Not necessarily needing to go Night Vale on this one…
To truly understand, you must look inside yourself, look deep into your heart… no, no, you’re too far down, that’s your liver, try a bit more up and to the left… ah, there you go.
(#00660 - A295)
[An: But it’s so very very Night Vale…]
“Excuse me, but my species is not transparent.”
“You’re transparent to my eyes.”
“Eugh… Sorry. Uhm… We find our internals to be offensive.”
“Not a problem. Most cogniscents tend to shun my kind. We see into the X-ray and magnetic spectrum. Honesty is key. Though clothing is translucent to us, we tend to pick fabrics that leave interesting shadows.”
“Ah, that explains the lamé…”
“Yes. Perhaps you can explain to me why my species is judged to be in poor taste.”
“Let’s begin with the lamé….”
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Challenge #00659 - A294: Warning - Humour
Breaking bones is a death sentence for other cogniscients, so how unlikely is it that anyone has encountered someone missing a digit or limb, unless they were born missing it?
Jokes using one’s prosthetics (probably more advanced in the group that lives long enough to need them) optional.
[AN: Some species are more fragile than others. Havenworlders are particularly delicate. And it’s notably the Birds for whom broken bones are fatal]
The cogniscent trapped with her in the stalled veet had a warning shirt that labeled her as a comedian.
“It’s okay,” said the dinosaur. “I know you’re a havenworlder. I won’t try any of my usual tricks on you.”
“Usual… tricks?”
A gesture with an arm. “I wasn’t born with this hand. A combination of maternal stress and chemical exposure in the nest made sure that this arm was never completed in the build stage. Therefore I have a synthetic prosthetic.” A warm smile. “May I show you the seam?”
Dubiously, Hika nodded.
The saurian took up her sleeve. There, on a bicep, was a paired silver line with a thin black line between them. “Flesh,” a finger indicated the skin above the lines. “Not flesh,” the rest of the arm below. “I can disconnect with it at will. Which I generally do for comedy purposes. Hence the shirt.”
“Please don’t demonstrate?” asked Hika. “My warning lights are on.”
The dinosaur covered herself anew. “I don’t joke like that in front of havenworlders. And I got sentenced to the shirt after the third fainting spell I caused.” A careful grin. “I once left it on a counter at protest of the prices at a clothing outlet. That was the final pebble, actually.”
“…hee hee hee…” warbled Hika uncertainly.
“Sorry. I’m Woblé. And I won’t be talking about my arm any more.”
“Hika,” said Hika. “Wishing I picked a different stopover.”
The dinosaur chuckled. “True, but the food is magnificent.”
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Challenge #00658 - A293: Politically Correct
“I wouldn’t say *we’ve* made that much progress. Our euphemisms have, though.”
“It’s ‘Avian Catastrophan’.”
“No, it’s simply Avian. Or Avian Citizen.”
“But some of them aren’t citizens. They still have resident status in Kal'rike.”
“Only because Kal'rike’s run by the most anal bureaucrats since time began…”
“Ladies,” said the Numidid of contention. “I am fine with merely 'Bird’. I know it has connotations, but I can hear the capital and I can hear the respect.”
They stared at her. “Really? Does this apply to all Numidid?”
“We may have to undertake a survey…”
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Challenge #00657 - A292: Fascinating in Retrospect
T’reka meets an amorous cassowary. Hilarity ensues.
Boo boo boo…
T'reka looked up from her lunch to discover a giant in the clearing. Were it not for his solidly blue-black plumage, he could easily be mistaken for a male of her own species. But he was clearly more dinosaur than Bird.
The cranial capacity was a dead give-away.
He was puffing himself up. Engorging his wattle and showing off his plumage whilst saying, Boo boo boo.
Lonely she may be, but not that lonely.
T'reka discretely checked her HUD, and found that none of the humans were anywhere within hearing range of her distress call.
The saurian bird stepped closer, revealing talons that could tear her to shreds. This was most definitely a bird from a death world.
She could not run away. Not along the ground. Those long legs would easily catch her if he chose to pursue.
Boo boo boo…
Obviously, she did not know how to, nor did she want to, reciprocate his attentions. And further good news, his display involved circling.
Calling for help would be pointless.
Boo boo boo…
Running away along the ground would be pointless.
A vigorous display of aggression may encourage a similar response from him.
Therefore, the only way to go was up.
T'reka abandoned her food and scurried up the nearest tree as fast as she could scramble. The giant on the forest floor startled away for a handful of seconds and then investigated her lunch box.
One small sacrifice for science.
Belatedly, T'reka began taking notes into her lifecorder.
“Subject is a previously unseen bird, presumed evolved over introduced. Subject mistook me for one of his species’ females and initiated what I must assume to be a mating display…”
*
Susan was laughing behind her hands. So hard that tears spilled from her eyes.
“I am not understanding this display,” said their scientific guest.
“On one hand, I’m amazed we have cassowaries,” chirped Kori. “We haven’t finished clearing terran biota for this planet. On the other hand… in retrospect… it’s funny.”
“I’m sorry,” Susan squeaked. “I keep imagining it…” and with a snort, she returned to her peals of hidden laughter.
T'reka sighed. This was the disadvantage to the question, How was your day?
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Challenge #00656 - A291: Do You Have Time…?
The stars are right, R’yleh is about to rise…and Cthulhu’s Witnesses are out in force, ringing everyone’s doorbells.
Bing bonnnng…
Sally peeked. People in suits with clipboards. On a Saturday. This was never good. She risked opening the door.
There was a dark-stained knife at his hip.
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s ceremonial,” smiled the clean-shaven man with the sunken eyes and a desperate smile. “Much like you’d wear a crucifix despite it’s origin as an instrument of death.”
The polite rictus settled onto her face. “Ah. I never thought of it that way.” He was creeping her out. It was way his tongue rolled around the word ‘death’ as if it were a delicious treat that did it. “How can I help you?”
“Have you heard the good word of our lord and mutilator, C'thulu?”
Ah crap… evangelists…
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Next Challanger
How does competitive combat (boxing, martial arts, etc.) fare in the new environment of the Amity universe?
(#00655 - A290)
The humans inside the roped-off square wore heavy padding on their hands, heads, and torsos. They faced off in formal postures that a number of them called Markisuvkwinsbree.
T'reka lit on Calico’s saddle and regarded the match.
“What this happening?”
Su-syn, leaning on her horse, chirped, “Testosterone-poisoning-related posturing. Two male here have rivalry over same female. They thinking aggression display win merit.”
“Is working?”
“Target female walking beach with different male. Definite no.”
T'reka watched. “Old time long gone, me-folk males have similar fight. Very fast. Few rules.”
“Now?”
“Ceremonial display make-for public merit. At-er-leet.”
“Athlete.”
“Tricky word,” said T'reka.
“Many us-folk sport begin fight. Others begin hunt. Very few begin art.”
T'reka tutted and shook her head. Deathworlders.
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Challenge #00654 - A289: But Why?
Curiosity in humans vs. numidids, how the adults handle it in children
Before the attitudes changed, it went like this:
Humans…
“Momma? Why is the sky blue?”
“Some say it’s a reflection of the ocean. Some say it’s dust particles. Others sat it’s the air refracting the suns’ light. I think it’s a little of all of the above.”
“Oh. Okay. Can I have a cookie?”
“After dinner.”
“Aaaaaawwww…”
Numidid…
“Firstmother?”
“Yes, Tyrtyr?”
“Why are the plants here dangerous?”
“Because the scientists analysed them and told us they are.”
“Yes, but… how did they get that way?”
“We have already forwarded that question to the proper authorities, Tyrtyr,” she lied. “You must wait in faith and patience for the answer. If it exists.”
“But—”
“The next thing I want to hear from you is, ‘yes, first mother’. Now go learn your homework.”
Sigh. “Yes, Firstmother.”
She watched her chick move into her cote, and then dived for her co-wives. Literally. They were five Leaps below in the markets.
“I think Tyrtyr is in danger of Scientific thought. She persisted in seeking explanations beyond the accepted answers…”
Her co-wives gasped.
“No…” whispered her gene-mother. “I was so careful…”
“Nobody blames you,” said the third wife, who certainly did. “These things happen, sometimes.”
“We must discourage her at once.”
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Children of the Night…
I thought I was alone as I silently entered the house, but a voice caught my ear, making me freeze.
“Funny thing about gaining immortality, it can happen to anyone, at any time, whether it is wanted or not…”
I turned, seeing nobody around at first, then I spotted a small girl sitting in the corner, facing away from where I stood, seemingly oblivious to me as she played with her dolls. Had she been here the whole time?
“I met a strange man one night, who claimed he was a predator… but he wasn’t after lusts of the flesh like most who were called such. No, he wanted something… more vital.” It indeed was the girl who was speaking, for she continued as she looked up at me, eyes turning eerily luminous… and red. “But, that was three thousand years ago…” She smiled now, and her too-long and too-sharp teeth gleamed…
(#00653 - A288)
“Ah,” I said. “You must be the permanent installation the realtor told me about. Hello. My name’s Melanie Brisko. What’s yours?”
The little vampire boggled, fangs withdrawing back into hiding. “You’re supposed to scream,” she said. “They all scream…”
“I’ve frequently mourned that I’m not like all the other girls,” I smiled for her. “It’s high time that that sort of thing became beneficial. Can you eat human food, or is blood all that you can subsist on?”
Haunted eyes. “I… don’t know. After everyone went away I lived on rats. And when the rats went away I lived on pigeons. And when the pigeons went away…” she hugged her favourite doll tight. After three thousand years of being loved, it was showing the strain. “I can hypnotise deer. They come right up to me.”
“That’s a very useful talent,” I said, setting up. “Does your hair grow?”
A dumbfounded stare. “You’re supposed to be scared. You’re supposed to be afraid of me. Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
“I’m too busy being afraid of cities and crowds. You? You’re a little girl who’s sorely in need of a bath, fresh clothes, and a good combing. Then we can work on some hot food and probably some sorely needed cuddles.”
“Why? I’m a monster.”
“I’m of the opinion that being monstrous doesn’t necessarily make one a monster. With love and care and attention to your needs, you could become a reformed citizen.”
“I’ll try it,” she said. “I’ll probably eat all your blood tomorrow.”
“That’s why I bought the pigs.”
Since neither of us knew about her hair, it took quite a few baths and washings to get all the tangles out. Were it not for her paleness, she could have passed as any other little girl with her long brown hair in pigtails.
I fixed up her dolls for her, of course. And thanks to satellite internet, I was able to fix up the house and some of the caves that had been converted into living space in ages past. She took the name Grace, and she flourished in my care.
That was how it began. Four hundred years ago, now. Oh, I don’t blame her for biting me. The poor darling needs a mother. And I was mortal.
We keep the pigs for when we need blood. They’re immune to the vampiric virus. For the rest of the time we could almost pass as normal humans.
Almost.
Let’s just say that there’s a reason we don’t allow our photos to be taken. Just like there’s a reason we don’t go out in the sunshine without heavy protection.
Now don’t panic. See? This is why we don’t tell people about us. I can assure you, you’re perfectly safe. That asparagus? I feed it to our guests to make sure my Grace doesn’t get it into her head to add members to our little family. Changes your flavour. Makes you… unappetising.
And anyway, we’re going out to talk to the deer. Sweet dreams.
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The Spine’s ex-Hats
According to Jennifer’s Beret, the Spine once owned many hats. It is rumored that behind closed doors, these hats fought over who got to wear him because he made them all look good. Now, only Fedora remains.
(So is that the right idea?)
[AN: Yes it is]
(#00652 - A287)
There used to be a Hall of Hats, just like there is a Hall of Faces in Walter Manor. It isn’t there, any more. It got re-absorbed owing to it’s emptiness. Why?
Well, for that story, one must understand a few things. For example: Walter Manor is one of the few places on the Mundane Plain that is riddled with Kazooland magic. The house, since it has been continuously loved for generations, is alive.
Things can be imbued with life. All it takes is enough love. Or, in a pinch, enough Belief.
Before they took him away for his military overhaul, The Spine had loved each and every one of his hats. He would play them elaborate sonatas on the violin. And he had a roster so that no hat would feel neglected.
That all changed because of Vietnam.
They took him away in the 50’s. And he didn’t come back until the 70’s.
And during those twenty years… well… things got ugly.
“He hasn’t come, today,” murmured the Beret. “It’s my turn and he hasn’t come today.”
“It was my turn, yesterday,” said the Trilby. “He didn’t come then, either.”
“Maybe we should look for him,” said the Tam o’Shanter.
“Maybe he decided he doesn’t like us,” worried the Toque.
“Nonsense,” insisted the Boater. “He loves all of us. He must have… got caught up in something.”
"You only say that because you’re the oldest,” said a young and cocky Fedora. “If it were up to strength, some of you old dusters would be shredded.”
“I’ll take you on,” challenged a Top Hat. “I’ll take you all on!”
Many of the cloth hats were the first to fall. Torn asunder by others’ brooches, pins, and hard edges. It was when some hit on the idea of using weapons that things went mad.
No holds barred. Survival of the vicious. The youngest amongst them had the most to fight for.
It was the most brutal war that had ever been fought inside of one room.
*
Power on. Systems green. The Spine opened his eyes and saw his friends. His family.
“Welcome back, th’ Spine,” cheered Rabbit.
The Spine was never happier to see his[1] face. Or the beaming grin of The Jon. The man in the lab coat was not the Peter Walter he remembered. “Mister Walter, I presume?”
The young man nodded. “That’s right. Another Peter Walter. You’re good to go. Need anything?”
The Spine reached up to touch his head. Bare. The helmet he’d perched up there must have run off. Or rusted. Kind of a mercy. He didn’t really like helmets. “One of my hats, if you please, Mister Walter.”
“…uh…” said one of the Walter Workers. “There’s only… one… hat. In The Spine’s room.”
Odd. Something must have happened to them. “That hat will do, thank you ma’am.”
It was a black Fedora. Which matched his black clothes. Stylish and simple… although it had a slight nick on its outer edge.
A brim reminder of the conflict that it survived.
[1] period-accurate gender.
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Challenge #00651 - A286: It Works on Everyone
The universal phenomenon of chasing the laser pointer dot.
“Stay there. When I say ‘run’ you leg it.”
Barstaw boggled at the human. Their colourful phrases had no discernible end… and yet they were instantly understandable. For all her deathworlder status, she was extremely helpful to have around for this escape.
She hunkered down, ready to run at the door that was currently being supervised by one very bored guard. Barstaw half expected the human to happen to them in a typical deathworlder blur of shouting and violence. And, perhaps, explosions.
What did happen was a spot of anomalous light on the floor.
It jittered around in interesting squiggles until the guard noticed it. And then made very obvious play-with-me motions.
Even Barstaw, concealed in the shadows, had to control her impulse to chase it.
The guard did not, and left hir post to investigate the little wiggling dot. Which jinked away by a few Standard Distance Units before it wiggled some more.
Bit by bit, the guard got further and further away from hir post.
Then, abruptly, the light began to run about in a standard pattern.
Approaching footfalls. “RUN!”
The human smashed through the door that should have held any other known cogniscent firmly on the prisoner’s side. Barstaw scrambled to keep up.
“What was that?”
“Laser pointer. It works on kittens, ducks, babies, drunkards and now the obligatory stupid guard. Wooo!”
Barstaw boggled anew as she followed the human. She would never understand these mad apes.
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