Challenge #00429 - A054: Urgent Call Home
T'reka’s first communications with the others in her colony group/science base/whoever, after being around the humans for a while
“Uh. Trekker?” said Su-syn. “Your… thing making noise.”
T'reka checked it. It was the urgent-summons. And there was no time to get to her base. “I must checking in! No time. Running is too slow! If I fail, they burn continent.”
Su-syn grinned. “Not worries.”
It was called a Horss. A large herbivorous ungulate that could easily make five Humans. She thought humans moved fast. This moved faster.
T'reka held on with all claws to Su-syn’s back-coverings and marvelled at the motion. Despite being made biliously ill by it. The impossible quadruped ran on its middle digits’ claws. Fingernails. And it did so in a rolling, seesaw gait with two cogniscent life forms on its back.
It covered kilo-flights in instants. Before she knew it, she was blinking at her base camp.
“Up, Trekker. Go! Go!” The human casually threw her, standing, from the back of the Horss. “Save our skins!”
T'reka flew for the ladder, literally. Her own mad flapping made her gain half a depth, but it was half a depth less that she had to climb.
Even under the threat of curfew, she had never climbed so fast.
Up the ladder. Up the stairs. Up the other ladder to the main comms and simultaneously hit the talk button and grabbed the headset, cramming it against one tympanum.
“Kal'rike post! Kal'rike post! This is the genuine voice of T'reka the Mad. Code phrase…” There is was. “Bicep fossil jelly millet. I repeat, this is the genuine voice of T'reka the Mad, code phrase - bicep fossil jelly millet. Call off the attack. Call OFF any attack!”
Static. “We hear and rejoice, T'reka the Mad. Action has been given the come-back signal.”
Only then did she settle the head-set across her brow. Only then did she perch and make herself comfortable. “Initiating video feed for confirmation.”
She turned on the camera. Tweaked its pickup range. Smoothed down her feathers. Produced an amenable expression for the people watching on the other end.
“Greetings from Poison island,” she sang. “I have been made aware there is a problem?”
“You’re communicating with the humans!”
Casual. Treat it casual. After all, she did wander, daily, through many things venomous, poisonous and otherwise deadly. “Isn’t it amazing? They are excellent mimics and can be taught proper speech.”
“But… humans! We must seed the other planet and evacuate at once!”
“With respect, we do not have the resources. Further, I must humbly counter there is sufficient evidence that these humans are not monsters.”
“Where?”
“Sitting here. They came to me. Talked with me. One even rushed me home so that none would die. I humbly posit that these are abnormal humans. They are decidedly non-violent, for all their disturbing habits.”
“They must remain on the island. And you must restrain your communications to the humans you have already met. We expect a full proposal on this… this… vulgar-insanity of a proposal.”
“Which I will write tonight. I must also confer with the humans. They must know of this, too.”
“This is historical-insanity, T'reka the Mad. I trust you understand this.”
“Through to my ever-lasting spirit, sir,” she nodded. “True flight to you.”
He ended the comms after a formal, “True flight.”
Once the communication was completely over… T'reka allowed herself to shake and shudder and cry out her terrors. Such display would not have impressed her superiors.
And, at the other end of it, Su-syn was gently patting her back through the thickness of a blanket.
“All well?”
“All well,” T'reka answered. “How you get up?”
“Careful walk. You ladder small.”
Mental note. Humans were extremely adaptive.
[Muse food remaining: 40. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00428 - A053: One Fine Afternoon in the Local Comic Shop
A recent submission to the Hawkeye Initiative involved Wolverine instead:
https://24.media.tumblr.com/3d2615b3cd199b3c78d97b5d9376b96a/tumblr_mzpei7EzOd1rmx3kqo1_500.jpg
So, how did he get into the situation on the right?
[AN: Since the short answer of “Sara did it” is cowardly…]
He had one job. In two parts. Part One: Escort Sara to the comic shop and back. Part Two: Keep them both out of trouble.
And it was going well, so far.
“Uuuugghhhh…”
In the man-leaping-off-a-building sense of ‘so far, so good’.
Logan began tracing her faint lilac through the maze of shelves an the miasma of sweaty, unwashed fanboy funk. That sort of 'ugh’ drew attention. It was inevitably the wrong sort of attention.
“Let me guess,” came the cry of the Forever Alone Fedora(*). “You’re some kind'a feminazi out to ruin everything fun.”
Yup. Someone was going to lose an eye.
“I don’t know, would it be fun for you to dress up like this?”
“Of course not. Duh. I’m a guy?”
“Well you certainly have a better rack than I do.”
Logan found her, holding up the tome of contention. The cover featured an impossibly skinny woman in ridiculously impractical leather armour in an impossible pose and heavily featuring an equally impossible pair of zero-gravity bosoms.
Lady didn’t have the BMI to carry those jugs. Nor the muscle tone to carry anything…
“Geez,” he murmured. “Any of those artists even seen a woman? Ain’t seen a worse hack job since Michelangelo.”
The trilby-wearing fellow turned and looked him over. He did, indeed, sport a more sizeable bosom than Tallwater. He also sported an unwashed neck-beard, bad acne and a shirt that read _I’m here! Now what were your other two wishes?_(#). If it had ever been clean, it had been in a previous life.
Oddly, he relaxed and got even more superior. “Obviously a gentleman such as yourself has the experience. Please tell this female how comics aren’t even meant for her?”
“Your watch is slow, Casserole. In case you missed it, this year is 2014.”
Uh oh. She was naming him after really cheap meat dishes. “Well, for a start, Tallwater can draw better art than this crap in her sleep.”
“And I have,” she added.
“Secondly, she and I could both beat you in a fair fight.”
“Barehanded,” added Tallwater.
“Third, you might want to lose the antagonistic attitude if you ever want to get laid.”
“Oooooooooooh…” Tallwater happily did the Rigby-burn motion.
“You’re talking complete nonsense. That’s very obviously an outfit maximised for ease of movement and practicality.”
“Oh come on, she isn’t even wearing the bow properly. And that quiver is about five seconds and a good sneeze away from falling right off.”
“Tcha,” snorted Trilby Guy. “Like you know how to even hold a weapon.”
Logan raised his eyebrows. If he didn’t have a healing factor, he would still be sporting the bruises from the last time she’d beat him in a practice session with Bo staves. “Do you want to school him or shall I?”
“Oh, I think we can both school him.”
“You couldn’t school me in a month of Sundays,” Trilby Guy bragged. “I’ve been studying Crob Magaw.”
“It’s pronounced 'Krav Maga’. And I have five hundred dollars that says you couldn’t fit into that outfit, let alone beat me in a fair fight.”
“Any time. Any place. Both of you. And we all wear the outfit.”
“Gym down the road. Come with me and I’ll get you fitted. Soon as we’re dressed, we can start.” Tallwater sighed. “Regretably, I shall have to purchase this issue as an example for Rock.”
“Wait. Not Rock Bixby? Famous costume designer and crafter?”
“Tallwater shops for him,” supplied Logan.
“OMIGOB I GET TO MEET ROCK BIXBY!” And he spent the rest of the afternoon in a geeky cloud of sparkling, starstruck glee.
He really should have noticed something was up when Rock said, “This another one, Sara?”
And, when the aliens attacked, it was why he and Tallwater were fighting them off in skimpy leather bikinis while Trilby Guy 'just caught his breath’ for an hour.
(*) Most commonly a Trilby
(#) This shirt exists and it is inevitably worn by very unattractive men
[Muse food remaining: 41. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00427 - A052: A Strange Meeting in a Bubble Dimension
Sara, T'reka and bug-based cuisine
[AN: Sara Louise Adrien and T'reka exist in different universes, so of course Shayde has to get involved. If you meant Sahra Johnston then you’ll have to submit a new prompt :) ]
“Uuuuunnnggghhh….” Rael moaned. He felt like he was forced into his usual, humanoid shape too early. “Wh’t?” He looked to his right and was shocked to discover a historical figure at his elbow. Living, breathing fame. Replete with her jungle-exploration outfit.
Another’s hand clamped over his mouth. “Don’t blurt. I sense time’s out o’ place.”
Shayde?
Rael looked foggily at her. “Wh'z goin’ on?”
“Dimensional bridge bubble. Hush. We got a superhero cooking’ fer us.”
He tried to sit up. Tried to focus.
*
Sara perked up when the middle judge finally sat up and started paying attention. “Good day to you. I have it from your -ah- ‘good friend’ that you’re not the best when woken up early.”
“…mmnnnngggghhhrrrllll…” managed the short blueish gentleman.
“These are green crickets,” she announced. “Lightly toasted. Full of protein. A good heart-starter and metabolic booster if you’re looking to lose weight.”
“…dun’ need m'tab'lism boosted…”
“I heard. There’s also a lot of low GI energy in the form of the pasta.” She helpfully dinged the bubbling pot. “As for the crickets, I took the liberty of removing all the unpleasantly crunchy bits. I deep-fried those in some small fritters if you wish to try. Miss T'reka -did I get that right, dear?”
The bird nodded.
“Miss T'reka has found them to be delightful. Nothing wasted.” Flip, flip, flip went the pan. “Now for the beondogi. Also known as bundegg. They’re deep-fried silkworm larvae, so they don’t need as much cooking as the rest. A generous soaking of lemon juice for flavour…”
“Tha'ss a whole lemon y’ jus’ squeezed,” mumbled the blueish man. Rael.
“Yes, dear.” Dear, pronounced, I know you’re feeling lacklustre and I’m proud that you’re trying to keep up. “And a luscious dribbling of honey…” Flip flip flip. “Voila. Insect cuisine.”
Sara dished up and smiled at Miss T'reka’s happy warbling. And at Miss Pitt’s[1] squick-face. “It’s all edible, dear,” pronounced, You can be brave just this once.
Rael seemed to come alive at the smell and the very generous portion placed in front of him. “Oooh. S'quiib…”
“Sorry. Dwarf squash.”
Miss T'reka fluffed her feathers. “I had never thought mild acid would be delicious,” she sang. “Have you tried dragonflies?”
“They’re very bitter to us. Supremely sour. I did try an ice-cream, but then I got banned from the kitchens for a week. Some people have no appreciation for culinary experimentation.” Sara watched Miss Pitt hold her nose as she tried a forkful of pasta and sauce. “Case in point.”
“Madam,” said Rael. “You could give a Gyiik a run for their money.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” decided Shayde.
[1] Shayde’s adopted name is Shayde F. Pitt, after what people kept yelling at her.
[Muse food remaining: 40. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00426 - A051: When You Meet a Stranger…
K'iiv and Del are adorable, how did they meet/begin their relationship?
K'iiv preened his plumage nervously. He hated meeting new people. All the good advice for conquering social anxiety never, ever worked. It was either completely wrong for the situation or just… completely wrong.
Nevertheless, he attempted to use them anyway.
Going into a situation without a plan was infinitely less preferable than going in with a bad one.
Today’s plan was, picture the stranger without their feathers.
Today’s failure was, Oh no.She’s already bald.
The human before him was shorter and covered in utilitarian clothes. Maintenance orange. And she appeared to be a little transfixed, herself.
“…beautiful dinosaur…” she whispered. Then cleared her throat. “Yeah. Uhm. I had a report of a busted cleansing unit?”
His traitor tail kept wanting to flair and display for her. Snap out of it, he told himself. I’m just another job for her! And that thought made him want to die inside, more than a little.
“Yes! Yes. This way. In my private space. Where all the private things happen.”
That earned a smile. A careful one, straining to keep the teeth safely concealed. “Nervous?”
“No! Not nervous! Definitely not nervous! Certainly not trying to display my feathers in an attractive manner! At all!”
The human made a snorting noise. “That is a very specific denial, sir.” She trooped into the private space and whistled backwards. “This is a vintage model. Are you sure you want it repaired?”
“The modern once do not cleanse as… nicely. They make my feathers go…” he fumbled for the right word. “Bluh.”
“Can’t have bluh feathers. Not on such a gorgeous cogniscent.” She coloured in a very pretty way. Ahem. “I mean. You… want to look best for your snuggle-buddy.”
“I… have not acquired a snuggle-buddy.”
“Want one?”
[Muse food remaining: 40. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Pugs.
Because you can’t say Peter Lorre and not get my attention. Something to do with an Uplifted pug or pugs. Possibly freaking everyone out with their good intentions couched in their minion-ish voices. – weirdlet
(#00422 - A047)
Buddy, Igor knew, was not the best dog for the negotiations table. Buddy would literally say ‘yes’ to anything, provided someone was scratching his ear.
Igor… tried.
He had Buddy fitted up with the Diminished Responsibility locator bracelets, of course. And told Buddy to 'heel’ even though he hated it. It smacked of their slave-days, but Igor really didn’t want Buddy roaming around and getting dangerously lost.
Together, they went from trade-booth to trade-booth, trying to find someone to take their cargo.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I believe we have a cargo you might find… most advantageous.”
The cogniscent in the booth went wide-eyed and scooted unsubtly away. “It’s illegal, isn’t it?”
“Nothing illegal. I checked to make certain.” And then Igor made the mistake of laughing. That laugh was a deal-breaker. It chased away clientele. And it kept bubbling forth whenever he was nervous.
It wouldn’t be so bad if there was just one cogniscent race that wasn’t viscerally terrified by his voice or his laugh. He was getting tired of seeing personal safety screens raise between himself and a potential customer.
They had a profitable cargo. And no-one to sell it to. Not even the perennial drunken fool Hwell Barrow would buy from them.
Igor sat miserably under a sculpted tree and wished -not for the first time- that he or Buddy could safely eat the apples that grew on it. “I could try surfing the text-nets,” he told Buddy. “But there’s always the face-to-face factor. Nobody likes the blind trades. Nobody.”
“Has anyone ever told ye that ye sound like Peter Lorre?” said a musical voice on the other side of the tree.
The speaker was a tall humanoid with skin so dark it made it troublesome to distinguish her features underneath her glowing eyes. There was a mop of long, wild, white hair, but the focus of Igor’s attention was the gold nehru vest.
“My apologies for disturbing you, Ambassador. We will… be moving along…” again, than damned nervous chuckle.
“Don’t you bluidy dare,” she said. “I never said didnae like Peter Lorre. And besides, I consider meself the honorary patron saint o’ lost souls around here. You fellas need a JOAT.” A sharp-toothed and honestly frightening grin. “And I’m his agent.”
*
Rael the JOAT took one look at the three of them and said, “No.”
“Aw come aaaaaawwwwnnnn…”
“No.”
“Look 'em in their poor little faces…”
“They’re Uplifts.”
“Freed Uplifts,” corrected the Ambassador.
“They’re illegal Engineered Life Forms,” added Rael.
“So are you. And?”
“You and I both know that I’m officially a grey area. The residents of Nufurria knew exactly what they were doing.”
“Aye, but it wasnae illegal there until the Galactic Alliance stepped on 'em good and hard.”
“No. There is nothing you can say to change my mind.” Rael folded his arms and turned away.
Ambassador Shayde said the magic words. “Mutton and clootie dumplings…”
*
Rael the JOAT insisted on doing a very good job. Igor insisted on learning the recipe for the magical Mutton and Clootie Dumplings. And Buddy… got the tummy-rubbing of his life from Ambassador Shayde.
All parties should have been happy, but Rael the JOAT seemed determined to be grumpy.
“I’m a leader amongst my people,” he growled. “I should not be known to do business with… waifs and strays. Especially legally dubious waifs and strays.”
Shayde made a noise. “Call it charity work an’ puff yer feathers, then. Someone’s gotta help 'em out.”
“Why does it always have to be you?”
Shayde plucked a litte piece of lint off his shoulder. “Because somebody once helped a wee stray by the name o’ Rael once. I’m payin’ the favour forward.”
[Muse food remaining: 40. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00421 - A046: A Peculiar, Yet Typical Argument
If no-one from the future comes back to stop you, is it really that bad an idea?
“Yes it is,” said Rael, gently shoving Ambassador Shayde onwards. “Especially when time travel is a theoretical impossibility trapped in the realms of science fiction.”
“They said tha’ about goin’ tae the moon. Now look at it.”
“That’s not the point and you know it.”
“Ach, why’d ye have tae be such a killjoy?”
“Because I’m desperately trying to avoid a disaster.”
“Nah. Reckon ye love puttin’ yer hands on me. I’m irresistible.”
“Moving on! Now! Before the bad thing happens!”
Laughter. “Ah, kiss me an’ get it over with…”
Just another day of sharing public space with the unintentional comedy duo of Ambassador Shayde and Rael the JOAT.
[Muse food remaining: 41. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Lady slings the booze.
It’s been shown that Mystique (in her comic incarnation, at least), when her ability to focus is sufficiently thrown-off by illness, drugs, emotional shock, or othersuch concentration breakers, that her ability to shapeshift is disrupted, to the point that she can’t maintain a form, often shifting uncontrollably/unconsciously or even sporting features from multiple recently-assumed forms at once in a Picasso-esque jigsaw. Once I learned about that, I couldn’t help but wonder just what sort of awkward/amusing/embarassing/etc. situations might occur if this sort of problem occured to her Evo incarnation when she got drunk… and then I immediately thought of you. Take it away, Nutter!
(#00420 - A045)
There’s a million stories in this ‘burg. Many of 'em you just plain wouldn’t believe.
I’ve seen some things.
Weird…
Things…
You wanna hear an example. Of course. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
It was late. Most of the regular barflies had gone home. Poured into cabs or thrown back into the gutter. The rest were sliding into that state where the world just fails to matter.
I was doing everything I could to give those bums the hint that they should leave when the door slammed open.
She looked like a classy dame in the beginning. Sharp and dangerous and the kind of woman who’s an extreme sport, if you get my drift. She ordered the hard stuff.
An extreme, extreme sport.
I could like her, but I had a home to go to and she was the only one paying. But she didn’t care about change, either; so I could stay technically open for however long she wanted to be my guest.
The crazy stuff happened after the third bottle. Girl can hold her liquor.
Or, should I say, the thing that looked like a girl could hold her liquor. Its liquor. I don’t even know.
She started… oozing. Without dripping. Her features just sort of melted and rippled. Even her clothing got that 'tired candle’ look. Parts of her started changing around. One hoof. A tail. One wing. Bits and pieces of famous people. I shit you not. And her voice… well…
You know that thing they do on youtube where they make some song sound demonic? Like that, but live. Happening right the-get-the-hell-away-from-me in front'a me.
Freakin’ disturbing ya know?
And then - swear to God - she/it/whatever looks at me and says, “See somethin’ you like, handsome?”
If I wasn’t already celibate, I’d have turned.
“Naw,” I said, cool as a cat. “Just watchin’ the drinks. Wouldn’t want anyone takin’ advantage.”
Apparently, I’m too sweet to live.
Whaddayamean what’d I do? I kept the drinks coming until her friend came and got her. None of my business what wants a drink in this dirty town.
[Muse food remaining: 42. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00419 - A044: So Long, Lefty Loosey
It turned out the galactic standard for things that screw onto other things was the opposite direction to the international Earth standard.
“What the– this screw isn’t turning.”
“It’s an old-Earth vessel.”
“Yeah? So?”
“They have it backwards. Counter-clockwise loosens their screws.”
Sigh. “Typical human insanity. How hard is it to learn ‘Counter time, fix it fine’?”
“Given the trouble they keep giving us about it? Plenty.”
“Humans…”
[Muse food remaining: 42. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00409 - A044: Intergalactic Ambassador Spot
“We’re here to conquer yo-
Awww lookit the cute little fuzzy. Whooosa fuzzy.”
Sir, the aliens seem to have become distracted.
Only humans, they later said, could take a pursuit predator and make it completely servile. And for some time in the Galactic Alliance, it was something of a mystery as to where and when dogs originally hailed from.
Some refused to believe that such a useful animal could come from the same planet as “a bunch of cogniscidal apes”.
And yet…
When humans invaded the luxury cruiser in the Bleizal star system, the dogs on board stopped them. Not through their training, as the dogs were calming security animals for some of the more nervous passengers.
The humans evidently found them - cute.
Heavily armoured human solders stopped in their tracks and lowered what had to be weapons.
“Oozawiddlefuzzywuzzycuteiddledoggieeeee,” was heard emanating from their collective helmets. Alongside repeated coos of “Oooh, doggie. Aaaaaawwww…”
The humans spent some time touching, rubbing and embracing the dogs. This allowed many on board to escape intact.
According to securicams, the human invaders stayed cooing over the dogs for twenty minutes before shooing the animals away and leaving without their usual trail of destruction.
Dogs became essential for interstellar travel safety.
[Muse food remaining: 43. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00408 - A043: Releasing Pressure
Carbonated drinks: for most creatures, a harmless fizzy beverage.
However if your species happens to be incapable of burping to release the gas, a painful experience. Perhaps not deadly, but certainly not comfortable.
Gox stared at the beverage. At the perpetual bubbles within. In his experience, bubbles came out and never came back.
This was one amongst the many new things he was dubious about encountering as a reluctant ambassador.
“Why do the bubbles form?”
“It’s a human thing,” said the Gyiik host. “A mild acid that produces relatively harmless gas. It has the amazing property of making beverages tastier.”
Amazingly, it did. How the Giik had managed to add the acidic components to Poba juice was beyond him, but the bubbles did something with his tongue.
Gox probably drank too much, too fast. It was the temptation of taste without the forethought of pondering what happened to the gas.
Gox very soon found out the difficult way.
He got halfway through a sampler of alien foods before the growing pocket of gas made itself known in the form of physical discomfort. A really horrible physical discomfort.
“What is one supposed to do about the gas?” he quavered.
“Most belch,” said the Gyiik.
“Please? What is ‘belch’?”
Which is why it has become vitally necessary for all restauranteurs to know what is safe to serve their customers, before they try any. Nobody wants to handle the results of gas-forced diarrhoea ever again.
[Muse food remaining: 43. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]