Post by Fiona McFly on Dec 9, 2018 16:20:15 GMT
Chapter Four-and-a-Half
“TRUTHS REVEALED”
5 December 2018 + 1100 GMT
The weather was sunny and mild on this late Wednesday morning as we find Debbie Fisher, a.k.a. “Old Fiona” from the future, and her 33-year-old traveling partner, a temporal investigator code-named “Tommy Vercetti,” sitting on the front porch of Fiona’s Fredericksburg country ranch, her winter getaway. The two sat together, rocking back and forth on the front porch swing, as a stiff gust of wind blew in from the south.
TOMMY VERCETTI:
Where’s Fiona?
DEBBIE FISHER:
She’s still sleepin’ in her bedroom...
TOMMY:
Bless her heart, she must be jet-lagged after all this travel. At least they gave her an off-week to recoup…
Without warning, Debbie started coughing and breathing heavily. Her voice, normally featuring a hyper-Texas twang, was extremely hoarse. She found herself tempted to switch to her original Irish-British hybrid accent, but it would probably have made things worse.
TOMMY:
Oh, you don’t sound too good either.
DEBBIE:
Oh, you think?!
She scowled as she reached into her handbag and pulled out a medicine bottle; after quickly popping two red pills into her mouth, she took a hearty swig from her bottle of Dasani water.
DEBBIE:
It’s that dad-gummed condition I’ve had for some time…
Tommy sighed and shook his head.
TOMMY:
Don’t you think it’s time...ya know, for you to tell Fiona what’s really wrong with you?! I mean, you did a really good job with that wrestling appearance, but...she might catch on if she senses something isn’t right with you.
Debbie stared at her travel partner and raised her voice, which led to another prolonged cough.
DEBBIE:
What in Tarnation's kind o' truth am I supposed to tell the poor soul, that I’m dyin’ of lung cancer, that I’ve got eight to ten months in which to live…?!
TOMMY:
Well, you didn’t tell anyone in 2058 either before we left. You have a duty to Fiona; you can’t just…hide things from people. That’s...rude!
The old woman’s face turned red as she took another drink from her water bottle.
DEBBIE:
Now hold onto your horses, l’il britches! People handle things like sadness and depression, sickness and other bad things in a variety of different ways. Hidin’ from things means ya don’t go out into an oft-at-times cruel and thoughtless world and facin’ ‘em with those closest to you!
Debbie stood up, her eyes focused upon the clear blue skies above her head.
DEBBIE:
Besides, I don’t need to be lectured by you about “duty,” and more to the point...what in the Sam Hill will she wind up sayin’ for my obituary, that I was a time-traveler, that I was her future self!?! Hmph, they’ll probably have her committed to a loony bin!
TOMMY:
The point is though...ya gotta tell Fiona about your condition. There’s no shame in telling her the truth. After all, she considers you to be the only friend she’s got…
Tommy closed his eyes, his demeanour changing to that of apprehension.
TOMMY:
I swear to Christ, man...in our time we have room for flyin’ cars, laser guns, and all this computer and holographic technology, but we still can’t find a goddamn cock-fuckin’ cure for cancer...
Debbie raised an eyebrow at the profanity.
DEBBIE:
Robert Wayne Reagan Gilmore, did your dad ever teach you to talk like that…?!
The investigator sighed at being addressed by his full name and true identity--Bobby Gilmore, James Gilmore’s son. He was more profane in his tongue than his own father, even during the latter’s days as a wrestler; it wasn’t something the younger man was proud of, having learned the art of foul mouth from, ironically, the Ambassador herself.
TOMMY:
Sorry...I’m just...I’m just not happy about being sent back here to a time I know nothing about, about your condition, about Fiona, about…everything. Frankly, you shouldn’t even be here in the first place!
Debbie warmly nodded.
DEBBIE:
I understand you’re upset that I told no one yet. I understand that you’re concerned for my well-bein’, but I want ya to understand that, frankly, Fiona’s had way too much sadness in her life over the course of a year. Christmas is comin’ up, she needs to be feelin’ happy and cheerful again. She needs someone who can care for her and cherish her as Jack did, and I dunno how long I’m gonna last.
She sat back down on the swing, her aging frame beginning to tremble.
TOMMY:
She’s your friend, you’re unique to everyone else, including that Terri gal. People would give an arm and a leg just so that you could share your knowledge of the future with ‘em!
DEBBIE:
To Fiona, I’m…I’m her friend, but to everyone else...I’m just some kooky ol’ lady. They dunno I traveled from the future; they only know that I’m some former wrassler from the South. They prolly wouldn't wanna believe all these fantastical time-travel stories even if they wanted to listen.
Tommy, seeing his elder partner’s emotional distress after trying so hard to keep it suppressed as a public servant, gave her a hug that resembled how someone would hug their grandparents at Christmas.
DEBBIE:
I didn’t wanna come back here so I could say ‘goodbye’ to her, ‘cuz...goodbye is always so final. All I wanted to do was see her smilin’ face and tell her how proud I was of her, for stickin’ to her dreams instead of takin’ the easy road and goin’ into public service like I did. All I needed...was a travel partner about her own age, that could show her how to expand her own mind in ways ya can’t begin to describe.
TOMMY:
That’s the legit reason why you brought me here instead of my old man.
DEBBIE:
That’s right...after all, there’s gonna be a point in time when I know I can’t be doin’ no more of these long-distance trips to the Far East and back for wrasslin’!
Tommy looked down as he turned on his holo-projector gadget; a 3-D image appears, showing him and the eder Ambassador taking a selfie.
TOMMY:
But I can. At least...you think I can.
DEBBIE:
Now you understand. I really want you to get to know Fiona. Blend in with her, learn from her; maybe...she’ll learn somethin’ from you. Above all else, however...one, you MUST remember the endgame! And two, you MUST NOT tell her about my condition!
TOMMY:
(nods)
Win a title, don’t tell Fiona...right on Amba--I mean, Debbie. But...ain’t there more to it than just, say, winning a title?!
Debbie chuckled.
DEBBIE:
She is me after all, but honestly...even I wouldn’t have a clue about that. If she did, then...maybe she forgot what real winnin’s like. Perhaps she’ll learn to figure it out for herself, but I dunno for sure. All I do know...is when the time is right I--and I alone--will tell her about my condition. Either way, whether I croak or don’t croak, the moment she wins the Luchadora or any other title, a new future will be created. And I...
She paused, taking another sip from her water bottle. Her breathing became resigned, moreso to the point where all she could do from now on was to accept her fate--perhaps, a fate even worse than death.
DEBBIE:
...I will no longer exist in this universe…
~TO BE CONTINUED~
“TRUTHS REVEALED”
5 December 2018 + 1100 GMT
The weather was sunny and mild on this late Wednesday morning as we find Debbie Fisher, a.k.a. “Old Fiona” from the future, and her 33-year-old traveling partner, a temporal investigator code-named “Tommy Vercetti,” sitting on the front porch of Fiona’s Fredericksburg country ranch, her winter getaway. The two sat together, rocking back and forth on the front porch swing, as a stiff gust of wind blew in from the south.
TOMMY VERCETTI:
Where’s Fiona?
DEBBIE FISHER:
She’s still sleepin’ in her bedroom...
TOMMY:
Bless her heart, she must be jet-lagged after all this travel. At least they gave her an off-week to recoup…
Without warning, Debbie started coughing and breathing heavily. Her voice, normally featuring a hyper-Texas twang, was extremely hoarse. She found herself tempted to switch to her original Irish-British hybrid accent, but it would probably have made things worse.
TOMMY:
Oh, you don’t sound too good either.
DEBBIE:
Oh, you think?!
She scowled as she reached into her handbag and pulled out a medicine bottle; after quickly popping two red pills into her mouth, she took a hearty swig from her bottle of Dasani water.
DEBBIE:
It’s that dad-gummed condition I’ve had for some time…
Tommy sighed and shook his head.
TOMMY:
Don’t you think it’s time...ya know, for you to tell Fiona what’s really wrong with you?! I mean, you did a really good job with that wrestling appearance, but...she might catch on if she senses something isn’t right with you.
Debbie stared at her travel partner and raised her voice, which led to another prolonged cough.
DEBBIE:
What in Tarnation's kind o' truth am I supposed to tell the poor soul, that I’m dyin’ of lung cancer, that I’ve got eight to ten months in which to live…?!
TOMMY:
Well, you didn’t tell anyone in 2058 either before we left. You have a duty to Fiona; you can’t just…hide things from people. That’s...rude!
The old woman’s face turned red as she took another drink from her water bottle.
DEBBIE:
Now hold onto your horses, l’il britches! People handle things like sadness and depression, sickness and other bad things in a variety of different ways. Hidin’ from things means ya don’t go out into an oft-at-times cruel and thoughtless world and facin’ ‘em with those closest to you!
Debbie stood up, her eyes focused upon the clear blue skies above her head.
DEBBIE:
Besides, I don’t need to be lectured by you about “duty,” and more to the point...what in the Sam Hill will she wind up sayin’ for my obituary, that I was a time-traveler, that I was her future self!?! Hmph, they’ll probably have her committed to a loony bin!
TOMMY:
The point is though...ya gotta tell Fiona about your condition. There’s no shame in telling her the truth. After all, she considers you to be the only friend she’s got…
Tommy closed his eyes, his demeanour changing to that of apprehension.
TOMMY:
I swear to Christ, man...in our time we have room for flyin’ cars, laser guns, and all this computer and holographic technology, but we still can’t find a goddamn cock-fuckin’ cure for cancer...
Debbie raised an eyebrow at the profanity.
DEBBIE:
Robert Wayne Reagan Gilmore, did your dad ever teach you to talk like that…?!
The investigator sighed at being addressed by his full name and true identity--Bobby Gilmore, James Gilmore’s son. He was more profane in his tongue than his own father, even during the latter’s days as a wrestler; it wasn’t something the younger man was proud of, having learned the art of foul mouth from, ironically, the Ambassador herself.
TOMMY:
Sorry...I’m just...I’m just not happy about being sent back here to a time I know nothing about, about your condition, about Fiona, about…everything. Frankly, you shouldn’t even be here in the first place!
Debbie warmly nodded.
DEBBIE:
I understand you’re upset that I told no one yet. I understand that you’re concerned for my well-bein’, but I want ya to understand that, frankly, Fiona’s had way too much sadness in her life over the course of a year. Christmas is comin’ up, she needs to be feelin’ happy and cheerful again. She needs someone who can care for her and cherish her as Jack did, and I dunno how long I’m gonna last.
She sat back down on the swing, her aging frame beginning to tremble.
TOMMY:
She’s your friend, you’re unique to everyone else, including that Terri gal. People would give an arm and a leg just so that you could share your knowledge of the future with ‘em!
DEBBIE:
To Fiona, I’m…I’m her friend, but to everyone else...I’m just some kooky ol’ lady. They dunno I traveled from the future; they only know that I’m some former wrassler from the South. They prolly wouldn't wanna believe all these fantastical time-travel stories even if they wanted to listen.
Tommy, seeing his elder partner’s emotional distress after trying so hard to keep it suppressed as a public servant, gave her a hug that resembled how someone would hug their grandparents at Christmas.
DEBBIE:
I didn’t wanna come back here so I could say ‘goodbye’ to her, ‘cuz...goodbye is always so final. All I wanted to do was see her smilin’ face and tell her how proud I was of her, for stickin’ to her dreams instead of takin’ the easy road and goin’ into public service like I did. All I needed...was a travel partner about her own age, that could show her how to expand her own mind in ways ya can’t begin to describe.
TOMMY:
That’s the legit reason why you brought me here instead of my old man.
DEBBIE:
That’s right...after all, there’s gonna be a point in time when I know I can’t be doin’ no more of these long-distance trips to the Far East and back for wrasslin’!
Tommy looked down as he turned on his holo-projector gadget; a 3-D image appears, showing him and the eder Ambassador taking a selfie.
TOMMY:
But I can. At least...you think I can.
DEBBIE:
Now you understand. I really want you to get to know Fiona. Blend in with her, learn from her; maybe...she’ll learn somethin’ from you. Above all else, however...one, you MUST remember the endgame! And two, you MUST NOT tell her about my condition!
TOMMY:
(nods)
Win a title, don’t tell Fiona...right on Amba--I mean, Debbie. But...ain’t there more to it than just, say, winning a title?!
Debbie chuckled.
DEBBIE:
She is me after all, but honestly...even I wouldn’t have a clue about that. If she did, then...maybe she forgot what real winnin’s like. Perhaps she’ll learn to figure it out for herself, but I dunno for sure. All I do know...is when the time is right I--and I alone--will tell her about my condition. Either way, whether I croak or don’t croak, the moment she wins the Luchadora or any other title, a new future will be created. And I...
She paused, taking another sip from her water bottle. Her breathing became resigned, moreso to the point where all she could do from now on was to accept her fate--perhaps, a fate even worse than death.
DEBBIE:
...I will no longer exist in this universe…
~TO BE CONTINUED~
Well howdy there pardner.