#your two leads are conquistadors | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

themurphyzone · 4 years ago

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Nova Ch 9

AN: I know it’s been two months since the last update, so thanks for your patience!

Ch 9: Gravity

AO3 Link, FFN Link

Brain didn’t remember walking back to the lab. While his thoughts meandered in many different directions, they all converged into one harsh truth.

He’d lost his only lead to Snowball.

If only he’d been faster. If only he’d noticed the Selenian camera sooner. So many ifs, so many actions he could’ve taken to prevent losing such a valuable item.

He’d allowed himself to be distracted from his goal. Terra was a fascinating planet, yet burgers and karaoke and sunglasses wouldn’t bring him closer to establishing his dominion over it. Pinky’s short attention span must’ve affected him too.

How else could he explain it?

His feet were on autopilot, his mind in a daze. Pinky tried to start a conversation several times, mostly about trivial things like the shape of a cloud or a flower that grew between the cracks of the sidewalk. But he trailed off once he realized Brain wasn’t interested in any of them.

His tears had ceased by the time they arrived on the lab’s doorstep, but the raw ache in his chest remained. The neck of his shirt was damp and slightly darker from where the tears had splashed down, and there were similar dark patches on Pinky’s lavender blouse.

No physical reminders could remain of his momentary weakness, so he quickly took off the shirt and shorts Pinky had given him, leaving them behind on the counter. Then he snatched up his black jumpsuit and pulled it over his body.

Though it didn’t make him feel better. Somehow, the jumpsuit seemed more restrictive than before. He unlatched the window and sat down on the protruding edge, the fabric pulling tightly against his limbs.

It was designed for efficiency, not for comfort.

Behind him, Pinky gathered up the crumpled clothing, and Brain tried not to feel guilty for treating the items Pinky had generously given him like trash.

It was Pinky’s fault for distracting him in the first place.

Find Snowball. Take over the world.

Two simple steps. Anything not related to the above was unnecessary.

“You want some tea, Brain?” Pinky asked. “I can put lemon and honey in it too if you want.”

Brain’s ear twitched, but he said nothing. He swung his legs over the edge of the windowsill, hoping Pinky would take the hint and leave him alone.

But Pinky was incapable of recognizing subtle cues.

“Brain?” Pinky called again.

Pinky’s footsteps increased in volume, then Brain felt a hand on his shoulder. It was a soft touch, but even so, Brain didn’t want it.

He didn’t need pity.

Brain shrugged the hand off, and Pinky made a tiny, surprised noise that was quieter than the vehicles rushing down the road, but was far too loud for Brain’s ears.

He knew what Pinky had done for him, even if they were strangers.

But Brain was going to rule the world soon. He shouldn’t feel guilty over this. This arrangement was temporary.

He looked at Pinky and caught the downturned blue eyes, the rejected hand still poised to comfort. Pinky’s other arm clutched the bundle of clothing Brain had discarded.

“Leave me alone, Pinky,” Brain ordered, turning away so he didn’t have to see that hurt expression.

“Narf…” Pinky whispered, and his sadness was palpable as he trudged back into the lab, leaving Brain alone with his thoughts.

It was what he asked for. He couldn’t take back commands once issued.

He had to be unyielding at all times.

Laying back against the cool surface of the windowsill, he stared up at the faraway crescent that was New Selene.

It was so tiny from his current location. Curiously, he raised one hand to the sky, and New Selene was hardly bigger than his own body part.

Though it was a matter of perspective, he found that it was a concept even his brilliant mind had difficulty comprehending.

Logically, he knew New Selene wasn’t big. Simply empty and barren, with life concentrated in tiny little pockets, which gave the illusion of largeness.

In the grand scheme of the universe, Terra was simply an insignificant body as well. Even the sun, the very star that all life depended on within this section of the universe, paled in comparison to the largest stars.

And if comprehending size wasn’t enough, there was also a matter of distance. While many alien cultures had developed technology that enabled ships to travel faster than the speed of light, the simple truth was that light was the fastest naturally occurring substance in nature.

Stargazing meant looking into a canopy of history, stars only appearing as they did millions or billions years ago. It was a sobering thought, that stars could exist for that long when recorded history for many civilizations was hardly a fraction of their timespan.

Then there was his life.

Though some part of him knew that nothing lasts forever, and no matter how much he wished to be remembered as a wise and powerful leader, there would come a day where his name would be forever lost and his legacy forgotten.

He just hoped that day wouldn’t come shortly after his death.

There was noise around him. Chirping from the vegetation, the roar of vehicles, Pinky humming from somewhere within the lab.

Though the background noise was more welcome than the near silence of New Selene, it still didn’t drive away all his spiraling thoughts.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring into the night, but a rustle from the bushes underneath the windowsill drew his attention.

Then he spotted a familiar tuft of amber fur, the stubby antennae, a flash of pink eyes—and Brain tumbled off the windowsill in shock, landing in the dirt with a painful thud.

Snowball?

Brain rubbed his head, clearing away the dizziness. Maybe he was just clinging to false hope. That he wanted to find Snowball so much that he imagined his presence.

Then the familiar chill hit him, and he knew Snowball was actually here.

The aisam studied his claws nonchalantly, letting a fine mist coat them and evaporate into the night. His control over his enhancements was impeccable. Perhaps the haughty, refined air Snowball wielded should’ve been a warning, but Brain was far too relieved and exhausted to care.

Snowball was back. Soon they’d rule the world together.

That’s what truly mattered.

Slowly, Brain got to his feet, wincing as a muscle pulled on his left thigh.

Snowball simply waited, and while part of Brain was annoyed at Snowball for not helping him up, he was also glad that Snowball allowed him to keep his self-sufficiency intact.

“I was looking for you,” Brain breathed, unable to keep the relief out of his voice. “Where were you? What happened to the rest of the Conquistador?”

Snowball draped an arm over Brain’s shoulders and pulled him closer, and Brain nearly stumbled over his feet. He sighed, the cold electron flow seeping into his antennae and body, but this was a special occasion, so he decided to put up with it just this once.

He must’ve been spoiled by Pinky’s warm and lively electrons. A shiver ran up Brain’s spine, and he clenched his fists together so his involuntary reflex would be less noticeable.

“Oh, how I missed you and all your idiosyncrasies, Brain,” Snowball said, patting Brain on the head. Brain scowled. The move felt awfully condescending. “You see, the Conquistador’s back section wasn’t structurally stable. It must’ve broken off when we entered Terra’s atmosphere.”

“That ship is my magnum opus!” Brain snarled, his fur bristling. He shoved Snowball off and crossed his arms. “My engineering skills are top of the line. There were no flaws in the structural integrity!”

Snowball didn’t look all that impressed. “I’m sorry, old friend. But even the most skilled engineer can’t salvage second hand equipment.”

Brain sighed, reluctantly conceding Snowball’s point. The Conquistador was built out of scrap metal, not the newest and flashiest pieces of technology. Deep down, he knew that the ship would never function as well as the most advanced fleet of vessels, though he’d never admit it.

“And what about you, Snowball? How did you find me?” Brain asked, deciding a slight change of topic was in order.

“I managed to land my portion of the ship without incurring too many injuries,” Snowball said, gesturing to his body. If he was injured at all, he hid it remarkably well. Brain looked for any telltale signs of bruising or bandages, but didn’t find any. Not a single piece of singed fur either. “The internal communication system was fried, but the landing gear was mercifully intact.”

Then again, Snowball could’ve spent some time grooming himself before he came here. He liked to appear his best.

Perhaps he should’ve refined the communication system more. Then they could’ve avoided this entire mess and gotten around to world domination sooner.

Though some tiny part of him protested that statement. If he hadn’t crash landed in the field, he wouldn’t have met Pinky.

He quickly beat down that notion.

Pinky was an easily distracted idiot. Just a mere convenience until he found his footing in this new world.

“And the cameras were in working condition as well. I figured you landed somewhere nearby, and I sent them to scour the city to find you,” Snowball continued. “Naturally, you can imagine my surprise when one of them located you in a public location, singing with some moronic Terran.”

“You witnessed that?” Brain asked. He felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

He didn’t know much about music on this planet, but when Pinky had dedicated his last song to Pharfignewton and Snowball, somehow he felt that he had to drop everything to listen.

It was a kind gesture for someone who never personally met Snowball.

And Brain felt uneasy at the scorn in Snowball’s voice. That simple action didn’t deserve mockery.

Snowball shrugged. “You can’t let anything distract you, Brain. Not fairy tales, not the whims and trivialities of this planet, and certainly not incompetent nincompoops who only care about stuffing themselves with food.”

This wasn’t how he’d wanted their reunion to go.

Somehow, he’d imagined it to be happier. He thought Snowball would be more concerned for his well-being.

It took all his strength to hold his ears high. He wouldn’t show any sign of weakness.

“Now, onto business…” Snowball clapped his hands together, but before he could announce what he planned, there was a sudden burst of activity on the windowsill above their heads.

“Braaa-aaain!” Pinky called. “Where’d you go? I made tea with lemon and honey! Wanna try some? Poit! I was gonna put in rainbow sprinkles or confetti but I didn’t know what you liked so I just left those out!”

Pinky came into view, holding a thimble out to where he expected Brain to be, but he paused when Brain wasn’t there. He paced around, his footsteps steadily growing more frantic and his tail twitching erratically.

Brain felt Snowball’s gaze boring into the back of his skull, obviously questioning why he’d acquaint himself with such a clingy buffoon, but he ignored it.

“Down here, Pinky!” Brain shouted.

Pinky looked down, nearly spilling the steamy contents of the thimble. The worry etched in his face vanished and was replaced by a ridiculous grin. “Oh, there you are, Brain! I was looking everywhere for you! And egad, you have a guest! Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve gotten a thimble for him too!”

“Yes, Brain,” Snowball smirked, and Brain knew he was being irritating on purpose. “Why didn’t you tell him I was coming over? It’s really quite rude. Then again, I can hardly expect you to be tactful.”

“And I can hardly expect you to not be a nuisance, Snowball,” Brain grumbled.

Snowball just folded his arms, as if he were proud of that fact, and Brain scowled at him. Then Snowball turned to Pinky, who set the thimble down and began twisting his own ears in a vain yet valiant attempt to fly.

“So you’re Pinky,” Snowball said. There was a hint of disdain in his voice, but Brain assumed that was just because he wasn’t used to Pinky’s brand of idiocy yet. “I must admit, you aren’t quite what I expected.”

Pinky beamed. “Zort! Well, can’t say I was expecting you either. Brain’s told me so much about you! Won’t you come up for some tea? Oh, we can have our own tea party with Nicholas and Mr. Button! Hmm, maybe I should invite Madame Daisy too? Short notice, but I’m sure she’ll agree! She’s got the loveliest petals! I don’t think you’ve met her either, Brain. But this would be a good time to introduce you! And oh, you’ve never tried my no-bake cheesecake, have you? It’s very easy to make!”

“Before you run off with your inane ideas, throw something down so Snowball and I can get up there!” Brain shouted.

Saluting eagerly, Pinky scampered out of view, then brought back a pencil and threw it off the windowsill. The pencil landed a few inches away from Brain and Snowball. Unimpressed, Brain glared up at Pinky, who smiled bashfully and tried again.

“A rope or cord would suffice,” Brain sighed just as Pinky was about to throw a paper clip to them.

To Snowball’s credit, he showed little reaction to Pinky’s bizarre logic and casually studied his claws instead.

This time, Pinky tied a long, thick strand of yarn to the window latch and let it fall to the ground. Brain climbed up first, allowing Pinky to pull him onto the windowsill.

“About time,” Brain muttered.

Snowball pulled the yarn to check its tensile strength, but didn’t climb up. “Ah, I just remembered something,” he said, in a manner that suggested he didn’t forget at all and was just being dramatic. He disappeared into the bushes for a moment, then dragged out a large blue cap. It had been well-hidden among the leaves. Snowball took his end of the yarn and tied it around a hole in the back of the cap, one end of his lips quirked in a smug smile.

“Is that for me?” Pinky pointed to the cap in disbelief, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He clasped his hands and swayed from side to side.

It was the same cap from the electronics store. The one Pinky had earned through singing. It didn’t contain money anymore, though coins and dollar bills were considered valuable commodities on Terra and Brain would’ve been more surprised if they’d been left alone.

He never realized Pinky had left the cap behind.

“I thought you wanted that cap, Pinky,” Brain said. “Why leave it behind?”

“Well, I couldn’t chase after you and carry the cap at the same time,” Pinky shrugged, like it was no big deal that their trip to the mall had been for naught. “I didn’t wanna lose you. The mall’s a big place.”

Brain gritted his teeth. This was the second time Pinky had abandoned his goal in favor of helping someone else. He’d allowed the incident with the wallet a pass since Pinky wasn’t used to setting objectives yet, but he thought Pinky would’ve learned the second time.

Even if it was for Brain’s benefit.

But Brain didn’t need help. He was a self-sufficient mos.

Once Snowball set foot on the ledge, Pinky immediately wrapped him in an enormous embrace and danced around with him while the poor aisam’s limbs flailed in a futile attempt to escape. “Thank you, Snowball! Thankyouthankyouthankyou! Narf!” Pinky squealed. “I will never forget this as long as I live!”

Brain pretended he was very, very focused on pulling the yarn until the cap was on the windowsill with them and ignored Snowball’s protests.

A bona fide Pinky hug was appropriate punishment for all the worry and stress Snowball had put him through for the past few days.

“Keep it up and you won’t have very long to live,” Snowball muttered once Pinky finally showed mercy and let him go.

Pinky just hummed and took the cap from Brain. “Everything’s perfect! Lemme set everything up for you!’ He skipped away, leaving Brain and Snowball alone.

“Snowball, you knew Pinky wanted a specific object,” Brain said over the incessant sounds of Pinky persuading Mr. Button to join everyone for the tea party, and it was a statement of fact. It wasn’t necessary to ask a question when he already knew the answer. “And you obtained that particular cap.”

Snowball shrugged. “I see the malfunction hasn’t dulled your keen observation skills, Brain.”

“Which suggests you were in the area. Why use a camera to spy on us? Why not come out yourself?” Brain asked.

He hadn’t known if Snowball was alive or dead. He chose to believe Snowball was alive, because if he could survive the empty, vast desert of New Selene, then surely he could survive a crash landing.

The alternative was unthinkable.

And Snowball didn’t care enough to alert Brain that he was-

No, that was ridiculous. There were simply extra factors at play. Limited communication range. Injuries to prioritize.

There were more variables to the equation. That’s all.

“Don’t you remember, Brain?” Snowball tapped Brain’s head with one finger. Brain scowled and shoved him off. “We planned to use the cameras to scope the area around our landing site for safety reasons. I simply stuck to the plan, though neither of us anticipated our unfortunate separation.”

Brain looked away. He refused to admit Snowball’s point. He was already smug enough as it was. “You could’ve attached a message.”

“And allow a hostile party to intercept it? Communicate our intentions before we’re ready to carry out the plan? Come now, Brain. You’ve engineered a marvelous ship out of scrap. You shouldn’t let a freak accident scramble your neurons.”

Brain bristled at the insinuation of his intelligence dropping as a result of the accident. He’d only been temporarily disoriented.

A harsh scraping noise interrupted him before he could retort. On the other side of the counter, Pinky arranged six tiny stools around an upside-down bowl. Then he seated Nicholas the Nickel, Mr. Button, and a potted specimen of Terran flora that Brain assumed to be Madame Daisy. Pinky’s blue eyes sparkled with joy, a frilly white apron tied around his waist. He was completely oblivious to the tense atmosphere between Brain and Snowball.

“Hello, narf! So glad you could make it to the tea party!” Pinky exclaimed, shaking Brain’s hand vigorously. Brain had to clamp down on his arm to stop the shaking as Pinky subjected Snowball to the same treatment. “Don’t be shy now, I’ve got some lovely neighbors to introduce you to!”

Too stunned to speak, Brain and Snowball took their seats on the wooden stools. Nicholas—and celestial bodies above, now he was personifying inanimate objects like Pinky—was lying on top of the stool to his right, while Madame Daisy was on his left. Snowball was trying to compose himself on the other side of Madame Daisy, but he couldn’t hide the annoyed tapping of his claws against the bowl. Brain assumed the empty stool between Mr. Button and Nicholas was meant for Pinky, unless he planned to invite more ‘guests’.

And Brain hoped there weren’t more. It was crowded enough already, even if only two beings at this table could stage an intelligent conversation.

He was mildly concerned at Pinky’s mental state. Surely naming inanimate objects couldn’t be conducive to one’s well-being.

“Nicholas and Mr. Button, I’m sure you already know Brain,” Pinky grinned.

“We’re acquainted,” Brain muttered. “Unfortunately.”

Pinky gleefully clapped his hands together. “Troz! Great, then you can help introduce them to Snowball! And Madame Daisy, did you do something with your leaves? They look so green and perky! Oh really, you think I could pull off Daisy Dukes? Stop that, you’re making me blush! Though I guess I do have the legs for it…”

He giggled, his cheeks coated in a light red blush.

“Yes, Brain. Why don’t you introduce me to your Terran friends?” Snowball grinned, casually leaning one elbow against the table.

“Fine,” Brain spat. “Nicholas. Mr. Button. This is Snowball. I believe you’ll find him particularly irksome.”

“Oh please, they already know you,” Snowball rolled his eyes.

“Madame Daisy, why don’t you tell them all the gossip you heard from the birds and the bees and flowers and the trees?” Pinky asked, kissing one of Madame Daisy’s leaves. “Now, now, Nicholas and Mr. Button, don’t fight in front of our visitors. Everything’s ready in the kitchen. I’ll bring it out to everyone in a jiffy! Brain, I’ll get you a hot thimble. Your last one’s all cold. Snowball, did you want anything extra with your tea?”

Snowball sighed. “A pinch of sanity, perhaps..”

“Double for me,” Brain added.

Pinky tilted his head. “Hmmm, I dunno if I have that brand, but I’ll look! Be right back!”

“And I require my beverages either cold or room temperature,” Snowball added. “My species can’t have hot food or drink.”

Pinky nodded eagerly. “One cold tea and five warm, coming up!” He skipped away, humming an upbeat tune under his breath.

And Brain was once again alone with Snowball. Unlike Pinky, he refused to count the inanimate objects as sentient creatures.

Pinky was an idiot at the best of times and a distraction at the worst. But he prioritized Brain over the hat he desired so badly.

An action Brain dared to describe as...sweet.

Then Snowball coughed, breaking the silence and Brain’s momentary lapse into sentimentality. “By any chance, have your broadcasts reached your target demographic?” Snowball asked, drumming his fingers on the makeshift table. “I’d hate for all that time you spent communicating our intentions with less than stellar technology to go to waste.”

From the way Snowball’s lip curled at the very mention of the radio broadcasts, Brain knew he wasn’t asking out of courtesy. Most likely, he’d figured out that nobody on this planet except for one incredibly stupid specimen had heard Brain’s long distance communications.

Nobody recognized the Conquistador, despite Brain giving detailed descriptions about his engineering pride and joy. He’d failed to garner the attention of the media when Terra was in a period of rapidly advancing technology.

And most damning of all, no human had come to sing his praises, genuflect on bended knee, or bothered to host a welcome parade in his honor. They showed no concern that their new ruler had crash landed instead of making a grand and powerful entrance.

But the sun would have to burn through the rest of its lifespan before Brain would ever admit it.

“Your silence is answer enough, Brain.” Snowball shook his head in disappointment. “And here I’d hoped most of our work would be finished upon arrival. Sadly, it appears nobody listened to-”

“Pinky listened,” Brain interrupted.

Snowball gave him a look of mocking sympathy, and Brain pretended the engravings on Nicholas the Nickel were very intriguing. He hated that look.

“Allow me to rephrase,” Snowball said. “It must be upsetting to find that nobody of importance listened to your broadcasts.”

Pinky bandaged his injuries, tried to help locate Snowball in his own ridiculous way, and introduced him to the wonders of cream cheese.

Those weren’t unimportant things.

But at the same time, Pinky didn’t have the influence to help him ascend to the throne.

“Cut to the point, Snowball,” Brain snapped. “Spare me the monologue.”

Snowball shrugged. “Then tell me our current location.”

“Read the sign yourself,” Brain retorted. Did Snowball believe he was so disoriented he couldn’t tell where he was? “It’s just above the front door. You can’t possibly miss it, unless you’ve somehow become illiterate during our period of separation.”

“Humor me.”

Brain gritted his teeth. “A primitive Terran laboratory known as ACME. I haven’t discovered what the acronym stands for.”

“Never mind the acronym.” Snowball dismissed the tangent with a flick of his hand. “As you observed, this is a laboratory. And do you know what they specialize in?”

“I can do without the condescension,” Brain muttered.

“Behavioral studies and genetics,” Snowball said as if Brain had answered properly. “Why else would that idiotic Terran be here? He’s the equivalent of a mos on New Selene. Approximately the same niche on the food chain and social hierarchy. Higher than parasites and bottom feeders, but not by much.”

Well, Pinky had shown him the gene splicer which doubled as a bagel warmer. It wasn’t that much of a surprise.

And it was a scientific wonder, even for a less advanced piece of machinery. But he had the suspicion that bagels weren’t the only things to go through that device.

“Why bring Pinky into this?” Brain asked.

“I’m only speaking out of concern for my associate,” Snowball replied. He stood up, kicking Madame Daisy’s stool out of the way as he marched over to Brain. The flower slid off the stool and fluttered to the floor. “Isn’t this setup enough proof for you, Brain? Having a useless tea party, surrounded by toys and drivel...why, if you’re not careful, you might end up just like...him.”

The him was spoken with such vehemence, it took Brain aback.

Brain leaned away from Snowball, a shiver traveling up his spine. It wasn’t the usual chill he got from Snowball’s natural physiology.

“I won’t end up like Pinky,” Brain said, as firmly as he could, which wasn’t as firm as he would’ve liked. “I’m his intellectual superior.”

“Then act like it.”

A claw jabbed the center of Brain’s chest. The jumpsuit’s insulation did nothing to protect him from the fine, icy tendrils that threatened to choke his heart.

Snowball stood over him, narrow pink eyes boring into his own. Then Snowball went back to his own seat, scoffing at the flower which laid lifelessly near its stool.

If it weren’t for the simple fact that Madame Daisy wasn’t sentient, Brain might’ve felt sorry for it. Then he mentally kicked himself for that notion.

He was an intelligent being. Plants don’t talk or have feelings.

Snowball was watching him. So Brain remained in his seat.

Then Pinky came back, oblivious to what transpired among his guests while he was away. There was a skip in his step as he balanced three trays, one in each hand and the third resting on his head. His balance and upper strength were impeccable.

“Narf! Sorry for the delay!” Pinky chirped as he set the trays on the bowl and passed the thimbles around, taking great care to ensure the cold tea went to Snowball. “I was looking for sanity, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. Not among the spices, the cupboards, or in that moldy ham sandwich they keep forgetting to toss out. So I just stirred in a spoonful of honey with a generous sprinkling of lemon for...oh, Madame Daisy! Are you alright?”

Pinky quickly set the last thimble at his place and rushed over to Madame Daisy, gently cradling the stem in his hands as he set her on the stool. He waited a moment, then wiped his brow in relief. “Phew, I’m glad to hear it! Anyway, drink up! I’ll join you lovely folks after I grab the cheesecake.”

Brain sniffed his tea as Pinky took the trays and ran back to wherever he came from. The thimble was pleasantly warm under Brain’s fingers, a scented trail of steam rising from the golden liquid inside. It was an oddly relaxing scent.

He picked up the thimble and took a tiny sip of his drink. And once again, Pinky had shown that he was full of surprises. The tea was warm, yet not scalding. Slightly sour, with a tinge of sweetness.

Snowball was entirely focused on his own drink. He didn’t give any outward signs of enjoying or disliking it though. Just as always, he was poised and controlled. Every movement calculated, no thought wasted.

Brain tried to replicate that level of control many times. But he’d never been able to figure out how to stop his ears from giving away his emotions.

A few minutes later, Pinky returned with the promised cheesecake in tow. Once again, he balanced one tray in each hand and the other on his head, carefully setting them on the table without dropping a single plate.

There were two plates on each tray, each one containing a triangular pile of cream cheese. There was a brown, crumbly coating on the back and underneath the cream cheese. A spiral of white fluff rested on top of the cheesecake, and within that fluff was a bright red fruit with tiny seeds dotting its surface. A tiny fork laid on the side of each plate.

“Bon appetit!” Pinky grinned as he passed the plates of cheesecake around. Snowball gave Pinky a curt nod and accepted his plate. “I call it no-bake cheesecake! It’s a family recipe. My mom passed it down to me, and she got it from her mom, who got it from her mom, and she-well, you get the idea. What you’ve got there is cream cheese at room temperature, laid on a bed of crushed graham crackers for that nice, crumbly texture. And I added a little whipped cream, topped with a juicy strawberry because everyone knows strawberries with cheesecake are absolutely delish!”

Pinky set Brain’s plate down, fussed over Mr. Button, who was apparently not sitting properly on his stool. Then Pinky finally sat down at the table with everyone else and began to chow down. He scooped as much cream cheese as he could fit on his fork and jammed it into his mouth, humming in delight.

Brain was struck with an odd urge to forgo the fork entirely and stuff his face with little regard for table manners or dignity. Logic and intellectualism didn’t hold a candle to the sheer heaven that was cream cheese.

He could feel Snowball’s eyes on him though.

And he forced himself to take small bites.

Pinky talked about everything and nothing between mouthfuls of cheesecake and tea. While Brain’s mind was well-equipped to handle large floods of information, the topics Pinky pursued were completely beyond his understanding. Even Snowball’s impeccable control was being pushed to its limit, judging from the eye twitch he’d suddenly developed.

“Troz! I’m sorry I never noticed your new polish, Nicholas! Very shiny!” Pinky smiled, his tail swishing happily behind him. “Mr. Button, have you tried vinegar and baking soda to get that stain out? No? Oh, well I use it all the time for my cage, and it really works. No problem! Egad, Madame Daisy, your son’s gonna marry the potted geranium? I always knew he had a thing for her!”

Perhaps Snowball’s concerns about teaming up with Pinky weren’t completely unfounded.

Brain was halfway through with his cheesecake when Snowball tapped his fork against his plate repeatedly, interrupting Pinky’s futile efforts to bring Brain into a conversation with Mr. Button. Brain sipped his tea to disguise his gratitude. He had no wish to debate philosophy with a button.

“This has all been quite...enlightening,” Snowball said. He put his fork down and pushed his half-eaten cheesecake away. “But I didn’t make this trip just for a first meeting or reunion. Rather, I came with a purpose and opportunity in mind.”

Of course. Snowball never did anything without purpose.

But Brain found it hard to ignore the lack of general inquiries into his well-being. Even so, he pushed the rising bitterness down. If Snowball had found an opportunity to take over the world despite all the setbacks, then Brain was going to hear this out.

“You went to the mall earlier today,” Snowball continued. Another statement of fact, not a question.

“Yes, we did!” Pinky exclaimed. “We ate burgers and sang karaoke and played on a boat-”

Snowball cleared his throat to stop Pinky before he strayed too far from the topic at hand. “The day before, I’d staked the mall as an area of interest due to its popularity among Terrans. While I wasn’t expecting to see you on my camera there, Brain, I decided to satisfy my curiosity and follow you. And during your excursion, you ran into a gentleman named Joe Lamont.”

“He was anything but gentle,” Brain muttered, recalling the cruel man’s shoe digging into his antennae and his total helplessness. And now he had the knowledge that Snowball bore witness to that incident.

“And he was mean!” Pinky added. “The meaniest meanie who ever meaned!”

Snowball’s eye twitched. “While Lamont’s actions were that of a brute, I assure you I did not mention him just to garner a reaction from you.”

“So why mention him at all?” Brain snapped.

“If I may continue without further disruption?” Snowball’s tone was carefully measured, barely concealing his impatience. “Now, I was able to guide the Conquistador’s front safely to the ground after the malfunction. From there, I sent many cameras to scout the area. Some to search for Brain, others to collect intel on the Terrans. And I noticed there was one figure in this city that everyone feared greatly. His vehicle is a common sight, given that at least five cameras I assigned to different areas had spotted him, and nobody dares to double-cross him.”

“We’ve heard similar,” Brain said.

The worker who’d admonished him after the attack wasn’t the only one who was afraid of Lamont, it seemed.

“Lamont is an influential figure,” Snowball continued. “So it’s prudent that we attend the elite party he’ll throw at his manor in two weeks.”

Pinky’s hands flew to his cheeks. “A party?” he gasped. “Narrrrrf!”

Brain glared at him. “Why would you ever want to attend a party thrown by this brute?”

“But it’s a party, Brain!” Pinky protested. “It’ll be fun!”

There was no way he was attending a party. The fact that it was thrown by that uncultured brute of a man was the least of his worries.

No, instead he would be paraded around and meant to socialize…

He shuddered at the very thought.

“Pinky, would you mind fetching the cap I gave you?” Snowball asked.

Pinky immediately scampered off, still tittering about the party, and Brain nearly dragged him back by the tail to force him to stay put.

“You may not be one for small talk, Brain,” Snowball said. “But several members of Lamont’s security detail mentioned that he possessed a powerful military weapon within range of my camera’s audio. Attending the party is necessary to gaining access to that weapon! Isn’t a little discomfort worth the world in the end?”

He could put up with some momentary discomfort, but…

“And just what are you intending to do with that military weapon?” Brain asked. There was something in Snowball’s tone he didn’t like.

Something foreign and out of place.

“What else would I use it for other than world domination? And don’t speak so loud!” Snowball hissed, slapping a hand over Brain’s mouth and looking over his head to make sure Pinky wasn’t coming back just yet. “That idiot won’t keep his mouth shut if he knew. It’s imperative for you to not mention that weapon!”

Brain wasn’t worried about Pinky blabbing. Instead, he got the feeling that Pinky would have something to say about using powerful weaponry to subjugate the populace.

Not that he was wholly comfortable with this plot either. But a little discomfort now would be worth the world later.

“Very well. We shall spend the next two weeks preparing for the party,” Brain said, pulling away from Snowball. “In addition to gathering more intel, of course.”

Two minutes later, Pinky came back, dragging the cap behind him and bouncing with glee. “Oh, I can’t wait for the party! Say, do you think there’ll be a chocolate fountain? I love chocolate fountains! Especially when they make you all gooey!”

Chocolate fountains didn’t sound particularly appealing when he put it that way.

Snowball flipped the cap over, revealing a small card attached to the inside. Then he tore it off and handed it to Brain with a flourish of his hand.

“Don’t show off,” Brain grumbled as he ripped it out of Snowball’s hand. Pinky read the card over his shoulder, growing more excited by the minute as he read the card.

Dear Mr and Mrs Clarke,

RSVP by 4/27 to 707-231-0009

Masquerade Ball at Lamont Manor

Event begins at 8:00 pm

Present this card to security at front gate upon entry

If Pinky was excited before, he was bouncing off the walls now. So the card contained all the information they needed to know. It wasn’t terribly exciting news. Just informative.

“It’s a masquerade ball!” Pinky squealed. Brain tried to dodge, but Pinky was just too fast for him. His legs kicked feebly in the air as Pinky danced around in circles, towing Brain like a ragdoll. “We get to be extra fancy and wear masks and nobody will know who we are!”

Well, that was one consolation if he got to hide behind a mask for this event. He broke out of Pinky’s hold, and took another bite of cheesecake to calm down. Having the creamy flavor in his mouth helped slightly.

“I already have my alias and invitation. Who knows? You might find this experience rather educational,” Snowball explained. He moved over to the table and downed the last of his drink. “Well, this was an interesting night. I’d love to stay and indulge your need for company, but I’ll be taking my leave now. Data isn’t going to analyze itself.”

He’s leaving already?

Snowball walked over to the window, preparing to climb down by using the yarn they’d left tied to the latch.

“Wait!” Brain said, bits of cream cheese and strawberry spraying out of his mouth. His ears flattened in embarrassment as he hastily swallowed. “You can’t be leaving already!”

The rusuprhi! In the light of all the information that had been thrust upon him, he’d completely forgotten to split the remaining bag with Snowball!

Snowball raised an eyebrow, and Brain cursed himself for sounding so desperate.

“Pardon me for not wishing to be a slave to the dominant species again,” Snowball said. “And I’m far more efficient with my tasks when I’m alone. You want accurate intel, don’t you, Brain?”

“Yes, although-”

But Snowball was already gone.

Again.

Brain stood on the windowsill, clutching the card Snowball had left behind. New Selene hung in the sky above him, no bigger than his finger. The faraway stars twinkled.

He didn’t want to be out here anymore. Slowly, he trudged to the bed in the cage, dropping the card and not caring what happened to it. Let Pinky take care of it since he was so eager for this party.

He ignored Pinky asking if he was going to finish his food and pulled the blanket over himself, unable to summon the strength to thank Pinky for the excellent tea and cheesecake.

Snowball had left again. And he didn’t know why.

AN: Poor Brain. Starts the chapter sad, gets hopeful, then gets the rug yanked out from under him.

Also since neither Brain nor Snowball are gonna say this, thank you Pinky for working so hard to be a good host for your tea party.

#pinky and the brain #patb fanfiction #patb nova

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grailfinders · 3 years ago

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Fate and Phantasms #172

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re making Rider of Resistance, a.k.a. a good reason as to why Type Moon should just... stop. Just stop, please, this is an intervention. As usual, expect spoilers below the cut, which is where you can find his build breakdown. Otherwise, check out his character sheet over here!

Next up: She’s a lumberjack, and she’s okay!

Christopher Columbus is a Gloom Stalker Ranger for a noble phantasm that lets him seek out whatever he desires as well as the smash and grab tactics the conquistadors are known for. He’s also a Swashbuckler Rogue to turn him into a high-seas swindler.

Race and Background

Cumulonimbus is a Human, but I want a feat so he’s a variant human instead. This gives him +1 Dexterity and Constitution, proficiency in Deception, and the Silver Tongued feat from unearthed arcana.This bumps your Charisma score up by 1, and you double your proficiency bonus when it comes to deception checks. You can also replace one of your weapon attacks with a contested skill check: your deception vs. their insight. If you succeed, you can move without provoking attacks from them, and your attacks have advantage against them until the end of your next turn. If you fail, they’re sick of your shit for an hour, and can’t be deceived in this way.

Unsurprisingly, Columbus is a Sailor, which gives him proficiency with Athletics and Persuasion. We’re changing things up a bit here, but you’ll need that silver tongue on longer voyages.

Ability Scores

Columbo’s highest stat is his Charisma; he’s a very clever leader, and an even more clever liar. Second is Wisdom, it’s like he can search things out using magic or something. If you’re going to survive a long ship voyage, your Constitution has to be solid as well. For your sealegs we’ll make your Dexterity better than average. That also helps with you running into fights wearing regular clothes. Your Strength isn’t that great, but we’re dumping Intelligence. We just don’t need it.

Class Levels

1. Ranger 1: Starting off as a ranger is cool, it gives you proficiency with Strength and Dexterity saves, as well as three ranger skills; Investigation for up close “treasure hunting”, and Perception to spot land just that little bit faster. You should also grab Stealth proficiency, it’ll make surviving in Chaldea a lot easier.

You would have gotten more skills by starting as a rogue, but starting here gives you extra health as well as Favored Enemies. Grab the two kinds of humanoids most akin to natives in your setting for advantage on survival and intelligence checks about them.

You’re also a Deft Explorer, which at level 1 makes you Canny with Deception checks, doubling your proficiency bonus. Take a shot every time I double your deception proficiency. You’ll take 3 shots, but that’s exponential, so it adds up quick. It’s still level 1, and you’ve got a +11 to deception, that’s pretty damn good.

2. Ranger 2: Second level rangers can get the Mariner fighting style, adding 1 to your AC while out of heavy armor, and giving you a swimming speed so getting knocked overboard isn’t a game over.

You can also cast Spells now using your Wisdom to cast them. Hunter’s Mark is a gimme since we’re not taking Favored Foe, but we’re also dipping into a third Unearthed Arcana for Wild Cunning, a ritual spell that gives you one of several effects. There’s a lot, but they mostly boil down to finding stuff important to survival more easily.

3. Ranger 3: As a Gloom Stalker ranger, you know the benefits of getting the drop on people better than anyone. Your Dread Ambusher takes the chillage out of your pillage by adding your wisdom modifier to your initiative rolls. Also on your first turn you get an extra 10′ of movement, you get an extra weapon attack, and that extra attack deals more damage. The conquistadors weren’t called the conquistadors because they were bad at conquisting.

You also get Umbral Sight thanks to all those nights of watching for the shore, making your dumb human eyes less dumb thanks to Darkvision. On top of seeing in the dark, you also count as invisible to any other creatures that rely on darkvision while in the shadows. Chris doesn’t have his own evade to be fair, but honestly with all the races having darkvision humans get screwed over so much that I’m willing to overlook it this time.

For this level’s spells, Hail of Thorns will give you some light weapons fire from your trusty ship. You also get Disguise Self for free from being a gloom stalker. It’s not in character, but again it’s free, and god knows you’d put it to good use.

4. Ranger 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to grab the Piercer feat, rounding up your dexterity for a bigger modifier and the ability to re-roll one die of piercing damage per turn. Also, your piercing crits deal an extra die of damage when they hit now!

5. Ranger 5: Fifth level rangers get an Extra Attack each attack action. You can still only use a crossbow once per turn, but you’ve got a sword, I’m not worried.

You also get second level spells! Locate Object is what we’re here for, but you also learn Rope Trick for free. Camping equipment was nice, but it’s time we set out for real treasure.

6. Rogue 1: Bouncing over to rogue gives you proficiency with Sleight of Hand, so you can finally get those darn eggs to stand straight. I don’t know why they made a Portuguese man obsessed with a Chinese myth, but whatever.

You also get Expertise in two skills, Perception will help you spot land faster, and Deception is basically just a meme at this point. Both of them get their proficiency bonus doubled. If you really wanted a crazy modifier out the gate you could’ve done this at second level for a +19 to deception, but instead you get it here for a +27. At this point you could totally lead someone on for the entirety of a pseudosingularity and not break a sweat! Not that you would, obviously.

You can also Sneak Attack with ranged/finesse weapons (hey, look at your arsenal, what a coincidence) to deal an extra 1d6 damage to creatures that are next to allies or that you have advantage over. As the men of Agartha could say, you don’t fight fair.

Also: Thieves’ Cant. It’s a language.

7. Rogue 2: Second level rogues get Cunning Action, so now you can dash, disengage, or hide as an action. You’re always moving forward. And sometimes, “forward” means “as far away from the people you’ve conned as possible”.

8. Rogue 3: Is making a sailor a Swashbuckler stereotypical? Probably. Either way your Fancy Footwork means you can ignore attacks of opportunity from creatures you’ve made a melee attack against, and your Rakish Audacity adds your charisma modifier to your initiative rolls. So now your initiative can be added to your growing list of character traits with silly modifiers thanks to its +8. Also, you can sneak attack against creatures when you’re dueling them.

Also also, your sneak attack is 2d6 now.

9. Rogue 4: Use this ASI to bump up your Dexterity for more accurate attacks and less accurate attacks against you.

10. Rogue 5: Use your Uncanny Dodge to get those sea legs working, dodging well enough as a reaction to avoid half the damage from an attack. And your attacks are scarier now, thanks to a 3d6 sneak attack!

11. Rogue 6: Use this round of Expertise to double up on Persuasion to figure how where people keep their valuables and Sleight of Hand to slip them into your pockets while no one’s looking.

12. Rogue 7: Admittedly, Chrissy Boy doesn’t have an evade skill, but he does get Evasion anyway, making his failed dexterity saves deal half damage and successes deal 0. I mean his guts arguably does the same thing at low health, but now we’re quibbling.

Also, 4d6 on sneak attack.

13. Rogue 8: We’ll go back to ranger soon, but first grab another ASI to bump up your Wisdom, speeding up your initiative and making your spells a bit stronger.

14. Ranger 6: It’s been a while, huh? You get another two humanoids to add to your Favored Enemies so you can terrorize a wider swath of natives, as well as Roving from the Deft Explorer goodiebag to speed yourself up and swim no matter what you’re wearing.

15. Ranger 7: Seventh level Gloom Stalkers have an Iron Mind, helping you keep your head on straight even during long voyages. Or against wisdom saves. Honestly the latter’s way more common, let’s go with wisdom saves. You have proficiency now, is what I’m saying.

We’ve also been seriously neglecting your magical damage, so pick up Magic Weapon so you aren’t mostly useless against a demon.

16. Ranger 8: Use this ASI to bump up your Dexterity one more time for better guns and AC. You can also use Martial Versatility to swap out your Mariner fighting style since it overlaps with roving, but I like it where it is. To be fair you could also make Columbus a Triton barbarian, but then he wouldn’t be Columbus.

You also learn Land’s Stride, which lets you ignore nonmagical difficult terrain, and you have advantage against magical difficult terrain like the one caused by Entangle.

17. Ranger 9: Ninth level rangers get third level spells like Conjure Barrage, which lets you conjure... a barrage. Like Hail of Thorns, this is basically your cannons firing off in the background. You also learn Fear for free. That smile is pretty creepy, after all.

18. Rogue 9: Ninth level swashbucklers get another feature, Panache, letting you make a persuasion check against a creature’s insight as an action. If they’re friendly, they become charmed. If they’re unfriendly, they have disadvantage on other creatures, and can’t make opportunity attacks against other creatures.

Personally I like Silver Tongued’s version better for combat, but the added utility is nice. Also, 5d6 sneak attack. That’s important.

19. Rogue 10: Grab the Tough feat with your last ASI for an extra 38 HP now and two more at level 20. You’ve survived at sea for over a month without getting mutinied, and you’ve got guts. Literally.

20. Rogue 11: Eleventh level rogues get 6d6 sneak attack as well as Reliable Talent, meaning you can’t roll lower than a 10 when using skills you’re proficient with. This means you’re guaranteed to roll at least a 16 on Athletics, a 25 on Persuasion, and a 61 on Deception.

Pros:

You are really good at deception. Like, ridiculously good. Like, literally can’t fail good. A minimum roll of over 60, in a game where DC 30 “nearly impossible”, is dumb. Especially since you can weaponize that check thanks to your UA feat.

Speaking of, if you’re willing to only make 1.5 attacks a turn instead of 2, you’ve basically got guaranteed advantage thanks to that feat. That’s really useful when it comes to setting up your sneak attacks.

You’re also pretty tanky, with almost 200 HP and most of the rogue’s abilities to avoid damage. You don’t have your own healing, but I’m sure you can talk Medea into helping out.

Cons:

Your casting modifier is only a +3, so your spells aren’t as strong as they could be. Most of them don’t use your modifier at all, but expect your cannons to be a bit lackluster.

You will never need to roll a 61 on deception. You could have used that Canny on another skill to make two skills busted, but when you gotta flex you gotta flex.

You are playing Christopher Columbus.

#fate grand order #FGO #dnd 5e #D&D #Rider of Resistance

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years ago

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Lionheart Party

In straight white slacks, the dark green Cassell blazer and a button up shirt tucked in neatly, Tigre couldn’t have looked more preppy. His dark hair was slicked back in a flamboyant green bow that highlighted his aqua eyes. He smiled and greeted Lionheart members courteously as instructed by Celeste.

“Look them in the eyes, smile warmly and shake their arms firmly. Maybe pat their shoulders as they pass through the door but not too hard and not too soft, like a caress. Less with the ladies. Just a smile will suffice. Thank them for coming and direct them straight to the wine.”

“Really? The wine?” Tigre said, startled.

“Yes.” Celeste grinned.

“Welcome! Thank you for coming!” Tigre said, shaking the hand of a guest and patting his shoulder as he walked inside. “The wine is on the bar to your left!”

Celeste didn’t bother even announcing the party campus wide. She was only interested in entertaining Lionheart members. He was the S-ranked student, but she was the host. She hung him outside the door like a decoration. Her first accomplishment here.

Word of the unorthodox living accommodations spread like wildfire around the campus but Tigre said he was fine with it. The girls were helping him tremendously and he didn’t care much for the rumors. He was excited that he was on his way to becoming a dragon-like person, just like his ancestors.

The Lionheart men weren’t interested in him anyway.

As he shook the hand of one tall blue-eyed man with the looks of a male model, he drew Tigre in for a surprise hug and asked, “So which sister is yours huh?”

Tigre laughed awkwardly, recalling the conversation in the car. The whole reason they liked him is because he didn’t demand their attention. “I uh… will let them decide that. It’s their choice.”

The man threw back his head and laughed. “Smart! I like you!”

“The wine is that way.”

The svelte handsome man winked and went that way, but he took his hand and dragged him inside.

Tigre dug in his heels and trie to delay. “Wait, I’m supposed to... “

“Hey my buddy bought cookies. You should try them.”

Celeste stood like a bold centerpiece in the dorm, speaking to the three of them with a flute of champagne. She spoke in short clips, smiling in a floor length white satin dress, gesturing her dark arms and shoulders. Her neck glittered with a diamond on a thin gold chain. Her hair was done up in a braided crown.

Ruby was helping to serve the drinks and keeping everything stocked up. She had been talking to a man with dark skin and black eyes with straight hair held back with enough gel to make it stick together in lumps, when she suddenly broke eye contact with him and caught eye contact with Tigre. Her expression caught the attention of her suitor who followed her gaze back to him. As soon as he saw the Cassell S-rank watching them, he backed away, hands up in innocence and wandered off in defeat.

Ruby mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

Porsche was laughing on the couch in a green dress that was cut all the way up to her knees, leaving her leg completely bare as she crossed one over the other. The two guys on either side of her couldn’t seem to keep their eyes on her face, she wiggled her heeled shoe a bit and smirked when they looked before continuing her conversation about the wonders of her home country of Tanzania.

Tigre lowered his eyes a bit. They were having so much fun. He should do or say something, but nothing comes to mind. What they were doing was none of his business. They wanted to be friendly with all these people because they wanted to lead the club so it was important to show off in the meet and greet. He couldn’t hold a conversation like they could. If he tried to chat, he might ruin things.

He nodded to himself that, for now, it was fine to hang out. When he reached the bar, he turned around and looked into a pair of beautiful dark eyes with a pale face.

“Hey there.” Her skin reminded him of Celeste’s satin dress, smooth and shining in the light. He was supposed to welcome and smile and lead to the wine and that was all, but he found himself suddenly tongue tied.

“I’m Veronica. A pleasure to meet you.” She held out her hand, palm down, displaying her painted red nails that matched her elegant straight gown.

“Hi…” Tigre looked at her hand. He wasn’t supposed to shake hands with them, right? Her hand wasn’t in the right position to shake anyway. His arm twitched, not sure what to do.

Veronica’s smile vanished and her expression darkened as she lowered her hand, but she smiled again, recovering. “This is the party right?”

“Yes. The wine is right over there.” Tigre said, happy to get back on script.

“I’m not interested in wine. I don’t drink.” She said, “And I know. I’ve been standing here for ten minutes.” She was standing over a tray of cookies. “Want to try some?”

“Sure!”

Veronica smiled and stepped next to him. “Mind if I keep you company?”

“Not at all!” Tigre said. He felt a sense of relief not to be by himself any more. The cookies were good, sweet, warm and chocolatey. He reached for another.

The next person came up and Veronica stepped forward and shook his hand.

“Veronica… fancy meeting you here.” The blonde man said.

“I’m a member of Lionheart now so…” She looked up at Tigre. “Tigre… is that your real name…?”

“It is.” Tigre nodded.

“Tigre, I’m Henry Everton. My parents are of an old dynasty in Poland that immigrated to the US during World War II and made money in the oil business.”

“Oh I see.”

“Where is your family from?”

He almost said he didn’t know. But he did know. “Dragons!” he exclaimed confidently.

Everton wheezed for a second, trying to hold in his mouth full of wine, and then laughed. “Wow. That’s what it all comes down to right?”

Veronica nodded. “That’s why we’re all here. Cassell attracts the highest purity hybrids from all over the world. Tigre knows why we’re here as well. According to the registry, he majored in martial arts.”

“Oh really? You might as well so long as you have the physique and energy for it. I personally can’t handle getting into too many fights. But you look like you’ve been in a few yourself.”

Tigre self-consciously bit into another cookie. “I have.”

He felt a sudden sense of relief. He seemed comfortable just standing at the bar and holding a conversation.

“OH you know who has your same major? Alex.” He turned and shouted. “Hey Alex!”

Alex looked to be about 6 foot 50 and about as wide. He lumbers across the living room and towers over Tigre like a goliath. Tigre didn’t remember this guy coming in. Wait…

He turned to the door. People were just walking in! He’d left his post and people were just flowing in like crazy!

Celeste was staring at him, with angry black eyes.

Panicked, Tigre looked up at Alex who stared down at him like he could pound him completely through the floor.

“Yeah I think he’s in like all your classes this is awesome! You guys should exchange numbers.” Everton beamed and slapped Alex on the bottom before going to greet the people coming in.

“Ah sure…” Tigre pulled out his phone that he got from Toyama and tried to remember how to add a contact. After a few awkward seconds he gave up. “Can I… just give you my number?”

Ruby has gone to the door for crowd control but she isn’t nearly the presence that Tigre apparently was. Soon, she’s surrounded and fielding awkward questions from guys who looked like they were drunk already. There must have been another party somewhere and maybe it had ended? Or were people here just drunk all the time?

Porsche wasn’t going to help her sister, she was busy taking selfies on the couch, holding out her phone and making a victory sign with her fingers. “Okay now give me all your numbers.” She commanded. All the guys were happy to comply.

Tigre finally got the number to Alex the Giant, who apparently was in all his classes.

He grumbled. “I look forward to seeing you in battlefield training.”

“Right…” He whispered. “S...same here.”

Tigre turned to the bar where three guys were filling the cups of the people in line. One man had a cup in each hand and spilled a bit on the floor as he walked back to the door to give beer to people as they were coming in.

He was so distracted he didn’t realize Veronica was talking to him. “As part of my study, I was tasked with researching S-ranks like Principal Anjou and Lu Mingfei. They seem very ordinary on the surface, but their minds are anything but ordinary. They’re not overly obsessed with anything in this world. Anjou appreciates good things in the world but can hardly enjoy them because this is not his world. Lu Mingfei seems to feel the same way. No matter how much he attains in power or status, he’s not truly interested in it. So it didn’t surprise me at all to see you outside the party on your own. This is exactly how S-rankers act.”

“I… I guess?” He stammered. He turned and caught sight of Porsche who was in a full blown make out session with one of the men on the couch. They way his hand moved up her body and over her shoulders and then over her hair and…

Someone knocked into him and apologized. “Oh wait!” He looked up at him wide eyed. “You’re the S-ranker. That’s awesome! So are you half lizard or something? I hear you guys turn into dragons when you’re really pissed off.”

“I… don’t think so?”

The man shoved a beer into his hand. “Here bottoms up. I want to talk to you and hear your story. Are you from a whole family of dragonslayers?”

“No..”

“Really? Where are you from?”

“Mexico… I…”

“Mexico? I haven’t heard a lot about dragons there but you know what? I had a sister who did a whole report on the legend of Quetzocoatl… I wonder if you have some sort of Dragon Lineage from that, but it’s also possible that Hybrids came from the Conquistadores. I mean, it’s possible that Cortez and Montezuma were hybrids… or maybe even Dragons!”

Tigre couldn’t walk without bumping into someone. The whole place smelled like alcohol. The music was suddenly extremely loud and people were bouncing in the living room. This was all his fault. He had one job. Celeste was going to kill him.

The man ushered him onto a couch with two other people. He introduced them but he could barely hear over the noise.

“By the way, I live downstairs down the hall. I heard the party going on and you know…”

“Wait, all these people live here?”

“Yes, like, I think three quarters of these people are your neighbors. How’d you get a pad like this? I mean dang, shackin’ up with the Smith girls? Lucky you.”

“They might kick me out after this…” He squeaked.

“No they won’t.” This guy switched out his empty cup with a full one. “You’re kind of quiet…”

Tigre looked down at his cup and realized it was plastic and a shade of red. He didn’t remember these cups being in the bar area. “Where did this cup come from?”

“If you crash a party you bring your own booze. Common courtesy. So which one of those girls is yours?”

Tigre suddenly felt very dizzy and tired. “I don’t know. I don’t…”

“Oh come on, be honest… There’s one you got your eye on? I don’t want to step on any toes.”

“Porsche likes guys a lot. You should talk to her.” He kept trying to focus his eyes. People were laughing awfully loud.

“Excellent. By the way, Veronica is nice. You know if you don’t like chocolate.”

Tigre squinted at him and realized this was not the person who was talking about Mesoamerican mythology earlier. Someone else had sat next to him and he didn’t even realize it. He suddenly wondered if there was some sort of time skip and he’d been sitting here for a longer time than he realized.

It sank in that he was intoxicated. He didn’t drink that much. How could he feel this listless and out of it? He decided it was probably best to just stay on the couch and not move too much. He was afraid of falling because the room was tilting so bad.

Two freshman hooked up microphones and a beat started playing. They were speaking quickly at each other and insulting each other with quick words and phrases that somehow rhymed. People cheered and goaded on the best rhyming phrases and much to his shock Celeste broke from the crowd and snatched the mic.

Her dress was slightly stained. “This is my party, this is my house, so listen up, Mama Celly gonna rap now. Yo all you fellas walkin’ like you wanna piece o’ me. But I’m not your baby girl who’s gonna go down easily! Disses just starting, Kiss and kowtow, I’m gonna take you ‘part as future Lady Lionheart!”

She wasn’t angry? She was having fun?

“Oh… good…” Tigre slid down the couch, laid down and blacked out.

#Dragon Raja

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fapangel · 4 years ago

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help, how do I write, well... armoured infantry fighting eachother? like, everyone's decked to the nines, so now I have the problem of gunfights devolving into brawls as people run through mags.

Treat armor much like how it works in real life - incredibly valuable for buying you a second chance, but not nearly so impervious that you can just stand around getting blasted. I presume you’re having a problem where you apply this metric and it makes modern-day style firefights where cover is king grind on forever, right? Well, you might be surprised to know that many real-life firefights actually do work that way. This is why “fire and maneuver” is such a key component in modern ranged combat, and why flanking is as important in the modern day as it was in rank-and-file melee combat of the ancient world. When both sides are in cover (and they will be since if they’re not in cover to begin with they’ll get there fast,) and playing peekaboo with each other, many rounds will be expended for relatively little effect. To do damage, you have to literally flank the enemy - if he’s hiding behind a rock, you have to move around to his side, so you’re shooting at him from two directions, so both sides of his rock are threatened.

Naturally, once your enemy is flanked in this fashion, they tend to retreat and regroup rather than stay in their compromised position and be swiftly annihilated. Compare this to B.H. Liddel Hart’s words, where he says that strategy “is not so much to seek battle as to seek a strategic situation so advantageous that if it does not of itself produce the decision, its continuation by a battle is sure to achieve this. In other words, dislocation is the aim of strategy...”

Liddel Hart was describing strategy, but his observations apply equally well to tactics, even squad-level tactics, in modern warfare. Which, in itself, neatly shows you why insurgencies are so hard to combat - infantrymen with rifles are superb tools - in truth, the ONLY tool - for taking and holding ground, but forcing an enemy off the ground you want to hold is a lot easier than actually pinning them down and eliminating them. Thus the goal of insurgencies is to not actually hold any ground of their own, but stay ephemeral.

Thus the integral relationship between fire and maneuver which you see military theorists constantly kicking around. All you need to keep in mind (a point said theorists often get too deep into the weeds to remember) is that applying firepower is the point of maneuver. You need 1. something to shoot and 2. a clear shot to your target in order to use it. If they’re in foxholes or a bunker, for example, that means getting close enough to use grenades.

So to apply power armor to a firefight, we have to consider how it affects fire and maneuver. Now in the history of war there has always been a fluid relationship between armor and firepower, one that often changed rapidly as technology changed. Sometimes it’s the pre-dreadnaught era, where even the biggest nutcracking guns afloat couldn’t penetrate the crucial spaces of opposing battleships, and sometimes it’s the 1940s era, where body armor is mostly an afterthought as no practicably wearable technology can really oppose the weapons in use. But more often it’s been Conquistador-era, where people check for the “bullet proof” dent in the armor that proves it can stop a musket ball - or for that matter, a (lighter) crossbow bolt - but know there’s no option to protect the face or limbs, because they’ve already used up their weight allotment on the armor protecting their torso.

One of the first things you have to decide about the technology in your story is, this relative relationship between offense and defense. Is one currently enjoying advantage over the other, or are they in a period where they’re relatively evenly matched?

From there, account for the effects of (what I assume is) power armor. Powered suits not only let you carry more armor, but also more powerful weapons to punch THROUGH the armor of your enemies. They also allow you to move a lot faster, over much rougher terrain, as the infantrymen are freed from the limits of human strength. This boost in mobility is doubled by the reduction of firepower. The basic technique of fire-and-maneuver is covering fire; you pour fire onto the enemy so they have to stay behind their cover and can’t light up your troops as they move. Thus the concept of “effective fire;” you need to put enough rounds on your enemies that they are actually forced to duck, or if they are moving, force them to stop advancing and hug cover. If armor is stronger, then it takes more fire to be effective. This benefits everyone, of course, but I’m going to wager it helps troopers trying to maneuver relatively more, as the ones behind cover already have very good protection. The armor mostly protects against blast-frag; i.e. shrapnel. (Shrapnel is the primary killer of infantrymen because it spreads the “love” around. This is why things like tanks were historically hard to kill with artillery or airpower; blast-fragmentation compensated for the innate inaccuracy of unguided munitions. You either needed direct fire [like the 37mm gunpods Stuka’s used, or yes, the GAU-8 decades later,) or ‘spread’ munitions that could kill tanks, like napalm or armor-piercing bomblets.) The precision-guided munitions revolution has largely negated many ordinance distinctions born of blast-frag primacy; pretty much any weapon, even ones fired out of a rifleman’s underbarrel grenade launcher, can be precision guided and home in on a single target; even a single power-armored infantryman. So while power armored infantry in the real world, right now, would be very tough to kill because most standard artillery rounds couldn’t root them out, in a futuristic setting we can presume that they’re dropping self-guiding submunitions with micro-sized armor piercing warheads. Thus the real beneficiaries, comparatively, would be the guys maneuvering - not only are they faster, but they’re primarily threatened by hostile small arms, and with better armor, the same amount of firepower threatens them less. Overall mobility on the battlefield would be enhanced.

That naturally leads to firefights happening at shorter ranges as both sides aggressively maneuver on each other, as neither sides fire will be effective at suppressing the other till they reach shorter ranges (mainly due to accuracy. The more rounds clustered tighter on target, the more likely they’re going to drop.) And both sides can reach close range faster. So fights will be shorter, faster, and more intense.

Remember - it doesn’t HAVE to be this way. You can approach this from a question of “what kind of dynamic do I WANT?” and then simply write the tech in the story to support that. Remember what I said earlier about the struggle between firepower and armor through history - it can change fast - so it’s entirely plausible for your story to be happening at any point on that spectrum. Those pre-dreads I mentioned? Only 40 years later, in WWII, firepower had caught up so drastically that the guns of a cruiser could punch clean through the belt armor of a battleship under 15,000 yards or so. But that was suicidally close for a cruiser... because of the battleship’s own guns. Again, fire and maneuver. Or firepower, maneuver and armor, if you want to make it a triangle; each one has both offensive and defensive applications. The shape of that triangle dictates the blend of them that will be used to conduct warfare and in what fashion. So if you don’t have a specific, desired combat dynamic in mind for the story, it’s also good (and fun) to nail down what that triangle looks like FIRST, and then extrapolate from there to discover what it’d be like. It all depends on your priorities as a storyteller.

A last note - everything I discussed above is an issue under serious consideration IRL as pertains to infantry. Body armor has gotten scary good, in the last few decades especially. The Army was first kicking around a 6.5mm round in the 90s and the topic is coming up for consideration more and more often, as well as alternatives like three round burst and such (remember the AN-94s clever super-fast doubletap? Ayep.) So you can read up on current IRL discussion on this topic to get ideas about how things might change and how armies will adapt.

My discord is Demetrious#5963 and I’m on Rizon under Demetrious as well; hit me up if you wanna talk more on specifics or whatever~

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smokeybrand · 3 years ago

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Smokey brand Movie Reviews: She Got Pants Now or Why Is All the Rum Gone

It’s the last day of July which means we have the last movie to be dropped under the Disney dual release strategy; Jungle Cruise. Now, i don’t know much about this flick outside of it being another one of these movies based on a ride from the parks. Apparently, the Jungle Cruise ride is pretty infamous because of the racism so I'm curious how this thing got the green light. Regardless, i love Emily Blunt and i usually enjoy The Rock, so why the f*ck not? I don’t have to leave my house, i have a computer with a 4K monitor, and a set of wireless earphones that kicks out Dolby quality sound. It ain’t the theater but since the black horse still rides, it’s a decent replacement for that sit in experience. Let’s go!

The Good

Disney did a great job of softening a lot of the more offensive aspects of the ride when they adapted it to film. I love what they did to Trader Sam because that motherf*cker was infuriating. Hopefully, they’ll give the ride, itself, an overhaul because this movie will go a long way to rehabbing that problematic as experience back as The Magical Kingdom.

Dwayne Johnson is as charismatic as ever. Dude has kind of settled into just playing himself over and over but that’s fine. He’s very good at playing himself and his Frank "Skipper" Wolff is one of the best versions of himself on film. The Rock doesn’t do anything to reinvent the wheel, but if you like what he does, you won’t be disappointfed.

Emily Bunt is as adorable as ever and really leans into what they gave her for Dr. Lily Houghton with gusto. I think the writing went a little too far to make her seem like the strongest woman ever but Blunt does her best to reel that unhinged zeal in a bit. Her character is witty, intelligent, and can throw a mean jab.

The draw of this film, the heart of it all, lies in the chemistry between The Rock and Blunt. Their scenes together feel natural as f*ck, like they’ve been doing this sh*t together for years. They've just settled a level of comfort between each other that you rarely see outside of old married couples. It’s cute to see and really helps keep you engaged when things stop being so engaging.

Paul Giamatti is in this. Weird.

Jungle Cruise is a pretty good looking film. They used every bit of that two hundred million dollar budget. Most of the time. The Amazon has a natural beauty that lends itself to the eye but it’s kind of it’s own, unique, thing. If you’re not accustomed to earth tones, you’re going to have a real hard time focusing on this flick.

The set pieces are nice. They can give some of the more elaborate Indiana Jones sequences a run for their money. Like, this is, maybe, Temple of Doom or Crystal Skull levels of stunt work. Probably more Crystal Skull because there is a ton of CG work. Like, s much. Like, TOO much.

I’m hearing a lot of people compare this to a female Indiana Jones or a Tomb Raider movie but it’s definitely not that. This is more akin to those campy Mummy films starring Brendan Fraser. Seriously, Frank is Rick, Lily is Evie, and they also share an effeminate brother character. It’s the same f*cking formula. The cursed Conquistadors can even double as mummy abominations.

Speaking of formulaic, this thing definitely started it’s life as a Pirates of the Caribbean script. If it didn’t, I'd be thoroughly surprised. That's not bad, mind you, just something i noticed about half way through. If it is, it would have made a great Jack Sparrow adventure. Jungle Cruise would have been one of the best Pirates film if it was to be made as one. I don't know what that means about the quality of the overall franchise but I said what I said.

Definitely a theater experience. I was fortunate enough to have the ability to approximate that with the media i have on hand at home, but i highly recommend seeing this in the multiplex. Only if you feel brave enough to engage with the wild public, though. Jungle Cruise is definitely built for that big screen presentation.

The Bad

The CG can be real bad a t times. Like, amateurish. I mentioned they used every bit of that budget before, right? Well a good chunk must have gone to the lead salaries because they definitely could have made another pass in Adobe After Effects. That sh*t get real obvious as time goes on. It's like that horse meme!

I also mentioned that Lily is f*cking superwoman and that's not handled with any semblance of nuance. She routinely makes men, just men, look like clowns. Now, I don't care about that type of stuff, it was entertaining and in service to the plot, but that calls into question the plot, I think. If your character can only be strengthened by weakening another, then you've written a poor character. However, most people won't see it like that and just get offended because of Lily is a f*cking Mary Sue. That offends the lesser males out in the interwbs and they'll f*cking tell you about. Loudly. From their mother's basements. With real tiny weenus energy. I hate that I have to constantly put this specific thing in the Bad section of my reviews because it never has to be. F*cking write better female characters, Hollywood! Goddamn!

The pacing is really uneven. There is about a thirty minute lull at the beginning of the second act. This sh*t stops in it’s tracks and, if not for Blunt and Johnson, you’d abandon this sh*t right here because there is still an hour of movie left after that. Yes, this thing is two hours long. No, it definitely didn't need to be that long. There is a lot of fat on this rind and it really bogs down the pace.

The plot is derivative of the genre. Like, you’ve seen this movie before and it’s not executed in any redefining way. Jungle Cruise is disposable in that way. Fun but inconsequential and ultimately, forgettable.

There is kind of a queer bait in this thing. It feels like Mickey wanted to really go for it but they refuse to go all the way. Still, what little of that queer sh*t we did get is worth noting, even if it should have much stronger.

I was bored at times. The movie, itself, isn’t boring, but being at home with sh*t that i can do to distract myself, it was hard not to just get on my phone when the thing starts to drag. Another reason to see this thing in theater; You’re a hostage audience. You have to watch what is presented or you get kicked out. Helps to keep you engaged when the film, itself, doesn’t seem like it even wants to be.

The Verdict

Jungle Cruise is a lot. It’s loud, frantic, thrilling at times, but an utter bore at others. It’s entertaining overall but there are definitely holes in the formula. I really enjoyed The Rock and Emily Blunt. They are excellent in their roles and the chemistry between them really drives this film, even when it’s sputtering to keep your attention. The thing is shot beautifully and does it’s best to circumvent the more problematic aspect of the ride which inspired it, Trader Sam getting that retool was brilliant, but falls short of rehabbing the more problematic aspects of this narrative. The writing is definitely groan inducing at times and the LBGTQ stuff is a mixed bag but the ridiculously heavy handed identify politics is the most glaring issue. I get it, she’s a strong woman that don’t need no man. Anything you can do she can do better. I understand, now stop beating that horse. It’s been dead for a long time. Just like this movie. Two hours is WAY too much time to tell this story. All in all, it’s an enjoyable diversion that should definitely be seen in a theater. I didn't hate Jungle Cruise and i think it is one of the better Disney Theme Park Ride movies but i won’t lose sleep if i never see it again.

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rockislandadultreads · 4 years ago

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Check out these history books from our bottom shelf! All these titles need some love, so check them out today!

Summaries and Ratings from goodreads.com

Conquistador: Hernán Cortés, King Montezuma, and the Last Stand of the Aztecs by Buddy Levy

4.19/5 stars

It was a moment unique in human history, the face-to-face meeting between two men from civilizations a world apart. Only one would survive the encounter. In 1519, Hernán Cortés arrived on the shores of Mexico with a roughshod crew of adventurers and the intent to expand the Spanish empire. Along the way, this brash and roguish conquistador schemed to convert the native inhabitants to Catholicism and carry off a fortune in gold. That he saw nothing paradoxical in his intentions is one of the most remarkable—and tragic—aspects of this unforgettable story of conquest.

In Tenochtitlán, the famed City of Dreams, Cortés met his Aztec counterpart, Montezuma: king, divinity, ruler of fifteen million people, and commander of the most powerful military machine in the Americas. Yet in less than two years, Cortés defeated the entire Aztec nation in one of the most astonishing military campaigns ever waged. Sometimes outnumbered in battle thousands-to-one, Cortés repeatedly beat seemingly impossible odds. Buddy Levy meticulously researches the mix of cunning, courage, brutality, superstition, and finally disease that enabled Cortés and his men to survive.

Conquistador is the story of a lost kingdom—a complex and sophisticated civilization where floating gardens, immense wealth, and reverence for art stood side by side with bloodstained temples and gruesome rites of human sacrifice. It’s the story of Montezuma—proud, spiritual, enigmatic, and doomed to misunderstand the stranger he thought a god. Epic in scope, as entertaining as it is enlightening, Conquistador is history at its most riveting.

The Story of Tibet: Conversations with the Dalai Lama by Thomas Laird

4.18/5 stars

The Story of Tibet is a work of monumental importance, a fascinating journey through the land and history of Tibet, with His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama as guide. Over the course of three years, journalist Thomas Laird spent more than sixty hours with His Holiness the Dalai Lama in candid, one-on-one interviews that covered His Holiness’s beliefs on history, science, reincarnation, and his lifelong study of Buddhism. Traveling across great distances to offer vivid descriptions of Tibet’s greatest monasteries, Laird brings his meetings with His Holiness to life in a rich and vibrant historical narrative that outlines the essence of thousands of years of civilization, myth, and spirituality. His Holiness introduces us to Tibet’s greatest yogis and meditation masters, and explains how the institution of the Dalai Lama was founded. Embedded throughout this journey is His Holiness’s lessons on the larger roles religion and spirituality have played in Tibet’s story, reflecting the Dalai Lama’s belief that history should be examined not only conventionally but holistically. The Story of Tibet is His Holiness’s personal look at his country’s past as well as a summation of his life’s work as both spiritual and temporal leader of the Tibetan people.

Country of My Skull: Guilt, Sorrow, and the Limits of Forgiveness in the New South Africa by Antjie Krog

4.09/5 stars

Ever since Nelson Mandela dramatically walked out of prison in 1990 after twenty-seven years behind bars, South Africa has been undergoing a radical transformation. In one of the most miraculous events of the century, the oppressive system of apartheid was dismantled. Repressive laws mandating separation of the races were thrown out. The country, which had been carved into a crazy quilt that reserved the most prosperous areas for whites and the most desolate and backward for blacks, was reunited. The dreaded and dangerous security force, which for years had systematically tortured, spied upon, and harassed people of color and their white supporters, was dismantled. But how could this country--one of spectacular beauty and promise--come to terms with its ugly past? How could its people, whom the oppressive white government had pitted against one another, live side by side as friends and neighbors?

To begin the healing process, Nelson Mandela created the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, headed by the renowned cleric Archbishop Desmond Tutu. Established in 1995, the commission faced the awesome task of hearing the testimony of the victims of apartheid as well as the oppressors. Amnesty was granted to those who offered a full confession of any crimes associated with apartheid. Since the commission began its work, it has been the central player in a drama that has riveted the country. In this book, Antjie Krog, a South African journalist and poet who has covered the work of the commission, recounts the drama, the horrors, the wrenching personal stories of the victims and their families. Through the testimonies of victims of abuse and violence, from the appearance of Winnie Mandela to former South African president P. W. Botha's extraordinary courthouse press conference, this award-winning poet leads us on an amazing journey.

Highway to Hell: Dispatches from a Mercenary in Iraq by John Geddes

3.62/5 stars

Present-day Iraq: a crucible of torture, chemical warfare and Islamic terrorism, and straddling over it all the mighty US Army and its allies; but there's another western army in Iraq that dwarfs the British contingent and is second only in size to the US Army itself.

It's a disparate and anarchic multi-national force of men gathered from twenty or more countries numbering some 30,000. It's a mercenary army of men and a few women with guns for hire earning an average of $1,000 dollars a day. They are in Iraq to provide security for the businessmen, surveyors, building contractors, oil experts, aid workers and, of course, the TV crews who have flocked to the country to pick over the carcass of Saddam's regime and help the country re-build.

Not since the days when the East India Company used soldiers of fortune to depose fabulously wealthy Maharajas and conquer India for Great Britain, and mercenaries fought George Washington's Continental Army for King George, has such a large and lethal independent fighting force been assembled. Once upon a time such men were called freelances, mercenaries, soldiers of fortune or dogs of war, but today they go under a different name: private military contractors. There's a far more fundamental sea change, too, as women have joined their ranks in significant numbers for the first time, bringing a new and interesting dynamic into the equation.

In Iraq today the majority of their number are men who come from 'real deal' Special Forces units or former soldiers from regular units and regiments; all of them know what they're about and rub shoulders together more or less comfortably with at least a shared understanding of basic military requirements.

One such man is John Geddes, ex-SAS warrant officer and veteran of a fistful of hard wars who became a member of the private army in Iraq for the eighteen months immediately following George W. Bush's declaration of the end of hostilities in early May 2003. Now, for the first time, John Geddes will reveal the inside story of this extraordinary private army and the private war they are still fighting with the insurgents in Iraq.

Please Enjoy Your Happiness by Paul Brinkley-Rogers

3.56/5 stars

Please Enjoy Your Happiness is a beautifully written coming-of-age memoir based on the English author's summer-long love affair with a remarkable older Japanese woman.

Whilst serving as a seaman at the age of nineteen, Brinkley-Rogers met Kaji Yukiko, a sophisticated, highly intellectual Japanese woman, who was on the run from her vicious gangster boyfriend, a member of Japan's brutal crime syndicate the yakuza. Trying to create a perfect experience of purity, she took him under her wing, sharing their love of poetry, cinema and music and many an afternoon at the Mozart Café.

Brinkley-Rogers, now in his seventies, re-reads Yukiko's letters and finally recognizes her as the love of his life, receiving at last the gifts she tried to bestow on him. Reaching across time and continents, Brinkley-Rogers shows us how to reclaim a lost love, inviting us all to celebrate those loves of our lives that never do end.

A Thousand Hills: Rwanda's Rebirth and the Man Who Dreamed It by Stephen Kinzer

4.19/5 stars

A Thousand Hills: Rwanda's Rebirth and the Man Who Dreamed It is the story of Paul Kagame, a refugee who, after a generation of exile, found his way home. Learn about President Kagame, who strives to make Rwanda the first middle-income country in Africa, in a single generation. In this adventurous tale, learn about Kagame's early fascination with Che Guevara and James Bond, his years as an intelligence agent, his training in Cuba and the United States, the way he built his secret rebel army, his bloody rebellion, and his outsized ambitions for Rwanda.

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hecohansen31 · 6 years ago

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Just Ride (Chapter 1)

A/N: Hello there, friends!

I have started too many series for my own good (and right when I am having finals, so bear with me my lack of presence her; also again not in the best mood, but I honestly wanted to write this so so much so here I come!

I want to start with thanking @sojournmichael with whom I have been talking about this concept and she is absolutely the sweetest person ever (and most caring and she is a truly angel and I can’t believe that people like her exist because she is everything you need during a bad day, completed with wonderful wrting skills!). So if you liked this, please give her account a check out, since there are a few more headcanons about this concept here (and they are better written than the ones here!).

This concept starts from the fact that my family is very into MOTO GP (not me), but I was forced to watch a race once and I immediately saw all this very young bikers and my heart immediately went to Jim and I had to write something about him!

Also I am not a professional about this so ignore all the technical mistakes (I will try for the next chapter to do better, thanks to my sister knowledge, the true MOTO GP stan, so if you find something that doesn’t match, let me know and I will do better) (Also Eva: sister said that they have teams, but as in the bikers have like maximum two other bikers in their stable).

Also (P/N) stands professor name!

SUMMARY: Your life as a mechanic of an excellent MOTO GP stable is hard enough, but what you didn’t know is that having Jim Mason as your professional biker makes it all much more difficult... but isn’t the challenge what makes everything better?

WORDS: 3,1 K.

WARNING: None (except Jim being a little asshole, but I love you all the same, babe) (also bad MOTO GP knowledge should be counted as a warning?).

She had stumbled into professional biking thank to what looked like a quick way to make money right after she had finished her engineering degree, with the highest of grades and the congratulations of all her professors.

Which made her believe that would be out and aloud in some secret astronautic project, somehow, thinking about how that was the only name to make her name known.

Instead she found herself in a male only setting, not only extremely competitive, but also eternally looking down at her.

She had had somehow made a name for herself at her university, with her high grades and her tough exterior, avoiding any kind of exterior expression of her own inner state.

She had been the bitchy girl who knew every answer, and she had upheld to that reputation, but when she walked in the first stable, she had ever been in, she felt a strange feeling of uneasiness, probably from being out of the academic habitat.

She had tried her best to avoid being tripped over in the sudden rush of people running around with piece of engine or of tires.

She was thankful that the previous leader engineer had caught her, looking like a fish out of water and smiling as a loving grandpa.

He had taught her anything he knew about professional bikes and the home and family of the stables, and slowly she had warmed over the possibility of staying there and take over the role od lead engineer in the future, which had happened that year actually.

There had been so many parties because both the lead engineer and the professional biker of MOTO GP of her stables were moving out, the first one retiring and the second moving to superbike, which was just a tiny step before retirement in the professional biker career.

She honestly would miss the biker, a nice kind of the old ones, who knew that his mechanics were right, no matter what happened on the road and didn’t get mad at them, except when they teased him and it was a nice workplace for her to work with.

But she would miss even more dearly the previous lead engineer, her old teacher and to say she was full of tears at the party in his honor was an understatement, since she spent half of the time in his chest, hugging him tightly and asking him to stay, just for another season, for her to get used to missing him, and the fact that he was leaving.

“… oh little girl, I am going to miss you too, but I am old and terribly behind with times, this team need a young man, a strong one, someone who isn’t afraid to try something provocative, and I am sure you are that person” he had kissed her forehead before moving away “… also I believe you can’t be growing with me always over your shoulder, like a damned raven!”.

And he had made her giggle, but now she was back to her old self, the self-conscious engineer in a room full of people, outside the stables, in the yearly reunion, where they talked about how the year would go, and would give them some news, alongside the name (finally!) of the new biker for their time.

They already knew that her professor had actually asked her to stay as the leader engineer for the following year, and although she had expected some protests there had been none; everybody knew she deserved the job, having made a name for herself and not just simply the professor’s legacy.

She was also a very headstrong woman, who had gotten in a few fights with the other mechanics (mostly because apparently they had an hard time accepting a woman as a colleague, which they had quickly got over with her glaring and besting them at getting a bike engine), quickly having developed the nickname of “general (L/N).

She was sitting on the left of the CEO of their biggest brand (so he was the one who made most of the decisions), meanwhile on her left there was her new assistant, an old friend and a trusted mechanic, although she wore normal clothes (a pair of black pants and a white blouse with a simple leather jacket, formal enough for the important meeting) so nobody could truly understand her role and this made her nervous.

She was used to appear almost invisible with greasy hands and a tight polyester tracksuit, also covered in dirt and grease, so to be that “feminine” it made her feel vulnerable and exposed.

She rubbed her arms and hid her hands inside the arm of the leather jacket, shrinking herself.

She had been perfecting her mimetic skills till the door, swung open and their new biker’s manager, walked in, almost waltzing, meanwhile a figure set down on the other end of the door, partially covered and hidden by it.

But she knew immediately who he was, something that happened when you worked as a mechanic for so much: you learned that details were what made everything perfect, and if you watched everything long enough to capture them you would immediately knew what was wrong.

And what was wrong with this one was that his name was Jim Mason and he had officially almost dropped out of the professional biking system because of drug abuse, after he had been caught high before a race, which had prompted the “light” suspension of one year, and the constant testing of his blood and urine in order to prove he wasn’t under the effect of drugs anymore.

He had been lucky because no other evidence had been found on him and no other similar events had happened, plus it was a light drug they had found with him, so the big guys of the MOTO GP circuit had agreed for his license not to be revoked if he proved to be sober and if the drugs were out of his system for at least six months.

But to make him move onto the MOTO GP stage was a crazy move.

Because, not only Jim Mason was an addict, he was also one of those bikers she liked to call “stuntmen”, those crazy assholes who thought it was fine to drag the poor soul of an engine to hell and back and leave the bike destroyed by the end of the race (and most of the time even before the end of the race…) and to get on each mechanics’ nerve.

She honestly thought it was such a bad idea that she immediately wanted to jump up and say how wrong of an idea it was, but then the manager introduced Jim in great fashion, who walked in as fiercely as a victorious conquistador, with a smirk on his face, not even a little surprised by the smile of shock everyone seemed to have for him.

He was a stuntman, but he was a damn well popular stuntman; he knew how to talk his way out of everything alongside generally being described as a “lovable dork” by many of his fellow riders and friends (she wanted to know what the hell his mechanics thought of him, but…) and the fact he was easy on the eyes, helped… a lot…

There was this half legend about how he had gotten out of the original punishment, thank to a smirk and a good word.

And now that she had him in front of her she got exactly why those rumors were being spread: he was gorgeous with what she liked calling ocean eyes, clearly blue, but so deep and tortured, hiding a lot of horrible creatures behind them, regrets and passions.

And she wanted to dive into those troubled waters.

She immediately pushed herself back, immediately turning to Russel, her assistant, who smirked at her giving his approval of the new biker.

But was she seriously the only one who thought he was trouble?

He didn’t approach her, probably her pissed off aura not being the ideal environment to actually start a conversation, but just as she thought of having managed to avoid him for the entire evening, Jack, the manager, approached her, getting Jim by an arm, meanwhile he was talking with the CEO, eyeing her swiftly as if to say “YOU TWO NEED TO MEET”.

-Jimmy, let me present you, our new leader engineer, (Y/N) (L/N), the best pupil of (P/N), I hope you will have your best time together- he clearly wanted them to have a nice memory of their first meeting, but (Y/N), as Elizabeth Bennet, already knew what she thought of “Jimmy”.

He was an arrogant cocky boy, a dangerous bet for their stable, but she had no actions on her part or other properties for her to have some decisional power; no matter the fact that she fixed their engines.

She still held out her hand, and Jim held it back, but he made the mistake to just move his eyes down her body, clearly examining her as if she was just a body and not a mind; the first strike to her humor.

-(P/N)? Are you sure he isn’t already in senile state? I didn’t think that he would choose somebody like her…- and not only had he thought she was inferior for reasons which were unknown to her (she thought it was better not to investigate) and he had spoken about her as if she wasn’t there.

-You do realize that after what you just said I could very easily unscrew a few nails of your bike on your first race, right? – she knew she was being straight up petty and lowering herself to his level, which was highly unprofessional, but…

She got his attention and now he looked at her shocked, as if to say: “she can’t do that, right?”.

Oh, she could, instead.

Jack, laughed it all off, as soon as he understood that the climate was a bit tougher than what he had expected, clearly wanting to dissipate the tension:

-…oh, (Y/N) is so funny! The funniest! – he even slapped his leg to accentuate the entire act, clearly trying too hard, which prompted her to just smirk harshly at Jim, one last time, before moving past him.

-See you on the circuit, Jimmy Boy-.

It was the first race of the year and it was an hour before the MOTO GP race started, which meant she was checking out the bike one last time before everything started, all alone, only with the bike in an holy ritual she found herself to have comfort and peace, no matter the anxiety and the high expectation which happened outside of that room.

She touched the bike, remembering the biggest and best suggestion she had gotten from her professor, feeling it reeve up under her hands, in a loving way, caressing each part of the engine, the nails, the gaskets and the brakes.

It was a wonderful feeling almost as much as having a human baby in her hand, but a bike didn’t break, it if you made it fall, which made her feel a lot better.

Something was knocked over and she almost lost the grip on the bike, before turning around to glare at whoever interrupted the ritual, knowing it couldn’t be no one from her team since everybody seemed to know about her ritual, and nobody dared to interrupt it.

But it was Jim, which explained so much and made her immediately turn around to the bike, not giving him an ounce of attention, the exact same behavior she had had for his entire staying, only listening to his opinions on the bike, and most of the time ignoring them just because it was what she considered “annoying adjusting whines of a primadonna biker”.

He seemed, instead, to look out for her, a lot, probably because he had understood how the entire situation worked, realizing he had chosen the wrong person to mess with.

But the more he searched for her, the more she avoided him.

-Is something troubling you? – she made the first move, without facing him, instead reaching for a tire iron, to set down some loose bolts.

-Just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be making good faith to that old promise about loosening my bolts- he tried to make it seem like it didn’t bother him, clearly opting for a warm approach in order for them to bury the hatchet.

-I am a professional- “unlike you” she wanted to add, but if he was trying to make an attempt at doing this, she might as well as try to sound better for him -… and I wouldn’t kill anybody-.

-And here goes my plan to get my trusted mechanic to eliminate my enemies- he laughed, heartedly something she immediately found loving, alongside those ocean eyes and she dared turning around, although she didn’t meet his gaze.

-… I am sure you will kill them on the race- she replied -… I mean metaphorically, not literally, please don’t do anything reckless-.

She didn’t know where the last part of that discourse came from, knowing perfectly “reckless” was Jim’s second nature, but still… she might have slowly started caring a tiny bit for him, although he was still a pain in her ass.

-I will try my best- he promised, holding out a hand, clearly asking for her to trust him.

-… sorry I have my hands still dirty- she didn’t trust him still, at least not before his first race as a MOTO GP champion, but he didn’t seem disappointed by her shooting him down, which prompted just a shake of head.

-Don’t worry, you can hold it after I won this-.

-Which part of “don’t be reckless” didn’t you get? – but she was smiling although the harsh tone of her voice, and he just turned, holding up his hands as if to say “I am done here”.

And she went back to her bike.

He had won.

Not a clean won, but a spectacular one since he managed to rise from his sixth place, at the start, which prompted him to reach for the third place and when the riders in front of him, the favorite ones, ended up battling for the first place and crashing with a thrilling move, he had become the first one, keeping a swift pace till the end of the race.

But she had also seen the tense way he tried to keep hold of the bike, uneasy on it and terribly insecure, but thankfully he had been generously helped by the hands of the Fortune, so she waited till the end of the game, after he had been on the podium and the press conference, to talk with him, catching him just before moving to his trailer.

He immediately beamed at her, but she just shot him down with a harsh glare.

-I did…-

-You were lucky on the circuit- she replied instead, a harsh glare on her face: she would have to work on her bike for at least a day after what he had done to it, terribly ruined by his reckless behavior, pushing it to its limits, and moving over to them -…Rossi and Lorenzo let you pass because they underestimated you, but it won’t happen in any other days, meanwhile about Marquez and Dovizioso… you were very lucky; what happened was that nobody was expecting you, so they didn’t come prepared, but now they will count your presence and analyze you for every flaw, so from now on… no reckless behavior, you listen to me-.

-You are just a mechanic- he muttered, a bit taken aback from her discourse.

Clearly, he had become used to all those people smiling at him and telling him how great he did, that he didn’t understand a harsh critique of his style.

-Yeah, that means I work on your bike, and right now the suspensions are broken, I will have to work on the engine because it overheats too quickly and don’t let me talk about your tires…- she had never had any kind of things like this with her previous biker, not because he didn’t race like it mattered, but because he knew perfectly the difference between reckless driving and careful racing style -… and I know what this means: you need to develop a tactic and understand the bike…-

-Are you offering help with all those critiques or…? – he was clearly not on his best mood and annoyed by her thoughts but at the same time he was making an effort to understand her point of view, which was… nice.

It made her blush.

-I … - she wasn’t in the mental state to be anything else than critical -… meet me in the stable in five minutes-.

She was wearing a looser version of her tracksuit (a t-shirt, already full of grease and other things and a pair of loose pants), meanwhile Jimmy had changed into his usual appearance, a jeans jacket instead of the leather one.

He seemed surprised when he saw his bike, open in different pieces, only recognizable by the number on top of it, and the colors around it.

-What does this mean? – he asked, confused.

-Want to crash your bike? Well, then you are going to help me put it back together- she replied, smirking, before passing him an iron tire, prompting an even more confused face -… the more you know about these things, the more you will understand the telltale signs of overworking a bike-.

He immediately nodded, still a bit surprised by her approach and sitting down himself next to her and the “bike”.

-… is that a Miyagi way of teaching me not to mess with your precious bike? – he asked, although smiling, lightly meanwhile she instructed him on how to use the iron tire, he held so tightly in his hand.

-It’s a (L/N) way to teach you to be a better rider, Jimmy Boy, now move your ass, we need to be finished before dinner, you have a party to attend-.

He seemed even more shocked by this admission, but then moved to do what he was expected to be done, tightening bolts and nails.

-… are you coming to the party? – he asked, meanwhile keeping his eyes on the work, meanwhile she overviewed his work.

-Do I look like the kind of person who goes to parties? – she replied, meanwhile adjusting his grip on her hand, much larger than hers, but also clumsier than hers -… also after you are done here, I will keep on working here, you have another race in two weeks-.

-Two weeks, (Y/N)! - he uttered, calling her for her first name since they had met, making it sound so jovial, as if they were two best friends, just working on a bike, meanwhile his hands weren’t in hers.

-… and you have two weeks to learn how to drive, so this needs to be ready by tomorrow-.

---

And that is all for today!

Let mw know what you thought about it (I really hope you will like it, because I had tons of fun writing it and now I will go back to watch “Dumpling, write two reviews and then maybe start a new seris about Duncan (set before “A Relief For The Stress)!

Any feedback is welcome!

Love you, lovelies!

See you soon!

Heco Hansen

#jim mason #jim mason x reader #jim mason fluff #jim mason au #ttopv #tribes of palos verdes #moto gp au #moto gp #jim mason reader #jim mason fanfic #jim mason fan fic

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loretranscripts · 5 years ago

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Lore Episode 25: The Cave (Transcript) - 11th January 2016

tw: body horror, cults, death, kidnapping

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

During his historic journey aboard the HMS Beagle, Charles Darwin spent over a month on an island off the coast of Chile known as Chiloé. It wasn’t his final destination, but he still managed to work and collect information and specimens, including a small, endangered fox known now as “Darwin’s zorro”. He also witnessed the after effects of an earthquake and made note of a rainbow that transitioned from the typical semi-circle to a full circle, right before his eyes - but it was the people he encountered that seemed to impact him most. He later wrote: “They are a humble, quiet, industrious set of men. Although with plenty to eat, the people are very poor, and the lower orders cannot scrape together money sufficient to purchase even the smallest luxuries”. He also noted seeing a pair of black-necked swans, but thankfully Darwin didn’t have the same view of birds that the local people did, and still do, actually. One local historian recalls how, when he was a boy, a hunch-backed heron flew low over his fishing boat. When he told his father, the older man grabbed his shotgun and waited for the bird to return. Why? Because for as long as anyone could remember, the people of Chiloé have believed that some birds are more than they appear. Some people, it seems, believe they are warlocks. Seeing one was a bad omen, hinting that someone close to you would die. All of us are ruled by authority to some degree, whether it’s through our government, our religion or our family ties. Often, it’s all three. But there’s another governing body, one that’s as old as time itself, and on Chiloé, it controlled people for centuries. Sometimes, you see, people are ruled by fear. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

The Incas called it “The Place of the Seagulls”. They stayed away from the area, believing it was the border between their empire of prosperity and safety, and the cold, dark wilderness to the south. Chiloé isn’t a large island, perhaps less than 100 miles from north to south, but it’s certainly the largest in the collection of small islands there off the coast of Chile, and to visit it is to go back in time: green hills, mountains in the distance, dark waves of the south Pacific lapping on the shore where colourful houses are built on stilts to stay above the mud and the rocks. Darwin described it as beautiful in 1835. He wrote of the mixture of evergreen trees and tropical vegetation, with the rolling hills and thick forest – and all that green, Darwin postulated, was due to the enormous amount of rainfall. Grey skies and wet soil are a constant of life in Chiloé, then as it is now, and while most people have never heard of the place, the unique churches there have an architectural style that’s earned them classification as UNESCO World Heritage Sites. There are churches, of course, because Jesuit missionaries built them shortly after arriving at the beginning of the 17th century. But don’t let these European artefacts fool you; the culture the Jesuits encountered when they arrived was far outside their realm of experience. The Chiloé of old was home to a vast collection of myths and legends that informed almost every aspect of life, and because much of the economy and culture of the island was built around the fishing industry just as it is today, many of those stories have elements of the sea in them. One example is the legend of the ghost ship known as the Caleuche. According to the stories, the Caleuche patrols the waters off the coast of the island, moving both above the water and below. The ship itself is a sentient being and has the ability to sense when someone from the island has drowned. After they die, these people are brought onto the ship by two sisters and their brother, where their new life can begin. That life consisted of both an eternal party aboard the ship, as well as working as sailors in the transport and unloading of illegal cargo for the island’s merchants. Even today, there are many in Chiloé who claim to have seen the ship, still patrolling the cold waters offshore.

There are other legends that haunt the island as well. Stories speak of the Trauco, a sort of forest troll or little person who lives in hollow trees, deep in the forest. Their task is to protect the trees, but they have also become a convenient scapegoat for unwed mothers. The Trauco, so they say, is irresistible to virgins who wonder into the forest, and those women frequently return home pregnant. La Pincoya is said to be a woman who appears to fishermen along the coast. She is described as young and beautiful, but her hair is covered in wet kelp, and the locals consider her to be an omen, although the outcome depends on the circumstances. If she appears facing the sea, your fishing nets will overflow; if she’s facing you, though, those nets will be empty; and in the rare instances when she appears right in front of a person, legend says it is best to close your eyes and run as fast as you can, lest she seduce you and lead you down into the sea. And one more legend is that of the basilisk, a creature that appears elsewhere around the globe. In Chiloé, though, the basilisk is more than just an enormous snake. Here, it also has the head of a rooster, and hatches from an egg. Some stories tell of how the basilisk will nest beneath a person’s house. During the night, it will slither out and suck the air from the lungs of the people sleeping inside. For as frightening as some of these creatures and stories might be, though, none of them compare to the legends of the Brujo de Chiloé – the warlocks of the island. They have struck fear into the hearts of the locals for centuries. They have shaped many aspects of their culture. They have been blamed for tragedy, for loss, and even for illness and death. Most frightening of all is the simple fact that, unlike all the other legends found on the island, the Brujo were real.

We know the Brujo were real because they were brought to trial in 1880. Almost overnight, what was once little more than a whispered legend - as sort of Chilean bogeyman, if you will – took on flesh and bone, and what the investigation uncovered was truly shocking. Let’s step back, though. It’s important to understand where the warlocks came from, and the short answer is that we don’t really know, but there are ideas, and many of them hold promise and truth. The most common theory is that something powerful was formed as a result of the collision between the indigenous culture and the Catholic faith of the Spanish when they first arrived. The ingredients for this new breed of legend had been there for a very, very long time, though. On one side, we have the machi – these were the traditional shaman of the Chilean culture, the healers, the wise people. Their realm was that of revelations, interpretations of dreams and serving as the oracle for their community. On the other side, there was the kalku – these were the practitioners of black magic, considered to be the witches and warlocks by most people. Unlike the machi, who sat at the centre of their society and were documented religious figures, the kalku were more mythical, spoken of in stories and whispered about at night. The kalku are described as machi gone bad, those who became more interested in selfish gain than serving the community. I know this will be a gross over-simplification, but think of the machi as the Jedi and the kalku as the Sith, the light side and the dark, and as Han Solo recently said, “It’s true. All of it.”

Enter the Spanish conquistadors. They arrived in 1567 and brought countless stories with them of European witches, but the culture in Chiloé has always been very male-driven, and so the idea of a female witch was converted to the male warlock in the public narrative. This melding of religions has actually happened in many countries across the centuries, where the Catholic faith would meet ancient beliefs and rather than wipe it out, would blend with it, unintentionally becoming something new. And that’s how the Brujo were born… maybe. Some scholars make reference to a story from the 17th century of a Spaniard named José de Moraleda, who met them machi and wanted desperately to impress them. He challenged them to a magical duel, and after they brought in one of their best machi, Moraleda was defeated. As a prize, the Spaniard handed over to them a book of spells that he claimed had been gathered from around the world. It was with that book of spells, the legend says, that the Brujo built their cult. Some still refer to it by its original name – the Recta Provincia, “The Righteous Province” – and according to them, this secret group manipulated the culture on the island for two centuries. Initiation into the group was complex and drenched with the occult. The first step was to wash away any remnant of Christian baptism, and they did this by bathing in one of the local rivers for 15 nights in a row. Some of them were instructed to murder a relative or a close friend, and then, when all of that was completed, they had to run around the island naked while invoking the devil’s name. The Brujo maintained their power over the people of Chiloé through an odd mixture of supernatural rumour and mafia-like control. They would most commonly force local farmers to give them produce or money, but they were also known to bribe local authorities and even created a shadow government that ruled in the places where the Spanish didn’t reach, and rather than use violence or traditional weapons to enforce their policies, they used the threat of a curse. Ultimately, it was this game of blackmail and protection rackets that brought an end to their reign over the people of Chiloé, and so in 1880, over 100 members of the cult were arrested and interrogated. Many were released when they turned out to be nothing more than machi looking for nothing more than a community to belong to, but some were held for trial on the charge of murder. The darkest revelations from the trial, though, were never believed. The supernatural creatures, the book of spells, the secret, hidden cave where the cult maintained their seat of power – all of this was passed off as folklore and superstition. However, eye-witness testimony says otherwise.

The trials revealed many new details about the Brujo and their beliefs, practices and inner workings. Some almost sound like they were pulled right out of a children’s book, they’re so simple and benign, while others are downright chilling. For example, one of the men on trial in 1880 revealed that each warlock carried a pet lizard with him. This lizard, according to the man, would be tied to the warlock’s forehead and, because it was magical, of course, it gifted him with powers. These warlocks were even said to communicate and interact with the ghost sailors aboard the Caleuche, using seahorses as aquatic carrier pigeons to pass messages back and forth. Other stories spoke of how the warlocks recruited new spies for their sect. According to the legend, these warlocks would kidnap young women and would give them a special elixir to drink. Once ingested, these girls would vomit until their stomachs and intestines lay on the ground at their feet. Then, lightened of their load, they would transform into birds and do the bidding of their master. None of this, though, compares to what the Brujo were said to have kept in their cave. One of the men on trial in 1880, an elderly man named Mateo, claimed that in the 1860s, he had been asked to visit the cave to feed the creatures kept there, and although his testimony was rejected by the court as fantasy, some have been left wondering. The cave, it is said, was difficult to locate, and rightly so. It contained multiple magical items, including the books of spells the group had received from the Spaniard Moraleda, as well as a bowl that was said to show the future to those who looked into it, and because these were objects of power for the warlocks, they needed to be carefully guarded. The entrance was a door hidden beneath the grass and soil in a rocky canyon near the coast and, with it, a metal key. Mateo told the court that he opened the entrance to the cave only to find two creatures inside that nearly defied description. One was called the chivito, a humanoid creature that was briefly described as “goat-like” and walking on four legs, but it was the other thing in the cave that Mateo had no trouble describing because, at first glance, it appeared to be nothing more than a bearded man. This man, though, was deformed – not mildly or by birth, but intentionally and drastically. He was called the imbunche, and although the one that Mateo witnessed appeared to be old, he said that they typically began as infants.

Now, this next part isn’t for the faint of heart, but it’s necessary to understand the level of cruelty and barbarism that this cult practiced. According to writer Bruce Chatwin, who visited the island in 1975, the locals still maintain a good amount of folklore around the creation of the imbunche. The warlocks would kidnap a male, six-month-old child, Chatwin recorded, and then deliver it to the one known as “the deformer”, who lived inside the cave. This man’s job was to shape and disfigure the infant’s body. Its head would be twisted daily until, after many months, it faced backwards. Limbs and fingers would be disjointed, and even its ears and mouth would malformed by the deformer. The final characteristic, according to Chatwin, is the right arm. It would be bent backwards and the hand slipped in to an incision made on the right shoulder blade, and the wound would be sewn up, leaving the arm permanently affixed to the child’s back. Why this was done is something that history has forgotten over the years, but the impact is just as powerful today. Left to guard and inhabit the secret cave of the warlocks, the imbunche was seen less as an act of torture and more as the creation of an essential part of the cult’s society. When one imbunche died, another would be created to take its place. This is the level of darkness these real-life warlocks were capable of, this is what powered the fear they used to enslave and control the people of the island, and this is what many of them confessed to on the stand, that spring in 1880. As a result, many of the accused were sentenced to long prison terms. These were men who had killed, who had cursed neighbours and blackmailed businesses for protection money, and yet the courts couldn’t make their rulings stick. Just one year later, nearly all the warlocks were released. The reason? It was impossible to prove they had belonged to a secret society of black magic, as horrible as the stories had sounded. No one, they thought, could be that evil.

In a world where authority often falls to those with the most wealth, the most weapons or the most connections, it’s unusual to find cases where some other power allows people to rule. But if the story of Chiloé teaches us anything, it’s that fear can be just as powerful as any government official - fear of death, fear of poverty, fear of the unknown. Those who called themselves part of the Brujo in 1880 were card-carrying members of a cult that wielded fear like a weapon. Thankfully, the trial helped to put real faces to the shadows that had plagued the people of Chiloé for centuries. Whether or not they received punishment for their crimes was secondary – the warlocks had been exposed, shattering their illusion of fear. But while many saw the trial as the end of that nightmare, there are some who aren’t so sure. In 2006, the local court there in Chiloé issued a restraining order against Manuel Cardeneus and his brother-in-law. Due to a physical altercation they had had with the 66-year-old farmer named José Marquez, they were prohibited from coming within 10 meters of the old man. When asked why he attacked the farmer, Cardeneus said it was because of an illness his father had been suffering through. Pain had become a constant part of the man’s life, and it had gone on long enough. Cardeneus claimed that his father’s illness had begun after an encounter with Marquez all the way back in 1992. The pain hadn’t stopped since then, and after consulting with a local shaman, they were told why. According to the machi¸ the farmer had cursed their father with black magic, which begs the question: did the trial of 1880 really wipe out the cult of the warlocks, or did some of them slip through the government’s net, living on to spread and grow their sect into the 20th century and beyond? After all, neither the cave nor its occupants were ever found.

[Closing Statements]

#lore podcast #aaron mahnke #podcast transcripts #folklore #cults #dark history #chile #south america #25

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themurphyzone · 4 years ago

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Nova Ch 3

Ch 3: Planet

Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to Earth we go!

New Selenian Date 3015.4.13

After several months of grueling labor, the Conquistador is finally complete! We’re proud to consider it our magnum opus for now. Of course, taking over Terra will replace it as the crown jewel of our achievements later.

Currently, we’re in the process of loading the vessel with a two-week supply of sustenance. We won’t have to ration food, considering our projected route is only a one-week journey. I imagine we’ll get tired of canned maza pods rather quickly though. It’s nutritious, but the flavor is lacking.

Good riddance to this barren rock. Unlike the spineless, cowardly Selenians, we’re leaving for the right reasons and with an objective in our brilliant minds.

You won’t have to wait much longer, Terra. We’ll be arriving soon enough.

Signing off for now, the Brain.

o-o-o-o-o

Despite the excitement of leaving behind his old life of a lowly mos on a failing colony, he also felt some unwanted trepidation at leaving Penumbra Lab completely. He wouldn’t have the thrum of the holographic projector under his fingertips, the hidden pathways he traversed to avoid the non-enhanced mos, and most importantly, the sight of Terra through the large, weakening glass windows.

Terra wouldn’t appear as a colorful marble in a black void once he was on the planet. He’d have an entirely new perspective.

Exciting, yet daunting.

There was also the small matter of domination, of course.

“My, somebody’s ready to depart from this miserable rock,” Snowball chuckled, flicking Brain’s ear. It twitched against his will and wrecked his concentration. Did Snowball really think the magnet gun was going to work on its own? Somebody had to keep a constant electromagnetic field going so they wouldn’t have to manually load the canned maza into the ship’s pantry!

Brain batted Snowball’s hand away with the handle of the magnet gun and ignored the reproachful glare he was given. “I’m always ready to depart from miserable rocks, condemned labs, and irritating aisam who can’t keep their hands to themselves,” he said, regaining control of the magnet gun and bringing the last of the canned maza into storage.

“You wound me, Brain.” Snowball clutched his chest with his non-bruised hand. “Your barbed words are tearing me apart from the inside. The internal bleeding is quite agonizing.”

Brain rolled his eyes at the theatrics, turning the gun off and storing it inside a hidden panel on the wall. There were four similar panels with weapons aboard the Conquistador, courtesy of Snowball. He’d acquired the parts from other labs and cobbled them together in his spare time, much to Brain’s disapproval.

Snowball argued that they needed self-defense measures in case Terrans tried to attack as soon as the Conquistador landed. Brain had created a hypnotizing belt to cover that particular issue, but Snowball didn’t think it was effective enough.

There was a cold gleam in Snowball’s eyes when they had that particular argument. Brain relented because he’d assumed the constant solitude was affecting Snowball’s mind and he’d back to normal soon enough.

However, the normality was still missing.

But he couldn’t dwell on that now. There were many preparations ahead, and he needed to focus.

“We have plenty of maza pods. The overabundance worked to our advantage,” Brain said. “And all important files have been transferred to the Conquistador for our perusal. There isn’t anything else we require, unless you believe we neglected something.”

“You’ve covered the essentials,” Snowball shrugged. “Sadly, I seem to lack…ah, how do you say it—a certain personal attachment to our current location.”

Brain bristled at the mere suggestion of having an attachment to this bleak prison. Terra just happened to be visible from his usual haunts and peripheral vision, and the holographic projector was an extremely useful device, but Snowball clicked his tongue before Brain could protest.

“If you’d allow me to finish, Brain. Penumbra Lab’s stocks of certain items were never replenished after its abandonment. I can’t blame you for being somewhat embittered about it. Rather a confusing paradox, don’t you think?”

“I’m above such pettiness, Snowball,” Brain scowled.

“Of course. I never meant to insinuate such a thing.” Snowball held his hands in what was meant to be a placating gesture, though it was more smug than true appeasement. “Now, while you were busy with the necessities, I took the liberty of leaving a surprise in your private room. I know, I’ve heard the ‘I hate surprises’ spiel a hundred times, but it wouldn’t hurt you to humor me every once in a while.”

“Forgive me for not indulging your odd sense of humor more often,” Brain said dryly, but he allowed Snowball to lead him through the corridor into Brain’s expanded room at the back of the Conquistador.

The door to his quarters automatically slid open as they approached, which Brain was grateful for. Brain expended far too much energy trying to crack open Penumbra’s heavy titanium doors. Motion detector lights illuminated the left, providing just enough light for his work without disrupting the sleeping area on the right. A monitor was linked to the systems in the control room, which would alert him if anything that required his urgent attention cropped up. The earpiece and filter for his transmissions rested on a computer that contained important files related to Terra.

But what really caught his eye were the ten packets of blue, star-shaped seeds on his bed. Brain picked the nearest one up, the seeds crunching against his hand as he thumbed the plastic lining. He hadn’t eaten these since he was a child, though his mind had retained the memory of a sweet flavor mixed in with the blandness of a lab creature’s usual fare.

He popped a seed in his mouth, the sweetness exploding across his palate and reminding him of a bygone time before his enhancements enabled him to recognize the lab for what it was truly was.

“Snowball, how did you find rusuphri?” Brain asked. He’d meant to demand, but his voice sounded more breathless instead, much to his dismay. “Penumbra doesn’t carry these anymore. I’ve searched.”

“Oh, just a chance finding during one of my supply runs to Eclipse,” Snowball replied. “Only the best for a dear friend. Wouldn’t you agree, Brain?”

But Brain’s antennae receptors only sensed cold electricity, and if there was an undercurrent of warm electrons flowing through Snowball’s neurons, it vanished before he could pick up on it. He was used to this sort of output from Snowball though.

Meddling receptors. Brain flicked them out of annoyance, the red orbs bobbing in and out of his vision. He loathed Eclipse Lab. It wasn’t a secret. Snowball must’ve known that his gift could’ve been rejected because of where it came from.

A risky gamble on Snowball’s part, but Brain couldn’t bring himself to hate the rusuphri at all.

He and Snowball had eaten these seeds all the time as children. Before everything became complicated and machinery and silence. Perhaps it was the nostalgia factor, but Brain only felt a rush of gratitude.

“Thank you, Snowball.” Brain held the rusuphri to his chest like a lifeline, unable to stop his lips from quirking up at the corners.

If Snowball was surprised at the rare show of appreciation, his mask of nonchalance hid it well.

o-o-o-o-o

New Selenian Date 3015.4.14

Snowball and I are departing New Selene at last! We have no reasons that shall keep us from leaving this forsaken abyss!

I will continue sending transmissions from my private quarters on the Conquistador until our triumphant arrival on Terra.

Signing off for now, the Brain.

o-o-o-o-o

“Thrusters are warming up. A little light on your feet today, Brain?” Snowball smirked as Brain buckled himself into his cushioned seat in the control room. He’d just finished securing his transmission equipment so they wouldn’t float away and accumulate damage. It took him several minutes longer than he would’ve liked since there weren’t many handholds available to keep himself from knocking into the ceiling.

Brain’s patience wore thin from all this disorienting levitation, and he punched the buttons on his side of the control panel to work off his frayed nerves. “Keep practicing and you’ll be a showstopper for comedy night.”

Every lab contained an artificial gravity field to counteract New Selene’s weak pull, which was child’s play to duplicate into the engineering of the Conquistador. It was necessary to disengage the fields for the ship and lab to avoid overworking the engines during departure.

Brain couldn’t wait to get out into space. The Conquistador would operate on autopilot for most of the journey, they’d have their artificial gravity back, and Terra beckoned for them to come and save it from slow-minded ignoramuses. His thoughts were much clearer when his two feet were firmly planted on the ground.

“Oh please. I wouldn’t provide nearly as much entertainment as those simpletons during a Lor Altal.” Snowball wrinkled his nose in disdain, mist trailing from his claws. He pulled a lever and brought the supporting systems online. “Swapping hearts indeed. Bah!”

“Yes. A true disappointment. We won’t ever have the pleasant sight of Selenians exchanging a dripping yellow mass of cardiac tissue with each other,” Brain said.

He kept his tone neutral, but Snowball was too preoccupied with inputting their takeoff trajectory into the computer to notice Brain’s ears and antennae falling limp. Brain was painfully aware of the sensation, how his appendages dangled uselessly, and the nonverbal signs of weakness they screamed to the world.

Lor Altal was an intriguing ritual, purely from a scientific standpoint. How Selenians valued science and discovery, yet held their sentimental stories in high esteem was beyond Brain.

Hypocrites. They were hypocrites and if Brain had to listen to one more fictional sordid affair between royalty of warring planets...

Well, he could hardly share his opinion on how to improve those particular plotlines with Snowball. He’d believe Brain actually derived enjoyment from those sorry excuses of storytelling.

Brain punched a button with more force than necessary. A gauge flickered to life, signaling that all power was being diverted to the thrusters. The floor trembled, the engine’s roar overwhelming his eardrums.

Snowball bared his sharp teeth in determination, gripping the launch controller at his station with both hands. He made an impatient noise in the back of his throat, and Brain glared back. Abandoning a deserted colony wasn’t something a mos did in a typical day. Brain’s hands nearly slid off his own launch controller, his palms slick with a thin layer of sweat.

This wasn’t a crazy dream. It was reality, the payoff from months of backbreaking labor. Snowball’s salvaging trips provided the materials. Brain’s engineering skills transformed them into a vessel that would carry them beyond the confines of New Selene and into territories unknown.

With the Conquistador as their trusted ship, they would conquer Terra and raise humanity to new heights!

“NOW!” Snowball bellowed.

They yanked the controllers toward their bodies, their heads shoved against the backs of their seats as the thrusters propelled them into the black void above New Selene. For one brief moment, Brain thought his internal organs were being scrambled inside his body, and he was pretty sure his stomach had dropped to lower intestine level and his lungs had somehow taken up residence in his cranium. Snowball wasn’t faring much better, though he was obviously in denial about needing the vomit bag under his seat.

With one final boost, the Conquistador straightened out, Brain and Snowball sliding forward as much as their straps and buckles would allow. Then they were snapped back, and everything went still.

Leaving New Selene orbit. Engage artificial gravity? a program asked.

“Still…catching my…breath…” Snowball wheezed. His limbs hung off each side of the seat, completely limp from the thrill. He slumped against the headrest, pink eyes wide and tilted to the ceiling. His chest heaved with every quick, frantic breath.

Brain’s throat was far too dry and tight to work properly. With some effort, he reached over and tapped a key, confirming the program’s request.

Artificial gravity engaged.

The weightless feeling vanished, and they sank into the cushions in relief. Brain undid his straps and slid to the edge of his seat, carefully testing his weight on one foot while gripping the chair.

Once he was sure he wasn’t in danger of floating away, he hurried to a side window. New Selene was just a dusty, barren pebble in the distance. Had New Selene truly been that small the entire time? The landscape seemed so endless on the surface.

But there was no use dwelling on it. Their life on New Selene was an artifact of the past.

Ahead of them stood Terra, welcoming and ripe for the taking.

Anticipation flooded through him, and his excitement was so overwhelming that he forgot himself entirely and embraced Snowball. The aisam pawed at Brain’s head in a vain attempt to get him off. But Snowball’s needlelike claws couldn’t pierce through Brain’s newfound sense of purpose.

“I hope you’re amused, Brain,” Snowball muttered. “This bombastic display is ridiculous for any rational being.”

But it was the liveliest electrical current Brain had ever picked from Snowball.

Later on, Brain would agree with him. Yet they’d accomplished their daring escape together. Now they would achieve the impossible through their combined intellect.

And he let himself revel in the triumph.

o-o-o-o-o

New Selenian Date 3015.4.18

Four days since we’ve left New Selene. We’ve placed the Conquistador in autopilot mode for the most part, though Snowball and I take the helm every few hours to make sure everything’s in order.

The Selenians have plotted many theoretical routes to Terra, and our programs are currently synthesizing that information for the fastest path there.

In less than a week, it will be worth it.

Signing off for now, the Brain.

o-o-o-o-o

Transmissions were easy to complete and send now that the lab’s structure wasn’t here to obstruct his frequencies. True, he’d never received a reply, and the vacuum of space was still a hindrance, but at least he didn’t have to cart his equipment around and hope the non-enhanced mos left him alone.

From the information he’d gathered about Terra, transmissions would be even simpler on the planet’s surface. An atmosphere composed of a mixture of gases would enable sound to carry without the need for a voice-to-radio-wave filter. Communication mediums that sent messages in the blink of an eye.

He was feeling generous enough to give credit to the Selenians. They selected their topics of study well.

The door opened as Brain secured his equipment to the floor. Snowball strolled in, helping himself to several rusuphri seeds and snacking on them while he skimmed over the file left open on Brain’s computer.

“Research going well, I presume?” Snowball asked. He clicked through the pictures of various Terran landmarks and surrounding areas from a satellite’s view. “Huh. Are we sure there’s no official authority in charge of the entire planet? These images are incredibly thorough.”

“Perhaps if you’d knock first and not touch my things, I’d be more inclined to share my findings,” Brain scowled. He was willing to let the rusuprhi slide because Snowball put in the effort to locate it, but Brain had been reviewing the images of a structure aptly named the Great Wall of China and he didn’t appreciate losing his place.

Snowball pouted. “Come now. Is that any way to treat your colleagues, Brain?”

“If they pride themselves on being a nuisance, then yes.” Brain shoved Snowball aside, then held down the arrow key until he found the number of the image he’d been on. “Now, if you’re finished being an irritating scrik, I might be willing to share some details.”

“Oh, alright,” Snowball sighed. “But if any of this involves locating precious metals for certain accessories…“

Brain minimized the satellite image and brought up a surveillance report on the Terran global structure. He held a preference towards this particular author, since she had the most useful information by far. Her coworkers only put in the bare minimum, which consisted of observations about shiny buildings and how colorful everything appeared.

Selenians had low standards for scientist qualifications.

“According to this report, there isn’t a formal power invested in any particular being or organization for authority on the entire world, but Terra is divided into many countries and territories with complex local and international political structures. Some areas have more land, resources, or people, which leads them into conflicts with others.”

“And what about this…Google?” Snowball’s brow furrowed at being forced to say an unfamiliar, nonsensical word. “I’ve seen that name on many of the images you’ve found.”

“A major corporation,” Brain replied. “They have considerable influence in Terran politics and communications, including surveillance.”

He scrolled the report, skipping over the sections about various affiliates. Snowball’s eyes darted back and forth, gleaming with interest.

“Technology capable of reading one’s mind in their own homes,” Snowball mused after reading through a section that outlined other forms of Google’s technology. “How fascinating.”

“If such speculation is true, it’s creepy and a complete invasion of privacy,” Brain retorted, shuddering at the mere idea of his thoughts being broadcasted with just the push of a button. “Terrans are not only squandering their potential, they’re also using it for sinister purposes.”

“It’s a resource. If it’s there, it’s beneficial to us,” Snowball said with a long-suffering expression, like he was explaining a basic addition problem. His eyes widened in mock surprise. “Don’t tell me you regret our little voyage, Brain?”

Brain hated the condescension. He wasn’t a child tottering around on unsteady legs. And his name seemed like an oxymoron whenever Snowball pronounced it.

“In case you’ve forgotten, Snowball,” Brain growled, pacing around the room and making his displeasure known with every step, “I spent many sleepless nights pondering, researching, and building. This vessel was built out of dedication to our goal. I want to rule Terra just as much as you, and I refuse to let my effort be wasted!”

Brain pounded the wall with his fist to emphasize his point, a strange, hollow clang echoing from the section he struck. Just to be sure he wasn’t hearing things, he gave it another experimental knock. Then he noticed the thin, rectangular lines indented in the wall that indicated a hidden panel, one that wasn’t accounted for in the blueprints.

Brain pushed the panel aside, revealing a green blaster strapped to the inside wall. Its yellow handle was polished, and the trigger invited any weapon enthusiast to give it a test run. The sleek design promised swift and deadly force, the barrel spiraling into two sharp, triangular points with a red plasma knob in the center to focus its threatening beams on anyone foolish enough to be on the receiving end.

The blaster was small, but that only meant its power was concentrated tenfold.

Several orange plasma cartridges laid underneath the weapon, the fluids swishing lazily in their containers as if they weren’t waiting to be loaded.

“Why?” Brain asked, his mouth dry.

While his mind struggled to process the plasma blaster’s existence, Snowball sauntered up to him, hands clasped behind his back while he awaited Brain’s judgment.

“Your counterarguments aren’t rooted in logic, Brain,” Snowball explained with that condescending patience Brain hated so much. “We have to be prepared to conquer through force if necessary. Or suppose we need to defend ourselves? If a Terran attempts to kill you, do you truly think asking nicely will convince them otherwise?”

“How naïve do you believe me to be?” Brain snapped. “I told you before that a hypnotizing belt will suit our purposes just fine. You underestimate the power of suggestion.”

Snowball jabbed a claw into Brain’s chest. He stumbled back as white mist coated Snowball’s claw and left spiraling trails of frost across Brain’s jumpsuit, its insulation doing nothing to stop the chill creeping through his body.

“I believe you are being so incredibly, foolishly naïve,” Snowball growled. Brain tried to look Snowball in the eye and challenge him back, but his receptors were numb and the electron current was frigid. “Suggestion won’t guarantee results.”

It felt wrong. Movement generated heat. It was a basic principle of science. But Snowball’s electrons were sluggish even though his neurons were always firing with new ideas and cold where they should be warm.

“You self-sabotage your desires with your burdening attachments.” Snowball’s pink eyes narrowed. “I’m only trying to help you overcome that weakness. Why can’t you understand that?”

Brain latched onto that tiny amount of heat in the current. Enough fuel to burn away the cold, enough outrage at the implied lack of comprehension to break free of his daze.

“I have no want or need for your so-called help, Snowball!” Brain snarled, slapping Snowball’s hand away. A chill shot through Brain’s palm, but he gritted his teeth and bore the pain as best he could. “If you have nothing remotely intelligent to contribute, then leave!”

Snowball’s face became an impassive mask.

“Very well, Brain,” he said with no inflection in his voice. He turned on his heel and walked out.

And Brain was left alone with the lingering frost, the blaster, and several packages of rusuphri that no longer tasted as sweet as they once did.

o-o-o-o-o

New Selenian Date 3015.4.21

Though our voyage through space was more volatile than I expected, we’ve successfully approached Terra’s exosphere. Under other circumstances, it would be cause for celebration, but…

Well, Snowball has only spoken to me for essentials during the past few days. Usually so he can update me while he raids the pantry for maza or to catch up on sleep.

Our argument has only served as a reminder that we’re not…as united in our mutual goal as much I want to believe.

It must the length of the journey. Access to only four rooms in a one week period can give anyone a serious case of cabin fever. He’ll get better once we land on Terra’s surface, I’m sure.

Signing off for now, the Brain.

o-o-o-o-o

Terra was absolutely impressive up close. Long white swirls decorated the blue oceans and greenish-brown continents far below, and Brain committed the sight to his memory forever. On New Selene, Terra was just a strange marble floating in a dark abyss. Not even the only marble. Just one of billions of celestial bodies out there.

And it would soon be their world to rule, to mold, to improve.

Selenian files claimed that Terra had explored more of space than the depths of their own planet, and since Terra hadn’t progressed far enough to send humans past the moon, then that lack of drive to discover was something Brain sorely needed to fix.

“Are you seeing this, Snowball?” Brain asked, pressing himself up to the window so he could drink in the wonderful view surrounding them.

But Snowball only yawned without bothering to stifle it. Then he typed commands into a computer, only looking up to watch a satellite drift past the Conquistador.

Brain saw his reflection’s ears droop. Scowling, he reached over his shoulder and tugged his left ear up, holding it in place until it stayed upright. He looked ridiculous, but the only one who could take notice never said anything, not even a sarcastic quip.

Terra-gazing suddenly didn’t hold much appeal anymore.

Sighing, Brain shuffled over to his computer and brought up a program that would chart a landing course for them. The program locked onto their current position, somewhere above a continent called North America. Brain only tapped keys when a command prompt appeared, finding it difficult to concentrate on where they’d end up landing, but he quickly sat up and shook himself out of his stupor.

If he wasn’t careful, he could send them plunging straight into the depths of Ohio. Before the colony’s abandonment, some hapless sociologist in Zenith Lab went stir-crazy from being assigned Ohio for a research thesis. After that, he became the topic of all conversations after his little stunt with the maza can and screwdriver was recorded for all of New Selene’s viewing pleasure. Brain had no desire to end up like that poor sap.

So he typed away, flicking his left wrist to get rid of the cramping sensation that was starting to build up. Coordinates, relative position, and preferred angle of descent all factored in to selecting their destination. He inputted the numbers he’d memorized back in Penumbra, hit enter, and let the program do the rest of the work.

It would take several minutes to run the numbers and configure the best trajectory, so Brain reclined in his chair and watched Terra while he waited.

Funny how the planet appealed to him again after he’d finally turned his attention elsewhere. He just couldn’t stay away from its ethereal glow.

“Brain.”

Brain startled at the sound of his name. It had been a while since Snowball pronounced it without a sneer. Snowball approached, casually slinging an arm across the back of Brain’s chair as green slowly inched across the progress bar on the computer.

“You’ve been working,” Snowball said.

Short sentences were better than nothing. But even so, the obvious didn’t need to be stated.

“Really? What gave it away?” Brain asked.

Snowball glanced at the ceiling and tapped his chin, taking his sweet time to voice his opinions.

“Consider it a hunch. I couldn’t help but notice that you appear a little…as they say, down.” Snowball put his hand against his large cranium, then let his hand hover an inch above Brain’s head, flattening his antennae. Sadly, antennae didn’t count in accurate measurements of height.

Brain scoffed. “You have a keen sense of observation, Snowball. As anyone with half a retina can see, I’m one of those unfortunate organisms without a genetic makeup that favors height.”

“Yes, that does seem to be a…small issue,” Snowball smirked at his own joke, and Brain buried his face in his hands. Being poached and experimented on wasn’t terrible enough for the universe.

Whoever was in charge of the place just had to torture him with a terrible comedian for a companion too.

Brain hit a key in rapid succession as if it would make the progress bar fill any faster. “Are you going to do something productive or do you still insist on tormenting me for your own amusement?”

Snowball glanced at the computer. The progress bar had been halfway filled with green for the past two minutes, with no signs of progression in the foreseeable future.

“We’ve made it, Brain,” Snowball declared. “Soon Terra shall have our names emblazoned on golden banners everywhere.”

Golden banners. Parades in their honor. People bowing for miles and miles as far as the eye could see.

For such a grand vision, their arrival appeared rather lackluster.

“I was expecting this to be the grandest moment of our lives,” Brain admitted. “Yet nobody’s responded to my transmissions, and our journey was spent flitting between controlling the ship and taking care of necessary functions for life. It’s rather underwhelming.��

“Yes, there does seem to be a certain lack of fanfare,” Snowball mused. “But who said we couldn’t add a little flair of our own?”

Brain shrugged, dragging his hands down his face when the progress bar halted yet again. “Depends on your idea of flair. We never packed materials to host our own welcome party.”

“Perhaps not. But moments of imminent triumph demand food consumption. Unless you couldn’t resist the allure of delicious rusuphri, of course. We should have some before making contact with the surface,” Snowball said, poking Brain’s stomach.

“It’s rude to comment on a mos’s weight, Snowball,” Brain muttered, pushing the aisam away so he had room to stand up. “But partaking in a victorious toast with rusuphri just before we begin our descent is not without merit.”

“All of my ideas have merit,” Snowball said, following Brain to the door. Snowball waved his paw near the motion sensor, the door opening with a pneumatic hiss. There was little point to chivalry when it came to advanced technology though. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, Brain. I’m rather famished.”

Brain shook his head as he stepped into the corridor. “Yes, I’m sure you’ll be feeble and emaciated in the three minutes it’ll take me to retrieve a packet.”

Snowball only smiled in response, like he found starvation amusing. Then he sat in Brain’s chair, the door closing before Brain could yell at him to get out.

Resigned to having his designated spot occupied, Brain walked past the pantry and Snowball’s room, the latter only used for the bare essentials. After a week of limited accommodations, Brain would never again question the luxury of wide open spaces.

Once he got to his room, he dug the packets out from between the wall and his bed.

He didn’t tell Snowball that he’d only eaten two packets of rusuphri during their entire journey and left the rest untouched. The treat had become tainted after their argument, and the usual sweet flavor just hadn’t been there. Maza didn’t taste like anything, so he had to live with the lack of stimulation for his taste buds over the past few days.

As a test, he crunched one of the blue seeds between his teeth, and the sweetness coated his tongue once more.

The perfect treat for their victory.

Clutching the open packet to his chest, Brain rushed to the door, remembering belatedly that he should at least try to conduct himself with a dignity befitting a world emperor and-

He slammed into the door.

The impact left him seeing stars, and he shook his head to rid himself of the dizziness. Then he kicked it, but he was forced to abandon that after a few strikes because his heel began to throb.

It was automatic. If there had been an issue with the Selenian design for automatic doors, he would’ve caught it long before this point.

“Useless hunk of metalloids and wires,” Brain growled at the door, like it had emotions to hurt.

The lights flickered once, twice, then shut off completely, bathing the entire room in darkness. And while Terra was still visible from his small window, its azure glow only lit the window and two feet beyond that. Not nearly enough.

Clutching the packet of rusuphri to his chest, Brain hurried over to the monitor, his heart pounding wildly out of his chest.

He hadn’t come this far, spent months toiling on this project, just to succumb to a poorly timed malfunction!

Brain smacked the monitor with his palm, the screen refusing to display anything.

“Snowball!” Brain shouted. “Snowball, answer this instant! This blackout has caused our automated system to trap me in my room!”

He banged on several keys, in case there was an off-chance that audio still went through.

His channel wasn’t reaching its destination.

Snowball was still in the control room. Was their alert system for mechanical trouble still online? Was their main source of power breaking down?

This was impossible. They were destined to rule Terra. That dream had driven them through many hard nights, arguments, and impasses.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a mighty king someday? Why are you so afraid, Brain?”

Whether it was Snowball or his own voice taunting him for cowardice, he didn’t know. But he was going to prove it wrong.

The walls creaked ominously.

The orbs on his tail and antennae vibrated with nervous kinetic energy, distracting him until every last thread of logic slipped through his fingers. Brain dropped the packet, and the seeds scattered across the floor.

“Snowball?” he called, trying to sound demanding, but his voice came out weak and tiny instead.

Then he remembered the blaster he’d been so insistent on not using. Well, he wouldn’t be using it for the purpose Snowball intended, but he didn’t have many options.

Brain’s trembling fingers couldn’t grasp the panel without sliding off, and it took him several tries before he was able to shove it aside.

Focus. Load the cartridge. Shoot door. Escape room. Check controls. Find Snowball.

Brain chanted his mental checklist over and over in his mind, his hands missing the blaster’s handle as he tried to tug it free from its secure position.

There were straps. He needed to unstrap it from the wall first.

The prospect of failing was causing him to lose concentration.

He was going to lose his opportunity to rule Terra. He was going to lose the vessel he’d toiled to build.

And he was going to lose Snowball.

While they’d had plenty of disagreements, Snowball was the only companion he’d ever known. Even if Snowball wasn’t always there to be a companion with how often he traversed New Selene.

No, he wouldn’t lose Snowball to some inopportune mechanical issue.

They would be crowned co-emperors, attach their names to major establishments, let their legacies be renowned for centuries after their inevitable deaths!

With that vision spurring him forth, he undid the straps of the blaster and pulled it free, snagging a plasma cartridge with his other hand.

The Conquistador jolted.

Thrown off-balance, the cartridge slipped from his grasp and shattered on the floor, orange liquid and metal shards pooling around his feet. Brain took a step back in an attempt to right himself, crying out as a particularly sharp piece of metal cut into the sole of his right foot. He was lucky it didn’t go in all the way, his jumpsuit mitigating some of the damage, but it stung fiercely whenever he tried to move.

Outside the window, colorful Terra swallowed the black void of space. Then he was thrown against the ceiling, the metallic roof hot against his back.

Brain tried to peel himself off, but his energy was spent just trying to avoid the unsecured shards and turning his head so the plasma didn’t splash against his mouth. The blaster and rusuprhi seeds bounced uncontrollably against the monitors, his body, and the walls.

If panic hadn’t overtaken his intelligence, he might’ve remembered that the paneling was fortified to prevent them from burning up in Terra’s atmosphere.

His mind claimed otherwise.

Here lies a mos from the dilapidated colony of New Selene, intelligence and the natural properties of his species enhanced by the so-called greatest scientific minds of the century. Burning in Terra’s atmosphere to follow a grandiose dream.

If some miracle allowed his charred body to crash into the surface, perhaps someone would find the ship and his cadaver inside.

Ha. His body oh-so generously donated to science after his death without his opinion factored into the matter as it had in life. How was that for poetic injustice?

Another jolt. A sudden pitch to the left.

Falling.

A three-ounce mos falls at the rate of Terran terminal velocity from a height of six thousand miles. Calculate the rate at which his failure to achieve anything worthwhile plummets into the planet’s surface.

Just like a quantum physics equation. Brain almost laughed. A weak, rueful laugh was all he was capable of producing.

It might’ve been an eternity. Or eighteen hours. Or just a few milliseconds.

One more plunge. The metal shrieked and groaned as it impacted something solid and immovable.

Brain tumbled to the ground, pain shooting through his foot when he smacked it against the unsecured bedframe.

The blaster rolled to a stop against his left hand. The seeds stilled. The walls fell silent.

Brain gasped and caught his breath, his heartbeat roaring loudly in his ears. He tried to stand, but his back was uncomfortably hot and he couldn’t bear weight on his right foot without the harsh sting, and he was forced to lay on his stomach so the pain didn’t become completely unbearable.

He wondered if Snowball had made it out unscathed.

That was his last coherent thought before darkness crowded his vision.

AN: Brain. You’re extending the word count with your angst.

Oops. I’m sorry Brain. I love you I swear. Why doesn’t he believe me, guys?

Rusuphri: Sweet blue star-shaped seeds.

Lor Altal: Literal translation-sharing hearts. Oral storytelling between Selenians.

This chapter was a doozy. The first two were short just cause I was introducing everyone. Idk if they’re all going to be this long. I’m not aiming for word count here. They’re as long as they need to be.

#pinky and the brain #patb nova #patb snowball

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