Japhy
Banned
“The problem with folks your age,” Mitchell offered with a grimace on his face, “is that everything needs to be on the web. Or it doesn’t exist. ‘Disrupt’ this, ‘upload’ that, get it ‘On The Cloud’.” He was enjoying himself as he offered air quotes, and continued the generations old tradition of complaining about younger generations.
Depeaux, as any young man in his did in formal social settings simply nodded politely, and then went back to working with his new app. For a moment he looked around at the open field and then went back to adding extra details.
The small crowd, Mitchell and Depeaux included all wore sunglasses. There weren’t nearly enough trees around the field. Glad I went for the outdoor model last month, this would have been terrible on the old cPhone 6 screen.
Hitting the submit button that appeared on the screen, the phone stayed in hand, but found itself just outside of his pocket and at the ready for when it would inevitably be needed, or need Depeaux’ attention.
“You know I’m not one of those Transistor Valley types. This stuff just helps make the whole process easier, for everyone. It just streamlines things. None of that ‘Disruption’ bullshit.”
Mitchell rolled his eyes at that. “There’s no reason though! No point in streamlining any of this. It's been the same for hundreds of years and now your generation gets out of college and suddenly everything has to suddenly change. Change for the sake of change is pointless.”
“What kind of SocDem are you to say something like that?”
“An actual member of the Democratic Party. The one of Jackson and Bryan and Debs and Barkley and Wallace and Harrington and Hart. One who knows our history. Knows that we at least fought for the working class with real, meaningful goals.”
Not this again.
“Look Mitchell, I’m as committed to the party as you. The primary season is over. I voted for Rocky Anderson just like the rest of you. And all the way down ticket.”
“It was closer than it should have been. You kids really need to learn to tell the difference between a man of action like Anderson and a gadfly senator.”
“Mitt Romney wasn’t a gadfly.”
“Thirty years a Senator from Massachusetts and he’s never once…”
“And Anderson was a Governor for two years and a Vice President for eight, and never took a real stand for anything. Whatever, its over. He won, Romney is back in the Senate and now we’re here. Its over, just stop, please.”
“Fine.”
For a moment it seemed like it was over and they were just going to watch the show. “There’s still no need to change up these kind of traditions though. What was good enough for Gary Hart, much less Andrew Jackson, should be good enough for people your age.”
“Says a man of the generation that decided to get plastic surgery to cover their Mensur scars.” Instinctively Depeaux reached with his free hands to feel the four rough and high cuts in his cheeks and on his chin. Mitchell he noted reached for the side of his mouth, where once, most likely had been a similar slice.
Point, me. He thought to himself with a mental grin
His phone buzzed and in a flash he was back at it. A few quick responses to be typed out for Calling Card and Blackbook.
When he was done, Mitchell had walked over and was talking to some other folks with SocDem pins on their shirts. Taking a look around, Depeaux caught a wave of a familiar face waving him over from the other side of the field. As he walked back the small cluster of men in the center of the field, going over the paperwork, he offered a quick pat on the back of his Boss, and that of Dave Brady, the Second who’d taken the weekend off from the Highway Patrol for the match.
When he’d gotten over to the other side the pins had changed. No more Red and White of the Social Democrats, now it was all Federalist-Republican Black-Blue-Black. The fellow who’d waved him over was a mess of scars --- fencing and buckshot--- from stubbled neck to the rugby player’s broken nose to pomaded, undercut black hair in the new, retro style. He, and the young woman in a summer dress next to him were both on their phones of course.
“I didn’t realize the two of you had made it back home yet.” Depeaux offered as he came within conversation distance, dipping his cap as he did.
It was the woman who looked up first, taking a step forward and reaching up to give him a hug. “We just got back in today. Its so good to see you Orson, you can’t even imagine.” she offered.
“I mean, any mug that makes Clarence look good is probably a welcome relief for you, Delilah” he offered with a half grin. Clarence, still typing on his phone offered a snort.
“Not even your ugly mug could pull off something like that. She just means Russia is the worst sort of place to spend a semester. The bastardized French in the lectures is almost as bad as the Esperanto that all the student activists insist on.”
“It was nine months of migraines” Offered Delilah, who had reached over and slid her arm around her fiancees back.
“Oh I understand that. Remember when I came back from my semester in Boston? That was three years ago, I don’t even want to imagine what these protest types have gotten to now.”
They all offered various faces of derision at that. “Glad we saw you here though. Want to go get supper when this is all done?” Asked Clarence.
“Absolutely. What are you guys in the mood for, some Indian?”
“Oh that sounds great! ” Said Delilah, who in a flash was typing on her phone, held widescreen akimbo. “Oh, I can get us a table at Nehru’s. I’ll get it for in an hour, we can get a drink first.”
“An hour? You know this isn’t Orson’s first time don’t you?” Gruffly offered Clarence to that.
He's always is a gentlemen like that.
“A drink or two would do fine for me. Especially in this weather. I hope you two haven’t gotten hooked on vodka over the past semester though.” He offered with the same degree of politeness.
Clarence offered a hearty guffaw. “Like hell. Just because they drink the stuff like water doesn’t mean we gave up on actual spirits.”
The reservation finished, Delilah was looking at the group in the center of the field. Everyone was shaking hands.
“Oh it looks like its going to start.” She said, nonchalantly.
Depeaux and Clarence both, quickly had their phones out.
“Did they agree to ten or twenty?” Offered Clarence.
“Honestly, I have no idea,” said Depeaux pulling up the relevant app, “looks like twenty.” The other man nodded as he watched.
The referee stood between the two teams with the local Justice, laying out the ground rules and attempting to facilitate discussion.
“So did you see many of these while you were in Russia?” He asked his returned friends.
“Oh yeah, I was the second at one about a month ago.” Said the rugby player calmly.
“Really? I hadn’t heard at all.”
The other man shrugged. “Different rules, different apps. Anyway, the whole thing ended with them shaking hands. The whole thing was idiotic. Neither of them was going to admit it but the women whose ‘affection’ it was over was a high priced callgirl.”
“She was a nice one though.” Said Delilah who was still going on her phone.
“Oh good, they didn’t agree to any stupid rules this time around. I swear last time I went to one of these it was some Hipster affair out in Jefferson. And being that sort of thing, it was all beards and plaid and mason jars. And I tell you, they actually tied their non-dominant arms together. ‘Reviving old traditions’ they called it. Except they didn’t take into account that mountain men were all right handed, and no one beats that out of kids these days. I mean there, they both were, trying to get each other from behind, wrestling with each other and…” Depeaux’ phone went off again, a notification from Calling Card.
“The ASPAD,” the pronounced each letter separately, “is apparently planning a protest over this.”
“What, and not your SoDems?” Clarence was actually curious at that. “I mean with all the craziness of this match, I’d have thought they’d be all over it. Hell I’d probably show up. Can’t stand any of this business, party of no party. Let me tell you Old Man, this is insane. After a season is one thing, all the mud that gets thrown around, but going after the appointed geek just for doing his job?”
They really have been out of the loop in Russia for a while. Depeaux thought to himself. Of course when they left, who thought Penn was going to even run, much less take the convention and though everything upside down.
Not that it mattered to him too much, after all he was a SocDem, and anything that screwed over the Blue and Blacks was fine with him. Still, they’d missed their party becomes a political madhouse that would resort to tactics like this.
A real shame. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to deal with this sort of thing for too much longer.
The referee had gotten two curt shakes of the head. There would be no handshake, not from the two primaries anyway. The two seconds on the other hand did shake hands, and the justice opened a briefcase he’d been given at the start of the affair.
“Luger Target Pistols. Very nice.” Said Clarence, with the eye of a man who’d been in that place before. Depeaux, having been there a few times himself nodded.
The pistols were handed out, to the duelists who then proceed to check them over as one was ought to do in their situation.
Looking down the barrels.
Tapping on the digital keyboards of their phones.
Wet thumbs wiped over sights.
Putting in a one-piece earbud in place and putting their phones in their pockets.
The chambering of .38 caliber rounds.
The seconds both had their phones out, and were walking the paces. At twenty they both tapped their phones, marking the spot on the app, before moving off to the sides.
The preparations finished --- Depeaux caught a glimpse of Mitchell shaking his head at the phone work. --- the Justice stepped forward and turning from side to side spoke loudly to the two crowds.
“On this day, the Seventeenth of May, Twenty-Seventeen, the Honorable Llewellyn J. Gainsport, Secretary of State for the Great State of Ohio accepts the challenge of a duel offered by Mister Leslie R. Carson, in regards to their dispute stemming from accusations of fraud and counter-accusations of libel in regards to the certification of votes for the Fifth Congressional District…”
“You work for the Secretary, Orson, did he rig anything in the race?” Asked Delilah inquisitively.
“Certainly not. We take the job in the office seriously. And the party respects that. There was nothing going on in that race besides the norm. Nothing the State Department would really have had to look into or anything like that.”
“Damned shame.” Offered Clarence, grimacing as he turned to Depeaux and then back to the field.
His sort are always the kind to hate to see something as decent and normal as a dirty election get turned into this, even if he is one to rush to his Honor at the drop of a hat. It was hard to remember sometimes but Clarence was a good man to be friends with, in spite of himself.
“... And all attempts at a settlement having been proven futile, I hereby certify this duel as legal, necessary, and humane. Having agreed to pistols at twenty paces each, both Gentlemen will now please move to the starting position,” and both men, the middle-aged Secretary of State and the tall, tin bearded would-be Congressmen, moved into position back-to-back, “it shall now commence.”
They were both already sweaty in this warm spring day as they took straight, determined steps, listening to their phones keep the pace the whole time.
Delilah was squeezing Clarence again.
When their earpieces offered, as Depeaux knew from experience, a slow steady electronic tone and no longer a steady stream of dots and dashes, the two men turned around, and with precision, leveled their pistols at each other.
And then, the Secretary of State, slowly and deliberately, raised his pistol into the air, and squeezed off a vertical shot.
Oh no.
For an instant, Clarence seemed to let go of any tenseness, after all, even an experienced duelist like himself knew that this meant the dispute was finished. Delilah began to let out a sigh. But Depeaux knew that things had changed in the past few months. That the Political Revolution in the Federalist-Republicans could only manifest itself in a way that seemed crazy back when they’d headed to Russia last year.
A second, loud crack sounded through the air of the Common. And the Secretary of State, Depeaux’ own boss staggered, and then reached with his left hand, and even from this distance could be seen to take it off of his chest, covered in blood. And with that, he fell.
Delilah covered her mouth in shock.
And then, further down,closer to where Carson had stood, came applause.
Clarence was red, “My God, don’t they have any decency?”
Depeaux had his phone opened to the iDuello App and started working to type up his own summary review. As he did, the Doctor had rushed over to the Secretary of State, and was holding himself in the manner of a man who didn’t think there was much to do.
“What a tasteless display. I think I’m the one who’s going to need a drink.” Said Delilah quietly, watching well-wishers shake the failed electioneers hand. “Do you have the Hakney App, Orson? Lets get all get a cab and get, out of here. At least the Freeway should be clear at this hour.”
-------------------------------------------------------------
Thoughts, Comments, Criticisms are all welcome.
Quick shout out to Doctor What for showing me the article that inspired this, and to Thande who came up with "Lets have iPhone Apps for terrible things that people in the past used to do but we don't, in The Unreformed Kingdom without which this idea probably wouldn't have really developed, even though its a cheap, shallow, knock-off of that.
Depeaux, as any young man in his did in formal social settings simply nodded politely, and then went back to working with his new app. For a moment he looked around at the open field and then went back to adding extra details.
The small crowd, Mitchell and Depeaux included all wore sunglasses. There weren’t nearly enough trees around the field. Glad I went for the outdoor model last month, this would have been terrible on the old cPhone 6 screen.
Hitting the submit button that appeared on the screen, the phone stayed in hand, but found itself just outside of his pocket and at the ready for when it would inevitably be needed, or need Depeaux’ attention.
“You know I’m not one of those Transistor Valley types. This stuff just helps make the whole process easier, for everyone. It just streamlines things. None of that ‘Disruption’ bullshit.”
Mitchell rolled his eyes at that. “There’s no reason though! No point in streamlining any of this. It's been the same for hundreds of years and now your generation gets out of college and suddenly everything has to suddenly change. Change for the sake of change is pointless.”
“What kind of SocDem are you to say something like that?”
“An actual member of the Democratic Party. The one of Jackson and Bryan and Debs and Barkley and Wallace and Harrington and Hart. One who knows our history. Knows that we at least fought for the working class with real, meaningful goals.”
Not this again.
“Look Mitchell, I’m as committed to the party as you. The primary season is over. I voted for Rocky Anderson just like the rest of you. And all the way down ticket.”
“It was closer than it should have been. You kids really need to learn to tell the difference between a man of action like Anderson and a gadfly senator.”
“Mitt Romney wasn’t a gadfly.”
“Thirty years a Senator from Massachusetts and he’s never once…”
“And Anderson was a Governor for two years and a Vice President for eight, and never took a real stand for anything. Whatever, its over. He won, Romney is back in the Senate and now we’re here. Its over, just stop, please.”
“Fine.”
For a moment it seemed like it was over and they were just going to watch the show. “There’s still no need to change up these kind of traditions though. What was good enough for Gary Hart, much less Andrew Jackson, should be good enough for people your age.”
“Says a man of the generation that decided to get plastic surgery to cover their Mensur scars.” Instinctively Depeaux reached with his free hands to feel the four rough and high cuts in his cheeks and on his chin. Mitchell he noted reached for the side of his mouth, where once, most likely had been a similar slice.
Point, me. He thought to himself with a mental grin
His phone buzzed and in a flash he was back at it. A few quick responses to be typed out for Calling Card and Blackbook.
When he was done, Mitchell had walked over and was talking to some other folks with SocDem pins on their shirts. Taking a look around, Depeaux caught a wave of a familiar face waving him over from the other side of the field. As he walked back the small cluster of men in the center of the field, going over the paperwork, he offered a quick pat on the back of his Boss, and that of Dave Brady, the Second who’d taken the weekend off from the Highway Patrol for the match.
When he’d gotten over to the other side the pins had changed. No more Red and White of the Social Democrats, now it was all Federalist-Republican Black-Blue-Black. The fellow who’d waved him over was a mess of scars --- fencing and buckshot--- from stubbled neck to the rugby player’s broken nose to pomaded, undercut black hair in the new, retro style. He, and the young woman in a summer dress next to him were both on their phones of course.
“I didn’t realize the two of you had made it back home yet.” Depeaux offered as he came within conversation distance, dipping his cap as he did.
It was the woman who looked up first, taking a step forward and reaching up to give him a hug. “We just got back in today. Its so good to see you Orson, you can’t even imagine.” she offered.
“I mean, any mug that makes Clarence look good is probably a welcome relief for you, Delilah” he offered with a half grin. Clarence, still typing on his phone offered a snort.
“Not even your ugly mug could pull off something like that. She just means Russia is the worst sort of place to spend a semester. The bastardized French in the lectures is almost as bad as the Esperanto that all the student activists insist on.”
“It was nine months of migraines” Offered Delilah, who had reached over and slid her arm around her fiancees back.
“Oh I understand that. Remember when I came back from my semester in Boston? That was three years ago, I don’t even want to imagine what these protest types have gotten to now.”
They all offered various faces of derision at that. “Glad we saw you here though. Want to go get supper when this is all done?” Asked Clarence.
“Absolutely. What are you guys in the mood for, some Indian?”
“Oh that sounds great! ” Said Delilah, who in a flash was typing on her phone, held widescreen akimbo. “Oh, I can get us a table at Nehru’s. I’ll get it for in an hour, we can get a drink first.”
“An hour? You know this isn’t Orson’s first time don’t you?” Gruffly offered Clarence to that.
He's always is a gentlemen like that.
“A drink or two would do fine for me. Especially in this weather. I hope you two haven’t gotten hooked on vodka over the past semester though.” He offered with the same degree of politeness.
Clarence offered a hearty guffaw. “Like hell. Just because they drink the stuff like water doesn’t mean we gave up on actual spirits.”
The reservation finished, Delilah was looking at the group in the center of the field. Everyone was shaking hands.
“Oh it looks like its going to start.” She said, nonchalantly.
Depeaux and Clarence both, quickly had their phones out.
“Did they agree to ten or twenty?” Offered Clarence.
“Honestly, I have no idea,” said Depeaux pulling up the relevant app, “looks like twenty.” The other man nodded as he watched.
The referee stood between the two teams with the local Justice, laying out the ground rules and attempting to facilitate discussion.
“So did you see many of these while you were in Russia?” He asked his returned friends.
“Oh yeah, I was the second at one about a month ago.” Said the rugby player calmly.
“Really? I hadn’t heard at all.”
The other man shrugged. “Different rules, different apps. Anyway, the whole thing ended with them shaking hands. The whole thing was idiotic. Neither of them was going to admit it but the women whose ‘affection’ it was over was a high priced callgirl.”
“She was a nice one though.” Said Delilah who was still going on her phone.
“Oh good, they didn’t agree to any stupid rules this time around. I swear last time I went to one of these it was some Hipster affair out in Jefferson. And being that sort of thing, it was all beards and plaid and mason jars. And I tell you, they actually tied their non-dominant arms together. ‘Reviving old traditions’ they called it. Except they didn’t take into account that mountain men were all right handed, and no one beats that out of kids these days. I mean there, they both were, trying to get each other from behind, wrestling with each other and…” Depeaux’ phone went off again, a notification from Calling Card.
“The ASPAD,” the pronounced each letter separately, “is apparently planning a protest over this.”
“What, and not your SoDems?” Clarence was actually curious at that. “I mean with all the craziness of this match, I’d have thought they’d be all over it. Hell I’d probably show up. Can’t stand any of this business, party of no party. Let me tell you Old Man, this is insane. After a season is one thing, all the mud that gets thrown around, but going after the appointed geek just for doing his job?”
They really have been out of the loop in Russia for a while. Depeaux thought to himself. Of course when they left, who thought Penn was going to even run, much less take the convention and though everything upside down.
Not that it mattered to him too much, after all he was a SocDem, and anything that screwed over the Blue and Blacks was fine with him. Still, they’d missed their party becomes a political madhouse that would resort to tactics like this.
A real shame. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to deal with this sort of thing for too much longer.
The referee had gotten two curt shakes of the head. There would be no handshake, not from the two primaries anyway. The two seconds on the other hand did shake hands, and the justice opened a briefcase he’d been given at the start of the affair.
“Luger Target Pistols. Very nice.” Said Clarence, with the eye of a man who’d been in that place before. Depeaux, having been there a few times himself nodded.
The pistols were handed out, to the duelists who then proceed to check them over as one was ought to do in their situation.
Looking down the barrels.
Tapping on the digital keyboards of their phones.
Wet thumbs wiped over sights.
Putting in a one-piece earbud in place and putting their phones in their pockets.
The chambering of .38 caliber rounds.
The seconds both had their phones out, and were walking the paces. At twenty they both tapped their phones, marking the spot on the app, before moving off to the sides.
The preparations finished --- Depeaux caught a glimpse of Mitchell shaking his head at the phone work. --- the Justice stepped forward and turning from side to side spoke loudly to the two crowds.
“On this day, the Seventeenth of May, Twenty-Seventeen, the Honorable Llewellyn J. Gainsport, Secretary of State for the Great State of Ohio accepts the challenge of a duel offered by Mister Leslie R. Carson, in regards to their dispute stemming from accusations of fraud and counter-accusations of libel in regards to the certification of votes for the Fifth Congressional District…”
“You work for the Secretary, Orson, did he rig anything in the race?” Asked Delilah inquisitively.
“Certainly not. We take the job in the office seriously. And the party respects that. There was nothing going on in that race besides the norm. Nothing the State Department would really have had to look into or anything like that.”
“Damned shame.” Offered Clarence, grimacing as he turned to Depeaux and then back to the field.
His sort are always the kind to hate to see something as decent and normal as a dirty election get turned into this, even if he is one to rush to his Honor at the drop of a hat. It was hard to remember sometimes but Clarence was a good man to be friends with, in spite of himself.
“... And all attempts at a settlement having been proven futile, I hereby certify this duel as legal, necessary, and humane. Having agreed to pistols at twenty paces each, both Gentlemen will now please move to the starting position,” and both men, the middle-aged Secretary of State and the tall, tin bearded would-be Congressmen, moved into position back-to-back, “it shall now commence.”
They were both already sweaty in this warm spring day as they took straight, determined steps, listening to their phones keep the pace the whole time.
Delilah was squeezing Clarence again.
When their earpieces offered, as Depeaux knew from experience, a slow steady electronic tone and no longer a steady stream of dots and dashes, the two men turned around, and with precision, leveled their pistols at each other.
And then, the Secretary of State, slowly and deliberately, raised his pistol into the air, and squeezed off a vertical shot.
Oh no.
For an instant, Clarence seemed to let go of any tenseness, after all, even an experienced duelist like himself knew that this meant the dispute was finished. Delilah began to let out a sigh. But Depeaux knew that things had changed in the past few months. That the Political Revolution in the Federalist-Republicans could only manifest itself in a way that seemed crazy back when they’d headed to Russia last year.
A second, loud crack sounded through the air of the Common. And the Secretary of State, Depeaux’ own boss staggered, and then reached with his left hand, and even from this distance could be seen to take it off of his chest, covered in blood. And with that, he fell.
Delilah covered her mouth in shock.
And then, further down,closer to where Carson had stood, came applause.
Clarence was red, “My God, don’t they have any decency?”
Depeaux had his phone opened to the iDuello App and started working to type up his own summary review. As he did, the Doctor had rushed over to the Secretary of State, and was holding himself in the manner of a man who didn’t think there was much to do.
“What a tasteless display. I think I’m the one who’s going to need a drink.” Said Delilah quietly, watching well-wishers shake the failed electioneers hand. “Do you have the Hakney App, Orson? Lets get all get a cab and get, out of here. At least the Freeway should be clear at this hour.”
-------------------------------------------------------------
Thoughts, Comments, Criticisms are all welcome.
Quick shout out to Doctor What for showing me the article that inspired this, and to Thande who came up with "Lets have iPhone Apps for terrible things that people in the past used to do but we don't, in The Unreformed Kingdom without which this idea probably wouldn't have really developed, even though its a cheap, shallow, knock-off of that.
