Oct 22, 2020
Mars Mission - #MECHTOBER 3 by Si-MOCs https://flic.kr/p/2jWVJ4i
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Mars Mission - #MECHTOBER 3 by Si-MOCs https://flic.kr/p/2jWVJ4i
Five People The Mechanisms Have Met Who Have Tried to Live Forever (And One Who Might Have Succeeded)
So I know that October is technically over, but I’m still here!
Mechtober Days 22-25: Immortality
ao3 @mechanismszine
The Mechanisms had met many beings over the years who craved immortality, and yet in all their travels, they had never actually met anyone else who succeeded. At some point in their travels, they had started collecting the records of failed immortality. What had originally been a pet project of Ivy’s, a small section of her library with a few handwritten notes, had twisted and turned and eventually become the official Traveling Museum of Idiots Trying to Live Forever, the largest collection of information on those who tried to not die. It was entirely non-profit and tax-exempt, and somehow maintained an entry fee of exactly nothing.
One of the oldest exhibits was that of King Cole, back when it was just Jonny and Tim and Brian and Ivy and Ashes and Nastya and the Toy Soldier and the Toy Soldier in a slightly different timeline. He’d made it a little over two thousand years before they first ran into him, through various measures of science and sorcery.
Unfortunately, he had had his still-beating heart viciously ripped out of his chest before he could get much farther. Still, two millenia was not shabby, especially for such an awful ruler. Even hundreds of years later, there were still drunken discussions among those who had fought in the rebellion, wondering how it had taken more than two thousand goddamn years before someone finally decided to overthrow the bastard.
~~~
Another early exhibit contained the only surviving records of Labyrinth anywhere in the universe. Those records, however, were lacking much substance beyond recounting the tale of how Ashes O’Reilly, quartermaster and professional arsonist crime boss god, had taken over the Acheron. While there were many tales that had circulated the City pertaining to Hades’s rather sudden appearance, their actual entrance had been rather quick and anticlimactic. At least, by their standards.
The Thanatos family had learned the hard way that what they had was not even close to true immortality. There’s only so much that can be done to prolong one’s life when Ashes takes it as a personal challenge to burn their houses, businesses, spouses, children, parents, friends, enemies, people who owed them money, people they owed money, and them to the ground in as little time as possible.
To the dying days of the planet, there was not a single record left of the original guardians of the Acheron.
~~~
The most colorful exhibit was Odin’s.
The All-Mother’s human lifespan was not particularly notable among the others on display, especially considering the average Asgardian lifespan was already in the mid one hundreds. However, given the extent of the destruction caused by Odin’s mad quest, a significant amount of energy had been put into her section. The amount of glitter glue used on the train tracks alone was probably enough to build a new Bifrost.
Also, as best as the Mechanisms could tell, she was probably still alive. The last record of her on the Black Box did technically involve her falling into a supernova, but eldritch gods had a tendency to mess with what counts as dying. Given that Yog-Sothoth had come through the Bifrost eventually, it was entirely within reason to believe that it had decided to keep her alive in some state, whether as punishment or a gift.
~~~
The follow up to the Thanatos exhibit had been hastily constructed by Jonny and Raphaella, and detailed how the rest of the Olympians died because of a significantly smaller fire.
The oldest of the Olympians - Zeus, Poseidon, Hestia, and Demeter - were nearly five thousand years old a piece by the time the Acheron fell, which put them very high on the “how long can a regular mortal live” list. Of course, the entire crew considered the lot of them to be the height of idiocy and assholishness, so the exhibit ended up tucked away in a back corner.
It also had a tendency to combust at random, and upon almost burning down two other exhibits early in the museum’s history, Ivy had moved it far from the rest of her carefully-curated displays.
~~~
A small exhibit off to the side was notable only for the giant neon sign above it, loudly announcing the number 35. As it happens, the subject of the exhibit had only lived for thirty five years, about fifty years shy of his species average.
Dr. Pilchard had earned his spot through the sheer audacity of his attempt at immortality. In all their travels, the Mechanisms could name three people who had ever successfully taken them all out at once. One of them, a pissed-off aristocrat with a stunning ability to conceal daggers on his person, had only been at it for the fun of revenge. Another, whose name was never said allowed and the mere mention of her existence tended to incur at least one rage-fueled murder, had done so on multiple occasions for any number of reasons.
And then there was Dr. Pilchard, who had one by one taken out the entire crew without ever resorting to murder. If he hadn’t died bloodily due to an understandable apprehension at trusting one of his prisoners, there was a decent chance he might have actually succeeded.
~~~
The last exhibit when you left the museum was easily the most interesting. It was by far the most professionally set up, and had a clashing mixture of well-preserved scientific notes that were entirely illegible, large cardboard signs with nothing but spray-painted obscenities, old polaroids of blurry people that appeared to have been taken on the lost planet of Malone, and an old walking cane.
There was no name attached to the display, the placards explaining the items were almost entirely redacted, and if asked, none of the Mechanisms would explain it. Ivy would sometimes say it had earned it’s place of honor from how long it’s subject had lived, but she wouldn’t give a number.
Without fail, it was cleaned and taken care of, the glass cases sparkling in the low light of the museum.
Six Notable Attempts at Baking the Best Cookies Ever
Three updates in three days????
@mechanismszine I’m only like nine days late for this one! And more are coming!
AO3
(I totally restructured my entire ao3 organization because of an adhd/caffeine fueled breakdown, so please be patient with me)
The Toy Soldier had a mission.
It was a mission of it’s own choosing. There were no orders associated with this mission, no strings attached or people to please. In all of it’s maybe-existence, this was the first time the Toy Soldier could recall having a mission like that.
It liked the feeling, it thought.
The mission was simple enough in theory, but it had been years now and the Toy Soldier had yet to succeed. It was determined, with all of it’s wooden heart, to make the best damn cookies, ever.
The criteria for what made a cookie the best possible cookie were quite simple. If all of the Mechanisms liked the cookie, it had no option but to be the best. The Toy Soldier’s friends had such differing tastes that if it could make a cookie all of them liked, it had to be good. No, not good. Perfect.
~~~
Re-sequenced spinach cookies had been the first attempt.
According to Nastya, the octokittens liked the re-sequenced spinach. The octokittens were known to eat anything and everything they were fed, but the Toy Soldier decided that would be as good a place as any to start. It found an old recipe book in a back corner of Ivy’s library, and found a sugar cookie recipe that seemed simple enough. To make sure there was enough re-sequenced spinach to be noticeable, the Toy Soldier decided to replace all the sugar in the recipe with powdered re-sequenced spinach.
The cookies glowed when they were done, but so did half of them food on the Aurora on any given day, so the Toy Soldier figured they were fine. When it finally found the rest of the Mechanisms and offered the batch to them, only Raphaella agreed to try one. She seemed rather pleased with the result even if it wasn’t as sweet as she was expecting, but she also died seven seconds after declaring so.
As far as the Toy Soldier knew, that was not normal for cookies.
~~~
Gunpowder cookies had been the second attempt.
Gunpowder was most definitely not fit for human consumption, but neither were gasoline and ethanol and Ashes drank both of those on a semi-regular basis. And the Toy Soldier knew that Gunpowder Tim very much liked gunpowder and other explosives. It extrapolated that he would probably enjoy a cookie that tasted like one of his bombs.
The sugar cookie recipe still seemed like a good starting point, and given what little feedback Raphaella had provided, it decided to leave the sugar in as directed. Instead, it replaced the flour with the gunpowder. There were so many white powders required for cookies, removing one seemed like it would be fine.
Tim had taken one look at the cookies, and walked away without a word. The Toy Soldier thought that was probably very rude, but given that half of the cookies had exploded in the oven and the other half made rather interesting clunking noises when dropped, perhaps not.
~~~
Chocolate chip cookies had been the third attempt.
The Toy Soldier had entered the kitchen on the fourth day in a row (the third day had resulted in a failure that need not be discussed) to find Marius already waiting for it. He was sitting on the counter, flipping through it’s recipe book, humming thoughtfully.
“Hello Marius, Old Chap!”
“Oh, Toy, you’re here, good.”
“You Have My Recipe Book!”
“I do, yeah. I thought I might make a request.”
“Do You Have A Favorite Type Of Cookie? I Can Make It For You!”
“Yes! Well, no, but I might!” Marius hopped off the counter and set the book down, open to a page near the back.
“I Don’t Understand!” the Toy Soldier said, walking over to look at the book over Marius’s shoulder.
“I’ve never actually tried a chocolate chip cookie, but I’ve wanted one for a long time.”
“Oh! That Sounds Like A Very Good Idea Indeed!” The Toy Soldier declared, immediately moving to collect the ingredients. “Do You Have A Specific Flavor You Wanted? Raphaella Says That Re-Sequenced Spinach Cookies Tasted Very Good, And I Imagine Chocolate Would Just Make It Better!”
“Um, just chocolate. You don’t need to add anything else,” Marius said. The Toy Soldier thought he seemed very unsure of himself. “Sometimes, simple flavors work best.”
“Well That Is A Lovely Idea! I Will Make You Plain Chocolate Chip Cookies!”
The cookies had actually turned out very well, it thought. None of them glowed. None of them exploded. None of them melted in it’s hands.
By the time the Toy Soldier had found the rest of the crew and gathered them in the kitchen to try it’s latest attempt, the octokittens had eaten all the cookies that Marius hadn’t. Surprisingly, none of the Mechanisms were disappointed.
~~~
Snickerdoodles had been the fourth attempt.
This attempt was shortly curtailed when the Toy Soldier discovered that there was absolutely no cinnamon anywhere on the Aurora, and there were no planets within eighty five light years that grew cinnamon trees.
According to Ashes, the cinnamon-free cookie dough was still rather tasty, but this only came to light a week after the Toy Soldier had scrapped that attempt and obliterated the dough with obscene amounts of fire. It wasn’t sure what cookie dough Ashes was referring to, but it was somewhat hesitant to ask.
~~~
Peanut butter cookies had been the fifth attempt.
The Toy Soldier was quick to learn that Jonny was quite allergic to peanuts, a fact none of the crew had ever before had reason to discover.
For once, the Toy Soldier thought Jonny had a legitimate reason to attempt to throw it out of the airlock. The problem with Jonny’s revenge attempts was that Jonny couldn’t get within ten meters of the kitchen or the Toy Soldier without going into anaphylactic shock and choking to death.
After a week of distanced rage and declarations of murderous violence, Jonny and the Toy Soldier came to a hesitant truce that involved a very purposeful lack of both airlocks and peanut butter.
~~~
The Toy Soldier was on the verge of giving up.
This was a mission it had given itself. There had never been any orders for it to obey, so it could choose to stop at any time. It knew this. It wanted to stop, but it was this far in. It couldn’t stop now. It was so close! It just needed to try one more recipe, and then everyone would love the cookies and it would have made the perfect cookies and made everyone happy.
Hoisting itself to it’s feet, it spun towards the mixing bowls and came face to face with Ivy, Marius, Raphaella, and Ashes.
“Oh, Hello Friends,” it said, moving around them to get to the counter and begin spreading out the ingredients. “How Are You All Doing?”
“We’re good, Toy Soldier. How are you?” It was Marius who responded, voice hesitant.
“Oh Jolly Good, Jolly Good.” There was a brief, whispered discussion from behind it, before Marius stepped forward into it’s peripheral vision.
“Really? Because it kinda sounds like you’re, you know, not so good.”
“No, I’m Perfectly Fine, Marius.”
“Toy,” Marius spoke gently, bringing his hand up to it’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
It paused for a moment, thinking. Something was most definitely wrong, it now realized. It just didn’t know how to explain.
“What Type Of Cookies Do You Like?”
“Toy, that’s really not what we’re talking about,” Raphaella said, stepping up to it’s other side.
“I Know, Raphaella. But I Want To Make You All The Perfect Cookies. I’m So Close To Figuring It Out, I Just Need To Make The One More Batch!” It tried to put on a smile, but despite the permanent one painted on it’s face, it could tell the attempt fell flat.
“Why don’t we help you?” This time it was Ivy who spoke. “I don’t have much baking experience myself, but I know every recipe from every planet we’ve ever visited.”
“I’m really good with an oven,” Ashes added. “I even know how to not blow them up!”
“And I’m pretty good with chemistry. That’s all baking is, when it comes down to it,” Raphaella said with a smile.
“It’s really not, Raph, but that’s what I can be here for,” Marius laughed. “So what do you say, Toy? May we join you?”
This time, the Toy Soldier’s smile was much more genuine, and it nodded.
At some point, Jonny and Nastya entered the kitchen, and ended up making a batch of frosting based on an old Cyberian recipe. Brian wandered in just as the first batch was ready, and ended up being the only one who wanted to take them out of the oven. The Toy Soldier was intrigued by the fact that cookies needed to be removed right at the timer. Waiting until the oven cooled down was evidently not right, and explained many of it’s previously burned batches. It resolved to buy oven mitts the next time they touched down. Tim claimed he could smell them from across the ship, and showed up just in time to get involved in a rather vicious frosting war.
At long last, the cookies were ready.
The Toy Soldier could say with absolute certainty that they were the best damn cookies. Ever.
Tumblr is being Tumblr (or maybe my computer is being weird) so I can’t do a fancy link, but here it is! Mechtober prompt 4: vampires! 13 days late!
ao3
Raphaella La Cognizi had spent millenia exploring what the universe had to offer. She had spent millenia traveling with her crew, her friends, to see as much as she could. She had spent millenia unearthing and discovering everything she could get her hands on. She had spent millenia on learning what others had deemed unknowable.
She was positive she knew more than anyone else could ever know, than anyone else would ever know. She was positive that even though she had so much more to find, she had already found more than anyone else.
It was three days until their next planetfall, and Raphaella had spent nearly a year of travel studying her newest fixation.
Most of what she knew was based on outdated information from Earth and a few vague references from nearby planets. Best as she could tell, the species in question was either entirely fictional, or very, very extinct. Any space faring technology they may have had was long since lost. They had likely traveled to at least two systems, as the old stories and histories were widespread yet consistent. Most interestingly, they appeared to be immortal, or at least extremely long lived. For all the people she had met who wished for and reached for immortality, none (save her friends) had actually ever achieved it. A species that was naturally that long lived was well worth her interest.
Given how much of the information came from well before her time and the other side of the universe, Raphaella had decided that inquiring into the others’ knowledge would be worth her while.
~~~
“So, what are your thoughts on vampires?” Raphaella thought the question was innocent enough.
As she was quick to discover, it wasn’t.
Jonny choked on his drink, quickly turning to the sink to avoid spitting everywhere. Nastya fell out of the vent she had been relaxing in with a startled yelp, crushing the Toy Soldier, who had been attempting to bake cookies. Tim had immediately looked up from his latest incendiary device, fixing Raphaella with a solid glare mixing hatred and incredulous surprise in equal parts. She was half convinced his eyes were about to burn holes through her skull. Ashes, who had been casually leaning against the bar, attempting to mix a drink that would actually kill them in one go, burst out in pained laughter as they slid to the floor.
“I take it they’re real, then.”
Ashes continued laughing as everyone else attempted to regain their bearings. Even the Toy Soldier seemed flustered.
“You’re asking-” They cut off with a choked giggle. “You’re asking if vampires-” Another giggle, this time less repressed. “You’re asking if vampires are real?” The incredulity in Ashes’s question made Raphaella recoil, wings rustling behind her.
“Well, yes. The lore on them is sparse, but I figured given how many alternate dimensions and time jumps-”
“Jonny, Nastya, she’s asking if vampires are real!” Ashes had turned to the First Mate. “You lot heard it too, right?”
Jonny tried to wheeze out a response, but his face had gone rather blue as he continued trying to cough up whatever it was he was still choking on. Nastya merely grunted in what may have been humor, still lying atop the Toy Soldier. Tim was the first to actually verbalize a response.
“I heard it too, Ashes,” he replied, voice stiffly neutral. After a brief moment of consideration, he turned a question to the Science Officer. “Why on Earth do you think we would know if vampires are real?”
This was too much for Nastya, who burst into tears of laughter. The Toy Soldier, who for all appearances had resigned itself to remaining crushed under Nastya, joined the laughter.
“I mean, you’ve all been alive and travelling for quite a bit longer than I have, and everything I’ve found points to the species being extinct but rather widespread, so I figured you might have encountered some in the past. Or the future. Or a parallel dimension. Whenever.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “So, are they real? Have you met any?”
Jonny chose that moment to finally choke to death, so her question was accentuated by a loud thump as his body fell limp. Ashes had managed to climb back up to lean on the bar, but was once again laughing too hard to be functional. Tim hadn’t taken his eyes off of Raphaella, but she thought he was beginning to crack a smile. Nastya and the Toy Soldier had begun extricating themselves, each covered in flour and egg. This process was made difficult by Nastya’s tendency to collapse every time she began to laugh again. The Toy Soldier, expression as unreadable as ever, appeared to be attempting to join in the humor.
Raphaella couldn’t tell if this was the whole peer pressure thing they’d been working on with it, or if it actually found the situation entertaining.
“I really can’t tell if that is a yes or a no, guys.”
“It’s a-” Tim’s careful neutrality gave way to a cough that was almost certainly stifling his own giggles. “It’s a-” Another cough. “Oh, God, I’m not gonna be able to say it with a straight face.” A coughing fit this time. Raphaella frowned.
“It’s a binary question. Vampires are real. Yes or no? This really shouldn’t be that difficult.”
“I know! I just still can’t get over the fact that you’re asking if vampires are real!” Ashes wheezed. Raphaella wasn’t sure how they could run out of oxygen, but they had made a pretty damn good effort at it. “Vampires! Of all the things!”
That was evidently enough to break Tim, who almost immediately fell off the couch he had been precariously balanced on. His bomb came with him, landing on his stomach with a satisfying thunk, cutting off his choked laughs.
“You all are the least helpful- you know what? I’ll go ask Ivy. Save myself the trouble of dealing with you lot.” Raphaella turned away from the rec room and began to stalk away.
Behind her, she heard the scrambling of four people and one thing frantically trying to get up and follow. She didn’t dignify them with an acknowledgement, until Tim appeared in her peripheral vision, bomb in hand.
“So… You’re gonna ask Ivy?” His mask of apathy was long since replaced with manic humor.
“Yes.”
“Can you wait for like, three minutes, while I go find Brian?” Raphaella turned to glare at Tim. “Please? He’ll want to be there.”
“No.” Raphaella turned back to face forwards, and picked up her pace.
“Ugh, fine. Be back in a bit,” Tim shouted from down another hall as he sprinted off. A few smothered giggles sounded from behind her from the four others in her wake.
“I really don’t get why this is such a funny question, and I really don’t like being played for a fool,” Raphaella stated, trying to gauge their responses. From the squelching sound, she would guess Nastya or Ashes had stabbed Jonny. A second squelching sound and sudden thump implied it was both of them, and that Jonny was currently dead. A muted conversation between Nastya and the Toy Soldier confirmed her thoughts. The conversation was followed by the sound of heavy running as they all attempted to catch back up to her, Jonny presumably flung over the Toy Soldier’s shoulder.
“If I’m being honest, I doubt Ivy will be able to answer you any better than us,” Nastya said, attempting conversation. Ashes snorted behind the two of them.
“Are you saying she won’t know, or that she won’t tell?” Raphaella cursed her curious nature. She had now failed twice at not talking to the others.
“Hmm, the second. She may not be as scientifically oriented as you, but she’s got an air-tight memory. I don’t think she’s ever forgotten anything. Ever. Not since-” Nastya cut off with a stifled cough. “Not since the doctor-” Nastya had to pause again, and Raphaella groaned. “Not since the doctor replaced her brain- Tim was right! I can’t do this with a straight face!” Nastya cried as she burst into laughter once again, falling back to laugh along with the Toy Soldier and Jonny, who appeared to have finally woken up.
“You can all go jump out the airlock,” Raphaella called over her shoulder as she made the last turn towards the library. “Just, fuck off into the void. You’d be just as helpful floating lifeless as you are right now.”
“I found him!” Any response from her followers was cut off by Tim’s triumphant shout, echoing down a corridor a few meters ahead. “I got Brian! And Marius. He just kinda tagged along. But Brian’s the important one. And I got him.” Tim exited the side passage just as Raphaella passed by. True to his word, Brian’s wrist was held tightly in his hand and Marius popped out a few seconds later, confusion etched into his features. “You haven’t asked Ivy yet, right?”
“Go die in a hole.”
“Charming as ever, Raphaella. And I’ll take that as a no.”
“You still haven’t told me what I’m doing here,” Brian groaned as Tim dragged him along. “We’re flying through enough gravitational variation right now that I really should be up on the bridge-”
“No, you’ll want to be here for this,” Nastya interjected. “It’s going to be worth it.”
Brian hummed noncommittally, but didn’t pull away from Tim’s grip. Raphaella rolled her eyes and continued stomping on towards the library.
As she finally, finally, reached the open door, Raphaella tried not to breathe a sigh of relief. Ivy would understand her curiosity. Ivy would be able to help her research. Her library was, after all, the largest and most complete in existence. Ivy would be able to answer her question.
“Ivy? Are you here?” she called out. “I need your help!”
“Raph? What’s the problem?” The archivist appeared from around a corner that none of the rest had even realized was a corner, causing at least two of them to jump. She paused, eyes scanning the entirety of the crew crammed into the small welcome area. “And why did you bring so many people?”
“I have a question. I have already asked Jonny, Nastya, Tim, Ashes, and the Toy Soldier, and they have been murderously unhelpful.”
“But not Marius or Brian.”
“Hmm, no. They weren’t in the room when I first broached the topic, and I have since been trying to ignore everyone because they are all being assholes.”
“Fair.”
“Thank you.”
“So,” Ivy hops up to sit on a small desk. “What’s your question?”
“Are vampires real?”
Ivy falls off the desk.
~~~
Raphaella swears to herself to never ask any of the rest of the Mechanisms anything ever again.
The Difference Between Angry Chanting and Actual Singing Is Less Than You'd Expect
Mechtober out of order!!! Days 25-27: The Bifrost Incident
@mechanismszine
ao3
“I’m sorry, Ivy, but what the fuck?”
“You are going to need to be far more specific, Jonny.” Ivy didn’t even bother looking up from her book. She was the picture of calm, despite the rather large pistol being waved in her face.
“I read through the first draft, and there is no way anyone but you could have written that. So, again, what the fuck?”
“Which part? I wasn’t actually all that involved this time. Marius and Brian had a blast with it, though. Go talk to them. Stop interrupting me.”
Jonny threw his head back, groaned loudly, and snatched the book from under Ivy’s nose.
~~~
“What the fuck, Ivy?”
“I surely don’t know what you’re talking about. You really need to be more specific, Jonny.”
“Fuck you.”
“Take me to dinner first.”
Jonny dove for Ivy’s book, pulling his knife out as he went.
~~~
“For fuck’s sake Ivy!”
“You know, I gave you a 40.3% chance of learning after the first time. Evidently spending sixty years in prison with Marius and Raphaella makes an optimist out of me. That being said, I’m currently running a 72.11% chance you will make the same mistake a third time in a row. Please prove me wrong.”
“Just fucking-”
“No thank you.”
“Ugh!”
Jonny grabbed an octokitten off the ceiling and pulled out his newly jury-rigged gun-knife, and stalked forward.
~~~
“You know, Jonny, if you actually tell me what you think I did to mess with you, this would be a much more productive conversation,” Ivy said, curled up on the couch with her book nestled safely in her lap.
There was only muffled groaning in response.
“Hmm. I speak 1659 languages fluently, but I couldn’t really catch you there. Please speak up?”
The groaning resumed, this time with some distinctly implied curses upon the Alexandria family name. Ivy turned to the last page of her book, and with a satisfied hum, closed the tome and set it on the table next to her. Sitting up, she turned towards Jonny.
“Alright. I finished reading. What was your question?”
He glared and let out a muffled shout.
“Ah. I suppose I would need to remove the gag.” And with millennia of experience at avoiding angry teeth, she did just that.
“What the actual, unmitigated fuck?” Ivy suppressed a snort. It was difficult to be intimidating when you were hanging by your ankles from the rafters. It was made even more difficult when the person who had hung you from the rafters had killed you three times within a fifteen minute window. Jonny, like almost anyone else who would find themselves in this situation, was not succeeding.
“Which part?”
“You just killed me!”
“Yes. Three times, if I’m not mistaken. You were interrupting the best part.”
“You little- no. You know what? Not important right now. The lyrics, that’s what I need to murder you over.”
“Hmm. Good luck.”
“Yeah, whatever, fuck you. What the hell do you expect me to do?”
“Narrate? That’s what you normally do.”
“No! I mean yes! Just- that song with the chanting!”
“Red Signal?”
“No! Maybe? I don’t remember.”
“Definitely Red Signal. That one, I did help with.”
“Yeah. I know. Which is why I want to ask, how do you expect me to pronounce that?”
“The chanting? Well, it’s less singing and more angrily screaming, which should be easy for you, but it goes something like “Y'AI 'NG'NGAH, YOG-SOTHOTH H'EE-L'GEB F'AI THRODOG UAAAH OGTHROD AI'F GEB'L-EE'H YOG-SOTHOTH 'NGAH'NG AI'Y ZHRO”.” Ivy finished with a light cough. “We couldn’t use the actual chant, of course. Too much chance of accidentally waking an eldritch power. But this was a rather direct translation to an old Earth-based language that retained the general necromantic message and complete terror associated with being on the receiving end of such a series of words, while avoiding the less fun interdimensional rift-tearing and summoning of elder gods.”
Jonny stared at her, at a loss for words. Ivy hummed happily. It was a good day when someone could make Jonny shut up.
“It really isn’t that hard. You’ll get it in no time,” Ivy declared, before picking up her book and walking off. As the door shut behind her with a hiss, Jonny began to yell.
“Wait! Ivy! Ivy Alexandria! Get back here! Argh!” With a shout, he began to squirm in the rope, but the knots were tight.
With a resigned hmph, he let himself hang freely. After a few minutes, he began to mutter.
“How did it go… Y'ai something something Yog-Sothoth, something something Ogthrod…”
Mechtober!
Final push! I am going to get all of these out today! Rest is optional!
Day 19-21: Once Upon A Tim (In Space)
@mechanismszine
ao3
Snow and Cinders saw each other exactly twice a year. No more. No less.
The two soldiers never told another soul about these interactions. They were already endangering so much by even acknowledging the other’s presence, no matter how subtly. The risk of traitors and spies was too high to warrant any more communication than necessary. These rendezvous were some of the most carefully planned operations either of them made. The plans and logistics to make them happen were kept under total lock and key, with only their most trusted advisors being made even slightly aware that anything out of the ordinary was happening. And even then, identities were never revealed. It was too dangerous.
~~~
The first was Rose and Snow’s birthday.
In the past, it had been a day of celebration. Rose had always managed to finagle leave time and Snow had always worked it out with her superiors to have the day off. In all their lives, they had never celebrated apart. No matter how little they saw each other, they never missed their birthday. They were twins, after all. If they couldn’t see each other one day a year, what were they even doing?
Now, it was a non-event. Snow and Cinders would meet in a pub, but never the same one twice. The place was always rebel-friendly or in rebel-controlled territory. Both would disguise as foot soldiers on leave or gone AWOL. It was never hard to fake the tired and resigned eyes, the heavy feet dragging with each step. More than once, one of them had shown up in a sling or a cast.
They would sit next to each other at the bar. Snow would order whatever was strongest. Cinders would order whatever was most expensive. They wouldn’t talk. They wouldn’t look at each other or smile or even so much as bump shoulders. They would sit and drink, and order a few more rounds. They would pay for their drinks, thank the bartender, and walk out, but never together. They would always stagger by a few minutes.
At some point, Snow would slip a note into Cinders’s pocket. In the decades on decades of this silent tradition, Cinders could never figure out exactly when during the evening Snow would give her the note, but it was always there.
Sometimes it was logistical figures for supply caravans. Sometimes it was troop counts and data. Sometimes it was lists of locations where the king’s forces looked to be setting up secret operations. Once, it had merely been a note from Snow, a few sentimental words scrawled out in pencil, burned seconds after they were read.
Always, it was a way for Cinders to know that Snow was still alive.
~~~
The second was what would have been Cinders and Rose’s anniversary.
This meeting was far less clandestine, and yet somehow just as secretive. The day was a rebel holiday after all, and as such, General White and the Princess of Fire always found themselves at the same party. Party was a generous term for the hours of political and military threats, bartering, and general chaos, but there were usually multiple types of fancy alcohol, so party seemed a fitting enough word.
These parties were painful for the two of them. As the decades ran on, they began to let their familiarity as almost-family to bleed through in their interactions, but for the first few years, they could not allow themselves to know the other. Snow had been declared dead, Cinders had been declared dead, and both of their new identities were wanted traitors with the two highest rewards on their head in the history of the king’s reign, To acknowledge each other as friends risked both their identities and their standing as leaders.
This didn’t change the fact that this was the only time they could speak to each other. In codes so convoluted, references so vague, body language so indecipherable as to be meaningless, they used their unknown history to say more than any of the other political chess matches being played around them could ever hope to equal. While words about victories and loss and strategies flew through the air into the waiting ears of their allies and subordinates and the spies they all knew were there but weren’t positive who, entire books were conveyed with a single look, a sip of champagne, a derisive snort.
And at the end of the night they would go their separate ways. They wouldn’t say goodbye, for there were battles to fight the next day and they couldn’t afford to be distracted. Anything else that needed to be said would have to wait.
They would see each other again.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Prompt 3 is up (and it’s only 11 days late!)
@mechanismszine
In the twenty years they were together, Ulysses could never be sure what it was Penelope saw in them.
They were well aware of what they saw in Penelope (what everyone saw in Penelope). She was kind and sweet and caring. She was a genius, but more than that she was sharp of wit and tongue, and truly intelligent. She was proud and confident and would not hesitate to show it. She was brutally honest when she wanted to be, and was just as likely to tear you apart as she was to build you up. She had made just as many friends as enemies at school, but Ulysses was hard pressed to name anyone who actively hated her. Even those who would proclaim themselves her enemies gave her their grudging respect and admiration.
And somehow, in all the upheaval and fear and madness and chaos of starting university, growing into adulthood, living in the City, Ulysses had found her. Ulysses had befriended her. Ulysses had fallen in love with her. And Penelope had fallen in love with Ulysses in return.
They had gotten married. They had bought a small apartment, somewhere to call their own. Ulysses had gone on to groundbreaking psychological research. Penelope had become a professor of history. They had a son together. They should have been able to grow old together.
Instead, Ulysses had been asked to join the Ilium War. Telemachos had been threatened as leverage, and there was nothing Ulysses wouldn’t do for their son. They would tear down the world for their son. Not that it mattered. Telemachos had died not two weeks after the initial threat. A health complication, something entirely unrelated, but somehow even worse. The threat had shifted onto Penelope. They had already lost half of their world. They couldn’t afford to lose anything else. So Ulysses had gone to war.
They had been an idealist, once. They had wanted to make the world a better place.
The idea was laughable, in retrospect. Turns out all it took to break their morals was the slightest bit of well-placed pressure and a bit of bad luck.
The war had taken the last of Ulysses’ spirit, broken it down to dust and scattered it upon the wind. They had come home to a shockingly empty house. Penelope was there in body, but her mind was even farther away than theirs.
It had taken years, but they had built each other back up. Piece by shattered piece, they had found each other and held each other tight through it all. There was no way to go back to who they had been, but they were doing their best to try again.
Mechtober!
Two updates in two days? Time isn’t real. This doesn’t actually mean anything.
Days 13-15: High Noon Over Camelot
AO3
The first thing Mordred noticed about Camelot was the clocktower.
It wasn’t particularly tall or intimidating, but it was well maintained and largely rust free, which made it stick out like a sore thumb. The clock face pointing towards the end of the sun indicated that it was one minute until noon.
That was good. Mordred had made good time over the last two days, and the sooner he could talk to someone (see his father), the better.
It had been twelve years since Arthur had ridden off into the rust with Guinevere and Lancelot to take Camelot. Twelve years since Arthur had knelt in front of Mordred and held him close. Twelve years since Ygraine hadn’t been able to look him in the eyes and tell him why his father was gone. Twelve years since he had seen any of his parents from before. Time was tricky, especially in Anwn, but it was nearly twelve years to the day since Morgan had first picked him up, eyes shrewd (annoyed), and decided he deserved to live.
He stopped his bike next to the tower as it began to rang, and paused. Mordred remembered the stories Gawain had told him of Camelot, but over time he had assumed that many were exaggerated or misremembered. Evidently, the ones about the clocktower were accurate. The ringing was more than just a sound. He could feel the echoes of the bell shaking him through to his core. He pulled his hat off, stuffing it into his pack before it flew off from the vibrations.
Stepping away from his bike, Mordred released a deep breath and scanned the small town. His father was here somewhere. Guinevere and Lancelot were here somewhere. Gawain might be here somewhere. And now he was here, and he could find them (talk to them).
“Hey!” A voice called over the tolling of the bell. “Hey!”
Mordred spun around, trying to pinpoint the voice. He locked eyes with a woman walking up from the town proper, and had to do a double take. It had been more than a decade since he had seen her (he had been seven, how much could he trust his memories?), but the woman before him was definitely Dinadan.
“Hey man. You can’t just ride in like that. You’ve gotta introduce yourself,” Dinadan said, gesturing down towards what Mordred had assumed was the town hall.
“I, uh-”
“Just leave the bike for now and follow me. You can come grab it after you present to the knights.”
“Sure, okay,” Mordred turned to look at his ride one last time, before following Dinadan into town.
He was here. He was about to present to the knights. He was about to see his father. He was finally on the path to bringing about the peace. He was, twelve years late, finally arriving at the great town.
Camelot. He was here.