Fight dreams, with politics

[beccaelizabeth]

I dreamed I was a Klingon warrior's half human daughter, and I'd failed a year at starfleet school (or possibly even the academy) because of all the fighting. So he took the family back to a Klingon world, where they had social structures in place that could deal with an adolescent thinking with their fists. And feet. And small blades.

Only it wasn't anything like Klingon society past that point, plus there weren't many actual Klingons, so just say 'dark skinned warriors' vs 'light skinned new immigrants' and go from there.

Mixing was still a new thing. My generation was the first to have enough mixed race kids to call it a generation. Before us they were all aberrations. (Which is a very nasty word.) Usually they'd try to pass. Now the youngest kids saw enough they just didn't care. In between there'd been a lot of changes. Mostly in the formal, legal, social equality of the light skinned non fighters. When my warrior father left posts were always filled through formal duels, or battles if things got really nasty. Now there was this new thing called voting. And they hadn't really got their heads around the social implications of it. The head of each household, who was expected to be a strong warrior who could hold his own in a fight, was also expected to decide who that house voted for... but it wasn't legally required. And the power of the weaker members of society had always rested in persuasion. So suddenly the larger numbers of the people who couldn't kick arse in a fight could not only persuade their warrior to vote for their choices but could directly influence the count themselves. This was something that hadn't really been played through into numbers yet, so nobody really knew how it would work out. There had been voting, but it was mostly for the same old people everyone knew and followed already. This round, a round of tiny local elections where wards of a city would get new leaders, things were changing. The warriors weren't the only ones running for election. And the man who was out ahead with the majority of the vote was a light skinned new immigrant, with an immigrant following, and a gradually spreading base in the women and children of the world.

I knew nothing about the local social structures, and very little about the formal old style structures either. About all I knew was the fighting code. To challenge someone formally you shouted something like 'jello' - duello? They'd shout back, and everyone would get out of the way to let the two of you sort it out between you. If a couple of crowds were gearing up to fight then either nobody would shout duello, or many people would. But if it was someone running for office then having other people fight alongside them would put those others on the same level of power, and having others fight instead of them would pretty much mean dropping out of the race, if the thing was a one on one duel. Especially against a half grown girl.

So watch me mess with local politics, pretty much on accident. Fun!

Started with a semi mystical bit, going back to warrior-father's old stomping grounds, a shop that sold many items of spiritual significance. There were animals that were more than pets, and different ritual items, and some crystals. Everyone had two stones. They were expected to find them for themselves, but they could find them in a shop if they wanted to. Nothing caught my eye, until I saw a piece that seemed to burn, to have fire trapped within. It was a piece of obsidian no larger than the last joint of my thumb, but it was full of tiny crystals that would catch and reflect the light, give it back in those orange-yellow-red shades. So it was formed of fire, and looked it, and best yet was also the sharpest natural edge. It must be mine.
Lying next to it was a little cube of granite. I was not a cube person. Nor did I like granite. Too grey, lumpy, and hot... not temperature hot, but apparently my hands could tell it was radioactive. Didn't like it at all. I was quick to clarify that I wasn't scared of it, I could carry it if there was a need to... but my warrior-father seemed to think it was a wise choice if I'd rather not.
So we just got the obsidian-flame, and went to leave.

Which was when things all went a bit manky. The power bloc that owned the shop decided that warrior-father was not in good with them, owed them big, should work for them for free and let them walk all over him. It had something to do with him serving in Starfleet instead of the local warrior organisation. Offworld service was honored, returning warriors doubly so, but the weaklings scout fleet? Not so very much. So it was either turn it into a vast and ongoing fight, or go somewhere else to be someone else a while.

I voted one way, warrior-father voted the other, so as a family we legged it and hid, and I sulked very much. Warrior-father decided we should fit in, so we joined a different power block, the majority block, which at that time was that of the immigrant who wanted our votes.

So we went to the meeting hall to study up on exactly what we'd joined.

He had some good policies, and some that weren't so good. Returning warrior heroes were... not his first, second, third, or even twentieth priority. He reckoned everyone else was looking after them to the exclusion of all else, so he weren't going to give them the time of day. So here we had the opposite problem - too much the warrior for this crowd.

I didn't like how he was treating people, so I challenged him to duello.

Which is a bit difficult to back out of when the challenger is half your height and female and obviously, from skin color, not pure warrior anyway.

So we got in a fight. And I won! Kinda. I got all the hits in to start with... then he just dodged out the way and said it was over. So I won the fight... but he got his political points, saying it was about trying to shut him up, and where was the fair? I was only one vote, after all.

Which I was a bit shamefaced to realise was true. So I went away.

But then some of his followers - young men with no visible means of support, who hang around in doorways in sight of the meeting hall, keeping watch and looking tough as lighters can - followed me around a corner and decided to take up the point again old style. But this too I was used to. Be the only fighter in a school that teaches teamwork, pretty soon be outnumbered. So I held my own and dodged and dived and got back in sight of the hall in time to see the politician leave - so once again I was yelling "duello!" And there were enough witnesses he had to try it.

And this time he only let me get in one punch before he went intangible.

Which was kind of a neat trick. Didn't know anyone could do that.

It was like he was made of liquid, so I could hit it and carve slices out of him, they'd just flow back into place after. But I wouldn't quit, so he went even lighter, like he was smoky gas. But he didn't lift off the ground. He just stood still like that. And, eventually, called the thing off. See, politics the second - how do you fight smoke? Many particles, one mind! Like voters, y'see.

Only it wasn't over yet, because now he was pissed. I saw him have significant words with his thugs, and knew I'd have to do something about it. So I went away, and designed my weapons and tactics.

The weapon was a big thing kind of like a carpet beater. Fists couldn't disrupt him, maybe a fan on a stick would. Smoke blows, right? So, back I go, and this time soon as I get in sight of the hall I shout "duello!" And out he comes, sighing, ready for the fight. So the fan thing? Kinda sorta works. Great big swathes of disruption... very briefly. Then he realises how light the thing is and just goes solid where it hits him, stops it cold. So I say something about all the damage I've done already, just look at it! And we're near a mirror, but it's above head level. So I boost him up to look. And, really, there's not much to look at, but that's so not the point. I've got a grip on him now. I start to squeeze. So he, sighing, just goes intangible again. So I, grinning, grab his shoulders - vanishing last - and push down.

Down through the ground he goes, through the street, oops there he's disappeared. And he can't go tangible half way down, cause half of him would be gravy, and he can't do it once he's under the street, because he can't breathe and oops he's totally got no room.

So that's a pretty clear win for me. With a very girly fan on a stick. Which I raise in the air as I take my well earned bows and the crowd goes wild.

I walk off, maybe strutting a little.

And behind me he shouts out "Duello!"

See, now he's pissed. It wasn't nice down there. He comes back up smelling of sewer. And a little girl kicked his arse, which never helps a guy's mood. He wants to prove he can kick right back.

Only he's forgotten the code. Or possibly never learned it, seeing as he hadn't intended to fight.

I won three times. He tries again this year, he's breaking the law, and disrespecting it.

Now the crowd goes a different sort of wild, all quiet and focused and with the bad kind of teeth.

I walk off, quietly confident that he's getting his.

... which, okay, bad politics, but pretty damn satisfying fighting.

So I meet up with a crowd of young toughs. They're dressed mostly in shades of grey, not pastels but grey with a tint sometimes. And they're all armed with small knives of a certain length. It's such a uniform length I realise it must be under the code, that's all they're permitted. So I know their social class right away. These are the poorest here. They're dressed nice, but if they've got more than one set of nice they're doing better than their parents ever did. The grey is tough stuff, but not even leather armour. Leather is for middle classes, with some metal for the warriors. I'm wearing leather with metal plates, a bit much for my years, but I can handle it, I reckon. I'm about the only woman I've seen wearing that. We've been mixing with the professional classes, the once-warriors who got the best jobs. Their women mostly wear dresses now, big things that you couldn't hardly fight in, and they don't go armed. They don't challenge duello either. But all these kids are dressed and armed the same, men and women both. I like them already.

And they like me. So they start to cut me.

Which makes perfect sense at the time.

The cuts aren't deep, aren't even deep enough to leave a mark. They heal up almost immediately. That's my warrior side blood coming through. I've never seen it in action quite like that before. Usually, if I get hurt, it's bad enough to stop me moving before I stop fighting, and that do take a while to heal. These little shallow cuts barely let the blood out before they close up like they'd never been. So this little group, this gang, they surround me, weave in and out around me, and write symbols on my arms, chest, all my exposed skin, symbols that say who they are and where they come from and what we do. And I'm red with blood and flushed and high on endorphins and, somewhat to my surprise, really turned on. And so are they, or getting there. And so it starts to turn into something really interesting... but then I realise, if I stay for the orgy, warrior-father will pull their heads off. Which would be bad. So, I'm out of there. But have learned really really interesting things about that side of the family heritage.

So now I get grounded. And sulk. Warrior-father has a job and has a little group of returned warriors to lead. They're getting ready for some kind of parade. Like a home guard, they are, ready and able. I sulk some more, cause I reckon I'm ready and able too, and didn't I prove it with all the fighting? So I find a project to work on, something new and shiny, something that'll prove I have something to bring to this world.

Then, for the big parade, I follow over the rooftops, fly into the big square, and land neatly beside warrior-father's command tent. Which looks more like a market stall, cause this is all ceremonial, but still - I just bypassed all the security without breaking any of the rules. Win.

Warrior-father is *headdesk*

So I sort out my flying cloak - it's like a glider, a bit Batman comics, but it looks a lot more like a carpet strapped to my back.

And a bunch of younger people, mostly guys, kind of sidle up to me. Some of them are trembling. They're all carrying feathers. I narrow my eyes and try and remember what feathers mean in this particular society, but can't come up with anything. So they nudge and encourage and nominate one guy, and he comes up to me with a spare feather, a really nice shiny one, and he pins it to me and... invites me to run for office.

I have face like :-O
Chin drops! Surprise! Woah!
"I can't run for office! I don't know anything about it! And I'd totally lose!" *blinks, thinks* "Oh, right! I can totally run for office. Okay!"

And warrior-father is *headdesk* again.

So now the Count - who is several layers up the administration than this little little vote, runs at least the whole city, seems to be a nice guy if a really old canny warrior of the fights for power school can be termed nice - he comes down from his box while all this is going on, cause he wants to meet the wing girl. And warrior-father hears him and, er, stays head-desky because he wasn't counting on being seen that close. We're trying to stay low profile to avoid that pesky powerblock from the other side of town. Which I'd totally forgotten. And if he's trying to hide from the Count, er, maybe it was serious? Oops. So, anyway, I'm trying not to visibly and/or literally flap here, and the Count decides to talk to me.

He wants to have a go with the wing-cloak.

So I take it off, and as I do I babble, how I wasn't using the materials in the original design, and it probably works better on lighter planets, and I've never actually seen anyone but a teenager use one so it's probably horribly dangerous. And I snap it away from my armour, cause it's only held on with magnets. Strong magnets though - takes both hands to get them away from my chest, and someone else holding on to get them off the arm guards. So I don't see how they'll stick to the Count, because he's wearing a very fine tailored suit. But he just steps into it, reverse of what I did, and it snaps on tight. And I learn a valuable lesson about not assuming the metal and/or armour content of clothing. And then he tries to take a running start, which I'd never have figured would work, you'd need to be at least at box height to get going... but he goes fast enough he lifts off a couple feet and glides a pretty long way. So I learn another lesson about not underestimating the old guys. Then he comes back and claps me on the shoulder and says he reckons I'd make a really *interesting* administrator, so he's going to vote for me.

*gulp*

So then I babble something about how now I'll have to study up on politics, and administration, and what else did he think would be a good idea? So he says he'll work up a course of study for me, and suddenly I have very much incentive to be paying attention in class, cause I'll get in fights with some really impressive people if I screw it up, or insult the old guy, which I'm just realising I came very close to doing when I babbled. Specially since I implied it was too dangerous for his age. After that I'd kind of backed him into a corner where he had to either do it or call me on it and duello. And I was increasingly thankful he hadn't decided to fight. Especially since, as he left, he told me I could do worse than study what this guy knew - his hand on warrior-father's shoulder - and he leaned in and addressed him by name. This guy doesn't miss a thing.

And now we have his full attention.

*double gulp*

And a pretty good chance of winning the election, with his endorsement... especially since as I leave every single woman there says they're voting for the woman warrior, even though some of them say it with so much verbal poison I realise I've pissed off, well, just about everybody, one way or another.

... so on that note of panic I woke up.


So there's a lot to work with there in story terms. Social inequalities and injustice, fighty angry young woman, system she doesn't understand and has to discover, lots of reversals, and a hint of kink. Pretty nifty dream.

Comments

[philippos42.livejournal.com]

Wow. Never mind Klingons. You just built a world.

[beccaelizabeth]

:)