![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arch_calzenFandom: Cabin Pressure
Character(s), Pairing(s): Douglas, Martin, Carolyn, Arthur, various OCs. D/M
Rating: K for now, I suppose. Will go up in later chapters
Genre: mostly Romance, with a dash of some other genres
Word count: Ugh, will count when it's finished :D
Summary: Initially a fill for the CP kink meme. Prompt: "Neither Douglas or Martin have ever felt attracted to another man. But these feelings that build so slowly and surely, grown from friendship and companionship, are difficult to ignore. Before they well and truly realised what is happening, they've fallen in love with each other.
They almost can't believe it themselves."
A/N: Not much action here, because I originally planned to include more in this chapter, but it's already almost 14k symbols, so I'll have to split it in two; most probably I'll write down the tenth part tomorrow, if I have the time. But you can already see frankly broad hints on what will happen there ;)
Also, see the end of the chapter for notes.
Part 9
* * *
Douglas rubbed his eyes and shifted his shoulders in an attempt to get more comfortable on the old sofa – if the word ‘comfortable’ was applicable to the deformed piece of furniture. It squawked pitifully under his weight.
And once again all four of them were stuffed in the portakabin – this time dutifully waiting out their standby. It was the last day of their five days’ standby, and they would be able to leave in an hour, provided the customer didn’t show up finally.
It had been a long day, and eventually they fell silent, entertaining themselves individually. Douglas had claimed the sofa hours ago, so the other three people in the room sat at their respective desks.
Douglas looked to his left, gaze drifting slowly between the CEO and her son. Carolyn was apparently solving a crossword, frowning every know and then, sometimes pausing to type something on her laptop. Arthur seemed to be engrossed in reading, his brow wrinkled in concentration as he peered at his own laptop’s screen. Douglas shrugged mentally and shifted his glance to the right, where Martin was. The younger man appeared to be deep in thought, gnawing at his pen absently. Douglas could easily guess the general direction of Martin’s train of thought, as he often noticed Martin’s gaze flicking towards him from time to time. There was quite a lot to think about, though, so who was he to blame him?
Douglas almost started when a tune sounded in the otherwise quiet room, recognizing it instantly. Prelude to Tristan and Isolde by Wagner, and there was only one person whose name this tune was set to on his mobile phone. Douglas got up heavily and walked over to the coat rack, fishing the device out of his pocket.
“Long time no see,” he drawled, pressing the phone to his ear. “Well, technically, still no see, but you get the idea.”
“It’s been a while, hm?” the voice replied cheerfully. “Evening, Doug. Was wondering if I could pop in at yours tomorrow? Turned out I do need that synthethizer, after all.”
Douglas breathed out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Oh thank God, Mike, and there I feared you’d never take the blasted thing away. Takes up a lot of useful space, you know.”
“Yeah, about a square foot behind your kitchen door, huh?”
“And three and a half high, if you are inclined to know. I need that space, otherwise I have none for my Van Gogh,” Douglas complained half-heartedly. Carolyn’s head snapped up from her crossword as she eyed him with suspicion.
“You posh sod, hanging a genuine Van Gogh behind a kitchen door,” the voice laughed.
“You do remember that it was Laura’s picture?”
“Point taken. So, I’ll be there in the morning? Or you have any plans?”
“Suit yourself, I’m unlikely to go anywhere on my first day off this week. Most possibly you will have to wait until I deign to swan downstairs from my bedroom and let you in.”
“I can always break in through your window.”
“Again, suit yourself.”
“See you.”
Douglas ended the call and slipped the phone back in his pocket before returning to his seat. Settling down again, he caught Carolyn still eyeing him with an air of a predator counting a flock of sheep.
“If I can judge correctly that particular type of mercenary gleam in your eyes – which I can – then I safely assume you are thinking that the fact I own a genuine – though not a terribly huge – species of a late half-mad Dutch artist is a valid reason to cut down my salary. Sorry to disappoint, but you are sorely mistaken.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” the gleam diminished a bit, the predator hiding claws and showing teeth lazily, “not like it’s the first time you disappoint me, silly creature.”
“And there they say that stability is a sign of skill.”
“A skill not terribly useful, I’m afraid,” the woman retorted automatically, glancing down at her crossword and frowning in confusion.
“Hmm. ‘An arrangement when physical disorder originates from mental or emotional causes’,” she murmured to no one in particular, but clearly inviting the others to work their brains.
“Hypochondria?” Martin hazarded a guess from his corner. Douglas shot him a glance: the man hasn’t uttered a word for the last several hours; he seriously doubted the pilot was even in the real world.
“Nope, fourteen letters,” Carolyn shook her head. “Any other ideas?”
A pause threatened to stretch, only to be interrupted by Arthur.
“Psychostomatics!!” he yelped in triumph, twisting his upper body to look at his mother. “Psychostomatics,” Arthur repeated and nodded several times to emphasize his point. Douglas did his very best not to roll his eyes.
“Firstly, it is pronounced ‘psychosomatics’, unless you are talking about some dentists-related phobia. And secondly, Carolyn, I think he might be right.”
“Oh,” Carolyn frowned again, obviously perplexed. “Hm, indeed.”
“You are welcome, Mum!” Arthur chirped happily, returning to his previous position to look between Douglas and Martin. “Do you guys want to know how I knew that one?”
“Do we have a choice?” Douglas half-questioned, raising his eyes to the ceiling. Carolyn chuckled from behind her shield of a magazine, delighted by the obvious distress of someone that was not herself.
“This is really brilliant,” oblivious to his remark, Arthur clicked rapidly with his mouse before looking up at them again. “It’s a typology.”
“Oh please,” now Douglas could do nothing but outright moan. “We have already had that. Remember the time when you were obsessed over socionics?”
“Yeah, when you thpent the whole flight hadharding passengers with your guesses about their thychotypes,” Martin’s addition was a bit lisped as he put the pen back in his mouth. “’We fly your bodhies and define your thyches’, a new slogan for MJN.”
“That wa-as brilliant, wasn’t it,” Arthur’s eyes half-closed dreamily before he snapped back to attention. “Anyway, this typology is much more detailed than the previous one. And it’s more fun, as well.”
“Pray tell me, what can be more fun than labeling helpless victims with titles like ‘Gabin’, ‘Hamlet’ or ‘Dostoyevsky’,” Douglas couldn’t help feeling amused now.
Arthur practically bounced with excitement, now that he had found listeners to share with. “It’s a really brilliant thing. This typology, it’s based on psychological aspects, coupled with bringing up, relationship inside and outside a family, structure of said family and even stuff like possible injuries during prenatal period.”
“My, that sounds like something I wouldn’t ever suspect you’d read.”
“Me neither!” Arthur agreed excitedly, successfully muffling Martin’s chiding ‘Douglath’. “But it’s re-eally brilliant, chaps, you must read it as well. Or! I can just tell you some random bits if you don’t want to read the whole thing.”
When neither of them showed any inclination to read, Arthur continued, staring at the screen in concentration. “So, there are three main directories: the Sidhe, the Shifters, and the Beasts.”
“Not really flattering, this typology,” Martin took the pen out of his mouth and gave a small laugh, folding his arms on the desk and resting chin upon them.
“Shush, this is way more interesting than all those Huxleys and Zhukovs, indeed,” Douglas crossed his legs, settling back more comfortably. “Pray continue. I am reluctantly starting to wonder where we fit in this typology.”
“I don’t doubt for a second that you are from the latter directory.”
“Martin, what did I say about ‘shush’!” The younger man glared back as the pen found its way in his mouth yet again.
“Actually, I think Skip’s right, you are a Beast, Douglas!” Arthur announced, clicking to another page. Douglas raised his eyebrows. “A cool one, though. I mean, looks like all Beasts are cool.”
“Well, I was always sure that Douglas is an outright beast, really,” Carolyn sounded from behind her magazine. “I wonder, which one? Are there different types of them?”
“That’s the point, but you chaps just don’t let me continue! I think that you are a Master of Illusions.”
The portakabin went silent as the words sank in.
“Wait,” Martin was first to recover. “Do you really mean that even in a thypology where dhirectories are called after creepy mythical things, Douglath gets to be an acthually cheesy thype?”
Douglas felt his face adopting an unbearably smug expression. “See, Martin, even though you are the Captain, I am the Master, therefore I’m superior even in that aspect.”
“Supe- in wha- Douglas!” Martin sputtered, turning an exasperated shade of red.
“Masters of Illusions are brilliant,” Arthur continued, oblivious. “It says here, they are easily accepted and loved,” a snort from Carolyn, “independent and focused on their goal,” Martin’s cough sounded suspiciously like ‘whiskey’, “and can almost literally create a comfortable reality for themselves. Looks really like Douglas, doesn’t it? Hm, here’s more about Masters’ childhood, we can-”
“Spare us, dear heart, we have half an hour before we can finally scatter, don’t make it a minute longer,” Carolyn pleaded.
“Oh. Okay,” Arthur agreed easily. “To continue, I think I am a Merman, that’s a Sidhe.”
“Dear Lord, does that make me a Mermaid?” Carolyn put her magazine down, stopping any pretence of not listening to them.
“Um, no, Mum, it doesn’t work that way. Unlike accents, those types are not genetical.”
“Oh for the love of- Arthur, accents are not genetic, as I have already told you.”
“Shut up, Douglas, and let the knowing man talk,” Carolyn interjected sharply.
Martin gaped, the pen falling out of his mouth. “I’ve never thought I’d live to the day when Arthur would be called a knowing man.”
“And yet, and yet,” Carolyn sighed.
Arthur grinned broadly before continuing. “In fact, I think Mum is a Steel Guardian, they are really brilliant. Guardians are educated, able to stand up for themselves literally and metaphorically, rather precise than poetic (“Ah, so ‘imbeciles’ and ‘clots’ are considered to be precise definitions,” Martin giggled), prefer freedom and full responsibility for themselves, their marriages are rarely lasting- oh.”
“Yes, Arthur, ‘oh’,” Carolyn replied coolly. “Shall we move on?”
“Um. Yeah,” Arthur sounded perplexed before shaking it off and continuing. “Ah, and Steel Guardians are also from the Sidhe directory. Sidhe are brilliant!”
“Hm, I am carefully starting to hope that maybe my type would not sound as awful as the directories do, since all of yours seem to be alright.”
“Martin, I really see no reason to start counting on your luck now,” Douglas drawled.
“Oh, come on, Master-of-whatever!”
“Aw, don’t worry, Skip, at least you are not a Beast,” Arthur chirped.
“Oh great,” the man breathed out, “what am I, then?”
“You are a Shifter.”
“Is it good or bad? None of you is a Shifter.”
“Come on, Skip, all types are brilliant! Though you will most probably not like the one I think you are.”
“Which is..?”
A pause. Douglas made his face remain as blank as possible, awaiting the response in anticipation.
“…A Goat.”
That was that. Douglas almost howled in laughter, Carolyn’s giggles joining him half a second later.
“Se- seriously! A Goat!” the CEO managed chokingly.
“Oh, isn’t that amazing!” Martin huffed.
“Maaa,” Carolyn bleated in response, surprisingly accurately.
“Wait! Listen!” Arthur tried to get their attention. The laughter died down eventually as he spoke. “Goats are not that bad, actually. They are brave and persistent – just like Skip! – and they care about morality. It says here that their lives are never easy, but if there is someone who can survive under such circumstances, it is a Goat. See! It’s not that bad! Ah, and they also stare-”
“Like what?” Martin snapped in mild irritation, which was smoothed somewhat by the characteristics, but still remained quite vivid, and glared at Arthur.
“Um. Like… that.”
Martin sagged back in his chair, breathing out in a tired huff.
“Hm,” Arthur clicked several times with his mouse, apparently opening another page. “Whoa, here’s an interesting chart. Let’s see… Aww, it’s not finished yet. What a pity.”
“Is there anything useful, though?” Carolyn inquired.
“Naah, nothing that applies to us, I’m afraid. I mean, it says that your type, for example, conflicts with Elves the Sidhe, Bears the Shifters and Unicorns the Beasts, but that tells us nothing because none of us is an Elf, a Bear or a Unicorn.”
“What a pity, I’ve always wanted to be a unicorn when I was a kid,” Douglas cut in.
“Yeeaah. Hmm, nothing about my type… Oh, and you and Skip are symbiotic, now that is really brilliant!!”
“We are… what?” Martin echoed in confusion.
“Seriously, Martin, if you don’t know the meaning of the word ‘symbiotic’… And please don’t give me that look.”
“I know it, thank you! And what lo- Douglasss.”
Arthur grinned, looking between them. “It says it’s basically the same as the usual symbionts. Though I’m not sure I know what the usual symbionts are.”
“Er, well, the symbionts are those who create suitable conditions for each other, I guess,” Martin mused, trying hard to remember his Science classes. “One of them does or produces something the other one needs, and vice versa. I think. Sort of…” he trailed off, for the first time noticing Douglas’ curious glance and realizing how ambiguous that sounded.
“Ah, I see, totally get it now. And so, your types are symbiotic. Really brilliant! Applying this typology is like watching an ant farm, but instead of ants there are people! You know,” Arthur exclaimed enthusiastically. Martin sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face.
Arthur was just about to say something else, when Carolyn’s mobile phone beeped loudly.
“Ah, 10 PM sharp, job well done,” she said, switching off the alarm. “Scatter, monkeys, I don’t want to see any of you before Monday.”
* * *
* * *
That's it for now.
So, firstly, yes, this typology is an existing (and quite precise, if you ask me) thing, though I highly doubt it can be found in a language other than Russian; but I indeed can give a link if someone is interested.
Secondly, while the conflict part is correct, the symbiotic one was just made up, because there's really no info on those types in the chart yet :c
And thirdly, no, I doubt Arthur got them all correctly. Well, Douglas and himself are most likely correct, Carolyn most likely isn't, and Idk about Martin, but a Goat seemed a probable one :)
Character(s), Pairing(s): Douglas, Martin, Carolyn, Arthur, various OCs. D/M
Rating: K for now, I suppose. Will go up in later chapters
Genre: mostly Romance, with a dash of some other genres
Word count: Ugh, will count when it's finished :D
Summary: Initially a fill for the CP kink meme. Prompt: "Neither Douglas or Martin have ever felt attracted to another man. But these feelings that build so slowly and surely, grown from friendship and companionship, are difficult to ignore. Before they well and truly realised what is happening, they've fallen in love with each other.
They almost can't believe it themselves."
A/N: Not much action here, because I originally planned to include more in this chapter, but it's already almost 14k symbols, so I'll have to split it in two; most probably I'll write down the tenth part tomorrow, if I have the time. But you can already see frankly broad hints on what will happen there ;)
Also, see the end of the chapter for notes.
Part 9
* * *
Douglas rubbed his eyes and shifted his shoulders in an attempt to get more comfortable on the old sofa – if the word ‘comfortable’ was applicable to the deformed piece of furniture. It squawked pitifully under his weight.
And once again all four of them were stuffed in the portakabin – this time dutifully waiting out their standby. It was the last day of their five days’ standby, and they would be able to leave in an hour, provided the customer didn’t show up finally.
It had been a long day, and eventually they fell silent, entertaining themselves individually. Douglas had claimed the sofa hours ago, so the other three people in the room sat at their respective desks.
Douglas looked to his left, gaze drifting slowly between the CEO and her son. Carolyn was apparently solving a crossword, frowning every know and then, sometimes pausing to type something on her laptop. Arthur seemed to be engrossed in reading, his brow wrinkled in concentration as he peered at his own laptop’s screen. Douglas shrugged mentally and shifted his glance to the right, where Martin was. The younger man appeared to be deep in thought, gnawing at his pen absently. Douglas could easily guess the general direction of Martin’s train of thought, as he often noticed Martin’s gaze flicking towards him from time to time. There was quite a lot to think about, though, so who was he to blame him?
Douglas almost started when a tune sounded in the otherwise quiet room, recognizing it instantly. Prelude to Tristan and Isolde by Wagner, and there was only one person whose name this tune was set to on his mobile phone. Douglas got up heavily and walked over to the coat rack, fishing the device out of his pocket.
“Long time no see,” he drawled, pressing the phone to his ear. “Well, technically, still no see, but you get the idea.”
“It’s been a while, hm?” the voice replied cheerfully. “Evening, Doug. Was wondering if I could pop in at yours tomorrow? Turned out I do need that synthethizer, after all.”
Douglas breathed out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Oh thank God, Mike, and there I feared you’d never take the blasted thing away. Takes up a lot of useful space, you know.”
“Yeah, about a square foot behind your kitchen door, huh?”
“And three and a half high, if you are inclined to know. I need that space, otherwise I have none for my Van Gogh,” Douglas complained half-heartedly. Carolyn’s head snapped up from her crossword as she eyed him with suspicion.
“You posh sod, hanging a genuine Van Gogh behind a kitchen door,” the voice laughed.
“You do remember that it was Laura’s picture?”
“Point taken. So, I’ll be there in the morning? Or you have any plans?”
“Suit yourself, I’m unlikely to go anywhere on my first day off this week. Most possibly you will have to wait until I deign to swan downstairs from my bedroom and let you in.”
“I can always break in through your window.”
“Again, suit yourself.”
“See you.”
Douglas ended the call and slipped the phone back in his pocket before returning to his seat. Settling down again, he caught Carolyn still eyeing him with an air of a predator counting a flock of sheep.
“If I can judge correctly that particular type of mercenary gleam in your eyes – which I can – then I safely assume you are thinking that the fact I own a genuine – though not a terribly huge – species of a late half-mad Dutch artist is a valid reason to cut down my salary. Sorry to disappoint, but you are sorely mistaken.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” the gleam diminished a bit, the predator hiding claws and showing teeth lazily, “not like it’s the first time you disappoint me, silly creature.”
“And there they say that stability is a sign of skill.”
“A skill not terribly useful, I’m afraid,” the woman retorted automatically, glancing down at her crossword and frowning in confusion.
“Hmm. ‘An arrangement when physical disorder originates from mental or emotional causes’,” she murmured to no one in particular, but clearly inviting the others to work their brains.
“Hypochondria?” Martin hazarded a guess from his corner. Douglas shot him a glance: the man hasn’t uttered a word for the last several hours; he seriously doubted the pilot was even in the real world.
“Nope, fourteen letters,” Carolyn shook her head. “Any other ideas?”
A pause threatened to stretch, only to be interrupted by Arthur.
“Psychostomatics!!” he yelped in triumph, twisting his upper body to look at his mother. “Psychostomatics,” Arthur repeated and nodded several times to emphasize his point. Douglas did his very best not to roll his eyes.
“Firstly, it is pronounced ‘psychosomatics’, unless you are talking about some dentists-related phobia. And secondly, Carolyn, I think he might be right.”
“Oh,” Carolyn frowned again, obviously perplexed. “Hm, indeed.”
“You are welcome, Mum!” Arthur chirped happily, returning to his previous position to look between Douglas and Martin. “Do you guys want to know how I knew that one?”
“Do we have a choice?” Douglas half-questioned, raising his eyes to the ceiling. Carolyn chuckled from behind her shield of a magazine, delighted by the obvious distress of someone that was not herself.
“This is really brilliant,” oblivious to his remark, Arthur clicked rapidly with his mouse before looking up at them again. “It’s a typology.”
“Oh please,” now Douglas could do nothing but outright moan. “We have already had that. Remember the time when you were obsessed over socionics?”
“Yeah, when you thpent the whole flight hadharding passengers with your guesses about their thychotypes,” Martin’s addition was a bit lisped as he put the pen back in his mouth. “’We fly your bodhies and define your thyches’, a new slogan for MJN.”
“That wa-as brilliant, wasn’t it,” Arthur’s eyes half-closed dreamily before he snapped back to attention. “Anyway, this typology is much more detailed than the previous one. And it’s more fun, as well.”
“Pray tell me, what can be more fun than labeling helpless victims with titles like ‘Gabin’, ‘Hamlet’ or ‘Dostoyevsky’,” Douglas couldn’t help feeling amused now.
Arthur practically bounced with excitement, now that he had found listeners to share with. “It’s a really brilliant thing. This typology, it’s based on psychological aspects, coupled with bringing up, relationship inside and outside a family, structure of said family and even stuff like possible injuries during prenatal period.”
“My, that sounds like something I wouldn’t ever suspect you’d read.”
“Me neither!” Arthur agreed excitedly, successfully muffling Martin’s chiding ‘Douglath’. “But it’s re-eally brilliant, chaps, you must read it as well. Or! I can just tell you some random bits if you don’t want to read the whole thing.”
When neither of them showed any inclination to read, Arthur continued, staring at the screen in concentration. “So, there are three main directories: the Sidhe, the Shifters, and the Beasts.”
“Not really flattering, this typology,” Martin took the pen out of his mouth and gave a small laugh, folding his arms on the desk and resting chin upon them.
“Shush, this is way more interesting than all those Huxleys and Zhukovs, indeed,” Douglas crossed his legs, settling back more comfortably. “Pray continue. I am reluctantly starting to wonder where we fit in this typology.”
“I don’t doubt for a second that you are from the latter directory.”
“Martin, what did I say about ‘shush’!” The younger man glared back as the pen found its way in his mouth yet again.
“Actually, I think Skip’s right, you are a Beast, Douglas!” Arthur announced, clicking to another page. Douglas raised his eyebrows. “A cool one, though. I mean, looks like all Beasts are cool.”
“Well, I was always sure that Douglas is an outright beast, really,” Carolyn sounded from behind her magazine. “I wonder, which one? Are there different types of them?”
“That’s the point, but you chaps just don’t let me continue! I think that you are a Master of Illusions.”
The portakabin went silent as the words sank in.
“Wait,” Martin was first to recover. “Do you really mean that even in a thypology where dhirectories are called after creepy mythical things, Douglath gets to be an acthually cheesy thype?”
Douglas felt his face adopting an unbearably smug expression. “See, Martin, even though you are the Captain, I am the Master, therefore I’m superior even in that aspect.”
“Supe- in wha- Douglas!” Martin sputtered, turning an exasperated shade of red.
“Masters of Illusions are brilliant,” Arthur continued, oblivious. “It says here, they are easily accepted and loved,” a snort from Carolyn, “independent and focused on their goal,” Martin’s cough sounded suspiciously like ‘whiskey’, “and can almost literally create a comfortable reality for themselves. Looks really like Douglas, doesn’t it? Hm, here’s more about Masters’ childhood, we can-”
“Spare us, dear heart, we have half an hour before we can finally scatter, don’t make it a minute longer,” Carolyn pleaded.
“Oh. Okay,” Arthur agreed easily. “To continue, I think I am a Merman, that’s a Sidhe.”
“Dear Lord, does that make me a Mermaid?” Carolyn put her magazine down, stopping any pretence of not listening to them.
“Um, no, Mum, it doesn’t work that way. Unlike accents, those types are not genetical.”
“Oh for the love of- Arthur, accents are not genetic, as I have already told you.”
“Shut up, Douglas, and let the knowing man talk,” Carolyn interjected sharply.
Martin gaped, the pen falling out of his mouth. “I’ve never thought I’d live to the day when Arthur would be called a knowing man.”
“And yet, and yet,” Carolyn sighed.
Arthur grinned broadly before continuing. “In fact, I think Mum is a Steel Guardian, they are really brilliant. Guardians are educated, able to stand up for themselves literally and metaphorically, rather precise than poetic (“Ah, so ‘imbeciles’ and ‘clots’ are considered to be precise definitions,” Martin giggled), prefer freedom and full responsibility for themselves, their marriages are rarely lasting- oh.”
“Yes, Arthur, ‘oh’,” Carolyn replied coolly. “Shall we move on?”
“Um. Yeah,” Arthur sounded perplexed before shaking it off and continuing. “Ah, and Steel Guardians are also from the Sidhe directory. Sidhe are brilliant!”
“Hm, I am carefully starting to hope that maybe my type would not sound as awful as the directories do, since all of yours seem to be alright.”
“Martin, I really see no reason to start counting on your luck now,” Douglas drawled.
“Oh, come on, Master-of-whatever!”
“Aw, don’t worry, Skip, at least you are not a Beast,” Arthur chirped.
“Oh great,” the man breathed out, “what am I, then?”
“You are a Shifter.”
“Is it good or bad? None of you is a Shifter.”
“Come on, Skip, all types are brilliant! Though you will most probably not like the one I think you are.”
“Which is..?”
A pause. Douglas made his face remain as blank as possible, awaiting the response in anticipation.
“…A Goat.”
That was that. Douglas almost howled in laughter, Carolyn’s giggles joining him half a second later.
“Se- seriously! A Goat!” the CEO managed chokingly.
“Oh, isn’t that amazing!” Martin huffed.
“Maaa,” Carolyn bleated in response, surprisingly accurately.
“Wait! Listen!” Arthur tried to get their attention. The laughter died down eventually as he spoke. “Goats are not that bad, actually. They are brave and persistent – just like Skip! – and they care about morality. It says here that their lives are never easy, but if there is someone who can survive under such circumstances, it is a Goat. See! It’s not that bad! Ah, and they also stare-”
“Like what?” Martin snapped in mild irritation, which was smoothed somewhat by the characteristics, but still remained quite vivid, and glared at Arthur.
“Um. Like… that.”
Martin sagged back in his chair, breathing out in a tired huff.
“Hm,” Arthur clicked several times with his mouse, apparently opening another page. “Whoa, here’s an interesting chart. Let’s see… Aww, it’s not finished yet. What a pity.”
“Is there anything useful, though?” Carolyn inquired.
“Naah, nothing that applies to us, I’m afraid. I mean, it says that your type, for example, conflicts with Elves the Sidhe, Bears the Shifters and Unicorns the Beasts, but that tells us nothing because none of us is an Elf, a Bear or a Unicorn.”
“What a pity, I’ve always wanted to be a unicorn when I was a kid,” Douglas cut in.
“Yeeaah. Hmm, nothing about my type… Oh, and you and Skip are symbiotic, now that is really brilliant!!”
“We are… what?” Martin echoed in confusion.
“Seriously, Martin, if you don’t know the meaning of the word ‘symbiotic’… And please don’t give me that look.”
“I know it, thank you! And what lo- Douglasss.”
Arthur grinned, looking between them. “It says it’s basically the same as the usual symbionts. Though I’m not sure I know what the usual symbionts are.”
“Er, well, the symbionts are those who create suitable conditions for each other, I guess,” Martin mused, trying hard to remember his Science classes. “One of them does or produces something the other one needs, and vice versa. I think. Sort of…” he trailed off, for the first time noticing Douglas’ curious glance and realizing how ambiguous that sounded.
“Ah, I see, totally get it now. And so, your types are symbiotic. Really brilliant! Applying this typology is like watching an ant farm, but instead of ants there are people! You know,” Arthur exclaimed enthusiastically. Martin sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face.
Arthur was just about to say something else, when Carolyn’s mobile phone beeped loudly.
“Ah, 10 PM sharp, job well done,” she said, switching off the alarm. “Scatter, monkeys, I don’t want to see any of you before Monday.”
* * *
* * *
That's it for now.
So, firstly, yes, this typology is an existing (and quite precise, if you ask me) thing, though I highly doubt it can be found in a language other than Russian; but I indeed can give a link if someone is interested.
Secondly, while the conflict part is correct, the symbiotic one was just made up, because there's really no info on those types in the chart yet :c
And thirdly, no, I doubt Arthur got them all correctly. Well, Douglas and himself are most likely correct, Carolyn most likely isn't, and Idk about Martin, but a Goat seemed a probable one :)
no subject
Date: 2013-01-09 08:11 am (UTC)I mean this is really!!!
I love Knyzjna's typology but I never thought about applying it to the CP charactrers!!! And I really see Douglas as a Master of Illusions!!! I'm not sure about steel guardians and goat but just because i don't know the system thoroughly.
anyway - it was very clever! )
no subject
Date: 2013-01-09 08:52 am (UTC)Well, I based my assumptions on people I know, so there's a Master who acts exactly like Douglas, two Mermaids who are close to my Arthur-headcanon, and a Guardian who is similar to Carolyn, but not really; but Arthur can make a mistake, can't he?:)
If you've seen House MD, Cameron is an acknowledged Goat, I believe she and Martin are similar in some way.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-10 07:51 am (UTC)now I think I prefer ayurvedictypology)
*runs to read next chapter*
no subject
Date: 2013-01-11 11:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-11 02:23 pm (UTC)and I think that basics of Ayurveda are very simple, - as all basics.
In russian net I know this site, http://www.darshi.ru/aurveda/vata/
where you can pass the test and define your type, and then read about types. it's a bit - well, a lot - poetical, but anyway. ) and, as Knyajna's typology, ayurveic typology is based in the disbalance, and it's supposed that being healthy means learning to be balanced so you won't belong to any type but have all the "doshas" (energies) in balance )
no subject
Date: 2013-01-12 11:22 am (UTC)Not a doctor, not yet (hopefully), just training for :D
Ah, now I remember what confused me when I poked my nose in there last year: the number of types; after Knyajna with her, what, thirty-something types? Though I am quite sure that's just an initial impression, I simply have to read more.