Challenge #00434 - A059: One Extraordinary Shift in the Museum of Disturbing Things
1.
No-one was quite sure if the now-almost-constant presence of at least a couple of humans wandering around the Museum of Disturbing Things ooh-ing and aah-ing at the exhibits made things better or worse..
What made the Disturbing Things so disturbing was not only that they existed, but the history that went with them.
Unsurprisingly, the humans had an entire wing. Some were gruesome exhibits from old Terra, like the skull of a man who survived being pierced through it with an iron rod. Some were more modern, like the replica of Andrew Jones’ space armour. The man had defeated ninety-nine planet-eaters. Or an eternally-turning human cookbook compendium, which demonstrated all the unusual, unappetising, or unconventional foods that a human could consume.
And now, almost every day, there were humans in it, too.
Shayde stopped at the diorama of a tyrannosaur menacing a fun-park jeep. “I ain’t seen it, but I’m pretty sure tha’ was a movie.”
“I’ll make certain the staff are notified,” drawled Rael. “Obviously, there’s been some confusion over your realities versus your fictions.” He sighed. “And sometimes, there still is.”
“Cannae help it if we’re good at it.” Shayde pondered the diorama. “This must'a been when we still thought tyrannosaurs were carnivores. And definitely before we figured out they had feathers.”
“Let me guess. You managed to travel back in time and see it in person?”
“Na, nuthin’ like that. I looked it up.”
Of course. Just when he was used to the impossible, she had to use mundane measures on him.
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Challenge #00433 - A058: Registered Toxic Passenger
(unfortunate real-life inspiration time!)
Considering how the aliens react to comparatively non-corrosive/hazardous materials, they must have either gone into DEFCON 1 or completely catatonic the first time a human vomited.
Other humans making sympathetic noises and cleaning up (*gasp* without even a hazard suit, the horror) while the aliens panic are completely optional
(No wonder the humans are insane, they’re full of hydrochloric acid strong enough to melt their own internal organs)
“We have lost spin,” said the Ch'ardva co-pilot.
“Oh no,” murmured Ambassador Patrice.
“You said this vessel never broke down,” wailed an aide, “that’s why we hired you!”
“There is first time for all, yes?”
Another aide was going through all their things, muttering, “Sick bags, sick bags,” to herself.
Patrice concentrated on her breathing. Picked something close. Something stable. Tried not to think about the mis-information her brain was giving her. Burped dangerously.
“The ambassador gets motion-sick,” said the first aide. “We didn’t want to cause any ups–”
Whoulp…
“Oooohhh…” winced the second aide, trying to net the flying globules with a terrycloth sack. “I am so sorry.” And gave her a piece of lemon peel to sniff.
Errant specks of effluvium landed on the more reactive parts of the Ch'ardva vessel. Where they sizzled.
Patrice finally got hold of a sick bag for the second round.
“You spit out acid?”
“Mild acid,” corrected an aide. “It’s one of the survival reflexes - to purge unhealthy food.”
“At least the rest of us keep our acidic internals on the inside,” growled the pilot. “Contain that lot before it hits the rest of the ship!”
Diverse alarms blared the Ch'ardva crew scrambled for cover suits and hazard-vacs. Pretty much all of them grumbled about even allowing such dangerous beasts on their ship in the first place.
“For the record,” Patrice gasped between bouts of retching, “this is an entirely involuntary res–” burp “–sponse.”
“Next time, keep your human things to a human vessel. Do you have any idea how hard it is to protect against toxics like you?”
“We’ll run you a nice deal on human-proof materials,” promised the first aide. “Discount wholesale.”
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Challenge #00432 - A057: Arachnaphobia
It took a surprisingly long time for the other cogniscients to realise how much /they/ scared the humans too.
Of course, some got the message more quickly than others
Lo-grav worlds are rarer than high-grav ones. For reasons that become quickly obvious the more one learns of physics and biology.
When low-gravity life evolves, it happens in artificial environments.
Which are also targets for scavengers.
The spider-people of H'nuf'ruf learned of humans through such expeditions. They never saw humans as dangerous, and became their chief advocate for the species to join the Galactic Alliance.
It took them centuries to learn that humans were, by and large, terrified of them.
All that time, the H'nuf'ruf thought that screaming was a human greeting ritual.
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Challenge #00431 - A056: One Dark Evening at a Motel of Ill Repute
“Dear person checking behind the curtain for serial killers, DO YOU MIND?!? Sincerely, serial killer trying to take a shower”
[AN: That’s practically a story on its own.]
Hannibal shrieked and hid his junk with the shower rose. And both hands. “What the hell, Will?”
“Sorry. It’s this place. It’s like I'm compelled to check the shower curtains for serial killers.”
“Well, there’s just me. Do you mind?”
“Sorry. Sorry. I’ll go check the broom closets again. Sorry.”
He sighed. What else could he expect when they were staying at the Bates Motel?
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Challenge #00430 - A055: Ballroom Blitz
Everything was going swimmingly until someone pulled out a disco ball.
“The music’s nice and all, but there’s somethin’ missin’.”
“By now, I dare not ask,” deadpanned Rael. “Just accept that whatever it is is most definitely a bad idea and leave things alone for a change.”
“Aaaahh… What sort'a party would it be wi'out a disco ball?”
*
The answer to that question, especially with Meyahndans sharing the party, was “safer”. Mayahndans, despite their carefully-crafted veneer of rigidly formal civilisation, had more instincts behind their facade than one would suspect. And those instincts were incredibly close to those of Terran Felines.
“I heard about murder on the dance floor, but that takes the cake.”
“I tried to tell you. You were right there. Why did you choose not to listen?”
“…iwantedtaehelp…”
Rael blinked. Shayde was many things, often related to the word, ‘brash’, but this was the first time she’d ever acted guilty about anything.
This was the first time she let herself seem vulnerable.
“Tell th’ medics I’ll pay fer their time. All their time. ’S my fault anywa’.” She rose from her seat and left. By dropping into her own shadow.
Rael didn;t know whether to feel relieved or alarmed about this sudden change.
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Challenge #00429 - A054: Urgent Call Home
T'reka’s first communications with the others in her colony group/science base/whoever, after being around the humans for a while
“Uh. Trekker?” said Su-syn. “Your… thing making noise.”
T'reka checked it. It was the urgent-summons. And there was no time to get to her base. “I must checking in! No time. Running is too slow! If I fail, they burn continent.”
Su-syn grinned. “Not worries.”
It was called a Horss. A large herbivorous ungulate that could easily make five Humans. She thought humans moved fast. This moved faster.
T'reka held on with all claws to Su-syn’s back-coverings and marvelled at the motion. Despite being made biliously ill by it. The impossible quadruped ran on its middle digits’ claws. Fingernails. And it did so in a rolling, seesaw gait with two cogniscent life forms on its back.
It covered kilo-flights in instants. Before she knew it, she was blinking at her base camp.
“Up, Trekker. Go! Go!” The human casually threw her, standing, from the back of the Horss. “Save our skins!”
T'reka flew for the ladder, literally. Her own mad flapping made her gain half a depth, but it was half a depth less that she had to climb.
Even under the threat of curfew, she had never climbed so fast.
Up the ladder. Up the stairs. Up the other ladder to the main comms and simultaneously hit the talk button and grabbed the headset, cramming it against one tympanum.
“Kal'rike post! Kal'rike post! This is the genuine voice of T'reka the Mad. Code phrase…” There is was. “Bicep fossil jelly millet. I repeat, this is the genuine voice of T'reka the Mad, code phrase - bicep fossil jelly millet. Call off the attack. Call OFF any attack!”
Static. “We hear and rejoice, T'reka the Mad. Action has been given the come-back signal.”
Only then did she settle the head-set across her brow. Only then did she perch and make herself comfortable. “Initiating video feed for confirmation.”
She turned on the camera. Tweaked its pickup range. Smoothed down her feathers. Produced an amenable expression for the people watching on the other end.
“Greetings from Poison island,” she sang. “I have been made aware there is a problem?”
“You’re communicating with the humans!”
Casual. Treat it casual. After all, she did wander, daily, through many things venomous, poisonous and otherwise deadly. “Isn’t it amazing? They are excellent mimics and can be taught proper speech.”
“But… humans! We must seed the other planet and evacuate at once!”
“With respect, we do not have the resources. Further, I must humbly counter there is sufficient evidence that these humans are not monsters.”
“Where?”
“Sitting here. They came to me. Talked with me. One even rushed me home so that none would die. I humbly posit that these are abnormal humans. They are decidedly non-violent, for all their disturbing habits.”
“They must remain on the island. And you must restrain your communications to the humans you have already met. We expect a full proposal on this… this… vulgar-insanity of a proposal.”
“Which I will write tonight. I must also confer with the humans. They must know of this, too.”
“This is historical-insanity, T'reka the Mad. I trust you understand this.”
“Through to my ever-lasting spirit, sir,” she nodded. “True flight to you.”
He ended the comms after a formal, “True flight.”
Once the communication was completely over… T'reka allowed herself to shake and shudder and cry out her terrors. Such display would not have impressed her superiors.
And, at the other end of it, Su-syn was gently patting her back through the thickness of a blanket.
“All well?”
“All well,” T'reka answered. “How you get up?”
“Careful walk. You ladder small.”
Mental note. Humans were extremely adaptive.
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Challenge #00428 - A053: One Fine Afternoon in the Local Comic Shop
A recent submission to the Hawkeye Initiative involved Wolverine instead:
https://24.media.tumblr.com/3d2615b3cd199b3c78d97b5d9376b96a/tumblr_mzpei7EzOd1rmx3kqo1_500.jpg
So, how did he get into the situation on the right?
[AN: Since the short answer of “Sara did it” is cowardly…]
He had one job. In two parts. Part One: Escort Sara to the comic shop and back. Part Two: Keep them both out of trouble.
And it was going well, so far.
“Uuuugghhhh…”
In the man-leaping-off-a-building sense of ‘so far, so good’.
Logan began tracing her faint lilac through the maze of shelves an the miasma of sweaty, unwashed fanboy funk. That sort of 'ugh’ drew attention. It was inevitably the wrong sort of attention.
“Let me guess,” came the cry of the Forever Alone Fedora(*). “You’re some kind'a feminazi out to ruin everything fun.”
Yup. Someone was going to lose an eye.
“I don’t know, would it be fun for you to dress up like this?”
“Of course not. Duh. I’m a guy?”
“Well you certainly have a better rack than I do.”
Logan found her, holding up the tome of contention. The cover featured an impossibly skinny woman in ridiculously impractical leather armour in an impossible pose and heavily featuring an equally impossible pair of zero-gravity bosoms.
Lady didn’t have the BMI to carry those jugs. Nor the muscle tone to carry anything…
“Geez,” he murmured. “Any of those artists even seen a woman? Ain’t seen a worse hack job since Michelangelo.”
The trilby-wearing fellow turned and looked him over. He did, indeed, sport a more sizeable bosom than Tallwater. He also sported an unwashed neck-beard, bad acne and a shirt that read _I’m here! Now what were your other two wishes?_(#). If it had ever been clean, it had been in a previous life.
Oddly, he relaxed and got even more superior. “Obviously a gentleman such as yourself has the experience. Please tell this female how comics aren’t even meant for her?”
“Your watch is slow, Casserole. In case you missed it, this year is 2014.”
Uh oh. She was naming him after really cheap meat dishes. “Well, for a start, Tallwater can draw better art than this crap in her sleep.”
“And I have,” she added.
“Secondly, she and I could both beat you in a fair fight.”
“Barehanded,” added Tallwater.
“Third, you might want to lose the antagonistic attitude if you ever want to get laid.”
“Oooooooooooh…” Tallwater happily did the Rigby-burn motion.
“You’re talking complete nonsense. That’s very obviously an outfit maximised for ease of movement and practicality.”
“Oh come on, she isn’t even wearing the bow properly. And that quiver is about five seconds and a good sneeze away from falling right off.”
“Tcha,” snorted Trilby Guy. “Like you know how to even hold a weapon.”
Logan raised his eyebrows. If he didn’t have a healing factor, he would still be sporting the bruises from the last time she’d beat him in a practice session with Bo staves. “Do you want to school him or shall I?”
“Oh, I think we can both school him.”
“You couldn’t school me in a month of Sundays,” Trilby Guy bragged. “I’ve been studying Crob Magaw.”
“It’s pronounced 'Krav Maga’. And I have five hundred dollars that says you couldn’t fit into that outfit, let alone beat me in a fair fight.”
“Any time. Any place. Both of you. And we all wear the outfit.”
“Gym down the road. Come with me and I’ll get you fitted. Soon as we’re dressed, we can start.” Tallwater sighed. “Regretably, I shall have to purchase this issue as an example for Rock.”
“Wait. Not Rock Bixby? Famous costume designer and crafter?”
“Tallwater shops for him,” supplied Logan.
“OMIGOB I GET TO MEET ROCK BIXBY!” And he spent the rest of the afternoon in a geeky cloud of sparkling, starstruck glee.
He really should have noticed something was up when Rock said, “This another one, Sara?”
And, when the aliens attacked, it was why he and Tallwater were fighting them off in skimpy leather bikinis while Trilby Guy 'just caught his breath’ for an hour.
(*) Most commonly a Trilby
(#) This shirt exists and it is inevitably worn by very unattractive men
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Challenge #00427 - A052: A Strange Meeting in a Bubble Dimension
Sara, T'reka and bug-based cuisine
[AN: Sara Louise Adrien and T'reka exist in different universes, so of course Shayde has to get involved. If you meant Sahra Johnston then you’ll have to submit a new prompt :) ]
“Uuuuunnnggghhh….” Rael moaned. He felt like he was forced into his usual, humanoid shape too early. “Wh’t?” He looked to his right and was shocked to discover a historical figure at his elbow. Living, breathing fame. Replete with her jungle-exploration outfit.
Another’s hand clamped over his mouth. “Don’t blurt. I sense time’s out o’ place.”
Shayde?
Rael looked foggily at her. “Wh'z goin’ on?”
“Dimensional bridge bubble. Hush. We got a superhero cooking’ fer us.”
He tried to sit up. Tried to focus.
*
Sara perked up when the middle judge finally sat up and started paying attention. “Good day to you. I have it from your -ah- ‘good friend’ that you’re not the best when woken up early.”
“…mmnnnngggghhhrrrllll…” managed the short blueish gentleman.
“These are green crickets,” she announced. “Lightly toasted. Full of protein. A good heart-starter and metabolic booster if you’re looking to lose weight.”
“…dun’ need m'tab'lism boosted…”
“I heard. There’s also a lot of low GI energy in the form of the pasta.” She helpfully dinged the bubbling pot. “As for the crickets, I took the liberty of removing all the unpleasantly crunchy bits. I deep-fried those in some small fritters if you wish to try. Miss T'reka -did I get that right, dear?”
The bird nodded.
“Miss T'reka has found them to be delightful. Nothing wasted.” Flip, flip, flip went the pan. “Now for the beondogi. Also known as bundegg. They’re deep-fried silkworm larvae, so they don’t need as much cooking as the rest. A generous soaking of lemon juice for flavour…”
“Tha'ss a whole lemon y’ jus’ squeezed,” mumbled the blueish man. Rael.
“Yes, dear.” Dear, pronounced, I know you’re feeling lacklustre and I’m proud that you’re trying to keep up. “And a luscious dribbling of honey…” Flip flip flip. “Voila. Insect cuisine.”
Sara dished up and smiled at Miss T'reka’s happy warbling. And at Miss Pitt’s[1] squick-face. “It’s all edible, dear,” pronounced, You can be brave just this once.
Rael seemed to come alive at the smell and the very generous portion placed in front of him. “Oooh. S'quiib…”
“Sorry. Dwarf squash.”
Miss T'reka fluffed her feathers. “I had never thought mild acid would be delicious,” she sang. “Have you tried dragonflies?”
“They’re very bitter to us. Supremely sour. I did try an ice-cream, but then I got banned from the kitchens for a week. Some people have no appreciation for culinary experimentation.” Sara watched Miss Pitt hold her nose as she tried a forkful of pasta and sauce. “Case in point.”
“Madam,” said Rael. “You could give a Gyiik a run for their money.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” decided Shayde.
[1] Shayde’s adopted name is Shayde F. Pitt, after what people kept yelling at her.
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Challenge #00426 - A051: When You Meet a Stranger…
K'iiv and Del are adorable, how did they meet/begin their relationship?
K'iiv preened his plumage nervously. He hated meeting new people. All the good advice for conquering social anxiety never, ever worked. It was either completely wrong for the situation or just… completely wrong.
Nevertheless, he attempted to use them anyway.
Going into a situation without a plan was infinitely less preferable than going in with a bad one.
Today’s plan was, picture the stranger without their feathers.
Today’s failure was, Oh no.She’s already bald.
The human before him was shorter and covered in utilitarian clothes. Maintenance orange. And she appeared to be a little transfixed, herself.
“…beautiful dinosaur…” she whispered. Then cleared her throat. “Yeah. Uhm. I had a report of a busted cleansing unit?”
His traitor tail kept wanting to flair and display for her. Snap out of it, he told himself. I’m just another job for her! And that thought made him want to die inside, more than a little.
“Yes! Yes. This way. In my private space. Where all the private things happen.”
That earned a smile. A careful one, straining to keep the teeth safely concealed. “Nervous?”
“No! Not nervous! Definitely not nervous! Certainly not trying to display my feathers in an attractive manner! At all!”
The human made a snorting noise. “That is a very specific denial, sir.” She trooped into the private space and whistled backwards. “This is a vintage model. Are you sure you want it repaired?”
“The modern once do not cleanse as… nicely. They make my feathers go…” he fumbled for the right word. “Bluh.”
“Can’t have bluh feathers. Not on such a gorgeous cogniscent.” She coloured in a very pretty way. Ahem. “I mean. You… want to look best for your snuggle-buddy.”
“I… have not acquired a snuggle-buddy.”
“Want one?”
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Challenge #00425 - A050: Metal’s Mettle
People die by the soldier’s steel. People live by the blacksmith’s iron. – RecklessPrudence
They say that magic and iron don’t mix.
What do they know?
Common magic does not fare well against iron and steel because both are a different kind of magic. It is a magic of muscle and might and hot fires. Making useful things out of that which was once just rust.
And it is why, should you travel to the village of Uskunriod'thet[1] you will find the Smithy That Builds Itself.
There are numerous things there that eat coal and vent steam. Seemingly alive, but not. Useful, to those who can afford to feed them. And it is also there that you will find Black Jenny.
She, too, seems alive. She is more alive than most of the things at the Smithy That Builds Itself. She, too, eats coal and breathes steam. And she also walks and talks and calls the blacksmith ‘Father’. She will charge you a penny an hour to stare at her, and calmly go about her business as people follow her around like bemused ducklings.
She knows that she’s as unique as her father’s shop. And she also knows she is not for sale.
There had been some debate - years ago, now - when a wealthy foreigner attempted to buy her. The local witch was called to sort it out, and spent a healthy week or three demanding to know how Baker the Smith had managed to 'magic iron’. Then the witch declared that Black Jenny was not now and never would be for sale, because it is Wrong to own people.
Thereafter, she was Black Jenny Baker to the village of Uskunriod'thet. Another piece of local scenery like the wandering oaks.
Black Jenny usually helps in the smithy, now that her father is growing old. Following his instructions to build him a new, metal suit. To replace the flesh one that is growing frail and weary.
So that she, his daughter, will never be without him.
[1] Named in the fine tradition of pointing and shouting at the locals and then writing the name down in a book. It translates out as, “it’s just a bunch of trees, you fool.”
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