Challenge #00034:
End a story with this line: “She only knew it was going to be messy, however it ended.”
Karin had a problem with clean. Firstly, it never made sense; because the first thing that happened to clean was that someone pretty much instantly made it ‘un’ in short order. Secondly, she could never really do it. Her attempts at clean always ended badly.
And Mom loved clean. Loved it beyond all reason.
And today was Mother’s Day. The one day that good children did special things for mothers that the mothers would love.
Karin woke up extra early to get a start. She had a plan. And the best of plans were simple ones.
Bacon and eggs, on a plate, on a tray, with a cup of coffee. And a vase with some flowers for the garden.
And, as a special effort, Karin would clean up after herself.
That was the plan.
The eggs did not behave. The bacon spat and bit her. Water went everywhere at the slightest provocation. Karin wanted to cry, but she kept trying. She had to be brave. She was, after all, nearly almost four.
She only knew it was going to be messy, however it ended.
[Muse fodder remaining: 3. Submit a prompt or ask a question!]
Challenge #00033: Baby Monster
Graydon Creed and Mr. Kian get into an argument about mutants in school, power, decency and misogyny, which also demonstrates to Kian how much of a terror Graydon could be when he’s older.
“Now, I understand you used a slur in a public arena, mmkay?”
“Mutie is not a slur. It’s what they are.”
“Mmkay. That word you just used, the new M word? Mmkay, that’s a slur, mmkay… It’s just not cool to use slurs.”
“It’s not a slur. It’s what they are. You call ‘em that.”
“No. We don’t. What they are is mutants, mmkay? That other word is hurtful because it infantalizes and trivializes the entire deal, mmkay?”
Graydon fumed. “The entire deal is those types don’t even belong in a school. They belong in a zoo.”
“So anybody with a mutation belongs in a zoo?”
“Everyone.”
There had to be a way to make him understand. “I heard your mom has diabetes.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Diabetes is also a mutation, mmkay? So if you had the power, you’d round up everyone with diabetes and put them in zoos for other folks to stare at? Even your own mom?”
Graydon thought about this. “You’re right.”
Kian smiled in anticipation.
“Camps’d be way better. Keep 'em out of sight. Easier to kill if they got uppity.”
The smile died an agonizing death on his face. Even if he tried to warn the authorities, they would ignore it. Despite the fact that this boy had just agreed to the concept of placing his own mother in a camp, he was still a straight white football star with a college scholarship and a bright future. In politics.
They’d ignore the monster until it ate them up.
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Challenge #00025: Movie Madness
Rogue and Rahne, the closest the Evo cast arguably has to a vampire and werewolf, end up having to watch the latest vampire-and-werewolf-starring cinematic blockbuster - the Twilight movies, courtesy of a lost bet (likely with Kitty). Cue the mocking and snarkiness!
[This author has only seen the first Twilight movie and removed herself from the sequels as a means of self-preservation]
“So what’s this all about, then?” asked Rahne. Kitty was standing guard at the door and, for some reason, Kurt was guarding the window.
“Well… Ah don’t know much,” Rogue got her credentials out as early as possible, “but from what Ah heard, it’s… well… Some housewife saw ‘Dracula meets the Wolfman’ and wrote an AU romance starrin’ her Mary Sue.”
“Is not!” Kitty shrieked. “It’s the greatest romance like, ever!”
Kurt coughed. “(Coughistoocough).”
“Hey! I saw your stupid blue people movie! You like, owe me.”
“…they'renotstupid…” muttered Kurt.
The movie began. “Okay,” said Rahne. “Which one’t the Mary Sue?”
“Bella Swan. That’s the gal with the brown hair, there.”
They watched for a few minutes.
“Wait. So how’s she a Mary Sue?”
Rogue bought up something on her phone. “That’s the lady who wrote this mess. Next to her description of our heroine.”
“…oh.”
“Total adoration by all a the boys in five, four, three…”
“What? Since when does that happen?”
“It actually happened to Myer, Ah heard.”
“…blarg…”
Another few minutes in which more movie happened and steam escaped Kitty’s ears.
“Wait. Those are the vampires, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m gettin’ a weird stalker vibe off 'em.”
“You, me, and everyone else with a brain stem,” said Rogue.
“…hey!” objected Kitty.
“Wait. He said she should stay away from him and now he’s following her everywhere? How’s that supposed to work?”
“And he warned her that he’s dangerous. She should be bookin’ in mah opinion.”
More movie passed in stunned disbelief.
“HE SPARKLES?!”
“Real vampires don’t freakin’ sparkle.”
“What are the werewolves like?”
Rogue checked her phone. “Uh. Native Americans who are heavily into arranged marriages. From birth.”
“How many movies are there of this?”
“Five.”
Rahne thought about this whilst witnessing Bella and Edward say and do incredibly stupid things. “What was the alternative?”
“Walkin’ down main street in our underwear.”
“Turn that rubbish off. I’m doin’ the undies thing.”
“*HEY*!” Objected Kitty while Kurt cracked up.
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Challenge #00023: About a Girl
Scott and Sara’s father have a conversation about Sara, Todd, Jean, Duncan and life beyond being a mutant. Bonus if Sara herself makes an appearance.
Sam found him staring at nothing, leaning on a balcony rail and looking teen-serious, aka constipated. “You’re looking flabblegabbed. Sara happen to you?”
“Uh. Yes. Sir. Mr Adrien.”
“You can call me ‘Sam’ if it suits your fancy.” He joined the teen at leaning on the balcony rail. “Deep thoughts?”
“How the– How does she do it? One minute I’m mister sane and sensible, and the next I’m arguing her case and she has this… smile…” His fingers mimed a Cheshire grin.
That was his girl. “Sara has spent her life in the company of some very manipulative people. To her credit, she only uses those powers for others’ good.”
“Wait. So the Toad being here regularly is a good thing?”
Sam gave him a side-eye. “Given Sara’s description of Mr Tolenski,” he took care to emphasise the boy’s real name, “I’d say he was one good samaritan away from complete redemption.”
“But– he’s a thief. A punk.”
“A kid who had both his parents die in an unfortunate event, was pushed about from pillar to post in the foster system before winding up in the thrall of a really bad alleged carer…?”
Scott, who had exactly the same story, glared. “I get it. His story is my story too. The only difference is he–”
“–was not found by the Professor. Did not have what you gained. His story could still have been your story.”
“…there but for the grace of God…”
“Or, at the very least, the Professor and his pet experiment.”
“So Sara is playing Professor for Todd?”
Sam nodded, more at Scott getting the name right than in agreement. “I’d say more… good samaritan. Helping because she sees the potential future for Todd. A future you’ve already gained.”
Scott shivered. “I dunno if she *can*…”
“How long did it take you to overcome your own bad experiences?”
“It took me… oh God… Two *years* to quit hoarding food in my room. I still keep a can of spam and a packet or three of tic-tacs for good luck.”
“And Mr Tolenski is showing remarkable progress in comparison. He’d much rather spend time with Sara than -say- lift anyone’s wallets.”
Scott checked his pockets. “Yeah. Guess.”
Such little faith. “At least extend him the courtesy of knowing where he is by virtue of having been there?”
“That’s a very Sara way of saying it.”
“I’m proud to say I taught her everything I know.” _And that may be your last warning._
“Hrmph…” Scott looked out into nothing for some time. Finally saying, “Why do women always wind up with the jerks?”
“Speaking as a married jerk,” Sam began with a hint of amusement, “I’d have to say I have no idea. Nobody’s a jerk inside their own head. Therefore jerkdom has to be bestowed by others. And, I do believe, everyone’s a jerk to *someone*. My best guess is, the lady doesn’t see the jerkdom. Only that which can be redeemed with differing amounts of effort.”
“Mmmrrrh…”
“But then I’m no expert. My own lady of choice chose to pull against progress rather than push towards it. And I became a jerk by leaving her to do it.”
“I thought jerkdom was bestowed by others?”
“I did indeed say so. But does it make me more or less a jerk to recognize that I’ve done horrible things via bad choices?”
“I’d say not recognizing it is the jerkitude.”
Companionable silence for a moment.
“What’s her name?” asked Sam.
“Who?”
“The lady you have your eye on who happens to be with the jerk.”
Sigh. “Jean.”
“Ah, yes. The famous Jean Grey. Jacquelline…” sigh. His heart still hurt at her name. At the thought of the potential rift between them. “…admires her accomplishments.”
“I admire more.”
“Hmm?” A young man in that state did not need much in the way of encouragement.
“I love the way she sings along with the radio. I love the way she hip-dances when she cooks. I love watching her eat. It’s so… graceful. I love the way she combs her hair, the thousand little things she does. I love her strength, her power… the way she can take a picture of just anything and turn it into beauty and… I just wish she’d see me 'that way’. Instead of some goofy brother or something.”
“Would you win her, if you could?”
“Uh. Jean’s a woman, not a tchotchke at the fun fair? I’d much rather win the honour of having her decide to stay with me.”
“Noble way of putting it.”
“Yeah. Noble. It’s kinda like being the 'nice guy’ only with less of the creeperdom. And more invisible for it.”
“Her choices are hers. You respect her enough to let them remain so. You can’t love every part of her and exclude the one part where she acts independently of you.”
“Even when she chooses to go out with Duncan Matthews.” The way he said that name with a sneer told the rest of the story.
“I’ve heard about him, too. Though less glowingly from everyone else except Jean and Jacquelline.”
“He thinks he can get away with it because he’s a football star…”
“And society will let him maintain that illusion until such time as he stops being so. And like all illusions, it will soon leave disharmony in its wake.”
“Not soon enough for me…”
“Amen to that thought, gentlemen,” said Sara, scaring them both out of their skins. “Alas, such things can not be made to happen.”
“And don’t start working on it, my little Machiavelle,” teased Sam.
“Also, it’s dinnertime. Coming down?”
“Of course.”
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(#00019)
It was a dark and -o god- stormy night. The bums that usually cleared out five minutes before the little tip saucer appeared on their table hung around and actually dropped change on the saucer.
Pennies, for the most part. The occasional nickel, crying because it was alone. And one ancient-looking coin and a string of cowrie shells.
Aisha freshened up the weirdo’s coffee and said, “We prefer legal tender, here.” The coin was surprisingly heavy and almost disgustingly filthy.
“That coin,” slurred the bum, “could buy this whole block. ‘Sgotmy face on it.”
“Sure it does,” smiled Aisha, subconsciously checking her avenues for escape. She had to take it, because otherwise the bum would forget the money - or in this case, filthy old junk - actually belonged to Aisha and take it back.
“It is also a powerful totem against lightning.”
_It’s a good thing we only serve coffee after hours…._ At the risk of repeating herself, she said, “Sure it is,” and scraped some of the filth off. Some really old imagery. “This is a very weird picture of… Thor? Isn’t he s'posed'a have a hammer, not a spear?”
“Thor. Ha!” Thunder punctuated their conversation, as if objecting to the outmoded blasphemy. “Thor gets all the freaking credit. Followers. Comic books. Movies. Now he’s swanning around like Fabio and more 'me me me’ than backstage at the opera. *Thor*…”
“Oh… kay. I needed a reminder why it’s never a good idea to chat with customers. Thanks for that.”
“There are older gods. Better gods. Purer gods. From the first places! We came before *any* of those simpering posers from the north. Or the east.”
None of the other bums seemed interested in rescuing her. Or calling for more coffee. Or fake-calling for more coffee in order to rescue her. _It’s official. Chivalry is dead._ “Of course there are.”
“Ancient. Like that coin. They say Croesos invented coins, because he is whiter than those who did invent them. Just like they have Thor instead of the mighty Shango!”
“Shango? My nanna used to tell me about Shango…” Aisha checked the coin again. That wasn’t a badly-rendered breastplate. Those were badly-rendered breasts. Shango the Thunder Queen. Who split the air with her spears of light.
…amongst many other unlikely things…
“Thor has all the attention. Thor has all the glory. Thor has fucking comic books… But he is only pretend, compared to the mighty Shango!” Another thunder crash.
Pops, scrubbing away at the grille, stared through the service window at Aisha, who made desperately covert bail-me-out signals.
“I used to have the adoration of thousands. Thousands!”
“Poor you,” sighed Aisha.
Pops smirked and shook his head and shrugged. Pops-sign for “I’m not doing jack until there’s a fight.”
_Thanks a bunch, Pops._
“Now, I am lucky to have a few hundred who even know my name.”
“Poor you,” sighed Aisha.
One of the bums hanging out at the bar decided that outside was starting to look better than inside.
“I have been searching for a real warrior. Someone who cn stand to fight the battle ahead. A champion among champions.”
“GreatIhopeyoufindhim.”
“Him?” The weirdo laughed, and outside, a cacophany of thunder almost obliterated the sound. “No man is equal to a woman. Especially a young woman. Not even if he knows my name.”
Weirder and weirder. “Uh. What?”
“No man alive has the magic to grow another human inside him. No man has been born who can withstand the fight to bring a life into the world. No man can bear the brunt of menses like a woman can. He is simply not strong enough. No. You, Aisha. You are the champion I seek.”
The dirty hoodie slipped open during her speech. Shango. Old and withered, but still recognisably Shango. With her hair knotted into complicated buns on either side of her head.
Nanna once told Aisha that they were for knocking sense into her allies when they argued too long.
“And so they are, when I am close to you.”
The dirty old umbrella by her side was looking less and less umbrella-like by the minute. And Shango actually looked a little more… vitalized.
“Why me?”
“Because you know me. Because there is a part of you that believes. Because you look at these pale, sad men that have been made into gods and wish that just once, they would show someone like you in a position of power.”
“…more than once would be better…” mumbled Aisha.
“How about the opportunity to be a champion… every day?”
Most of the surviving imagery flew into her head. “Uhm. I wouldn’t have to run around in a skin-tight outfit with my boobs hanging out, would I?”
“Only if that pleases you.”
“No… I think that’d get the wrong kind of attention.” Aisha lowered her voice to a whisper as she sat opposite the ancient African goddess. “Way too many men.”
The mighty Shango grinned. “I was right to choose you. You will do well.”
[Want more? Submit a prompt or ask a question!]
(#00016)
Shayde winced as she filtered the young lizard girl’s enthusiastic babbling through her own understanding.
Yikes.
This kid had the worst case of wishful listening Shayde had ever seen.
“Danny…”
“Maybe I can take you to see the storm aurora. It only happens outside the left tail section for some reason? Oh! Wait. There’s like a historical theatre thing? Sometimes they do recreation shows, sometimes they show the old-style cinema stuff? It’s totally retro-cool.”
“Danny.”
“You could tell what was new and old from when you left? That’d like, be such a help on my thesis. How storytelling developed alongside technology in the pre-shattering era.”
“Danny!”
“What?”
“This isn’t a proper date. I never said it was.”
“But you said you thought–”
Life on the other side of let-down street wasn’t as simple as she’d thought it was, ten years and a million experiences ago. Shayde strangled a ‘you’re a good kid but…’ before it could form itself on her tongue.
“I made a mistake. I assumed things based on our text chats. And you’ve been assumin’ for the past twenty minutes, based on one word.”
Danny deflated. “I… thought we were getting along…”
“Have ye never had someone desperate to tell you every last detail about something they love beyond reason, but you’re bored stiff by? And have ye never wanted to avoid breakin’ their poor heart?”
“Oh, like Lyn Wikozt. Every day she has to tell me the latest thing this singer she likes has done? And what it means to her continued existence? And she just talks and talks and you can’t tell her you don’t wanna hear… about… Oh.”
Shayde summoned a smile despite the funereal mood descending on their group. “Clever girl.”
“…'msorryiwastedyourtime…”
“Na. Don’t feel bad about it. I know, right now, that’s a wee bit like tellin’ water not to be wet…”
Half a giggle.
“The best relationships are between people with equal standing, aren’t they? They make the best kind o’ teams. That’s why Superman never really got t’ stay with Lois Lane. It’s why lots of heroes are single. Wi’ great power comes a really sucky datin’ pool.”
A genuine smile.
“The most important bit is having someone ye can talk to… and listen to. You’ll find that someone. Maybe they’ve always been there. Maybe they’re just around the next corner. But when you do find 'em… tell 'em ye had tae break my heart.”
[Want your own story? Submit a prompt or ask a question!]
Challenge #00016: Worst. Date. Ever!
“Sophia Pirelli was everything a girl like me could hope for: tall, beautiful, intelligent, editor of the college paper, a tall redhead with legs that went on for miles. I’d crushed on her for months, finally working up the gumption to ask her for coffee. She was perfect. She was glorious. And yet we had nothing to talk about.”
AKA the most awkward date ever/what happens when crushes and reality collide violently.
“Yes, my foster parents named me Daniel. Danny. They wanted a boy, but since they couldn’t tell, they went with a more… plastic name. How did you come by ‘Shayde’?” The lizard in a plethora of pink carnations - none of them flowers - twiddled nervously with her chopstick cheaters.
Rael had covertly turned on his vocoder ages ago, since Shayde was still a person of interest to many. He did his best to eat quietly. The recordings would never be distributed if he could help it. Just used for fact verification in a QNA file somewhere.
“Well, I was bouncin’ between some different dimensions fer a bitty while. Pillar to post, helter to skelter. You get the idea. And a lot of 'em were -ah- socially backwards. I got mistaken for a demon. A lot.” Shayde paused for a bite of something with the tentacles still on. “Anyway, after hearing 'avaunt foul shade from the blackest pit’ a few hundred times, I figured I might as well go by the name they kept calling me.”
“Oh I so totally get that! Like, when I told my folks I identified female, they started spelling my name with an I instead of a Y. I like the Y. It’s… me.”
Shayde smiled politely, if wanly. “Yeah. A lot like that. Only a lot different.”
Danny the lizard girl giggled nervously.
Sociology study. Cogniscents raised by humans. Better or worse off than children raised by animals? Rael decided that someone else would be better off doing that study. The humans had enough problems with prejudice owing to their species-wide recognized insanity.
“Um. Um. Is it a lot different? Y'know. Twentieth century versus twenty-fifth?”
“Well, there’s still no’ flying cars. Big shock.”
“Wait. That was sarcasm! I love the sarcasm. I just can never get it right.”
“…fab…” Shayde cleared her throat. “The computers that can argue are a shocker. I guess it’s only fair though. We were workin’ on parallel intelligence ever since we figured some behaviours could be programmed. Not my forte.”
“You don’t like music? I thought your home era was all about music. I mean, more works per capita were written in your era. So many artists. So much talent. So many tunes you can like, never get out of your mind?”
“Not forte-music. Forte’s another word for strength. My hobby’s music.”
“YEEEEEeeeeeEEEEE! What do you play? Can you do Stairway to Paradise?”
“I’m not in the habit of bringin’ my axe to a date.”
“This is a date? I’m not… of age.”
“I thought it was a date when I mistook ye for a fella. And thought you were older.”
Another nervous giggle. “I have a lot more time to think in text-space.”
“Aye, I figured that out.” Shayde snagged something made to look like a rose off of the conveyor. More for something to do than to eat. She sniffed it before eating it. “Do you have a career lined up?”
“Well. I am so into history it’s scary…”
“Aye, I figured that out, too….”
Challenge #00013: Verdammt!
Kurt has laundry duty for the first time. Static cling problems ensue :3
Ororo should have known she was in trouble when she saw Kurt wandering the grounds with the laundry basket an obvious weight in his cerulean arms.
“Is there a problem?”
“Ja! Where the washing line ist? I looked everywhere, und… nothing.”
Washing line? “You didn’t see the dryer?”
“Uh. Dryers are expensive, ja? The sun and wind is free.”
Ororo gave up, dropping her voice to a whisper. “We don’t have a washing line. Come on, I’ll show you how the dryer works.”
Kurt took so easily to modern technology that it was hard to remember he came from a tiny mountain town that still had cobblestones on the streets. And a blacksmith who, according to Kurt’s own tall tales, made shoes for the four-footed half of the population.
It was only in moments like this that the culture shock even showed. And in the questions he asked.
“Must I separate the colours and whites?”
“What are the little balls for?”
“Must the dryer sheets be washed first, also?”
“Where is the delicates setting?”
“Is there a powder? Or a bar?”
This was a boy who she had to stop from using a cheese grater and soap in the washing machine. And, she couldn’t help noticing, used the word ‘unglaublich’ a little too often. Still, after some entertaining side-trips down the labyrinthine lanes of confusion, all seemed sorted enough for her to get back to pruning her roses.
It was almost dinner time when unfortunate events once again made themselves suspect.
“Where’s blue? growled Logan. "He’s skipped out on gym.”
“What?” said Jean. “He was a dozen words a second on the whole idea.”
“I think I heard him swearing in the laundry room,” added Scott. “I think it was swearing. Kinda hard to tell with German.”
Ororo followed Logan down to the laundry where, indeed, soft teutonic curses were turning the air as blue as the speaker, albeit in another language.
Unfortunately for Ororo, she understood every word. She stormed past Logan with a perfect German, “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” perched on her lips. She even took a deep breath as she approached the threshold.
That breath came out in helpless laughter.
“Verdammt!”
Logan, perplexed and puzzled, rushed to look.
Kurt Wagner was literally wrestling with the folding. T-shirts stuck to his hocks, socks and jocks embraced his tail, an assortment of garments concealed his arms. There was even most of a negligee making him look lie some bizarre laundry-themed ninja.
Logan was the one to charge in and begin untangling. “Static cling,” he said. “It’s a bitch.”
Ororo battled the giggles as she pitched in. “I’m sorry,” she bleated. “You just looked–”
“Ridiculous,” supplied Kurt. “Please to be getting a hills hoist? The wind and sun don’t do this.”
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