First crime scene. Ever. Nobody else had to know this. Just walk like you own the place. Act like you belong. Check out the corpse, note any significant details and toddle on back to the office. No big deal.

Alice thusly walked with confidence until she encountered the first thing nobody told her.

Death has a smell.

The bodies in anatomy and dissection classes were sanitized. They had the subtle odor of death, because nobody can really stop it. This was a full on reek, with all the nastiness associated with subsequent decay and noisome fluids.

It was so horrible that it almost qualified as toxic.

Alice swallowed her rising gorge, mentally running through the gamut of things to do when one doesn’t want to be seen throwing up in front of one’s co-workers.

“First day?”

Her blush struggled with the fact that all her blood was rushing to her digestive system. “…‘es…”

“Try this.” A white-gloved hand offered a pot of what appeared to be vaseline, but held a different odor entirely. One from Alice’s own childhood.

“Vick’s Vaporub?”

“Stick a little under your nose. Overwhelms the senses.” The speaker offering the pot was short and entirely shrouded in what Alice thought of as street-available hasmat gear. White overalls with an elastic hood. Rubber boots and latex gloves. Industrial filter mask. Safety goggles.

“Is the scene hazardous?” Alice took a small glob and discretely applied it.

“No, this is my work uniform. Cordelia Knight. Forensic cleaning services.”

“Alice Daye. Medical Examiner. I thought you guys turned up… after.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” said Ms Knight. “My client hired me to clean and refurbish a place he’d inherited. Unfortunately, he hadn’t inspected it first. The former occupant was still there.”

Alice put on her own mask, gloves and booties, whipping her hair into the net she carried for the purpose. The less of herself that got into a scene, the better. “You’re already dressed for the occasion, Ms Knight. Would you walk me through your… procedures?”

The eyes underneath the safety goggles smiled. Alex followed her on the tour. “We document everything in my line of work. I already gave Lieutenant Bothari my camera. Every photo is time and date stamped. As you can see, I thought this was just another hoarder’s cave.”

One side of the room was literally stacked floor to ceiling with periodicals. Newspapers and magazines. Sorted by issue title. The other half was noticeably bare, the furniture pushed neatly into one corner, and a sad array of garbage bags lined up by the inside door. Discoloration on the carpet clearly indicated where each piece had been prior to Knight’s work.

“We’re not obligated to report dead animals,” said Knight. “I found the blood trail and investigated, just in case, and found the bodies in the upstairs bedroom.”

Alice followed the yellow plastic markers, noting the medium-velocity spatter as she passed, careful not to tread on any of it, or upset the unstable-looking piles of random miscellany that lined every passage, leaving just enough space for one human to pass.

One path lead to the bathroom, upstairs, and the other lead to the bedroom. Neither were free from towers of packrattus. Alice took her recorder out and began dictating details.

“Two decedents, apparently one male, one female. Male in kneeling position at foot of bed, female spreadeagled on the bed.” Alice edged closer until she was on the very borderlines. “Both bodies show signs of advanced decomp, insect and rodent activity… pistol located near female’s right hand… and cause of death looks to be stabbing. I can see at least five wounds, three defensive.” She tried to move the male’s body. “Male has a knife in his lap. No immediately evident trauma, large red-brown stain under the posterior… tear in the crotch of the pants?”

“He stabbed her and she shot him in the nuts,” said Knight. “Who says romance is dead?”

“I can’t make calls like that until after a thorough forensic examination,” said Alice. She gingerly searched the pockets on the male. “No ID. Judging by the absence of shoes on both of them, they lived here. I’d say document, bag and tag… These two can come to the office.”

Knight started backing out of the labyrinth of collection. “I know this is probably the wrong time to ask, but… do you want to go get a coffee or something while your minions deal with this mess? I had a whole week booked on this place, and now…” an expressive shrug.

Alice thought about this as she picked her way back to uncluttered air and the outside world. God, it was good to swing her elbows again. “Coffee sounds lovely.”

Then Cordelia took her headgear off, and Alice knew her heart would never be her own again. Skin like dark chocolate. Lips full and delectable. Effortless hair sculpted to perfection in a style both practical and elegant.

The blush returned and Alice didn’t care. “Very lovely indeed.”

(#00003)

Ax'and'l stared at the brown furry hills with legs. They were everywhere. “These are wombats.” He did not understand his human companion’s fear. They weren’t doing anything much at all.

“Yes!”

“And we’ve known each other for… ten years?”

“Yes!” Hwell was still trying to climb the walls.

“Then for ten years it hasn’t been always wombats.” Ax'and'l scanned them. “And they’re herbivores!”

One of them was sniffing Hwell’s lowest foot. The human whimpered and attempted to climb higher on a sheer vertical surface.

“What could possibly be threatening about an enclosure full of herbivores?”

“Plant. Fibre. Clothing.”

One of them was gnawing on Ax'and'l’s trousers. “Are we certain that there’s no other means of egress?”

“SHUT UP AND BOOST ME OUTTA HERE!”

Challenge #00002: Toad V Spiderman

Toad (either Evo or movieverse) meets Spiderman. Hilarity and quipping ensue?

I can not decide which Toad to use.

Round 1: Evo-Toad V Spiderman

“Where you goin’, lady? Don'chu know this street ain’t public property?”

Ah, the catch-cry of the lesser soon-to-be-very-bruised looser. Peter swung in, landing on a nearby roof and hustled down a handy wall.

Three punks in similar bargain-basement street gang wear were moving in on a rather elongated lady burdened with shopping.

“The city planning department might disagree with you,” said the lady.

“Damn, that’s a tall-ass bitch,” said thug#1.

“Need a stepladder to teach her manners,” said thug#2.

“Need a stepladder jus’ ta fuck her,” cackled thug #3.

And then a voice right by his ear whispered, “The fuck you doin’, fool? Yo’ gonna ruin our sting.”

Peter looked to his right, where a fourth tatty youth hung on the wall much like himself. “I’ve heard of hanging around the streets, but this is extreme.”

The teen glared at him, his too-wide mouth twisting in a voluminous expression of distaste. “Mouth like dat, ’s a wonder those tights ain’t black an’ blue, yo.”

“Hey, at least I have some style!”

“As in, goin’ outta style?”

“This way nobody knows who I am.”

“Psh. An’ nobody cares…”

The lady down in the street said, “Gentlemen…”

Both boys looked down. The lady had the three thugs neatly hog-tied and moaning in discomfort. “I appreciate the extra back-up, dear; but I think I’d prefer it better if said backup was focussed on our task?”

The tatty teen’s toothy rictus was possibly wider than his mouth. “Um. Whoops? Sorry, Sara.”

Peter sighed. He was nobody’s favorite neighborhood spiderman, tonight.

Round 2: Movie-Toad V Spiderman

The man currently making his slow progress down the alley was being boxed in by four denizens - and this neighborhood crawled with denizens - who had rightfully singled him out as easy pickings.

Little did they know that this poor fellow was under the prodigious protection of Peter Parker, the friendly neighborhood Spiderman!

The limping, shambling man evidently figured out he was being boxed in and stopped in a relatively clear area of the alleyway.

“You lot fuck off,” he growled. “I’ve already had a bad fuckin’ day.”

The four toughs came out of concealment and moved in, laughing. Grinning like crocodiles. 

“Bout t’ get worse,” said the spokesthug.

Just as Peter leaped to the rescue, the shambling man exploded. Both arms and one leg lashed out at three of the thugs, knocking them away. And, in the case of the guy who got the walking stick, delivering internal injuries on the side.

Peter aimed himself at the fourth man, but the erstwhile victim had plans for him, too. The injured man spat something at the fourth fellow’s face.

It hardened just as Peter’s flying foot connected with it.

Peter managed to land with his dignity intact, and his foot stuck to a felon’s face. “What the hell?”

“The fuck d'you think you are?” demanded the injured man.

Even in the half-light, Peter could see he was in a bad way. Bleeding. Burned. Wet and filthy. Like he’d been beaten, struck by lightning and left to drown in the bay. “Just your friendly neighborhood Spiderman trying to make a difference,” He shook his foot. It was stuck solidly to the man’s temple. “Is there a solvent for this stuff?”

“Dunno,” said the injured man as he continued on his way.

Round 3: WATXM-Toad V Spiderman

Toad was many things, but he was not the sort of sick psycho who would abandon his gang.

Even when his gang abandoned him.

He kept away from public places. After a debacle like that one, he didn’t need another mutant-inspired riot on his ass. Not after barely escaping with his life.

The Brotherhood had left him to fend for himself, as they frequently did, after getting themselves the heck out of dodge. Toad was used to this. He went through hay, hell and high water to find his gang again and they always accused him of turning up like a stray cat.

It was enough to make a fellow feel… unwanted.

“Well, lookie what we have here,” cooed a street tough.

Well, crap. On top of everything else, he had to wander down Yancy Street in a moment of inattention.

“Aw, it’s a little lost mutie,” said tough#2.

“Where you goin’, mutie?” said tough #3.

Things were not looking good for Mrs Toynbee’s only son.

“He’s going over the meadow and through the woods,” said a voice from above. “Isn’t that the way to Grandmother’s house?”

To a man, they all looked up.

Dangling upside-down on a cord with no visible means of support, was a teenager in a full-body stocking. Red and blue. Patterned with webs and a spider.

Fucking vigilantes. You never knew whose side they were on.

“Sod off,” said Toad. “I got this.”

“It’s four against one,” objected the vigilante.

“Yeh,” admitted Toad. “’S what nearly makes it fair.”

Bonus Round: Dresden-Codak-Toad V Spiderman 

[This incarnation of Toad belongs to Dresden Codak artist, Aaron Diaz. I apologize in advance for any wrong I bestow upon him by messing with his characters and world]

Witness the paragon of perfection, Peter Parker, pounding punks prodigiously! Just another day at work for your friendly neighborhood Spiderman!

This one went a little differently when he went to assist the victim. A huddling figure tying itself -himself- into knots trying to hide himself from the entire world.

“Hey, it’s okay, now. Badguys are all gone.”

The figure huddled tighter.

Peter made sure the thugs were safely trussed up for the police before he knelt by the huddling man.

“It’s okay. I don’t bite.” He dare not touch someone so afraid. For all he knew, this guy had a whole newsstand’s worth of issues. “I’m… I’m a hero.”

Rustling from inside the trench coat, and a slip of paper emerged.

It read, Heroes kill monsters.

Monsters? What the hell?

“Hey. No. I don’t kill anyone. And I don’t go after anyone who’s obeying the law. Okay?”

The figure gradually untangled. Long, skinny arms. Equally long, skinny legs. What Peter had thought was some kind of green hood was the man’s head.

Either he was a mutant or Peter had tripped over some really amusing drugs.

“You’re a frog?”

Those wide, green eyes had an ocean of sorrow and pity for him as the froggy man picked up his belongings and hurried away. As if the frog-man understood something deeper that he could not, or would not communicate to Peter.

He spent years wondering what the hell he was missing out on, because of that look.

Announce

I put a submit box in so y'all can give me springboards with greater ease.

Whack something in there. See what pops out.

Challenge #00001: Sara with a Manual while on Ordeal

 geekhyena answered: Have you read Diane Duane’s work? If so, Sara with a Manual while on Ordeal.

I am not remotely familiar with Duane. I should pick her up, one of these days. Nevertheless, I shall attempt this with my own reality(s).

Fiction ho!

Manual Ordeal

“So…” Hank drawled. “A few questions…”

“Do keep them brief.” Sara turned a page, frowning. It was written in two languages by someone who barely understood either of them. Using it as a rosetta stone to decipher what was left of the controls was, if not an exercise in futility, at least something to stop her going mad with boredom. “I am trying to concentrate.”

“How long has this been happening?”

“Subjectively, on and off for five years. By events, two days total. Blame Forge.”

Hank shrugged. “That answers my second question. Third: Where are we?”

“I don’t recognize the universe, but it appears to be a derelict space ship. We’re lucky we have power and air.”

“How long does this last?”

“I must be touching everything I was touching when we went in the first place. And you had to go juggling with my hairpin.”

“I was merely–”

“Trying an untested skill you’d only observed in recordings with inappropriate tools on an unfamiliar device. And you dropped it. Down a grille.”

“Do you have a magnet?”

“In my other pants. Currently inconveniently located in another dimension.”

“Chewing gum?”

“Other pants.”

“Anyth–”

“Other. Pants.”

“Perhaps I could–?”

“Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Hank sighed. “I get bored, too.”

“Fabulous. Help be unravel this console. But don’t touch anything.”

Challenge me?

Posting fanfic isn’t going to help me be a better writer [New year’s resolution#1: Work to improve myself] but it is going to attract my old fans, which means more readers. I need readers :)

So. Along side the fanficcery that promises to become a long-standing tradition in this blog [over 100 fanfics, remember?] I am going to accept challenges from my audience.

Send me a springboard. A favourite phrase, a title of some media you love, ask a question about my pet universe[chronicled partially here], even an In-a With-a While-a*. I will concoct a drabble or a short story right here on my blog. Just for you.

*In-a With-a While-a is a game from Theatre Sports, where actors improvised a scene based on “in a [Place] with a [anything, really] while a [event]”.

Short stories concocted this way may be ‘Plot-What-Plot’s. You have been warned. Questions may be answered factually as well as fictionally. You get to decide which is which.

You can use my Ask box or use an answer. I don’t mind either.

This challenge will be reposted when I’ve run out of springboards.