SKIP Revamped: The Case of the Polite Vampire
This prompt entitles the receiver to one free day, to be used any time out of sequence of the normal prompt list when the receiver deems it necessary or just already has a really awesome ministory idea that has nothing to do with they day’s prompt but has to be written right now.
[Thank you for this prompt. It doesn’t count on the Official Tally, but, damn, I want to write the heck out of this…]
There’s a million stories in this city. More than a million. There’s one for every sad soul in this fog-shrouded labyrinth of brick and mortar. Some get more than one.
Mesi was trying for Desdemona in Othello. It was one of the few roles where she actually had a chance at something approaching lead female. Almost all of the others trying for it were typical pale blonde wannabes who dreamed of a life of glamour and frequently found a world of disappointments.
This theatre, Bainbridges Entertainments, allowed the Gentry free admittance on casting and rehearsal days, so she had an audience to play to. Not that she never played as if the audience was there anyway. She acted her socks off for them.
And was sent away in favour of a pale, blond wannabe because they wanted someone more ‘feminine’. More 'beautiful’.
Sometimes, she could cheerfully commit murder and then dance all the way to the gallows.
She was plenty beautiful! And exquisitely feminine! And she would gladly dissect any objectors with a spoon if they dared object in her presence!
“Miss Blackamoor, ma'am?”
She glared him down. “My name,” she iced, “is Miss Mesi. I made that perfectly clear.”
“Yes’m… only? A gentleman sent this for you?” He had a card in his trembling fingers.
“Thank you,” she restrained -barely- from snarling as she took the card. The boy fled. It could have been worse. He could have called her 'Miss Nigra’. She shuddered.
It was an invitation card. High-class stuff. M'seur Arthur D'Raigun would be honoured by her gracious presence at such-and-such an address at her earliest convenience. Someone, presumably M'seur D'Raigun, had written, _You are vastly under-appreciated_ underneath in neat, pencilled letters.
She decided she would walk. It would give enough time for the gentleman to be home by the time she found the place.
*
Arthur was in several degrees of The Jitters. And worse, he was hungry. If he was still famished by the time she got there, he would scare her off. Vampires tended to give off a predatory miasma if they were underfed in the presence of the living.
Which left him the eternal quandry of how to stave off his ever-present hunger-pangs without causing alarm and suspicion. It had been two weeks since he’d last sated himself with a cup of blood from the butcher’s below 'for his experiments’.
Would they ask? Would they want to know? What the hell was his excuse the last time? Something about removing bloodstains?
He had to think. Why o why did he have the masochistic desire to live conveniently near a place that stank of blood? He was far too lightheaded and he had to think. And his right arm still hurt from the last time he’d ebbed his base desires…
Therefore, Arthur carefully rolled up his left sleeve and bought the vein to his sharpening teeth… and bit.
His knees trembled and he found the wall helpful in keeping him upright. Too long. Too long between drinks. His own blood did little for him except curb his eternal hunger to the point where he was no longer on the brink of being wild.
Enough to remain civil to a lady unfairly neglected. And maybe, this time, finally, make himself ask for her living blood.
A knock came at the door. Too soon. Far too soon. He bound the bite with a kerchief and covered his arm anew with his sleeve. He answered the door.
O. My.
She was even taller in person. A full two inches above his own, moderately impressive height. Statuesque and goddess-like, even in a dress that didn’t quite fit. He was stunned. Simply stunned.
“…uh…” Damnit, man. Speak up! “Do come in, M'lady,” he bowed prettily for her. “I don’t believe I caught your surname.”
She entered with the smell of lilacs, sugar, and warm summers. “I rather expected something… bigger,” she said. Trying not to sound disappointed.
He fought off the grey pall of dizziness. Leaning on the wall for support. “Yes. Uh. Well.” This was not the time to fall to mumbling! “My family home is… uh…” Damnit damnit damnit damnit… “quite a distance away… This place is more… convenient.” He found himself looking at his shoes during this speech. Like a schoolboy caught swiping apples.
*
Mesi raised an eyebrow. This 'gentleman’ was acting like a teenager trying to hire a street molly[1] for some necessary education in a back alley.
“Sir, if you’re aiming for the kind of 'appreciation’ I think you’re aiming for… you can forget it. I sing, I dance, I act, I even have a comedy routine… but I do not entertain gentlemen in any boudoirs!”
“No! You… mis… und'rsss–*” his eyes rolled back in his head and he slid ungraciously down the wall as his legs gave out.
O joy. A fainter.
He was far too old for this sort of first-time fling… Mesi checked his collar and waistcoat. Not that tight. She picked him up to move him to the bed, and caught more than a glimpse of fang.
She almost dropped him from surprise.
Mesi propped him in the only chair and double-checked. Yes. Those were fangs. Those were indeed fangs. And judging from his emaciated frame (goodness, half his clothing was stuffed!) he had not had a chance to feed.
He returned to lfe with her fingers in his mouth and stumbled away. Slumping on the floor and battling another fainting spell.
Well. She could procure raw, fresh rabbit for Jemima, she could do this, too.
“Hold on for a minute, I’ll be right back…”
*
She knew! She knew! She knew what he was and now he was doomed. She’d be back, all right. She’d be back with an oaken stake. Or bulbs of garlic. Or a golden crucifix[2].
She didn’t even need to bother. All she had to do was open the curtains!
AIE! Here she came! He cringed in on himself, dreading the first, searing touch of the fatal sun.
“Here. Drink up.” A heavy thud. The rich and appetising smell of… Ogoodness… Fresh! Blood! An entire bucketful! “There’s a butcher’s downstairs, and I figured maybe it doesn’t have to be human, so…”
The rest of her words faded to a soft and pleasant babble as he quietly and fiercely adored her from his proper position on the floor. He thought he’d fallen in love before…
“My sweet lady,” he breathed, “I am perpetually in your service.”
She handed him his mug. “Drink, you fool. You must be half-starved.”
[1] hooker
[2] Traditional vampires can be killed with an instrument of gold, since it’s incorruptible.
Answering an Ask that looks like a Prompt
So if Logan/Wolverine is functionally immortal, is there opportunity for a crossover with Amalgam/Amity ‘verse?
Sadly, only in fanfic. Amity and Amalgam Universe are wholly mine and Wolverine is a wholly owned subsidiary of Marvel/Disney.
If I suddenly added a surly Canadian mutant with adamantium talons into my pro works, that would be (a) turning my pro stuff into fanfic and (b) a copyright infringement so bad that they’d deport me to America to incarcerate me and that would be very bad indeed.
While I would *like* to do it… I can’t. Sorry.
Challenge #00509 - A134: Domesticated Predators
On “Humans are crazy” in general and pets in particular.
Humanity’s domesticated species are, for the most part, herbivores, right? So what possessed us to decide that the animals we let into our homes would largely be carnivores? Now, imagine a species where that is not true.
“AH! Look out! That predator is near your young!”
“Oh, that’s just Missy, she’s harmless.”
„,And then just when they’ve adjusted to that, they see why even in an era of high technology, “guard dogs” are still a thing, and exactly why we trust them around our young. – RecklessPrudence
Excerpt from the Newcomers’ Guide to the Galactic Alliance:
Humans are mammalian cogniscents, recently reclassified from ‘highly dangerous’ to 'insane but mostly harmless’. It may alarm you to know that their origin planet, Earth, is a Class Three Death World. Some areas of the planet are as high as Class One Point Five [see file: Australia. Warning: Content may alarm sensitive readers] and some individual organisms classify as Class Zero Point Five. However, planets are graded on averages and large portions of the surface are quite liveable.
Humans are among the few species to domesticate predators. In the case of small predators, like the Cat, this is an understandable advantage. Cats are common in all Galactic stations and gengineered felids are often station staff [see file: Skitties].
However, there are also Dogs. Dogs are descendants of the far more savage Wolf and have been co-opted over generations for a number of purposes.
Dogs can range in size from the size of a standard beverage container to those comparable to cogniscent life. There are many breeds artificially selected for their appearance alone.
Humans use some dogs for protection. A trained predator is far more efficacious at discouraging nefarious persons than any possible array of monitors or alarms.
Humans also use these 'guard dogs’ to protect their families, children and livestock. [Pictured, photograph of a dog amongst a flock of domesticated avians] This dog has been trained to watch over these avians. An untrained dog would attack and devour these flightless birds, but the humans trust this dog not to.
Do not be alarmed by the fact that humans have trained a predatory animal to not predate upon prey species. This is not a sign of how dangerous their species is, but rather an indicator of their insane genius.
We at the offices of Galactic Information Services have tested dogs and found them to be mostly harmless.
Nevertheless, you should avoid the dogs wearing a muzzle for obvious safety reasons.
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Challenge #00508 - A133: Sola Terra Australi
If every country except Australia vanished, we’d be sending our convicts to England.
(Tongue-in-cheek, no offence meant) – RecklessPrudence
The Parliament had been in an uproar, of course. They were in an uproar for five days. And one question remained unsolvable:
“Who the hell do we sell shit to now?”
Australia still was the lucky country. It was lucky enough to miss out on a planet-wide apocalypse. It was lucky to survive intact, with all its population whole and unharmed.
It was the rest of the world that was obliterated.
And while parliament argued, everyone else just quietly got on with things. Australians had always been forced to make do, so adaptability had become bred into the national fibre.
Every urban backyard became a small farm.
The companies who formerly had a hold on the country’s economy fizzled and died without their CEO’s to enforce their grip. And completely failed to ruin what little economy was left.
Australia was too tough to take that kind of threat seriously.
Some problems were solved easily. Such as what to do with the boat people. Without a political structure to claim asylum from, they could go back to the lands they once called home. With a crate of essential supplies and a fond farewell.
Which was the beginning of the ‘love it or leave it’ policy. Followed closely by ruthless scouring out of anyone who “wasn’t Australian enough”.
When it was all over, the Australian Natives were very glad to have their country back. With much better infrastructure, to boot.
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A study in contrasts
A guy who is nice, as opposed to a “nice guy” – RecklessPrudence
(#00507 - A132)
Sid’s first question, whenever he encountered someone who was having trouble was, “Would you like some help?”
It was a good question, simply because some people were only experiencing temporary difficulties and tended to get angry when other folks just barged in.
And there were other questions that came first. Like, “Is this guy bothering you?” whenever he saw a man making a woman uncomfortable.
And there were other situations where barging in was welcome. Like tonight, when it was three against one in an alleyway. He knew it was fruitless to call the cops. Here in racist New York, they were more likely to shoot him for his skin colour and ancestry.
There was no time to convince them away, so he launched himself at the lead brute and ploughed the man down by sheer impetus alone. Howling like a wild animal and landing with fists flailing served to alarm the other two, who decided to bail.
The lead brute was lucky one of them was friend enough to drag him away.
Sid settled his hackles and crouched by the lady they’d been curb-stomping. “Do you want me to call an ambulance? Or assist you to a hospital?”
“I’m too far from my clinic,” she managed. Despite the beating, her voice was a sensuous husky purr. She picked herself up into a sitting position. Trying to straighten herself up. She had a trim, lanky build and long, graceful limbs, and the most entrancing eyes Sid had ever seen.
She also had a five o'clock shadow.
Ah. So that was why those alleged gentlemen were offended.
“I can take you there?” he offered. “Are they open? Or perhaps there is somewhere that feels safe for you?”
Her eyes were full of fear. She knew he’d seen. She cringed in on herself and clutched her purse to her chest. “I… I can probably make it? Please don’t…”
“It’s all right,” he cooed. “I won’t hurt you. I want to help. My name’s Siddig. And I promise I am not a terrorist.”
“M’ name’s Claire,” she said. She watched him. Waiting for the bombardment of questions. The unthinking questions. The painful questions.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Claire,” he smiled for her. “And I would be honoured to assist you in any way I can.”
“You-you don’t mind that I’m a… trap?”
He winced at the horrible slur. “Sweet, dear lady,” he said, his voice a mild reprimand. “You are not a trap.” He stood and offered his hand. “If anything… you are a lady who happens to have some interesting bodily accessories at the moment, and who is on an intense journey of self-discovery.”
She was taller than him. And embarrassed about that. Even in her bare feet, she would be taller than him. He would tell her later, when they were finally comfortable with each other, that he adored taller women.
He flirted, oh yes. Life had taught him to never miss an opportunity. But he made sure to flirt in harmless and amusing ways. Raining compliments down on her so that she would blush and smile her beautiful smile.
Such a wonderful lady deserved to be courted. Deserved every help she needed. Deserved happiness.
Sid would be delighted to be part of that. Even if, in the end, she chose to share her life with someone else.
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Origami Denseness
Wow. This isn’t fractal denseness, it’s origami denseness. It’s like a beautiful work of art that you can unfold to make it seem even more dense. – RecklessPrudence
[AN: Prompt edited to be less offensive - I hope]
(#00506 - A131)
“Let me get this straight,” said Security Officer Trel. “Someone actually told you that they’d go out with you if you managed to clean… The Glunk.”
“Damn straight. Fine ass on that woman. I just gotta get in it.”
Trel sprained something ignoring that comment. Once again, an inhabitant of one of the surviving Greater Deregulations had completely failed to take any advice on travelling through the Galactic Alliance. “If you say so,” she managed through diplomatically-clenched teeth. She resumed taking notes. “Now, I believe you first emptied a vat of concentrated ascorbic acid through the porthole labelled ‘Biohazard, do not open. Two standard year penalty’? After first proceeding through not one, but three separate airlocks also labelled 'Strictly no admittance, authorised station personnel only’?
"I had t’ get to it,” said Gunther.
“And -ah- why ascetic acid?” Tel just had to sate her curiosity.
“’S vinegar, ain’t it?” said Gunther.
Maybe Lyr Marken was right. Curiosity was a fatal flaw in the law enforcement branches. “Vinegar?”
“It’s acidic. And it’s acidic without doin’ no harm to metal, right? Figured it’d eat some o’ that mess no problem.”
“Sir. That’s just vinegar. You emptied ten Standard Weight Units of concentrated ascetic acid into the Glunk. Concentrated, sir. If you had dared to use it as a condiment, it would have eaten your meal and then your mouth.”
“That just means it must be workin’.”
“And at which point did you feel it was necessary to add a vat of…” she checked her notes. “Mayonnaise?”
“Well I saw there were critters down there eatin’ on it. And since there was a big ole hole where th’ vinegar done gone, I figured it wouldn’t do 'em no harm to spice up their food a bit. Make 'em good and hungry.”
“They’re cleaners. They’re born hungry.”
Gunther grinned. Proud of himself. “Shows it worked, don’t it?”
“No sir. It didn’t.” Tel consulted her notes with a sigh. “And where did you obtain the vial of nanites designed to clear away non-living organic material?”
“Feller in the Way Below sold it to me. See, I was asking around 'bout what might work and I figured - hey… why not, right?”
Tel sighed. “This is why not. You are under arrest for multiple violations of station law. Not only did you fail to clean The Glunk, you added potentially hazardous and illegal substances into it, an action outlawed in many stellar neighbourhoods including your own. Do you have anything to say in your defence?”
“She was rocket hot. Totally worth it.”
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Fractal Wrongness
You are not just wrong. You are wrong at every conceivable level of resolution. Zooming in on any part of your worldview finds beliefs exactly as wrong as your entire worldview. – RecklessPrudence
(#00505 - A130)
“So?” said the wilfully ignorant specimen from Greater Deregulation (Upper West). “That don’t mean we can’t have a good time. All you gotta do, honey, is shut up, put out, and pretend to enjoy it.”
Shayde turned a pleading gaze to Rael, who was currently attempting to pretend he was a ghost only she could see. “Can I shred him now? Please?”
He didn’t look up from his deep-fried mars bar ice cream. “Ge’ creative,” he advised around a mouthful of calories a la mode.
“Tell ye woh, pal,” she said in the smooth tones of impending doom. Anyone Shayde called ‘pal’ was usually in for a brief and painful lesson about life. “You go find a wee phenomenon we have here called The Glunk. If ye can clean all'a that up wi'out any property damage, I’ll let ye take me out tae dinner.”
The deplorable specimen grinned. “I knew you couldn’t resist my charms, darling.”
Shayde was grinning too. Especially when he was leaving. “Good riddance tae bad rubbish.”
“That was slightly cruel.”
“I’m only worried he might do it,” she said. “Nothin’s more creative than a feller who thinks he’s got a chance of getting 'is end in.”
Rael boggled. “I knew you humans were insane, but– a category five bio-disaster? Nothing’s been able to clean that up since its discovery.”
“Should'a aimed a horny human at it. ’S why I said 'dinner’ and not 'date’. Monkey’s paw. Deal wi’ t’ devil.”
One day, he was sure, one day, he would be able to unravel Shayde’s encrypted speech patterns on the fly.
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Challenge #00504 - A129: Mr Stark in a Nutshell
‘Why? We’re the Good Guys, aren’t we?’
'Yes, but that rather hinges on doing certain things and not doing others, sir’, – RecklessPrudence
Tony made a face at JARVIS’ snide comment. “Urh. Fine. I get it. The heroic thing to do, yadda yadda yadda. Steve’s been a bad influence on you, admit it.”
“On the contrary. I rather think Steve has been a good influence. On the both of us, sir.”
“Yeah yeah yeah…” eliminating the enemy was out… but making sure they could no longer fight? That was trickier. “Okay. Let’s target just the weapons and mess those the hell up.”
“An excellent decision, sir.”
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Challenge #00503 - A128: Percussive Maintenance
“Wow, how’d you get it to work?”
“I ran a Physical Impulse Mechanical Stress Routine”
“Huh?”
“I kicked it.”
“Ahh.” – RecklessPrudence
“And you’re charging me three Minutes for kicking it?”
Atole the JOAT tidied imaginary dust off her JOAT coat. “Fees and charges, friend. Two Seconds for the kick, and two Minutes, fifty-eight for the knowledge of where to kick it.”
Telos grumbled, but dug out the coins. “You’re very welcome, I’m sure.”
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Stolen shamelessly from XKCD
The universe is probably littered with the one-planet graves of cultures which made the sensible economic decision that there’s no good reason to go into space—each discovered, studied, and remembered by the ones who made the irrational decision. – RecklessPrudence
(#00502 - A127)
The Ch'debrithett did not know how lucky they were when the aliens came. They were a relatively quiet civilisation that worked to maintain a balance after years of nigh-catastrophic extinction-for-profit. Or, as it has become known in the Galactic Alliance, Monsanting.
When the aliens came, they landed in a grain field. But they did so in broad daylight. And waited on their disembarkation gantry with an obvious lack of weapons for anyone official to turn up.
They came with whiteboards and markers.
They came with an education.
They explained - with the help of pictograms and pantomime - that they had just diverted a comet from impacting with their planet. The comet had been cannibalised for its water and some of its contents were currently being studied in the vessels laboratories.
It was a comet that could have easily wiped out all life on Ch'deb.
And the aliens, being generous people, also bought with them knowledge of space flight and technology that would make it all so much easier. They came with genetic technology to turn their realities upside-down. They came with commerce.
They came with a concept of manifesting one’s own destiny.
Some argued that they ruined Ch'deb. Some argued that they ruined a perfect civilisation. Some argued that they were better off without the Galactic alliance at all.
They argued right up until they found a similar planet, nearby, which had undergone a similar apocalypse.
There, but for good timing and great neighbours, could have gone Ch'deb.
In two generations, the Ch'debrithett didn’t know how they coped without space travel.
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