Challenge #00568 - A193: Buddy-buddy
An alien and a human with a Han and Chewbacca-esque relationship
(I don’t think Hwell counts, that looks more like babysitting)
[AN: Well, yes, but Hwell does spend large volumes of time making gurgling noises…]
Ruscis still couldn’t believe this was happening, but a duty was a duty and this… being… hadn’t left her side since the convoluted happenings that involved saving its life.
“You remember what I said,” Ruscis repeated. “Stay non-threatening. It’s bad enough I’m a Soncamur, but with a human in tow?”
The human hung its head and made a chain of noises few could understand. Ruscis had made the effort.
“No, they aren’t going to shoot at us if we play it right. I know these people. They put up with deathworlders.”
Grumble mumble murmur sigh.
“It was a shock to me, too. I never knew I came from a class one death world. You’ You’re robust enough to come from a class four. That’s impressive. Nobody usually survives encounters with class four deathworlders.”
The human glared at her. Argued in its thick, nigh-incomprehensible tongue.
“You know that, and I know that. But when it comes to getting free drinks at the bar? Let me do the talking.”
Snort. A roll of its expressive eyes.
“Okay. Fine. Free drinks and your supply of theobromine.”
*
Ruscis could tell the exact moment when her human had started unloading the hold. It was the faces of the other cogniscents interrogating her as a potential threat.
“That? Oh yeah. Saved it’s life back on Cestus Three. Been following me around ever since. Guess it’s grateful. And since I’m clearly not dead, you can register that human as mostly harmless, too. Thank you kindly.”
“Does it have a name?” said the Chitanian behind the counter.
“Yeah, sure. But I can’t pronounce it. I call it ‘Red’. Hey, Red! Come here and tell the nice bug your name…”
“Victoria,” said the human.
“See? Utterly unpronounceable.”
“…answers to 'Red’,” murmured the Chitanian. “Do you intend to obtain any controlled substances?”
“Only theobromine. Red needs it to live.”
Red nodded enthusiastically.
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Challenge #00567 - A192: Unsuitable Food
“The secret formula, it must be kept out of the wrong hands or it will doom us all!”
“This is a recipe for clootie dumplings.”
In the wake of sanctioned, regulated, guaranteed foodstuffs, there was revolution.
Astrid slipped her fingers into the knuckleduster she kept in her pocket as the shadowy figure approached. Just in case. Her life had been saved by precautionary measures like this, and the dust mask she wore to obscure her face.
“The owl hoots at midnight,” she said.
“A black cat screeches in return,” answered the stranger.
“To serve man,” she said.
“It’s a cookbook,” the stranger stepped into the light. She, too, wore concealing gear. They had to. Surveillance was everywhere.
Only then did she extract her fingers from her knuckleduster and bring the other surprise in her pockets out into the open.
Olive seeds. “For generations unborn.”
“Good food for good people,” said her contact. She swapped the little packet for a plain envelope. “This is the secret formula. Do not let it fall into the wrong hands.”
She only checked it out when she was safe from the pervasive cameras. At last. The recipe for proper clootie dumplings. She would make a copy, of course. Just in case.
The Secret Order of Chefs would be pleased.
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Challenge #00566 - A191: Vampirism Sucks
A group of casual vampires, perhaps playing poker or lounging by the pool, with cheesy-looking coconuts with straws in, when in bursts a newbie vampire hunter who apparently got all his info from a book written before both the discovery of the coconut milk thing and safe volunteer blood donor procedures.
The sun had risen. Those in the pool had fled for the cabana at the first hint of light in the east. There, they applied zinc oxide very liberally to their pale skins or wrapped themselves in Vantablack cloaks or gowns while waiting their turn at the colour they desired most.
They sipped coconut water and gossiped amongst themselves.
At least until Kevin VanHelsing turned up.
He wore sports padding in every available location, and had added silver-looking studs to every possible surface. He was bedecked with enough religious jewellery to make him look like the love child of a rapper and a pro wrestler.
“Avaunt! Back into the nether depths from whence you came, foul creatures of the night!” He gestured menacingly with a wooden garden stake.
“Every tventy-fife years,” moaned Elvira. “Can’t your family kip notes?”
“I dunno, I think the ‘nether depths’ thing is funny,” said Vlad.
“Is gettink to be annoying,” complained Nosty as he applied colours over his base coat of white zinc cream.
“…avaunt…?” murmured Kevin. “I’ve got a wooden stake and everything…?”
Liz, who was still modest after millennia of sucking blood, emerged from her Vantablack robe in an elaborate rainbow of body paint and a very staid swimsuit. “That’s probably pine. It wouldn’t do us the least bit of trouble. You need oak.” She picked up a spare coconut and sipped idly from the bendy straw. “And as for this pile of… bling? Is that the word?”
“That’s the word, honey,” said Lilia.
“Most of this is copper. The rest of it is rusting. And if you really wanted to hurt us? You wouldn’t have painted all of these spikes with fake chrome paint.”
“It’s gold that hurts Wampires, sveetie,” said Elvira. “And ve only drink from volunteers who are not cripy.”
“Which means all volunteers,” said Lilia.
“Turns out, coconut water is just as good,” said Liz, gesturing with her beverage. “So… we’re kinda harmless?”
“You shouldn’t smile when you say that,” informed Lilia. “Turns them off.”
“But…” Kevin whimpered. “…noble heritage… vampire hunters…”
“Aaaaawww…” cooed Liz. “Poooooorr human…”
“Elizabeth Bathory, don’t you dare,” Lilia threw on the discarded robe so she could haul Liz back into the shadows. “Remember the last human you tried to adopt? You don’t know how to look after them. You think they can go without food for weeks like we can…”
“But he doesn’t have anything, Lilly…”
Sigh. “…why did i fall in love with you?” Growl. “Fine. We’ll hire him as a bodyguard and trust him to look after himself, okay?”
Liz bounced and clapped her hands. “Yaaaaayyy! Best! Girlfriend! Ever!”
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Challenge #00565 - A190: One Fine Evening in a Festival of Masques
A duet between Francouer and The Spine.
On the plus side, the makeup was working. On the minus side, everyone was giving him the stink-eye because he’d decided to test it during an extended costume party all over Paris.
The Spine considered it a point of merit that he had to buy a cheap mask on a stick just to ward off hostility.
One of the Peters would yell at him later for getting paint in his seams, but… it felt so good to walk among them and pretend, just for a moment, that he wasn’t a piece of heavy equipment and he could go where he wanted and do what he liked. Just like them.
He found himself fetched up by an old Cabaret, where musicians jammed in the street side. The war was over. There was no reason to keep the party indoors.
He picked up a bass guitar and joined in. The existing guitarist, a bulky fellow in mostly white, nodded coyly and challenged him to sing along.
He had a really high voice for someone that big.
“Look around - there’s another mask behind you,” sang the big fellow.
“Flash of mauve / Splash of puce,” the Spine challenged
“Fool and king / Ghoul and goose,” answered the French giant.
“Green and black / Queen and priest…”
“Trace of rouge / Face of beast…”
“Faces! Take your turn, take a ride…”
“On the merry-go-round / in an inhuman race!”
“Ah, Honeybee,” teased a vision in crinoline and lace. Rabbit. She had a fine fake moustache on a stick and no other attempt to blend in. “Ya know that one ain’t g-g-gonna fly outside’a the Masques.” She turned and grinned at him. “Hey, Th’ Spine. I see ya finally met Frankie.”
“Francoeur,” corrected the giant.
Rabbit blew him a kiss. “I c-c-can only g-get away with callin’ him Honeybee…”
“Wait,” The Spine boggled. “We all thought you hallucinated him.”
“He’s shy,” said Rabbit.
Francoeur cooed an agreement.
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Challenge #00564 - A189: Perplexing
Turnabout is fair play: Something the aliens consider utterly mundane and/or harmless, that is dangerous or terrifying to humans.
It was a disaster. The freshly-introduced Ambassador Harry still hunkered in her improvised bunker of relatively solid furniture, butter knife held tight to her chest in a white-knuckled grip. The ability to speak had left her and she would slash or stab at anyone who came close.
Until Sui'dut came to sort out the mess. Sui'dut, the only alien Harry trusted on an instinctive level. With quiet words and caution, she talked the Ambassador down.
“It’s all right,” soothed the Chelete. “Ambassador Vrix was just yawning. It’s near his hibernation time.”
“Well ‘e can 'ibernate far off'a me, f'r all I cares,” muttered Harry.
It took some hours to sort out, but humans evidently have a pathological fear of wide maws with multiple rows of mobile teeth.
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Challenge #00563 - A188: We Didn’t Start the Flame War
You know Billy Joel’s song “We didn’t start the Fire”?
Well, there’s a really juvenile (which is admittedly appropriate for the subject, mostly) CollegeHumor take on it called “We didn’t start the Flame War”, that is surprisingly catchy. I was just wondering what a story using the title of the CollegeHumor song, but without the more egregious moments of the song, would look like.
Indulge my curiosity? — RecklessPrudence
A blur of black, white, and gold. A rushed, “Hide me!”
Rael checked his calendar. It wasn’t Twosday[1]. “Shayde,” he sighed. “You’re a six-foot-tall being with an aesthetic tailor-made to stand out. What makes you think you can hide behind a five-foot-seven JOAT with his coat on?”
“Inspired desperation,” she said, attempting to burrow into his rainbow coat from behind.
Rael gave up and hustled her into one of the agoraphobic’s comfort booths nearby, for all the cover it could provide.
“Who did you happen to, this time?” he demanded.
“I still dinnae ken what I did,” she said, nervously looking out the only entrance. “I was only tryin’ tae help some folks. Earn some scratch.”
Rael was certain that humans could end all known civilisation with the words “Oops,” or “I was only trying to help”. “All right,” he allowed. “How did you happen this time?”
“They were chattin’ aboot mnemonics on the SPOEn forum, and how kiddies remembered th’ planets, ye ken… And I gave ‘em ‘my very early mornin’ jump’.”
Rael made helpful motions and sounds to encourage her to expand on this.
“It goes, "My very early mornin’ jump starts oop nearly perfect’. Each word starts wi’ the same word as a planet.”
Rael counted on his fingers as his lips moved, working it out for himself. “Er…. you’re one over. What does the ‘P’ stand for?”
That was when she dropped the metaphorical bomb. “They asked that too, the puir babbies. It’s Pluto.”
At which point, Rael turned her in to Security for her own protection.
[1] The Galactic Standard calendar has a ten-day week and a rather practical method of naming the days therein. Oneday, Twosday, Threesday, Foursday… and so on until Tenday. It’s surprising how many cogniscents find this confusing.
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Challenge #00562 - A187: The Problem with Problems
This XKCD. – RecklessPrudence
Fifteen-year-olds can solve the world’s problems, at least on a hypothetical basis. Case in point, Trudy Mackinaw.
“You know that if they taxed money transfers at a basis of point zero one percent, they’d have enough money to destroy poverty.”
But the rest of the world in general and her parents in particular didn’t listen. Because she was a fifteen-year-old girl. They wouldn’t have listened if she was a fifteen-year-old boy, either, but that’s part of the unfairness of ageism.
But Trudy had a solution for everything.
Racism and sexism in hiring: “They should just quit wanting to see people they’re hiring. I mean, they don’t really care after they’re hired. Just have job interviews with voice modulators and give the applicants random numbers during that part. I bet everyone’d be shocked at the results.”
Racism in funding: “The best-performing schools don’t need funding. They’ve got it upside-down. The ones that do the worst should get the funding. You know, so they can afford to get better.”
The poverty trap: “You know, if they really didn’t want people to be living on food stamps, they should pay them more. A living wage means people can buy more stuff. Don’t they want a good economy?”
On abortions: “If they don’t want abortions, they aughta support birth control. That’s what it’s for. Birth. Control. And if they don’t like that either, they gotta run a foster home and be an organ donor or they have to shut up.”
On LGBTIAQ: “Everyone should have the right to do whatever the hell they want with their own body and their own identity and nobody should have the right to say a damn thing about it.”
On war: “You know, they should take all those people on separate tours through the land they’re fighting over? If they saw it was a nuked-out desert, nobody’d fight over it any more.”
On relationship drama: “All the people who read The Rules and all the people who read The Game should just pair up and leave everyone else alone.”
On the wage gap: “If everyone got paid based on how much hard work they do? The politicians and banisters would be living on food stamps and the cleaners and teachers would be driving porches.”
And even on overpopulation: “We really should colonise some other planet. Overpopulation’s a big problem and I bet loads of people would love to make a planet in their own image.”
All problems can be solved in fifteen years. Just wait for a fifteen-year-old to have an opinion. Some of it might just be workable.
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Challenge #00561 - A186: Unlikely Meetings
Sara and Francouer.
{Pop!}
“Aaaaaah!”
Francoeur caught the falling form with two of his arms and a startled chitter.
In show business, there were many opportunities to see unclothed humans, but this was the most unclothed he’d seen any human. And she was green. Sort of. Somewhere between green and blue. And the top of her… garment… had no visible means of support.
“Ow,” she complained. “Sorry about that. Did I hurt anything?” She complained in English. Francoeur had a hard enough time speaking in French.
He struggled to set his palps right. “Pardonnez-moi?”
“Oh! Vous parlez Français. Excusez-moi, m'seur [I’m very sorry about my sudden entrance, there was a mishap with a cross-dimensional transit device and ever since…]” she trailed off as he set her upright. “[Omigod, are you Francoeur?]”
He nodded.
She did an excited little dance that ended in an exuberant hug and an, “[I love your work! Do you suppose we might… duet? Does this theatre even have a harp?]”
*
Lucille found them, later, jamming between the flats. Her with the harp that nobody had used as anything more than set-dressing, and him with his perpetual guitar. As if it was the most natural thing for a giant flea and a… whatever she was… to be making beautiful music together.
“[Alas, my time is up. Goodbye, Francoeur. It’s been marvellous.]”
Francoeur, never a big talker, managed a heartfelt, “Adieu.”
And then the green woman faded softly out of reality.
“[I was right],” Lucille sighed. “[Chaos does follow you. And it’s really telling that I’m getting too used to these things happening.]”
Francoeur shrugged helplessly as he chirred an apology.
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Challenge #00560 - A185: Surprises
From that original post that started the whole Amity thing: “What if every alien race has nothing but docile, harmless animals on their planets and they look at us with our sharks and bears and wolves and wasps and venomous snakes and just think “Holy shit! How do you guys survive?!””
T’reka’s people found and seeded the planet with their own wildlife and plants, presumably all fairly docile and harmless. What was the reaction on first discovering, not the humans themselves, but the results of humans also seeding the planet/just the island with Earth flora and fauna?
Scientists, according to the greater culture of Hu'lu'a, were idiots. They alone would wander out into a new world just after landing and poke at things that may be dangerous just to see what they’d do.
T'reka missed out on being in the first wave of explorers on this new planet of Ru'ku'la despite her bunk-mates’ insistence she sign as soon as possible. Discovering new things was why science existed. And exploring their future home before it all became civilised.
Even the second wave got their chance.
But T'reka was too slow. Or too unknown to make it that high up the list of expendable souls. She got to be amongst the fourth wave, with harvesting tools and protective gear, taking soil samples and examining the microflora and microfauna and, if she was lucky, the mycota.
And yet, she was the one who discovered the bloodsucking insect, by the ill fortune of being bitten by it.
The first sample was smashed, of course, but she had the fortitude to withstand the bite of a second one and caught it life. The hideous rash it caused would, physicians assured, heal and fade.
Which was how she wound up in isolation, being the subject for other scientists in full hazmat protection as they analysed every last micrometer of the rash on her lower-right leg.
By the time it healed, and the DNA of the flying bloodsucker ran its paces through the analysis computers, she’d missed everything good. Which left her in the windowless cubicles of Data Analysis. Student work. She couldn’t decide whether it was good fortune or bad that that insect had found her delectable.
But then the analysis started showing… anomalies.
The nucleotides were showing traces of… polluting DNA. It was almost as if another planet had seeded this one. With a far more hostile biota. Native forms of food plants on this planet had traces of… poison.
Not enough to do significant harm, but caution was generally advised when picking wild herbs.
And more ominously, some combinations usually relied upon turned out to be increasingly or exponentially toxic.
The new settlement of Kal'rike changed at the news. No longer a relaxed and huddled sprawl where every citizen had five cubic Flights of their own. It huddled inwards and grew upwards.
There was hazardous life, out there.
And those in charge devoted the scientists full attention to identifying, isolating, and if possible, eliminating it all.
To that end, they sent out probes to at least photograph most of the offending life forms.
Which was how they discovered Toxic Island in the first place. A land mass absolutely brimming with a tropical jungle’s worth of hazardous, toxic life.
T'reka found it enrapturing.
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Challenge #00559 - A184: Proclivities
Dragons and princes! http://scienceisadesiretoknow.tumblr.com/post/86360033211/rosengeist-faerill-a-young-gay-dragon-being
Prince Derek had fallen in love the instant he’d seen those bronze-coloured wings coming towards him. He had even let go of the reins and removed his feet from the stirrups.
Allethar didn’t fall in love until until Prince Derek began raining down praises with a tongue that was only metaphorically silver. There was something about *this* human that made him more than an exercise in extracting ransom and then a quick meal.
Thereafter, both their days were brighter. Allethar’s lair became their paradise. Derek worked with gold, silver and colonies of glow-worms to turn a dingy cave into a palace with stalactites.
Allethar made certain that he not only raided sheep and cattle, but vegetables for Derek’s health.
It was almost a shame when Derek’s family paid the ransom.
Then Derek said it. “You can kidnap me again, any time.”
It was like a light illuminating a dark place to discover a treasure trove.
And it only took their respective families five years to notice.
“It’s the same dragon, Derek! Why do you keep getting kidnapped by the same dragon?”
And…
"The humans you abduct seem to be… lacking something Princesses normally have…?”
To which the inevitable answer from both of them was, “Uh….”
It’s difficult to come out as homosexual. It’s worse to come out as cross-species homosexual.
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