Overheard at the bar…
“All this time I just kinda assumed she had a couple loud, nosy roommates. She said the camera on her machine didn’t work, so that’s why she stuck to audio-only…”
“So why the post-date stress? Was she dog-ugly, and caught ya staring at her like she had two heads?”
“Three, actually. And not ugly, kinda cute, actually.”
“Pardon?”
“Imagine a bipedal Cerberus. With boobs. And about seven feet tall.”
“…right, I forgot you said you didn’t care for tall chicks.”
(#00666 - A301)
“I can see why she hid it. I mean, I don’t always let people know I’m a cephalopodic slime monster, straight off.”
“So what did you do?”
“I went out with her of course. The other two heads were very nice. Wanted to make sure I wouldn’t break her hearts and all. And… I dunno what it is, but stepping–”
“Slithering.”
“Whatever. Going out of my comfort zone? Wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. She’s amazing. She has these little warts that are all lined up under her left eye? Like little marching beauty marks…”
“You fell in love.”
“Plummeted.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I think I like her sister heads too…”
[Muse food remaining: 35. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Not necessarily needing to go Night Vale on this one…
To truly understand, you must look inside yourself, look deep into your heart… no, no, you’re too far down, that’s your liver, try a bit more up and to the left… ah, there you go.
(#00660 - A295)
[An: But it’s so very very Night Vale…]
“Excuse me, but my species is not transparent.”
“You’re transparent to my eyes.”
“Eugh… Sorry. Uhm… We find our internals to be offensive.”
“Not a problem. Most cogniscents tend to shun my kind. We see into the X-ray and magnetic spectrum. Honesty is key. Though clothing is translucent to us, we tend to pick fabrics that leave interesting shadows.”
“Ah, that explains the lamé…”
“Yes. Perhaps you can explain to me why my species is judged to be in poor taste.”
“Let’s begin with the lamé….”
[Muse food remaining: 35. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00657 - A292: Fascinating in Retrospect
T’reka meets an amorous cassowary. Hilarity ensues.
Boo boo boo…
T'reka looked up from her lunch to discover a giant in the clearing. Were it not for his solidly blue-black plumage, he could easily be mistaken for a male of her own species. But he was clearly more dinosaur than Bird.
The cranial capacity was a dead give-away.
He was puffing himself up. Engorging his wattle and showing off his plumage whilst saying, Boo boo boo.
Lonely she may be, but not that lonely.
T'reka discretely checked her HUD, and found that none of the humans were anywhere within hearing range of her distress call.
The saurian bird stepped closer, revealing talons that could tear her to shreds. This was most definitely a bird from a death world.
She could not run away. Not along the ground. Those long legs would easily catch her if he chose to pursue.
Boo boo boo…
Obviously, she did not know how to, nor did she want to, reciprocate his attentions. And further good news, his display involved circling.
Calling for help would be pointless.
Boo boo boo…
Running away along the ground would be pointless.
A vigorous display of aggression may encourage a similar response from him.
Therefore, the only way to go was up.
T'reka abandoned her food and scurried up the nearest tree as fast as she could scramble. The giant on the forest floor startled away for a handful of seconds and then investigated her lunch box.
One small sacrifice for science.
Belatedly, T'reka began taking notes into her lifecorder.
“Subject is a previously unseen bird, presumed evolved over introduced. Subject mistook me for one of his species’ females and initiated what I must assume to be a mating display…”
*
Susan was laughing behind her hands. So hard that tears spilled from her eyes.
“I am not understanding this display,” said their scientific guest.
“On one hand, I’m amazed we have cassowaries,” chirped Kori. “We haven’t finished clearing terran biota for this planet. On the other hand… in retrospect… it’s funny.”
“I’m sorry,” Susan squeaked. “I keep imagining it…” and with a snort, she returned to her peals of hidden laughter.
T'reka sighed. This was the disadvantage to the question, How was your day?
[Muse food remaining: 38. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00656 - A291: Do You Have Time…?
The stars are right, R’yleh is about to rise…and Cthulhu’s Witnesses are out in force, ringing everyone’s doorbells.
Bing bonnnng…
Sally peeked. People in suits with clipboards. On a Saturday. This was never good. She risked opening the door.
There was a dark-stained knife at his hip.
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s ceremonial,” smiled the clean-shaven man with the sunken eyes and a desperate smile. “Much like you’d wear a crucifix despite it’s origin as an instrument of death.”
The polite rictus settled onto her face. “Ah. I never thought of it that way.” He was creeping her out. It was way his tongue rolled around the word ‘death’ as if it were a delicious treat that did it. “How can I help you?”
“Have you heard the good word of our lord and mutilator, C'thulu?”
Ah crap… evangelists…
[Muse food remaining: 39. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Next Challanger
How does competitive combat (boxing, martial arts, etc.) fare in the new environment of the Amity universe?
(#00655 - A290)
The humans inside the roped-off square wore heavy padding on their hands, heads, and torsos. They faced off in formal postures that a number of them called Markisuvkwinsbree.
T'reka lit on Calico’s saddle and regarded the match.
“What this happening?”
Su-syn, leaning on her horse, chirped, “Testosterone-poisoning-related posturing. Two male here have rivalry over same female. They thinking aggression display win merit.”
“Is working?”
“Target female walking beach with different male. Definite no.”
T'reka watched. “Old time long gone, me-folk males have similar fight. Very fast. Few rules.”
“Now?”
“Ceremonial display make-for public merit. At-er-leet.”
“Athlete.”
“Tricky word,” said T'reka.
“Many us-folk sport begin fight. Others begin hunt. Very few begin art.”
T'reka tutted and shook her head. Deathworlders.
[Muse food remaining: 40. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Children of the Night…
I thought I was alone as I silently entered the house, but a voice caught my ear, making me freeze.
“Funny thing about gaining immortality, it can happen to anyone, at any time, whether it is wanted or not…”
I turned, seeing nobody around at first, then I spotted a small girl sitting in the corner, facing away from where I stood, seemingly oblivious to me as she played with her dolls. Had she been here the whole time?
“I met a strange man one night, who claimed he was a predator… but he wasn’t after lusts of the flesh like most who were called such. No, he wanted something… more vital.” It indeed was the girl who was speaking, for she continued as she looked up at me, eyes turning eerily luminous… and red. “But, that was three thousand years ago…” She smiled now, and her too-long and too-sharp teeth gleamed…
(#00653 - A288)
“Ah,” I said. “You must be the permanent installation the realtor told me about. Hello. My name’s Melanie Brisko. What’s yours?”
The little vampire boggled, fangs withdrawing back into hiding. “You’re supposed to scream,” she said. “They all scream…”
“I’ve frequently mourned that I’m not like all the other girls,” I smiled for her. “It’s high time that that sort of thing became beneficial. Can you eat human food, or is blood all that you can subsist on?”
Haunted eyes. “I… don’t know. After everyone went away I lived on rats. And when the rats went away I lived on pigeons. And when the pigeons went away…” she hugged her favourite doll tight. After three thousand years of being loved, it was showing the strain. “I can hypnotise deer. They come right up to me.”
“That’s a very useful talent,” I said, setting up. “Does your hair grow?”
A dumbfounded stare. “You’re supposed to be scared. You’re supposed to be afraid of me. Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
“I’m too busy being afraid of cities and crowds. You? You’re a little girl who’s sorely in need of a bath, fresh clothes, and a good combing. Then we can work on some hot food and probably some sorely needed cuddles.”
“Why? I’m a monster.”
“I’m of the opinion that being monstrous doesn’t necessarily make one a monster. With love and care and attention to your needs, you could become a reformed citizen.”
“I’ll try it,” she said. “I’ll probably eat all your blood tomorrow.”
“That’s why I bought the pigs.”
Since neither of us knew about her hair, it took quite a few baths and washings to get all the tangles out. Were it not for her paleness, she could have passed as any other little girl with her long brown hair in pigtails.
I fixed up her dolls for her, of course. And thanks to satellite internet, I was able to fix up the house and some of the caves that had been converted into living space in ages past. She took the name Grace, and she flourished in my care.
That was how it began. Four hundred years ago, now. Oh, I don’t blame her for biting me. The poor darling needs a mother. And I was mortal.
We keep the pigs for when we need blood. They’re immune to the vampiric virus. For the rest of the time we could almost pass as normal humans.
Almost.
Let’s just say that there’s a reason we don’t allow our photos to be taken. Just like there’s a reason we don’t go out in the sunshine without heavy protection.
Now don’t panic. See? This is why we don’t tell people about us. I can assure you, you’re perfectly safe. That asparagus? I feed it to our guests to make sure my Grace doesn’t get it into her head to add members to our little family. Changes your flavour. Makes you… unappetising.
And anyway, we’re going out to talk to the deer. Sweet dreams.
[Muse food remaining: 41. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Magnificently Horrible
(inspired by the recent development of nailpolish that helps detect date-rape drugs when a finger is dipped in the drink, though, understandably, you don’t need to use that for the writing-inspiration)
“Like a lot of things in this world, it is wonderful that this finally exists, but also terrible that it needs to exist.”
(#00650 - A285)
It looked like a simple brain mod. Just another circuit in a world full of integrated circuits designed to merge with the nerve cells of the brain and enhance its performance.
“This is a game? Augmented reality, right?”
“Not quite,” explained the inventor. “We market it as a game. But what it actually does is detect all the social minefields and help the user avoid them.”
“For example?”
“Did you ever get laid while you were drunk at a party?”
“Pft. Yeah. Sure. Good fun.”
“Were you sure that your partner wanted it?”
“Uuuuuhhhh…”
“That’s where this little beauty takes over. It does augment reality, but it gives you vital information. Like your prospective partner's actual age, blood alcohol content, and whether or not they’re actually interested in having sex with you. It takes all the guesswork out of hooking up.”
“So… if she’s drunk and underage, a little stop sign pops up.”
“Yup! And if you go ahead and do the do, your location and details are sent to the police so they can arrest you for statutory rape and her for underage drinking.”
“That’s grea– waitasecond. What?”
“It applies to all forms of rape, of course. It is a crime. And just like any other crime, it’s immediately reported to the authorities with video feed, location, and all that other information.”
Outrage. “Why would you do that?”
“It’s a crime. Stopping crime is a good thing. And the users can’t claim ignorance, because of all the little signs popping up in their field of view.”
“That’s horrible!”
“And necessary. People are ignoring plain biodata now. A system of checks, balances, and immediate punishment should prove very efficacious. Plus it clearly labels anyone who treats their desired gender like trash, so they can avoid the offender.”
A long, evaluating stare. “You’re actually proud of yourself for doing this, aren’t you?”
“Are you saying you’d get caught by this system?”
“…uuuuuuuuuuhhhh…”
[Muse food remaining: 42. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Sacrifice…
“You dare say that to me?! That my choices, my actions caused all this? As if with you in my place, if you had to shoulder all my burdens and responsibilities for as long as I have, that you would do things differently? You deceive only yourself to claim you would ‘succeed’ where I had ‘failed’. Anyone would do the same as me in these circumstances. I’m just like you. Just like everyone else. Tell me with a straight face, right now, that if you had to choose between your family and a million lives, which one would you choose?”
[AN: My internet is being a bitch right now so have one off the top of the pile]
(#00648 - A283)
"Congratulations,” iced Justicer Makkou. “You saved the world from your self-inflicted apocalypse. Dare I ask what you’d have done if you chose the greater good?”
“But… I was saving my family… I put them in the shelter… It was sealed against all hazards. All of them.” Pryatt’s confidence imploded and fell to a whisper. “All of them… all of them…”
“Yes. You thought of everything.” Justicer Makkou crossed her arms. “Food, water, medication… even supplies to rebuild the world.”
“…i thought of everything… why? Why did they die and you live?”
“You forgot about fresh air,” said Justicer Makkou as she shoved Pryatt into an incarceration unit. “They suffocated while they were under sedation.”
“…why wasn’t there an apocalypse? There was supposed to be an apocalypse…”
Makkou had seen this before. A unique madness that lead the sufferer to prepare, obsessively, for an apocalypse that would never come. She’d never seen any go this far, before.
She would be prepared for the next one.
The poor bastard.
[Muse food remaining: 44. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
The Internet
T’reka (or some other inquisitive creature) discovers the truly staggering amount of porn on the human internet.
(#00646 - A281)
“Ha. I have found an archive of human mating rituals.”
Krezlor peered over Brixik’s shoulder. “This does not appear to be a documentary…”
“[Oh no,]” said the definitely female human on the screen. “[I can’t pay for the pizza… there must be some way I can… trade…]”
“[Do you like a lot of… sausage… with your pizza?]”
“Is this humorous entertainment?”
Bow chicka wow-wow…
“I have no idea.” Brixik opened more windows. “There are hubs for this. It must be important information. Regard the abundance of it.”
“Much of this is contrary to how humans behave in the wild. Are you certain it is meant to be educational?”
“We are bound to learn something from this. We must investigate.”
Fifteen hours later…
“This is the fifth time this woman has been unable to pay for her food,” droned Brixik.
“They are different females,” said Krezlor in the same bored monotone. “Their markings are disparate.”
“It’s all becoming a monotonous blur…” sighed Brixik. “Now I understand why studying these humans is a punishment detail.”
“How many more hours of this are there?”
Brixik checked. “In excess of two thousand…”
“No human could watch all of these in a lifetime. Why do they devote so much time and energy into making it?”
“That is part of the mystery.”
[Muse food remaining: 45. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Human Religions
Aliens discover celebrity fandoms (Elvis, Morgan Freeman, etc.) and take them for human religions.
(#00644 - A279)
[AN: This is going to be interesting because the Amalgam Universe does possess the First Church of Elvis…]
From the journals of Kor'kor the Fascinated:
The humans, as always, were very welcoming and allowed me to trade for a ticket to their ceremonial enclosure. The sacrament was a large portion of exploded grain. Perhaps a sacrifice to the spirits?
The exploded grains were coated with a greasy substance that rendered the foamy remains of food flavourful and interesting. Of course, I preserved a sample for later analysis, but I already expect it to be deleterious to long-term survival.
The altar initially seemed to be a plain, white sheet, but when the lights lowered, it was revealed to be a surface to project images on. These were rather primitive, given other media examples from the humans, and I suspect the events projected onto the screen occurred a very long relative time ago.
There was no sound. What dialogue there was occurred via plates filled with the written word. And it soon became apparent that it was one of these ancient players that the humans had come to worship.
His name was Buster Keaton. And he evidenced some very typical manifestations of human insanity. Among examples I have seen, he had courted numerous injuries by tumbling down an escalating staircase, failing to leap across the gap between two tall buildings, racing against a landslide, and allowing a building to fall down around him.
The humans around me seemed to believe these were feats worth admiration.
I declined to voice my opinions out loud.
I posit that survival against the odds can elevate some humans to the levels of godhood. Or at least minor deity-ship. The fact that these survivals were documented strictly for the sake of entertainment is an avenue of human sociology that may warrant further investigation.
[Muse food remaining: 44. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]