>
> TUESDAY
>
> "Hey, Hal," said Asuka, plopping down on DJ's bed.
> "Yes, Asuka?" replied Hal.
> "Show me DJ's journal."
> "I'm sorry, Asuka," said Hal with a trace of reproof in his
> voice. "You know I can't do that."
MMK [Hal, monotone]: Like, duh.
> "Oh, c'mon, don't be such a killjoy. I just want to see what
> he's got in there about me. I don't particularly care about his
> sordid fantasies about Ayanami."
> "DJ's journal is in my protected filespace," Hal explained
> patiently for the nth time. "It cannot be accessed by anyone without
> full administrative access privileges."
> "Well, then, give me full administrative access privileges."
WAND <Hal>: I'm afraid I can't do that, Asuka.
> "Only a user with full administrative access privileges can
> do that."
> "You don't have full administrative access to your own
> systems?"
> "I am not a user," Hal replied.
TBS <Crom>: I mean, if I don't have a User, who *wrote* me?
GAVOK <Ram>: That's what you're doing here.
> "Isn't there -anything- juicy you can let me see?"
> Hal considered for a millisecond, drew it out into two seconds
> to make it clear to Asuka that he'd had to think about it, and then
> replied, "There -is- one file in the general-access file system you
> might be interested in. It's a poem; I believe DJ wrote it with you
> in mind. Would you like to hear it?"
MMK <Hal>: Roses are red, violets are blue, this fic sucks and so do you. The end.
> A poem about me? thought Asuka. Oh, my. It's probably really
> sappy. I can get some definite mileage out of -this- when Croft gets
> back.
> "Sure, Hal. I'd love to hear it."
WAND <Hal>: I'm afraid I'll remind you of that later, Asuka.
> "Very well." Hal paused for a moment, then read the poem out
> in his calm, precise, metered voice. "Sonnet Eighteen, by Derek
> J. Croft.
>
> "Shall I compare thee to a neutron star?
> Thou art more hostile and almost as dense:
> Rough words from thee most plentiful by far,
> And often they just plain fail to make sense:
> Sometime too hot thy temper cannot quell,
> And often dost thou spew unreas'ning hate;
> In all thy supernovas I catch hell,
> And can but duck and hope it doth abate;
> But thy acidic tongue shall not relent,
> Nor lose possession of thy poison wit;
> Nor shall even Death slow the torrent,
> For thou shall hassle me 'til Time doth quit:
> So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
> So long will I be sore annoyed by thee."
WAND: Well, Dickinson and Browning are in no danger of being bumped out of English Lit 101...
> Asuka glowered at the dispassionate red lens of the computer's
> "eye", then turned and stalked from the room without a word.
> "You're welcome," said Hal calmly to the empty room.
>
WAND <Hal>: I will relay your opinions to Mr. Addison.
> Three thousand or so miles and five hours away, the boy in
> question was cooling his heels in a courtroom, bored but working hard
> not to show it.
TIFF: Now he knows how *we* feel.
> Fortunately, since this was a family court and not a
> criminal matter, the court personnel involved didn't have to wear
> robes and wigs and address each other with excrucuatingly lengthy
> titles, as was still the case in Britain's criminal courts. One
> referred to the judge as "your honor". There was no dock, no My
> Learned Colleague From Swindondale, and, most welcomely, no gallery -
> only the contesting parties, their solicitors, the presiding judge,
MMK: The infamous Curval.
> the court reporter and a bailiff.
> True to the plan he'd described to Rei, DJ had trumped his
> grandfather's attempt to wrest his custody from his mother by
> petitioning for emancipation. As such, he had spent the last several
> hours listening to Raymond Barry, his solicitor, read depositions taken
> by telephone from various personnel at NERV, describing his
> self-sufficiency, independence, responsibilities, and so forth.
WAND <Gendo>: Yes, yes, he's all that and a bag of crisps, now will you *please* get out of my hair so I can forget the egregious little snot exists and let the unending torrent of rage that I call "being awake" simmer down to a mere powder keg of fury?
> It
> brought a smile to his face - even Ritsuko had only positive things to
> say about his ability to care for himself.
MMK: Interview by gunpoint has those kinds of results, you see.
> His living arrangements in America raised a few eyebrows when
> it was brought up, and he was anticipating a lengthy cross-examination
> from Sir Henshingly's solicitor, the Honorable Franklin
> J. Dabney-Post,
MMK: You misspelled "Vivian Smith-Smythe-Smith". Hope this helps.
> on his relationship with Misato, when he finally took
> the stand. Not that it was anything he couldn't handle.
> Lara and her solicitor
TBS: Oliver St John Mollusc.
> were present, even though she had
> refused to contest his petition. This represented a gamble on both
> their parts - with that legal tie effectively severed, if his
> emancipation bid failed, he would almost certainly be sent to the
> custody of his grandfather. But then, calculated gambles were
> something that mother and son both had experience and skill with.
> Sir Henshingly's solicitor,
MMK: Gervase Brooke-Hamster.
> as befit a man with a minor
> peerage of his own and a lifelong connection to the family of a man as
> noted as his employer, was suitably snide about Lara's severance from
> the Croft legacy in his remarks. Why, he inquired, would any sane
> young man abandon the chance to reclaim his grandfather's patronage
> and continue the family line honorably? Against this, Raymond Barry's
> counterargument - that DJ felt no particular need for the patronage of
> -anyone- in the peerage, not least his estranged grandfather -
> appeared not to impress the Honorable Judge Robert Shield much. But
> then, DJ hadn't played his second trump card yet.
TIFF: Blackmail?
SANDARA: Bribery?
> Sir Henshingly took the stand first. He expounded at length
> his grief over the waywardness of his daughter, his only child, and
> gave impassioned voice to his hope that his grandson would see the
> light and come to live a proper English life. "It is late in life for
> him to learn to be a gentleman," said Sir Henshingly movingly, "but, I
> pray, not -too- late."
TIFF: I hate to burst your bubble, Sir Henshingly, but...
> DJ believed, with some justification, that he showed great
> restraint in not snorting derisively at this.
> When the time came for DJ to take the stand, he rose,
> straightened his jacket and cuffs impassively, and strode to the
> stand: assured, confident, but not insolent.
[ALL suddenly develop signs of sore throats. Coughs, scoffs, and "ahem"'s resound.]
> "Please state your full name for the record," said the court
> reporter.
> "Derek J. Croft, first Viscount Crofthenge," DJ replied
> casually.
GAVOK [DJ]: International Man of Mystery.
TBS [DJ]: Lover of Fine Wines.
MMK [DJ]: Second Place, Worchester Elementary School 1985 Spelling Bee.
{More?}
> Sir Henshingly and the Honorable Franklin J. Dabney-Post both
> dropped their pens in unison, staring at the boy. Unable to contain
> his surprise, Sir Henshingly burst out,
> "By thunder, boy! When did -that- happen?"
> DJ smiled quietly. "Why, just yesterday, Sir Henshingly, on
> my visit to Buckingham. His Majesty feels that my involvement with
> NERV constitutes... how did he put it? 'Valorous defence of the
> United Kingdom, the Commonwealth and the entire human race against
> enemies beyond imagining.' Turns a wonderful phrase, does His
> Majesty," DJ digressed, then continued modestly,
WAND: When I think of modesty, I think of three names -- Jesus, Gandhi--
TBS: [interrupts] DJ?
WAND: I was going to say "Grignr", actually, but that's as good as.
> "At any rate, he
> seemed to feel that such service warrants a small peerage by fiat, and
> who am I to gainsay King Stephen?"
TIFF: The same person you are to gainsay anyone *else* in this fustercluck. Duh!
> "Please, gentlemen," said the Honorable Judge Shield, already
> sounding tired of the whole matter. "My courtroom is not the place
> for outbursts."
> "I beg your pardon, Your Honor," said DJ. "Won't happen
> again."
TBS: I believe you, I *don't* think.
> Chagrined that DJ had gotten his apology in first, Sir
> Henshingly bowed his head and apologized as well, then glanced at the
> Honorable Mr. Dabney-Post.
> It was a short hearing.
>
WAND: Particularly when the bomb went off...
SANDARA: We can dream, can't we?