attention of the room. She was the ranking officer on the base at the moment. She had the ear of everyone. Crone, regarded as the tough cookie, not backing down from anyone. Yet, at a certain point, she'd also made herself known to, and had helped each and every one of them. She'd wander about, occasionally serving a lunch, if a droid was down, cleaning a table, if need be. She wandered the mess halls, mechanic sheds and weapons lockers. Everyone knew Crone, and everyone liked Crone.
“I ask that we all take a moment, a moment of silence. We are very fortunate, despite the assault on our freedoms, despite the oppression by our very government, despite the ongoing war on terror, that we live in this country.”
She dipped our head and spoke reverently.
“Goddess. I ask you to bless this fine meal, and these fine people with your insight and your wisdom, as already you have done so. We here, are of differences, great and small, and we come together, to help our fellows in their times of need. We do this, in the gifts you've given us, the gifts of our mutations, the skills we have learned, and the skills we can teach.
We are a force of hundreds, around the globe, trying to do the right thing by ourselves, and our fellows, to put out fires, to defend the innocent, and protect the weak. You, in your infinite capacity of wisdom and caring have bequeathed upon us skills greater than many of our fellows.
Let us not be scared to use our gifts.
Let us understand that only with knowledge, and insight, with faith, with dignity and decency can we huddle together to make our lives greater, and to lead the way for a bright future. Let us respect those individuals who came before us, and look toward those who soon shall arrive by attending to those things in the now that must be taken care of.”
A warm, softly palpable glow permeated the room. The lights flared softly, and then, in a moment dimmed.
Crone kept the crowd silent for a full minute, and then continued.
“Goddess, I offer my thanks for the flesh, fish, foul, fruit and beverage before us. I understand that living creatures died so that we may live, and I ask that we be mindful of this, as we enjoy the Thanksgiving meal. I personally thank you, Gaia, for my life, and the lives of all who have caused my life to be greater, both allies and adversaries. So mote it be.”
A smattering of people echoed her last sentence at the first word, and by the last word the entire room had spoken this. Every person united, regardless of faith, to understand that this was truly a time of thanks and giving. While Crone did not initially like the holiday, being aware of the displacement of the Native American Indians, she chose to celebrate it as a unification of all diversity rather than the ruthless extermination it was based upon.
Dr. Reis sliced the Turkey at their table, and served around, as Denise made sure all the little ones had enough. Indigo's teeth were small and very sharp and she cautioned her to take small bites, as she had a tendency to put huge chunks of food into his mouth, causing her to choke.
When she returned to her table, she found her plated loaded to the gills, crossed herself and started pumping food down. Like Crone, she was a carnivore, and couldn't buy the whole tofu turkey thing. Dr. Reis's wife, Sarah, like Charlie, was an avid vegan.
“So where is Charlie, anyway?” She asked.
“Up with his parents on Ag 6.” Denise replied, ladling gravy upon her cranberry sauce.
“Soy farmers?” She said with a smile.
“Yup. Government relocation. Standard package.” Gears said. He had both Soy Turkey and real turkey on the same plate, and drew ire from both crowds.
Crone pleasantly settled into a discussion with Dr. Reis about attempting to clone Esmeralda who had already returned home. While she would have been, in her sober state, vehemently against such a thing, Dr. Reis knew that with the added single malt scotch, she just might possibly be willing to sanction it.
Denise however knew this ploy, “you don't even have a cloning tank large enough. Besides, what eggs would you use to house the DNA in? Pegasus or Unicorn?”
This elicited a snort from Crone, knowing full well he had access to neither creature.
“I don't see why an Arabian wouldn't work.” He said thoughtfully.
“Womb isn’t tough enough; the foal's horn would gouge her internally.” Crone said, lying. She was the only one in the room to know the Unicorn's horn did not start to grow until it was three or more years old. She was drunk, certainly, but not stupid.
“Hmm.” Dr. Reis thought about this as the Robotic band began to play a Gershwin tune. Sarah lit up, smiling and beckoned him out of his chair, despite his protestations.
Bd14 turned toward Crone and said, “Madam, would you kindly honor me with this dance.”
Crone's eyes looked at him, and she was beside herself. What the hell, she thought, but warned him, “step on my feet, and I'll turn you into a tin can.”
BD14 turned out to be quite a good dancer, and after cutting the rug with Crone, three times in a row got himself quite the dance card.
Crone smiled, and also danced with Dr. Reis, and Gears.
The tempo of the music changed various times, as various styles of music played throughout the evening, it seemed that the band's music changed as the night wore on. From Gershwin tunes, to some fifties bebop, to even a few psychedelic hits of the sixties, the music played.
The groups lined up for an impromptu Chorus of YMCA, and then when the musical eighties rolled around, all were taken as BD14 began to moonwalk, leading them in what was now called, 'classic pop'.
Techno, Rave, Digital amp, and the hits of Swing and a Miss and Jesus Presley of the 2010's played, as well as Dark Goth and Axel Metal tunes.
Eventually, tables pressed toward the sides of the Quonset hut, to give more dance floor space. Even the children got involved, and Crone's granddaughter and Indigo managed to start a hand jive movement going.
Finally, at the crack of dawn, when the morning military crew started to just clock in, did the party subside. Sarah Reis drug the Doctor home around fourish, and Crone's daughter had left at midnight.
Denise, her mother, Crone, and BD14 were all that remained, and they were directing the bots for the cleaning efforts.
“I must say, I've never seen a droid dance, before.” Crone said.
“That's okay,” BD14, said, “I've never seen a witch say grace, so I think we're even.”
Crone found that uproariously funny, and they managed, only barely to find their quarters and collapse before the sun broke against the east, giving birth to a new day.
Thursday, November 26th, 2054
Gteams Heartland Division, personal quarters of Crone. 14.45
Crone hobbled about, using the Staff of Ages like a cane. She'd elongated it's normal hook and split it in places to work like a walking crutch which caught her arm and allowed a place for her hand to go. She looked at herself in the mirror and wondered if she'd forgotten to polish something.
She looked striking in the dress blues of the Marines. Her white hair, pulled back, French braided and bobby-pined into place, not a single strand missing. It'd taken her three hours to get it right, and another forty minutes to get the dress uniform on.
Her granddaughter opened the door and peeked in. “Grandma?” She asked. Then her eyes got wide. “Grandma?” She said quizzically.
“Yes little one. Do come in.” She turned, and winced as she did. Magic was great stuff for healing, but when you're old, you're old, she thought.
He daughter followed the little one in. “Wow, mom. You look fantastic. I can't remember the last time I saw you looking this sharp.” She grinned. She was wearing a slinky black spaghetti-strap dress that was high enough to be interesting, and low enough to be tasteful.
Crone reached out her hand and the Cloak of Shadow wrapped around her, hood falling back against her cervical spine. She fastened it's silver fabric with a Celtic Broach.
“I must say, I've never been to a military thanksgiving.” Jennifer said.
“Nor have I. But with your father on Terror Alert Orange, and his sister's cooking, well I felt we were safer eating here.” She said.
“Nothing a good Chinese take-out couldn't cure.” She said, dryly.
“Moth-ther.” Jennifer squalled.
“Shush.” Her mother said.
The guard did not recognize Crone at first, and looked at her ID on her breast, and the looked at her.
“Commander?” He quizzed.
“Yes, Lieutenant?” she looked at him, expecting a question.
“I guess I've never seen you in dress blues before, ma'am. To be honest, I didn't know you were a Marine. I thought you were a grunt, like the rest of us.” He smiled.
“Oh, no. I'm a jarhead.” She smiled sardonically. “Gteams, as you know, is a multi-disciplinary operation.”
“Yes ma'am, I do.” He smiled, and held the door for them.
Crone declined to have her cloak taken and was seated, with her daughter and granddaughter at the head table. Dr. Reis, in his full RAF dress uniform sat to her Left. Gears, dressed in his Olive Dress Army uniform was to her right. Denise, in Air force Blues next to him.
To their right, a smaller table had been set, and, after Jennifer had whispered something into her daughter's ear, and her daughter smiled and kissed her mother on the cheek, went to sit there.
She sat up properly, like the little lady she was. Three other children were there. At the head of that table, was Firepower, in a proper dress, ribbons in her beautiful crimson hair. Throughout the meal, Denise would wink at her and try to make her giggle.
Firepower was the oldest of the child mutants. To her right was a six-year-old boy with one large cyclopean eye called Vizier. Crone's granddaughter didn't even blink twice at this. Completing the quartet was Indigo, a girl of seven with blue, rough skin covered in scales. Her eyes were glassy and he was clearly not used to the large social setting. Firepower had been placed in charge of them, and they all knew her well enough to trust her. DarkStarr, in turn was placed in charge of all of them. They all liked her quite a lot, as she'd been taking a lot of time with them all lately.
BD14 sat on the other side of Gears. He did not have service in front of him, as he did not consume food, but was, in fact, consuming a glass of wine.
Crone eyed this as service droids brought to their table a selection of beverages to them, and all of the other support staff.
While Gteams heartland was one of the most automated military bases on the planet, it was found there were some things droids could not do well, and this included decent cooking.
This night, however, everyone had off. The Mission Monitor Board's main terminal had been redirected to two or three boards here, and it was quiet, for the most part, other than the orange terror alert, but they always had that on the holiday.
Each table had between eight to fifteen people, and trimmed in harvest colors. Most had decorations, and some had the names of the specific teams or groups. Denise's mother had come over to visit, but when the food arrived had scurried back to her table; she was the head of culinary services for the base, with the rank of Captain in the Air Force.
A group of droids came in, bearing large trays of salad and vegetable platters. These were well received, as were the meat and cheese plates. A makeshift stage with a robotic band played Chopin softly.
The alcohol flowed freely, and Crone and Dr. Reis were well on their way to one of their infamous drinking matches. His wife frowned at him several times during the evening, but after the sixth double scotch, he didn't care.
At a certain point, the turkeys arrived. Some were real, some were soy, and one of each was brought to each table, with it's condiments. A sliced tray, sent to the children's table, arrived along with pre-made plates.
Crone stood, and tapped at a glass as the serving occurred. She leaned against the staff of ages in a combination of hip pain and drunkenness, one fighting against the other.
“Ladies, Gentlemen.” She called.
“Mutants, humans, and droids.” She continued.
“Pagans, Christians, Muslims, Jews and Hindi.” She concluded.
“It is my pleasure to bring you all together in this room. We represent some of the finest minds, greatest skills and most diverse population. We have come together, for this American holiday, called Thanksgiving.”
She took a deep breath, and had the entire attention of the room. She was the ranking officer on the base at the moment. She had the ear of everyone. Crone, regarded as the tough cookie, not backing down from anyone. Yet, at a certain point, she'd also made herself known to, and had helped each and every one of them. She'd wander about, occasionally serving a lunch, if a droid was down, cleaning a table, if need be. She wandered the mess halls, mechanic sheds and weapons lockers. Everyone knew Crone, and everyone liked Crone.
“I ask that we all take a moment, a moment of silence. We are very fortunate, despite the assault on our freedoms, despite the oppression by our very government, despite the ongoing war on terror, that we live in this country.”
She dipped our head and spoke reverently.
“Goddess. I ask you to bless this fine meal, and these fine people with your insight and your wisdom, as already you have done so. We here, are of differences, great and small, and we come together, to help our fellows in their times of need. We do this, in the gifts you've given us, the gifts of our mutations, the skills we have learned, and the skills we can teach.
We are a force of hundreds, around the globe, trying to do the right thing by ourselves, and our fellows, to put out fires, to defend the innocent, and protect the weak. You, in your infinite capacity of wisdom and caring have bequeathed upon us skills greater than many of our fellows.
Let us not be scared to use our gifts.
Let us understand that only with knowledge, and insight, with faith, with dignity and decency can we huddle together to make our lives greater, and to lead the way for a bright future. Let us respect those individuals who came before us, and look toward those who soon shall arrive by attending to those things in the now that must be taken care of.”
A warm, softly palpable glow permeated the room. The lights flared softly, and then, in a moment dimmed.
Crone kept the crowd silent for a full minute, and then continued.
“Goddess, I offer my thanks for the flesh, fish, foul, fruit and beverage before us. I understand that living creatures died so that we may live, and I ask that we be mindful of this, as we enjoy the Thanksgiving meal. I personally thank you, Gaia, for my life, and the lives of all who have caused my life to be greater, both allies and adversaries. So mote it be.”
A smattering of people echoed her last sentence at the first word, and by the last word the entire room had spoken this. Every person united, regardless of faith, to understand that this was truly a time of thanks and giving. While Crone did not initially like the holiday, being aware of the displacement of the Native American Indians, she chose to celebrate it as a unification of all diversity rather than the ruthless extermination it was based upon.
Dr. Reis sliced the Turkey at their table, and served around, as Denise made sure all the little ones had enough. Indigo's teeth were small and very sharp and she cautioned her to take small bites, as she had a tendency to put huge chunks of food into his mouth, causing her to choke.
When she returned to her table, she found her plated loaded to the gills, crossed herself and started pumping food down. Like Crone, she was a carnivore, and couldn't buy the whole tofu turkey thing. Dr. Reis's wife, Sarah, like Charlie, was an avid vegan.
“So where is Charlie, anyway?” She asked.
“Up with his parents on Ag 6.” Denise replied, ladling gravy upon her cranberry sauce.
“Soy farmers?” She said with a smile.
“Yup. Government relocation. Standard package.” Gears said. He had both Soy Turkey and real turkey on the same plate, and drew ire from both crowds.
Crone pleasantly settled into a discussion with Dr. Reis about attempting to clone Esmeralda who had already returned home. While she would have been, in her sober state, vehemently against such a thing, Dr. Reis knew that with the added single malt scotch, she just might possibly be willing to sanction it.
Denise however knew this ploy, “you don't even have a cloning tank large enough. Besides, what eggs would you use to house the DNA in? Pegasus or Unicorn?”
This elicited a snort from Crone, knowing full well he had access to neither creature.
“I don't see why an Arabian wouldn't work.” He said thoughtfully.
“Womb isn’t tough enough; the foal's horn would gouge her internally.” Crone said, lying. She was the only one in the room to know the Unicorn's horn did not start to grow until it was three or more years old. She was drunk, certainly, but not stupid.
“Hmm.” Dr. Reis thought about this as the Robotic band began to play a Gershwin tune. Sarah lit up, smiling and beckoned him out of his chair, despite his protestations.
Bd14 turned toward Crone and said, “Madam, would you kindly honor me with this dance.”
Crone's eyes looked at him, and she was beside herself. What the hell, she thought, but warned him, “step on my feet, and I'll turn you into a tin can.”
BD14 turned out to be quite a good dancer, and after cutting the rug with Crone, three times in a row got himself quite the dance card.
Crone smiled, and also danced with Dr. Reis, and Gears.
The tempo of the music changed various times, as various styles of music played throughout the evening, it seemed that the band's music changed as the night wore on. From Gershwin tunes, to some fifties bebop, to even a few psychedelic hits of the sixties, the music played.
The groups lined up for an impromptu Chorus of YMCA, and then when the musical eighties rolled around, all were taken as BD14 began to moonwalk, leading them in what was now called, 'classic pop'.
Techno, Rave, Digital amp, and the hits of Swing and a Miss and Jesus Presley of the 2010's played, as well as Dark Goth and Axel Metal tunes.
Eventually, tables pressed toward the sides of the Quonset hut, to give more dance floor space. Even the children got involved, and Crone's granddaughter and Indigo managed to start a hand jive movement going.
Finally, at the crack of dawn, when the morning military crew started to just clock in, did the party subside. Sarah Reis drug the Doctor home around fourish, and Crone's daughter had left at midnight.
Denise, her mother, Crone, and BD14 were all that remained, and they were directing the bots for the cleaning efforts.
“I must say, I've never seen a droid dance, before.” Crone said.
“That's okay,” BD14, said, “I've never seen a witch say grace, so I think we're even.”
Crone found that uproariously funny, and they managed, only barely to find their quarters and collapse before the sun broke against the east, giving birth to a new day.
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