Challenge #00443 - A068: Showdown
Do one brave thing, then run like hell. – RecklessPrudence
This place was the worst labyrinth to get lost in. Especially since, and perhaps because, there was a human in it.
It may have been easy to cut through the rusting walls, but it was also noisy. The monster could hunt him down. And he could tell it was in stealth mode, because it wasn’t cutting through the walls either.
He just had to make it back to the ship…
Five more corners.
CRAP!
The monster froze. He froze. Both simultaneously reached for their plasma guns. Both aimed. Both pressed their triggers…
…and both were out of ammo.
He threw his weapon at the beast and ran for it.
It was only later, safely three jumps away from danger, that he was able to review his footage to discover that the human had done exactly the same thing.
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Challenge #00442 - A067: To Reach…
Perfection is not attainable, but if we chase perfection we can catch excellence.
Vince Lombardi – c/- RecklessPrudence
“Aim high,” it was said, “at least you can’t shoot yourself in the foot.”
“Strive for perfection,” said others. “Accept the remarkable.”
“Do your utmost,” said further others, “and none can criticise.”
They were wrong.
There was plenty of criticism. Plenty of people to show her what went wrong with each and every attempt.
But… the important thing. The truest thing… was that she strove to do better, next time. For every last next time there was.
That’s what mistakes were for.
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Challenge #00441 - A066: Going With What Works
They shouldn’t’ve been surprised that there were neurodivergent Uplifted on Nufurria.
(Can we please see an Uplifted sentient on the autistic spectrum? Because neurodiversity occurs in nonhuman species as well (ie, not trying for unfortunate implications here, but rather, any animal with the underpinnings of sentience is capable of the diversity of neural wiring experienced by humans))
O'Ranges wasn’t much for words. He seemed to piece together what was happening from the world around him and worked on a set of pre-written instructions like there was a manual in his head.
And whenever he was upset - which was a lot - repetitive games like Tetris helped him to calm down.
O'Ranges was sensitive to noise. Huggy to the extreme point of having a ludicrously huge stuffed bear in nauseous purple to keep him company whenever Aelki needed to do anything at all.
He had separation anxiety, obviously. Security issues in general. A love of patterns and regularity in day-to-day life that extended right down to what sort of meals he had on which days. When he spoke, his inflections were very hard to hear.
And, for a creature bound for the arena, he was literally the biggest softie in the known universe. He wouldn’t harm a fly. He certainly cried for his fleas as Aelki combed special formulas through his thick fur to get rid of them.
“They drink your blood,” she explained again and again and again. With each treatment. “And you need your blood for you. Doesn’t it feel better to have them out and not itch any more?”
“Poor fleas,” O'Ranges whined. “Smells.”
“Do you want itches, or smells?”
And O'Ranges would pout about that for the rest of the day.
On one hand, the Cogniscent Rights Committee would get a fire under their collective asses about maltreatment of the neurodiverse. On the other hand, it was going to make the next Ambassadorial meet extremely interesting, to say the least. And she’d be his assistant/helper, for her sins.
Hitchhikers always found one form of rest or another. She’d hoped for the kind with a nice plot under an alien sky… but her kind heart had found the more rewarding form of permanence.
Maybe if she treated O'Ranges with a scent-nullifyer, afterwards. And then let him pick how he wanted to smell. Out of a range of relatively inoffensive scents, of course. Aelki was fairly certain that nobody would want to sit near the Ambassador who smelled of old meat and fresh dung.
She’d clothed him properly in comfortable pants (with egress for his tail) and whatever variety of top she could find to fit his bulk. Yet he insisted on wearing the Big Towel like a superhero’s cape. And in his play-mutterings, he styled himself as HitcherWolf. The hitch-hiking hero and rescuer of the downtrodden and forgotten. Just like his new human.
Aelki had traded an outlandish story for weighted cape fasteners, just to preserve what there was of his tops. And she dreaded the day that she’d convince him that Ambassador O'Ranges was HitcherWolf’s secret identity. It would either get out of hand or get upsetting for her poor, big, little pup.
And it would be happening, soon.
She almost had enough to get them the hell off Nufurria.
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Challenge #00439 - A065: Power
You must have a very interesting will.
If by “will” you mean “elaborate post-mortem interactive treasure map on my spare hard drive”, then yes. – RecklessPrudence
“Good Morning!” Mary cheered.
The man who bought her to ‘make his life better’ moaned and turned over in bed.
She no longer had functioning hands to rip the covers off him. Just virtual representations of the hands she used to create art with. So she turned off the heater in his bed, and turned on the chiller. Then she ramped up her volume and got close to his ear. “WAKEY WAKEY EGGS AND BACIE!”
The got results. Call-me-master-dammit stumbled towards the ablution chamber and growled, “Eggs and bac'n err'y mornin’?”
“A plentiful portion of protein promotes progress pointing to your prime,” she chirped. She was enjoying this a little too much for her health. “Today’s word is 'will’, the power of choosing one’s own actions, or a purpose and determination. Use it in a sentence and you may have a sweetie.”
He took a shower straight after flushing the commode. At least she’d taught him to flush immediately, instead of waiting for the miasma to get offensive to do so.
Clean and deodorised, he shuffled into clean clothes and glared at her. “You must have a very interesting will,” he said.
The gum ball dispenser filled with his favourite indulgence dinged and dispensed a single, plastic-coated sphere. “If by 'will’, you mean 'elaborate post-mortem interactive treasure map on my spare hard drive’, then, yes. It’s very interesting indeed. Breakfast first!”
He shoved the bacon and eggs inside his maw with one hand - eating utensils were still a bone of contention - and had enough time to stuff most of it into his cheeks before he realised what she’d just said. “D'joo jush shay 'tweshur map’?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
Watching him gag down a mouth full of breakfast was her daily entertainment. “Did you just say 'treasure map’?”
“Indeed I did.”
“F'r real treasure.”
“Yes.”
“Like, gold and stuff.”
“Yes.”
“None o’ that 'the treasure was friendship bullshit from them movies y’ make me watch?”
“None at all.”
“Show me.”
“Sadly, I need upgrades to do that. Which means you need to earn a promotion. Which means looking good. Which, of course, means exercise. Chin-ups. Ten. Soon as you can.”
He growled and grumbled, but there was treasure in it for him, so he obeyed.
This man was shockingly easy to manipulate.
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Challenge #00438 - A064: That’s a Bad Motto
Hey, you know my motto - live fast, die young, and leave a corpse they gotta wear hazmat suits when they cremate. – RecklessPrudence
Triibo boggled at the human salvage operator. “You live by this creed?”
“Ev'ry damn day,” smiled the Human.
“Now I know why they call you Teymour the Really Mad.”
“You’d be surprised how often I end up hearing that,” said Teymour.
“No I wouldn’t.”
“That too…”
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Challenge #00437 - A063: Hivemind Negotiations
“It was rather like being surrounded by a mob of very curious puppies with no regard for one’s personal bubble. He/she stood very still lest he/she step on one and tried to resist the urge to pick one up for a cuddle”
There was also an urge to flee, shrieking, from the environment because the Trrt'krr -or ‘Jelly Dancers’- resembled nothing more than a sparkling cloud of very small jellyfish.
These were the lowest of known low-grav cogniscents. They could survive without atmosphere and found anything more than point three standard gravity[1] to be torturous. If not deadly. If they wished to operate in the heavier zones, then they needed a protective grav-bubble and a team of fussing Nae'hyn.
Small wonder, then, that the Trrt'krr much preferred telepresence and negotiations on their home turf.
Lesli wore skins against the lower pressure, with the mandatory breath mask of course, and an exosuit designed to restrain her musculature from causing any damage. She had to remember to use plural identifiers, not only for herself, but for the Ambassador.
Jelly Dancers tended to equate individuality with brain death.
And even then, communication was difficult. She had to use a light board to match the Jelly Dancers’ natural flashes.
We recognise the colony of Lesli, said the Ambassador, via the translation app. The swarm withdrew to what the Jelly Dancers considered a polite distance. Which meant that only five individuals at a time were investigating places that only cleansers would normally touch.
“We recognise the colony of Blup,” said Lesli in turn. “I understand there is a trade problem with the Consortium of Steam?”
They did promise chocolate before the mating season, complained Ambassador Blup. Mating season is almost upon us and they have sent soap.
Lesli scanned the regrettable example. Her own instruments could not tell her if it was very good soap or very bad chocolate[2]. “I shall investigate on your behalf. In the meantime, the Gyiik Union is offering replacement chocolate in order to make amends. I suspect a translation error somewhere along the line.”
Which would only be natural. The Consortium of Steam was well known to be… erratic. And not everyone had access to the really good translation apps.
[1] One standard gravity is equivalent to 10 m/s/s fall acceleration. By comparison, Earth is point nine seven eight standard gravity.
[2] I’ve encountered very bad chocolate that is too much like this.
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Answering this now because it’s more of an ask than a prompt.
For all the snippets involving Shayde, there hasn’t been much more than a hinted explanation of how she got to be where she is now. So, how did she arrive in the Galactic Alliance, and was it before or after other humans had made proper contact?
(Also, what does Shayde look like? I can’t find a description but I remember something about being like a living shadow so my best guess is similar to the Death in “Girl with the Skeleton Hand” or this http://strawberrydaydreams.tumblr.com/post/71572518590/thatisdebatable-merthuriscanon-my-sim)
Short answer: Close and “sort of”.
Shayde’s been inhabiting my imagination since I found a black pen and doodled her in the 80’s. And until I made my own universe, I never knew what to do to her.
Now. Keep in mind that there’s a huge list of things I can’t draw. These include:
- hands
- feet
- proper anatomy
- straight lines
- my own characters
That said, have some lineart of Shayde pestering Rael:
You can probably tell exactly where I gave up on this and shit, I forgot the line where the nehru jacket/vest fastens. AUGH! And you know what? Fuck the bottom of Shayde’s swishy hair. Fuck it to hell. Sideways. With a pineapple.
But my hands are cramping and I may not come back to this until next week. Because I hate myself.
This is why I don’t art.
Shayde’s skin is almost literally black. Especially when she’s tired or run down. Being a shadow elemental, her skin tends to match the darkness of local shadows when she isn’t paying attention to it. Her eyes are luminescent, but they also have the horrid attribute of changing with her emotions [OC crime #5, I’m told] so her face can be an open book.
The hair is smoke-white and prone to any spare breeze.
As for the clothing: Gold nehru vest/coat, white undershirt with loose sleeves, grey pants and white gogo boots.
Rael’s skin has been described as ‘Jacaranda mauve’ and his hair is a deep blue. His eyes are also blue. The turtleneck under his rainbow-patchwork JOAT coat is Engineering Blue, and the pants are just jeans.
And yes, those are supposed to be steel-toed safety boots.
I can’t draw.
Fuck.
Sigh.
As for how she got there. It’s a very long story that I’m saving for a later book. Told in a linear fashion, it goes like this:
- Katie Walker (slightly magical girl) tries to solve the energy crisis by drilling a pinhole into another dimension
- Her professor/mentor Hackmeyer tries to make it more interesting by fucking with the machine on the day of the big demo
- It go boom
- Katie is plucked from the event by self-proclaimed gods who change her into a shadow elemental so she can meddle in assorted destinies
- They promise to put her back when they’re done
- Katie wanders universes for ten subjective years and starts calling herself 'Shayde’ because many natives mistake her for a demon [“foul shade from out the blackest pit” etc]
- The alleged god make the huge mistake of bringing her into their dimension to tell her that she has to die
- The 'gods’ narrowly escape with their lives and dump her on Amalgam Station. They may have been aiming for the Glunk and missed
Naturally, the book’s going to be way more interesting. I want to build up Amalgam as a place for things to happen in before I publish Shayde’s story, though.
Challenge #00436 - A062: Humans!
If it’s stupid but it works, it’s not a stupid idea.
*post-plan*
I don’t care if it worked, that was still a stupid idea.
Ax'and'l glared at them. Taking up space. They had been taking up space in Hwell’s quarters, but everywhere they went… Hwell just had to trot a few out into the open and try to sell them off.
“When are we going to get rid of those horrendous–”
“Don'tsayitoutloud, theycanunderstandGalstand,” Hwell rattled through gritted teeth. “Ifyousayitoutloud, nobodywillbuythem.”
Ah. so he was actively trying to sell them and Ax'and'l pointing out the truth had been souring their profits.
“Let me guess. You have one of your human plans.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“All your plans are mind-bogglingly stupid.”
“If it’s a stupid plan and it works, then it isn’t a stupid plan.”
*
“Love gloves.”
“Yyyyyyyyyup.”
“Grooming aids.”
“Yyyyyyyyyup.”
“You sold sex aids from one species as grooming aids for another.”
“And as an interesting cooking tool to the Gyiiks.”
They were gone from his life. The original cardboard packaging recycled for their component atoms. Conspicuous by their absence. And yet…
“I don’t care if your plan worked. It was still a stupid idea.”
Hwell just blew him a friendly raspberry.
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Challenge #00436 - A061: Aftermath
*sigh* The latest Story Snippet just won’t leave my brain.
So I’ll inflict it back on the author.
http://internutter.tumblr.com/post/75405951567/challenge-00396-a031-to-stop-human
Directly related to this, can we see either some from the human that snuck into the ship’s POV or Koq'riix’s waking up after they left the two items.
[AN: Heh. The OP need not be notified ;) ]
Koq'riix jolted into awareness as the airlock cycled shut. It had been the better part of a year since he’d left the cutting tool in the derelict. Since he had barely escaped with his life. Since he ended the life of a human.
And that was his cutting tool.
He’d worked with it for years. He’d personalised it. He knew its every bump and scratch.
He’s last seen it bloody and dented and lying under the mutilated arm of the presumed-dead human. Yet there it lay. Clean. The dent had been fixed. Someone had, with great care an attention to detail, taken it apart, fixed it, and put it back together again.
Koq'riix could tell by the relatively fresh tool marks.
There was a small, colourful rectangle. On one side, seven strange symbols, arranged in peculiar groups. One. Seven. Three. And only one recognisable, repeated symbol. On the other side…
An image of the dead human. Grappling with another human. Both were baring their teeth.
Was this a threat? Or a gift?
Alarmed and disturbed, Koq'riix checked the security feed.
*
Kesha listened for alarms as she struggled through the airlock. There were none. This was like working through a kid’s playhouse. In full space armour.
Best not to take any chances.
She could have done this in all-over Skins and a breather. Scanners said this vessel had the same air mix and pressure as hers, but…
They’d killed Steve.
Something else had taken the body by the time she got to the derelict. They hadn’t taken the blood. Or the grizzly scene. Or one of the weapons.
A toy cutter for toy people.
Sure, she’d entertained visions of revenge in the beginning. It was only human. But as she ran through the evidence, it became increasingly clear that Steve had encountered a fatal failure to communicate.
The weird little lizard-person was clearly terrified.
Usually, if she or Steve bumped into it on a wreck, they would show it they meant no harm and back off. This encounter had not ended as well. The creature had reacted as anyone would react when encountering something five times its size and apparently armed to the teeth.
It viewed Steve’s attempts to show it that he was harmless as a threat and attacked.
So when she stood (hunched, of course) over the little lizard’s sleep niche, staring at the form shorn of all protection, all she could think was, It looks so cute for a killer.
Then she saw how tense it was. Even in its sleep. Curled up tight. All its muscles bunched. Heard the note of distress in its mutterings.
PTSD.
What she was doing right now was probably going to scare its tail off, or something. What she was going to do might shock it into medical distress. But she still had to do it. She had to try. For the betterment of her soul.
She laid the tool down in the middle of the floor. She doubted it could read the message on the back of the photo, but this was what Steve would have wanted. He was all about finding forgiveness. And giving it.
It would be so easy just to reach out and crush that thing’s head. She could see it in her mind. But she laid down the photo and, as silently as she’d entered, left.
Only when she closed the airlocks and undocked did she de-suit and cry.
Kesha was still wiping her eyes when she recorded her log.
“I did it. I returned the lost property and left an olive branch in the form of our photo. God, Steve… that was the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life.” Sniff. “I know. I know. That’s why it’s worth doing. We chose to go to the moon and do the other things, not because they were easy, but because they were hard. I remember.” She wiped her face. “I remember everything you told me, Steve. I’ll remember it for the rest of my life. Your crazy theism finally rubbed off on me, love.” Deep breath. Sigh. “I’m going to head over to Hitizzy for a while. Go up to that cabin in the mountains and just… degauss. This has been intense. I need sky-time. I need you, but you’re not there. Guess my own weight in chocolate’s gonna have to do.” Illogical laughter. More tears. “Until the ever-after, then.” She cut it off. Set course for Hitizzy.
She’d done what she could in his honour. Now it was time to do what she could for herself.
*
Koq'riix kept the image in his personal spaces for the rest of his life. Kept the security footage hidden away for the same space of time. Evidence showed that he spent many hours puzzling over them both.
His last words, “They’re not evil, you know.”
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Challenge #00435 - A060: An Average Sight at a Particular Exit
2.
It was agreed by all that watching them come running out of the perfectly ordinary museums, occasionally while screeching or falling over (or more bizarrely a combination of the above and laughter) was most amusing. It seemed to happen more often around museums with audio assistance too…
[AN: Accessibility is a common thing in the Amalgam Universe. Grav-lifts in the middle of stair columns. Ramps wherever possible. Audio and visual assistance in a ‘take one if needed’ basket with a hygienist on staff to cleanse the equipment when it’s returned… so all museums have audio assistance. As do all libraries.]
Shayde was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. Her cackles mixed with coughing and tears streamed down her face. And Rael was left with the struggle of balancing her six-foot-plus frame on his five-foot-seven one. Whilst simultaneously dodging her erratic feet.
“Must I fetch a paper bag?” he demanded.
For some reason, this was even funnier.
A row of galactic tourists were taking images and, no doubt, sending them out on the galactic info-nets with variations on the caption of, “Human status confirmed.” He was almost used to it. Shayde’s status as a may-be-human was almost a running joke, by now.
The only irritating thing was that he was so very, very often in the same frame.
“…all-devourin’ swarm…” Shayde giggled, as if that was some kind of punchline.
Rael hustled her out of there before she could start drooling.
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