Challenge #00800-B069: Back Off, We’re Celebrating!
“Light blue touch paper! Run like Hell!”
It looked like a cylinder with a cone at one end and a stick at the other. The purpose of the string at the stick end was just as mysterious as the cone. It was painted in toxic stripes, therefore it was dangerous.
“What is this?” said T’reka.
“Humans use it to celebrate,” said Susan. “They’re rockets designed to explode. For art.”
Nobody on Amity could side-eye like a Numidid. T’reka gave her a classic one. “Making rockets explode is an accident, not an art.”
“We use them to paint the night sky in coloured light,” Susan re-explained. She was well used to this after decades of working with T’reka. “They explode on purpose to do this.”
“Loud noises and sudden lights. Of course this is a human entertainment. I think I know the answer, but I must ask. What are you celebrating with these?”
“Uh… the fact that we can make fireworks now…?”
“Called it,” T’reka muttered in her own tongue. “Have you set out a warning for the Numidid population?”
“Sort of? We called it an invitation, but we did say there’d be loud noises and flashing lights. And screaming humans.”
“Many will observe from a safe distance.” She peered at the smudged label on the tube. “What are these words?”
“Light blue touch paper. Run like hell.”
“How very human,” T’reka snarked.
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Challenge #00799-B068: What, When You Own The World?
The domino effect, as applied to takeovers, and what happens when the last one falls.
This was it. The pinnacle of success. Fortune Incorporated had made its last takeover. With this signing, with this handshake, with this cluster of flashes dazzling his eye… Fortune Inc owned every business in the world… and since he owned Fortune Inc, he owned the world.
For the entire press conference, the glamorous soiree, it was all he could do to maintain a restrained and confident facade. He had to wait until he had fashioned a dignified retreat before he turned whooping cartwheels down the halls. Before he hugged the manservants and kissed the maids. Before he did the little victory dance that he had not performed in public since he was five.
He’d won.
From this moment on, there would not be a venture, not be an invention, not be a lemonade stand on a street corner, that did not have his money involved. He, Launcillot Cranstonbury, had every last deal on this planet working in his favour.
Of course he owed a lot to his predecessors, making certain that Fortune Inc was the best and strongest business out there, and generations of Cranstonburies for not fixing what was never broken in the first place. And, of course, his father, for teaching him everything he knew.
And now he was the youngest and most successful business genius on record. The only question that remained was - how to best shape the world in his image?
What would get him the most profit?
*
“…and then there’s the Castor Island matter, sir.”
Undisputed Economic King of the World, Launcillot Cranstonbury raised a greying eyebrow. “What Castor Island matter?”
“The citizens of Castor Island have decided to shun the body corporate, sir. They’re not engaging in commerce as we know it. They’re… bartering.”
Launcillot laughed. “Barter. In a global economy? That’s not going to run for long, is it?”
“They have a unit of exchange that is not based on material wealth, sir. They’re minting this… fiat… and using it in lieu of genuine money.”
“Oh? What are they calling it?”
“Time, sir. It’s based on seconds, minutes and hours of genuine time.”
“Well how the hell can anything accrue value that way?” protested Launcillot. “There’s no opportunity for investment. No chance of returns.”
“Yes, sir.” Pevensy consulted her tablet. “Your interests in that area are now money sinks, sir. Nobody shops there. The locals prefer Time to Lupits.”
“That’s their problem,” Launcillot scoffed. “Withdraw my interests there. Let the whole damn island rot without import or export. They’ll suffer soon enough.”
“Er,” said Pevensy. “That’s the problem, sir. They’re prospering.”
“How?”
“Evidently… they’ve made a form of… black market. The people prefer craft and care to the cheaper, mass-produced fare that has dominated the market since your takeover. And their immediate neighbours are beginning to join in.”
“Tell the networks to run the usual smear campaigns. People risking their lives and the lives of their family on products that don’t comply with the researched industry standards. And make the industry standards impossible for these yokels to comply with. Standard business. And start a few lines with slightly higher quality for the rubes at twice the normal price. Keep them confused, Pevensy. It’s the only way.”
*
Launcillot Cranstonbury was a great-grandfather when Time took over the planet and rendered his economic empire moot. He never understood where he went wrong. All he had ever done was play by the rules, and give the people what they said they wanted.
He never understood why… they had no reason to help him in his old age and infirmity, but they did anyway. And they only charged their Time. If they charged at all.
And he never learned that the Galactic Alliance had had a hand in destroying his life’s work.
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Challenge #00798-B067: A Solid What?
That most interesting of currencies, The Favour.
“It is not worth my Time, patience and anguish to even go near that piece of retro insanity you call a personal vehicle.”
Shayde thought she was upping the ante when she said, “I’ll owe ye a solid…”
He glared at her. “A solid what?”
“A solid favour. It’s a thing. Like ye need me tae do som'att ye don’t want tae do or I could only do but I don’t really like, ye ken. I’d do it ‘cause I owe ye a solid.”
“Favours are nebulous and cannot be quantified, therefore it is illegal to trade in them.”
She looked so crestfallen and disappointed. “Aaaawww… they did awa’ with friendly barter? That’s no’ fair…”
“…and who said we were friends?”
“Na, na, don’t be like tha’… Yer important tae me. Very important. Yer the only one who bothers tae try an’ learn what I’m talkin’ about half the time.”
He folded his arms and turned away. “As your interpreter, I have to. And it earns me a lot of bonuses.”
“Gi'wa’ wi’ ye,” she scoffed. “If that were true, I would'nae have those four little words you love tae hear…”
“Don’t say them. I’m not interested.”
“Powdered. Doughnut. Pancake. Surprise.”
Damnit. Rael sighed. He could already feel his personal energies draining pre-emptively. “What’s gone wrong with it now?”
“It’s the overbluff manifold,” she said. “It’s no’ gettin’ along wi’ the spline retriculator. I tried everything’.”
“Except not putting a modern Grav Drive in a recreation of an ancient technology your peoples used to visit your local satellite planet.”
“I think it’s cool,” she huffed. “Are ye doin’ it or not?”
“Praline Ganache on the pancakes?”
“Do I look like a savage? I’ll even put sprinkles in t’ batter.”
“All right,” he sighed. “Grudgingly. And my favour is that you change the name of your… 'motor’.”
Shayde whined. “Do I have to?”
“I’m not spending any more time than I have to in any vessel named The Vomit Comet.”
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Challenge #00797-B066: The Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Really Bad Idea
“This year’s human sacrifice features something very special- actual humans!”
“What were they sacrificing before?” murmured Edilade “Soy humans?”
“Best not to ask,” whispered Janet. “You have any of those smoke bombs I told you to dispose of?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, gimme some of those smoke bombs you don’t have.” Janet had already escaped the natives’ shackles. They all had. Being a scavenger crew meant that they were all prepared for the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. “Five each should do it.”
Edilade grinned. “Are we gonna pull the Boom Shakalaka?”
Janet considered this, “Eeeeehhh… maybe a hybrid of Boom and Maresidoats. We don’t want them worshiping us by accident.”
“So… running under a hail of spears, then.”
“Be grateful they haven’t invented archery. Or long-range accuracy.”
*
The captain burned fuel a little faster, getting away from that planet. Unfortunately, they had had to leave some of their tech behind. At least it was gene-locked and the natives couldn’t use it for anything more than talismans or, if mood suited them, bludgeons.
The bad news that came with that was that their tech was gene-locked and the Society for the Protection of Societies was going to be on their collective asses if they ever found out.
The big question, however was, “How the heck did they become a cargo cult if we’re the first humans to go there?” which Tamika helpfully asked.
“That,” said Captain Shanice, “is a question we can log in our defence.”
*
In a hidden temple, far underneath where the natives had built their ‘space lasso’, was the most sacred of their sacred objects. A holy ancestor had tried to catch a star, so the story went, and seized this.
Most of it was sort of octagonal, but the important part was a carefully-polished plaque. Maintained and worshiped as a holy message.
On it was a picture of the device, and two nude humans, and a stylised star, or what could have been a star, if one didn’t notice the binary notation of the rays
And a small depiction of a solar system.
One of Humanity’s messages to the cosmos.
It was a pity that the natives read it as a menu order from the Gods.
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Challenge #00796-B065: These Humans Are Crazy
An aliens reaction to the punch buggy game
“Punch buggy white!”
“Hey! One, that is clearly blue, and two - we’re in a freaking car museum. Knock it off.”
“Where’s your sense of humour?”
Janice gritted her teeth. “We’re in front of ambassadors,” she grated. “You’re embarrassing your entire species.”
Meanwhile, Ambassador Vrex was taking notes. Humans are instinctually violent. Even their games and jokes rely heavily on aggressive physical contact.
[AN: GAH I got major-league sidetracked today. Mia culpa.]
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Challenge #00795-B064: Come to Scenic Gravity Falls
Mabel Pines and Francouer.
(if you don’t watch Gravity Falls a. Do it and b. this is now a free prompt day)
[AN: I do watch, I’m just not into the decoding stuff because I’m daft. I let everyone else do that.]
“I’ll show you all! I’ll summon a monster from ages past to destroy you all! Destroy you all! Destroy you all! Destroy you all!”
“Uh…” said Dipper. “Was it necessary to say it that many times?” And then he threw the onion.
It bounced with the kind of precision he’d learned trying to win that dumb duck thing and Wendy’s heart. It had to be precisely timed to the second, so as to cut off his last word.
The villain du jour did his obligatory scoff while Dipper pretended that it had gone wrong… and proceeded to perform his ritual while the onion continued to careen around the room.
Just as the lights flared from his chalk circle, and he uttered the words, “…a giant—” the onion hit him and knocked him out cold.
It would have been fine if it wasn’t for Mabel.
She swung through the spell circle on that dumb grappling hook of hers and said, “FLEE for your lives from Pirate Captain Mabel, aaaaarrrr…”
There wasn’t a facepalm big enough.
Smoke fountained up. The spell was complete.
And in the middle of the altar was… a nine foot tall… man? In a zoot suit and a mask? Holding a guitar.
"Brrrp?” he said. Then he said, “Qu’est-ce que c’est?” in an amazingly high voice.
Dipper vented a noise of anguish. “Mabel. What did you DO?”
“I was saving the day,” said Mabel, she’d put a bedazzled skull and crossbones on her medical eyepatch. “You’re welcome.”
“…ou est Lucille?” asked the giant.
Mabel came over all giggles. “Ooo, par-lay voo France-says mon sewer…”
Querying chitters. “…c’est n’est pas Français…”
Giggle giggle giggle giggle flirt. “You could talk to me all day… PLEASE DO!”
Dipper rolled his eyes as he got out the black light. “Well, in order to send him back to where he came from, we have to defeat him with his own skill. Uh. Okay. Show us what you got, big guy.”
Coos of glee as the giant picked up an abandoned guitar and doffed his coat.
He had four arms.
Oh. Giant flea. Of course. Mabel had completed the spell.
And damn, but he was good at guitar. And a very good singer. Mabel was practically floating on a cloud of cartoon hearts by the time he was done.
“Great, this is impossible.”
*
His name was Francoeur, and he didn’t talk much, which Grunkle Stan appreciated. He was also becoming a fast draw for the Mystery Shack, which Granule Stan loved.
Every guitarist for miles around would come, take a tour, and then pony up the fifty bucks to try and defeat the insectoid master of the guitar.
Mabel, Candy and Grenda had swooning seats in the front row, but none of them had an impact on Francoeur.
Then the steam-powered stranger came.
Dipper didn’t know who she was fooling with that fake moustache, but everyone else seemed to go with it and call her ‘sir’ and act like ordering hot water and machine oil at the diner was an everyday happenstance. She spoke with a stutter and made machine noises in her absent moments. And, were it not for the verdigris copper of her skin and the red stripes in her outfit, she could have easily passed for one of Gravity Falls elder goths.
She, too, took the tour and paid the fifty bucks to go on the stage against Francoeur. That was when she took off her moustache and announced, “My name is Rabbit, and I was b-b-built back in eighteen ninety six. Y-y-you know, when it was sti-still illegal for women to read, and all the men dressed like Mister Peanut.”
“What’s going on?” wailed Mabel.
“…music history,” whispered Robbie. He immediately started recording on his phone.
Rabbit brought out a Keytar and plugged it in to a speaker. “Sorry, Honeybee. I g-g-gotta defeat ya ‘cause of all them wonderful years in Paris.”
Francoeur merely cooed agreement and tipped his hat.
And then they Played. Not against each other, but together. Tunes and harmony so excellent that there was not a dry eye in the house. And with a spectacular light show and a fizzle of steam, Francoeur was gone.
Rabbit sighed and whispered, “So long, Honeybee…” There was a fresh trail of oily tears down her copper cheeks. “We always did make b-b-b-beautiful music together…”
Robbie spent the rest of that night info-dumping about Colonel Walter’s steam-powered automatons and their incredibly lengthy history as musical machines. But Rabbit left without any trace. Not even an oil spot.
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Challenge #00794-B063: The Arboretum of Death
Bunya Pines. That is all.
[AN: SO very tempted to add a distant relative to Gravity Falls…]
People came from all over to see the deadly plants. They did not come to experience personal encounters with them. Just to see, and goggle in amazement that they existed at all.
Of course, it was no shock to many that the majority of these deadly plants came from Earth
Most of the protected walkways were surrounded on all sides by the best of meteor-proof re-enforced glass, except for five Distance Units in the middle of the track. As far away from the plants that poisoned the air as they could get. And in the Units preceding this patch of track, warning signs told the visitors what to expect. Especially frail Havenworlders would turn around and go back the way they had come. Some would take the underground path to avoid being literally scared to death. A rare few would illuminate the disturbing information about the Bunya Pine.
Emergency medtechs were always standing by for those who did.
Humans, of course, would deliberately stand under the military-grade Springwire and wait for the natural missiles to descend. Often with eager grins of anticipation. Then they would all shriek and scream and holler as a ten Weight Unit pine cone fell at Standard gravity to either ricochet off the Springwire and shatter against a robust tree, or shatter against the special cage.
And then they would laugh.
And buy the souvenir necklaces with a varnished pinecone shard dangling from a chain or a thong, much like surfers would wear a shark tooth.
This is the thing that I survived, the necklaces said. I wear part of it to show my strength.
Even those who scurried through the Springwire section of the track purchased a shard necklace. To show that they had been there. To show that it existed.
And every year… more unbelievers came to see.
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Challenge #00793-B062: One Puzzling Afternoon in the Ambassador’s Lounge
http://eighthdoctor.tumblr.com/post/104127747867/okay-but-i-spent-the-afternoon-reading-about-venus
“Wait. Wait. I need to understand this.”
Shayde sighed. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to explain it in depth. “Go on.”
“Your people took seven goes to *find* a *planet*.”
“Yeh, the thing aboot space is… it’s big. There’s loads o’ stuff in it ye ken…”
“It was your intra-stellar neighbour on an inner track, with a high reflective index. *How could you miss*?”
“We were gettin’ our sights in.”
“And then you took seventeen tries to land something there, and a further nineteen to land it *on purpose*.”
“Look, there’s many a slip, awrigh’? We were learnin’.”
“And then you did it twenty-four times before you learned anything about the surface apart from ‘extremely dangerous’.”
“Well, aye, we had tae find out why the probes were failin’.”
“Before you reached reliable space flight, your people sent well over *five hundred* probes to that planet, none of which lasted longer than three hours. And then you were mad enough to try *terraforming* it?”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“Only after you pumped half the atmosphere over to Mars…”
“Aye, but th’ Venusian spas are fookain brilliant.”
“THEY’RE IN ACTIVE CAULDERA!”
“Carefully monitored active cauldera, thanks. We’re no’ completely nuts.”
A stunned and awed silence, in which Lady Ambassador Grex got in a good boggle. “You could have fooled me.”
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Challenge #00792-B061: One Smoke-Filled Evening in a Dimly-Lit Room
Vetenari being a tidy soul, would have made certain that the mess he’d tidied up Stayed tidy.
Republican Secret Congress, the not-too-distant future…
“Okay, so the Thin Man is gone, and so is President Gunther. The question now is, how do we reverse the damage to America?”
“We can’t use the old arguments,” said one of the shadowy figures. “The Thin Man gave them dang Liberals all the ammo they’ll ever need!”
“And worse,” said another, “he came up with the easiest solutions to all the things we said were ruining America… and he made America the greatest country on this earth!”
“Not that it wasn’t *before*,” growled the apparent leader.
There was a generic murmur of “Oh yes"es and "greatest country bar none"s, but an anonymous listener could tell that their hearts weren’t in it.
"Thanks to the Thin Man, our power system is completely demolished,” said the leader. “We can no longer prey on the fears of our people because our great nation has faced those fears and come out smiling.”
“It ain’t fair,” grumbled another shadowy figure. “This one man turns up and just… fixes everything for everyone but us. How the hell are we going to get votes now?”
A young man tentatively raised a shaking hand. “We… could… do something… different?”
He was kicked out of the ever-dwindling Republican Party in short order. But the writing was on the wall. America loved the sensible solutions. The age of unreason was dead.
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Challenge #00791-B060: One Fine Afternoon Constitutional
Image prompt!
The story of two birds, Numidids optional.
[AN: Image shows two long-necked birds(possibly egrets) facing each other on opposite sides of what looks to be a canal. One bird is white, the other is grey. I also have no idea why the image won’t get quoted any more. Another stuff-up from staff?]
This is Earth. It now prides itself on the strange, the bizarre, and the unusual. Its citizens, for a modest fee, will gleefully exhibit some of the more baffling and alarming passtimes that humans have invented over their many centuries on the planet.
This is a small township called Cunabarabran. It’s one of the few places that’s safe for havenworlders, owing to the fact that everything potentially hazardous on a macroscopic scale has been carefully removed from the environment.
And this is S'sid'nii, a curious havenworlder seeking to reenforce his DNA by osmosis - that is, making his species stronger by careful and regulated exposure to deathworlders. As part of his daily constitutional, he takes care to chat with the human natives and learn interesting things.
And one of those interesting things is a human, also taking a walk, with a large bundle of leashes. At the end of each, a long-necked water bird. They were a chaotic squabble and seemed determined to tangle their leashes at the slightest provocation.
As the human continued her walk, she barked orders at the birds by name. “Snowy, cool it! Edgar, get on the other side. Clarence… Clarence… OI! To the back. Bernadette, stop picking on Chloe.”
As a fellow bird, this raised his interest. S'sid'nii followed in curiosity, and cautiously caught up with the beleaguered human.
“Yeah nah I’m not takin’ you in, mate,” said the human. “I already got enough feathers in me cap.”
“I am an independant entity,” soothe S'sid'nee. “I am meaning to ask… of what kind are these pets.”
“Egrets,” said the human. “I wish I had a few.”
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