Beads and Brass: Tales from Metella
- Thread starter 7734
- Start date
- Original
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
Who doesn't love a good wedding?
Now where are they going to get a wedding dress? If this is going to be a church wedding, putting the bride in Meledli garb is probably not a good idea. And it's not like it can hide behind being an informal emergency thing done in cammies in the middle of the night either.
- Location
- Cibao Wilayet, Caliphate of Quisqueya
Never underestimate the resourcefulness of a good tailor, provided he has the right supplies.
(There's an omake right there, seeing a tailor scramble to get the right dress done)
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Mail Order is a mighty and powerful spirit of transportation when the Amazon calls and pays the toll.
You want wedding things, write Heart of Darkness faster!
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
Damn it.
Now I'm going to have to make a joke about the locals worshiping Amazon as a god.
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
No no no. General Issue and Mail Order are better cargo cult spirits.
Discord link for those inclined
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
Hello Bear redux (week 5)
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
Meet the Lieutenant
(Week 05)
(Week 05)
I predict the weather, and I like my job. I really liked this deployment. I joined the corps to be a meteorologist, and instead of going to Afghanistan or Hawaii, I got to be the first person to do weather reports on a different planet. My mother said I'd never amount to anything.
My day was actually pretty quiet for once, with no field work or chasing birds and boots from my equipment with a broom. Instead I was just collecting some baseline measurements, and telling the Colonel I couldn't predict a goddamned thing accurately until I had a weather radar and more data to go off of. That meant today's forecast was, once again, upper fifties with a chance of rain just like it had been for the last two weeks and would continue for the next two weeks.
Of course, that's when some asshole officer in dress blues holding a seabag had to show up and ruin my day, and in retrospect my chances of peace and quiet here ever again. "Is this the geographic intelligence tent?" He said, after dropping his seabags and returning my salute.
"Yes, sir." I replied, feeling a sense of dread.
"Oh good. Lance Corporal Johnson I presume? If so, you work for me now, according to the Colonel, the General, and the assholes at GMD." He replied. "I'm Lieutenant Bear, NOAA Corps. Unfortunately for both of us, I'm now stuck getting all the baseline climate measurements and doing weather forecasting. Any questions?"
"Are you like actually an officer, or how is this going to work?" I said, confused by the exhausted officer shaped thing.
"Yes, but you're my first actual like subordinate ever, and I just got back from Antarctica yesterday, so I have no clue either." Lieutenant Bear replied. "I think I'll figure that out once I've had some sleep, and seen what we actually have to work with."
"You just got back from Antarctica?"
"A year at the south pole, a day on a plane, a day in Denver getting debriefed, and then here. It still counts as one day if you don't get to sleep for any of it." Lieutenant Bear replied sourly. "Now is there a goddamned chair I can crash in?"
I pointed him to a chair in the corner, and promptly got back to doing makework (because what else could I do,) even as I tried to ignore the snoring.
After I cooled off for a moment, I took a look at the lieutenant. He was pretty tall and wiry, with high cheekbones and severe features with dusky skin, looking like some Dances with Wolves extra shoved in dress blues. Throw in a feather or something on top and a decent haircut, he'd actually look good in it too. If I was into men, I might've been attracted to him. Instead he was a curiosity and an ongoing headache, so I went back to "work".
A couple hours and more cat videos than I could count later, and I guess I felt a bit guilty. So I nudged his chair enough to scoot it back an inch and spin it a few degrees. Needless to say, the lieutenant woke up pretty quickly.
"What the hell did you do that for?" Lieutenant Bear snapped.
"It seemed like the best way to wake you up sir." I replied. "You should probably get something to eat and your bunk before it gets too late. The town has just a little hyena problem."
"Hyena problem?"
"Hyena problem. There's a reason the HESCOES are covered in concertinia on top, and not because the engineers keep getting bored. It keeps most of them out, but they still get into the dump and the guards have shot some just outside the barracks. Either way, you don't want to be out at night without at least a flashlight." I replied as I patted the maglite hanging from my belt.
"The fuck kind of assignment did I get?"
"The kind that is considered fun by all the Marines." I replied. "It's also a different planet. This is the shit we put up with to get our names in the history books."
"God, and I thought the rez was rough."
"Sir, if I could ask, what tribe are you from anyway?"
"I'm Nakota, from around Billings." Lieutenant said with practiced disinterest. "Where are you from?"
"West Virginia, and not the good parts. Not like there were ever any good parts." I replied as I grabbed the bird broom. "Now go get something to eat. I've got to go chase shit off my weather station."
"Have fun with that."
When I saw the Lieutenant again, in our office the next morning, he was in some Coastie uniform and an Oscar Dyson command ball cap looking more than a little worse for wear. "My roommate has a pet leopard." Bear said in between sips of coffee. "It is very playful."
"Aww." I replied as I spun around in my chair. "Is it cute? I heard someone had adopted one of the kittens from the one that got shot on the wall last week, but that was about it."
"I didn't really notice that." Bear replied as he sat down. "I just found all thirty pounds of it on my chest in the middle of the night licking my face. So I panicked."
"Aren't you all supposed to be like super in touch with nature and all that?" I asked.
I got a dirty look in response. "It's not some elk I can shoot or an eagle going through my garbage, Lance Corporal." Lieutenant Bear said. "I'm not good with that sort of thing. Nobody is."
"Did you scare the kitty sir?"
"It scared me Lance Corporal." Lieutenant Bear replied. "Now then, how is the weather forecast coming along?"
"We don't have a radar, so I'm doing it by hand. This is a copy of the data set from the last two weeks, up to an hour ago, plus references from some temperate rainforests on Earth for additional references.." I said as I tossed a thumb drive at the Lieutenant, who caught it. "Either way, if it rains today, it'll probably be close to sunset since that's the norm for the dry season here according to the locals."
"Why don't we have a radar?" The lieutenant said testily as he turned on his laptop.
"We just set up camp here two weeks ago, and I put the order in last week." I replied as I turned back around. "The check probably hasn't even cleared yet."
"What did you order?" The lieutenant asked as he tapped his fingers on his desk.
"A bunch of those little Furuno WR-2100s. They're almost as good as what NWS has, but we can fit a couple on a truck." I said. "The Major and the Colonel signed off on it last week."
"That's good." Lieutenant Bear replied as he did something on his laptop. "There's too many mountains here for range to really matter anyway."
I shrugged. "Not sure about that, to be honest. If we get weather off the sea, having eyes on it before it makes landfall will be important."
"Point." Bear grunted, looking at the morass of data. Moments later, he sighed and shut the laptop. "So, since I apparently fell through the looking glass, what else do I need to know is an issue here?"
"Lots of nuisance wildlife." I groaned, pointing at my singed array of brooms and M-16 with the bayonet flash-welded to the barrel. "Salamanders that make fire, Laser Stoats that are like a fucking flashbang, goddamn gryphons, lots of ravens and other corvids, and about another dozen kinds of rodents that don't do anything except try and break our shit, before getting to the predators and big game out in the hills."
"Beautiful." was the response I got. Shooting him a look, he clarified. "Spent a lot of time in Alaska. I hunted big game for the pot."
"The locals oughta love you then." I grumped. "The gryphons are apparently a real menace to the herds, which is why you'll occasionally hear a fifty just going off randomly in the middle of the day."
Smug bastard just smirked.
Last edited:
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
Some early thing with Wyta, Crytus, and Euenia maybe?
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Try again, smart one. We still need a lot of stuff to set up weeks 3-8, and they're not in until Week 10.
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
Fine more shit with Arwi and the Lance Corporals Johnson then.
That Time Arwi Got Married (Week 06)
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
That Time Arwi Got Married.
(Week 06)
(Week 06)
When I was a child my parents had decided for my safety to leave our old village. We had to avoid raiding by the lowlanders, and kept moving further up into the hills. To avoid discovery we didn't farm there, and it was nice for a time. Unfortunately, it wasn't far enough away from the lowlanders to be safe. They kept coming, and eventually we were caught. That was it, the end.
Where my father and brothers died fighting, and my mother sold elsewhere, I was taken and sold to a shepherd. I spun wool and wove until my fingers bled, and sheared more sheep than I could count, and was told to think myself lucky for being allowed to sleep with the ewes. A few years after that, I was traded to the owners of a mine. I cooked and cleaned, and fucked them just to eat. It was miserable, always locked in the house or outside, hauling their things around and taking care of the miners.
Compared to that, the palace in Metella was the nicest place I had lived, even after it turned into a whorehouse. I wasn't sleeping in a barn huddled up with the sheep or on a convenient bit of dirt floor near the fire, instead I was sleeping in an actual bed! I was still fucking men to survive like I had before, just for my new owner. Well, new new owner Not the old lord of the palace who had died in the fighting. No, now it was his chickenshit good for nothing brother who would get rich off this. On a good day he might possibly be gracious enough for me eat real food. I wasn't starving anymore, or spending my days on my knees weaving or tending a stove. Even if I was still spending my days on my knees, it was just a different kind of monotony. Everything blended together, if you did it for too long, and things just… faded to gray.
What made today memorable was that some particularly wealthy Marine had come in to the palace. He was pretty tall and heavily built, if not unusually so for his kind, and had the same sort of straw blonde hair I did that marked someone as Arawas or Yrcen-blooded like me. Doubted he was son of a catfucker, though- they didn't have any of us over there, I presumed. There was always this little shock when they saw us, even the ones like me without ears, tails, or fur. I was lounging on a cushion looking seductive and utterly failing, since it was pretty early in the day and nobody came in before sundown normally. I had been chatting with one of the other girls to pass the time, going over the old discussion of 'how much food could you swipe when nobody was looking'.
Perking up a little bit, I made some eyes at the guy so I could maybe get out of the conversation, which had stopped being worth it when the topic of customers entered. Had to work to eat, and I was already too thin and bony to be attractive, even if the Marines seemed to like me.
It paid off because the Marine pointed at me, and started talking to our pimp. "How much?" He tried to say in Meledli. Saying he was trying was generous- it sounded more like "for what?" and had this choking sound, almost like someone giving an Yrcen a roast pheasant bone. I used to get my aunt with that all the time, back when I had a real home. Now I just had to play tricks on the sow by putting vinegar on her sweets.
Our pimp, trying to think through Marine hand numbers ,which for some reason didn't work like real numbers, held up two fingers for two short strings. I guess the slimy bastard was trying to cheat him, since our going rate was only one short string, but the Marine shrugged. With an "Okay," and a shoulder pull thing, the Marine pulled two massive sashes from out of his bag and dropped them in the pimp's lap. I wasn't quite sure how much the guy thought a go was actually worth, but that was a fortune even for Metella. There must have been eight long strings a sash, and two of them? I wasn't sure there were that many beads in the village ever before!
I was up and showing our newest and wealthiest customer to a room before my owner could really comprehend anything.
"What's your name?" I asked the blonde in his tongue as I sat him down on the bed in one of the rooms and undressed. It took him a minute to work through my accent, but I didn't mind. A little more time to get him riled up and wanting to come back wasn't a bad thing.
"Edgar." He replied nervously as his blue eyes darted between my eyes and my breasts.
"I'm Arwi." I said in American. Horrible language, all odd slurs and hissing. "I'm going to make you very happy Ed-gar" I continued in Meledli, stumbling over his name a bit. I ran a finger down his chest to drive the point home. He didn't understand what I said, but he certainly got the intent: me woman, you man. Wasn't the first time I had to screw some sap who didn't understand how to talk to me. As long as they didn't think hitting was a good way to get the point across, it wasn't better or worse than the talking ones.
Around sunset, he finally had enough and left. Say what you will about them, but everyone heard the little thunder when they fought and they certainly could fuck, even if I had to lead this one the entire godsdammned time. Wasn't like he could break me… probably. I tidied up a bit before going in the back to wash up and get dressed before the rush happened, and headed out front.
"What are you still doing here?" My owner said in that sort of yelling whisper you'd do when you don't want to draw attention.
"I cleaned up." I said nervously. "I'm going to do what I normally do, because I like not having bruises? Did I do something wrong?"
"Go find that guy before he thinks I cheated him." My owner replied as he put his head in his hands. "He paid me more than what all you are worth, and I'd rather not be beaten bloody when his liege finds out, so you're his now. Hurry up, go!"
"Alright." I said, as I tried to grapple with the fact that I had accidentally been bought by someone, "Where are the Marines staying?"
"That new camp outside the city walls. It's uphill and you can't miss it." He said as he pushed me towards the door. "Just ask one of them if you can't find it."
"It's close to sunset already." I replied. " Let me at least stay the night, and I'll go in the morning when it's safe."
"Fine," My former owner said, "just stay in the back, and don't try and steal anything."
Having grabbed a second dress and a light snack, I left around dawn the next day, and found that it was pretty hard to miss. It was visible through the woods being the largest settlement I had ever seen, and was much larger than Metella.
At one of the gates, I waved at a Marine for attention. "Could you tell me where the Marine named Edgar is?" I shouted in Meledli.
He waved back, but didn't really understand me. He shouted something in American, and I didn't quite understand it. Something come here, find Edgar. So I went towards him.
Trying to hash out an understanding was difficult because the Marines didn't speak much Meledli, and my english was garbage outside the bedroom. I eventually got across that I was looking for someone who was blonde haired, blue eyed, yea tall, named Edgar, and that yes it was really urgent. Once I had done the mandatory loud noises and arm waving bits, they showed me to a nice seat, and gave me something to drink. It was some sort of fizzy thing, and it just tasted bitter and caustic. I decided then to avoid anything in red cans for the time being. Give me a beer any day.
It took till midday to find Edgar. In the meantime, I was moved to a different building and fed something fairly bland with a meat I couldn't identify. Lots of white goop with butter, which was nice and starchy though. I got to speak to some nice Marines for a bit, and I think I picked up a decent amount of American. "That fucking moron" would be something useful I felt, considering how often they used it. I had yet to figure out how sex came into Edgar's apparent mistake, though; maybe they were supposed to be more active in bed?
Edgar was surprised when he saw me, and even more surprised when I prostrated myself on the floor and started apologizing profusely. The looks he got from the other people with him, who were possibly his superiors, were suspicious and not approving. I hoped it wasn't because of what I was. Not many people approved of girls like me, considering I had golden eyes, and slightly-too-long fang-teeth. They always thought I'd start eating raw meat and stealing their livestock too. Not like I wouldn't if I could get the chance, but if I was I'd need to do it so I wouldn't get caught. Getting caught would be bad.
Anyway, with Edgar was someone who spoke some Meledli, so I was able to actually communicate with my new owner, and what turned out to be some noble or something. "I'm Edgar's." I said to all three of them, "He bought me last night from the brothel. Or that's what my old owner decided since he didn't want to be beaten for overcharging a Marine."
The man in charge turned to look at Edgar, after hearing the very rough translation. "How much did you pay?" He asked.
"Two wampum." Edgar huffed as he crossed his chest. "It's what he asked for."
"He asked two short string." I said in American, "You paid too damn much."
"Lance Corporal, you accidentally bought a person." The man in charge said as he sized me up. "Fix this shit before gunny or I have to. Free her, marry her, whatever you do I want it done now, so when I do tell the Colonel this is all tied up in a nice little bow and nobody here is gets a court martial."
I panicked, and grabbed onto my owner as I looked up at him. "I can cook, I can clean, and I can fuck. I'll do anything, just don't cast me out!" I said in Meledli, before switching to American. "You keep me Edgar. I make you happy. Make you never go back town again!"
"Well, fuck. Guess I'm getting married then." Edgar said to his superior, " Sir, if I hand you my phone, could you take a few pictures so my mother won't kill me when she finds out?"
"Lance Corporal, get the RP to do that shit, and don't fucking post them anywhere." The man in charge said, while the translator started staring intently at a little tablet in his hand. "I have to go tell the General that the brothel isn't just war-widows."
With orders apparently in hand my owner went walking off somewhere else, and I followed. The camp was bustling, and I saw a bunch of different kinds of people I had never seen before, as well as some really heavy looking carts. We finally went inside a tent, and he spoke to a scribe in there behind a desk.
"What the fuck did you do?" The scribe said as he looked at me.
"I overpaid at the brothel in town and now I own her." Edgar said as he placed an arm around me. "So I need to get married."
The scribe put his head in his hands and spoke. "The padre is in back. I'll go get him, and see if he'll do it." He said, before standing up. "While I'm gone, try to explain to the poor girl what the fuck 'married' means."
I tried to guess at it from context, but I didn't really have much to go off of. So I just stared at my owner until the scribe left, waiting for him to speak. "You wife, me husband, sleep together long time. Have children." He said, while making some really awkward hand gestures to try and explain the point which I mostly got. I was still walking funny from last night- did he expect me to forget how?
"Married is good." I replied with a smile as I pointed at myself. "Get big, give many children."
To the hells with trying to make myself understood in this damn language. Fucker could learn a real way of speech, if he seemed as pressed about this as I thought he was.
Needless to say, when the scribe came back with a priest, I was ready to be married whatever the hell that actually meant. Edgar wasn't nearly as prepared for whatever this entailed, but I don't think I've ever seen a man who was ready to take a dump, nevermind do anything important. I got to find out my husband could read when he worked with the scribe to fill a form out.
The scribe mounted a box on a tripod and aimed it at us while the Priest arranged everything. So with the two of us facing each other, and the Priest off on my right, the ritual began. No incense, no offerings, no fuck-altar, just barebones whatever the fuck this was.
"Okay, let's make this quick. The game is on in ten." The priest said, as he pulled a book out and cleared his throat. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Lance Corporal Edgar Johnson and Arwi no last name given in matrimony, which is commended to be honorable among all men; and therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly, despite the circumstances of their meeting and the timing of their union."
The Scribe barely held back laughter there, while my Husband just choked a bit. I knew I missed something good.
"Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace." The Priest continued, before pausing for a second. "Nobody has, so moving on."
I had a feeling this wasn't how this sort of thing was supposed to go. What kind of shoddy ritual was this? Did he just not give a fuck because of what I was or something?
"Do you Lance Corporal Edgar Johnson, take Arwi no last name given to be your wife, to support her in sickness and health until death do you part?" The priest said, as he looked at my Husband.
"I do." My Husband said.
"Do you Arwi no last name given take Lance Corporal Edgar Johnson to be your husband, to support him in sickness and health until death do you part?" The priest said, as he looked at me.
I just stared blankly. Was I supposed to say the same thing, or something else or what?
"Just say 'I do' already." The scribe said irately after a few minutes.
"I do?" I said, to everyone else's relief.
"Great." The Priest said, "By the powers vested in me by the United States Navy, I hereby declare you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
And so my husband did. On the lips. For a while. It was nice, until his tongue hit a fang, and then it kinda hit him what he had actually married. He panicked a little bit, but I held fast and kept going until he had to come up for air.
"And that's a wrap!" The scribe said.
"Great." The Priest said, as he walked back to whence he had came. "Now get the fuck out unless you're going to watch the game. It's Steelers versus Browns, so if you want to watch Cleveland get their ass pounded square then stay. Otherwise, go find a nice bush inside the wire or some shit. You're married, you can do that now. Preferably a bush that's not near here, or my tent."
My new husband nodded, and started heading out. I followed him, wondering what my options for a home were. It was probably a tent if I wasn't lucky, or maybe one of their strange houses if I was. Maybe it would even have a comfy bed?
No. Just my fucking luck, it was a tent. The bed sucked too. But I've had worse, and my husband keeps it nice and warm.
Last edited:
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
It's Beads and Brass. Of course it's Marine flavored bad romances.Love is in the air!~ Its so beautiful.
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
Then I've done my job.
One of my rules with my writing projects is never pull a punch, and never try to gutpunch with maudlin bullshit. But then of course I do want to give these people happy endings because I'm not a monster.
Index by Author/Subject Characters
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
Index of Beads and Brass Works (20180313)
Plotline Groupings:
Characters:
Plotline Groupings:
Characters:
Est es... Sciencia! (Week 12)
- Location
- Probably north of you.
A uniformed man and three of his lackeys slowly filtered into the room. "... not now, Major whatever-you're-called" I grumbled, scrawling on my board.
The Major was surprised enough to break stride "I said not now, I'm in the middle of something". I continued, mapping out the weak force interactions in radioactive decay.
"How did you…" he began, before I cut him off.
"Know it was you without looking? I could hear you coming from down the halls. They echo like mad."
"And you knew who we were, to the rank, from that?"
"No," I replied as I turned to face him and his underlings, "I knew you were military because you walk like you march. Not even the marching band kids high-step like that- they roll-step everywhere. Remove all other options, the remainder is the truth, or at least a good estimate. "
"So how'd you know I'm a . . ." the major began again.
"Major? Lucky guess, considering the number of minions and the fact finding someone with clearances and under O-4 is enough of a challenge. Thanks for confirming for me, by the way. What do you need me to do this time?"
Two of what I dearly hoped were Air Force started stepped forward before the major began again,
"I need you to come with me, posthaste."
"Now now, Major whomever you are, what is all the hustle? You know I haven't worked on anything moderately important for years- I got out of the RAM game back in '97."
The men I now identified as Marines (damn it) walked over and started to frog-march me out the doors of the lecture hall we were in toward an unmarked white van that reeked of tax money. I hesitated to step inside, not like it was going to stop me. Cloak and dagger was such a waste of time…
"This isn't an arrest, but it can if you need it to be," the officer said, letting the implications hang.
"Major," I say, thinking back to my incomplete problems, "You are going to let me at least grab my things, right?"
"Transportation for your things will be arranged. You're going to have to do withou…" A phone rang, cutting him off.
He immediately turned and shut up, his lips pursed and made a white line on his face. Was that fear or disappointment? Marines aren't known for their ability to emote.
Major Whatshisname looked down at the phone, said in barely a whisper "it's for you," and handed me the handset. It seemed a bit different from the standard issue GSM phones carried by the Marines, and it was ringing to wake the dead. The screen displayed a contact named 'Have Samuel Answer the Fucking Phone.' "Nice touch" I mumbled while hitting the answer button.
"Hello?" Carter gruffly answered. My 'favorite' government contact. That really isn't saying much though, when you consider that having a conversation with most of these people was like a Pasty in an copper mine, dry as hell. With this one, it was like having a shot glass of water within twenty feet of you well, eating a Pasty freshly plucked from a copper mine- dry as hell, but now with extra radishes. After he went through the usual obscure questions and codewords to make sure it was me, we got to the fun stuff.
"Are you actually telling me that you ripped a fucking hole in reality?"
"Professor, you should know by now we don't just rip holes in reality ourselves. That's what we've had you for." Slick.
"Do you thick-skulled imbeciles know how bad that this is? This is supermassive black hole level. For those with limited cognitive abilities, like you, this might be difficult to understand. We are talking about something that SWALLOWS UNIVERSES. It crushes them into nice and neat tiny little balls that are smaller than your aptitude for common sense. The only reason I can still yell at you for this is because, somehow someway, your scientists somehow managed to not bungle it up and kill all of us."
"Professor, this wasn't us. As far as we've determined, this was naturally occuring."
"Who's we; your department, or one of the ones the public knows about? " I asked accusingly.
"We, as in no one in the U.S. government."
I looked at Major Whatshisname and the other Marines who waited with barely concealed boredom. The truth in the matter was probably also just as thinly hidden.
"You're expecting me to believe, that a portal to a different reality just showed up one day, and no one had a hand in it?" came the sarcastic reply.
"Yup. In the middle of one of our compounds as well."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"I don't believe you"
Carter countered sarcastically, just like he always did. "Your job isn't to believe me, your job is to study what the hell we've been finding on the other side."
"You went through it?" I said incredulously, "and it didn't immediately kill everyone? Interesting."
"You don't seem very concerned at that."
"If it hasn't already killed us, it probably won't. Probably. I think. When we start talking mathematics at this magnitude physics gets fuzzy. You know how the speed of light and relativity screws everything up? Same basic principals."
The car stopped at an airport, and I got thrown out the back and shoved into a cargo plane. And then that landed at an airport and I was thrown on some sort of armored truck, which then in turn passed me off to another vehicle with slightly better suspension. After several more bouts of transportation with planes, trains, and automobiles I feel routed most of the country, we arrived in rural North Carolina. I know; I was shocked to find that it existed too. As soon as I got out of the car, Major Whatshisname handed me off to some guys. They then proceeded to unceremoniously toss me into a different car that was louder, smellier, and ran like a humvee driven by Marines- that is, they hit every pothole and played the stereo too loud to hear anything over the drums, or were those thumps the suspension? it was driven by muscle-bound numbskulls whos solutions to problems usually involve a shitload of bullets, and maybe a boot knife, duct tape too on a good day. If only they had sent some Air Force…
"How many handoffs do you need to do before you realize we haven't been followed?" I tried, yelling over the noise
"... With all do respect professor, shut the fuck up. This is a good song." one of them shouted back.
Well they are marines, I thought to myself, it's not like they enjoy AC much with all that batshit crazy indoctrination they go through. Better to let them enjoy their metal now. They probably didn't know anything anyways, and if they did I wouldn't be able to hear them until we got out. It was simply easier to wait.
After what was definitely an hour of bumpy back roads they let out of the car. Standing in front of me was a brick wall imitating the human being that was supposed to greet me here. From what was presumably a mouth came the words "Follow me", his voice sounding like someone trying to sandblast refined titanium. I lamentably had had experience with this area due to some poor undergrads I knew who worked in the engineering building. The Man was large, really large, as in 'holy shit what fertilizer did they feed you' large. He honestly could have benched the humvee I came in on. Seeing as he was a Marine, he probably did, a few times a day. I started following the slab of moving terrain that was this man.
"And you are?" I asked, Newton's Laws running through my head quickly. Force is mass times acceleration- so if this particular brick wall fell on me the cleaning crew would be picking me off the ground for weeks.
"Moescher, Corporal Moescher." I looked around, seeing semi-familiar looking territory.
"And where are we going?"
"Metella."
"Which is..?"
The Major was surprised enough to break stride "I said not now, I'm in the middle of something". I continued, mapping out the weak force interactions in radioactive decay.
"How did you…" he began, before I cut him off.
"Know it was you without looking? I could hear you coming from down the halls. They echo like mad."
"And you knew who we were, to the rank, from that?"
"No," I replied as I turned to face him and his underlings, "I knew you were military because you walk like you march. Not even the marching band kids high-step like that- they roll-step everywhere. Remove all other options, the remainder is the truth, or at least a good estimate. "
"So how'd you know I'm a . . ." the major began again.
"Major? Lucky guess, considering the number of minions and the fact finding someone with clearances and under O-4 is enough of a challenge. Thanks for confirming for me, by the way. What do you need me to do this time?"
Two of what I dearly hoped were Air Force started stepped forward before the major began again,
"I need you to come with me, posthaste."
"Now now, Major whomever you are, what is all the hustle? You know I haven't worked on anything moderately important for years- I got out of the RAM game back in '97."
The men I now identified as Marines (damn it) walked over and started to frog-march me out the doors of the lecture hall we were in toward an unmarked white van that reeked of tax money. I hesitated to step inside, not like it was going to stop me. Cloak and dagger was such a waste of time…
"This isn't an arrest, but it can if you need it to be," the officer said, letting the implications hang.
"Major," I say, thinking back to my incomplete problems, "You are going to let me at least grab my things, right?"
"Transportation for your things will be arranged. You're going to have to do withou…" A phone rang, cutting him off.
He immediately turned and shut up, his lips pursed and made a white line on his face. Was that fear or disappointment? Marines aren't known for their ability to emote.
Major Whatshisname looked down at the phone, said in barely a whisper "it's for you," and handed me the handset. It seemed a bit different from the standard issue GSM phones carried by the Marines, and it was ringing to wake the dead. The screen displayed a contact named 'Have Samuel Answer the Fucking Phone.' "Nice touch" I mumbled while hitting the answer button.
"Hello?" Carter gruffly answered. My 'favorite' government contact. That really isn't saying much though, when you consider that having a conversation with most of these people was like a Pasty in an copper mine, dry as hell. With this one, it was like having a shot glass of water within twenty feet of you well, eating a Pasty freshly plucked from a copper mine- dry as hell, but now with extra radishes. After he went through the usual obscure questions and codewords to make sure it was me, we got to the fun stuff.
"Are you actually telling me that you ripped a fucking hole in reality?"
"Professor, you should know by now we don't just rip holes in reality ourselves. That's what we've had you for." Slick.
"Do you thick-skulled imbeciles know how bad that this is? This is supermassive black hole level. For those with limited cognitive abilities, like you, this might be difficult to understand. We are talking about something that SWALLOWS UNIVERSES. It crushes them into nice and neat tiny little balls that are smaller than your aptitude for common sense. The only reason I can still yell at you for this is because, somehow someway, your scientists somehow managed to not bungle it up and kill all of us."
"Professor, this wasn't us. As far as we've determined, this was naturally occuring."
"Who's we; your department, or one of the ones the public knows about? " I asked accusingly.
"We, as in no one in the U.S. government."
I looked at Major Whatshisname and the other Marines who waited with barely concealed boredom. The truth in the matter was probably also just as thinly hidden.
"You're expecting me to believe, that a portal to a different reality just showed up one day, and no one had a hand in it?" came the sarcastic reply.
"Yup. In the middle of one of our compounds as well."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"I don't believe you"
Carter countered sarcastically, just like he always did. "Your job isn't to believe me, your job is to study what the hell we've been finding on the other side."
"You went through it?" I said incredulously, "and it didn't immediately kill everyone? Interesting."
"You don't seem very concerned at that."
"If it hasn't already killed us, it probably won't. Probably. I think. When we start talking mathematics at this magnitude physics gets fuzzy. You know how the speed of light and relativity screws everything up? Same basic principals."
The car stopped at an airport, and I got thrown out the back and shoved into a cargo plane. And then that landed at an airport and I was thrown on some sort of armored truck, which then in turn passed me off to another vehicle with slightly better suspension. After several more bouts of transportation with planes, trains, and automobiles I feel routed most of the country, we arrived in rural North Carolina. I know; I was shocked to find that it existed too. As soon as I got out of the car, Major Whatshisname handed me off to some guys. They then proceeded to unceremoniously toss me into a different car that was louder, smellier, and ran like a humvee driven by Marines- that is, they hit every pothole and played the stereo too loud to hear anything over the drums, or were those thumps the suspension? it was driven by muscle-bound numbskulls whos solutions to problems usually involve a shitload of bullets, and maybe a boot knife, duct tape too on a good day. If only they had sent some Air Force…
"How many handoffs do you need to do before you realize we haven't been followed?" I tried, yelling over the noise
"... With all do respect professor, shut the fuck up. This is a good song." one of them shouted back.
Well they are marines, I thought to myself, it's not like they enjoy AC much with all that batshit crazy indoctrination they go through. Better to let them enjoy their metal now. They probably didn't know anything anyways, and if they did I wouldn't be able to hear them until we got out. It was simply easier to wait.
After what was definitely an hour of bumpy back roads they let out of the car. Standing in front of me was a brick wall imitating the human being that was supposed to greet me here. From what was presumably a mouth came the words "Follow me", his voice sounding like someone trying to sandblast refined titanium. I lamentably had had experience with this area due to some poor undergrads I knew who worked in the engineering building. The Man was large, really large, as in 'holy shit what fertilizer did they feed you' large. He honestly could have benched the humvee I came in on. Seeing as he was a Marine, he probably did, a few times a day. I started following the slab of moving terrain that was this man.
"And you are?" I asked, Newton's Laws running through my head quickly. Force is mass times acceleration- so if this particular brick wall fell on me the cleaning crew would be picking me off the ground for weeks.
"Moescher, Corporal Moescher." I looked around, seeing semi-familiar looking territory.
"And where are we going?"
"Metella."
"Which is..?"
Last edited:
Timmy Goes Exploring (Week 8)
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Groaning, Timothy rolled over. In the process of doing so, his face found a mud puddle, his knees caught a rock, and his but landed on a bent stick.
"Whatinthe-" he growled, pushing himself upright to glare helplessly out into the world. A few feet away, Pellas had the gall to chuckle.
"Morning, LT." the staff sergeant said, shaking a canteen happily. "So, how'd your beauty sleep go?"
"Mrghblghehphbt." Timmy articulated clearly. Rubbing his head and swishing the water out of his hair, he crawled out of his sleeping bag and rolled it up derisively. "So, what do we have left in the MRE pile?"
"Lots of omlettes." Pellas said, shrugging. "Couple of ranger bars, some beef burritos."
"Great." Timmy groaned, loading up his backpack and moving into the center of camp. Grabbing the omlette pack, he put it over the small campfire they'd built for breakfast and a cup of instant coffee. "How are the survey teams doing?"
"Not sure yet." Pellas replied frankly, stretching out and popping his back. Watching the group, he glared at one of sleeping soldiers. "If you go and ask, I'll make sure we're all packed up for the hike on out."
"Alright." Timmy replied. Cracking his neck, he stepped over to the small tent that was serving as the surveyor's quarters. Knocking on the tent's roof pole, he waited until they let him in.
The inside of the tent was dark, and the only thing that lit it was a couple of blue screens and a grumpy lanterns. Inside, the handful of lance corporals fiddled around, hot pocket wrappers scattered around. The sergeant, ignorant of his surroundings from trying to divine the results of a splotchy diagram, squinted, peering into the screen until he found the detail he was looking for, before he compared it to the other screens and started growling. Seconds later, he finally snapped, standing up and kicking his log chair over.
"MOTHERFUCKINGDRONERETARDIMITATIONCHAIR-FARCEDESKJOCKEYIMPERSONATORSCAN'TFUCKINGFINDBOTHTHEIRREFERENCEPOINTSINACLOSEDLUNCHBOXWITHBOTHHANDSANDAGPSEXCEPTWEDON'THAVEFUCKINGGPSANDTHEIRLANDMARKSARENOTREALLANDMARKSSERIOUSLYWHOTHEFUCKWANTSTOCALLALARGETREEALANDMARKTREESARENOTLANDMARKSANDTHESERIVERSDON'TFUCKINGWORKALLTHETIMEMATISFUCKTHISMOTHERFUCKINGMORONS!" he screamed, barely holding in the urge to flip the table.
"Good morning, Sergant Niels." Timmy said calmly, nibbling his omelette. He could handle moments of temper like that without too much shock now, considering the absolute disaster that most of the building surveyors were. The cartography teams with Sergeant Niels, he of much swearing and many coffees, were much better at fieldcraft. This in turn meant less of his guys carrying them around, earning them a lot more slack "How bad is it going?"
"Fucking terrible. Sir." Niels replied, waving a hand dramatically at the three daisy-chained laptops and the data coming in off them. "You remember the Scan Eagle surveys they did to get a rough terrain search?"
"We weren't on patrol that week, so we were mostly asleep." Timmy replies, squinting at the maps. "Are these the maps they made?"
"Yeah, well, they dun goofed." Niels growled, waving a hand. "See, the Scan Eagles were all set up for work in the rockbox, and the morons flying them never bothered to reset the systems. A synthetic aperture radar is great and all, but one set to scan a mountain slope from fifty feet up is very different from one to scan a forest that's got really funky soil and a lot of small rolling hills. Half these maps have rain interference, most of them have these really shitty areas where we think groundwater was fucking up the readings, and there's just these swarming messes of we don't fucking know everywhere."
"That's bad." Timmy said, nodding sagely. One of the first things a junior officer learned how to do was to parrot back rough summaries when they didn't get everything. "We might as well not have a map at this rate."
"Pretty much." Niels grumped. Timmy just shrugged. Not like he'd been using the fuzzy false-color radar plots anyway. After three patrols marking the shit out of the temperate rainforest, he knew his guys had learned how to do this sort of thing just fine, with or without help. The second thing a junior officer learned was that he could do whatever his men could, even when he himself couldn't quite read all the trail signs yet.
CAAAAAAAAWWWWWREEEEECCCHHHH!
Wincing, Niels ducked below a table, while Timmy just sighed. "Gryphons." the lieutenant muttered. "It's always fucking gryphons."
"Christ!"
"He can't hear you." Timmy said, shaking his head. "Because if you think that's bad, you haven't seen a laser stoat infestation."
"Laser… stoats…?" Niels asked.
"Yeah, you'll see 'em in a few days. Most places have traps around them, and we're gonna be leaving the most civilized bits not to long from now."
Niels frowned. "Alright… sir. Anything else?"
Lieutenant Walker shrugged, and looked around the tent. "Yeah, so you're about done with this area, right?"
"Thereabouts, yeah. No real detail work, but more than enough to get a real map out- with the trail someone blazed last time even."
"Good." Timmy said, yawning as he made to leave the tent. "We're gonna be moving up fifteen-ish miles today, so get your gear packed and ready to go."
"Alright, sir." Niels said, ending the conversation.
----
Several hours later, Pellas groaned theatrically from his position in the front of the column. They'd been on this rough patrol route before, and this was the end of their explored area from last time. More importantly, their previous campsite was under about four inches of standing water; the area had somehow turned into a water meadow when they weren't looking.
"Alright, who put the plug in the swamp!" Pellas yelled out grumpily.
"Not me!" yelled Sergeant Crusoe, grinning madly. "Want us to find the plug?"
"Lieutenant?" Pellas yelled back. Time to see if the officer had a good idea. Sure, the odds weren't in favor, but it was worth checking.
"I'm thinking break out into squads and find someplace that isn't under water." Timmy thought out loud. "Maintain line of sight, radio check in every ten minutes with every squad on a two minute interval, if we don't find something in the next… hour and a half? That about right? Anyway, if we don't find something then we backtrack to a fork and just set up a light camp there, find a better one later."
Pellas slowly turned around, along with Crusoe, Sampson, and Harper. More than a few of the corporals had to look at Lieutenant Walker too. That was a good idea. A good idea coming from a lieutenant. That was slightly less likely to happen than a portal opening to some foreign world where there were catgirls and gryphons and it rained every goddamn day- oh wait. That happened.
"Well fuck." Crusoe muttered. "Looks like the LT is growing up."
"I heard that!" Timmy yelled over. "Just start looking for somewhere to sleep!"
The group dispersed carefully, most of the soldiers griping about the water. Sighing, Timmy just kept an eye on his radio.
"I give it an hour before something goes terribly wrong." Timmy muttered to Niels, who's cartographers were stuck with the miniscule "headquarters" consisting of Timmy, Pellas, and a messenger who doubled as a spare rifle.
"How much?" Niels asked, morbidly curious.
"Two short string sound reasonable?" Timmy asked, grinning.
"Short string?"
"Wampum, basically. Strings of beads. Not everyone in the village takes cash. Two short string's about enough for a dinner and a few beers."
Niels chuckled. "Deal."
---
Fifty four minutes later, Lieutenant Timothy Walker's smile had progressed from a smirk to a full shit-eating grin as Niels started quietly cussing.
"Squad two to Headquarters, we've got a situation. We've found… well, it's a fucking villiage, over."
Groaning, Pellas answered the radio. "Headquarters to Squad two, thanks for the information, over. Are they hostile?"
"No, Headquarters. They're, well, um, snakes."
A crow in the distance cawed.
"Read back, squad two?"
"They're fucking snake people, Headquarters. Like… waist-ish down. Also our two guys who kinda speak the language can't get through their accent, at all. Unless you can tell me what 'horass-melka' is, I think we're stuck."
Rolling his eyes, Timmy moved in. "This is Headquarters; they're basically saying get off my lawn I think."
"We got a problem then, because their lawn is where the dry ground is."
"We'll come to you." Timmy said, grinning. "Any swampy bits?"
"Yeah, there's a few deep channels, they're about a foot deep. Should take a half hour if you follow the trail sign."
"We'll be on our way directly." Timmy replied, grinning. "Headquarters out."
Checking his compass, Pellas groaned. "Whelp. We're gonna need to go thisaway."
---
Looking over the small village in the setting sun, Timmy had to whistle. Those were, in fact, snake people. Now, as much of a Massive Scientific Discovery as this was, this was a distinct problem. Most of the villages the Marines had found had been mostly peaceable, and a little trading had been gone over when a few of the strangers interacted.
This didn't help sooth Pellas' grumpy NCO soul. Timmy (it was nearly impossible to call him Lieutenant with a straight face when he wasn't in front of you) had been talking to one of the snake-people, trying to negotiate a place for them to bed down. There was only one issue- neither of the two groups were terribly fluent in Anatelean. Timmy might have been learning it quickly, but his knowledge was limited to shooting the shit in bars and maybe picking up a girl for the night. The snake-people, or lamia as some of the men were calling them, had a similar issue in that this was far from their native language.
It was about that time that a scream echoed out from the sky, and a shrieking whistle was heard.
"GRYPHON!" Timothy yelled, before dragging his gun up to start shooting. As the formerly mythical beast came swooping down it's diving attack run, a few of the other Marines nearby started hosing it down with bullets too. The beast screamed in pain, attempting to abort it's attack run, limping away dripping blood from its wings. Rushing forward, Pellas noted dimly the blood trail started only a few feet away from a female of the lamia, and proceeded into the woods.
So how had Lieutenant Timmy noticed it so quickly?
Pellas' head swiveled over to his nominal boss slowly, where he was trying to pick up the negotiations again, this time from a far stronger position. Soon, they were being escorted to a section of cleared and dry land on the far side of town, while Lieutenant Timothy was trading parts of one of his MREs to the locals for fresh bread. Shaking his head, Pellas just went to go find a place to set up his sleeping bag. He could worry about Timothy's newfound danger sense later, when they got back home. Now it was just enough to know he was starting to grow out of being a boot, and into something properly officer-shaped.
"Whatinthe-" he growled, pushing himself upright to glare helplessly out into the world. A few feet away, Pellas had the gall to chuckle.
"Morning, LT." the staff sergeant said, shaking a canteen happily. "So, how'd your beauty sleep go?"
"Mrghblghehphbt." Timmy articulated clearly. Rubbing his head and swishing the water out of his hair, he crawled out of his sleeping bag and rolled it up derisively. "So, what do we have left in the MRE pile?"
"Lots of omlettes." Pellas said, shrugging. "Couple of ranger bars, some beef burritos."
"Great." Timmy groaned, loading up his backpack and moving into the center of camp. Grabbing the omlette pack, he put it over the small campfire they'd built for breakfast and a cup of instant coffee. "How are the survey teams doing?"
"Not sure yet." Pellas replied frankly, stretching out and popping his back. Watching the group, he glared at one of sleeping soldiers. "If you go and ask, I'll make sure we're all packed up for the hike on out."
"Alright." Timmy replied. Cracking his neck, he stepped over to the small tent that was serving as the surveyor's quarters. Knocking on the tent's roof pole, he waited until they let him in.
The inside of the tent was dark, and the only thing that lit it was a couple of blue screens and a grumpy lanterns. Inside, the handful of lance corporals fiddled around, hot pocket wrappers scattered around. The sergeant, ignorant of his surroundings from trying to divine the results of a splotchy diagram, squinted, peering into the screen until he found the detail he was looking for, before he compared it to the other screens and started growling. Seconds later, he finally snapped, standing up and kicking his log chair over.
"MOTHERFUCKINGDRONERETARDIMITATIONCHAIR-FARCEDESKJOCKEYIMPERSONATORSCAN'TFUCKINGFINDBOTHTHEIRREFERENCEPOINTSINACLOSEDLUNCHBOXWITHBOTHHANDSANDAGPSEXCEPTWEDON'THAVEFUCKINGGPSANDTHEIRLANDMARKSARENOTREALLANDMARKSSERIOUSLYWHOTHEFUCKWANTSTOCALLALARGETREEALANDMARKTREESARENOTLANDMARKSANDTHESERIVERSDON'TFUCKINGWORKALLTHETIMEMATISFUCKTHISMOTHERFUCKINGMORONS!" he screamed, barely holding in the urge to flip the table.
"Good morning, Sergant Niels." Timmy said calmly, nibbling his omelette. He could handle moments of temper like that without too much shock now, considering the absolute disaster that most of the building surveyors were. The cartography teams with Sergeant Niels, he of much swearing and many coffees, were much better at fieldcraft. This in turn meant less of his guys carrying them around, earning them a lot more slack "How bad is it going?"
"Fucking terrible. Sir." Niels replied, waving a hand dramatically at the three daisy-chained laptops and the data coming in off them. "You remember the Scan Eagle surveys they did to get a rough terrain search?"
"We weren't on patrol that week, so we were mostly asleep." Timmy replies, squinting at the maps. "Are these the maps they made?"
"Yeah, well, they dun goofed." Niels growled, waving a hand. "See, the Scan Eagles were all set up for work in the rockbox, and the morons flying them never bothered to reset the systems. A synthetic aperture radar is great and all, but one set to scan a mountain slope from fifty feet up is very different from one to scan a forest that's got really funky soil and a lot of small rolling hills. Half these maps have rain interference, most of them have these really shitty areas where we think groundwater was fucking up the readings, and there's just these swarming messes of we don't fucking know everywhere."
"That's bad." Timmy said, nodding sagely. One of the first things a junior officer learned how to do was to parrot back rough summaries when they didn't get everything. "We might as well not have a map at this rate."
"Pretty much." Niels grumped. Timmy just shrugged. Not like he'd been using the fuzzy false-color radar plots anyway. After three patrols marking the shit out of the temperate rainforest, he knew his guys had learned how to do this sort of thing just fine, with or without help. The second thing a junior officer learned was that he could do whatever his men could, even when he himself couldn't quite read all the trail signs yet.
CAAAAAAAAWWWWWREEEEECCCHHHH!
Wincing, Niels ducked below a table, while Timmy just sighed. "Gryphons." the lieutenant muttered. "It's always fucking gryphons."
"Christ!"
"He can't hear you." Timmy said, shaking his head. "Because if you think that's bad, you haven't seen a laser stoat infestation."
"Laser… stoats…?" Niels asked.
"Yeah, you'll see 'em in a few days. Most places have traps around them, and we're gonna be leaving the most civilized bits not to long from now."
Niels frowned. "Alright… sir. Anything else?"
Lieutenant Walker shrugged, and looked around the tent. "Yeah, so you're about done with this area, right?"
"Thereabouts, yeah. No real detail work, but more than enough to get a real map out- with the trail someone blazed last time even."
"Good." Timmy said, yawning as he made to leave the tent. "We're gonna be moving up fifteen-ish miles today, so get your gear packed and ready to go."
"Alright, sir." Niels said, ending the conversation.
----
Several hours later, Pellas groaned theatrically from his position in the front of the column. They'd been on this rough patrol route before, and this was the end of their explored area from last time. More importantly, their previous campsite was under about four inches of standing water; the area had somehow turned into a water meadow when they weren't looking.
"Alright, who put the plug in the swamp!" Pellas yelled out grumpily.
"Not me!" yelled Sergeant Crusoe, grinning madly. "Want us to find the plug?"
"Lieutenant?" Pellas yelled back. Time to see if the officer had a good idea. Sure, the odds weren't in favor, but it was worth checking.
"I'm thinking break out into squads and find someplace that isn't under water." Timmy thought out loud. "Maintain line of sight, radio check in every ten minutes with every squad on a two minute interval, if we don't find something in the next… hour and a half? That about right? Anyway, if we don't find something then we backtrack to a fork and just set up a light camp there, find a better one later."
Pellas slowly turned around, along with Crusoe, Sampson, and Harper. More than a few of the corporals had to look at Lieutenant Walker too. That was a good idea. A good idea coming from a lieutenant. That was slightly less likely to happen than a portal opening to some foreign world where there were catgirls and gryphons and it rained every goddamn day- oh wait. That happened.
"Well fuck." Crusoe muttered. "Looks like the LT is growing up."
"I heard that!" Timmy yelled over. "Just start looking for somewhere to sleep!"
The group dispersed carefully, most of the soldiers griping about the water. Sighing, Timmy just kept an eye on his radio.
"I give it an hour before something goes terribly wrong." Timmy muttered to Niels, who's cartographers were stuck with the miniscule "headquarters" consisting of Timmy, Pellas, and a messenger who doubled as a spare rifle.
"How much?" Niels asked, morbidly curious.
"Two short string sound reasonable?" Timmy asked, grinning.
"Short string?"
"Wampum, basically. Strings of beads. Not everyone in the village takes cash. Two short string's about enough for a dinner and a few beers."
Niels chuckled. "Deal."
---
Fifty four minutes later, Lieutenant Timothy Walker's smile had progressed from a smirk to a full shit-eating grin as Niels started quietly cussing.
"Squad two to Headquarters, we've got a situation. We've found… well, it's a fucking villiage, over."
Groaning, Pellas answered the radio. "Headquarters to Squad two, thanks for the information, over. Are they hostile?"
"No, Headquarters. They're, well, um, snakes."
A crow in the distance cawed.
"Read back, squad two?"
"They're fucking snake people, Headquarters. Like… waist-ish down. Also our two guys who kinda speak the language can't get through their accent, at all. Unless you can tell me what 'horass-melka' is, I think we're stuck."
Rolling his eyes, Timmy moved in. "This is Headquarters; they're basically saying get off my lawn I think."
"We got a problem then, because their lawn is where the dry ground is."
"We'll come to you." Timmy said, grinning. "Any swampy bits?"
"Yeah, there's a few deep channels, they're about a foot deep. Should take a half hour if you follow the trail sign."
"We'll be on our way directly." Timmy replied, grinning. "Headquarters out."
Checking his compass, Pellas groaned. "Whelp. We're gonna need to go thisaway."
---
Looking over the small village in the setting sun, Timmy had to whistle. Those were, in fact, snake people. Now, as much of a Massive Scientific Discovery as this was, this was a distinct problem. Most of the villages the Marines had found had been mostly peaceable, and a little trading had been gone over when a few of the strangers interacted.
This didn't help sooth Pellas' grumpy NCO soul. Timmy (it was nearly impossible to call him Lieutenant with a straight face when he wasn't in front of you) had been talking to one of the snake-people, trying to negotiate a place for them to bed down. There was only one issue- neither of the two groups were terribly fluent in Anatelean. Timmy might have been learning it quickly, but his knowledge was limited to shooting the shit in bars and maybe picking up a girl for the night. The snake-people, or lamia as some of the men were calling them, had a similar issue in that this was far from their native language.
It was about that time that a scream echoed out from the sky, and a shrieking whistle was heard.
"GRYPHON!" Timothy yelled, before dragging his gun up to start shooting. As the formerly mythical beast came swooping down it's diving attack run, a few of the other Marines nearby started hosing it down with bullets too. The beast screamed in pain, attempting to abort it's attack run, limping away dripping blood from its wings. Rushing forward, Pellas noted dimly the blood trail started only a few feet away from a female of the lamia, and proceeded into the woods.
So how had Lieutenant Timmy noticed it so quickly?
Pellas' head swiveled over to his nominal boss slowly, where he was trying to pick up the negotiations again, this time from a far stronger position. Soon, they were being escorted to a section of cleared and dry land on the far side of town, while Lieutenant Timothy was trading parts of one of his MREs to the locals for fresh bread. Shaking his head, Pellas just went to go find a place to set up his sleeping bag. He could worry about Timothy's newfound danger sense later, when they got back home. Now it was just enough to know he was starting to grow out of being a boot, and into something properly officer-shaped.
Yrcen on Earth (week 1000)
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
Excepts from a quick report on the Yrcen communities on Earth.
(week 1000)
The Yrcen, better known to most Earthlings as Catpeople are one of the most populous Wonderland Ethnic Groups on Earth, and easily one of the most visible in society as far back as Disclosure in 2014. Despite this, there are less than a thousand known Yrcen on Earth in 2032, with an average age of ten to fifteen years old.
Known primarily for having cat ears and tails, Yrcen display a very wide range of phenotypes. The most common phenotypes are the tailed, eared and adorably feral looking girls working at the (in)famous Nekomimi Cafes (猫耳カフェ) in Akihabara and Nipponbashi and their much more leonine brothers, with the relative level of display ranging down to Arwi Johnson's blonde hair, gold eyes and fangs. Most Yrcen will have any number of the following: fur, cat ears, a tail, cat eyes, fangs (particularly prominent canine teeth,) enhanced muscle fiber density, and hair/fur colors that may include blue-grey, blonde and tiger orange. Yrcen in general are significantly stronger than a baseline human their size, age and fitness level, and as adults have the strongest bite of any known ape. Most Yrcen on Earth however fall on the more feline side of things as a result of selection criteria by Japanese employers. Most Yrcen emigrating to earth are also female, and have come to work in the service industry, as Male Yrcen full-bloods have fewer pull factors and more often prefer reaving the southern kingdoms to working on Earth.
According to the Joint Wonderland Foreign Service Statistics Section, four countries at present have Yrcen populations. China has a dozen working at a newly founded (2030) Cat-ear cafe in Hong Kong. The Czech Republic has sixty one Yrcen, almost exclusively the spouses and children of Česká zbrojovka Uherský Brod and Tatra employees, or are part of the Czech foreign service and most Czech Yrcen live in Uherský Brod. The United States, host of the portal to Wonderland and the nation to make first contact with the Yrcen, has a population of one hundred and ninety three at the time of publication, of which the overwhelming majority are the spouses and children of servicemembers and have the resulting population geographic distribution. The largest populations are in Fort Drum, New York; and Asheville, North Carolina (the fifth and sixth largest Yrcen communities on Earth.) Japan has the largest population of Yrcen on Earth, an artifact of a number of businesses importing Yrcen in bulk, and of Yrcen population dynamics. The largest community of Yrcen on earth is in Tokyo, where five hundred twenty three Yrcen reside (or a little more than the rest of the Yrcen population on the planet combined) while another one hundred and five live in Osaka, and eighty one live in Takahata, Yamagata Prefecture.
While the populations in the rest of the world have obvious reasons for being the size they are and for existing, the Takahata community is an interesting example of service industry driven Yrcen migration. While Yrcen Mikos may have initially having been begun as something of a gimmick to get attendance at the Inunomiya-Nekonomiya Shrine (something helped by the Yrcen being polytheistic animists to begin with,) within a few years many of the mikos had married local farmers and began having families. While the turnover might not be as extensive as it is for a Nemomimi Cafe, about twenty Yrcen have worked at the shrine in the last eighteen years. The Takahata Yrcen have also been responsible for the creation in much of Japanese media of the Yrcen farmwife being the sort of profoundly practical and somewhat crude woman who would hold a child on one hip and a calf under the other arm while talking about the weather. Interestingly, this is a stereotype not shared- the American and Czech views are far different and the stereotype of urban Yrcen in Japan tends to be an overpaid and barely literate girl working in a cafe or as a cook, while China hasn't developed any specific native views due to how small and recent their Yrcen population is.
The Czech and American Yrcen populations are comparatively invisible, given their smaller size, and lack of a pre-existing fetish in Czech and American culture. Where they are shown in media, American and Czech views of Yrcen tend to portray them as semi-feral trophy wives and problem children or student athletes. Assuming they aren't celebrities like the Author Arwi Johnson, Olympic Archer Sheti Johnson and Pop singer Matsui Rumi.
Yrcen population growth on earth has been nothing short of explosive, but much of this comes from their relatively unique physiological responses to the conditions present in the developed world. Although not quite litters, healthy Yrcen women with no recent history of food scarcity will consistently give birth to twins or triplets, unlike their counterparts in Wonderland who usually have single children. This, combined with cultural expectations around infant mortality and what constitutes a proper family size mean that the 'normal' Yrcen family on Earth has between two and six children, with two to four being the norm in an urban community, and five or six children being the normal stopping point in Takahata. Given the dietary needs of Yrcen children (who frequently cannot digest wheat in childhood aside from the usual Wonderlander egg-white and tomato intolerances) and the special clothing needed for tailed Yrcen, this can be quite expensive, and part-Yrcen households often live closer to poverty conditions than their neighbors with similar incomes and numbers of children. A universal preference for co-sleeping and breastfeeding by Yrcen women, as well as a predilection for organ meats helps offset this, but the costs of this is stil immense. In Japan family assistance can offset this, although grandparents are usually not prepared for how strong, numerous and troublesome Yrcen children may be. Few people expect a three year old to be able to climb up a tree, eat a live dove, or deadlift fifteen kilograms overhead.
Although popularly conceived as being particularly promiscuous, most Earthside Yrcen women are within the norms for their society or career. There are admittedly some in Tokyo and Osaka who have moved into prostitution or pornography as a second job, but in retrospect may be expected in a community with no meaningful taboo on the subject. Equally importantly, the financial incentives are immense, with the scarcity driving up prices to the point where one point five million yen is reasonable for a day of side work. Considering the commonplace nature of remittances and certain expensive foods preferred due to the Yrcen's differences in taste palate, many female (and some male) Yrcen dabble as models. Although some of the girls at a Nekomimi Cafe may sleep with particularly handsome customers, most Yrcen women interviewed admitted it was more shopping around for a possible husband and permanent residency than anything profit driven. Yrcen underwear is frequently considered indecent, with ultra-low-rise panties and jockstraps being produced for even preschool aged children by companies specializing in clothing for Yrcen. This is unfortunately a side effect of trying to make a lower body garment cooperate with a tail. Both this unfortunate anatomical quirk and popular perceptions of promiscuity may have led to heightened levels of groping and sexual violence by strangers and non-parental authority figures towards Yrcen, but given the small sample size this is mostly conjectural and is often attributed as a reason for Yrcen children seriously injuring or maiming adults with their bites, along with taking food away from said child or yelling particularly loudly.
For those brave souls willing to try it, finding Authentic Yrcen food anywhere on earth is extremely difficult as is finding any other food from Wonderland. Some of the Nekomimi Cafes in Tokyo and Osaka offer a few dishes to go with the usual curry and omurice expected from a theme cafe, but many of these dishes are moderated and modified for Earthling palates. This is changing somewhat as more Yrcen women take up working back of house positions in those restaurants, which now offer some unadulterated dishes for the truly adventurous. Being a tourism hotspot for Japanese Yrcen seeking to escape the city, a couple of restaurants and ryokan in and around Takahata serve some authentic Metellan cuisine and adaptations of Japanese and western food to a Yrcen palate (often with the addition of Shiokara and other condiments) in addition to the usual fare. Given that the vast majority of Yrcen cannot taste sweet, the other basic tastes are emphasized, particularly savory, fatty and starchy. Otherwise, fermented foods like kimchi, natto and sourdough are favorites aside from traditional Yrcen/Meledli foods and organ meats...
(week 1000)
The Yrcen, better known to most Earthlings as Catpeople are one of the most populous Wonderland Ethnic Groups on Earth, and easily one of the most visible in society as far back as Disclosure in 2014. Despite this, there are less than a thousand known Yrcen on Earth in 2032, with an average age of ten to fifteen years old.
Known primarily for having cat ears and tails, Yrcen display a very wide range of phenotypes. The most common phenotypes are the tailed, eared and adorably feral looking girls working at the (in)famous Nekomimi Cafes (猫耳カフェ) in Akihabara and Nipponbashi and their much more leonine brothers, with the relative level of display ranging down to Arwi Johnson's blonde hair, gold eyes and fangs. Most Yrcen will have any number of the following: fur, cat ears, a tail, cat eyes, fangs (particularly prominent canine teeth,) enhanced muscle fiber density, and hair/fur colors that may include blue-grey, blonde and tiger orange. Yrcen in general are significantly stronger than a baseline human their size, age and fitness level, and as adults have the strongest bite of any known ape. Most Yrcen on Earth however fall on the more feline side of things as a result of selection criteria by Japanese employers. Most Yrcen emigrating to earth are also female, and have come to work in the service industry, as Male Yrcen full-bloods have fewer pull factors and more often prefer reaving the southern kingdoms to working on Earth.
According to the Joint Wonderland Foreign Service Statistics Section, four countries at present have Yrcen populations. China has a dozen working at a newly founded (2030) Cat-ear cafe in Hong Kong. The Czech Republic has sixty one Yrcen, almost exclusively the spouses and children of Česká zbrojovka Uherský Brod and Tatra employees, or are part of the Czech foreign service and most Czech Yrcen live in Uherský Brod. The United States, host of the portal to Wonderland and the nation to make first contact with the Yrcen, has a population of one hundred and ninety three at the time of publication, of which the overwhelming majority are the spouses and children of servicemembers and have the resulting population geographic distribution. The largest populations are in Fort Drum, New York; and Asheville, North Carolina (the fifth and sixth largest Yrcen communities on Earth.) Japan has the largest population of Yrcen on Earth, an artifact of a number of businesses importing Yrcen in bulk, and of Yrcen population dynamics. The largest community of Yrcen on earth is in Tokyo, where five hundred twenty three Yrcen reside (or a little more than the rest of the Yrcen population on the planet combined) while another one hundred and five live in Osaka, and eighty one live in Takahata, Yamagata Prefecture.
While the populations in the rest of the world have obvious reasons for being the size they are and for existing, the Takahata community is an interesting example of service industry driven Yrcen migration. While Yrcen Mikos may have initially having been begun as something of a gimmick to get attendance at the Inunomiya-Nekonomiya Shrine (something helped by the Yrcen being polytheistic animists to begin with,) within a few years many of the mikos had married local farmers and began having families. While the turnover might not be as extensive as it is for a Nemomimi Cafe, about twenty Yrcen have worked at the shrine in the last eighteen years. The Takahata Yrcen have also been responsible for the creation in much of Japanese media of the Yrcen farmwife being the sort of profoundly practical and somewhat crude woman who would hold a child on one hip and a calf under the other arm while talking about the weather. Interestingly, this is a stereotype not shared- the American and Czech views are far different and the stereotype of urban Yrcen in Japan tends to be an overpaid and barely literate girl working in a cafe or as a cook, while China hasn't developed any specific native views due to how small and recent their Yrcen population is.
The Czech and American Yrcen populations are comparatively invisible, given their smaller size, and lack of a pre-existing fetish in Czech and American culture. Where they are shown in media, American and Czech views of Yrcen tend to portray them as semi-feral trophy wives and problem children or student athletes. Assuming they aren't celebrities like the Author Arwi Johnson, Olympic Archer Sheti Johnson and Pop singer Matsui Rumi.
Yrcen population growth on earth has been nothing short of explosive, but much of this comes from their relatively unique physiological responses to the conditions present in the developed world. Although not quite litters, healthy Yrcen women with no recent history of food scarcity will consistently give birth to twins or triplets, unlike their counterparts in Wonderland who usually have single children. This, combined with cultural expectations around infant mortality and what constitutes a proper family size mean that the 'normal' Yrcen family on Earth has between two and six children, with two to four being the norm in an urban community, and five or six children being the normal stopping point in Takahata. Given the dietary needs of Yrcen children (who frequently cannot digest wheat in childhood aside from the usual Wonderlander egg-white and tomato intolerances) and the special clothing needed for tailed Yrcen, this can be quite expensive, and part-Yrcen households often live closer to poverty conditions than their neighbors with similar incomes and numbers of children. A universal preference for co-sleeping and breastfeeding by Yrcen women, as well as a predilection for organ meats helps offset this, but the costs of this is stil immense. In Japan family assistance can offset this, although grandparents are usually not prepared for how strong, numerous and troublesome Yrcen children may be. Few people expect a three year old to be able to climb up a tree, eat a live dove, or deadlift fifteen kilograms overhead.
Although popularly conceived as being particularly promiscuous, most Earthside Yrcen women are within the norms for their society or career. There are admittedly some in Tokyo and Osaka who have moved into prostitution or pornography as a second job, but in retrospect may be expected in a community with no meaningful taboo on the subject. Equally importantly, the financial incentives are immense, with the scarcity driving up prices to the point where one point five million yen is reasonable for a day of side work. Considering the commonplace nature of remittances and certain expensive foods preferred due to the Yrcen's differences in taste palate, many female (and some male) Yrcen dabble as models. Although some of the girls at a Nekomimi Cafe may sleep with particularly handsome customers, most Yrcen women interviewed admitted it was more shopping around for a possible husband and permanent residency than anything profit driven. Yrcen underwear is frequently considered indecent, with ultra-low-rise panties and jockstraps being produced for even preschool aged children by companies specializing in clothing for Yrcen. This is unfortunately a side effect of trying to make a lower body garment cooperate with a tail. Both this unfortunate anatomical quirk and popular perceptions of promiscuity may have led to heightened levels of groping and sexual violence by strangers and non-parental authority figures towards Yrcen, but given the small sample size this is mostly conjectural and is often attributed as a reason for Yrcen children seriously injuring or maiming adults with their bites, along with taking food away from said child or yelling particularly loudly.
For those brave souls willing to try it, finding Authentic Yrcen food anywhere on earth is extremely difficult as is finding any other food from Wonderland. Some of the Nekomimi Cafes in Tokyo and Osaka offer a few dishes to go with the usual curry and omurice expected from a theme cafe, but many of these dishes are moderated and modified for Earthling palates. This is changing somewhat as more Yrcen women take up working back of house positions in those restaurants, which now offer some unadulterated dishes for the truly adventurous. Being a tourism hotspot for Japanese Yrcen seeking to escape the city, a couple of restaurants and ryokan in and around Takahata serve some authentic Metellan cuisine and adaptations of Japanese and western food to a Yrcen palate (often with the addition of Shiokara and other condiments) in addition to the usual fare. Given that the vast majority of Yrcen cannot taste sweet, the other basic tastes are emphasized, particularly savory, fatty and starchy. Otherwise, fermented foods like kimchi, natto and sourdough are favorites aside from traditional Yrcen/Meledli foods and organ meats...
Spectrum
Tell me a secret~
- Location
- Behind you~
*laughs* I can buy it but how did they even start recruitment for that?
Yes, but there's certainly a pre-existing fetish in American subculture! ;P
That cannot possibly be fair, can it?
RIP college funds
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
A grant from a really desperate local government, and piggybacking off the existing recruitment network for cafes.
But yeah Yrcen children are like 10% more expensive to take to adulthood, but the subprefectural government is willing to pay for certain degrees if they stay (because they are the population growth.) Which isn't hard because big cities are actually really uncomfortable for recent immigrants and they're all farmers anyway, aside from the two families with restaurants and the other with a ryokan.
Last edited: