Current location:	futon
Current mood:	contemplative
Current music:	Wagner - "Flight of the Valkyries"
Entry tags:	a day in the life, bartimaeus, fanfiction

A Day update; rough draft 06
A Day in the Life has been updated with Chapter 17. That's not all, though. While reorganizing my files, I found the ORIGINAL Day in the Life draft. This was written somewhere between March and May of 2006 - about a year before I started work on A Day in the Life - and it was a Barty AU fic with no magic, just like ADITL. However, it was markedly different. I only got about halfway through the first chapter, but I thought it was interesting reading it. So naturally, I'm going to post it here with commentary!

I now present you with the rough draft of the unwritten story:


One



“Damn it, Jabor, I don’t give a rat’s arse if you don’t like the deal! Money is money! Money is power! Money is happiness!” The man paused and glanced away from the phone. “Okay, maybe I went a wee bit overboard there. I was watching a documentary on that real estate mogul yesterday – you know, the one with that television show. I think he brainwashed me. Blasted Americans.”


And Jabor pops up. As of Chapter 17, he hasn't shown up in ADITL, but here he's the third word! And yes, the man referenced is Donald Trump, if it wasn't extremely obvious (which it was).


A blonde with rimmed glasses tapped her watch importantly. “Mister Dunning, your meeting is in two minutes!”


“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving her off. “Listen, Jab, I’m going to have to call you back. But you tell those packers that if they don’t have the meat ready, you are going to come down there personally with a cleaver and spread their limbs across the warehouse. Good, good. Bye.”


He casually flipped the cell phone into his pocket and gave a toothy grin to his secretary. “Sorry, Lisa, but Jabor’s having a fit about this deal. I think this might be worse than the time Fack and I stole his refrigerator.” I'm not sure if Faquarl's been called Fack in ADITL, but I like the nickname!


“Mister Dunning, the board of trustees is waiting for you,” she hissed as she ushered him to an expensive-looking ash door. “I really couldn’t care less about this deal. No offense.”


“And frankly, I really couldn’t care less about trying to appease seven old men and an old lady who have more terminal diseases between them than all of the Southern Hemisphere.” He straightened his tie. “Think I look orderly enough, Lisa?”


“You look dashing, sir.”


He grinned. “Remind me to give you a raise.” Contrasted with ADITL... where Nat is threatened with a decrease in salary.


“You said that last year when I picked up that present for your daughter on Christmas Eve and I still haven’t gotten it.” She sighed. “Go on, now. They’re waiting.”


He adjusted his cuffs, smoothed back his unruly black hair (this was before I decided that he should look like Simon Pegg), and threw the doors open in the most dramatic fashion he could think of. As they swung shut behind him, he looked at his board of highly wealthy investors and offered a toothy smile.


“How are we doing, gentlemen?” Several responded politely. “And you too, Miss Whitwell?”


“Fine, as always,” she said, pursing her lips in an attempt at a smile.


“Good, good.” He took his seat at the head of the table and smoothed out the papers set in front of him. “What’s the latest report on our tech industry?”


“Doing well,” piped up an old man in the back. “We’ve just begun work on a new microprocessor that will increase our stake in the market by up to five percent.”


“Yes, yes, good, good. And our stores?”


“Leading almost every field,” said a man with thick glasses. Sholto Pinn was well-known throughout the corporate world, and was the youngest of the board at a sprightly sixty-four years old. “Although our meat industries –”


“I just spoke with the head of our meat division and we’re about to land a major deal that should push us into the black.” Having Jabor as the head of the meat division was just too tempting. He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “It took a little convincing from myself and our CEO, but we got the job done. What about our textbook ventures? Are they doing better?”


“In excellent shape.”


“Good.”


Whitwell stared over her spectacles at him – not a good sign. “If that’s all for the recap, the board was looking to inquire if perhaps you’d be willing to sell off any more of your stock –”


“No, not happening,” he said quickly, having heard this proposition many times before. “I like having control, and I don’t want the money. My granddaughter’s five, though, so call me when she goes to college.”


“Yes. Of course.” Whitwell forced another smile. “Because you’ll need the money then.”


Suddenly there was a buzzing in his pocket, and with well-practiced grace he drew out his cell phone. “Damn. My son’s lecture at Oxford is today. I’d forgotten.” He pulled out his chair and bowed to the board. “Thank you for your time. If you would so kindly give a briefing to my secretary, I would be much obliged. Have a nice day.”


He sped out of the room, not even bothering to pick up the papers on the table. The board members were of a varied opinion: some were near unconsciousness, some were merely shaking their heads.


Pinn just chuckled. “That Bartimaeus Dunning is quite the character.”


Okay, a lot of notes here. First of all, Barty has a last name here. If you hadn't noticed, in ADITL it's somewhat of a running gag that no one seems to know Barty or Nat's last names. In this fic I decided that Nat's last name would just be Underwood, although in this short segment it never showed up. Not sure why I picked Dunning.

Also, Bartimaeus is much more powerful and is much wealthier than he is in ADITL. While I think the concept of Barty getting some of the power he occasionally desires is interesting, ultimately that was one of the reasons I binned this. He was supposed to act as the foil to Simon Lovelace (who was always going to be the villain in either fic), and he was supposed to get Nat and Kitty involved in everything. Can't remember how, though.

-



The inside of the flat stunk of something – although nobody was quite sure what (and perhaps that was the most disturbing part about it) – and it was a mess. Clothes were scattered about on the sofas, on the tables, on the lamps, and any other object imaginable. There were several books here and there, but all were worn and tattered.


In that flat lived three young men. The first young man was an intelligent lad with razor-sharp wits, though most merely thought of him as quirky due to his eccentric nature. He wasn’t much for sports, or anything that might get him hurt, but he did like watching the old sitcoms late at night on the television, and that was what he did with his spare time. He worked at a coffeehouse down the street called Druids’, and it wasn’t a well-paying job, but he was lucky to have it all the same, and was quietly saving money to possibly get into a minor university and begin studying criminology. He was quite average-looking, being average in just about every physical detail: he was of average height and average weight, although he did have ill-kept reddish brown hair that would catch the attention of those around him.


Yes, Morris. I wanted Nat to have roommates, but I didn't like the idea of Jakob or having Fred and Stanley together. In the end I thought Morris didn't fit in any of this so again, I binned it. Although he was going to be a much unhappier character in this fic, incidentally.


The first young man was sitting on the sofa when the second young man came home at around four thirty. The second young man was tall and slender with medium length black hair that was neat and crisp. He was a quietly handsome fellow, and like his cohort was intelligent – in fact, he was considerably more intelligent than the first young man, which was not an easy feat. He was hard-working and dedicated, if not a little attracted to power and wealth and willing to go to extreme measures to get what he desired, although some just admired this.


“Morr, what’s on the telly?”


The first young man didn’t look up. “A Doctor Who rerun.”


“Which doctor?”


“Seventh.”


“Ah, my favorite. Turn it up.”


At some time around midnight the third young man arrived. The first was already asleep, and the second was reading a book, too enraptured to even look up. He was of average height and muscular build, with short brown hair and a heavyset jaw. He was very aggressive, yet very loyal to his friends, as everyone knew.


“Hey, Nat,” he said wearily as he threw his jacket down on the floor. “Morris already asleep?”


“Yes, he’s got to be there at six tomorrow morning,” replied his counterpart, still not glancing upwards. “How was business tonight, Fred?”


I completely ignored that a psychopath with a knife obsession and someone as neurotic as Nat could never get along. Martin would've been a much better choice.


He shrugged as he flopped down on the sofa. “All right. George says that the Frog should be packed tomorrow night. They’re holding some poker tournament, I think. Sam said he might let me help out at the bar.”


“You’re not of age.”


“I will be,” Fred said with a grin. “My birthday’s tomorrow, remember?”


“Happy birthday, then.”


“It’s tomorrow, Nat.”


“I know,” he yawned. “But it’s five minutes past twelve. It’s already tomorrow.”


I don't really remember where it was going from here, but basically Nat was about eighteen and working to get money to go to school. He was going to end up taking a job at a university that Kitty attended, and somehow they were going to end up meeting Bartimaeus, etc, etc. I got tired of the idea, so I scrapped it, and a year later ADITL popped into my head. I'm much happier with the new fic, but this was an interesting idea. Hmmmmmmm.



Obviously I like song titles for fic titles.