Challenge #02143-E314: 'Tis the Season — Steemit
The office of the Ambassador for 1986 had broken out in bats, gourds, candles, and fake cobwebs. The waiting lounge’s entertainment screen was apparently running through a playlist that had dredged through every non-offensive, ‘spooky’, or 'creepy’ 2-D non-interactive entertainment that Shayde had caught up with since her incredibly peculiar exile from Earth.
Her desk had a bowl of assorted sugar items on it, all individually wrapped in deference to Station anti-contamination laws. The bowl was a ludicrously fake plastic skull with googly eyes instead of sockets.
Rael took a deep breath. Centred himself. Filched a sugar object in the shape of a spider. “Shayde,” he said eventually… “What the actual flakk?”
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Challenge #01926-E102: Science Fiction, Double Feature — Steemit
Shayde had started another side business. The facade declared it to be Armpit Theatre Entertainment. And a placard on one of the windows proudly proclaimed, We show the worst that humanity has to offer! Closer inspection revealed a subtitle to that which read, Yelling at the screen is encouraged if you are funny.
Was this one of her jokes on the rest of civilisation? Or was she making good on her promise of educating civilisation on the difference between ‘good’ and 'famous’? Either way, it was going to involve a briefing with Sherlock, so he decided to just go up and ask what the flakk she was up to and make a judgement call as to whether it would explode, and how soon.
Shayde had a knack for creating trouble, even when she was ostensibly attempting to avoid it. She noticed his stern face and this-better-not-be-trouble walk and said, “This is an educational initiative, I swear.”
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Challenge #01797-D336: Permanent Record — Steemit
[AN: My main site is down so I can’t access my usual prompt feed. Thanks for your patience with me]
Dear Diary,
This is it. This is the day I expose HACK-meyer as the fraud he is. It’s the perfect plan. Let him bullshit while I play window-dressing. If he has that other half of my formula, I’ll know in a second. Those military goons don’t care about math, but they have a few NASA grade nerds who will.
They’re bound to buttonhole him for the final half. And then I’ll correct his fucking math in front of God and everyone. Show him up for the useless balding showboat that he is. And bring out my notebook from the locker as proof. It’s perfect. Nothing can go wrong.
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Challenge #01730-D269: Comeback
Deep fried Mars Bar. The dreaded chip buttie (fries on a buttered bun), Floater (Aussie effort: Meat pie floating in pea soup). – @knitnan
“I’ve been everywhere,” said Shayde, mis-estimating the size of the station by cubic klicks[1]. “Nobody around even knows what fries are an’ I’m gaggin’ fer a chip buttie.”
Nik, overhearing this complaint to the universe at large, gestured her to come closer to his cooking station. “Tell me about these things you call ‘fries’ and the… chip buttie.”
Rael set his eye cam onto record to get all the details. There was no way to tell when something could be cross-checked by the Archivaas. Some research had revealed that ‘fries’ were a pre-Shattering staple, but nobody knew how to make them.
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Challenge #01725-D264: Blind Spot
“You can’t just get lucky and expect everyone to treat you like an expert!”
“Why not? That’s what you did?” – Anon Guest
Ambassador Shayde glared at the junior aide. “I’m no’ merely lucky,” she said. “I got into the Ambassador gig by pure accident. Fer all that’s happened, I could'a well had a knowledge base that missed everythin’ the Archivaas ever had. I could'a been dismissed as a dangerous fraud if I’d never met th’ Consortium o’ Steam or no’ known one answer to th’ damn pub quiz they had lockin’ the Vault. So much could'a ended wi’ me in some cell payin’ fer all the Time spent on me.”
“Isn’t that the definition of luck?” asked Pendril. She was taking notes. Shorthand, judging by the way her eye jinked to little panels in her eyepiece. She had successfully guessed the last door code and was under strict sanctions to never do it again.
“It’s no’ luck,” Ambassador Shayde insisted. “It’s beyond luck. We’d need a new term fer what happened tae me. Uber-luck. Super-luck. Quantum fookain luck. Sommat like that.”
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Challenge #01719-D258: Near Lethal Combination
Finally, almost thirty-five minutes into their wait and seventeen minutes into [Responsible Authority Figure]’s scolding ([RAF’s best friend, Shit-Stirrer] kept track; the record was thirty-four minutes, twenty-seven seconds, which [Shit-Stirrer] was ashamed to admit was on account of [much-less-responsible person RAF is mentoring in the ways of fighting both physical and magical, often compared to an excitable puppy] and masochistically determined to beat)… – @recklessprudence
If enthusiasm was light, Paxifraxx would be a pulsar. Deadly when aimed in the right direction, and possibly also a little bit dim. Hir species was new to the Galactic Alliance and determined to catch up on everything that Society had to offer.
Trailing along on a series of exchange programs, Paxifraxx threw hir whole self into everything ze did. And this month, it was Security. “Why is Ambassador busking? Planet poor?”
Officer Lyr Marken looked. Oh crap. “That’s Shayde. She does that for fun. Do yourself a favour and stay away from her.” Of course, warnings like that were casually ignored so that Paxifraxx could ask the cogniscent in question why ze was warned about them. D'oh! Lyr sighed and sent a warning ping to Sherlock. She would hear all about this later. Possibly at a court-martial.
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Challenge #01716-D255: One Pot Screamer
Hwell Barrow gets his hands on “knurd” that Discworld drink that you wake up sober with. He drank a Lot! – @knitnan
Shayde is old enough to remember what ‘Kickapoo Joy Juice’ was, and when she or her friends were studying for extreme lengths of time, she had invented ‘Kikyernuts Brain Fire’. Which was a carefully-calibrated mixture of every stimulant known to mankind at the time. In a dose so strong that it was fractionally short of being lethal. She had a pot brewing in front of an audience of horrified and fascinated Medik trainees.
“Na while that’s reducin’ tae a syrup,” said Shayde, “I need tae stress the importance o’ drinkin’ this shite out of a shot glass.” She held aloft the tiny container. This one was double-walled and shot through with gold wires to prevent breakage through temperature shock. “One dose. Three hours. Otherwise ye run the risk o’–”
Hwell Barrow, freelance adventurer extraordinaire, and possibly permanently under the influence, fell through a patch of ceiling. He was evidently worse for wear. If he was a book, he would be slightly foxed, very badgered, severely bear’d and possibly dragoned[1]. He pulled himself laboriously to his feet, managed to focus on the bubbling pot, and cried, “Lor’ bless you, I’m gaggin’.” He marched straight for the pot and, ignorant of Shayde’s frantic and urgent cries not to drink that, seized the whole pot.
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Challenge #01694-D233: They Aren’t the Champions
Something nice about all those who will never be champions but compete and play sport, and love it. – Anon Guest
They say, do what you love, and you will never need to work again. This only really works if one is good at the thing one loves. There are people, out there, who are absolute pants at the thing they love. But they do it anyway, because love is, as the song says, strange.
Case in point, the Arse End Football Club. Named by the instigator and chief pants-level player, Ambassador Shayde, of course. It’s allegedly named after the location of the playing field, near the dry docks’ end of the station, which also resembles the tail end of a fish if one squints correctly. But most who have joined realise and recognise that it’s also named for their playing ability. But none of that matters.
Because it’s something they love.
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Challenge #01691-D230: Dangerous Lifeforms
[Name] wondered if considering that statement to be a fine example of famous last words made them unduly paranoid or just conscious of historical precedent. – RecklessPrudence
There are numerous, common, famous last words. “I think it’s going to be all right,” is in the top ten. Likewise, “Hold my beer, I’ve got this,” or, “Hey, watch this!” But of the all-time destined-to-be-last-words, Grax thought that, “Awright, silleh bugurz…” had to be a record-holder for the first prize.
Especially when it came out of the mouth of Ambassador Shayde as she strode towards danger and rolled up her sleeves.
This, Grax thought, has to be the end of my life. And thusly set hir eyecam to record everything ze saw. For posterity.
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Challenge #01680-D219: Rockit Launch ‘n’ BBQ
Actual thing said over the ruins of a test engine that had found a new fuel mix too spicy for it: “Whall, rocket fuel is kinda like a chain saw. If it warn’t dangerous, it wouldn’t be very useful.” – @recklessprudence
People make assumptions. That much was natural. You see the way someone dresses. You hear the way they speak. You assume things about the rest of them. Most of those things are wrong. Katie Walker had learned this and used it to her advantage. Keeping her Welsh accent was part of it. So was wearing Mary Janes and the socks with the frills on top. Combined with loose jeans and a nerdy shirt, it threw everyone off their guard.
And then she met Professor Eugene Skrunk. She was lost. He was taking rocket parts out of a trailer covered with warning stickers. He said, “Hey, li'l lady? Y'all got a minute.”
He talked like he’d just had a big ole helpin’ of ‘Momma’s Possum Surprise Stoo’ and washed it down with a quart of genuine moonshine. On the other hand, he dressed like the biggest nerd on the planet. Black-rimmed spectacles and all.