Challenge #00461 - A086: True Mens’ Rights
A Men’s Rights Activist who isn’t a jerk, but has genuine grievance and wish to live in a world where female rapists aren’t lauded and institutionalized rape isn’t assumed to be a standard feature of incarceration. Possibly working to start and/or save a battered-men’s shelter.
“Save the men’s shelter?” Nobody was taking Lee’s pamphlets. Nobody was putting a coin in his tin. “Save the men’s shelter?”
Someone stopped. “Why do men need a shelter?”
“Men who’ve been battered or raped need a safe space,” Lee began his pitch. Offering the pamphlet so it could be read whilst in his hands. Not forcing it on the passer-by who may have been schooled to accept an offering because of the patriarchal norm. “They need somewhere they can speak out without fear of reprisals from society. Where they are allowed to be weak, until they get their strength back.”
“I thought male rape only happened in prison,” she said. “Or with gay gangs.”
“That’s a common misconception,” he said, glad that she wasn’t hurling slurs or invective. “Most gay rapes are perpetuated by homosexual men attempting to ‘teach someone a lesson’. And prison rape is far less common than -say- rape in the back of a car. Or in a classroom or study environment. This shelter is the last in our city where men can feel safe, speaking up about rape, abuse and sexual molestation.”
“Men can’t be abused… They’re bigger and stronger. They can fight back.”
“That’s also a common misconception. Men and boys are being abused as we speak. What’s wrong is that society tells them that they should be strong, and never admit to such weakness. One in twelve male rape survivors never admit to being raped. That number is far worse in cases of abuse or sexual molestation. Men need to be allowed to speak up.”
She took the paper and read it. All men’s issues. All in easily-digestable paragraphs with reference links.
“So you want to end rape, domestic abuse, sexual molestation, and the restrictive gender roles in our society?”
“Yes. Every little bit helps,” Lee rattled the donations tin meaningfully.
She folded up a large bill for it. “Sweetie, I hate to tell you this, but you’re not really a Men’s Rights Activist.”
“I’m not?”
“You’re a Feminist. I was on my way to my group. We’re holding a bake sale for the same darn shelter.” She slotted her money into the tin. “Want to come along?”
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Challenge #00460 - A085: Like Humans Do
In terms of romance, compared to humans, all other sentient species are incredibly awkward, stumbling over words, blurting nonsensical sentences, accidentally changing colour, releasing/commenting on pheromones, and/or bluntly stating their piece in a deadpan manner.
Conversely, compared to everyone else the most nervous and awkward of humans is a veritable poet.
She had been trying to speak to the idol of her heart for a Standard Month, now. They came to the same places at that she did. Showed evident likes of similar things.
And was beautiful beyond measure.
And every day, every time. All she could manage was limp, lacklustre things like, “Hi,” or “Cool,” or “How’s it been?” She knew, now, why they called it small talk. Small words. Inconsequential. Ineffective. Invisible.
And she knew the human couldn’t possibly pick up on her own mating displays. They just didn’t register.
Meanwhile, humans everywhere were diving headlong into cross-species relationships with the grace and style known to no other kind.
It took her that entire month to work out what to say. All day to work up the courage to say it. And even then, she stumbled.
“Yah-you make my higher synapses misfire and I want more. Are you ameh..(gulp) amenable?”
The human smiled and changed colour. “Well aren’t you smooth as fuck?”
“K… Kerrit. Is my name. My name is Kerrit.”
A laugh. “You can breathe, Kerrit. I’m Dani. And I am very pleased to become your acquaintance.”
How did they do it?
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Challenge #00457 - A082: Beautiful Hostile
http://cnvvj.tumblr.com/post/76196333269/sharped0-gobigorgoextinct-steve-irwin-in-a
That is all.
[AN: Out of respect for the Irwin family, I’m making a very Steve-like character]
“Damn crazy Australians,” muttered Pentecost.
The team for Beautiful Hostile had arrived. Jaeger, pilot and… co-pilot. If such a term could be used for a crocodile that Harry Banks sort of kept as a pet.
That was part of the winning strategy for Beautiful Hostile. It beat the Kaiju by literally fighting like an animal. Some joked that Harry Banks understood animals so deeply that he’d become drift compatible with all of them.
Especially the dangerous ones native to Australia.
Pentecost stayed very still as they approached, lest the crocodile think he was tasty.
“No worries, mate,” breezed Harry. “He’s had his chickens. Full as a goog[1]. Wouldn’t bite, even if it’s to find out what you taste like.”
“Haha,” he smiled dutifully and shook his hand. “Welcome to the team, Harry… and…”
“Paul,” supplied Harry.
Paul the Crocodile rumbled.
Harry laughed. “You’ll get used to ‘im, no worries. He’s a big softie, to be honest. Though I found it helps the fight to make sure he gets his chicken, after.”
Crazy Australians.
It was no real surprise that, while Pentecost was out searching for other pilots, Harry and Paul took on a Kaiju and achieved mutually assured destruction. It was also no shock that the last transmission from Beautiful Hostile was, “Crikey, what a ripper!” in a tone of enthusiastic awe.
[1] egg.
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Challenge #00454 - A079: This Always Happens…
“I leave you guys for ten seconds and you all become rabbits? Why does this happen to almost everyone I know?”
“Uhm,” said Twyll. Who currently resembled a tortie lop.“We’re… not… rabbits.”
“Twyll… when’d you become a liar?” he asked, confused. “You’re like Little Miss Truth…”
“Jor…” said the angry-looking white bunny with amazing eyeliner game. That had to be Bob. “Did you raid the tupperware in the back of the fridge labelled, ‘Experimental! Do not eat under any circumstances. No, not even to see what it tastes like. No, not even if you’re really hungry. This means you Jor’?”
“…uuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhmmmm…” Jor looked down at his hands. Paws. Shit. “Mmmmmmmmmaaaaaayyyybe?”
Bob rolled her eyes. “I’ll sit on him, you call the ambulance. Papa bun-bun’s going to have a real fun adventure in the detox ward.”
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Both as in categorically both (SPG fics) and (Koq’riix), not those two SPG drabbles in particular. English grammar is a butt on the internet with no emphasis. And it doesn’t help that I went on a tangent. Mayor McToilet did indeed produce giggles. Much needed giggles after the heart-stomping from the first drabble you evil evil author.
English is indeed a butt. And I shall laugh maniacally at being called evil.
MWU-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA….
Challenge #00450-451 - A075-76: Whuffo/The Inauguration of Mayor McToilet
(Can I do this? I’m doing it anyway.)
Free day! If there’s a drabble you’ve been wanting to write but haven’t had the right prompt to do it, now’s the time.
[AN: I don’t know when I’m going to get one of these again, so I’m going for broke. Be warned: the first one included feels inspired by this post. The second one is just a silly thing inspired by quinsecticide ]
Whuffo
“We’re pinned!”
“Spine! Do something!”
“There’s a hill! I can’t zap what I can’t see,” he, too, cowered in the trenches with his unit. “Besides, with this atmosphere, there’s a chance I’d hit all of you.”
Someone said something about useless robots. The Spine was used to hearing it.
“It’s okay, fellas,” shouted Green. “We got air support coming in! Thank God for the Whuffos!”
The Spine needed clarification. “Whuffos?”
“You know. ‘Whuffo did you jump outta that nice plane?’ It’s a joke.”
“Ah.” Much of human humour evaded him. Especially on the battlefield.
The plane came overhead to the arcing lights of tracer rounds. Even The Spine’s eyes couldn’t pick out the tiny dots that were falling humans.
But he could pick out a scream.
“They sent the Banshee!” Roberts grinned. “I don’t believe it, they sent the Banshee!”
One chute opened before the others. From it, blue balls of energy scattered the enemy from their fortifications. The scream continued.
He knew that voice. He knew that blue energy.
“Rabbit…” What had they done?
*
Once again, the government enlisted them for war. But this time, it was not saving soldiers from Mustard Gas. This time, they would be serving in varied arms of the armed forces.
They had custom uniforms, of course. The Spine’s own multiple steam chimneys[1] made certain of that. Plus, their metal bodies had heat issues that human uniforms merely complicated.
He remembered waving to the other two[2] as they took him away.
“It’ll be all right,” said Rabbit. “We’re b-built to last.”
*
The Spine was in the army. He hadn’t seen any of his brothers[3] since the recruitment offices had separated them for uniform fittings and publicity photos for the poster artist.
He’d wanted to send a letter to Rabbit, asking why he looked so sad. The army kept telling him that ordinance wasn’t allowed mail.
Now he knew they were lying.
The chute fell faster than any other paratrooper. Became a target for the enemy’s rounds. The Spine could hear them ricochet off Rabbit’s copper skin.
And all he could do was watch as his first and best friend fell perilously fast towards the very hill that vexed them all.
He left the trench without thinking. Risked mortar fire tearing him to pieces at any second. Tried to catch his copper twin.
“OUTTA THE WAY D-D-DUMMINS!” Rabbit deliberately avoided his reaching arms.
There was a horrible crunch.
Well. Since he was on top of the hill anyway… The Spine fired his tesla at the enemy. Electrocuted their guns and possibly more than a few enemy soldiers.
He would weep for them, later.
Right now… Rabbit was a mess. His legs had broken into separate pieces. Scattered all over the mud and blood of no-man’s land.
The rest of the unit charged across the mud. The Spine let them.
“S-s-s-see?” panted Rabbit. “If I’d hi-hit y-y-y-y-you… There’d be no-nobody t’ take me b-b-back for re-re-repairs.”
The Spine desperately gathered parts. “Some of these bolts sheared straight off, Rabbit. Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Naw. I asked Duo t’ d-d-d-disable the damage se-se-sensors. Jus’ l-l-like the g-great war. Ain’t fe-feelin’ a thing.”
The pants were shredded ruins, but they did save many of Rabbit’s cogs. The Spine tried to ignore the spilling oil and piece together what he could of his brother.
“He-here.” Rabbit passed over a necklace of paperclips. “They’ll d-d-do until we g-g-g-g-g-g-get b-b-ba-b-back.”
All The Spine could think of was how his twin was going to be inches shorter than him from this war onwards. That, and wondering why Pappy had built them to last at all.
At least he knew, now. He knew why Rabbit looked so sad.
Rabbit was always smart, for all that he played the fool. He’d probably worked it out seconds after the first parachute got strapped to him. And the photographer could not make him smile.
[1] WWII happens before the cooling fin upgrade
[2] Hatchy, though operational, was considered 'too old-fashioned’ for a modern poster and just sent straight to the front as mobile artillery.
[3] Rabbit either hasn’t decided or hasn’t come out. Your choice.
The Inauguration of Mayor McToilet
The first thing The Spine did when Mr Reed left him in charge was to check and make certain Rabbit wasn’t getting into trouble.
Too late.
Far, far too late.
Rabbit was decorating the main ballroom with toilet paper. She had already transformed the curtains and the chandelier and, to a certain extent, herself.
“Rabbit, what–?”
“There’s no time, th’ Spine! I g-g-g-gotta get ready for the wedding!” A toilet-paper rosette became a wall decoration. She seemed to notice him for the first time. “Mistah Mayor, sir! You’re right on time,” she adorned him with a sash made of the same white paper and embellished with vivid red lipstick.
Mayor McToilet.
Rabbit stepped back to appraise him. “You forgot y-y-y-y-y-your monocle. For shame! And on such a formal occasion, too.”
He could feel reality slipping away under the power of Rabbit’s imagination. And his connection to the wifi wasn’t helping. “Now, Rabbit…”
“Lucky for you I g-g-g-g-got a spare.” The cardboard tube intersected with and locked on to his face.
The transformation - and the loss of control - was complete. “How may I assist, madame?”
“Take this,” three rolls of toilet paper, “and fancy up the foyer. We got g-guests com in’, Mayor! We ne-need t’ hurry!”
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Challenge #00449 - A074: The Nose Compass
(Actually said by a friend today)
“I have absolutely no idea what it smells like… But it smells like food”
Amalgam Station masses roughly the same as a Dwarf Planet, but is much, much larger in size because Dwarf Planets do not, for instance, contain corridors, cavernous spaces, parks, amenities, and infrastructure.
People tend to forget this. What they know of Amalgam Station becomes the sole total of their experience and they wander no further than their own knowledge.
But not Shayde.
She ‘went walkabout’ or 'went for a wander’ or, most dreaded of all, 'went out to see what was what’. And she could turn up anywhere.
And after the fifth time Security found her and advised she utilise a JOAT as a guide, since JOATs naturally went most places that other cogniscents didn’t reach, Shayde started 'going out walking’ with Rael.
Which included a picnic basket stacked to the brim with easily-portable goodies. Or possibly more so, considering her experience with trans-dimensional storage spaces.
But this time, they had wandered too far into the sorts of forgotten areas that had denizens and sketchy shopfronts not written in GalStand. It was not dark and gloomy, at least. It was bright and blaring and absolutely teeming with things who glared at them like they were invaders. Which, technically, they were.
Rael consulted his PocketRef, very discretely. “That’s it,” he said. “We’re off the map.”
“Aw hesh yerself. Ye keep fergettin’ yer in the company o’ someone who can jump ye back tae home in a whisk an’ a half.”
“Yes, but the experience is not one I look forward to. I saw what shadow-jumping has done to people you don’t like.”
“Drop one pedo through 'is shadow an’ ye never hear the end of it…”
“Do you even know how to get home?” he rummaged in the basket. “And we’re out of snacks.” One day, in the far distant future, he would shake his habit of nervous eating. Today was not that day.
“Follow yer nose, then. Sniff tha’.”
Rael inhaled deeply. “Ooooh…”
“Aye. I dinnae ken what it smells like, but it smells like food.”
“You sure they’ll take the Time?”
“If no’ I always got me axe. Wouldnae be the first time I sang for me supper.”
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Answering this now because it’s more of a question than a prompt
So the Amalgam verse has those fan-pins for insulters, and you mentioned somewhere that there was a three-badge scale from something like occasional-accidental-insult to has-no-idea-what-social-mores-are-please-educate. What’s the fan level for will-insult-your-entire-family-when-annoyed or the reaction to precisely and deliberately reducing someone to a puddle of crying goo with a few well placed verbal barbs?
The fan pin is for people who are insulting by accident. Most people of the level you describe go pro or are selected for special training by a master.
But the tentative fourth level pin has the mirror ‘blades’ with trim in black, yellow and red. Much like a coral snake.
Challenge #00444 - A069: The Test
SPG in the far-future of your own universe. Because robots + space. – Weirdlet
Rael was ostensibly taking Shayde on a tour of the station’s Ambassadorial Meeting Chamber. What he was covertly doing was testing her. If she really was who she said she had been. If she really had existed on Earth at the time she stated… she would be able to recognise Them.
The Consortium of Steam.
The only artificial intelligences who had been thrown out of the Artificial Intelligence Alliance for being too human. And who viewed that as a compliment.
They always turned up early to sort out who wore the gold sash on their customary black-and-red outfits. By playing ‘Spuds’.
“This will be your desk. Because you don’t technically have a home planet or a population to fight for, you won’t be getting what passes for a formal introduction.”
“'Ere, why’m I Nineteen Eighty-Six when I left in Nineteen Eighty-Seven?”
“Because you didn’t make it all the way *through* Nineteen Eighty-Seven. You can’t have half a year.”
“Ye say that like it’s happened before…”
“We have previously made allowances for the temporally inconvenienced.” After sufficient proof…
And there they came. Four sharply-dressed metal humanoids. One in a dress. Accompanied by the beat of their own drum, and the clank and rattle of gears and the hiss of steam.
Shayde took one look at them and shrieked. It was not the yawp of terror that some would have vented, but the squeal of a fan.
“Omigidomigodomigodomigodomigod… It’s THEM!”
Rael should have won an award for his nonchalant, “Who?”
She grabbed his shoulders and shook him like he should know this was the greatest thing to happen since clootie dumplings[1]. “Colonel Walter’s Steam Man Band! They been knocking’ around the traps since Eighteen Ninety-Eight! Igottagosayhullo!”
She let go of him to drop through her own shadow and leap out of one much closer to the steam-powered Ambassadors. There, she hugged each of them in turn while shrieking, “It’s you! It’s really you! I’m so glad ye made it! It’s you! It'syouit'syouit'syou!”
“It’s us,” said The Jon.
“Do we know you?” said Hatchworth.
Shayde stopped hugging Rabbit. “Hangonasec. I gotta look at ye with real light. I ain’t seen any o’ ye since eighty-two.”
“Which eighty-two?” said The Spine. “We’ve been through more than one.”
Shayde made a complicated gesture over her eyes and shrieked again. “Rabbit! You got RESTOOOOORRRRED!”
“I got restored,” Rabbit smiled. “Refurbished. Reupholstered. And ridiculously gorgeous.”
“Pft! You were always ridiculously gorgeous.” Shayde dismissed. “Who’s the new fella?”
“Hatch-worth,” Hatchworth touched his bowler as he bowed. “I was in a vault be-tween Nine-teen Fif-ty and Two Thou-sand, Thir-teen.”
“Aw ye puir darlin’. Ye need extra hugs. C'mere.”
The Spine, the only Ambassador Shayde hadn’t hugged yet, vented steam in exasperation. “Once again, I wind up feeling like chopped liver…”
“That’s 'cause I’ve been savin’ ye fer last, handsome! Look out!”
It was the first time Rael had ever seen a combination flying tackle, french dip, french kiss, and outright groping session. It was very clear that Shayde was rather over-fond of The Spine and had been so for an extended period of time.
It made a noise like… snog.
She set him back upright with a wicked smirk. “I’ve been saving that one up since Nineteen Eighty-Two.”
“Nineteen Eighty-Two…” said Rabbit. “We were busking, that year…”
“I dinnae expect ye tae remember wee skinny Katie Walker. All blushes and tyin’ myself in knots about a jam?”
“Like this?” said The Jon, and did a scarily accurate imitation of a softly-spoken, shy tweenager about to implode from star-struckedness. He even got the accent, which was thicker when Shayde was emotionally overloaded.
“Aye, ye nailed it. Even the accent. You remember little ole me?”
“We remember everyone,” said The Spine. Still checking his lips to see if they were in one piece. “Do you still have the guitar?”
“Na. I left it at home when I went tae college. Too valuable to me.” She shrugged. “But I got an axe ye can all sign again if ye don’t mind it.” Shayde pulled it out of one of her inter-dimensional pockets.
“On one con-di-tion,” said Hatchworth.
“Aye?”
“You jam with all of us to-night.”
“SOLD!”
Rael sighed and sent a comms message to all debating parties. Shayde recognised CoS. They recognised her by her former name. Temporally Challenged status officially confirmed.
[1] In Rael’s opinion, sliced bread isn’t that much to write anywhere about.
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Challenge #00441 - A066: Going With What Works
They shouldn’t’ve been surprised that there were neurodivergent Uplifted on Nufurria.
(Can we please see an Uplifted sentient on the autistic spectrum? Because neurodiversity occurs in nonhuman species as well (ie, not trying for unfortunate implications here, but rather, any animal with the underpinnings of sentience is capable of the diversity of neural wiring experienced by humans))
O'Ranges wasn’t much for words. He seemed to piece together what was happening from the world around him and worked on a set of pre-written instructions like there was a manual in his head.
And whenever he was upset - which was a lot - repetitive games like Tetris helped him to calm down.
O'Ranges was sensitive to noise. Huggy to the extreme point of having a ludicrously huge stuffed bear in nauseous purple to keep him company whenever Aelki needed to do anything at all.
He had separation anxiety, obviously. Security issues in general. A love of patterns and regularity in day-to-day life that extended right down to what sort of meals he had on which days. When he spoke, his inflections were very hard to hear.
And, for a creature bound for the arena, he was literally the biggest softie in the known universe. He wouldn’t harm a fly. He certainly cried for his fleas as Aelki combed special formulas through his thick fur to get rid of them.
“They drink your blood,” she explained again and again and again. With each treatment. “And you need your blood for you. Doesn’t it feel better to have them out and not itch any more?”
“Poor fleas,” O'Ranges whined. “Smells.”
“Do you want itches, or smells?”
And O'Ranges would pout about that for the rest of the day.
On one hand, the Cogniscent Rights Committee would get a fire under their collective asses about maltreatment of the neurodiverse. On the other hand, it was going to make the next Ambassadorial meet extremely interesting, to say the least. And she’d be his assistant/helper, for her sins.
Hitchhikers always found one form of rest or another. She’d hoped for the kind with a nice plot under an alien sky… but her kind heart had found the more rewarding form of permanence.
Maybe if she treated O'Ranges with a scent-nullifyer, afterwards. And then let him pick how he wanted to smell. Out of a range of relatively inoffensive scents, of course. Aelki was fairly certain that nobody would want to sit near the Ambassador who smelled of old meat and fresh dung.
She’d clothed him properly in comfortable pants (with egress for his tail) and whatever variety of top she could find to fit his bulk. Yet he insisted on wearing the Big Towel like a superhero’s cape. And in his play-mutterings, he styled himself as HitcherWolf. The hitch-hiking hero and rescuer of the downtrodden and forgotten. Just like his new human.
Aelki had traded an outlandish story for weighted cape fasteners, just to preserve what there was of his tops. And she dreaded the day that she’d convince him that Ambassador O'Ranges was HitcherWolf’s secret identity. It would either get out of hand or get upsetting for her poor, big, little pup.
And it would be happening, soon.
She almost had enough to get them the hell off Nufurria.
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