The Story of Demandred's Trenchcoat
Title: A Silly Story dictating the fate of my trenchcoat
Posted On:04/21/1999 20:10
OOC: The following is an attempt to put a cheerful face on two tragedies; the school shooting in Littleton, Colorado, and the subsequent confiscation of my trenchcoat "for my own good" by my dad. I'm not attempting to be tactless or offensive, just funny. It may work, it may not; time will tell. The following story is both OOC and IC.
Silly Story Dictating The Fate of Chris/Demandreds Trenchcoat
The Wheel of Time turns, and the Ages come and pass leaving memories that fade to legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind arose in a high school in Colorado. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.
North and west the wind blew, across the Rocky Mountains, through the state of Oregon, and into Olympia, Washington. From there it blew due west, to the house of one Chris Stilson, who had just finished his breakfast of Cheerios and had been pulling on his black trenchcoat preparing for school when his father walked into the room.
"I don't want you wearing that today," he said.
"Why not?" asked Chris. He was fairly certain he knew the answer; his parents didnt approve of the trenchcoat and had been trying for months to get him to stop wearing it.
"Look at the newspaper," said Chris' dad. Chris looked down at the paper that he hadn't glanced at, save to read of the exploits of Dilbert©. He read on the front page,
Massacre at Columbine High; Students Gunned Down.
He read on;
Littleton, Colo. – Two students in black trench coats swept through their suburban high school with guns and explosives in a horrifying attack Tuesday that left as many as 25 people dead. Several students said the killers were gunning for minorities and athletes. It was by far the bloodiest in a string of school shootings that have rocked U.S. communities during the past few years.
"They were laughing after they shot," said a student. "It was like they were having the time of their life."...
Chris put down the newspaper.
"Ugh," he said. "It's people like that who give trenchcoats a bad name. Specifically one with two words in it; it's "trenchcoat", not "trench coat". Anyway, so....?"
"So," said his father. "I don't want you wearing your trenchcoat anymore. Appearance-wise, you look identical to this sort of Gothic lunatic."
"I'm not a Goth!" protested Chris. "I hold their entire subculture in disdain!"
"You don't look like it, that's the problem," his dad said. "Please, for your own good, don't wear your coat, for today at least."
"All right," sighed Chris reluctantly, and hung the coat on the back of his chair. It didn't much matter; he wore a black button-up shirt underneath it. But it was the spirit of the thing.
By some inexplicable turn of events, the wind managed to make its way into Chris' computer just as he left for school, and wound up on the slopes of Dragonmount. North and east it blew now, to the dark, forbidding shape of Shayol Ghul, where Demandred had just finished his breakfast of Toasted Lightfool Crunch when his Dreadlord lackey brought in a piece of paper delivered moments before by a pigeon that had managed somehow to avoid Sathinar.
"I think you should read this, Naeblis," he said. Demandred took the note and scanned it; for some strange reason, it looked much like a newspaper article would had such media existed in Randland.
Massacre at White Tower; Novices Balefired
White Tower, Tar Valon. – Two male channelers in black coats swept through the White Tower holding saidin in a horrifying attack Tuesday that left as many as 25 people dead. Several novices and Accepted said the killers were channeling at minorities and Warders. It was by far the bloodiest in a string of Ashaman madnesses that have rocked Dragonmount communities during the past few weeks.
"They were laughing after they channeled," said an Aes Sedai of unspecified Ajah. "It was like they were having the time of their life."...
Demandred put down the report.
"So?" he asked the Dreadlord.
"So, sir," said the Dreadlord. "These Ashaman," he pronounced the name scornfully, "with their black coats look exactly like yourself with your trenchcoat."
"But as you well know, I and all at Shayol Ghul hold those half-trained children in disdain," said Demandred reprovingly.
"Still, Naeblis," said the Dreadlord. "When Traveling away from Shayol Ghul, it would probably be most prudent not to wear a trenchcoat." Demandred glowered at the Dreadlord, but then nodded.
"You may be right. I shall heed your advice," he said, shrugging his trenchcoat off and mentally informing Lanfear to have the Dreadlord killed for insubordination at the soonest opportunity. It didn't make much difference whether he wore it or not; he was wearing a black silk doublet anyway. But it was still the spirit of the thing.
Chris trudged around the halls of Capital High School, staying as close to the wall as possible. This just wasn't effective. He looked much bigger in a trenchcoat, and the lunatics who barred the hallways tended to get out of the way of his apparently greater bulk. Without it, he was just a scrawny wimp that football players could elbow at will. I think I slightly understand why those loonies in Colorado targeted athletes, he thought glumly. I'd better find something else impressive soon, otherwise navigation around here will be impossible.
Demandred trudged around the streets of Caemlyn, keeping to the side of the street as much as possible. This just wasn't effective. He looked much bigger in a trenchcoat and the lunatics who filled the streets tended to get out of the way of his quiet dignity and apparently greater bulk. Without it, he just had the quiet dignity and an ability to mentally punish anyone who elbowed him, except the few Warders that passed through and who forced him to make way. He glared at them, but couldn't do anything without revealing who he was. I think I know why those Ashaman targeted Warders, he thought with hatred of all things of the Light. I need to find something impressive enough soon, otherwise navigation anywhere outside of Shayol Ghul will be impossible.
Chris returned home after much annoyance at the hands and elbows of football players. He fumed at his inability to look impressive and thus clear the hallways. He sat on his bed for a few minutes and listened to his favorite celt-rock band (in fact, the only celt-rock band he liked, Wolfstone). When he tired of that, he put on Mozart and listened to that until it started sounding too cheery. Then he moped around, looking for something to listen to that matched his mood.
By a quirk of space-saving, his CD-rack was in his walk-in closet. He walked into it and started scanning the jewel-cases, when he happened to glance up at his coatrack. Hanging from it was his selection of very strange costumes. They piqued his interest, and he wandered over to them and started rummaging on the rack. Long arabic djellabah; too foolish. Benedictine monk robe; too austere. SCA jester costume; no way am I wearing that to school. 16th century French musketeer uniform; good, but I don't think they'd let me take the dress sword to school. Civil War Confederate uniform jacket; AH HA!!! He pulled it down and tried it on. It had been a year and a half since he had bought it, but it still fit. The three rows of brass buttons glinted in the lamplight as he inspected himself in front of the mirror. It would do, if he could sew the major-generals insignia that he had lying around somewhere on the sleeve...
Demandred returned to Shayol Ghul after much annoyance from the Warders and the Queen's Guard. He fumed at his inability to look impressive and thus clear the streets. He sat on his throne for a few minutes and listened to the Trollocs having lunch. When he tired of that, he walked toward Semirhage's torture chamber and listened to the sounds emanating from that until it started sounding too cheery. Then he moped around, looking for something to listen to that matched his mood. Walking into his walk-in closet (in which he kept the illegal goods stolen from Real Life and hidden in DM against Phoenix's wishes) he found a CD-player and started scanning the jewel-cases, when he happened to glance up at his coat rack. Hanging from it was his selection of very strange costumes. They piqued his interest and he wandered over to them and started rummaging on the rack. Seanchan robe; too foolish. Cadinsor; too austere. Filmy Domani dress; where did that come from? Demandred made a mental note to confront all the female Chosen and find out which one had discovered where his closet was. Age of Legends Swords jacket; good, but I think its a little outdated. Manetheren cavalry Special Division uniform; AH HA!!! He pulled it down and tried it on. The black uniform with some silver trim here and there was old, but fit. The three rows of brass buttons glinted in the candlelight as he inspected himself in front of the mirror. It would do, if he could get rid of those unsightly buttons, replace them with burnished silver skull ones, and replace the silver trim with fur taken from captured Wolfies (OOC: Wolfies means both wolves and wolfbrothers, but in this case means wolves). It would do very nicely...
The wind tired of lingering both in the real world and the digital world of Dragonmount and departed both, leaving a Confederate general and a Manetherennin chasseur in its wake.
END OF THE WHEEL OF TIME SILLY STORY ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED TO CHRIS/DEMANDRED'S TRENCHCOAT.