“Listen, you barking toddlers,” growls the grizzled commandant, six feet of white-haired slabrock, “I’m here to beat your ragtag band into shape and I will not spare the whip hand! There’s only one thing I need to know.” He draws himself up and sets his jaw. “Who are they shipping me with?”
The mismatched platooners trade glances. “Well,” says the serious boy, “we’re all shipping out tomorrow—”
“Them! The—the people out there!” The commandant flaps a hand sideways. “Which one of you! Do they want me to kiss!”
The jokester feels the camera draw in on him, and gulps.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
The contract has become so complex that it now autonomously generates more contract, and the crisis-response antitorneys are fighting like a fever just to keep it in check. It’s getting faster, thornier, wilier, and starting to strike back. It’s already sued two firms out of existence.
“We think this is the heart,” says Tark, laser-pointing at a diagram, “the subrogation clause. Kill that and the rest follows.”
“I’m no lawyer,” growls Romesh. “Dammit, I drill oil wells!”
“That’s exactly why we need you,” says Tark, but a wild gag order hits him before he can halfway justify the plot.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Rudith, as the beast with nine hundred names is currently known, eyes the biped and his awkward morning calisthenics with disdain. She had hoped, when he came to live here, that he might prove a hunt-leader or at least interesting prey, but THING OUT THE WINDOW THERE WAS A THING A THING MOVED. Rudith presses nose to cold glass, waiting, breathing, but the yard is still and at length instinct subsides. The biped collapses halfway up a headstand. Rudith snorts, scorning him as he laughs at himself, and BELLY RUB RUBBING BELLY ROLL AROUND BELLY okay he lives another day.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
FAKE GEEK. Constructed entirely of papier mâché, this cunning, lifelike object can fool even an expert much of the time. If concerned, inspect all the pixels or repel with inaccurate mockery. Will never love you.
PINTERETTE. So far undocumented by normal scientists, this mysterious creature is native to a wild and unexplored land. Thought to build a nest of precious objects and subsist on a single piece of cake for its entire life cycle. Will never love you.
HARD FEMME. Visible only under snaproscope, this glittering mineral rates 43 on the Mohs scale and naturally forms razor-sharp points. Will never
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Bucket peels off the wrapper and stares, because there it is: an impossible little gold rectangle, the telephone that will soon ring with a phone call from the Wozka himself.
“You gonna do it?” says the neighbor kid, awed. “You gonna go inside that crazy magic building and learn all his secrets?”
“Hell no, my family’s broke and this is our ticket out!” says Bucket. “I’m gonna sell it. I’m gonna sell it on eBay!”
They get an oversized McMansion and spend too much money on cars, but some of it goes into a trust for the kids, so that’s good.
Heaven is super awesome and perfect beyond anything you, reading this, can imagine except one thing which is that all the shirts are about three sizes too small and not in a sexy way. Everyone flies–not with wings or anything silly, but as racing beams of thoughtlight–but they do it with their arms kind of stuck out to their sides, pits chafing.
“This is Heaven, right?” says Eugene, his electrum trumpet voice only the littlest bit nervous. “We’re all sure about that?”
The infinite expression of all possible love beams down on him, and does not pick a wedgie.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
“The ceylon orchid is very responsive to changes in humidity,” says Syracuse, indicating a ragged little purple thing, “and the pendula there will indicate if the temperature goes above sixty-eight degrees. Stelitzia for raised voices, amaryllis for electromagnetic fields, and this little Ecuadorian will know if any of the other flowers move more than an inch from their relative positions.”
“This is so much trouble,” says Naff. “I could get you a digital security system for—”
“The digital can be hacked. Subverted. Disabled. Trust the analog.”
“How do they tell you when things change, anyway?”
She studies him. “They die.”
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Boss Monster is four screens tall and its HP meter is just question marks. It’s immune to exile spells and the secondary effect of RUNESWRD, has a 20% chance to resurrect a Crystal Drone each round, and cannot believe they cancelled the Kirksville contract.
“They didn’t like the accrual clause?” it flickers, a palette swap of disbelief. “They wrote the accrual clause!”
“DZZT,” explains the hovering Crystal Drone.
Boss Monster runs a hand through its horns. “>.<;;;. Call our accountant, okay? And use ancient technology to irrevocably alter the timeline so this never happened.”
The accountant has real problems with that.