Tag: more odds than ends (Page 1 of 27)

One minute, with the countdown obvious and unavoidable. I’d been grateful the cameras were out of my face for the first time in days. They’d focused on my more photogenic neighbor, who was conveniently having histrionics entirely at odds to having signed up for this gig voluntarily. The show’s host had given me that awful smirk, the one that plainly took its time scraping the clothes away to see the concealed body, and for once I risked letting my fangs flash as I bared my teeth at him.

I had an advantage, and it was too late to pull me from the competition now. When I won, perhaps he’d think twice about the casual, smarmy arm around the waist, that intimate hand on the small of the back that he always tried with the female winners, like a strange consolation prize for survival. They didn’t have a genetic advantage that let them fight back, these ones with death and remorse in their gaze.

The ones whose eyes still held the same desperation that had driven them to apply for the show, or rather, its prizes. Those few that had survived, and were pretty enough for him to show off, always the same as the ones who’d accepted, somehow, that this sleazy host still held more power than they did. They’d grasped for limited status with wild hands for the brief moment before vanishing into obscure poverty, instead flaunting cattiness to lord it over the backdoor floozies, the girls lurking and desperate for a glimpse of fame and fortune, not quite good enough to last on camera.

My mother had been one of those, once, and my father – the gift-granter of my beloved fangs, once I’d stopped poking my tongue open as a child – unknown, and yet somehow famous.

And then – a flash of light, a wave of dizziness, and the endless countdown was finally over. We’d arrived, instantaneously and supposedly in orbit over a different planet, minus the sleazebag and glitter and shine. I hadn’t asked how the ship teleportation technology worked, or even if it was real, just whether we’d be different when we arrived.

Helluva way to colonize the galaxy, if you ask me. Especially when you can only get to where you’ve been before with that teleportation trick. Drop folks on a planet, let them battle it out, scour the land and return the winner. It left the bodies behind, unburied for the local predators. Which was about to include me.

The seats dropped without our intervention, each pod designed to break apart when the parachute snapped. We were told to expect a rough time through atmo, but the air battered the journey.

A pod shattered onto a mountainside, and I passed it, jerking my body to the left and dragging the chute away from the danger zone. One less competitor, though a deep instinct mourned the sheer bad luck.

I landed with flexed knees, contemplative distraction, and straight into a mud puddle filled with octagonal hailstones. Bruised, I threw one at the film drone. At least, I think I did. Could have been an alien bird, for all I could tell; the pod had shielded the torrential downpour until the last moments.

My previously hysterical neighbor landed in some sort of tree nearby, neck snapped in the cords, face a blur of purple that matched her hair behind the curtain of water.

It was only then that I realized fangs alone might not be sufficient to survive the next 48 hours.

***

This week’s prompt was from Becky, though I took it primarily as inspiration: The epic thunderstorm came out of nowhere right as the contestants teleported onto the field.

Mine went to Leigh Kimmel: She had a literal bee in her bonnet, and it paid its rent in honey.

See them all, and play along, over at MOTE!

All righty, I’ve got a twofer to make up for last week. Let’s see if I can work TA Leederman’s — Ignoring the storm that raged outside, we sat without furniture before the fire, toasted bread, made Welsh rare-bit, drank tea, and talked. There would be warmth between us, anyway. — as well as Parrish Baker’s I just feel uncomfortable leaving that half-done; I have to have everything ready first.

***

Josiah sloshed his way to the porch and sank wearily onto the peeling wooden stairs, cursing under his breath.

“You might as well come on in,” I offered. The door I’d paid him to fix last wee had opened silently, and he jumped at my words. “Better inside than sideways rain.”

“Beg pardon, Miss Penelope,” he said gruffly, twisted as he tried to wring out his plaid shirt. “I don’t mean to be slacking on the job.”

“You can’t work in a torrential downpour,” I answered, keeping laughter I dared not let loose hidden behind what I hoped was a humorous tone. I might not have known the lawyer’s recommended handyman more than a few days, but I knew Josiah wouldn’t appreciate a perceived slight to his work ethic. Perhaps when we’d gotten beyond more than a passing acquaintance.

I blinked. Now where had that idea come from? I fumbled to keep going, awkwardly holding the door open and gesturing wildly into the darkness. “Anyway, there’s tea.”

Tea, and a fire. Great-Aunt Cecelia had left an enormous stack of firewood along with the stuffed rooms. The hearth had clearly been frequently used, as it was in better condition than the rest of the house. Still, her “collections” were more than financing the repairs, and that was after keeping anything sentimental. Which hadn’t included the three stagecoaches we’d hauled out of the barn and over to the antique flea market before Josiah had enough room to work.

It was a strangely tidy and profitable assortment, considering she’d bordered on hoarding.

I’d found useable mugs four days after arriving; mugs that an average human might feel comfortable using rather than ones dating quite literally back to the the colonial era. The modern ceramics had been logically discovered amidst delicately blue-patterned china and tarnished silver, though their position might have been more obvious had they not been both in a closet and also behind several pieces of uranium glass and a hideously ugly metal statue. That single box had made the poker-faced auctioneer cough with excitement.

Mom always said this place knew what you needed. Considering all of her stories, it was strange I’d never been here until last month.

He was staring at the barn’s sagging roof — or what could be seen of the blur that was the barn, given the rain — when I handed him a steaming cup cheerfully announcing the holder was a dog lover.

“I just feel uncomfortable leaving that half-done; I have to have everything ready first.”

His words were soft over the fire’s crackle, so quiet I nearly missed them.

“I like order too,” I finally offered quietly. “It’s easier to get things done, and done right.”

“Roof’ll hold,” he finally proclaimed. “Slate here, and the barn’ll hold for now, even with the storm.”

I made a small noise, finally understanding he was worried about his tools. Before I could say anything else ridiculous, there was an odd groaning from outside that drowned even the rain, then a crashing that could have only been lighting.

The lights went out, leaving a gloamy miasma that cast a greenish-grey over the inside of the house. Josiah moved before I did, fast for such a big man. The north bay window told the story. “Didn’t get the truck.”

I stared, uncomprehending. “Um, that’s good.”

A corner of his lip might have moved into a hint of a smile. “Looks like that old oak finally went over, right across the drive.”

That time I did laugh. “I thought maybe Godzilla.”

“No, but I might be stuck here until the rain stops before I can take a proper look and cut my way out.” He looked hesitant now. “As long as that’s all right.”

I eyed Cecelia’s favorite chair, a spindly thing that I hadn’t dared to test. “Don’t think that’ll hold you, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you need. Let me see what I can find.”

The house answered with pillows, enormous ones that I could have sworn weren’t there an hour previously. Pillows, and a baguette I didn’t remember buying at the market. The cheese I had, and the kettle worked as well on the hook over the fire as it had on the stove.

Ignoring the storm that raged outside, we sat without furniture before the fire, toasted bread, made Welsh rare-bit, drank tea, and talked. There would be warmth between us, anyway.

Besides, the more my mind was occupied by exploring this connection with Josiah, the less I wondered what, exactly, was going on with this house.

Image generated with Midjourney

“It was a beautiful spring day until it started raining aliens.” Anastacia cradled her coffee in both hands and blew on it, nudging the sheer curtains with a knee when they slipped closed.

“Mmm,” Nick mumbled, not glancing up from the laptop, so old it was held together by stickers from his college days. “Heard it start raining twenty minutes or so ago.”

“You never do look up when you start doing the books,” she said fondly. “And I do appreciate you taking care of the business. But that’s not a new expression for heavy rain or social media hype. This is a moment you’re not going to want to miss.”

“Gimmee three minutes and I’ll be right there.” Fingers flew, clacking loudly.

“No, now.” This time her voice held an edge, no longer the brightly cheery woman he’d married two years before as a new graduate. “Nick, please. I don’t know how to handle this.”

He slammed the laptop so quickly he nearly took off his left fingertips with the broken latch. He’d never heard Anastacia sound afraid before. Not when she’d questioned making it through university, or when she’d fretted making the right decision about the police academy.

Hell, she’d looked downright determined on their wedding day, without even a glimpse of cold feet for this luminous bride. Once the deal had officially sealed, she’d found it hilarious how well-protected her wedding was, what with all her coworkers dropping in as they were able – half still in uniform, all of them armed.

No, his wife, his beautiful wife – who’d just last week sweet-talked a hostage taker into letting the bank employees go without breaking a sweat – might be prone to laughter, and certainly to stubbornness, but not to fear, and never to indecision.

Nick found himself by her side without memory of crossing the room. “What’s wrong?”

“Look.”

He wiped the window where her mug had steamed the glass. “What on Earth?”

She laughed, a strange wild note to it, and slugged back the rest of the mug. “That’d be the problem, wouldn’t it?”

Through silvery rain, Nick caught glimpses of silvery – skin? – silvery something, silhouetted by deep greenery, and a vehicle that looked to have been nearly the same color before it had been covered in scorch marks and half of what used to be his lawn. “Um, maybe it’s a new trailer type. One of those tin ones. Airslip, or whatever they’re called.”

Through the glass, through the downpour, dark eyes met theirs.

Anastacia set her mug on the windowsill carefully, turned to her husband, and reached for his shoulders. She pressed her lips to his. “I love you. And I don’t know what to do, but I have a responsibility to at least try to keep them from eating the neighbor’s dog, or – or – whatever. Comms are down. No phone, no internet, but try calling it in anyway. Babe – I love you.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, unsure whether he was comforted or disturbed by her backup weapon at the small of her back. “I love you. I don’t want you to go.” Nick kissed her again, a chaste kiss to her forehead. “I know you need to, and that’s why I love you.”

She left the door open. “Stay out of the way in case I run back inside.”

He watched, useless phone in hand, as she ventured into the cool spring rain.

Five minutes later, her body language shifted from cautious to more open, with a few gestures. Abruptly, Anastacia motioned to follow her.

The silver being wobbled up the porch stairs and – out of caution? politeness? Nick had no answers today – and perched upon the edge of a seat after Anastacia sat as well.

“Nick, this is Gerflunk.” She made an exaggerated face at the creature. “Sorry, I don’t think I caught all the tonal intonations properly.”

“That is acceptable,” the alien – there was no getting around it now, not with additional faces peeking out the door of Nick’s new lawn ornament, their unblinking eyes locked upon the trio – said in accented English. “Our language is quite difficult, and we have had more practice with your radio and television transmissions.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Gerflunk,” Nick said carefully. He held out a hand.

“A handshake! Delightful.” Gerflunk seized it and pumped up and down vigorously, flesh chill and damp from the rain. “I expect I should get used to these.”

“How do you greet others in your – um, culture? Planet?” The words came out after thousands of hours networking, growing a tiny business into a small one, perhaps even heading for medium in a few years.

“Like this.” Gerflunk stood, pressed his hand to the edge of his pointed chin, and bowed slightly.

Nick copied the move and then both sat, Nick a precautionary distance away from his wife – just in case – despite the obligatory hospitality his South Carolinian mother had drummed into his manners. “Welcome to our home.”

“To catch you up,” Anastacia interjected, “Gerflunk has a business proposition for you. He also has two daughters with him.”

“Only two of fourteen,” the alien demurred. “Not all of my children are so ambitious. The rest remain with my fluverg. However, these are the most determined. Also the youngest.”

“The kids have an earworm from an old song,” Anastacia said. “They’re on a roadtrip and won’t stop singing. You know how that kind of thing goes.”

Nick grinned, reminded of his younger cousins.

Gerflunk vibrated.

Anastacia and Nick jumped.

“Apologize,” Gerflunk stated, closing his eyes and tipping his oversized head back in remorse. “No, apologies. That’s the correct term.”

“I think it’s like our humming,” Anastacia said, her pondering barely audible over the rain. “Quite all right.”

He vibrated again, this time recognizably with notes.

The couple broke into song. “BAH BAH BAH.”

Gerflunk pointed a finger at them, all five knuckles trembling. “Please, just tell me. Why?”

“Bah! Bah! Bah!” Two small silvery creatures, both barely two feet in height, bounced into their father’s lap. “Bah! Bah! Bah!”

“Please,” Gerflunk said, with the look in his eyes of a roadtrip-maddened father. “Why is the song sticky?”

“Catchy,” Anastasia suggested.

“That.” The alien petted his daughters’ heads and they fell silent. “You were supposed to wait in the ship. Yes, Anastasia-and-Nick, I would like to talk business, but first. Please. Can you make the evil song go away from my head? Or more importantly, out from my daughters?”

***

I don’t know where this has come from, but life has kept things too busy for writing lately. Perhaps this emerged after being suppressed for too long? This week’s weirdness was inspired by a perfectly normal prompt from Becky: It was a beautiful spring day until…

And it was a trade this week! See what she did with linen shrouds here.

As always, find more, over at More Odds Than Ends.

“I didn’t expect to find bees in the basement.” Megan contemplated the fluffy improbable creature. “I swear this one’s trying to communicate.”

“I’m just glad it’s not zombies.” Brian plopped onto the couch and turned on the news. “The buzzing in the walls was giving me really strange dreams.”

The bee floated over and landed on the up arrow of the remote. Megan followed, frowning.

“Hey.” He shook the remote. “C’mon, get off. The exterminator’s not coming until tomorrow, enjoy your last night.”

The bee stayed. The station changed to a female talking head with stiff hair, looking inappropriately serious in a suit.

“Researchers from SETI report strange buzzing noises coming from the latest space-based radio transmissions, coming from the direction of Alpha Centauri. At least one MIT researcher claims the increased sounds coincide with the approach of the X-4387 asteroid.”

The woman’s frozen professional smile did not change, yet somehow she grew condescending. “The same professor suggests that the asteroid’s unusual composition indicates a possible artificial structure, but don’t worry; even if it’s trajectory changes the asteroid is small enough it poses no threat to Earth as it’s likely to break up in atmosphere.”

Megan and Brian stared at the news anchor, then at their still-buzzing visitor.

The bee floated an inch off the remote and waggled its stinger.

***

This week’s prompt was from Padre: I didn’t expect to find bees there…

Mine went to AC Young: She hadn’t expected to sit upon literal pins and needles. Find it here.

Check out more prompts over at MOTE – and don’t forget to send yours in tonight if you want to play along!

The ship shuddered. “Status,” Izz mumbled through a mouthful of cheese. She’d spent the past seven hours cramped in the engine room, wiring things together with the last of her figras tape. Her fingers ached just thinking of the effort to hold things steady in the miniscule space, and the back of her hand would scar from where that connector had broken free before she’d managed to secure the headlamp.

“Pirates continue to follow,” Greaves responded in her best neutral tone, stiff after Izz’s earlier snappish orders. “Unexpected crosswinds are currently wreaking havoc. Supplies are nonexistent for figras tape, ba’ling wire, brass polish, and missiles. There are three more days until anticipated docking at Igar Station. Supplies are low on water and the cheese you’re currently stuffing into your mouth.”

“What?” Izz choked and thumped her chest, then tripped over her too-big coveralls on the way to the control room.

“You told me to stay neutral.” Greaves sounded aggravated. “But you enjoy that cheese too much. I want to try it.”

“You’re an illegal AI that took over my ship while I wasn’t paying attention,” Izz replied. “The answer is holo-cheese while I continue to hide you because you’re useful.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Just explain the winds, Greaves.” She suppressed a sigh, and stole a glance at the small armada pacing her ship’s struggling path.

“How about a laser?”

Izz sucked in a nervous breath and blew out her cheeks. “Wouldn’t that be nice.”

***

This week’s prompt was from AC Young: The unexpected strong crosswinds caused havoc.

Mine went to nother Mike: It was a precisely calculated decision that left no room for wildcard factors.

Find more, over at MOTE!