Challenge #37: Fitting
Tuesday, 30 June 2020 11:10![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jalenstrix in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
labyficTitle: Fitting
Description: Professor Sarah Williams negotiates appropriate retribution for being shut out of her scientific community. Written for the labyfic challenge “Isolation”. This is part of the larger "It's Academic" series at FFnet.
Word count: 1477
~~~
I threw up my hands in disgust. “I hate these people. We just don’t feel Language Science is the right home for this project. A Linguistics group would be more suitable. GAAAH! Idiots!”
I sank my head onto my desk. Well, my colleagues at other institutions did warn me there would be pushback for changing our name. Even if it just more transparently communicated what linguistics was. Hell, it’s what Linguistics departments were actually called in German. Sprachwissenschaft. Language Science. The Germans didn’t have a problem with it. Maybe I needed to apply for funding in Germany. “English-speaking morons,” I mumbled. “Anglo-asshats. Short-sighted jackasses.”
“Foolish cretins, perhaps? Inane imbeciles? Bumbling blockheads? This is a fun game of synonyms and alliteration.”
I bolted upright.
Jareth was sprawled across the bean bag in my office, somehow turning the shapeless mass into a throne fit for Faerie royalty.
I rose and quickly shut the door to my office. “What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t know old friends needed a formal invitation.”
My eyes drifted over the length of him, from glittering cornsilk hair to glittering pointed collar to glittering fitted vest to glittering velvet pants to glittering knee-high boots. Said glitter was infiltrating all the nooks and crannies of my office. I’d definitely need to vacuum after. “Old friends should at least give some warning if they’re coming to my place of employment dressed like that.”
“What’s wrong with my attire?”
“Nothing if it’s club night. Everything if it’s the Department Chair’s office at an R1 research university.”
“Shouldn’t you have say over the dress code if you’re the Department Chair?”
”Bigger fish to fry.” I furiously tried to pull the window shades down so no one wandering by in the hallway would see a resplendently glittering Faerie Lord lounging in the Chair’s beanbag. “Can you….do something about that?”
“What do you suggest?”
“Look around at what everyone else is wearing. Blend.”
His lip curled up faintly. “No one in your department has an iota of style.”
“Try. Before I evict you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
“You’re no fun at all today. Must be those idiots you were muttering about.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “Jareth. Now, please.”
“Fine.” In a blink, he was dressed in a tailored pinstripe suit, with his hair coiffed into something roguishly shorter. “Better?”
The cuff links were jeweled, the boots still hipster-pointed (Fluevogs, if I didn’t miss my mark), and there was a handkerchief in his suit pocket that had a fairly otherworldly shimmer to it. But you take what you can get. “It’ll do.”
“So, the cretins?”
I pressed my palms to my face. “Those nincompoops. What about them?”
“Do you require assistance with them? You’ve met my subjects. I’m quite skilled in handling dunderheads, halfwits, dullards, and clods of all kinds.”
My lips began to twitch.
“Not to mention dolts, simpletons, and ninnies.”
The corners of my mouth quirked up faintly.
“I also do dunces, asses, and the occasional chowderhead.”
The smile burst out despite my best efforts to remain grumpy. “These might be chowderheads.”
“Perfect.” He cracked his fingers. “So, what will it be? How precisely have they irritated you? I always like my retributions to be appropriate.”
“They’ve….well, they’ve effectively excommunicated me.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Excommunication is serious business.”
“True. But I don’t use the term lightly. This is full-blown ostracization. I am persona non grata in research circles. Need not apply for funding, get thee gone from our publications, don’t even try to submit something to a professional conference, etc, etc.”
“Why?”
“I changed our name.”
“Mmm...I can see why they might fear that. Names have power. Even in the mortal world.” He splayed his fingers in a graceful arc. “Well, the thing to do is start at the source. Who shall I curse for you?”
I shook my head ruefully. “It’s not just one person or even a few people -- this is a general freeze-out by the whole research community.”
“Tosh. These things always have a few central figures at their core. You just need to know how to find them. Then, poof! Take the core and the rest of the enterprise crumbles.”
I stared at him. “Right. You’re a Faerie Lord. You do stratagems for breakfast.”
He sketched a half-bow from the bean bag. “And subterfuge for afternoon tea. At your service.”
“Mmm. I wouldn’t even know where to look for these core figures.”
“Ah. Do I have your permission?”
“For what exactly?”
“To proceed, of course. I’ll find these core figures and remove them for you.”
“Remove them how? And what would you want for this...favor?”
“Shall we say a favor from you in return at some future point?”
“An unspecified favor to you, with no caveats at all? You think I’m crazy?”
“A man can hope.”
“Mmm, let me think -- hell, no.”
“Come, come, come...surely you’re tired of these old fuddy-duddies holding you back from your scientific endeavors.”
“How do you know it’s old fuddy-duddies? It could be jealous up-and-comers.”
“It never is. Trust me on this. I’ve had centuries of experience.”
“Fine. It’s probably the fuddy-duddies. Some few fuddy-duddies somewhere. What do you propose to do to them?”
“You know what they say -- something about science advancing one funeral at a time?”
“Jareth! Please don’t off the venerable elders of the language science community!”
“If they were truly the elders of your language science community, they wouldn’t be excommunicating you for calling it such, now would they?”
“Point. But please don’t off them anyway.”
He sighed. “Your delicate sensibilities are so stifling. You really ought to live a little.”
“Maybe. But it won’t be by sanctioning the murder of my fellow language researchers.”
“Fellow-schmellow. These are the chowderheads who excommunicated you.”
He had me there.
His teeth gleamed in the sunlight, sharp and waiting. “So, do I have your permission?”
“If no permanent harm will come to any of them…”
“Mmm hmmm…”
“...and I can say no to any particular future favor you might request if I don’t like the terms-”
“Now, now, what do you take me for? A chowderhead? I think not. One favor from you. No caveats.”
I crossed my arms. “It can’t be something that goes against my moral code.”
“Pfft! Your moral code is suffocating.”
“Be creative. I’m sure you can, cunning Goblin King that you are.”
“Mmmm, flattery will get you all kinds of interesting places. Fine, then -- a future favor to me that stays within your shockingly narrow moral code.”
I took a deep breath. “Done. You have my permission to uncover the people responsible for me being scientifically excommunicated, and neutralize them without causing any permanent harm. In return, I owe you that moral-code-constrained favor.”
The otherworldly chime of a Faerie bargain sounded in my mind and Jareth looked thoroughly pleased with himself. “Excellent.”
~~~
I raised my eyebrows as another retirement announcement came through the research community mailing list. There had suddenly been several retirements in the linguistics community. And just as suddenly, my latest submitted publication was actually being sent out for review instead of immediately triaged for rejection.
I felt a familiar Faerie presence over my shoulder. “Dare I ask what you did?”
“Mmmm, you’d be surprised how effective a bit of sensory deprivation at random intervals within a week will cause someone to question their mental fitness. The buildup of stress, you know, particularly for minds that are already so rigid. Such a pity. And so fitting for those who would cut you off from your intellectual world.”
I laughed softly as I turned around. “You’re fiendish.” Sometimes it really did pay to have friends in Faerie places. Most of the time, it was annoying as hell. But sometimes….oooh, yeah.
Jareth tipped his head in a courteous nod. “At your service. And now, I believe, you’re at my service.”
“You make that sound so dire.”
“It’s the small pleasures in life that keep one going. Speaking of -- care for a mid-day latte at that little hipster place we went last time?”
“Sounds fabulous. I’ll buy. I’m feeling celebratory.”
“Just as long as you know that said latte-buying in no way counts as your favor to me.”
I smirked. “Got it.”
“Well then.” He offered me a gentlemanly elbow.
I took it. “You do know how to keep me from being bored.”
“I have other — more specific — thoughts in that regard.” His voice rubbed across my skin like satin. “Would you like to hear them?”
A shiver ran down my spine. “I just might. Would this count as my favor?”
“Of course not. This would be for our mutual — vigorous — enjoyment.” His fingers tapped gently along my forearm, one elegant digit at a time. “Still want to hear about those thoughts?”
“Oh yes. As I said, I’m in a celebratory mood.”
“Excellent.”
Description: Professor Sarah Williams negotiates appropriate retribution for being shut out of her scientific community. Written for the labyfic challenge “Isolation”. This is part of the larger "It's Academic" series at FFnet.
Word count: 1477
~~~
I threw up my hands in disgust. “I hate these people. We just don’t feel Language Science is the right home for this project. A Linguistics group would be more suitable. GAAAH! Idiots!”
I sank my head onto my desk. Well, my colleagues at other institutions did warn me there would be pushback for changing our name. Even if it just more transparently communicated what linguistics was. Hell, it’s what Linguistics departments were actually called in German. Sprachwissenschaft. Language Science. The Germans didn’t have a problem with it. Maybe I needed to apply for funding in Germany. “English-speaking morons,” I mumbled. “Anglo-asshats. Short-sighted jackasses.”
“Foolish cretins, perhaps? Inane imbeciles? Bumbling blockheads? This is a fun game of synonyms and alliteration.”
I bolted upright.
Jareth was sprawled across the bean bag in my office, somehow turning the shapeless mass into a throne fit for Faerie royalty.
I rose and quickly shut the door to my office. “What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t know old friends needed a formal invitation.”
My eyes drifted over the length of him, from glittering cornsilk hair to glittering pointed collar to glittering fitted vest to glittering velvet pants to glittering knee-high boots. Said glitter was infiltrating all the nooks and crannies of my office. I’d definitely need to vacuum after. “Old friends should at least give some warning if they’re coming to my place of employment dressed like that.”
“What’s wrong with my attire?”
“Nothing if it’s club night. Everything if it’s the Department Chair’s office at an R1 research university.”
“Shouldn’t you have say over the dress code if you’re the Department Chair?”
”Bigger fish to fry.” I furiously tried to pull the window shades down so no one wandering by in the hallway would see a resplendently glittering Faerie Lord lounging in the Chair’s beanbag. “Can you….do something about that?”
“What do you suggest?”
“Look around at what everyone else is wearing. Blend.”
His lip curled up faintly. “No one in your department has an iota of style.”
“Try. Before I evict you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
“You’re no fun at all today. Must be those idiots you were muttering about.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “Jareth. Now, please.”
“Fine.” In a blink, he was dressed in a tailored pinstripe suit, with his hair coiffed into something roguishly shorter. “Better?”
The cuff links were jeweled, the boots still hipster-pointed (Fluevogs, if I didn’t miss my mark), and there was a handkerchief in his suit pocket that had a fairly otherworldly shimmer to it. But you take what you can get. “It’ll do.”
“So, the cretins?”
I pressed my palms to my face. “Those nincompoops. What about them?”
“Do you require assistance with them? You’ve met my subjects. I’m quite skilled in handling dunderheads, halfwits, dullards, and clods of all kinds.”
My lips began to twitch.
“Not to mention dolts, simpletons, and ninnies.”
The corners of my mouth quirked up faintly.
“I also do dunces, asses, and the occasional chowderhead.”
The smile burst out despite my best efforts to remain grumpy. “These might be chowderheads.”
“Perfect.” He cracked his fingers. “So, what will it be? How precisely have they irritated you? I always like my retributions to be appropriate.”
“They’ve….well, they’ve effectively excommunicated me.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Excommunication is serious business.”
“True. But I don’t use the term lightly. This is full-blown ostracization. I am persona non grata in research circles. Need not apply for funding, get thee gone from our publications, don’t even try to submit something to a professional conference, etc, etc.”
“Why?”
“I changed our name.”
“Mmm...I can see why they might fear that. Names have power. Even in the mortal world.” He splayed his fingers in a graceful arc. “Well, the thing to do is start at the source. Who shall I curse for you?”
I shook my head ruefully. “It’s not just one person or even a few people -- this is a general freeze-out by the whole research community.”
“Tosh. These things always have a few central figures at their core. You just need to know how to find them. Then, poof! Take the core and the rest of the enterprise crumbles.”
I stared at him. “Right. You’re a Faerie Lord. You do stratagems for breakfast.”
He sketched a half-bow from the bean bag. “And subterfuge for afternoon tea. At your service.”
“Mmm. I wouldn’t even know where to look for these core figures.”
“Ah. Do I have your permission?”
“For what exactly?”
“To proceed, of course. I’ll find these core figures and remove them for you.”
“Remove them how? And what would you want for this...favor?”
“Shall we say a favor from you in return at some future point?”
“An unspecified favor to you, with no caveats at all? You think I’m crazy?”
“A man can hope.”
“Mmm, let me think -- hell, no.”
“Come, come, come...surely you’re tired of these old fuddy-duddies holding you back from your scientific endeavors.”
“How do you know it’s old fuddy-duddies? It could be jealous up-and-comers.”
“It never is. Trust me on this. I’ve had centuries of experience.”
“Fine. It’s probably the fuddy-duddies. Some few fuddy-duddies somewhere. What do you propose to do to them?”
“You know what they say -- something about science advancing one funeral at a time?”
“Jareth! Please don’t off the venerable elders of the language science community!”
“If they were truly the elders of your language science community, they wouldn’t be excommunicating you for calling it such, now would they?”
“Point. But please don’t off them anyway.”
He sighed. “Your delicate sensibilities are so stifling. You really ought to live a little.”
“Maybe. But it won’t be by sanctioning the murder of my fellow language researchers.”
“Fellow-schmellow. These are the chowderheads who excommunicated you.”
He had me there.
His teeth gleamed in the sunlight, sharp and waiting. “So, do I have your permission?”
“If no permanent harm will come to any of them…”
“Mmm hmmm…”
“...and I can say no to any particular future favor you might request if I don’t like the terms-”
“Now, now, what do you take me for? A chowderhead? I think not. One favor from you. No caveats.”
I crossed my arms. “It can’t be something that goes against my moral code.”
“Pfft! Your moral code is suffocating.”
“Be creative. I’m sure you can, cunning Goblin King that you are.”
“Mmmm, flattery will get you all kinds of interesting places. Fine, then -- a future favor to me that stays within your shockingly narrow moral code.”
I took a deep breath. “Done. You have my permission to uncover the people responsible for me being scientifically excommunicated, and neutralize them without causing any permanent harm. In return, I owe you that moral-code-constrained favor.”
The otherworldly chime of a Faerie bargain sounded in my mind and Jareth looked thoroughly pleased with himself. “Excellent.”
~~~
I raised my eyebrows as another retirement announcement came through the research community mailing list. There had suddenly been several retirements in the linguistics community. And just as suddenly, my latest submitted publication was actually being sent out for review instead of immediately triaged for rejection.
I felt a familiar Faerie presence over my shoulder. “Dare I ask what you did?”
“Mmmm, you’d be surprised how effective a bit of sensory deprivation at random intervals within a week will cause someone to question their mental fitness. The buildup of stress, you know, particularly for minds that are already so rigid. Such a pity. And so fitting for those who would cut you off from your intellectual world.”
I laughed softly as I turned around. “You’re fiendish.” Sometimes it really did pay to have friends in Faerie places. Most of the time, it was annoying as hell. But sometimes….oooh, yeah.
Jareth tipped his head in a courteous nod. “At your service. And now, I believe, you’re at my service.”
“You make that sound so dire.”
“It’s the small pleasures in life that keep one going. Speaking of -- care for a mid-day latte at that little hipster place we went last time?”
“Sounds fabulous. I’ll buy. I’m feeling celebratory.”
“Just as long as you know that said latte-buying in no way counts as your favor to me.”
I smirked. “Got it.”
“Well then.” He offered me a gentlemanly elbow.
I took it. “You do know how to keep me from being bored.”
“I have other — more specific — thoughts in that regard.” His voice rubbed across my skin like satin. “Would you like to hear them?”
A shiver ran down my spine. “I just might. Would this count as my favor?”
“Of course not. This would be for our mutual — vigorous — enjoyment.” His fingers tapped gently along my forearm, one elegant digit at a time. “Still want to hear about those thoughts?”
“Oh yes. As I said, I’m in a celebratory mood.”
“Excellent.”
