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Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Part XVI

The much awaited Part XVI of HAW:WE. Enjoy ya’ll, and feel free to reblog and comment!

Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV >> Part XV >> Part XVI

Days were lost in the ship and Vallion thought they would lose their mind as well before the monotonous routine would break, but as luck would have it, that was not the case. For the first time in their life, Vallion understood the human expression about an undercurrent running through a place or group of people because that is what they felt. A great undercurrent running through the guards and the other prisoners. Wherever their destination was, they were soon to arrive at it.

Solitary confinement did things to one’s mind, and Balough almost thought she lost hers when the guards arrived at her cell one day? Hour? Minute? God, Jesus, and the Virgin Mother only knew-- They came and they did not have her usual tray of food. They had a large, bulky ring in-hand and a line of prisoners linked together by said ring around their necks like collars. It’s time, was the only thought to cross her mind before they reached their final destination.

Like a chain gang from the early days of the former United States, Murakami watched her crew and the other prisoners were lined up in the hull of the ship, guards on all sides. “Take a good, long look at these verman,” wheezed Zeelot as they clamped their appendages around her shoulders, “because you’ll never see them again.” A cold chill ran down along Murakami’s spine. For some reason, Zeelot was more menacing than usual. Don’t let them rattle you, she thought to herself as she slowly nodded at the grotesque lifeform. You’ll see your crew again. You will. After all the prisoners were gathered, Zeelot hollered to unload them and thus began their first trek off the ship and into the Auction.

As soon as everyone was shuffled off the Frek’jon, they entered a setting of which Vallion was familiar due to ancient and historical Earthen films and animations: A bazaar. All around them, lifeforms of all shapes and sizes, of species they never thought could exist, were present. They hollered, screamed, screeched, beckoned, and haggled each other. The colors of the bazaar were as bright as neon lights and as dim as a dying lightbulb decorated the stalls, along with their merchandise. A bazar is louder than I thought.

Vallion couldn’t help gawking at all they saw until they noticed the humans sprinkled in among the aliens.

And the human body parts.

Human.

Body.

Parts.

I think I’m going to be sick.

Vallion covered their muzzle with their clawed hands and looked away, noticing many of their crewmates were the same, some of them vomiting, others collapsing onto their knees and crying. The humans were the most affected by the sight. The mental images are already seared into our brains. Arms and legs. Heads. Torsos. Even whole bodies.

And all of them were of young humans. Teenagers, prepubescent children, and infants. Their bodies were displayed among other meats that Vallion didn’t even want to know were. Some of the children were still alive, in pens and paddocks, huddled together, gripping each other for dear life. No...

Vallion almost cried with relief when they all were finally marched out of the bazaar streets and into the central building that towered over all the buildings and dwellings.

Inside the building was a chaos on a different level than the bazaar: Lifeforms, draped in skins of other creatures and in fine clothes, filled the hallways with who Vallion interpreted as servants and slaves, robots and androids, flanking their sides. The atmosphere was quieter, but the undercurrent was stronger than on the Frek’jon.

Vallion was immediately separated from his crewmates, from the human and the H’hish who were also separated from each other. Vallion was pushed into a separate hallway, isolated from the chaos in the main hallway. We must be at the Auction, they thought as they were roughly jostled into another holding cell. And now it’s just a waiting game.

[humansareweirdsedition]

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Sketches II

Sketches I

Here is another sketch dump. I drew the two large sketches during jury duty, an event which wasted two days of my life and ten dollars (for the RTA) without actually doing anything. I literally sat doing nothing, but texting my friend for hours in the Court of Common Pleas the first day. The Wednesday for my second day (because Tuesday was the fourth of July 2017).

The small sketches I drew recently because I believe I should start small when I’m practicing my art skills and facial expressions are easier to draw than entire alien and/or human bodies. Plus, these sketches let you see my (poor) attempts at sketching the HAW:WE characters.

This first sketch I drew in its entirety during jury duty. I think it’s cute, but a massive waste of space. The H’hish is a random one and I can’t even recall if I had a H’hish in mind when drawing, but if I did, Jay’va and Vallion are the top two on my list.

The second sketch I began and almost finished during jury duty, but because *anatomy* I gave up for another day. Fast forward to 5/27/18 and I finished the sketch by being so lazy. You all can clearly see how lazy I became. Also, I just wanted to avoid anatomy.

The next two pages of sketches I drew 5/27/18 and 5/28/18. I think these ones are better. They include characters that you know along with those characters yet to be introduced officially, but have been active participants, and those characters not yet in the story.

[humansareweirdsedition]

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Part XV

Here is your long-awaited update. Enjoy everyone.

Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV >> Part XV

From their quarters, Zeelot perused, after Wilks, Vallion, and the dulgo incinerated Krellion and the other kulgo, stormed the control room of the Frek’jon. The blast had not the power to damage the technology in the room ——only its occupants. On another monitor, they glanced over at the med bay where the other dulgo tended to their humans, placing them in cryo-pods and healing units, and guarding them with a ferocity not seen among H’hish. Even Mel, Krellion’s prized pet, along with the other cargo, aided the rebelling dulgo and their humans. This crew was something to be seen——a unique entity that Zeelot would be sure to crush before this rebellion happened once again.

Turning away from the monitors, Zeelot seized their broken servant-droid, shook out of the useless droid their switchkey, and turned back to the control console in which they made good use of said switchkey. Hidden in the console’s façade laid a device beyond the understanding of any lifeform on this vessel——or in any sector of the universe. If the twenty-fifth time does not take, then I must return to the beginning with this crew. Because Zeelot never had to reset more than two times for any crew they were commissioned to take, yet this crew managed to break that record. Each member presented new and unique challenges——and problems. Currently, the dulgo were now at Zeelot’s quarters, likely ready to slaughter them as the group already attempted numerous times before.

As the group knocked down the door, Zeelot activated the device and used the switchkey. Zeelot saw the flabbergasted expressions on the dulgo before they disappeared to reset the past events.

In the dimness of her vision, in the increasing silence of her surroundings, Balogh could discern a single voice——a voice she never thought she would ever hear again; surely they had been killed amongst the other Pollikon guards, but no, cradling her in their arms was Wilks, screaming her name until their voice grew hoarse. She could not help the smile that crept its way onto her face; Wilks was precious; they were her friend, even as everything fell apart and even as she withered away in their arms. “H-Hey Wilks...wha-what took ya so, so long?” she managed to stutter out with a strained laugh, each breath painful as the last, worse than the hot-iron that had seared her flesh from before.

However, Wilks appeared not to be in a laughing mood, and instead, they shushed her, saying, “The dying shouldn’t make jokes while the healthy are trying to save them.” Balogh attempted to laugh, but the pain convulsed through her body. “See what I mean?” asked Wilks, their voice cracking with tears as they adjusted something on her face, something over her mouth. “Once your better, I’ll explain, but for now, rest my dear friend because we still have much to do.”

With what little strength she had left, Balogh managed to grin like a fool before she slipped into unconsciousness and asking herself if Pollikons could cry. If they could, then she knew her crewmates were in good hands and she trusted Wilks would protect them all like they protected her.

.

.

.

Balogh lied flat on her back, staring at the ceiling because nothing else could be done while she resided in the isolation cell from Hell: the room was two metres by two metres by three metres, with a small toiletry area that took up less than one-third of the floor space, leaving her enough room to perform crunches or push-ups, or pray to the Holy Father, but nothing much else. She could stand comfortably enough, but who wanted to stand when the guards, when they made their rounds or delivered her meals, took every opportunity they had to assault her, harm her enough where she would not need to be taken to the med bay, but enough where her spirit lied scattered on the ground, crushed. Yet.

Yet.

Yet.

Yet I continue having those weird dreams. The other ones were vile, but this one feels as real as where I now lay. In that dream, a dream where she lied helpless, in writhing pain, a Pollikon acted as her friend during an escape attempt from the Frek’jon, but she knew no Pollikon held compassion or a moral conscious. No, the Pollikon was her friend. A good friend. A kind friend. How odd of her to think up such a thing. Must be my mind spiraling into insanity. Many days locked in the henhouse makes any soul mad.

Sighing, Balogh sat up and stared at the cell door, willing the dream from her mind. Nothing good comes from false hope, especially when no hope existed. No, the word shot through her heart like a bullet and brought the rest of the words of her bunică once told her when she was a small child. ‘Hope always exists, my little nepoată. When the sun disappears behind the clouds, it has not vanished forever, but temporarily hidden from sight. Hope is like the sun; sometimes we see hope as obviously as we see the sun in the sky, but some days, the sun disappears behind the clouds, and we remain uncertain when we will see it once again. We may feel the sun has gone for good, yet it still exists behind those clouds, we just have to search for it, hold on and believe we will feel its warmth once again. My little Lillie, never doubt hope because to doubt hope is to doubt the sun will shine once again. The sun will always shine and hope will always exist. Yes. Hope is never lost. Never.’

Yes. Hope is never lost. Never.

On her feet, Balogh felt a surge of energy she had not felt in many days and busted out laughing, releasing all her nerves, anxieties, and emotions at once. Come what may, she would not lose hope and she would continue fighting for the freedom of her and her crewmates. As she continued to laugh, Balogh felt tears stream down her face before they morphed into sobs. Three months of isolation; no one to speak to; no friend to be had; abuse of all sorts; and all her pent up emotions overflowed, overwhelming her, wracking her body like the flu, leaving her helpless and weak. So. Very. Weak.

I will escape one day. Maybe not now, but one day.

Murakami busied herself with work, avoiding Snell, Krellion, and Mel as much as possible, knowing if she crossed any of them, misery only awaited her because, despite how she was now property of Captain Zeelot, a slave remained a slave no matter the species or the name. She learned her future would only be filled with the contests against her very life; and the exact moment she woke up from her medically-induced coma introduced her to the new life planned for her. Never had she felt so powerless as she did now. Just thinking about that moment when her life changed...hurt.

Head throbbing, Murakami massaged her temples as she recalled the moment she woke up on the Frek’jon. She had crack opened her eyes and immediately winced at the blindingly bright lights of the room. She dared not open her eyes all the way, cracking them open little by little until her vision adjusted to the light. However, she instantly and deeply regretted that decision because before her was the ugliest lifeform she had ever seen, and that lifeform was Captain Zeelot, who, for some inexplicable reason, had little patience with her repulsion of their appearance.

Zeelot had seized her by her shirt collar and brought her face mere inches from their own foul face. Zeelot spouted out the most confidant personal information about her that not even her crew knew, from her social security number to her bank account balance. Murakami knew not how Zeelot knew her personal details beyond what her crew knew, but then again, her mind was a mess at the time, and, because her mind was a mess, she could only dumbly stare as Zeelot threatened her with more information. They told her about the Frek’jon’s surgeon, Krellion, and how he could revive the dead. How he could revive her, should she die after crossing anyone on the ship, only for Zeelot to kill her again. And again. And again.

Murakami coughed when Zeelot finally released their death-grip on her, taking deep, cleansing breaths.

After that incident, Murakami had to appear on a holo-vid before her scattered crew, repeating prepared words to them while trepidation loomed around her. Zeelot had shown her vids of previous ship commanders, humans and never aliens, being beaten to death for defying orders. The aliens, she was later informed, never fussed. They accepted their fates. Only the humans and the aliens who were closely bonded to them, fought.

Heaving a long sigh, Murakami dispelled the memories as she focused on the present, which involved basic grunt work. Until Zeelot had the rest of her crew off their ship, they did not trust her with the ship’s important mechanics. Zeelot’s smart, she thought as she cleaned the lower halls of the ship, but not smart enough. When my crew is scattered, I’ll overtake this ship and find my crew again because I am as much of a happy-go-lucky idiot as the rest of them.

As she cleaned, Murakami whistled a tune from the latest anime her children watched.

[humansareweirdsedition]

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Part V

We last left off with Cyborg, Jay’va, and their crew trapped in the hangar control room after the hangar doors disappeared when the lights returned. What caused this you ask? Just read the story.

Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV

Jay’va stared out at the hangar, watching as its walls bent with the pressure change. The ship rocked again as the hangar walls collapsed. Her mind was numbly aware that the hangar was reaching an equilibrium with the low pressure of outer space. She couldn’t even feel her three stomachs drop.

Sish. Sish. Sish. Her mind continuously cursed their situation while her body worked mechanically. She was ordering the others to don their lightweight EMUs, helping them dress and check their oxygen saturation levels and air filtration systems. We need to evacuate the crew and contact Murakami. She needs to know the current situation. I doubt the outside sensors are functioning in the Comm Tower. It’s likely they are navigating like a Boolov without its sense of taste.

“This is just perfect,” Jay’va muttered as she and Cyborg helped each other don on their own EMUs. “Everyone, stay in pairs and head to the main level. We’ll catch up,” Jay’va reminded the crew as they began climbing up the ladder to relative safety.

“Okay, you’re all set, Jay-Jay,” Cyborg affirmed as he fastened the last strap to her suit.

Jay’va confirmed, “You’re all set, too, so let’s get outta heeeeere.” The ship rocked again as the hangar walls got closer to the control room. And again, Cyborg caught her before she fell.

Pushing her upward, he hurried her up the ladder. “C’mon, Jay’va. Hurry.” The urgency in his voice betrayed his usually cheery demeanor. She looked down at him once she was on the above level, holding out two arms for him to take.

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Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Part IV

Alright, here is Part IV of Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition. I can tell you it is not what you were expecting, so feel free to leave comments with your thoughts, angst, and complaints. Thanks.

Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV

“Cyborg, I swear, you crack one more Boolov joke, and I crack open your head,” Jay’va threatened as she waved an unlit welding torch in the direction of her corworker, partner, and best friend: Colonel Carter Jethro “Cyborg” Matthews.

Cyborg whined. “Come on, Jay-Jay. You know it’s all in good fun. And all true. Name one time you met Boolov who hasn’t licked you to find out if you’re a danger to them. Name one.”

Jay’va rolled her eyes. Yes, Boolov were known for tasting their environment to determine if it was hospitable or not. This often included contact with new organisms. Boolov weren’t very intelligent creatures, but they were hardly worth demeaning. “Listen, give them another six million of your Earthen years, and they’ll be more intelligent than your species.”

“Yeah, no. They’re still the funniest lil’ shits I’ve ever met. I always know a Boolov is around when my–Whoa! Okay, okay, no more jokes. I’m sorry.” Jay’va smirked with satisfaction as Cyborg ducked to avoid the flying welding torch by mere millimeters. “Sweet baby Jesus…” Jay’va watched as Cyborg did the typical human behavior of laughing off her assault and returning her welding torch to her, still chattering away.

He was one of the most insufferable humans she knew, but to stay angry at him would require ignoring his sun-like gravitational personality.

Still, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t whack the welding torch across his skull if he didn’t zip it while they performed maintenance on their fighter jets. “Do you ever stop talking?” Her usual rhetorical question.

“No, not even in my sleep,” his usual rhetorical response as he leaned in against her and bumped shoulders with her. She felt the usual tightening of her chest when this close contact occurred, but she hid the feeling well.

Instead, Jay’va shook her head and wriggled her ears in merriment. “How did Admiral Lyra stand you?”

“SHE DIDN’T!” came a shout from across the hangar. Jay’va searched for its source and found Cynthia Thompson hooting and hollering at them. “LYRA TOLD ME SHE WORE EARPLUGS TO SLEEP SOUNDLY AT NIGHT!”

At this point, Cynthia Gunderson jumped into the conversation. Literally. Jay’va and Cyborg nearly fell off the fighter when Gunderson leapt out of the cockpit like a cat. A string of curses erupted from both Colonels as Gunderson merrily sang, “We all know Lyra would kick this fucker outta their bed and make ‘im sleep on da couch if he didn’t knock off his chirping!”

“Says you!” Cyborg wrestled Gunderson on the wing of the ship like two frelick younglings playing.

Jay’va broke them up before they fell off the ship. She didn’t want to write an indecent report, again. “Okay, if you two have nothing else to do, let’s get back to work. Xe’x, how’s the engine looking on our fighters?” she asked her fellow H’hish.

Xe’x, for his part, was none too pleased with the commotion they were causing from above. Of course Xe’x wasn’t angry at Cyborg or Gunderson. His voice betrayed him when he spoke. “Well, it would look better if certain homeothermic heterodonts would stop shaking the ship.” A chorus of “Oooh’s” and “Aaah’s” came from the dozen other ships in the hangar.

The humans and H’hishians were enjoying themselves immensely. Jay’va was glad, she and Cyborg did their best to foster a nurturing, healthy environment, but it was about time they stopped slacking off. She glanced at Cyborg and saw he was on the same wavelength as her.

Dusting off his trousers, Cyborg brought order among their crew (despite being the cause for the chaos). “Alright, kiddos. We have seven more ships waiting for us to finish maintenance on. Let’s finish four before lunch…”

Cyborg’s jolly voice trailed off as the overhead lights dimmed, throwing them in total darkness before the backup lights flickered on and bathed them in their eerie red glow. Jay’va and Cyborg shared glance and gathered their crew as far from the hangar doors as possible. It was protocol. No one knew what cause the power loss, but it did not matter because of protocol. Electrical failure could cause the hangar doors to malfunction and open up to freezing space. It didn’t matter that they were experienced pilots of their respective species. Deep space was deadly and they would not survive if exposed to it for a few breaths.

Jay’va found herself thankful that she and her crewmates managed to situate themselves in the hangar control room without any incidents. Thompson was already attempting to contact the engineers while Xe’x tried the Comm Tower. Both were, as Admiral Lyra was once fond of saying, a bust.

Cyborg crossed his arms and grunted, assuming his analysis mode. Jay’va watched him from her periphery as she aided Thompson in reestablishing communication with the engineers. Cyborg would speak when he finished using his cyborg brain to assess the computer systems. Until then, Jay’va would work to keep their crew busy.

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Humans Are Weird: Women Edition Part III

We last left off with Vallion and Fatima working their way to the engine room after the ship’s main lights went out. The mystery behind this is still to be discovered, so let’s dive into the story, shall we?

Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV

“Okay, we’re almost to the engine room,” Fatima announced as she flicked off her map of the ship.

Vallion sighed, relieved. “Thank Saolo the Great.” Fatima gave them a sideways look. Vallion put their arms up in surrender. “I just mean we’ll solve this mystery soon.”

She did not appear impressed. “The ship’s rocked three times within the last five minutes, Vallion. Something’s up.”

“Maybe it’s space pirates.”

“What?” She stopped at stared at them, slack jawed.

Vallion shrugged. “Murakami and Balogh were making up stories of space pirates earlier. I thought that might humor you.”

Now Fatima smiled. “Now that makes sense.” Again, Vallion felt their chest tighten. They needed to see the H’hishian doctor soon. “But I doubt it’s pirates. They wouldn’t be so stupid as to attack an A.F. vessel.”

“I know,” said Vallion. “They were only fancying the idea to frighten me.”

“Did it work?” asked Fatima.

Vallion shuttered. “Too well. Humans are weird.” Fatima started to laugh before the ship rocked again. “We better hurry,” they said.

She nodded, and they sprinted down the last stretch of the way.

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Humans Are Weird: Women Edition Part II

Continuation of my Humans Are Weird: Women Edition that no one asked for! What aspect of women in society will this entail? I do not know. Vallion will be telling the story, so let’s see what they have to tell.

Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV

Several Earthen moon cycles had passed since the porn incident and Vallion sensed their crew had settled into a dormant state. They did not like the feeling. It had been proven time and time again by the humans that, when things became quiet and calm, it was only a precursor for chaos and mayhem. They shared their thoughts with Lt. Gen. Noriko Murakami and Brig. Gen. Lillian Balogh during their refreshment break, termed “coffee break”, in the mess hall (though coffee could kill a H’hish within an hour if medical action was not taken, humans had no problem consuming the beverage. A H’hish could only consume it if the coffee was decaffeinated). Needless to say, the human women were far from helpful. Instead of easing their doubts and worries, the two multiplied it ten-fold.

The three of them were reclined in their chairs when Vallion brought up the subject. “I feel that something…ominous will happen soon; and I do not believe it is because of that awful movie I and the other H’hish were made to watch by your fellow humans.” Vallion was firm in their belief and gave the two women, one their superior officer and the other their subordinate, a stern, pointed look he often saw other humans direct toward each other in such situations.

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[humansareweirdsedition]

Humans Are Weird: Women Edition

Okay, so I’ve seen plenty of “Humans Are Weird”, “Humans are Space Orcs”, and the like as I stalked toe “Humans Are Weird” tagged and originally I would never have gone through the tags if it wasn’t for all those posts I kept seeing on my dash thanks to @bisexualscarletbenoit. I haven’t seen much regarding the interaction aliens have had with human women. Just the social structure and ques women have developed for each other.

Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV

~~~~~~~~~

Vallion wasn’t much for humans. They never were. Even after a hundred cycles of Earth around its sun, Vallion’s people and the other races were not completely at ease with humans. Sure, humans were an odd collection. Always up to something foolish, troublesome…near suicidal, but they were harmless aside from all that. Their social structures, behaviors, and mannerisms confused many of the H’hish and other outer species, but Vallion learned to “just roll with it” as their human crewmate, Fatima, once told him because “it only becomes more and more nonsensical sensical nonsense from here on out” which of course did not ease any of Vallion’s worries.

The humans, Fatima included, would jump off high, rocky outcroppings into deep water, explore the recesses of seemingly bottomless pits, and befriend feral fauna of other death planets (despite the inclusion of a multiple array of Earthen fauna, including, but not limited to, cats, dogs, ferrets, and iguanas [snakes were forbidden after one escaped and nearly made lunch of one of the human crew’s pet Guinea pig, which was in fact not a pig, but a small rodent]). All in all, Vallion learned not to be surprised by the behavior of humans because humans made no sense at all despite their hardiness and resilience.

However, Vallion started to noticed certain behaviors among the carrier half of the species and the propagators. Many of the carriers would often shy away from certain propagators. On more than one occasion, Vallion overheard carriers warning each other not to “be alone in a room with Brad” and that “Trent gives me the creeps. Just the way he looks at me gives me chills”. Other times, it was “I feel like he’s looking through me” or “I don’t like him” to other propagator crewmates. The cautionary words ranged from frightful or defiant. The carriers would never let the other be alone in a room with one of the blacklisted propagators. When they were on planet leave, the carriers stuck together in packs. They did not easily let propagators near them unless they wanted their attention. When one needed the lavatory, one or more would join them even when they did not need it use. It was curious to watch. Vallion never found fault with these propagators the carriers feared. They all behaved cardinal with them and the other H’hish of their ship.

In fact, these propagators did their absolute finest to befriend and welcome the carriers into crew life. They would be the first to volunteer their time showing the carriers the ship’s layout, controls, and other basic necessities. The propagators would offer to perform physically difficult tasks like transporting a whole pallet of rations or engine parts onto the ship even when they were not assigned to it. They earned high praise from General Lovar and other high ranking officials, yet the carriers remained wary of them.

It wasn’t until Vallion decided to ask Fatima about it because they felt guilty keeping this knowledge from the propagators. “Why do you and the other carriers speak so ill about your propagator counterparts?”

Fatima sighed. “Again. Vallion. Not carriers and propagators, but women and men.” Vallion watched as she massaged the bridge of her brow.

Vallion showed their displeasure at the correction. “It does not make sense to call your half of the species ‘women’ when some who are actually propagators call themselves ‘women’ and vise versa. It is complicated enough for us H’hish– You are avoiding the question!” Vallion nearly lost track of their purpose in their conversation.

“I’m not avoiding it,” Fatima replied. “I just don’t want to be referred to as a carrier. Not all women have children or can have them. Anyways, what do you mean about speaking ill of the guys? Since when?”

Vallion locked their jaw for a moment before answering. “When you and the other women tell each other not to be alone around 2nd Lt. Brad Richards, Chief Engineer Trent Delores, and Dr. Antoine Salone.” The impudence! If it wasn’t for Fatima saving their life once from a sixty degree Celsius pool of water, they would not show such patience.

“They’re creeps, Vallion. We don’t trust them. They don’t see us as human.” Fatima’s gaze was blank. It unnerved Vallion.

“What do you mean by saying that? Of course you’re human! All women are human.”

“You would think so…” she whispered. Vallion was perplexed by the shift in Fatima’s expression and body language.

Vallion watched Fatima turn away from them, her upper appendages wrapping around her torso.

“Fatima…?”

“I gotta get going, Vallion. My shift is coming up in ten minutes.”

And before Vallion could get a word in, Fatima was powering her way down the hall, towards the communications tower.

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[humansareweirdsedition]

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Part XIV

This update has been a long time coming, guys. My sincerest apologies for the delay. I hope you can forgive me. In the meantime, please enjoy this long, drawn-out post that is painfully slow and agonizing post. I guess I want everyone to suffer with the characters.

Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV

The escape plan had proceeded so smoothly until now. Balogh and her team freed a few dozen other prisoners along the way to the hangar and took down a few more Pollikons. Her group was feeling good. They had momentum. Things were looking up. And, as Balogh and the others got closer to the hangar, they kept in communication with Murakami’s, Vallion’s, and Jay’va’s groups for their escape. They were to search for the Frek’jon’s escape pods once they arrived in the hangar and to locate a habitable planet where they would lay low until they could contact the A.F. and go home.

After that, Balogh was not sure of what the A.F. would do, but she was sure she would fight for more A.F. vessels to return to this area of the universe. More victims―human, H’hish, and many more races―were likely enslaved and in need of emancipation.

Or we can just start some sort of rebellion like late twentieth and early twenty-first century movies did. Whichever comes first.

Balogh honestly believed things would change. Unfortunately, life never goes as planned.

Why? Because right now, she was splayed out on the ground, unable to move, nearly lifeless.

Balogh struggled to breathe, every single one of her muscles burned like she ran a 3K marathon in a New Harlem Province winter. Black spots danced in her vision; she could barely see. And of what she could still see? Mayhem. H’hish hunched over humans, desperately calling out their names, performing CPR. Riel’on, Kiel’ish, Jaja’ion, someone, was performing chest compressions on her. Everything she saw was a blur. Everything she heard was white noise. Everything she thought was a jumbled mess. For the first time in her life, Balogh thought for sure this moment was her death. Her frustrations and regrets; satisfactions and joys; her family and friends; all of them came to mind.

I. WON’T. DIE. I. WON’T. DIE. I WON’T DIE. I WON’T DIE. She chanted the words as she struggled for another breath, the last of her vision fading.

I can’t die...

Can’t die...

Won’t die.

No.

No...

.

.

.

“BALOGH!”

Vallion knelt over Fatima, helpless as she and the other humans collapsed one by one, going into various levels of muscle spasms and unconsciousness. CPR was attempted on the humans, but Vallion decided the chest compressions made the situation worse. Why does it feel like my chest is the one being compressed? Fatima is the one dying right in front of me. Fatima, Romano, Freshwater, Wong... All of them are the ones dying, so why do I feel this pain in my chest? What’s going on? Why can’t I stop this? How can I be so selfish? I need to fix this. Save them.

I am their superior. I need to lead them.

Vallion gripped their head, focusing their thoughts into actions. Think. Think. Think. You can’t let her die. You and her just reunited.

No.

Wait.

You can’t let anyone die. They are all your responsibility. You are their protector. Their leader. Their friend. Think, Vallion. Think.

As Vallion wracked their brain, a thought suddenly occurred to them. The humans were having difficulty breathing...but the H’hish were not. “Jon’kon, check the oxygen-carbon dioxide ratio of the air. Now.”

Startled, Jon’kon fumbled with her stolen Port Dev before she went to work checking the air composition of the ship. A heartbeat stretched into several when Jon’kon released a startled “Ah-ha!” and gave Vallion a knowing look. Soon, Jon’kon was hacking into the Frek’jon’s ventilation system and they all could hear the results of her efforts.

However, Vallion knew damage must have surely been done on all the humans and simply escaping from the Frek’jon was no longer a viable option. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Vallion looked at Jon’kon once again. “Patch me through to Murakami, Balogh, and Jay’va’s groups. We have a change of plans.”

Jay’va checked Thompson’s pulse and growled in frustration. Gone. First Pérez, then Ivanenko, and now Thompson. The other humans were down and out, suffering from whatever took Thompson and the others, but the H’hish were perfectly fine. Physically that is. A little winded, but physically fine.

Mentally...

Mentally, we’re fucked. We’re falling apart at the seams, as the human idiom goes. I’m not even over Cyborg’s death, and now I’m losing my whole team. Jay’va felt the energy of the universe crashing down on her and sweeping her along in a tidal wave.

Jay’va buried her head in her hands, feeling the hopelessness and grief pile up on right after the other because she was just that fucking lucky of a H’hish—

“ —va...”

And not to mention, she also had to deal with that thing that happened back in her cell. From that odd smell. Her head was a mess afterwards and now her memories would forever be scarred by these events—

“—COLONEL JAY’VA!”

Startled, Jay’va whipped her head around, searching for the H’hish shouting her name. “WHAT?! What could you possibly want?!” she snapped.

Gigi’ish did not flinch at her harsh words. He just held out the stolen Port Dev for her and said one name: “Vallion.”

Yeu’ish was helping Fuku’kon tend to Lt. Gen. Murakami when a Comm came in from Maj. Gen. Vallion. The escape plan was changing. Seize control of the ship. Kill all the guards. Kill anyone who stood in their way.

Then.

Then.

Then they would put the humans into the infirmary. Heal them while making their escape back to the A.F. Made sense, for the still living humans, but Yeu’ish knew as Murakami’s pulse ceased, the dead had little chance of revival. But who knows? she thought, humans always prove to be more resilient than they seem.

Krellion leaned against the central control console, watching as the ship’s security droids and feeds went down; listening as communications between guards decreased. The humans and dulgo arrogantly thought they would escape. Their little jailbreak could not succeed.

“The filth moved exactly as you predicted, Captain,” said Krellion as he pushed himself off the console. “However, I am hesitant about the extent of the neurological damages this experiment of yours could cause to the cargo.” As he spoke, Krellion pulled up the vital charts of the human cargo, assessing the current oxygen saturation levels.

Zeelot did not spare Krellion a glance as they pulled the charts towards their position. “These dulgo are as weak as the humans with whom they cohabitate. Once enough of the humans become ill, the dulgo will panic and be at our mercy. The fondness they carry for the humans will lead to their surrender.” Zeelot was correct. Already, more of the humans began showing symptoms of oxygen oversaturation and the duglo were becoming increasingly concerned for their human companions’ welfare.

Still, waiting was tedious and Krellion had no interest in toying with the cargo as Zeelot did. “As you say. Oh, these humans will do well as servants of kulgo. They are exhibiting better resistance to oxygen toxicity than the other humans,” he noted.

“Add that to their profiles,” Zeelot ordered before seating themselves down to watch the carnage.

Carnage of all Krellion’s hard work. His hard work in fixing all the neurological and physiological issues with which the humans were prone, yet Zeelot wanted to test Murakami’s loyalty and the abilities of her crew.

But my opinion does not matter. All that matters if my work wasted for a needless experiment or two. Aaaannnnd I must revive Snell again.

But whatever, Krellion truly had no say in the matter, so he just stood and watched as the cargo neared the hangar and the humans began collapsing. A few humans even fell into seizures. Krellion spoke in hushed tones to his fellow kulgo as they all became increasingly worried about the health of their cargo. The amount of overtime they all had to put forth into fixing the damages Zeelot’s experiment was causing became a headache, especially when they were due to arrive at the Market any gulkib from now. If I have to revive a single human or dulgo, I swear by the mighty reign of Ghayz Tadmir’lis, I will leave this vessel and take my team with me...

As Krellion fumed, the overhead lights dimmed and a odd chill ran down his back. He glanced at the other kulgo and they appeared as confused as he did.

However, the confusion was over within a heartbeat because within that heartbeat, the emergency lights began to flash and the alarms blared. Warnings flashed on the ship’s control console about oxygen levels increasing in the room. For Krellion, he only needed less than a qulib to understand the events that were transpiring.

The dulgo figured out the cause of the humans’ collapsing, but they were foolish to think they could kill a kulgo so easily. H’hish had higher oxygen tolerance than any humans, and kulgo as fine as Krellion and his team more so. Even the Pollikon had high oxygen tolerance. And whatever creature Captain Zeelot was, they would not fall to such a lowly and pitiful revenge tactic. Already, the room was filled with twice the oxygen levels needed for a kulgo to comfortably breathe in air and already Krellion’s team worked on combating the increased oxygen levels. “These dulgo are simpletons,” one of his team said with a laugh. Another kulgo added, “They are as clever as the humans.” Krellion could only agree with his team. The dulgo were as slow witted and unimpressive as the humans.

So that brought to question why Captain Zeelot remained so calm, and why they had such a smug look on their face. Just as Krellion opened their mouth to ask, Zeelot spoke first. “I will be returning to my quarters. And do not disturb me.” Their warning carried an additional meaning, one of which Krellion did not wish to invoke.

Swallowing his trepidation, Krellion refocused on the monitors, tracking the remaining guards and the locations of all the escaped cargo, but they were gone. The Pollikons, the ones he could see on the vids, deceased. Brutally so. The humans, remained were he last saw them, but he could see most of their life signs were gone. He and his team had their work cut out for them to revive all the worthless filth. The dulgo and other cargo were nowhere to be seen, as could be said for the escape pods. None of them showed up on the life signs monitor. They were out of range of the transmission. They jumped ship.

Murakami talked big about the loyalty of her crew, but the dulgo escaped the first chance they got. Pathetic. Dulgo are as cowardly and weak as those humans.

Krellion was so lost in his superiority that he never heard the knocking.

Only the sound of the room engulfing in flames.

After that, he only felt the searing pain of his death.

[humansareweirdsedition]

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Side Stories

Up until second part of this story is what happened to me today at school. I’m not even kidding. This literally happened. Just imagine me as our story’s main character and this is essentially what happened.

By the way, I go to an American university, but this side story takes place in Jordan because that’s where Fatima’s family currently lives.

Aisha sat in class as Dr. Whitethorn lectured about grant funding and how to differentiate legitimate from predatory scientific conferences. Aisha glanced up to her left, taking a quick look at the clock. Only two o’clock. Hope we get out of class early, she thought before glancing back at the lecture slides.

Again, Aisha’s mind wandered away; she was not interested in today’s lecture. Instead of listening, she people-watched from her seat near the door that gave her a clear view of the well-lit hallway and dimly-lit space between her class and the one a yard across from her. However, she tried to focus on the lecture, on knowing the red flags of predatory scams included no official conference website, no conference committee, etc, etc... And her mind wandered again to the door, but only to catch a glimpse of a blond young man dressed in black lurking outside of the other classroom. What’s that guy doing? Is that a gun? Aisha tired to catch a glimpse of the telltale bright orange gun tip of BB guns on the young man’s gun; she desperately prayed within the next five seconds to spot the bright orange tip that she was not seeing—

Suddenly the man rushed into the classroom across from hers and shouted “GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!” followed by a loud THUMP. Panicked, Aisha and her class rushed to the blackboard, hiding from the sight of the gunman. In that split second, Aisha thought whether she should grab her jacket; should she grab all her belongings; should be barricade the door with the chairs? She was fucking terrified, just like the rest of her class.

Huddled in the corner with her classmates, Aisha pulled out her Comm Dev and half-whispered to Dr. Whitethorn: “Should I call the police?!”

Dr. Whitethorn nodded. “Yes, I don’t have my phone on me.” Just as she spoke, another THUMP sounded and Aisha, with trembling fingers, tried to recall how to type in 211 into her Comm Dev.

The next three seconds were agonizing as her Comm Dev rang once and a calm woman’s voice sounded on the other side of the communication. “211, what’s your emergency?”

Aisha, her voice trembling as much as the rest of her body, stammered. “A-A man with-with a-a g-gun just walked into the classroom across from us... H-He yelled—” I don’t remember what he yelled, something like ‘get down’ or ‘get down on the ground’, but maybe I imagined that? Oh no. Everyone’s hushing me, telling me to whisper. I need to learn to whisper. “—and then a-a sound—”

The 211-operator asked, “Ma’am, where are you located?”

“T-The fourth f-floor of the main building, of the U-University of Jo-Jordan.”

“Ma’am, I don’t know where that is. What is the address?”

Shit, what is the address? “I don’t know the address. It’s just the main building. T-The fourth floor.”

“What street is it on? Al Jama’a?”

“I don’t know. Oh—” Jennifer, who Aisha was huddled against, had pulled up the address of the school. “Queen Rania St 275, Amman.”

“Can you say the address again, ma’am? 27—”

“275, Queen Rania—Wait.”

“WE’RE OKAY!” Just as Aisha tried to finish the address again, Jonathan walked into the room and announced they were safe from the gunman because the young man wasn’t a real gunman.

“It’s not real,” she said as a relief washed over her.

“Ma’am, what’s going on?” the 211-operator asked.

“It wasn’t real,” she replied, still trembling, but with a lighter heart.

“Are you sure?”

Aisha paused and captured bits and pieces of what Jonathan was saying to them. “Y-Yes, it was a-a drill for the other class. Oh Allah. That wasn’t funny. We’re okay. It’s okay.”

“Okay ma’am.” And that ended the communication.

Aisha and her class spent the next ten to fifteen minutes getting their nerves back and laughing at themselves over the whole incident.

“So, what was that about?” “I didn’t even see the gun. I just heard him yelling.” “Apparently, it was an A.L.I.C.E. training for the Introducing University Life course.” “God, that was terrifying.” “The guy from the other class is going to come over later to talk to us about what happened.”

Dr. Whitethorn said to Aisha “I didn’t even know what was happening. I was just watching the expressions on your face change.”

Aisha nervously laughed, most of her trembling having subsided by then. “Yeah, I was looking for the yellow-orange thing that goes on BB guns.”

“It was a BB gun?!”

“No, I was looking for the orange, bright tip thing that goes on top. I was hoping it was a toy.”

Samira, from the seat beside Aisha, laughed. “I didn’t even know he had a gun until you said so.”

Aisha shook her head and giggled. “That was the only reason I was making those faces.”

Sarah and Janet, on the other side of the room, added to the conversation. Sarah said, “We were going to barricade the door with the table.”

Janet nodded, “Yeah, we were going to do it in another minute.”

Aisha felt relief that she wasn’t the only one thinking about barricading the door, but they had a better idea on how to do it.

Jennifer then jumped into the conversation, saying, “I was debating whether or not to bring my things with me—”

“Oh, that’s a smart idea,” Dr. Whitethorn interjected.

“—Yeah, like, I didn’t want him to know people were in here.”

Then Rachel added, “I literally texted my mom ‘I love you’ during the whole thing. She texted back me back, ‘You know this is your mom, right?’ Like, I know you are.” They all burst into laughter and talked and talked, letting out nerves, shared thoughts, and relief.

After another few minutes, Dr. Whitethorn tried to steer them back to the lecture slides, but Aisha’s mind definitely did not want to focus anymore. Aisha was focused on people-watching again; she watched as the other class let out and impatiently waited for whoever was supposed to talk to them about the fake gunman.

Eventually, a large, imposing man, a least foot taller than the student who played the gunman. The man knocked on the door, giving Dr. Whitethorn a scare, before she invited him into the room to introduce himself to their class. “Hello everyone,” he began as he put his bag down on the nearby recycling bin, “I am Sergeant Richard Qasim and I am impressed by all of you. Never in my career have I seen anyone, any class, act like you all did. No one, especially not from one of my classes, has reacted so strongly and correctly at the prospect of a potential shooter.” Sgt. Qasim continued to praise them and explain how what happened earlier was part of an advanced A.L.I.C.E. training for the other class. He explained how A.L.I.C.E. stood for alert, lockdown, inform, counter, and evacuate; he told them about the university’s first responders app; and then he gave them future advice on barricading the door using the table and Comm Dev connection cables. After a few laughs and complaints, including showing them how the gun was a bold navy blue toy gun and a black handgun, he parted ways with them after he praised them more for their quick actions.

“Well,” Dr. Whitethorn began, “I don’t suppose anyone feels like finishing class. Everyone’s nerves are still running high.” Aisha and her classmates voiced their agreements. “Alright class, I’ll see you next time.” And, with that, class was dismissed.

“A FAKE GUNMAN?! WHAT?!” Aisha’s mother, Fatima, practically screamed during their FaceSpeak session on Aisha’s Comm Dev.

Aisha laughed, trying to reassure her mother, “Mama, I’m okay. We’re all okay—”

“—Silence, you are not okay, you empty head! They should have warned your class! You’re still trembling even now. No, I can see you are still afraid, habibti. I’m going to file a complaint to the university—”

“And what, Mama? You’re, like, thirty-seven billion light years away. I’m fine. I’ll be fine, Mama. Besides, I only go to the university for my advanced courses two days out of the week. Sorry Mama, I have to go. I need to wake up early for school tomorrow. See you. Love you. Bye.

Fatima groaned at the blank Comm screen after her daughter cut their FaceSpeak session early. Reclining in her office chair, Fatima wondered where Aisha got her free-natured spirit from. Well, she is just beginning her teenage years, Fatima thought, the child’s bound to brush things like this off. Kids always feel like they’re invincible. Sighing, Fatima stood and stretched her body, trying to rid herself of her worries, though she knew that would be impossible. Aisha was her only child, born from her child-marriage, and the light of her life. No one could compare to her little Aisha, her beautiful child. Then again, I don’t let that many people into my heart in the first place.

“Fatima,” Lt. Gen. Vallion poke their head into her office. “I have a problem.” Vallion’s ears were drooped and she could hear their tail swishing the air behind them.

Smiling, Fatima asked, “And what is the problem?” as she grabbed her hoodie and walked over to them.

Vallion remained hesitant until she was by their side. “...I accidentally threw Noor’s favorite sweater into the incinerator. I didn’t mean it! The sweater was already in the disposables bin, but you know how she can sometimes just leave things lying around...”

Unable to stifle her laughter, Fatima assured Vallion she would help them out. “First, you need to search for an equally high-quality sweater to replace the one you destroyed. The higher the quality, the more likely she’ll forgive you. Second, you need to apologize and explain the situation.”

“But she’s as scary as you when you’re pissed at me,” Vallion whined, anguishing over their dilemma.

She rolled her eyes. “And you are the superior officer, so I don’t know why you’re being such as pussyfoot. C’mon, Mx. Lt. Gen. Vallion.” Squarely smacking them in the back, Fatima couldn’t help thinking how different her life now was.  I don’t let that many people into my heart, but the ones I do let in are always the best.

[humansareweirdsedition]

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Part XIII

The story is at part XIII guys! Again, my apologies for the slow update. I am currently in the process of writing three 8 to 10 page essays for my lectures, and let me tell you making writing papers on three different topics (Navajo and uranium-contaminated water; cardiovascular disease and probiotics; and American Muslim women and hijabs) is difficult. Also, please give me some feedback in my writing style. I am trying to change my writing to a more active voice (using less of has been, was seen, etc), so I can make my writing more energetic. I’d appreciate knowing what your thoughts are.

Also, I found an even longer dash line ( —— ) to use in the story. Yays!

Anyways, enough of me and more of the story. I promise I am trying to make this as entertaining as possible.

Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV

After leaving Fatima, Murakami was escorted back to Zeelot and briefed on the situation. “Look here,” Zeelot motioned toward the object-littered central console of their quarters as a human hologram was projected, “at the base of your spin, where your medulla oblongata and spinal cord merge, a minuscule neuro-chip is located. Cardiac, respiratory, and neuron systems, they are all affected by by this chip. A number of your subordinates have already learned this firsthand.” Zeelot paused, pulling up several holo-feeds of Murakami’s crewmates curled in the fetal position. She did not need to hear the audio to know her crew was in pain. “Now, as for the programming, each neuro-chip...”

“...is unique to each slave. The individual programming prevents a number of issues, from mass malfunctions to other slaveholders from stealing the slaves of other slaveholders. The neuro-chips also come with tracking programming, so lost or stolen slaves can be located,” Murakami explained, repeating verbatim Zeelot’s words. Murakami felt the words better suited for dog owners. Then again, she thought, slaves are the same for these scumbags. “With this information in mind, we must cooperate to assure ourselves a comfortable and stable future with our future masters.” The room remained silent, but she saw her crew upset and the Pollikons triumphant. Alright, cue Vallion.

Stepping forward, Vallion clapped their hands together and said, “Well, that is all. If you have any questions, please keep them to yourselves. Bye.” Wiggling their ears, Vallion wheeled around and tried to swagger off stage.

However.

However, Balogh seized Vallion by the collar of their prisoner’s uniform and yanked them back on stage. “Oh no you don’t,” she chided, “how can you both surrender? How can any of us surrender?” Balogh gestured to their gathered crew, directing the question at them. “How can we surrender before we even fought for our freedom?” Finally, the crew of the Voyager Moana began to stir. Balogh’s words rippled through the crew like a stone thrown in a pond; murmurs began slow at first, then got louder and stronger; and the Pollikons became increasingly agitated with each murmur.

Murakami firmly placed her hands on Balogh and Vallion’s shoulders, another signal for the shit the three of them were about to cause; the dramatic shit her crew already knew was about to go down. They did not need to communicate a definitive plan; they knew to gain control of the chaos, eject the crew of the Frek’jon into space, and escape back to familiar space.

And.

And.

And if that did not work, if Murakami and her crew were to fail, scattered across the universe into unknown empires, never to see their families and friends ever again, then they would make it their business to ruin Zeelot’s plans for them and make whoever was unfortunate enough to purchase them miserable, too.

The Pollikon reached for their weapons while moving toward the exits. Snell fumed as they confronted Murakami and her two subordinates as they caused unrest amongst the other flesh-bags. “You conniving Gobsnick!” Snell hissed as they gripped Murakami by the throat. “Stop this insurgence. Now.”

Murakami shrugged, unfazed. “I want to be insulted, I really do, but I don’t know what a Gobsnick——”

“SHUT. IT.” Slamming her against the floor, Snell aimed their weapon at Balogh and Vallion, daring the two of them to try and interfere.

While this exchange occurred, the slaves had by then grouped together and surrounded the guards; the flesh-bags were revolting; the other Pollikon were helpless against the flesh-bags. Because Pollikon were the scum of the five great empires, unworthy of trust, so Snell and their fellow Pollikon did not have access to the neuro-chip codes. They could not stop the dulgo or humans as these slaves converged onto the Pollikon guards and wrested the weapons from the guards’ grasps. Casualties were soon to follow, Snell was sure of it.

Snell knew this situation would happen. Humans had telepathic abilities, sharing their thoughts with one another and making gatherings of them dangerous and destructive. Certain humans had telepathic abilities that could link with non-human lifeforms. This is why I don’t want mass gatherings of humans. They are too dangerous together.

And Snell was convinced Murakami was one of those humans; someone who could share that telepathic link with her fellow humans and the weak-minded dulgo. “Call off your crew,” Snell ordered. “Call them off now, or——”

“Or what?” Murakami interrupted. “Or what? You’ll mame us? Lame us? Kill us? Counterproductive, don’t you think? Also, won’t our dear old Captain Zeelot disapprove of damaging the merchandise? Hmm?”

Snell scowled and tightened their grip on Murakami, having complete satisfaction as she cried out under their grip. I should just wring your neck. Damn the consequences. “Captain Zeelot is sending reinforcements as we speak,” Snell said. Zeelot was likely watching the events unfold through the security drones; reinforcements would come. Reinforcements have to come.

Murakami remained unfazed. “We will escape. Somehow. We will,” she said with a gaze as clear as kunzite*.

The two of them continued to lock gazes until one of the slaves announced, “MURAKAMI! WE’VE SECURED THE ROOM!” Snell looked over and saw the guards were dead, piled in the center of the room. The flesh-bags now had their stolen weapons trained on Snell.

Releasing Murakami, Snell stood back with appendages above their head. Whatever, Snell thought, these flesh-bags can’t escape without a passcode——

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! CLUNK!

WHAT?! Snell gawked as they saw Balogh, having made her way over to the main exit, unlock the door. How in Golishka’s Grace did she acquire—— Pausing mid-thought, Snell knew the answer. Wilk. “All of you will regret this moment. Zeelot knows not forgiveness.”

“I know,” Murakami admitted with a raised clenched first, “but we have to try.”

In that moment, one of the flesh-bags shot Snell through the chest. Snell was left staring at the ceiling. Die flesh-bags. Die...

Everything seemingly happened in slow motion: Murakami and Balogh both organized the crew into teams with set objectives; some of the teams hacked the holo-devs and security droids; other teams analyzed schematics of the ship; and certain teams developed battle plans. The hacked security droids were sent out for reconnaissance; and soon the teams readied themselves for battle.

However, Vallion was still searching for Fatima in the crowd. Of two-hundred and forty-nine H’hish and humans, how hard was it just finding one specific human out of them all? Pretty damn difficult, they thought as they sorted through the teams yet again, making sure they had a handle on their tasks while also looking for Fatima.

Ordinarily, Vallion would call her out, but under these circumstances, they would look pathetic searching for one specific crewmate and said crewmate would appear favored. Everyone from their crew knew Fatima was their best friend, but even she would pull rank and scold them for their selfishness. Fuck. I’m never gonna find her. The teams started to move out. Fatima, where are you? “....ion.” Just where are—— “VALLION!”

Jumping, Vallion whirled around and found Fatima with her face scrunched up, clearly irked by them. Crossing her arms, Fatima said, “Where’s your head, sir? Everyone’s moving out.” Looking around, Vallion saw that, indeed, everyone was leaving and followed Fatima as she motioned to leave as well.

Wiggling their ears, Vallion said to her, “I’ve been searching for you. After I saw the vid...I’ve been worried. Are you still hurt?”

Fatima remained silent as they rejoined their crewmates before whispering, “I can’t...I...no...” She shook her head and looked away. Vallion went silent, but reached out and held her hand. They gave her hand a strong squeeze, remembering how they had seen other humans do this skinship ritual whenever they were in anguish, before letting go.

.

.

.

Their crew traveled through the ship, taking down guards after guards, seizing control of security droids after security droids, freeing prisoner after prisoner to join their fight...basically taking over the ship. At some point, one of the crew—Vallion didn’t know which, but one of them—whispered, “This is too damn easy,” and Vallion could not agree more.

The crew almost reached the hangar, yet dread loomed over them all. Vallion thought it the trick of the eye to see many of their crewmates become paler the closer they moved towards the hangar; and unfortunately they were wrong as Fatima became visibly ill as her face became flushed and her movements sluggish until they finally had to carry her on their back. I wonder if Murakami and Balogh’s teams are experiencing the same difficulties? they thought as they encouraged the rest of their team to keep moving. They were almost to the hangars. Just one more level.

[humansareweirdsedition]

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Part XII

Alright, it’s time for Part XII. Again, my apologies for the late post, due to university, expect updates at least once a month.

However, I will post little character profiles and other things in between updates. In the meantime, please enjoy Part XII. Let me know if you have any questions, comments, or concerns. Thanks!

Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV

Vallion stared, mesmerized by Fatima’s eyes. Vallion felt like ages had passed since they last seen the rich darkness of her eyes. Looking into her eyes felt like looking into the vast depths of two galaxies sitting side-by-side, one melting into the other in endless vortexes. Vallion could stare into her eyes forever and always find something beautifully new about them― “Ahem!” With a start, Vallion looked up to see Murakami pointedly glaring at them.

“Sorry,” they said. Alright, Vallion, focus on the vid. Taking a seat, Vallion began watching the vid again, picking up where it left off.

<<“ ―Mel,”>> Murakami drawled, <<“but I figured this’ll be a fun way of passive-aggressively pissing him off.”>>

Fatima smiled that mischievous smile of hers. <“Good one, sir.”>> Her eyes sparkled.

Vallion wanted to hear more of Fatima’s voice, but Mel interrupted her. <<“Alright, all languages except Standard Galaxic are forbidden.”>> Mel’s way of speaking really pissed Vallion off.

It looks like Fatima feels the same way. She’s crossing her arms, Vallion noted as they continued to watch. <<“What will you do if we don’t comply?”>> Really, what could Mel do to her? He can’t lower the particle barrier and abuse Fatima. Murakami would beat the shit out of him first. Or both women would beat the shit out of him.

Vallion contemplated Mel’s possible actions when he heard the dreaded word “This” before Fatima dropped to the floor, screeching and clawing at the back of her neck.

Frozen, Vallion let the holo-device slip through their fingers. The device almost fell to the floor, but they caught it at the last possible second. They hadn’t expected such pain. They hadn’t expected to see Fatima in pain. Carefully, they held the holo-screen close and tapped the holo-vid again, this time prepared to brace themselves against her screams. Watching was painful. Painful to listen, to watch. They felt their chest tightened and throat close as they helplessly watched Fatima curl up on the floor, clutching the back of her neck like a wounded penjax.

Then the holo-vid cut to Murieal Dalais, Ichi Hyung’on, Lorell Church, Mueg Kuku’ish, Wapun Reeds, Mish Lokkion, Lurk Nellion, Soo Mi Moon, and more and more and more. All of them in pain, curled up, clawing at their necks...

At some point, Vallion snapped the holo-device in two to stop the screams, but the screams continued. Their friends’ screams still rung in their head.

Dropping the broken device, Vallion glanced at Murakami and closed their eyes, resigned. Silencing the screaming, Vallion opened their eyes and stared straight at Zeelot. “When are we to speak?”

Outside the holding cells of the Auction, the sounds of lifeforms and the usual hustle-and-bustle of a bazaar were audible. It was muffled, but Balogh could imagine a Getvi bargaining with a Koosh to lower the price on a used photon generator or a litter of H’hish pups stealing orogo berries from a food stand. The scenes she imagined were perfectly normal, except reality was not so innocent.

Outside her holding cell, Balogh heard roaring lifeforms betting to the highest bidder on the lives other lifeforms from the Frek’jon and soon she would be up.

Soon, she would be sold; never to see her friends, her family, anyone she loved, ever again.

If anyone said she wasn’t beside herself in grief, Balogh would sock them in the mouth. Even now, as she anxiously sat between two Pollikons she named Randolph and Gustav, Balogh wanted to scream. Cry. Mourn.

Last night she, Vallion, and Murakami addressed their crew and told them to give up, let the bad guys win because who the fuck would have thought those crazy alien bastards implanted shock-collar chips in their spines? This is shit, she thought for the hundredth time, this is some fucking shit. Fuck.

Restlessly, she bounced her legs until Randolph told her to quit it. “How ‘bout I don’t, Randolph? Dontcha know amma nervous wreck ‘ere?” she spat.

“Shut up, fleshbag,” Randolph snarled, slamming one extremity down on her nervous knee and shooting pain up her body like rocket to the moon.

“LA NAIBA!” Balogh doubled over and cradled her injured knee; the searing pain slowly seeped into her bones and left her with a numbing sensation like hitting her funny bone. Glaring at Randolph, she threw every curse she knew at them; she screamed at Randolph; she screamed at Gustav when they tried to smother her.

The two Pollikons  only pissed her off more.

“Pray tell, what are you three doing?” a new voice demanded. Glancing up, Balogh saw Zeelot flanked by Krellion and Murakami. Randolph and Gustav went into attention, terrified and silent. “Well...?”

Finally, Randolph spoke, “Cargo Inventory No. 246531 spoke Earthen. We were disciplining it―.”

“Her. I’m a her, măgar,” Balogh cut in, still cradling her knee. Randolph shot her a death glare; she sneered back; and everyone was silent.

Then Zeelot stepped forward and blasted Randolph’s skull. Balogh started screaming as blood spray and warm bits of flesh covered her and the others from head-to-toe. Her screaming continued when Gustav tried to escape only to have their head blasted off. Her fear maxed out when Zeelot turned to her and―  

.

.

.

With a start, Balogh shot up from her cot and found herself back in her prison cell. It was just a dream, she realized as she breathed a sigh of relief, a gory and terrifying dream. Her nerves were getting to her. Her trembling hands served as proof. Time to get your mind off that awful dream, Lily.

Swinging her legs off the cot, Balogh stood up and checked the holo-device mounted against the wall to check the time. “I’ve been asleep for only two hours. Fuck,” she mumbled. Except for reading the indoctrination itinerary the pirates had most graciously bestowed upon her and her crewmates, she had nothing to do besides sleep in her cell. But not for long, she thought as she sat back down. Soon, she would be standing beside Murakami and Vallion, to address her crewmates, just like in her dream. However, she refused to feel helpless like her dream-self. She could not afford to give up; her parents, her husband, and her two little boys were waiting for her at home on Luana. She would not give up hope.

“FLESHBAG!” Startled, Balogh clutched her chest and said a prayer under her breath while Wilk, her usual Pollikon guard, stood in front of her cell with their arms crossed. “I’ve been calling you for three drushs. I’m to escort you to the others.”

“Sorry Wilk, I was lost in thought,” she said as she stood up. “The future is terrifying after all.” Wilk gave her their usual look; and she threw back her head and laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re going to miss me after this, huh Wilk?”

Wilk snorted and lowered the particle barrier. “Just follow me. I don’t have all gulkib, and Zeelot doesn’t have much patience these days.” As Wilk turned to leave, Balogh followed after them.

“So,” she began, “do you finally trust me? I’m not handcuffed or anything like before.”

Wilk shook their head. “You know the spinal chip is your handcuffs.”

“I guess...” she drawled as she finally caught up with them, “but we’re friends now, right? After three months on this hunk of junk, you trust me and like me and wouldn’t want to see anything bad happen to me.” She nudged their arm and stayed by their side.

“Delusional. You’re delusional,” they scolded her, yet they still nudged her back.

Then the two of them walked in silence, comfortable in each other’s presence. Balogh would tell anyone who would be willing to listen that the friendship she struck with Wilk was oddly conceived, but the relationship was doomed to fail. Wilk and their crewmates were selling Balogh and her crewmates at the Auction; friends didn’t sell each other off at the highest bidder, which just proved she and Wilk couldn’t be friends. What the two of them had now was an illusion concocted to make the transition less painful, but for who was still questionable.

“I’m gonna miss you,” she said once they both arrived at their destination. Three days after this announcement, they were to arrive at the Auction. “Don’t get into trouble,” she ordered before entering the prisoner’s mess hall where the future awaited.

Wilk watched the door close behind Balogh and felt a pang in their chest. They knew the pang was sadness; the emotion was one Pollikons were too well accustomed to feeling.

However, Wilk had never felt sadness towards cargo until they met Balogh.

Balogh treated Wilk and the other Pollikons like equals; she did not discriminate against them; she did not insult them, curse them like the H’hish did. She took the time to talk to Wilk and the other Pollikons; to know their likes, dislikes, and worries. She never pushed when an uncomfortable topic came up; and when Wilk asked questions, she responded just the same. She talked and laughed and cried with them; she became...Wilk’s first friend.

Then again, Balogh was cargo; cargo was their livelihood; their livelihood was escape from death and slavery. Balogh was likely devising an escape from imprisonment, or at least a rebellion; she didn’t care about them or any of the other Pollikon on the Frek’jon or in the rest of the Viraaj’lieon Empire.

But one human doesn’t change anything, Wilk thought for the thousandth time, not a thing―

“―lk. Wilk!”

Nearly snapping their neck, Wilk turned around to find Snell scowling at them. Bowing to their commanding Pollikon, Wilk apologized for their error. “My apologies for blocking the entrance, Xeu Snell.” Wilk stepped aside to allow Snell passage, but Snell did not budge. Instead, Snell circled around Wilk before forcing them to their knees. “Xeu Snell?”

Snell practically spat as they said, “I saw you, Leu Wilk. I saw you and that piece of filth walking side-by-side, chattering away like forokj. I nearly expelled my latest meal at the sight.”

Wilk felt their hearts drop. “Xeu Snell, I do not know what you mean―”

“Shut it,” Snell snapped, pushing Wilk flat on the floor. “Captain Zeelot said you were working with the humans; I didn’t want to believe them.”

“I’m not, Xeu Snell. You know as well as I how humans easily bond with other sentient lifeforms. I was gaining Balogh’s trust, making her think I’m kind. Check my holo-dev if you don’t believe me. I’ve composed personal detailed info on her and her crewmates.”

Snell dropped on heavy foot on Wilk’s back and unclipped the holo-dev off Wilk’s waist. The two of them remained silent as Snell went through the holo-dev’s contents. After several long drushs, Snell finally said, “I’ve transferred all the information to Captain Zeelot and deleted it from your holo-dev. Never gather information on your own again, or else I will not be so kind.” Tossing the holo-dev on the floor, Snell walked into the mess hall without another word.

Taking a deep breath, Wilk tried to calm their rapidly beating hearts. That was too close.

Balogh made her way on a makeshift stage set at the far end of the mess hall, passed the silent crew of the Voyager Moana. She walked behind the curtains of the stage and saw Murakami and Vallion surrounded by guards. Balogh took her usual position on Murakami’s left-hand side and took note of all the guards; the Pollikons stood behind them and at all the exits. Balogh smiled. “Doesn’t this situation remind you of when Rear Admiral Woshmellnick farted in the middle of High Priestess Yulnick’s blessing ceremony on Planet Icknock?” she whispered to Murakami and Vallion.

Vallion shook their head, but smiled. “I felt mortified when that happened, like I was the one up on stage.”

Murakami hip-bumped Vallion. “And here I thought H’hish couldn’t feel second-hand embarrassment,” she teased.

Vallion chuckled. “Neither did I until that day; and many more H’hish will second it.”

Balogh frowned. “But not any we will meet after tonight.”

The three of them went silent until Murakami said, “We are in a no-win situation, but...but we can’t give up hope. I’ll find a way back to you and everyone else. I promise.”

Vallion nodded. “I can’t give up either. I’ve found a...place where I belong with our crew. I won’t stop searching for a way out.”

Balogh bubbled with laughter, prompting Murakami, Vallion, and the guards to stare at her like she suddenly sprouted a tail. “We are one stubborn crew, huh?” she finally said through the laughter. “We don’t know when to accept defeat. I’m glad.” She reached out and held onto her friends’ hands. “How much would you wanna bet the rest of our happy-go-lucky crew of idiots are thinking the same thing?” she asked, smiling like a fool, but she knew she wasn’t the only fool; Murakami and Vallion were smiling, too.

Murakami rested her head on Balogh’s shoulder. “Let’s go inspire our crew―”

“―and piss off Captain Zeelot, Surgeon Krellion, and Slave Mel?” Vallion finished, bringing them into a six-armed hug, “Because I have a feeling we’ll be doing exactly that.”

“Yes, and it’ll be perfect,” Balogh said. Grinning like fools, the three of them found Snell and told them they were ready.

Snell sneered at them, saying, “You all are fools,” but Balogh and the others didn’t mind because as the curtains were pulled away, the crew of the Voyager Moana was filled with the happiest-go-luckiest of idiots in the universe.

[humansareweirdsedition]

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Character Guide

Hey everyone! Sorry for the inactivity for the story. University started up again and I’m already swamped with assignments from the left and right. I promise you, I am working on the next installment of the story, but I’m not satisfied with it quite yet. I’ll post it at the end of the month, so while you wait, I’ll give you this fun post.

Name: Noriko Murakami

Rank: Lieutenant General

Age: 55 E.Y. (Earth Years)

D.O.B.: 3 September 2390 A.D.

P.O.B.: Tokyo, Japan

Nationality: Intergalactic/International (current)

                    Japanese (former)

Ethnicity: Japanese (paternal grandfather); Igbo/German (paternal grandmother); Vietnamese/French (maternal grandfather); Chinese/Mongol (maternal grandmother)

Blood Type: AB +

Sexual Orientation: Lesbian

Eye color: T40

Hair: Dark ash brown with gray streaks. Wears it short.

Height: 184.34 cm

Weight: 65.6 kg

Likes: Asami Masaki (wife) and their seven children

           Traditional Japanese foods and sweets

           Frappuccino iced coffee

           Order and organization

           Reptiles and amphibians

           Physics and engineering

Dislikes: Any foods that are still not fully dead

               Black coffee (yucky)

               Chaos and complete disregard of common sense

               Jump-scare movies

               Assward military and civilian bureaucrats

Style: Fashionable. She dresses to command attention. Throw her bombshell wife into the mix and more than one motor vehicle accident has occurred.

Character History: Murakami is the third out of five children and the second-eldest daughter. She had an uneventful childhood; she was top of her class; she studied archery and judo as hobbies;a she was the captain of the track-and-field team, physics club, and student council president throughout middle and high school (she went to an elevator school); she got a track-and-field scholarship from the University of Tokyo; and on her twentieth birthday, she joined the A.F. reserves to help further her education.

At 28, she worked as a graduate T.A. at the University of Tokyo where she was studying for her PhD in quantum physics and aerospace engineering (both aeronautical and astronautical engineering). She developed a new formula for interplanetary space travel which allowed ships to neglect the relativity of time (as we humans and other lifeforms know it) and return home within eight to sixteen months from departure time.

Even with the sensationalism in the science community surrounding her, Murakami still lived an uneventful life until 21 year old Asami Masaki came onto the scene. (I’ll leave this story for another day.)

At 31, Murakami became an active A.F. member and rapidly climbed the ranks. Again, everything went uneventfully.

Then she landed in the Voyager Moana as the ship’s major general.

After eleven uneventful years in the reserves and another fifteen uneventful years on active duty, Murakami came upon an A.F. vessel filled with happy-go-lucky idiots lead by the happiest-go-luckiest idiot of them all: Lt. Gen. Sun Hyung’on. She had never set foot on an A.F. vessel that enjoyed mishap, adventures, and blatant disregard to protocol when “it was the right thing to do” until she joined the Voyager Moana.

During her five years as major general, she learned things she considered “human traits” weren’t just limited to humans. Staunch loyalty to friends; moral justice against rule of law; and reckless abandon in the face of danger; all could be found in all sentient lifeforms, not just humans. H’hish and other lifeforms who never interacted a human displayed these traits and more. Her worldview rapidly changed. (More on this in the main story and shorts.)

However, Murakami still preferred a neat and orderly vessel instead of one filled with the sincerest of idiots, so when she was promoted to lieutenant general after Lt. Gen. Hyung’on’s retirement, she did try to bring the ship into order. Unfortunately, Hyung’on’s unofficial policies were too deeply embedded into the crew and spread like a disease to new crewmembers that it was useless to change the policies of the ship. So after a month, she gave up and just left things as they were.

Eventually Murakami realized she already adopted ship’s jolly attitude, in her own fashion of course. Three years has passed and she has laxed more on A.F. procedures than she used to.

[humansareweirdsedition]

No, thank you for reading and commenting! I’m so happy you’re enjoying the story.

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Part XI

It’s Part XI guys! This one took a bit of time not because I had difficulty writing it (which isn’t to say I didn’t have writer’s block at some point), but because my cat Moon kept bugging me. Like, as I wrote this sentence, he was sitting beside me, purring for attention. He doesn’t leave me alone. All day long, he has followed me around and kept me from working. He’s such a pain.

By the way, the italic conversations are the Voyager Moana’s crew speaking Earthen languages (usually mixed). An example is two random individuals speaking Arabic and Japanese in the same sentence. One person be speaking in Japanese, but then start speaking some Arabic words in between, and the other person will do the opposite and they both completely understand each other.

Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X < > Part XII >> Part XIII

“Lieutenant General!” exclaimed Fatima as she stood up and salute her. “It’s good to see you’re alive.”

Seeing Fatima’s warm, genuine smile brought a flood of relief to Murakami. “It’s good to see you’re alive as well. I thought you got burnt to a crisp back on the ship,” she said, unable to hold back a smile. It really had been too long since she last saw any of her friends.

Fatima grinned. “Honestly, I would have been if Vallion hadn’t shielded me…” As her voice trailed off, a far away look took over. “I was lucky Vallion had my back. We were all lucky not to have died.”

Murakami sighed. “Well, who would’ve thought pendulums of death made of mattresses and a Twinkie-oven bombs could do so much damage?”

“Gigi’ish did. He was complaining the entire time we were making it,” she said with the most serious of straight faces, mimicking the face Gigi’ish often made when someone was about to do something reckless.

Murakami couldn’t help, but laugh. “Yes, well, he’s more…”

“Paranoid?” Fatima supplemented.

“…cautious than he should, but he’s managed to survive this far with us.”

“Uh-huh…anyways, why has this kalb brought you here, sir?” Fatima asked as she jerked her thumb towards Mel.

“Meru-kun is unfortunately tasked with getting me to reveal personal information about our crew.”

“Meru? I thought his name was Mel? The leatherhead goons and the other prisoners call him that.”

“Oh, his name is Mel, but I figured this’ll be a fun way of passive-aggressively pissing him off.”

“Good one, sir.”

“Alright,” Mel interrupted, his usual stoic expression had now taken a chilling aspect, “all languages except Standard Galaxic are forbidden.”

Fatima was less than impressed by Mel’s declaration. “What will you do if we don’t comply?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Indeed, what could Mel do to them? He was a slave; and albeit he had more freedoms than most on this vessel, he was still a powerless figure, but Murakami had a sinking feeling that underestimating Mel’s capabilities would be a grave mistake…

Keep reading

[humansareweirdsedition]

Yup. :D I managed to put enough thought into the names so that they weren’t a jumbled mess. ^^’

Oh, but the endings ‘ish, ‘x, ‘on, and ion are not the only endings. More surname endings exist. Also, surnames are derived from the carrier’s given name.

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Part XI

It’s Part XI guys! This one took a bit of time not because I had difficulty writing it (which isn’t to say I didn’t have writer’s block at some point), but because my cat Moon kept bugging me. Like, as I wrote this sentence, he was sitting beside me, purring for attention. He doesn’t leave me alone. All day long, he has followed me around and kept me from working. He’s such a pain.

By the way, the italic conversations are the Voyager Moana’s crew speaking Earthen languages (usually mixed). An example is two random individuals speaking Arabic and Japanese in the same sentence. One person be speaking in Japanese, but then start speaking some Arabic words in between, and the other person will do the opposite and they both completely understand each other.

Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X < > Part XII >> Part XIII

“Lieutenant General!” exclaimed Fatima as she stood up and salute her. “It’s good to see you’re alive.”

Seeing Fatima’s warm, genuine smile brought a flood of relief to Murakami. “It’s good to see you’re alive as well. I thought you got burnt to a crisp back on the ship,” she said, unable to hold back a smile. It really had been too long since she last saw any of her friends.

Fatima grinned. “Honestly, I would have been if Vallion hadn’t shielded me…” As her voice trailed off, a far away look took over. “I was lucky Vallion had my back. We were all lucky not to have died.”

Murakami sighed. “Well, who would’ve thought pendulums of death made of mattresses and a Twinkie-oven bombs could do so much damage?”

“Gigi’ish did. He was complaining the entire time we were making it,” she said with the most serious of straight faces, mimicking the face Gigi’ish often made when someone was about to do something reckless.

Murakami couldn’t help, but laugh. “Yes, well, he’s more…”

“Paranoid?” Fatima supplemented.

“…cautious than he should, but he’s managed to survive this far with us.”

“Uh-huh…anyways, why has this kalb brought you here, sir?” Fatima asked as she jerked her thumb towards Mel.

“Meru-kun is unfortunately tasked with getting me to reveal personal information about our crew.”

“Meru? I thought his name was Mel? The leatherhead goons and the other prisoners call him that.”

“Oh, his name is Mel, but I figured this’ll be a fun way of passive-aggressively pissing him off.”

“Good one, sir.”

“Alright,” Mel interrupted, his usual stoic expression had now taken a chilling aspect, “all languages except Standard Galaxic are forbidden.”

Fatima was less than impressed by Mel’s declaration. “What will you do if we don’t comply?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Indeed, what could Mel do to them? He was a slave; and albeit he had more freedoms than most on this vessel, he was still a powerless figure, but Murakami had a sinking feeling that underestimating Mel’s capabilities would be a grave mistake…

Keep reading

[humansareweirdsedition]

Haha, no, you’re okay. And I agree, lots of them are like that.

As for me, I decided the strange apostrophe names for the H’hish surnames at least generally end in ‘ish, ‘x, ‘on or ion. These are based on the “caste” the H’hishian ancestor was born in and/or their carrier parent. Surnames are passed on from the carrier’s side of the family.

Given names for H’hish are short and simple. Just a few syllables. The H’hish don’t like having long, complicated words and when they do, the words are usually borrowed from other alien languages.

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Part XI

It’s Part XI guys! This one took a bit of time not because I had difficulty writing it (which isn’t to say I didn’t have writer’s block at some point), but because my cat Moon kept bugging me. Like, as I wrote this sentence, he was sitting beside me, purring for attention. He doesn’t leave me alone. All day long, he has followed me around and kept me from working. He’s such a pain.

By the way, the italic conversations are the Voyager Moana’s crew speaking Earthen languages (usually mixed). An example is two random individuals speaking Arabic and Japanese in the same sentence. One person be speaking in Japanese, but then start speaking some Arabic words in between, and the other person will do the opposite and they both completely understand each other.

Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X < > Part XII >> Part XIII

“Lieutenant General!” exclaimed Fatima as she stood up and salute her. “It’s good to see you’re alive.”

Seeing Fatima’s warm, genuine smile brought a flood of relief to Murakami. “It’s good to see you’re alive as well. I thought you got burnt to a crisp back on the ship,” she said, unable to hold back a smile. It really had been too long since she last saw any of her friends.

Fatima grinned. “Honestly, I would have been if Vallion hadn’t shielded me…” As her voice trailed off, a far away look took over. “I was lucky Vallion had my back. We were all lucky not to have died.”

Murakami sighed. “Well, who would’ve thought pendulums of death made of mattresses and a Twinkie-oven bombs could do so much damage?”

“Gigi’ish did. He was complaining the entire time we were making it,” she said with the most serious of straight faces, mimicking the face Gigi’ish often made when someone was about to do something reckless.

Murakami couldn’t help, but laugh. “Yes, well, he’s more…”

“Paranoid?” Fatima supplemented.

“…cautious than he should, but he’s managed to survive this far with us.”

“Uh-huh…anyways, why has this kalb brought you here, sir?” Fatima asked as she jerked her thumb towards Mel.

“Meru-kun is unfortunately tasked with getting me to reveal personal information about our crew.”

“Meru? I thought his name was Mel? The leatherhead goons and the other prisoners call him that.”

“Oh, his name is Mel, but I figured this’ll be a fun way of passive-aggressively pissing him off.”

“Good one, sir.”

“Alright,” Mel interrupted, his usual stoic expression had now taken a chilling aspect, “all languages except Standard Galaxic are forbidden.”

Fatima was less than impressed by Mel’s declaration. “What will you do if we don’t comply?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Indeed, what could Mel do to them? He was a slave; and albeit he had more freedoms than most on this vessel, he was still a powerless figure, but Murakami had a sinking feeling that underestimating Mel’s capabilities would be a grave mistake…

Keep reading

[humansareweirdsedition]

I would hope the small excerpt would be good. I want to keep people reading the story. ^_^’

And, as for Gigi’ish’s name, it is pronounced “Gee-Gee-ish”. The same formate is followed for others with similar names, like Bebe’ish is “Bee-Bee-ish”.

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Part XI

It’s Part XI guys! This one took a bit of time not because I had difficulty writing it (which isn’t to say I didn’t have writer’s block at some point), but because my cat Moon kept bugging me. Like, as I wrote this sentence, he was sitting beside me, purring for attention. He doesn’t leave me alone. All day long, he has followed me around and kept me from working. He’s such a pain.

By the way, the italic conversations are the Voyager Moana’s crew speaking Earthen languages (usually mixed). An example is two random individuals speaking Arabic and Japanese in the same sentence. One person be speaking in Japanese, but then start speaking some Arabic words in between, and the other person will do the opposite and they both completely understand each other.

Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X < > Part XII >> Part XIII

“Lieutenant General!” exclaimed Fatima as she stood up and salute her. “It’s good to see you’re alive.”

Seeing Fatima’s warm, genuine smile brought a flood of relief to Murakami. “It’s good to see you’re alive as well. I thought you got burnt to a crisp back on the ship,” she said, unable to hold back a smile. It really had been too long since she last saw any of her friends.

Fatima grinned. “Honestly, I would have been if Vallion hadn’t shielded me…” As her voice trailed off, a far away look took over. “I was lucky Vallion had my back. We were all lucky not to have died.”

Murakami sighed. “Well, who would’ve thought pendulums of death made of mattresses and a Twinkie-oven bombs could do so much damage?”

“Gigi’ish did. He was complaining the entire time we were making it,” she said with the most serious of straight faces, mimicking the face Gigi’ish often made when someone was about to do something reckless.

Murakami couldn’t help, but laugh. “Yes, well, he’s more…”

“Paranoid?” Fatima supplemented.

“…cautious than he should, but he’s managed to survive this far with us.”

“Uh-huh…anyways, why has this kalb brought you here, sir?” Fatima asked as she jerked her thumb towards Mel.

“Meru-kun is unfortunately tasked with getting me to reveal personal information about our crew.”

“Meru? I thought his name was Mel? The leatherhead goons and the other prisoners call him that.”

“Oh, his name is Mel, but I figured this’ll be a fun way of passive-aggressively pissing him off.”

“Good one, sir.”

“Alright,” Mel interrupted, his usual stoic expression had now taken a chilling aspect, “all languages except Standard Galaxic are forbidden.”

Fatima was less than impressed by Mel’s declaration. “What will you do if we don’t comply?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Indeed, what could Mel do to them? He was a slave; and albeit he had more freedoms than most on this vessel, he was still a powerless figure, but Murakami had a sinking feeling that underestimating Mel’s capabilities would be a grave mistake…

Keep reading