Challenge #00056: Human is as Human Does

When blandness strikes! Also include an explosion of confetti.

Certain words are a portent of doom.

“I’m bored,” is definitely two of them. From Shayde, very much so.

“I told you to subscribe to the calendar of events,” said Rael.

“I did. It kept spammin’ me in weird languages.”

One of these days, she was going to learn not to tick checkboxes she didn’t understand. “I’ll help you fix that, next Threesday. I have an hour or two to spare.

"I’ll bake ye a cake.”

Mmmm… cake… Shayde was under the assumption that the way to his heart was through his stomach, and Rael was not about to let that assumption be dissolved any time soon.

“I’m still bored.”

So much for that. He’d just have to do his utmost to keep her from doing anything… excessively human.

*

30 minutes later….

There was a conga line. Shayde was in the lead with a traffic cone on her head and a pair of unexplained maracas vigorously shaking in her hands. She and the other humans were singing an ancient song vastly appropriate for the atmosphere.

“We’ve got cabin fe-ver/ We’re flipping our ban-da-nas/ Been lost at sea/ So long that we/ Have simply gone ba-na-nas!”

Someone set off an explosion of confetti. It went off like someone making a balloon squeak.

“I know what this is,” said Sherlock, appearing as usual behind Rael’s shoulder. “What I want to know is why you didn’t stop it.”

“Couldn’t,” corrected Rael. “I did everything except turn myself into a pretzel.”

“And yet,” Sherlock gestured at the gyrating humans, “Silly Season has started early.”

Tourists were gathering to take photographs and videos for the folks back home. And following the tourists came the mobile hucksters. And following the hucksters… were the criminal element. Thus making Security’s job all that much more difficult.

Silly Season or not, Shayde owed him more than just a cake.

[Muse food remaining: 10. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]

Challenge #00055: Slow Progress

The fourth day of therapy for the man who’s ‘Appreciation’ for Julie was dashed by Shayde’s particular brand of intervention.

Day four. The human man known on his paperwork as John Smith still rocked himself in place. He still preferred a soft, gentle environment. He did not want any variety of toy that had eyes.

He had, however, finally stopped repeating, “They wanted to eat me.”

Orsiz'edand'l viewed this as a positive sign. Human insanity fascinated her to such an extent that she made it her life’s work. And this was an excellent study.

Shayde - a subject with her own paper in progress - had simply said that she had 'done a number’ on the man for pressing an unwelcome suit on Julie Rzepczynski. There followed paragraphs on the man’s character based entirely on a level of perception that no other known congiscent shared.

Orsiz'edand'l preferred to get a subject’s story from their own point of view. And, since John Smith had apparently stopped saying, “They wanted to eat me,” now was the time to try and get it.

“Good morning, Mr Smith.”

“…the monster…” he whispered. “The monster said…”

“What did the monster say?”

“She said… I had to confess. To get rid of the things in my darkness. They’re horrible. And I made them. They wanted to eat me.”

“Yes,” she acknowledged. “So you’ve said. What do you want to confess?”

“…everything…” Mr Smith rocked back and forth for a minute. Holding tight to a plush pillow in lieu of a soft toy. “My name is not John Smith. It’s Gareth… Gareth Wifnikov-Smythe. I’m from… Greater Deregulation Hubwards. I was… exiled. Excommunicated. Because of my love for children.”

Orsiz'edand'l remembered a vile word from Shayde’s testimony. Pedo. Short for Pedophile. A lover of children in all the wrong ways. “And how did you… love… these children?”

“I love… their innocence. Their purity. Their honesty. When they grow up, they learn to lie, cheat and steal…”

Obviously, this man had a romanticised view of childhood. Human children were the worst bunch of thieves, con-people and outright liars she had ever met.

“I want to have all of that purity. And love it with everything I have. Everything I am. I would make love to it, if I could.”

“And teach them to lie to their parents by not telling them how you loved them?” Orsiz'edand'l prompted. It seemed to be the chief blindfold that historical pedophiles managed to apply to themselves.

“Their parents wouldn’t understand. But Julie… all Julie has is her dog.”

“I rather think Julie has this entire station as company.”

“Yes. …yes…” Gareth rocked. “Community. There’s no such thing as a child without… community. I told myself… the community was ignorant. They had to be… removed…” He rocked himself for another minute. “But I was the one who was bad, wasn’t I?”

Orsiz'edand'l smiled a human-friendly smile. “That’s right, Gareth. You were bad. Loving someone as… thoroughly… as you chose to; when that someone is unprepared for such love is harmful to that someone. Real love wants to benefit the person that it loves.”

“…i wanted to take…” said Gareth. “All I wanted was to take. I had reasons. They were bad reasons. And I made monsters in my darkness that want to eat me.”

*

Shayde, watching on the other side of a one-way wall, nodded. “Good,” she said. “He got it.”

[Muse food remaining: 11. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]

Challenge #00054: Appreciation

The unfortunate incident at the art exhibit hosted by the woman and the helper dog.

Rael never saw the point of clothes that existed just to be seen in. Nevertheless, he pretty much *had* to wear his dressiest JOAT coat and neatest clothing for this. Shayde, on the other hand, took to Show like a duck to water.

He knew for a fact that she had spent most of the day in a salon getting her hair turned into the fabulously interesting gordian knot with some decorative bells for the courtesy of the visiting Meeyahndans also visiting the exhibit. Therefore, how she got into the black glittery dress with no visible means of support was a mystery.

Black did not blend in, tonight. It showed up her obsidian flesh to its best. Rael suspected some of her scientifically un-refutable ‘magic’ was involved.

The exhibit was entitled simply Julie. It was a Julie in rainbows, with a heart on one side and a dog’s paw-print on the other.

“This is th’ kid wi the doggy helper, yeah?” she murmured.

Once again, Shayde had managed to grasp all of the less-than-politically-correct key elements and mash them into one sentence. “Julie is the same physical age as yourself,” said Rael, diplomatically keeping his observations about mental/psychological age to himself. “She had an erratic reaction that left her… developmentally trapped. Her parents still have to work, and where they work is inherently dangerous for someone like Julie. Nanny the dog is an Augment who is also a full-time companion. Together, they make one functional being.”

“We’re still goin’ tae a gallery hosted by a girl and her dog.”

Rael winced. “Please don’t say that out loud again…”

The doors finally opened, allowing guests to enter with the faintly melodious chiming of bells. Even Rael had chosen to wear a bell-anklet for the occasion.

Meeyahndans did not like people sneaking up on them.

For five minutes, Shayde had no other comment but, “Aaaahhh…” or “Wow…” and all was at peace.

Rael should have known it would never last.

He heard Julie’s rapid-fire monotone. “I don’t want him in here. He makes me feel bad.”

Nanny’s quieter rote phrases, “We must be polite. We have guests. We keep our voices down.”

“Na-neee… he’s nasty.”

Shayde got involved, as she always did, by following the conversation to its source and sticking her metaphorical nose right in it.

“What’s goin’ on then?”

Julie, resplendent in rainbows and frills, pointed to an otherwise staid looking gentlemen bearing chocolates and flowers. “I don’t like him, he’s not really nice. And he won’t go away.”

Rael arrived just in time to see Shayde’s bioluminescent eyes flare red. He didn’t know what she saw with her 'true lights’, but he knew it angered her.

Shayde put on a smile that could shame a shark. “Let me guess. Ye’ve come here tae declare yuir love fer Julie where everyone can see and hear, yeah?”

“Shaydethere'snoneedforthissecurity'sonitsway,” Rael managed.

But she was currently ignoring him. She was holding the gaze of the staid man in the nice suit.

“I do love Julie,” he said. “With a power beyond the stars.”

“And ye cannae ken tha’ no means no.”

“My love will not be denied. Her lips say 'no’, but I know her heart says 'yes’.”

Julie found solace in Nanny’s arms. Nanny, confused by it all, had reverted to repeating, “Good-girl. Good-girl,” over and over again.

“That’s funny, I’ve never heard a heart talk. What do they sound like?”

“Pleasedon'taskhimifhismothercansew…” begged Rael.

“George Takei,” said the man.

“Yer hilarious,” Shayde deadpanned. “And I understand gettin’ physical aboot all this is vastly inappropriate. It’ll spook th’ Meeyahndans.”

Okay. This was new.

“But I don’t have tae touch ye t’ teach you a lesson.” She theatrically gestured with one manicured hand.

The man, chocolates, flowers and all, vanished into his own shadow with a faint tingling of his own bells.

“Shayde…” Rael warned. “Security would like to have someone to arrest…”

Julie, meanwhile, was cheering, applauding and jumping up and down.

Shayde curtsied with a, “M'lady. If ye’ll excuse me, I have some trash to throw out.”

Rael followed her as she sauntered towards the doors. Watched in fascination as she put her hand in to her own shadow and pulled the man out.

He was now visibly distressed, and looked like he’d been dragged backwards through a hedge. The flowers and chocolates dropped from his nerveless fingers and shattered on the floor.

“…they wanted to eat me…”

“You’ve just met the things from yer own darkness,” said Shayde. “The best way to get rid of them is start with a confession. Get treatment. And if ye cannae completely get rid of 'em, at least make 'em do somethin’ constructive. An’ no more botherin’ little girls, ye got it?”

“…they wanted to eat me…”

“He’ll get it.”

Rael boggled. All things considered, a punch in the face might have been kinder.

[Muse food remaining: 11. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]

Challenge #00054: Underground

Evoverse: Sara encounters the Morlocks.  Up to you what happens next, but I am genuinely curious *chinhands*

Cold. Wet. Hurt.

Okay. Alive. Alive is always good. Remember the three O’s. Objective, Orientation, Orders.

Objective. Um. Getting out of here would be nice.

Orientation. It’s dark. Way too dark. Wind-up lantern in right hip-pouch. Get it. Wind it up. Find out where one is. Find out the damage.

Ow. That was going to hurt when she warmed up.

Orders… orders were… um. Oh yes. Go home.

This was not home.

First things first, patch self up. She had hand sanitiser amongst her medkits. That would do for cleaning. Honey for antiseptic. Various patches for her hurts. No broken bones, that was always good.

Space blanket for temperature control. Vital.

Someone was watching her. A little kid.

“Hello, sweetie?” Sara tried. “What’s a nice little kid like you doing in an oubliette like this?”

The child just stared.

“Am I blending into the brickwork?”

She shook her head ‘no’.

“I see you don’t talk to strangers. Smart kid. I don’t have candy. Just hardtack and gum. And judging by the way you don’t turn a hair at my blue-ish appearance, I’d guess you know some mutants.”

Nod. Wave with an almost comically-oversized hand.

“Ah, you *are* a mutant. I see. It can’t be just you in these tunnels. Your clothes are too clean, for a start. And you’re very well fed, if you don’t mind me noticing. Someone’s helping you out, yes?”

Nod.

“Do they know you’re here?”

Someone morphed outwards from a wall. “We know she’s here,” said an asian-looking man with missing upper and lower cartilage on his nose. “Torpid doesn’t talk.”

Sara bowed at the child from her seat. “Greetings, Lady Torpid. I go by the code-name Chameleon, myself. And you, Sir Wallflower? Are introductions in order, or am I waiting a deeper, darker and danker dungeon?”

“We were waiting for you to wake up. You’re heavier than you look.” He gestured for her to follow. “And turn that light off.”

“I’m night-blind. Sorry. I can turn the candlepower right down if that would suit. I -um- like to see where to put my feet. Is that all right?”

He glared at her, rolled his eyes, and growled, “Whatever.”

Sara turned the candlepower of her lantern right down and wrapped her free arm up in foil. “Would you mind holding my hand, Lady Torpid?” she whispered. “I’m feeling a little scared…”

Torpid grinned and held her hand. Her code-name indicated that she had powers that would incapacitate a body and, given her general respect for personal space in combination with her age, it had to be touch-related.

No child should ever be missing a hand to hold.

She counted her paces and the lefts and rights in order, as well as the ups and downs because, when you get down to it, underground is a three-dimensional space.

And then they hit the Cavern.

It was a topsy-turvy world of stalactites and crystals and, in its way, another world. Sara turned off the lantern. She didn’t need it in here.

“This is our best-kept secret,” said her guide. “We call it the Sanctuary.”

“Sanctum sanctorum,” Sara whispered. “How can you stand to go to the surface knowing you’re leaving this?”

“We need food.”

“And you’re not using hydroponics?”

“Some of us can’t get by on vegetables.”

“Well, I’ve been experimenting with microfarming. I’m guessing you guys aren’t as fussy as some of my compatriots? They’re always telling me, Sara you just can’t eat worms. Sara, why did you feed me crickets? Sara, that risotto you’re cooking had *better* have meat from an accepted farm animal… Honestly. One batch of Hunan Surprise and people act like I’m constantly trying to poison them.”

Sir wallflower stopped so he could boggle at her. “Maybe you should talk to Callisto.”

Callisto did not live up to her mythical namesake. She had an eyepatch, a tendency to slouch, and a posture that bespoke of a vicious streak so wide that it eclipsed half the solar system. She wore faux fatigues, but had the musculature to back them up. Her entirety of being said, Don’t fuck with me.

“So riddle me this,” said Callisto. “Why do you get the fancy gear and we have to scrape?”

“Given the crystalline structures in this chamber, I’d hazard that you managed to escape detection. I know Xavier would be willing to help–”

“We don’t need his help!”

Sara frowned. “Um. You were the one complaining about having to scrape. If fancy gear is the bone of contention, I’m certain we could come up with an equit–”

“You think you can just enlist us? Just like that? A few fancy words and we’re all your helpless minions.”

“Dear, if I could make minions with fancy words, I’d have Duncan Matthews on a leash.”

That made her laugh. “Fine. We bought you down here because you’re the most likely to leave us be when we tell you to fuck off.”

When, Sara noted, not if. “Am I a consultant?”

“Unpaid, yes.”

“How do you feel about eating insect protein?”

[Muse food remaining: 1. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]

Challenge #00053: Cry Me a River

The cacophony of circumstances that allows Storm to discover Scott Summers indeed crying over spilled milk.

Ororo woke when she heard the smash. Air currents in the mansion had not changed, so no-one had broken in. Yet someone was roaming about, all the same. She summoned a ball of lightning as an improvised lantern and set it safely above her head so she could see what was going on.

Professor, sound asleep. Logan was out on one of his roaming quests, so she didn’t need to worry about him. Jean, deep in slumber. Scott–

Was not in his bed.

He’d left it neat, and taken his cane, Therefore, he hadn’t left under duress.

Soft noises echoed up from the kitchen.

Ororo went down to discover the voluntarily-blind boy in the middle of a mess. He had evidently tried to make hot chocolate and, being unfamilliar with the kitchen, smashed some things and spilled the milk.

And, given that Mr Winters was a world class ass, he was now breaking down over it.

Ororo dismissed the lightning ball and turned on the electric lights. He had cut himself, but he was literally crying over… oh dear.

She fetched the paper towels. “There, now. It’s all right. It’s only milk. We can get more, tomorrow. After we fix up the kitchen so you know where everything is.”

[Muse food remaining: 2. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]

Challenge #00051: The Perils of Temporal Interference

In-a: Ancient Greece/Rome (your choice, but traveler is stuck with no way of returning to home time)
With-a: Time Travel Cheat Sheet (link #1, link #2, or just Google Image Search Time Travel Cheat Sheet)
While-a: Citizen is being obstructionistBonus if you show the aftermath, and how half-remembered History lessons and the cheat sheet avoided the Dark Ages

It should have worked. It was perfectly calculated down to the second.

But Evan had forgotten about planetary motion through time. He was lucky there was a tree, there. He was really lucky the Earth was still in roughly the same place.

Luck had nothing to do with the cheat sheet, though. Five pages of tightly-spaced text and useful images of coin, persons of interest, and places.

This place looked nothing like ancient Rome.

Ancient Rome never had bamboo.

Evan climbed carefully down - rural medicine never changed, and was full of words starting with ‘un’. Unhygenic. Unreliable. Unmedicinal. Okay. He had a compass in with the other useful things in his pack. All he had to do was remember basic survival orientation.

Downhill and downstream. Sooner or later, you hit a town. Then get some directions.

And that was when he really knew it had all gone pants.

The rural citizens did not look like the rural citizens of ancient Rome. They looked more like the rural citizens of ancient China.

Oh… shit…

He had two options. Take a two-to-five year hike along the silk road and pick up his meddling late or…

He knew some Mandarin thanks to his grandma. He could learn the rest. This was a time when anyone could get a position they wanted if they could pass the exams.

And the emperors were always after some potion of longevity.

He knew his chemistry. It was one of the skills he’d learned to meddle in ancient Rome. Likewise some basic herbology and the foods it would be wise to eat.

He started smallish. The gold in his pack would raise questions, since he’d minted it himself. But one ounce of gold was one ounce of gold, no matter where it came from. He bought a cart and some sandals and a 'proper’ haircut from someone who knew their stuff. He exchanged some of his gold for local coin, as well as some herbs he knew were efficacious.

Then he started curing people.

It didn’t take long for word to spread around. In two months, he was before the emperor. Who was showing the signs of mercury poisoning, as well as the sallow hue of liver trouble.

“I must warn the gracious emperor that some of my methods include blood-letting.”

“Yet you rarely use leeches,” said the emperor.

“Leeches have their uses, in moderation,” Evan allowed. “I find much more knowledge in the study of blood.”

“Yes. We have seen your notes. What language is this written in?”

“The language of my home, Friidonia, your majesty.”

“You will teach some students, should your methods succeed. Should they fail…”

Yeah. He knew. “I understand, your eminence.”

The first thing he did was throw out all the potions with mercury in them. And the alchemists who used and endorsed mercury. He put the emperor on a diet that would take all the toxins out and introduced the man to colloidal silver.

A combination of diet, exercise and herbal teas, all wrapped in mumbo-jumbo of course, saw the liver heal and the illnesses leak away from the emperor.

Working out how to create oxygen in his lab and pipe it into the emperor’s bedchamber helped the old man feel awake and vigorous the next morning. And the right style of mumbo-jumbo helped keep him active and got him healthier.

Then came the students. Or rather, the students’ exams.

It was sheet after sheet of poetry.

“What in the name of the four dragons is this?”

“Your potential students, honoured physician.”

“They wrote poems.”

“Yes. The best poet is one most suited to serve the emperor.”

“Ah.” Evan picked up the sheets and threw them in the fire. “I don’t want poets. I want the kind of people who ask questions, not the kind of people who think they know all the answers.”

He took them for tours through his lab in groups of four. First, the best poets then down the list of official approval until he found one who asked a question.

The question was, “What is that Friidonian chart on your wall?” the girl asking pointed to the table of elements poster he had placed out of direct sunlight.

“You can stay and learn,” said Evan.

He found students amongst those who couldn’t write a line of poetry. He found one cleaning the floor.

And then he found the emperor in his classroom.

“I expected a certain amount of nonsense from you,” said the emperor. “But you reject the highest amongst my scholars and accept… the unclean.”

“I’ve purified them with my own methods,” Evan said. “And as I told your school administrator, I want the students who ask questions. Not the ones who think they know all the answers.”

“Why?” said the emperor.

“Because they will be interested in finding the answer.”

The emperor stayed for the time he had, which Evan used as a lesson on dumbing down science to a level the client can understand. This involved demons, dragons, and malevolent forces working against the rule of heaven and nature combined.

The five of them came up with a code, which also included the table of elements. The floor cleaner drew up a wall mural, a real work of art, that included working herbal remedies and dietary supplements cross-referenced with existing pseudoscience.

She knew. The greatest challenge was to get the patient to swallow the medicine. Including the medicine of how to keep an empire strong and healthy.

Evan was an old man when China discovered Rome. Like everywhere else they discovered, they established an embassy and small trade colony and documented the living crap out of extant civilization they found there.

Like everywhere else, they offered education and medicine in the native language and superstitions.

Evan had to wonder if the Australian natives would be happier about that than how it turned out in his own history. Hell, he wondered how history would write this down.

He changed an empire. And that changed the world.

[Muse food remaining: 3. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]

Challenge #00049: Wrecking the grade curve

The Scooter Conspiracy is defeated, albeit temporarily, when educator Scott correlates grade reduction with youth pranks of exuberance. Storm makes an appearance.

“You’ve all heard the news. Sara Louise Adrien and Mortimer Thaddeus Toynbee are now officially engaged, an item, and allowed to go out. With my blessing.” Scott cleared his throat. “This has not stopped what is known as the Scooter Conspiracy from continuing to target me as a favoured victim in your pranks.”

The assembled student body rustled uncomfortably.

“Even Sara would allow that I’ve learned my lesson. Therefore, I have to teach all of you.”

Rustle, rustle, murmur mutter.

“Commencing today, all further pranks perpetrated will result in a loss of grades for the perpetrator, or perpetrators.”

Some alarmed fidgeting amongst the students.

Scott had exactly five seconds to smirk before Ororo stepped onto the podium. “There will, of course, be a half-hour amnesty for all pranksters to disable any traps they may have left lying around.”

Scott nodded. Fair was fair. “You may resume your normal schedule,”

The nervous all but flew out of there.

“You do realise,” said Ororo, “That you’ve left yourself open to those who are certain they will not be caught.”

“In that case, I’ll sic Sara on their asses.”

[Muse food remaining: 6. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]

Challenge #00048: The Fall of Matthews

From Duncan’s perspective, show the victory of Scott and how he achieved it. Todd, Kelly and Graydon Creed make appearances. Jean laughs at Duncan as she dumps him. Duncan eats crow and gags.

“Damnit. Where the fuck are my pants?”

Duncan had got his clothes on in the order they came to him. In this case, that meant his shirt, coat and a pair of heart-pattern boxers that, though his size, were not his style.

And since it was that or his sweaty jockstrap, he wore them anyway.

He looked in his locker, which also contained a type-written note that said, You’re going to be late!

He looked in other guys’ lockers, which only contained stinky sports gear. He checked every hiding place the locker room had to offer. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Squat.

He was going to be late.

Shit.

Someone had set him up. Therefore he had to show them he was still king of the heap by turning them into one.

There was a vending machine just outside of the locker room. It sold gatorade and power bars and beef jerky. The important part was that Toady Tolenski was trying to get candy out of it.

Duncan knew exactly who did it now.

“You little ass! Where the fuck are my pants?”

Toad took off at top speed. Duncan roared after him. Toad was fast when he wanted to be. Sometimes, he even escaped his fate for another day. This time, he was just fast enough for Duncan to see him running around the next corner. Or vanishing down the stairs. Or up the stairs.

It was a hell of a chase, but Dunc knew he had the little asshat cornered when he ran into the assembly hall. “I’M GONNA GRIND YA INTO MUSH YA LITTLE SHIT!” Duncan almost howled as he charged in after.

“We salute as we raise our flag hiiiiiiiggghhh,” sang a choir of his former bit(che)s on the side. “To the guy…. who made us cryyyyyy…”

His pants, the jeans and the leopard-print posing pouch, were flying high on a temporary flagpole set up on the stage. Toad was nowhere to be seen. No, wait. He was in the arms of that fucking tranny, Essel. Who blew him a kiss.

And sitting right next to Jean Grey. Her face was red with rage and she was glaring solid, molten death straight at him.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU! YOU AN’ YOUR STUPID GODDAMN TRANNY WANNABE TWAT! HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO MEEEE!”

Then he realised he was being recorded. By the skater freak, Daniels.

Principal Kelly was moving in with the ratty blanket they always used when some student had a catastrophic meltdown. Graydon was laughing his ass off, which inevitably spread to the entire hall -even Jean- because Graydon had the funniest goddamn laugh in the world.

But it all felt like it was aimed at him.

Essel was waving. It clearly mouthed, “The king is dead. Long live the… Queen.”

Then he remembered that Essel had a knack for extracting justice at the minimum possible temperature.

[Muse food remaining: 7. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]

Challenge #00047: Weather the weather.

An apple, a surfboard and a typhoon. Somewhere in the story.

“This,” said Rael, “is not typical English weather.”

“Naw, it’s a wee bitty rough,” said Shayde. This was supposed to be her holiday ‘home’. Now they were stuck in a hotel and glaring at the weather. “Even fer Wales.”

“It’s raining sideways. It’s sleeting sideways. This is a bit more than a 'wee bitty rough’.”

“Apple?” Shayde offered one from the complimentary bowl.

Usually, he wouldn’t bother. Too few calories. But, since he was in a bad mood, he wanted to eat. He took it and ate it like he wished he could eat the weather.

“I’ll order some chocolate, shall I?”

“That might actually be–”

{WHANG!}

Shayde yelped, landing in a defensive posture. Something bright and oblong had landed on their balcony.

“…is that a surfboard?” asked Rael. Leave it to humans to come up with a sport that involved looking like a seal over shark-infested waters.

“Aye, it is.” Shayde spent a minute wrestling it inside. “Y'always get some daft bugger tryin’ tae surf in freak storms. Lord let 'em be awright…”

Rael had little time for her theism, but had also given up on arguing. “How the flakk did it get to typhoons off the British coast?”

“I think it had som'at t’ do with global warmin’ an’ climate change…”

[Muse food remaining: 7. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]

Challenge #00046: Daring Rescue

Edward Kelly moments after meeting Magneto for the first time.

{Bamf!}

Edward Kelly swallowed his last meal back down and tried to think of anything but the taste of bile and stomach acid.

“Welcome to the three D’s of teleportation, Principal Kelly,” said a blurred figure that was somehow all shades of aqua. “Dizzyness, disorientation and debilitating nausea.” The figure held something under his nose.

The scent of citrus assaulted him, but at least it made the bile go down.

He blinked away tears. “He said… Destiny told him… I’d destroy his people.”

The figure helping him was androgynous and pretty much aqua from head to foot. Her hair was a boring brown with a tendency to go off in its own directions. It was the eyes and the accent that tipped him off. “Sara Louise Adrien?”

“Now he remembers my name…” she muttered. 

“When did you turn green?”

“I like to think of myself as a little bit blue-ish, but that’s not important right now. The Destiny that man -his name’s Magneto, by the by- that man was talking about? She’s a person. Another mutant like him. And us. Destiny is a precognitive mutant. Me? I blend into the scenery.” While she was talking, she hustled him gently towards the fire escape. He couldn’t help noticing that the arm she used to guide him was matching his tweed coat.

She noticed and smiled. “Yeah, that happens when I’m distracted. I’m working on it.”

“You’re all mutants?”

“Yes. Based on fighting fire with fire. Magneto and his henchpeople believe that ordinary humans such as yourself should be eliminated in order to achieve true mutant freedom. The opposite number - us - are rather fond of ordinary humans and would rather not see them go.”

“But… you’re green.”

“And Nightcrawler looks like a demon, but he’s an absolute sweetie regardless of looks.” She helped him down the stairs. As fast as he could go. Her frantic body-speak told him she could go faster.

“You’re green…”

“Do you have an objection to people of color?”

Edward sputtered and blushed. “How are you… your normal colour in the daytime?”

“Rude question number five. Good choice,” Sara chirped. Something big knocked a hole in the stairs. “Oh dear.”

“Can you jump that far?”

“Yes, and I can do it carrying you.”

“Carrying me?”

“You’ll be over my shoulder. It’s the only way.”

“I’m not good with heights.”

“I’m worse,” said Sara. “But I’d rather be bad at heights on the ground, wouldn’t you?”

He swallowed, and nodded. She took him up into a fireman’s carry and measured her running space with her feet.

“Scared?” she trembled.

“Spitless.”

“Do what I do,” she said. “Close your eyes.” And then she leaped.

It was only when she landed that he found out she wasn’t joking.