SKIP Revamped: The Case of the Polite Vampire
This prompt entitles the receiver to one free day, to be used any time out of sequence of the normal prompt list when the receiver deems it necessary or just already has a really awesome ministory idea that has nothing to do with they day’s prompt but has to be written right now.
[Thank you for this prompt. It doesn’t count on the Official Tally, but, damn, I want to write the heck out of this…]
There’s a million stories in this city. More than a million. There’s one for every sad soul in this fog-shrouded labyrinth of brick and mortar. Some get more than one.
Mesi was trying for Desdemona in Othello. It was one of the few roles where she actually had a chance at something approaching lead female. Almost all of the others trying for it were typical pale blonde wannabes who dreamed of a life of glamour and frequently found a world of disappointments.
This theatre, Bainbridges Entertainments, allowed the Gentry free admittance on casting and rehearsal days, so she had an audience to play to. Not that she never played as if the audience was there anyway. She acted her socks off for them.
And was sent away in favour of a pale, blond wannabe because they wanted someone more ‘feminine’. More 'beautiful’.
Sometimes, she could cheerfully commit murder and then dance all the way to the gallows.
She was plenty beautiful! And exquisitely feminine! And she would gladly dissect any objectors with a spoon if they dared object in her presence!
“Miss Blackamoor, ma'am?”
She glared him down. “My name,” she iced, “is Miss Mesi. I made that perfectly clear.”
“Yes’m… only? A gentleman sent this for you?” He had a card in his trembling fingers.
“Thank you,” she restrained -barely- from snarling as she took the card. The boy fled. It could have been worse. He could have called her 'Miss Nigra’. She shuddered.
It was an invitation card. High-class stuff. M'seur Arthur D'Raigun would be honoured by her gracious presence at such-and-such an address at her earliest convenience. Someone, presumably M'seur D'Raigun, had written, _You are vastly under-appreciated_ underneath in neat, pencilled letters.
She decided she would walk. It would give enough time for the gentleman to be home by the time she found the place.
*
Arthur was in several degrees of The Jitters. And worse, he was hungry. If he was still famished by the time she got there, he would scare her off. Vampires tended to give off a predatory miasma if they were underfed in the presence of the living.
Which left him the eternal quandry of how to stave off his ever-present hunger-pangs without causing alarm and suspicion. It had been two weeks since he’d last sated himself with a cup of blood from the butcher’s below 'for his experiments’.
Would they ask? Would they want to know? What the hell was his excuse the last time? Something about removing bloodstains?
He had to think. Why o why did he have the masochistic desire to live conveniently near a place that stank of blood? He was far too lightheaded and he had to think. And his right arm still hurt from the last time he’d ebbed his base desires…
Therefore, Arthur carefully rolled up his left sleeve and bought the vein to his sharpening teeth… and bit.
His knees trembled and he found the wall helpful in keeping him upright. Too long. Too long between drinks. His own blood did little for him except curb his eternal hunger to the point where he was no longer on the brink of being wild.
Enough to remain civil to a lady unfairly neglected. And maybe, this time, finally, make himself ask for her living blood.
A knock came at the door. Too soon. Far too soon. He bound the bite with a kerchief and covered his arm anew with his sleeve. He answered the door.
O. My.
She was even taller in person. A full two inches above his own, moderately impressive height. Statuesque and goddess-like, even in a dress that didn’t quite fit. He was stunned. Simply stunned.
“…uh…” Damnit, man. Speak up! “Do come in, M'lady,” he bowed prettily for her. “I don’t believe I caught your surname.”
She entered with the smell of lilacs, sugar, and warm summers. “I rather expected something… bigger,” she said. Trying not to sound disappointed.
He fought off the grey pall of dizziness. Leaning on the wall for support. “Yes. Uh. Well.” This was not the time to fall to mumbling! “My family home is… uh…” Damnit damnit damnit damnit… “quite a distance away… This place is more… convenient.” He found himself looking at his shoes during this speech. Like a schoolboy caught swiping apples.
*
Mesi raised an eyebrow. This 'gentleman’ was acting like a teenager trying to hire a street molly[1] for some necessary education in a back alley.
“Sir, if you’re aiming for the kind of 'appreciation’ I think you’re aiming for… you can forget it. I sing, I dance, I act, I even have a comedy routine… but I do not entertain gentlemen in any boudoirs!”
“No! You… mis… und'rsss–*” his eyes rolled back in his head and he slid ungraciously down the wall as his legs gave out.
O joy. A fainter.
He was far too old for this sort of first-time fling… Mesi checked his collar and waistcoat. Not that tight. She picked him up to move him to the bed, and caught more than a glimpse of fang.
She almost dropped him from surprise.
Mesi propped him in the only chair and double-checked. Yes. Those were fangs. Those were indeed fangs. And judging from his emaciated frame (goodness, half his clothing was stuffed!) he had not had a chance to feed.
He returned to lfe with her fingers in his mouth and stumbled away. Slumping on the floor and battling another fainting spell.
Well. She could procure raw, fresh rabbit for Jemima, she could do this, too.
“Hold on for a minute, I’ll be right back…”
*
She knew! She knew! She knew what he was and now he was doomed. She’d be back, all right. She’d be back with an oaken stake. Or bulbs of garlic. Or a golden crucifix[2].
She didn’t even need to bother. All she had to do was open the curtains!
AIE! Here she came! He cringed in on himself, dreading the first, searing touch of the fatal sun.
“Here. Drink up.” A heavy thud. The rich and appetising smell of… Ogoodness… Fresh! Blood! An entire bucketful! “There’s a butcher’s downstairs, and I figured maybe it doesn’t have to be human, so…”
The rest of her words faded to a soft and pleasant babble as he quietly and fiercely adored her from his proper position on the floor. He thought he’d fallen in love before…
“My sweet lady,” he breathed, “I am perpetually in your service.”
She handed him his mug. “Drink, you fool. You must be half-starved.”
[1] hooker
[2] Traditional vampires can be killed with an instrument of gold, since it’s incorruptible.
Challenge #00501 - A126: Sing-Along
Bitzer having a happy day and warbling through it. Because sometimes it only matters if the music feels right for you.
Bitzer watched the clock as the second hand ticked closer and closer to The Time.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
Extract the vinyl EP, a souvenir from Walter Robotics and her time there, carefully from its sleeve.
The record player was already warmed up and set to her preferred levels.
Seven. Six. Five.
Record on the spindle. Speed set to 45. Needle free of dust.
Four. Three. Two.
Drop the record on the turntable.
Hold the head above the rotating vinyl.
One. Eight O'clock AM!
Drop the head.
“Attune your ears to the grinding gears…”
Bitzer sang along as she set up her activities for the day. “Colonel Walter was shocked, when he learned from the nile…” If it was noise to Matter Mistress Carol, she never said.
And if being happy came at the cost of a few wires and probes during the day, or perplexing questions from Miz Carol, then that was a good price to pay.
Miz Carol came down, coffee in hand and pyjamas still on, during the “La da da da da"s. Looking her usual morning mess. She sat on the stairs and watched Bitzer attempt to dance.
Both waited until the very last, "A very big steam-powered gee-raffe what smokes,” before attempting speech. “Good morning, Miz Carol. Will you come do the Nannergens[1] with me?”
“Nnnngghh…” Miz Carol took another swig of coffee. “How can you be so cheerful? Th’ sun’s barely up…”
“The sun’s been up for three hours, Miz Carol,” and then the next song started. “And I’ve been up for four.”
“Can’t miss Danger Mouse, can we?”
“Or Captain Planet,” Bitzer sang as she did the Nannergens. “Or Super Ted[2]. I listened with the headphones and tried not to yell at the screen.”
Miz Carol yawned. “I know. But Danger Mouse still needs to be nicer to poor Penfold. That was closer to seven thirty. You’re getting better.”
Oh. That was a relief. “I am ver-very sorry about the oth-other times.”
“I know. You tell me every morning. And I’ve forgiven you. Promise.”
“It’s almost time for science, isn’t it?”
Yawwnnn… “Yeah. Quarter past eight. Time for science.”
Bitzer put the B-side on and settled down in the chair for the wires and the scans. The chair was angled just so, so that she could see the faces of the robots who had been singing their songs on stage while she’d been undergoing examinations in the labs. With her gears and cogs in the open and multiple science types going through her workings.
This was much better.
“I was lost and scared and all alone and there was darkness and all of my fears had grown into a monster I could not contain it had claws and teeth and oh so many fangs… But then… I saw… your eyes…” she crooned along.
It was a pretty song. And it made Miz Carol smile.
Being not alone any more was the best thing in the world.
[1] That little step the band does during ‘Steamboat Shenanigans’. Named phonetically.
[2] Actual morning lineup on the ABC during the late 80’s, early 90’s. Don’t ask me how I know 9_9
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Challenge #00500 - A125: Further Proof, if Any Were Really Needed
Prompt: Something involving the gympie gympie tree.
Because that is one scary tree.
[AN: Slightly scarier is the Manchineel, aka The Tree That Hates You. It’s native to Florida, possibly by cosmic accident. But if you read up on the Gympie Gympie, it’s a close call.]
Every living planet in the known universe has an island or a continent like Australia. Except for N'Oz (Originally, New Australia) which is almost all like Australia, except for one small island/continent which is like a fairy-tale pastoral Europe. Nobody on N'Oz lives there.
And it is in one of the more heavily forested sections of N'Oz that a curious visitor may spot the Gympie Gympie Research Centre. In its heavily-fortified confines, guarded by airlocks and multiple hazmat precautions, there grows a stable population of Gympie Gympie trees.
A tree that, like most things found in Australia-level toxic environments, is out to get even with anything that moves on behalf of its leafy brethren.
“I do not understand,” say the visiting aliens. “This tree is so toxic that even third-hand contact causes excruciating pain. And you bought it with you?”
“Yeah, sure,” say the native N'Ozies. “Something that bloody dangerous has got to be good for something.”
Visitors are regularly reminded that humans are a species that expose themselves to toxins - not just for medical purposes, but also for entertainment. Yet, they are inevitably surprised when they find out about the GGRC.
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Challenge #00499 - A124: Dominion
“Look there, that’s the fourth tribe —”
“Herd.”
“…whatever. Fourth herd of cows we’ve driven past in the last half-hour. Between that and what I saw regarding the cats you live with and you cleaning waste from their box of sand earlier, I’m just saying, I’m not really that convinced you humans are the dominant species on this planet.”
“Well, we are kinda high up on the food chain,” said Sandra. “I’ve tried to explain this to you before. We’re omnivores. Some animals are the kind we keep for food. Like all these cows. Some, we keep for company. Like my cat.”
“You do not eat all things that you can,” insisted D'tez. “Your diet is very restricted in comparison to your available food.”
“Well, just because you can doesn’t mean you should,” Sandra checked the map as she drove. Still on course. “We have cultural and ethical reasons for not eating everything that isn’t nailed down.”
“But a simple expansion of what is edible would eliminate your food issues.”
“We’ve been through this, D'tez. Humans view insects as dirty. We don’t like to eat dirty food.”
“But they are abundant, plentiful and tasty! They take up much less space and are far easier to raise.”
Sandra sighed. “It wouldn’t be the first time humanity didn’t do something just because it made sense.” She sighed. She was starting to agree with the Galactics. Humans were insane.
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Challenge #00498 - A123: Obvious Design Flaw
All those corrosive things humans excrete can come in handy sometimes, right?
(“We have to get out of this maze as fast as we can, but if we turn on the plasma cutter the monster will hear us!”
“Stand back, I got this” *spits at wall*)
“Sucrose! What the heck kind of alien builds walls out of sucrose?” asked Mabel.
“I have no idea, but we are going to need one hell of a dentist by the time we get out of here.” Trisha gave up licking the next wall to worry at the thin spot she’d been making.
“Power core’s five more walls away,” said Gladys.
Krink. Tink. CLACK. Trisha put a fragment of wall in her mouth. “You’re next, Mabs. My tongue’s feeling like old leather.”
“Right.” Mabel wriggled through the hole and began licking the next wall in their way. “They could’ve at least sprung for flavouring. What’s wrong with a little hint of orange? Or mint?”
*
The entire crew huddled in their quarters, watching their monitors in horror as the creatures they thought captives were literally eating their way through solid sucra walls. Proof against anything that their fellow Hemitt could devise.
These aliens were unstoppable!
And yet, they avoided essential infrastructure. They did not eat the pipes or the wires, or any vital thing. Just the walls between them and their goal. But their unstoppability made a lasting impression on them, all the same.
Even now, with the humans declared merely insane and not hazardous, the Hemitt still make features about monsters that can eat buildings.
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Challenge #00497 - A122: When The Rot Came In
The beginning of the end of Nufurria
(or- I’m *really* curious as to how this society began, what it was like in its heyday, and how interaction with the larger galactic culture changed it. How do the Nufurrian ‘masters’ see themselves?)
Conception.
“Don’t you get it? We don’t have to be freaks and weirdoes any more! We can take all the furries and otherkin and everybody who loves anthropomorphics and go make a world in our own image. We have the technology to give the otherkin the bodies they deserve. We have the technology to make anthros. It’ll be just like heaven!”
Perception.
“Yeah, I’m gonna be surrounded with busty bitches who’ll do whatever I tell them to! It’s gonna be perfect.”
“I’m gonna have a bunch'a pigs and make ‘em farm truffles. Hilarious.”
“I’m going to be a glorious unicorn. At last.”
Inception.
“We’re here to celebrate the beginning of a wonderful new world!”
The crowds cheered. It was going to be the best party ever. The first batches of newly Uplifted beings were coming of age. Being part of society. The Changed welcomed them into their homes.
An uncomfortable amount of the Unchanged welcomed more into their bedrooms.
Deception.
“No, I’m not mistreating her. She loves it, don’t you Bitch?”
Bitch wagged her tail and nodded. Her master had said her name! And if she was a good girl, he would give her a treat.
Exception.
“You have to understand, Rover. Your puppies will go to new homes very quickly. People love puppies. It’s just… harder… to house a full-grown Dog.”
“You will make sure they go to good homes? Loving homes? I don’t want to see them in the arena. Or… in those movies…”
“We’re underfunded, I’m sorry.” Two sets of eyes, human and canid, looked at the scrawl that had been on the wall for weeks.
It read: DIE BLEDIN HART PUSY BICH!
They didn’t have the money, the time or the resources to get rid of it. Halfhearted attempts with whitewash didn’t work. The paint kept bleeding through.
“We have to take fosters at their word.” The humans teary eyes completed the story.
Reception.
“Hi there,” said the Dog at the podium. He wore a golden sash over parachute pants and a pocket-bandollier. He also had a golden chain that kept a cape made out of an enormous towel on his shoulders. “My name is O'Ranges. I am made ambassador for Nufurria. This is my human, Aelki! She found me in a box and made everything better.” O'Ranges picked up the diminutive Aelki and hugged her like a child would embrace a teddy bear. “There are many like me who wait in boxes for good home. Many never find one. Please. We need help.”
The Galactic Alliance was only too glad to assist.
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Challenge #00496 - A121: Adventures With Incompatible Technology
The robots of Steam-Powered Giraffe meet Van Rijn’s Muses.
{Fldth-whomp}
“I’m not saying she wasn’t a nice lady, Hatchy, I’m saying you really should have given that big, dangly robot her portal gun back. It’s done weird things to your cannon.”
“I like my new can-non,” grumbled a second voice. Presumably Hatchy.
“I’m k-k-kinda fond of it m-m-m-myself.” said a third. “But it’s t-takin’ us from p-pickle ta pickle, bro.”
Tinka had decided she didn’t like the sound of these strangers. In a case of three against one, Tinka inevitably came out as the loser.
She had lost enough already.
So she did the dumbest thing you could do in a room with three sudden strangers. She moved and tried to hide.
“We ain’t al-l-l-lone, fellas,” said the third.
“Well, hello there,” cheered the first. “Don’t be alarmed, we mean no harm. We’re just you’re regular, average, everyday steam powered autonomous automatons..”
“Speak for yourself, b-b-bro. I’d rath-rath-rather say we’re super awesome.”
“Rabbit, we’re trying to make friends, here… Not scare them worse.”
“Let me try?” said Hatchy.
“What? It wor-works on the stage.”
“Please let me try,” said Hatchy.
“We’re not on a stage, Rabbit.”
“Why’d ya gotta be such a wet b-b-b-b-blanket, th'Spine?”
Th'Spine and Rabbit continued to bicker. Twin blue lanterns swept the area with spotlights. “Hello?” said Hatchy. “I am friendo. Would you like to say hel-lo?”
Tinka tried the hat on the stick trick.
“That is a ve-ry nice hat, friendo. You can put it back on. We will not harm you. My name is Hatch-worth. What’s yours?”
“Ti-Tink-Tink-Tinka…” she risked a peek. “I nee-nee-nee-need re-rep-air-air-airs…”
“Ooh, no won-der you were scared. It’s all right now. We can help.”
*
The other two were The Spine and Rabbit. Twin clanks of an original four made by a Colonel Walter. Aka ‘Pappy’.
Their family was more intact that hers. Simply because the people around them cared for the clanks as if they were merely artificial people.
“These are Walter Robotics maintenance nanites,” said The Spine. It was a small vial of grey goo that… squirmed. “Keep them in the vial and on your person for three days, at least. Then you can pour them over your gears and they should keep you up to snuff.”
“They need that long to make your ac-quain-tance,” added Hatchy.
“And I d-d-d-don’t like 'em,” added Rabbit. “I wanna be outta here before they happen t’ me.”
The Spine merely rolled his eyes, as if they’d had an argument about that a thousand times before. “Frankly, ma'am, we don’t belong in this world. We’re trying to get home.”
“Where is home?” asked Tinka, clutching the tiny vial to her chest.
“San Diego,” said Rabbit.
“That’s in A-mer-i-ca,” added Hatchworth.
Tinka almost swooned. The highly hazardous Americas? And they lived there?
“And another reality,” clarified The Spine. “Most of the time, it’s rather boring.”
“Except when I’m ar-r-r-round,” added Rabbit.
Tinka watched them walk through a hole in reality to yet another world. How long had they been wandering? How much longer would they be doing so?
She contemplated the vial. They had never said she had to use all of it on herself…
The next time she found one of her sisters, she would be prepared…
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Challenge #00495 - A120: An Attempt Was Made
And they never spoke of the peanut-butter lobster incident again.
Meals, they said, were a uniting factor. Food, they said, was universal. Humans, they said, would eat anything.
But not this.
Plate after plate after plate of it came back. They were supposed to love lobster! But they were sending this all back with comments like, “it tastes funny” or “I’m allergic to the sauce”.
One of them even came into the kitchens to find Byaadi weeping into what should have been the mashed potatoes.
“I’m guessing there’s some problems with human cuisine?”
“I don’t understand,” Byaadi wept. “The recipe seemed simple enough. Lobsters and butter…”
“Yes, but… not peanut butter.”
Blink. Sniff. Gasp. “There’s more than one kind?”
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Random CoraSpine stuffs
First off, the SPG world has too many characters to fit everyone into a verbatim recast.
Though some fit easier than most…
Something to remember, though, for all its modern trappings, Coraline is still a Faerie tale. That’s Fae with an E. On purpose. Because those suckers are *VICIOUS*
My mother said I never should
Play with the faeries in the wood
If I did, she would say
You naughty child to disobey
Your hair won’t grow, your shoes won’t shine
You naughty bairn, you shan’t be mine
They’d steal children and replace them with changelings. They’d curdle fresh milk and make eggs go rotten in their nests.
Faerie food was so good, they said, that mortal fare would no longer appeal to anyone who took it. If they were rescued from the Fae, they would just wither away from the want of the taste of Fae food.
Mind you, Faerie food is all taste and no substance, so a mortal would wither and die anyway. Lose-lose.
Never step inside a Faerie ring (the ring of mushrooms/toadstools) without stepping on one to “open a doorway back”, first. And you certainly never invoke magic inside one, regardless. That gains you the attention of the Fae.
Time is a plaything to a Fae. Once in the Faerie lands, the time you think has passed is not the same as the time in the real world. They can make you think you’ve spent minutes, when the reality is days/weeks/years or worse.
And you have to be RIGIDLY PRECISE when making deals with them, because they are both immortal and the biggest mob of rules lawyers you ever had the misfortune to meet. And they’re rotten cheaters, too.
But I clearly digress :D
The hooks on which we could plausibly hang this thing are:
- Walter Manor is older than balls
- The Fae like old things
Somewhere in Walter Manor is a door. It has always been there. It was there before the first tool started the process of making the first building that ever stood there. And it is well hidden…
Until the Fae want it found.
The Spine (or Coraspine) is miffed because his robot siblings get away with everything, but he gets grounded for the least little thing. He can’t catch a break and wants to have the same freedom that humans do.
Walking through the gardens at sunset, he accidentally steps inside a Faerie ring whilst making a wish on the evening star.
Not long after that… he finds a doll that looks a great deal like him. And then he finds a peculiar door…
A door to a world where all of his wishes seem to come true…
[Obviously, I’m already writing way too much. Someone take it]
Challenge #00494 - A119: One Fine Evening in the Commerce District of Station Alpha Five.
Sorry, but here’s another prompt http://cnvvj.tumblr.com/post/78934269709/harblkun-hookteeth-beltaguise-fantasy
Personally I just submit them as I have ideas/spot them on tumblr, but I try not to send 20 at once
[AN: I’m sure I did this before… But again]
“I’ve found a B or a D is better for me. There’s a fine balance between thermal security and back, neck and shoulder problems.”
A human sauntered over to them with a pleased smile on his face and hooded eyes. “Hel-lo gorgeous…” he began.
Again? Vroxx rolled his eyes. “Count the brow ridges, pal. I’m male.”
“I know,” said the human. “Captain Jack Harkness. So very glad to make your acquaintance.”
Oh. Oh. OH! “Uh. This is… new territory for me…”
This earned him a wider grin. “Then you are in for a treat. Assuming you’re amenable?”
“Oh. Uh. Er. Yes?”
“Music to my ears!”
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