Challenge #00912-B181: Mama Hen-Bear

The adventures of Tyr’ip and her big scary bodyguard mother hens.

(does this make her technically the species ambassador? Not a galactic ambassador I guess since her people are already part of the community and if there was one for every species encounter there’d be billions of them but still)

[Galactic ambassadors generally stand for their native planet and, in the case of low-gravvers and nomadic ship-tribes, habitation construct.]

It had been quite the journey. The humans formed a walking wall, linking arms to keep it intact, to guard Tyr’ip from accidental jostling. The Curtedex had said her species was ‘comparatively fragile’ and the humans took this seriously.

The walking wall stopped, but this time they did not bristle. This time, they parted.

“You take your time,” said Tambry. “Get everything you need. We’ll wait.”

And they did. In a perfect semicircle. Arms interlocked and, she had to presume, faces grim against any stray passers-by.

The admittedly light foot traffic in the area veered around them. Tambry checked that Tyr’ip had everything and they closed the walking wall around them again.

Compared to her trip towards the central commercial area, this one was shockingly free of incidents, near incidents, and things that could have been an incident if they’d been allowed anywhere near her.

And the humans felt compelled to show off, in their own way. They showed her where to find the best buskers, where to obtain the best little treats, and took her along the scenic route through several Nae’hyn meditative temple-gardens.

By the time she re-joined Ko’rii, she was in a much better mood.

The humans remained their honour-guard throughout the evening.

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In the slightly-paraphrased words of Robert Heinlein…

If need be, a human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, and die gallantly. Specialization of role is for insects, not people.

(#00911-B180)

“Was he serious?” said Rael. “What happened to the people that didn’t fit these qualifications?”

“It’s amazin’ how many o’ these ye qualify for wi’out knowin’ it,” said Shayde. “Butcherin’s no’ that hard, ye ken.”

“Tube meat exists for a reason.”

“Aye, but if yer stuck somewhere wi’ nowt but yer wits? Anyway. It all boils down tae th’ Cogniscent Rights qualifications f’ cogniscence.”

Rael put down his fork, trying to think. “I’m sorry, I missed that leap of illogic…”

“Care fer young, fight fer home, obtain nutrition, navigate home, plan a home, communicate, perform basic math, exhibit knowledge of construction, exhibit knowledge of elementary medical care, exhibit compassion, show understanding, show willingness tae communicate, show independance, exhibit knowledge of higher math, exhibit adaptability, exhibit knowledge of hygiene, exhibit understanding of technology, treat nutrition, fight for self, and understand mortality.”

Rael ran it through, counting on his fingers. “All right, but that sample is admittedly mixed. Some of those are qualifyers for children, and some are relative intelligence testers.”

“Echo ‘hello world’, EOF,” said Shayde. “Th’ program doesnae have t’ be complicated.“

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Challenge #00910-B179: Origin Story

More of the Unexpectables please.

Find a need, the expression went, fill a need. And there were people, Munashe well knew, who needed a fairy godmother. She and Corinna came up with the idea over wine and badly-colourised old movies and so far… things had been going well.

Munashe’s first job had been making a power outfit for Corinna so that taller people would take her seriously. Corinna wore it, now, with a polished selection of makeup and refined jewellery that practically blared that she was an adult.

Munashe’s own outfit was her work, too. It said, I can afford to have clothing tailored to my ample frame. And since she practically glowed with health, she hoped that few would comment on her weight.

The Wirths were too polite to comment, at least. An old-money family who managed to stay discrete in a field where money was meant to provide excess. They stayed under the radar. Very, very quiet and restrained. The Wirths had sense.

What baffled Munashe was why they were hiring Corinna and herself. Especially when their resume was so… very, very light.

“We’ve heard that you work miracles,” said Mrs Wirth.

“We need a miracle,” added Mr Wirth.

“It’s our Jemima,” sighed Mrs Wirth. “We’ve almost lost all hope.” And between the two of them, they spun a tale. A brilliant child with amazing scholastic capability gradually became increasingly shut off from the world until all she ever did was mess around on her computers or hide from everyone or everything in her ‘little nook’.

It was where she was hiding now, in the depths of her suite.

Jemima’s suite was twice Munashe’s and Corinna’s separate apartments put together. There was a ‘salon’ and a bedroom and an ensuite. All palatial.

The bedroom had a four-poster with an overhead canopy. But it was the bright colours that gave it away for Munashe. Jemima was allowed to buy what she liked for her own comfort. And what she liked were bright, unnatural colours, shiny, glittery things and huge amounts of soft and fluffy things.

A veritable mountain of plushies almost buried Jemima’s bedclothes.

Corinna found the ‘little nook’ in a walk-in wardrobe. Someone had taken a large, tent-like storage tube and lined the inside with cushions and at least one beanbag. The inside was strung with softly-changing Christmas lights. A dangling, rainbow-clothed sock betrayed the presence of Jemima.

As did the rocking of the tube and a low, monotonous hum.

Munashe felt more than heard Mrs Wirth’s inhale of doom and politely turned with a smile. “We’d like to begin working with Jemima, now,” she said diplomatically. “And that commences in a place of her comfort. It’s going to be all right. We don’t judge.”

Mr Wirth said, “I trust we’re also paying for your discretion in this matter.”

“Of course.”

The wardrobe was bigger than Munashe’s first flat. Corinna made herself comfortable while Munashe examined the books. Conan Arthur Doyle. Louis McMaster Bujold. Terry Pratchett. Ursula K. LeGuin. Douglass Adams. These were books that had been read and read again. They were not like the ones on the public bookshelves, there for display purposes only. These were books that Jemima liked.

Corinna found a rain stick in the book pile and turned it up, making a stream of tiny ball-bearings rattle through the tube.

“Autistic?”

“Definitely,” murmured Munashe. “Either Mr and Mrs Wirth are in denial, or they think Jemima can be cured and turn ‘normal’. Impossible, even if we could do miracles.”

Corinna turned the tube upside-down, making it ‘rain’ again. “They expect something. We can’t tell them there’s nothing we can do.”

The rainbow sock, and the foot inside it, withdrew into the tent.

“Most parents expect socialisation. Making new friends. It’s difficult, isn’t it, Jemima?”

There was a face, staring at them through the vertical slit of the tent. Dark, owlish eyes framed by dark and wavy hair. A vague ghost of a voice, just on the edge of hearing, “…’es.”

“Hello,” cooed Munashe. “I’m Munashe. Some of the kids I work with call me Aunty Moon. And my friend is Corinna.”

“You can call me anything, really,” Corinna joined in with the gentle voice. She tipped the rain stick again. “Cora, Rinny. Or Corinna.”

“…i like mimi,“ murmured Jemima. “…are you gonna take me to an assylum, now?”

What? Were her parents really threatening to do that? Munashe continued to pretend calm. “No. We want to help you out, Mimi. We want to help you feel safe.

Mimi had a taste for bright colours and shiny things, and the almost typical deep-ASD difficulty with concepts like ‘inside out’ and ‘right way around’. She loved rainbows and soft things and making things on her computer.

And, as it turned out, she was a technological genius.

Who could roleplay when she needed to cope.

“Moon,” murmured Corinna. “Remember that cyberstalking case we’re stalled on?”

Munashe began to grin. “Oh yes. Mimi? How would you like to help us help someone else?”

Mimi, though she had emerged from her safety cave, was still hugging herself and rocking. “…i didn’t think i could help anyone until i’m normal…”

“First, I have some really good news - normal doesn’t exist. And second - we can all help other people. All we have to do is figure out how.”

Mimi, in front of her computer array, was almost a completely different person. Gone was the slouch. Gone was the mumbling murmur. The rocking remained, but it was more in the rhythm of her work and kept her focussed.

“It’s not one person, it’s three. That’s why the IP is all over the map,” Mimi said. “They have three places in common. A cybercafe, a library, and the school where your client works. All areas with free wifi. If I take away the wifi origins from the activity map…”

Three houses. With a list of occupants. “All the teenage girls of those houses go to the school. I’d ask them about it.” Mimi turned away from her keyboards. “Is that it? I like being a detective.”

In the end, they sold the job as occupational therapy for Mimi. She got out of the house, spent time working in the office, and got to help people. In turn, Munashe and Corinna allegedly helped with her social skills between cases.

It would be two weeks before they discovered that Mimi functioned better with a human teddy-bear in tow.

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Challenge #00909-B178: Howling Mad

http://thentheresthisspazz.tumblr.com/post/123284811011/mythological-creature-aus#notes

Pick a different one!

[AN: Today’s pick is: “i’m a newly-turned werewolf without a pack and i can’t really control myself well on full moon nights yet and you keep finding me passed out naked on your lawn” AU]

The first month, she called an ambulance for me. I was grateful for it. I had no idea what was happening, either. I still didn’t know what was going on in the second month, when she also called the police.

I found out in the third month, because of the mandatory psych evaluation. And so did my doctors. And so did she. I remember watching a recording of the transformation with tears in my eyes and terror in my heart.

I never wanted to be a monster.

You’d think that the moonlight is what does it. That’s wrong. It’s the sunlight that cures it. For five nights out of twenty-eight… I transform. And I wind up in Belladonna yard, the next morning.

Yeah. Belladonna. She had Metal Goth parents, go figure.

There was a time when I tried living a few counties away? But I just woke up in her yard with more wounds. Bloody hands and feet. Among many, many others.

I think it was the time with the broken leg that tipped the scales. I wanted to move further away. She told me to rent the attic.

She tells me that I’m not a monster. And I’m starting to believe her, at last.

It’s been a year. And in all that time, all I do is go to her. I howl at the moon out of some instinctive obligation and then the rest of the night is spent in her shadow.

She makes sure I have a dressing-gown and a pair of underpants in easy reach for the next morning and it’s… stable, I guess.

And I know I’m not allowed on the bed when I wolf out, because I keep waking up on the rug by her bed.

I think Belladonna likes me more when I’m a wolf. When I’m human… especially the morning after… she’s way more guarded around me. Paranoid. And I don’t blame her. She’s been through enough.

I want to control it. Not so that I become human all the time. I’d much rather be her dog. I don’t know why? But I think she’s happier when I have fur and fangs.

And I would do anything to help her be happy.

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Challenge #00908-B177: True Love’s Kiss

http://thentheresthisspazz.tumblr.com/post/123284811011/mythological-creature-aus#notes

Pick one!

[AN: I picked “my best friend got turned into a frog and now i’m being the best wingman/woman/person ever by carrying them around to bars and getting hot people to kiss them in hopes of hooking them up with their true love” AU. I also want to do all of these so send in five more ;)]

“So… what’s with the frog?”

“Ah,” Carol sighed. “Um. Her name is Patricia, and she’s my BFF. I mean. She used to be human? And then we went trick-or-treating for a joke around the Bayou and she was wearing this Slutty Witch costume -andum- long story short? She’s been cursed and I’m helping her find true love.”

Laughter.

“No, it’s legit,” said Patricia. “True as trombones.”

The girl Carol had been talking to shrieked and vanished into the crowd of fellow lesbians.

“Damnit, Trish…“ Carol smacked her own forehead. “I told you talking freaked people out.”

“She was giving you the hairy eyeball. I had to weigh in.”

“I’ve had enough. It’s late. Try again tomorrow?”

Trish sighed. “Yeah. Tomorrow. Maybe that coffee shop with those girls with the piercings…”

Carol made sure she had her things and began the long trudge home. “You’re lucky I love you enough to do this for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” muttered Trish. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d have been squashed a million times by now.”

“Next time you’re human? Please say ‘yes’ to cosplay? You can’t offend magical people with cosplay.”

“Yeah I never heard of a dudebro wizard.”

They finally reached the little flat they shared. Most of Trish’s stuff had been boxed up for safekeeping. Her bed was in storage. The room it cleared was now taken over by Carol’s own researches into magic. An effort that had many rewards, so far, but nothing in relation to a counter-spell or cure.

But there was a cosy terrarium for Trish, and all the feeder crickets she could eat. And a bed for Carol to flop in once she scoured her face free of makeup.

“It’s okay,” soothed Trish. “I’m getting used to being a frog.”

“I still want to hug you and not worry about squashing you,” Carol kissed her ‘goodnight’ and parked Trish into the Terrarium. “So I’m doing this for you until I die.”

Trish watched her clean up and flop into bed. She whispered, “I love you, too.”

The magic hit like an asteroid. And just like an asteroid, there was a lot of noise and light. And an impact crater with Trish’s terrarium at ground zero.

There were scorched feeder crickets everywhere. Scattered papers and shattered glass and Patricia, wet and naked in the middle of it all.

Carol didn’t care. She got to hug her best friend in the entire world, again.

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Undeath is… occasionally inconvenient.

Sure, being a lich is incredible - I mean, cast some eldritch black ritual and be transformed into a fearsome sorcerous entity beyond the reach of the grave whose power and skill delves far past that which mortals were ever meant to know, yeah, that’s totally amazing…

…but there’s the small annoyances they don’t mention to you beforehand, like how you can’t enjoy “pleasures of the flesh” like good food or intimate contact anymore, since you’re just bones… or how aggravating it is to break the habit of thinking you still need sleep…

Not to mention the constant worry that one day, you’ll be in the middle of a rousing speech to your witless minions, or are enjoying a gloating mockery of the hero’s weaknesses… and bits of you might fall off and need to be wired back on. Totally kills the mood.

(#00907-B176)

You know the saying “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak”? It’s true. Flesh is very, very weak.

In the grand scheme of world domination, it only lasts eighty years. Two hundred or so if you choose to mummify. But it’s brittle and tends to flake off, so why bother?

And as for bones… well… they last, it’s true. Nothing like a good coat of varnish to keep the decay out of bones. But choose the right wire. Iron and steel rust. Copper corrodes. Bauxite, though flexible, is weak and prone to tear.

Say what you like about tin, but bronze has lasting power.

It’s been a few thousand years since I last needed a wire change. The last time was embarrassing. The shiny hero got me monologuing and my jaw fell off.

Fell right off. Then and there. Right when I was about to tell all about my diabolical plan.

It’s hard to be taken seriously when one has to move one’s lower jaw with one’s hand like some carnival puppet.

Take it from someone who’s been there. Brass is best.

And it makes some pretty cool armour. I’ve even been able to fool heroes into thinking I still have fleshy parts to my mortal remains. That’s always good for a laugh.

And then there’s days like today. When the minions are particularly dense and the heroes are just too… bland… and I start to miss what the flesh once enjoyed.

Warmth. Taste. The smell of daisies. Dreams.

I can’t remember why I gave those up. Not today. Today, I envy the hero the kiss of his… bedmate. The warmth of their embraces. I watch him as he sleeps and wonder what his dreams are like.

Was the world worth it? Why was I working to rule this globe of sorrows?

But I can’t let those echoes of feeling ruin me.

I made a promise. And I intend to keep it.

I’ll show them. I’ll show them all.

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Challenge #00906-B175: Change of Afterlife-style

The Horned God is fed up with all these blood sacrifices. It is making such a mess in the nether realms and he has too many goat familiars now. The Horned God demands some claw maintenance and a horn buffing, and then he will listen to your petition. Puny mortal.

“Look,” said the manifestation of the Horned One, Devourer of Flesh, Imbiber of Blood, Craftsman of Nightmares. “Blood’s all well and good, but sometimes… a god craves a little something different, you know?”

The sacrifice bleated on the altar. “You… don’t want the goat?” said the hooded figure. The knife held uncertainly above their head.

“Sweetie… I have ten million goats with me in the nether-realms. Even for a goat person, that’s a lot of goats. All I’m saying is - what’s wrong with a little chat? Some chamomile tea, some chocolate cake…”

“Chocolate cake?” winced the acolytes.

“Come on, who doesn’t love chocolate cake?”

One by one, the assembled coven had to admit that The Dark One, Terror of Shadows, Torturer of the Unworthy, had a point.

The knife slowly descended into its ritual case. “Er. But. We’re supposed to sacrifice? Something?”

“Keep the damned goat. Look after her. You get milk, and maybe you can make some cheese. Or soap. I hear goats milk soap is wonderful for your skin.“

One of the acolytes raised a hand. “I think I know a place that’ll sell a decent gateau at this hour?”

“Brilliant. Let’s do this.” The physical manifestation of Evil on Earth, the Dread Lord, the Bane of Righteousness, clapped his hands. “Who’s got their mani-pedi kits?”

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Challenge #00905-B174: Easter Egg

The best kept secret of the jaegermonsters

Jaegermonsters hunt in packs. That much is self-evident. Jaegermonsters are not the brightest candles in the window. That, too, is self-evident.

Lord Palinquest thought he was being clever by separating the invading Jaeger pack in disparate cells in the middle of unique booby-traps in the labyrinth under his castle. He’d even tune in when he was bored to see how they were doing.

What he didn’t know, what none but the most observant of Sparks knew… was that a Jaeger alone eventually becomes… smart.

Only one made it out of the labyrinth to kill him. And by that time, the assembled torments of the maze had honed it into something… else.

The world’s first JaegerSpark.

Fortunately for the world, Lord Gruesh the First was soon overthrown by his own rabid hunting mimmoths.

[Muse food remaining: 15. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00904-B173: Cat Day

Steven Universe - Lion’s adventure

Lion finished his patrol of the city and curled up near the house of the Scion. Soon, very soon, it would be warm in just this spot. Warm was always good. The Scion would need Lion today. Lion couldn’t tell exactly when, but he knew. He was going to be Needed.

And in the meantime, there was sleep.

“Is it safe to just… lie on him like that?”

Lion peeked. The human friend of Scion Steven was here again. Lion didn’t mind her. She was lighter than some of his previous burdens.

“Why not? said Steven. “This is the best spot for… lion around and reading.”

Lion tipped him off for that one. Trouble. Trouble was on the breeze. This way? That way?

“What is it? A gem attack? A monster? A monster fusion?”

The human friend dove under the decking for her sword. Good. Humans were starting to approach life with a little more sense.

There it was. One of the hidden places. Lion bowed to allow the children on his back. Then leaped. Far enough in the right direction and… roar-warp to the nearest soft place to the Trouble.

Kindergarten. Lion hated this place as much as some of the Gems. It was dead earth. Ruined for any kind of life.

Except… that kind of life.

“Oh no!”

They were screaming.

“Euw,” winced the human. “What are they?”

“I call ‘em Mooshups,” said Steven. “They’re… y’know Frankenstein?“

They were screaming and only he could hear them.

“Yeah…”

“Dead gems are shattered crystals. These are… mooshed together like the monster.”

They didn’t want to be like this any more than he wanted to face them.

Whispered, “O my God…”

“We gotta poof them before Garnet finds out.”

Lion tried his roar. The smaller Mooshups poofed instantly, but the bigger ones. Especially the biggest one… didn’t seem phased.

Fortunately, there are always claws and swords.

Lion didn’t question why they didn’t fight. Why they seemed to surrender to claw and blade. That wasn’t important. Not in comparison to protecting the Scion.

Steven bubbled all the force-fused shards. Paused on the brink of sending them to the table.

“Wait! Won’t the others see these?”

“Oh. I… I can’t let Garnet see these. She was so upset by the last batch…”

Once again, Steven stored something in Lion’s other realm. He would keep these relics safe.

He was, after all, created to serve. Either the will of his former mistress, or that of his new master.

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Challenge #00903-B172: One Thing in Common

Francoeur and Sweetie Belle

Her big sister had a really big visitor. He was immense enough to make a full-grown dragon wary. All black and sharp spikes and luminous red eyes…

…and a gentle, almost foal-like way of investigating the world with all four hands.

Sweetie Belle thought she was well-hidden until he offered her a rose and cooed, “…joli petit poney…”

“Oh, don’t be frightened, Sweetie Belle,” Rarity singsonged. “Francoeur is as gentle as a lamb. More gentle than a lamb, really… um. More like… gentler than Fluttershy.”

Sweetie came out of hiding. “That’s possible?”

Three hands started playing with her mane. Francoeur cooed and chittered, but he seemed happy.

Sweetie started humming a little tune that seemed to go with his melody. Which made the monster-sized creature sing along with her.

Words came out of him that she couldn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. They had the music between them. It was all that they needed.

Francoeur never spoke much. He preferred melody. And when he got his hands on a guitar… she could see why. Or rather, hear why.

The guitar spoke more eloquently than he ever could.

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