Challenge #00774 - B043: The Careful Calculation

Person #1: Fear is easy. Fear is cheap. Instead of fear, we’re going to give the people hope.
Person #2: Fear vs. Hope. Hardly an even match.
Person #1: That’s because you think of hope as something light and fragile. My version of hope has calluses and dirt under the fingernails and isn’t past bringing brass knuckles to a fight.

The board meetings of Cinderella Dreams were interesting. Around the Boardroom walls, circling the ceiling, was the company motto: omne quod est, semper fuit. They were words to be taken seriously, and only those who spent every day there knew what they meant[1].

The winners of the tri-annual Cinderella Dreams reality show always had an interview in this room, with the words neatly framed behind their heads. The Board lived for that part of the show. They adored the irony.

This year, as the life and times of last years’ winner was winding to a close, The board were considering the profiles of the potential next winner’s circle.

“Of course, we must be careful. We will keep the best of the plebes going with lucky chances. They must never be aware that they were pre-selected to win.”

“The entire year of selection is a ruse,” explained an elderly member of the Board to her successor. Tompkins to her granddaughter. “We give the plebes the hope that the people like them are going to win. Right up until the last moment.”

“That’s why the final circle for the year of games has to include one member of each hue, one member of each gender, one member of each minority, and one visibly disabled person,” said her neighbour, Jenson. “Of course we select for as much overlap as we can.”

“But the winner,” said the CEO, “is always white, abled, heterosexual, skinny and pretty. They haven’t noticed this in over five hundred years.”

“Why?” asked the junior Tompkins. She was thirteen.

“We’re very good at this,” explained the senior.

“No. I mean, why does the winner always have to be all that stuff? Why not pick one of the others?”

Tompkins patted her successor’s head. “Because all those other kinds are far too smart and won’t let themselves be manipulated. Nobody cares when another pretty white person vanishes from public notice. We have so many.”

“Hope is a very careful balancing game,” explained the CEO. “Too much, and they fight for it. Too little, and they surrender to despair. Just enough… and you can keep an entire planet tractable for generations.”

“That…” said Tompkins Junior. “That sounds kind of evil.”

“You’ll understand when you get older,” said her grandmother. “It’s for the greater good.”

[1] “All is as ever was” in case you wanted to know.

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Challenge #00773 - B042: It’s Physics!

I think the only apt description for particle physics these days is ‘punch it until its maths come out.’

[AN: I always thought particle physics was throwing tiny bits of the universe at each other to see what fell out of the crash…]

It looked like a cross between sanskrit, greek and cuneiform. Because of the lines and brackets, Kylie guessed it was intense math. She boggled in amazement at her roommate, Katie, as she worked on the complicated sigils before her. A girl five years Kylie’s junior was working on punching a hole in the universe.

And if you judged her only by the way she sprawled on the floor to scratch sigils into the battered notebook, one might guess that Katie Walker was playing at being a college student.

She finished half a page of complicated sigils and circled it in red pen. “This is it. This is the formula.” Katie grinned up at Kylie and showed her the page like any other kid her age would show her fan art of New Kids on the Block. “D'ye ken what this means?”

“I’m an art major,” said Kylie. “I don’t even know the names of half those symbols.”

“This is math that’s goin'a change the world.” She sprang up to sit next to Kylie, her auburn ringlets bouncing. “This is the trick o’ the universe. We’re goin’ le'p straight through all th’ stages o’ civilisation, ye ken.”

“…stages?”

“I keep tryin’ tae get ye intae science fiction…” Katie rolled her eyes. “Stage one is us, ye ken. Usin’ t’ resources o’ one planet fer energy. Stage two is usin’ the energy of their sun. Completely tappin’ ye ken.”

“Oh, like solar panels?”

“Er. More'n ‘at. Probably more like a Dyson sphere o’ solar panels, but yer gettin’ there. Stage three… is usin’ whole galaxy o’ stars. This,” Katie tapped her circled math, “Will be tappin’ a whole other universe. We’re goin’ tae pierce a brane.”

Kylie winced at her enthusiasm. “Is that murder or medicine.”

That earned her another pained sigh from Katie. “Not B-R-A-I-N. B-R-A-N-E. It’s short for 'membrane’. It’s the wee layer 'twixt one universe an’ the next. And I found one…” another tap at the math in her book, “that’s nowt but pure energy. We plug intae tha’… we never have another worry fer energy again.”

Sitting there in a dismal dorm room, staring at half a page of inscrutable math in a 99-cent store notebook, Kylie stared at the sigils that could change the world. She felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff. Something like a caveman trying to jump to the moon. She wondered if Einstein had tried to share his theories with someone like this, and if they had felt the same way.

“Are you going to show your professor?”

Katie blew a raspberry as she put her book away. Just like that, she was a fifteen-year-old kid again. “Nah. He wouldnae understand. What I’m goin’ tae do is celebrate.” She took out her Savings Jar and unloaded it onto her bed. “Pizza and doughnuts.”

“Rock on,” grinned Kylie.

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Challenge #00772 - B041: Veni Vidi Vetinari

A magic demonstration goes wrong, and Lord Vetinari finds himself in modern conservative backwoods Texas.

The smoke cleared and Lord Havelock Vetinari raised an eyebrow. He was now seated on the stump of a tree and facing a very surprised and sunburned family who were evidently cooking something on a portable grille.

They were a mixture of scrawny and over-fed. And the most overfed were the adult males. Their bellies lapped over their pants. The females were underfed. Or rather, the young ones were. The eldest of them had a body made by bearing children young, and then bearing them often. At least two of the older females were in the transition betwixt rail-thin weed and earth-mother.

All this, Vetinari saw before one of them reached for his weapon.

It looked almost exactly like the Gonne, but this was significantly more advanced. Reason dictated that he take charge.

“Good day to you and blessings on your household…”

*

President Gunther was permanently red-faced and bamboozled. Everyone knew he was the puppet of the angular gentleman all in black, murmuring behind his left shoulder.

The Media called him The Thin Man and never acquired his name because President Gunther always called him ‘Slim’, and so did his multitudinous family that managed to occupy almost all of the bedrooms in the white house.

But, they all agreed, America had never done better. All with simple changes to the laws of the land that guaranteed freedom for all its citizens. In two short weeks in office, President Gunther and his svelte puppeteer had eliminated crime of all kinds, illegal immigrants, poverty, and the welfare debate.

He also championed the rights of the downtrodden and worked on a rather strict system to eliminate racism across the country.

All by doing almost the exact opposite of what the Conservatives used to champion.

When told of the mythical welfare queens, the Thin Man said simply, “Show them to me.”

When told of the drug cartels, the Thin Man went on a brief sabbatical and returned with names and addresses for the FBI and the CIA. Including, embarrassingly, the cartels run by the FBI and the CIA.

All in all, the people in power were rather glad when he vanished without a trace.

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Challenge #00771 - B040: Great for Business

I never just derail a train of thought. I make wrecks that catch the cars on fire.

Kalle had ‘disruptive influence’ on her permanent record. She had no idea what to expect when Central Administration sent her to a training camp. Her vague concepts were nothing like the experience before her.

“You are a disrupter,” said the uniformed Administrator Plexx on the stage. “You can use this to the advantage of many. Corporations around the globe will pay good money for strategic disrupters and SOME OF YOU–” she glared pointedly at a small group who’d started chatting, “–are more talented than others.”

Kalle couldn’t believe it. The people who had annoyed her mother at work… were people who were in the business of disrupting, interrupting, and otherwise breaking unauthorised chains of thought that could have lead to interesting inventions, profitable weapons, or lucrative medicines.

All because the people they were pestering were supposed to be doing low-level labor for their company.

Her mother had been on the verge of a eureka moment so many times… and now she was going to be one of Them.

Of course she studied. Disrupters got bonus pay. Bonus pay got perks. Perks got a better future for herself and her spawn. But… Kalle had seen what a Disrupter could do to a creative mind.

She had watched her mother wither with frustration. Pickle in anger and futility. Dim and fade with depression.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.

Kalle vowed, privately, to be the sort of Disrupter who disrupted the current goings-on of the world. She would find places for the unauthorised ideas and the idea-havers. She would let them have their eureka moments and then quietly ask what lit them up like a firework.

And then… she’d find a place for them to take it. People to help them. It wouldn’t matter to the companies if they lost or gained lower-level employees. But it would matter to the planet and the people who share it.

She just needed to remain subtle about it all. Lest she get a bad reputation.

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Challenge #00770 - B039: Ancient Writings

Bring it the fuck on = Eam non valent, in (Eng->Lat)

[AN: My google translate disagrees and provides “adducet eam ad irrumabo” I trust any latin nerds in my audience will settle the debate]

Of all the things that could have possibly sated Shayde’s wanderlust, exploring he less popular areas of the station seemed the safest and least bother. What Rael hadn’t known at the time was Shayde’s capacity for finding adventures.

“Ey oop! Humans have been here.” Her sharp-toothed grin was a clear indicator that adventure was about to happen. “It’s real old, ye ken.”

“Really?” Rael did his utmost to show as little interest as possible.

“Aye, it’s in Latin. Near as I reckon, this were left behind somewhere by a pre-Alliance human colony. Or a bunch'a real nutbars.”

“Either is likely. Can we stick to the main corridors, please? Going down the path less travelled is what got us in this mess.”

Shayde turned to face him, gesturing at the ancient message, “But it says ‘bring it the fook on’. How can ye resist tha’?”

“Easily,” explained Rael. “I just walk away. Observe.” He picked a path based on the right-hand rule and began moving away.

“Three dead ends and a doorway tae the Glunk,” she warned.

He could see two of those. “You’re a daily reminder of why I hate magic.”

“Glad tae know I do somethin’ for ye every day.” She loosened the lock with a metallic squeal of protest. The door groaned as it opened.

Beyond was a rather dismal hall with another door. And beyond that…

A tastefully appointed…

Dimly-lit…

Dusty and musty drawing room.

Relief fought a losing battle with disappointment. “And here I was thinking you’d lead me through a fight with some forgotten tribe who’d been living independently on this station until we blundered into their territory.”

Shayde laughed. “Na. I’m savin’ that fer twenty rooms on.”

It was hard to tell when she was joking until it turned out that she was.

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Challenge #00769 - B038: Ballistic Rock

“We will, we will, Rock you!” As sung by the United Trebouchet Operators Choir. You figure out the circumstance. Have fun.

The trebuchets, massive siege weapons of wood and rope, fired silently. It was their payloads, landing against the stunt castle walls, that were part of the performance.

Two solid rocks, and a missile made of gravel and dried clay. They landed with a WHUMP-WHUMP, TSSSSHH. A relentless beat that required the scurrying co-ordination of hundreds.

“Buddy you’re a young man, hard man, shouting in the streets, gonna be a BIG MAN SOMEDAY. Got blood on your face, big disgrace, wavin’ your banner all over the place.”

Everyone manning the trebuchets sung in chorus, “WE WILL, WE WILL ROCK YOU!”

WHUMP-WHUMP, TSSSSHH. WHUMP-WHUMP, TSSSSHH.

“WE WILL, WE WILL ROCK YOU!”

The Ambassador for Shoggott, a class five deathworld, stared at the performance in shock and awe. She leaned over to the strategically-seated Ambassador Shayde. “Your people make music with weapons?”

“Oh aye. You should see the next act. It’s a Zeusophone.”

Nyansi looked at the demonically-shaped human. She seemed to be enjoying the show. “What is a Zeusophone?”

“They play music wi’ lightning. It’s a wee ripper.”

Nyansi was rather glad that they had sued for peace with these crazed, balding apes. They were beyond all realms of understanding.

Unseen, the frailer members of the Galactic Alliance exchanged touches of reassurance and congratulations. Their cunning plan had worked.

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Challenge #00768 - B037: Pure Badness

You venerate purity for its own sake, a most pointless exercise. Pure Iron is brittle, corrodes and shatters easily. Pure copper or tin do not have the strength of bronze. Alloys are Stronger

There was a civilisation on Tsarkis. If one could call it that. In the Galactic Alliance’s opinion, it barely passed the bar.

For a start, there was a very rigid caste system. Enforced by the military caste and massive walls that divided district from district. Few, if any, were allowed any kind of social or geographic mobility.

And as for the ruling caste…

Inbreeding had done its work. There were family lines distinguishable by their noses or foreheads or chins. They were all pale and frail albinos. Physically weak, twisted things.

All except for the ruling family of one island-continent in the tropics. There, the hostile life that bred there had lead to a high mortality rate, even amongst the high-born.

Therefore, every fifty years, they had a true Cinderella Ball. Anyone who was unmarried, with the means to arrive in a certain city by a certain date, had the chance to meet and mingle with the crown heir.

It was unorthodox, and frowned upon by the twisted and grotesque examples in the other city-states. And every kind of broken taboo.

And yet, that island-continent was the strongest of all the disparate nations extant on Tsarkis… and the other royalties continually borrowed from their line.

Of course, the instant that the Galactic Alliance set up a trading post on that planet, the potential for chaos increased exponentially with every passing day. Which was just how the Alliance liked it.

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The Coming Devestation

The last time the Great Wyrm attacked, the Kingdom of Nalun’g was rent asunder. Now, after almost a century of repair and reconstruction, the land sickens, holy symbols warp and tarnish, and the young and artists are plagued be nightmares that, horribly enough, may be prophecies.
The signs are there. The Beast is Coming…

(#00767 - B036)

Of course Nalun'g searched for a hero. Knights, barbarians, thieves and assassins all tried their hands at eliminating the Wyrm.

They were never seen again.

Simisola, a child of Nalun'g, had always been a strange girl. She rarely spoke and hardly interacted with anyone. She never looked a person in the eye and largely communicated by pointing at what she wanted. She spent a majority of her life in the library, though nobody knew if she was actually reading or just paging absently through the chained books in their special cellar.

They called her Simple Simi whenever she was out, either in the town or roaming the hillsides and coming home with bundles upon bundles of weeds or vile byproducts of corruption, rattling in tin boxes. The children made fun of her peculiar walk and occasionally threw things at her.

But Simisola never said a word. She just went about her business as if she didn’t care.

On the day that the beast overflew the village, vomiting corruption on all that it saw, Simisola set out with heavy knapsack and bedroll and bags. Dressed gaily in reds and yellows in a pattern that bedazzled the eye.

She followed the Great Wyrm to its lair, and all were certain that Simple Simi would die there.

But the corruption faded. It withered and died, instead of spreading. The Great Wyrm was not seen for a week. For a month. For two months…

Rumour spread, as it was wont to do. The dragon had been defeated by Simple Simi’s great innocence. Some even began worshiping her as a saint. Children denied that they had ever been mean to her and talked endlessly about they had been kind to her in numerous small ways.

And then Simisola returned to Nalun'g.

On the back of the Great Wyrm.

The beast was no longer corrupted. But she was not yet whole. There were still the marks of a great sickness on her body, but also many signs of improvement.

Those who had sanctified Simple Simi turned against Simisola in a matter of seconds. They were prepared to burn her at the stake for her sorcery and black magic. They readied sticks and stones to throw at her, but none hit their mark. The dragon protected her.

“PEACE,” Roared the dragon. She had pouches and packs strapped to her back. Many were from previous heroes who had gone to fight her and died. One talon ripped open half a dozen, and gold and jewels spilled to the cobblestones of Nalun'g.

Some fell on the wealth as if they had never meant either dragon or girl harm. The rest dropped their improvised weapons.

“My name is Cevahir. For decades, I was plagued with a disease known as The Blight. It corrupted my thoughts. Turned me into less than an animal. Made me corrupt other areas. But this… brave maiden… thought to seek out all possible cures for The Blight and see to my medicine and care. She has saved me. And she has saved you. And she has told me all of what you have done to her.

"Therefore she is now my ward, and under my care. Any who harm her will have an argument with me.” A gout of flame showed all watchers how that argument would go. Quickly, decisively, and without a chance for rebuttal.

“She can’t have told you,” said one of the recent hypocrites. “She can’t talk.”

“You don’t listen,” said Simisola, her voice flat and bare of emotion. “You never did.”

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The Travelogue Continues

After leaving Francoeur behind, Kurt and Todd find themselves in South Park, bizarre animation and all. How will they cope with being the 184th strangest thing to happen to the town?.

(#00766 - B035)

It had been another typical morning at the bus stop. The usual debate had come around to the subject of mothers.

“Mmf F mmmf mf Mmmmmmm'f mmf mf f mmmmf,” said Kenny.

“You take that back, you sonofabitch,” Cartman challenged.

“Get over it, Cartman,” sighed Kyle. “Everyone knows your mom slept with everyone in town.”

Everyone else but Cartman laughed.

“So… pissed… off…. right now…”

“Mmmf, mmm'f mmmf f mmf mmf mmmf mmmf mmf mmf.”

“PEOPLE DON’T FALL OUT OF THE SKY, KENNY!”

{Pop!}

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

{FLUMPF!}

“Git offa me ya fuzzy– hey kids!” An extremely ugly teenager grinned at them. “You didn’t see nuttin’, amiright?”

Also climbing out of the snow was a blue, fuzzy demon with glowing yellow eyes. He looked supremely bored.

“San Francisco is that way ya fuckin’ gays,” said Cartman.

“Cartman’s mom’s house is that way if you have a dollar,” said Stan.

Everyone except Cartman laughed.

The ugly one searched his pockets while the demon covered and uncovered one eye.

“I dunno. Does she take last century’s Francs?”

“Mmm'f mmmf mmmf mmmmmmm'f mmmf.”

More laughter.

“GOD DAMMIT KENNY! I’LL KILL YOU!”

“Todd,” said the demon.

“What?” said Todd, the ugly one.

“You notice anysink veird about ziss place?”

“Mf mmmmmf mmmf f mmmmmmf. Mmmmf mf mmmf mmmmf mmmf mmmf mmf.”

Even more laughter. Cartman turned violently red.

“I think I’m glad I can’t hear zat kid,” said the demon. “Excuse me, kinder… is there a reason you don’t find mien appearance alarming?”

“Eh,” said Stan.

“You guys are like the 184th-weirdest thing to happen in this town.”

“Ooooohhh…. kay.” The demon stood up out of the snow. He had weird legs and a tail. “Anyvon hiring, or must ve do ze street theatre?”

At that moment, the bus pulled up. Chef looked at the mutants. The mutants smiled nervously at Chef.

“This has got to be the 184th weirdest thing to happen in this town.”

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Challenge #00765 - B034:

A human opens a Beauty Salon for Reptilian Customers, it occurs to me that its Male reptiles who often try to attract mates.

[AN: Thanks to Tumblr’s habit of dropping links when I copy/paste, I have a new “streamlined” and “easier” procedure in which I have the HTML of my tagline info in a separate file and, after I’m done doing the story, I swap to HTML and copy/paste that sucker in. Then I edit the muse food count accordingly. Thanks staff, for making me not trust the utilities on this site]

The concept of cosmetics is as old as dirt. Literally. But the humans, of course, were the first to take it to extremes.

This shop, Universal Beauty, was the one responsible for introducing the seal-like Iil'shur'aur'ur to hair gel. Though it was not responsible for the minor wars that followed[1]. It still does roaring business despite the fact that it’s run by humans.

“Welcome to Universal Beauty. Do you have an appointment?”

“PLEASE,” begged the lizard, “She said ‘yes’ and we’re going to meet face-to-face in three hours! I have to look my best for her, I have to! Please. I’ll pay double-time!”

The clerk took in the lizard’s general air of inspired desperation, and the offer of double time, and set off a softly musical alarm.

Experts swarmed, whisking the desperate lizard away and into the one studio that was always kept empty for such emergencies. Meryl Jonson saw all this on her monitors and descended from her office for a consult. They would have called her down anyway.

She arrived just as they were scanning the poor male in his underwear. He had a nice, matching bra for his heat packs. Good. That was a start. 

“This is your first time in any beauty salon?” she asked.

“Yessir,” the hapless male squeaked.

“Don’t worry. We don’t use the more frightening aspects of the cosmetics industry. All we are going to do is… accentuate… your natural assets.”

“…but all of the options in the menu…”

“Are lies. You don’t want to be deceitful during your first meeting, do you? Starting a relationship on deceit is not the way to go.”

“Oh. Uh. Yes. Of course. I just want to look my best for her.”

“That’s what we’re very good at.”

He still got The Works, of course. Paying double time gets anyone The Works. Full derma, nail, and crest treatments, with the gentleman’s choice of alluring scent. He left glistening, with his clothes neatened and pressed.

And in good time for his date, who had booked an earlier appointment weeks ago.

[1] Because it’s surprising the lengths some people will go to to have selkie-smooth fur.