#Tag
It was one of those days when nothing goes right. I managed to hit a button that wasn't there in the lift, and instead of taking me to the fourth floor, it took me four worlds sideways.
I've gotten used to it here, but I really miss dodo burgers.
It was one of those days when nothing goes right. I managed to hit a button that wasn't there in the lift, and instead of taking me to the fourth floor, it took me four worlds sideways.
I've gotten used to it here, but I really miss dodo burgers.
When I let go of the rope and dropped the last half-meter, dry gravel crunched under my feet. By the light of the torch, I could see that something had started to break the solid concrete. Tiny cracks had formed everywhere. Better be careful. Breathing was difficult through the tight filter, and, just for an instant, I was tempted to raw-dog bunker air.
"FUCK NO!"
It's hard to describe to a non-symbiont what it's like, your thoughts being interrupted by your own thoughts, which are not your own. I mean, I know which ones are mine mine, they (for lack of a better analogy) taste different. But still.
"I'm not dying in this shithole because you're TOO LAZY TO BREATHE!" Fran had a point. You never knew what old-worlders had done to their places, even if the sensors were happy-ish.
"Probably just some fungus, eating the concrete." I dumped a probe in a container and stared at it for a minute, just to see if whatever was in there also had an appetite for sample tubes.
"Exactly! It's weird enough in here; don't need no other hitchhikers." Fran was also watching the tube. When nothing happened, I stashed it and sent out our drones.
"I don't think syngus just evolve in an old-world bunker." I started working on a lock on the biggest door while Fran was busy annotating the incoming memory streams and making sure they were solidly stored.
"Yeah, we're a pain in the ass to raise." Fran admitted. "I'm a special little snowflake 🤣!"
It's also very hard to explain how emojis in thoughts work.
When I let go of the rope and dropped the last half-meter, dry gravel crunched under my feet. By the light of the torch, I could see that something had started to break the solid concrete. Tiny cracks had formed everywhere. Better be careful. Breathing was difficult through the tight filter, and, just for an instant, I was tempted to raw-dog bunker air.
"FUCK NO!"
It's hard to describe to a non-symbiont what it's like, your thoughts being interrupted by your own thoughts, which are not your own. I mean, I know which ones are mine mine, they (for lack of a better analogy) taste different. But still.
"I'm not dying in this shithole because you're TOO LAZY TO BREATHE!" Fran had a point. You never knew what old-worlders had done to their places, even if the sensors were happy-ish.
"Probably just some fungus, eating the concrete." I dumped a probe in a container and stared at it for a minute, just to see if whatever was in there also had an appetite for sample tubes.
"Exactly! It's weird enough in here; don't need no other hitchhikers." Fran was also watching the tube. When nothing happened, I stashed it and sent out our drones.
"I don't think syngus just evolve in an old-world bunker." I started working on a lock on the biggest door while Fran was busy annotating the incoming memory streams and making sure they were solidly stored.
"Yeah, we're a pain in the ass to raise." Fran admitted. "I'm a special little snowflake 🤣!"
It's also very hard to explain how emojis in thoughts work.
Your first solo summoning. Pentacle. Check. Candles. Check. Incantations leave you a little hoarse but your intonation and recall is perfect. Silver bodkin. Fingertip. One drop of blood on the right spot.
The fatigue slams into you like a truck. You appreciate the wisdom of a coven-of-three now. Must. Finish. Ritual. You stagger as the world turns grey; drop to your knees. “Oh no!” you croak as you topple forward across one limb of the pentacle, then darkness takes you.
GOOD MORNING MADAM. A cheerful voice wakes you. You’re in a bed. Clothed, reveals a panicked glance under the covers. “Oh shit I broke the containment!” you recall in dismay.
You lift your gaze to the room. A demon. Unshackled. Two metres tall, red skinned and…wearing an apron.
I HOPE MADAM IS WELL RESTED. I HAVE PREPARED TEA. I ALSO BAKED COOKIES. NOT THE MOST TRADITIONAL OR HEALTHY OF BREAKFAST FOODS BUT THEN I *AM* A MANIFESTATION OF ANCIENT EVIL.
As you sip tea and nibble a cookie (rather good, with white chocolate chunks), you reflect “well, this could have gone worse”.
“So uh, you’re a demon. Who bakes cookies….”
YES MADAM I AM ALIBRAXUS OF THE THIRD TIER. I ALSO BREW AN EXCELLENT GINGER BEER.
“I’m Sarah. I guess I messed up your summoning.”
I AM A FREE AGENT—NOT UNDER YOUR THRALL—IF THAT IS WHAT YOU MEAN, MISTRESS SARAH. EXCEPT THAT AS THE RITUAL WAS INTERRUPTED I AM NOW BOUND TO THIS STRUCTURE FOR THE NEXT 65535 DAYS
“Just Sarah is fine. May I call you Al? So what now?”
AS YOU WISH MISTRESS SARAH; BESIDES COOKERY I LIKE TO CLEAN AND IRON.
“I mean, is there some way we can get you back, uh, home?”
HELL, MISTRESS SARAH, IS INTOLERABLY UNTIDY. I HAVE NO DESIRE TO RETURN THERE. IF I MAY BE SO BOLD I HAVE INSPECTED YOUR PANTRY AND PREPARED A SHOPPING LIST.
"Will there be treasure in this dungeon?"
"I'm sure there are some silver candlesticks, but we're after the library."
"Books again? Last time we almost died just so you could read the final volume in the Nightraid Saga."
"This is the library and archive of the Dungeon Builder's Guild."
"Oh? Oh!"
"Will there be treasure in this dungeon?"
"I'm sure there are some silver candlesticks, but we're after the library."
"Books again? Last time we almost died just so you could read the final volume in the Nightraid Saga."
"This is the library and archive of the Dungeon Builder's Guild."
"Oh? Oh!"
Follow my logic here. Cyber eyes are mandatory on construction sites so that the site management AI can highlight safety hazards in your visual field. My health insurance covers these as a necessary medical aid. I can claim the insurance gap as a tax deduction. So why can’t I deduct my ad blocker subscription?
#Tootfic #MicroFiction #PowerOnStoryToot #Title_Necessary_Aid
Follow my logic here. Cyber eyes are mandatory on construction sites so that the site management AI can highlight safety hazards in your visual field. My health insurance covers these as a necessary medical aid. I can claim the insurance gap as a tax deduction. So why can’t I deduct my ad blocker subscription?
#Tootfic #MicroFiction #PowerOnStoryToot #Title_Necessary_Aid
Böses Fauchen und Schmatzen begleiten den Horror des narzisstischen Soziopathen, der sich wie der König der USA aufführt und gerade merkt, dass sein eigenes gnadenloses Maul ein Eigenleben entwickelt hat und sich nun in seinem Arsche verbeißt und ihn langsam, sehr langsam, brutal zerreißt und verschlingt. Er schreit vor Entsetzen, aber es nützt nichts.
Stil: Metal, rythmisch, eskalierend.
Output: Song-Generator Lami
Böses Fauchen und Schmatzen begleiten den Horror des narzisstischen Soziopathen, der sich wie der König der USA aufführt und gerade merkt, dass sein eigenes gnadenloses Maul ein Eigenleben entwickelt hat und sich nun in seinem Arsche verbeißt und ihn langsam, sehr langsam, brutal zerreißt und verschlingt. Er schreit vor Entsetzen, aber es nützt nichts.
Stil: Metal, rythmisch, eskalierend.
Output: Song-Generator Lami
It is hard to admit ignorance, so when one of the new recruits to the Pangalactic Bureaucracy raised a tentacle with a question, Xtrrt let them ask.
"What is 'fafo quotient'?"
"A Human term. Fuckaroundment over Findoutability. We stay over 2.718. Humans..." Xtrrt paused. "... hope for over 1."
It is hard to admit ignorance, so when one of the new recruits to the Pangalactic Bureaucracy raised a tentacle with a question, Xtrrt let them ask.
"What is 'fafo quotient'?"
"A Human term. Fuckaroundment over Findoutability. We stay over 2.718. Humans..." Xtrrt paused. "... hope for over 1."
In his house at R'lyeh, dread Cthulhu lies dreaming. There is a nudge on his back.
"Fgimb?" eldritch Cthulhu mumbles.
"Scoot over a bit."
The elder god complies, and soon resumes dreaming.
Being spooned alters the dreams.
"Mhrrm..."
"Yes, it's nice."
The visitor snuggles in and falls asleep.
