Jenny Everywhere won't read the omake
Feb. 23rd, 2024 05:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scott_sanfordIt's Fiction Friday once more!
The Sofiad gets some extra scenes nobody needs to read in order to follow the story.
Sophiad Omake
by Scott Sanford; February 2024
Prologue: No, Not Whales
Epilogue: Eric
Epilogue: Sophie
Author’s Note: This scene uses no proper nouns and therefore may be disregarded from any and all specific continuities. Because, good grief...
Prologue: No, Not Whales
On an unspecified and irrelevant day, an under-described woman was sitting at a grey desk with a poorly explained scarlet trans-world communicator in front of her. It was a slow day at the office; the woman sighed and looked around the office at the same three walls she was tired of staring at, plus the fourth wall that she tried not to look at too often, and idly hoped that her slow day was not an obvious setup to some inane adventure involving her coworkers.
The poorly explained phone rang, and she answered it as professionally as she could be arsed to.
“Nice to talk to you!,” replied an unreasonably chipper woman on the other end. “Silly question, but do you know where I can get some dynamite?”
The woman who had answered the phone was silent for a moment, both because she was very good at finding things and because this was a topic she knew about all too well.
“Yes. Yes, I do,” she said, with emphasis that betrayed her experiences. She sighed, and let herself continue, “I do know where there is dynamite. I know where there is a lot of dynamite. Too much of it. If I had a pound for every stick of dynamite laying around this place…”
“I’ve got some stuff happening and I could use some,” said the caller, hopefully.
She glanced around the office briefly; there were no superheroes or charcoal-clad coworkers in sight.
She whispered into the phone, “Come by the office, I’ll show you!” She gave the address.
“That would be great!” The other end of the line went dead.
With a quiet popping sound a young woman appeared in the middle of the office, her cobalt hair in wild disarray and soaking wet from head to feet.
“Hi! You really have dynamite here?”, asked the girl, as rivulets of water ran off of her and soaked into the beige-tinted grey carpet.
“Why on Earth are you wet?”
“Oh, sorry, I thought you said ‘whales’ and I went to the wrong place and I ran into this pod of humpbacks and they were really nice but they didn’t have any explosives. But I figured it out!”
“You couldn’t dry off first?”
“Ooh, that’s a good idea. I’ll be back later!”
The girl disappeared with a pop, and then reappeared in an instant, now dry.
“Okay, it’s later. Hi, again!”
“Just checking on this, are you a Jenny Everywhere?”
“Almost! Do you know Jenny?”
“I’ve met a few, yes,” confirmed the woman who recognized this style of dimension shifting chaos.
“Oh, yeah, Jenny Everywheres are wonderful. Naturally you’d run into some Jennies in your line of work.”
“But you need dynamite for some reason I don’t care enough to ask about?”, clarified the office worker.
“Oh, yeah, that would be great,” agreed the blue haired girl.
“I can help you, but I have one question.” She considered the eccentric visitor and asked the question. “How much can you carry off with you?”
Epilogue: Eric
Eric was puzzled.
It had seemed straightforward enough, a few days ago, to take pictures of a math book then and figure it out later. It was now later and the number of things he hadn’t figured out yet had only increased.
He’d thought he’d read the title on the cover, but when he got a chance to look at his pictures of the interior pages they were written in some other language. It reminded him of Greek, which he didn’t speak but knew some of the letters from regular math.
He’d gotten on the internet to look up stuff online and, wow, that hadn’t been nearly as helpful as he’d thought it would be.
Mathematics was by its nature true, maybe the only possible universal truth – not just in one world but all of them. (Jenny Everywhere might know.) That didn’t mean it was easy or obvious.
Eric reminded himself that he was a genius. There were diagrams, and what were obviously numbers and mathematical operators. He didn’t know what it was saying yet, but it looked like math; it felt like math. He could work this out, at least a little.
And he had motivation. It would be something else to talk about with Sophie.
Epilogue: Sophie
In a universe which had passed billions of years without gratuitous trans-dimensional drama until the last week, it was nearly sundown, and the last night of the Althing.
High in a tree on the periphery of the Thing Fields, neither as well hidden nor as silent as they might imagine they were, two small figures whispered to each other. They sounded as if they had run out of energy for arguing but were left bickering out of habit.
“Hey, jerks!”, called a voice from nearby.
A few moments passed in silence.
“Yo, Muninn and Huginn! Yeah, I know you’re in the tree. Come on down!”
“Who dares approach the ravens of Odin?”, queried a voice from within the leaves.
“Somebody who knows you’re not really Muninn or Huginn,” the figure replied. “You’re not even ravens.”
“Insolence!”, screeched one or the other.
Two small figures dropped down out of the branches, neither human nor raven, though close enough to either that someone might make the mistake from far enough away. One flung an object at the newcomer with the speed and practiced grace of a baseball player.
The apple froze in mid-air halfway between them.
“That’s not going to help you,” the one who looked like a human observed.
The two figures who were not ravens traded nervous looks.
The one who hadn’t thrown anything lifted her own apple uncertainly.
“Throw it if you want to,” their visitor said. “That’s one less to worry about.”
“Who are you?”, demanded the first. “What do you want here?”
“Isn’t that obvious? You had fun running around the Althing and I think there are a few feuds heating up, and good for you, I guess. But now it’s over, and you only have a few apples left, and you’ve got no way home. Never mind that sooner or later you’re going to need maintenance and spare parts. You don’t belong here.”
“What business is it of yours?”
“And what could you do about it anyway?”
“Now that’s the right question,” the woman said. “What can I do about it?”
She lifted her arm and the apple, still fixed motionless in mid-air, suddenly shriveled away, dried, and crumbled to dust. Her eyes blazed blue-white.
“𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖉𝖔 𝖆 𝖑𝖔𝖙. But there’s no reason I have to. If you’ll dump the rest of your apples and promise not to screw around too much, I’ll take you to a more technological Earth, someplace you can get home from.”
The two small figures traded looks again, shrugged eloquently to each other, and began emptying their pockets of apples.
The character of Jenny Over-There is available for use by anyone, with only one condition. This paragraph must be included in any publication involving Jenny Over-There, in order that others may use this property as they wish. All rights reversed.
The character of Sophie Everytime, created by Aristide Twain, is available for use by anyone. All rights reversed.
The Sofiad gets some extra scenes nobody needs to read in order to follow the story.
Sophiad Omake
by Scott Sanford; February 2024
Epilogue: Eric
Epilogue: Sophie
Author’s Note: This scene uses no proper nouns and therefore may be disregarded from any and all specific continuities. Because, good grief...
On an unspecified and irrelevant day, an under-described woman was sitting at a grey desk with a poorly explained scarlet trans-world communicator in front of her. It was a slow day at the office; the woman sighed and looked around the office at the same three walls she was tired of staring at, plus the fourth wall that she tried not to look at too often, and idly hoped that her slow day was not an obvious setup to some inane adventure involving her coworkers.
The poorly explained phone rang, and she answered it as professionally as she could be arsed to.“Nice to talk to you!,” replied an unreasonably chipper woman on the other end. “Silly question, but do you know where I can get some dynamite?”
The woman who had answered the phone was silent for a moment, both because she was very good at finding things and because this was a topic she knew about all too well.
“Yes. Yes, I do,” she said, with emphasis that betrayed her experiences. She sighed, and let herself continue, “I do know where there is dynamite. I know where there is a lot of dynamite. Too much of it. If I had a pound for every stick of dynamite laying around this place…”
“I’ve got some stuff happening and I could use some,” said the caller, hopefully.
She glanced around the office briefly; there were no superheroes or charcoal-clad coworkers in sight.
She whispered into the phone, “Come by the office, I’ll show you!” She gave the address.
“That would be great!” The other end of the line went dead.
With a quiet popping sound a young woman appeared in the middle of the office, her cobalt hair in wild disarray and soaking wet from head to feet.
“Hi! You really have dynamite here?”, asked the girl, as rivulets of water ran off of her and soaked into the beige-tinted grey carpet.
“Why on Earth are you wet?”
“Oh, sorry, I thought you said ‘whales’ and I went to the wrong place and I ran into this pod of humpbacks and they were really nice but they didn’t have any explosives. But I figured it out!”
“You couldn’t dry off first?”
“Ooh, that’s a good idea. I’ll be back later!”
The girl disappeared with a pop, and then reappeared in an instant, now dry.
“Okay, it’s later. Hi, again!”
“Just checking on this, are you a Jenny Everywhere?”
“Almost! Do you know Jenny?”
“I’ve met a few, yes,” confirmed the woman who recognized this style of dimension shifting chaos.
“Oh, yeah, Jenny Everywheres are wonderful. Naturally you’d run into some Jennies in your line of work.”
“But you need dynamite for some reason I don’t care enough to ask about?”, clarified the office worker.
“Oh, yeah, that would be great,” agreed the blue haired girl.
“I can help you, but I have one question.” She considered the eccentric visitor and asked the question. “How much can you carry off with you?”
Eric was puzzled.
It had seemed straightforward enough, a few days ago, to take pictures of a math book then and figure it out later. It was now later and the number of things he hadn’t figured out yet had only increased.
He’d thought he’d read the title on the cover, but when he got a chance to look at his pictures of the interior pages they were written in some other language. It reminded him of Greek, which he didn’t speak but knew some of the letters from regular math.
He’d gotten on the internet to look up stuff online and, wow, that hadn’t been nearly as helpful as he’d thought it would be.
Mathematics was by its nature true, maybe the only possible universal truth – not just in one world but all of them. (Jenny Everywhere might know.) That didn’t mean it was easy or obvious.
Eric reminded himself that he was a genius. There were diagrams, and what were obviously numbers and mathematical operators. He didn’t know what it was saying yet, but it looked like math; it felt like math. He could work this out, at least a little.
And he had motivation. It would be something else to talk about with Sophie.
In a universe which had passed billions of years without gratuitous trans-dimensional drama until the last week, it was nearly sundown, and the last night of the Althing.
High in a tree on the periphery of the Thing Fields, neither as well hidden nor as silent as they might imagine they were, two small figures whispered to each other. They sounded as if they had run out of energy for arguing but were left bickering out of habit.
“Hey, jerks!”, called a voice from nearby.
A few moments passed in silence.
“Yo, Muninn and Huginn! Yeah, I know you’re in the tree. Come on down!”
“Who dares approach the ravens of Odin?”, queried a voice from within the leaves.
“Somebody who knows you’re not really Muninn or Huginn,” the figure replied. “You’re not even ravens.”
“Insolence!”, screeched one or the other.
Two small figures dropped down out of the branches, neither human nor raven, though close enough to either that someone might make the mistake from far enough away. One flung an object at the newcomer with the speed and practiced grace of a baseball player.
The apple froze in mid-air halfway between them.
“That’s not going to help you,” the one who looked like a human observed.
The two figures who were not ravens traded nervous looks.
The one who hadn’t thrown anything lifted her own apple uncertainly.
“Throw it if you want to,” their visitor said. “That’s one less to worry about.”
“Who are you?”, demanded the first. “What do you want here?”
“Isn’t that obvious? You had fun running around the Althing and I think there are a few feuds heating up, and good for you, I guess. But now it’s over, and you only have a few apples left, and you’ve got no way home. Never mind that sooner or later you’re going to need maintenance and spare parts. You don’t belong here.”
“What business is it of yours?”
“And what could you do about it anyway?”
“Now that’s the right question,” the woman said. “What can I do about it?”
She lifted her arm and the apple, still fixed motionless in mid-air, suddenly shriveled away, dried, and crumbled to dust. Her eyes blazed blue-white.
“𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖉𝖔 𝖆 𝖑𝖔𝖙. But there’s no reason I have to. If you’ll dump the rest of your apples and promise not to screw around too much, I’ll take you to a more technological Earth, someplace you can get home from.”
The two small figures traded looks again, shrugged eloquently to each other, and began emptying their pockets of apples.
The Sophiad:
0) How Sophie Met Professor Awesome → 1) Preludes & Knick-Knacks → 2) The Doll’s Source → 3) Treat Counting → 4) Session of Mystics → 5) A Game of Two → omake
Read other Jenny Everywhere stories
0) How Sophie Met Professor Awesome → 1) Preludes & Knick-Knacks → 2) The Doll’s Source → 3) Treat Counting → 4) Session of Mystics → 5) A Game of Two → omake
Read other Jenny Everywhere stories
The character of Sophie Everytime, created by Aristide Twain, is available for use by anyone. All rights reversed.
The character of Professor Awesome, created by Scott Sanford, is available for use too, but please don't break continuity.
