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[rrcooperwrites]

Opus V

Reddit: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pjvdik/wp_youve_been_defeated_again_and_you_couldnt_be/

[WP] You've been defeated again, and you couldn't be happier! Ruling over the land as an all powerful dictator always gets boring. Now comes your favorite part, the grind back to the top!

As always here is the accompanying soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3fAg9pzqtc9UiP0K9gZj6Y?si=f90c96f884c847a5

START HERE >>>

Liberator from the Imperial Yoke, Protector of the Realm, Head of the Church, Lord of the Moon, Husband to the Sun, Master of Beasts, Professor, Doctor, and leader in-perpetuam of the Planet Kingdom of Gardenia, his Serene Majesty Theofilium XII was dead.

And he couldn’t be happier.

As soon as Hiro’s sword penetrated his chest, Theo’s event listener kicked in. The running environment noticed the triggered event. The event’s signature was “tirant_defeated”, its data variant was 48280.

Theo jumped up from the submersion chair, almost pulling down the cranial-sense injector that but seconds ago had been embedded in his nose.

“This is it!” Theo exclaimed. He was sure of it.

“Just needs some tinkering, a hair here, a death there, a sickness over there,” said Theo as he plopped into what he liked to call the “Thinking Chair”, which wasn’t inaccurate. The “Thinking Chair” could brag that it had provided comfort to one of the smartest arses in the universe.

A processing tower gave an audible ping, like a kettle, a rather irritated kettle as well.

“Coming,” screamed Theo at no one in particular. A second, even more irritated, ping resounded across the room.

“I said I’m coming Tofi,” said Theo, “I can’t process information as fast as you can.”

A smug series of pings sounded in the room.

“Slow down Tofi. I understand morse code, but there needs to be at least more than 100 milliseconds between each letter if you want me to keep up.”

A reproachful series of pings.

“You’re right, I haven’t been studying. But if this works out, we’re going to be getting a lot more free time.”

Theo wheeled himself over to the pinging console.

“The future 50 year simulation looks good. Not too much tragedy really. Couple of rebellions, all quickly put down, and a strong dynasty is established as well,” said Theo as he nodded approvingly, “There is a definite advantage to killing the BF during the campaign. Note to self: Change abbreviation of BF to something else. It sometimes makes it difficult to differentiate between Best Friend BF, and Boy Friend BF.”

Theo pressed a series of buttons on the console and reports started to roll out from the asthmatic matrix printer.

“Which is running out of ink,” said Theo, “Note to self: Walk down to beach for squid rings and ink.”

Theo wheeled himself over once-again to the printer and started reading the data.

“Ok, so let’s look at base stats first. Lost heir to the throne is the perfect way to go, clearly. People like a bit of pomp I guess. Also female is always better, particularly if they’re born to exiled nobles. A sword as a personal side-arm is a must have, I wonder why?”

A series on inquisitive beeps sounded off.

“That’s true Tofi, swords and sword-like weapons are always associated with justice, truth, and nobility. Which is of course ridiculous. There is no justice or nobility when a sword skewears a infant, although there is a sad kind of truth in it I guess.”

Reaffirmation beeps.

“That’s right Tofi! We’ve got the best variables now. The perfect side-arm. The perfect best friend. The perfect first kiss. I even managed to let Hiro decide for themselves who they want to romance. As long as they stay away from Malinha, they should be ok. Of course, that requires me to kill her off after she has served her purpose.”

Regretful beeps.

“Well yes, but to be fair, that is her purpose in life, isn’t it? Be evil, turn to good, die for Hiro’s sake. There is a lot of purpose in a life like that.”

Sad beeps.

“You know you shouldn’t get attached to them. They’re tools.”

Silence.

“Fine!” exclaimed Theo, “If you manage to find a way to save her, do it. Just make sure she stays away from Hiro for say the next 50 years after they defeat the tyrant, ok?”

Dutiful beeps.

“Ok Tofi. I’m going to rest now. Tomorrow, we can continue working on the successful run. Who knew that a trainable smart cheeky pet would be a must-have?”

Night-night beeps.

“Good night mate,” said Theo as he walked past a series of spherical containers. One of them was labelled “Hiro”.

“Sweet dreams saviour,” whispered Theo while lightly brushing his fingers across the concreglass of the container.

“It isn’t fair what I’m going to put you through and there are no gods or spirits that will forgive what I’ve put you through to get here.”

Theo walked into his little sleeping coven.

“But I don’t need forgiveness,” he said to himself, “all I need is for Gardenia to be free.”

And so Theo slept. He slept the uncomfortable sleep of the criminal who knows he has done wrong. But every now and again he would have small dreams though. In this dreams he finally released Hiro into the world. With him where all the companions that he had carefully selected.

The Mentor, The Best Friend, The Lover, The Spouse, The Veteran, The Enchantress, The Villain, The Kind Priest, The Boisterous Warrior, The Mage.

They were all sitting in spheres alongside Hiro’s. Whenever he remembered this, Theo managed to sleep quietly for a little while more, and dreamt of freedom.

[rrcooperwrites]

Opus 4

[WP] It's surprisingly useful having a real witch helping out around the village. Plagues, sicknesses and animal attacks haven't been a problem ever since Old Mabel started practicing openly. So when some out-of-town witch hunters want to burn her at the stake, the villagers are none too pleased

As always here is the accompanying soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/37i9dQZF1E4rjWSx9UXGAL?si=05a578cb58e147e2 Original Reddit Post: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pi4jvr/wp_its_surprisingly_useful_having_a_real_witch/

START HERE >>>

The following happened to High Inquisitor Maximum Nastius in the year 1756 of our Supreme Lord, praised be his name and many appendages. Notes taken by Scribe Inkius The Consternated.

The High Inquisitor pounded the table in anger. The table, peppered with knot holes from the inquisitor’s mailed fist, wondered what it’s ancestors had done to merit such treatment. Then thought better about it, and remembered that a table really has no business wondering about its circumstances. It finally concluded to just bear it and instead think of the nice cleaning lady who uses the lemon scented cleaner.

“Confess your thousands of crimes, you unholy arse worm!” screamed the Grand Inquisitor at Rexius. The village chief squirmed in his seat, he knew that he was no arse-worm, but was so terrified that he was trying his best to look like one. This did not placate the Grand Inquisitor, who really disliked it when people didn’t live up to his, admittedly high, aspirations.

The Grand Inquisitor’s actual name was Prudence. His mother was a very pious woman and thought that a name based on a virtue would be very appropriate for a future priest. Which of course she was sure her little baby would grow up to be. She just needed to feel the pressure of those yellow coloured eyes upon her. They seemed to say, “Confess”.

Yellow was an odd colour for eyes. The Grand Inquisitor’s mother guessed it might have been due to her late husband’s constant drinking. Her theory was that he had drunk so much that the piss had leaked out the last time she had been forced to satisfy the compact of marriage, and had stained her baby’s eyes a piercing yellow.

Thankfully, The Grand Inquisitor had managed to combine the many beatings he received due to his name with his mother’s enthusiastic pursue of religion and turn it into a very successful and profitable career with The Church. His now elderly mother would send letters every month telling him how terrified her neighbours would look whenever he was brought up. This, of course, pleased The Grand Inquisitor. Who loved both his mother and striking fear into the hearts of sinners.

The reason I’m giving you his backstory, honoured reader, is to impress upon you how effective The Grand Inquisitor was at his job. And why even though Rexius, the aforementioned village chief, really wanted to. He couldn’t give The Grand Inquisitor what he wanted.

“Ok, you pulsing pus-flavoured extraneous growth,” said The Grand Inquisitor, whose abuse of language had been brought up in a couple of peer reviews, “Confess! Tell me where the witch is!”

Rexius tried to sigh, but his lips and face were too swollen to actually expel a sufficient amount of air to be called a sigh.

“I’m terribly sorry inquisitor, I really don’t know,” said Rexius, and then let out another not-quite sigh.

“GRAND! Inquisitor,” the Grand Inquisitor said, “As very soon you will find out, I’m a CUT above other inquisitors.”

Rexius winced at the sharp inflection The Grand Inquisitor gave to “Cut”.

“I honestly don’t know what you want from me,” said Rexius, “ I already told you, the witch is gone.”

“The witch cannot be gone. She’s only human.”

“Only witch you mean.”

“Silence arse-worm! She’s both. A demon’s bride. Fit only for the pits of hells.”

“You don’t get it. She left without a trace, because she is an actual witch. Not a lady of the woods.”

Rexius would have offered this explanation earlier, but the first six days of his confinement consisted of a breakfast, brutal beatings, lunch, more brutal beatings, tea with a biscuit, brutal interrogation, supper, and perhaps a late night brutal beating, if the inquisitors were trying to outdo themselves.

Only until today had his gag been removed, The Grand Inquisitor believed that people were like meat, if you softened them before cooking, you get better results. But now, for the first time in the week since Rexius had been brought here, The Grand Inquisitor changed his expression from his Holy Fury(TM) to his Mildly Confused(Patent Pending).

“What nonsense are you spouting heretic. All Lady of The Woods are witches, by definition,” said The Grand Inquisitor.

“Not this one. Listen. I’m not an amateur either. I’m in my fifties. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven,” confessed the now much younger looking Grand Inquisitor.

“Twenty-seven?!? You’re a mewling baby. I’m 72, by the time you were just being weaned of your mother’s tits I had already burned over 30 witches.”

The Grand Inquisitor struck Rexius. Purely out of principle, and maybe the bit about his mother’s tits. The Grand Inquisitor did not like to think about his mother’s anything during interrogations. He was afraid he might enjoy it.

“Terribly sorry Rexius, but it was warranted,” said The Grand Inquisitor as gracefully as possible, “Ok, I’m now ready to listen. Tell me everything.”

“No worries, I understand. It’s the principle of the matter,” said Rexius. The Grand Inquisitor nodded in agreement.

“Very well,” continued Rexius, “I will tell you everything.”

Rexius then proceeded to tell The Grand Inquisitor, everything, well, almost, except for one small bit.

The whole affair started when a new Lady Of The Woods moved into their village.

Now, everyone knows that being a Lady of The Woods is dangerous. But since they’re a combination of doctor, advisor, teacher, and chemist, they are able to earn incredible profits. Most Ladies are just highly educated women really. Which of course means that there is at least a sixty-percent chance that the local village will blame them for any woes that befall the village and try to burn their Lady at the stake.

In this modern times, this happens less now of course. Some Ladies hire mercenaries, who are very eager to defend a very agreeable person from a bunch of ragtag peasants. If the Lady can’t afford mercenaries, she just bribes the peasants, sometimes by offering discounts on services for a year or so.

There are even places where the annual burning of the witch is a massive celebration, and the local Lady of The Woods is an honoured guest, and the burning is merely symbolic.

This was not the case in the village of Hogington. Hogington, true to its naming origins, was a town of swineherds, along with the swineherds there were butchers, bakers and candlestick makers to round out the needed professions in the town. Hogington also had some very famous restaurants, although due to the smell, patrons had to be particularly dedicated to enjoy their meals.

So when a new Lady Of the Woods moved in, everyone was wondering why she had chosen Hogington. When Rexius asked her, the Lady, whose name was Drusilia, answered: “Because I love pork rinds.”

Rexius explained that of course he understood. Hoginton’s pork rinds were famous the world over, or at least famous about 100 miles around Hoginton. But he had a hard time believing someone would move to Hogington just for the pork rinds.

“We did everything as per instructions,” said Rexius, “people would shun her during the day, maybe throw an apple her way even, if anyone was up for it. Then at night, everyone would go to her cottage with their problems. I can’t bed my wife, I can’t get pregnant, my crops are failing, my husband won’t bed me. The usual you know.”

Rexius explained that not only did the Lady fix those issues. She fixed a handful of others. One day, she simply walked into the tanning district and asked them why they did the tanning inside the town where it would stink up everything? The tanners of course told her, “Lady, where else could we go?

Drusilia snapped her fingers and told them to follow the new dirt road from the eastern part of town and that about one hour away by horse they will find a valley where they can tan all day long. She did the same for the swineherds, the butchers and the candlestick makers. She moved all of them out of the town into properties she owned.

“Ahhhh, usury! The cheapest of crimes. I’m sure she charged outrageous prices for this and threatened to turn your baby’s toes into jam if you didn’t comply,” exclaimed The High Inquisitor, who was growing tired of this witch’s benevolence.

“Not really. She didn’t charge us, and after she expelled some of the lazier artisans, she gave the land to the town. We own it now, and as long as it’s never sold to a private citizen, the land is ours to use,” answered Rexius apologetically.

“I see. Continue then, I’m sure we’ll find something,” said The High Inquisitor. Who was trying to hide his disappointment at the sub-par quality of the sins so far.

“Unfortunately High Inquisitor, that’s basically it. Drusilia left shortly after that, her house is empty but clean. There are no signs of her anywhere.”

“Hmmm, no ash in the shape of a phallus?”

“No”

“No cats walking on two legs?”

“Not really”

“No hellish fumes, like a combination of rotten eggs and wet weasels?”

“That’s just Tauberius, but he’s taking a medicine for it.”

“I see… Master Rexius it seems like you might just have run into a very wealthy patroness,” said The High Inquisitor, who for all his passion for hunting heretics, was a rather polite man in his private life.

“What do you mean?”

“Well my dear sir, look at the evidence. Everything she ever did could be explained away by hiring enough workers for it. Giving you the land is perhaps a bit more eccentric than usual, but not that out of the norm for the truly wealthy. They tend to be queer like that sometimes,” said The High Inquisitor, a huge smile spread over his face.

“I dare say, we’re terribly sorry about this chap,” continued The High Inquisitor, ”I’ll ask my men to give you a good horse and some provisions. Including some of our strawberries, which are in season.”

“That’s incredibly kind of you High Inquisitor, I’m humbled,” said Rexius.

“Oh poo,” answered The High Inquisitor while waving his hand dismissively and calling over some of his men.

That night, one of the kingdom’s far scouts spotted a woman riding alone on a palace horse. After he stopped the woman, he asked for her papers. The woman pulled out a very impressive looking letter with the even more impressive looking seal of The High Inquisitor stamped on it. The guard had heard rumours about The High Inquisitor, so he just let the woman go on her way. The woman thanked him and popped a rather delicious looking strawberry into her mouth, as she made her way back to Hogington.

[rrcooperwrites]

Opus 3

Prompt

[WP] You and your your non-human fiancé introduce each other to your respective wedding/bonding ceremony traditions, with much giggling and many questions.

Reddit Post

https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/phtrkn/wp_you_and_your_your_nonhuman_fiance_introduce/

You can find all the songs mentioned in the story in the recommended Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/37i9dQZF1DX7YVXCfBlE4D?si=162f07abcfd845d2

Start Here

Dear readers,

Relationships are hard. There are a lot of rewards of course. The connection. The passion. The one mindedness of it, almost a psychic connection. There are obstacles as well. Little disagreements. How much space will you leave for my things in your dresser? Do I get a full drawer or half of one? Why did you invite him? You don’t like him and I hate him. I’m sorry I yelled, come back to bed.

Then there are the grand obstacles, like explaining to your fiancée why your species’ book of marriage comes in a wheelbarrow. Or why he has to join with your Guardians of the Flower, which is just our version of his bridesmaids.

The real issue is that he just won’t listen, he is so focused on the Dance of the Sacred Saber and how he will: “Definitely die, my lotus flower. Even if the blades are blunt, the blow will crush me.” But I tell him that I’ll just tell my ex-husband/ex-warmaster to swing softly. I mean, my taumtaum* is so teenie tiny, that it’s easier to miss him than hit him.

He also dislikes how I call him teenie-tiny. But be fair! I’m a small female at only 4.4 tribits! Even if he is tall for his species, he is still only 3.7 tribits. Of course he then says, “That’s not fair flower. Everything sounds small in tribits. I’m really 185 cm, I assure you, I’m tall for my species, at least above average.”

He sometimes gets frustrated with this, but then I just give him a little pout and ask him if he doesn’t like me because I’m so much bigger than him. I’m telling you, all my fellow Magnobargobians. If you have a human partner, this little trick always works on them. Immediately after, he becomes very agreeable and in about 5 uniminutes, off we are to go join.

And it’s not like some of his customs are not weird. For example, in his particular flavour/brand/psychic-network of human culture it’s necessary to perform a “Seducción”. This “little” ceremony takes only 6 unihours, Six! Do you know how hard it’s to get a Magnobargobian to sit still for half of that without having anything to kill, eat, drink or try to join with? Practically as difficult as getting a Rinizari to let go of a halluciwool ball!

My friend Pris asked me to include that joke, she’s a Rinizari, definitely follow her at @pretty_pris to get the best and latest of Halunean fashion.

Now, back to this “Seducción” thing. It starts with a part I really like actually. He and his “compas” will arrive with their instruments(musical ones) while dressed in ceremonial garbs and riding their “corceles”. They will then proceed to sing songs related to the female, at least in this case, that they’re about to heart-capture.

My taumtaum has selected some quite beautiful songs, they are all songs that have been inherited by his family over the generations and each family member who has sang it has changed something about it. Sometimes it’s changed back, but it usually remains. He says that his songs are over 500 generations old, which I thought was pretty impressive for such a shortly lived race.

The songs he has chosen are the following:

-“Piel Canela”, for my bronze skin.

-“Cerezo Rosa”, for my cherry lips.

-“Aquellos Ojos Verdes”, for my green eyes.

-“Azul”, for the blue blood I spilled on the battlefields in the Foscanebian Wars.

-“Sombras”, for my succesful infiltration and assassination of two Bularian chiefs.

-“Las Cuarenta”, for my over 40 successful Etracian drink-wrestling bouts.

-“Amor de mis amores”, Chief love of all my loves is his chosen bond song. The one that reflects his true feelings about our relationship.

Just writing about it makes me giddy with anticipation. The next part however, takes all the giddiness away. After the “La Serenata” is over. I’m supposed to come down, overwhelmed with lust and passion and get on top of his “corcel”.

Dear readers, that cannot happen. This “corcel” is about as big as a dog, and it has to support both my taumtaum and myself. It is going to die. Plain as the three suns of our glorious Magneus. And as much as I’d like to taste “corcel” flesh, I think it would put a damper on the celebrations.

I logically suggested that we take my battle-hound, Hammer of Daemons, instead. But my taumtaum says that he can’t control it, plus it will definitely eat the other smaller “corceles”.

Which I mean, first, he can definitely control little Ham-ham, he is such a sweet-heart. And yes, Ham-ham still has trouble believing that my taumtaum is not food, but he’s getting better. They now love to cuddle after a big meal to have a nap. He looks absolutely adorable sleeping in the middle of Ham-ham. And Ham-ham is so good to not squish him. I’m telling you readers, I’ve taken so many holopics of them, I’m running out of memory of my holotablet, it’s that bad.

Well, this is running a bit too long for the word count my editor asked for. In the end readers, I managed to convince him and his “compas” to ride battle-hounds. I can smell them training right now out in the arena. I think I’m going to go out out there and grace them with a little Magnobargobian battle-chanting. That always calms the battle-hounds down and will be a nice respite for my taumtaum.

Until next time readers, wish me favourable stellar alignments.

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

* Taumtaum: A combination of boyfriend, fiancee, and fellow soldier. There is no Interlang equivalent.

[rrcooperwrites]

Opus 2

Prompt

You think your new home might be haunted...by a very helpful ghost. Every time you start looking for something you've misplaced, you turn around to find it right beside you.📷

Original Link: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pdyor9/wp_you_think_your_new_home_might_be_hauntedby_a/

Recommended Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/09VVhP7IWabP5mZwiP7RhS?si=5afe118203a74645

Start Here

I’m writing down the following lines in the hope that someone will one day read this and pick up on my research. My hope is that whoever reads this, is in a dark place, because the following will convince you that there are some wonders left in this world.

I arrived to my new home, at least for the following year, during a torrential downpour. Cusco’s weather is rather odd. During the summer it rains prodigiously, so not only is everything hot, it is also wet. Walking feels like wadding through a dog’s fat folds. This failed to sit well with my middle-class Lima bred ass, who had never been in this kind of wet hotness.

The weather actually didn’t bother me that much really, it’s just now that I think about it, I hate it. At that moment I could not have cared less if there were sardines raining down. I was about to visit Qenko, a sacred site in Willka Qhichwa, the Sacred Valley of the Incas.

I had busted my absolute arse off trying to get the funding. Ended up getting it from a Canadian university. There, I had come across a rather stuffy old-boor of a man who headed the Archeology department at a small campus somewhere in Montreal. Luckily for me, the stuffy old-boor had a rather delightful French-Canadian assistant called Marie-Claire. To whom I owe a posh dinner and a my-best-effort shag, by the way.

But all my thoughts about money, poutine, shagging, and the pressure of not fucking this up flew away the moment I laid eyes on Qenko.

The monoliths, the object of my study, stood particularly out, they were absolutely gorgeous. Marie-Claire had joked that a lot of them had a peculiar build and teased me that perhaps it was a fertility site. And as adorable as she is, she was also very wrong. Qenko is a sacrificial and mummification centre. My specialty, and also where I would find proof for my theory.

“The Non-Euclidean Geometrics of Monoliths and Their Relationship to Death Magic by Azucena Matias”

It would be my bloody masterpiece. I had all the measurements I needed from satellites, but I wanted to confirm them myself. If that went well, and the measurements confirmed what I suspected, they would converge in a place where I could excavate for items related to death magic and rituals.

On only my third week there, it happened. We found a massive cache of items including a small statue depicting Supay, the god of death. One of our team, an American intern, freaked out and started shouting nonsense about curses upon whomever disturbs a death site, and how those courses target mostly people like him, as in not natives. Which is of course ridiculous. If the site was booby trapped, it would kill everyone equally. And if there was a curse, he was the only foreigner in the expedition, and after all only an American. There’s plenty more where he came from. Although I’d definitely miss his BBQ’s, bloody smoked goodies will kill me one day.

Anyhow, we found the site, cheered, calmed down Paul(the intern), started drinking, convinced Paul to BBQ, got Paul drunk, Paul BBQd, we drank, and drank, I got my hand down a particularly cute lassie’s blouse and a promise to go out next week. So when I collapsed unto my bed at 5 am with Supay’s statue carefully placed on my kitchen counter, I was rather content. This contentment did not last.

I woke up around 2pm, made breakfast, collapsed on my couch, started to pack a bowl(it was Sunday after all) and prepared to have a very relaxed day when I suddenly noticed something. Or rather didn’t notice something, since the thing itself was missing.

My laptop, my stupid expensive rugged laptop with Linux installed and all my fucking documents was still at the dig site. Unguarded. In a third-world country. Pretty close to the jungle. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

I jumped from my couch and bolted to the door, tears were already streaming down my face as I grabbed my keys and put my hand on the door handle.

“Wait!” said a voice. Not an unpleasant voice. But clearly a voice not coming from a human mouth. Also a voice speaking Classical Quechua, which made it rather special. I knew about one-hundred percent of all Classical Quechua speakers, I should anyway, I’m twenty-five percent of them.

My emotions fought each other for supremacy when I turned around. None won. So my face probably looked liked someone who was absolutely terrified but meekly thankful.

A small figure that looked like a tiny beer barrel with bat wings was hovering in the middle of my condo. In his rather large claws was my laptop, looking pretty unharmed.

“Here you go maiden,” it said, “I have brought your annoying magic book over.”

I can’t remember how it happened, but somehow I managed to walk towards the thing, take my laptop and sit down on my couch. I eyed my bowl and noticed that it was full and unlit. This both calmed and terrified me. See what I meant with the mixing of emotions?

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’ve got a peasant’s accent,” the little creature answered, “but no bother, we can fix it. I’ll teach you how to posses the diction dictated by your blood.”

“My blood?” I stuttered, “What do you want my blood for?”

“Want it? I don’t want it,” it said, “What I would like is a glass of beer. which I have noticed you have failed to provide? Hmmmmm, yes, so could you get to it?”

That snapped me. If there is one thing I can’t handle is a proud male voice with a stupid demand. I mean, I listen to my father of course, but that’s because the man doesn’t need to raise his voice to make a point. He just walks you through his arguments like he was on a debate team at Oxbridge, which coincidentally he was once in. And you just either became convinced and it ended or you found faults in his arguments and counter-argued, eventually reaching a compromise. Easy-peazy lemon squeezy stuff.

But someone just barking orders at me, pissed me the fuck off. And something else! Who did this Wish.com Digimon think he is? This was my bloody house, I paid the rent, took care of it, including preserving the colonial details of the house, even if they were an absolute pain.

“Ask me nicely,” slid icily from my mouth.

“What?” said the muppet.

“Ask me nicely to get you a beer.”

“Ask nicely? I don’t have to! I’m a demon! Underling for Supay, the Lord of Death. And you are just a noble girl.”

“Noble…” my ire diminished, “girl?”

“Uhhmmm, yes, didn’t you know? You’ve got noble blood. Which just means you get some extra responsibilities, no extra privileges!”

I reached and daintily put my hands around the creature not letting it get away.

“What is the meaning of this!?” it cried, but I just kept getting closer. Until I had it comfortably trapped in my hands. It had the head sort of like a bat, very similar to a Peropteryx macrotis or lesser dog-like bat. It was just quite bigger, about chihuahua size. It also had some rather big claws but it looked like he didn’t know what to do with them. He also had two small green horns sprouting on top of his ears. All in all, he was pretty cute looking.

I squeezed.

“OH NO! OH Viracocha*! Hold your fucking llamas!” it wheezed.

“Are you going to behave now and be polite, and address me by my fucking name?” I asked.

“Yes,” it answered.

“Do you promise not to harm me?”

“I wasn’t planning to, all I wanted was a beer!”

“Do you promise?”

“I do”

“Do you promise to answer all my questions?”

“I promise”

“Swear it”

“I swear”

“Not enough conviction. Swear by Pachamama *.”

“By Pachamama? But she’s one of my favourites, she used to feed me the choice guavas from her garden.”

“Then it will mean all the most.”

“Hmmm….”

“Do you want me to squeeze more?

“No! I swear… I swear by Pachamama and her delicious guavas.”

I released the little creature and after a few tense moments, I walked over to the refrigerator, opened it up and poured us both a glass of beer. A good hearty lager that I bought from a restaurant in Lima, one of the few comforts I allowed myself.

I put the beer in front of the creature who had now found a spot on my Turkish ottoman and sat itself.

“If you stain my furniture it’s ok, but you’ll have to clean it,” I said while sitting down on my couch.

“Yes mistress,” it answered meekly.

“Don’t call me mistress. Call me Azucena or Zuzu, which is what my friends call me.”

“Yes mistress Zuzu,” it answered while a row of needles that I guessed was a grin spread across its face.

“What should I call you?”

“I’m too low to deserve a name.”

“That’s bollocks. What’s your favourite thing in this world?”

“Beer”

“Really?”

“Yes. Beer. Without a doubt.”

“How about the name Guinness?”

“Guinness, sounds peasant-y”

“On the contrary, it’s a name known around the world in relation to beer. Just carrying that name practically guarantees to be associated around the world over with beer.”

“I like it then!” Guinness said as he puffed his barrel everything outward.

“Although of course,” he continued, “mortal beer can never be as good as The Underworld’s beer.”

As I scoffed, Guinness then took a dainty sip of the beer I had poured him.

We drank all night long.

I showed him Fail Videos.

Guinness explained the mummification ritual to Azucena.

I ordered pepperoni pizza.

Guinness corrected Azucena on her pronunciation of certain things.

By the next day, Zuzu and Gwin(Guinness’s short form name as he called it) were firm friends and we started planning a whole set of adventures in search of the best artifacts, the best girls(and girl bats), and the best beer.

NOTES

* One of the names for the principal deity(disputed) in Incan Religion

Hold your fucking llamas

* Pachamama is an earth-goddess and fertility figure.

[rrcooperwrites]

Opus 1

Prompt

Your friend brought a baby alien back from his/her exploration mission. It’s adorable, but… how are you supposed to care for it?

Original post: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pdld32/wp_your_friend_brought_a_baby_alien_back_from/har9jag/?context=3

Start Here

The recorder made an audible click as Matthias Chavarro Tori finished his audio diary for the day. Mattie, for that was his nickname, never imagined he would be sending a diary like that back to the Ministry for Space Exploration. Although, in service to fairness, Sebastian Willoughby White, the rather unfortunate civil servant who had to first hear and transcribe Mattie’s tape, had never imagined he would be receiving a diary like that either.

The transcription reads thus:

Private diary of Mattie…. Ehh… I mean, Matthias Chavarro Tori, Master Scout 3rd class, Cupid Division. Currently in residence at the All Purpose Research Station Zero Zero Two for planet designated Cupid-Delta-Four, affectionately nicknamed Cudef. Universal Date is Freda 28 of Janus in the 17th year of the Rattian Era, which I still believe sounds dumb and we should have gone with Hippopotamian Era instead. That is a much classier era name. [Sound of lighter being clicked and smoked being inhaled]

[Sigh with smoke exhalation]

Today Junior Explorer O’Broin brought in a native creature. In his own words, quote:

[The following is said in a bad immitation of a Uniceltic accent]

“They’re harmless wee beasties, I’ve watched o’er ‘em for a long while. Don’t get much bigger than a dag they do, about ye’ high”.

End quote. O’Broin then proceded to indicate a measurement of about 50 tribits, so about waist level of a genetic base Human with no growth traits or similar modifications.

As for the creature itself, it was quite small, covered by two layers of fur, one longer and thin, the other short and thick. The fur makes for a rather pleasant sensation with petting it. The creature was baptized Harry by one of our Australinesian mechanics because quote: “He looks like me mate Harry. Odd geezer Harry is. Covered in hair just like this one.” End quote.

As we get to know Harry better, we found some characteristics that lead to some rather unfortunate accidents… I mean, very few accidents are fortunate, but our unfortunate were really unfortunate, and our fortunate accidents very fortunate… So, for balance sake, I should probably say that we had accidents, neutral, they sorted themselves out.

A good example would be Harry’s third eye, a big white, cute looking blob with a dark dot in the middle of his face… Or so you’d think, actually it is a paralyzing agent delivery system that looks like an eye, and because it’s so big and attractive, you can’t help but look at it. Three researchers, one soldier, and myself have fallen prey to that particular trap.

Harry is surprisingly docile and rather smart. He understands commands just like you’d expect from any B-tier intelligence creature would… Ehh… That means smarter than a dog, dumber than a human… So about your average Extremaduran am I right?! [Sounds of laughter and chortling follow for several minutes] [The following is said while choking on mirth] I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please strike that from the record. I can’t get in trouble anymore. I’ve done sensitivity training once, and Mistress Devonia is not a kind teacher.

[Sighs] Another unexpected accident was that Harry turned out to be much bigger than anticipated. Apparently the place where O’Broin first encountered Harry’s species is just a weening ground. The adults of the species grow up to be about the size of small surface exploration vehicle. This made the procuration of food quite a challenge at the beginning, until we discovered that Harry’s stomach can handle most biological matter, this includes  food past its consumption date, the detritus of several different species, plant and animal life that would kill any other being that tried to it.

Of course, Harry’s size and the “garden of spears” that is his mouth, as described by our head veterinarian Dr. Choclo, has come in handy every now and again.

As a matter of fact not that long ago it managed to get O’Broin out of a small misunderstanding about a Cudefian’s farmer daughter. [Very deliberate coughing and clearing of throat] Well it also concerned the farmer’s son as well, and it might perhaps have involved the farmer’s wife too.

Let’s just say that O’Broin puts the greatest in that old Vitrian refrain that goes: ”Humans, the universe’s greatest entertainment.”

Anyway, Harry managed to intervene while we explained to the farmer that O’Broin was just being rather friendly. In the end, Harry’s forest of spears which, were holding the farmer by its belt, managed to convince him.

As this report reflects, Harry has been a mixed presence, but I dare say that he has landed on the positive side.

I’m also extremely pleased to recommend Harry for an official title within the Ministry, that of “Auxiliary Companion 1st Class”, with this recording you’ll find attached the appropriate forms. [Sound of air going out of lungs rather quickly ensues followed by the sound of trashing]

Henrietta! Henrietta! Get down! You bloody three-eyed mop! Daddy’s recording.

[Sounds of gruff or playful barking ensue, followed by the sound of a door closing]

I’d also like to request the delivery of more refuse to our camp. Harry has, well, sprouted is probably the closest way to describe it, a litter of pups. So any assistance to take care and train these new recruits would be appreciated.

Master Scout 3rd class Matthias Chavarro Tori signing out. [Sounds of playful barking are heard until the recording is cut off]