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Susan Chen's Journal - Day 1 (1,121 words for my brawl with Thalamas) This asteroid is starkly beautiful. After eighteen months inside Exupery, any open space would have been welcome, but 1036 Ganymed has already won me over. The grey, sandy hills sparkle and shine in any light. Each hour brings a magnificent sunrise or sunset. It was a difficult trek to the American supply ship. Glenn had landed just beyond the horizon from Exupery. The half-ton of equipment I carried weighs as much as a feather, but still has the same mass to wrestle with. I was sweating after the first hundred meters. Further EVAs should be easier without that load. The shelter and recycling equipment set up in only a few hours. I'm currently recording this in my shirtsleeves on a cot. They were concerned that the shelter wouldn't be large enough, but it feels like a mansion right now. In my mind I know how far away Earth and the rest of Humanity are, but I certainly don't feel lonely. Day 11 Today was the most difficult day so far. The air processor stopped functioning, but the fault indicator wasn't installed correctly. I didn't even know about the failure until the reserve CO2 canister was already full. I only have two spares, so I hope I can repair the light before the processor fails again. While I was repairing the recycling equipment, my torque drill punctured a hole in the pressure overflow vent and half of the atmosphere inside my shelter escaped to space before I could plug it. It took a full tank of oxygen to bring it back up to pressure. I'll have to trek back to Exupery for a second spare to keep up to mission rules. It's been a week since I planted the garden, and nothing is growing. I've had almost no time for experiments between unanticipated repairs and my difficulty working in the microgravity on Ganymed. Meanwhile, Earth is growing in the sky. I long for home: blue sky, fresh air, and deep water. Day 12 Seventeen hours outside setting up the mining rig today. Ready to strap into my cot. Day 19 First sprouts in the garden today. It feels like I'm finally getting to the science, and there are only ten more days here on Ganymed. The mining rig struck 'gold' today: complex organic compounds under the surface. With any luck, I'll be making oxygen and water in a day or two. If that happens, I'll have some hope of meeting a few of the mission objectives. Considering asking Control for a mission extension in order to accomplish more of our goals. It would be a tragedy to return to earth with all of this effort wasted. Day 27 Control gave me eleven more days. I'm ecstatic because the equipment is finally working as intended. There is even hope that the garden might produce a few small bits of food before I depart. I could be the first person to eat food grown on another world. The Earth is a huge blue-and-white orb in the sky now. I can make out the continents when it's clear. I wish every person could see our world this way. How small we all seem, fighting and bickering over such small portions of this perfect blue dot. It was made for us, and we squander every part of it. I did my best to get some photographs, at least. Maybe they will inspire someone back home to see our world this way. Day 35 Ate the first carrot today. The mission rules called for it to be given to chemical tests, but I've already tested the water and soil. It was my first fresh food in almost two years. There's so much growing in the garden now; I don't want to let it go to waste. I can't take it all with me in Exupery, so I'm going to try to eat as much as I can before I leave. Five more days. I can see the lights of the cities of Earth by night. It's beautiful, but I know what those cities mean. Millions of people crowded so close together. It makes me thankful for this beautiful isolation of mine. I have an entire world to myself, and I'm giving it up to sit in a tiny metal prison for sixth months. Day 38 I requested another mission extension today. Control is 'taking it under advisement' and I am to continue with the return preparations. My objections are, of course, 'noted.' I wanted to tell them to shove it. I've seen the same readings they have. With the garden coming up, I could survive with supplemental protein for months, perhaps years. There should be no objection to a few more weeks. Day 39 I don't want to go home. The efforts of thousands of people brought me here, and it seems like the greatest disrespect to them - and to my new home - to abandon all but a few rock samples to the eternal black. I've brought life to this world. It feels wrong to abandon it. Day 40 I dreamt last night of building a home here. The descent stage of Exupery was a new, larger expansion to my garden. Control had sent me more supplies, beans and equipment for hydroponics. I dreamt that more people were coming to join my little colony, and I woke up in horror. This world might support a dozen people for a lifetime, but they would leave it spent. Empty. The Earth now looms in the sky over my little home. It's nearly as large as it might be from the Moon. I can make out some surface details, and see cities on the day side in my telescope. I think of them looking up at me, just a dot in the night sky. I wonder if they see their world as I see mine: rich, sustaining, but fragile. Day 47 I wonder if any of the Apollo astronauts cried when they left the moon. For my part, there were definitely tears as I watched my little settlement recede and then disappear. I know how Ingrid Bergman felt in Casablanca: sitting on the last flight out as she watched her love stay behind. I didn't want to, I wasn't going to, and it was only the strong, steady voice over the radio that steeled me for what needed to be done. I felt no shame in those tears, only love and longing. As 1036 Ganymed fades in my telescope, you might imagine I am excited to return to Earth. I built a home on a tiny asteroid; I brought life to a lifeless place. It was small and precious and delicate, but it was mine.
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Apr 30, 2014 04:45
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theblunderbuss posted:
If you still need help, I'll help(*). (*) Help may/may not involve spaying participants with an unsanitized eighteenth-century whalehook.
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Apr 30, 2014 07:42
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Sitting Here posted:
 SITTING GOD OVER HERE BECAUSE SHE'S MACKIN ON THE WAITSTAFF BRAWL JUDGMENTi hate you both very very much
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Apr 30, 2014 12:58
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sebmojo posted:
In other news RICHARDGAMINGO, I'M CALLING YOU OUT. Your pretentious, poorly worded bullshit spammed all across CC has driven me to the point of madness. It's almost Lovecraftian how very bad you are. It's like you're a shapeshifter sent to infiltrate a liberal arts college, or the Patron Saint of smug 19 year-olds. You need somewhere to hone your skills, and the 'dome is that place. Brawl somebody, and I'll judge it. Since you're not a 'dome regular, I'll lay it out for you: Somebody else from this thread steps up to word-fight you. You both get given the same prompt and the same deadline, then after that I'll put them out side-by-side and pick the best. Even though my annoyance at you knows no bounds, I promise to judge it fairly and give credit where it's due. Normally I'd be the one brawling you myself, but that would be like throwing a kitten under a steamroller. I'll submit a story alongside if you really need me to prove my chops, but the person you're brawling should be a volunteer from the thread. For you only, I'm dropping the special "winners brawl only" rule. Hell, I'm reversing it: if you want to fight Rich, you've got to have a loss or DM on your record. Deadline will be set whenever your opponent steps up, but the prompt is this: Write something sincere, humble, and featuring no words with greater than 2 syllables. The protagonist must not be you, or your pen-name, or your alter-ego, or anybody that resembles you in any way whatsoever. No formatting tricks, no funny business, no trying to be "clever" and dodge around the rules. Your goals are to stop masturbating all over your thesaurus and to make me give a gently caress. 800 words minimum, 1000 words maximum You wanted CC's attention brosef, now you've got it. Step up.
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Apr 30, 2014 13:19
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I'll fight Gamingo if no other brother/sister in blood wants to canonize this punk
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Apr 30, 2014 13:47
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Yes. YES. 
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Apr 30, 2014 13:55
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leekster posted:I'll fight Gamingo if no other brother/sister in blood wants to canonize this punk
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Apr 30, 2014 13:58
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SOUNDS EASY
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Apr 30, 2014 16:13
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Then as of now, you have one week to submit. 11:59PM Wednesday May 7th Singapore time.
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Apr 30, 2014 17:28
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Sitting Here posted:
what drugs for this
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Apr 30, 2014 18:28
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Thalamas vs Gau brawl results Winner: Gau. Extensive comments here (Thalamas and Gau). Scroll to the bottom for general notes.
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Apr 30, 2014 18:44
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sebmojo posted:
IMO we're all winners because we got to hear mojo do sweet cello things Martello posted:what drugs for this Stone sober on Monday morning
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Apr 30, 2014 21:20
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some people might read my crits and say "drat crabrock that's harsh." well, I'm just the messenger. All of this weeks results were determined by science: First 8 Samples: N1 - Narahari  P1 - Pinball  C1 - Cache Cab  G1 - Griff Lee  H1 - Huntersoniski  DN - Drunk Nerds  CC - Chairchucker  Oh, and SG - Someguy TT is in there too.  All samples were exposed to 150 microliters of pure essence of story.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l4bdeXJ_fEE First Test: Centrifuge All stories were loaded into the mini centrifuge and subjected to normal stresses that any story should be able to handle.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XtybHrFHAak Results:  Sample N1 has turned the color of poo poo. It smells like poo poo. It is poo poo. Do not recommend ingesting in any capacity. gently caress you Narahari, your story is poo poo. Second Test: Vortex Most of these stories held up, but now we need to give them a little bit more of a rough look over.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HLa_4kUj9SM Results: Oh god. Lab accident. Apparently sample G1 was filled with a bunch of extraneous poo poo that exploded and cut the gently caress out of me. gently caress you Griff Lee, your story is a danger to all, especially animals and children and scientists.  Third Test: Plate Shaker This test helps sort out the boring stories from the not-so-boring. Just leave it on this for a while and... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OhnDW4mqvVM Results: ... Oh god, what is that?! Apparently sample SG was hiding some sort of toxic sludge in those words, and it's glowing green.  Taking precautions.  Yup. Geiger counter confirms radioactive. gently caress you Some Guy TT, your story causes cancer. Fourth Test: Deep Freeze Gotta expose these stories to the elements to see how they hold up.  It's cold in here!  Results: Pending... crabrock fucked around with this message at 23:05 on Apr 30, 2014 |
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Apr 30, 2014 21:48
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Holy poo poo.
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Apr 30, 2014 22:22
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Crabrock, go to the head of the class.
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Apr 30, 2014 22:46
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Noooooooooooooooooo! drat you, Gau, and your delightfully evocative imagery.  I'll be watching you. No, really. I'm going to do line by line crits on your next three entries. That way, when I've found all your weaknesses (and absorbed all your strengths), I can challenge you again and crush you into the blood soaked sands of the Thunderdome like the insignificant stuffed tiger that you are.  God Over Djinn, thank you for judging and for the crit. My initial reaction to losing was crushing despair and the desire to stop writing for a week or two while I recovered. Then, I realized that this is the loving Thunderdome. I'm IN.
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May 1, 2014 02:46
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Flash rules up for grabs
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May 1, 2014 02:50
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How much, baby?
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May 1, 2014 02:52
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You were an honorable opponent, Thalamas. Your story had a lot in common with Full Metal Jacket, in that it involved the word "human being" and bullshit posturing and firebombing. Also that it was a plotless mess of images without any emotional background for the reader. Thanks to God Over Djinn for seeing that vague descriptions of a woman falling in love with an asteroid were OBVIOUSLY superior to a disconnected story about growing up as a gay football player or not a football player. You're the best. Gau fucked around with this message at 03:13 on May 1, 2014 |
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May 1, 2014 03:01
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Thalamas posted:How much, baby? Flash rule for Thalamas: Your story is about two friends. One is male, one is female, and there is zero romantic interest between them.
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May 1, 2014 03:24
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Signing up
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May 1, 2014 05:21
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Djeser posted:
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May 1, 2014 05:21
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Someone flash me please.
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May 1, 2014 07:26
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Starter Wiggin posted:Someone flash me please. Flower arranging, frottage. sebmojo fucked around with this message at 08:10 on May 1, 2014 |
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May 1, 2014 08:01
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In, with a request for a flash rule please.
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May 1, 2014 09:49
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Sir Azrael posted:In, with a request for a flash rule please. Eminence grise, bellows.
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May 1, 2014 13:15
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sebmojo posted:Flower arranging, frottage. Starter Wiggin, this is now official. Your story must include flower arranging and frottage but do not write about dicks. For once I'd like to see TD not be more Freudian than a warehouse full of cigars. sebmojo posted:Eminence grise, bellows. F U SEB UR NOT MY CYBERDAD  Sir Azrael your topic is now: politics. However, the politics involved must be minor or inconsequential. Think state secretaries of agriculture, not presidents. You may choose to use Sebmojo's flash rule as well, but remember non-judge rules are not official.
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May 1, 2014 13:33
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I'm in. Flash me baby one more time.
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May 1, 2014 15:03
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lambeth posted:I'm in. Flash me baby one more time. Lambeth flash rule: A quest for a divine rear end features in your story. See earlier comment about goons and cigars. This rear end should be an ideal rear end, unchanging and perfect. Nothing enters or leaves this rear end.
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May 1, 2014 15:15
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Hit me with a flash rule, for I must suffer for my art. No, wait. Others. Others must suffer for my art.
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May 1, 2014 15:23
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docbeard posted:Hit me with a flash rule, for I must suffer for my art. No, wait. Others. Others must suffer for my art. Docbeard flash rule: A character in your story is non-organic. Examples of non-organic materials include ectoplasm, stone, and robot.
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May 1, 2014 15:39
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:YOU GOT ONE WEEK TO FINISH YOUR SYSTRAN BRAWL, PUNK. 800-1000 ugh So many wooooooords to say something that may be captured in a single utterance. RichardGamingo fucked around with this message at 16:47 on May 1, 2014 |
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May 1, 2014 16:44
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Shut up and write.
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May 1, 2014 16:50
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Djeser posted:Lambeth flash rule: A quest for a divine rear end features in your story. This is awesome.
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May 1, 2014 17:37
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Sitting Here posted:Stone sober on Monday morning well you rule but you probs already knew that
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May 1, 2014 18:46
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Yo thanks for da crit lambeth, I will return one when I dig myself out of this pile of homework Also crabrock jesus
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May 1, 2014 18:49
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This is all theblunderbuss's fault. I'm in.
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May 1, 2014 19:23
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Erogenous Beef posted:If you still need help, I'll help(*). You're on. Let's do this.
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May 1, 2014 19:27
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Gamingo vs Leekster 800-1000 words 2 syllables max "Batten down the hatches on the poop! There be a slurry storm up ahead!" Captain Sherlock shouted to the crew on deck. Mary already knew the storm had been set to meet her on this voyage and remained below deck. She was not a crew member anyhow. And whether the ship float or sink did not bother her sense of justice in the least. The sailing crew closed the hatch Mary was looking up through as the winds picked up. A solid wind pushing the Captain's petticoat into a fan at the back of him, he looked to the not-so-distant storm with its wide, tall clouds and heavy rains. After another moment he raises the lens of an eye glass to his sight. Lightning fills the too-dark evening with blinks of intense white light. Captain Sherlock keeps his eyes fixed to the storm, one looking through the eye glass. The shocking flashes exactly what he needs to spy deeper into the chaos ahead. Dancing white light given off by the hearty strikes bounces among the cloud's wet drops before his view. The captain's steady gaze watching the roil of the stormfront, his mind making careful note of the scene before him. Without a hatch to look through, Mary sat and picked her needle and thread from a nearby table. Before she knew it she was back to knitting, "All of these waves and my tummy remains settled." Mary muses over the work as the needle slips up, through, around, up through, around, up, through, around... "This black thread is just perfect for deathmasks." A flash of light. Dancing. The light taking too long to fade. Captain Sherlock knows. Its hail that's up ahead. The captain tucked the seeing eye glass under his left arm and stared into the stormfront for another moment. He minds himself, "A rain of hail might damage the sails. Hail wrapped up in violent winds, doubly so. God knows that with enough force it will punch right through the deck. The storm looks as if it will be upon us in a matter of five minutes." "Higher waves are on the way." Sherlock turns to deliver the storm's bad news to the crew. Ten gusts rocked the boat, each in their turn. The first rocked into the starboard hull and the ship turned to an angle of seventy degrees. The second gust arrived with out any more power, though the din of the kitchen's pots cascade from cabinet to floor was enough to shake the novice shiphand from his nerves, though no novice be aboard the ship. The winds picked up their beat and began a regular howling about the mast, the ladders, and finally roared upon their own terrible accord. A third gust carried a wave of twenty-five foot, the fourth, fifth, and sixth wracked the ship in rapid tempo such that they seemed to strike as one. The poopdeck hit a fifty degree angle and Barney went overboard with the metal sheet the sailors were placing over a weak spot above the cargo chamber. Sherlock, shouting, gave the signal to get below deck. His voice caught in the howling wind but the seamen spotted his gesture through the flailing of rope and rain. The crew made it to the fore of the quarter deck where the hatch down was. The captain, into his chambers. Gust seven struck and took first mate Gallant, who was braving the tumult to keep the hatch raised for his fellows, into the drink. The eight wind came with a wave and the soaked deck was flooded. Crew mate John -- last in line -- was nearly taken by the waters. John's white-knuckled grip on the edge of the first stair down his grace. He pulled himself through the portal and the gushing waters followed his descent. The heavy hatch door remained open, flush with the deck. The ninth gust came with a thunder. The fury shot the sail with hot light. The tenth gust blew them all down. ---------------------------------- btw sorry I lost
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May 1, 2014 19:36
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theblunderbuss posted:You're on. Let's do this. Good. Hey Thunderdome: you're on notice. Don't suck.
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May 1, 2014 20:16
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