Character expectations
It was fun to write the interaction between Peter and a villain by the name of Colonel Graff in Falling Up.
In his paranoia, Graff has 'interrogated' many people, so has come to expect certain reactions from his victims. Fear is a big one. It can't be truth if he doesn't get the expected reactions.
Since Peter is protected by a shield, it thwarts Graff's efforts and infuriates him.
—
He waited perhaps a half hour before the door opened and in walked a military leader of some sort. He sat down at the other end of the table from Peter, leaned his elbows on the table, and just sat there staring closely at him for more than a minute. The blank stare suddenly changed into a snarl. "Check those straps! The drugs should have taken effect by now!"
Both guards scurried over and checked the straps, one on each side of Peter. "They're tight, sir!" And with that, they scurried back to their posts by the door.
"Well, then, some mechanical malfunction. I shall have to do this the hard way." With that, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a pouch, which he unrolled on the table. Peter could see several shiny, sinister-looking and no doubt very sharp metal tools reside there. Watching him caress each one in turn, Peter involuntarily shivered, imagining the many people who had likely suffered excruciating deaths at the hands of this man.
It was not lost on the officer, who showed a tight-lipped, toothy, predatory smile. He had misinterpreted Peter, thinking he was now in fear for his life.
Peter said, "Tell me why you have detained me. I arrived here by my own free will — "
The guard further demolished his rifle, this time swinging it at the back of Peter's head like a club. "Prisoners will not speak unless spoken to!" He managed a fair amount of belligerence this time, despite likely permanently ending the ability to ever fire the weapon again. He had reduced it to just a metal club in two strokes. Of course, Peter's head moved not at all from the impact on the shield, and he chose to not even acknowledge the guard's actions.
Peter resumed his sentence, "And yet, you treat me like an enemy." Peter sensed the guard behind him reaching back to hit him again, then subside at a hand gesture from the officer. "If I'm indeed an enemy, it's because you have made me one by this horrendous treatment of a guest. I'm not bragging overmuch to say that this could have been a very beneficial alliance, had you done this differently from the start. Bringing that jet home is a small demonstration of what I can do.”
The officer struck his hand on the table with a loud 'crack'. "Bringing home the plane that you crippled is hardly the kind of benefit we are looking for in our allies."
"That wasn't me who shot at it — "
Jumping up and leaning in on the table, he shouted back, "I had a look at that wing. It was not shot at, it was cut cleanly through, disabling the plane."
"I cut off what was burning. I was concerned the fuel would explode. I saved the plane and the pilot's life."
"Enough!" he thundered. "Enough lies! You shall tell me the truth before you die, let me assure you."
"Not likely. You cannot even touch me with those things."
"Ah, perhaps the drugs are finally taking effect. Let us see just how you react to the sight of your own blood." He played his fingers gently and lovingly back and forth over the tools on the table again, finally selecting one. Turning and twisting the instrument so it would catch the light, he slowly came around the table to stand beside Peter. He reached toward Peter's chest, aiming for the buttons on his shirt, but found he couldn't contact the buttons. After poking and slashing at several to no effect, he began to wildly slash across Peter's chest, again, to no effect. The shield easily turned the blade every time. He changed to an overhand grip and tried to stab him, but the force of the stroke simply broke the blade. Peter heard it whine by his ear on its way to some corner of the room. The officer looked wide-eyed at the broken knife for a few seconds, then threw what was left of it in Peter's face. It too simply bounced, but the officer didn't notice because he was already jumping for another tool. He brought out a fairly impressive-looking pointed tool. It had a curve to it, almost a hook, and he rounded on Peter with this, stabbing and slashing over and over in vain. Peter just sat there calmly and patiently, thinking there had to be a point where he would give up, and then they might actually have a dialog here.
After perhaps 30 seconds of frenzied stabbing at Peter, the officer stopped, and stood over him, staring at him with wild eyes, gasping for breath. There was blood on his hands; apparently he had cut himself in his efforts to injure Peter.
Peter said, "Can we talk now?"
His response was a howl and a renewal of stabbing attempts. After just a few seconds he stopped, stepped back and shouted, "Guards! Shoot this prisoner!"
In his paranoia, Graff has 'interrogated' many people, so has come to expect certain reactions from his victims. Fear is a big one. It can't be truth if he doesn't get the expected reactions.
Since Peter is protected by a shield, it thwarts Graff's efforts and infuriates him.
—
He waited perhaps a half hour before the door opened and in walked a military leader of some sort. He sat down at the other end of the table from Peter, leaned his elbows on the table, and just sat there staring closely at him for more than a minute. The blank stare suddenly changed into a snarl. "Check those straps! The drugs should have taken effect by now!"
Both guards scurried over and checked the straps, one on each side of Peter. "They're tight, sir!" And with that, they scurried back to their posts by the door.
"Well, then, some mechanical malfunction. I shall have to do this the hard way." With that, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a pouch, which he unrolled on the table. Peter could see several shiny, sinister-looking and no doubt very sharp metal tools reside there. Watching him caress each one in turn, Peter involuntarily shivered, imagining the many people who had likely suffered excruciating deaths at the hands of this man.
It was not lost on the officer, who showed a tight-lipped, toothy, predatory smile. He had misinterpreted Peter, thinking he was now in fear for his life.
Peter said, "Tell me why you have detained me. I arrived here by my own free will — "
The guard further demolished his rifle, this time swinging it at the back of Peter's head like a club. "Prisoners will not speak unless spoken to!" He managed a fair amount of belligerence this time, despite likely permanently ending the ability to ever fire the weapon again. He had reduced it to just a metal club in two strokes. Of course, Peter's head moved not at all from the impact on the shield, and he chose to not even acknowledge the guard's actions.
Peter resumed his sentence, "And yet, you treat me like an enemy." Peter sensed the guard behind him reaching back to hit him again, then subside at a hand gesture from the officer. "If I'm indeed an enemy, it's because you have made me one by this horrendous treatment of a guest. I'm not bragging overmuch to say that this could have been a very beneficial alliance, had you done this differently from the start. Bringing that jet home is a small demonstration of what I can do.”
The officer struck his hand on the table with a loud 'crack'. "Bringing home the plane that you crippled is hardly the kind of benefit we are looking for in our allies."
"That wasn't me who shot at it — "
Jumping up and leaning in on the table, he shouted back, "I had a look at that wing. It was not shot at, it was cut cleanly through, disabling the plane."
"I cut off what was burning. I was concerned the fuel would explode. I saved the plane and the pilot's life."
"Enough!" he thundered. "Enough lies! You shall tell me the truth before you die, let me assure you."
"Not likely. You cannot even touch me with those things."
"Ah, perhaps the drugs are finally taking effect. Let us see just how you react to the sight of your own blood." He played his fingers gently and lovingly back and forth over the tools on the table again, finally selecting one. Turning and twisting the instrument so it would catch the light, he slowly came around the table to stand beside Peter. He reached toward Peter's chest, aiming for the buttons on his shirt, but found he couldn't contact the buttons. After poking and slashing at several to no effect, he began to wildly slash across Peter's chest, again, to no effect. The shield easily turned the blade every time. He changed to an overhand grip and tried to stab him, but the force of the stroke simply broke the blade. Peter heard it whine by his ear on its way to some corner of the room. The officer looked wide-eyed at the broken knife for a few seconds, then threw what was left of it in Peter's face. It too simply bounced, but the officer didn't notice because he was already jumping for another tool. He brought out a fairly impressive-looking pointed tool. It had a curve to it, almost a hook, and he rounded on Peter with this, stabbing and slashing over and over in vain. Peter just sat there calmly and patiently, thinking there had to be a point where he would give up, and then they might actually have a dialog here.
After perhaps 30 seconds of frenzied stabbing at Peter, the officer stopped, and stood over him, staring at him with wild eyes, gasping for breath. There was blood on his hands; apparently he had cut himself in his efforts to injure Peter.
Peter said, "Can we talk now?"
His response was a howl and a renewal of stabbing attempts. After just a few seconds he stopped, stepped back and shouted, "Guards! Shoot this prisoner!"
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