I try to limit myself to one story a day (my wrists, they punish me) which is why I asked for one prompt at a time. I know it’s a pain in the arse to fill in the same form three times [The name/email thing should be an option if you don’t have a tumblr account] but it’s a literal pain in my anatomy to do three stories in one day.
(#00189)
It was another reality bubble. Rael had seen one before, much to Sherlock’s dismay. This one was peculiar to say the least.
Everything looked more or less the same, save that they were the only ones on the Station. There were a few forensic clues, but nothing overt.
“Aw, I hate these ones,” said Shayde. She had ‘borrowed’ Nik the Gyik’s kitchen for some therapeutic cooking and discovered that raw eggs bounced.
“What ones?” said Rael.
“The effect tae cause realities. Ye have to work out everythin’ backwards. Like, ye canna break an omelette without makin’ a few eggs, ye ken.”
“Uh…” said Rael. “No.“
"We have tae clean up by un-doing the forensics. Un-burn the toast, unsmash the vase. All o’ that. Or it won’t let us go.”
“All those half-eaten meals…”
“Have to be un-eaten. Aye.”
“I’m starting to see why you hate these ones.”
(#00190)
“Ee… this is lovely.”
So far, things had been lovely fifteen times, and they were only on the second island. “Isn’t this the one that sank in the twenty-first century?“
"That was almost four hundred years ago ye great nanny,” said Shayde. She was wearing scraps of cloth over her censorable zones, known planet-locally as a bikini. “And I missed it. I only put these islands on our itinerary so you could relax fer a change. Go fer a paddle. Have a hot dog. Get some shaved ice. Have some fun. We only got a million dollars left.“
Shayde would have to grow out of her annoying habit of translating sensible Galactic Time Currency to her ancient fiat ‘dollars’. “There’s a reason your fiat system collapsed, Ambassador.”
“I swear. You aren’t happy unless ye got somethin’ tae be miserable about…”
“Let’s just say I know you happen to be a trouble magnet.”
And that was when the boorish ignoramus from the previous evening’s party tripped and dropped his shaved ice on Shayde’s back.
Quod erat demonstrandum…
(#00191)
She was one of the few ambassadors with a day job. This one was going through the collected archives and sorting everything she recognized.
Rael caught some of it as he bought her some take-out from Unsuitable Food Eat. A man riding a white horse and another man in an obviously unresearched mesh of native american clothing performing a series of increasingly ridiculous stunts in an almost endless action sequence set to the William Tell Overture.
Rael watched, stunned, as it all wound to a crechendo and stopped without any further data points. “Who was that strange masked man?“ he asked in all innocence.
It took Shayde twenty minutes to stop laughing.
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