Writing meme
Oct. 10th, 2014 01:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brigdhStealing a meme from tumlbr, because I think I like doing such things better over here. I can't quite decide! Tumblr is more active, but writing thoughts of more than a sentence or two is so much easier on LJ. I dunno.
Anyway! Meme: Pick any passage of 500 words or less from any fanfic I’ve written, and stick that selection in my ask/fan mail. I will then give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet: what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place, what’s going on in the character’s heads, why I chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the rest of the fic, lots of awful puns, and anything else that you’d expect to find on a DVD commentary track.
My fic on AO3
My fic on LJ
(It's the same stories at either site, it's just a matter of where one prefers to look.)
Anyway! Meme: Pick any passage of 500 words or less from any fanfic I’ve written, and stick that selection in my ask/fan mail. I will then give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet: what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place, what’s going on in the character’s heads, why I chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the rest of the fic, lots of awful puns, and anything else that you’d expect to find on a DVD commentary track.
My fic on AO3
My fic on LJ
(It's the same stories at either site, it's just a matter of where one prefers to look.)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2014-10-10 08:25 pm (UTC)The stable door creaked as it was closed. “They’re gone now. You can come down, if you like.”
Benjamin exchanged a glance with Rose. She shrugged, leaving the choice to him. He wasn’t inclined to trust some chance-met stranger, but there seemed little point in continuing to hide. He crawled to the edge of the loft and looked down.
The man’s voice might have been a lord’s, but his clothes were wool and well-worn. Hay stuck to his tunic and in his hair, and he seemed to have been sleeping in a pile of it that Benjamin had dismissed as fodder. That was a mistake which might have cost him dearly, though perhaps this once it had been good luck.
“Well, you don’t look like any nun I’ve ever seen,” said the man, “so I suppose you must be the Saracen.”
“I’m a Christian,” Benjamin said defensively.
“Excellent. I suppose God will refrain from striking me down, then. Unless you did defile the nun. I quite like nuns.”
“I’ve done no such thing,” Benjamin protested again, drawn into the ridiculous argument despite himself. “I’m a married man, and I have never broken my vows to my wife.”
The man spread his hands in a gesture of benediction. “She hath received of the Lord’s hand double for all her sins. Do come down. I feel as though I’m speaking to a cloud. Or perhaps a star, given the hour.”
Benjamin could think of no reason not to. The man seemed harmless enough, and had sent away the knights. When he and Rose had descended the ladder and stood on the earth once more, the stranger took in Rose’s slim form and short hair, and swept her a bow far too elaborate for a stable, or her male dress. “And you must be the still-chaste nun. Which saint have you graced by taking her name? Catherine, perhaps?”
Rose was not amused by the flattery, and she made no move to offer him her hand. Benjamin noticed a hard knot bunch at the corner of her jaw, a sign of fear, and it occurred to him how vulnerable she was, alone with two men far from her abbey. She might have claimed protection from Leopold’s knights, but she had chosen not to; anything that happened now or in the future would be seen as her own fault.
The stranger must have come to the same realization, for he clasped his hands behind himself and took a step away. “How rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself first. I’m called Hannibal.”
Benjamin’s eyebrows raised. “Have you stabled your elephants on the other side of the hall, General?”
Hannibal shrugged. “Well, the roof in here was so low.”
“Thank you,” Rose said, her manner formal but less hard. “You had no reason to offer your assistance, and we are grateful. My name is Rose, and this is Benjamin Ianuarius.”
“I’ve never been fond of Leopold. The man has a nasty temper.” Hannibal grinned. “I only thought to trick them out of a good night’s sleep, but I am more than happy to have been of service to two desperate, ah, pilgrims.”
Rose smiled. “Pilgrims,” she agreed. “Of a sort.”
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Date: 2014-10-10 10:14 pm (UTC)I came up with the general idea because I had "dungeons" as one of my prompts, and New Orleans is really not a good place to try and put anything underground, much less, like, whole dungeons. So I was thinking of some place else to set it (I considered a, like, D&D AU for a while) but I happened to have just read two different books that mentioned Salerno - which was a real place at the time, with a famous medical university that accepted women and people of all races. So obviously Ben had to be from there, and since nuns/monks were pretty much the only educated people, obviously that was Rose's place, and then OBVIOUSLY Hannibal is a troubadour because Hannibal. Here are my very earliest notes on the story:
medieval AU
Ben in a dungeon
Rose nun
dungeons
hypoglycemia/low blood sugar
nervous breakdown
wild card: relevant prompts: combat, comfort food or item, exhaustion, homesickness, hostile climate,
In dungeon, scene setting. Ben feels all shaky because no food for long time. Scared of being forgotten? Then Rose comes, comfort.
Escaping, meet up with troubadour Hannibal?
X scene dungeon, set up
X Rose comes talking (more than one scene?) Explain Salerno, getting closer
X maybe flashback/dream Ayasha?
X escape
X meet up with Hannibal, helps them hide
X another happy scene?
X some happy scene, Hannibal playing, eating?
X Rose/Ben carrying Hannibal
X Mountain, happy
X hiding from knights
X arrive in Salerno, Ayasha
Anyway, so it's all very straight-forward and I just needed some reason for Ben and Rose to let Hannibal travel along with them, and therefore he saves them from the knights. Also because Hannibal enjoys being sort of sneakily difficult in ways that look polite but really aren't to people he doesn't like, and that kind of stuff is fun to write. I don't really know why Hannibal doesn't like Leopold; maybe he flirted with Leopold's wife once and got in trouble.
The man’s voice might have been a lord’s, but his clothes were wool and well-worn. Hay stuck to his tunic and in his hair, and he seemed to have been sleeping in a pile of it that Benjamin had dismissed as fodder. That was a mistake which might have cost him dearly, though perhaps this once it had been good luck.
I like to keep things as similar as possible in AUs, so Hannibal has a background much like his canon one: some sort of aristocratic family, probably a wife, then changing his name to wonder homelessly about. I did think about changing his disease from TB to leprosy (because leprosy feels more like the 'medieval disease of choice'. Well, really, plague feels like the most medieval disease, but then the fic would be three days long and everyone would die), but I couldn't make up my mind, so I mostly left him as 'vaguely ill in unspecified ways' in this fic. If I do ever get around to writing a sequel, I'll have to figure that out. I feel sort of bad about the way I wrote it, because I feel like it might come off as "Hannibal's not sick at all" which is not what I wanted, but eh, I wrote this too close to the deadline to come up with a way of fixing it.
“Well, you don’t look like any nun I’ve ever seen,” said the man, “so I suppose you must be the Saracen.”
“I’m a Christian,” Benjamin said defensively.
And again, in making parallels to canon, I wanted Ben to deal with some sort of prejudice, but since race didn't function in the same way at the time, he's dealing with religious assumptions instead. (Though, like, people are still making the assumptions based on his appearance, but that's just how identity categories tend to work.)
“Excellent. I suppose God will refrain from striking me down, then. Unless you did defile the nun. I quite like nuns.”
Proto-feminist Hannibal!
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Date: 2014-10-11 01:28 pm (UTC)leprosy would've isolated him effectively from everybody, wouldn't it? in a way tb didn't, so i'm glad you didn't go with it. i don't know, tb sounds reasonable to me? or just unspecified wasting coughing sickness.
plague feels like the most medieval disease, but then the fic would be three days long and everyone would die - i've just coughed up most of my tea on the keyboard, just so you know.
hannibal sure loves his nuns ♥
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Date: 2014-10-11 08:57 pm (UTC)Leprosy is weird, because in light of having ACTUAL MEDICAL KNOWLEDGE and not bloodletting or leeches or whatever, leprosy is only very very rarely contagious (actually something like 95% of people are genetically immune to leprosy), while TB is highly contagious. So if you were judging people's choices by, like, "what are Ben and Rose exposing themselves to" (not that medical safety is the only reason to be friends with someone, of course, but on that scale) leprosy is a better choice than TB.
But of course, what people believed is just the opposite – that leprosy was dangerous while TB was sort of like cancer, an inherent, internal thing – and it's their beliefs that matter more. I don't know if he would need to be isolated or not; I'd have to do more research. On the other hand, "everyone rescues Hannibal from the sanitarium" means I have a plot!
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Date: 2014-10-10 10:14 pm (UTC)“I’ve done no such thing,” Benjamin protested again, drawn into the ridiculous argument despite himself. “I’m a married man, and I have never broken my vows to my wife.”
The man spread his hands in a gesture of benediction. “She hath received of the Lord’s hand double for all her sins. Do come down. I feel as though I’m speaking to a cloud. Or perhaps a star, given the hour.”
It's too early for Hannibal to quote Shakespeare or Bryon, so instead I spent a lot of time searching the Bible and troubadour songs for lines to give him. Rereading this, I feel like it's sort of unclear, but Hannibal's talking about himself: 'for all her sins' is him doing a bad thing by lying to the knights, but he's been rewarded for it - 'she hath received double' - because now he has new friends.
Also, maybe it's arrogant to say, but I think I did a good job of writing funny dialogue! I wanted Ben and Hannibal to have the sort of interplay where they're hitting it off right away and you can see how they're well-suited to one another, so again it makes more sense that they end up traveling together despite having just met.
Benjamin could think of no reason not to. The man seemed harmless enough, and had sent away the knights. When he and Rose had descended the ladder and stood on the earth once more, the stranger took in Rose’s slim form and short hair, and swept her a bow far too elaborate for a stable, or her male dress. “And you must be the still-chaste nun. Which saint have you graced by taking her name? Catherine, perhaps?”
I really wanted to come up with some Medieval parallel to Rose's Athene nickname, but I couldn't find anything that worked. Catherine is supposed to have been very beautiful and is a patron saint of learning/students. (Also, when you become a Catholic nun, you take a new name, and it has to be the name of a saint - there's no St. Rose.)
Rose was not amused by the flattery, and she made no move to offer him her hand. Benjamin noticed a hard knot bunch at the corner of her jaw, a sign of fear, and it occurred to him how vulnerable she was, alone with two men far from her abbey. She might have claimed protection from Leopold’s knights, but she had chosen not to; anything that happened now or in the future would be seen as her own fault.
I wasn't sure if I wanted Rose's background to be exactly parallel to that in canon or if this world would have been kinder to her, but either way she definitely has reason to be cautious here. I mean, we're talking about a time period in which abduction/rape/consensual affairs would all have been seen as legally more or less the same, and so she has no particular reason to believe that Ben and Hannibal wouldn't expect her to sleep with them now that she's chosen them over her previous life.
The stranger must have come to the same realization, for he clasped his hands behind himself and took a step away. “How rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself first. I’m called Hannibal.”
I'm always sort of fascinated by how much Rose trusts Hannibal when we first meet them in canon - what on earth did he do to earn that? Like, she won't even use Ben's first name and she's letting Hannibal sleep in her house and meet her friend the runaway slave? Anyway, clearly Hannibal needed to do something more dramatic than a single sentence, but I couldn't come up with anything good enough, so I wrote this and kind of pretended it would be much more reassuring than is probably realistic.
(Also note that both Hannibal and Rose don't use last names to introduce themselves. This is because I was totally too lazy to come up with new names.)
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Date: 2014-10-11 01:32 pm (UTC)this bit with rose being afraid and hannibal with ben realizing it at once is one of my favorite parts in the whole thing. and i think it's kind of - canon-ish - that rose trusts him easily, because like, there wasn't a women in the whole series who didn't see, at a glance, that's not a threat in any sense of the world. it's his superpower.
authorial laziness is the best kind of laziness :D
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Date: 2014-10-10 10:15 pm (UTC)Benjamin’s eyebrows raised. “Have you stabled your elephants on the other side of the hall, General?”
Hannibal shrugged. “Well, the roof in here was so low.”
When I first started writing this I was thinking about giving everyone period-appropriate names. (I actually really like changing characters' names in an AU to reflect the new setting, but I started a thread on FFA to ask what the popular opinion was, and people seemed generally to not like that. So I - obviously - ended up sticking with their canon names, except for changing January to Ianuarius, which is just Latin for 'January'. And he also changes 'January' to 'Janvier' or 'Enero' in canon to reflect what language he's speaking, so that works. But that's why I have him thinking of himself as "Benjamin" in this fic instead of "January" like he usually does, because I thought a whole fic of "Ianuarius" might be annoying.)
"Benjamin" and "Ayasha" are actually more or less fine as-is, and though "Rose" isn't, it sounds plausible (sounding plausible is way better than actually being accurate). Also it could be a nickname for some historically accurate names, like Roswitha or Rosamunda. Hannibal, however, as far as I could tell, is not a name anyone was using anywhere at any time during the Middle Ages. But since I ended up using it anyway, I wanted to hang a lampshade on it being an unusual thing to call yourself.
“Thank you,” Rose said, her manner formal but less hard. “You had no reason to offer your assistance, and we are grateful. My name is Rose, and this is Benjamin Ianuarius.”
“I’ve never been fond of Leopold. The man has a nasty temper.” Hannibal grinned. “I only thought to trick them out of a good night’s sleep, but I am more than happy to have been of service to two desperate, ah, pilgrims.”
Rose smiled. “Pilgrims,” she agreed. “Of a sort.”
Again, Rose probably shouldn't be this easily charmed, but it sort of has to happen to make the rest of the story work. It irritates me that I couldn't come up with something better than the exchange I wrote here, but I still don't know how to fix it without writing like, five scenes of them slowly adjusting to one another. Maybe she just realizes that she could beat Hannibal in a physical fight.
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Date: 2014-10-11 01:33 pm (UTC)ben being snarky about hannibal's name is GOLDEN, i love it :D and yes, rose totally could've taken hannibal in a fight! pretty much everybody could.
...you know what, now i want a d&d-ish kinda fantasy au where ben's a paladin and rose's a mage and hannibal's a bard and has to be protected but can, if required, fuck shit up with his music. because why not.
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Date: 2014-10-11 09:02 pm (UTC)SEE? Wouldn't that be a great fic! I also think I like it equally well if it's actually a fantasy world or if it's a modern AU interspersed with scenes of their D&D campaign (because they're all dorks enough to play D&D). Either way I am enamored of the idea. Also, is Ben an elf? Is Rose a dwarf?
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Date: 2014-10-10 08:36 pm (UTC)"Hello, Benjamin," Hannibal said. "Won't you sit with me?"
Benjamin's gaze met his own, then shifted down to take in Hannibal's pralines, and then moved to the bowl he held. "I was about to eat," he said, his voice cool and carefully implying nothing.
"Yes, so am I. Would you like to do so together?" He waved a hand at the crowded market. "I have an excellent table and you seem to have none. It would be churlish of me not to offer to share.”
Benjamin sank slowly into the empty chair, though his posture remained rigid and his shoulders stiff. Hannibal was conscious of a group of people at a nearby table glancing at Benjamin, then back to him with intrusive force. Hannibal ignored them, and said, "I quite like your coat."
Benjamin blinked, as though he hadn't been prepared for mild pleasantries. "Thank you." His hands released their grip on the bowl and he rested them against the table. "I was hired to play at the ball tonight, at the Salle d’Orléans."
"So was I." Hannibal grinned, and was rewarded by Benjamin's gaze softening and focusing on him. "I look forward to hearing you play."
Benjamin smiled; it was a very small expression, no more than a minuscule rise at the corners of his lips, but it gave Hannibal pleasure to see it. Benjamin picked up his spoon and took a bite of the gumbo. "I’m looking forward to being paid. For a while there, I'd nearly given up hope of finding employment."
"In New Orleans? O insensata cura de' mortali – this town would never turn away a good musician. Witness my own presence here."
Benjamin's smile turned wry. "That's only true if you have the right connections."
"Speak no such falsehoods. Polite society absorbed by their own self-serving opinions? – I will not hear such scandal, my good sir."
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Date: 2014-10-11 01:50 am (UTC)So, for this fic you mentioned in your exchange letter that you liked first times (you also asked for "dashing roleplay" which I would have loved to have written, but I couldn't come up with any good scenarios), and I already had a general idea of how I imagined Ben and Hannibal's first time going, so I thought I'd write that up (though I know it totally contrasts with your own headcanon! But I thought it might be a fun fic to read nonetheless).
This is maybe obvious, but all of my Ben January fic takes place in the same universe or timeline or whatever you'd call it (except for the obvious AU exceptions), so I already knew basically what had happened, I just had to structure it into a story. I wanted the story to be more than just a single PWP-esque scene, so the next logical thing to include was the part with the Rose (a lot of that scene actually was stuff I had originally planned out for Rose's backstory in 'Nothing Better or More Delightful', but it ended up not working there and I cut it out. But I still really liked it and it was still part of the 'timeline', so I wanted to include it here). And then once I had a Ben POV and a Rose POV I obviously had to have a Hannibal POV to keep the story balanced. Here was my notes at that point:
1. Ben POV - Determinedly turned the conversation to other matters. Getting to know each other, awkward, but that spark of interest of a new friend. Funeral joy. Hannibal coughing and Ben touching him to steady. Kissing, nothing more.
2. Rose POV. Hannibal/Rose scene. That morning, Hannibal comes at dawn, Rose talks to him. Hannibal sitting on porch.
3. Hannibal POV. 2nd meeting, next day. Ben is uncertain, regretful, wanting to take it back. Hannibal at first sad because Ben doesn't like him, but then understanding. Hannibal at first light-hearted but then deeper. Ben getting to talk about Ayasha. Hannibal compassionate, touching Ben's wrist. Friendship.
I don't entirely like writing in Hannibal's voice; I don't feel like I ever quite get it right, here or in other stories where I've included it. Like, it's not terrible, but I imagine he has a very complicated inner voice that is not at all linear or straightforward and it really doesn't lend itself to telling a story. I feel he should have two levels of thought at once: the upper level is very dry and unemotional and is usually cynical/wry observations on the stuff around him and possibly mostly consists of quotes from Shakespeare and poetry, but most importantly it's always light and upbeat and is never very meaningful. And sometimes that's the only layer he has, if there's nothing tragic currently happening! But then he has a layer underneath that which is his actual thoughts about say, racism or sexism or personal angst or whatever darker, more serious stuff is appropriate to the moment, and though he's sort of subconsciously aware of that part of himself, he spends a lot of energy trying not to look directly at it (ugh I am mixing SO MANY metaphors here). This is especially true early in the series; as time goes on he gets better at bringing himself to face his issues. But I have no idea how you would represent that doubling as a narrative voice, and so my attempts to write in Hannibal's POV always feel kinda off and shallow.
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Date: 2014-10-11 11:31 am (UTC)I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU MEAN ABOUT WRITING HANNIBAL'S POV. I have difficulty writing Ben too, because of how I'm starstruck with him and all, but with Hannibal, exaaactly, there's this sense that he's not internally linear and that he's always thinking on like five different levels, and one of the levels is made entirely of quotations, and another one is woven from self-loathing and original poetry. And, like, before Days of the Dead, there's also the sense that he's, like, in constant self-denial and always belittling his own opinions/experiences (BECAUSE HE'S A GHOST GOING THROUGH THIS WORLD) while at the same time being so very receptive and sensitive to what's happening around him.
But you wrote him really well! It helps a lot that he has very strong emotions in this scene, and, like, he's actively suppressing the O SHIT I'VE FALLEN IN LOVE part of the his psyche and focusing on the, like, like, top level of his cognition, the one where he actually interacts with live people. So, I mean, I think the 'shallowness' - or like, the focusing on the near-to-surface part of his many many many thoughts, really works here.
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Date: 2014-10-11 09:11 pm (UTC)And ha, yes, exactly! Ben is awesome and I adore him, but he thinks in a straight line mostly and so makes a very good narrator. (As does Rose!) I was actually thinking that maybe your idea of a fic written in side-by-side columns could be a way of doing more of Hannibal's voice. But it might take a lot of HTML work, because I'm also not sure the different levels move at the same speed.
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Date: 2014-10-11 01:51 am (UTC)Anyway, the scene the night before is like a bubble out of time (whether it's this fic's version with them making out, or just the canon version with them talking. Both scenarios are Ben not really behaving the way he usually does, and therefore them being able to met each other on a level that doesn't take into account normal daylight social rules), and so now they have to deal with what it means, if they're going to pretend it didn't happen, or how to try and bring it into alignment with 'the custom of the country'. There was a lot of stuff in the first draft that maybe made this more explicit (there was a conversation between them about if Ben should call him "Sir", and then a thing about white dudes in Paris who had hit on Ben in an explicitly, like, "hot exotic savage" sense, and then a historical digression about the Hottentot Venus), but all of it I felt like was giving Hannibal too much credit for basic human decency, so I cut it out. But my goal was to show how they went from a sort of unique isolated moment of connection to an actual living friendship.
"Hello, Benjamin," Hannibal said. "Won't you sit with me?"
Benjamin's gaze met his own, then shifted down to take in Hannibal's pralines, and then moved to the bowl he held. "I was about to eat," he said, his voice cool and carefully implying nothing.
One of the things I find really intriguing about Hannibal in canon is his choice to eat with black people in public, and what exactly he thinks he's doing. Is he deliberately making a political statement? That seems too aggressive for him. Did he, at the start, genuinely not realize it was unusual? He seems too socially competent for that. Is he a ghost and therefore anything he does is not entirely real and doesn't affect his surroundings? I do like it better if Hannibal already has a reputation for doing this before he meets Ben, but Ben has just arrived and so wouldn't necessarily know that.
Whatever the hell Hannibal is thinking, Ben definitely knows the rules, and wants to eat his dinner and not sit around being hungry while a white dude talks at him (since, going by the usual format, if they're sitting together Hannibal could still eat, but Ben would not be allowed to). But he's equally socially bound not to just refuse, so he's trying to get out of it without saying anything he could get in trouble for. Ben has no idea what to expect: Hannibal could be about to treat him horribly, to be all sorts of racist, or he could go to the other extreme and, I don't know, proposition Ben in the middle of marketplace. He has no reason to have any trust in Hannibal at this point.
Also I think Hannibal choice of "Benjamin" is very specific – it's not "Ben", it's not "boy", it's not "Monsieur Janvier". It's intimate but not derogatory. (Hannibal generally seems very aware of the subtext of names; when he talks about Ben to other white men, he does often use "Monsieur Janvier" instead, for instance.)
"Yes, so am I. Would you like to do so together?" He waved a hand at the crowded market. "I have an excellent table and you seem to have none. It would be churlish of me not to offer to share.”
Benjamin sank slowly into the empty chair, though his posture remained rigid and his shoulders stiff. Hannibal was conscious of a group of people at a nearby table glancing at Benjamin, then back to him with intrusive force. Hannibal ignored them, and said, "I quite like your coat."
Aaaaand Hannibal is basically refusing to acknowledge any of the general rules of behavior and just does what he wants. I was trying to do the weird doubling of thoughts thing here – Hannibal notices that people are staring, but he doesn't comment even to himself why or what it means or what his own emotional reaction to that is. Ben, on the other hand, is feeling incredibly self-conscious about it and is still not really sure what Hannibal is doing.
no subject
Date: 2014-10-11 01:51 am (UTC)Benjamin blinked, as though he hadn't been prepared for mild pleasantries. "Thank you." His hands released their grip on the bowl and he rested them against the table. "I was hired to play at the ball tonight, at the Salle d’Orléans."
"So was I." Hannibal grinned, and was rewarded by Benjamin's gaze softening and focusing on him. "I look forward to hearing you play."
Benjamin smiled; it was a very small expression, no more than a minuscule rise at the corners of his lips, but it gave Hannibal pleasure to see it. Benjamin picked up his spoon and took a bite of the gumbo.
Again through all of this scene, Hannibal is very aware of every single tiny piece of evidence (where Ben's hands are, where he's looking, etc) of Ben's first discomfort and then growing relaxation and trust, but he doesn't consciously acknowledge the reasons behind it. And because he's not thinking about it, he equally can't come out and say anything directly reassuring; rather by behaving as though they're already friends he's trying to make it happen without having to deal with any of the difficulties caused by race, grief, awkward mornings-after, etc. He generally tends to avoid problems (or if he can't avoid them, get drunk/drugged so he doesn't have to think about it) instead of admitting that they're there, so this is just more of that.
On Ben's part, Hannibal is pretty clearly demonstrating that a) Hannibal is not about to tell everyone they almost slept together, and b) Hannibal is not talking down to him, but treating him as a respected friend, in his choice of language and topics and manner: Hannibal asks him to sit rather than telling him to, Hannibal acts like sharing is the polite, customary thing instead of the opposite (which maybe is a very subtle comment on Hannibal's part at New Orleans's customs? Because in most places of course it is polite to share). So he takes Hannibal at his word - that he is okay with sharing a table – and starts eating.
"I’m looking forward to being paid. For a while there, I'd nearly given up hope of finding employment."
"In New Orleans? O insensata cura de' mortali – this town would never turn away a good musician. Witness my own presence here."
Benjamin's smile turned wry. "That's only true if you have the right connections."
"Speak no such falsehoods. Polite society absorbed by their own self-serving opinions? – I will not hear such scandal, my good sir."
And then all of this is just them making friendly conversation, co-worker type conversation. It doesn't really matter what exactly it's about, because my main point here was just to show them having relaxed enough to shift from subtext-heavy feeling each other out to a normal chat.
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Date: 2014-10-11 01:29 am (UTC)This morning he told her of how he'd met this new piano-player, whom he described with effusive quotations in multiple languages as Orpheus-like in his brilliance and grief; Rose took the portrayal with a grain of salt. But even given Hannibal's usual hyperbole, he seemed to have been remarkably impressed by the unnamed man's intelligence and humor; he called him kind and fascinating and earnest in a manner that was probably meant to be humorous, but which instead seemed painfully honest. He grew inward-looking as he spoke, his voice softening and the pauses between his sentences growing longer, until Rose suspected that he might have forgotten her presence. Finally he simply fell silent, as though he had run out of things to say, or perhaps even drifted off. But after a time he added, looking down at the hair ribbon he still idly toyed with, "He had very gentle hands."
"Oh," she said, abruptly rearranging everything she had assumed about Hannibal and his friend.
He jerked his gaze up to her, startled back into awareness. "I shouldn't have said that. Forgive me –"
"It's fine. I have read Catullus’s poetry." Even so, her knowledge of what men might do together had been dry and hypothetical; such things had happened long ago and far away to other people, not here and to someone she knew. The scents of coffee and cornbread filled the air, and sunlight had begun to creep down the wall opposite the window; little details for her to hang onto as her academic understanding shifted into a more genuine comprehension. Hannibal still seemed uncertain, so she smiled reassuringly and said, "It really is all right. In fact, I'm glad you told me." Surprisingly, she was. She was content with their chaste friendship and had no desire for Hannibal to flirt with her, but she found herself pleased to know that someone cared for him in a fashion he so obviously enjoyed.
Hannibal’s fear turned into embarrassment, and he sheepishly pushed his hair back from his shoulders and began to gather it into a queue, tying it with the ribbon. "Well. I hadn't planned to include it in my Latin lesson."
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Date: 2014-10-11 06:46 pm (UTC)As I was saying to Chilla in the comments above, I think of my Benjamin January fic as being part of a series (though obviously I didn't write them in chronological order, nor do they need to be read that way, and they all are intended to work fine as stand-alones), and the general idea of this scene – that Rose knows about the existence of a Ben/Hannibal relationship before she's even met Ben – is one that I'm really fond of and that predates this story itself. It works to make her feel more sympathetic to Hannibal at this point (because he's admitted - even if accidentally! - a vulnerability to her), and it makes it easier for her to trust Ben later on (because she can see that he treats Hannibal well, so presumably he would do the same to her).
This morning he told her of how he'd met this new piano-player, whom he described with effusive quotations in multiple languages as Orpheus-like in his brilliance and grief;
Ben is totally Orpheus I am so into this comparison. I think at one point in canon Ben calls Hannibal Orpheus, but come on, it's totally Ben. I have strong feelings about this.
Anyway, even if Hannibal is being wildly inappropriate by talking to Rose about this (though he doesn't intend to include sexual part) he at least has the discretion to not use Ben's name. I also like the parallel of Hannibal thinking of Ben as "the piano-player", since Ben often calls him "the fiddler".
Rose took the portrayal with a grain of salt. But even given Hannibal's usual hyperbole, he seemed to have been remarkably impressed by the unnamed man's intelligence and humor; he called him kind and fascinating and earnest in a manner that was probably meant to be humorous, but which instead seemed painfully honest. He grew inward-looking as he spoke, his voice softening and the pauses between his sentences growing longer, until Rose suspected that he might have forgotten her presence. Finally he simply fell silent, as though he had run out of things to say, or perhaps even drifted off.
Since the previous section was in Ben's POV, I did want to be sure there was some indication of Hannibal's feelings in this story. And yeah, Hannibal would probably be genuinely pleased to have spent the night with more or less anyone who offered him the opportunity, but I wanted his connection with Ben to feel a little special, a little unusual. I like the word choice of 'earnest' in particular; Hannibal is an idealist who (at this point) has sort of given up on it and is pretending to be resigned and cynical about the world, and I think one of the reasons he's drawn to Ben is because Ben is an idealist who actually lives up to his beliefs and fights to improve things. (Not that Hannibal totally wouldn't help Ben hide a body or lie or steal or anything unethical Ben might ask of him, but I do think he very much looks up to Ben as a "good" person compared to himself.)
But after a time he added, looking down at the hair ribbon he still idly toyed with, "He had very gentle hands."
I tend to start my stories with a single line or image and then build outwards from there, and this piece of dialogue is one of the earliest bits of this story. I wrote it almost a year before the rest of the story, though I had to wait to find a place for it to go. I do like this line, even if I wrote it myself, ha. Ben is a big, strong guy, and I think you could reasonably write Hannibal as admiring that aspect of him, since Hannibal doesn't share that. But personally I think Hannibal is more likely to have had experience with people misusing their strength (he seems to get mugged, like, once a week), and so it's Ben's gentleness that he notices and appreciates more.
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Date: 2014-10-11 06:46 pm (UTC)"Oh," she said, abruptly rearranging everything she had assumed about Hannibal and his friend.
He jerked his gaze up to her, startled back into awareness. "I shouldn't have said that. Forgive me –"
"It's fine. I have read Catullus’s poetry." Even so, her knowledge of what men might do together had been dry and hypothetical; such things had happened long ago and far away to other people, not here and to someone she knew. The scents of coffee and cornbread filled the air, and sunlight had begun to creep down the wall opposite the window; little details for her to hang onto as her academic understanding shifted into a more genuine comprehension.
I am interested in the issue of gayness in this time period, even though it's hardly been mentioned in my stories. I probably need to address it more, but to be honest, I find gay angst really hard to write because it's not something I can identify with. I am gay, actually, but it was such a non-issue in my own life that I can't quite grasp the denial/anger/pain many people seem to struggle with. Like, if I wrote it, it would just be parroting what I've heard other people say. On an intuitive level, I just don't get it well enough to write my own perspective on it. I'd be really interested if someone else wrote a Ben January fic about that though!
An additional problem is that I can't imagine Hannibal hasn't realized and dealt with any issues regarding his sexuality years and years ago, and I also prefer to imagine Ben as having had at least a little experience with men (which is just a personal preference thing for me; I prefer characters who know what they're doing, even though I know a lot of fic likes to take advantage of the inexperienced or new or unique angle. Which is part of the popularity of soul-bonds or WNGWJLEO fic, I think). So it's not a new and pressing issue for either of them, and therefore they don't think about it that much. Rose, however, I could see sexuality coming up as a thing she still has to consider and figure out her feelings on, even though here it's not her own sexuality that's the issue.
Hannibal still seemed uncertain, so she smiled reassuringly and said, "It really is all right. In fact, I'm glad you told me." Surprisingly, she was. She was content with their chaste friendship and had no desire for Hannibal to flirt with her, but she found herself pleased to know that someone cared for him in a fashion he so obviously enjoyed.
Hannibal’s fear turned into embarrassment, and he sheepishly pushed his hair back from his shoulders and began to gather it into a queue, tying it with the ribbon. "Well. I hadn't planned to include it in my Latin lesson."
The ribbon's just really all throug this scene in order for them to have something to do to break up the lines of dialogue, but I ended up being oddly fond of it nonetheless. I'm amused by all the scenes in canon where Ben's constantly noting what Hannibal's doing with his hair or how he's wearing it; it's sort of an intimate little thing too, to sit by someone while they comb their hair or rearrange it, and wearing someone else's ribbon is even moreso. It's almost like Hannibal has a little flag of allegiance to Rose's school. I mean, neither of them are thinking of it that way, but I'm amused by it.
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Date: 2014-10-12 04:39 pm (UTC)And I'm in the same boat as you in regards to being interested in fics that talk about historical attitudes towards sexuality/the angst inherent in this, but not feeling like I could write them myself. I've been really lucky in people's reactions to my sexuality, and I don't think I'd be able to write it convincingly!
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Date: 2014-10-13 06:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-10-11 04:09 am (UTC)(Whole fic is under 500, so I didn't pick a section)
(also, might steal this meme)
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Date: 2014-10-11 08:31 pm (UTC)They could have pulled in every worker from every one of JuOhCho's divisions, and that still wouldn't have been enough to deal with all the dead. None of the Shokan workers had time for the paperwork; they left it to Konoe to deal with. He'd ceased pretending to organize his in-box and out-box; the forms were stacked in wobbling piles leaning against the walls of his office. They were all in Hiroshima now to deal with... with this. Anything wrong in their normal districts would have to wait.
This is the first instance of me not wanting to define it and shying away from using specific terms. Which hopefully works as well for characters in the shock of having just found out what happened as for me being overly-sensitive.
The whole premise of the fic sort of depends on whether these deaths would have counted as "natural" or "unnatural", since the shinigami really only deal with deaths that went wrong in some way. I actually think it makes more sense to count them as natural, since there's no reason to think any government was using magic or demons or whatever, but that makes for less of a story. There's also the issue that (if I recall correctly) the firebombing of Tokyo actually killed more people and did more damage, though it's less remembered and receives less focus in histories. But I don't know, maybe the newness and abruptness of the atom bomb would alter the metaphysics of it.
They don't realize they're dead, Tsuzuki had told him on one of his brief stops back, ferrying a huddle of souls. It was so quick. They remember a lightening flash. Light. They say- they say that couldn't have been enough to level a city.
In this story, I really played on everyone not quite knowing what happened. Some of the tragedy of war (or anything similar) to me is its incomprehensibility, its utter alienness to the normal functioning of things.
I think I like the stylization of not using quotation marks, though I'm not 100% convinced. I do like that this whole fic is not quite linear or straightforward (it never says what happens, and the topic is only there if the reader brings that knowledge in from outside). It's more like a dream or a memory than a story, and I was trying to mimic the feeling of shock.
Hiroshima had always had the best okonomiyaki.
At least according to google it does! I just needed some sort of regional specialty to give Konoe a personal connection here. I've never had okonomiyaki, actually, though it sounds tasty.
But no one was bringing him souvenirs now. The off-duty shinigami drifted futilely in the hallways, empty-handed and red-eyed and silent.
They left their shadows, Tatsumi-san had said abruptly, haunted. He had looked as if he was barely there. Konoe didn't think he'd slept in days, and had wondered whether the stress had broken the newcomer until he saw the photographs for himself.
I, uh, assume this reference is obvious? The photographs of the ash silhouettes of people are one of the most famous images of WWII, and making the connection with shadows and Tatusmi was a sort of intuitive leap. Also this is where I got the idea for the title.
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Date: 2014-10-11 08:32 pm (UTC)He'd clapped Tsuzuki on the shoulder as they left, said something vaguely encouraging. Tsuzuki'd tried to smile, poor boy, but the expression only stretched his lips thin and pale and made the skin seem too thin over his bones. It died quickly, and he'd stared at Konoe with those eyes he was so sensitive about, pleading for something Konoe couldn't grant.
A fic more about Tsuzuki and Tatsumi during this time would be really interesting, though I don't think I'm the person to write it. But the interplay of their personal issues with the external tragedy could be very powerful. We got very very little information about this period in canon, but even knowing only the basics, you have to assume it was incredibly painful.
He pretended he didn't notice. Only a few more, right? Just bring them back, and we'll see what can be done. Nothing. Send them on. Meifu had long since run out of places to put them while they were processed, and souls littered the streets and parks like beggars. It'll all be over before you know it. It took a long moment before Tsuzuki had nodded, fingers too tight around the case folders he held. Tatsumi met Konoe's gaze silently, dulled past accusation or pain.
It wasn't fair, but there was nothing else to do.
The shinigami aren't really meant to deal with right or wrong, just with the amoral process of death, and Konoe is trying to do that, but it has to be hard to close your eyes to sympathy or cruelty at the best of times, and much less at a moment like this. And of course Tsuzuki and Tatsumi would find it even harder (Tatstumi might get better at it later on, but here he's new to everything and i imagine less jaded).
One hundred thousand dead, two hundred thousand dead; numbers that high were all indistinguishable, meaningless. Konoe couldn't imagine that many people.
This line is definitely making a virtue out of necessity. I had trouble researching how many people, exactly, died, and a lot of the numbers you read today only seem to have been complied long afterward. I have no idea what the estimate would have been in the immediate aftermath. So since I couldn't figure it out, I just had Konoe have trouble remembering.
His employees, his small bunch of proud, powerful, crazy shinigami were meant for more than herding huge groups of nameless dead; the overtime and stress was destroying them, and their chief was too tired to even hear their complaints. The mechanical bureaucracy of JuOhCho was the only thing left to him: sign his name, stamp the form, send it on to the next office. Promise them it'd all be over soon.
And obviously to the reader this is a lie, because the bombing of Nagasaki is about to follow. The shinigami are lesser victims than the people who actually died, but everyone is this story is only acted upon; none of them are capable of causing or preventing the bombing.
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Date: 2014-10-12 12:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-10-13 05:54 pm (UTC)