Overthinking Marvel

Adventures in Taking this Stuff too Seriously

[marveloverthinker]

The Vampire Talk

She was beautiful as ever as she walked through the doorway, pale skin almost glittering against the ebony velvet of her gown as blood-red hair cascaded down her back. Her eyes pierced to mine, and I was unable to move as she approached, unable to raise even a hand to slow the approach of that darkly enthralling kiss.

But instead of biting, she took my hand and walked me to the kitchen, sitting me down at the table and then sitting across from me. Making sure she had my attention, confused as it was, she opened her mouth, those long fangs extending... and I drew up short. They were pocked... cavities in a vampire.

"Look," she said, exasperated. "We have to talk about you getting your diabetes treated..."

[marveloverthinker]

Space Orcs - Gruesome Torture

The atmosphere on the Incata Dramas was tense, primarily because all of the human crew members were also tense. Now, Captain Faran and the others had noticed that the oddest things would make humans tense, and so in general had resolved not to worry about individual instances, but this was all of them, at the same time, and half of the crew looked as if they expected the next Great War to explode in the galley at any moment. It had all started when Federation Code Lambda Chi 4528.9 had been passed by the Federation Council after being introduced by the Human Councilor, and the Lord High Executive had placed it into immediate effect. That had caused some grumbling. But now, with the first scheduled rendezvous coming up, they had started quibbling, even occasionally recommending outright disregard of the first legislation passed on the proposal of their Species’ first Councilor! “I’m just saying, I hear Astalon III has a great market, and it’s not that far out of our way, and if we just nipped over there our profits could get a real boost!” That had been Carlo Marquez, consistently one of the most by the books humans the Captain had ever met, and when he had insisted that it wasn’t worth risking their licenses, he had gone sullen and sulky for a whole shift! By the time of the rendezvous, the non-human crew had become fascinated, and borderline horrified, by the human reactions, and so all had happened to find themselves near a window when the starship Pierre Fauchard dropped out of jumpspace for the meet-up. There was no indication of why it should be so feared, at least, not from the outside. It was of human design, new, financed by the same law that had necessitated that they meet, but clearly designed with human aesthetics, rather than brutality, in play. And yet, when the time came for the humans to go over to it, they delayed, or prevaricated, or flat out tried to hide. Even Jackson Daniels, a hero of the War before it had ended, a warrior who had faced Athalan Behemoths and crushed them in his hands (or so it was rumored) had retreated to his quarters, refusing to go, BEGGING to be let off, before crew members from the Pierre Fauchard had come to retrieve him, offering minor chemical alteration and speaking to him as the Captain had heard others speak to small children. It was too much. He was their captain, and their well being was his responsibility, and so he’d requested permission to come aboard. It had been welcomed, and he’d been met at the airlock by their Captain, though she preferred the term Doctor O’Donnel. “My human crew seems... nervous... at these meetings, Doctor.” She chuckled. “Yes, well, it was necessary.” “Was it? You are healers, and we do have med-paste.” “Med paste is fantastic for living tissues, but considers calcification a sickness, in general. It quickly became clear humans in star service needed their regular checkups, and the equipment needed to be specialized. So, our ships were requisitioned. So far, it has gone well, though you’d think some of our brave people in the stars would be better than their fifth grade cousins.” The captain didn’t know what to make of that. “May I see some of the equipment?” The doctor shrugged. “Certainly, though it may not make much sense to your, due to differences in ingestion.” While he tried to sort out what diets and the like had to do with ANYTHING, the Captain walked into a treatment room, where Daniels (no heavily medicated,) lay on a table as what could only be described as a massive implement with... mining equipments, was lowered into his mouth? A hand went to his own mouth as the Captain dashed out, running from room to room. In each, the same story, his crew members strapped to tables, mouths pried open, various awful looking implements making even more awful sounds of... yes, the miner in him couldn’t miss it, drilling going on INSIDE THEIR MOUTHS. A door opened, and out stepped Annie, his newest Xeno-cryptologist, and he dashed over to her. “Crewman Annie, are you well? What did they do? I had no idea you were to be... who are they? Is it religious? Is it to keep you following orders?” “What? Silly.” Annie patted him on the shoulder. “It’s just a touch up and clean. Doesn’t my smile look great?” She flashed one at him, and the bone extrusions they used for all sorts of purposes did seem to have some extra shine. “Don’t sweat it, Cap’n. Who’d have thought Daniels would be such a baby about it, though?” She then scampered off to watch his procedure giggling as she did. The Doctor smiled at him. “Would that be all? Plenty to do, plenty whiny adult children to do it to.” Faran could only nod, then made a hasty escape, before anyone took it in their heads to try this... dentistry... on him. And all because it made those horrific extrusions... shiny?

[marveloverthinker]

Shadowrun San Antonio: The Burrito Run

Angels wept as Ryan walked the soaked streets of San Antonio.

His eyes flicked to them as he strode, the odd statues that had been built during the Aztlan war, part protest, part memorial, part fortification. The older folks swore that, in times of need, the Angels would strike to defend their turf, or some rot like that. But for now, rain gathered in their wings and flowed down their faces, like tears from a forgotten time. The scene was only slightly ruined by street vendors who shouted, for all to hear, about how their tamales were better than anything you could get on the other side of town.

Ryan took a seat at one such cart, balancing precariously on the rickety stool as a Tejana Ork woman, her deaths mask exquisitely painted, swayed over to him to take his order. “The regular, gringo?”

He grinned. “Double, if you'd be so kind, Marta. I won't be alone for long.”

The eyes narrowed, crinkling the paint around her eyes. “You know I don't like you doing business here. This is a clean establishment.”

“So Pablo over there assures me,” Ryan said with a touch of sarcasm, giving a nod to a cat that sprawled just within the shelter of the cart's canopy, gorging itself on a freshly caught rat.

Marta tsked through her tusks, a sound Ryan found fascinating. “From the Sewers, of course. Pablo does well with vermin. Like you.”

“Peace, Senora. No haggling or rough talk, I promise. Just a little food before heading elsewhere.”

Marta considered this, then the E-pesos Ryan offered her, which she finally took. “Fine, but if your bendejo friend makes a move on my Maria like the last guy…”

Guys were always making moves on Maria. Her bright eyes and sweet laugh caught attention, her grace held it, and her goblinoid heritage had taken the latina tradition of curves to a whole new level of enticing. Ryan chuckled. “She can handle herself, Marta…”

“That will be Senora Diaz to you, and any bendejo you bring by here, so long as you are on the job. It's passed time you gave up running shadows, anyway. We mourn enough dead boys as it is.”

Ryan simply sighed and waited as Marta started rolling the burritos, smiling a bit as she stuffed a little extra into his. Brusque though she could be, she had always complained that he was too skinny, elf or no.

There was a scraping noise as the stool next to him was pulled up, and he glanced over with a bit of a grin as a Stetson was placed on the Countertop, still dripping rain. “Nash,” he said in greeting.

“Ryan,” came the reply, heavy with classic Texan drawl. “Sorry I'm late. Took forever to find a dry place to tie up Annie.”

“It happens,” Ryan answered. “I already ordered. Hope you like burritos. And if you don't, keep it to yourself, because Marta's in a special mood.”

“Mierda.” Marta swore as she approached. “You never said who was coming.”

“Miss me, Marta?” Nash drawled, knuckling his forehead. “It's been awhile.”

“I should kick you both out now,” Marta said as she put the plates in front of them. “Two elves at a Ork cart. People will talk, and it will make trouble. You two can just disappear, but Maria's a good girl, deep down, and…”

“And yet, people talk anyway. Easy, mama. Nash. Ryan.” Ryan turned on his stool to see Maria swaying towards them, her usual skirts traded for faux-leather jeans and and a subtly armored jacket. “Don't eat too much, now. You know it makes you sleepy.”

“Pura Mierda,” Marta retorted. “They're both of them too skinny. How they do what they do without any more meat is…”

“A trade secret, ma'am,” Nash said, putting his stetson on as he stood. “We'd better roll, don't you think?”

Ryan sighed, swallowed down a few bites of the burrito (they really were among the best in town, and that was saying something) and then stood with a resigned nod. The three turned as one and walked back into the rain, ignoring Marta's muttering as it faded into the noise of the droplets all around them.

They made quite a scene, the three of them. Maria, graceful as a flamenco dancer with just enough deadly to keep people from staring too long. Nash, his boots, belt buckle, duster and stetson making him look like something of the Tri-D, and Ryan himself, looking just like he had when he got off the train from Seattle, complete with piercings, tattoos, and hair that stayed spiked despite the best efforts of the rain.

As odd a group as any Ryan had ever run with, but after three years of successful(ish) running, practically family, including the overbearing, mildly abusive aunt.

“So what is it tonight?” Maria asked as they turned a corner. “Hovercar, refitted aerial drone, or are you finally gonna let me take Annie for a ride?”

“Never,” Nash said, simply, and then blinked as his eyes went out of focus. Ryan hated that. Most riggers closed their eyes, but this… even though it mattered not at all to how Nash worked, it sure looked creepy. “Annie's mine. Today we go old school.” Even as he spoke, a rickety old van pulled up alongside them, tires splashing water from the street in every direction. Ryan climbed right in, but Maria sighed.

“Just once,” she complained as she followed, “I'd like to go to a job with some style…”

——

The red and blue lights sparkled in the rain droplets that clung stubbornly to the van's rearview window. Maria snapped the gum in her mouth as she rolled down her window, flashing a smile at the Troll who shined a light into the van's interior. “What seems to be the problem, officer?”

The Troll frowned, and opened its mouth hesitantly. “Vehicle not… not authorized. Old plates. No… wireless? Identification.” The words were slow and plodded, even for a Troll. Not an English speaker then… a recent recruit, from the capitol by his accent. Maria grinned at him. “What? Oh, sweetie, I been driving this heap for years now. I'm sure it can't be a problem.”

“Problem…” the Troll retorted, likely in way of disagreement. He pulled up a retinal scanner. “Will need SIN, and…”

Suddenly the lights on the patrol car went dark, and the sudden change gave the brief appearance of near perfect blackness inside the van before normal eyes could recover. The Troll barely had a moment to look to his vehicle before he froze at the sensation of a shotgun stuck in his back.

“You're new, huh? Well here's the deal, tusky…”

“Watch your mouth…” Maria called from the passenger seat, but Ryan refused to be distracted. “You can live a good long life in your line of work, or in this town, but never both, you got me? Or should I have the girl inside translate for you?”

The Troll glanced back to the van, where Maria had an SMG aimed up into his nostril. “I'll make sure he does.” She said sweetly, before a stream of Spanish talked the Troll gently through the process of climbing into the back of the Van with his hands behind his back.

Seeing she had the situation under control, Ryan rushed over to the squad car, where Nash was sitting, apparently all blank, in the front seat. “Any response?”

“His personal comms are run through the car. Our Sergeant… Martinez… has just reported some drugged out hippies, and run their data. They'll report back SINless and he'll be ordered to bring them in.”

“How long?”

“Ten minutes. The bottleneck on the info line to the computers at the Capitol makes their response time trash out here. You'd almost think Aztlan wasn't planning on staying.”

“I wish,” Ryan muttered, receiving an answering nod from Nash as he went to collect Maria. Ten minutes bought them time, widened the window a fraction. Popping open the van's rear doors, he awkwardly started changing into an Aztlan military uniform. —-

“Ten seconds and counting.”

Ryan rushed down the hallway, ignoring the shouts coming from behind him, all of them in the clipped Spanish of the Aztlani Capitol. The occupation government sent in more of them every day, it seemed, and yet San Antonio remained beautifully, gloriously, Tejano. Remembering the cultural mongrel that was the Seattle Metroplex, Ryan could only count that a victory, so long as he could keep breathing.

“Five seconds.” his earpiece chirped. Ryan grimaced. He didn't need the countdown, but wasted no breath informing Maria of that. No word from Nash, either, but Ryan didn't let that bother him. The car was either there, or not. Outside, he heard the squeal of tires on wet pavement, and grinned.

The doors burst open as Ryan hurled himself through them, gun already out and firing at the Van that tore away from the building. “Vamanos!” He shouted at the gate guards, who were staring at both him and the van, startled. “Saboteador!” From one of the windows of the van, a startled troll looked at him, then roared, firing with a sidearm. Ryan winced as one shot ricocheted dangerously near to him, then dove to a nearby military car, which picked him up and took of after the van, in hot pursuit.

Nash sat at the wheel, staring blankly ahead as Maria grinned at him from her hiding place in the back. Her lips mouthed the words, “dos… uno…”

And an explosion ripped the checkpoint apart behind them.

The radio burst to life, howling for all units to pursue the saboteur. Ryan took some shots from his open window, causing the Troll to duck his head again.

“Can I look, yet?” Maria asked from the backseat. Ryan growled.

“We've still got our friends all around us. Nash, how long?”

“Now. Hold on, Maria.”

The squib went off, and the car spun out as the other pursuit vehicles carefully wheeled around it, not even bothering to look back as they traded shots with the enraged Troll in the backseat. Ryan took a moment before moving… with the explosion, response to a single blown car would be slow.

Maria finally looked up and laughed at the pillar of fire and smoke that now rose in a bright pillar over southern San Antonio. Already, the Aztlan military was arriving, being informed of the situation by the cars now in high speed pursuit. Suddenly Nash blinked, then glanced over at him. They all got out of the car as one, easing their way down into the floodway that would lead them all the way back to the barrio.

“How'd it go inside?” Nash asked. Ryan just smiled, then held up the heavy cartridge. It would be a payday, after all. —-

The talking head blinked through the rain that fell through her tri-d image as she gave the report, her lips oddly out of sync due to the automated translation.

“Aztlani authorities have blamed the explosion on faulty gas lines running through the city, while local utilities workers have claimed no knowledge of any such faults. Investigations go apace, but given the usual reticence of the Occupation force to give details on such issues, it is possible that…”

Marta brought over three plates of tacos to place on the counter. “I heard two cops say that it was sabotage. Some rogue Troll, based on the reports over the band.”

Maria shrugged, taking one of the tacos and eating it voraciously. Nash shrugged as he shot his tequila back. “I heard that the troll was a captured occupation soldier himself, claims to have been kidnapped by an elf and a ork.”

“I've heard…” Ryan said, mouth full of taco, “that one of the cars in pursuit got taken out in the chase. The car was found, but with no sign of the two elves inside it. They might be insiders, but no one knows. All in car video feeds looped old footage… of the troll.”

“You are all too clever by half…” Marta said through her glower. “Eventually, those imbecil will learn who has been jerking them around, and when they do…”

Ryan sighed, and keyed up a credstick, which he slotted at the counter. The tip indicator gave a little ring, and Marta gasped as quite a lot of e-pesos flooded into her account.

“For the service, senora,” Ryan said as he took his leave. “Hasta la vista.”

[marveloverthinker]

Space Orcs- MacGuffin

“I don’t feel so good, Boss...” one of the Draenalar muttered as they shuffled through the hallways, surrounded on all sides by Athalan guards. “Silence!” Craeno hissed at him as they moved along. He have their guards a side eye. The Athalan were allies, of a sort, but quick to exploit any perceived weakness. Besides, telling Draenalar to shut up was just good business strategy when there were credits yet to be negotiated. They crossed over a threshold and came to a stop before a large, ornate throne, where a particularly resplendent looking Athalan stared down at them. Craeno bowed low. “Exalted one,” he intoned, “Long live your Empress. We have come to you to sell to her a great prize.” The Exalted One sneered at them. Athalan sneered almost as a rule, as might be expected of a race who believed their genetic destiny was to conquer and dominate all other life, but their Nobility were far and away the worst. This one in particular was the Empress’ own cousin, in what was believed to be a punishment assignment that essentially made him Ambassador to alien races, insofar as Athalan culture could have ambassadors. “Spare me your sniveling, Craeno, and tell me what you have brought.” Craeno stilled his irritation. You’d have thought, since being so thoroughly beaten by humanity in the Cartosan Abyss, that the Athalan would have learned some humility, but it just wasn’t in their DNA. All for the better... the loss had to at least rankle, and that would make them more eager for his offering. “We travelled to Earth itself, exalted one. We braved that barbaric world itself and penetrated some of Humanities stoutest defenses, and brought to you the source of their power. Even now, half of their world is plunged into the darkness of primitives.” He gestured behind him, and the Draenalar, who were looking a bit green behind the gills, pulled away the cover to show a badly dilapidated looking machine. “They call it... the Core.” The Exalted One stepped forward, and Craeno hissed his crew away as the Noble Athalan touched it with a single claw. “This is how they power their world, eh? I should have expected. It looks like a piece of junk... lacking the beauty of the Heart of Grayban. I wonder how they came across it.” “Knowing those barbarians,” Craeno ventured, “They were likely visited by a Celestial and this was the one part they couldn’t cannibalize. One of their religions even holds regular feasts where they...” Suddenly a holo went live, and Craeno and crew dropped to the ground. Their, looking on them through the Wavenet, was the Empress herself. “Satar, we have received the strangest message from those Federation peasants and... what is that?” The Exalted One grinned. “It is my victory, Cousin. The Source of Earth Power. Harvested from the Body of the Celestial they slew, and now mine. I will restore our greatness by crushing them, and then the council will turn a blind eye as I choke the life from your miserable, defeated...” She was laughing, though there was more than a little bitterness to it. “Ah, Satar, your ambition always did outmatch your brains. You stand in the presence, not of a Great Source of power, but a mad suicide. That machine is not powered by the infinite heart of a Celestial. It is a housing for the splitting of atoms. And it is failing.” Satar’s eyes went wide. “No, it is...” “Did you honestly think that a band of scrappers managed to steal the heart of human civilization out from under them, where all of our armies failed? Their ‘civilization’ HAS no heart, no gem, no orb, no bright point of light. For centuries, they burned the essences of living things for power. Then, they burnt the essences of the long dead. And then, as if that wasn’t insane enough for them, they split the atom and USED THE HEAT TO BOIL WATER.” She looked curiously at the Core. “And this... this is old tech for them, about to be phased out. Craeno and his crew took a device about to be scrapped. Were it not for the deaths they caused, the humans might have mistaken your lackeys as a cleaning service, and the same radiation they sought to safely dispose of has been exposed to Craeno, his crew, and to YOU dear cousin.” Suddenly Craeno became aware of the dull moaning from his men, and looking over, he realized that the symptoms they complained of had been consistent with radiation sickness. Then the last part of that sentence registered. He looked to Satar, and then started wondering how to get away, suddenly quite worried that vengeance for the mishap would be the least of the Exalted One’s concerns. “They were dead the moment they brought in on your ship, and killed you the moment they brought it to your chamber. Had you had it scanned upon arrival, you could have saved your life, but I suspect you feared my spies. Your ambition has finally killed you, and I cannot think of a nicer relative for it to happen to.” She sighed. “If it is any consolation, it won’t be the slow death of hours. The coolant systems have been dead for days, and the plasma reaction already begun. It will be over before you know it has begun. Spread your genes through the stars, cousin. Perhaps then, eventually, you can reproduce.” Her image vanished, and Satar spun around. “Guards, get this thing out of...” The containment ruptured, and they all turned to slag were they stood as Satar’s starbase was blown out of the cosmos from the inside. Back in the throne room, The Empress looked to another viewscreen. “Will that be all, Ambassador?” The human wasn’t happy, but the Federation lackey yapping in her ear promised to keep her reasonable. Finally, she nodded. “The perpetrators and their employers are dead, and you’ll cede the planets we asked for?” “As agreed.” “Then we’re done here. Maybe word will get out to your other lackeys and rivals. Earth out.” The Empress sighed, then went back to the console to study the explosion. It held potential... no. The Athalan would rise again, but such power sources were far too... human... to be risked...

[marveloverthinker]

Olympia Springs- Enter Thena

All of the sudden I have all these followers, and fun as the Space Orcs thing is I might be running out of steam on that particular bit of inspiration, and so in order to continue my desperate cries for attention, I thought I might add a few other potential series of Tumblr sized vignettes so folks can continue to like, love, and tell me how great I am. Olympia Springs will be one such series, where the Gods of Greek Mythology are a High School teenage drama starring Athena as the Dariaesque main character. Others as I think of them. Enjoy! ----------------------------------- Good morning, Olympia Springs! It's 5:57 in the morning, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and yours truly is awoken from what SHOULD be a peaceful slumber by the sound of her Dad thundering around in the hallways. I guess he and Juno had another fight. It must be Tuesday. "'Thena, are you up?" "Almost, Dad!" My door bolts open and there he is, giving me that big, goofy smile of his. Zeus Indra Jupiter, best salesman and worst husband in the world. Jury is still out on him as a Dad, but at least he tries, so I guess that isn't nothing. "Good, get a move on. Your mom wants you for something. And have a good day, today!" Sigh. "Your mom wants you for something" is Dad-code for, "Hey, I pissed off my wife again, could you calm her down, best-daughter in the world?" He doesn't wait for an answer, just heads on out to whatever it is Dad's do that's so damn important that everyone else has to be awake, too. I roll out of bed and get dressed, then head for the kitchen, where Juno is fussing around, banging pans and slamming cabinet doors a bit harder than may have been strictly necessary. The fight must have been a good one. Juno's not too bad, as step-moms go. She does her best to take care of me, anyway, which is more than I can say of my birth mom, who must have left me with Dad real early on. From looking at pictures of me growing up, you'd assume I didn't even have a mother. Then again, knowing Dad, it's not hard to imagine why. Truth be told, I'm surprised Dad and Juno have stayed together this long. He's already cheated on her at least once, and the proof is currently crying for a bottle in the high chair at the table. I walk over to baby Herc, grabbing his bottle and handing it to him and receive a big smile and happy gurgling in return. "Hey, Juno. Dad said you needed help?" "What? Oh, Athena. Yes. Your brother left early for practice and forgot his lunch. Could you bring it to him?" I don't roll my eyes, but it's a near thing. The football team doesn't practice before school, and sometimes it feels like everyone but Juno knows that. Ares is my half-brother, Juno's son, the apple of her eye, and an asshole jock. All of Dad's bad qualities, none of his good ones, save maybe looks, if you like that sort of thing. If he went to school early, he's not at school. Probably porking his girlfriend somewhere. The things I do for you, Dad. "Yeah, sure, I'll take it to him." "Thank you." She gives me a sideways look. "Did your Dad mention where work would take him, today?" I shake my head, and she sighs. "Fine. If he texts you, let him know that dinner is at 6:30." They're not talking. Again. Great. "Okay, have a good day!" It's 6:25 am, Olympia Springs. My Dad pissed off my step-mom, one half-brother is being whiny while the other is probably playing hookey, and it's up to Athena Minerva Jupiter to  keep the whole mess working. Definitely a Tuesday.

[marveloverthinker]

Space Orcs- Relateable

Don’t have a story for this one, but can you imagine the utter relief the alien researchers would feel upon watching children’s television for the very first time? Sure, it’s weird beyond the wildest dreams of surrealists, but this is human culture, when was that ever NOT true? No, in Children’s television, the aliens would at last find a character they could relate to... The narrators. Imagine them watching an episode of Sarah and Duck, and when Sarah comes up with a bizarre scheme to solve her problem and the narrator helplessly asks why she doesn’t just go with the simple, straight forward solution, the aliens just leap up and yell; “FUCKING FINALLY SOMEONE SAID IT!!!” Then the same happens with Pokoyo. The adult characters in Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood. An entire genre of television where perplexed voices of reason watch the bizarre behaviors of their charges, desperately trying to restore order, ultimately finding that they quite like their subjects, even if they have no chance whatsoever of understanding them. Some suggest that in the same way ancient hieroglyphics contain humanities memories of ancient alien visitors (that turned head cat look is SO the Mortharians, despite their protests to the contrary) perhaps these cartoons similarly encapsulate the memory of another cabal of alien visitors who sought to uplift humanity and then gave up because, well, humanity. Others point out that if Children’s Television represents the fond memory of those visitors, then sitcoms represent how those aliens were likely driven into inescapable madness, and all agree to just watch series 4 of Sarah and Duck again before they get too stressed. Besides, they think they just about have Scarf Lady figured out...

[marveloverthinker]

Space Orcs- Alien Friend

Gromon’ltac’amanal, or “Grom” to his human crewmates, still did not really understand human behavior, but after three tours on the Arbexis Adronai  he had decided that he quite liked them. In particular, the human Gillian Daavies had professed some level of bonding with him, and while the feelings were not entirely shared (he’d read the full manual on bonding just to be sure he was understanding what was happening properly) he was fond of her, and so willing to be, in human vernacular, friends with her.  She was certainly flattering, always going on and on about how he really understood her, when no one else did, and how great it was that she could just be herself around him without having to worry about, in her words, “all that other stuff, you know?” Grom didn’t know, and doubted he ever would, but the interactions made for fascinating study on long journeys and he found the timbre of her voice to be relaxing, so he tended to go along with her schemes, just to see what they would lead to.  For instance, there had been that one trip to Federation Station Gamma 335.09, or as the humans referred to it, Station Zero, which was often the first space station humans would visit when leaving Earth for the first time. Gillian had taken Grom out “for drinks,” and come up with an idea that Grom had not understood at all, but agreed to, where they went back to the ship, Gillian removed her coverings, and Grom had helped her paint her body with a blue pigment, at which point she had put on other, far less substantial coverings of a silvery sheen and told Grom he had to refer to her as a resident of planet Esteros.  Grom had never heard of that planet, but went along with it. He did not believe himself to be good at intentional falsehoods, but several new arrivals seemed to lap it up. When they were distracted, Gillian would often wink at Grom or whisper how gullible they were, until one in particular had whispered something in her ear, and she had gone off with them, giving Grom a subtle signal to allow it.  The next morning she returned, much of the pigment rubbed off, and spent an hour in his quarters, asking him over and over again if she was a “slut.” He wasn’t familiar with the term, but her cadence and tone suggested such a thing would be bad, and so he tried to reassure her. “You are not a slut, nor a citizen of Planet Esteros. You are a healthy, functioning, fertile human woman.” “Oh, Grom, you really think so?” And then she pressed her lips against his face. She did that, sometimes, when she was inebriated and they were alone.  Other times, she would be sad, often after a long coversation with a human male she had met during leave then left when two ships went their separate ways. Grom had often tried to warn her that such liasons left her unhappy when they ended, and she NEVER listened, but would always be in his quarters again after, leaking from her vision centers and asking him why she never listened to him. Grom didn’t know. He doubted he ever would. But he was her friend, and found the timbre of her voice to pleasant, and so would welcome her back in, listen as she spoke, and be ready for her next nonsensical scheme.  Then, one day, an old crewmember, Darren, came back on board after several cycles working at one of the stations. Darren had been friends with Gillian before Grom had come on board, and Grom had wondered if he would know how Grom could be more helpful than he already was. “Come in!” Darren had called when Grom knocked, and as he walked in, Grom noted the pictures of Darren with another human male on the wall. “Your bonded?” he asked, politely. Darren glanced at the picture. “Oh, Dave. Yeah, I guess. It’ll be hard now that I’m back shipside, but I think we can make it work till we’re back together. Now what can I help you with?” “It is Gillian. You are human, and knew her well. She has been in my quarters often of late, complaining of failed relationships and putting her lips on my face. I listen, and try to advise, but it does not seem to...” Suddenly Darren was laughing so hard he could barely respirate properly. Grom, concerned, moved to help, but Darren waved him off, still chuckling hard. “Oh, so she dragged you into all that? You poor, poor soul.” “I am unbothered, but I do worry that nothing I say seems to...” “Nuh-uh.” Darren shook his head, then gave Grom a pat on the back. “I piloted that course for years and always ended up back at Jump Zero. You’re a good soul, and Gillian was my girl, but no dice. Sorry, pal, but that bitch is YOUR problem now.”

[marveloverthinker]

Space Orcs- A Veiled Threat

The cycles since the Athalan peace treaty had been the quietest T’rapror had experienced since being elected Lord Executive of the Federation. In some ways, it was TOO quiet... she was a wartime councilor, used to snap decisions that encompassed the fates of millions, and was now considering retirement to make room for minds better suited to the trade deals, treaties, and ribbon cutting ceremonies the post would soon be preoccupied with. That said, she still didn’t have much patience for a supposed “emergency” meeting from the Archivists. “What is it, Chorpra, and what about it couldn’t wait until the Full Council met next cycle?” Chorpra was all you expected in an archivist... stuffy, disheveled, and carrying a look of importance that said he thought he knew everything. Still, he seemed almost jittery now, looking around the room as if to check for bugs. “Apologies, Lord Executive, but I delayed too long already in confirming my information. It may be of the highest priority.” T’rapror sighed. Chorpra was a fellow Scadian, an old acquaintance if not quite a friend, but like all archivists he always he believed whatever he was reading at the time was of the ‘highest priority.’ It was worse when he was in a male season... male hormones being as they were, basically chemical impetuosity. Luckily, he was due to morph back into the female paradigm soon.  “You have three minutes, Chorpra. Impress me.” “Of course. I have been data mining all the information we received from Earth, my Lord. Their archives are truly massive... small wonder the emphasis their development placed on storage capacity.” The Lord Executive gave an ostentatious look to the clock, and Chorpra hurried on. “Right. Well, in my findings, I discovered signs of a massive power shift, mere cycles before first contact. If I am reading the signs correctly, I believe that humanity underwent a near total revolution, with interlopers seizing all major power channels, in the course of under one of their decades.” That earned several blinks, but then a look of derision. “Chorpra, think about what you’re saying. We’ve seen how humans fight. We used them to beat back the Athalan and force a peace. If humanity went through that kind of struggle, the signs would be clear.  Probably with Earth left a smoldering ruin.  Chorpra shook his head, his mouth feelers waving back and forth with alacrity. “I know thats how it seems, but the signs are all their. Hidden, likely most suppressed, but enough talk remains in the archives if one looks. Tales of this group, a single group, mind, suddenly appearing seemingly everywhere, and just as suddenly declaring war on practically everyone. What remains is spotty, but it seems cultural norms rewritten or overthrown. Companies, nations, entire industries were destroyed over the course of a handful of years. And as suddenly as they appeared, they vanished, gone!” “If they are gone, then how is this an emergency?” “Because they can’t really be gone! Not enough time has passed for them to have died out naturally, and if they’d lost their battles, there would be a record, gloating. But nothing. It’s as if millions of voices cried out in fear against them and then were suddenly silenced. The only possible answer is that they won, so completely, so TOTALLY, and then erased their passage.” Another heavy sigh. “I’m still waiting for the emergency, and your time is running out.” “They only stopped because there was nothing left to conquer!” Chorpra almost wailed. “This was before first contact. But now there is an entire galaxy to overthrow, and they have seen that they are strong in their battles against Athalan. They’re still out there, just waiting, perhaps insinuating themselves into our systems and social structures, waiting to choose what to destroy. We have to stop them now, before it is too late!” Several guards poked their heads in to see what the screaming was about, and the Lord Executive gave a tired nod for them to drag Chorpra out. After he became she, they would talk again, and probably laugh about it. Late term males, what could you do? The wailing didn’t stop, though, even as Chorpra was being pulled from the room. “YOU HAVE TO LISTEN TO ME!” He called out, as the doors closed behind him and the guards. “THEY’RE COMING FOR US! THEY CAN DESTROY ANYTHING! THE MILLENNIALS ARE COMING!!!!!”

[marveloverthinker]

Space Orcs- User Manual

Captain Omaiada’s Guide to Human Crew Members- To begin, it should be said that I 100% recommend taking on human members for your crew. They are hard working, intelligent (more on this to follow) and incredibly versatile, able to live in extremely various environments and with are capable of eating an alarming variety of foods. Keeping in mind that the incredible diversity present in their species means that no two specimens will have the same abilities, you should be able to find human crew that can fill your various professional needs. That said, there are some factors to take in mind once you have them on board. 1- Humans possess both a high metabolism and a hyper-efficient bio-electrical neural relay system.. This glut of energy and processing power often leads to humans becoming, in their words, “bored,” during any not-specifically scheduled time. It is highly recommended that you permit them extra stowage space to bring methods of entertainment with them. Humans are renowned for seeking “extreme” states of mind to sate this boredom, which in absence of their own means of entertainment, will eventually mean they start having “fun” with your ship or crew. While this may seem the cheaper option, it is not.  2- Share in human entertainments at your own risk. While TYPICALLY safe enough, the human addiction to extreme states of mental stress mean that their entertainments may be too extreme for most of their crewmates. The specific state sought depends on the human in question, but can almost always be counted upon to be too much of whatever it is for the average alien psyche. Whether they seek “a rush,” or “the feels,” a “pick-me-up,” or even “to rub one out,” it is best to simply leave them too it. Even if invited to join. ESPECIALLY if invited to join. 3- The human bonding instinct is beyond anything I have ever seen, allowing humans to form emotional connections faster than any other species I am aware of. This is also NOT limited to members of their own species. Humans will bond with aliens, both sentient and non sentient, and even inanimate objects. Once a bond is formed, all rationality seems to go out the airlock when the object of that bond is under perceived threat. I once spent four cycles with a crew member wallowing in what can only be described as total dejection when I melted down their “lucky wrench” in order to craft a new and better one. It’s always best policy to ask if a thing is important. They will look at you oddly if it isn’t, but that is totally better than the look you get if you didn’t ask and it was. 4- In particular, small versions of normal objects seem particularly eligible for bonding. I believe this is actually an evolutionary trait so that humans would raise their young, rather than experiment on how far they could fly if thrown, which given my experience, would be a fairly human reaction. If you ever hear a human refer to something as a “baby <name of thing here>” assume that at least minor bonding has taken place. 5- Instruct your universal translator to disregard the word “fuck” and leave it untranslated. The word has a dizzying array of potential meanings dependent on both literal and emotional context of the speaker, and so it is better to simply know that the word “fuck” has been said and make an educated guess rather than risk an improper translation. If you have not done this yet, it is typically best to assume that the human does not, in fact, wish to mate with you, but that said... 6- The Human may, in fact, want to mate with you, regardless of the biological likelihood of such a pairing. Humans have regularly participated in what they refer to “science fiction,” (Kind of like a mythology, only looking into the future, rather than the past,) and these stories have often involved meeting with alien cultures and, in a startling number of cases, mating with them, even occasionally resulting in hybrid species. How you choose to deal with this is entirely up to you, and most humans will respect your decision on the matter, but be careful, especially if you suspect the human has bonded with you. The resulting “feels” may go beyond anything they have in their on-board entertainments.

[marveloverthinker]

Space Orcs- The Monster

Gallion wasn’t the sort who believed in tales of monsters or space barbarians. Sure, he’d heard the tales of humanity, the species that had crashed into the Intergalactic scene like an asteroid through the Crystal Spires, but reading between the lines, he saw what the frightened sheep of the Federation had missed... a planet rich in minerals and exotic life, populated by a species that, for the most part, still might as well have been pre-space flight. Ripe for plundering. And if the timidity of the Federation made them slower to acclimate, hey, just more time to do business. He had picked the locale carefully, a particularly backwoods corner of nowhere on the continent the locals referred to as “North America,” delightfully located equidistant from at least five major population centers. People had ignored this place purposefully, which served his own purposes just fine. His crew had been nervous, likely caught up in the stories about humanity that they had heard, but Gallion had no patience for such nonsense. What was real, what mattered, were the scans he was picking up, with insane biodiversity and mineral resources, completely unexploited. The hazards that concerned him were easily dealt with, as well. If the primitives survived here, well, then so could they. The biggest worry was that infernal star, soaking the planet in the same stellar radiation that had likely spurred so many mutations in the first place, but humans had dealt with that, developing lotions and easily applicable salves that could block the worst of it, so long as exposures were kept brief. Discovering a large, run down structure to hide the ship, he’d started the initial foraging, eager to see what there was once he’d sunk his claws in. Near the structure (planetary records indicated it was a “barn,” a container building for ancient agricultural methods) was another, even more dilapidated structure that had likely been an abode once, now a rotting derelict his engineers had deemed unsafe with a single unaided look. His crew had eyed it warily, said it made them nervous. Gallion had laughed off the superstition, and most had dropped the issue, but Rangar, a Soravian who didn’t spook easily, had snapped back. “You only ever see profit, Gallion, but I say that building is wrong. My people are slightly psychic, and the echoes around that place...” Gallion had risked another laugh, trying to keep control of the situation. “Your species barely cracks a 10 on the Suros Continuum. Most Psi Sweeps wouldn’t even read you unless they’d already crawled up your nose. You’re seeing shadows, or whatever the telepath equivalent of that is. Now shut up, and let’s get to work. If the house makes you so damn nervous, focus on getting me some of those squirrels, they may be more your speed.” Rangar had shut up, but the seed had been planted, and the house kept coming up in reports. Odd noises. Lights in the windows. Night watchmen kept reporting odd shadows, or rolling mist, or the crunch of dead foliage behind them. And always from the direction of that house. “FINE!” Gallion had roared when presented with a plan to just level the place, as if that wouldn’t pull attention all over them! “We’ll go. It’s stood this long, it’ll stand a little longer. We’ll go in, enforced, and show you all ONCE AND FOR ALL that there is nothing in there!” He encouraged them to take any weapons they could hold and still fit through the door, and they had, bundling through the cramped quarters looking ready to blast even the smallest mouse to hell if it dared to show its ears. The inside was even more rancid than out, with massive mold growths and scattered burn damage. Then they’d found the bodies. Just a pile of them, mostly skeletons but with the grime of dessication dripping over the whole mass. Human, the lot of them. With smashed, or severed, skulls. “By Tholian...” one of the men had gasped. “What happened here...” Gallion chose an analytical tone. “The deaths of this many sentients. This enough for that psychic noise, Rangar?” The Soravian had nodded, dumbly. “Well, then I owe you an apology. Here’s the culprit. Some maniac killed all these people and dumped the bodies, but this plainly happened a long time ago, and you’ve seen human living quarters. None of them would choose to live...” He frowned. “Where’s Orayan?” Suddenly a croaking scream came from behind them. Before Gallion could say a word, three of his men had opened fire, hot plasma ripping through the walls. There was an alarming creak, and in that moment, Gallion knew that at least one of them had been load bearing. “GET OUT!” He shouted, bursting for the door, but all around him was chaos. In the air and through vox he could hear cries of confusion, pain, and even horror. The floor collapsed and he saw the flailing tentacles of an Athalan rogue desperately trying to find purchase, only to be knocked down it by the mountain of bone crashing into him on it’s way to the basement. And then he saw it, a figure, impossibly huge, holding his twin Croteks by the throats, crushing them together with its bare hands, it’s own skin crisp and smoking from near misses with plasma weapons. “It’s a human!” He shouted, and the panic increased. The ceiling was coming down, and Gallion lunged for a window, grimacing through the pain of piercing shards of glass he picked up along the way, cringing as the roar of the collapsing building precluded all other sound. Slowly, he stood. His readouts showed most of his crew dead. Damn. Still, they had grabbed some good specimens already, certainly worth enough to hire a new, less skittish crew for when he returned. He knew he should have picked the smaller landmass. Australia had sounded so wholesome. As he turned to walk to his ship, he felt something grab his shoulder. “Okay, okay, Rangar, you were right, I’ll buy you a...” Then his eyes focused on the blackened, charred fingers that held him. Humans were frightening, but not immortal. No WAY he had survived... A blade thrust into his sternum, lifting him clear off the ground, and as he looked down at the figure that held him, trying to think of a suitable curse for what it had done, the look in it’s empty, milky white eyes stilled his vocal cords. Gallion had never been superstitious, but eagerly took his chances with whatever lay on the other side of death than look at them for even a second longer. ------------------- Rangar gasped in vain, desperately trying to pull in the oxygen he needed through the sack that had been tied around his head, past the gag that had been shoved between his teeth. There were voices outside, but so desperate was he for air, that calling for help never even occurred to him. Well, the air, and the voice. Always there, whispering in the back of his mind. It had spared him for a reason. For now. “It’s a damn shame, Billy, but frankly I think it’s for the best. Your granny’s house otter have been knocked down decades ago, anyway.” “I s’pose you’re right, officer.” “Federation has already sent a full apology by way of the aliens. These ‘ins weren’t official, as it goes, probably crooks, but they’ve offered some credits to set you up someere’s else, if you like. Better’n your tent, anyway.” “i s’pose you’re right, officer.” “Anyway, lad, they say you get full salvage rights, as well, and the ship looks in fine shape. You take that out, head past jump zero, get you a pilot, you could go anywhere.” “I s’pose you’re right, officer.” A pause. “Ok, Billy, you stay outta trouble, now.” “Bye-bye, officer. Bye-bye.” The voice was frustrated. The officer was meat and bone and blood but had been friends with kin and always played nice, which meant he lived. Granny had always said be good to kin, even if they were race traitors as let filth roam on family land. But now house had burned, and maybe granny would rest with all those Billy had sent her for company. Or maybe she was in the sky, where the smoke had gone. In the sky she could be lonely. Granny hated to be lonely. So more had to burn. The door opened, and Rangar recoiled as best he could from the hatred that roared in his brain as Billy stared at him. This one knew how to fly. Where the others were. And how they best could burn.

[marveloverthinker]

Simply Marvelous

A young(er) Nick Fury walks into an office where a tall man in a suit is pacing back and forth.

Suit: Did you think? Even for a second!?

Fury: No, sir.

Suit: An unauthorized strike on foreign soil with civilians in play.

Fury: I saw the opportunity and acted. Saved the lives of...

Suit: Yeah. All the Civillians. And the Secretary's daughter. Well, I have news for you, Fury. Here at SHIELD we follow orders, we don't go off half-cocked, and when we disregard those orders, even saving princesses can't...

Fury: Sir, if you're planning on firing me, the Secretary has already offered me a promotion in the US military, so...

Suit: I'd fire you and bury you if it were up to me, but it's not. The Director will see you now. And she's NOT happy.

(Fury looks nervous for the first time, but walks out the room, up the steps, and into a largish office where an older Peggy Carter is sitting at a desk, writing.)

Fury: Ma'am.

Carter: Sit down, Nick.

Fury: I'd prefer to...

Carter: Sit. I'll be with you in a moment.

(Fury walks over to a chair and sits, his eyes wandering over pictures of Carter shaking hands with various dignitaries and a picture of a skinny boy he doesn't recognize.)

Carter: I've gotten forgetful in my old age, Colonel, but I do keep good notes. And for all of my digging I can't seem to find a single note anywhere of a strike team in range of Bogata.

Fury: Well, there was plenty of chaos, ma'am, and I managed to...

Carter: Oh, come off it, Nick. Your immediate superiors are outraged and the World Security Council agrees with them. They all want your head as a lesson to other agents to not go off half-cocked. And still you're gonna sit there and tell me that you ordered a strike on an inaccessible bunker with a non-existent strike team that hit an overwhelming force with zero casualties?

Fury: Well, yeah.

Carter: (grins) Good. I'm getting tired of this desk and despite all the authority SHIELD gives me it can't slow down my grandchildren getting older all the time. It'll take some convincing, with the council, but between myself and Pierce I'm sure we can make it happen.

(Fury sits stunned, until he takes her offered hand.)

Carter: So what was she like, Colonel? In action?

Fury: (Still overwhelmed) Ma'am... she is... she is... (Finally shrugs.) A Marvel.

-----------

(Ok, so yeah, this scene won't happen. But having heard that Captain Marvel takes place in the Nineties with a younger Fury, if we don't get to see him at some point taking orders from Director Carter, I might burn something down. Too good to pass up.)

[marveloverthinker]

Space Orcs- Courtship

“Human Brian?” Brian glanced up from his meal, shaking his head. “Kllanch, we talked about this, you don’t need to designate species. Just call me Brian.” “Ahh, yes. Informality. Of course. But I have an inquiry, a concern about two of our fellow crew mates.” Brian shrugged, then leaned back in his chair. “Ok, shoot.” Kllanch tensed, and Brian corrected. “I mean, go ahead and make your inquiry.” After calming down, Kllanch continued. “I have been observing Humans Raymond and Nataly for several sub-cycles, now, and I have come to suspect that they may have romantic feelings for each other.” There was a look of amusement on Brian’s face. “Oh, really? Care to elaborate?” Kllanch nodded eagerly. “Indeed. They did not know one another before being assigned to our crew. Upon their initial meeting, they showed immediate dislike, even hostility, to each other.” Brian’s smile broadened. “I see.” “That was not all! I am a scientist, and know that one indicator does not equate to a finding. While both are consummate professionals, their distaste for each other remained evident. Cutting remarks in passing, subtle anger expressions when forced to look upon one another, I even heard Human Nataly...” “You can just call her Nataly, Kllanch...” “Not without her permission, Brian. As I was saying, she gave Raymond, who HAS granted permission to be addressed as an intimate, what I believe Humans refer to as a ‘severe burn,’ not in rapid dehydration damage caused by carbonization of the flesh, but instead the insinuation that his mother had failed to instill in him any of the norms that would permit him to function as a member of organized society, indeed, implying that he had been abandoned by his human mother to be brought to maturity by a pack of apex predators!” Brian chuckled. “Yeah, “Raised by Wolves.” I remember that one. He stewed about it all meal.” “Indeed! Has my observation panned out successfully?” Brian was tempted to continue the charade, but Kllanch was honestly trying and deserved the truth. “I don’t think so, Kllanch. In fact, I think what you observed was the opposite. Look, some people just rub each other the wrong way, and in the close confines of the ship that can lead to frayed nerves and short tempers. We’ve only another week or so before leave, and maybe one of them or the other will transfer, but for your studies, those are signs of antipathy, not affection.” “Are you certain?” Kllanch asked, confused. “A previous human crew member gave me research materials that seemed quite clear on those particular signs...” Brian’s amusement was on the verge of bubbling over. “Oh, can I see?” “Of course!” Walking down to the crew berthings, Brian looked at the indicated shelf in Kllanch’s bunk and started laughing when he saw the video cards. “Kllanch, those are romantic comedies. Fiction. Real life, and human affection doesn’t really work that way, it’s just a pleasant distraction... for...” A noise came from behind, and Brian turned and startled. Kllanch followed his gaze, and there were Raymond and Nataly, entirely unclothed and entwined with each other. Leaning over to him, Kllanch whispered. “So this is an incorrect way for them to rub each other, is it?” (But WHY are humans like this? If the Aliens ever figure it out, I hope they let us know.)

[marveloverthinker]

Black Panther Possibilities...

So I’ll go pack to my Space Orcs thing in a bit, but there’s just one thing I wanted to point out about how Black Panther ended. (I’d worry about Spoilers, except the Box Office says you’ve def. already seen this movie, like, twice at least.) Killmonger asked to be buried at sea, and we have no reason to think that T’challa wouldn’t honor that request. T’challa’s greatest enemy in the comics is arguably Namor, the First Mutant, basically Marvel’s answer to Aquaman. And Marvel is in the process of getting back the rights to Mutants. I can see it now. Namor introduces himself to the Wakandan Council, when one of his “guards” unmasks, and there is Killmonger. “Hey, cousin. I never surrendered, either.”

[marveloverthinker]

So this is working out, eh?

A handful of posts thinking about Marvel Movies, no one cares, 1 dive into Space Orcs nonsense, and I approach 50 followers almost overnight. Is that a big deal? I can’t really tell. Still pretty new to Tumblr, but glad to see that folks are enjoying, so I’ll keep the zany human stories coming, maybe look for some other writing hashtags to get into. I MAY have misnamed this blog.

[humansareweirdsedition]

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Part XIV

This update has been a long time coming, guys. My sincerest apologies for the delay. I hope you can forgive me. In the meantime, please enjoy this long, drawn-out post that is painfully slow and agonizing post. I guess I want everyone to suffer with the characters.

Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV

The escape plan had proceeded so smoothly until now. Balogh and her team freed a few dozen other prisoners along the way to the hangar and took down a few more Pollikons. Her group was feeling good. They had momentum. Things were looking up. And, as Balogh and the others got closer to the hangar, they kept in communication with Murakami’s, Vallion’s, and Jay’va’s groups for their escape. They were to search for the Frek’jon’s escape pods once they arrived in the hangar and to locate a habitable planet where they would lay low until they could contact the A.F. and go home.

After that, Balogh was not sure of what the A.F. would do, but she was sure she would fight for more A.F. vessels to return to this area of the universe. More victims―human, H’hish, and many more races―were likely enslaved and in need of emancipation.

Or we can just start some sort of rebellion like late twentieth and early twenty-first century movies did. Whichever comes first.

Balogh honestly believed things would change. Unfortunately, life never goes as planned.

Why? Because right now, she was splayed out on the ground, unable to move, nearly lifeless.

Balogh struggled to breathe, every single one of her muscles burned like she ran a 3K marathon in a New Harlem Province winter. Black spots danced in her vision; she could barely see. And of what she could still see? Mayhem. H’hish hunched over humans, desperately calling out their names, performing CPR. Riel’on, Kiel’ish, Jaja’ion, someone, was performing chest compressions on her. Everything she saw was a blur. Everything she heard was white noise. Everything she thought was a jumbled mess. For the first time in her life, Balogh thought for sure this moment was her death. Her frustrations and regrets; satisfactions and joys; her family and friends; all of them came to mind.

I. WON’T. DIE. I. WON’T. DIE. I WON’T DIE. I WON’T DIE. She chanted the words as she struggled for another breath, the last of her vision fading.

I can’t die…

Can’t die…

Won’t die.

No.

No…

.

.

.

“BALOGH!”

Keep reading

[marveloverthinker]

As a late coming contributor to #HAW, many thanks for this story. It was a joy when I found it, and it’s been fun to join in.

[marveloverthinker]

Space Orcs- Music

Nevis Stordarn hadn’t seen what all the fuss was, honestly. Oh, he was aware of humanities prowess in battle, everyone was. But where others called them barely civilized thugs good only for crushing armies and taming untameable worlds, Nevis knew them to be true artists, musicians the likes of which the Galaxy had never seen. His fascination had begun on one trip when he and a group of others had been brought to Earth to sample their culture. Ambassadors had carefully taken them around the planet, and they had viewed art, examined architecture, sampled cuisine (carefully) and had finished it all with a concert. And what a concert! Nevis had stared in awe as hundreds of the creatures assembled on a stage, with so many assorted instruments he didn’t think he could have cataloged them all in one sitting. The initial noise (there was no other word for it) had appalled him, but after his guide had assured him that this was merely tuning, which had to be done after sitting, the music had begun, a piece crafted by a long gone maestro named Beethoven, and Nevis had been moved profoundly by the piece. Wasn’t that just like humanity, though? All of their chaos and diversity, when brought together under a masterfully held baton, bore harmony the rest of the universe couldn’t even fathom. He’d applauded louder than anyone when the show had finished, and had returned to his post at home encouraging everyone to partake in their marvelous symphonies. “If they are barbaric,” he had argued in the debate halls of every university that would host him, “then our cultures should hope to achieve such barbarism. That had been a few cycles ago, however. Humanities formal alliance with the Federation (an action Nevis liked to believe he could take some credit for) had led to the re-eruption of war with with the Athalan Empire, when transports could not spare space for cultural researchers what with all the soldiers that had to get moved. Now the war was over, though, he had hoped to make another such trip, and had begun inquiring after how to get it funded, when excellent news reached his desk. An entire Battalion of Human Soldiers were currently taking R+R right here, on his home planet, and a group of musicians, called a band, had been brought out to entertain them. Some research revealed that a band, while still using diverse instruments, was significantly smaller than an orchestra, and so there was not likely to be any Beethoven played. However, while Beethoven’s music was quite old and established, this “Band,” bearing the name of Star Riot, was apparently quite new and was “at  the top of the charts,” which Nevis interpreted as meaning they were considered quite good. He received some odd looks at the Human embassy at the request, but eventually they granted him a single ticket. He wouldn’t stand with the soliders, but he would have seats on a nearby heliopad. When he arrived, the crowd was already a writhing mass of humanity. That seemed odd... they had been quite organized entering for the orchestra, but these were soldiers, after all. Perhaps there was something to their reputation. The Band members came out, picked up their instruments, and Nevis was prepared this time for the awful racket. These were not instruments he recognized, but they apparently needed to be tuned. Then the singer, (imagine an organic voice that could be tuned and played like a musical instrument! Truly, these creatures were musical marvels,) stepped up to the amplification device. Nevis wondered, for a moment, if she was perhaps a slave, or chattel of some kind, or from an area on Earth that had been subjected to Athalan bombardment. There had to be some reason she couldn’t afford the fine clothes the orchestra had worn, or at least something not ripped and stained. But making a mental note to to see what funds were available for emancipation or at least aid after the show, he leaned forward as she spoke. “Before we begin...” the roar of the crowd quieted, if only barely, “I have a very special message. This one goes out to the Emperor of the Athalan...” Oh, dear. She was in no state to make a diplomatic message. Did they not understand that such matters were to be handled by ambassadors? Were musicians the peacemakers of their world, what an amazing species to take their gifted artists and make them... “...FUCK YOU!” As the crowd burst into a roar that surely the gods themselves would have fled, the band released a sound louder and more horrible than the tuning could ever have been. A manic beat emanated from the drums, screeching reverberations seemed to fill the air all around, and Nevis fell to the floor in Agony. An usher, noting this, called for an evac, and as he felt powerful human hands lifting him up, Nevis’ nervous system surrendered under the assault as he passed out. Weeks later he was still in recovery as his auditory and nervous systems were requiring a complete overhaul, even with some cybernetic enhancements to reverse some scarring that could never heal. He could barely handle sounds above a whisper, and it wasn’t for days after awaking that he bothered to speak himself. He was under care of a human nurse on rotation in the hospital, who had been truly lovely and caring while tending to his wounds. “So,” the large man said with a smile, what’s with all the new hardware?” Nevis swallowed hard, then endeavored to speak. “I was at the Star Riot concert, and...” “Awww, mosh pit got a bit rough? Still, I gotta hand it to you. Most non-humans just woulda stayed away. Not only did you go, but you PARTIED, and now you’re getting modded so you can handle it better. If you don’t mind me being old-fashioned, that is so totally METAL.” He grinned. “I got a t-shirt signed, I’ll show it to you sometime. You’re good people, Nevis. You get us.” Nevis could only weakly smile as the nurse walked out. No, he didn’t. The same species that produced Beethoven had also produced that... noise. He didn’t get them. He began to wonder if anyone ever would.

[marveloverthinker]

Space Orcs- The Colonists

The Federation-Athalan war, a war that had raged for so long it’s beginnings were matters of mythology, rather than history, had ground to a sudden and brutal end, as the Athalan Empire surrendered it’s claims on over a thousand systems after brutal negotiations. Humans had not been present at those negotiations, by the Emperor’s request, but their presence had been made known every time the Divine Ruler of Athalan and it’s conquests looked out the window. Not every one of those ships bore human warriors, but any of them could have, and so he signed and left and considered himself lucky. That had been cause for celebration and a quick drink by the Ambassador, but now his shoulders hunched forward, a far more difficult negotiation before him. The Neverending War had been ended by Humanity, and now, their world bursting at the seams with over-population and their new Starships ready to fly, Humanity had to be eying those recently relinquished systems with something akin to animal hunger. They needed worlds to colonize. They were OWED worlds to colonize. And given what the Galaxy had just seen them do, they were in a position to demand whatever worlds they wanted. A mere four cycles previous, the Ambassador would have promised his homeworld in return for the end of the war. Now, he was afraid it would be demanded of him anyway. The door to his cabin opened and in walked several of Humanities best and brightest, not least among them General Wilson, who had led the push towards the Athalan Homeworld that had led to the Emperor’s willingness to negotiate. “Ambassador Fresla,” she said with a grin. “I understand celebration is in order. Victory is ours!” And yours, the Ambassador thought to himself, but it was hard not to return the positive feelings. More than one of his underlings had reported the contagious nature of human celebrations, but the talks he knew were coming required the greatest sobriety. “Indeed it is, but I have another issue we must speak of before the party begins.” “And that is?” Wilson asked, looking genuinely surprised. “The matter of new worlds for your colonists, of course...” one of the Ambassador’s retainers had started acting VERY oddly, making some of the odd gestures the humans made when attempting to communicate unnoticed, a cutting gesture across their throat. Or was that one a threat? “Oh? I beg pardon, Ambassador, it’s all been handled already. Cheers to that as well, mate.” “Cheers to... General I APOLOGIZE but I am the Federation’s primary diplomatic liason to Earth. How could this matter have been handled without my involvement?” “You were busy. Your lieutenant and I handled it. Well, us and the diplomatic corps, of course. No worries.” The Ambassador had FAR more worries than that. “Look, I don’t know what... is there something WRONG with you, lieutenant Sr’ang?” “No, none at all Ambassador. I was just thinking that we haven’t a drop of Human inebrients on board, but the StarGazer has a supply of their...er... alcohol, I believe it is called? I thought they might want to get it.” “Now that’s a bang good idea. I tried your idea of an ale once, barely phased me. This is a war won, our first as allies. I’ll want us all to be knackered by dinnertime. I’ll see you in the hall, Ambassador, and good on ya for the negotiations. I’d likely have just smashed that Royal Assholes face in were I there.” And with that, she left. Once they were out, the Ambassador turned on his subordinate with barely contained fury. “WHAT DID YOU PROMISE, Sr’ang, and what will it cost me to get out of that promise?” Sr’ang’s claws went up in a gesture the Ambassador recognized as human. Their mannerisms were catching on EVERYWHERE! “No, you see, Ambassador, they came to me with their requests. That was how they worded it, and when I saw the list... we had to seal the deal, and right away!” He held out a holopad, which the Ambassador seized... then gawked at. “They wanted... these worlds?” “You can see why I didn’t want to draw this out, not when they could have asked for so much more.” One name in particular caught his eye. “Paranax Seven?” “I believe the General wanted it called New Melbourne, sir.” “But it’s a death world! Massive saltwater oceans, huge mountain ranges, insane temperature variations and the flora and fauna...” “Said it sounded like home, but more ‘vacationy?’ She hinted she might lead the colony herself, if she were permitted to retire. Said the snowboarding looked, in her words, ‘wicked’. And all the comforts of home.” “COMFORTS!” His eyes flew down the list, but now he thought of it, each of them was remarkably Earth-like, more or less, all the way down to massive doses of stellar radiation. “They’re mad. Each and every one of them.” “But this is good, right? They fight our battles and win, take the worlds we don’t want and make them prosper. This alliance is the best thing the Federations ever done, hell, they’ll probably have a council seat before long!” Resolving to retire before that day came, Ambassador Fresla signed the holopad and had the deal forwarded to the Council for approval, which they would gladly approve, believing that had ended an Intergalactic War at a bargain. But as he considered what these worlds had made of those people... Fresla was beginning to wonder. (Apologies to any Australian readers at my attempt to represent your accent.)