Challenge #00918-B187: Hidden Treasure

Going to the antiques roadshow and finding out the thing you meant to bring is junk… but what’s that hiding in the tissue paper? That little piece of junk that fell in the box is actually…

“But it’s been in my family for generations. My great-great-great-great-great grandmother paid three guineas for it.”

“I’m sorry, but your great-great-great-great-great grandmother was duped. This is a genuine fake. It was forged at the time she purchased it. See this shade of green? You just couldn’t get that shade of green in Malasian pottery at that time.” The appraiser began  rearranging the paper around it. “Some collectors will buy a genuine fake of this era, but… I wouldn’t hold my hopes up.”

A clatter as a little gewgaw fell from the newsprint.

“Oh hello,” said the appraiser. It looked like old bronze. The jewellery inside the fining was a cameo portrait in stone.

“Oh that? That’s just some carved Jasper. It usually winds up in the kid’s jewellery.”

The appraiser started giggling. “Do you know who this is a cameo of?”

Shrug. “Some girl?”

“This is a cameo of the princess Elisabeth Tudor. Collectors would go bonkers just to touch this. Someone gave it a lacquer coat between now and the time it was made. That’s what makes the gold look like bronze. They might have done so to disguise its value… and I can see it’s been effective. Semi-precious gemstones, especially layered ones like jasper, were common media for cameos like this. You get this cleaned and you could be looking at a half a million, easy. Better keep it out of the toy cupboard, eh?”

The woman who had brought in the china vase had fainted.

“…oops…”

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Challenge #00917-B186: Hoaders Impossible

A chatty dragon with a hoard full of technically worthless things with amazing stories attached.

“You collect trash,” said the visiting Princess.

“Not… quite,” allowed the Dragon Freasha. “Pick out something. Go ahead. Just -ah- mind where it came from so it can go back?”

It was a very ratty teddy-bear. Much abused and on the verge of falling apart.

“Ah. That belonged to my first princess. Father made me kidnap her. She was four and very scared. I told him I ate her, but I kept her safe in my lair and let her build a soft nest in-between my wings. When the knights came to rescue her, I sneaked her out of a side-cavern. Her name was Petunia. Ah. She let me keep the bear when she left. Said it would keep the nightmares away.”

“Okay,” said Princess Sunflower. She put the bear back and took out a rusting old mirror, made of copper. “What about this?”

“I was just a baby. I got lost and found my way to a little village. It’s gone, now. Nothing but old ruins and moss. But there was this beautiful lady brushing her hair. It was the colour of night. I asked her when she would put stars in her hair. And she said that it was day time, so flowers would have to do. I spent the rest of the day finding star-like flowers for her. It made her laugh. She put some into a crown for me and let me keep her mirror.”

“You don’t collect trash,” giggled Sunflower, putting the mirror carefully away. “You collect stories.”

“Very smart. Some of my visitors demand as many as twenty stories before they catch on.” Freasha smiled, showing many of her sharp fangs. “I do like smart princesses. They often bring their own stories.”

Sunflower laughed. “And father sent me up here to get storytelling out of my system…”

“Fathers don’t always know a lot,” Freasha admitted. She nestled down around Sunflower. “How many stories have you got?”

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Challenge #00916-B185: Hoarders Unimaginable

I couldn’t resist.

A Dragon (note capital) being told her hoard is worthless.

“Avaunt, foul beast!”

The Dragon Shashannash groaned as she opened an eye. “I was trying to sleep,” she yawned. “I don’t have any princesses… What do you want?”

The knight seemed a little nonplussed. “I have come to fight for the vast wealth you are draining from my lands… er… foul beast.”

“Enough with the ‘foul beast’ I keep very clean, thank you.” She had to stretch. And yawn again. “And since you’re after my hoard, you can have all you can carry. I don’t really care to fight.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She vacated her bed. “And try to hurry up. I want to get back to sleep as soon as I can.”

The knight began digging out what he thought were the biggest gemstones. At least until he dropped on and it shattered.

“This is… glass?”

“Beach glass. I like it. It’s very pretty.”

“I quested all this way for beach glass? This is worthless dross! Dragons are supposed to nest on mountains of gold!”

“Yes. And look what happened to the Dragons who did. I consider myself much smarter.”

“Yes? How does that work?”

“I trade with the Dwarfs further down my cave. One hour’s Dragon-fire buys a lot of legitimate cattle. They make excellent Dragon-steel, by the by.” Shashannash yawned and crawled back onto her hoard. “Have fun. Try not to kill too many Dwarfs, I’m rather fond of them.”

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Challenge #00915-B184: Wheeeeeeeeee!

Rolling down a hill is a valid use of your time.

Rael reached the top of the hill. There were not enough sweet treats in the human lexicon to pay for this much ‘just wanderin’ to his mind.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “We’ve reached the top of the hill. Now what?”

“We lie down,” said Shayde.

“For the last time, I am not engaging in extreme haptic communication with you.”

“I’m no’ askin’ ye to,” she said. “We lie down. Then we roll down.”

“…for what reason?” he prompted.

She was already down and propped herself back up on an elbow. “It’s fun, o’ course. Why else would ye do anythin’?”

“No,” he said. “This sounds too much like one of the old training tortures.”

“Ye can skid down on a carpet if that’s what’s botherin’ ye. I don’t mind. But I’m rollin’.”

“This is not a productive or valid use of time.”

“Pft. Says you. Ye need tae learn how tae have fun, ye ken. All work an’ no play leads tae Jack’s early grave an’ all.”

He sat, just to be on an eye-line with her. “I’m sure you’re mixing your metaphors.”

“I’m tryin’ tae make a point. You need fun in yer life. I’m startin’ wi’ th’ simple ones.”

“Fun,” he said, “doesn’t feed me.“

“There’s a greasy spoon down th’ lane at t’ bottom of the hill. They’ll deep fry anything ye got.”

Curse these humans and their capacity for unsuitable food. “Give me the powers-damned carpet.”

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Challenge #00914-B183: Cautious Eaters

Some species evolved without certain chemicals in their background, or with them causing no effect. Therefore they never evolved a receptor for it. Meanwhile others had to identify toxins or marker chemicals immediately and are highly sensitive even if it’s unnecessary -ie bitter vegetables -. This leads to nonplussed galactic citizens wondering why the deathworlder took a bite of that boring stuff and immediately gagged or refused it entirely because it smelled like pure evil.

Food unites. Meals shared tend to lessen tensions amongst the participants. Excluding, of course, the occasional tension caused by differing definitions of ‘table manners’[1].

The Aphemii had put on a feast of their own native foods. They had been extremely careful in selecting the dishes that would cause the least amount of trouble to the most amount of visitors. Everything in the buffet was entirely digestable by every visitor.

And yet…

Gauz couldn’t help but notice how the humans gave the Helgoq-leaf wraps a wide berth. She could see each and every one of them shy away from the display as if it burned them.

As host, it was her duty to find out what offended. She sidled up to an Ambassador known for her honesty and murmured, “My pardon, Ambassador Shayde… what is the error in our menu? I have witnessed all humans avoiding the Helgoq-leaf…”

Caught in a huddle of fellow plus-one’s, her nigh-perpetual companion Rael urgently made no-no motions at Shayde.

“Th’ green sausage things?” she pointed. “Aye. Yeah. Uh… To be real honest… they smell like satan’s arsehole after a bad curry night.”

Rael smacked his own forehead.

Gauz took that to mean that the scent was highly offensive and resulted in instinctual revulsion. Interesting.

[1] Manners in the Galactic Scene are so wide and varied that, in a multicultural arena, they have to be ignored. So long as another cogniscent is not getting their nutrient content on anyone or anything else, then you have no real reason to complain.

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Challenge #00913-B182: The Challenge of Challenging

So capsaicin is dangerous, and even the species that can eat it recreationally recognise the effects as painful. Mint, on the other hand, even in high doses, causes no such thing. (L-Carvone (spearmint) at least appears totally harmless). Safe fun food for everyone?

Humans are insane. No other species makes a game out of painful ingredients in otherwise harmless things. No other species combines schadenfreude and friendship, and expects the friendship to continue.

And no other species can convince otherwise sane cogniscents that this is fun.

However, some things had to change…

“All right, so they made a safe version of a game about suicide.“

“Correct,” said the ambassador.

“Involving chocolate. And capsaicin.”

“Correct again.”

“And when they were introduced to Galactic Society, they made it safer for other species by swapping to mint.”

“Almost criminally strong levels of mint,“ corrected the ambassador.

“Which, although not deadly, is still enough to cause pain.”

“And they have supplied varying antidotes for the frail of tongue.”

“And they think this is fun?“

“Yes.”

“Remind me again why they’re classed as mostly harmless?”

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Challenge #00912-B181: Mama Hen-Bear

The adventures of Tyr’ip and her big scary bodyguard mother hens.

(does this make her technically the species ambassador? Not a galactic ambassador I guess since her people are already part of the community and if there was one for every species encounter there’d be billions of them but still)

[Galactic ambassadors generally stand for their native planet and, in the case of low-gravvers and nomadic ship-tribes, habitation construct.]

It had been quite the journey. The humans formed a walking wall, linking arms to keep it intact, to guard Tyr’ip from accidental jostling. The Curtedex had said her species was ‘comparatively fragile’ and the humans took this seriously.

The walking wall stopped, but this time they did not bristle. This time, they parted.

“You take your time,” said Tambry. “Get everything you need. We’ll wait.”

And they did. In a perfect semicircle. Arms interlocked and, she had to presume, faces grim against any stray passers-by.

The admittedly light foot traffic in the area veered around them. Tambry checked that Tyr’ip had everything and they closed the walking wall around them again.

Compared to her trip towards the central commercial area, this one was shockingly free of incidents, near incidents, and things that could have been an incident if they’d been allowed anywhere near her.

And the humans felt compelled to show off, in their own way. They showed her where to find the best buskers, where to obtain the best little treats, and took her along the scenic route through several Nae’hyn meditative temple-gardens.

By the time she re-joined Ko’rii, she was in a much better mood.

The humans remained their honour-guard throughout the evening.

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In the slightly-paraphrased words of Robert Heinlein…

If need be, a human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, and die gallantly. Specialization of role is for insects, not people.

(#00911-B180)

“Was he serious?” said Rael. “What happened to the people that didn’t fit these qualifications?”

“It’s amazin’ how many o’ these ye qualify for wi’out knowin’ it,” said Shayde. “Butcherin’s no’ that hard, ye ken.”

“Tube meat exists for a reason.”

“Aye, but if yer stuck somewhere wi’ nowt but yer wits? Anyway. It all boils down tae th’ Cogniscent Rights qualifications f’ cogniscence.”

Rael put down his fork, trying to think. “I’m sorry, I missed that leap of illogic…”

“Care fer young, fight fer home, obtain nutrition, navigate home, plan a home, communicate, perform basic math, exhibit knowledge of construction, exhibit knowledge of elementary medical care, exhibit compassion, show understanding, show willingness tae communicate, show independance, exhibit knowledge of higher math, exhibit adaptability, exhibit knowledge of hygiene, exhibit understanding of technology, treat nutrition, fight for self, and understand mortality.”

Rael ran it through, counting on his fingers. “All right, but that sample is admittedly mixed. Some of those are qualifyers for children, and some are relative intelligence testers.”

“Echo ‘hello world’, EOF,” said Shayde. “Th’ program doesnae have t’ be complicated.“

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Challenge #00910-B179: Origin Story

More of the Unexpectables please.

Find a need, the expression went, fill a need. And there were people, Munashe well knew, who needed a fairy godmother. She and Corinna came up with the idea over wine and badly-colourised old movies and so far… things had been going well.

Munashe’s first job had been making a power outfit for Corinna so that taller people would take her seriously. Corinna wore it, now, with a polished selection of makeup and refined jewellery that practically blared that she was an adult.

Munashe’s own outfit was her work, too. It said, I can afford to have clothing tailored to my ample frame. And since she practically glowed with health, she hoped that few would comment on her weight.

The Wirths were too polite to comment, at least. An old-money family who managed to stay discrete in a field where money was meant to provide excess. They stayed under the radar. Very, very quiet and restrained. The Wirths had sense.

What baffled Munashe was why they were hiring Corinna and herself. Especially when their resume was so… very, very light.

“We’ve heard that you work miracles,” said Mrs Wirth.

“We need a miracle,” added Mr Wirth.

“It’s our Jemima,” sighed Mrs Wirth. “We’ve almost lost all hope.” And between the two of them, they spun a tale. A brilliant child with amazing scholastic capability gradually became increasingly shut off from the world until all she ever did was mess around on her computers or hide from everyone or everything in her ‘little nook’.

It was where she was hiding now, in the depths of her suite.

Jemima’s suite was twice Munashe’s and Corinna’s separate apartments put together. There was a ‘salon’ and a bedroom and an ensuite. All palatial.

The bedroom had a four-poster with an overhead canopy. But it was the bright colours that gave it away for Munashe. Jemima was allowed to buy what she liked for her own comfort. And what she liked were bright, unnatural colours, shiny, glittery things and huge amounts of soft and fluffy things.

A veritable mountain of plushies almost buried Jemima’s bedclothes.

Corinna found the ‘little nook’ in a walk-in wardrobe. Someone had taken a large, tent-like storage tube and lined the inside with cushions and at least one beanbag. The inside was strung with softly-changing Christmas lights. A dangling, rainbow-clothed sock betrayed the presence of Jemima.

As did the rocking of the tube and a low, monotonous hum.

Munashe felt more than heard Mrs Wirth’s inhale of doom and politely turned with a smile. “We’d like to begin working with Jemima, now,” she said diplomatically. “And that commences in a place of her comfort. It’s going to be all right. We don’t judge.”

Mr Wirth said, “I trust we’re also paying for your discretion in this matter.”

“Of course.”

The wardrobe was bigger than Munashe’s first flat. Corinna made herself comfortable while Munashe examined the books. Conan Arthur Doyle. Louis McMaster Bujold. Terry Pratchett. Ursula K. LeGuin. Douglass Adams. These were books that had been read and read again. They were not like the ones on the public bookshelves, there for display purposes only. These were books that Jemima liked.

Corinna found a rain stick in the book pile and turned it up, making a stream of tiny ball-bearings rattle through the tube.

“Autistic?”

“Definitely,” murmured Munashe. “Either Mr and Mrs Wirth are in denial, or they think Jemima can be cured and turn ‘normal’. Impossible, even if we could do miracles.”

Corinna turned the tube upside-down, making it ‘rain’ again. “They expect something. We can’t tell them there’s nothing we can do.”

The rainbow sock, and the foot inside it, withdrew into the tent.

“Most parents expect socialisation. Making new friends. It’s difficult, isn’t it, Jemima?”

There was a face, staring at them through the vertical slit of the tent. Dark, owlish eyes framed by dark and wavy hair. A vague ghost of a voice, just on the edge of hearing, “…’es.”

“Hello,” cooed Munashe. “I’m Munashe. Some of the kids I work with call me Aunty Moon. And my friend is Corinna.”

“You can call me anything, really,” Corinna joined in with the gentle voice. She tipped the rain stick again. “Cora, Rinny. Or Corinna.”

“…i like mimi,“ murmured Jemima. “…are you gonna take me to an assylum, now?”

What? Were her parents really threatening to do that? Munashe continued to pretend calm. “No. We want to help you out, Mimi. We want to help you feel safe.

Mimi had a taste for bright colours and shiny things, and the almost typical deep-ASD difficulty with concepts like ‘inside out’ and ‘right way around’. She loved rainbows and soft things and making things on her computer.

And, as it turned out, she was a technological genius.

Who could roleplay when she needed to cope.

“Moon,” murmured Corinna. “Remember that cyberstalking case we’re stalled on?”

Munashe began to grin. “Oh yes. Mimi? How would you like to help us help someone else?”

Mimi, though she had emerged from her safety cave, was still hugging herself and rocking. “…i didn’t think i could help anyone until i’m normal…”

“First, I have some really good news - normal doesn’t exist. And second - we can all help other people. All we have to do is figure out how.”

Mimi, in front of her computer array, was almost a completely different person. Gone was the slouch. Gone was the mumbling murmur. The rocking remained, but it was more in the rhythm of her work and kept her focussed.

“It’s not one person, it’s three. That’s why the IP is all over the map,” Mimi said. “They have three places in common. A cybercafe, a library, and the school where your client works. All areas with free wifi. If I take away the wifi origins from the activity map…”

Three houses. With a list of occupants. “All the teenage girls of those houses go to the school. I’d ask them about it.” Mimi turned away from her keyboards. “Is that it? I like being a detective.”

In the end, they sold the job as occupational therapy for Mimi. She got out of the house, spent time working in the office, and got to help people. In turn, Munashe and Corinna allegedly helped with her social skills between cases.

It would be two weeks before they discovered that Mimi functioned better with a human teddy-bear in tow.

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Challenge #00909-B178: Howling Mad

http://thentheresthisspazz.tumblr.com/post/123284811011/mythological-creature-aus#notes

Pick a different one!

[AN: Today’s pick is: “i’m a newly-turned werewolf without a pack and i can’t really control myself well on full moon nights yet and you keep finding me passed out naked on your lawn” AU]

The first month, she called an ambulance for me. I was grateful for it. I had no idea what was happening, either. I still didn’t know what was going on in the second month, when she also called the police.

I found out in the third month, because of the mandatory psych evaluation. And so did my doctors. And so did she. I remember watching a recording of the transformation with tears in my eyes and terror in my heart.

I never wanted to be a monster.

You’d think that the moonlight is what does it. That’s wrong. It’s the sunlight that cures it. For five nights out of twenty-eight… I transform. And I wind up in Belladonna yard, the next morning.

Yeah. Belladonna. She had Metal Goth parents, go figure.

There was a time when I tried living a few counties away? But I just woke up in her yard with more wounds. Bloody hands and feet. Among many, many others.

I think it was the time with the broken leg that tipped the scales. I wanted to move further away. She told me to rent the attic.

She tells me that I’m not a monster. And I’m starting to believe her, at last.

It’s been a year. And in all that time, all I do is go to her. I howl at the moon out of some instinctive obligation and then the rest of the night is spent in her shadow.

She makes sure I have a dressing-gown and a pair of underpants in easy reach for the next morning and it’s… stable, I guess.

And I know I’m not allowed on the bed when I wolf out, because I keep waking up on the rug by her bed.

I think Belladonna likes me more when I’m a wolf. When I’m human… especially the morning after… she’s way more guarded around me. Paranoid. And I don’t blame her. She’s been through enough.

I want to control it. Not so that I become human all the time. I’d much rather be her dog. I don’t know why? But I think she’s happier when I have fur and fangs.

And I would do anything to help her be happy.

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