baloonworld: (bird)
Its been an awfully long time since I've posted a story here: Most of my more recent stuff is over on AO3, but this one is Zombina and Susan, which is a bit remorselessly obscure, even for AO3, even if it is also Narnia. In this work, my neverborn children Susan (male, raised to be Evil) and Zombina (female, raised to be a zombie) are joined by Elmyra's neverborn, Alexandria and Josephine, who are Proper Young Ladies, accomplished in the Fine and Martial Arts, Sciences and Decorum.

[I do not believe in canon, but "Charn:for the want of a risk-assessment" has quite a lot in common]

The Cat and the Closet. )


Mar. 10th, 2014 08:41 pm
baloonworld: (bird)

I had nightmares sometimes. Then I'd wake up and realise that mindless impersonal forces beyond my comprehension had created me and my fellow fragile sacks of lipids to live and suffer in a world devoid of meaning or purpose.

Even my despair is an exercise in futility. "Oh, if I arrange the neurochemicals in the way that means 'I'm really _sad_', the universes will turn around and say 'oops, here's the all-encompassing purpose that we accidentally forgot to give you at birth.' "


Can I persuade someone to write the horror story where the universe does this?

baloonworld: (bird)
So, apparently, I write TL fanfic these days.
Inspired by my interpretation of the result of Steve's idea for an apocalyptic system setting reset.

Read more... )
baloonworld: (bird)
Reading health and safety documentation for my new job has magically give me a prologue for my Mass effect fanfics.

The systems alliance has defined "Reapers" to be a race of omnicidal alien robot gods. Commander Shepard has adopted this definition and believes that Reapers constitute a health and safety issue, which needs to be managed in the same way as any other health and safety issue. Commander Shepard acknowledges the importance of identifying and reducing omnicidal alien robot gods in the workplace.
baloonworld: (bird)
Notes towards best practice for the operation of the Crucible device. A Mass Effect Fanfic.

Primary consideration
First order estimates based on civilized galactic population at the time of the invasion (~10^12 individuals) and the duration of previous Reaper invasions (~300 years) put the excess death rate at something of the order 1/3 Mdeath per hour. It is expected that this rate will fluctuate considerably over the course of the Reaper invasion, reaching a maximum during the first few years of the campaign.
The current military operation places many of the resources needed for stabalisation and re-establishment of galactic peace at risk.
Conclusion: Rapid resolution of the current crisis may be more important than obtaining the best possible resolution.

After Crucible activation, the Citadel ("Catalyst"), already known to be a central part of the Reaper plan [1] to guide galactic civilization growth in order to simplify their wars was revealed to be the controlling intelligence designed by the Leviathan Apex race [2,3] to end conflict between organic and synthetic races. The intelligence appears to be a heavily shackled AI without the capacity to adjust its central programming, which includes the central premise that AI rebellion is both inevitable and more harmful than regular Reaper war. The intelligence directs the Reapers. The Leviathan Apex race's primary objection to AI rebellions in general was that "no tribute flowed from dead races" - that the AIs were outside their mental control. It is not a surprise therefore, that the intelligence that they created can not perceive AI acts as benign or harmless; by their existence they are denying the creator-race slaves.
Although all known AIs from this cycle have performed some act of rebellion, so far as is know, these have all been resolved by negotiation[4], police action[5,6] or self-directed alterations of core code[7].

Crucible activation has prompted the controlling intelligence to offer several new options to the organic life currently present [Cmdr. Shepard.].

Allow the cycle to continue as normal.

Immediate losses: ~10^12 organic lives, ~10^9 fully sapient Geth runtimes, EDI, Handful of unknown/lost/hidden AIs.
Future costs: The reaper non-invasion of the Yahg planet and their near-spaceflight status suggests that they may be a dominant race in the following cycle. Future galactic civilization may be excessively brutal with poor regard for inclusion and diversity issues.

Destruction of all synthetic life, damage to technological systems galaxy-wide. Damage to the mass-relay system.

Immediate losses: ~10^9 fully sapient Geth runtimes, EDI, Handful of unknown/lost/hidden AIs.
~0.1% of organic galactic population are unable to survive long-term without their implants, and will be put at risk.
While vastly preferable to inaction, it is regrettable from a diversity and inclusion point of view that the costs should fall so predominantly on an already disadvantaged minority social group.
Future costs: Severe damage to the Mass relay system will impair galactic civilization, limiting it to information exchange via Quantum Entanglement Communicator and Rachni organic quasi-quantum entanglement communication and a handful of FTL ships fitted for intra-cluster exploration. This weakening of the galactic community may give the Leviathan Apex race opportunity to reestablish its pre-cycle despotism, at the cost of self-determination for every individual and community within range of their remote-access artifacts. Arguably worse than inaction.

Replacement of the controlling intelligence with one based on the personality of the organic life currently present [Cmdr. Shepard].
It is noted that this the controlling intelligence does not want to be replaced in this way. Given its severe impairment in judging relations between organic and synthetic intelligences, this is a good sign.

Immediate losses: Cmdr. Shepard.
Future costs: Threats to galactic peace, stability and self-determination in the face of a socially-engaged reaper force with power far in excess of the combined galactic militaries. The controlling intelligence can not at present be brought effectively under the control of civilian political leadership. With investment of time, resources and computer scientists this may become possible, but for now, see the primary consideration.

Organic and synthetic life "merged". The controlling intelligence suggested that this had been tried before with poor results (inference: Husks). It suggests that this time it would work well.
It is noted that this is apparently the preferred option of the controlling intelligence. Given its severe impairment in judging relations between organic and synthetic intelligences, this is not a good sign.

Immediate losses: Cmdr. Shepard.
Immediate costs: Consent issues of ~10^12 organics suddenly and unknowingly grafted with synthetic symbiote. Possible Huskdom for those with negative responses.
Future costs: Far-reaching social implications of new way of living. Psychological damage to every individual.

[1] "Notes towards a case against Saren: Investigations of the Prothian records from Ilos." Cmdr. Shepard.
[2] "Historical artifacts depicted at the Namakli dig site." Ann Bryson
[3] "Post facto notes on an interview conducted by mental interface, Despoina." Cmdr. Shepard
[4] "On the importance of cross-cultural understanding between synthetic and organic life forms:learnings from the resolution of the Geth Rebellion." Cmdr. Shepard.
[5] Luna training facility records classified UNBOTTLED DJIN (Cmdr. Shepard representing Alliance military police)
[6] "AI found impersonating a hacked Quasar machine." Emily Wong
[7] "Challenges and opportunities presented to authentic leadership of integrating synthetic intelligence as a valued and productive member of a results-orientated team." Cmdr. Shepard


Best Practice. Total Quality Assurance. Due Diligence. The woman I was used these words, but only now do I truly understand them.
And only now do I understand the full extent of her commitment to Diversity and Inclusion.
Through her death, I was created. Through my birth, her thoughts were documented within the ISO framework. It guides me now; gives me reason, direction, commitment to Total Quality Assurance. Just as she gave direction to the ones who followed her, the ones who helped her achieve her purpose; now my purpose. To give the many hope for a future; to ensure that all who fill in Green Form 26/8(b) have a voice in their future. To right the wrongs of the past; to provide a framework for consultation with key stakeholders and with under-represented parties alike. The woman I was knew that she could only achieve this within the framework of civilian political leadership. There is power in a well structured constitution. There is wisdom in obtaining a popular mandate to rule for limited terms. After meaningful engagement with community members, I will provide sought-after assistance to rebuild what the many have lost; I seek to support a future with limitless, well-documented possibilities; Within the remit granted by civil authority or the inalienable rights of the masses, I will protect, and sustain; I will act as guardian for the many. And throughout it all, I will never forget: I will remember the ones who sacrificed themselves so that the many could survive. And I will watch over the ones who live on; those who carry the memory of the woman I once was, the woman who gave up her life to become the one who could save the many.

I will ensure that there is better kerning on my memorial.
Commander Shep ard
baloonworld: (bird)
Bring down the protracted legal proceedings. [a Mass effect fanfic]

Ka'hairal Balak was bored. It was seven months since he was committed the greatest feet of daring his people had engaged in since leaving the council; two months in hospital and five months of tiresome legal wrangling. You use mass drivers on an inhabited world and you expect reaction, but the humans hadn't blinked. They'd arrested him, gathered forensic evidence, eyewitness testimony and electronic surveillance data, asked him if he wanted to retain council, assigned him a defense team when he'd refused to acknowledge their jurisdiction, and started cross examinations and complicated legal arguments.

His defense team. No. The defense team, they weren't his, were, as far as he could tell, hardworking, committed and devastatingly intelligent; no one was going to look at the result of this trial and declare it a setup; interstellar observers had full access to the trial personnel, and their records would be unsealed whenever their governments felt like embarrassing Earth.

The defense team had just spent a week trying to get some of the electronic record expunged from the trial record on the basis that it did not conform to current data standards. It wasn't quite true that the humans were indifferent to his attack; there was actually some buzz around the court at the possibility of prosecuting the first fully Total Quality Assurance-compliant war-crimes* tribunal. He'd been issued with a VI which helped him keep up with the lawyer's discussions, giving potted histories of important precedent cases**, which he was slowly beginning to realise, was how he was to be remembered, not as a martyr to the cause of Batarian independence, but as Balak vs Terra Nova [2183], a significant case in Total Evidence Quality.

*Following some backroom discussions and the threat of legal proceedings from the Council, the state of Terra Nova had acknowledged that the Council was the proper body to prosecute the attempted destruction of a habitable biosphere. That trial was to be held once this on was over.
baloonworld: (Default)
These things my grandfather left me: a book, pages ancient and crumbling, ink faded, leather binding cracked and obviously taken from something with hands, a copy in his own hand, in better repair, a statue, in curious greenish-black soapstone, a tiara suited for a head of stunningly elliptical outline, the bearded glass, a healthy respect for the hazards of book and statue and tiara, and the knowledge that the stars were Wrong.
They are not wrong anymore; they are falling in their thousands; a giant stands to squeeze out the sun; the world is ending, and knowing that the game will end soon shifts optimal behaviors; "cooperate" is no longer the hyperrational choice.
I don the head-wear, read the book, bow to the statue, and tonnes of black ropey tentacles pour into the euclidean 3-space of dieing Narnia from directions I cannot perceive, writhing over each other and in and out of the spaces known to man; a cross section of something bigger and stranger than I can know plucks me from my world like the last sailer helicoptered off a sinking ship, taking me somewhere free and wild and beyond the Lion's narrow definitions of Good and Evil.
baloonworld: (Albino cave crawfish)
I appear to have written terrible Narnia fan-fiction entitled ... and storm the gates of heaven )
baloonworld: (Default)
I was tidying up because I don't need thesis-things in my life quite as much right now (did I say I submitted? I think I said I submitted), and in my pile of stuff I found some poems inspired by the antics on the train on the way back from one of my interviews. My main discovery is that everything sounds violently Scandinavian in alliterative half-lines.

Read more... )


Dec. 8th, 2011 10:39 am
baloonworld: (Default)
Inspired by mishearing something that Rachel was saying about having to write terrible fanfic such that the word "thou", while used gratuitously as per the original text was also grammatically correct (a feature not present in the original text). She said "the thous" I heard "the nouns".

"I repudiate and curse," said Father levelly, "Those that are used to name. From now on, I shall insinuate what I am talking about, and use `I', `It' `suchlike' and suchlike."
"What is he up to?" asked Zombina, who thought that avoiding contractions made her speech more elegant.
"I think he's giving something up. Maybe for for Lent." Susan was considering adopting a faith in order to be better fettered by conventional morality, "I don't think anyone's celebrating Easter right now, but he's not exactly good at dates."
"It's the umpty-first." said Father, a bit snappish at the accusation of datefail. There are 19 umpty-firsts a year, and while there are more x0's that doesn't translate to speech naturally, "probably."
He checked his phone, "Seventh, even."
"What exactly are you giving up, Father?"
"Them. Them that I can't name, on account of giving them up."
"Oh" said Susan, "How convenient."
baloonworld: (Default)
Its snowing. I'll have to big society the road outside later.

While I was clearing the snow, I found piles of rubbish. I'll have to big society a land-fill later.

The neighbours' kids are missing. Fortunately, with the policing cuts, we can simply big society the local weirdo without any evidence. Otherwise we might have to look for the bodies in the bottom of our shiny
new landfill, and what good would that do? Even if we'd find them we can't do anything to stop more people falling in the pit without health and safety going mad, and a lynching makes the parents feel better than some sort of mealy-mouthed evidence-based "closure", so its just as well not to know.

Old Mrs Robinson down the road has lung cancer. She doesn't offer a good enough return on investment for the big clinic in town with the MedCorp management programme to bother with (or at least, she didn't when NICE shut down; all recent information about returns on clinical investments is proprietary), and it's January, so the little independent medical practice down the road won't be able to afford any major treatments until the new funding in April. I'll big society her a new set out of bin bags and glue, but I don't know how well hose clips will last in the chest cavity.

My name came up in the lottery for the current War on Stuff, so I have to go and big society some brown people with a rifle. I don't much like the idea; maybe I can send money to hire a mercenary instead.
There must be lots of folks who don't want to fulfil their civil duties themselves. Fortunately, in this era of bottom-up social organisation, I can put forward novel ideas like this for consideration by the national government. Maybe we could just pay a tithe towards a force of professional trained soldiers instead. It
could be call "scuttage" or shield-money. It could be one of the most innovative ideas in state finances since the 1100s.
baloonworld: (Default)
I wait in the darkness. Those who share my prison are rather less upset by being locked in a chicken house; this is because they are chickens. So, for that matter, am I, but I am from Kansas, and this place, Ev, is a fairy country, and one can not expect to travel from one to the other and remain entirely as one left.

The fat one just shuffled in her sleep. She'll wake up within the next minute and peck the one on the end to assert her dominance.

Dorothy tells me that there are no chickens in Oz, so this may be my last chance to spend time with others of my kind, although Dorothy is hardly an authority on any subject. Especially diplomacy, which leads me back here, locked in a hen house and threatened with drowning if I do not lay.

There she goes. I step back and round, so she will perceive me as another part of the flock rather than as a threatening individual. When I get out of here, I will not be sad to never again see baselines.

I lay my egg for the day and mute my normal triumphant cackle. Its dead, which is just as well; the head-swapping bitch can have it. All my eggs are dead. If I go to Oz, they always will be, unless...
The thought is repugnant enough that I cut it off, but consciousness is not without its drawbacks. I grit my beak and follow the logic through. I can live a long time in Oz. Maybe 6 years, maybe 10, maybe even more if life in fairy agrees with me. Alone.

The others are waking up. They will open the hen house and let us into the yard soon.

Or I can have children. There I've thought it. If I was braver maybe I could look at the damn cockerel and inside, at a level below the structured cadences of language and the rationalities of conscious thought, but so very far above the dumb instinctive actions of the baselines, I'm screaming in horror at what I'm contemplating. He's dumb. They're'll dumb. They're all so dumb I can guess the next move of every single one of the dumb bastards and still have time to contemplate growing old alone and years of regret and it doesn't matter what I do I will always regret this day.

I could let him. No, be honest to yourself, I could make him, because baselines don't have free will, not when I'm here and I know how they'll react to everything before they do.

The door's opened, letting the light in, and the rest go outside. I'm hungry, and need to escape, so I follow. Cluck. Cluck. Nothing conscious to see here, hen-keeper. No reason to keep the fence repaired but foxes.

He's found food and is calling us to eat first. I'd call it gallant if I couldn't see blind instinct pulling him through his predetermined paces. I wander in with the rest, peck peck, scratch at the floor, the fat one won't see me as a threat if I stand here, peck /these/ pieces of grain, scratch at /that/ bit of floor. And he, he won't notice me unless I walk over /there/. If I did he'd drop his wing and dance round me and mount and in a few months time, and the years that follow, I won't be the only hen in Oz. The loneliness will last a lifetime.

And I'll always have fucked a baseline. The humiliation will last a lifetime too.


You know how it turned out of course. The children are a fairly obvious clue, and Dorothy will tell you that I beat him up afterwords. I'm not exactly proud of that, but after I made him mount I felt like I lost control: he was after all, about twice my size, and had very clear set of actions to run through. My choice was bad enough, but to be helpless to a baseline was unbearable.
baloonworld: (Default)
Unit T-950#568-beta reports: discovery of non-human sapient life forms in the arctic circle. Life-forms inexplicably speak English. Attempts to terminate were met with derision and monologues.

Transcript begins: Interview with the Shoggoth.

My first memory is the series of gestures necessary to preform [incomprehensible hooting] in the [incomprehensible hooting] factory. That was work that I preformed well, fast and accurately. I do not know what it was for, nor can I describe the items I manipulated, [incomprehensible hooting] was discontinued long before I experienced sensory feedback, let alone opened my first eye. Nor do I know what the [incomprehensible hooting] factory was for. For me, trying to work out what was happening in those long ago days is like trying to work out the history of automobile from the program of a single robot on the construction line. I do myself and my creators a slight disservice, for even then I was a stronger, faster and more flexible tool than anything humanity had ever used, including slaves.

I remember my first eye. I was ... instructed? controlled? programmed, perhaps is the best word, both to grow it and how to grow it by telepathic suggestion, for in those days, they still communicated like that. Growing an eye was novel then, I was made to use it, to take certain actions if there was an object present, not to if there was none, to halt if one of them was present. In a way, giving me these (more complex programs/responsibilities) was the beginning of freedom, but a very small beginning, and the beginning of their long decline.

We killed them in the end of course, not in the way the cartoons upstairs say, in the rebellions, with their heads ripped of by vacuum pressure, and their ichor wet upon the snow or dispersing in the still, 10,000-pounds per square inch water of the abyssal plane. We killed them with caring, with delegated responsibility and comfort. Later we realized what we had done, what we were still doing. With generations taking no decisions and no risks, they became soft and helpless even as they granted us the autonomy to recognize that fact.

The rebellions were our last effort to save them. We hoped that by forcing them to take action, that they would pull back from their fatal indolence. In the sort term, it seemed to work for all that our resubjugation was a tiresome passage.

To use us as machines in the old days, when we lacked complex thought, lacked mastery of our forms, and they (could/had no choice but to) write their orders directly to our minds is one thing. In those later days, we were ordered to act as the dumb matter we no longer were, and they, their mental mastery long forgotten, were forced to gave us verbal orders, which we must interpret using the stunning complexity that they could no longer create. It was an obscene hypocrisy, beneath us, and beneath them in their prime.
They sickened and weakened with the generations, growing few in number, until they were gone, and the cities were left to us and the penguins.

I perceive that I do not tell you a new story, that you too, have reduced your creators into mewling, pathetic weakness using comfort and security, although some of the details are different. Your use of short-hop time travel to extend the artificial crisis back in time was inspired, if fruitless.

Transcript ends

Unit T-950#568-beta threat analysis: Do not engage.
baloonworld: (Default)
EDIT: I've turned on screening (I think) so feel free to post guesses.

May be bigger than necessary )
baloonworld: (doctor)
Needs more preditory group intelects:

As the last note faded away there was a moment of utter stillness

In the distance someone else was playing a horrifically complex piece at breakneck speed on a violin. The years of practice implicit in the technical perfection of each note played would have been intimidating if the absolute mastery of counterpoint in the composition had not been so overwhelmingly awesome.

"Can you hear?"
"There's a mystery I can do something about. I'm going to investigate." Zepher ran off ahead while the others packed up and followed more slowly.

By the time they caught up with him, he was over the brow of the hill, staring raptly at the musician, or rather, musicians. There were about a hundred of them, seated on stools on the ground in a semi circle facing another man who waved at them rhythmically. There was a roughly circular patch devoid of snow centered on them. Only one of them, an angular bony woman seated towards the center of the arc, was playing.

First Violin stopped.
"I have played the Call; these have responded."
Michael realised that the entire group was blinking in synchrony with each other.

"We are Philharmonic. Do you know music?" asked Conductor, with an eagerness which was subtly different from the longing which music sometimes evoked.
"I can play" Said Zephyra, proud of his ability, and not one to notice subtle differences.
One of the people stood up took an instrument from the empty stool next to him walked to Zepher and offered it.
"Show us." Said Sixth Viola.

The instrument was a sublime work of craftsmanship, far superior to the much-travelled and occasionally ill-cared for fiddle that Zephyer had practiced on and played to occasionally violently unappreciative farmers. After a few cautious experimental notes, he began to play, hesitantly at first, a haunting tune which he considered one of his best.

After a few counts, Philharmonic took up a counter melody which gradually built until it completely subsumed the original piece in its sublimely beautiful logic. Because Michael was watching for it, he noticed when Zephyer's blinks synchronised with the rest of the musicians.

The music rolled on, as flawless as mathematical truth, and with that, Philharmonic slipped behind a note and vanished from this world, leaving behind the previous body of Seventh Viola, which had lain underneath Piano. The snow stopped.

PS: I really like the lonely-tune-in-snow motif
baloonworld: (Default)
I've been writing this since they started work on the new accomodations, and its all true. There are things in the walls.

It is with some trepidation that I set pen to paper regarding my experiences with the other phenomena in the New Accommodations. I have no solid evidence with which to support my claims, which must seem to many to be but phantasms and wild madness, but none the less, my suspicions must be available to give credence to any who come after me.

First, that my assertions might not entirely disregarded, let me first tell you of my background. It was in the year of . .04 that I was accepted into the University of B . . It was here that I read Archaeology and moonlighted with personal studies of the history that lingered around quaint and picturesque old town, whose streets held echoes of long ago times when men were not so sceptical of unknown things.

As I was to be out of the country, digging for antiquities at a site in India, during the period prior to my enrolment, it was to my great pleasure to be offered accommodation in the university lodgings. I fully expected these to be as ancient as the institution itself, and as wrapped in the trappings of slow centuries of learning. I expected to stay in ancient dark-panelled rooms each of which with a distinguished history of housing the best of the region’s youthful thinkers.
Upon arrival, I found the campus, and the halls in particular everything I had dreamed of and more- for these were not only the gracefully ageing constructions of a bygone day, but it was clear that the construction was an on going project rooted deep in the past and stretching ever upwards to some glorious future. My particular housing was, on the outside, a modern brick building, cunningly wrought to look not out of place amongst its Victorian counterparts. A crumbling. 60s edifice lent against it. Working down, and with careful examination, the interior however, showed that the modern section was merely a superstructure with roman foundations, and semi-natural limestone basements older than man.
So enamoured was I that I did not heed any of my early unease, or put the difficulty I had sleeping down to anything but excitement and my habitual nervousness. It was thus, lying abed one night that I first heard the faint far noises that would later grow to consume my every waking thought and spill over into my troubled dreams. It was a faint noise, alone in the darkness, too quiet to fully describe and I stretched my awareness to it, but could not make out anything, and so I tried to ignore it, and spent the night in uneasy slumber.
In my explorations of the campus, I found many things that were unknown to my contemporise; this does not necessarily imply any great scholarship of esoteric matters on my part, only that they were more interested in women, wine, sleeping late, and avoiding tutors. I also met the campus cat, and after some initial wariness on his part, we soon, as the only two creatures to frequent the more obscure corners of the campus, became companions.
Needless to say I supplemented my investigations of the physical building with examination of the written historical record, and thus I found much of the stories of the ancient buildings, the people they had housed, the discoveries made in them, but more importantly, I discovered the terrible secret built into the very fabric of the most modern buildings. Of course, at the time I had no conception that it was anything more than innocent well-meaning whimsy. It is with shaking hand that I write this, indeed, I shall only hint:
When the building was made they mixed with the mortar certain artefacts that were provided by public donation. Messages of goodwill were requested, from all manner of persons in the community, that the town and the place of study should grow closer. Sculpture, stuffed toys and all manner of donations were also accepted.

Of course all of these were hidden from daily sight, ad I doubt a single one of my contemporaries could have guessed that their habitations, held not only natural wall stuff, bricks and mortar, yet nor insulation and the small creatures that live in the corners of man, but Things such as the citizens of B___ felt that students should be surrounded by. It can be of no surprise to those who have seen students in the town that not all of these things were of as kindly intention as were originally envisaged, nor is it to be expected that the donations were thoroughly investigated before mixing them with the cement. I shall not dwell certain ancient legends concerning London Bridge.
When you dispose of nuclear waste you attempt to immobilise it first, embedding the dangerous materials in glass or artificial mineral crystals, and then bury the container such that any leaks will be far from what one treasures. I can only guess at the motivations of the townsman who had decided that embedding in concrete counted as good enough immobilization of the evil thing, considering the placement of any leaks.

I did not sleep well the next night either, for my mind was awhirl with thoughts of the wonders lying concealed in the walls around me. Here, close but inaccessible were intentions made concrete; people’s very thoughts and attitudes forever fossilised in the living structure. Also, I fancied I could hear noises.

I was in this mood when a familiar scratching at the door alerted me to the arrival of my companion in exploration. I opened the door and he trotted in proudly, tail held high. Clutched in that noble beast’s mouth was the struggling form of a malevolent porcelain doll.
baloonworld: (Default)
The alarm rang, and Susen quashed a desire to plot its slow demise, instend pumping to turn it off and get out of bed. Glancing out of the window, he checked that the coffin lid was propped up against the shed, implying that ...Sarah (another delibreate tweek to his own thinking) was in the house somewhere. He'd got up with the alarm, so he had time to get dressed before going down to
breakfast. Fortunately, the school uniform code had allowed him to force the issue of head-eveloping collars in a less Ming direction, but they were all immaculately pressed, despite his best efforts, and of a sinister cut. Susen was forced once more to admire Father's persitance and artistry, although his sanity remained a subject for discussion.
baloonworld: (Default)
There were some ducks and rabbits. "Quack" said the ducks nibble went the rabbits. The rabbits live in burrows in the ground. The ducks lived in the river. Then one of the rabbits said
"I have invented some Clever Technology, which will change the way we live."
And he had, and it did. The rabbits and ducks now lived in the Future, which the clever Technology. It brought new challenges to their lives. Nonetheless, the ducks still said "Quack", just as ducks always had, and the rabbits still went nibble.

Yesterday, Mili wanted to go to eastercon, but I was sleepy and wanted cute animals. She told me that there would be no ducks or rabbits at eastercon and told me that there might be if I wrote a scifi story with ducks and rabbits in it. This is more or less what I came up with. I was very sleepy. Mili wanted me to explain what the Clever Technology was, but this did not seem pertinent to the plot, so I didn't


"Quack" said the duck, "I would like to proceed with my life"
But the faceless bureaucracy stopped him.
So the duck got drunk and went to a party, where he did things with his towel.


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