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Author Topic: Varlow Fanfic  (Read 29308 times)

GloomiVegi

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Re: Varlow Fanfic
« Reply #30 on: October 03, 2011, 04:43:59 PM »

shipwrecked...looks fun
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FlamingStar

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Re: Varlow Fanfic
« Reply #31 on: October 03, 2011, 04:46:07 PM »

Oh yeah.  ;D I always thought it'd be fun to get shipwrecked, so now I'm trying it out!
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GloomiVegi

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Re: Varlow Fanfic
« Reply #32 on: October 03, 2011, 04:49:19 PM »

for some reason it reminded me of pirates on the carribean ???.
hmmm, all i have to do now is make up a character...
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i don't care that they stole my idea...i care that they don't have any of their own ~ Nikola Tesla

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FlamingStar

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Re: Varlow Fanfic
« Reply #33 on: October 03, 2011, 04:50:07 PM »

Oh yeah. I love Pirates of the Caribbean!

And the charrie shouldn't be too hard. Just someone you'd like to be, is what I did.
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GloomiVegi

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Re: Varlow Fanfic
« Reply #34 on: October 03, 2011, 04:52:37 PM »

i reckon it would be fun to pretend to be a boy...i might try it :D
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i don't care that they stole my idea...i care that they don't have any of their own ~ Nikola Tesla

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FlamingStar

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Re: Varlow Fanfic
« Reply #35 on: October 03, 2011, 04:55:23 PM »

Yeah, I'm doing it in a couple.  ;D It's really funny. Kinda weird, too.
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GloomiVegi

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Re: Varlow Fanfic
« Reply #36 on: October 03, 2011, 05:19:27 PM »

thats probably how deryn feels every day.  ireckon it'd be fun. like in real life :D
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i don't care that they stole my idea...i care that they don't have any of their own ~ Nikola Tesla

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GloomiVegi

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Re: Varlow Fanfic
« Reply #37 on: October 03, 2011, 05:21:49 PM »

ok, please forgive double post
im really sorry, i have to go, mum has threatened to take the computer off me :'(
ill see you later!!!
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i don't care that they stole my idea...i care that they don't have any of their own ~ Nikola Tesla

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FlamingStar

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Re: Varlow Fanfic
« Reply #38 on: October 03, 2011, 05:27:10 PM »

thats probably how deryn feels every day.  ireckon it'd be fun. like in real life :D

Tee hee!

And bye! I'll try to finish next chapter!
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FlamingStar

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Re: Varlow Fanfic
« Reply #39 on: October 04, 2011, 10:51:33 AM »

Okay, chapter four, Gloomi:

CHAPTER FOUR: BARLOW
Barlow’s heart started beating very fast, and she wasn’t sure why. She watched Volger walking to the door, her hand clenching her skirt. The moment she realised what she was doing, she stopped. She wasn’t some child twisting her skirts at the sight of a certain boy. She was a grown woman, and a prisoner of England was busy escaping while under her guardianship.
“It’s locked,” she said, as assuredly as she could.
Volger stopped, eighteen inches shy of opening the door, which wasn’t locked in the slightest, and turned back to her.
“It would appear that the locked door is what is keeping me here,” he said, “but at some point you will have to unlock it, and then I shall make my escape.”
“See, there you go,” Barlow smiled. “Now you are starting to sound like a real traitor.”
Volger raised an eyebrow and said nothing, instead sitting on his chair again, and putting his satchel and sabre on the floor next to him. Barlow smiled to herself and checked the thermometer again. She had managed to keep Volger on the ship without any force whatsoever.
Volger looked up at her. “If I remember correctly, you owe me a secret.”
Barlow moved one of the heaters a smidgeon of an inch away from the egg. “Oh no, not that secret. Not yet.”
“If not that one, what about where we’re going?”
“England. I told you that earlier.”
Volger shook his head and folded his arms. “England’s a big place, Doctor. With a lot of Darwinist creatures in it.”
“London Dockyards, then.”
“Barlow, if you don’t answer, I’ll have to guess for myself.”
“Guess all you like, Count,” she replied, smiling in a superior way.
“All right,” he said, scrutinising her. “One. Dylan and the other airmen were let down near the kraken nets, and the sultan said that no damage had been done to them, but you said that he was wrong. You said there were barnacles that would destroy the nets in a month.”
Barlow narrowed her eyes. Maybe the count was just repeating what he’d heard, but maybe he was onto something. She distracted herself with crouching by the crate and needlessly checking the temperature again.
“Two,” Volger continued. “You’re a woman, but more importantly you’re a scientist, and they wouldn’t still have you on board unless they needed you, and you needed them. You’re also a Darwinist, so whatever plan you have cooked up must have something to do with one of your creatures.”
Barlow didn’t realise she had stopped moving, and was listening intently to the count, until the heater burnt her hand. She gently replaced the heater, but gave no other signs that Volger was right.
“Three,” he said, ticking it off on his fingers. “The Russians need food, and the only way to get that to them is through the Dardanelles. And the only way to get through the Dardanelles is to destroy the Germans and their puppet sultan. And four. The kraken nets are being destroyed for a reason, and I think that reason is a Darwinist creation of yours, Doctor, one that only you know the inner workings of, and one that needs the Leviathan to help or control it. Last week was the new moon, so in a month’s time there’ll be another new moon, and that is when you plan to mount your attack on Istanbul.”
Barlow sat for a moment, gazing at the eggs, marvelling at how much she’d given away. She wondered what effect the count had on her, and why the heaters were suddenly burning warmer, then leant back, turning to him. “You are good,” she said to him. “You are very good.”
“I try.” Barlow watched the corner of his mouth turn up in triumph, and took a deep breath to steady herself, before frowning.
“But you mustn’t tell anyone. Not a single soul besides me and you can know.”
Volger nodded, but then furrowed his brow. “Surely more people know than just you. The captain? The crew?”
“Of course other people know,” Barlow answered, as if this was obvious. “I just don’t want them to know that you know. I’m not completely sure they’d be too happy with me telling so much to the enemy.”
Volger nodded. “Indeed. Although technically you didn’t tell me anything.”
“Do you think they’d worry about technicalities? Even the granddaughter of Charles Darwin can’t get away with treason.”
“You’re his granddaughter?” Volger said, giving a thin smile.
“Since the day I was born,” she replied. “Doctor Nora Darwin Barlow, the first female ‘boffin’, as Dylan would say. That’s the only reason I was allowed. I’m related to Darwinist nobility.”
“I’d always wondered,” Volger said, raising an eyebrow. “I thought it was something to do with your personality.”
“Is that a compliment?” Barlow said, warning in her voice.
“Of course,” Volger said, smirking somewhat.
Barlow turned away. Why did she think the count was anything more than a cold, narcissistic Clanker, intent on achieving only his own desires? She pretended to be examining the egg, and that was why she was the first to notice the tiny crack running across its crown.
Immediately she jumped up, snatching the thermometer from its place next to the egg, and examining it carefully.
“It’s hatching!” she cried, moving the heaters closer, excited.
Another crack appeared, running down the side of the egg and into the straw, and a tiny bit of liquid seeped out. Barlow felt herself clenching her fingers along the edge of the crate, watching the egg intently.
“It’s just an egg,” Volger said from behind her. “I don’t see what’s so exciting about it.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever had a child, have you, Count?”
“Of course not. It causes problems for everybody involved.”
“I thought as much. You wouldn’t understand the feeling, then.”
“And have you had children? I can’t imagine you’d be a very good mother.”
“I can be very warm-hearted when I want to be,” Barlow snapped, and Volger shook his head.
She turned back to the egg and roughly shook one of the heaters, breathing hard. Why did she even care what the count thought? He was a traitorous enemy of the crown, who had come waltzing onto her ship and started insulting her, and here she was feeling upset that he didn’t think she was a good mother.
A loud cracking noise interrupted her angry rant, accompanied by a triangular piece of shell breaking from the top of the egg and sliding down into the straw. Barlow held her breath as another piece slid down after it. She had spent so many years perfecting this creature, even more than she had on the Leviathan, and she wanted to see the fruits of her labours. Many of the men at the laboratory had sneered at her when she told them of her proposed project, and hadn’t believed it possible. Two living examples would do wonders for her record, not to mention her ego.
She thought she saw a tiny claw sticking out the top, and bent closer to the egg. It was indeed a claw, yellowy-grey and covered in mucus. It scratched around the egg, dislodging another piece of the shell, which joined its friends on the straw.
And that was when Barlow heard the rasp of boots on the metallic floor behind her, rushing away from her towards the door. She turned from the crate, looking in the direction of the noise, only to see Volger turning the door handle and opening it. Just before he disappeared around the corner, he gave a smug smile and a wave.
Barlow jumped up, furious. How dare he run away again. How dare he. She glanced around and saw that he’d left his fencing sabre leaning against his chair, and she snatched it up, unsheathing it at the same time. She wasn’t sure how to fence, but the end was wickedly sharp, not blunted like the practise ones, and she knew it was very hard to argue when one had a sabre pointed at them.
“Don’t hatch until I’m back!” she beseeched the rapidly cracking egg, and then ran for the door.
She stuck her head out, in time to see Volger’s coattails disappearing around the corner. Manoeuvring the sword out of where it had got stuck in a jumble of pipes, she took off after him, clattering along the gangplanks, her skirt billowing out behind her. She skidded around the corner, the sabre slapping against the wall, and saw Volger dashing up a set of fire escape stairs, two at a time. He checked behind him, a look of steely determination on his face, before continuing upwards. Barlow followed him, already panting. She wasn’t used to all this running about, while of course he would be, that escaping traitor.
She got to the stairs and rushed up them, always too far from his coattails to grab on. He got to the top step and hurried away along the corridor, wet moonlight streaming in the windows and silhouetting the side of his face. The steadfast curve of his jaw, the tips of the red-brown waves of his hair, his slightly bent nose and dashing moustache.
Barlow silently shouted at herself to focus, and continued chasing Volger’s coattails. She considered the fact that it was very unladylike to run, and even more unladylike to run after a man, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and this was definitely a desperate time. Volger turned to his right up ahead, and suddenly Barlow smiled to herself.
He’d gone the wrong way. He thought that the staircase below him would lead straight down, but it wouldn’t. It would finish in a dead end of storerooms and gangplanks going nowhere.
Barlow slowed to a jog, brushing herself down and straightening her skirt, a rather intimidating frown washing over her face. That stubborn man had caused her to go skittering around the Leviathan like a school girl, simply because he refused to obey the rules of prisoner status. She came to the top of the stairs leading down into darkness, and tiptoed down them. By now the Count would have realised he was trapped, and Barlow was savouring the feeling of being in charge.
She reached the blade out in front of her, cautiously moving further and further downwards, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. No moonlight made its way into this part of the ship, and all she had to see by was a tiny string of glow-worms arranged along the ceiling, which thought it should shine with the smallest amount of light possible, as it was the middle of the night.
Barlow got to the bottom step, and looked at her choices. There was one door in front of her, and one on either side, all three of them storerooms. She tried the one to her left, the sabre still at the ready, but it was locked. The one to the right turned out just to be a tiny broom cupboard, full of mops, buckets and rags, but no Volger. And so she stood in front of the centre door, which now she looked at it seemed to be the most suspicious-looking one anyway, and took a deep breath. Then she wrapped her hand around the handle, turned it, and pushed the door open.
On the other side of the door was a long storeroom, rows of shelves on either side, packed to the ceiling with crates of figs and other foods. There was a large circular window at the far end, letting in shafts of moonlight that lit the dusty walls and floor. Rain pelted against the glass, its shadow making the floor in front of it dance with a thousand different shapes and shadows.
Barlow closed the door behind her and leant against it, her gaze flicking around the boxes. The moonlight was giving everything a ghostly quality, but she crept forward. She heard a noise, and jumped around, staring at the door, but it was nothing. She continued edging backwards towards the window, step by step, foot by foot.
“Do you even know how to use a fencing sabre?” Volger said from behind her, making her leap around to face the window, her heart beating at about a million miles an hour.
Barlow collected herself, took a deep breath and blinked a few times. “No, but I do know that if the point goes into your windpipe, it could cause a considerable amount of damage,” she replied, extending it so it rested just beneath his chin.
“I don’t think you could do it,” Volger said, a cold smile playing on his lips.
“Quite frankly,” Barlow replied, “I think you’re wrong.”
“Am I?” he inquired, moving back from the sabre.
“Yes, yes you are.” She took a step forward, so that her nose was inches from the Count’s and his cold green-grey eyes were all that she could see. “You’re more trouble than it’s possible for a person to be, on top of which you’re infuriating, so you just watch your step, Volger, because as far as I can see, I’m the one with the sharp instrument pointed at your neck.”
Volger raised his hands, still with that tiny smile upon his mouth. “I’m terrified,” he said drily. “Shaking in my boots.”
Barlow raised an eyebrow. “Oh very funny, count. Very funny indeed.”
For a brief moment, they both stood in the moonlight, glaring at each other, Volger with his hands in the air and Barlow with a fencing sabre at his throat.
Then he smiled again, this time genuinely, and looked past her at the door. “It would appear that you’ve caught me, and are very unlikely to let me go, so shall we return to the machine room? We can watch your baby hatching.”
Barlow narrowed her eyes and nodded curtly. “Hands in the air, look straight ahead, and don’t try to run away,” she barked, then slid the sabre around to the back of his neck and gave him a poke towards the door.
Obediently, Volger marched to the door, opened it, and went outside, followed by Barlow, who had a constant expression of furious distaste upon her delicate features. He walked up the stairs, along the corridor and down the stairwell, still being followed by a silent Barlow, who held the sword awkwardly on the back of his neck. She’d never held a sabre before in her life, and would never have dreamt of putting on to somebody’s neck, but she was willing to make an exception for the count. Especially when they arrived at the gangplank that led to the machine room, and Volger spoke.
“Why, it’s almost like we’re on a moonlit stroll, isn’t it?”
Barlow looked out at the sliver of the moon lighting their way, realised that Volger was right, and gave him another angry poke. She didn’t want anything to be in the slightest bit romantic. That would be silly and childish, and besides, he was the enemy, and the enemy couldn’t be trusted. A rational part of her reminded the rest of her that she’d trusted Alek with the other loris, half of her most important project, but she dismissed the thought with another poke to Volger’s neck. This time he flinched, Barlow was pleased to see. It served the traitor right.
They rounded the corner and made their way into the machine room, where red light still seeped into the hallway from the door she had forgotten to close. Slightly panicked, Barlow rushed Volger along towards the door and into the machine room, where she took the sword from his neck and locked the door properly, before running to the crate. She knelt down on the floor and gazed at it intently, already guilty at having missed its birth.
The egg was in pieces, and crawling from the cream-coloured wreckage was a wet, bedraggled, exhausted loris, its fur clinging to its sides and its skin far too big for the rest of its body. Barlow beamed at it, tears almost coming to her eyes, and reached out a tentative finger towards it.
The creature looked up at her with enormous jet-black eyes, and crawled towards her, its eyes set on her finger. It reached her fingernail and reached out its nose, sniffling the air, then, when it was satisfied that everything was safe, it poked its tongue out all the way until it licked the very tip of her finger. Barlow smiled, and when it sneezed and fell over, amazed at itself, she let out a very unladylike giggle. Already it was drying out, light brown fur starting to fluff up around its haunches, giving it a very unbalanced look.
Barlow took her finger from the crate, and the creature started to mewl very softly. The moment she looked away for a moment, it set up a wailing noise just like a child. She turned back to it and put out a palm, onto which it crawled, still sniffling her hands. She stood up gently, turning to the count, who was looking very bored with the whole procedure.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any food, would you?” she asked him.
“As a matter, of fact,” he said, opening his satchel, “I do. I took some from your storerooms. I do hope you don’t mind.” He gave Barlow and inquiring smile.
She sniffed, but was too overcome by the loris to say anything. Volger pulled out a box of dried apricots and removed one from the sealed bag.
“An apricot. Perfect!” Barlow said, taking it from him, feeling for a fraction of a second his calloused fingers on hers. But then the moment was gone, and she was offering the apricot to the loris.
The loris took it from her, examined it all over, and then took a bite, chewing its rather too big mouthful and then swallowing. It looked up at Barlow, then at Volger, giving him an intent gaze. “Apricot,” it said happily.
Volger stared at it, dumbstruck, frozen to the spot. For a moment he didn’t say anything, just opening and closing his mouth. Then he turned to Barlow, as if in a dream.
“Good God,” he breathed. “It talks.”
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GloomiVegi

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Re: Varlow Fanfic
« Reply #40 on: October 04, 2011, 12:23:37 PM »

omg you are so good!!!
i love the way its not going to fast, and you are just sort of only hinting at romance.  so cute!
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FlamingStar

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Re: Varlow Fanfic
« Reply #41 on: October 04, 2011, 12:28:15 PM »

Oh, thank you! SHould it go a little faster? And I'm only hinting, because I don't think they can admit it to themselves.
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GloomiVegi

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Re: Varlow Fanfic
« Reply #42 on: October 04, 2011, 02:48:19 PM »

no, i reckon its better when its slower.  it seams more realistic :)
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i don't care that they stole my idea...i care that they don't have any of their own ~ Nikola Tesla

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FlamingStar

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Re: Varlow Fanfic
« Reply #43 on: October 04, 2011, 02:51:07 PM »

Oh, okay! You appear to be the only one reading, so I'll go with what you want!  ;D
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GloomiVegi

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Re: Varlow Fanfic
« Reply #44 on: October 04, 2011, 02:59:33 PM »

there are other people reading right??? they're just too gobsmacked by how good the story is to comment ;)
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i don't care that they stole my idea...i care that they don't have any of their own ~ Nikola Tesla

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