Challenge #00959-B228: Slight Technical Hitch

All my Instants are happening on www.internutter.org now. Benefit: very readable. Benefit: infinitely share-able across most social media. Benefit: I can take as long as I like and when I hit ‘post’ it firkin POSTS.

Not-so-benefit: I have no idea if I’m being shared. Comments are worth more than diamonds, now.

Challenge #00957-B226: Obligatory Baby Adventure

http://outofcontextdnd.tumblr.com/post/127351161618

“Dwarven baby sleeps like anvil. Wait shit, that is anvil. Where is baby?”

Hroogar the Mighty removed the swaddling to make certain. Yes. It was the actual anvil that she used for the head of her war-hammer. The handle lay innocently right next to Nagdar the Sorcerer’s staff, where it would get looked over by the casual eye.

Hroogar breathed deeply and slowly, lest she fly into a berserker rage and lay waste to everything she could see. For all she knew, that qualification also included the infant dwarven scion currently in their alleged care.

Think.

Look.

Take stock.

Nagdar was doing his meditation, doubtless preparing explosive runes. Elwyn the Bard was noodling some meditation music on her lyre. Which Hroogar was secretly glad of, for a change. It kept her mind together. Beltar was on her prayer mat, doing her daily devotion to the moon goddess.

Which left Tantethra suspicious by her absence.

Hroogar tasted the air. Finding only the slightest hint of the Rogue’s scent. Of course. Tantethra used all sorts of unguents and oils to obliterate her smell. Hroogar used every inch of her barbarian instincts to find the path of not-smell and obscured footprints that marked Tantethra’s ghostlike passage.

Which lead her to a meadow where, apparently, Tantethra had taken off most of her clothes so she could cuddle the baby.

The very nearly undressed baby.

“There, now,” Tantethra cooed. “Much better, hmm? You needed a little sun for that poor, red bottom, didn’t you. I told them. Fresh, clean water and a little sunshine and skin-to-skin cuddles. It’s aaalllll you needed…”

“Warning be good, too,” rumbled Hroogar. It wasn’t often that she got the drop on Tantethra, so she enjoyed the moment.

“What’s the point of warning you?” Tantethra pretended to be entirely un-bothered. The effort lacked much. “You’d only stop me.”

“You wanting cuddles, you say.”

“I did. You said no.”

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Challenge #00956-B225: Convoluted Jones

“[Name]? What are you doing here?”

“It’s a long story. I have a tank.”

“I kind of noticed by the way you shelled the bad guys and then drove it through the wall, Jones. One, how the flakk did you get your hands on a pre-Shattering Terran tank, and two: how the flakk did you find live ammo for it?”

“That’s… another long story. Better told inside. It’s noisy, but there’s headsets. And you can take over from the AI, I had to code it in a hurry.”

“Because…?” Prompted Valance.

“That’s… um…”

Valance joined in with the chorus, “A long story. Right.” She raised her voice to Dressing Down Noobs level and hollered, “ALL RIGHT YOU LOT WE HAVE OURSELVES A SURPRISE RESCUE! PILE IN, PILE IN, PILE IN!”

Jones squeezed herself out of the way so Valance’s troops could hustle in as fast as possible. Valance paused long enough to high-five Jones on her way in. “I thought you were assigned to Provencia?”

“I was. Um. But -er…”

“Long story. Right. Let’s show these bastards what we’ve got.”

“I think they might be able to guess, sir.”

It was the kind of battle that goes down in both the history and the law books. And it was also the kind of battle that got Espers with JOAT training banned by the Qol’qhevva Convention.

Jones, and the people she had a love bond with, were sort of glad for the early retirement.

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Challenge #00955-B224: Minnie Mighty

I don’t want my obituary to read ‘saved the world and was then eaten by a small dog.’

Life’s fun when your entire life runs on pure mutant bullshittium. Hi. My name’s Minnie and I have the power to shrink.

Yeah wow what a wonderful power. I can get small.

I can hear you thinking that from here. Let me tell you a thing. I also have a little bit of a corollary. The smaller I get, the denser, stronger, and faster I am. I once shrunk down to barbie size and smashed the ever-loving crap out of a goon’s entire leg. And the building we were in at the time. Whoops.

I usually don’t go much smaller than fifteen inches. One: that much sheer power and speed is plenty more than enough. Two: I don’t want my obituary to read, “Saved the world and was then eaten by a small dog.”

I also found out I can size myself to fit whatever clothes look good. Which is great for me because the small sizes end up in the bargain bins. And also when some creep tries anything physical, I can knock him flat with a song in my heart.

Okay. I do cheat on my body size. A lot. Life sucks when you’re naturally six-foot-one and a double-d. The world wants be to be five-foot-nothing with a B cup. I can’t help it if being able to do that comes with some caveats.

And I make sure I have a warning label, too. It’s not my fault that the skeezoids of this world think that “Warning: explosive contents!” is an invitation.

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Challenge #00954-B223: Careful How You Wish…

(Discussing being granted superpowers, Person #2 doesn’t want them)
Person #1: I’m sorry, but whether you want to or not… this is something that is going to happen. The next time you fall asleep-
Person #2: Then I just. /Won’t/. Sleep.
Person #3 (Full of cheerful sarcasm): That sounds like a solid long-term plan!

Irde glared at Bianca. “No. No. This isn’t a solid wish.”

“You did use the words ‘I wish’, said the Djinn. What she had been doing an a Chianti bottle had to be anyone’s guess. “And your wish is my command.”

“Ah! I didn’t just say ‘I wish’, I said ‘sometimes I wish’. The qualifier itself means that it’s not a permanent state of wish.”

“Is there such a thing? I don’t think wishing is a state of being…”

“You’re not helping, Bianca.”

The Djinn blushed. In so far as a creature made of night and smoke could blush. “Er,” she said. “I… um… didn’t hear the ‘sometimes’ part.”

“Can I retroactively wish you had better hearing?” Irde tried. “Trust me. Nobody really wants to wake up with that kind of power. Okay? Can you un-grant things now?”

The Djinn frowned, brought out a thick tome and paged through it. “Uhm… er… actually,” flip, flip, flip. “Yes. I can do that for you. If you wish that I had better hearing in the past. That creates an alternate reality where the -ah- misheard wish is never granted. And I can make sure you remember this little side-reality. For free.”

“Sounds like a deal to me,” sighed Irde. “I really wish you had better hearing in the past.”

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Challenge #00953-B222: Millie the Conquerer

Well, I don’t think she ever seriously wanted the city. She conquered it as a stop-gap mechanism.

The line had to be drawn, somewhere, and Millie initially drew it with arsenic in Lord Pemberhall’s snuff. The man had been planning to raze her neighbourhood to put in a park, after all. He didn’t give a fig about where the people who lived there went, or if they lived or died.

Unfortunately, Pemberhall’s heirs immediately began bickering, and when the upper class bickered, they used armies made of poor people to do it.

There was only so much arsenic. She needed to be bolder.

Everyone knew Millie. When she wasn’t being Pemberhall’s maid, she spent a majority of her time in the bakehouse. Everyone said she had a special knack for bread. They remembered how she could turn one loaf’s worth of meal into four loaves. Why, they said, you could barely taste the sawdust.

Millie didn’t go to the men in the upper crust’s employ. She went to their mothers and sisters. To their wives and daughters. They all asked one question:

Why risk slaughter for some lord’s money that we will never see?

When the armies marched off the fields and united against the upper class cavalry, it was a show of force that the rulers would never forget. Hundreds of lordly sons foolishly charged their steeds into an army they had paid to train. Maybe they thought they could survive because no army man dared go against their general.

What they didn’t think of was that they had not been paying their armies enough for far too many years.

When it comes to battling for death or glory, bet on the former.

Simultaneous to the battle, the united women of the city took up their carving knives, their rolling pins, their brooms and mops… and turned them against the elderly lords in their luxurious homes.

The lords protested - very briefly - that the common folk would not be able to cope without elite management. Their estates are fields and farms, now. Their houses have become hostels and hospitals.

And when neighbouring cities tried to quell the rebellion… well-fed and well-armed citizenry were prepared to drive them off. Or accept those who surrendered into their force.

They offered Millie the crown. And a title. And a mansion. She refused all three. All she’d been fighting for was to keep what she had.

The rest had just happened to cement that into her possession.

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Challenge #00952-B221: Innovative Resource Management

They outsourced a surprising amount of their ship building (that is, they had a habit of using ships captured in battle).

People think low-gravvers are weak. Let me tell you something. A deathworlder adapted to a low-G environment is still a deathworlder.

And when there’s a hive of them in chained asteroids… you do not throw rocks at the nest.

I saw it from a safe distance and under a definite amnesty. I’m not stupid enough to cross with deathworlders. Even in low gravity, they’re dangerous. I’d make my money off of kuiper runs and oort runs, scooping up valuables like water and panspermia pre-biologicals, and swapping that for metals and a feed and some damn good alcohol before I headed off to trade that elsewhere.

But this time… just as I was heading in for their Main Tangle… the neighbouring Raptids attacked. Seems they got tired of transit fees from me and other traders and set their minds a-conquering.

Now, normally the humans of Crumble are a peaceful lot. They don’t have big ships and they don’t have a lot of guns. I found out why.

Remember the Hungry Caterpillar? Every space-scavenger’s friend? Well, this mob re-purposed that into mining equipment. And building equipment. A solid iron asteroid big enough to be interesting makes an excellent home once its hollowed out. And the Caterpillar’s tentacle becomes another tube dock.

It’s amazing to watch that happening to an invading vessel. They were expecting exterior resistance like plasma fire. Or aimed asteroids. They weren’t prepared for unexpected docking.

Nor were they prepared for swarms of armed and armoured humans with projectile weapons.

It only took them a few minutes, but once they had a couple of enemy ships, things went very bad for the Raptids.

I hear some of those ships have been turned into habitats. Most of them are still cruising around as a combination deterrent and battle trophy.

Come to think of it… I’ve never heard of Crumble buying any of the old hulks that’s part of their habitat…

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Challenge #00951-B220: Pacifying Maneuvres

We haven’t checked other species yet, but it seems to be almost universal in humans that we can’t help but at least smile, and often begin laughing, when we see a giggly baby.

The Havenworlders retreated behind their safety shields as various human factions began raising their voices.

Shayde, somehow, broke out a gigantic cup of popcorn. She masticated whilst grinning.

Someone, somewhere, pressed a brightly-coloured button.

Starting at the main viewer, every screen in the Ambassadorial Meet became dominated by one image. That of a cooing, smiling human infant. Presently, the child began to chortle.

The effect was instant. Humans all over the Ambassadorial Meet smirked. Chuckled. Giggled.

The tension in the room drained so rapidly that the atmospheric pressure changed. Now the humans - even Shayde - were smiling and laughing and making small squeaking noises.

Calming music and descending flowers replaced the giggling baby. “This has been a group emotion mediation. Please approach your issues calmly.”

Shayde offered Rael some of the popcorn. “And here am I thinkin’ it was goin’ tae be like the UN all over again. Galactics are bloody spoilsports…”

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Challenge #00950-B219: Sailor Fey

Grab another one!

http://thepreciousthing.tumblr.com/post/121702150607/finding-flight-okay-but-imagine-a-medieval

Most sailors feared to go near the Siren Pass. Beyond, they whispered, were shores of gold where the waves broke with pearls and gems as sea foam. Where untold riches and wealth awaited for anyone who could actually survive the pass. Here, there be mermaids. They decorate the rocks with foolhardy sailors who chance too close and fall victim to their song. Their bones, anyway. All of them picked clean and bleached white with sun and salt.

It’s said that they make jewelry out of sailor’s teeth. Only one sailor has been able to confirm that as fact.

They call him Anton l’Fey. Whispers about him say that a faerie cursed him with an inability to love. Some say he has never been interested in the pleasures of the flesh. Most captains trust him to haul their crew home from the bawdy-towns.

But Captain Kale had other plans for Anton. Plans that were about to come to fruition.

They anchored well out of range of the Siren Pass. Every man on the ship had to report to the shackles underneath. Anton was trusted with the keys and, not unkindly, gagged each man and wadded his ears with cotton.

The sails were set. The small ship only needed someone to steer and, of course, weigh anchor.

The latter of which took a significant amount of time, and required lashing the wheel into place.

By then, the sirens were swarming. Singing their seductive  songs and wantonly displaying themselves for all who cared to look. Anton sailed on, his eyes on the distant breakers of the Golden Shore.

Their singing was very nice, but it wasn’t worth wrecking the ship for. And the lyrics offered no temptations for him. He sung a bass counterpoint, containing his lack of understanding for the world of so-called normal men. About their need to grasp and lust for people and things alike.

The mermaids changed their song. They used to be kind, and save drowning sailors. But when their kindness was too often repaid with assorted manly cruelties, they changed their tactics.

The mermaids did, indeed, bedeck themselves with jewelry of teeth. And they also displayed the scars where randy, ravening sailors had bit them. They took what had hurt them and made it something beautiful. Or at least, more beautiful than the things the sailors had done.

He’d have to tell the Captain that mermaids were nice people if you could keep your hands to yourself and your pants buttoned.

The Golden Shore was, indeed, golden. But it was not made out of gold. Pearls and gems were suspiciously absent from the shining sands.

It would have been an entirely disappointing trip if it wasn’t for the spices.

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Challenge #00949-B218: To Boldly Bed…

Turns out humans can interbreed with almost any cogniscient species and produce viable offspring. This breaks several laws of physics, logic, and basic biology. At this point the rest of the galaxy just throws its hand up in defeat and stops trying to figure out how they do the things they do.

[AN: I have had it since Amalgam’s inception that Humans can’t spread their genes around the cosmos like that. Ergo, this has to be Star Trek]

Admiral Pavel Checkov took the roll before starting his lectures. This year, the F’s were taking up a majority of his time.

“Fitzkirk, Elaine,” a half-betazoid raised her hand. “Fitzkirk, Fukari,” a half-orion. “Fitzkirk, Glii,” a half-horta.

How the flying hell had his old captain managed that one?

After that particular lecture (featuring a significant percentage of Fitzkirks) Pavel meandered over to the central offices for Starfleet Medical and asked them how the fuck humans could breed with anything capable of communicating lust.

Starfleet Medical had been working on it since the first dozen Fitzkirks turned up. And would continue to work on for centuries.

One of the universal anomalies, it seemed.

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