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cannibal-wings · 4 years ago

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Meat Cute and/or That’s a Human Person?

Oh baby! Someone’s asking about some original work! I’m really glad it’s Meat Cute because this is the story I’m doing for NaNoWriMo this year and I’m really excited about it. The whole idea came from me thinking up the pun around the trope “meet cute”. The most basic idea is that its a horror/comedy/romance about a guy who moves to a quiet forest town that worships a giant cube of meat that tells them how to live their lives. There he meets a local man who tells him that it was “destiny” they met and that he’s so excited to finally meet him. (note: the meat cube here didn’t predict this, this isn’t a “fated lovers” story, he just got his fortune read once or looked at a cookie and decided this was his One True Fate) Of course our main character doesn’t buy a single thing about the town and tries to uncover the secrets of the Meat Cube while also trying not to get murdered by the town. Think like, the subtle horror that’s treated as normal in Welcome To Night Vale. Its more of that feel than like say, Silent Hill. I’m keeping things pretty vague here because like I said, this is my NaNoWriMo project and I kinda want to use it as either a self pub novella or as a pitch to a publishing house.

That’s a Human Person is going under a cut because I have actual fic snippets I can share.

Ok so first off, you have to know a little about mirelurks in the Fallout world. Now, mirelurks are basically mutated crabs. They look like this, depending on the game you’re playing:

Pretty standard enemy for coastal areas.

But Tye, I hear you say, what do these have to do with that meme? These are clearly crabs. And not, Bill Wurtz voice, “a human person”. Enter, the Mirelurk King. Now, when I first started playing Fallout games, I started with Fallout 4, in which they looked like this:

Ok, not bad, I’m a certified monster fucker so like, its pretty human shaped huh? I mean it’s feral as all hell, and clearly an animal, but hey, it’s got some person attributes going on.

Then I played Fallout 3....

When I first saw these guys in game, I paused and started messaging my friend because that’s a fucking human person. Canonically the game says, no Tye, that is not a human person, that is a fish/crab monster that is also bipedal. But look here, I cannot be fooled. That’s a person. Or, at least, person like. Person enough for me to start developing advanced headcanons about a population of sapient mirelurk “kings”. I use quotes there because in this universe the term is human made and doesn’t denote the actual sex or gender of the creature in question. There are female mirelurk kings in this AU.

So, as my mind often does when I come across human enough monsters that appear to have a society, I start to expand on it and create wild headcanons. As I did here. I started to think about a population of escaped mirelurk kings that were used as research stock who are sapient and looking for a new home. They travel following rivers and streams, and are chased from area to area across the remains of the United States until they finally settle in a sea cave located under the ocean waves.

As my mind also does with Fallout, I discuss these things with my two close Fallout friends. One of which has an OC, Edward, that I frequently use in story ideas. Ed in this story is from this population of mirelurk kings, only he was found as a baby by a sweet old couple who raised him as their own in a bathtub and pond outside their hut. So he learned human language and mannerisms, unaware of the culture he is separated from. (His parents were killed before he hatched from an egg, having been separated from the main group during their search for a new home.)

Eventually he discovers his people and all that good stuff and has to choose between living with them, or living with the small group of humans who accept him. For visualization sake, imagine he looks like a cross between the two, upright, but with more fins and frills for emoting.

Here’s a bit from the WIP file since I actually did start writing this a few years ago:

Ed was frozen in fear and awe. The creatures that came up out of the ocean looked just like him, not like the other mirelurk kings, not like Nate or the people of Vault 120, these looked just like him. And they were holding spears.

The weapons were primitive but he knew that didn't matter. A spear was a spear and he knew it could skewer him all the same. He looked around anxiously but there was no one nearby who could offer any help.

They drew closer to him and started making fast clicking and chirping sounds. The closer they got the more energetic the sounds. They pointed and flared their gills and fins before reaching Ed who backed up in confusion and fear.

The other mirelurks stopped and made more clicking noises and chirped. They could tell Ed was uneasy and one of them dropped a spear and tried again, this time chirping softly.

“I-I’m sorry I don't understand what you're saying.”

The two gave each other a long glance before nodding. (He does not speak our language, but the language of the humans.)

(He is clearly our lost Brother though. The Elders will know what to do with him. Some speak his tongue, they can explain.)

(But what if he's a human aligned? He could put the whole nest in danger!)

(True but he is family. He must be given a chance. You know as well as I that our laws forbid killing one another. Besides, you felt the same hope and happiness I did when you saw him. Think of the family, think of the Elders. They will be overjoyed by his presence.)

(What if it's not him?)

(It's him. You can't fake our scent markers and color patterns.) The one who put down the spear approached Ed again calmly. (Please do not be frightened. You must have lived an awfully lonely life. We will take you Home.)

(He can't understand you.)

(Hush.) He hissed at his companion then regretted it when he saw Ed shy away. He tried again, making his voice as soothing as possible. (We are here to help, come with us.)

His companion made motions towards the ocean. And they started to walk into the waters. (Come on, come with us.) They motioned again but Ed stayed deathly still.

Ed didn't know what they wanted from him. He kept babbling that he didn't understand them over and over but it didn't work. Now they were gesturing at him and the open ocean. Did they want him to follow? He wasn't so sure he wanted to follow. One of them walked out of the water and reached for Ed’s hand. He jerked it away reflexively but the other mirelurk didn't give up. He reached again, slowly, and Ed let him grab his arm. The other mirelurk was soft and gentle and felt just like he did. When he pulled Ed hesitated but took a step forward anyway.

It wasn't until he was completely submerged underwater that his panic reaction started to kick in. He was being pulled further and further from shore by two creatures he had never met, who he couldn't communicate with and he would soon be on his own if something bad happened.

But surely if these creatures wanted to kill him they would have done it up on the shore. He followed them, noticing that they swam far differently than he did. They moved their bodies in a fashion similar to dolphins. Ed tried to mimic it but struggled, so he went back to swimming how he learned. He became acutely aware that he was probably swimming like a human.

They traveled further and further down into the ocean, where the waters became dark and murky. Mankind's treatment of planet earth didn't leave the sea in favorable conditions and even two hundred years later it was still struggling to come back. Ed noticed that the spearheads had begun to glow a soft blue in the darkness, then he noticed anklets and other jewelry start to give off the same glow. He wondered what it meant but had no way to ask underwater.

They traveled along the seabed for what seemed like hours. Normally Ed would be exhausted after swimming for so long but he felt even more energized than normal. This was new, this was exciting and he even though he was scared he kept on going.

There were more things that glowed the further down they went. Plants dotted the seafloor with oranges, reds and blues while animals fluoresced in purples, greens and yellows. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the colors. Ed wondered if life had this glow before the bombs, or if this was new, caused by the radiation.

A grouping of brightly glowing blue plants marked an opening to a tunnel. The two mirelurks headed in it's direction. Ed followed cautiously behind. The plants seemed like moss, but underwater and they clung to the rocky surface of the tunnel entrance. Once inside more of the moss lit the interior allowing them to see completely.

The mirelurks didn't slow and kept their pace which caused Ed to stop gawking and swim faster to keep up. There were different branching paths in the tunnel, some more brightly lit than others but his escorts only moved straight ahead. Eventually the tunnel curved upwards and opened up into a pool.

When Ed’s face cautiously surfaced he was stunned by what he saw. A huge cave opened up around him, with a ceiling so high it was difficult to see. The pool they were in covered a large amount of one side and he spotted dozens of other mirelurks swimming around. Some were sitting on ledges, letting their feet skim the water while others played and splashed.

Ed was so overwhelmed he forgot to tread water and fell back under the surface. He blinked several times to try to focus and came up once more. His escorts had swam to the opposite end if the pool and were climbing out using a grand carved staircase. Edward hurried to follow. The stones were warm to the touch and he did not shiver when he exited the water.

He looked around with wide eyes at the sight before him. There were grand natural columns that held up the cavern ceiling, they were ringed with glowing mushrooms and moss. All around were groups of these mushrooms, they lit the walls and the ground in a soft blue and white glow.

And there were mirelurks everywhere. At least sixty in his immediate field of view. They came in many different sizes but they all looked like him. Nearly all of them were the same color and had similar markings. And all of them went silent as he climbed the last step.

It was so quiet Ed could hear the water dripping off of his body and the stalactites. He didn't know what to do, suddenly there were too many eyes on him and nowhere to hide. It was like he was a child being gawked at all over again. He didn't know if he should run or stay so he ended up shaking instead.

Then slowly there was a rise in chatter. A few of the bigger mirelurks started clicking, and then one by one they flared their gills and fins and started chirping. More and more voices joined in until the cave was roaring with voices.

Ed wanted to scream at them to stop, to be quiet. He didn't understand any of it and he knew he was moments away from crying. Then, it was as if someone had read his mind. A larger, older mirelurk appeared from the crowd. They had a dull glow that emanated from their eyes, fins and gills. (Silence! The newcomer is overwhelmed.) They turned their attention to Edward and said softly in the new silence, (welcome my lost child, you are Home now.)

One of his escorts stepped forward. (Elder he does not speak our language but that of man.)

(I see.) “Then this must be very overwhelming for you.”

Ed didn't know what to say, even when he could finally understand something. He looked from face to face and tried to place the emotion that was surging through the room.

“Don't be afraid. It's all right. The others just got excited. You are more than you know to us.”

Finally, Ed asked, “What does that mean? What is this place?”

“This is Home and your parents were part of our family. You are one of us. This is your ancestry, your blood. We are you and you are us.”

“We were a wandering people, child,” the old Lurk said to Ed. “Our history as old as the bombs. We came from far across the Land. We swam up rivers and nested along lakes, every so often we let the Big Water carry us someplace new. Our Family, like all our people came from the far side of the Land, only we never took to the Big Water. We followed a mighty river on our path away from the humans. All was good for a long, long time. But our numbers soon grew too big, humans were growing bolder, and stronger, and more scared than ever. We knew we couldn't keep wandering. We needed a home.”

“How do you know all this? Were you there?”

The elder laughed. “No child, I am old, but not that old. Our history was oral, passed down through the generations. Now we keep a written record, I will show you the tablets later.”

“There's written language?” Ed asked, surprised.

“Hush child, I am telling you the story of our people. We decided that we must find a permanent home, a place to rest our fins and grow strong families. We settled on a large lake. The fish were plentiful, plants abundant, and the creatures of the Land big and stupid. We could build strong nests and warm dens to outlast even the cold bite of snow. And we were happy.”

“What happened?” Ed asked. “Why are we here now and not there?”

“Humans happened child. Just like our feral cousins from across the Land who were driven from their caves we too were forced from our home.” The elder watched as Ed instinctively bared his teeth and hissed. “I must make this clear my child, we do not blame the humans for the humans were only doing what comes natural to them. As we hunt and grow and spread so do they. When we are frightened we emit our Power, they fire bullets. It is not anyone's fault, it is nature. The humans came and we left. Our Power is no match for the bullets and we did not want to die. We were a wandering people once, so we wandered again.”

“During that time your mother was heavy with eggs. We all knew she would not make the journey before needing to nest. It happened one day, she needed to nest desperately and your father stayed with her. We all would have stayed as well but our numbers were too great. They picked a small pond with clean water and we helped make them comfortable. We gave them food and cloth and kept them in our thoughts. During our journey we left signs for them, they said they would follow to our new home after the babies were of traveling age. So we left them notes and marks on trees. We hid supplies and wrote on cave walls. When we reached this place and made it our Home we hoped they would come. Many, many, full moons had passed and we knew something had gone wrong. When your family didn't show up for half a season we knew they had died. There was no way of knowing just how many eggs your mother was carrying but we mourned them all. The loss of a family runs deep with us and we felt the pain as strongly as if it were our own. We mourned your passing for another half season and moved on. So you can imagine all our shock and joy when many, many, seasons later you arrived. You cannot understand the joy we feel together, because all was not lost. You were not lost, and now my child, you are here where you belong.”

Ed didn't know how to feel about that. This cave was amazing, and he couldn't deny the instinctive kinship he felt towards his kind. But he was raised in a different world and they all knew that as well. “How did you pick this place? I've never heard of mirelurk kings living in caves.”

“That is because we are not mirelurk kings. Humans call all of us by that name but our family came from waters different from these. We are similar, yes. We share the same Power, and look alike but we are from across the Land. In those times we often chose caves as our Home, before we wandered. But competition with our more animal like brothers and sisters drove us to start a new life. Caves feel like Home so when we found this one we knew it was meant to be.”

“How come we are different? How come we have Homes and families and language?”

“Our cousins the kings and our brothers and sisters back across the Land have families too child. They care for each other the same as us. Only we have more complex feeling and thought. We do not know for sure our origin but it was passed down that we came from Humans. Our Elders talked of a great escape from a mighty prison. They spoke of a world of white and buzzing, where the sun was stored in tubes on the cave ceiling and humans controlled their families. When the great escape happened we branched off into the world. Some let the Big Water take them to places new. Others stayed close and others still started to wander. Perhaps our cousins here are descendants of those who went bravely into the Big Water. Or maybe they had their own great escape from somewhere. We are not sure.”

And that’s really as far as I got, RIP. Maybe someday I’ll pick this back up and finish fleshing out their culture and world. As a parting gift, here’s some concept art from Fallout 4 of the mirelurk kings showing them as being more upright like their earlier counterparts.

#Anonymous #Fallout 4 #I guess I'll tag it with the fandom lmao #sorry fallout 4 fandom all i am capable of writing is mutation and monster fic

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ntrending · 6 years ago

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Why counting Central Park's squirrels isn't nuts

New Post has been published on https://nexcraft.co/why-counting-central-parks-squirrels-isnt-nuts/

Why counting Central Park's squirrels isn't nuts

A biker shifting gears sounds a lot like a snapping branch. Or at least that’s what Josh O’Connor, Field Commander for the Central Park Squirrel Census, told me. Though it sounds like a trivia fact, it makes a difference when searching for squirrels, who are always dropping acorns and snapping twigs above our heads. A volunteer with 15 minutes of experience under my belt, I looked up expecting to find a squirrel rustling in the tree canopy, but O’Connor looked out. Sure enough, a bike whizzed by on an incline seconds later.

This knowledge is hard-won, but he’s happy to share. From 6 to 9 a.m., he tells me, off-leash hours send squirrels straight to the treetops, the better to avoid meandering dogs. (“They know what time it is,” he says. Around 8:45 a.m., “they start perking up.”) Other species, like chipmunks and birds, are plentiful, he notes, but the raccoons were recently decimated by canine distemper virus. And while squirrels haven’t been observed eating the nuts of the park’s abundant gingko trees, O’Connor says humans certainly have, turning the fleshy white orbs into soup, or roasting them as a salty snack.

Though O’Connor can detail Central Park’s every quirk, the scraggly-bearded, bandana-wearing squirrel scout actually makes his home in Portland, Oregon. It’s just that, for the past two years, he and his friends have been preparing for this census. Day jobs fighting wildfires (like O’Connor) or writing novels (like the census founder, Jamie Allen) permitting, this ragtag crew has mapped every bit of the park’s 840 acres and observed animals of all stripes as they go.

The two-week-long census, which aims to count every squirrel that calls Central Park home, began on Oct. 6. It quickly generated immense interest, as evidenced by how fast the volunteer census-taker slots filled. It also drew ire, mostly from skeptics unconvinced of the need for a squirrel tally. But O’Connor says the enormous undertaking and sharp-eyed scrutiny will have been worth it so long as the Squirrel Census succeeds in its humble goals of storytelling and scientific data collection.

So into the park we go.

Though squirrels feel like timeless, omnipresent inhabitants of our urban greenspaces, the Eastern gray squirrel is actually a tiny transplant. Planners and park rangers only introduced the bushy-tailed critter to the urban jungle in the 1870s. Previously, the creatures were confined to woodlands, where they were fair game for hunters. When one did wander into the hustle and bustle of lower Manhattan in 1856, cops had to break up the resulting crowd. Set free in New York’s green spaces and Philadelphia’s colonial squares, however, they quickly proliferated. Squirrels have served as a much-needed source of entertainment ever since.

Still, no one knows how many squirrels actually populate any given park. That’s largely to do with resources. Getting an accurate count of any species is difficult, especially when they’re small. In New York, park department volunteers conduct a regular tree census to map, classify, and count every arboreal citizen in all five boroughs. (Last tally: 678,604 specimens of 422 species.) But trees are recognized for their economic and environmental value; they reduce wastewater runoff, offer shade, and fix oxygen for human lungs. Squirrels, by contrast, appear merely cute.

Some people probe deeper, however. Jamie Allen, a writer living in Georgia, wanted to know whether squirrels were abundant enough to leading an uprising against humankind—in a fictional context, of course. It’s often said there are a 100 rats for every human in New York City, how many squirrels were there compared to people in Atlanta? In 2012, he enlisted friends and researchers at nearby Emory University in what may be the world’s first—but was certainly not thew world’s last—squirrel census, in Atlanta’s Inman Park.

It revealed that the Inman squirrel population was 861—sizable, though still outnumbered by humans. A follow-up in 2015 charted the community’s substantial growth, rising to 928 squirrels in just three years. The results also served as independent validation for a research paper on West Nile Virus in urban mammals. Emory researchers were investigating ways the disease could travel through an urban landscape, from, say, squirrels to humans. The census data allowed the scientists to characterize their research population, and set about their primary analysis, which showed a sizable portion of the animals did indeed harbor antibodies to the virus, indicating its passage through non-human park lovers.

The census in Central Park clearly benefits from the team’s prior experience. Applying statistics, mapping tools, and common wildlife research methods, they divided the entirety of the park into hectares. The 100 meter by 100 meter plots, O’Connor says, are roughly the range of an individual squirrel. Each plot is set to be surveyed twice, once in the morning and again in the evening, to give some semblance of the day’s true ebb and flow. Each volunteer heads out with elaborate tally sheets, where they describe each of the squirrels they see. Age (adult or juvenile) and primary and secondary colors (cinnamon, white, gray, black) must be recorded. Just as important is the squirrel’s behavior under observation: do they run toward or away from you, or are they totally unbothered? Are they on the ground, foraging, or in the tree chasing something—or being chased?

My hectare, 39-B, was divided in half by an active walking path. One section was defined by a freshly-mown lawn and children’s playground. The only animals visible were a few dogs (now leashed) and some beautiful birds, including a plump red cardinal. But across the walkway, in the craggy North Woods, O’Connor and I spotted a whopping 11 squirrels. (For reference, my colleague, PopSci’s Tom McNamara, spotted only 5 in his hectare.) I promptly plotted each animal in the half-page visualization of my hectare.

Where many urban squirrels are unbothered by human activity, the animals in hectare 39-B were defensive. People, it was clear from their attitudes and the absence of trash, seldom spent time here. One strode out to the edge of a branch to yell at me. Like any good rodent census-taker, I recorded his call on my tally sheet. It was a certified “kuk,” which sounds similar to a car alarm, and is not to be confused with a “quaa,” a sound of diminishing distress, or a “moan,” the quietest and lowest-stakes vocalization. I felt compelled to “kuk” back, but restrained myself.

Forty-two minutes of field observations and a dozen bug bites later, I made my way back to the rendezvous point and turned in my tally sheets. Over the next few months, O’Connor and his fellow squirrel fanatics plan to analyze the raw data and transform it into beautiful data visualizations and usable open-source data. Of course, they will also issue the long-awaited number: the sum of all squirrels residing in Central Park.

Like the Atlanta census, it could inform research on urban ecology or even human health. But even without another peer-reviewed research paper, the benefits of conducting such a census were clear. In just a few hours, I tripled my knowledge of my furry neighbors—and the environment we shared. Other volunteers and passersby who stopped to inquire about my clipboard, seemed equally inspired. While I don’t expect to ever match O’Connor’s sixth sense for these creatures, on my next walk through the park, I’ll be sure to stop and count the squirrels.

Written By Eleanor Cummins

#Science

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