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kangeikoWas sent home in disgrace for keeling over at work. OK, maybe not disgrace, more like friendly concern, but, still. I slept all afternoon, though, so that we good. And, woo, going to bed now, for more sleep! But, before I do, I just want to make one thing clear: when I fangirl, I don't do it by halves.
Did I like the story as a whole? Yes. Mostly. Was it well written? For the most part. Forget the story for the moment. Look at the pretty art. Look at the pretty colouring. Yes, girls, I'm so completely in love with the colourist here. It's very subtle, not at all your typical comic book primary colour blocks. I'm especially in love with the shading of Apollo's corona, and with the series of panels showing different details of one larger picture, where the Midnighter is asleep in bed with Jenny Q with Apollo watching them and musing. So, so pretty.
It's also heartening to see the guys drawn once more as guys, rather than freak mutated chunks of muscle with a tiny tiny head stuck on top (I couldn't take Apollo seriously when his head was smaller than his bicep). Jeroen is also endearingly human, especially the fact that he doesn't fill his T-shirt. The bit where he's staggering down the steps after a very bad trip, he's clearly not a skinny wretch (I'm not fond of him drawn as a wasp-waisted woman, either), but he's not straining his T-shirt sleeves to ripping point. Which is good. Let's be honest, how many guys would actually strain their T-shirt's sleeves? Would this be a sign to buy a size larger? Apollo and the Midnighter are clearly top-heavy what with all that muscle, but they're not ridiculous-looking. Indeed, Midnighter is rather yummy.And also has a child therefore ticking all my mental boxes of virility and health and strength (and brains, of course). In fact, if he wasn't gay (and also imaginary), he'd so be my perfect man. It also helps that he's not written as a fucking psychopath in this. What the hell was Mark Millar thinking?
I could be shallow and talk about the hot man sex. But I shan't. Instead, I shall focus on Swift, who is ohsowonderfulwhenbeingabused. Mmmm, Swift. Considering the fact that I took absolutely no notice of Swift in any of the other books, I was somewhat surprised at how sympathetic she was written in this. I actually cared about what happened to her. Once again, I point at the art (especially the panel showing a close up of her teeth grit in agony, OMGsogood). The gentle press of red in tiny splashes across her body also made her torture seem especially realistic. There's nothing more off-putting than garish floods of crimson and scarlett thrown over entire pages in order to convey suffering. Yes, we understand that some graphic novels are for mature readers. But, gents, you can convey pain and suffering with a tiny pin-prick of the red stuff, believe me.
So far, so good. What was wrong about this volume? First off, the silly mistake about Apollo's name was very annoying. Apollo is not a moon god, Ridley, he never was. Getting the more complicated mythology right but messing up this simple thing was very off-putting.
I also didn't like the amount of voice-overs / exposition bubbles within static panels. At times it verged on art-with-captions rather than actually something trying to convey a sense of progression. I understand that Ridley was attempting to understate rather than be bloody obvious, but at times it just felt like he was waxing lyrical at the expense of progressing the plot. The 'baddie' took too long to appear and wasn't adequately explained. What was his point (other than being a baddie)? What purpose did he serve? Who the fuck was Danny Chan? I'm still not clear on whether he was with the US govt, with the depressed guy, or with someone completely different.
I was also disappointed that although the Apollo/Midnighter row was nicely introduced (albeit with some exceedingly silly dialogue on the part of the Midnighter), it wasn't actually resolved. Not one word! They just looked at each other, which would have been fine if they were out of uniform or facing each other, but a side-long look in uniform with the Midnighter in the foreground and therefore blocking Apollo's body language was completely unreadable. They could have been communicating launch codes for all the emotional impact it had. All it needed was one word. One panel. Come on, it wouldn't have been that hard.
Thinking on it, I'd have to say that, wlthough the art was way pretty, I'm not sure if the storyline works in this medium. Perhaps it would have been better as a book, or as film, where different camera angles could have kept things visually interesting for all of that voice-over exposition. As it was, we had far too much explanatory text for the space available.
On the other hand, I also complained bitterly at Millar's need to have things exploding whilst the characters decide whether or not to have a cup of tea, so clearly I can't be pleased and should be put back in the box. Meh.
Oh, also, I've been working on 'A God All Mercy' a very small ficlet that I'm using to try to get into Riker's head. I think it still has a very long way to go, but I'm getting there... albeit slowly and with much hair-pulling. Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kakodaimon and athena25 for concrit. Comments etc welcome, as this is still a WIP, yeah?
Title: A God All Mercy
Summary: The Captain of the Enterprise receives a visit from Q. Set during "Parallels".
A/N: "A god all mercy is a god unjust." Edward Young.
*
The Q don't apologise.
The Q don't make allowances.
The Q don't fail.
Ha!
I suppose that this is my opportunity to beg, but I don't think that it'll make any difference. And I'm not going to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I glower and remain slumped at my desk, listening to the constant stream of damage reports flooding through the open comm.
Q is speaking at me. Not to me, you understand, not to an inferior being incapable of understading him, as he's always pointing out. And, like an inferior being, I can't understand a word he's saying. It could be the most important thing in the universe, but I wouldn't bet on it. He's obviously quite happy to talk without any input from me and I am frankly too tired to actually focus. To damned tired to care much either way. I haven't slept for five days, and for what? There's nothing I can do except pray that that the modifications hold, that we make it to the nebula. If we reach it, I think, we'll be safe.
I'm lying, and it shows how tired I am that I can almost make myself believe it.
The truth is, if we reach the nebula, we'll maybe have another week.
I'm not sure how long I've been staring at my scarred hands before he finally loses what little patience he has and slams his fists on the table.
I jump about a foot in the air, propelled by sheer adrenaline.
"What the hell?" I'm instantly annoyed with myself for gratifying his childish gesture, but he has my attention now. And just like that, I remember that Q could snap his fingers and I, along with all those left alive on this ship, would snap out of existence.
He glares at me, and for one instant I think he might do it. A small, traitorous part of me thinks that it might be a mercy.
Instead, his hands open, palms down, as he leans in to look at me. Have I even managed to stand? I don't know what I'm still doing awake. If we had a doctor left, she'd have my hide.
It's not by choice, I remind myself. If I could have a guarantee that we'd all survive the next day, or shift, or hour, I'd sleep, even if it's just in the ready room. But now… A captain has to stay awake to go down with his ship. The colours of the ready room blur and sway and fade in mottled black, and I bite clean dwn on my cheek in an effort to focus.
Focus, damn it. What if he's willing to listen? What if he's willing to help? What if there is the slightest chance that -
Should I beg, for the crew's sake? Would it make any difference?
I know the answer almost before I've finished the thought.
We are all going to die out here, and Q is going to watch.
Say it. Again.
We will die, and he will watch.
Again.
I remind myself of this, trying to keep what little is left of my pride. What wouldn't I trade on even the smallest chance that he might help?
We will die, and he will watch.
It is cold and it is brutal and it is completely accurate. If he wanted to help, I think, he would have done it by now. And not for me, either.
"Damn it, Riker, I will not be ignored!"
He snaps his fingers.
Q has this way of granting mercies that is completely merciless. He snaps his fingers, and I am wide awake, my body tingling with energy.
He snaps them again and the nebula is florid and purple outside the ready room viewer. Another gift from Q: one precious week to plot and to plan and to bury our dead.
"Damnit, Q –" I start, almost by reflex. Then I look down, and stop.
I stare at the remains of my desk where an artificial heart sits, dead centre, silent.
And a thought occurs to me, a thought I have tried very hard to stop myself thinking time and again: what would the captain do?
"His role was finished, so the Continuum finally let me end it."
For one gut-wrenching moment I am certain this isn’t real, that I finally fell asleep from exhaustion. I'm certain that if I look outside I'll see the empty space of stripped planets and destroyed stars. I'm certain that, even without the artificial heart, the Borg could have found ways to keep the Captain alive.
But Q does not apologise. He does not explain. And he does not lie.
Right now, he can't even bring himself to look at me.
What am I supposed to do? What would the captain do? I hate him for all he's done to us, to this crew and to the entire Federation. I hate him for giving me a power I was too arrogant to accept, and for taking it away just as easily. I blame him for everything that's happened, for every damned thing this has cost me.
But the whisper of doubt is gone from my mind as though it never existed, and I... I have enough humanity left in me to feel grateful for this, the smallest of possible mercies.
*
fin
Did I like the story as a whole? Yes. Mostly. Was it well written? For the most part. Forget the story for the moment. Look at the pretty art. Look at the pretty colouring. Yes, girls, I'm so completely in love with the colourist here. It's very subtle, not at all your typical comic book primary colour blocks. I'm especially in love with the shading of Apollo's corona, and with the series of panels showing different details of one larger picture, where the Midnighter is asleep in bed with Jenny Q with Apollo watching them and musing. So, so pretty.
It's also heartening to see the guys drawn once more as guys, rather than freak mutated chunks of muscle with a tiny tiny head stuck on top (I couldn't take Apollo seriously when his head was smaller than his bicep). Jeroen is also endearingly human, especially the fact that he doesn't fill his T-shirt. The bit where he's staggering down the steps after a very bad trip, he's clearly not a skinny wretch (I'm not fond of him drawn as a wasp-waisted woman, either), but he's not straining his T-shirt sleeves to ripping point. Which is good. Let's be honest, how many guys would actually strain their T-shirt's sleeves? Would this be a sign to buy a size larger? Apollo and the Midnighter are clearly top-heavy what with all that muscle, but they're not ridiculous-looking. Indeed, Midnighter is rather yummy.
I could be shallow and talk about the hot man sex. But I shan't. Instead, I shall focus on Swift, who is ohsowonderfulwhenbeingabused. Mmmm, Swift. Considering the fact that I took absolutely no notice of Swift in any of the other books, I was somewhat surprised at how sympathetic she was written in this. I actually cared about what happened to her. Once again, I point at the art (especially the panel showing a close up of her teeth grit in agony, OMGsogood). The gentle press of red in tiny splashes across her body also made her torture seem especially realistic. There's nothing more off-putting than garish floods of crimson and scarlett thrown over entire pages in order to convey suffering. Yes, we understand that some graphic novels are for mature readers. But, gents, you can convey pain and suffering with a tiny pin-prick of the red stuff, believe me.
So far, so good. What was wrong about this volume? First off, the silly mistake about Apollo's name was very annoying. Apollo is not a moon god, Ridley, he never was. Getting the more complicated mythology right but messing up this simple thing was very off-putting.
I also didn't like the amount of voice-overs / exposition bubbles within static panels. At times it verged on art-with-captions rather than actually something trying to convey a sense of progression. I understand that Ridley was attempting to understate rather than be bloody obvious, but at times it just felt like he was waxing lyrical at the expense of progressing the plot. The 'baddie' took too long to appear and wasn't adequately explained. What was his point (other than being a baddie)? What purpose did he serve? Who the fuck was Danny Chan? I'm still not clear on whether he was with the US govt, with the depressed guy, or with someone completely different.
I was also disappointed that although the Apollo/Midnighter row was nicely introduced (albeit with some exceedingly silly dialogue on the part of the Midnighter), it wasn't actually resolved. Not one word! They just looked at each other, which would have been fine if they were out of uniform or facing each other, but a side-long look in uniform with the Midnighter in the foreground and therefore blocking Apollo's body language was completely unreadable. They could have been communicating launch codes for all the emotional impact it had. All it needed was one word. One panel. Come on, it wouldn't have been that hard.
Thinking on it, I'd have to say that, wlthough the art was way pretty, I'm not sure if the storyline works in this medium. Perhaps it would have been better as a book, or as film, where different camera angles could have kept things visually interesting for all of that voice-over exposition. As it was, we had far too much explanatory text for the space available.
On the other hand, I also complained bitterly at Millar's need to have things exploding whilst the characters decide whether or not to have a cup of tea, so clearly I can't be pleased and should be put back in the box. Meh.
Oh, also, I've been working on 'A God All Mercy' a very small ficlet that I'm using to try to get into Riker's head. I think it still has a very long way to go, but I'm getting there... albeit slowly and with much hair-pulling. Many thanks to
kakodaimon and athena25 for concrit. Comments etc welcome, as this is still a WIP, yeah?Title: A God All Mercy
Summary: The Captain of the Enterprise receives a visit from Q. Set during "Parallels".
A/N: "A god all mercy is a god unjust." Edward Young.
*
The Q don't apologise.
The Q don't make allowances.
The Q don't fail.
Ha!
I suppose that this is my opportunity to beg, but I don't think that it'll make any difference. And I'm not going to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I glower and remain slumped at my desk, listening to the constant stream of damage reports flooding through the open comm.
Q is speaking at me. Not to me, you understand, not to an inferior being incapable of understading him, as he's always pointing out. And, like an inferior being, I can't understand a word he's saying. It could be the most important thing in the universe, but I wouldn't bet on it. He's obviously quite happy to talk without any input from me and I am frankly too tired to actually focus. To damned tired to care much either way. I haven't slept for five days, and for what? There's nothing I can do except pray that that the modifications hold, that we make it to the nebula. If we reach it, I think, we'll be safe.
I'm lying, and it shows how tired I am that I can almost make myself believe it.
The truth is, if we reach the nebula, we'll maybe have another week.
I'm not sure how long I've been staring at my scarred hands before he finally loses what little patience he has and slams his fists on the table.
I jump about a foot in the air, propelled by sheer adrenaline.
"What the hell?" I'm instantly annoyed with myself for gratifying his childish gesture, but he has my attention now. And just like that, I remember that Q could snap his fingers and I, along with all those left alive on this ship, would snap out of existence.
He glares at me, and for one instant I think he might do it. A small, traitorous part of me thinks that it might be a mercy.
Instead, his hands open, palms down, as he leans in to look at me. Have I even managed to stand? I don't know what I'm still doing awake. If we had a doctor left, she'd have my hide.
It's not by choice, I remind myself. If I could have a guarantee that we'd all survive the next day, or shift, or hour, I'd sleep, even if it's just in the ready room. But now… A captain has to stay awake to go down with his ship. The colours of the ready room blur and sway and fade in mottled black, and I bite clean dwn on my cheek in an effort to focus.
Focus, damn it. What if he's willing to listen? What if he's willing to help? What if there is the slightest chance that -
Should I beg, for the crew's sake? Would it make any difference?
I know the answer almost before I've finished the thought.
We are all going to die out here, and Q is going to watch.
Say it. Again.
We will die, and he will watch.
Again.
I remind myself of this, trying to keep what little is left of my pride. What wouldn't I trade on even the smallest chance that he might help?
We will die, and he will watch.
It is cold and it is brutal and it is completely accurate. If he wanted to help, I think, he would have done it by now. And not for me, either.
"Damn it, Riker, I will not be ignored!"
He snaps his fingers.
Q has this way of granting mercies that is completely merciless. He snaps his fingers, and I am wide awake, my body tingling with energy.
He snaps them again and the nebula is florid and purple outside the ready room viewer. Another gift from Q: one precious week to plot and to plan and to bury our dead.
"Damnit, Q –" I start, almost by reflex. Then I look down, and stop.
I stare at the remains of my desk where an artificial heart sits, dead centre, silent.
And a thought occurs to me, a thought I have tried very hard to stop myself thinking time and again: what would the captain do?
"His role was finished, so the Continuum finally let me end it."
For one gut-wrenching moment I am certain this isn’t real, that I finally fell asleep from exhaustion. I'm certain that if I look outside I'll see the empty space of stripped planets and destroyed stars. I'm certain that, even without the artificial heart, the Borg could have found ways to keep the Captain alive.
But Q does not apologise. He does not explain. And he does not lie.
Right now, he can't even bring himself to look at me.
What am I supposed to do? What would the captain do? I hate him for all he's done to us, to this crew and to the entire Federation. I hate him for giving me a power I was too arrogant to accept, and for taking it away just as easily. I blame him for everything that's happened, for every damned thing this has cost me.
But the whisper of doubt is gone from my mind as though it never existed, and I... I have enough humanity left in me to feel grateful for this, the smallest of possible mercies.
*
fin
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-02-04 08:59 pm (UTC)(Q has this way of granting mercies that is completely merciless. )
is so true. I liked that theme in the story.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-05 10:44 pm (UTC)