commentary track - "Nine Rules for Living in a Broken World"

[wisdomeagle]

This, then, is the promised commentary on Nine Rules for Living in a Broken World, my International Blog Against Racism Week drabble set. I get much flailier writing meta about race than I do about writing characters of color, because many characters of color (especially the ones I wrote about!) are very pretty, whereas racism is very ugly, and while I have some knowledge of how to write fiction, I have no real coherent vocabulary for discussing race. But I will try!


Title: "Nine Rules For Living in a Broken World"
Fandoms, Characters, Spoilers: various. See individual headers.
Rating: PG-13.
Notes: These nine drabbles are responses to International Blog Against Racism Week prompts. They are all set in the Dark Angel universe, but can be read with no knowledge of that world beyond this: In the future America is a third-world nation, and almost everyone is terribly poor. Each drabble can be read individually. I will probably comment on the IBARW context of these drabbles upon request at the drop of a hat.
Summary: How we endure, survive, thrive, spar, fight, and emulate squirrels.
Do they (want to) have sex (with each other)? All subtext is definitely, one hundred percent on purpose.
Words: 900.
Disclaimer: Created, owned, and copyrighted by people other than me.

Sometimes when I take drabble requests, I am very careful to read only one request at a time, write the drabble, and then move on to the next one. This way I am sure to focus on just one thing at a time, really invest myself in that drabble, and then move on to something else. This time I didn't do that, mostly because the first couple of prompts weren't writing themselves easily, and in fact I had a very long time to think about them -- a whole month! Setting them all in the Dark Angel 'verse occurred to me almost instantly; there were lots of requests for crossovers, and two requests for Original Cindy, and the idea of fast-forwarding so many series to ~2020 and making the future all broken and angsty was very appealing to me.

Then I instantly felt guilty because I was going to be writing about poverty-stricken black characters and why did I think I could only write them in the broken-world-'verse, and what was I doing here? Now, a lot of these characters already come from broken worlds of one sort or another -- Weevil and Gunn both grew up poor, Zoe comes from a broken world, Teal'c was a slave, Original Cindy comes from the actual broken world 'verse; only Jessi Ramsey is a middle-class black girl thrust into poverty by the Pulse (tm).

But. One thing that I do think happens by putting them all in this 'verse is a sort of great equalization. Everyone is living in a broken world; there's nothing particular about, say, Gunn's adolescent homelessness and street-gang, because pretty much in this 'verse, everyone is homeless or close enough, and the way I've set up the extended universe, everyone is in a street gang or close enough.

So I don't know. It is the idea that occurred to me. It was also a way to defuse some of the difficulties I imagined about writing nine drabbles about black characters. I don't think I thought I could only write black characters living in abject poverty. I don't know. I worried about it. Then I got a month-long case of writers' block, which was not really all about these particular drabbles, but maybe in part it was, because even though I was fairly sure I could write all these characters, doing it all at once was a little daunting.


I. Dance alone.
[Dark Angel. Original Cindy. For webbgirl]

Prompt word was "unrequited." I didn't have any particular images in mind for this, but it was the first prompt and OC lives in the broken world, so I thought it would be a good place to begin. I could establish the universe and start with a solo character before I got into the crossover madness.

Over the thudding bass line and under the flickering lights about to blow -- what, third blackout this week? -- every word has to be shouted or misunderstood. But that's okay. If she wanted to talk, Original Cindy would be elsewhere, anywhere else. Privacy's not exactly easy to find in a city as big as Seattle, but surely she could do better than a room twelve feet square, every inch of her personal space filled with other people's flesh and stolen leather jackets. "Hey," someone shouts from her left. "Wanna dance?"

Original Cindy shoves hard away from him. "Already am."

There was some stuff in here about Original Cindy hitting on some girl on the dancefloor, but ultimately it got cut, of course. I like writing about characters dancing, even though it's something I personally a) suck at and b) hate. Dancing, that is. And the whole idea of the club scene. I have to admit that it's been a really, really, really long time since I've seen any Dark Angel, so I wasn't really sure about writing OC, even though I love her to pieces. She's based a lot on my Faith, who also dances a lot. One thing I worried about (I worried a lot afterwords, but while writing, I was pretty cool) was how physical and external this piece was, which I think is a function of the canonical characters but still worries me; one of the reasons this particular scene was so physical was because I wasn't confident about my ability to really get into OC's head.

I should say something about the central organizing conceit; at first this first drabble was entitled "Dance Under;" at some point I made "dance under" the summary and all the rest of the current "rules" were the summaries of their pieces; eventually I decided titles and summaries for nine drabbles was way too much, especially since I had an overarching title ("Dispatches from a Broken World" was the original title). Dancing became the organizing principle of the summaries/titles, and then I knew the general trajectory of the piece, and that I would end with Jessi.

II. Dance with your head held high.
[Dark Angel x Angel. Original Cindy and Gunn. For malnpudl]

The prompt word was "salvage," which I think was one of the main reasons this whole thing is set in the broken world. I wanted the entire piece to be about these people salvaging what they could of dignity (why did I not offer to write any characters from RENT? WHY? This was a huge oversight on my part!), hope, joy.

The scene in "Not Fade Away" that this drabble references is one of my favorites because it is about exactly that -- finding small ways, in the midst of all that is awful and chaotic, to help the hopeless.

There are few nights in her life when Original Cindy feels more shame than pride. Break-ups, broken appliances, petty shoplifting, blowing off work, whatever, Original Cindy rises above minor disasters with her head held high.

I like this paragraph.

At the shelter, she meets kids -- kids, children younger than she can remember being -- who have never slept without shame. She meets people who are shameless, who think that begging is not beneath them. If nothing else, every kid who walks through their door is admitting "I need help."

This drabble would be called "No Shame" if I hadn't already written an Angel/Gunn piece with that title. I don't know what my obsession with Gunn and shame/pride is, but I've got it.

"They've had it rough"," says Gunn, hefting his end of the couch.

"No shit."

This is where I'm like, "Why is it all so physical? Why is it all about movement, dancing, lifting, manual labor?"


III. Dance together.
[Angel. Gunn, Wesley, and Fred. For callmesandy]

The prompt word was "hats," and the drabble is/was nominally about the different hats the three of them have to wear as they function as a unit, and how, in a broken world, they can't just each do their specialty but have to do lots of different things. Whatever; it's clearly really about the OT3. I think this is one of the strongest pieces in the set.

Butcher (that's Wes, with thirteen different tools for skewering demons) baker (Fred, who's taken over the kitchen brewing potions), candlestick maker (he's sick of whittling stakes, but a guy can only examine another guy's sword collection or pretend interest in the chemistry of demon goop so many times): by day they are three, and they're starting to get on each other's nerves.

In a broken world, they all have to live in a very small apartment and fight vampires together at night. Just for this reason, I'm fully in favor of the world breaking into lots of little pieces.

I worried (I know, I know! you are sensing a theme here!) about having Gunn doing nothing but whittling stakes while Fred and Wes were being all cool. On reflection and an okay night's sleep, Wes's thing is collecting swords, so I'm not so worried anymore. There were some phallic jokes in here about candlesticks but... they got cut for length and my inability to be funny.

But when night comes, they are one, and when he can feel adrenaline flowing, when his stakes are tipped with the poison Fred concocted and Wes has his back, the second before the slaying, then Gunn is invincible.

I did mention how all the subtext was on purpose, right? Everything I want to say about this is even cheesier and sappier than the actual drabble, so I will refrain from comment. Except, this was one of the easier drabbles to write, because, Joss's shows, and Joss's and my brains sometimes work in the same way, and I'd written Gunn before and this really is an OT3 of mine.

If I really had to give nine rules for living in a broken world, "Dance together," would be about three of them.

IV. Dance in the snow.
[Stargate: Atlantis. Ford. S1 continuity. For sweetcommunist]

This is the most literal use of one of the prompt words, which was "snow." I know we're in S3 (MY GOD. S3! That feels... really kind of old, I guess. I don't know!) but I'm way behind on canon and in my mind there will always exist this S1 continuity. I mean, I haven't finished all the fics I wanted to about them exploring the galaxy and growing up and growing old and having sex with each other! Anyhow, I did take advantage of their ability to go back to Earth on a whim, because I needed to put Ford in the broken world.


Ford went home to (the Major's Hey, if I'm being denialist, I'm going whole hog words) get away from it all. Except everything Atlantis has, Earth has too, in spades (and clubs, and hearts. Not diamonds, not in piss-poor third world America.) War, oppression, uselessly advanced technology

And, like certain unpleasant planets in the Pegasus 'gate system Earth has snow.

Snow's the same: still white, even if shot through with pollution, still cold enough to freeze a body dead, the same snow he built forts out of four decades ago. The snow's the same, but everything else has changed, especially him, and Ford wishes he'd never come back here.

I don't think this is an especially strong piece. Um. I had a whole list of childhood snow activities, snow angels and snowball fights, etc, and snow forts stayed, and this kind of added to the military-warrior feeling of the whole fic, which is NOT MY FAULT, because almost all the characters are warriors in canon as well. I could write dozens of fics about how Earth is and isn't home for the 'Lanteans, how Earth changes, how they change, but none of them would be as good as just thirteen seconds of Farscape, so I probably won't.


V. Dance like fighting.
[Stargate: Atlantis x Buffy: the Vampire Slayer. Teyla/Faith. For thelastgoodname.]

Prompt was "ice." Also, smut, which, um, was supposed to happen, but unfortunately the concept was too big for a drabble. I really like the idea of sparring that leads to sex, and it's perfectly canonical for both characters, I think. I am non-ironically moved by Sheppard/Teyla sparring scenes, and I think hand-to-hand is just incredibly sexy. I knew the form this was going to take for a long time, and eventually, there will be sex.

For the tenth time, Faith lunges at Teyla, and for the tenth time, Teyla blocks her easily. At least this time Faith manages not to land on her butt.

Yes, I felt guilty about putting this in Faith's point of view. I was like, "Am I really blogging against racism if a white character is my POV-character?" Yes, I worried a lot through this whole piece, partially because it was so intentional and political. Not that I think the finished product is all that political, but the act of writing characters of color, and in conjunction with the IBARW event, felt political. And that made me worry that I was doing it wrong, even though I wasn't really that aware of race when I was actually thinking about the characters.

I'm not sure why, but I felt certain Teyla was a better fighter than Faith. Since Faith has supernatural powers and Teyla doesn't, this is probably counter-canonical, but my intuition said Teyla's discipline would triumph over Faith's inate skill.

"You must. Be. Patient," Teyla says through gritted teeth, Okay, very, very fond of this line. and resumes her position. Faith doesn't bother to bow or have honor -- since when are slayers supposed to be honorable, anyhow? -- but slides under Teyla's outstretched arm and gets in a low kick that hits Teyla's shin guard squarely. "Better."

"Know what would be even better?" Faith has a one-track mind.

"We are not having sex," Teyla says, "until you can defeat me in combat."

My Teyla is the queen of deadpan. And I am convinced this is her number one criterion for choosing lovers.



VI. Dance; don't cry.
[Stargate: SG-1. Sam and Teal'c. For ctorres.]

The prompt was "squirrel." This is not the image I really had in mind -- which was Sam and Teal'c crouching in some bushes in the snow and Sam feeling protected by Teal'c's presence -- but I love what did come out.

Patrolling alone in an abandoned mining town (haunted, the gas station attendant told them) feels almost like old times. If she concentrates, Sam can hear Colonel O'Neill's tread three yards behind her, can see Daniel slipping ahead of them to check out a dried-up well. Ghost town, indeed.

This reminded me strongly of Weather Vane. In fact, this is almost exactly the same as "Weather Vane," except that the rest of humanity isn't dead, just living in abject poverty in Seatle. I really love the idea of Sam and Teal'c surviving the apocalypse; they are my post-apocalyptic OTP. In fact, if I keep writing fics like this, I will becoming a non-ironic Sam/Teal'c shipper, and then... no one would be surprised. Okay.

I felt (are you ready for it?) guilty about devoting so much of the drabble to Sam remembering teammates who weren't Teal'c. Also for being in the white character's point of view again. I mostly managed to feel unguilty by reminding myself that I'm writing a story, not making a statement, that I don't have much of an agenda beyond writing pretty people living and surviving in a broken world.

>Teal'c's gone suddenly still, and Sam reaches automatically for her automatic, sure that he's spotted a Goa'uld or at least a footprint. But when he turns, he's smiling, and he points to a rotten tree where a family of squirrels are eating nuts.

"Even here," he says, "they are building a life."

Besides, Teal'c got my favorite line in the whole piece. Remember, all the subtext is 100% intentional, and I am sure that Sam and Teal'c's new, Goa'uld-tracking life involves lots of snuggling and sex.

VII. Dance through your tears.
[Firefly x Stargate: SG-1. Zoe. For rydra_wong]

Prompt was Zoe and Teal'c interacting. Um. I came close. This is the other piece of advice I would give for living in a broken world.

One wormhole destroyed Serenity and another Mal's soul, and every wormhole since then has tumbled a diminishing crew into a worse world. Yes, these are Farscape wormholes. This is the second time I've stolen these wormholes to get Firefly characters to modern-day Earth. I... have a problem. And love Scapean wormholes. Hope's vision narrows, from husband, ranch, two kids, to husband, to crew, and then there's no one left but her own self and a lifetime of lost causes.

This piece was one of my favorites to write -- again, Joss's shows, and all that. But then, it's not too too surprising that writing SG-1 and Joss's shows come most easily; I've been writing SG-1 the longest and the Jossverse most prolifically. Anyhow, I adore Zoe and writing her felt like coming home.

Folk fighting for their lives she respects, but fighting beyond life to free a nation of slaves feels suspiciously like a road that Zoe already knows ends in a cul-de-sac.

I think I knew when I started writing that I just didn't have space to have actual Teal'c-Zoe interaction, so I knew I was going to have Zoe fighting for the Jaffa nation. I knew I could bring her to that decision, but it was difficult going, mostly because after losing all her friends AND her ship AND Mal AND Wash, this has got to be a pretty incredibly broken Zoe. But I don't see her as becoming disillusioned, and I do see her as needing a cause, or a captain, or at least somewhere to aim her gun.

>But she has a gun, and the Jaffa know where to shoot, and in these worlds, that's something.

In the epic space adventure that I totally didn't write, Serenity and her crew land in world after world of brokenness, starvation, hunger, vampires, Goa'uld, Wraith, and assorted Bad Guys (tm), fight a lot of losing battles, die a lot. Fighting for something larger than herself is actually a step up for Zoe, even if this is a losing battle, and in a way it's a return to better days, pre-Serenity Valley, when there was still hope.

There's always still hope; dance through your tears.

I love Zoe so much.


VIII. Dance with the enemy.
[Veronica Mars. Weevil/Logan. For amerella and mosca.]

Amerella's prompt was "sweltering" and Weevil -- preferably with Logan but any pairing would do. callmesandy told me that mosca would love some Weevil.

Apparently when I said I could write Weevil, I lied.

If they were better people -- but don't. Weevil and Logan aren't better people. They'd rather fight each other, bloody noses and swollen eyes, then fight anything that starts with race or ends with -ism. Screw that; brawling with Logan on the beach used to be fighting racism, but now the enemy has a larger face and broader focus. Logan's strictly entertainment.

They encounter each other less than they used to; Weevil's people didn't survive the flash the Pulse (tm) Ari? Is that what you meant? Yes. , the crash, and Logan's, albeit a little poorer, did. But a boy's gotta have fun, and they see each other enough for that.

This is another thing. In both textually shippy drabbles, this and the Faith/Teyla, the shippiness is expressed through physical violence. The Faith/Teyla is nominally a training exercise, but I imagine this as just brutal. And both textual ships are inter-racial. And I really, really want to know what's going on with that. Specifically, why my brain parses canon that way. This is related to how I wonder why there's so much physical action in all the drabbles -- dancing, moving furniture, fighting and wars and guns and people hitting each other.

I do think that it's something that arises from the canonical characters of color; Teyla and Ford and Teal'c and Zoe and Gunn are warriors in very real battles, and Weevil is the leader of a motorcycle gang. I mean, they are also smart and feisty and funny and dry and stoical and deadpan and various many other things, but many of these characters do rely primarily on physical strength or power to survive in the world. And that's a function of canon.

Still, the 'shippiness expressed through violence thing. I do think it's canon; I do think that Teyla's sparring sessions are foreplay (and when she spars with girls, it's FROPLAY!), and Logan and Weevil's shippiest moments involve beating each other up in the bathroom. But still, it's something I was aware of.

The subtextual 'shippiness -- Fred/Wes/Gunn and Sam/Teal'c -- is about fighting-side-by-side in a broken world. Lord knows that's one of my favorite pairing types... Yep, I really don't have anything else about that right now.


IX. Dance.
[Baby-Sitters Club. Jessi. For sangerin.]

The prompt was "pointe."

Waitressing destroyed her feet and her concentration, and when the restaurant closed (who has money for black-tie Thai these days?) See also Sam+Teal'c, "reaches automatically for her automatic." Yes, this is characteristic of my style but... must I write so many puns? Answer, yes. I must. , three simultaneous telemarketing jobs almost destroyed her soul. Original Cindy has a brief stint as a telemarketer in Dark Angel. At first Jessi was a secretary. But then... she wasn't. But even with fallen arches, Jessi can dance, and she does, every day, waking up at four AM to stretch, reminding herself despite her aching back of first position, second position,... she takes a deep breath, lifts her arms. Her fingers fall naturally into position, and for a moment, she is no one, not Jessi Ramsey, baby-sitter, not Jessi Ramsey, telemarketer, not Jessi at all, not even a dancer, but just dance.

It is possible this could be cheesier if I tried really hard. Nah. It's not.

But it's a reprise of the dance theme, and it's survival, and they all survive differently and they all survive the same, and they all have, within themselves, the strength to survive the broken world and not just survive, but struggle to change the world for the better.

I think I have exhausted all the things I wanted to say about this.