Challenge #02725-G168: A Matter of Technicality
Human1: Damn if Australia pushed our level 4 deathworld to a 4.5 I’m worried about you guys exploring the unexplored 70% of our ocean.
Human2: it’s not 70% it’s 95%
Crewmate: wait what? – Anon Guest
“Ah… that’s a mis-assumption,” said Thorq. “The Deathworlder classification is based on how many environmental factors are hostile to the development of intelligent life. In the case of most of the Earth, it’s the fauna, the weather, the flora, and the ocean. Australia also happens to have the geography as hostile as well.”
There was a moment of silence among the Humans having this discussion. Cold stares abounded.
“Nobody likes a person who draws from the well actually,” said Human Zif.
“Way to spoil our fun, Thorq,” said Human Kon. “We were bullshitting and you shat on it.”
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Challenge #02724-G167: There Goes Mischief
Ze was confident in zer ability to handle this. Ze was a level three deathworlder who worked with dangerous animals for a living! Watching a human toddler for an afternoon and evening would be no problem.
Of course, ze had made an elementary mistake…ze had failed to realize that just because the child still spoke Scribble and could only walk at a slow, bobbling shuffle on two legs didn’t stop them from booking it on all fours, or climbing the furniture. And this particular toddler was fond of hiding, and then providing jump scares to nearby adult caretakers. – Anon Guest
Human Lew had apparently graduated to ‘toddler’. This, according to Cless’ inspection, meant that the infant Human was barely capable of shuffling along on two feet, with frequent stops to imbalance themself and sit heavily on the floor.
“Ai! Issa buk,” proclaimed Human Lew.
“This is Companion Cless,” said Human Lew’s parental, Human Vai. “Ze is not a chicken.”
Human Lew kept making chicken noises.
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Challenge #02723-G166: Just Add Zombies
This prompt issues to an earlier story from two years ago. https://steemit.com/fiction/@internutter/challenge-01928-e104-tag-you-re-undead. One that gave me a wicked little grin, though I did have to search a bit to find it again.
Zombie tag. That was a game, and an experiment, that was both famous and infamous. Since its inception a few years ago, it had become a wildly popular thing that became a new sport. How long could teams last against the “zombies”? Rules were drawn up, people could “defend” themselves against “zombies” with soft, fake “weapons” that, at worst, might give a level 4 havenworlder a slight bruise and, frankly, other than blotting a little ink on someone, nothing more. If the blot was on the head, the “zombie” was out. If you were tagged, you either “died”, or became a “zombie”.
But when the lights go down, the environment gets creepy, and the recording of frightening groans begins as the “zombies” are let loose on the “uninfected”, the championship teams for that year were in for a bit of a surprise. Every year there was an odd twist for the championship, but this one? A messed up version of the human anthem, enough to keep anyone on their toes. How long would the teams last, and who would the champion be this year? – DaniAndShali
Inexplicably, the Havenworlders loved it. Simulated danger without any actual danger. The rules were clear, and the options were multiple. When the Humans added Nerf Weapons and paintballs to the shenanigans. To make a bad pun worse, the nerf weapons were a hit. The paintballs were sponge, and softer than the projectiles Humans used for their paintball-oriented simulated combat. They would be felt, but they would not cause injuries hazardous to Havenworlders.
One hit to the head or five hits to the body could ‘kill’ a 'zombie’, other players could fortify, hide, or attack 'zombies’. Play only occurred within the arena, and safe spaces were non-combat zones. Non-zombies who 'died’ from a zombie could choose whether or not they became 'zombies’ and therefore joined the zombie horde.
It was a game that gave Havenworlders a chance to wail on Deathworlders and win, even if it was simulated battle, it did immense good to both Havenworlder confidence and epigenetic drift towards hardier makeup. That, and there’s nothing like almost unrestrained chaos to create a good time for all.
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Challenge #02722-G165: A Rough Gem
Me playing support: get the f back here so I can heal you!
Some dumbbutt: but dps go bam… – Anon Guest
“WHY, in the name of the Living Light, do you keep forgetting that you’re squishy?”
“I’m used to being strong. I’m used to fighting the world. On the plus side, I have a pretty good grasp of tactics, so I’m not squishy for long…”
Gaarsh snorted an aborted growl. Being a Cleric of the Light wasn’t always easy, but being a Bugbear made it harder. Keeping a few spell slots for healing is always wise in battle. Or out of it, come to think of things. “It’s my duty to protect you, damnit…”
“It’s my duty to protect you,” countered the apparently suicidal Monk. “Obviously, we need to have a good long talk about battle plans.”
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Challenge #02721-G164: Hail Poetry!
The sign said “Old Terran style poetry for sale! Custom sonnets, written for you about what you love, in GalStand! Please fill out form and provide one Hour; finished poem will be sent to you within the next ten days. 50% discount for JOATs.” The human seated at the table the sign hung from had a large stack of blank forms, a couple of completed forms, several one Hour notes, a notebook, and what looked like several kinds of dictionary. They were busily scribbling in the notebook and muttering to themself, occasionally crossing things out, and frequently checking the dictionaries.
On closer inspection, one of the “dictionaries” was actually a thesaurus. – Anon Guest
[AN: I can’t write sonnets to save my life so I’m faking out of doing that]
It was a pop-up sales booth, much favoured by the nomadic sorts who sold their artistic skills wherever they could wander. They were selling Terran style poems, but they were not a Terran. They were one of the multitude of Saurian life forms abundant in the Alliance. This was not a form of cultural appropriation, since the Humans were wont to share aspects of their culture wherever they went.
This wasn’t even an important part of their culture, it was merely a form of art that the Humans shared like they shared everything else. He didn’t need to alert the Terran Embassy, and he especially didn’t need to let Shayde know this existed. Better that she never found out.
She may be “Ace”, but she had a great love of romance. The absolute last thing he needed was Shayde purchasing poetry for him. Therefore, he thought it prudent to find out how much this cogniscent needed to take their pop-up booth and their business to an entirely different station. Strictly out of a combination of the decency of his spirit and a strong self-preservation instinct, of course.
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