fandomhigh | Fandom Invasions Class #7 (Thursday period 3)

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fandom invasions

Fandom Invasions Class #7 (Thursday period 3)

When the students filed into the Danger Shop they found two young girls standing with John in the usual lecture spot.

"Hi," the older one said, bouncing a little on her toes. "I'm Susannah Lynn and this is my half-sister Grace. Dad asked us to help him with this class since it's all about us.

"See, there was this big swirling thing, a..... vortex?" She looked up at John for confirmation of the word, grinning when he nodded and then continuing. "And a bunch of us kids got pulled through it and came to Fandom and got to meet our parents before they were our parents. It was really freaky and a little scary, but it was also a lot of fun." She giggled. "Seeing everybody's face when they realised we were their kids was really really funny.

"It was so much fun, that Dad decided that you should get a chance to play too! Isn't that great?" She turned and looked up at John again. "This is where you take over, right?"

John smiled and nodded. "It is. Thanks, Susannah." He addressed the class. "Fandom is always throwing the unexpected at you. And sometimes that isn't a hostile invasion. Sometimes it's the next generation. The object this class isn't to fight the invaders, but look after them. Keep them amused, fed, make sure they go to bed on time... you know. Be parents. And then make sure they get back to where they're supposed to be."

Grace pulled on John's pantleg. "Daddy? I wanna colour!"

John picked her up and smiled wryly at the class. "Sometimes it's easier to just beat something up."

[ooc: ~~wait for~~ ocd is up! Have at it.]

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The girl folded her arms, huffily. "You know my name. Why are you acting strange today? Mum says you're always strange and then you call her unpleasant names. And then she calls you unpleasant names, but she's got the sense to wait until you've left the room. I think perhaps she's smarter than you are."

"She calls me unpleasant names?" It was always good to know these things. One never knew what the creator of one's world thought about you behind your back from another universe. Perhaps he could use the child as a double-agent. Not that it would really do much good? But he was curious. "Such as what?"

"You are a craven, conniving, cake-hogging coward," she declared. It had the air of recitation to it. "According to Mum, when you're having a row. Her insults are alliterative."

"I'm craven and conniving, now? I suppose that beats being a pathetic creep. I've been promoted." He stopped his retreat and leaned forward a little. "Now, assuming that I've gone absolutely barking mad and I really don't know your name, what would you tell me if I asked for it?"

She had to think on that for a moment. "I should tell you that you are very silly, and that Mum is right about you hogging cake, and I should ask what you would give me for telling you. And I would say that it's rather strange for you to not know my name considering you gave it to me. Unless Mum did. But one of you must have picked it out. I certainly didn't."

"Well, there's no doubt that you certainly are mine," Valentine said with a frown as the girl tried to weasel... whatever out of him. Conniving, indeed. "I'll hog less cake next time. Even if I didn't hog it last time. Honestly."

He crossed his arms indignantly.

"Name, age, place of birth, and mother's name, just so I can stop losing my mind now?"

Cake-hogging. Bah.

"All right," she said. "You're doing terribly at this negotiation. I can give you all of that if ..."

The girl paused to consider her options.

"Have you any cake with you?" she asked hopefully. "I would say that we could go and get some, but perhaps you'd refuse to honour your side. I will say that I'm six and three-quarters. That's one of the four. Now you offer something and I'll consider it."

Valentine eyed the girl for a long moment, rather warily, actually.

"I suppose we could attempt to find cake for you. In the common room, perhaps. I don't much trust the cafeteria food around here, ever since I ate it and lost my mind for a day."

...

"Cake for your name, then? Will you accept substitutions, pending a lack of actual cake?"

The girl sniffed, pondering. "All right, then. I shall tell you all of that, even though you know it already and are being silly, in exchange for which you'll find me cake or something cake-like, and I promise you'll regret it if you don't."

She drew herself up very primly. "My name is Coraline, and I was born in Brighton, near Mum's Aunt Nan's, and Aunt Nan is even sillier than you. I'm six and three-quarters. My Mum is Helena Campbell, my Dad is a very important man, and my grandmum is the Queen of Light. But only sometimes. I can juggle and draw and dance ballet, and my Dad says that I have the prettiest face of anyone, mask or no."

He said that? Or some strange alternate universe future computer-thingie generated incarnation of him had said that? ... Of course he had. She was his daughter. And being his daughter, she had obviously inherited his charm and stunning good looks, and he imagined that he'd probably someday be beating the boys off of her with a stick.

Where the hell was Brighton?

"You know," he said, not certain if he was teasing or not, "I somehow doubt there's anyone in any universe out there who is somehow sillier than I am. Now, Coraline," he had most certainly been the one to name her, he decided, because she had a decidedly better name than her mother, "let's see if we can find you some cake."

"Aunt Nan's nearly as silly as Mrs. Bagwell, and they're both far stranger than you," Coraline said loyally. "And I like chocolate best but I shall take any sort of cake, really. Do you think there might be tea? I would hope so. Nothing goes with cake like tea."

She reached up to slip her hand inside his as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

This would be about the point that Valentine's brain hit meltdown mode and he gave the wee little hand that was holding his hand a wee little squeeze and my, was is suddenly difficult to speak? His mouth was a little dry. So, of course he was going to have to attempt to speak and possibly look even more the idiot, but at least this was going to get his brain past the fact that there was a wee little hand from a wee little possible future daughter in his own not-so-wee hand. Perhaps. There was a chance that this was just his mouth inserting filler while his brain tried to wrap itself around all of that.

"There should be tea in the common rooms," Valentine decided. There would be tea in the common rooms if he wanted there to be tea in the common rooms, dammit. This was the Danger Shop. He would take the tea and take the cake and nobody would ever miss it, because it wasn't real. Just like Cor-

Oh. Right. Class activity. Not real...

"So," he said, conversationally, "I'm going to continue to be silly, then, and ask you if you've ever met Mrs. Bagwell, or if I've only ever told you epic tales about her vast insanity."

Coraline rolled her eyes. "I've met her, of course. In the Mask Shop. Her and all of those sphinxes. I thought you were exaggerating how many there were until we got there, you know. Sphinxes are dreadful creatures. And whenever I say that you say that I should blame Mum for that, and she gives you a Look and changes the subject quickly."

Coraline was a great many things, but slow was not one of them.

So, in some strange alternate computer-generated future of his, either his home hadn't been destroyed, or maybe part of it had survived, or Helena had re-drawn it.

He attempted a small smile. There was some strange sort of hope that he could drag out of that. A place for him yet. That would be nice.

"One thing I can say for Hele-- Your Mum. She doesn't so a single thing mundanely."

That was absolutely a compliment, coming from Valentine.

"Course not," Coraline said, setting her chin proudly. "She's a circus juggler and we circus folk are never mundane Besides, she's a Very Important Woman. Or at least she says so. And then you tell her that she hasn't got a tower, so she can't be, and she says she'll just use yours and you both get very giggly and kiss. Parents shouldn't kiss. It's disgusting."

Kissing... Helena.

...

That notion was almost as brain-breaking as Coraline repeating such obvious double-entendre about his tower. But he wasn't about to further her education on the little nuances of either the English language or his anatomy, so he just nodded in absolute agreement.

"I can't agree more. Kissing is a very mushy, soppy sort of activity and I imagine you'll understand the draw of it someday, when I'm chasing the boys away from you with flying juggling balls, but for now, you're absolutely right. No kissing." For her. He had a Naminé to kiss, and he'd do a great deal of it for as long as he possibly could.

"No boys, either," said Coraline. "Boys are odd and silly and gross. I don't think I shall ever kiss boys."

She was just as adamant about this as your average nearly-seven-year-old.

"So where's this common room? And what's so common about it? I am a Princess, you know. Sometimes."

"Of course you are, Coraline," Valentine said smoothly. "It's not a common room because it's common, really. It's just an area for people to gather. And eat."

And flip the channels on the television and film pointless monster movies.

"All right, then," she said, in the tone of one making a great concession. "We shall go."

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Fandom Invasions Class #7 (Thursday period 3)

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