If anyone's curious, the idea for this story came from the Weird Al Song "Why Does this always happen tome?" If you listen to it, you'll get what I'm saying. --[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 04:08, 5 July 2009 (UTC)

Hope you don't mind that I went and fixed the spelling errors I did. I just couldn't stand to see all of them strewn through the text :) -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 04:33, 5 July 2009 (UTC)

Nah,It's apreciated. Like I said, no access to a word processor, so I was writing it on IE right on the sight. AT oh, let's say one in the morning my time.--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 20:12, 11 July 2009 (UTC)

Talk:Charlie's Grill and Bar

2009-07-05T04:08:48Z

Guvnor Of Space: Created page with 'If anyone's curious, the idea for this story came from the Weird Al Song "Why Does this always happen tome?" If you listen to it, you'll get what I'm saying. --~~~~'

Charlie's Grill and Bar

2009-07-05T04:07:47Z

Guvnor Of Space: Started the Story

{{title
|name=Charlie's Grill and BAr
|author=Guvnor Of Space
|user=Guvnor Of Space}}
{{universe|Xanadu}}
{{WIP}}

Not to far from the Orlando Convetnion Center, a man named Charlie Johnson ran a small bar. He served average drinks to the blue collar crowd that lived in the area. His regulars knew who he was, and they almost always paid their tabs. As strange as it may sound, Charlie was bareley affected by Xanadu. Sure, occasionaly he got the odd changed person in there, and the prescesne of the Nationel Guard had made things a bit noisy, but on the whole the majority of his customers were his regulars and other people who lived in the area. The same could not be said for these people. Charlie remembered one particular night when four people whom lived in the area had all compared stories about who the change had affected the most. The winner had been a newspaper reporter who just happend to be in the area. He smiled as he polished mugs, remembering the rather entertaining night.

The four people had come in seperatly. It was a Friday night, and the bar was rather crowded. A country song was playing on the jukebox in the corner, the booths were filled with people in the midst of conversations, and the air was apropriatly smokey. Only one of the "them Xanadu freaks" was there, a bear morph who sat alone in a booth, slowly nursing a beer. Everyone was making a concious effort to avoid him. When the story telling started, three of the regulars were sitting at the bar, drinkin there beer and talking loudley. The first one to speek was an electrician who worked for the city. He signaled the others ot be quiet by slamming his glass down on the surface of the bar.

"You know what guys? This Xanadu shit has really fucked up my life. I've been working at that hell hole for a week and I've seen more strange things then I would ever want to see in my lifetime. And the worst part is, the Union says that it's all perfectly con-tract-ur-al." The other two shook there heads in saddness.

The constrution worker grunted."Assholes. That's why ''I'm'' nonuinon. They just want to screw you and then take there fucking dues."

His rather bushy beard flopped into his bear glass when he noded vigoursley. "Yeah. I mean, just the other day, they asked me to repair a busted light in one of the hotel rooms. Just gettin' there was hell! I had to avoid being shot by some crazy army fox, and the trooper escortn' me had to leave when there was a major fight in the cafeteria."

The police officer grunted and pulled off his hat. He scratched his head as he spoke. "Those transformees are getting into fights over all sorts of strange things. Just the other day I had two knights dueling over the hand of a medival ladie vixen. They're all fucking insane!" The last part was spoken rather loudly, and puntured with a slamming of his beer glasss. A little bit sopped out and trickled down the side. The bear-morph looked up at them, dismissed it as nothing and returned to his thoughts. Charlie grabbed the officers arm.

"Careful George. I don't want you breakin' none of my glasses."

George looked sheepish. "Sorry Charlie..."

The electrician spoke up. "Anyways, as I was saying, I had to go to this room. But when I got there, there was this weird sceintist guy, who had some sort of gadget plugged into the light socket. When I went to unscrew it, he done and hit me with some sort of stun beam. Then he said somtin' about his trap and usein' me for an experiment, but the stun thing wore off and I popped him in the face. Then I took off. And then I was told that becuz I didn' change the light, I had to go back. I just stood up to my boss and said "No Sir, I ain't goin' back there" and we got to arguin' and he was all "everyone else is busy, so do it or loose a weeks pay" and I still said no, so I didn't get no paycheck this Friday. Damn convention." He took a long gulp from his glass.

The constrution worker set his drink down and stuck his hands into his (emty) toolbelt. "Hah. That's nothin'. Why jus the other day I had to go and repair a broken windeh' in one of the rooms. Well, let me tell you..."

He stopped as the bar door opened. A young man in his late twenty's, and dressed completly in black walked into the bar and sat on the stool next to George. The newcomer signalled Chalrie. "Vodka tonic. I've had a bad day, so make it quick." The construction worker decided to ignor him and keep talking.

"Well, let me tell you, that room was wrecked. Evrything in it was covered in this white spider silk, so when I stepped in I done and get stuck. The boys carrying the window behind me dropped it left ot get help, but meanwhile I'm standin' in the middle of a spiders web with no idea of where the spider is. Of course the thing comes out from under the bed right after the other two leave. I'm tryin' to find some way to ward it off, which is why I wnt and grabbed my hammer, but luckily the boys got back with some guy who seemed to be able to speak to the spider and get it to back off. They were able to get me outta there, but the stuff was stuck on my boots and I had to throw away a perfectly good pair of boots. And I got chraged for the broken glass, cuz the boys were the foremn's nephews, and they weren't gonna pay. Damn convention!" He puntured the last epitaph by gesticulating with his beer, half which sloshed out onto the far.

Charlie grabbed a rag from his apron and started whiping it up. "Careful Bill, or I'll call in your tab."

The construction worker paled. "Sorry Charlie. Won't happen agian."

The electrician smiled and motioned to Charlie. "How bought since my frined just spilled his drink and I seem to have gone and finished mine, you get us another round." He pulled the cash out of his pocket. Charlie took it. "Sure Ben." He drew three drinks from the tap and gave them to the three men.

As Ben and Bill started in on ther drinks, George decided to take the oppurtunity to talk.

"That's nothin' compared to what I had to deal with the first day."

[[Category:Story]][[Category:Guvnor of Space]][[Category:Xanadu]]

2009-06-28T12:37:23Z

Guvnor Of Space:

The Diary of the Dead Guy

2009-06-26T21:44:32Z

Guvnor Of Space: Added seporators

{{title
|name=The Diary of the Dead Guy
|author=Guvnor Of Space
|user=Guvnor Of Space}}
{{author's note|Comments Welcome. If you catch any typos, feel free to fix them. This is just somthing I wrote for fun. Sort of an idea of a TF with absolutly no positive benefits. And I get to make fun of zombie steriotypes. I'm temted to file this under mythical, but it just dosn't seem to fit.}}
{{universe|Xanadu}}

Life sucks. And being dead is even worse. Yup. I’m a zombie. If the rotting flesh and smell didn’t give it away, I’m guessing the fact that my jaw is wired shut and I’m moaning is a pretty good hint. I have to keep it like that or I try to bite people. It’s a miracle that hasn’t happened yet. That’s why I’m talking to you using the computer. So how did this happen? I’ll tell you what happened. I attended that damn convention. Damn it! I know being a George Romero fan would get me into trouble.
{{Separator|stars}}
So yeah. I was your average college student. I was going for a career in medicine, which isn’t going to happen now, and I had a good enough family. Then my roommate had this brilliant idea to go to this costume contest. Our college wasn’t that far away, and even us college students could afford to drive there. The problem of course, was going to be what to dress up as. It was my roommate who came up with the solution. “We’ll dress up as zombies! All we need is some makeup and torn clothes. We probably won’t win, but if we’re creative enough….” And man, we were creative. I shaved my hair in patches, and then applied a nice gray shade to it, just like Mr. Romero’s old school zombies. I tore up an old suit I got at the thrift store and left a flower in the sun for a few days to serve as a corsage. Some fake blood and scabs finished the job. I looked pretty dead if I do say so myself. My roommate looked even better… or worse, whatever. He looked like he could fall apart at any moment. We laughed at each other, made zombie noises you know, stuff like that. We screwed around as much as possible. It was only an hour drive to the convention, even with traffic, so neither of us got a hotel room. I’m glad I didn’t. If we had, they might have tried to stick me in there afterwards. I don’t like to think what would have happened… Anyway we got there. We were having a great time, shuffling around, snapping at the passerby, when they announced that they were going to name the winners. Naturally, we were both excited. I stood up straight, in a very un-zombielike pose. My roommate… he slumped over and moaned in zombie like excitement. That was the moment of the event….
{{Separator|stars}}
Let’s just say that being a zombie sucks. Right after the change, I was pretty confused. The first thing that hit me was that I couldn’t feel anything. I had always thought that zombies must not be able to feel anything or else they would be in constant pain. The second thing was the fact that every muscle in my body reacted so slowly. While everyone else ran away, I more…shuffled. I was trying to run, I really was, but I physically couldn’t. It actually took me awhile to figure out that I was a zombie. I think I finally realized it when I tried to bite a fleeing guy in a parka. I just got a mouthful of fabric but it is a little scary to involuntarily attack someone. I chased the fleeing crowd before I realized what I was doing. That’s something else. Zombies chase loud noises. I managed to stop myself though. Let me tell you, that took every ounce of willpower I had. Of course, once I consciously stopped trying to think like a zombie, I realized that my roommate had to be having the same problem. I looked around the mostly deserted room before I spotted him. He was moving towards what looked like an unconscious man half under a table. Somehow I didn’t think he was trying to help. I tried to yell out to him, but all that came out was a moan. Yeah. I was a zombie.
{{Separator|stars}}
You’re right, at least I can still think for myself. My roommate wasn’t so lucky you see. When he heard me moan, he walked over to where I was. I tried to get his attention by grabbing him, but… He ignored me. I knew he felt it, because while my nerves were dead, I could still feel pressure. But he just kept staring blankly forwards like…well like a corpse. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t talk, I lacked the coordination and materials to write, and most people would probably run away from me. And now I seemed to have lost my best friend.
{{Separator|stars}}
That whole subconscious thing is both a blessing and a curse. True, it’s probably the reason I still remember how to type, but it’s also the reason my best friend got turned into a mindless zombie. No matter what I did, I didn’t see any sign of recognition in his face. I thought it might have been the fact that it was dead. But when I let him go, he took off for the nearest unconscious victim at full zombie speed. Luckily I was less decayed then him and I caught up to and restrained him. This was going to be a bad day.

I managed to drag him outside without any more biting. It seemed that zombies don’t attack each other. At least not in any of the old movies that we watched, which is all that matters I guess. The scene outside was bad. It turns out that while we had been inside, the police had set up a perimeter. I’m sure you know all about that though. The news coverage was pretty intense. Anyway, all I was trying to do was prevent a zombie apocalypse. I had no questions about what would happen if my roommate got away from me. I really wanted to be able to die knowing that I wasn’t responsible for the end of the world. I decided I would drag him over to the nearest SWAT van, thinking that they might have something to restrain him with. That’s when I tripped over the arm of an unconscious anthro fox. Damn thing was curled up in a pathetic little ball. I had no sympathy for the guy when I landed on him though. At least he was still alive. Of course what happened to them isn’t important. What is important is that when I fell, I lost my grip on my roomie, and he took off towards the nearest crowd of, uh, people. Luckily for the world, they managed to dodge the slow moving zombie. However, he wasn’t done yet. He switched his focus to the next closest group: a bunch of very scared looking rabbit people. None of then was taller then four feet, and they were all having trouble moving around. Apparently they had come as a litter of rabbits. I would later find out that the group of four people shared two feet.

This is a really bad thing when one has to run away from a zombie. The multi-rabbit tripped and fell over…which as anyone can tell you is a death sentence when facing zombies. Luckily, a nearby police officer saw the flesh craving monster. He was also smart enough to realize that it didn’t want to give the rabbit thing a hug. He shot my roommate in the leg, which happened to, uh, tear off. It was enough to drop him. The zombie who had been my roommate fell to the ground. He was confused for a second before (figuratively) shrugging it off and using his arms to drag himelf towards the rabbit. The police officer wasn’t going to let that happen. He stood between the zombie and the rabbit and the zombie, his pistol drawn. He looked scared out of his wits, but he managed to speak. “Detective Charles Brown, Orlando PD. Freeze or I will be forced to shoot!” Of course the mindless zombie didn’t obey him. I had just managed to get to my feet when the Detective opened fire. It seemed he was a fan of zombie movies. The shot went right into the ghouls head. Decayed brain sprayed all over the pavement. I moaned in frustration. That guy had just killed my friend. Oh the irony. I know now that there was likely no way to reverse the transformation, but at the time I fell into that age old zombie cliché. You know the one. It’s the one were the hero gives a speech. “They’re not your friend/spouse/loved-one/child/grandparent anymore.” Well, I had yet to hear the speech. I lurched towards the officer. The man looked more then a little worried to see a second zombie but held up his gun. “Damn procedure…Alright. Orlando PD freeze or I shoot.” I think it really surprised him when I stopped and held my hands up. I was angry at the man, but getting myself “killed” was not going to help matters. I even tried to smile. I think that’s when he peed his pants.
{{Separator|stars}}
I guess that it could have been worse. If I had been shot at all, it would have been permanent. Wounds don’t heal on zombies. I already had scrapes from the fall, and they were going to be there forever. Either way, he had the presence of mind to “escort” me over to a computer. The guy using it seemed to be going over the sign in sheet for the convention, apparently trying to determine who everyone was. The detective motioned for him to move. Seeing the undead monstrosity he was escorting, he obeyed. The first thing he did was open up a word processor. “Alright. Who are you?” I pointed to my name on the list. “And your friend?” I pointed to his. Then I started to type. Which is difficult with uncoordinated hands. I ended up hen pecking with my pointer finger. Why did you kill him He was my friend.” He started laughing. He stopped when he relised what he was laughing at. “I’m sorry. I really am. It’s been a bit of a stressful day. I’m not even going to explain it. If you’re as big of a fan of zombie movies as you appear to be, you know the answer.” But we could have fixed it. There has to be a cure. “That’s what everyone else is saying. Right now, we’re just trying to sort out this mess. So if you’re not planning on biting anyone, I’m going to let you go.” Wait! Go where? He shrugged “Back to your hotel room. The place is quarantined.” I don’t have a room. Drove. The detective rubbed his chin. “Well then. We find ourselves at an impasse. I can’t let you go, but you have nowhere to stay here. Maybe…”
{{Separator|stars}}
And that’s how the ME (Medical Examiner, you know, the guy who deals with corpses) ended up in “possession” of me. I got transported to the city morgue, where I was placed in a freezer. I have two things I need to explain to you. The first thing is that I understood why they did it. I was, for all intents and purposes, a decaying corpse. Such things are not pleasant to let sit out in the sun. Plus, I liked not falling apart. The second is that I was no longer able to regulate my own body temperature. That was fine in the eighty degree Florida weather, but in a freezer, I found that all my muscles were completely frozen. Now let me explain something: The freezer I was in was an actual freezer. So there was nothing to do or see, and I was completely frozen. The detective had apparently briefed the M.E. on the dangers of an uninhibited zombie. I would find out that I spent a week in the freezer before a man in a suit arrived, and had the M.E. thaw me out.
{{Separator|stars}}
There was something we had never thought of. When you freeze something, all the water in its cells expands when it turns into ice. This causes many of them to burst. That’s why most food is flash frozen. It helps prevent this. I had not been flash frozen. When I first unfroze, I had trouble seeing. Apparently, my eyes were pretty badly freezer burned. That’s why I have the glasses. What? Oh yes. They look pretty bad, don’t they. That’s my “clothing curse”. Anything I wear becomes dirty and torn. Not that that usually bugs me. Anyway…
{{Separator|stars}}
The man wanted to talk to me about a more permanent arrangement. You know, one were I wouldn’t be bored out of my mind. Apparently, the guy worked for “Ripley’s Believe it or Not”. With all the other odd things that had been created by Xanadu, I was the only certifiably sane zombie. So he was there to talk business. The deal was, I got to live in one of their museums, with all my needs and entertainment met, in exchange for being on display twenty four seven. I snapped it up in an instant. It’s not like I could complete college now.
{{Separator|stars}}
The first problem we had to face was the problem of decay. This was actually relatively easy to remedy. This chamber I live in is filled with a gaseous disinfectant. One of the reasons no one is allowed in here. The levels in the air are lethal. I don’t have a sense of smell, nor do I need to breathe, so that wasn’t a problem. Anything I want, such as books or movies, are put through an airlock, where they are disinfected, and the air inside is replaced with the air I breathe. The next problem was my lifespan. Oh, I’m technically immortal. But with what quality of life? Every time you exercise, you are tearing muscle fiber. Your body repairs that fiber, and makes it stronger. That’s what working out is. Tearing your muscle fibers and having your body reconstruct them. The problem is that my cells no longer multiply. That means that every time I move, it becomes a little harder to do it the next time. Eventually, I will lose all muscle control. My brain may stay active forever, but I don’t want to contemplate what that will be like. I’ve already lost use of a pinky finger, and at this rate I will be out of muscles for the operation of this keyboard in the next forty years. And finally , the third and most important problem: Lawyers. That’s why my jaw is wired shut. Liability reasons. You see, even though I am intelligent, the museums lawyers decided that I might bite people and start a zombie apocalypse. The lawsuits would be enormous. That’s the reason I also have to wear this collar. It’s rigged with a small explosive device that will go off if I ever leave the museum. Oh, and I have to get regular rabies shots. It has something to do with the fear of zombie plague being mistaken for rabies. Which makes no sense at all. But, hey, no-one ever said lawyers were smart.
{{Separator|stars}}
It’s really not that bad being on display all the time. I never eat, I never sleep and I never have to use the bathroom. One of the other things I used to do in private isn’t possible anymore, because ''all'' of my nerves are dead. I still follow politics; I am still technically an American citizen, so I get to vote. (Though I am safe from getting drafted. Apparently,
I have a “debilitating medical condition.”) I will probably “die” a lot sooner then I would have otherwise. That’s another part of the contract. I have a button to the collar on my neck. If necessary, I can bash my head onto it.
{{Separator|stars}}
And that, Mr.Reporter, is my story. I am a little bitter that my life has been ruined. I will never marry, never have kids, and never have sex. (What? I’m a virgin.) On the upside, I don’t have to use the bathroom, or sleep. On the downside, I will never taste food again or dream. I will never hike through the mountains, or see anything outside these four walls. I will never drink alcohol again, but on the other hand, I will never have a hangover again either. Although I have to say, I’ve missed my dreams.

[[Category:Story]][[Category:Mental change]][[Category:Guvnor of Space]][[Category:Xanadu]]

Talk:Keeping the Editor Happy

2009-06-26T18:43:33Z

Guvnor Of Space: Created page with 'It's hard to write natural sounding speech for characters with odd accents. But the tips on variation are useful. Thanks for putting this up. And thank you ShadowDrake for linkin...'

It's hard to write natural sounding speech for characters with odd accents. But the tips on variation are useful. Thanks for putting this up. And thank you ShadowDrake for linking to this.--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 18:43, 26 June 2009 (UTC)

The Last Interview

2009-06-25T14:14:09Z

Guvnor Of Space:

User:Guvnor Of Space

2009-06-25T03:37:09Z

Guvnor Of Space:

Talk:The Last Interview

2009-06-25T01:36:20Z

Guvnor Of Space:

Hmm...I think this is going well, no? A good start to the story. Looking forward to more! --[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]]
:Yeah. I should have it finished by tomorrow, and edited the day after that. It's not like I have to write much more dialauge.--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 01:02, 23 June 2009 (UTC)
So It's done. I'll remove the WIP tag tomorrow after I have a chance to thouroghly edit it. --[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 20:36, 23 June 2009 (UTC)

Wow...the story looks great. If you don't mind me saying, your direct speech needs a little reformatting. For example, a problem that arises many times in the story occurs when placing a sentence behind direct speech. When Yuri/Thomas says something, the sentence right after the direct speech has to be describing Yuri. For example...

:'''INCORRECT'''

:“I know comrade…I used to do cheesy Russian impression for fun. Now it is permanent….” The detective slumped over in his chair.

:“A story I’ve heard a few thousand times in the last week.” Suddenly, the sadness in Thomas’s eyes was replaced by the fierceness of Yuri.

This is incorrect. Notice that for the first bit, it seems like Brown is speaking. For the second, it looks like Thomas said it. Thomas' speech should be followed by Thomas' actions and not Brown's (if you'll look at the first bit of the quoted). So, what you ''should'' be doing is...

:'''CORRECT'''

:"I know comrade...I used to do cheesy Russian impression for fun. Now it is permanent..." Thomas lowered his head sadly.

:The detective slumped in his chair, then looked up at the man across the table. "A story I've heard a few thousand times in the last week."

:Suddenly, the sadness in Thomas' eyes was replaced by the fierceness of Yuri.

In this case, the action of the speaker directly precede or come behind the speech. This allows the reader to easily attribute who the speaker is, and thus prevents confusion. You also seem to have a little bit of [[Keeping the Editor Happy| Repetitive Sentence Structure]]. But other than that, great job! Though I was expecting some Soviet Russia jokes (in Soviet Russia, the story writes YOU!). :) --[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]], 11:35, 24 June 2009

Thanks for the advice. I've tried moving things around a bit. (By which I mean a lot.) And why the hell do I like useing "he nodded" to denote a person understanding or listening. I've removed most of them. I'll be putting up the revised story in just a tick. --[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 04:11, 24 June 2009 (UTC)

:Great to hear that you're taking this okay. I was worried that I might have come across a little harsh...Still, if you want to I can provide a little editing. You know. If you want to. In Soviet Russia, the story edits YOU! Oh man, I can't get enough of those jokes. Sorry if you're offended. --[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]], 12:25, 24 June 2009 (+0800 GMT)

::Not at all. I'm a big fan of constructive critisism. Otherwise, noone would ever get better at anything. Oh, and the revised version is up.--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 04:32, 24 June 2009 (UTC)

:::Yeah, I love constructive crit. too. There's nothing a little criticism can't make better. Great story! The revised one's a lot easier to understand now. I'll be waiting for your next one...quietly, hidden in the shadows...--[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]], 12:36, 24 June 2009 (+0800 GMT)

== Congratulations ==

Excellent story. Well written, well conceived and the characters work really well. I'll be adding this to my favorites page - flagged as the work of a new author that should be watched for brilliance. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 00:14, 25 June 2009 (UTC)
:Coolness! I once again thank WolfyDrake for help on the editing. And thanks for adding me to the Pack!--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 01:36, 25 June 2009 (UTC)

User:Guvnor Of Space

2009-06-24T04:34:27Z

Guvnor Of Space:

Talk:The Last Interview

2009-06-24T04:32:39Z

Guvnor Of Space:

Hmm...I think this is going well, no? A good start to the story. Looking forward to more! --[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]]
:Yeah. I should have it finished by tomorrow, and edited the day after that. It's not like I have to write much more dialauge.--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 01:02, 23 June 2009 (UTC)
So It's done. I'll remove the WIP tag tomorrow after I have a chance to thouroghly edit it. --[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 20:36, 23 June 2009 (UTC)

Wow...the story looks great. If you don't mind me saying, your direct speech needs a little reformatting. For example, a problem that arises many times in the story occurs when placing a sentence behind direct speech. When Yuri/Thomas says something, the sentence right after the direct speech has to be describing Yuri. For example...

:'''INCORRECT'''

:“I know comrade…I used to do cheesy Russian impression for fun. Now it is permanent….” The detective slumped over in his chair.

:“A story I’ve heard a few thousand times in the last week.” Suddenly, the sadness in Thomas’s eyes was replaced by the fierceness of Yuri.

This is incorrect. Notice that for the first bit, it seems like Brown is speaking. For the second, it looks like Thomas said it. Thomas' speech should be followed by Thomas' actions and not Brown's (if you'll look at the first bit of the quoted). So, what you ''should'' be doing is...

:'''CORRECT'''

:"I know comrade...I used to do cheesy Russian impression for fun. Now it is permanent..." Thomas lowered his head sadly.

:The detective slumped in his chair, then looked up at the man across the table. "A story I've heard a few thousand times in the last week."

:Suddenly, the sadness in Thomas' eyes was replaced by the fierceness of Yuri.

In this case, the action of the speaker directly precede or come behind the speech. This allows the reader to easily attribute who the speaker is, and thus prevents confusion. You also seem to have a little bit of [[Keeping the Editor Happy| Repetitive Sentence Structure]]. But other than that, great job! Though I was expecting some Soviet Russia jokes (in Soviet Russia, the story writes YOU!). :) --[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]], 11:35, 24 June 2009

Thanks for the advice. I've tried moving things around a bit. (By which I mean a lot.) And why the hell do I like useing "he nodded" to denote a person understanding or listening. I've removed most of them. I'll be putting up the revised story in just a tick. --[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 04:11, 24 June 2009 (UTC)

:Great to hear that you're taking this okay. I was worried that I might have come across a little harsh...Still, if you want to I can provide a little editing. You know. If you want to. In Soviet Russia, the story edits YOU! Oh man, I can't get enough of those jokes. Sorry if you're offended. --[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]], 12:25, 24 June 2009 (+0800 GMT)

:Not at all. I'm a big fan of constructive critisism. Otherwise, noone would ever get better at anything. Oh, and the revised version is up.--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 04:32, 24 June 2009 (UTC)

The Last Interview

2009-06-24T04:30:50Z

Guvnor Of Space: I might edit this again, but I'mremoving the WIP tag

{{title
|name=The Last Interview
|author=Guvnor Of Space
|user=Guvnor Of Space}}
{{universe|Xanadu}}
{{author's note|I like the story to much to leave it in such sorry shape. Think of this as an alternate version. The dialouge is identical. Up until the end of "Russian" that is.}}
Detective Charles Brown was not in a good mood. For the last week, the Orlando police department had been dealing with the aftermath of Xanadu. That meant he had been talking to a lot of traumatized and shocked people, and dealing with people who would normally be called wack-jobs. Not only that, but the media was having a field day, and the police department was at the center of reporters criticisms. One reporter blamed the police for everything. They claimed that if there had been more security at the convention, they would have somehow been able to stop the event. The detective shook his head. Hell, that wasn’t even as crazy as some of the things he’d seen. So far, he had seen everything from a real life Barney the Dinosaur to a pair of Zombies. (One of whom he had shot. The other one had surrendered.) Today he had to interview a suspect. He had seen a lot of strange people. But this guy…

Thomas Greenwall, aged seventeen, had gone to the convention with his friend Julius Romberg. Julius was now dead. And Greenwall was completely insane. The detective sat on the other side of the table from him. He was an intimidating site. He was wearing an olive drab parka, with a furry collar and a fur hat. He was enormous, about two hundred pounds, with a giant black beard. And until a week ago he had been called a weak nerd. The detective figured he should see just how crazy this guy was. He signaled to the one way mirror, where an officer was sitting with a camera. Then he asked the first question.

“Let’s start out simple.” He paused. “What is your name?”

The man looked up. He started speaking, the Russian accent making his words almost incomprehensible. “My name is now Yuri Comradeov, but I have been told it was one Thomas Greenwall.”

The detective knew that already. And now for the silly question, the one he had been asking for the past week. “For the record…” He rolled his eyes. “What reason do you attribute to the change of your name?”

The large man looked very amused. “Comrade! What a stupid question! Xandu of course! It changed me from weak American schoolboy to strong Soviet Soldier!”

The detective was finding this guy’s personality annoying. “Obviously. It’s just procedure…”

The Russian responded fiercely. “Silly American procedure. Surely you will take up arms and overthrow your imperialist masters when the revolution comes!”

Yup. The guy was really crazy. “Uhhhhh……” He looked at the mirror and mouthed “Oh My God” to the man behind it. “Probably not…”

Yuri shook his head. “Oh…. I am sorry comrade detective. Though my mental change is not as severe as many sometimes I slip into states of…”

“Stereotypical crazy soviet soldier?” provided the interviewer. Yuri shook his head yes.
“Da. Sort of like duel personality. But I am still little bit like Yuri even now. He is always a little like me. I still speak with accent. He still knows English.”

“Which is important to this case.” Yuri, or rather Thomas, had just confirmed something that Brown had suspected. He was dealing with a true duel personality. He decided to get down to the important questions. “Were you present on the roof of the Central Orlando banking building on the night of November…” He cleared his throat. The date wasn’t important. They all knew it already. “…at eight o’clock PM?”

Yuri pounded the table. “Da Comrade! I pursue the man who wanted to destroy Soviet Russia…” he shook his head “er… Orlando with giant laser array.” Thomas seemed to have regained control.

Brown was pleased. He had opportunity and motive. Now he just needed means and some background information on exactly how this had all come to pass. And then he would be done with the commie. “Alright. Let’s back this up a bit. How did you end up involved with the man known as Julius Romberg?”

A very un-Russian tear appeared in the corner of the Russian’s eye. For just a second, the old Thomas, completely free of Yuri could be seen. “He was my best friend….”

For the first time during the interview, Detective Charles Brown, thirteen year veteran of the Orlando police department, was moved. He felt bad for the kid. He sighed. “I know this is hard. But we need to close this investigation. It happened off the grounds of the convention center. People want to know how the two of you got out. Not that the quarantine is actually worth shit. But hey! Bureaucracy marches o-“ He stopped when he remembered the camera. He was already on thin ice for the whole shooting the zombie thing, and his superiors definitely didn’t want to see a rant against their clumsy handling of the situation.

Thomas looked at him and spoke quietly. (Quite a feat really.) “I know comrade…I used to do cheesy Russian impression for fun. Now it is permanent….”

The detective slumped over in his chair. “A story I’ve heard a few thousand times in the last week.”

Suddenly,the sadness in Thomas’s eyes was replaced by the fierceness of Yuri. “But we do not suffer! We still serve mother Russia!” Detective brown actually managed a small smile.

“Obviously. The parka, hat, beard and, oh yeah the Kalashnikov really let us know what you dressed up as.”

The fierceness disappeared once again, Thomas’s sadness reappearing in his eyes. He sighed. “I expect you to give back Vladimir when we are done.”

Brown nodded tiredly. “Of course we’ll give it back to you. It is technically Hero Paraphernalia, and is therefore yours, as long as the government issues you the proper permit and Sands clears you as “Sane”

Anger appeared in the man’s eyes; as if Yuri wanted to prove he was anything but sane. He leapt to his feet. “I am perfectly sane! I serve Proletariat with honor and strength! I do not waver in duty!”

The man may have been intimidating, but he was really starting to piss the detective off.
Angrily, he berated him. “Okay then. Why did someone have to tell you your old name? The rest of your memories seem to be intact.”

Thomas sat down as he regained control. He looked very tired. “I know comrade. It is odd, da? But it is irrelevant to interview. Let us get this over with. This is very painful for me.”

“Of Course….” Brown said softly. The Detective felt like a piece of crap. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have to share his body with someone else, let alone someone who was probably clinically insane. He motioned for Thomas to continue.

“You know of day it started. Xanadu. It was good day comrade. I came to Florida with my friend and comrade, Julius Romberg. He was dressed up as crazy soviet scientist, like from old movie. He even had cheesy lab coat. I was Yuri Comeradov, crazy Soviet soldier….” He jumped out of his seat with a harsh scraping sound as Yuri interjected. “WHO WILL DIE TO PROTECT THE MOTHERLAND!” He dropped himself back into his chair, looking worn out. “I must say sorry for that transgression. Let me continue. I was dressed up like soviet soldier; with fake AK-47 I named Vladimir. It is a good name for gun, Da? Rom brought….giant laser. It was secret project, and he claimed it had enough power to rival nuclear device. We were laughing, having good time. We were not there to win contest. Leave that to furries, da? We just wanted to have good time admiring costumes of others. So we spent all morning walking round and having fun. Then change happened.”

Brown shook his head. The next question seemed so silly. ''More Bureaucracy.'' He rolled his eyes.“Alright, I will have to ask for a clarification. The change you are referring to is the Xanadu Event, correct?”

Yuri seized control of the soldier long enough for another of his outbursts. “Da Comrade! The capitalist pigs were defeated by Soviet might!” A fire and determination had appeared in his eyes. It seemed that when Thomas had to think about something difficult or they were talking about something that frustrated him, Yuri was able to gain control. But Yuri was uncooperative, and more then a little angry. In order to finish this, the detective needed to talk to Thomas.

“Thomas!”

The man shook his head. “I am sorry. I remembered everything from old life. But not name. In the chaos, we ran out of convention center through main entrance. It was chaos. Romberg….was cackling wildly. He ran at police with giant laser. I ran after him. They did not want to be shot, so we got through…. I think one may have wet pants.”

Brown smiled a bit.“Hmmm….that may explain why no one owned up to you guys getting through…I’ll have to follow that up.” He made a note of it on his notepad. ''Follow up guys who peed pants. Only think there are 100.''

Thomas continued. “He ran. I chased. He…threw a knockout bomb at me. I collapsed.”

The detective nodded. They had found several of the bombs on Romberg’s body. “Yup. The “Plot Device Knockout Gas”. We have multiple versions of it. It knocks people out until the throwers next major move is one minute from completion.”

Thomas nodded. “Da. So when I wake up, I am on top of giant building. It is filthy monument to capitalism.” He spat. Apparently something Thomas had gotten from Yuri was an instinctive hatred of capitalism. “I am sorry. My friend… he is aiming giant laser at convention center He says it will destroy world! Something about filthy capitalist technology… So….I…I pushed him. Him and laser. It broke. So did he…” Thomas burst into tears and leaned his head down on the table. The detective felt horrible for the guy. He’d done some hard things in the last week, but he hadn’t killed his best friend. He was about to stand up to comfort him when the soldier looked up. His tears had stopped. There was a fire in his eyes that rivaled everything that he had seen before. Yuri was back.

“Weak American Schoolboy! I pushed the traitor off the building! I am proud!” He was ashamed of Thomas. Which was crazy when you considered that they shared a body. Maybe he could comfort Thomas. Make it a little harder for Yuri to take control.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. Your family wants you to be committed… Look. You needed to destroy the laser. Mr.Romberg was holding the laser. With all the other crazy shit going on, your actions are quite minor, and are going to be classified as “self defense.” This is never going to court. The more important issue is something like this happening again. You are sure that Mr.Romberg didn’t have any other bits of technology with him, other then what we found on him?” Thomas’ sadness replaced Yuri’s passion. He looked like he was about to faint, but he had control.

“Nothing else…”

Then this interview was over. And none to soon either. The detective had something he needed to do. He gestured to the one way mirror. “Alright. Get this man back to his hotel room. The car’s out front.” A police officer entered the room. Presumably, he had been the one who had been watching the interview. He escorted Thomas/Yuri out of the room, which allowed Brown to see just how they had him trussed up. He had handcuffs and manacles on. Apparently he had attacked the man who had arrested him. The arresting officer had suffered a broken nose, six broken ribs and a concussion. They weren’t taking any more chances with the Soviet.

{{Separator|stars}}

Detective Charles Brown had a mission. It would likely get him fired, if not arrested, but it was important. The government had recently taken an interest in collecting all the weapons and other bits of technology that had appeared at the convention. They had yet to collect any weapons of mass destruction. He didn’t want to think of what would happen if they did. The United States had a history of being irresponsible with its weapons though. That is why, immediately after the interview, he found himself walking to the evidence room. The room wasn’t much to look at. It was a small storage area, with a desk in front and lockers in the back. All of the intact technology had already been taken by the government, but they had yet to collect the pieces of the laser. Only one officer was guarding the room. After all, all the working technology and things from Xanadu was already gone. And all the actual evidence had been cleared out. The officer guarding the room was sitting at the desk, looking down and reading a Stephen King book (“The Tommyknockers”.) He lazily looked up when the detective entered the room. “Whadyawant? I’m in the middle of a good chapter…” He stopped when the he was the intruding detective’s service pistol pointed at his head. Although he had his finger off the trigger (he didn’t actually want to shoot the guy) his intentions were clear. “I want the pieces of the laser. Get them.”

The guard slowly nodded. “Okay, okay, just stay calm man…” He opened up one of the lockers behind him. While he took his time entering the combination, he thought about how he could reach the panic button. It turned out not to matter. When he got the locker open, he gave the laser pieces to the detective who placed them on the floor. Though most of the pieces were broken, some looked dangerously intact.

He warned the guard. “Stand back.” He opened fire on the pieces. When he was done, there was nothing left larger then a paper clip. Anything that had resembled a circuit board or a crystal was gone. When it was over, he sighed with relief. There were some fix-its (mostly Scottys and McKays) from the convention who could literally reassemble anything that looked mechanical or electrical. He was sure the government would have found one willing to reassemble the laser.

The last thing the detective did as an officer of the law was to safe his weapon, remove his badge, and set both on the ground in the midst of the debris. When several cops came by to check on the shooting, they found Detective Charles Brown standing with his hands up amidst the remains of the laser. The guard was pointing his gun at him.

{{Separator|stars}}

Charles Brown was arrested for destruction of evidence, along with several gun safety violations, and kicked off the force with complete loss of pension. His bail was set at fifty thousand dollars. All of his possessions weren’t even worth enough to put up on bond. The day before he was to go to trial, a week after being arrested, Charles Brown got a visitor. He had already refused legal representation (he hated lawyers), he had no family, and all of his friends were police officers. None of them had come to see there friend, whom they thought had gone crazy.

{{Separator|stars}}

The visitor’s name was John Johnson. He claimed to work for the government. He was wearing a dark suit and dark sunglasses. Standard mysterious government official stuff.

“You destroyed what could very well have been a strategic asset to the defense of the United States of America. Normally, you would be locked up for the longest amount of time the law allows for. But under these circumstances, we need all the help we can get. You have an excellent record. Up until Xanadu that is. You shot one of the victims. Granted, it was in defense of four others, and as such you were not brought up on charges. However, a week later you destroyed the remains of a super powerful weapon, which at the time was classified as evidence.”

For the first time since the interview had began, the former detective spoke up. “My god. A teenager died because of that weapon. And his best friend was the one to kill him. In this entire mess, where thousands of lives have been destroyed, I just wanted to keep it from hurting anyone else. For Christ’s sake, it had enough power to destroy Orlando. In the hands of a government I don’t trust. Look at the damn quarantine! If you guys had gotten here earlier, we might have a few less problems with people escaping.” He stopped realizing that he had been ranting about what he thought of the government…to a very mysterious government agent. The agent had remained cool throughout rant though. He removed his sunglasses.

“Mr. Brown, I am not here to threaten you. Or even to try to make you feel guilty. The truth is, we had our eye on you as soon as you shot the zombie. It proved that you were willing to separate the Xanadu victims from what they were, and what they are now. It showed us that you could be useful.”

“Useful? For what?” Brown was intrigued.

“We are severely understaffed at the moment, and need all the help we can get. We have been recruiting from everywhere we can think of. The FBI, the CIA, NSA, NRO, local police forces, hell, even people who went to Xanadu as government agents. The country is barely holding on. For the last two weeks, the economy has been sluggish, infrastructure is suffering and escapees have been creating havoc. What we are doing is trying to return the country to working order. That means catching escapees and checking up on those who have been released. What I am offering you is the chance to avoid a few years in jail, and giving you a useful, much needed job. You will be a government employee, just like you were. You will make the same amount you did as a detective. You’ll get to travel, and even chase criminals. Your number one priority will be to uphold the law. Any questions?”

“Yeah…Why do you still want me? I did destroy that laser…”

“No you didn’t. You destroyed laser components. We had already taken the main focusing crystal. We can construct our own laser with it.”

Brown was shocked. He’d lost his job in order to destroy junk? At first he was shocked. And then he was angry. “You…you… bastards! That’s just what we need. Another arms race! Who can steal the best shit from Xanadu! As soon as the government announces that they have such a powerful device…” The agent cut him off.

“They won’t. I said we ''could'' construct a new laser, not that we would. The crystal is currently being held in a vault in the deepest depths of a nuclear bunker in the desert. No-one is going to steal it, and no-one is going to see it for a long time. So how about it? You want the job? If you don’t, I’ll leave you to your trial.”

{{Separator|stars}}

One week later, Agent Charles Brown found himself in the Hotel of the Orlando Convention center. He had just received word that a Xanadu victim he had a particular interest in had been classified as a “minor threat to self and others.” They were releasing Thomas Greenwall.

The large Russian had changed since the Agent had last seen him. He was no longer wearing his parka, and his hat was absent. He has changed into normal jeans and a (very large) polo shirt. But now he has carrying an AK-47. Apparently, he had been issued a special automatic weapons permit. The government had no interest in confiscating one more Kalashnikov. The large man spotted Brown before Brown spotted him.

“Comrade detective! What are you doing here?”

“I’m not a detective anymore. I work for the Feds now.” He smiled. Despite the accent (and the offhand “comrade”) it was definitely Thomas talking to him.

“Ah! That would be why you know I am leaving. Why did you come to see me?”

“I wanted to see how you were doing. And since you are still a “minor threat”, I’ve been assigned to your case.”

“Da, that makes sense. If you want to know, I have much better control of Yuri. He has not taken control in more than week.” He smiled. It was the first time the agent had seen a smile on the soldier’s face. “You know, government try to get me to work for them. I accept offer, but they say that because I sound like Russian, my loyalty cannot be trusted.”

“That’s too bad. So what are your plans for the future? Do you have some sort of job lined up?”

“Da. Private security firm. Yuri does not like because they work for money, but he does not have strength he used to. I have had age legally changed to twenty one, so all permits and the like work. My family does not talk to me still…” He looked sad…but there was a fire the back of his eyes. Yuri was still there. Despite the fact that they despised each other, they also relied on each other.

Brown was satisfied. “Alright then. I’ll see you in a month. I’m your, well, I guess you could say “case worker.”

Thomas gave a slight smile. He seemed to be coming out of his funk. “Goodbye comrade. I will see you in month. But now I have to catch bus. First I must do luggage check with Vladimir. So I can not be late.”

“Goodbye Thomas.”

Thomas walked past the Agent, in the direction of the staircase.

That was when Brown remembered something. “Wait! Thomas! I need to know something important!”

The large man stopped and turned around. “What comrade detect- Sorry, comrade agent?”

“Who pushed Julius off the building? You or Yuri? You both took credit for it.”

The soldier looked conflicted for a second. Afraid that an angry Yuri might rise to the surface, Brown put his hand on his pistol. But nothing came of it. Yuri was proud of the murder and had nothing more to say on the subject.

“We both pushed him.” Yuri and Thomas turned around and walked down the stairs.

[[Category:Story]][[Category:Mental change]][[Category:Guvnor of Space]][[Category:Xanadu]]

Talk:The Last Interview

2009-06-24T04:11:36Z

Guvnor Of Space:

User talk:Trismegistus Shandy

2009-06-24T00:58:10Z

Guvnor Of Space:

Hello there and welcome to Shifti! I'm one of the admins and we'll be helping you get used to the wiki format. Please visit the [[Help:Contents|Help Page]] for tips and tricks. Thanks! --[[User:JonBuck|Buck]] 18:22, 29 February 2008 (EST)

First, although I've made a few minor edits to Wikipedia this is the first time I've tried a wiki discussion; my apologies in advance if I'm doing it wrong or inappropriately. (My thanks to Bryan, who said I should post this here).

I just wanted to let you know how much I've enjoyed your Nat Holcomb stories. Although I'm a long-time reader of TG fiction this is the first time I've seen TG transformations used to fight alien invasions and cure "haemophilia" (yes, I know that's the British spelling).

You've created a universe that looks capacious enough for many more stories. I certainly hope you'll write more of them! [[User:Passing4human|Passing4human]] 00:47, 19 May 2009 (UTC)

I agree with the guy above. I love the stories. I can't wait for the next one. If there is a next one. I hope there's a next one.--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 00:58, 24 June 2009 (UTC)

2009-06-23T01:05:27Z

Guvnor Of Space: I'm new at this, forgive my multiple edits.

Talk:The Last Interview

2009-06-23T01:02:45Z

Guvnor Of Space:

Hmm...I think this is going well, no? A good start to the story. Looking forward to more! --[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]]
Yeah. I should have it finished by tomorrow, and edited the day after that. It's not like I have to write much more dialauge.--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 01:02, 23 June 2009 (UTC)

The Last Interview

2009-06-23T00:08:46Z

Guvnor Of Space:

User:Guvnor Of Space

2009-06-23T00:06:59Z

Guvnor Of Space: It's more then a concept now.

The Last Interview

2009-06-23T00:06:10Z

2009-06-22T15:01:41Z

Guvnor Of Space:

I know the "story" itelf kind of sucks, but I would like comments on what people thought of the format.--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 03:24, 22 June 2009 (UTC)

:The story is great...the mental change expressed very well. The continuous fluctuation between the two personalities, Thomas and Yuri, is excellent. The only thing I don't understand is that the Detective comments that Thomas/Yuri destroyed the Julius Romberg laser already...then at the end it is said that he was fired because he tried to destroy the Julius Romberg laser. That seems to be conflicting.

:And as for the format...it is okay, I guess. But doing a narrative one would be better because then you could describe the scene better than just putting descriptions in brackets. For example...

:Instead of ''(looks up with fierce look in his eyes)'', you could say ''But then Thomas looked up at the Detective, and the Detective glimpsed a renewed fire burning in his eyes''.

:The difference is that the first is telling, the second is describing. Your story is excellent. I feel that if you switched from "transcript" format to "narrative and descriptive", which is the norm for writing, this story would be even better. But still, great job! --[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]], 22:44, 22 June 2009

Ah, yes the laser. I mention that the Detective tried to destroy the remains of the laser. Someone (like, the government) could have tried putting it back together. (Though the rules of Xanadu would likely mean failure.) It is the worlds most powerful weopon. And I may re-write this. Thomas is my self insert character. I do this really cheesy fake Russian accent (with crazy commie personality) for fun. The idea of the story is what would happen it that personality ended up at Xanadu. Like I said, fun story to write, not the best written.--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 15:01, 22 June 2009 (UTC)