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reallyreallyreallytrying · 4 years ago

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Let me tell you about my Saab III

Let me tell you about my Saab. I was turning over moon rocks, the wreck of Moonbase 4 still sending plumes of black smoke up into the atmosphere, the orbital flares glowing red to indicate to the shuttles that containment had been breached and that the cleansing fires of the Nuclear Protection Network ought to soon be rained down mercifully upon the surviving population for the good of us all. I was alone with just my thoughts and a fully charged plasma carbine when into my field of vision hopped a moon creature. Not just any moon creature. Half Time Slim, the trickiest moon rat this side of the Sea of Tranquility. Slim was a piece of work. A real fuck. A tricky fucking piece of shit, was Half Time Slim. You couldn't talk to Half Time Slim without leaving the conversation a hundred bucks lighter. You couldn't enter a deal with him without the point of a knife cuddling up to your windpipe. You couldn't think about the guy without tossing and turning in your bed. The very last thing I wanted sliding in front of my space helmet from stage right was Half Time Slim. But here he was.

"You've had your eyes on my Saab for a while, human," he croaked. This was an understatement. He'd seen me tenderly massaging chrome oil into its paintwork while it was parked outside the former Moonbase 4's former tavern and nearly killed me over it. He knew I'd do anything for it. Not to have it, just to care for it. I'd do anything it needed. I was putty in its angular silver chassis. But time wasn't on my side.

"In a hurry, Slim," I told him, dropping the moon rock I was holding and sliding its Helium-4 crystals into my saddlebag. "No time to talk chariots." He shook his head smugly. "You'll never make it to the perimeter on foot now, human," he said. I looked up. I couldn't see the shuttles on account of the smoke but with sudden grim clarity I realised he was probably right. I'd scavenged too long. There might be only half an hour until every unprotected molecule in the AtmoDome was incinerated. There might be less.

"So what's the play, Slim?" I asked. "This isn't a donation, is it?" He laughed a horrible gluggy little wet laugh, like a chunk of gristle being sucked down a drain. "You want my Saab," he said, "and I want a keycard for the anti-atmosphere turret to keep the shuttles off long enough for some associates of mine to prise open the Moonbase 4 bunker." I gasped. What he was talking about was mass murder. The anti-atmosphere turrets would bring down the unsuspecting NPN shuttles with no resistance. It would take six hours for the gunships in high orbit to arrive on the scene - all the time in the world for Slim's goons to break in and lay waste to the Earth Federation diplomats cowering in the bunker.

"Tell me why I shouldn't ventilate you now," I snapped, pointing my plasma carbine at him. He laughed again.

"Because I own the only Saab on the moon, and you'll never have it," he croaked. He knew my weakness.

"Take me to it," I said. He led me to a squat hangar in the shadow of the flight tower and there it was: silver, angular, perfect. The car of my dreams. Overhead a sexy mutant model on a holobillboard nodded encouragingly as I reached for my wallet. I tossed him the keycard and hopped behind the wheel. "The very best of luck to you, Slim," I said, roaring out of the hangar towards the interbase highway. As I hit the tarmac I floored it. I'd given him the wrong keycard, and he probably suspected it, and he was probably scanning it right now and as soon as he did he'd be after me. He probably EXPECTED me to give him the wrong keycard. He probably never intended to really part with his Saab. Up ahead the tunnel under the crater lip loomed, and I swerved off onto unsealed moondust. If I was him the tunnel's where I'd plant my goons to recover the Saab and kill the driver. I gunned it up the steep incline. At the top I wrenched the handbrake and looked back. A line of hoverbikes raced up the interbase, but it was impossible to say whether they were Slim's. Then I caught the yellow spark of a missile erupting from the barrel of a pocket launcher. Guess it wasn't impossible.

Overhead, three huge pod-shaped shuttles were slowly swiveling into formation, spacing evenly to extract maximum efficiency from their nuclear payload. Ten minutes, optimistically. And now I had a missile to I'd need to outmanoeuvre. I revved the engine and screeched out over the lip of the crater, only to find a cliff instead of a slope.

Slowly, gracefully, my Saab drifted down 40, 50, 60 metres onto the floor of the crater. I braced myself for impact. When it came it wasn't pretty. My head smashed onto the fine black leather of the steering wheel. Blood cascaded into my eyes and onto the gorgeous black plastic cupholder. I saw stars. I saw flames. I scrambled to undo the seatbelt, then realised the flames weren't from my Saab. Ahead, the missile had exploded harmlessly on moon rocks. With an aching head I turned the ignition and drove. I joined back up with the interbase. Behind me, the hoverbikes swung into view. I swung my carbine out the window and squeezed off a few rounds. One of the goons exploded into green goop. I was reminded of a tender memory from my childhood. My mother calmly helping my brother and I tuck our legs up into a small oxygen vest compartment and closing the doors with a sweet smile. The moment before they clicked together I saw a sliver of her profile turn a beautiful bottle green as a bandit's plasma round struck her. Then she was gone. Up ahead the moondust churned on either side of the highway as a gyrocopter landed. Well, shit. It was Half Time Slim.

"Out of the car, pal," he ordered through a megaphone. Not an option. The edge of the AtmoDome was still a five minute drive away. An unbearable slog on foot through the moondust.

"Forget it, Slim," I yelled back. "I know you'll never goop the car." I revved the engine.

"I'm giving you a chance," Slim called. "There's a kill switch. I could have ejected you long ago. But you have something I need." It was a good story, but I wasn't in the market for good. I needed perfect. "And what is that, Slim?" I shouted back. He paused for a moment, and I realised. I was all he had. Like me he'd left his plan too late. He'd counted on sitting out the coming atomic firestorm in the bunker, and he thought he had time enough for me to betray our deal. But he'd miscalculated. Now he needed a ride out of here.

"Moon rats don't get evac clearance, human," he shouted over the noise of his copter. "Let me in and we'll call it even." I didn't even think about it. Help a fellow creature escape vaporization? That was one thing. But help one who'd shank me and toss my body out onto the highway the second we were clear of the AtmoDome perimeter, all for payback and a little memento of Swedish auto engineering? No deal. I floored it. He hit the kill switch and my body was sucked upwards to the sunroof but I'd already lashed one hand to the wheel with a jumper lead. With my free hand I reached down and leaned on the gas. The car jumped forward. A minute later the vacuum closed up and I slumped back into the seat. A kilometre to the edge. Slim's copter was right overhead, but the ceiling was getting lower with every passing second. Then he was zooming ahead, landing the thing right in front of the perimeter gate, climbing out hands raised imploringly, except there was a grenade in one of them but I was already in moondust, swerving around him, through the automatic gates with his face a mask of insane rage as the rolling cloud of dust smashed him into the AtmoDome force field. A second later I was wincing and cowering as the blast from the simultaneous nuke drop, brighter than the sun, smashed and roiled against the inside of the dome. Not a lick of heat escaped. That's how I got my Saab.

#story time #Let me tell you about my Saab

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panicofgods · 2 years ago

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CreNaya

WompWomp posting older stuff that I hadn't shared. There's a lot about this that I don't like, I hate every bit of dialogue I have ever written, and it was written with a word limit so a lot isn't as fleshed out as I'd like. BUT I like the story I'm setting up and the world I'm putting together and maybe one day I'll write more about the research team on this strange new world. I'm going to stop blathering becuse otherwise I'll talk myself out of posting this again ~~~~~~~

The sky above CreNaya shone with uncountable stars and the ghostly light of the two large moons that hovered close to the planet. Mayia took another shot of the ground shuttle with the small, telescoping camera as it lifted with a hum back into the cloudless sky. She assumed it would head back to the station that orbited in a looping figure eight about the moons before it picked them up in the morning. Pausing, she dug in the pocket of the uniform she had been provided that still enveloped her small build, for a hair tie and pulled her dark hair in to a bun and out of her face.

Across the glade of grey-brown leaves they had landed in, Katarina, one of the senior science officers on this expedition to a new earth-like planet, knelt picking leaves and laughing like a schoolgirl.

“May! Come look at this!” She plucked another leaf and a swirl of glittering dust rose and dissipated into the atmosphere. May looked at her watch: 22% oxygen.

“Mayyyyyy!” Kat looked up at her, long magnifying goggles balanced on the end of her nose, “This is such a wonderful discovery! It acts like pollen, but on a cellular level looks much closer to spores or fungi…” She trailed off, suddenly distracted by something crawling on her hand.

May walked closer and saw a large millipede-like creature had started winding its way around Kat’s hand. The scientist laughed again, and May took another picture. Kat was breathtaking like this. The scientist’s long red curls were tied behind her head, and her freckles seemed a negative photo of the stars. She turned her sparkling green eyes on the camera, somehow grinning wider.

“What?” she asked as she unwound the strange bug and sealed it in one of the many…. many… large plastic boxes that surrounded her.

They were respectively the fourth and fifth humans to set foot on the planet after an initial crew had come down to make sure the area was safe. The orbiting station, named KDM after the women behind the first successful launch of a man into space, was the first ship to come so far from the Milky Way. Even at faster-than-light travel they had been in stasis for two months to get there. They had been deposited on the planet’s surface to take stock of the local biology, if it could be called that, and would be picked up via the trackers they carried in 12 hours.

Kat snapped the lid onto the box and grinned up at May, “Take this too the cruiser, would you?” May grinned at the woman and picked up the box. She paused too take a closer look at the strange creature. The millipede had almost seemed to fall asleep, or at least curl up, and oozed a pit of clear liquid from its chitinous shell. A military vehicle striped of everything save the engine, sat nearby, and May deposited the first of many boxes there.

May remembered when they had just come out of stasis and the walls all felt far too close together. The cruiser had looked so big and shiny. An older model known for its reliability on unhospitable terrain, it had been stripped of all defining characteristics that may have told her what it was. Now, it was just a frame with seats and padding. A shinny white spider of bone and metal curled and sleeping in a dark corner of a metal cage. Now, on the surface of the planet, it was dwarfed by the trees that stretched for the sky. The dark and slightly wet bark and the dangling vines that dripped sap to the ground, coating the strange plant life with a sticky, glistening mucus speckled with spores and dust the became caught in it.

She placed the box gently in the back. The strange bug glistened more, and she made a mental note to take a sample of the fluid later.

Kat made an excited squeak, “May! I caught a new specimen! Look at the wings!”

May looked across the clearing. Kat was surrounded by hundreds of blue and purple bugs. Their wings, translucent and glittering in the fading light, cast strange shifting shadows around the glade and across the dark arms of the trees. A terrible though occurred to May. The old horror movies she had loved so much as a kid came back to her in a rush. The image of those beautiful bugs burrowing into Kat’s eyes and into her brain. Laying eyes in her friend’s corpse.

“Kat…” She started, moving towards them. Kat laughed as one landed on her face. May started to run. As she drew near, the creatures suddenly moved as one and shot upward.

As if thinking as one unit. They came together, catching the light and turning the bruise colored shadows a more vibrant blue and purple. Their flight seemed to pulse and twitch, then spread into a long glittering stream. An ocean current suspended above them by invisible lines into the darkening sky. Kat stood up and they marveled at the twinkling of the thousands of glassy wings in the sunlight.

“They… they feed on the spores from the plants,” Kat murmured, “I can’t wait to see what’s in those spores. What this ecosystem feeds on.” May nodded and looked at her friend. Kat stared up into the glittering mass, her eyes wide and her jaw loose. Her hair was disheveled and stuck up at angles. May took a step back and pulled out her camera. From this angle, May was cast in the shifting light from the bugs, like she was deep under water, yet still lit by the sun. Like she shone in the darkness of this strange world.

An hour later, Kat called it a day and they started moving the remaining boxes to the cruiser. May noted that the centipede, whom Kat had named Squiggles, had secreted a surprisingly large amount of the strange, clear mucus. It coated the base of the box with a thick layer. She wondered if it was a form of terraforming, as the box was dry but the whole planet seemed to be constantly damp.

Kat called to her, and May quickly forgot about the secreting bug as she moved to answer her.

When CreNaya was first discovered, it was an instant celebrity among the astrological science communities. Its water rich atmosphere drew attention, but the discovery of running water on its surface kick started the rush to reach it and discover what it could hold. Kat and May had met on the research team trying to speculate as to what the planet may look like when the moons were discovers. Twin moons that dragged the tides in and out all over the planet in 57 day seasons. Currently, it was the season on this half of the planet. In a few weeks, the whole forest would be under water, and the other side would be dry. Most rivers and streams were places where strong under currents fed by something in the planet’s crust sped and ripped the temporary sea floor apart.

Kat drove like a maniac down one of these creek beds. It reminded May of the day they met. Kat had picked her up from the station when she got into Santiago from Tokyo and May had expected every turn on the busy streets to be her last. Kat had tripped over herself apologizing when she realized May’s discomfort later and had insisted on taking her out to dinner as reparations.

Now, May clamped her hand down on the handle by her head and tried not to scream as her friend hit a rock and the car shuddered as it became momentarily airborne. Kat whooped as they crashed back to the bed, jarring May’s teeth and causing something to clatter to the floor of the cab behind them.

“What about the specimens?” May shouted as the engine complained about the harsh treatment.

Kat seemed to regain some control then, although she didn’t let up on the accelerator as they tore through the forest. The site they were supposed to spend the night was only about three miles ahead, and May was happy they would make it there in one piece. Although, the grin that Kat had worn while hurtling towards their deaths was, dare she say, cute.

The reprieve from terror was short lived as something in the engine audibly popped. A shrill hissing noise rang out, followed by a screech and suddenly the car started to slow. Kat cursed and moved to pump the breaks. Nothing. The two women looked at each other. They were still easily going 45 miles per hour down the creek bed. Kat grinned and May grit her teeth.

May gave credit where credit was due; Kat was a good off-road disaster driver. As jarring as it was to have the car slam into the sides of the creek bed, and as loud and scary as the sound of metal protesting the scrapping of rocks and debris was, they did slow down rather quickly. Granted, the grin on Kat’s face the whole time, albeit a lively and beautiful look, was almost as scary.

Her legs shook as may dragged herself out of the car and she gripped the door for support. May made up her mind that if she was going to vomit she should do it out of sight of Kat as she heard the hood pop open.

“Holy shit.”

May whipped around. The vertigo made her head spin. Kat stared into the engine compartment wide eyed with her jaw hanging open.

“May… May! Look! Look at this!” Kat’s face was lit up with a curious mix of excitement and awe, and May stumbled around quickly to look.

In the engine compartment, a thin, clear slime coated everything. Most of the metal components looked fine, but the plastic and rubber ones were half dissolved and ruined. The oil and coolant tanks were slowly melting away, and the exposed belts were long gone. Squiggles lay curled in the slowly dissolving coolant tank. Its pincers twitched sporadically and it repeatedly gushed more of that clear slime, which mixed with the remaining coolant and seemed to momentarily repell the off-color fluid.

With shaking hands, May pulled out her camera and snapped pictures of the damage as Kat reached in barehanded and grabbed the creature. Squiggles hissed weakly, Kat cooed softly in response and for a second, May watched her beautiful face fall. Then, Kat grimaced and knit her brows together in a look of determination.

“Water, do we have water?” Kat looked up at her, “I need water, now.”

“Yes,” May breathed and ran stumbling for the back of the car. Thankfully, the crash had done little to the rear of the vehicle and she yanked the doors open. Inside, she saw Squiggles box. The bottom had completely dissolved. Later, she would note that other specimens had eaten away at the inside of their containers as well, though not nearly to the same extent. For the moment though, her only concern was getting Kat one of the gallon jugs of water they had been sent with.

She slammed the door and almost fell in her haste to get back to Kat. The red head barely seemed to notice how frazzled May looked as she unscrewed the cap of the jug and poured the contents down on the hissing creature.

Squiggles seemed to calm instantly, and May watched the change reverberate into Kat. Slowly, Squiggles started to unravel, and the hissing turned into more of a clicking purr. Soon, it lay limp in Kat’s hand as the water dripped to a stop. The two women looked on as it slowly, carefully, wound its way down Kat’s arm. It came to her jacket, a brown cotton affair, wrapped securely about her lower arm, and stopped.

“Fascinating,” Kat murmured, holing her arm to her face, “This may be a sort of defense mechanism!” May smiled despite her frayed nerves as the woman started to rant excitedly, “That must have been traumatic, and now it’s found a safe place, it’s hiding to heal!” She pointed carefully to the creature’s exoskeleton, “It even appears to have dug its armor into the fabric!” She looked at May, “Take a picture? I’d love to study this behavior more, but I’d hate to traumatize poor Squiggles…” She ran a finger lightly over the creature.

It did not stir and May snapped a photo. It was a good photo. The light of the setting sun coming through the trees illuminated Kat’s flushed face and highlighted the darker reds in her hair. Her face was turned down, and she looked so lovingly at the creature wrapped around her arm. Even in the photo, her eye’s shinned with a caring light. May sighed and smiled at the oblivious scientist. Kat was so full of love for all life. All kinds of life.

An hour later, the sun was almost down, and Kat and May sat on top of the car. May stared up into the trees and waited for the emergency team to come get them.

When Kat had told the team still up on KDM the news, grasping May’s wrist and speaking into the watch, there were loud words of excitement, but also a large dose of fear. Now that they knew the lifeforms could chew through plastic so quickly, there was worry for should one get free on the station. As soon as the pair got back, they and everything on them would need to be scrubbed clean in a metal room. May was not excited for that prospect.

Kat had then spent time digging through the car and releasing the other creatures. Some had already eaten through the boxes and had to be saved from the floor of the vehicle, but most were merely getting close to escape.

Above them, the twin moons were barely visible through the drooping, drippy canopy and strange set of stars winked down at them. May imagined she could almost see the red and blue flashing of the emergency shuttle in the atmosphere.

Kat let out a huff, “This changes everything,” She turned and looked excitedly at May, “we thought there was no way to break down the mess in the Milky Way any faster, but these creatures,” Kat’s face lit up, and although she stared into the darkening sky, May was sure Kat’s mind was lightyears away, “We can study them! Find out what they do to break down plastics and we can use that!” The rosy smile, so sweet and genuine warmed May to her core.

Kat’s face fell a bit and she grasped May’s hand, “You took pictures, right?” With each word, Kat leaned towards her, “We have to release everything, but with pictures and my notes we could start cataloging them tonight!”

May smiled back at her, trying to match the blinding energy and enthusiasm of that look. The burning excitement that seemed to buzz inside Kat was usually just embers. Now, it burned brighter than Solis ever had. She nodded and Kat somehow became brighter.

“Oh that’s wonderful!” Kat enthused, “We’ll get so much done!” her eyes fell a bit and a hand went to her messy hair, “Um, it’s going to be a late night, I wouldn’t want to… impose,”

May melted a bit, “You wouldn’t b…”

“Would you like to go for coffee after?” Kat slapped a hand over her own mouth, “Oh! I’m so sorry, me and my big mouth, please continue, I’m sorry.”

May laughed and found herself taking the other woman’s face in her hands, “It’s fine! You’re excited, this is exciting!” She blushed, “I’d love to help you catalog specimens and get coffee after.” Kat beamed at her. She did not stop holding May’s hand.

The two turned towards the sky, now dark. In the darkness around them, spots of light came from the ground and trees, like a reflection of the sky above. A small flashing light was now visible. Soon, they would be returned to KDM and the work would begin. Kat leaned against May. Everything would change.

But first, coffee.

#worldbuilding #lesbian #sapphic #creative writing #wlw #science fiction #lgbt #doirememberhowtagsworkyet #no

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phoenixtakaramono · 4 years ago

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Finders Keepers

Ch6 Preview: _cynosure

“Hey, hey!” Jack demanded. Coffee nearly splashed out of the mug when he slammed it down on the aluminum surface of the folding table which’d served as his workstation, the mug nearly avoiding his pocketwatch. “How come it’s front and center—next to me?”

The sigh that answered Jack through the comm sounded weary. And it hadn’t been the first, nor the last, time it’d been heard.

The days after the assassination attempt had passed by like a whirlwind. Each time Jack rose with the morning sun, he’d woken up to a hunger gnawing within him. It was a bloodthirst that demanded to be satiated and an all-consuming compulsion to piece together the new puzzle set in front of him. Security had been tightened. Rhys and the loaders had been seen following him doggedly. Even past acquaintances Jack had met intergalactically had actually commed or ECHOed him.

While he basked in the sudden attention, the cynical part of him understood that the demonstrations were ultimately superficial and self-serving. He’d find memos around the Hyperion offices of Opportunity advising him to take insurance against further security risks, and he’d crumble the paper into tight, little balls. Robots that were sent as human proxies ended up being riddled with bullet holes once Jack got tired of their constant nagging.

It was just unfortunate that there had been no survivors to interrogate. Everyone who’d been in that room had been either too skilled or lucky, shooting down the terrorists. Even so, it’d been interesting when he had the bloody corpses examined. They might have been disguised in Hyperion yellow, but he’d thought the make and model of their combat gear resembled the disgraced Crimson Lance soldiers and assassins. That theory only fell to the wayside when the coroner showed him the mess of organic tissues and inorganic parts soldered together in an amalgamation of bioware that made up their anatomies.

To Jack’s recollection, he didn’t remember any surviving Lance units being anything but human. Cybernetics was controversial across the galaxy, with few brave enough to undergo the augmentations. All sorts of laws and restrictions existed to restrict the installation and use of it. Few were willing to amputate their limbs or have cyberware technology implanted into their muscle and nervous system—even with sensory performance improvements and advantages. The only exception to that he could think of was his enforcer, Wilhelm, who wanted to be more cyborg than man.

All and all, the failed assassination attempt had been spun into publicity story—of how it was only due to the presence of the great and mighty hero who had saved his cohorts. Handsome Jack was the hero who overcame all odds to fight for his people. Terrorism was no match for their hero.

Maintaining such notoriety, however, wasn’t without its downsides. He’d been met with begrudging respect and disdain as he spun his web to ensnare the wealthy or the influential and to keep them from taking the next shuttle out. He’d even contributed his own credits—Hyperion’s finances—to the emergency relief funds generated to aid any victims and to rebuild the corporate offices. Of the brave cynics who’d questioned how truly safe their developing utopia could be if such an attack occurred on their soil, Jack made sure to silence and have examples be made out of them, whether it have been through arrests, blackmail, bribery, hefty fines, or even their deaths. The rallying cry of his supporters, with the underbelly of Hyperion propaganda blaring constantly and the societal pressure of its loyal citizens and classism, served to help drown out the majority of his dissenters. It was clear to most that the Hyperion CEO was running Opportunity as a modern totalitarian dictatorship, but Jack thrived in the knowledge of his absolute authority—a far cry from his past. This city would be his magnum opus—one of his three surviving legacies.

While Jack was happy to have things back to a semblance of normalcy since the incident, he was helpless to resist the lure of the stars. Being back on land was appreciated, but it never felt real to Jack. His trips seldomly lasted long; relearning to walk again in the force of the planet’s gravity, regaining his balance and getting his motion sickness under control—they were all great initial adjustments to his routine that he disliked undergoing regardless of whichever homeworld he was visiting. Catching up on current events, pop culture, and life in the time he’d been away made him feel like he was an alien—surreal as it was. Days could have him questioning his sanity: if he could’ve been the only one on this godforsaken, crummy planet with the self-awareness that they could be living in a simulation and everyone around him had been replaced by robots. Those startling moments of sobriety felt like being doused headfirst in cold water, popping up in the most inconvenient of times such as board meetings or over his favorite mealtime, instantly souring his mood.

Those were the times he got trigger-happy. It was a clear indication, when even the return of his taste buds couldn’t keep him satiated any longer, that a trip to the docking bay was long overdue.

He’d even find himself taking comfort in the company of actual machines than with his fellow humans. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was back in that world of the transcendently magical and deeply prosaic, with its familiar smell of outer space—vaguely resembling rusted metal—cocooning him. Space was a symbol of liberation from earthly concerns, from petty squabbles and from flapping lips. Pandora was full of bandits and the impoverished, all of whom loathed him just as much as he despised them. The uneducated words that came out of their mouths made him want to bash his head against the wall. The closest sanctuary he could make on this planet that was similar to the floating moonbase Helios, where the wealthy gathered and ambition reigned strong, was Opportunity.

The narrow pale features of his Vice President, Jeffery Blake, was peering back at him through the floating projection. A healthy dose of caution had always tempered the businessman’s mannerisms—an epitome of professionalism—but even he seemed visibly aghast by Jack’s disapproval in this conference call. “Sir…,” Jeffery said slowly, “as I’ve said, we’ve run it by our focus groups. This one was especially well-received—”

So even you’re walking on eggshells? That was the thought that flitted across Jack’s mind.

Jack groaned, slapping his hands on the table. “Pal, you’re not listening to me!” He jabbed his finger at the projection, making it fizzle slightly before Blake’s face reformed over his index finger. He exclaimed, “Look. What do you see? Why am I being overshadowed by my own tinman?”

Like every other propaganda poster displayed at the Living Legend Plaza, on billboards, and even back at Helios, Jack had a team of artists who knew the emphasis of every design was to memorialize the Hyperion CEO in the moment of a heroic exploit. Whether the stories were true or not, no one dared to question the legitimacy—especially not after the examples Jack had made out of his doubters in the past.

Sensing the eyes on him, he finally deigned to glance over his shoulder. The plastic covering of the seat squeaked under him in his readjustment.

If looks could kill, then Jack would be buried twelve feet under with the glower Rhys had been directing at him for the last few hours. Plugged into the charging port, Rhys was currently sitting motionlessly in the back with its arms crossed, strapped into place as all of Jack’s other knickknacks to avoid having his belongings float around. The brown synthetic hair was in disarray, still windswept from the small pandemonium Jack’s arrival had caused at the private spaceport on Pandora. While Jack wouldn’t say what the android had exhibited at the spaceport had been signs of anxiety, it certainly hadn’t seemed pleased with the amount of camera flashes and the throng of bodies that had crowded around them since their arrival. It especially hadn’t liked being ordered out on an errand to retrieve a case of imported alien cigars for Jack and his new buddies to smoke in the first class space lounge.

To Jack, Rhys was becoming more and more capable day by day—even if it did exhibit a lingering attitude problem sometimes, coded into its systems. Despite the personality package of the android’s mysterious predecessor that he had Rhys install into its own noggin, Atlas’ resentment of him seemed to have endured despite the megacorporation having long since been disbanded.

“No, sir, it is merely sharing the spotlight—with you. Everyone knows that you are the hero. After all, how could they not? A mere machine standing next to the rakish, devilish Handsome Jack? You’re the protector; not that robot.”

Jack grunted, removing his gaze from his android.

One thing Jack did like about that stoic man, besides being a damn good salesman, was that the man somehow knew what to say—or what not to say—to get the best results. He somehow intuitively knew how to transverse the landmine that was Handsome Jack, offering fawning words and publicly putting on a show of respecting the Hyperion CEO. Even now Jack could sense the calculating air behind that crafty expression of his.

“It’s unfathomable that you’d be in any way overshadowed anyhow.” There was an evenness to that deep, calm cadence which soothed wounded pride. The man didn’t even give the impression that he knew he was walking on tightrope. With a slight smile, Blake continued, “We are selling an image to the people of Opportunity. What planets need is heroes of today. A fresh face doesn’t hurt your image; in fact, it strengthens it. Besides, the added benefit is that now everyone knows Rhys belongs to you, sir.”

The more Jack listened to his parasitic compliments, to the words drifting into his ears like silk, he could feel a taut smile beginning to split his mask from ear to ear. He’d wanted to reach through that projection and smash Blake’s face into the table. Even though he knew he was being manipulated with honeyed words, Blake’s logic and attempt to appeal to his ego did make Jack subside a bit.

The recliner creaked as Jack sank back into his seat, his arms folded over his chest. His scowl remained on the metallic gold constellations on the blue ceramic mug, with its Dads Need Space Too seemingly mocking him. He could see his own mask reflected upside-down in the black coffee, the rehydrated beverage still full to the brim. No matter how many years had passed, no matter the innovations and technological advancements, the cheap, universally standard freeze-dried coffee still sucked in comparison against the freshly brewed cups that could only be acquired planet-side or at select space stations. Grumbling under his breath, he flicked the plastic straw, sending it careening to the other side.

Safety was priority. Similar to the dehydrated meals of somewhat liquid consistency and the soluble drinks that the Hyperion dietitians had vacuum-sealed into the standard-issued pouches for his flight, the lighter items that Jack had brought had velcro in the back to adhere them to the walls. He didn’t have to look to see his storage locker was full of Pandoran snacks and souvenirs.

By the time that the call with Blake ended, he was pinching the bridge of his nose, exhaling through the mouth of his mask. His foot was tapping a jittery tune against the floor, clattering loudly in the hollow shuttle as the hologram displayed comms he’d made that had gone unanswered.

In the silence that followed the absence of voice, the whirr of machinery permeated the enclosed space, along with the crackle of the comm system as the shuttle cruised among the stars. It was times like these that punctuated how infinitesimal they were in the vast emptiness that consumed them.

The shuttle they were flying in was privately owned by Handsome Jack himself, estimated to be between the cost of the massive space station that was Helios and the cost of at least a quarter of the emergency escape pods that lined that station. Designers and engineers alike, in the dawn of Hyperion’s startup, had tried their best to include enough terrestrial comforts to inspire even the weariest of souls to want to stare into the void that was outer space. Given the weight restrictions and limited space on any interplanetary vehicles, designs had to be lightweight and flexible, serving multiple purposes in low-gravity. But unlike those compact spherical pods, an optional artificial gravitational field had been installed inside the computer modules and ventilation systems—which’d meant squishy human CEOs like Jack didn’t need to tether or strap themselves down to something in order to avoid floating under zero-gravity conditions. It hummed in the background, a constant companion and white noise.

Jack could hear the crack of bones shifting as he flexed stiff fingers. It was a painful sort of awareness; his joints ached and he could get tired so much faster. However much he liked to joke that he was born for the stars, reaching for once unreachable heights, traveling in space reminded him of how he wasn’t as young and sprightly anymore. He’d gotten used to it, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

It was also only in a private moment like this that he could admit to himself, that as much as he loved hogging the spotlight, isolation could sometimes be a blessing in disguise for him. Yet despite the serenity, Jack’s foot was still restless.

“Shit….” Jack knew himself very well. His eyes shot to the monitor, fixating on the photo hovering on the side. His eyes traced the face of a dusky-skinned woman with piercing eyes and the curve of that sable dark hair which curled up entrancingly against sharp cheekbones. It was one of the few photos he’d captured where she hadn’t been wearing her smirk like her prized cowboy hat, like an accessory. After several more minutes, he declared, “Fuck it.”

And he jabbed his thumb on her name.

The familiar beep, beep, beep of the outgoing call rang hollow in his ears. His thoughts were brewing into a black storm, cresting in the restless energy that threatened to spill over as he laced his fingers tightly under the metal clasp over his chin. “C’mon. Pick up. Pick up.”

Beep. Beep. Beeeeeep. Click. “Howdy there; Lawbringer and Sheriff of Lynchwood here.” A strong voice bled into his ears like smoke, making his nails dig grooves into his knuckles. “Nisha if I know you; Ms. Kadam if you’ve got nasty business with me. Only leave a message if you’ve got something important to say—”

Crack. The table clattered under the fist that slammed down onto it. “Shit,” he said, bowing his head. “Nisha.” His features contorted. Anguish coated his voice. “Why are you ignoring me now? I just...fuck, I just want to talk….”

His hand was throbbing in pain. His resentment flagging, he lifted his fist to inspect why he felt a little wetness. And another curse slipped out once he saw what it was that he’d hit. It was his pocketwatch.

He snatched it, bringing it up closer to eye level. The metal prongs which’d protected the dome couldn’t withstand the impact, the glass having splintered into pieces. The once phosphorus blue glow in the center, which contained his bio-data, granting him full security clearance, had dimmed into black. The DNA inside was contaminated; there was no way he could salvage this.

A voice drifted into his awareness. “...Jack?”

Jack could merely stare down at his broken watch in silence. He felt like a disembodied spectator that couldn’t speak; he could only listen. It was as if his brain was suffering a massive short circuit and struggled to compute. Plip plip plip plip. The liquid seeped between the cracks of his fingers.

Click. Jack heard a strap being unfastened. Footsteps soon clanged on the floor, advancing toward him. He felt a deft touch on his shoulder. “Oh, your watch….” It was phrased as a casual observation, non-judgemental and nonchalant. “Yikes. Give that here. Lemme see.” A pale hand reached down and Jack watched long fingers close over the broken watch.

It was only instinctual; as Rhys’ arm retreated, Jack’s head followed the movement like a gravitational pull, stopping only when he caught sight of the frown on the android’s features as it saw Nisha’s image on the screen. Heterochromatic optics darted from the projected image and refocused on his owner’s possession on his palm. As Handsome Jack’s android, it’d known the timepiece’s functions. Jack had let it analyze its properties before.

“...It may have been an accident, but I’m glad I don’t need to break out the emergency first aid kit.”

Jack nearly jerked back when Rhys reached for his hands, fearless and unafraid.

Rhys’ gaze had transferred over to him, and he watched the awkward tilt of his lips as he squeezed Jack’s fingers. In a charitable tone, he was entreated, “You don’t have to tell me what’s been on your mind, if you don’t want to. But I’d like to help you repair this. It’ll take some time, but may I?”

Staring wasn’t quite the word he’d use to describe what was going on in the moment. Jack’s eyes rested, not unblinking but slowed, locking onto the strange human gesture. Rhys held his gaze but instead of the expected icy hostility, the android almost radiated sincerity.

At a loss for words, Jack pulled his hands back, slipping free from the discomfort of the moment.

“Jack?”

He propped his right fist slowly up against his jaw, and soon the left fist joined. For a moment, he remained silent, ruminating on Rhys’ features. Up close, even he could freely admit to himself that the person Rhys had been modeled after had been somewhat photogenic. Jack wouldn’t say the man had cut a dashing figure—he certainly didn’t look like a model even in the renders, nor was he a pretty boy like the financial advisor Jack had stationed at the VIP Tower of the Handsome Jackpot casino—but Rhys was passable by most societal standards. Well defined, with a sharp jaw and angular cheekbones, tall and lean. (Although his looks were maybe somewhat average in comparison against the ruggedness of Handsome Jack himself, he couldn’t fault the man for being born inadequate.)

While Jack suspected the original Rhys might’ve been prone to bouts of fretting and insecurity from how he’d sounded in the audio logs, Jack saw none of that in the confident way he’d held himself and even now being simulated by this android. In a way, Jack had seen a little bit of his past self in the man that he was learning Rhys might have been, struggling to air respectability to his peers and to be recognized.

“...Y'know,” Jack remarked, “you’re really not that bad of a guy.”

“Uhh.”

He waved his hand cavalierly in the air. “Yeah. If you think you can do me a kindness, go for it. Send it to the best watchmaker I have in my contacts.”

“Got it.”

Putting the computer on sleep mode, Nisha’s picture fizzled out as he gestured for Rhys to take a step back. With a quizzical look, it did as it was told and merely watched as Jack straightened up, wiping the liquid off on his jeans. He ignored the pinched expression it formed upon seeing the small dark stain.

He snapped his fingers twice above his thigh. “Eyes up here, tinman.”

Brown and gold optics leapt up to meet blue and green.

In feigned arrogance, Jack advanced forward toward it. The little rise in the corner of his mouth was a familiar smirk that he’d heard others lament as appearing sinister. “Stand up straighter. I wanna check something.”

“What do you—?”

“Ah!” Jack slapped his hand over its mouth, stopping it from answering. “I didn’t ask you for your opinion now, did I? Now shut up and lemme do my thing.” Without asking for permission, he swept his hand from the top of his head to Rhys’. There was a couple millimeters of empty space between his palm and that coiffed synthetic hair, a negligible difference in reality but it was enough for Jack.

It didn’t matter that he was wearing his high-heeled boots instead of his go-to sneakers. He was taller.

SUMMARY: By some miraculous twist of fate, Jack stumbles across an Atlas android hidden smack dab in Hyperion headquarters. Obviously, what is he going to do with it? Keep it for himself, of course, because as the saying goes, "Finders keepers, losers weepers." What he didn't anticipate was the clusterfuck he'd find himself in, when he discovers the valuable model he'd been hoarding has a hidden backstory. There is more than meets the eye. (It's a sort-of tie-in to the Borderlands and Tales from the Borderlands universes. This is another attempt at an AU, although I hope to pay homage to elements from canon.)

Ship: Handsome Jack & (android) Rhys Strongfork

(A/N) - Ch 1-5 of Finders Keepers can be found on AO3, written by PhoenixTakaramono. For everyone that’s still following this story after my extended hiatus, thank you very much for your patience! If you feel like you’ve read this preview before, you’re not wrong. I’ve made a few revisions, but keep in mind that this preview may or may not reflect the final edits in the final draft of ch6 which’ll be uploaded to AO3 once it’s been complete. This has admittedly been one of my more troublesome chapters to write, but finally I can see the light on the horizon.

#handsome jack #rhys strongfork #rhack #rhys the company man #borderlands #rhys tftbl #finders keepers #phoenixtakaramono #ch6 #preview #this has been the most troublesome chapter yet #which is partially why I’ve been slow #many apologies #I’ve spent far too much time #studying astronauts #to write this 1 scene

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brokenjardaantech · 4 years ago

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rk1700 december day 10, 27: structure, home

written for @rk1700december. day 10: structure; day 27: home

rhea is female connor. cronos is rk900.

also on ao3

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‘Uh, Cronos? Reed left something for you before he left. Please come and retrieve the package.’

Cronos’ gaze lands on Rhea who has been resting in bed since returning from her… impromptu debugging with the Administrator. He reaches for her through their connection and tells her what he will do and where he will go, and when all she does is burrowing deeper into the nest she has made out of a few blankets and some spare clothing, he takes it as an affirmative and, after curbing his anxiety that threatens to overtake him whenever he has to leave Rhea for any length of time, he goes to the coordinates attached to the message and finds a box as wide as his shoulders waiting for him.

‘All of this?’ he gestures at the package. ‘And who is Reed?’

‘Yes, all of it is yours, and you might know him as Elijah Kamski. He isn’t exactly subtle about his true identity, unlike most Council members.’

Cronos nods and takes the box with some customary expression of gratitude. He gives it a shake, hearing the content click against one another and feeling the shift of the centre of mass and the weight. More plastic just like the frame of his bed, but this one is much smaller and much more closely-packed. He gives it one more shake just to hear the sound again and goes back to his quarters.

He sits on the floor with the box in his lap, and before he can interface with the seal and unlock it, Rhea somehow manages to sneak up on him and hook her chin onto his shoulder which of course startles him, but he calms down quickly enough.

‘Let’s see what Elijah got for us, shall we?’ he says to Rhea. Sure, interfacing might be more convenient and power-saving, but there is something about talking and making his actions known to other people that just… seems more attractive. As if they weren’t that alone in the solar system.

Rhea nods (or as much as she can in this position anyway). Deactivating the skin on his hand, Cronos establishes a connection with the seal of the box, and a hologram of a mini Elijah pops up. ‘Hi, Cronos, Rhea,’ it says. ‘I noticed that Anchor and the Administrator were keeping a lot away from you, even the essential stuff you need to understand a bit of what’s going on. There also isn’t much for you to play with apart from blocks so…’ holographic Elijah shakes his head with a chuckle. ‘More blocks for you, I guess. Mind you, this one is much more delicate and detailed, so don’t throw them around like your normal blocks.’

The hologram disappears, and the box starts unfolding itself neatly to reveal a neat stack of plastic parts ready to be cut out and assembled into… something. Cronos interfaces once more with the box, now no more than a thin polygon created out of malleable synthetic fibre with electronics weaved into the threads, and finds the construction manual. That is when he opens a connection with Rhea and sends it to her as well even though it is highly likely that, without direct interfacing, she won’t be able to process it and merely logs it as another minuscule change in her system - everything is compared to the vast memory storage she has and cannot access. The comment about Anchor hiding things away from them gives him a bad feeling about his surroundings but he decides to not look too deep into it for now; he’s got something to build.

Let’s see, he carefully untangles the pieces of plastic from one another and spreads them out onto the floor. We need a piece of this from here, another piece from there, and then we’ll need to join them together before putting it onto there…

A few hours and a half-hour break to coax a bottle of thirium into Rhea later, the model of the facility is finally taking shape. Sure, the classified and off-limits sections and wings of the site are still represented by larger chunks of plastic, but it is detailed and delicate when it comes to the places they are free to access, and he can imagine a miniature Anchor in the shooting range, the facility’s personnel having meals together - no matter android or human - in the canteen, he and Rhea watching the shuttles depart and taxi from the viewing deck next to the landing pad. There even is a model of a shuttle which Cronos can easily control and make float in midair with his biotics. He leans back, realising that the model is almost finished, and gives a larger piece to Rhea. Care to do the honours? he asks through their link.

Rhea accepts the piece slowly and then holds it in her palm. Right. Processing power. Cronos holds her other hand with his bare hand, initiating an interface, and shares the isolated instruction for the part with her. Eyes widening in recognition, Rhea easily slots the component into where it should be, and, without breaking contact, she assembles the rest one-handedly with occasional help from Cronos. He suspects some of the pieces are magnetic as they automatically snap to their place as long as they are held close to where they are supposed to be, and he adds ‘express gratitude to Elijah’ into his to-do-list simply because of how happy Rhea looks, how she turns her head to smile at him after each piece is secured in place, how - for the first time since Cronos met her - she can set her pain aside for the shortest while; yes, even when they couple and Cronos is deep inside Rhea and they can be the closest to each other, the agony that is everyday living does not fade for her.

But now - but now -

The final piece. It is small, it should have been handled with extra care and probably with the help of tools, but Rhea looks so determined to put it onto the model that stopping her would have been a crime in itself, and the slight fear of her dropping the piece in the structure will prove to be futile; it snaps to its place with a small click, the lights in the room dim with a low thrum, and the places where the generators of the facility should be glows, thin lines of blue emerging from the rooms to complete the final piece of the model by forming into people and equipment too small to be represented by actual parts. With a glowing hand, Cronos directs Rhea’s bare finger to tap a corner of the structure they just assembled together. Examining the model and pointing out the movements of holographic people don’t exactly answer the many questions they have, but it is a reminder of their home, something familiar amongst so many uncertainties and secrets.

Look, Rhea points at a hologram. That’s us.

Cronos squints and sees a tiny version of the two of them playing with blocks. Their facial features are grainy and pixelated just like the others, but he thinks that they are happy. Just like themselves.

Yes, Rhea, he draws her into the space between his legs and envelopes her in a hug. That’s us.

#rk17cember #rk1700 #dbh connor #dbh rk900 #detroit: become human #groom lake aftermath

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bing0boing0 · 5 years ago

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Barbie An In Depth Analysis and Essay

With over 200 careers within 60 years, she was first introduced to the public as Barbara Millicent Roberts, better known as Barbie. She is an inspiring and well-known female fashion icon. However, with careers like presidential candidate, paleontologist and doctor, it's reasonable to be suspicious about Miss Roberts’, who will be henceforth referred to as “Barbie careers”. In this essay I will be going into the nitty-gritty details about Barbie and her many careers.

Before we can truly talk about the details of Barbie, we must first know about Barbie’s childhood of, at least, the limited amount of her childhood we have been given access to via her books. Barbie grew up in Willows, Wisconsin with her parents George and Margret Roberts this is told to us by a series of novels that were published by Random House in the 1960s. It is unknown where she got her education up until high school, which we are told by the Random House novels, she goes to Willows Highschool. However, in the Generation Girl books, which were published in 1999 by Golden Books publishing company, that she attended Manhattan International Highschool in New York.

Her on and off again boyfriend, Kenneth Carson, who will be referred to as Ken, first appeared in 1961. He stayed by her side until February 2004, where they announced that they would be breaking up. During the 2 year break that Barbie and Ken had, Barbie began to date Blaine Gordan/O’Hare, who dated Barbie until Ken reappeared and they decided to rekindle their old flame. In February 2006 Barbie and Ken told the public that they were hoping to rekindle their relationship after Ken gets a makeover. So, after a two-year break Ken was back to being by Barbie’s side.

Skipper Roberts, the oldest of Barbie’s younger sisters, first appeared in 1964 up until 2003 when she disappears for 6 years, appearing again in public in 2009 where she has stayed up until now. Tutti and Todd were introduced in 1965, before Tutti disappeared in 1971 with Todd following in 1996. There has been no sightings of either of the children since, although there is a theory that Anastasia ‘Stacie’ Roberts is Tutti. Anastasia ‘Stacie’ Roberts was first introduced in 1990 where she was and often still is, mistaken as Tutti, who had disappeared roughly 19 years before. We were told she was Kelly at first but she was later renamed and introduced as Stacie who was presented as the twin of Todd up until he disappeared.

Stacie has not left the public eye since she was introduced. Kelly/Shelly Roberts, which name is the real name is unknown since the dolls are usually referred to as Kelly, they will be referred to as such. Kelly first stepped into the public eye in 1995 where she stayed up until 2010 when she disappeared; Chelsea Roberts was introduced only a few months later in 2010. The youngest sister of Barbie is Kristine ‘Krissy’ Roberts, who appeared in 1998 up until 2001. Krissy was an infant and the youngest sibling of Barbie that we’ve seen yet.

Over the many years we’ve seen siblings and friends age and disappear and reappear looking completely different. Barbie was in view of the public the whole time and changed overtime almost completely. Changing her hooded eyes to more a more rounded shape and her pursed lips into smaller pink lips. Barbie is over 70. When she was introduced, she was a teenager and she’s been seen almost all the time for those 60 years after being introduced. Barbie still looks like a young adult. Why doesn’t she age? It’s quite simple really, she’s immortal. Of course, one could argue that she simply has had a lot of plastic surgery but if we're being completely honest, there is no way that Barbie would look like she does now with plastic surgery. Her entire face shape changed. Yes, she is a model and lives in a mansion, but she is also a woman who prides herself on being as ‘her’ as possible. She would never undermine her support of young girls by crumbling to the beauty standards forced onto her.

Barbie has taken careers in positions ranging from stereotypical female roles such as teacher, army medic, and ballerina but has also taken on stereotypical male roles such as President, United States Marine Corps Sergeant, and Doctor. Barbie has done it all. One would wonder how she possible had all of these jobs. Let's assume that she worked on all these degrees on the side but to be the President. Well I’d certainly hope that all her attention was on serving the United States and not on getting another degree. In 60 years with a presidential term removed, leaves us with 56 years. 56 years multiplied by 52 for the number of weeks in a year divided by the 199 careers still left over. Doing the math leaves us with 14.6 or roughly 14 weeks which is just over a quarter of a year. Is this truly the amount of time Barbie spends on each of her jobs?

It couldn’t possibly be, as Barbie has run as a Presidential Candidate in 1992 winning and becoming the President in 2000, she ran again in 2004, 2008, 2012, and 2016. Whether she will be running again in 2020 is unknown. With campaigning almost every election possible you’d have to consider the amount of time used campaigning in all her years. She’s campaigned 6 times, getting elected and winning once that equates to over 8 years of campaigning not including her presidency. We get this number from the average politician starts campaigning, 531 days before the election by dividing that by 7, we get the average weeks politicians start campaigning before elections, which is 75.8 or roughly 75 weeks before the election. By further dividing that by 52, the number of weeks in a year, we can see the average politician starts campaigning 1.45 years before the election. With Barbie campaigning 6 times that works out to 8.75 years of campaigning with the added 4 years of presidency makes 12.75 years of campaigning and being president. Well, Barbie’s schedule is packed, but still there are 198 jobs that require her and with a subtracted 12.75 years, does she really have time for it all? Surprisingly, yes. Using the same formula as before, which consisted of subtracting the 12.75 years, multiplying by 52 for all the weeks in the year and then dividing by 198 careers, we’ve yet to cover. That leaves us with 12.4 or roughly 12 weeks for each career besides her work as a presidential candidate or the president. Which while it doesn’t seem like much it is roughly 3 months per career.

Some of her other careers are also extremely wary, especially with the 12 weeks span each career would have to follow. For example, United States Marine Corps Sergeant, in order to get promoted to sergeant on has to have at least 24 months in the service, and 12 months as an E4 or in military terms a corporal, that’s 3 years but the average is 4.8 years. This leads us to our next problem; one must rise through the ranks of the military before you can become a corporal let alone a sergeant. So, let's quickly go through the ranks and the time needed to rank up at the minimum. The average time to be promoted to private first class is 6 months. To be promoted to the next rank, lance corporal, the average is 14 months. After Lance corporal is corporal which averages at 26 months, which clearly does not stick to the 12 weeks career span and she hasn’t even gotten to Sergeant which averages as stated before 4.8 years however these are all averages. So, let’s say Barbie gets promoted immediately after reaching the requirements, specifically the time requirements, which rarely ever happens if ever. The time requirement to be promoted to private first class is 6 months in service (TIS) and 6 months in grade (TIG), for lance corporal, it’s 9 months TIS and 8 months TIG, the ranks are competitive because there are less vacancies but we’ll assume that miraculously, Barbie got moved up as soon as she finished her requirements because why not. To become corporal you need 12 months TIS and 8 months TIG. To become Sergeant, you need 24 months TIS and 12 months TIG. All of that adds up to 85 months that's roughly 7 years but honestly that’s not the real answer you can get the TIG at the same time as TIS so it would only take 3 years give or take. Add 3 years to the 12.75 years from earlier and its 15.75 years and only 3 careers of the 200 have been followed. Doing some quick math with the same formula as earlier, each job must last 11 weeks which still could be accomplished but just barely.

The thing is that Barbie has done some incredible things, but the thing that got me suspicious is her career as an astronaut which happened twice, Barbie went to space once and decided that wasn’t good enough and did it again. It’s not the 11 weeks limit on each career that makes me suspicious of this one, it’s the fact that she did it before it could even be possible. Barbie became an astronaut for the first time in 1965. Yeah, you got that right, Barbie went to the moon 4 years before the first person on the moon Neil Armstrong! How in the hell did Barbie get to the moon before NASA and SSP? During the first Apollo launch, they were doing a regular unfueled practice when a cabin fire broke out and killed all three crew members on board, which happened in 1967. Barbie then proceeds to decide to go back to space in 1986, this is after the 1986 Space Shuttle Challenger Disaster which disintegrated 73 seconds after it launched killing all 7 people on board. The thing is while Barbie was an astronaut only twice, she did go to space 3 times. One of these times is in 2013 under the career Mars Explorer because I guess astronaut isn’t good enough for her. Barbie was the first on the moon 4 years before Neil Armstrong and on Mars before we could even attempt to send anyone to Mars. Barbie is repeatedly the first to do extraordinary things, things we can’t even think to be able to do with the current technology.

Barbie has repeatedly been able to do things ‘regular’ people couldn’t even imagine. Becoming the president before a woman could or even get nominated by a dominant political party. Barbie truly has done everything, and if she has yet to do something, she will probably do it soon. Barbie is so much more than us. Barbie could be immortal but that wouldn’t explain all of the things happening to her and around her. Barbie is extremely lucky to not only get all the education to be able to do half of her careers, but to campaign and get elected as a president, become a United States Marine Sergeant in only 3 years, and go to space multiple times, once to the moon and to Mars. Barbie is truly inhuman, in fact to even compare her to us humans would be insulting. What I’m trying to say is that Barbie isn’t immortal because she is a god. It would be the only way for her to have done all these things. So, as Ariana Grande said, “God is a woman” and that woman is Barbara ‘Barbie’ Millicent Roberts.

#pointless essay #barbie life in the dreamhouse #barbie #i should be stopped #i should probably go to bed

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shon-ha-lock · 5 years ago

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Sweater Weather (harry/niall)

It’s that time of year! I had a blast participating in this year’s 1D Secret Santa. @silveredsound i hope you like my gift!

It was a super cheap flight, in Niall's defense. A real deal. So what if the connection was in a tiny regional airport? In Wisconsin. Three days before Christmas. In the middle of a week of record low temperatures and snowstorms.

Okay. In retrospect, maybe he should have expected something to go wrong.

Niall's plane is the last to touch down in Chippewa Valley before it starts rerouting its incoming flights to airports not currently being blasted by the polar vortex. This is also, of course, when it grounds its outgoing flights “indefinitely”, leaving him and around one hundred other travelers stranded.

The whole airport has just two gates, with one shared, cramped waiting area. A line has snaked itself around that entire space, leading up to the customer service desk, where everyone is waiting for a chance to yell at a single beleaguered United Airlines employee about their flights being cancelled.

Niall contemplates joining the line, but he’s more the type to wait until he can vent his anger by giving the lowest scores possible on a ‘how did we do?’ survey. And besides, just standing near the desk for a few minutes gives him all the information he needs to know, on repeat.

“We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience this is causing our loyal customers,” is the current opener every time someone storms up to the little old lady working the desk. Her reedy voice is placating and increasingly nervous as she assures everyone that United is “currently working with Chippewa to arrange accommodations for anyone whose flight has been delayed by the storm.”

This is comforting until Niall realizes that this means they don’t currently have hotel rooms set up for travelers with missed connections the way larger airports do. No shuttles, no vouchers, not a goddamn thing.

They’re only twenty minutes outside of the little city of Eau Claire, Wisconsin, which probably has at least a few hotels with vacancies, but the odds of finding an Uber driver to brave the storm and get him there are slim to none.

Niall’s not really the type to just stand around in a crisis and twiddle his thumbs, but if he’s being honest with himself, he hasn’t a goddamn clue what to do right now. He flies relatively frequently but he’s never actually had to deal with a flight being cancelled because of the weather, and he’s struck by a childish urge to call home and ask his mother for advice about what to do.

At the moment, it’s looking like he might actually need to call her anyway, because she’s expecting to pick him up from Albany International in five hours, and that’s definitely not happening now. God, he hopes he’ll make it back to New York at some point within the next three days. He’s never spent a Christmas away from home in his twenty six years of life, and he doesn’t want to start now.

He’s well on his way to an anxiety spiral when he notices that there’s one other passenger besides him not angrily crowding around the service desk. He looks to be around Niall’s age, and he’s pawing through a backpack with a resigned expression on his face. After a minute, Niall figures that he must be searching for warmer clothes to put on; the man’s short sleeved shirt is well-equipped to show off all the strange tattoos on his arms, but isn’t exactly appropriate for December in Wisconsin.

Niall, by contrast, is dressed and packed for two weeks of winter in upstate New York. He looks down at his own backpack, aware that it’s stuffed with four different Aran sweaters, and makes a decision. It’s the season for doing good deeds, after all. Making a stranger a little less miserable surely counts.

“Hey there,” Niall says as he walks over to the man, who’s given up looking through his luggage and is now sitting forlornly on one of the waiting area’s cheap plastic benches. He looks up, and Niall’s breath -- well, it honest to God catches in his throat. This guy must be some kind of model, because he’s got just about the most gorgeous face Niall’s ever seen. Green eyes, red lips, the works.

“Hi?” the guy ventures after a few seconds of Niall staring down at him like a lunatic.

Niall can feel himself go red as he hurriedly unzips his backpack, feeling around until he grabs a fistful of wool.

“Here,” he says, pulling out a sweater at random and basically throwing it at the guy’s head.

“You looked cold, so.” He shrugs. He watches this ridiculously good-looking stranger hold out the sweater to examine it, smiling widely for a second before his expression shifts to concern.

“Oh, this is hand-knit, isn’t it? I couldn’t possibly take this,” he says, trying to hand it back to Niall, who takes a step backwards and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Really, I insist,” he says. “Seriously, you’d be doing me a favor. My grandma still thinks we live in Ireland and makes one for me every year; I’m drowning in the things.” This seems to make the guy only more determined to hand it back to him, but Niall perseveres.

“I’d feel guilty just getting rid of them, but if I tell her I passed one on to a chilly traveler I’ll be grandson of the year, so.”

Niall narrowly avoids pumping a fist in the air in victory when this makes the guy giggle, bite his lip, and finally, reluctantly pull the sweater on over his t-shirt. It’s a sea green that matches his eyes perfectly, which is great, because what Niall really needed was to be even more distracted by a random person’s good looks.

“I can’t thank you enough,” he says once it’s on, his chin-length hair now attractively rumpled. “I was worried I was going to freeze solid the second I went outside.”

He holds out a hand; Niall takes it. Soft palms, manicured and painted fingernails -- this guy might really be a fashion model.

“I’m Harry,” he says. He smiles wide enough when he says it that his cheeks dimple. Niall’s heart is in some serious trouble now.

“I’m Niall,” he replies, letting go of Harry’s hand a second later than is probably appropriate.

He’s not sure how, but he wants to keep the conversation going somehow, just so he has an excuse to look at Harry’s face for a little longer. Before he can come up with something, an ancient intercom crackles to life and makes them both look around.

“Attention, travelers. In two hours, the storm is expected to dissipate enough to start offering shuttles into Eau Claire. Chippewa will be providing vouchers for the following lodgings.”

The announcer rattles off a list of local hotels before repeating the entire message over again. This announcement seems to renew the stranded travelers’ agitation, and they start swarming the service desks with complaints about the wait. Harry and Niall both stay where they are, clearly on the same page about not bullying the elderly. Harry doesn’t seem any happier than the people yelling, though.

“I didn’t manage to sleep on the plane because I was so nervous about the weather and the turbulence,” he confesses to Niall. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out before that shuttle actually gets here.”

“Where are you coming from?” Niall asks. They’re making small talk! Success!

“Well, I started out in Italy thirteen hours ago,” Harry says ruefully. “Then I had a connecting flight in Boston, and from there, I should have gone all the way out to LA, which is where I’m spending Christmas. But I had to book last minute, and the only flights left had an extra connection. So I took a chance on this one, and of course now I’m stuck here.” He pouts as he says it, and it should make him look immature but instead he just looks like he’s posing artfully for Covergirl or something.

“So we’re heading in opposite directions,” Niall says. “I’m coming from LA, and I’m on my way to New York.”

Harry’s eyes light up at this.

“Oh my god, do you live in NYC? I love spending time there, it’s one of my favorite cities in the world.”

Niall sighs and shakes his head in mock-disappointment.

“Everyone loves NYC so much but they always forget about the actual capital of New York.”

When Harry just stares at him blankly, Niall relents and laughs out, “I’m from Albany. My whole family immigrated there from Ireland when I was six months old."

Niall feels a bit awkward at first, talking about his life with someone he just met, but he quickly learns that Harry is the type of old soul who loves to make conversation with strangers. And by the time the shuttles start actually arriving he can't say that the two of them are strangers anymore.

He learns that Harry's lived in LA his whole life, and so traveling anywhere that's cold knocks him off his feet. Niall's only lived in California since he started attending UCLA (at first as an undergrad and now for post-graduate work) but it turns out he and Harry have several mutual acquaintances, which delights Harry to no end, and he seems more interested in Niall's classes last semester than Niall was, asking questions about what he learned and whether the professors were cool or boring.

He's in the middle of a rant about early morning lectures when the intercom starts announcing that they'll be able to start shuttling people into the city soon. Which of course means that the two of them are going to have to go their separate ways.

Harry starts fussing with his luggage again, seeming almost shy now, and thanks Niall again for the sweater.

Niall scrambles for something else to say to forestall a goodbye.

“How did you know it was hand-knit?” is the only question he comes up with, but it's effective.

"Oh!" Harry exclaims, going all smiley again.

"The pattern was really detailed, and I could see how tight the stitches were. Didn't seem likely that a machine made it," he says.

"Wow, you've got a real eye. Do you work in fashion or something?" Niall asks, wondering if his initial impression was right after all.

"Or something," Harry says, seeming embarrassed for some reason. "I um, do modelling work sometimes. Shoots for Gucci, mainly, but other brands too. It's why I was in Italy, actually."

Holy shit. There’s an actual Gucci model wearing one of his grandma’s sweaters right now. What a thought. His mom is going to flip when he finally gets to New York and tells her all about this.

"That's really cool," Niall tells him, scrambling to think of a segue into asking for his number that doesn't come off like he's just trying to hook up with a model.

As luck would have it, Harry provides one for him - by asking for his grandmother’s phone number.

“Or even just her mailing address,” Harry rushes on when Niall bursts out laughing.

“I’d like to personally thank her for making such a pretty sweater that’s doing such a good job of keeping me warm.”

“Well, I’m going to be seeing her for Christmas in a few days, if the weather calms down. You could call me and I could just hand my phone over to her.”

It’s not particularly subtle, but luckily Harry doesn’t call him out on it. In fact, his face goes a bit sly, and he looks Niall up and down for a moment.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Harry says, and then whips out an honest-to-god gel pen from nowhere to physically write his phone number on Niall’s hand.

“Text me when you get a chance, and we’ll have each other’s numbers that way,” he says cheerily.

A few minutes later, they go their separate ways - Niall with Harry’s phone number written in bright green ink on the back of his hand, and Harry with a signature Grandma Horan sweater to keep him warm.

As he passes the service area, Niall cheerfully plucks a survey card from the desk. Seems like he’s going to give United a glowing review after all.

#hs #narry #my fic #1dficsecretsanta #harry styles #niall horan #fic

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