Not exactly a writing prompt, but figured you might get some use from it anyway.
Theory: Part of the reason for much of the socially-driven guilt and negativity about the body and sexuality is because of clothing hiding it, as if the normal human anatomy is something to be avoided and shamefully concealed. Without clothing to obscure and interfere, people would be effectively forced to confront the natural state of themselves and others, and without the perceived stigma of hiding and shame, such negative attitudes and personal guilt would soon vanish as people became more acclimated to people all being different from each other, since any differences would be openly displayed and unable to be treated as something one could or should hide.
(#00670 - A305)
They called it Eden. One of the few Havenworlds that humans settled and kept as heavenly.
Well. Except for that one island that, somehow, became the native residence of everything sharp, vicious, venomous or all three at once. Islands just like it seemed to be standards on all human colony worlds. Except for N'oz. The whole planet was like that[1].
And, like the Eden of legend, precipitation happened by mists. The winds did not exceed a gentle breeze, and almost the entire planet was a paradisiacal garden.
The next big surprise was the natives.
The buildings were simple and uncomplicated. Homes were places to sleep or share meals. Studios and workplaces were full of light and creativity.
Markets were stalls where people apparently dropped off whatever they had to trade and picked up whatever they needed.
And workshops were the only places where anyone wore clothing.
Even then, it was clearly protective gear only.
A mottled young woman tapped Ezi on the shoulder. She shouldn’t have been able to, since Ezi had her cloak-field on.
“Are you done hiding in the bushes, stranger?”
Ezi dropped her cloak and stood up. “I was trying to observe without interfering. Thanks. I’m Ezi. You are?”
“Moon Starsong,” said the native. “That’s a lot of armour.”
“It’s a life suit. It’s designed to protect me from everything.”
“Well, you don’t need it any more. You can get comfortable now.”
Wait. She expected Ezi to strip. Okay. This was happening.
But on this world, nudity was the norm.
“I’m… from a very different place. Nudity is a taboo.”
“Why?”
“Long established tradition.” Ezi got down to her Ship’s Skins, which was next to naked, anyway. Packed her suit in a capacious bag from one of its storage slots. “For me, this is comfortable.”
“That’s… really concealing.”
Ezi laughed. “I’ve had people accusing me of being indecent in this lot. Well, Ambassador, I think you need a briefing on the Galactic Alliance…” She explained other worlds, intergalactic trade, the Fellowship of Terran Planets and, finally, how hardly anybody went naked.
“Oh,” said Moon. “Offensensitivity. We have just the thing.” She dashed off to a stall and came back with a peculiar pendant. “We call these shimmer fields. They cover what anyone else would consider offensive.” She put it on and pressed a concealed button.
Suddenly, she was clad neck-to-toe in silver sparkles. Something like a cross between body paint and a discotheque.
“This is the default setting, of course. I can set it to any colour I want. And any shape. I could be covered in fish if you like.”
“Gold is fine,” said Ezi. “And you’re going to need a solid pair of shoes. Workplace safety standards.”
[1] Except for an isolated island/continent that is the next best thing to paradise. Nobody native to N'oz lives there and nobody knows why.
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Challenge #00669 - A304: Methods of Madness
When the last trumpet sounds and the beast rises from the pit, we will not kill it. We will ride it.
Jorgi the Page remembered when the Sorcerer’s summoned demon began pulling out its hair. The beast was still chafing at its magical bit and had managed to get into Kragdar’s knapsack.
Jorgi caught her looking into a crystal sphere, late one night.
“What are you doing?” Jorgi whispered. “The master forbade you from interfering with our things.”
“Na, he forbade me from wreckin’ ‘em. Nowt about looking’. Nowt about touchin’.” She was a strange demon. Were it not for her too-large, glowing eyes, Jorgi could easily mistake her for human. Though the combination of shadow-dark skin and smoke-white hair was usually only found in the elderly.
And no human had fangs or talons like this thing.
The creature who called herself Shayde carefully rolled the sphere back into Kragdar the Sorcerer’s knapsack and put it back the way Jorgi had left it.
“See? No harm done.” She reached up to her head, and pulled out three strands of hair. One by one.
Ever after that day, Shayde was perpetually braiding, or piercing herself to add her blood to the impossibly thin twine she was making of her own hair. She muttered spells in some foreign tongue she called ‘Welsh’. They were not counter to their quest, though they did alarm Yrg the Barbarian.
It became normal, over their months of travel. If Shayde’s fingers weren’t busy with her hair-and-blood twine, then she was unconscious or doing the bidding of Kragdar. Helping them fight the forces of evil.
But when they came to Nemyss, the ultimate evil they had been sent to vanquish… that was when the cord Shayde had been weaving came into play. Nemyss summoned her own demon. A much more… demon-y demon. A giant serpent made of fangs and tentacles and leathery embellishments that resembled bats’ wings.
Jorgi almost wet herself.
Shayde tied off her hair braid and, with a complicated movement, turned it into a lasso. She caught the beast and the thin thread held. The beast dragged her off the ground, and the thread held. She looped it further around its maw and turned it into a bridle.
And the great serpent bucked and writhed but Shayde would not let it go. It struggled and bit and howled… and the thin web of hair and blood held fast.
She tamed it. Wore it down. Soothed it into domesticity. Leaving the others free to defeat Nemyss on his own turf.
“It’s no big trick,” said Shayde as she scratched one of the serpent’s phalanges. It rumbled an earthquake of a purr. “Hair and blood of a virgin. Words of purpose in an ancient tongue. Any ancient tongue will do.”
“That’s…” Kragdar boggled. “That’s almost mud-magic.”
“It’s life magic. Ye could’a explained. I’d have done it wi’out the manacles.”
“Life magic? No demon can wield life magic.”
Sigh. “I been tellin’ ye all year. I ain’t a demon.”
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The Best Genes Money Can Buy…
Adam stared past the mirror-glass and into his own eyes. They were perfect in place and symmetry, blue as the sea. His cheekbones, nose and jaw came together to make a flawless model’s face. His rational mind said that he should be happy, for he had everything he could ever want in terms of intelligence and good looks, and his parents were kind and loving. Still there was sadness inside those eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his parents that there was something wrong with him, that the perfect son they had spent so much money on gene-tailoring… wasn’t really perfect after all.
Adam could lie to his parents, to the world, but not to himself. He saw the gorgeous young man in the mirror, but he hated him utterly. He shifted uncomfortably as he glanced down at the body in the mirror, resisting the urge to flinch in distaste, as he often did at seeing it bare. Yes, it was a perfect body, but it wasn’t his. It was the body of the perfect son. But in truth, all his life Adam had known that he much more wished to be the perfect daughter.
(#00668 - A303)
He’d stolen one of his mother’s old dresses. One of her ‘circus tents’ that she dragged out and laughed at to think she was once so fat with child.
Body gestation had its risks, they said. But it was the ultimate expression of love…
That’s what mother said. They could have gone for an artificial uterus, but the fashion at the time was to use the uterus already there…
If they had been unfashionable… Maybe Adam wouldn’t be in so much trouble.
He slid the dress on. Cupped a purely imaginary bosom onto his slim frame. Restyled the hair that Adam had been allowed to grow out to a certain length. Just a little too long for a boy.
“Hi,” she breathed, trying to sound more like the girl she knew she was. “My name is Adelle…”
“Do you want it to be?”
Adam froze. Panicked. Almost messed herself. “Please don’t be mad?” she squeaked.
Mother was leaning against the doorframe with her perpetual glass of tan liquid. It was fashionable to be an alcoholic… but only those closest to her knew that it was sparkling apple juice.
“I’m not mad. The risks were explained. Including the fact that you could have missed out on some important hormones. Entirely my fault. Adelle. It’s a pretty name.”
There should have been yelling. There should have been fury. Everything she’d read on the subject told her that the bodyqueer were routinely rejected.
“Y-yes…” she stammered. “I’d like to keep it, please?”
“Of course,” said Mother. “I suspected you might not be the son I ordered. I’ve had all the right doctors lined up for some time.”
The dress dropped. “Really?”
“Of course, darling. Only the best. And always the best. Want to start the process?”
Adelle’s mouth said, “Yes please!” before her brain could think it.
It was going to be a great year.
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Challenge #00667 - A302: Slippery Slope
“He who fights with monsters should be careful he doesn’t become a monster himself. Unless that makes him more effective at fighting monsters. Like he becomes a badass werewolf who knows how to use a sword and has magic armor. That’d be so rad.”
My name… was… Vernon. A long time ago, now.
It began, as all beginnings must, with a quest to rescue a damsel in distress. Captured by vampires. Yes. She was held by monsters. And she became… monsters.
No. She became a monster.
They turned her. She turned me. Well… she tried to turn me. She was young. She didn’t know the proper process.
I drained them all into dust. I became a vampire of vampires and I was useful. I helped eradicate them from my country. From my country’s allies. They paid… my handlers well. I had every comfort.
Then they sent me against a werewolf. Did you know? When a werewolf bites a vampire that vampire becomes… something else? A hybrid.
It became… harder… to think. During the full moon. I could only eat raw meat. And sometimes… they sent me criminals… to feast on.
I still fought to be a hero. To be valorous. I would try to judge them myself. When I was not starving. And when they started starving me to be sure the criminals were executed… That was when I knew that my keepers were monsters, too.
I know what to do with monsters.
I’ve beaten them all, you know. Witches. Wizards. Sorcerers. Dragons. Each one made me stronger. Made me more… monstrous.
They say a pure heart can tame me. I pray it so. Yours is the purest heart I have found to date. Do your best. Do what you must.
I trust you.
You’re my only hope.
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Overheard at the bar…
“All this time I just kinda assumed she had a couple loud, nosy roommates. She said the camera on her machine didn’t work, so that’s why she stuck to audio-only…”
“So why the post-date stress? Was she dog-ugly, and caught ya staring at her like she had two heads?”
“Three, actually. And not ugly, kinda cute, actually.”
“Pardon?”
“Imagine a bipedal Cerberus. With boobs. And about seven feet tall.”
“…right, I forgot you said you didn’t care for tall chicks.”
(#00666 - A301)
“I can see why she hid it. I mean, I don’t always let people know I’m a cephalopodic slime monster, straight off.”
“So what did you do?”
“I went out with her of course. The other two heads were very nice. Wanted to make sure I wouldn’t break her hearts and all. And… I dunno what it is, but stepping–”
“Slithering.”
“Whatever. Going out of my comfort zone? Wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. She’s amazing. She has these little warts that are all lined up under her left eye? Like little marching beauty marks…”
“You fell in love.”
“Plummeted.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I think I like her sister heads too…”
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Challenge #00665 - A300: PDA PSA
“A peck on the cheek” means something completely different when dealing with avioids.
[AN: I now have 66 instant stories to go before I start working on the next anthology. Yay. Also I’ve been awake since Ofuck in the morning and my wrists are hurting and I’ve had an asthma attack and it’s not even dawn yet. My life is one huge roller coaster. Anyway - story time!]
Human habits were fascinating. And when one of the human keets pressed hir rubbery lips to the side of T'reka’s face, she discovered a new sensation.
She’d observed the humans lip-pressing before, but until now, she didn’t realise that they were creating a slight suction as they did so.
The child departed with the familiar squeaky-suction noise of the human lip-press. Now it made sense. “What is greeting mean?” she asked Su-syn.
“The kiss? That was mere peck on cheek. Ze likes you. As friend.”
“Peck… on cheek…” T'reka considered. The words translated, but the meaning? “My folk is make-for hostile action.”
“Well… yes. You face much sharper than ours.”
Humans. They could understand the strangest things, and find others to be immense obstacles.
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Challenge #00664 - A299: Perilous Ornithology
The difference between a goose and a swan: A goose will chase at the drop of a hat and proceed to peck and bruise if it gets you. A swan will only attack if threatened, but can break bones.
“That’s ridiculous,” said a student in the middle of Allegedly Quiet Reading Time.
“Do you need assistance?” asked Mr Myss, Learning Advocate.
“This is an objectionable description of avians,” protested Yokk. “It assumes the reader already knows the physiognomic distinctions of both birds. It doesn’t tell the reader easier ways of distinguishing ‘goose’ from 'swan’.”
“Ah. Yes. Many pre-galactic civilisations assume everyone knows what the writer is talking about. And since this is speaking of Terran biota, perhaps you can research Terran avians and show me how the author could have written that better.”
“They need it,” said Yokk.
Mr Myss predicted some angry tapping at a keyboard in her future.
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Challenge #00663 - A298: Brawk?
T’reka meets a chicken
Her heart was already pounding as she scuttled from hiding place to hiding place in the human settlement. Their buildings were partially subterranean. Though some sat above the ground. Far above the ground. On a pole.
T’reka almost had a coronary when one of the residents of the strange little house said, “Cake?”
She remembered her breathing, and watched as her vital signs returned from red-lines. Only then, did she investigate.
“Cake… cake… sweet-sweet-sweet.”
There were… avians… inside the little house. Round things with tiny heads and rubbery, wobbly crests.
“I don’t have any cake. I do not have sweets.”
“Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet!” The creature seemed agitated.
T’reka backed away and it went back to saying ‘cake’ again.
*
T’reka watched the birds in the company of Su-syn. “They are not intelligent.”
“Dumb as bricks,” Susan agreed cheerfully. “Why would you think they were?”
She shrank a little in mortification. “Their calls sound much like Numidid words.”
“Really? What do they say?”
“Mostly… ‘cake’ and ‘sweet’. That one…” T’reka indicated a crowing rooster, “sounds like it is dying a horrible death.”
Su-syn found this funny.
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Challenge #00662 - A297: Bad Instincts
The most ridiculously evolved trait of a human: The itchiness of newly healed skin.
“This area is almost finished repairing. I now have the unbearable urge to claw at it.”
The human in the next bay was rubbing at her bandages. She was rubbing with her knuckles and grimacing.
“Most people use talon for scratch,” said Pu'rii, edging a little further away from the human. Well. As far as she could get on a not-so-spacious hospital bed.
“Digging in bad. My skin, irritated make-for heal.” An anguished grunt. “Almost heal, make itch. Itch make want scratch. Scratch make new wound.”
Pu'rii boggled. “Why is having itch?”
“Long ago? Not so clean. Itch make for make certain no dirt.”
Ah. Vestigial instincts. “You is not removing from genes?”
“Some try. End result not good.”
Thinking about that very brief summary kept Pu'rii awake, long into her usual sleep cycle. When would she ever learn to not ask too many questions?
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Challenge #00661 - A296: Strange Encounters
Pre-Amity, a human and other cogniscient get stuck in some relatively small space together, say a room that both find out the hard way only opens from the outside. Rescue is on its way, but until then…
They tell some pretty wild tales in Scavenger Bars. This is just one of them…
Hor'tik had been stripping wire. It had been a long trip already and it was that or mass credit. If he stayed out any longer, he’d have to siphon air from the hulks, and that could get messy if the mother species felt protective.
But some primitive species paid good trade for gold, and one never knew one’s luck.
But when she came across another scavenger in a dead-end chamber, and the only door shut and locked behind her… she knew that luck was bad.
The other scavenger was human!
Remembering her training, Hor'tik dropped the tools in her hands and showed the open palms to the human. Digits splayed.
The human did the same.
It was a very long, very quiet, very tense space of time. Hor'tik very slowly opened her comms to all frequencies.
“I know you can’t understand a word I’m saying,” she said in a soothing voice. “But if I say it in a calm and rational tone, there’s a chance you’ll understand I don’t mean you any harm.”
From the sound of things, the human was saying the same thing. But by the gestures towards the only door, she could guess the human wanted out.
“Fine. Okay. I’m taking my things…” Hor'tik dragged them along the floor. Out of the way.
There was no handle on the inside of the door. And it was a re-enforced chamber designed to stop anything from breaking in. Not a survival room. A safe.
They’d both locked themselves inside a safe.
But that didn’t stop the human from attempting to cut the bulkhead around the door. Which was ridiculous. There was no way any tool known to intelligent kind could–
The human was making progress!
“If anyone can hear me, I am trapped in a locked room with a human… and it’s helping me. It’s cutting our way out.”
“Hor'tensss,” said the human, banging its suit’s chest.
“Hor'tik,” said Hor'tik, copying the gesture.
By the time help arrived, the human had gone back to whence it had come.
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