Challenge #00578 - A203: You Swallowed What?

As one of the tech review magazines said a few years ago when the first 32 GB micro SD cards came out, “At last it is possible for a single human being to accidentally swallow all of the data collected by the Apollo Program.”

“This is it?” Shayde held aloft a crystal with a metal disk on one end. “All'o the survivin’ media from the twentieth century?”

“And some derivative works, yes,” said Rael. “That’s hyper-compressed crystal memory storage. It would take you years to read and view all of it.”

“And this bit’s the interface port?” An ebon talon tapped the metal disk.

“Ah… no. That’s the Palmecki Preventer.”

“Ye woh?”

“Ensign Palmecki gained galactic infamy when, in order to protect what he believed to be sensitive information, he swallowed a data-crystal containing five hundred quadrillobytes of collected fan fiction and choked to death.”

“Ah. Right. Bit of a nong, was ‘e?”

Once again, Shayde’s vocabulary confused and disoriented. “…probably,” Rael allowed.

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Challenge #00577 - A202: Mass Destruction

Code 19: There is a small child loose in the area.

“LOCKDOWN! LOCKDOWN!” Rodriguez checked all the small storage bays before she locked them. Kept her eyes and ears open for any trace.

No sticky residue. No smeared prints. No suspicious puddles of liquid. No sign that the progeny had been here. And that was the dangerous part.

“I thought human infants were helpless,” said Chor'i'za.

“Human infants, yes. But once they learn how to move, they get into places other mere mortals can’t reach.”

Chor'i'za startled. “I should re-check the storage areas I just locked,” she said.

“Good call.”

“Q'bl'nof j'x'k'l.”

Rodriguez looked down. “Call off the alarm. I found the kid.” She dropped into a kneel. “Hello there. Did your Daddy get lost?”

“Blar yabble gub nuff.”

“I see,” Rodriguez crooned, subtly checking the kid for damage. Ze was chewing on something. “Is that tasty?”

“Pleh.”

“Oh, that’s not good…”

“You can understand that?” boggled Chor'i'za.

“Not a word,” Rodriguez singsonged. She went through her pockets and found a small lollipop. “The kid’s pre-verbal. Ze’s talking in ‘Scribble’. It’s sounds that are almost language. Hey, darling… I bet you’d like to swap that nasty old thing for one of these.” She flourished the lollipop.

“HUAAAAAH!” The one hand not holding the something ze was chewing on went straight out in a universal 'gimmie gimmie’ motion.

“Ah-ah-ah. Ta…?” Rodriguez pointed to the mystery object and held out her hand.

The trade was made. “Ta!”

Rodriguez handed the small cerametal part in all its goopy glory to Chor'i'za “Clean that and find out where the kid got it from. I’ll return this little trouble-maker to Daddy.”

“Blx,” said the kid.

It was only later that they would find out that a very small child had managed to carefully unscrew the one bolt that could lead to a catastrophic engine failure. Admin was still working on a completely childproof door. Difficult when human children could figure out how to circumvent such measures before they could talk.

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Challenge #00576 - A201: The Delicate Process of Acquiring Snuggle-Buddies

The first time K’iiv did the Noise.

“I… have not acquired a snuggle-buddy.”

“Want one?”

K'iiv’s tail flared. “Are… you… volunteering?”

“Are you amenable?”

Now his tail war twitching in a manner dazzle and enrapture female members of his own species. What the human thought of it was beyond him. “Oh very. So much. Yes. I– I–” SKREE-AH!

“AAAAH!” Del ducked in a defensive posture. “Sorry. Sorry. Instinctive reaction.”

“That… happens to humans a lot. That… vocal display is a… release of tension.”

“Sir, you have a phenomenally loud way of stImming.”

“My name is K'iiv.”

“Del,” the human offered her hand.

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Challenge #00573 - A198: One Fine Evening in the Nightvale Maternity Ward

“Slowly, the doctor turned. Extending a pointing finger, he said “But … but that’s an orange … !”"

“Yes,” said Mrs Murray. You know her, she was born with octupoid-like tentacles instead of hair.

“We couldn’t be happier,” said Mr Murray, through the independently levitating ouija board that is his sole means of communication. Since he is corporeally-challenged.

“All we want to know,” asked Mrs Murray carefully, “is to the signs and portents indicate a girl orange, a boy orange, or something in-between.”

“We want to use the correct pronouns from the get-go,” said Mr Murray.

At which point, Doctor Smith turned and fled from the nursery, and was last seen headed towards the cactus grove where the waterfront boardwalk never actually existed.

We of course wish Doctor Smith a quick and speedy recovery from his retrograde amnesia. We are also assured that the Sherrif’s Secret Police are going to keep an eye on him as he walks uncertainly between the venomous cactii and attack-trained triffids.

And now… the weather.

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Challenge #00571 - A196: The Big Reveal

http://cnvvj.tumblr.com/post/88170279521/wintersoldjer-but-what-if-cyclops-can-wear

He called them all together into the big meeting room. They gathered into their appointed seats and in a general air of confusion.

“For years, I’ve made myself scarce on April first. And for those same years, all of you have managed to make me your butt-monkey for pranks. Every joke in the book and some of the new ones… you played them all on me.”

Now most of them had their ‘oh no’ faces on.

“And for those years, I’ve been wondering how to pay all of you back.” Scott Summers took his famous ruby-quartz glasses off and, eyes closed, used his shirt to clean them. “And than I thought 'fuck it, you little bastards deserve this’.” And opened his eyes to the gathered table.

There were only two people who didn’t duck and cover with terrified shrieking. The Professor, who knew everything, and Sara Louise Adrien, who had helped make the contacts.

She was the first one to say, “Really, Mr Summers?”

“Come on. You know what April First is like for me.”

“It’s about to get worse, Slim,” growled Logan. “You made me spill my beer.”

“…ah crap…”

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Challenge #00570 - A195: Casual Toxicity

“Absolutely not! There is no way in-”

*human calmly peels and eats a banana*

“Er, whatever you say, sir.”

The Membletak did not adapt well to their new, human captains. They did not adapt well to the insanity of their commanding officers.

And they did not adapt well to illogical commands.

But Captain Millbury was prepared.

“Sir. The odds against surviving such a manoeuvre intact are astronomical to begin with, you can’t possibly expect the crew to–”

Millbury opened the Special Cooler and extracted a banana.

“–obey… such… a… ridiculous…”

Milbury peeled the banana as her second-in-command trailed nervously off. Geiger counters on the bridge erupted into static. Membletak backed away from her as she took a bite. “By all means, continue,” she said around her mouthful. “I believe you had a rational argument?”

“Sending out the order now, Captain.”

It was a rule that confused many in the Galactic Alliance in later years: Speak softly and always have a banana.

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Challenge #00568 - A193: Buddy-buddy

An alien and a human with a Han and Chewbacca-esque relationship

(I don’t think Hwell counts, that looks more like babysitting)

[AN: Well, yes, but Hwell does spend large volumes of time making gurgling noises…]

Ruscis still couldn’t believe this was happening, but a duty was a duty and this… being… hadn’t left her side since the convoluted happenings that involved saving its life.

“You remember what I said,” Ruscis repeated. “Stay non-threatening. It’s bad enough I’m a Soncamur, but with a human in tow?”

The human hung its head and made a chain of noises few could understand. Ruscis had made the effort.

“No, they aren’t going to shoot at us if we play it right. I know these people. They put up with deathworlders.”

Grumble mumble murmur sigh.

“It was a shock to me, too. I never knew I came from a class one death world. You’ You’re robust enough to come from a class four. That’s impressive. Nobody usually survives encounters with class four deathworlders.”

The human glared at her. Argued in its thick, nigh-incomprehensible tongue.

“You know that, and I know that. But when it comes to getting free drinks at the bar? Let me do the talking.”

Snort. A roll of its expressive eyes.

“Okay. Fine. Free drinks and your supply of theobromine.”

*

Ruscis could tell the exact moment when her human had started unloading the hold. It was the faces of the other cogniscents interrogating her as a potential threat.

“That? Oh yeah. Saved it’s life back on Cestus Three. Been following me around ever since. Guess it’s grateful. And since I’m clearly not dead, you can register that human as mostly harmless, too. Thank you kindly.”

“Does it have a name?” said the Chitanian behind the counter.

“Yeah, sure. But I can’t pronounce it. I call it ‘Red’. Hey, Red! Come here and tell the nice bug your name…”

“Victoria,” said the human.

“See? Utterly unpronounceable.”

“…answers to 'Red’,” murmured the Chitanian. “Do you intend to obtain any controlled substances?”

“Only theobromine. Red needs it to live.”

Red nodded enthusiastically.

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Challenge #00567 - A192: Unsuitable Food

“The secret formula, it must be kept out of the wrong hands or it will doom us all!”

“This is a recipe for clootie dumplings.”

In the wake of sanctioned, regulated, guaranteed foodstuffs, there was revolution.

Astrid slipped her fingers into the knuckleduster she kept in her pocket as the shadowy figure approached. Just in case. Her life had been saved by precautionary measures like this, and the dust mask she wore to obscure her face.

“The owl hoots at midnight,” she said.

“A black cat screeches in return,” answered the stranger.

“To serve man,” she said.

“It’s a cookbook,” the stranger stepped into the light. She, too, wore concealing gear. They had to. Surveillance was everywhere.

Only then did she extract her fingers from her knuckleduster and bring the other surprise in her pockets out into the open.

Olive seeds. “For generations unborn.”

“Good food for good people,” said her contact. She swapped the little packet for a plain envelope. “This is the secret formula. Do not let it fall into the wrong hands.”

She only checked it out when she was safe from the pervasive cameras. At last. The recipe for proper clootie dumplings. She would make a copy, of course. Just in case.

The Secret Order of Chefs would be pleased.

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Challenge #00566 - A191: Vampirism Sucks

A group of casual vampires, perhaps playing poker or lounging by the pool, with cheesy-looking coconuts with straws in, when in bursts a newbie vampire hunter who apparently got all his info from a book written before both the discovery of the coconut milk thing and safe volunteer blood donor procedures.

The sun had risen. Those in the pool had fled for the cabana at the first hint of light in the east. There, they applied zinc oxide very liberally to their pale skins or wrapped themselves in Vantablack cloaks or gowns while waiting their turn at the colour they desired most.

They sipped coconut water and gossiped amongst themselves.

At least until Kevin VanHelsing turned up.

He wore sports padding in every available location, and had added silver-looking studs to every possible surface. He was bedecked with enough religious jewellery to make him look like the love child of a rapper and a pro wrestler.

“Avaunt! Back into the nether depths from whence you came, foul creatures of the night!” He gestured menacingly with a wooden garden stake.

“Every tventy-fife years,” moaned Elvira. “Can’t your family kip notes?”

“I dunno, I think the ‘nether depths’ thing is funny,” said Vlad.

“Is gettink to be annoying,” complained Nosty as he applied colours over his base coat of white zinc cream.

“…avaunt…?” murmured Kevin. “I’ve got a wooden stake and everything…?”

Liz, who was still modest after millennia of sucking blood, emerged from her Vantablack robe in an elaborate rainbow of body paint and a very staid swimsuit. “That’s probably pine. It wouldn’t do us the least bit of trouble. You need oak.” She picked up a spare coconut and sipped idly from the bendy straw. “And as for this pile of… bling? Is that the word?”

“That’s the word, honey,” said Lilia.

“Most of this is copper. The rest of it is rusting. And if you really wanted to hurt us? You wouldn’t have painted all of these spikes with fake chrome paint.”

“It’s gold that hurts Wampires, sveetie,” said Elvira. “And ve only drink from volunteers who are not cripy.”

“Which means all volunteers,” said Lilia.

“Turns out, coconut water is just as good,” said Liz, gesturing with her beverage. “So… we’re kinda harmless?”

“You shouldn’t smile when you say that,” informed Lilia. “Turns them off.”

“But…” Kevin whimpered. “…noble heritage… vampire hunters…”

“Aaaaawww…” cooed Liz. “Poooooorr human…”

“Elizabeth Bathory, don’t you dare,” Lilia threw on the discarded robe so she could haul Liz back into the shadows. “Remember the last human you tried to adopt? You don’t know how to look after them. You think they can go without food for weeks like we can…”

“But he doesn’t have anything, Lilly…”

Sigh. “…why did i fall in love with you?” Growl. “Fine. We’ll hire him as a bodyguard and trust him to look after himself, okay?”

Liz bounced and clapped her hands. “Yaaaaayyy! Best! Girlfriend! Ever!”

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Challenge #00565 - A190: One Fine Evening in a Festival of Masques

A duet between Francouer and The Spine.

On the plus side, the makeup was working. On the minus side, everyone was giving him the stink-eye because he’d decided to test it during an extended costume party all over Paris.

The Spine considered it a point of merit that he had to buy a cheap mask on a stick just to ward off hostility.

One of the Peters would yell at him later for getting paint in his seams, but… it felt so good to walk among them and pretend, just for a moment, that he wasn’t a piece of heavy equipment and he could go where he wanted and do what he liked. Just like them.

He found himself fetched up by an old Cabaret, where musicians jammed in the street side. The war was over. There was no reason to keep the party indoors.

He picked up a bass guitar and joined in. The existing guitarist, a bulky fellow in mostly white, nodded coyly and challenged him to sing along.

He had a really high voice for someone that big.

“Look around - there’s another mask behind you,” sang the big fellow.

“Flash of mauve / Splash of puce,” the Spine challenged

“Fool and king / Ghoul and goose,” answered the French giant.

“Green and black / Queen and priest…”

“Trace of rouge / Face of beast…”

“Faces! Take your turn, take a ride…”

“On the merry-go-round / in an inhuman race!”

“Ah, Honeybee,” teased a vision in crinoline and lace. Rabbit. She had a fine fake moustache on a stick and no other attempt to blend in. “Ya know that one ain’t g-g-gonna fly outside’a the Masques.” She turned and grinned at him. “Hey, Th’ Spine. I see ya finally met Frankie.”

“Francoeur,” corrected the giant.

Rabbit blew him a kiss. “I c-c-can only g-get away with callin’ him Honeybee…”

“Wait,” The Spine boggled. “We all thought you hallucinated him.”

“He’s shy,” said Rabbit.

Francoeur cooed an agreement.

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