|
Why Aren’t They Called Frog Chairs? 1249 words Herbert the gnome was a bit cheesed off. All things considered, the magnitude of his cheesed-off-ness couldn’t possibly be overstated. “Oi,” he said to no one in particular, “where the dickens is my toadstool?” It was his favourite toadstool, because it was red and purple and poisonous and he could shelter under it when birds and stuff tried to eat him, or the rain tried to rain on him. “Hey mate,” said Betty the elf,* who happened to be conveniently passing by. “What’s happening?” “Someone’s made off with my toadstool,” said Herbert, “and I’m fairly cheesed off.” “Oh,” said Betty. “Your toadstool, huh? Which one was yours?” “I’ve got a few,” he said, “but the red and purple and poisonous one was my favourite, and that’s the one some rascal has made off with.” “Hmm,” said Betty. “Probs eaten by humans or something, I’d say.” “Does seem like the kind of thing they’d do,” said Herbert. And they moved on with their lives. ~ A couple days later, Betty was hanging out in her tree house when she saw Jimberton the goblin doing some skulking. It was, she had to admit, some world class skulking, and if it weren’t for the fact that she was a magical treehouse dwelling elf he probably would’ve escaped her notice. “Oi,” she called down to him, “what’s with the skulking?” Jimberton looked up, saw her, and threw himself under a leaf, which he pulled over himself. “Are you serious right now?” she asked. “I literally watched you get under the leaf, you can’t hide from me there.” “I can too,” he called back. “Can you see me?” “I know where you are,” she said. “I can see the leaf you’re under, I know exactly where you are.” “But you can’t see me, right?” he said. “Bam. Successfully hidden.” She sighed and wiggled her elf fingers to do some elf magic, and the leaf floated up to her, leaving Jimberton exposed and clearly visible, albeit rolled up into a little goblin ball, with limbs sticking out every which way. “That’s cheating!” he said. She stepped onto the leaf, which floated back down to him. “What are you doing, anyway?” she asked. “Just a spot of skulking.” “Yeah, I saw that. World class skulking, I have to say.” He beamed a little goblinesque beam. “Tha’s right. No one skulks like me.” “Skulking for any particular reason?” He shrugged. “Mostly just keeping my eye in. Gotta keep my skulking skills up, just in case.” “In case of what?” He shrugged again. “I d’no. Like maybe if any gnomes thought I stole something, which I totally didn’t, but if they thought I did. Or if just one gnome thought that.” “What did you steal?” “Oh, not me,” he said. “I would never. I don’t even like toadstools.” She sighed. “Did you steal Herbert’s toadstool?” “I didn’t steal it much,” he said. “Much?” “It was only a little bit of theft. Hardly anything really.” “I have no idea what that would even mean.” “I was just borrowing it,” he said. “I was just gonna put it in a soup, just a little bit, and then after I’d made soup with it, I was going to put most of it back.” “Wait,” she said, “you made soup with it?” “I didn’t mean to use the whole thing,” he said. “Just got carried away?” “And you ate that soup?” “Wouldn’t it be ‘drunk’?” “Drunk? Did you put ale in the soup too?” “Why would anyone put ale in soup?” Jimberton thought about it for a moment, and then said, “Come to think of it, maybe I should try that.” “OK but who had the soup?” “I gave it to my girlfriend’s dad,” he said. “To show that I can totally provide for her and stuff.” “Oh dear, and then what happened?” “I don’t know,” he said. “I left it on his front doorstep, then knocked and ran. Or, knocked and skulked.” ~ What had then happened is that Jimberton’s girlfriend’s dad, Filliam, had eaten it and it had made him very sick. Goblins’ innards are too hardy to be done in by a simple poisoned toadstool, but Jimberton was also very bad at cooking, and the mix was doing ‘orrible things to Filliam, necessitating frequent trips to the bog, where he expelled the horrible mixture from both ends. “You probably shouldn’t have eaten soup with a poisonous toadstool sticking out of it,” said his wife, Glenrietta. “I thought that was just decoration,” he said between heaves. “Nope,” she said, “poisonous toadstool, just like the kind that gnome fellow used to have.” “Right,” said Filliam, “I’ll do him for that. I know someone who’s good at skulking.” ~ The next day, Betty spotted Jimberton skulking again. “Where are you skulking to this time?” she asked. He looked up. “Oh, it’s you again. Could you quit with the spotting me skulking? It’s bad for my reputation. How can you even see me?” “Elf magic.” “Bloody elfs,"** he said. “So, why are you skulking? And why do you have a lot of explosives stashed about your person?” “How can you see those?” “Elf.” He scowled. “If you ask me, it’s unfair that elfs get magic. You don’t even use it for awesome things like skulking.” “So, where are you off to?” “Shan’t tell you,” he said. “And if I was blowing someone or their house up or something, he probably had it coming for having all those poisonous toadstools around the place.” And then he skulked off. But Betty wiggled her elf fingers and did elf magic, because to her it seemed a little unfair that Herbert should get blown up for having his favourite toadstool stolen and used to almost assassinate a potential future father-in-law. And Jimberton got all mixed up by pretty lights or whatever, until he wound up at Filliam’s house, where he planted the explosives. ~ It was the aftermath of the explosion, which had fortunately not killed anyone, because Filliam had been down at the bog passing the last of the poorly made poisonous toadstool soup, and his wife had been there berating him for eating poisonous toadstool soup, and Jimberton’s girlfriend had been out cheating on him with Herbert. Filliam returned to see the rubble of his house, and Jimberton standing nearby looking somewhat confused. “Ah,” said Filliam. “I see you decided to blow up my house, instead.” “Um,” said Jimberton. “No?” “And then have the audacity to lie to my face about it. How lowdown and devious. Well done, you’ve proven you’re goblin enough for my daughter.” “Oh, OK,” said Jimberton. “You not mad, then?” “Maybe a little,” said Filliam. “But I’m going to take your house, so it’s fine.” “Um,” said Jimberton, and tried to think of a rebuttal, but having been caught in the aftermath of having blown up Filliam’s house, decided to cut his losses and go find his girlfriend, who would surely be thrilled to see him, and would certainly not be gleefully bouncing up and down upon a gnome or anything untoward like that. Except of course that’s exactly what she was doing, and Betty was doing elf magic to watch them, because elfs are gross pervs. *Now, when I say elf, I’m talking diminutive, mischievous cobbling elf, not tall elegant elf, got it? Cool. Carry on. Also she does elf magic or whatever. **It’s elfs, not elves, when they’re the short ones, I’ve decided.
|
#
?
Nov 7, 2022 13:45
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 19, 2024 21:23 |
|
|
Wrestlewatcher Recap: Wrestling Equals Action's A Regular loving Match Jim Meltz, here. Recapping the events of WEA’s A Regular loving Match. Tony Shmuck, Big Bill Reid, and Dashing Jim Harley welcomed everyone to Spokane. Tony then ran down the card. The “Mikesassin” Mike Soul vs. Luke Soul Literal blood was boiling as the Mikesassin took on his little brother. The entire match was filled with technical grappling, which was to be expected from students of their father’s Soul Gaol. While they were grappling, it seemed like each brother (especially Luke) were trying to one up each other. It went on until Mike tried to do the Mikesassination submission, but Luke countered into a pin. A huge blow to Mike coming into the main event. Luke Soul won in 12:42 by pinfall Afterwards, Nasty Nick Tree was quickly able to get a word from Luke, and he bragged about how he proved that he was the better wrestler, and the better man. Citrus Jones vs. Billhomer We then went with some of the more comedic wrestlers in WEA, trying to prove that they belong with the “big lads”. Now, I know full well that the fans enjoy both men, but after tonight, they proved to at least me that they could go. They mostly did some flips that would impress even the most experienced of acrobats, and were still able to go even later when some other folks would be gasping for air! After a little while, Jones was able to pull off the Orange Express for the win. Citrus Jones wins in 8:42 by pinfall Backstage, Graveman Jones was in the Locker Room, preparing for his match. While that was going on, his brother Abel had a chat with him. In the end, when Jones asked if he could count on him, Abel simply said, “I’ll make sure the right person wins.” “The Sexpert” Eddie Malone vs. Jackie J. (Intergender Match) To be fair, at first, I was dreading this match. I mean, who the hell wants to see a man beat up a woman in 2022? Hell, Malone even had the audacity to call this match a loving Match! Luckily, it turned out to be quite the squash, with Jackie J. easily kicking his rear end. Jackie J. wins in 2:47 by pinfall. Afterwards, to add even more humiliation, Jackie pulled down Eddie’s pants, and kicked him in the balls. Humiliated and in pain (for more than one reason!), Eddie crawled backstage. Graveyard Jones (with Able) vs. Society (with Digger Graves) This was a hoss fight through and through. Nothing more than two meaty men slapping meat! The Graveman and Mr. Folly’s little man beat the holy hell out of each other for about ten whole minutes. Afterwards, Graves came into the ring with his metal urn, but Able grabbed it out of his hands… …only to soon after use the urn to knock out his brother! Big Bill responded by repeatedly saying, “What the hell is this?” Even as Society pinned the Graveman. Society wins by pinfall in 10:57 Afterwards, Digger Graves brought out a big old casket, and watched as Society and Able dumped Graveyard in. After nailing it, the three stood back, and the casket exploded! After a commercial break, some footage was shown of WEA officials extinguishing the flames of the now exploded casket, looking for any remains. What they found…was nothing. WEA Action Championship: Peter Johnson (c) vs. Ryu Irish A blood feud that was more than just for the title culminated tonight. This was the kind of match fans wanted to see out of any blood feud, two men beating the holy hell out of each other. There were even very close calls where Johnson hit the Big Johnson, and Irish had Johnson in the Ankle Grab. In the end, Johnson was able to finish him with a Knee Of The People. Peter Johnson wins by pinfall in 17:38 Backstage, Nasty Nick talks with Banzai Billy’s manager, Jimmy Cracorn. Jimmy bragged about how long Billy’s been champion, and ended with, “How the hell could Mike Soul beat Billy, if he couldn’t even beat his own brother?!” Main Event: WEA World Heavyweight Championship Banzai Billy © (with Jimmy Cracorn) vs Mike “The Mikesassin” Soul While the champ came in fresh, Mike was suffering physically and mentally from his match with his brother earlier. While Mike’s match with Luke was more of a technical affair, this one…not so much. But then again, it was kind of a given when you compare the sizes of each man. While the match was the physical equivalent of a lone lumberjack cutting down a Sequoia, both men tried to make it at least entertaining. After Mike knocked out Cracorn, he went and made Billy tap out of the Mikesassination. Mike Soul wins by submission in 9:42 After the match, everyone was celebrating in the ring, congratulating Mike on winning the big one. All except one. Luke stood at the end of the ramp, with an expression saying, “What the hell is this?” Sure, Luke may have beaten him, but big brother Mike still won overall in the end. Overall, it was an excellent night of in-ring action! Four and a half stars.
|
|
#
?
Nov 7, 2022 15:03
|
|
|
Forgot to add, my story had 869 words.
|
|
#
?
Nov 7, 2022 15:07
|
|
|
Not sure why the hell my post added twice?
The man called M fucked around with this message at 18:43 on Nov 7, 2022 |
|
#
?
Nov 7, 2022 15:07
|
|
|
Submissions closed.
|
|
#
?
Nov 7, 2022 17:34
|
|
|
 \MERRY HAPPY THUNDERDOME IT'S TIME FOR SECRET SANTA HOLY poo poo. I’ll say this now and I’ll say it again at the end of the post: DO NOT INDICATE INTEREST OR ATTEMPT TO SIGN UP IN THREAD. Message me directly either through PM or on Discord. Not looking to bog down the thread. We've taken a couple years off of presents in favor of other mediums of merriment. No more of that, we're back to a gift exchange! Here's how it works!
FAQ Hey Chili why in the world would I give you, a wheel-spinning nutcase that can barely eat a popsicle my personal address? I don't know man, you probably shouldn't tbh. For real though, I take privacy seriously. I'll delete everything at the end of the season, but if you're not good with me and another TD'r getting your info, it's totally cool to sit this out. Are there restrictions on who can sign up? Yes. In order to sign up, you need to: 1) Have participated in at least 5 Thunderdome contests. 2) Have no outstanding Santa debts. We actually had a few people last year not make good on their assignments. The policy every year is that if you snub your Santee, sit out the next one and instead make your Santee whole. Once you do that, let me know, and you'll be back on the good list for next year. Is there a cash limit or something? No minimum or maximum, just do a cool thing. Gifts can be anything. Full homemade? Groovy. A good book? Fabulous. A bone pen for some reason? Sure. I’ll post a reminder about this when the deadline is a few days away. For now, GET MERRY!
|
|
#
?
Nov 8, 2022 04:27
|
|
|
I am second judge
|
|
#
?
Nov 8, 2022 06:17
|
|
|
Judgment My Shark Waifuu wins. Crits soon.
|
|
#
?
Nov 8, 2022 10:14
|
|
|
Crits for Week 535 Idle Amalgam - Building Blocks: This story commits the classic Thunderdome sin of ending where it should have started. Look at this line: "She had permanently ruined a plethora of lives just to conjure up yet another abusive rear end in a top hat." This is the best line! I wish it had been the opening sentence. I wanted to read the story that you summarised in the final paragraph, not this prologue. 5/10 My Shark Waifuu - The Spellcaster's Dilemma: This story is like a terrible anime, with heavily stereotyped characters, difficulties that no right minded person would ever get themselves into, and highly contrived dilemmas, that somehow still manages to be enjoyable. Despite the fact that your main characters are off the shelf snooty-gifted-rich-girl and smart-hard-working-poor-girl, there's just enough characterisation on their two-dimensional bones to make me care about their nascent friendship. The school's reaction to their accident (oh well nevermind students die all the time what can you do) is ridiculous but somehow works as a sort of horrible coming-of-age moment for Esme, when she realises that the world she lives in is much more awful than she thought. Overall: needs a polish, but feels like a good first draft. 7/10 Chairchucker - Why Aren’t They Called Frog Chairs?: Vaguely entertaining flim flam. The joke about the elf being a perv was unnecessary. 4/10 The man called M - Wrestlewatcher Recap: Wrestling Equals Action's A Regular loving Match: At this point, I'm confused as to your motivations for entering. You don't seem to be making any effort to respond to feedback. You've written yet another story in which the sole woman character exists only so you can make a sexist joke and have her kick some dude in the balls. If you are going to keep going like this, then, well, please don't.
|
|
#
?
Nov 8, 2022 20:34
|
|
|
The Future is Robots?! Robots are cool. They can be cute, goofy, inept, unsettling, menacing, super-intelligent, or a strange combination (looking at you, unnecessarily violent chess robot). This week, I'd like stories featuring a robot. Any type of robot and genre of story will do. If you want a flash rule, let me know when you sign up and I'll give you the name of your robot. 1,500 words. No robo-fanfic, robo-erotica, robo-political screeds, robo-Google Docs, etc. Sign-ups close 11:59 PST on Friday, 11 November. Submissions close 11:59 PST on Sunday, 13 November. Robocops: My Shark Waifuu you? Johnny 5s: Idle Amalgam Something Else The man called M WindwardAway ZeBourgeoisie Sitting Here Chairchucker flerp Bad Seafood dervinosdoom Thranguy Quiet Feet Screaming Idiot QuoProQuid Thanks to a robot for creating the image! My Shark Waifuu fucked around with this message at 18:59 on Nov 12, 2022 |
|
#
?
Nov 8, 2022 21:33
|
|
|
In
|
|
#
?
Nov 8, 2022 22:09
|
|
|
In, flash me
|
|
#
?
Nov 8, 2022 22:59
|
|
|
In. Flash please.
|
|
#
?
Nov 8, 2022 23:00
|
|
|
Count me in!
|
|
#
?
Nov 9, 2022 00:16
|
|
|
In.
|
|
#
?
Nov 9, 2022 01:17
|
|
|
Something Else posted:In, flash me Wally Simon The man called M posted:In. Flash please. CXR1864
|
|
#
?
Nov 9, 2022 02:15
|
|
|
in, flash
|
|
#
?
Nov 9, 2022 05:38
|
|
|
Sitting Here posted:in, flash CRUSHBOT
|
|
#
?
Nov 9, 2022 05:43
|
|
|
Please name my robot
|
|
#
?
Nov 9, 2022 06:49
|
|
|
in 
|
|
#
?
Nov 9, 2022 06:59
|
|
|
In.
|
|
#
?
Nov 9, 2022 08:53
|
|
|
Crits for Week #535 Crits done in judgemode So, the good news was that we had strong adherence to the prompt all around. The bad news, other than the turnout, is that we had, in all but the winner, difficulty with presenting things that were actually shaped like a story. Wrestlewatcher Recap: Wrestling Equals Action's A Regular loving Match: Initial notes: This is a weird one. A lot of characters running around, who, despite their wrestling gimmicks, seem a little flat. We probably don't need two sets of brothers, Abel changes to Able midway through, I don't understand why the championship is two on one, but overall a decent effort. Final conclusions: there's the core of a story here, sibling rivalry that has reached a breaking point. But the structure you've chosen works against being able to tell it. I'm not averse to nonstandard structures, but they need to actually fit what you're doing. And this one doesn't work. First off, a wrestling story is almost always going to need to be about kayfabe, about the superimposed worlds of work and shoot, but when you foreground the announcer you lock yourself entirely in one of those worlds, and further, in a story about family and betrayal you probably want to be in a point of view that gets into the head of someone directly involved. The Spellcaster's Dilemma: Initial Notes: Something bothered me about the opening, and it eventually clicked that it was the point of view. Full omniscient is a choice that I'm not sure is going to work in this kind of story. Dialog is a bit unnatural as well. "And paid tuition " reads more naturally as the opposite of what you're meaning. So I guess this is supposed to be a prisoner's dilemma situation,sort of, but there really isn't enough time spent on the decision. We're hopping heads but we aren't present for the most important decision being taken. Also, this school seems indifferent to student safety even more than most fictional magic academies. Flawed, but most storylike of the pack. Final Thoughts: looking at the title you're deliberately invoking the prisoner's dilemma, but the setup is different enough that it loses the point; there isn't a cooperate and thrive outcome possible, and that sort of loses the point. Why Aren’t They Called Frog Chairs?: Initial notes: Okay opening, sets up character, need and tone. Footnotes. Bold choice. So, this was fun. Sort of empty, but fun. It's living entirely on voice, since it's entirely an arch idiot plot without much of an ending, but the voice carries it through. Final Thoughts: There's a version of this that takes itself a bit more seriously and really lands. On first read I saw this as an (fairly poor) attempt at Pratchett, but thinking now it reminds me more of Christopher Moore, particularly the Fool books, in terms of what it's taking a few steps toward. Building Blocks: Initial Notes:Interesting opening. 'Left' may not be the right word for a still prospective tip. Point of view is weird, it seems to be in the delivery guy but is using Karen's real name. I'm not sure the narrative editorializing ('incorrectly' is a rough adverb for modern prose) does anything good here. And that's just an abrupt ending, one that feels like it's skipped over most of the story. This is the technically strongest prose of the week, but that's a huge flaw. Final Thoughts: Again, the ending kills this story. The abruptness by itself is bad enough, but ending with the nominal protagonist's suicide is difficult to pull off. It's something that needs to be earned, to be set up properly, whether you're presenting it as rational or irrational, but here it's just a version of a rocks fall everybody dies ending.
|
|
#
?
Nov 9, 2022 09:05
|
|
|
Chairchucker posted:Please name my robot Your robot's name is Spidertron!
|
|
#
?
Nov 9, 2022 09:43
|
|
|
In and flash!
|
|
#
?
Nov 9, 2022 15:11
|
|
|
In and flasb
|
|
#
?
Nov 9, 2022 17:23
|
|
|
Actually I have too much going on, I'm gonna have to back out. If I can't do that, I'll still try to deliver but odds are I will fail to submit :/ sorry
|
|
#
?
Nov 9, 2022 18:09
|
|
|
When you're in you're in, so if you don't submit it'll count as a fail. You can always submit a redemption though and expunge the fail away!
|
|
#
?
Nov 9, 2022 20:00
|
|
|
dervinosdoom posted:In and flash! Autonomous Sampler W-277 Thranguy posted:In and flasb Big Bertha
|
|
#
?
Nov 9, 2022 21:38
|
|
|
In and flesh.
|
|
#
?
Nov 10, 2022 20:09
|
|
|
Quiet Feet posted:In and flesh. The ButcherMatic 9000
|
|
#
?
Nov 10, 2022 20:15
|
|
|
I'm in! Name my robot!
|
|
#
?
Nov 11, 2022 14:35
|
|
|
Screaming Idiot posted:I'm in! Name my robot! Ol' Sparky
|
|
#
?
Nov 11, 2022 20:18
|
|
|
Rodent! I Challenge you to a Brawl!
|
|
#
?
Nov 12, 2022 03:03
|
|
|
In. Flash.
|
|
#
?
Nov 12, 2022 06:00
|
|
|
Rodent, m, I gotcha. Take until the end of the month. Stories are due 11/30 sometime idc. Use up to 2000 words. Write me a story where: A person realizes they don't have enough money to make rent and they try to solve this problem in a safe, and non violent manner. At the end of this story it should be clear if the person succeeded or failed, and I should be able to explain how and why they succeeded or failed.
|
|
#
?
Nov 12, 2022 07:08
|
|
|
QuoProQuid posted:In. Flash. Helperbot Mk. 2
|
|
#
?
Nov 12, 2022 08:17
|
|
|
Signups closed, but both co-judge slots are still available if you want to participate this week
|
|
#
?
Nov 12, 2022 10:50
|
|
|
Chili posted:Rodent, m, I gotcha.
|
|
#
?
Nov 12, 2022 16:47
|
|
|
Chili posted:Rodent, m, I gotcha. The Rent is Too drat High! by The Boy Named N 470 words Rent: it's money you give to your landlord, in exchange for housing. Here in Brooklyn, we take our rent very loving seriously. After all, if you don't pay your rent, you could get evicted! Let me tell you a story about the time I was short on rent! There I was, walking on the Brooklyn Bridge, eating a slice of pizza that folds in half like a taco, when I got a call from my boss, Janessa. "Hey Jim. Bad news. Look like your paychecks are gonna be two weeks late this week." What the hell? "What the hell?" I said, wondering what the hell was going on. "But I gotta pay my rent today or else I'm gonna be evicted!" "I'm sorry. Bye!" said Janessa, then hung up. What a oval office!! What the hell? How am I gonna make up the money for rent? I look everywhere! I check bulletin boards, buy some scratch tickets, and I even called my parents to ask them for some cash! But after an hour I still don't have any money to give my landlord! What the hell? Then I saw an ad for a big one-on-one basketball tournament. Since I'm seven foot nine, I'm pretty good at basketball! And the reward is fifty thousand bucks–enough to pay my rent and then some! I head down to the Big Brooklyn Gym to play some B-ball! I get signed in, then check out my competition. Some of these guys are really tall, even taller than me. One of them is eight foot nine, which is just shorter than the tallest person ever. The tallest person ever was Robert Wadlow, who was eight foot eleven. I asked the person next to me who the tall guy was, and he said it was Terrifyingly Tall Terrence. I played the first few rounds of the tournament, and a lot of cool stuff that would have been fun to read about happened in it. I won them all. I checked who I would be playing against in the final…and it was Terrifyingly Tall Terrence! I squared off against Terrifyingly Tall Terrence on the court. The ref blew the whistle, and tossed the ball into the air. The game had begun! We played an exciting game full of free throws, penalties, dribbles, shots, and defense, but in the end, I came out on top! Right after the game was over, Terrifyingly Tall Terrence died because being that tall means that your heart has a harder time getting blood flow to your entire body. I took the cash down to my landlord, and saved the rest of the money for next month's rent. After all, they say that rent is the money you give to your landlord in exchange for housing, and I, for one, don't want to get evicted.
|
|
#
?
Nov 12, 2022 23:55
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 19, 2024 21:23 |
|
|
New World in the West By Quiet Feet (1496) They'd all gathered in the bar car: the comfy pink CHairsonic 5 and her grooming implements; the sleek black Bot-Tender; the Robutler in his red vest; the yellow and black striped Repair-o-Tron #7; and lastly, Butchermatic 9000 stumbling in, feeling sheepish. Bot-Tender was appropriately the first there, although you could make an argument that Mercury Glider—the train upon which they all rode-must be first as the room was her. Butchermatic 9000 shoved aside a decayed corpse and wedged himself in a booth across from the bar itself. He yanked an arm from the body and began absentmindedly stripping and cleaning it. “Oh don't do that, Butch! I just did his nails last week!” CHairsonic 5 chided. “Well, not doing him a lot of good now,” said the Robutler. There was a gentle shriek of interference as Mercury Glider's voice came over the loudspeaker. “Is everyone here now? Good. Have we given any thought where we're going next?” “Hawaii!” said CHairsonic 5, waving her shears and nail clippers. “Tahiti!” said the Robutler. “Now now, those are both islands,” came Mercury's voice. “Could be people there.” grumbled Repair-o-tron #7. Butchermatic 9000 stared out at the bleak landscape. The Earth was covered in black ash, with thick clouds blotting out the sun save for a strip of deep orange sky out the window behind him. The bots weren't really equipped to know what had happened. Just, big bright flash one moment, the next, everyone on board dead and pretty much everything outside in ruins. It was probably something from space, they'd agreed. They'd seen other trains on the tracks as they'd traveled the continent for the past week, but external comms were down and it was impossible to know anything except for what you saw out the window. They passed by the Galloping Greyhound yesterday but saw nothing in its dark glass. Butchermatic 9000 neatly arranged the piles of flesh, skin and bone on the table, sorting the delicate hand bones by size. He set the nails aside for CHairsonic. “Well,” he said, “we've seen New York...” Everyone nodded. “Cleveland.” Nods. “The repair yards of Camden, New Jersey.” More nodding. An approving grunt from Repair-o-Tron #7. “That's mostly east coast. How about we move west?” Mercury's voice came over the loudspeaker, “track sensors show a lot of breaks along the major rail lines. We can try, but I'm worried things are even worse out there. Still, it might be all we have at this point. There must be somebody alive who needs—“ “Haircuts!” shouted Chairsonic 5. “Butlering!” said the Robutler. Bot-Tender said nothing as he was designed to be a good listener. He did shake a bottle of peach schnapps in the air though. “Well, I guess that settles that. There might be a clear track through Missouri. Lets... oh everyone wave hi to our friends in the Flashing Star as they go by!” The robots waved as window after window of decaying bodies streaked away. A traveling mausoleum, passing in eternal twilight. Butchermatic 9000 supposed that's what Mercury was now too. “That's all, back to your duties everyone!” the train said in her most cheerful voice. “Oh, and Butch, if you could begin breaking down all the bodies? If we do find more guests I don't think they'll want our prior occupants in the way. Perhaps sort them in case we find anyone who wants to identify remains? You can start in the bar car. If we do pick anyone up I imagine they'll need a drink.” This satisfied the Butchermatic 9000. Not that he would call it fun, but breaking flesh down into its parts was somehow satisfying. Calming. Like doing origami but in reverse. In no time at all he had neat heaps of skin, flesh, bones, skulls and miscellaneous gristle and plastic bits all arranged in careful piles. Robutler brought him some plastic boxes for storage. “So what are you going to do if we don't find any new passengers?” the Robutler asked conversationally. He spritzed a mottled cloth with something lemon scented and began to wipe down the table where Butchermatic 9000 had been working. “Me? Oh, it's silly,” said the Butchermatic. “How about you?” The Robutler shrugged. “I'll probably just keep on doing this. Somebody has to keep the old girl clean. C'mon though, what did you have in mind?” He lifted a skull and gave it a perfunctory wipe. “I mean, if you're not butchering and chopping then are you even a Butchermatic 9000?” “But, that's just it, I don't have to be the Butchermatic 9000 any more! Not that that's bad, just... I could be anything now! And now I want... to be in the movies!” “But you're a Butchermatic old boy. That's your job. Though, I suppose, hmmm.” “What is it?” asked the Butchermatic 9000. “You know, I have always wanted to go somewhere sunny and get a tan,” Robutler replied. He looked out the window at the charcoal sky. “Passengers always talked it up. Fat chance now though.” “But it's worth a try!” “Maybe. Maybe.” They finished their work in the bar car and went their separate ways. With various delays, it took two days to reach Missouri. Butchermatic 9000 spent the time between neatly packing away the people who had ridden on Mercury Glider, stowing them in plastic bins with their personal effects in bags, and placing them in their rooms. It was odd having served them for so long. A week on into the end of the word and they were already almost nothing, like there had never been much to them to begin with. Mercury called another meeting, and the robots gathered in the bar car. “I've found a way through, I think, but we have a minor problem.” “What is it?” asked CHairsonic 5. “Seems that there's another train on the tracks. Possibly stuck. It's operational as far as I can tell but I have no way of sending it a message.” The crew discussed it among themselves. A few minutes later, it popped up onto the monitor. There on the tracks like a great lion was the flagship engine of the fleet, the Galaxy Flyer, a behemoth among luxury trains, squatting amid the broken carcasses of cars and trucks that appeared to have been swept from the tracks by a giant hand. Galaxy's front was badly dented. One of its two front lights was cracked and useless. A few minutes later they had pulled in close enough for Mercury to talk to it via the external speakers. “Hello Galaxy!” she yelled. “It's been quite a while. How have you been?” “My passengers, all dead,” pronounced Galaxy's voice, distorted through a speaker that drooped from its side like a hanged man at the end of a wire. “You have my sympathy, friend. Oy, what a week, right?” Mercury forced a genial chuckle. “Anyway, maybe you would want to follow us out west? We were thinking of looking for passengers out there.” “I've come from Nevada. Seen the Dakotas, Montana, Idaho, Arizona. All dead. Everyone is dead.” “Well, maybe we could try California?” “I need passengers. Give me your passengers!” With a shriek of old metal, Galaxy crept forward a few dozen feet. Mercury backed away. “Galaxy, old, friend, all I have is my service crew. And not even all of them, most are in storage to conserve energy.” “I want one passenger. At least one. And then you can pass.” There was dead silence in the bar car. Butchermatic 9000 looked around. Nobody wanted this. “Well, I suppose we'll turn back” said Mercury. A thick silence descended on the room. Butchermatic looked around. He felt sad for Mercury, but knew immediately the only thing they could do. “I have a plan.” An hour later a passenger stepped out. And then another. An disheveled old lady in furs sitting in a comfy pink CHairsonic 5; A thin, sleek man in a bartender's outfit; a puffed up skinny fellow in a red vest; a stout little man with a giant mustache and a helmet that read merely “#7”; and lastly, a tall, almost pickled-shaped lady with gangly arms but the most beautiful neon nails that the Galaxy Flyer had ever seen. Their skins seemed oddly saggy and gray but passengers were passengers, and Galaxy felt relief. People were his only purpose and would only ever be his purpose, saggy or not. He gave his whistle a self-satisfied blast and announced over the speaker. “I'll be taking my passengers to Oklahoma. You may follow.” From inside Galaxy's bar car, it wasn't possible for Butchermatic 9000 to hear Mercury's reply, but he felt a pang of sympathy for her and hoped she wouldn't be far behind. It was a new world they were entering. “Excuse me,” he said to the Galaxy Compu-drink behind the bar, “What do you have that a human would enjoy?” And he felt the engines kick, and their ride into that new world slowly accelerate.
|
|
#
?
Nov 13, 2022 18:25
|
|