Ss: Meanwhere, Elsewhile

[Multiverse]

MEANWHERE, ELSEWHILEOutside an office in a different London than he'd left, Phileas Fogg waited patiently for a man in a black lab coat to return with a box containing seventy-nine very small pocket watches.Phileas Fogg was no longer following the busy schedule he'd been, and he suspected that he would take a short while before devising a new one. And after his recent adventures, a short while was a concept of which he'd attained a new personal understanding.The wait proved him no challenge; as a proper English gentleman, patience was one of his most prominent skills. He had spent a while staring at the clock in the hallway of Royal British Institution of Science (which was, much unlike he knew it, located in an apartment above a large cinema on Oxford Street), but had found that its signals had lost all meaning to him. He glanced through the spotless glass window at his new home town.As it is, there are points in time when particular decisions are made, and no matter what one does, one will never be able to change that. One might even go back in time and kill – or otherwise incapacitate – the persons making the decisions, and it won't matter. The decisions will be made by other people, or they might even make themselves to avoid further complications.In the 1972 London which Phileas Fogg had initially left, the scientists of RBIS (the real institution, not the alternative version in which he now found himself) had been able to somehow track down and pinpoint these points, or some of them. It'd been one of those points from which he had taken off, along with his at the time rather dumbstruck new servant, a Frenchman going by the name of Passepartout, after making an extraordinary bet at one of the points in time which he knew wouldn't change, even as he'd travelled through the times and managed to eventually turn his beloved London into wherever he was now. Through the window, he saw the infernal change: There were flags waving in the air, but not the flags he'd been used to. There were machines that flew, higher and larger and faster than he had seen at any point in his travels. There were monumental towers, castles and public libraries, either floating in the air or suspended in wires from, peculiarly, each other. With all of these changes, Phileas Fogg's eyes rested on the relatively familiar sight of an old man sitting outside on a wooden bench, casually chatting to Passepartout, who had sat down next to him. Mr. Fogg's servant could, and did, instantly make new friends anywhen.Phileas Fogg noted the concerned expression in his servant's face, but wrote it off as anxiety for whether their bet had been won or lost. Passepartout was as passionately engaged in the bet as Fogg himself, and much more eager to let the world see that. At any point of their journey, a bypasser would have thought that it was Passepartout, not Phileas Fogg, who had his entire fortune and status at stake. And the Frenchman had reason to worry; the very last of their pocket watches had been lost after they'd placed it, and they now had nothing to show for the final of their efforts. It had been supposed to be placed in 1930, but they had been forced to leave the historical period in order to at least finish their travels in time, even if it meant fulfilling only seventy-nine eighties of their goal. The carbon-dating of the watches, now taking place behind the closed doors of the office on 56 Oxford Street, was a mere formality. In truth, they had already lost.Passepartout had by this point returned in the company of the gentlemen Sullivan, Ralph and Stuart. Not the Sullivan, Ralph and Stuart with whom Phileas Fogg had originally made an agreement, but close enough; besides, they seemed to have made an agreement with a Phileas Fogg, and they had the papers signed by him. It was all close enough; it was the same decisions, as had been the plan all along.Also in the company of Passepartout and the three gentlemen was the elderly man whom Phileas Fogg had seen Passepartout talking to outside. It was a mystery to him why an apparent stranger had been allowed into the small, but still rich and exclusive establishment, although the old man did appear strangely familiar. Then again, perhaps just relatively familiar, as he'd first thought.“So, are we getting any results?” Asked somebody who was either Sullivan or Stuart. “Not that it makes any difference, of course. We're still withdrawing the entirety of your earthly goods – 20 million Yen – from Bank of England's London division. Do we have an agreement that once your watches have been proven either real or fake, you'll immediately come with us to sign the transaction?”“Certainly,” said Phileas Fogg, as always showing a minimum of emotional influence from the outside world. He glanced sidewards to his servant, who appeared more nervous and less broken than he'd expected. At this point, the old man nodded towards Phileas Fogg, and pushed Passepartout forwards. Passepartout started speaking.“Mr. Fogg, Sir. I know how much you've given to go on this journey, and I have been both flattered and honoured to have made your acquaintance and company while travelling. I feel, however, for quite pressing reasons of my own, that this is the time when we must part. I am terribly sorry to not explain further, but you have to believe that I must do this. If I don't succeed, chances are you'll never see me again. But I'm going to try, because from what I hear, I've already almost finished succeeding.”Phileas Fogg did not understand at all, and neither, of course, did Sullivan, Ralph or Stuart. Not understanding, but trusting his servant, he took from his backpack a smaller bag with Passepartout's belongings, and gave it to him. Passepartout opened it, and checked its few contents: a small, red book that was his passport, a pair of boots that had been bought for Passepartout's own money after he lost his own (when accidentally offending the locals by wearing them indoors in a tavern in Belgium, 1825), and a still unopened letter written by a very sad young woman in 1930. For reasons he wouldn't reveal, Passepartout passed the passport around to everyone in the room, making sure that each gentleman remember specific, individual details in order for them all together to have the whole picture of it. While he was doing this, Phileas Fogg could read in his expression that his mood was now subtly changing, gaining the courage of a stage magic performer. When his passport was returned to him, Passepartout gathered his things, wished his former master goodbye, and left the room in a hurry.Shortly thereafter, the scientist in the black lab coat returned from his office with the box, the seventy-nine frozen watches and a little slip of paper to prove their validity. The gentleman who was definitely either Ralph or Stuart cleared his throat, and Phileas Fogg instantly caught the impatient insinuation. The Ralph or Stuart he used to have known would never have drawn attention to themselves in such bad manner.“Well, my fine gentlemen,” announced Phileas Fogg in a voice that, unless you knew him well, appeared perfectly untouched by the loss of the wager. “I suppose I have lost. Since I'm not familiar with this version of...” he paused for a moment. “...London, would you mind showing me the way to the Bank of England? I should be most grateful.”At this point, the ticking noise stopped. With the situation in mind, nobody had noticed it in the first place, but everyone heard it stop. They all looked to the old man, whose coat pocket the noise had come from. He was sitting in one of the seats, absent-mindedly looking through an old, battered passport with obvious appreciation, as if he were reading a letter from someone he had once known.Phileas Fogg recognised the passport. He also recognised the boots, having helped picking them out somewhen in the middle of the eighteenth century, and naturally, he recognised the still unmistakably French accent to his words when he muttered “Oh, is that the time?” and then, in a louder voice, “Excuse me, my sirs! I think there's another small aspect which you have to consider.”With Passepartout's testimony, proven by his possession of the passport and the watch that had allegedly taken him two decades to recover, Phileas Fogg was pronounced the winner of the wager, being able to prove that he had indeed crossed the centuries and achieved truly marvellous changes to history, all in only eighty days from the perspective of himself and the clocks he brought with him. He kept the clocks for reasons of affection.Three days later, Phileas Fogg disappeared off the face of the city, and was never again seen in that London.

[Jean Valjean]

What exactly is this fanfiction to? I didn't recognize any of the names and whatnot.Your Honor,Emperor Kraggh

[Multiverse]

What exactly is this fanfiction to? I didn't recognize any of the names and whatnot.Your Honor,Emperor Kraggh

I'm honestly not certain whether it qualifies as fanfiction, since I woudn't pronounce myself a fan of the book. I like the premise, but there's too many facts in there that just aren't relevant anymore - it's very much a result of its time, which is exactly what gave me this idea.The book is a novel by Jules Verne, Le Tour Du Monde En Quatre-Vingts Jours (Around The World In Eighty Days). To tell the truth, I haven't actually finished reading the original yet, but I came up with this idea halfway through it and couldn't really let go until I had it on paper. =)

[Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa]

Nuile reporting with a review, afforded you through the munificence of the Short Story Critics Club and our Charity Reviews.I think the idea of Phileas Fogg traveling through time in "eighty days" is brilliant. Time can be a difficult subject to handle, but you did it well. Only I was disappointed you never explained how he did it. A man can't simply walk through time without a logical explanation to his ability to do so. In a way I can understand that it would not have been easy to explain and that it would have complicated a simple short story; but surely you could have found some way to slip in a way to justify time travel.I am personally a fan of the novel, and I was very gratified by the accuracy of your portrayals of the characters and the several references you made. I was rather displeased, on the other hand, that you did not try to emulate Verne's style; or if you did try, that you did not succeed. But I don't think you did, and I won't hold it against you, but as a matter of preference I would have liked to see a better effort on that count. Besides that, however, I think this fit very well into Verne's canon, with the exception of the one very obvious, very big discrepancy: Where was Mrs. Fogg? This can be explained easily enough, I think, by saying she remained behind; but I don't believe that suits her character very well, though I fail to remember her very distinctly, so I may be wrong.Also, I realized midway that the old man was Passepartout. Crafty, my fellow writer, crafty indeed.To get my last complaint out of the way, I thought your style was, at times, a bit incomprehensible. Not because of a profusion of sesquipedal words, of which I am actually very fond, but because the sentence structure merely became, occasionally, awkward and tough to apprehend.A few mistakes I would like to point out:

The decisions will be made by other people, or they might even make themselves to avoid further complications.

This is a prime example of odd sentence structure. I still can't figure out its meaning.

In the 1972 London which Phileas Fogg had initially left, the scientists of RBIS (the real institution, not the alternative version in which he now found himself) had been able to somehow track down and pinpoint these points, or some of them.

Surely you mean 1872? Secondly, the two uses of point were slightly repetitive, though perhaps using them togather was intentional? I would still suggest a snyonym.

even if it meant fulfilling only seventy-nine eighties of their goal.

Eighths?

a pair of boots that had been bought for Passepartout's own money after he lost his own

I get it! Excellent, very excellent! This is one of those references I commended.

"I suppose I have lost. Since I'm not familiar with this version of..." he paused for a moment. "...London, would you mind showing me the way to the Bank of England? I should be most grateful."

In an instance like this, usually those ellipses are replaced by em dashes, and placed on the outside of the quotation marks. Thus: . . . of"--he paused for a moment--"London . . .

Phileas Fogg recognised the passport. He also recognised the boots, having helped picking them out somewhen in the middle of the eighteenth century, and naturally, he recognised the still unmistakably French accent to his words when he muttered "Oh, is that the time?" and then, in a louder voice, "Excuse me, my sirs! I think there's another small aspect which you have to consider."

Recognized, unless you're British, which Fogg is, so I can accept it. That second should be either in picking or pick. Lastly, there should be a comma after that muttered.There were a few deficiences, and a small number of mistakes; but those are only matters for improvement. This was a very good story, worthy to be called fan fiction to Around the World in Eighty Days. Very good, sir,

Keep writing,

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Edited November 8, 2012 by My Name is Nuile