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Rise: Tales of the Verse


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#41 Ryoma

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Posted 01 January 2013 - 11:45 PM

*
POPULAR

I Think Dad’s Dead

Alliana Wastia was elbow deep in a pile of junk, looking one piece of junk that was better than all the rest. There were plenty of pipes in there, but they weren’t what she needed—although that one pipe here? With the curved end? That might have some use later. And this, let’s see, what is this? A connector? A sciencey-thing? Eh, add it to the pile of maybe-useful-but-not-really things. That pile was getting steadily bigger, but it was hardly a problem, wasn’t it? After all, if something in there turned out to be useful, then by golly she’d know where it was. And that was the idea, knowing where everything was. She had a big stack of stuff out behind her house, and someday she would organize it.

Just not today.

“Come on,” she mumbled. “There’s gotta be something useful for channeling energy from one source to the—AHA!” She pulled out something that only resembled a curved pipe. But in reality, it was…A curved lead pipe. “Damn,” she sighed, and plunged back into the digging. She found lots of pipes, a wrench (her favorite one, so that’s where it got to!), panties (why the hell were they in here?) and many other objects that her mind identified quickly enough as useless. But she knew it was here. The thing she needed. She turned back to the device in question. In Ally’s eyes, it was a work of beauty. Held together purely by chewing gum and prayers (she used some bible pages in the back), it would one of Ally’s many masterpieces. A thing to bend time and space in half, and watch the world bend with it. In layman’s terms.

Of course, to anyone else, it was hardly more than pipes stuck together with chewing gum. But they didn’t see like Ally could. They couldn’t see the bigger picture.

“Mom?” Came a small voice from behind her. Ally hadn’t heard her son approach, but she could recognize his voice from anywhere.

“Brayden, aren’t you supposed to be playing?” She asked, still digging through the junk. Wait, what’s this? AHA!

“Mom, I think you should—“

“Not now, honey,” Ally couldn’t help laughing. “Mom’s about to bend time and space to her will. Again.”

“I think Dad’s dead.”

Ally’s heart skipped three beats. The all-important tube fell back into the junk pile with a loud clang. “What.”

---

It didn’t take Ally long to realize that Brayden had simply confused fainting with dying. After all, he was only five. And seeing his father collapse to the ground in a loud tumble seemed to resemble the young tyke’s definition of death as far as he was concerned. It was a concept that Haken and Ally hadn’t necessarily tried to keep a secret from him, but knew that it would be hard for him to grasp, and why hurry him along? He’d learn when he was ready.

It did, however, make for awkward moments such as these.

Brayden led Ally into her husband’s office, where she found Haken laying on the floor, on his back, with a hand dramatically raised over his forehead. Like a woman pretending to faint in old pictures. That was her first give-away that her husband yet lived. The second was that he was clearly breathing. His chest rose and fell in his normal shallow breaths. He merely looked asleep.

To be sure, she checked his pulse and saw that it was pumping just fine. She also, for good measure, checked the connections on his mismatched mechanical legs. She was proud to say that she had been able to finally create two legs that were pretty damn close to the same size, and he seemed happy with them. That, of course, didn’t mean that they weren’t prone to discharging electrical energy from time to time. Ally had found Haken on more than one occasion with his hair exploding out behind his head from all the energy.

Right now, everything seemed fine. The connections were good, and the energy they gave off was intact at a normal level. Then why did he faint?

She saw, in her husband’s hand, a copy of the Complete Works of William Shakespeare, Unabridged, one of Haken’s fifteen copies of the books. It had fallen forward, so that it landed open on a page with its contents face-down. She picked it up, and saw that it was open to Act 3 of Hamlet.

“Haken doesn’t usually faint during Hamlet. He cries, but crying isn’t fainting…” Ally wondered out loud. She turned to Brayden, who had wandered into the room and was eyeing her carefully. She bent down so she was more or less eye-level with her son, and gently asked. “Did you see what your father was doing before he fainted?”

Brayden pressed his fingers together, looking for all the world like a guilty child. He was staring at the ground, and Ally reached under his chin to make her look at him. “Tell me,” she said, sternly.

“He was reading a story to me. I asked him for a story. I was bored and—“ He sniffled. “Am I trouble?”

Depends. Ally shook her head. “No, no, absolutely not.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “So, you asked him for a story…”

“And he picked Hamlet.

Ally found herself getting a bit impatient. “Yes?”

“And I told him that I was tired of Hamlet and I didn’t really like the play and he said I was being silly, of course everyone likes Hamlet, and I was like ‘I don’t,’ and he said that I was just confused and I yelled, ‘I hate Hamlet!’ and then Daddy fell to the floor.” Brayden said all of that in one breath.

Ally blinked, and gave herself a moment to process Brayden’s breathless speech. “Oh.” As it sunk in, she couldn’t help shaking her head and letting out a small little laugh. “He fainted when you yelled that you hated Hamlet?”

“Am I in trouble?” He asked again, sounding nervous.

Ally got down on her knees and shook her head. “No, no. Not in trouble. There is just something you have to understand about your father. He’s, well, he’s very sensitive. Especially when it comes to any of Shakespeare’s plays. You know how he likes them so. Even I had to admit, in the early stages of our dating, his constant babble about the finer points of this play and why this play was more brilliant than that play was somewhat…draining.”

Brayden didn’t look at her. “You mean you don’t like Hamlet too?”

“I did not say that,” Ally answered, with a smile. “What I mean is that these plays are something very, very important to your father. He treasures them dearly. And yes, it can be a bit annoying to hear the same ones. But they are what he loves.” She paused for a moment to think of a good way to help Brayden understand. “Think your toolset that your father sometimes helps you use. The one that he’s no good with using? You know what I mean?”

Brayden giggled. “Yeah, he can never get the right screwdriver.”

“Exactly. Your father does not love tools the way you or even myself do. But, he tries to find some enjoyment in it in order to spend time with us. It’s only fair for us to try and find some enjoyment in the things he loves as well. And, maybe, you’ll find that some of your father’s own love of these plays will rub off on you.” She looked to the shelf of books, and let out a tiny sigh of contentment. “Do you understand, Brayden?”

He nodded his little head.

Ally ruffled his hair. “Good man. Now, when your father gets up, I want you to ask him to finish the story of Hamlet.”

Brayden’s face fell. “Do I have to?”

Ally smiled. “Yes. You do. It’s only fair, right?”

“Right,” he answered, reluctantly.

“Good. Now, Mommy’s going to go back to bending time and space. Your father will be up shortly. Okay?”

“Okay.”

---

Haken had a pounding headache. He was laying down on something hard, really hard. And his head hurt, in addition to hurting from the headache. He opened his eyes, and adjusted his glasses. He was lying on the floor of his office! What happened?

He picked himself up into a sitting position, groaning a bit from the sudden light. “Ow,” he grumbled.

“Daddy!” Called a voice from outside his field of vision. Haken looked for it, and saw Brayden standing near him, holding a copy of Shakespeare. The book was too big, and he looked ready to fall.

Haken grabbed the book before his son lost his balance, and settled it in his lap. “Brayden, what happened? Why am I lying on the floor?”

“You fell asleep!” Brayden said, laughing. “Mommy called it fainting. I don’t know. I thought you died!”

“D-died?”

“Yeah! But now you’re awake. And, uh, I really want you to read Hamlet to me again!” He was smiling from ear to ear. “Please?”

Suddenly, the aches and pains vanished from Haken’s body. He was on his feet in an instant, holding the book out in front of him. “Well, dear Brayden, there is always time in my busy day for a little bit of Shakespeare! Always!” He flipped a few pages to get to the Hamlet section. “As you know, my one-man show for Hamlet has been commended across the universe. And you are lucky enough to be able to witness it now!”

Brayden didn’t know what half of that meant, but he clapped happily. “Yay!”

“Now, let’s begin, shall we?”

Edited by Ryoma, 02 January 2013 - 07:41 AM.


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#42 The unknown

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Posted 02 January 2013 - 05:09 AM

Don't.Ever.Do.That.Again.

I thought you pulled a Klaykid with Haken.

#43 Burger Warrior

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Posted 02 January 2013 - 05:43 AM

I thought you pulled a Klaykid with Haken.


That is my new favorite phrase.

Edited by Burger Warrior, 02 January 2013 - 05:44 AM.

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#44 assassinfred

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Posted 02 January 2013 - 11:59 AM

I really like the fact that it was so simple. I mean, it took characters we all have come to know and love and told them in a simple yet classic family dilemma. Well done, Ryoma.

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#45 Ryoma

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Posted 13 February 2013 - 12:53 AM

*
POPULAR

Ryoma Presents:

Aerion Freeman and Haken Wastia

In

Harriet Obtuse
A Valentine's Day Comedy in Two Acts

Featuring:

Alliana Wastia
Axel Erachin
Natasha Erachin
Morgan the Cat
The Footman

And introducing:
Dustion Richman



Act One

Aerion Freeman had his evening all planned out. The only two people on the ship were himself and Morgan, he had a big tub of popcorn that he freshly popped himself (and it only took three tries to get the damn popper poppin’), he had managed to get a sinful amount of butter on the stuff to the point where it was oozing a bit through the container, and he had all 8 Pirates of the Caribbean movies downloaded to his TV. It might have been the day before Valentine’s Day and Aerion was alone, but he sure as hell was not going to be unhappy about it.

He settled into a big pirate chair and propped his tub of popcorn on his lap. Some butter dripped on his pants. The cat came over and mewed at him. “Good thing this here’s a bachelor pad, eh?” He said to the cat, grinning. He picked up the remote, and started the first movie, shoveling a handful of popcorn into his face in the process. The music began, and he bobbed his head back and forth in time with the music.

“A pirate’s life fo’ me!” He laughed.

“YAR HAR FIDDLE LEE DEE!”

Aerion fell out of his chair, spilling buttery popcorn all over the floor. “What in Davy Jones’ Locker is that?!” He said out loud, pushing himself to a standing position.

Morgan was batting something around in her paws, and it took Aerion a moment to realize it was an old cell phone. Really old. Aerion forgot he had the thing.

“YAR HAR FIDDLE LEE DEE!”

And it was ringing. Jonathan must’ve been playing some kind of trick on him, changing his ringtone to that silly thing. And settling it so loud.

“YAR HAR FIDDLE LEE DEE!”

Morgan took a step back, and crouched down. She wiggled her butt, and pounced the phone, knocking it about.

“YAR HAR FIDDLE LEE DEE!”

“Yar har yerself,” Aerion growled, picking himself up and choosing to ignore the buttery mess that was his clothes. He wiped his hands on his pants and scooped the phone up. The tiny screen displayed a number he didn’t recognize, and for a moment he wondered if people still used these things. Shrugging, he flipped it open. “Yar?”

“Aerion Freeman?! Is that you?!” An entirely too jovial voice answered. But unlike Haken’s contagious and since joviality toward life, this man’s tone was as empty as Aerion’s poop deck.

And it sent shivers down his spine.

“T-that you, Dustion?” He asked, trying to make his voice somewhat jovial in return.

“Oh, thank heavens, it is you, Aerion! I’m so glad you picked up! I had no other way of reaching you than this old, antiquated method, and I thought you didn’t use such things. I thought to myself, ‘That Aerion, he’s on the height on the latest technology. No way he keeps an ancient cell phone around.’”

Aerion gave a nervous laugh. Dustion Richman was, in many ways, the yin to Aerion’s yang. Where Aerion was rough around the edges, Dustion was refined and dignified. Where Aerion obsessed with pirates, Dustion obsessed over tea and crumpets. Where Aerion failed in life, Dustion succeeded. Calling them archrivals was far too kind.

Aerion hated Dustion. And he was sure Dustion hated him.

And he was also sure that Dustion loved to make a fool out of him.

“Of course,” Dustion continued, “I can see that you did indeed keep the old phone around. Nothing wrong with that, my dear friend, nothing wrong at all! It gives me the chance to extend you an invitation.”

“A what now?” Aerion blurted.

Dustion continued as if Aerion didn’t say anything. “An invitation to the most wonderful Valentine’s Day Ball on this side of the galaxy! Mine!”

Aerion’s hand clenched on the phone. Dustion was inviting him to a Valentine’s Day ball? Full of rich people doing….whatever rich people did? “What am I to be, the entertainment?” He growled.

“Huh? What? No!” Despite his words, Aerion could see Dustion’s self-satisfied smirk. “I would never! No, I just thought you and your significant other would like to come and join in the festivities! There will be dancing and bon-bons and all kinds of other wonderful delights.” There was a pause. “You do have a significant other, don’t you Aerion? You aren’t spending Valentine’s Day alone with a tub of popcorn and old movies, are you?”

Aerion pressed his lips together and shut off the TV.

“That’s what pathetic people do, Aerion,” Dustion continued. “You were always better than that…”

“O-of course I ain’t spendin’ my time doin’ somethin’ like that!” Aerion blurted. “I-I’ll have ye know, I’ll be there! Me a-and my signif-sign-Girlfriend will be there! Where is the thing?”

“I’ll send the coordinates to your ship. What is the ship’s tracking number again?”

Aerion gave him the details, and Dustion seemed all-too-pleased.

“Oh, what a delight! Aerion, it has been too long, hasn’t it? I do look forward to catching up! See you at eight tonight!” And with that, the call ended.

Aerion let his hand fall to his side, and the phone slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor. He didn’t know why he had agreed to go, but something about the way Dustion spoke to him seemed to really strike a cord. But now he was stuck. He was single. And he didn’t know any single women at the moment. At least, ones that were available on such short notice. But if he didn’t show up, he’d be giving Dustion all the satisfaction. He would never allow that.

He needed a plan. He needed help.

He needed Haken Wastia.

---

“Aye, lad, that’s the story,” Aerion said, staring into the ship’s big communication screen. He could see Haken looking back at him, blown up to giant size on the screen. The poet looked well, he had aged just a bit over the years, and Aerion swore his hair was even longer, but he looked the same. Same silly smile. Same goofy eyes.

“Well, Aerion, I apologize,” Haken answered, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I do not know any single women who would be available for such an event.”

“I figured you didn’t lad, and that’s okay,” Aerion said, resting his head in his hands on the table. “I jus’ don’t know what to do. Dustion always humiliated me like this, all the time. And—“

Haken’s mouth curled. “You misunderstand me, Aerion, I said I didn’t know any single women who were available. I didn’t say I didn’t have a plan.”

Aerion looked up. “You what?”

Haken’s grin was from ear to ear. With a dramatic thrust of his arm, he spoke. “It shall be the greatest challenge of my acting career! But, for you, dear friend, I shall do it! I shall play the role of your lovely date for this evening, and show that Dustion man how wrong he is! Together, we shall wipe that grin off his all-too-smug face!”

Aerion blinked. And blinked again. Silence stretched. “What are ye talkin’ about, lad?”

Haken didn’t seem perturbed. “Women are such delicate, gentle creatures, even my dear Alliana, though she may not look it. Especially when she holds a wrench. But I have studied them in my time, and feel that, with a proper costume, I could pull it off splendidly!”

“Wait—“

“Of course, I shall need clothes. Money is no object, and Ally and I are roughly the same size. I’m certain she has something,” Haken rubbed his chin. “A dress. A plain dress, elegant in its simplicity. Yes, that’s the key. Shoes. High heels. Those devilish things are impossible to walk in. But I shall learn. I have plenty of time. Several hours at least.”

“Haken—“

Haken turned his gaze back to the screen. “Aerion, pick me up at eight!”

“But the ball’s at ni—“

“I will see you at eight, Mr. Freeman! Ta-ta!” And the screen went dead.

Aerion put his head in his hands. Morgan mewed at his feet. He turned to face her. “What have I done?”

---

Haken found his wife on top of her scrap heap, holding a mess of metal items that were stuck together literally with chewing gum. “Ally!” He called, practically dancing up the steps to her. “My dearest Alliana!”

She tossed something aside into the pile, and started digging through a bucket, mumbling to herself. “The only way to contain a black hole is to put another one inside it. To do that, we—“

“Ally!” Haken called again. “While I know the two of us do nothing for Valentine’s Day, our friend Aerion Freeman came to me in his time of need. For him, I shall be playing the role of a woman, his date, to a ball hosted by his smug, stuck-up friend.”

“That’s nice, dear,” Ally answered, not looking up from her work. She pushed more tools in the bucket, before getting frustrated. She dumped them over the side, and started digging again. “Now, where am I going to find a pocket-sized black hole? I could make one, I suppose, or I could borrow one from that nice man in the alternate universe--“

“I’m going to need to borrow some of your clothes. Your shoes, your—“

“That’s nice, dear,” Ally said, once more. “Though, he did smell alarmingly similar to pickles, and I don’t like pickles. Bringing him some perfume may take care of that, but it’s only a band-aid solution.”

“And I will be out all evening!” Haken said, as unaware that Ally wasn’t listening as she was that he was talking to her. “Take care of Brayden, won’t you?”

“That’s nice, dear.”

“Superb! Splendid! See you tonight!” Haken turned on his heel and danced back down the steps toward the house.

Only when he left did Ally realize something. “Did he say he was going to borrow my clothes?” She paused to consider it. Then shrugged, and went back to her work.

---

“My, I hadn’t realized Alliana had so many dresses. And so many of them are just lovely. Oooh, a green one! Yes, this will do nicely!”

---

“My word, it sure does take a lot of tissue paper to fill a bra! I’ll make a note to pick more up before Christmas.”

---

“You would think tying a bra is easy.”

---

“Her feet are quite small. No matter, we’ll just squeeze and make do!”

---

“High heels aren’t so bad.”

---

“Not now, Brayden. Daddy is preparing to be a woman!”

---

“High heels are the work of a very, very sick man.”

---

“How much makeup is too much? Should I be this shade of blue?”

---

“Shaving the legs is just like shaving the fac—OH MY WORD! OWOWOW!”

---

“Thank goodness for clip-on earrings!”

---

“Zip me up!”

---

“And, I believe we’re done! I do hope Mr. Freeman will find me pretty!”

---

Why am I here?

Aerion brought the Crossbones down for as gentle a landing as ever, stopping in front of the Wastia estate. It was getting close to evening, and he could see lights from inside the house and over the scrap heap. Ally must be working late.

Aerion was dressed in a black suit with a tie and everything. From their mission at the wedding many moons ago, he had learned how to clean up nice. He had spent the whole afternoon wondering why he was doing this, and why he was going through with it. He had talked himself out of it several times, and yet, something about the way Dustion spoke to him strengthened his resolve.

Then he remembered he would be going on a date with Haken cross-dressing. And talked himself out of it.

At this moment, he was ready to call the whole thing off. He would see the poet, tell him that he changed his mind, and fly back off toward the stars. He would wallow in self-pity for a while, make another tub of popcorn, and watch all the movies. Yes, that was what he’d do.

He walked off the ship just as the door to the Wastia estate opened. “Oh, Mr. Freeman!” Came a high-pitched, screechy voice. “Are you ready for our big night?”

And Haken appeared. And Aerion’s jaw dropped. He was, for lack of a better word, pretty! He had his hair done up tight to his head, tied back and off his shoulders. It was freshly washed and gleamed in the night light. His face clean, and well-made-up, with just a hint of color on his cheeks, and a touch of lipstick.

The dress was tight around his body, but artfully arranged. It was jet black with sequins down one side in a loose shape, somewhat similar to a waterfall. It was tight around his hips, and somehow added a feminine grace to the whole thing. And, he had breasts. Modestly sized ones that looked natural.

If Aerion didn’t know Haken was a man, he would’ve tried to take him out on a date.

Some part of his brain was considering it now.

Aerion opened and closed his mouth a few times, but succeeded in only sucking in more air. Haken grinned at him, his voice still higher than normal. “Do you like it?” He spun a bit in a circle.

Aerion babbled a bit, before shaking his head. “H-haken—“

“Harriet,” Haken corrected him, with a grin. “I am Harriet Obtuse, a wondrous woman from the South Sector. I met the fantastic Mr. Freeman on a chance encounter when I was in a shady bar. He simply swept me off my feet, he did!” He clapped his delicate (and nailpolished) hands together. “He was a gentleman, through and through. I knew right then that I loved him dearly. He was the man for me!” A girlish sigh that should not have been pretty. “I feel so blessed.”

Aerion didn’t know how to respond. He just…didn’t. Words completely escaped him, and he found that he couldn’t move a muscle. This…this was impossible. No. No. NO.

Haken/Harriet walked gracefully over to him, somehow walking naturally in six-inch heels, and took his arm. “Well, dearest Aerion? Shall we?”

End of Act One

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#46 Aerion

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Posted 13 February 2013 - 07:32 AM

...What.

Not even a question. Just what.

I'm looking forward to part two. I think. :P

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#47 assassinfred

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Posted 13 February 2013 - 10:27 AM

...The hell did I just read?

...And why do I want more?

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#48 Ryoma

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Posted 14 February 2013 - 12:36 AM

((I completely lost steam on this at some point this morning. I am very unhappy with the results, but here's what I got. Enjoy, and Happy Valentine's Day!))

Act Two

Aerion was seriously questioning his sanity at this point. They were within minutes of landing on the planet practically owned by Dustion Richman, ready to head into his no doubt outrageous gala, and for the evening pretend to be in a serious relationship.

He had a man in the car, a good friend of his, pretending to be his girlfriend.

“Only me…” Aerion muttered, as he spun the wheel to the right, getting ready to land. Why am I doing this? Then, an image of Dustion appeared in his mind. The man had his nose tilted ever-so-slightly upward, wearing a grin that could sparkle in pitch blackness. He seemed all too pleased that Aerion didn’t show up, knowing that, in Dustion’s eyes, Aerion was a failure.

Aerion couldn’t let that happen. Not today. And not ever.

He spun the wheel hard left, and brought the Crossbones down. “Haken?” He called. “We’re landin’. You ready, lad?”

Haken walked back into the captain’s quarters, chewing on an apple and managing to walk in high heels better than most women. He smiled. “Who is this ‘Haken’ you keep referring to? I am Harriet Obtuse. And I am madly in love with you, Aerion Freeman.” His voice was higher than normal, though it sounded more like Miss Piggy than Julie Andrews.

Aerion could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. “Only me.”

---

Dustion Richman certainly didn’t skimp on things. The house was larger than the entire Crossbones and could easily fit four or five of it inside. It stretched up to the evening sky, all regard columns and gentle, white hues. It was a mansion in the purest sense, big, sprawling, and completely unnecessary. Aerion didn’t like it.

There was loud, tasteful dance music playing, and plenty of happy voices were echoing up from the garden ahead. There were bright lights, despite the late hour, and there were heart shaped balloons and holograms adorning the sky. Plus, everything was bathed in a sugary-sweet pink glow.

Haken had his hands clapped together, his eyes practically twinkling. “Oh, isn’t it marvelous?! Look at th windows! Victorian in every sense! And the columns! My, how tall do you think it is?”

“Don’t know, Haken,” Aerion answered. “Don’t ca—“

“Harriet.”

Aerion was getting annoyed with many things this evening, and Haken’s constant correcting of him was at the top of his list. “Haken,” He growled, “I—“

The enchantment left Haken’s face for a moment, and he whirled on the pirate, jabbing a nailpolished finger in Aerion’s face. His voice snapped back to normal, with a hard edge. “You want to make Dustion Richman cry, don’t you? Then you cannot break character, not even for a moment. From henceforth, I am Harriet Obtuse, your lovely maiden, and you shall refer to me as such until we are safely away from the ball later this evening. I did not go through all this work just for you to break it before we even get inside. Got it?!”

Aerion’s mouth opened and closed. He was leaning back, away from Haken’s outstretched finger. “O-okay.” He managed.

“Good!” Haken said, and quickly took Aerion’s right arm. His voice switched back to Harriet’s. “Oh, look, Aery! A doorman! A doorman to the garden! What a delight this is!” He pointed up ahead, and Aerion followed his gaze. Indeed, there was a doorman there, a thick, old, balding man holding a clipboard and looking tired. A line of couples was forming in front of him.

Aerion got in line with Hak—Harriet, and waited, avoiding eye contact with the others. He was the only jawhen in line, he realized, and while there were other aliens, none of them looked like him. He was getting a lot of attention.

Harriet clung to his arm a little tighter. “Oh, Aery! I daresay you’re quite popular!” He giggled, and waved his fingers at a woman in front of him. To Aerion’s surprise, she waved back.

“Only me.”

The line moved slowly, but Harriet didn’t seem to mind. She made eye contact with everyone, grinning and sighing happily, holding Aerion’s right arm in his and even resting his head on his shoulder. The latter made Aerion very uncomfortable, and he shied away. But, Harriet tugged him closer, and with a sigh, he let her do as she wished.

And Aerion realized, he was referring to her as Harriet in his mind. I’m going bloody crazy.

They reached the footman, who didn’t even look up from his clipboard. “Name?” he grunted.

“Uh, A-ahem!” Aerion coughed to clear his throat. “A-Aerion Freeman.”

“And guest!” Harriet chirped.

The footman paused, and lowered his clipboard. He eyed the two of them carefully, and Aerion found himself staring at his feet. Harriet, however, looked right back at him. “Is something wrong?” He asked, cheerfully. “I am just so eager to attend the ball. Our first one!” She sighed, once again, and pulled Aerion’s arm closer together.

The footman took another a moment, before nodding. “No, nothing is wrong.” He turned away, and placed a finger in his ear. He spoke to the air in a low tone, one that only Aerion’s sensitive ears could pick up.

“The guest of honor has arrived, sir,” the man said. The door then opened, and the footman gestured that they were to walk inside. Harriet took his arm, and together they entered the ball.

Once inside, even Aerion was impressed. He didn’t dare pretend that he knew what was fashionable and what wasn’t, but he was certain that this place was at the height of it. The garden was huge, perhaps even larger than the house itself. It had long stretches of wide open grassy areas, much like a park, though the grass was greener than anything Aerion had seen. There were hedges lining a number of stone pathways, and every so often there was a bush cut into the shape of a heart, cupid, or some other Valentine’s Day symbol. It was remarkably well lit, with light shining from every direction, and plenty of heart-shaped balloons and other decorations.

And the people, whoa, the people. More than Aerion had seen, and that counted their wedding mission. So many of them, all grouped in pairs. Men and women, standing together, laughing and sipping drinks and nibbling on appetizers. Aerion noticed, if he looked closely, that there were also women with women and men with men. His mind immediately rushed to Steven Stampson and Ghost Rider. Guess they weren’t the only ones.

He tugged at his collar a bit. “Is it hot in ‘ere, or is it just me?”

Harriet grinned. “Just you, dear. Shall we mingle?” And without waiting for an answer, Harriet led him into the crowd.

---

Aerion was suddenly aware of something. He didn’t like parties. At least, parties like these. For a long time, he had envied the people who could get into such events, those that were well-dressed and at the height of fashion. A small part of him wanted to be among them, wanted to join in with the rest and see what all of the hubbub was about.

Now that he was in it, he couldn’t wait to leave.

He stood near a punch table, and was downing his fifth glass of the pink liquid. It tasted like every fruit got in a blender, someone tossed a lot of sugar, and turned it on. It wasn’t unpleasant, but Aerion found himself missing water.

Hell, he found himself missing alcohol.

He nursed his drinks throughout the hour since he arrived, as couples wandered up to him. He found that he had nothing to talk about, and making eye contact was difficult. He stared at his feet more often than not.

Harriet, however, was having the time of her life. Aerion kept her in his sights, but all too often she wandered off on her own. He stopped trying to stop her, and instead just kept following her. Right now, she was in the center of a group of girls, talking about the men in their lives. For reasons even Aerion didn’t understand, he leaned over to hear.

“You know,” Harriet was saying, smiling at the women, a glass of wine in her hand that she hadn’t taken a single sip up. “Men are such fickle creatures. They want, want, WANT, but the problem is that they rarely do know what it is they do want. However, my darling Aery, is a man who does not have that problem. Give him a good spaceship, and he’s happy as a clam.”

“Sounds dull,” a woman commented. Aerion narrowed his eyes.

“No, no,” Harriet continued. “Far from it. He’s simple to please. But, boy is he pleasing!”

The women actually “Oooh”’d.

Harriet raised her hands, and held them about six inches apart. “Whereas most men are around here, in bed, Aery, on the other hand—“ She spread her hands to about a foot apart. “Is here!”

A million emotions ran through Aerion at that time, and as the color rushed to his cheeks, he dashed into the crowd of women, just as one asked “How does he fit it in his pants?!”

He gripped one of Harriet’s wrists, and spoke through clenched teeth. “Can I have a word with you—“ His eyes flicked around the still gathered group. “—in private?”

More “ooh’s.”

Harriet returned the grin that Aerion didn’t have. “Of course!” She led him out of the crowd. “Be back shortly, ladies!”

---

A word in private was next to impossible to have with so many people here, but Aerion managed. He dragged Harriet by the wrist and brought her into a men’s bathroom. Aerion didn’t bother to check if anyone was in it.

“What the hell was that, lad?!” He asked, sheer willpower being the only thing that kept him from screaming.

“What was what?” Harriet flicked a finger through her hair, still speaking in the high-pitched voice. Her eyes flicked toward a stall. “I was telling them about your exploits.”

“In bed!”

“Well, yes,” Harriet said. “They were curious! And I’m making them all like you!”

Aerion clenched his fists so hard they shook. “You didn’t need to talk about my…my—“

Harriet sighed. “Aerion, I wasn’t lying.”

That got Aerion to stop. “What?!”

“Your pants aren’t always as loose as you think—“

“And you were lookin’?!”

“Of cou—“

A toilet flushed. A stall opened. A man walked out, dressed in a suit that looked old. He had silver hair falling out of a cowboy hat perched on his head. He glanced up at the two of them as he made his way to the sink.

“Hey Aerion. Hi Haken,” Axel Erachin said casually.

Aerion and Harriet both froze, their mouths hanging open. Aerion’s eyes flicked to Harriet’s, but he found that he couldn’t move a muscle otherwise.

Axel turned the water on and got a stupid amount of soap on them from the dispenser. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Dustion invited Natasha and myself. We were excited to come here. Been a while since we had a moment, just the two of us, you know?” He laughed, making a soapy mess of the sink. “Did you get invited?”

“I-I did,” Aerion managed to sputter.

“Ah, and Haken’s your date.” Axel turned the water off, and wiped his hands on his pants. He glanced at Haken. “One of your boobs is sagging.”

Aerion looked to Haken/Harriet, and saw that Axel was right. Harriet quickly fixed it, crinkling paper all the while.

“Axel,” Called a familiar voice. “You almost done in there?”

“Yes, Natasha!” Axel winked at them. “Just talking to an old friend.” He went to the door. “Have fun you two. And, Haken, remember, you’re a married man! Aerion’s a catch, but Ally might not appreciate it.” He clicked his teeth together, and walked out of the room.

Aerion looked at Harriet. Harriet looked back at him. “Let’s get out of here,” Aerion said.

“Agreed,” Harriet answered.

Aerion pushed open the door, smacking Dustion Richman in the face with it. The rich jawhen stumbled backwards, and looked up at Aerion with surprisingly menacing eyes. “Who did—“ Then his eyes met Aerion’s. They changed to amusement. “Ah, Aerion Freeman! I had heard you had arrived!”

Aerion rubbed the back of his neck, and stepped out of the bathroom, Harriet at his side.

Dustion’s eyebrow twitched. “Were you two having fun in there?”

Aerion opened his mouth, but Harriet wrapped her arms around his right side and beat him to it. “Having fun everywhere, Mr. Richman. This is such a lovely party.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

Dustion looked surprised. “Ah, who is this, then?” He asked, wearing a false grin.

Aerion, once again, tried to speak but Harriet cut him off. “Harriet Obtuse, from the Southern Sector.” She extended a hand to shake, and Dustion returned it. “I can see that when Aerion talked about you, he was being far too modest.”

“Was he?” Dustion’s eyes flicked toward Aerion.

“Oh, yes,” Harriet continued. “My Aery is a far more handsome man than you are. He always said you were upper tier, but I disagree. There really is no comparison.”

Aerion swore he saw a vein twitch in Dustion’s forehead. Dustion turned to face him. “Aerion, how did you find such a… charming individual?”

“We met in a bar,” Harriet answered. “I was completely swept off my feet, you see. Aerion attracted a lot of attention in the bar, good-looking man like him, and those ears—“ She flicked one of them with her finger. “just blew me away. We met, talked, and realized we were met for each other.” A girlish sigh. “I’ve never been so happy.”

“Uh…huh,” Dustion said, narrowing his eyes. “Well, Aerion, I am surprised. I didn’t expect to see you show up. I—“

“Where is your date, Mr. Richman?” Harriet asked. “I’d very much like to meet her.”

“Brandy is somewhere over there—“ He gestured behind him. “She does not need to accompany me to the bath—“

“What a shame,” Harriet said. “To be your age, have this much money, and be single.”

Dustion’s face flashed a shade of red. “What?”

“Nothing,” Harriet giggled. “Come along, Aery. I desire some more punch.” And with that, she led him away from Dustion, who walked into the bathroom behind them.

“He’s single?!” Aerion blurted, once they were out of earshot.

“Did he point her out to us directly?” Harriet answered.

Aerion shook his head. “No…”

“He was hoping you wouldn’t show up. But you did. With a beautiful woman. And smacked him in the face with a bathroom door.”

Aerion smiled just a bit at that. “That was satisfying.”

---

They left the party after that. They didn’t need another Axel, or Haruka, or anyone from their past adventures to just show up and recognize them. They had succeeded in their mission. They got through the party, and managed to at least impress Dustion.

All in all, Aerion considered that a success.

Once back on the Crossbones, Aerion immediately stripped out of his suit and into his pirate ship pajama pants and old t-shirt. He petted Morgan, and started to pop some more popcorn. “I am watchin’ me movies, dammit,” He announced, throwing some butter on the stove to melt.

Harr—No, Haken emerged in the kitchen shortly after, dressed like normal. While he was hardly masculine, he at least didn’t look like a woman any more. He smiled at Aerion. “I think that was a success, don’t you?”

Aerion returned the grin. “I do.”

“We survived, at least.”

Aerion dumped the popcorn into a big tub, and dropped the melted butter on it.

“What’s that for?” Haken asked.

“Movie marathon. You ever see Pirates of the Caribbean?

“I have not.”

Aerion smirked. “Then you’re in for a treat, Harriet.”

Haken shook his head. “Please, I’ve had enough of being a woman for a lifetime. Let us partake in some ‘bro time’ instead.”

“Sounds good to me.”

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If I'm not the smart guy, who am I?

 

 


#49 The Arbiter

The Arbiter

    Arby

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Posted 27 February 2013 - 01:35 PM

*
POPULAR

100 AF
Leipzburg

The flames had finally stopped late in the night but it was the great church at the center of the city that was last to go out. When there was nothing left for the fires to feed on, they disappeared into their own thick plumes of smoke and destruction.

The front wall of what was probably a corner store café caved in. From the rubble emerged an HTRS-69 Rhino Assault Platform without the need of infantry support. Its guns scanned quickly over the destroyed intersection hungry to catch a glimpse of any fleeing paramilitary soldier. The little squad of three who rushed to scavenge was gunned down right in the middle of the street to three quick cries. Now satisfied, the automated gun platform began stomping forward. In the distance were bursts of gunfire – after all, they were interrupting a little war here on the planet. The distinctive Lost Children PMC logo serves as an iconic warning for intruders. The machine swapped to a cautious guard and began patrolling the intersection.

“All clear then.”

18-year-old Jäger Redclaw,still beaming with youth beneath scars and dirty fur, followed in the wake of the machine. He carried an assault rifle by the sling carelessly – his claws fresh with blood needed to dry. The Leprede scanned the wreckage around him looking for something but soon was focused on a brand new voice: the crying of a child somewhere nearby. Jäger sniffed at the air hungry to find the tears. He tapped his earpiece.

“Redclaw here.”
“Yes?”
“I think I’ve found one.”
“Good. Recover the child to the evacuation point and I’ll take it from here.”
“Yes, Okaasan.”

Jäger directed the Assault platform to cover him as he made his way into the wreckage of a destroyed prefab shelter. Every window had been shot out long ago but the real source of light was the great holes in the roof from bombs and structural damage. Redclaw continued his steady approach as the crying became louder and louder. When the Leprede was just a room away a second voice entered the fray; a man speaking gently to the child.

“Relax, little girl. You don’t have to cry anymore. I’ll take you out of this war and somewhere safe.”

Redclaw wasn’t about to lose his target; he snarled and kicked down the shoddy wall right into the room. He raised his assault rifle at the hip while pointing with a free claw. In the room was a crying human child being held by a tall Canis in a doctor’s coat and armored vest.

“Well, I guess I’ve seen everything now,” Jäger laughed to himself. The Doctor turned around but did not reach for a weapon or even raise his hands in surrender. Instead he held the now calm child in his arms and returned with a steel gaze of a man unafraid of being in the battlefield.

“Look, pal. I don’t have anything to do with this war. I’m just a medic,” The Canis explained. His voice was gruff like other Canis but well versed from years of reading. Jäger found a scowl growing on his face.

“I don’t have time for people like you. There’s no room for doctors like you these days,” Redclaw explained, taking another step closer to the unflinching duo. “I’m here for that child you’re holding and you’re gonna hand it over.”

The Canis brought the child a little closer.

“I know you people. You’re the disgusting group that’s been stealing children from warzones all these years. Profiteers. It’s sickening what you do.”
“Oh, really?”

Jäger slashed the Canis Doctor right across the face, dribbling a bit of blood onto the baby’s dirty clothes. The toddler began crying as the Doctor fell back against the dresser in the corner. Redclaw raised his assault rifle and lined up the sights on the duo to keep them trapped in the corner.

“Okaasan, I’ve got some sort of medic here trying to take what belongs to us.”
“What?”
“Mhmm. Somebody wants to play hero.”
“Every second we spend in this war is costing us thousands upon thousands of credits. I did not send you in so you can continuously sob over the radio. Bring me the child, do whatever you’d like with the Doctor. Just bring the child alive. Alive, you hear me?”
“Yes, Okaasan.”

He hung up the call and turned his attention back to pointed gun with a growing grin.

“Look, I’m not about to shoot a child just cause you’re pissing me off. Why don’t you put it-“
“Her.”
It down…and we’ll settle this, Canis to Leprede.”
“I’m not a fighter.”
“What?”
“I swore a vow of protection; I refuse to use force without a justified cause.”
“I’m not a good enough target to fight, huh?”

Jäger seemed to grow angry at the accusation. His hotheaded nature was overtaking.

“Look Doc, I-“
“Odysseus. Odysseus Timberfur.”
“That’s great. I’ll carve it on your tombstone. Gimme the kid and I’ll let you leave here alive, old man. Simple as that.”
“I thought Leprede’s had good hearing cause I already you no.”

Jäger dropped his aim and took another vicious swipe to Odysseus, who turned his back to absorb the blow and protect the child. Right after the claws tore through the shirt Jäger swiped again, cutting another set of deep slashes right into his fur. Timberfur spun around, swinging a nunchaku weapon and striking the Leprede in the face. The Doctor began sprinting with the child out of the stunned Lost Child’s range but there was no escaping the fury of Jäger Redclaw. He got up, charged across the room without a gun and brought his claws right into the Canis’ back. Although he took the pain with fortitude Timberfur released a yelp of pain. His grip on protecting the child didn’t loosen despite the attack.

“I’ll show you what happens to people who mess with the Lost Children!” Jäger growled, punching his claws again into Timberfur. The Doctor fell onto one knee, cradling the child with his body. Redclaw failed to let up; strike after strike, claw after claw, rending and tearing into Timberfur’s back.

After minutes of the torture, Odysseus’ paws let go of the child and his body lay on the floor, breathing slower and slower. Jager wiped his blood right on the once white-colored labcoat before bending down to Timberfur’s ear.

“There’s no place for heroes in this universe,” He whispered, before grabbing the earpiece out of Odysseus’ ear. A woman’s voice continued to cry out asking what happened or why Timberfur failed to respond.

“I’m coming, Odie!” The voice cried. Jäger crunched the machine with a vice grip and let the scraps fall onto the dying doctor. The Leprede picked up the baby with bloodsoaked hands and left the shelter behind.

“Did you recover the child, Jäger?”
“Yes, Okaasan. I have it now.”
“Really? The Doctor saw reason?”
“The doctor saw me.”
“I presume it’s all taken care of then. Proceed to the evacuation point.”

Jäger lifted the child up, examining the little nametag bracelet charm around her hand.

“Adeline, huh? I think you’ll fit right in.”

The Rhino platform pushed over a destroyed tank to allow Redclaw easier passage back. The Lost Children PMC had bagged another future soldier for a future conflict.


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#50 Ryoma

Ryoma

    There's something weird in Gravity Falls.

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Posted 06 March 2013 - 12:10 AM

I Picked Her Flowers

“Guild!” Haken called from near Guildenstern’s feet. “Be careful where you stomp! The flowers!”

The big mech held his foot up in the air, and bent his head around to look at the ground. It was covered in tall grass, grass tall enough to wave in the wind. Among that grass, however, spread out in thick patches, were groups of flowers. The flowers all had the same star-shape, but their colors ran the gamut of the rainbow (and many more colors that humans were unable to see).

He swung his foot back, and was about to put it down when he stopped. “Uh, where can I put my foot?” He asked the poet, keeping his balance as only a machine could.

“Right there,” Haken pointed to a spot of ground where only the grass grew. “Away from the flowers.”

Guild didn’t lower his foot. “Won’t that crush the grass?”

“Better the grass than flowers,” Haken said, hands on his hips. He looked up at the machine and shook his head. “We came out here to pick some pretty ones, after all.”

“But isn’t the grass a flower?”

“Oh!” It was as if a lightbulb went off in Haken’s head. “No, no. Grass is different. It’s, uh, well, it’s okay to step on grass.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” Haken asked, stepping around Guild’s feet to the flower patch.

“Why is it okay to step on the grass?”

Haken had one of the flowers in his hand, and was about to rip it out of the ground. “It’s, well,” He sighed through his nose. “I don’t know, exactly. Because they aren’t pretty?”

Pretty was a term that Guild was still trying to wrap his processors around. Even to this day, when he had made great strides in understanding humanity, there were still terms that he couldn’t understand. Love, for example, was getting clearer, but it was still a struggle. Death too. Handsome. Ugly. Pretty. Dull. BLT Club Sandwiches. These were things that his brain just couldn’t wrap around.

His foot was still up in the air. “So, because it’s not pretty, it’s okay to crush?”

“I suppose,” Haken said, leaning back on his knees. “I, uh, I never really thought about it before. It was just something I took for granted.”

“So, does the same rule apply to people? The ‘pretty’ ones survive?”

Haken gave a snorting little laugh. “If that was the case, I’d never die!” His laugh died in his throat. “Might explain how I’ve lived this long, actually.”

“No, I’m the reason you lived this long.”

“And, old friend, I’d never say otherwise,” Haken answered, smiling up at Guild. “You set your foot down, really. It’s okay.”

“But why? Grass and flowers aren’t that different—“

Haken’s smile grew a little wider. “I think it’s one of those things that you just have to accept.”

Guild nodded his head, not understanding at all, but he did set his foot down on the ground, if very, very gingerly. “What are we out here for?”

“Enjoying the simple beauty that is the Wastia Estate,” Haken said happily. “And picking a bouquet for Ally. Today is Friday after all. I like to give her bouquets on Fridays.”

“Why?”

Haken scoffed. “Because Thursday is Breakfast-in-Bed day, obviously! Saturday is work extra hard to earn Sunday-day. And Sunday is sleep ‘til noon-day. Obviously!”

Once again, Guild felt that he didn’t understand.

Haken reached down and plucked a flower out of the field. “This is a pretty one. Do you like the color—“

“You killed it,” Guild said, horrified.

Haken’s face froze. “I what?”

“You killed the flower!”

“I…” Haken looked at the flower in his hand, where he ripped the stem. “Oh, well, uh—“

“It was a life too,” Guild said, not exactly getting angry, but talking quickly. “Flowers may not be able to talk or move around like humans or animals, but they are alive. They live their days rooted to the ground, and die at the end of the season. And now you’ve cut one of their lives short.”

“Guild, it’s a—“

“A life.”

Haken’s mouth set in a hard line. “Guild, it’s a flower. A simple, pretty flower. You pick them for their beauty.”

“Oh, so now you kill things because they are pretty?” Now Guild’s voice was getting angry.

“What? No! I—“

“It’s a life, Haken. Didn’t you tell me that every life is precious?”

“Well, I didn’t mean—“

“And didn’t you say that every life was important? That none should be cut short.”

“I was referring to—“

“And that, no matter what, a life was a life?”

“OKAY!” Haken yelled, standing up and spreading his arms at his sides. “Sheesh, okay? I’m sorry! I just wanted to pick a bouquet for Ally.”

“And commit mass murder!”

Haken raised his hand to his glasses, and sighed through his nose. Once. Twice. “Right. I’m sorry. I guess I…I hadn’t thought of it in that way before.” He looked up at his friend. “What do we do now?”

“What we do whenever something dies,” Guild answered. “We give it a funeral.”

---

“Friends, we are gathered here to remember our dear friend, Flora Numora,” Haken said, standing in front of a small, shoe-box sized hole. Guild and Horatio were to his left, Ally held a surprisingly quiet Brayden by the hand to his right. At Haken’s feet was a shoebox where Flora Numora had been laid to rest.

“Flora Numora was a no-doubt kind, brave soul,” Haken continued, speaking in low tones worthy of the ceremony. “She was a beautiful flower, plucked from the world far too early by my own hand. I never meant to—“ Haken sniffed, and wiped his eyes with a tissue. Ally shot him an “Are-you-serious?” look. Haken didn’t look at her. “I never meant to cut a life down so quickly.

“It was a mistake, and one that I will regret to the end of my days. However, from mistakes, we learn how to better ourselves. And I believe that, now more than ever, those words are true. I shall never, ever, harm another flower again.”

Haken sniffed once more, as he bent to pick up the shoebox and –very- gently lowered it into the grave. “Good Flora Numora. We hardly knew ye. Amen.”

“Amen,” echoed the others.

Haken went about burying the flower, while Guild and Horatio watch. Brayden turned to his mother. “Mommy, I pulled a piece of a grass out of the ground before. Should I give it a funeral too?”

Ally shook her head with a sigh. “No, no, Brayden. We’ll just keep it a secret from your father. We don’t need a funeral for every blade of grass—“

There was the sound of an engine turning on. Haken snapped to his feet with a high-pitched cry. “MY WORD. THAT’S THE GARDENER STARTING THE LAWNMOWER!” With another cry, he ran toward his house. “WAIT! Don’t commit mass murder!” Guild and Horatio followed close behind.

Ally smacked her forehead with her palm. “He and I will be having words later.”

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If I'm not the smart guy, who am I?

 

 


#51 The unknown

The unknown

    Spec Ops Commando

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Posted 06 March 2013 - 01:18 AM

Haken's everyday life is awesome.

#52 Burngirl

Burngirl

    You are clear for takeoff.

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Posted 06 March 2013 - 05:10 AM

The Wastia family is the.best.family.ever!

Posted Image

Photograph by me, editions made in Paint.net

Click the picture if you want to see my photography collection.


#53 Ryoma

Ryoma

    There's something weird in Gravity Falls.

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Posted 15 March 2013 - 01:09 AM

So, I was sitting on the train this morning, fighting through Writer's Block. I didn't get very far, but then I had the idea of putting Steven in an apron. And thus, the hastily written story below emerged. Enjoy some Steven/Ghost Rider shenanigans!

Anniversary

Steven Stampson wore a dirty white “kiss-the-cook” apron over his jeans. His shirt was too small (as always seemed to be the case) and hung over the apron since he couldn’t actually close it around his chest. It made him look funny, he knew that, but he also didn’t care.

There was f***in’ work to do.

The stove’s timer was ticking away. 34:20 it read the last time Steven checked it. Which was two seconds ago. “Come on, you f***er, bake faster!” He gave the stove a little shake (little for him, at least) as if that would make it bake faster.

He checked the ingredient list for the umpteenth time. He had everything he needed, or so he thought he did. He might’ve used a bit too much butter, and well, an extra egg couldn’t hurt, right? Guys needed their protein.

Eggs…did have protein, didn’t they?

Steven shook his head. He could take the cake out of the oven and try again. He might need to. Or, maybe not. Did he have enough…stuff? Baking stuff? OH S*** did he forget the baking soda? No, wait, he was pretty sure he included that. Pretty sure. Fairly sure.

Not sure at all.

RING RING RING

“F*** ME!” Steven cried, jumping out of his skin at the sound of his phone ringing. He snatched it off the device and yelled into the receiver. “What the f*** do you want?”

“You didn’t look at the caller ID again Steve.” An all-too-familiar voice said on the other end. Steven felt his cheeks turn bright red. Ghost Rider.

This wasn’t the first time Steven greeted his phone call like this. Seemed like every time Ghost called, Steven was swearing at something. Seemed like Steven was always swearing at something.

“F***,” he exhaled. “Sorry, I—“

Ghost laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m used to it.”

“That makes me feel a f***load better.”

“I’m sure it does,” Ghost paused for a moment. “Steven, I know I said I’d be over today, but—“

Steven’s heart skipped a beat, and his knuckles turned white on the receiver. “But…” He prompted.

“Something came up. I can’t give you the details—“

“Like f***in’ usual,” Steven sighed.

“Yes, like usual. But-“

“Why the f*** can’t you tell me what the f***’s going on, Ghost? I want to f***in’ help!”

“Because you swear too much.” Even through the receiver, Steven could tell Ghost was smiling. It had quickly become something of a running gag between them. Steven would want to do something, but Ghost would refuse him because he swore too often. Then Steven would kiss the cowboy, and they’d both get over it.

Ghost had actually warmed up quite a bit over the year after the disaster with Elf Pirate. He didn’t talk much to others, but he talked a lot to Steven. At first, things were a bit weird, with Steven knowing that Ghost was struggling with personal issues. But what began as awkward conversation quickly turned into often light-hearted and (occasionally) flirty banter. Ghost wouldn’t swear, but Steven did enough of that for the two of them anyway. It was fun.

Steven was happy.

Steven had purchased a house with the money he’d been saving up (and the cash Ghost gave him) on a small, quiet planet on the outskirts of the galaxy. Ghost had chosen the planet, making sure it was the safest of the ones out there. Steven was torn on the idea. On the one hand, being protected was a nice change of pace. On the other, he didn’t think he needed protecting.

The house was big, and came with a butler. Steven named the butler Jeeves, even though the man claimed his name was something that wasn’t Jeeves. Steven didn’t care, and the butler and he did not get along. The butler basically did the cooking and cleaning, and Steven took care of the rest.

Ghost was gone a lot of the time.

Steven didn’t like that Ghost had to keep leaving, but the cowboy was insistent about doing so and about keeping Steven away from it. Steven wanted to help, but Ghost wouldn’t let him. So, Steven had to take care of the house. He went weeks at a time without seeing the cowboy, but true to his words back on the Crossbones, Ghost made sure to stay in touch.

But today was a special day. Ghost was not going to miss it, if Steven had to drag him here himself.

“F*** you, Ghost,” Steven said, choosing to ignore the truth in that statement. “You have to come home today. It’s our—“

“Steven,” Ghost’s tone was serious. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you f***in’ can,” Steven said, getting angry. “You better—“

“I’m not arguing with you on this.”

“I’m not…not arguing with you!”

“I’ll call as soon as I can.”

Steven yelled into the receiver. “You better not f***in’ hang up on me, Ghost!”

CLICK.

“AW F***ING ASSWIPER C***SUCKER PIECE OF BANANA COATED S***STAIN.”

Jeeves peeked his head into the door. “Sir? You used the ‘c’ word. Are you all right?” Steven swore a lot, but using the “C” word to describe a man’s parts was something of a code between the butler and Steven. The “C” word meant true anger.

Steven slammed the phone down into the receiver, ignoring the fact that doing so broke the phone. He sucked in deep breaths, resting both hands on the table. It was their one-year anniversary. And Ghost was going to miss it.

“I was baking a f***in’ cake and everything…”

Steven slammed his fist into the table and growled deep in his throat. “God-f***in’-dammit.”

---

Master Stampson was a good, if loud boss. He made his payments on time and was quite generous when he needed to be. George-not-Jeeves didn’t mind the work, most of the time. He got good money, and even got a little extra from the cowboy to keep his mouth shut and stick around. He thought of quitting only once, but that was when Steven decided that a frail butler such as himself should hold the punching bag.

George-not-Jeeves had not quite sailed into the opposite wall, but it hurt his back just the same.

Master Stampson tended to feel his emotions very strongly, particularly in matters concerning the cowboy. And today was no exception. After the phone call and use of the “C” word, Steven ran up to his room and bolted the door shut. George-not-Jeeves could hear the man punching something. Probably his boundless supply of feather pillows.

He was also shouting variations of the word “F***.”

George-not-Jeeves noticed then that Master Stampson had forgotten about the cake he was taking. Well aware of the occasion, he kept an eye on the cake, and saw that it was nearing completion. The ingredients required for frosting were still out, and George-not-Jeeves decided to take it upon himself to finish the cake. After all, he understood that Master Stampson was not in the best state of mind.

He was taking the cake out of the oven when the doorbell rang. It was an actual bell, too. This house had some features from the past.

Unsure who would be calling at this hour, George-not-Jeeves went to the door to answer it.

Ghost Rider stood there. His scarf was still on his face, and his eyes were dark as ever. He adjusted the top of his hat a bit, and put his hands in his pockets.

“Master Rider,” George-not-Jeeves said, surprised. “W-what a surprise. You just called, and Master Stampson was under the impression that you weren’t to arrive—“

“Change of plans,” Ghost said, his voice even. “Something came up, and I was able to get back home.”

George-not-Jeeves’s expression softened. “Master Stampson will be delighted to hear it, sir.” He stepped aside. “Please, come inside.”

---

His room was now covered in a medley of bright and colorful feathers. Steven had torn apart several pillows, filled with feathers of all colors for such a purpose, and was feeling a bit calmer.

A bit.

He had ripped the apron off but didn’t bother putting on more clothes. His house. If he wanted to walk around naked (and had in the past) he damn well could.

The doorbell rang. Steven was surprised. He wasn’t expecting visitors, and they almost never got any. He ran out of his room toward the stairs where he saw Jeeves talking to—

His heart stopped. Started back up. Stopped again.

Ghost Rider.

“Ghost?” Steven asked, coming down the stairs.

The cowboy’s eyes flicked upward at Steven. “Hey Steven.” He gave a little wave. He was exactly as Steven remembered him. Not a huge, hulking figure, but one of calm strength. He carried a number of weapons on his person, meant to do some damage if the situation called for it. His eyes were the most familiar. Steven had studied those eyes for far too long. He would know them anywhere.

Steven’s walk down the stairs turned into a full-blown sprint. He ran up to the cowboy and threw his arms around him. It was more of a tackle than a hug, and Ghost apparently wasn’t ready for it. They fell to the ground in a heap.

Ghost pushed Steven off and shook his head. His hat had fallen off in the fall and he struggled to find it. Steven, of course, had it in his hands. He put it on the cowboy’s head and tugged at the mask. “Welcome home, big bast***! I didn’t think you were coming.”

Ghost tugged the mask back up. “I wouldn’t miss our anniversary.”

“You did f***in’ remember!” Steven said, grinning even wider. “I wasn’t sure if you did, since your s*** call was all—“ Steven did a surprisingly accurate imitation of Ghost’s gravelly tone “—Steven, I’m f***in’ busy and can’t see you on our f***in’ special day.”

“Yeah, well,” Ghost looked down at the floor. “Surprise?”

“What a f***in’ surprise!” Steven’s eyes flicked toward Jeeves, who was in the corner. “Is the cake all set?”

Jeeves bowed. “I took care of it. Just needs to be frosted.”

“F*** yeah!” Steven grabbed Ghost’s hand. “Come on. Let’s make our anniversary cake!” He dragged Ghost into the kitchen, leaving Jeeves behind. The butler, fortunately, knew well enough to leave them alone.

He took Ghost to the kitchen, and threw him down on a chair. “So, where have you been these past few weeks?” Steven found the frosting in a bowl, and stirred it with… the stirrer-thing.

“All through the galaxy,” Ghost answered, fidgeting in his chair.

“Nothing dangerous, I hope?” Steven asked, spinning the stirrer-thing some more.

“No, no,” Ghost answered. “Never.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear.” Steven set the frosting down and took out the spreader-thing. Someday he would learn what all these items in the kitchen were. Someday. The frosting seemed a bit thick, but it seemed good. Nothing quite like sugar and butter, after all.

“Don’t move,” Ghost’s voice suddenly went very serious.

Steven acted like he didn’t hear him, and started spreading the frosting on the cake. He looked up from his work to see the cowboy pointing a big gun at Steven’s chest. Which, Steven was proud to say, was a big target. “What’d you say?” He asked, casually.

“I said, don’t move.” The gun didn’t waver.

Steven found himself laughing. “Wow,” he stopped spreading the frosting and shook his head, dropping the spreader-thing on the table. “No f***in’ way. That’s amazing, you know that? F***in’ amazing.”

The cowboy’s eyes narrowed. “What is?”

“The fact that you honestly believed that you f***in’ fooled me.” Steven dove under the table just as the gun went off, and crawled under it. Before Ghost could get another shot off, Steven had him by the leg. He pulled, knocking the cowboy off his feet. His hand slammed into the bottom of the chair, and then fell to the ground.

Steven planted his foot on Not-Steven’s-Ghost’s hand, and pressed until his grip on the gun released. Once the gun fell free, Steven kicked it aside.

“H-How did you know?” The cowboy sputtered.

“Easy,” Steven said. “1. My Ghost never changes plans. 2. My Ghost can f***in’ catch me when I tackle him. 3. My Ghost lets me kiss him when he comes home. 4. My Ghost never tells me his work isn’t f***in’ dangerous. And 5. You’re f***in’ ugly.” He kicked the clone in the head, knocking him out.

“JEEVES!” Steven yelled, loud enough for his voice to echo through the house. Steven didn’t believe they needed a radio in the house. Not when he could just yell. “We have a f***in’ body to take care of.”

It was at that moment that another body ran into the room. A body that truly made Steven’s heart skip a beat. A strong figure, not entirely in the physical sense, but in his calm and collected nature. He wore a dark cowboy hat on his head, and had a scarf pulled over his face. In his hands he carried a signature umbrella, and held it as if it was a weapon. Steven knew it was.

His Ghost had arrived.

“Steve?” he asked, running into thje room. His foot caught Not-Steven’s-Ghost in the head, and he tumbled forward. Steven caught him before he fell, and pulled the mask down. He brought their lips together, and Steven hadn’t felt happier.

Ghost didn’t pull away, but he didn’t let the kiss last any longer than needed. “What happened?” He asked, turning back to see the body of Not-Steven’s-Ghost under the table.

“He was trying to be you,” Steven answered, matter-of-factly. “He didn’t f***in’ fool me though. He did a s***ty rendition.”

A smile tugged at Ghost’s lips. “I had been tracking that one. I knew he was planning on coming here, probably to use you as some kind of leverage against me. I don’t know why. But I knew I had to make sure you were safe.”

Steven cracked a grin. “You didn’t think I could take care of myself?”

Some color rushed to Ghost’s cheeks. “I didn’t know if you would be fooled.”

“Really,” Steven said, his tone serious. He jabbed a finger into Ghost’s chest. “You think I couldn’t tell which clone was you and which one was a f***in’ fake?”

Ghost turned a deeper shade of red. “I, uh—“

Steven laughed. “I know you better than that, you b******. Besides, you called and said you weren’t going to be here. I knew you wouldn’t just show up without f***in’ acknowledging that.”

“I was hoping my call would make you a bit more alert.”

Jeeves appeared then, and looked on the floor. “Master Ghost, good to see you well. What shall I do with the imposter?”

“The usual.” Ghost answered.

Jeeves bowed, and grabbed the body by the ankles. “Very good, sir.” He dragged it out of the room.

“What’s the ‘usual’?” Steven asked, when the butler left.

“Can’t tell ya,” Ghost answered.

Steven playfully punched him on the shoulder. “Of course not. F***in’ bast***. F***in’ sexy bast***.”

Ghost blushed. Steven coiuld never get him used to being called sexy. But regardless, the muscular one turned back to his half-frosted cake. “Want me to finish f***in’ frosting it?”

Ghost nodded. Steven did so, and when it was done, he cut it into big pieces. “Happy anniversary big bast***!” Steven said, shoving a piece of cake into Ghost’s mouth. And then kissed him.

It tasted like frosting.

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#54 Ryoma

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    There's something weird in Gravity Falls.

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Posted 20 March 2013 - 11:10 PM

*
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((This is less a short story and more of an extended scene. :) I hope you enjoy it regardless. It's very dialogue heavy, but I think that adds to the sitcom-style feel.))

“Ally, our latest order of priceless china has arrived!” Haken called, hefting the heavy box in his hands. He did love the priceless china, which, while both incredibly expensive and incredibly fragile, lent a certain je-ne-sais-quoi for the place. He was making plenty of money from the sales of his book, and he knew that he could finally afford to throw the fabulous dinner parts that would make the Great Gatsby jealous.

All he needed was a near limitless supply of china glasses, in which to impress his guests.

The problem was that they came in big boxes and were terribly heavy. Haken always had to take great care when he carried them into the house, for fear of breaking one of the glasses. Usually, his darling Alliana would be there to lend a hand, but she was currently missing in action. She knew they were expecting the glasses, and yet, she was nowhere to be found.

“Ally? I could use a bit of help!” He called once more, taking an unsteady step forward. The dining room was straight ahead, and he could set the box down there. He would then spend his afternoon sorting the glasses and making sure Brayden came nowhere near them. A wonderful afternoon if ever there was one.

All he had to do was make it.

One. Two. Three steps. He peered over the box, keeping his eyes forward. The dining room loomed ahead, but something was strange. One of the chairs was facing the wrong way, away from the table. Haken squinted. How odd. And, there appeared to be something sitting on that chair. Something small, not much more than six inches tall. Brown, and green?

He took another step forward, getting close. But, with each step he took, the more his heart started to fill with horror. Each step brought him a bit closer to the terror that was sitting on the chair, a horror that Haken knew would his haunt his nightmares for years to come. It was the kind of frightening image that drew you forward, your mind telling you to look away, but your brain preventing such a thing. Haken had to be sure that what he was seeing was real. It could be a figment of his imagination.

He entered the dining room. The box of priceless china shattered to the ground with a sound akin to a glass skyscraper crumbling. Haken’s mouth stretched open, a scream ripping from his lungs and climbing to octaves reserved for dog’s hearing.

For, sitting on the chair, was the most horrible thing Haken could imagine.

Posted Image

---

Ally raced into the house the moment she heard the gunshot blast through solid glass. She had been in the back, her gloved hands covered in black grime, with thick goggles on her head. She was performing surgery on an apple, believing that if you cut an apple fine enough, you rip a hole in the very fabric of time and space, opening up gateways to other realities. She had been doing very well too. The blowtorch that Haken only sort-of knew she owned was working wonders, and that apple wasn’t standing a chance.

Until she heard a bull in a china shop.

“Haken!” She cried, dashing through the house. “Haken, where are you?!”

She found him in the dining room, huddled in a corner. He was curled up in ball, twitching and shaking. High-pitched mumbles were escaping from the little ball of her husband, and she wasn’t positive, but she thought he might have been crying.

Well, he’s fine, at least.

“Haken, what happened? I heard a lot somethings shatter,” she stated, rather bluntly.

At her voice, he uncoiled, but only slightly. “Th-that was the priceless china we ordered. I-I dropped the b-box.”

Ally turned to her right and saw the big box on the ground. She poked it with a gloved hand, and heard the china crinkle together. “Oh, well, no matter. I can use it in the back. I read somewhere that china may have enough energy to generate extra suns when twisted in the right way. I might be able to work something with that, though I’d probably need the nice man in the suit help again. He was very difficult last time, and looked completely different. Said he was running away. I thought it was rather rude of him, and I swear he has a bra of mine, but he refuses to acknowledge such a thing. I also refuse to believe that he can fit a swimming p---“

“Alliana!” Haken called. “You’re babbling.”

Her mouth clamped shut. Her husband very rarely interrupted her babble. Only when it was immensely important. “Yes?”

“Do you not see the terror housed in this very room?”

Ally blinked, and swing her head left and right. Everything seemed to be in order. Dining room was as she remembered. There was still a scratch on the bottom of the table that Haken didn’t know about, from that time a small rodent who called himself George thought eating the table was the way back home. Her plushie was sitting on a chair. The silverware was clean.

Everything seemed to be in order.

“No terrors here, Haken.”

He sprung to his feet in what Ally knew was a painful motion. He dashed to the chair, picked up the adorable plushie, and thrust it in her face. “Do you see this?!”

She flicked her eyes from the plushie’s to her husband’s. “Yes?”

“WHAT. IS. THIS!?” Haken yelled.

Ally blinked. “What’s it look like?”

“Me! It looks like me!”

Ally took the plushie out of his hands. “Well, obviously. It is you!”

“We’re getting plushies from fans now?!”

“What?” Ally laughed. “Oh, god no! I made it myself.”

“You what?!”

“Yeah!” If she noticed Haken getting angry, she didn’t show it. “I was supposed to be sewing up a hole in the ozone layer of Kelsoa II, but I messed up. Out came the most adorable plushie I ever saw! Look at him!” She held him close to her face. “He’s got ickle widdle gwasses and his own widdle Shakespeare. Aww!” She pretended to tickle the plushie’s chin. “He’s so cute!”

“You made a plushie of me!?” Haken all but spat.

Ally grinned. “Of course! Well, by accident, of course. But I’m really proud of it! It looks just like you!”

“But that’s the problem, it—“

“I call him Hekan Wistaa. Or, Mini-Haken. I haven’t decided yet. Aww, look at his widdle hands! He just wants to wead, yesh he doesh! Yeshedoesh!”

Haken sucked in a deep breath, and pushed it from his cheeks. “Are you talking to it?”

“I like him more than the real thing!”

“You WHAT?!

Ally continued unperturbed. “I think we could mass market these little guys. Get a factory that makes little versions of him. We could sell him in stores! Or, include him with copies of that expanded edition you’re working on. ‘Now, you too, can take home your very own Haken Wastia!’ Or something like that. I think we’d make a killing.”

Haken forced himself to calm down. It was just another one of Ally’s silly schemes. It was okay. It would be okay. “I don’t want people to buy little stuffed animal versions of me.”

Ally turned and gasped. “Neither would I! Don’t insult me, Haken!”

“But you just—“

“I am going to sell little plushie versions of you.”

Haken’s mouth hung open. He closed it, clicking his teeth together. “There’s a difference?”

“There is! A plushie is—“

Heavy footsteps broke their conversation. A shadow fell over the dining room window, as Guild’s upside-down head appeared. He was standing over the side, bending down to see. “I thought I picked up a sound only dogs could hear. I assumed Haken was screaming about something. Are you all right?”

Haken’s answer was silenced by Ally’s. “Just fine. Haken’s being a big baby is all.”

“I am not!”

Ally turned and used the plush as if it was a puppet. She did an alarmingly accurate imitation of Haken’s voice. “My dear Alliana, I am such a sourpuss! But don’t worry, I shall come around!”

“I don’t sound like that.”

Guild laughed. “Yes, you do.”

Haken glared daggers at the mech. Plush-Haken bowed. “Thank you.”

“What is that?” The mech asked.

“A crime against humanity!” Haken answered.

“A plush version of Haken!” Ally said proudly. “I’m taking them to market. Soon, all little kids will have their own Haken to cuddle with.”

“I don’t want kids to cuddle with m—“

Guild’s optics widened. “Can you make me one?”

“You want a plush Haken?” Ally asked, grinning.

“Yeah! He’s really cute!”

“No,” Haken said, the same time Ally said “Yes.” He spun toward his wife, but she spun away. “I’m gonna see if I can make a better one, actually. I want to improve the stitching. Don’t worry,” she said to the plush. “Momma’s gonna make you look all pwetty. Yeshsheish! Yessheish!”

“Can you make one of me?” Guild asked.

Ally paused. “A plush Guildenstern?”

“Yeah! Plush-Haken does need someone to protect him.”

Plush-Haken, in Ally’s hands, nodded. “I do,” he said to Ally, though her lips were moving. “I am ever-so useless on my own.”

“Well,” Ally said to the plush. “I suppose I could try my hand at Guild.”

“Thank you, dear Ally. But, may I also have a plush of you?”

Ally pressed her lips together. “You want a plush wife?”

“I am ever so lonely without my wonderful wife.” Ally aimed the plush’s head down, as if it was sad. “Please, my dear?”

Ally laughed. “How could I say ‘no’! Come on!” She held the plush as if it was flying, Superman-style, and ran out of the dining room.

Haken, even though his legs were robotic, sank to the ground. “What just happened?”

“Either Ally went insane,” Guild answered, “Or you’re about to have another soul of lucrative income.”

Haken was silent for a while, his hand on his chin, his lips pursed in thought. Guild tapped gently on the glass with a big metal finger. “Why were you so against the plush? I think it’s kind of fun.”

“I didn’t like the idea of selling my image.”

“Well, if people want them, doesn’t that mean they love you enough to spend money on you so they can take you home?”

Haken turned to face his friend. “That is somehow both charming and terrifying.”

“I’m sorry?”

Haken went silent once more, staring at the ground. Outside, Guild arranged himself to sitting in more of an Indian-style manner. “You know,” Haken said, more to himself than to Guild. “Now that I think about it, I wouldn’t mind a Yvonne plush. And Kanade.”

Guild laughed. “Why them?”

“I’d need Haruka too,” Haken said, not hearing Guild for a moment. “Why them? So I can recreate the bar scene on Vegas, of course! Plush Kanade wouldn’t stand a chance against Plush-Yvonne!”

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#55 The unknown

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Posted 18 April 2013 - 05:12 AM

I wanted to toy around with Zorn's past and how he's the coffee addicted alien mercenary and what happened to him in his life ... And I went with an average joe idea.

 

 

---------------------------------

 

Coffee and Wrenches, Zorn Beilur's Tale

 

 

 

It’s been years since the Battle of Varwo, leaving the Ralitks on the brink of extinction. Their leaders called for a mass exile before it was too late, but it was already beyond repairs. The species scattered through the galaxy, some seeking refuge in the more alien-friendly nations, others fled to the criminal world, but most of the lost souls when for the Hydra League …

 

Zorn was awaken by Mutg, a Ralitk from his Hunt Pack, with who he fled Varwo when the exile was called. They had been called back a week before the exile to serve at the defense of Mount Borgar, before they learned it was one of their last stronghold against the Empire, where countless vessels had been in wait of refugees. And the siege lasted a single week. Through bombings and charges of armored vehicles, they protected their people. They lost half of the population of Mount Borgar in the last three days, when they broke through the first rock wall.

 

But that was long ago to Zorn. At first they had to call mercenaries with a grudge against the Empire, who turned out to be their only outer help. Their neighbors the Dharung had already sold the planets to the Humans. And it was far from a fair bargain. After two weeks of bringing refugees on the various hired ships and stations not far into the systems, the Ralitk had no other choice, they had to find a new life. Some ships were set to leave for the Kahada System, where reports of refugee camps were good, and with the expansion on several planets and moons of the System, the job placement rate was higher than most. He submitted for it, within three hours he was already sitting in a shuttle.

 

Zorn quickly found a job at a shipyard near New Halifax, where he befriended a female Canis nicknamed Furball who came in for a class in space and underwater HMV repair. While he found the mechanic job suitable, he was less used to be on an all artificial structure. Discussing this with Furball, who later admitted her real name was Betty, she offered him to come back with her to her garage office, where she was looking for new employees. Zorn had to deal with her to bring some fellow Ralitks too, but she didn’t mind. Soon enough Betty’s garage on Edmonshewan was full of working Ralitks repairing various HMVs and farming equipment. And Zorn in need of coffee. Mutg had brought him a cup and took a chair just in front of him.

 

“So, what’s on the checklist this morning?” asked Zorn after taking a sip of his coffee.

 

“A new PMC opened in the next city this week, serving as a militia in case of an attack, before the army show up. They received the HMVs of their troops last night, and considering Betty is one of the few here to own a military-grade repair license for miles around, they’ll ship them here for repair. And they just had fighting some days ago.”

 

Zorn facepalmed hard, then emptied his coffee cup.

 

“I’m gonna need more coffee. What’s the first shipment?”

 

“Five to seven infantry HMVs. Custom, and from different origins.”

 

“Oh, this kind of PMC…” said Zorn while getting up and going toward the coffee machine. “At least they aren’t Empire-affiliated … They are not, right?”

 

“As if Betty would let Imperials walking freely around taunting her repairs. She has too many concerns already.”

 

“Where’s she anyway this morning?”

 

“She’s coming back, she took the truck with Mack. They’d be coming back any minutes now.”

 

“That thing can still roll for miles!?”

 

“Since they added a tank engine in there and added a crane powered by an HMV core, yes.”

 

“No, I know for the technical stuff, I’m the one who designed the repairs. But it’s still running on rubber tires.”

 

“Calm down Zorn, it’s good for shock absorption, considering the state of the roads, it’s still better than hover crafts.”

 

“Inflated rubber tires.”

 

“So?” asked Mutg, leaning back in his chair.

 

“With 7 HMVs weighting down behind the truck, 24 pressured wheels on 9 axles. On a rough road. A single one bursts and it’s hell. And twice as likely to happen because it’s North Federation produced. They are good at hovering technology, not with tires.”

 

“You are way too pessimistic. Stop drinking coffee, it’s making you stressful.”

 

“I am stressful when I don’t take coffee.”

 

“… You always sucked at math, didn’t you?”

 

“I’m better at counting the yards between me and my target along with the wind’s strength than looking at my own health, that’s why I was a sniper.”

 

“And carried around a mortar. You know, with angles.”

 

“I used it like a very heavy shotgun. Worked better than you think.”

 

“You are crazy.”

 

“That’s why we survived Mount Borgar.” Said Zorn while sitting back.

 

“We were in the turret handling and repair team. We mostly sat down and aimed.”

 

“Who had the idea to weld reflective armor plates at the front of the turrets to protect the gunners and use the light of the sun to blind the Humans?”

 

“… The same guy who removed them twice. Once to shield the doors with them so he could sleep, another to use them to slide down the damned mountain.”

 

“We all have to take a break at some point.”

 

“During a ceasefire. Sliding toward the enemy. With full gear.”

 

“I didn’t have my coffee.”

 

“You discovered coffee after the Siege of Borgar.”

 

“I won’t win an argument against you, Mutg, am I right?”

 

“Wait until it’s against a woman. I am so sorry for you Zorn.”



#56 Michaelangelo

Michaelangelo

    >mfw im judging your posts

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Posted 18 April 2013 - 07:09 AM

I've been working on a few ideas for a short Roxy story... ITS NOT DONE YET. :(


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Here's my Art Thread (it's German for Arthouse) and ArtStation.

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#57 The Arbiter

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Posted 03 May 2013 - 02:55 AM

Voice message from Boss Okaasan

Founder of the Lost Children Private Military Company

105 AF

 

Head of NEDA,

It has been brought to my attention that your government seems to have a problem with the Lost Children PMC initiative. Now, it's not in my place to run your nation; I chose to breed soldiers, not dissidence. I had hoped that our relationship would not turn out like previous UAFM conditions; the universe doesn't need more enemies. It's not up for your people to decide what must be done. You make that decision with every gun bought and mercenary hired. If defending this planet means that much to you that I shouldn't have to remind you that money is the blood for all of us. Be it budget or policy - I don't care. Just don't ever attempt to skim funding. Our high price may seem unreasonable but the results of my troops are worth every credit. These... 'Forgotten' terrorist cells are nothing for the LC but I've seen the damage they can do to planets and bases.

 

I expect the full payment transfer by the time this letter arrives at your office so I may continue to fund this little project of yours. It'd be a shame for us to simply leave and let the Forgotten come right back in here and take this planet, completely unguarded.

 

- Sincerely,

さびしい

Sabishii O.


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#58 Rickard the Bearded

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Posted 03 May 2013 - 03:12 AM

I don't think NEDA's actually a governmental body. It's more like NATO. Or something.

Edited by Rickard the Bearded, 03 May 2013 - 03:13 AM.

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#59 The Arbiter

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Posted 03 May 2013 - 03:42 AM

Oh, I know. But they have an office to contact, like NATO or UN. :P


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#60 Rickard the Bearded

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Posted 03 May 2013 - 03:44 AM

Also, you realize the UAFM is also part of NEDA? :P


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