Crack Dealer wanted to read this
Jan. 22nd, 2007 07:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tanarillAllen gets OOC, and I will eventually have to explain all of the science here. And revise like woah. On the other hand, I have successfully stolen this part of the Crack and now have free reign to make it my own. Booyah!
Title: I don't know, should there be one?
Fandom: Butch Hartman's Danny Phantom and, of course, the Crack.
Rating: Still G
Warnings: Geekyness. You have to wait to find out what prions are. Nya!
The first time he saw her, she was sitting on library steps, nursing her coffee, and reading her psychology textbook. The sun was shining on her bright golden-orange hair, and that was what caught him. If you could somehow package the reflection, no vampire undead would stand a chance. The part of him that wasn’t human was screeching that there was something off about her, and Allen had long ago learned to listen to that part of himself. Even if he didn’t like it, it was the part that noticed the things which saved his life.
She squinted up at him when he stepped into her sun, and mildly asked, “Can I help you?”
He hadn’t really thought about what to say, and his stranger half tended to take over when he wasn’t guarding against it, so the first thing out of his mouth was, “Are you a vampire?”
She blinked, and then said, “Do you normally walk up to complete strangers and ask if they’re mythological beings? For that matter, how could I be a vampire? It’s a bright, sunny day and you’re blocking my light.”
“There’s something weird about you.” It was not the most tactful thing to say, but it was the truth.
The woman narrowed her eyes at him and said, “There’s something weird about everybody. I’ll thank you to keep your weirdness to yourself.”
Danger, warned his other half, and he listened. “Sorry,” he said, and left. It was not a retreat. Vampires-I’m not a vampire-don’t retreat.
But . . . who was she, and why did she shine like a beacon to his inhuman senses?
***
It hurt to do this. It always hurt to use those powers granted him by an unfortunate meeting so long ago that he barely remembered, although his parents both assured him time and time
again that they loved him no less for it. He believed them; he’d be dead if they didn’t, after all. And the pain was good, since it reminded him to never let himself go too far and become that which he fought.
Everything was much sharper like this, colors more vivid, sounds more distinct. And the scents, layered over everything like a four-dimensional map. It was dark now, but that hardly mattered. She had spent hours on the library steps, and she was a vivid fire-orange trail all across campus. He moved fast, not as fast as his prey-brethren, whispered his mind-enemies could when they were really moving, but fast. He couldn’t see what it was about her that had set him off, but he could feel it, an intrinsic part of her. And for all that, as he retraced the path she’s taken that day, he couldn’t find it. It was there, all around, and he couldn’t find it.
It was time to call in the big guns.
***
“Hi mom.”
“Allen! Are you okay? Why haven’t you called?”
“Fine, mom. Just got wrapped up in the 8791 strain. It looked pretty promising, even managed to convert a couple hundred of mine. But the temperature has to be above boiling, so it wouldn’t work in the field . . . still, I think I’m on the right track.”
“That’s good. Your father and I have managed to isolate two new strains. We’re calling them 9676 and 9677. Seven-six is vulnerable to point-one degree temperature changes, so we don’t think they’ll last for long. Seven-seven is a problem, though. It’s pretty robust, and it looks like there don’t have to be as many to get the same results. You sister has already upgraded. Do you want me to send you a sample too?”
“Any side effects? Besides the obvious, I mean.”
“It decomposes cholesterol faster, so you might need to eat more.”
“Any negative side effects?”
“Would we let your sister use it if there were?”
“All right, mom. Send it over. Also, can you send an ID kit?”
“Why?” He could practically hear his mother’s eyes narrow.
“I met this girl . . . at worst, she’s like me and Lupae,” he said, to head off any questions, “But I don’t think she is. There’s just something off. I don’t know what it is, and I want to find out.”
“You checked her?”
“Mom!”
“All right, all right. Just asking. You realize that she might be coming from a different branch altogether, right?”
“Yes! That’s why I want the kit. If it can’t ID her, then I’ll start to worry.”
“Okay. I’ll send one over. Now, tell me about your results for 8791 . . . ”
***
It hadn’t been that hard to acquire a strand of her hair. Allen had been surprised about that. But where other people would pick at fingernails and play with pencils, she ran her hands through a yard of orange-gold hair. Occasionally, some of it would end up on the floor, and if she sat somewhere for any length of time, it was easy to go in afterward and pick it up.
But the tests, so far all of them, had come up negative.
She was not a vampire, and as he had suspected, she wasn’t like him either. She was not a werewolf; the viral signature for that was as distinct as the prions that made vampires. She was not any variety of magic-although the residue of that was hard to isolate, people either blazed with it or hadn’t any at all, and she had none at all. She was not a giant, either fire or ice. She was not a spirit and could not talk to them. She had no guardian spirit either-
The machine blipped, and changed its display to read “Positive.” He looked up at it. It beeped again, to read “Negative.” And again, back to “Positive.” He ran that test again. She was not a spirit and could not talk to them. She had no guardian spirit-the machine blipped, and now read “Positive” for a moment before changing back to “Negative.” He began counting under his breath, but the display had changed back to “Positive” before he got to five. He ran the test a third time. Still not psychic, still both a guardian spirit and no guardian spirit at the same time. Was it even possible to only have a guardian spirit half the time?
He picked up the phone.
***
“No, she’s not a ghost. The kit can’t decide whether or not she has a guardian spirit. It almost as if . . . this is going to sound stupid. It’s almost as if she’s dealing with a guardian spirit that isn’t specifically her’s on a regular basis.”
“Have you tried the test for kami, stupid?”
“What?”
“Have you tested for small gods of nature? Honestly, big bro, if there’s one around, the spirit test tends to go haywire. It’s because kami aren’t guardians but are spirits.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You go do that. Call me back if it doesn’t tell you anything.”
***
Ring. Ring. Ring. He held the phone up to his ear and hoped that his mother was going to pick up. He was going to hang up if it was Lupae again.
“Hello?” He breathed a sigh of relief. His mother.
“There aren’t any kami, mom. Or there are. The kit can’t decide. Just like the spirit test.”
“Now that is unusual. And she comes up negative for everything else?”
“Yes.”
“It’s possible that she’s something we haven’t ever dealt with before.”
“I know. But even if she is, she seems benign.”
“Yes, and so did Piotr until he went after you and Lupae.” He heard her sigh. “Listen, I’m going to send over some bugs, okay? You send the kit back, along with six or seven isolated samples and your results in hardcopy. I’ll copy them and then pass the rest of it on to Budapest. If they can’t find anything either, someone will probably send a field agent.”
Allen grimaced. He disliked agents. Half the time they had no idea how to behave around him, and the other half they treated him scarcely better than the supernatural they hunted.
Besides, vampires are territorial. They don’t like to share.
***
The trackers arrived. He had some trouble getting one on her backpack, but not too much. It became clear when he bumped into her that she didn’t recognize him from their one previous encounter. While this was useful, he found himself oddly unhappy that she had forgotten him so easily.
Her name was Jazz.
Budapest got the hair samples, and sent back a negative on the need for an agent. They requested more samples. Allen breathed a sigh of relief. His research on strain 9771 began turning up promising results, being able to completely react a few of the less robust strains and even converting half of his prions at body temperature-by this time, all of his prions having been converted to the 9677 strain.
And then, one day, Jazz discovered the tracker.
***
“Vladimir Masters, I know that you’re listening to this. I’m going to tell you once and only once: leave me and Danny alone.”
The signal from the bug abruptly flatlined.
***
“Hey mom. Did you get the results from the last set of tests?”
“Yes, Allen. These are really impressive. I think that if you extended the beta pleat by another amino acid, it might be our golden boy. But surely you didn’t just call for the flattery.”
“Who is Vladimir Masters?”
“Masters? He’s a benign class seven. Occasionally provides funding for some of our more . . . esoteric projects. He’s a Packers fan,” she added, knowing that her son would want to know his football team. “Why?”
“Could he afford, say, a remote broadcasting tracker?”
“I’m sure he could. Now once again, why?”
“Because Jazz-”
“Who?”
“Jazz. You know, the one the kit couldn’t identify? Well, she found the tracker and immediately assumed it had been put there by Masters. I’ll send you the sound bite later. Have any clue why she might do that? For that matter, have any clue why he’d put a trace on her?”
“No. I’ll call you back.”
***
“Allen? I did some digging on Masters. I had to go back pretty far. Turns out he used to be pretty close with your Jazz’s parents in college. The families got back in touch seven years ago, and Masters has been tracing all of them ever since. You wouldn’t believe how hard it was for Lupae to find that. He’s hiding something else, but his home system has at least one learning algorithm in it somewhere, and Lupae can’t crack it. Anyway, even if your Jazz found ours, it’s likely that he also has a bug around her somewhere. This is now a code six. Jazz knows whatever it is that Masters is hiding. Find it out.”
***
“Jazz, right?”
“And you are . . . ?”
“Allen. Allen Hark. I . . . asked if you were a vampire?”
“Oh. Yes, I remember. Any particular reason why you did that?”
“Spur-of-the-moment crazy? It was the first thing that popped into my head. I didn’t expect you to use logic. I . . . well, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry, and that I think you’re pretty. And I’d like to get to know you.”
She raised one elegant eyebrow. “That has got to be,” she said, “the worst pick-up I have ever heard. And I have heard some pretty bad ones.”
“Oh,” he said, turning to leave.
“That didn’t mean I was rejecting the offer.”
So, I am apparently now the Crack Consultant. I shall use my awesome powers of knowing the most useless trivia ever to find scientific explanations for all of it! Which means that this week is going to be Tanarill Explains Her Alt!Crack Week. Tomorrow: What is a prion, and why you shouldn't be too worried about having them in your blood.
Title: I don't know, should there be one?
Fandom: Butch Hartman's Danny Phantom and, of course, the Crack.
Rating: Still G
Warnings: Geekyness. You have to wait to find out what prions are. Nya!
The first time he saw her, she was sitting on library steps, nursing her coffee, and reading her psychology textbook. The sun was shining on her bright golden-orange hair, and that was what caught him. If you could somehow package the reflection, no vampire undead would stand a chance. The part of him that wasn’t human was screeching that there was something off about her, and Allen had long ago learned to listen to that part of himself. Even if he didn’t like it, it was the part that noticed the things which saved his life.
She squinted up at him when he stepped into her sun, and mildly asked, “Can I help you?”
He hadn’t really thought about what to say, and his stranger half tended to take over when he wasn’t guarding against it, so the first thing out of his mouth was, “Are you a vampire?”
She blinked, and then said, “Do you normally walk up to complete strangers and ask if they’re mythological beings? For that matter, how could I be a vampire? It’s a bright, sunny day and you’re blocking my light.”
“There’s something weird about you.” It was not the most tactful thing to say, but it was the truth.
The woman narrowed her eyes at him and said, “There’s something weird about everybody. I’ll thank you to keep your weirdness to yourself.”
Danger, warned his other half, and he listened. “Sorry,” he said, and left. It was not a retreat. Vampires-I’m not a vampire-don’t retreat.
But . . . who was she, and why did she shine like a beacon to his inhuman senses?
***
It hurt to do this. It always hurt to use those powers granted him by an unfortunate meeting so long ago that he barely remembered, although his parents both assured him time and time
again that they loved him no less for it. He believed them; he’d be dead if they didn’t, after all. And the pain was good, since it reminded him to never let himself go too far and become that which he fought.
Everything was much sharper like this, colors more vivid, sounds more distinct. And the scents, layered over everything like a four-dimensional map. It was dark now, but that hardly mattered. She had spent hours on the library steps, and she was a vivid fire-orange trail all across campus. He moved fast, not as fast as his prey-brethren, whispered his mind-enemies could when they were really moving, but fast. He couldn’t see what it was about her that had set him off, but he could feel it, an intrinsic part of her. And for all that, as he retraced the path she’s taken that day, he couldn’t find it. It was there, all around, and he couldn’t find it.
It was time to call in the big guns.
***
“Hi mom.”
“Allen! Are you okay? Why haven’t you called?”
“Fine, mom. Just got wrapped up in the 8791 strain. It looked pretty promising, even managed to convert a couple hundred of mine. But the temperature has to be above boiling, so it wouldn’t work in the field . . . still, I think I’m on the right track.”
“That’s good. Your father and I have managed to isolate two new strains. We’re calling them 9676 and 9677. Seven-six is vulnerable to point-one degree temperature changes, so we don’t think they’ll last for long. Seven-seven is a problem, though. It’s pretty robust, and it looks like there don’t have to be as many to get the same results. You sister has already upgraded. Do you want me to send you a sample too?”
“Any side effects? Besides the obvious, I mean.”
“It decomposes cholesterol faster, so you might need to eat more.”
“Any negative side effects?”
“Would we let your sister use it if there were?”
“All right, mom. Send it over. Also, can you send an ID kit?”
“Why?” He could practically hear his mother’s eyes narrow.
“I met this girl . . . at worst, she’s like me and Lupae,” he said, to head off any questions, “But I don’t think she is. There’s just something off. I don’t know what it is, and I want to find out.”
“You checked her?”
“Mom!”
“All right, all right. Just asking. You realize that she might be coming from a different branch altogether, right?”
“Yes! That’s why I want the kit. If it can’t ID her, then I’ll start to worry.”
“Okay. I’ll send one over. Now, tell me about your results for 8791 . . . ”
***
It hadn’t been that hard to acquire a strand of her hair. Allen had been surprised about that. But where other people would pick at fingernails and play with pencils, she ran her hands through a yard of orange-gold hair. Occasionally, some of it would end up on the floor, and if she sat somewhere for any length of time, it was easy to go in afterward and pick it up.
But the tests, so far all of them, had come up negative.
She was not a vampire, and as he had suspected, she wasn’t like him either. She was not a werewolf; the viral signature for that was as distinct as the prions that made vampires. She was not any variety of magic-although the residue of that was hard to isolate, people either blazed with it or hadn’t any at all, and she had none at all. She was not a giant, either fire or ice. She was not a spirit and could not talk to them. She had no guardian spirit either-
The machine blipped, and changed its display to read “Positive.” He looked up at it. It beeped again, to read “Negative.” And again, back to “Positive.” He ran that test again. She was not a spirit and could not talk to them. She had no guardian spirit-the machine blipped, and now read “Positive” for a moment before changing back to “Negative.” He began counting under his breath, but the display had changed back to “Positive” before he got to five. He ran the test a third time. Still not psychic, still both a guardian spirit and no guardian spirit at the same time. Was it even possible to only have a guardian spirit half the time?
He picked up the phone.
***
“No, she’s not a ghost. The kit can’t decide whether or not she has a guardian spirit. It almost as if . . . this is going to sound stupid. It’s almost as if she’s dealing with a guardian spirit that isn’t specifically her’s on a regular basis.”
“Have you tried the test for kami, stupid?”
“What?”
“Have you tested for small gods of nature? Honestly, big bro, if there’s one around, the spirit test tends to go haywire. It’s because kami aren’t guardians but are spirits.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You go do that. Call me back if it doesn’t tell you anything.”
***
Ring. Ring. Ring. He held the phone up to his ear and hoped that his mother was going to pick up. He was going to hang up if it was Lupae again.
“Hello?” He breathed a sigh of relief. His mother.
“There aren’t any kami, mom. Or there are. The kit can’t decide. Just like the spirit test.”
“Now that is unusual. And she comes up negative for everything else?”
“Yes.”
“It’s possible that she’s something we haven’t ever dealt with before.”
“I know. But even if she is, she seems benign.”
“Yes, and so did Piotr until he went after you and Lupae.” He heard her sigh. “Listen, I’m going to send over some bugs, okay? You send the kit back, along with six or seven isolated samples and your results in hardcopy. I’ll copy them and then pass the rest of it on to Budapest. If they can’t find anything either, someone will probably send a field agent.”
Allen grimaced. He disliked agents. Half the time they had no idea how to behave around him, and the other half they treated him scarcely better than the supernatural they hunted.
Besides, vampires are territorial. They don’t like to share.
***
The trackers arrived. He had some trouble getting one on her backpack, but not too much. It became clear when he bumped into her that she didn’t recognize him from their one previous encounter. While this was useful, he found himself oddly unhappy that she had forgotten him so easily.
Her name was Jazz.
Budapest got the hair samples, and sent back a negative on the need for an agent. They requested more samples. Allen breathed a sigh of relief. His research on strain 9771 began turning up promising results, being able to completely react a few of the less robust strains and even converting half of his prions at body temperature-by this time, all of his prions having been converted to the 9677 strain.
And then, one day, Jazz discovered the tracker.
***
“Vladimir Masters, I know that you’re listening to this. I’m going to tell you once and only once: leave me and Danny alone.”
The signal from the bug abruptly flatlined.
***
“Hey mom. Did you get the results from the last set of tests?”
“Yes, Allen. These are really impressive. I think that if you extended the beta pleat by another amino acid, it might be our golden boy. But surely you didn’t just call for the flattery.”
“Who is Vladimir Masters?”
“Masters? He’s a benign class seven. Occasionally provides funding for some of our more . . . esoteric projects. He’s a Packers fan,” she added, knowing that her son would want to know his football team. “Why?”
“Could he afford, say, a remote broadcasting tracker?”
“I’m sure he could. Now once again, why?”
“Because Jazz-”
“Who?”
“Jazz. You know, the one the kit couldn’t identify? Well, she found the tracker and immediately assumed it had been put there by Masters. I’ll send you the sound bite later. Have any clue why she might do that? For that matter, have any clue why he’d put a trace on her?”
“No. I’ll call you back.”
***
“Allen? I did some digging on Masters. I had to go back pretty far. Turns out he used to be pretty close with your Jazz’s parents in college. The families got back in touch seven years ago, and Masters has been tracing all of them ever since. You wouldn’t believe how hard it was for Lupae to find that. He’s hiding something else, but his home system has at least one learning algorithm in it somewhere, and Lupae can’t crack it. Anyway, even if your Jazz found ours, it’s likely that he also has a bug around her somewhere. This is now a code six. Jazz knows whatever it is that Masters is hiding. Find it out.”
***
“Jazz, right?”
“And you are . . . ?”
“Allen. Allen Hark. I . . . asked if you were a vampire?”
“Oh. Yes, I remember. Any particular reason why you did that?”
“Spur-of-the-moment crazy? It was the first thing that popped into my head. I didn’t expect you to use logic. I . . . well, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry, and that I think you’re pretty. And I’d like to get to know you.”
She raised one elegant eyebrow. “That has got to be,” she said, “the worst pick-up I have ever heard. And I have heard some pretty bad ones.”
“Oh,” he said, turning to leave.
“That didn’t mean I was rejecting the offer.”
So, I am apparently now the Crack Consultant. I shall use my awesome powers of knowing the most useless trivia ever to find scientific explanations for all of it! Which means that this week is going to be Tanarill Explains Her Alt!Crack Week. Tomorrow: What is a prion, and why you shouldn't be too worried about having them in your blood.
