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…”
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A robot falls in love with its regular mechanic and, not knowing how to take it further, keeps breaking itself in important, but non-fatal ways.
Challenge #00649 - A284: Reality? Just a Suggestion
Sara and Pinkie Pie trade recipes
[Since you said Sara, I’m assuming you mean my favourite mutant OC and not her alternate ponysona, Star Wishes. If you meant the ponysona, then re-send the prompt with the right name]
“Wait, so you’re not one of those weird beings from the other side of the magic mirror?”
“No,” said the aqua-coloured human with the brown mane. “I came here through Kazooland. Steam Powered Giraffe showed me the way.”
“Oh…” Twilight Sparkle visibly relaxed. The world, the cosmos, magic as she knew it and whatever else may be in peril was not in peril after all. “And… what are you doing to my kitchen?”
“Centaur porridge,” she grinned. “Pinkie asked and she’s trading a cupcake/muffin recipe for it.”
“Centaurs?”
“Yes. Below the waist, they’re horses, above the waist, they’re humans. And their diet is understandably restricted whilst their appetites are understandably huge. This entire pot…” she helpfully banged a thing that could hold three adult ponies with room to swim, “…would just about accomodate a family of four centaurs.”
“GuesswhatIjustlearned, guesswhat, guesswhat, guesswhat?”
“…did you let her have any sugarcubes?”
“Just a couple. Why?”
Pinkie continued to bounce around like she was seeking to commit self-fission. “The universe is really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really…” gaaaaaaasp… “really, REALLY huge! There’s planets and stars are suns and there’s worlds where reality is a figment of someone else’s imagination and Sara comes from one of them! Isn’t that super-exciting?”
“It’s a weird multiverse,” summarised Sara. She sniffed the contents of the pot. “Hhhmmmmm… this should slow her down.” Sara doled out a bowlful of fragrant porridge and added a generous dollop of cream before she offered it to the bouncing Pinkie. “Try this for size.”
Twilight shrank away as Pinkie fell on her serving as if she were starving.
“Oh that’s delicious! It’s like my tummy is having a party but I really gotta slee–” *thunk*! Pinkie slumped against the table and started to snore.
“It’s the cinnamon,” said Sara. “I always tend to overdo the cinnamon…”
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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.
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Challenge #00647 - A282: Scary Handy
On an individual basis, moments when humans go from “big, scary, too strong and menacing” to “big, protective, safe and ok still a bit scary”
Just little things, like being able to catch a falling numidid, deflect a blow, walk or swim in currents that bowl over little guineafowl people, or bodily grab them out of the way of danger etc.
An adult Human was twice the size of a Numidid in relaxed posture. Four if the Numidid was in a defensive huddle. And if that Numidid stretched, they might have a hope of being slightly taller than two-thirds that of the human.
And that was just on average.
As with any species, there were variants. Smaller than normal Numidid and taller than normal Humans. Such was the case with Syriki the Small and Big Leeroy. Both were very quiet cogniscents and went on many scientific forays together.
Big Leeroy was huge. In both height and breadth. At the end of a long day, many colonists would see him lending his shoulder for the small black Bird as well as being her pack horse of sorts.
Syriki answered many questions from Kal'rike, all coming from concerned citizens who saw the giant, muscular human on her live streams.
Most frequent was, How did you tame such a big human?
Syriki laughed at that one. She didn’t tame him at all.
She’d been investigating some nodules on a branch too frail to hold even her small weight. He’d been underneath, foraging for samples in the undergrowth. Both minding their own business and making their own, muttered, Keep Calm I’m Here noises out of mutual respect.
When the branch snapped and Syriki screamed, she was underneath it. There was no time for her to unfurl her wings.
But the human had simply snatched her out of the air and transformed her inertia into a slowing swing before gently setting her, upright and dazed, onto the ground.
“All good, miss bird?” he chirped in broken Ulu.
Syriki huddled even smaller and practiced her Science Breathing. All she could think was that everyone in Kal'rike was saying life would be better without the humans on the planet.
Without the humans on the planet, she would be experiencing a snapped neck or broken clavicle. And a quick and lonely death in this jungle.
Humans on the planet had made her life longer, for a start.
She took so long at coming back to normal that Big Leeroy had taken his shirt off and used it as an improvised pseudowing to help her keep warm. He was cooing, “Be good, be good…” and gently patting her.
Syriki regained control and managed a shaky, “All good, kind ape,” in broken English.
That was the first day he’d carried her and her findings back to the Beach Path Hide. Humans were learning to communicate in a language their mouths were not made for. They easily sounded like they required an excess of remedial education. But day after day, they proved that they understood.
Though this human had not been seen at or visited the Beach Path Hide, he still knew where it was and knew it was where the Numidid could go to meet with other Numidid.
Syriki knew that the entire Human colony had more or less adopted her as their keet, despite her age. She hadn’t realised until much later that the Humans had taken to following her around and acting as her bodyguard.
It didn’t take her very long. The fifth time she saw or heard Big Leeroy shadowing her path was enough to allow her the realisation.
She hopped down to his eye-line and bluntly asked, “Good ape follow for make-safe Syriki?”
“Leeroy,” he said, tapping his chest. “Make good safe, pretty bird.”
It was a promise he kept throughout his life. Long after he really needed to. He even repeated his snatch-and-swing trick when one of her pre-fledged keets fell from her perch on the courtesy rail. Years and years after most humans were fluent in Ulu.
By then, Kal'rike was asking if she was going to invite him into her nest.
But no, they remained incredibly good friends.
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Challenge #00645 - A280: Performance Art
”The Lion Sleeps Tonight” is so culturally engrained now that starting it is just a whim away, a whim away, a whim away…
Open Mic Night at the Tunnel Cafe…
It was where many a young performer honed their act before taking it further out into the open. People came here to steal other people’s jokes. People came here with dreams of stardom. And Shayde came here, apparently, to hold a guitar and tell jokes.
Having done some research into Terran history, Rael halfway expected her to finish with “Anyway, here’s Wonderwall,” before she actually played.
But that didn’t happen.
She strummed her guitar. A prelude to another joke. The audience was getting used to the pattern and issued forth a pre-emptive giggle. “Ye ever notice that there’s some songs that get right into yer head? There’s a few, ye ken, that are so universally known that they’re just a whim away, a whim away, a whim away…” The guitar came into play, strumming a backing to her chant.
Humans scattered through the audience joined in.
Shayde nodded many other cogniscents into joining the chorus. Once the rhythm was established, she sang, “In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight…”
Applause, though the audience kept singing.
It was hypnotic. It was incredible. She had the whole room singing along before the first chorus. Even him.
Now he could believe that she used to busk for extra money. She had all the subtle ways to play a crowd while her hands were full of guitar and her mouth was full of song.
Shayde moved from The Lion Sleeps Tonight to Ob La Di Ob La Da, to She Loves You, and a song Rael recognised from the Consortium of Steam. Something she couldn’t have heard here and now because the Consortium were still on their home planet and she owed the Station too much to access the Galactic Info-net.
She finished with It’s a Small World After All, and got cheered off the stage. Rael watched her gather her warning card and bounce to her seat beside him.
“Eee, that’s better'n five cups o’ coffee,” she giggled.
Rael finished his last dish. He’d timed it well. “Your debt to the station is being adjusted,” he said. “And Sherlock demands you return to your cell as soon as possible.”
“Woh? I cannae stay t’ watch the puir bastard who has tae follow me?”
Shayde groaned. “Tha’s half the fun…”
Rael glared at her. “Fun is not the object of incarceration, Cogniscent Shayde.”
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Challenge #00611 - A246: Every Apprentice Does It
My god… it’s full of spelling errors.
Alani was going after Extra Credit. Finding the Original Source was always good for that. She traced it from planetoid to planetoid, from reference to reference to sub-reference and finally… in the Dark Rooms where only special lights were allowed… a yellowed and rather small booklet kept in its own rarified atmosphere and handled only through waldoes.
To show willing, Alani used the special scope to view the myopic scribble of an ancient hand.
All unaware that Tutor Els was right behind her until the venerable Archivaas spoke.
“What do you see, Apprentice?”
“By the Powers… it’s full of errata…”
“We tell you, do we not, that seeking information from the Original Source is not always as educational as you think it might be.”
“Yes,” sighed Alani. “Yes, you do.” Moisture gathered in her eyes and she retreated from the scope to wipe the tears on her sleeve before they could drop and spoil something precious. “I see, now. And I especially see why this author switched to digital entry only.”
“That, and hir handwriting is deplorable.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t have new insights for the extra credit.”
“Nonsense! Seeking knowledge of any kind is credit-worthy work. And seeking this lesson out so early in your learning will serve you well.”
“Yes, Tutor Els.”
“And next time you feel tempted, check the notes on the condition of the piece.”
“Yes, Tutor Els.”
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Challenge #00585 - A220: One Life in Song
Doe, a deer, a female deer
Ray, a drop of golden sun
Doe, a deer, a female deer…
Doe crept between the parked storage containers, heart pounding. She could still see the peak of the ship. She was headed the right way.
Ray, a drop of golden sun…
Shadows made her jump for all of five seconds before she realised it was her own shadow. A skinny stick of a thing. Undersized, underfed, under-represented and, so far, under notice.
She wished she believed in God so she could entreat the speechless fellow for help.
Me, a name I call myself…
She didn’t have her ID. It made it hard to be Doe because it called her Jonathan. She didn’t have anything. The less she had to tie her down to Greater Deregulation, the better.
Far, a long long way to run…
There was a mile between herself, her cover, and the gantry that lead to the habitation zones of the trade freighter currently parked like a fat toad on the spaceport tarmac. Any minute, now, there would be dogs. Any minute now, the sweeping spotlights would highlight her. Any minute now, a sniper would explode her head from a vast distance.
She’d never run so far, so fast, or in such a straight line.
There was no street debris to dodge. No alleys she had to duck down. No crowds of potential enemies who could move to stop her flight and therefore endanger her life.
She didn’t feel her injuries as she tripped up the stairs. Just scrambled for her life up the gantry and inside the darkened vessel. Into a small enough storage space seemingly designed to hide a small human safely inside. There was an emergency medkit and attachments to the air system. There was even inertia padding.
Sew, a needle pulling thread…
There was a huge gash in her leg. And a pre-threaded needle in the kit. Doe gritted her teeth and sewed the wound shut as best as she could. She was good at not letting the universe know when she was in pain.
Years of practice.
La, a word to follow So…
She flinched as the door opened.
Instead of a descending fist or a shout of outrage, there was a quiet, “Hello… That’s my hiding spot, kiddo…”
“…pleasedon'thurtme?” Doe begged. Possibly on automatic.
Tea, a drink with jam and bread…
The man and his lizard - or was it the lizard and his man? They gently coaxed her out of her hiding spot. Patched up her injuries and fed her.
Not the rationed fare she expected, but fully-flavoured printed meals. And hot drinks. Sweet treats.
She couldn’t understand why Hwell apologised for the lack of ladies’ clothes “suitable for such a young darlin’ as yourself.”
Doe was grateful for anything that she could get. That they had such ready abundance for her was stunning. Dizzying.
Exhilarating.
Which will bring us back to Doe…
Two Standard months had made an immense change. Not the least of which were vitally satisfying adjustments to her anatomy. A Galactic education revealed worlds of difference between the greater Galactic Community and the heavy misogyny of Greater Deregulation.
It was like wearing weights her whole life, and discovering how far and fast she could run when they were removed.
But the best thing of all was seeing her ‘Uncle’ Hwell waiting with flowers outside her physical counsellor.
“You’re glowin’, darling,” he chirped, presenting the flowers with a cartoon of a bow. And much foppery with an invisible hat. “Good news?”
She grinned. The flowers were lovely. Doe tried not to cling to them possessively. “The best. I’m going to start my menses soon.”
“I could try to schedule a party if ye like,” he breezed. “Got all you need? Any unwanted company you’d like me to see off?”
“Thanks for defending my honour, Uncle… but I’m fine. All the company I have, I want to keep. There is one thing I’d like?”
“Name it, then.”
“I’d… like to adopt the family name of Barrow, please,”
“Aaaaawww… Welcome to the fold, daughter-of-me-heart. That comes with free hugs 'till ye stifle you know.”
His arms always made her feel safe. She rushed into them because she knew he would never hurt her. He always asked first.
“Thanks, Uncle. Thanks for everything.”
“Best. Stowaway. Ever.”
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Challenge #00584 - A219: Rocky Start
Human: *sneezes*
Other cogniscient: What the hell was that?!
Ax'and'l had been dubious from the get-go about joining forces with a human… but he’d run the numbers and this venture was profitable in the extreme.
Insanely profitable.
Now it was just looking insane.
They were standing in an abandoned hulk of a spaceship, looting it for anything they could get out of it. Both had their survival suits on. Ideally, they were protected from everything the ship could throw at them.
If it were still operational, they could have deflected or absorbed any weapons fired their way. Even passive defences like long-lived virii or feral bacteria should have remained beyond their reach.
Until Hwell took off his helmet.
“Ah, relax,” he breezed. “Any of the sensors would have picked up anything hazardous. We’re going to be fine.”
“Speak for yourself, Mammal,” Ax'and'l growled. “I’m staying safe inside this hermetically sealed environment. You are going to be spending a week in quarantine.”
The mammal scoffed at him and then started grimacing and gurning.
“HASCHOOO!”
“What in the name of the First Egg is that?”
“S'deez’d. There’s dust.” Sniff.
“That’s a method for disease dispersal. Please aim yourself away from me.”
“HASCHOO!”
“One month in quarantine!”
Sniff. “Is dat sdandard or sobe calendar?”
Grumble. “I’ll consult with the Galstand Quarantine Regulations.”
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Challenge #00583 - A218: Draco Nobilis
“Which is better,” asked the ancient dragon, scales dull, horns broken, but eyes bright as he regarded the one sent to slay him, “to be born good, or to overcome an evil nature through great effort?” – Josh
[AN: JOSH! You live! You’re one of my fave anons :D I was getting a little worried that you’d fallen down a hole or something]
The Knight Gainsborough lowered their lance and became lost in thought.
“To struggle against evil would have to be more noble. Being born to virtue is to have no challenge. Maintaining virtue would therefore be easy. A virtuous child has but to remain virtuous. But a nefarious child must struggle against their inner demons on a constant basis.”
The elderly dragon nodded sagely. “Just so. Your lord sent you?”
“I sent myself.”
“Endeavouring. I appreciate it. So why did you come to slay me?”
“You have burned the Forest of Greeb. You have slain fifty head of cattle, and stolen a further fifty sheep. Your very presence threatens my lands.”
“Those sheep and cows… were they young and strong?”
“Uh…”
“Did you ask?”
“By… the accounts and book-keeping… the livestock you stole were bound for the slaughterhouse, anyway. They were old.”
“And the Forest of Greeb… do many go there?”
“Uh…”
“Go ahead,” said the dragon. “I can wait.”
“No. It’s infested by imps.”
“I have a deep mislike of imps. They torture wayward travellers. My methods of… pest control… direct and effective. The forest will recover. The imps will not.”
Gainsborough took off her helm. “You’re telling me that you’re doing my lands a favour?”
“Against my instincts, yes.” The old dragon lifted a wing to reveal a few very portable sacks of gold. “This should reimburse your impoverished farmers. And do let it be known that, so long as I live, I shall buy any livestock I eat. Should they have animals they can not sell, I shall buy them, too.”
“And if our enemies attack?”
“Should the need arise, while I can still make myself useful… I will.”
Which is how the hamlet of Gainsborough became known as a retirement home for dragons. And eventually became renamed as Dunbyrning.
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