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Nobilis Fic: Suspension of Disbelief
"Look", said Ted, "you don't understand. We need to see the Prime Minister at once!"
The rough-hewn man tried an intimidating glare, but the buerocrat had his face in a sheaf of paper, and didn't notice.
"The future of Wales is at stake!", he added, without much effect.
"Sorry, you'll just have to go through the proper channels, like everybody else."
Hmf. Well, there were numerous ways of making an impression. And he even knew several that didn't involve fists. He took a deep breath to make that special low bear growl he knew, the one that got people's attention by way of their bladder control, when-
"You're dealing with the Prince of Teddybears here, you know."
"See, WE are heroic princes of Creation, and YOU are the secretary who can get us the appointment we need to save the world from the Bad Guys!"
The Dominus of Teddybears - for that was indeed his occupation - turned to his slender friend, prince and embodiment of Imagination, and hissed: "What on Yggdrasil
Nobilis fic: Small World
Setting down on the small world, the rough-hewn man found Vivian Manifold sitting in a field of flowers, creating butterflies, one after another.
"Good to see you, Viv. What's this place?", Theodor asked.
"Well", said the fair-haired incarnation of Imagination, "as you recall, I was flung into space by that Warmain."
"Yes, after you had hit him with a laser blast, a meringue pie, and a cruise missile. Why the pie?"
"It was poisoned. No matter. It was interesting at first - my first spacewalk! - but as I passed the moon, I grew increasingly bored. So I made some rock, to lie on. Then some spirits of Gravity so I COULD lie."
"You could have made a rocket. Returned home."
"I was distracted. Where was I? Yes, a bit of ocean, for the view, you know, though then I had to make some small suns, to keep it liquid. By then I was getting into it: making a mountain here, a valley there. On the third day, I created life." He scratched his neck. "Then I created air, then life again."
Ted looked arou
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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