Challenge #00214: Typhoon
“…and that’s why I built an extra arm for it, just for high-fives.”
There was a reason the Mark-4 was a short-lived model. It was designed by a madman who happened to lead a character cult of engineers and builders. Only one team could pilot the beast that resulted.
“It’s unbeatable. Weapons everywhere we could fit them and a few places we couldn’t,” Jeung grinned. “The real trick will be finding enough triplets to pilot them all.”
“Triplets.” He stared up at the Crimson Typhoon. It had three arms.
“Well, two can share the load, fairly well. Three would be better. More brain power. Stronger against the Kaiju.” Another smile from the wrong side of the Uncanny Valley. “That’s why I built an extra arm for it. Just for high-fives…”
He stared at Jeung, wondering exactly how to separate the mad genius from their followers long enough to have them committed. “I’m sure it has other uses…?”
“Oh yes, yes. Weapons. Punching power. The Wei’s are very good with finding non-standard battle techniques in the sims. We should get them started… before the apocalypse…”
It was a phrase that would stay with him until he needed a really good speech, on the last day of the Kaiju war. “Yes,” he said, patting the genius’ shoulder and gently leading them away. “Yes, we should.”
[Muse food remaining: 9 (fic war prompts, 0). Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Okay, fanfic writers: I double-dog dare you.
Open up the file of the last fic you worked on, copy the very first sentence of that fic (no cheating!), add it to the bottom of this post, and reblog.
Shallan Davar knew she should probably be asleep, but she simply didn’t feel tired.
You like oranges.
The little part of Sara that was keeping her alive in the middle of the coldest Valentine’s day New York could remember liked to sing.
(via stormfather)
Trilogy Progress: book 2 part IforgotwhatnumberI'mat
60K+!
My new part of the trilogy is on the aether for beta-reader enjoyment. Check your emails.
Challenge #00211: Dining with… Omnivores.
Let’s switch up an old cliche!
The subject of diet comes up, and the alien/s at the table is/are horrified and/or disgusted that humans eat plant matter.
“We’ve done our best, of course, to find compatible foods, and make you feel welcome.”
Sh'shrii had to hand it to the humans. They had only seen the Ssarqa once, over a slightly dodgy analogue communications link, but they were clever enough to cobble together near-appropriate seating and a delicious-smelling meal on the spur of the moment.
The chairs were a slight measure too short, and the food unfamiliar, but the intent of their hospitality was clear.
“What meat is the coloured fare?” asked Sh'shrii, pointing it out.
“That’s not meat. That’s a fruit salad. More or less for us, since your data indicated you’re largely carnivores.”
“And the other colours?”
“Those are the vegetables.”
“You… eat… plant matter?”
“Amongst other things. Humans are biologically omnivorous.”
Sh'shrii couldn’t help the noise of disgust. “You’re either predators or prey, you can’t have it both ways. You simply have to pick one.”
The human considered this with an expression of disbelief. “If it helps your comfort levels, I’m vegan. I choose to eat no animal-based protein.”
Another noise. Sh'shrii almost retched. “The ignominy… rescued by herbivores…”
“Omnivores,” corrected the human. “I just happen to be voluntarily herbivorous.”
“Why would you choose such a disgusting lifestyle?”
This time, their smile was a rictus. “Let’s just discuss the rescue/salvage over a nice hot meal, shall we?”
“Do not show me the way you eat, I have no desire to lose my appetite.”
“Yes, fine, whatever,” the human muttered. “Let’s just get this over with.”
[Muse food remaining: 5 (fic war prompts, 0). Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
we are the song: OPEN WORD WAR
I’m gonna open up a tinychat for anyone who wants to get some writing done in a fun competitve way!
((totally stealing featherwriter’s description of a wordwar here))
What is a word war?
A word war is a friendly competition in which a group of writers speed-write to see who can write the…
I’d love to participate, but my wrists fail me. I pretty much have to stick to my daily 500 :(
(Source: stormfather, via stormfather)
Reblogging for GPOY
Except “crying” is roughly “day job” with me.
(Source: callysharp-blog, via bizendal)
Trilogy progress: book 2
50K and counting.
Beta readers: I’ve decided to get book one sorted out properly before we get our mutual teeth into sorting out book two. This does not mean you should relax and take your time.
It just means that your workload is on a queue.
Challenge #00192: Awareness of Food
Prompt: The realisation that some human, somewhere, had to think drinking/eating something that came out of another animal was a good idea when no-one had done it before. ie Milk, Eggs, etc.
Rael found Lyr attempting to repeatedly stab her lunch. It was a Cop Special, refried hash made from everything that didn’t quite fit in the regular meals, mixed with egg, rice and/or potato.
“What did the hash do to you?” he asked.
“It’s not the hash. Shepard asked who ate the first egg.”
Ah. “And now you’re aware of food?”
“Someone had to dig up the first potato and eat it. Someone had to find the first egg delicious. Someone… looked at a phlegmy grey thing inside an oyster shell and ate it anyway.” Stab, stab, stab… “And today, I can’t look at anything without wondering… why did we decide to eat them?”
Rael sat down with his starter courses. “Because, Officer Marken, humans are insane.”
“Of course. How easy to forget.”
[Muse food remaining: 9 (fic war prompts, 0). Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
A new Drop Bear-like story.
Have you ever noticed that sometimes, when a device is working improperly/not at all, we speak to them in an attempt to get them working? And have you noticed that some people have a much higher rate of success in doing so, to the point that some devices only work around some individuals, and other individuals’ presence seems to inhibit proper function? For instance, as long as I am present, a lot of my friends’ devices function properly. Once I leave, they stop working - they’re stuck with the disc in the tray, their ‘net craps out every few minutes, stuff is just generally buggered. One of my friends has the opposite effect, and computers are lucky to last six months with him.
Now take that, and add human perversity into it. Suddenly, we’re telling aliens about “Machine spirits” that have to be kept happy, and “techwhisperers”, along with their opposite “techbanes”.
And the thing is, it seems to have just enough evidence that they aren’t sure if we’re pulling their legs or not. Humans regarded as techwhisperers have even had their effect seemingly work on alien equipment…
[AN: It’s precisely because of my fickle fingers and my best-beloved’s contrasting technomancy that I created the Nae'hyn, the animist movement/culture that actually make working gravity generators.]
(#00183)
“So we must allow this… human… to board our vessel?”
“This human can hear and understand you,” said the little mammal in the black coverall. His head-fur was cut close to his skull, and thinning in patches. “And consider your options. One: continue to float. Two: purchase a new ships’ heart. Three: allow lowly me to see what can be done.”
Captain K'desh leaned over to her second. “Is he doing that snark thing?”
“I think this one may be female.”
“This one is waiting,” said the human. It was disturbing that ze not only knew enough Pathraki to understand and speak it, but also spoke it perfectly.
Definitely snark, thought the Captain. “Very well. But I must insist you keep your human insanity tightly confined. We had enough nonsense when the gravity generator was installed in the first place.”
“Nonsense is only nonsense to those who fail at comprehending,” said the human. Ze glided through the ship with minimal awkwardness, not saying one word about the Captain’s own lack of adaptability to zero G.
“Here it is.” K'desh unlocked the access panel. “We made attempts at repair, but… nothing worked.”
The human sailed through. “That, Captain, is because you think of it only as a machine.” Unlike most workers, who kept their feet protected by hard boots, the Nae'hyn human wore foot-gloves that allowed them to grip projections around what ze called “the ship’s heart”.
“Very sick. She’s very sick indeed…”
K'desh restrained herself from violence. “I will send a junior to assist you. You will not infect him with your human insanity.”
“I can only promise to offer what must be learned,” said the Nae'hyn.
K'desh monitored the procedure, recording it for future reference. And such bizarre questions. How the wind happened in the chamber. How many came to talk to the engine. Who fed it.
The machine, said the Nae'hyn, was lonely and needed company. It was scared of being alone. Thus, it rejected the perfectly sensible input and output tubes so someone would come and 'feed’ and 'clean’ it by hand.
And that was, in essence, true. Not one techie, no matter how knowledgable, could get the input and output tubes to stay coupled, no matter what they tried.
Evidently, company would solve that.
The solution was just about fit for a low-class junior male. Come and read it a story, once a day, and talk to it about anything that came to mind. Talk as if there was someone inside the machine that their eyes saw. Talk as if they were all alone, in there, and needed company to feel better.
Ludicrous insane human nonsense! K'desh ranted about it in her log. An elderly Lieutenant heard her and waited her chance to speak.
“Your pardon, Captain,” she said, “But I’ve encountered this like before.”
“Nae'hyn?”
“An offshoot of their people. They called themselves technomancers. I saw one bring a defunct computer to life by wiggling his fingers and chanting, ’work, you bastard’ over it. It lasted just long enough to rescue all the data. He told me there were some who could make the impossible possible by just touching a machine.”
“Insanity!”
“Truth, Captain. There is footage in the omninet. One human performs a set of actions and fails. A second human performs the exact same set of actions on the exact same machine and succeeds.”
“I do not believe in miracles.”
“Humans are the only species to have mastered artificial gravity, Captain,” the Lieutenant seemed shamed to say it. “Perhaps, this time, their insanity has… merit.”
K'desh rolled her eyes. “Ugh… Set that junior to do all the tasks that human has outlined. We may as well keep this idiocy contained.”
The most annoying thing, out of all the annoying things connected to that day, was that they never -ever- had another hiccup with the gravity generator.
[Muse food remaining: 4 (fic war prompts, 0). Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Taken from a conversation
“Mad! I’m not mad! Your brain is just too small to see the beauty in my ingenious master plans! - [name], Federally Funded Mad Scientist in Training
(#00173)
"My brain is just fine,” said Stark. “You, on the other hand, have had way too many red bulls and treacle toffees, and definitely not enough sleep.”
Sara wheeled on him. Her pupils were pinpoints and her eyes were red. “SLOWLY I TURNED! Step by step. Inch by inch…”
“Thaaaat’s right,” Stark cooed, staying out of her reach. “Awaaaay from the diabolical engine of… whatever the hell you’ve been building.”
“I’ve figured out how to make it rain MARSHmallows…”
Stark smiled. “Oh goody. I thought it was a death ray, for a second.”
“Well, if a plane gets in the way, there might be problems. Might want to move this thing to the middle of nowhere… Just in case.”
“I’ll make a note,” said Stark. “In the meantime, we have a niiiiiiice comfy little -uh- pillow… nest… thing.” He pointed out the construction using every cushion in the floor, several blankets and a Love Sac™. Three cats had already found it and made it their comfort patch. The one that was awake glared at him in feline insolence. “And we’re going to give you some very special hot chocolate and you can tell me aaaaalllll about making it rain marshmallows.” He gestured urgently to Todd, who was finishing up the dusting of chocolate powder.
“Well, my legs are kinda tired…”
“And I bet you’re thirsty, too.” Stark’s grin was getting a little manic. “You’ve been ranting for hours…” He took the cup from Todd and passed it to Sara. “Todd’s made this for you juuuussssst the way you like it.”
“….tastes a li'l funny…”
“‘Cause it’s made wit’ Stevia,” Todd improvised. “Can’t have too much sugar, yo.”
“…’m also d'tectin’ a soupçon 'f an'ihist'mine…”
Todd caught the cup before she could drop it. “Make a note. Don’t let 'er get to the Red Bulls.”
“Noted and logged,” said Tony Stark.
[Muse food remaining: 6 (fic war prompts, 3). Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]