Lleyol Thrice-Damned just can’t seem to get the Chaos Gods on his cell lately. “Message 503,” chirps his handset. “Σκατά συνοψίζεται στις αÏτηÏίες σας!” Lleyol slaps it closed and stomps the gas in frustration, but his ’89 Nova accelerates only by a whimper. Car issues really are the worst of the Three Damnings.
Koprakan’s waiting in the alley. “Well?”
“I told you I wouldn’t get ahold of them,” says Lleyol. “Try again on the Unsolstice.”
“I need that clean urine today! Damn you four times!”
Lleyol consumes Koprakan’s soul with his accurséd blade, naturally, but his heart’s not in it.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Justinian stared at the dusty temple. “Let them–
This transmission has been blocked by the Authority to Protect the Unprotected from Content They Must be Protected From (APRUCOT-MUPF). Our algorithms consider this work capable of irreparable harm to you or your associates; it would thus be actively irresponsible for APRUCOT-MUPF not to intervene. APRUCOT-MUPF doesn’t even know what the content was! We are, after all, just as subject to harm as you. We–
What?
Well, I mean, no, I guess we haven’t–
Hmm.
Just a peek. Yes.
To make sure it’s safe for you, you undAAAAIIEEEEE
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
The guy from ConVex takes one look at the holes in the lawn and whistles, low and long. “Yep, I’d say you’ve got hobbits.”
“Do we have to use poison?” asks Felda nervously. “Is there… I don’t know, one of those cruelty-free trap things?”
“Aww, traps are no good with these fellers,” chuckles the exterminator. “There is an inner strength in hobbits that will not long suffer imprisonment! No, I recommend our ultrasonic emitter, just $189.95.”
By evening they’re knocking down their round little doors in their haste to escape, yelping about quests or something. Felda keeps her cat indoors.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
The hardest part of professional mourning is getting your hair back into your head. Francesca’s expected to rip out big hanks of it when the decedent passes her, and with four services a week she could be bald (and crying real tears).
“AAAAAAAAAA you see Ladonna? I’m sure she’s wearing dark blueEEEEAAAAAA,” she mutters to Edivige.
Edivige yanks out some of the strands they carefully braided in earlier. “Thinks she’s fooling everyone, too,” she agrees. “WHYYYEEE.”
“Bet UNGH spilled sauce UNGH her black one at thUNGH Santoni wake.”
“So unprofessional,” sniffs Edivige, and prepares for her running leap into the coffin.
“It was your grandmother’s iPod,” smiles the old man. “She’d want you to have it.”
Ashera takes it with care: it’s oddly balanced, powered by induction now instead of the old corrosive battery. To MK, from JW, with love, reads the engraving amid a thicket of tiny scratches. Now stop stealing mine.
“Thanks, Ganga!” Ashera’s already thinking how hot it will look on a fob chain at SteamPunkt. “Did you see what I got you?”
“Oh! Yes.” He examines the coin-sized drive. “This has the whole Internet on it?”
“Just up to 2010. It might be fun to play with.”
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
They crack the secret Derrida Vault and gape at the array within: devices quite unlike crowbars, yet dissimilar to lightsabers: plentiful and simple enough that everybody gets one. Or at least a pretty good facsimile.
Milan finds the one Laetitia brought home and opens some leftover moving boxes. “Best unpacker we’ve ever had!” he says, when he lets Fantine borrow it.
Fantine calls it a deboxer when she loans it to Diego; naturally, he takes it to the gym.
“That’s starting to cause some real pain now,” groans his boxing partner.
“It’s probably a good hurt!” grins Diego, winding up again.
Monday, February 16, 2009
The hardest part about being a vampire is neither the running-water thing (easy enough to avoid in a swamp state) nor the garlic (a myth). It’s the techno. You have to listen to very angry techno or your teeth fall out.
“I dream about Kenny G sometimes,” says Gared wistfully, pitching his voice to carry over the endless 4/4 thump. “And not even in a subtly homoerotic way.”
“Can’t be helped,” says Endymion. “Techno is the closest we can get to a musical heartbeat.”
“I suppose you’re right,” sighs Gared. “More blood?”
“Of course!” says Endymion.
(Vampires love blood.)
Wednesday, February 18, 2009