Hi y'all,
I'm in the process of writing a series, and was interested in your thoughts. Here's the gist. Resonics is a Science Fantasy Adventure taking place on Earth, years to the future. In this distant future, our hubris brings about the Reaping, a cataclysm tearing the world asunder, spewing forth silver dust. This silver enables a new breed of sonic tech to rise, everything from lights to hovercrafts to weapons. Meanwhile, two factions wrestle to 'save' what's left of the world, the Paladins and the Rebels.
One of the main themes that will be ever-echoing behind the stories is the double-edged sword of belief. Values, honesty, honor, these are all great, powerful and good things of faith. However, the danger of faith is when one person or organization decides that can take your 'values' and twist them to their own gain, often at the expense of others. Ask a dozen people and you'll get a dozen different answers, but my take on it is that faith occasionally needs some TLC from good old fashioned common sense.
Behind their power struggle, lies a technique re-emerging for those who would listen, the power of Resonation. Resonation is taking the inherent tune and pulse of a living being and using it to affect a separate object. Within Resonation there are two approaches: Untuned and Tuned. Untuned Resonation is the forcing of the object to match your tune. Tuned Resonation is you matching the object's tune.
I got the idea for Resonation and this entire series from a real-world science theory. I'm not going to describe it all hear, cuz my summation would be: lightning is electricity, lightning causes brushfires, why aren't we on fire. Ergo, QED, Therefore, and Henceforth… Fire Pretty
For the real theory (won't link as I'm a greenhorn ) The article's title is Physicists Challenge Notion of Electric Nerve Impulses Say Sound More Likely . This theory is the basis behind sonic anesthesia. I took the theory a step further with my story concept. The human body's nervous system, whether electric or sonic, is insulated at the nerve endings via the myelin sheath. Upon researching this sheath I discovered a couple interesting traits. The density of this sheath is variable, and deterioration of the sheath can lead to madness via alteration of sensory input. So the concept of resonation in my story stems me wondering what would happen if a person could consciously alter this myelin sheath and use their inherent sonic pulses to affect the world. To maintain believability and consistency in my story (as much as possible), I include the downside. Too much Untuned Resonation, like water blasting against a weakened dam, leads to madness. Tuned Resonation, on the other hand, is like a brittle fallen leaf floating on the waves, undamaged because it doesn't resist the flow. To amplify my 'magic' I used another real-world characteristic. I won't give away how I insert it into the story, but silver is a potent conductor of both electricity and sound.
So long story short... Sonic Jedi versus Mechs.
Lastly, in terms of length, the Resonics Chronicles has begun as a series of shorts teasing the coming first novel. The beauty of these shorts proceeding the novel is it gives me a chance to feel out the characters, and see which resonates with my audience.
So let me know your thoughts? Do you think pursuit of consistency is a noble endeavor? Do you think the usage of publishing shorts first as ebooks is a good method to establish my name and make myself a more comfortable plunge for an agent?
Next, to give y'all an idea of where I'm going here's the short story that first tackles Resonators (sonic jedi) instead of Richter Units (mechs). Tell me your thoughts, please.
I Turned Taranis, and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt!
* * * * *
Matilda and Angel crept through the alleys, well past curfew. A few close calls with paladins and they were knocking at the backdoor of the Saunter's house. A shadow covered the peephole for a second, before the still chained door opened a sliver.
Shivering against a stiff breeze rolling in from the Thunder Fields not a few miles away, Angel whispered, “This night casts a mean scene.”
The one eye peeking through the crack relaxed, he completed the password quickly, “Good thing the fire is light and bright.” Closing the door, the man released the chain, and beckoned them in, glancing up and down the alley. A fraction of a second after their cloaks had cleared the door, it was sealed and bolted.
“I'm J-James Saunter. Aural W-Watcher.” He raised a sleeve revealing a tattoo, a man mid-stride with arms outstretched, one hand open, one fist closed.
While Angel gave James the appraising glare, Matilda undid her cloak, rushing to the fire's edge. Rubbing her hands fiercely to renew their warmth, she sighed unabashedly. No sleeping on the alley ground tonight. She poked fun at Angel's grim demeanor, “If you done terrorizing the man, dear sister, maybe we could manage to get something warm to drink before dawn. We're safe, Angel.”
“Oh?” An eyebrow raised high subjugated Matilda's feeble smile, “And what if there are paladins aloft waiting to descend on us? Did you think of that dear sister? And after all, it's not my face on a wanted poster.”
“If that were true his boy wouldn't be by the stairs watching us, he'd be in the arms of a paladin as hostage.” A squeak from above cemented her point. The slow steps of a condemned man announced the entrance of young Felix, who was two and a quarter years old as he recited.
Dealing with a son was far simpler then a pair of resonators. His confidence renewed at the easier target, “Felix! You supposed to be asleep. Now march...”
Matilda cut him off, “James, would you be a kind soul and fetch us some tea? I'm chilled through, I'm afraid. Besides, young Felix here would just sneak out the second your back was turned, isn't that right Felix?” Father and son acknowledged agreement with grumbles and mischievous smirk respectively.
Angel had watched the whole exchange silently. Watched James' movements, posture and stutter. This was a man afraid of what lay before him, not something above. Yes, James has no hidden paladins, only a standard dose of resonator fear. It was an entire way of being the sisters had become all too familiar with, treated like rabid dogs, everyone fearful of becoming infected when they finally bit. But, Angel couldn't make herself interrupt Matilda's play with Felix. It'd been weeks since she'd smile so openly, and Angel treasured fleeting moments like these. Moments where they were almost... normal.
“My daddy says it's nice to ask pretty ladies their name.”
A show of shyness and Matilda softly said, “Why good sir Felix, my name is Matilda.”
Angel made it a point to not notice the extra moisture in Matilda's eyes when Felix plopped down in her lap to showcase his recently found rock, nor when Matilda acted amazed hugging him tight and kissing the top of his head. Hers isn't a warrior's heart-hers is made for loving. If only we could have such things. But the moment they'd begun Untuned Resonation, those doors closed. In that moment of panic when they had both lost their grip on the rocks and instinctively resonated ceasing each others' fall, that life became a bitter dream to them. Ever since they ran. Ran from their disapproving family, or from the tyrannical grasp of the paladins who would study them and mold them into tools... if their whim didn't leave the sisters dead in a ditch.
James finally returned placing two sets of steaming bowls of soup and mugs of tea upon the table. His apprehension still plain, “There's a room in the attic, with a hatch onto the roof should any p-paladins come prowling. And if you don't mind, I'm going to head to...” the crash of a shutter against the window, almost made James jump high enough to land in that attic bed with a yelp. He ran to the window and in a terrorized whisper, “Samoan! With the makings of a cyclone, looks like! Gods pray not a big 'un. Basement all of ye, now!”
All present snapped into action, the approaching evil was all too common for them. This close to the Thunder Fields, Samoans or dust storms were almost a nightly event. This would have been no problem centuries before, before the Reaping. But the Reaping had happened, spewing silver dust into the atmosphere to become small missiles under the care and guidance of the Samoans. Sometimes when the temperatures were right, an even worse evil came, a Fulgor Cyclone. So named for the suspended silver became as discs of metallic death. Such a storm would literally shred through, stone, flesh and bone alike.
If all this weren't too much, there was a third type of desert storm and most terrible of the lot, the Taranis. A Fulgor Cyclone magnified and polarized by a perpetual lightning bolt at its core. Town-killers, some called them. For those emanating specters danced out of the Thunder Fields, sometimes a mile wide. Gods be praised, they were beyond rare. Not rare enough that evening. Matilda and Angel both stopped in their tracks feeling the preceding pulse, the former pouncing on Felix covering his ears from the terrible BOOM, like a thousand thunders as one.
Angel's ears ringing, she grabbed the collar of James' shirt, “How deep is your cellar?!”
Taking a moment to shake the rings away himself, “Deep enough, Gods be praised. My father's father was a care-fuller man than me.” He led the way down, with Felix at his heels.
“Matilda, let's go!” Angel watched, her face paling, as Matilda glided toward the door.
“It's so hungry, so terribly hungry, can't you feel it?” Matilda's hand found and unbolted the door.
“No! Matilda you get your tail down here, now!”
Matilda turned to Angel fully, “I'm not crazy sister, not yet. But I can feel it, and I think... I can turn it.”
Angel watched in horror as Matilda disappeared into the night torn between her instinct to hide and survive versus the love of her sister, “Matilda!” The later won out, as Angel ran to the door, fighting against the wind. Her heart sank as she saw Matilda in the middle of the road had become encircled by Paladins recognizing the face from the warrants. “No.” she desperately whispered.
The paladins, though eager for the capture, waited for the Sergeant-Paladin’s command. Avoiding being the first to bulrush a woman levitating a foot in the air was only a perk. The Sergeant-Paladin Nathan Stark was a seasoned old war dog, with the scars to match, stepped forward a bit perplexed. Why isn’t she running? Why isn’t she attacking? Why isn’t she even looking at us?
Before the questions could leave his mouth, before he could declare her under arrest, he froze as she slowly glanced at him and softly like a mother cooing a terrified child said, “Hold Paladins. I will go with you, without resistance, but first, let me try to save these people.” With that she began floating towards the storm, to meet her enemy.
Stark watched her in awe as she advanced before catching the shoulder of his youngest Paladin before he attacked her, “Easy lad, bit of advice. Never get in the way of a woman on a mission.” Turning to the rest, he had to yell over the cyclonic roar, “Alright Paladins, you three with me, the rest do a quick sweep, I want every soul in their cellars five minutes ago!”
A Paladin turned to his sergeant, “Sergeant-Paladin Stark, what can she possibly do against a Fulgor? Even a Resonator doesn’t have a hope.”
“I don’t know lad, but something’s got in her, and nothing is going to stop her trying. A whole platoon of Paladins in mechanized armor couldn’t stop her now. What I don’t get is what’s worth more than her freedom?”
Approaching her foe, Matilda ignored the wind whipping her, disregarded the bits of silver glistening upon her clothes, was oblivious to the fresh cut on her cheek from a bit of shrapnel. These were all less than murmurs within the ambit of Resonation.
Presented before the cyclone, her adversary acknowledged her with a slowed advance chorused by a sudden cacophony of simultaneous lightning strikes all pointed inward.
“Do it girl, give it hell!” The Sergeant-Paladin growled, shielding his eyes as the dreaded Taranis formed. The cyclone began glowing ethereally illuminated from within.
“It’s too much Matilda, back down,” came Angel’s fearful whisper, petrified in place.
“Is Matilda my guardian angel, Daddy? She’s pretty like one.” Felix said, enveloped in James’ protective grasp.
Matilda smiled up at her opponent’s spiteful glow. Let’s dance, Taranis. Through her mind’s eye she felt the Taranis’ pulls, knew where each strike would come. Deftly she darted up into the air, pirouetting around the Taranis’ silver claws, lithely echapping the savage strokes of lightning.
Far below on the ground, Angel stood awestruck as she began observing the pulse of the Taranis. It’s reacting, it’s moving to her beat. She’s doing it!
“Gods be merciful, just when these eyes thought they’d seen it all.” The sergeant appraised the bottom of the cyclone’s column. It had stopped advancing, its revolutions slowing until it stood rigid, as if Matilda had kidnapped the storm from time. Rising almost to the black clouds crowning the storm’s pillar, Matilda, arms extended, flipped backwards in a cylindrical swan dive about the Taranis opposite its ceased rotation. All who saw, would remember always, the unbelievable joy they felt as the Taranis’ began spinning the opposite direction as before, and began receding back into the Thunder Fields. Nor could any who bore witness, believe the encore performance when the scorned child Taranis, reached backward throwing one last bolt directly at Matilda.
What does a lightning bolt stopping mid-air look like? Ask one of the Taranis’ witnesses. For in a massive pull of Resonation, Matilda did just that. Like a down feather she glided to the ground.
The Sergeant-Paladin ran up barking over his shoulder, “Hold men.” He approached her alone. No burnt flesh, not even hair, the only thing looking worse for the wear are her clothes. Indeed like a swath of moth-eaten cloth, little holes and tears littered them from where shrapnel had come too close, but not a drop of blood save the nick on her cheek. Was the sergeant relieved her chest still moved drawing in deep breaths? Despite himself, he was. All care aside, he kneeled beside her, “Why? Why let yourself be captured?"
Matilda, with eyes closed smiled, "Because a little boy didn't shy away from me tonight. Such innocence needs protecting."
He grunted agreement, "You'd have made an exceptional paladin. I'll make sure my men live up to your example. Obviously any family that was hiding you must have been held your prisoner." He winked and smiled.
Wearily she nodded, “Thank you. My…" her voice growing weak, "my legs won't move Sergeant-Paladin."
"That's ok lass, you've done plenty tonight."
From her hiding spot, Angel felt the rage build as the Sergeant-Paladin picked her up, and carried her away, “I'll save you little sister."
* * * * *
An unknown time later, Matilda woke up groggily to the sound of a clicking pen. Blinking and rubbing her eyes, a doctor appeared before her, smiling coldly as he scribbled notes. Looking up he began, "Well good morning dear Matilda, I'm glad you're still with us. You're positively soaked. Here are some clean clothes for you." Doctor Spencer smiled magnanimously at his newest gem. Matilda ran her fingers along the hospital shirt, feeling the embroidered letters even as her vision cleared. It read: Bristol Center Alpha, PATIENT.
I'm in the process of writing a series, and was interested in your thoughts. Here's the gist. Resonics is a Science Fantasy Adventure taking place on Earth, years to the future. In this distant future, our hubris brings about the Reaping, a cataclysm tearing the world asunder, spewing forth silver dust. This silver enables a new breed of sonic tech to rise, everything from lights to hovercrafts to weapons. Meanwhile, two factions wrestle to 'save' what's left of the world, the Paladins and the Rebels.
One of the main themes that will be ever-echoing behind the stories is the double-edged sword of belief. Values, honesty, honor, these are all great, powerful and good things of faith. However, the danger of faith is when one person or organization decides that can take your 'values' and twist them to their own gain, often at the expense of others. Ask a dozen people and you'll get a dozen different answers, but my take on it is that faith occasionally needs some TLC from good old fashioned common sense.
Behind their power struggle, lies a technique re-emerging for those who would listen, the power of Resonation. Resonation is taking the inherent tune and pulse of a living being and using it to affect a separate object. Within Resonation there are two approaches: Untuned and Tuned. Untuned Resonation is the forcing of the object to match your tune. Tuned Resonation is you matching the object's tune.
I got the idea for Resonation and this entire series from a real-world science theory. I'm not going to describe it all hear, cuz my summation would be: lightning is electricity, lightning causes brushfires, why aren't we on fire. Ergo, QED, Therefore, and Henceforth… Fire Pretty
For the real theory (won't link as I'm a greenhorn ) The article's title is Physicists Challenge Notion of Electric Nerve Impulses Say Sound More Likely . This theory is the basis behind sonic anesthesia. I took the theory a step further with my story concept. The human body's nervous system, whether electric or sonic, is insulated at the nerve endings via the myelin sheath. Upon researching this sheath I discovered a couple interesting traits. The density of this sheath is variable, and deterioration of the sheath can lead to madness via alteration of sensory input. So the concept of resonation in my story stems me wondering what would happen if a person could consciously alter this myelin sheath and use their inherent sonic pulses to affect the world. To maintain believability and consistency in my story (as much as possible), I include the downside. Too much Untuned Resonation, like water blasting against a weakened dam, leads to madness. Tuned Resonation, on the other hand, is like a brittle fallen leaf floating on the waves, undamaged because it doesn't resist the flow. To amplify my 'magic' I used another real-world characteristic. I won't give away how I insert it into the story, but silver is a potent conductor of both electricity and sound.So long story short... Sonic Jedi versus Mechs.
Lastly, in terms of length, the Resonics Chronicles has begun as a series of shorts teasing the coming first novel. The beauty of these shorts proceeding the novel is it gives me a chance to feel out the characters, and see which resonates with my audience.
So let me know your thoughts? Do you think pursuit of consistency is a noble endeavor? Do you think the usage of publishing shorts first as ebooks is a good method to establish my name and make myself a more comfortable plunge for an agent?
Next, to give y'all an idea of where I'm going here's the short story that first tackles Resonators (sonic jedi) instead of Richter Units (mechs). Tell me your thoughts, please.
I Turned Taranis, and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt!
* * * * *
Matilda and Angel crept through the alleys, well past curfew. A few close calls with paladins and they were knocking at the backdoor of the Saunter's house. A shadow covered the peephole for a second, before the still chained door opened a sliver.
Shivering against a stiff breeze rolling in from the Thunder Fields not a few miles away, Angel whispered, “This night casts a mean scene.”
The one eye peeking through the crack relaxed, he completed the password quickly, “Good thing the fire is light and bright.” Closing the door, the man released the chain, and beckoned them in, glancing up and down the alley. A fraction of a second after their cloaks had cleared the door, it was sealed and bolted.
“I'm J-James Saunter. Aural W-Watcher.” He raised a sleeve revealing a tattoo, a man mid-stride with arms outstretched, one hand open, one fist closed.
While Angel gave James the appraising glare, Matilda undid her cloak, rushing to the fire's edge. Rubbing her hands fiercely to renew their warmth, she sighed unabashedly. No sleeping on the alley ground tonight. She poked fun at Angel's grim demeanor, “If you done terrorizing the man, dear sister, maybe we could manage to get something warm to drink before dawn. We're safe, Angel.”
“Oh?” An eyebrow raised high subjugated Matilda's feeble smile, “And what if there are paladins aloft waiting to descend on us? Did you think of that dear sister? And after all, it's not my face on a wanted poster.”
“If that were true his boy wouldn't be by the stairs watching us, he'd be in the arms of a paladin as hostage.” A squeak from above cemented her point. The slow steps of a condemned man announced the entrance of young Felix, who was two and a quarter years old as he recited.
Dealing with a son was far simpler then a pair of resonators. His confidence renewed at the easier target, “Felix! You supposed to be asleep. Now march...”
Matilda cut him off, “James, would you be a kind soul and fetch us some tea? I'm chilled through, I'm afraid. Besides, young Felix here would just sneak out the second your back was turned, isn't that right Felix?” Father and son acknowledged agreement with grumbles and mischievous smirk respectively.
Angel had watched the whole exchange silently. Watched James' movements, posture and stutter. This was a man afraid of what lay before him, not something above. Yes, James has no hidden paladins, only a standard dose of resonator fear. It was an entire way of being the sisters had become all too familiar with, treated like rabid dogs, everyone fearful of becoming infected when they finally bit. But, Angel couldn't make herself interrupt Matilda's play with Felix. It'd been weeks since she'd smile so openly, and Angel treasured fleeting moments like these. Moments where they were almost... normal.
“My daddy says it's nice to ask pretty ladies their name.”
A show of shyness and Matilda softly said, “Why good sir Felix, my name is Matilda.”
Angel made it a point to not notice the extra moisture in Matilda's eyes when Felix plopped down in her lap to showcase his recently found rock, nor when Matilda acted amazed hugging him tight and kissing the top of his head. Hers isn't a warrior's heart-hers is made for loving. If only we could have such things. But the moment they'd begun Untuned Resonation, those doors closed. In that moment of panic when they had both lost their grip on the rocks and instinctively resonated ceasing each others' fall, that life became a bitter dream to them. Ever since they ran. Ran from their disapproving family, or from the tyrannical grasp of the paladins who would study them and mold them into tools... if their whim didn't leave the sisters dead in a ditch.
James finally returned placing two sets of steaming bowls of soup and mugs of tea upon the table. His apprehension still plain, “There's a room in the attic, with a hatch onto the roof should any p-paladins come prowling. And if you don't mind, I'm going to head to...” the crash of a shutter against the window, almost made James jump high enough to land in that attic bed with a yelp. He ran to the window and in a terrorized whisper, “Samoan! With the makings of a cyclone, looks like! Gods pray not a big 'un. Basement all of ye, now!”
All present snapped into action, the approaching evil was all too common for them. This close to the Thunder Fields, Samoans or dust storms were almost a nightly event. This would have been no problem centuries before, before the Reaping. But the Reaping had happened, spewing silver dust into the atmosphere to become small missiles under the care and guidance of the Samoans. Sometimes when the temperatures were right, an even worse evil came, a Fulgor Cyclone. So named for the suspended silver became as discs of metallic death. Such a storm would literally shred through, stone, flesh and bone alike.
If all this weren't too much, there was a third type of desert storm and most terrible of the lot, the Taranis. A Fulgor Cyclone magnified and polarized by a perpetual lightning bolt at its core. Town-killers, some called them. For those emanating specters danced out of the Thunder Fields, sometimes a mile wide. Gods be praised, they were beyond rare. Not rare enough that evening. Matilda and Angel both stopped in their tracks feeling the preceding pulse, the former pouncing on Felix covering his ears from the terrible BOOM, like a thousand thunders as one.
Angel's ears ringing, she grabbed the collar of James' shirt, “How deep is your cellar?!”
Taking a moment to shake the rings away himself, “Deep enough, Gods be praised. My father's father was a care-fuller man than me.” He led the way down, with Felix at his heels.
“Matilda, let's go!” Angel watched, her face paling, as Matilda glided toward the door.
“It's so hungry, so terribly hungry, can't you feel it?” Matilda's hand found and unbolted the door.
“No! Matilda you get your tail down here, now!”
Matilda turned to Angel fully, “I'm not crazy sister, not yet. But I can feel it, and I think... I can turn it.”
Angel watched in horror as Matilda disappeared into the night torn between her instinct to hide and survive versus the love of her sister, “Matilda!” The later won out, as Angel ran to the door, fighting against the wind. Her heart sank as she saw Matilda in the middle of the road had become encircled by Paladins recognizing the face from the warrants. “No.” she desperately whispered.
The paladins, though eager for the capture, waited for the Sergeant-Paladin’s command. Avoiding being the first to bulrush a woman levitating a foot in the air was only a perk. The Sergeant-Paladin Nathan Stark was a seasoned old war dog, with the scars to match, stepped forward a bit perplexed. Why isn’t she running? Why isn’t she attacking? Why isn’t she even looking at us?
Before the questions could leave his mouth, before he could declare her under arrest, he froze as she slowly glanced at him and softly like a mother cooing a terrified child said, “Hold Paladins. I will go with you, without resistance, but first, let me try to save these people.” With that she began floating towards the storm, to meet her enemy.
Stark watched her in awe as she advanced before catching the shoulder of his youngest Paladin before he attacked her, “Easy lad, bit of advice. Never get in the way of a woman on a mission.” Turning to the rest, he had to yell over the cyclonic roar, “Alright Paladins, you three with me, the rest do a quick sweep, I want every soul in their cellars five minutes ago!”
A Paladin turned to his sergeant, “Sergeant-Paladin Stark, what can she possibly do against a Fulgor? Even a Resonator doesn’t have a hope.”
“I don’t know lad, but something’s got in her, and nothing is going to stop her trying. A whole platoon of Paladins in mechanized armor couldn’t stop her now. What I don’t get is what’s worth more than her freedom?”
Approaching her foe, Matilda ignored the wind whipping her, disregarded the bits of silver glistening upon her clothes, was oblivious to the fresh cut on her cheek from a bit of shrapnel. These were all less than murmurs within the ambit of Resonation.
Presented before the cyclone, her adversary acknowledged her with a slowed advance chorused by a sudden cacophony of simultaneous lightning strikes all pointed inward.
“Do it girl, give it hell!” The Sergeant-Paladin growled, shielding his eyes as the dreaded Taranis formed. The cyclone began glowing ethereally illuminated from within.
“It’s too much Matilda, back down,” came Angel’s fearful whisper, petrified in place.
“Is Matilda my guardian angel, Daddy? She’s pretty like one.” Felix said, enveloped in James’ protective grasp.
Matilda smiled up at her opponent’s spiteful glow. Let’s dance, Taranis. Through her mind’s eye she felt the Taranis’ pulls, knew where each strike would come. Deftly she darted up into the air, pirouetting around the Taranis’ silver claws, lithely echapping the savage strokes of lightning.
Far below on the ground, Angel stood awestruck as she began observing the pulse of the Taranis. It’s reacting, it’s moving to her beat. She’s doing it!
“Gods be merciful, just when these eyes thought they’d seen it all.” The sergeant appraised the bottom of the cyclone’s column. It had stopped advancing, its revolutions slowing until it stood rigid, as if Matilda had kidnapped the storm from time. Rising almost to the black clouds crowning the storm’s pillar, Matilda, arms extended, flipped backwards in a cylindrical swan dive about the Taranis opposite its ceased rotation. All who saw, would remember always, the unbelievable joy they felt as the Taranis’ began spinning the opposite direction as before, and began receding back into the Thunder Fields. Nor could any who bore witness, believe the encore performance when the scorned child Taranis, reached backward throwing one last bolt directly at Matilda.
What does a lightning bolt stopping mid-air look like? Ask one of the Taranis’ witnesses. For in a massive pull of Resonation, Matilda did just that. Like a down feather she glided to the ground.
The Sergeant-Paladin ran up barking over his shoulder, “Hold men.” He approached her alone. No burnt flesh, not even hair, the only thing looking worse for the wear are her clothes. Indeed like a swath of moth-eaten cloth, little holes and tears littered them from where shrapnel had come too close, but not a drop of blood save the nick on her cheek. Was the sergeant relieved her chest still moved drawing in deep breaths? Despite himself, he was. All care aside, he kneeled beside her, “Why? Why let yourself be captured?"
Matilda, with eyes closed smiled, "Because a little boy didn't shy away from me tonight. Such innocence needs protecting."
He grunted agreement, "You'd have made an exceptional paladin. I'll make sure my men live up to your example. Obviously any family that was hiding you must have been held your prisoner." He winked and smiled.
Wearily she nodded, “Thank you. My…" her voice growing weak, "my legs won't move Sergeant-Paladin."
"That's ok lass, you've done plenty tonight."
From her hiding spot, Angel felt the rage build as the Sergeant-Paladin picked her up, and carried her away, “I'll save you little sister."
* * * * *
An unknown time later, Matilda woke up groggily to the sound of a clicking pen. Blinking and rubbing her eyes, a doctor appeared before her, smiling coldly as he scribbled notes. Looking up he began, "Well good morning dear Matilda, I'm glad you're still with us. You're positively soaked. Here are some clean clothes for you." Doctor Spencer smiled magnanimously at his newest gem. Matilda ran her fingers along the hospital shirt, feeling the embroidered letters even as her vision cleared. It read: Bristol Center Alpha, PATIENT.
