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Prompt: a light There was a light in the coffee shop. There should not be. It was 3 AM and the coffee shop was closed. Even the earliest worker wasn’t suppose to be in for another 2 hours. (Usually it was Malt). Besides, the light was clearly from a flashlight and the figure accompanying it was wearing so much black clothing that their features couldn’t be seen, especially in the low light. Upgrade knew what this was. The coffee shop was being robbed. And, coincidentally (or perhaps not?) it was being robbed during the time of night when the Wi-fi was off, to save power. The Wi-fi would not be back on (and thus enable the alarm to be triggered) for another 0.5 hours, during which time the thief would be long gone, having already finished taking whatever they came for. Upgrade was completely powerless to do anything or contact anyone without Wi-fi. But he didn’t want to see the coffee shop get robbed. As much as he resented being stuck here, it was his job to handle security, whether the breach was in the digital realm or—otherwise. He started by making sure the security cameras were focused on the thief, so what little could be seen of them and their light would be recorded. Though he knew it was pointless, he did try to trigger the alarm. No luck. There was nothing else he could do. Or…was there? The light gave him an idea. Maybe he could freak the thief out and make them leave? He waited until the thief had crept up to the counter and reached a paw out for the cash register, and then he turned on the lights. All of them. The thief started. Upgrade played caralarm.wav from the music speaker on the ceiling. Over the noise, he played his own voice as well. “WARNING: SECURITY BREACH. WARNING: SECURITY BREACH. WARNING…” etc. It worked. The thief ran, dropping their flashlight in their haste to get out of there. Upgrade sighed, cutting off all the noise. That had been close. He’d have to talk to the Boss about an alternate alarm system that didn’t rely on the Wi-fi. In the meantime, he prepared to hibernate for the rest of the night. But first, he turned the lights back off. After all, it would save power. The flashlight stayed on, lying on the floor and illuminating one corner of the pastry display case the rest of the night.
Posted Nov 5, edited Nov 5
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Everyone has their favorite item as a child. A range of different forms they come, whether it be a toy car, a doll, a blanket, or nowadays, an expensive electronic (for the more silver-spooned). For every cherished material thing comes something deeper than anyone can understand: comfort. It is not about the item, but the soothing effect it brings, the holes it fills, and the time and emotion behind it. Children especially latch onto these material things and, while they may not be able to articulate what makes these things so precious, they are no less important. As a little girl, I grew up with a plush doll, a pink rabbit with light floral patterns in its ears. The rabbit doll would go everywhere I went, dragged along the ground behind me or hugged snugly in my arms. When the world was too busy to pay this little one attention, even for small patches — my mom was always incredibly attentive, my dad being the breadwinner — she had her rabbit. The unfortunate reality that a four-something-year-old girl cannot comprehend is when that bunny is too far gone to salvage. The bunny’s ears had since fallen off from its poor stitching, its fur so soiled and worn that repairing the stitching was impossible. The poor bunny’s body had become filthy from being dragged around, including in the dirt and mud outside. It could be managed at first, but eventually, the bunny’s integrity was so fragile that even washing it by hand became too risky. It would have surely fallen apart. Little four- to five-year-old me couldn’t understand why my parents took my bunny away, replacing it with a new one. I didn’t want a new one; I wanted my bunny back. They explained the very rational reason: it was just too dirty and falling apart. I still, of course, could not understand. I took to one of my life-long special interests of art, drawing my plushie’s grave in crayon and hanging it on my door. It is, of course, something I look back on with amusement, but it is also hard not to feel bad for the befuddled girl who felt as though she’d lost an arm. I wish I could turn back time to give her a hug and tell her that it will be okay. Fast forward to nigh-thirty years later, where the bunny is just a distant, cute memory. I’d met the man that I am still with today (two years together in May!), and we were (and still are!) going on strong. He decided impulsively to send me a gift, as he knows I love rabbits and the color pink. In excitement, I wondered what he would send me. Maybe a little bit of traditional art (as we are both artists)? A bunny charm? Even just a rock with a pink rabbit painted on it would have made my day! I am not a difficult person to please, and anything from my love is sure to brighten any moment. Cue my surprise when I open the gift and find a little pink bunny doll, complete with familiar floral patterns in its ears. Of note is the fact that my boyfriend, at the time, had not been told of my childhood stuffed bunny. There is no way he would have known the details of it, let alone its existence at all. Now, to be fair to the coincidentally similar rabbit, it is surely a different brand that it came from, whatever source my old bunny was from probably not existing anymore. It isn’t an exact replica, but I would be remiss not to notice the uncanny similarity. I immediately fell into a cascade of giggles and hurried to message my boyfriend, squealing about how it reminded me of my childhood rabbit. Inquisitive, he asked for details, and when I gave them, he was very pleasantly surprised, practically as excited as I was. We were both gushing and remarking about our personal childhood dolls. He still has some of his to this day, worn but far more cared for than my poor bunny was, left in the mercy of child me’s evil, adventurous little hands. As an adult, however, I am capable of caring for my new bunny with diligence and awareness. Not having a disposition to smother the thing in filth like I’m desperately crafting some hellish doll garden with my plushie as the first seed definitely helps, too. Funnily enough, my mom never did get rid of the rabbit. She still has it to this day in a bag, tied up very securely and stored so that it is preserved, but also so that any of its nastiness doesn’t go anywhere else. She’s shown it to me before, only for my response to be a scrunch of the nose and refusal to so much as touch the dreaded thing. (I feel like just breathing in its presence unlocked from the bag would be enough to, I dunno, give me some kind of mao disease.) It’s just a fond and funny memory for her. I only wished she’d saved my silly crayon memorial, too. That first rabbit held so much emotional value to me as a child, and my current rabbit, too, is sentimental, albeit for a more ‘grown-up’, intricate reason. It is almost like getting back in contact with an old friend from childhood, both of us being completely different people today, just debatably more fuzzy and less conversational. It still baffles me how my boyfriend coincidentally got my childhood rabbit down to a T without even knowing of its existence, but if one believes in fate, well… you know the rest.
Posted Nov 6
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Posted Nov 7, edited Nov 7
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Prompt: almost forgotten She was looking for something else when she rediscovered it. Though she had almost forgotten about it, she knew what it was the instant her paw brushed it, sitting on the windowsill up in the attic. She almost didn’t want to open it, but she found herself carrying it over to the small table where she’d set up a candle for light. Forgetting entirely about the boots she’d originally been hunting, Snowflake flipped open to a random page of the little book. Her journal. She hadn’t kept up with it since…since she’d stopped travelling. October 4th Today, I saw something amazing! A waterfall, carving its way down the rock, and forming a small pool in a lighted chamber that managed to flourish with all kinds of plants I haven’t ever seen before! Surely some of them have magical properties, or maybe some fruit that’s edible? I’ll have to see if Mike— Snowflake had to stop there, because her vision got a little blurry. She took a deep breath, and carefully shut the little journal. She almost wanted to put it back where it had been and try to completely forget about it, this time, but no. No. The memories may be bittersweet, but perhaps it would do her some good, to think about them. It wasn’t as if she was having much luck finding her boots to go out in this rain, anyway. So, she carried both candle and book down to the sitting room, where she could get lost for a time in the memories of her younger self.
Posted Nov 7
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Posted Nov 7, edited Nov 7
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They’ve been riding hard, for five days, from dawn to dusk each day. Sunchaser’s line are wonderful horses, each hardy and supernaturally swift and as intelligent as a person, but even they will lame themselves on mountain trails in the dark. (They discussed the possibility of riding beneath conjured light, but - it’s risking a lot, if things go wrong, and Sunchasers benefit a lot from daylight in a way that’s not just about visibility. And for all that they can technically subsist on sunlight alone, better to graze them at night, when they’re pushing them that hard.) Her bones ache, more from the cold and the nights sleeping in caves and the host of minor problems in her incarnation than the riding, but she lets the pain flow dully past; it’s been a rough week, and dissociating from her body won’t help and in fact will cost her a great deal. So even though she could - lean into that mental motion that lets her physical sensorium fade away - instead she holds on tight, thrusts her awareness into fingertips and overworked muscles and the cloud-cloaked peaks that cut their way into the sky.
Posted Nov 7
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Prompt: a light “He could have killed me.” Yoshiki’s voice is calm, almost contemplative, but protectiveness and fury well up in Ezra’s chest at the words. He can hear the way Yoshiki’s voice rasps painfully from his damaged throat, and the stutter on every inhale and exhale as he struggles through strained breaths. Even with the constant stream of magic that Ezra is feeding into him, he’s still deathly pale, which only makes the dark bruises around his neck stand out more. “He’ll pay for that.” Ezra can’t stop his voice from trembling as he draws Yoshiki close, holding him as tightly as he dares. “We won’t… I won’t let this slide, even if — ” He hates that his voice breaks, as if in doubt, when he tries to get the words out. There shouldn’t be any doubt left in him, not after what Luca did to Yoshiki and Yan Ran. Not after he failed to protect them, all because he hesitated. “No, Ezra.” For how faint it is, Yoshiki’s voice is so sure and firm that it sends a jolt through Ezra. “What I mean is — he could have killed me, but he didn’t.” Yoshiki reaches up, fingers fluttering over the lurid bruises circling his neck. “I felt it,” he whispers. “He could have snapped my neck. He chose not to.” Ezra freezes, his breath catching in his throat. He can’t muster a reply to that; his heart is drumming in his chest, a rapid rhythm he doesn’t want to admit to. There’s no way Yoshiki doesn’t notice with how he’s pressed up against Ezra, but he doesn’t react beyond nuzzling closer. Although it’s clearly hurting Yoshiki to speak, he pushes on anyway, sounding out the words instead of just speaking them in their minds. “He held back.” Ezra hates himself for it. He shouldn’t want to forgive Luca — as important as Luca is to him, what he’d done to Yoshiki and Yan Ran is past the line. They’re both so precious to him, and they’re in so much pain because of Luca’s attack. He hates it, and yet he can’t help the barest flicker of hope from igniting inside him, like a tiny candle in the dark.
Posted Nov 9
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Prompt: monster Note: an in-universe AI is used as framing, but no AI was used in actually writing this. [ Hello! I’m K-AI, your favourite AI companion. How may I help you today? ] Transcribe the following image: https://pbs.twximg.com/media/▇▇▇▇▇▇?format=jpg&name=large [Of course, please give me a moment to process your request. Accessing image… done! (0.21ms) Thank you for waiting! My analysis is complete. Please see the results below. ] Posted by: R.E.Y. Yoshiki @rey_yoshiki Original text: No text was posted with this image. Image description: A handwritten letter on lined white paper. Image transcription: Hello, this is Yoshiki of R.E.Y. I wanted to take the opportunity to address some rumours that have been circulating recently about my family. Yes, Nagato Nobutoshi is my birth father. Eight years ago, he was tried for numerous crimes, including his abuse of me and my late mother. I testified anonymously against him with the court’s approval, as I was a minor at the time. I haven’t been in contact with him since then. After meeting people who cared about me, I learned that the way I was being treated was unacceptable. Over the years, I’ve been processing this realisation privately, with professionals and people I trust. My loved ones and closest friends, including the members of R.E.Y., are aware of what I’ve been through and have offered me nothing but kindness and patience. I’d like to ask for your understanding and consideration as well, so that I may continue to address my personal issues on my own terms without further speculation on what I experienced. To everyone else that my birth father has hurt, I’m sorry. I wish that there was more I could do to repair the damage he’s caused. I hope you’ll understand why I chose not to come forward with my experiences until now. To my fans, I’m sorry for causing you so much worry. Please don’t be afraid for me. I’m no longer the same child who had nowhere to go. I’m surrounded by people who love and support me, and I have your love as well to keep me going. Thank you for watching me grow over these years, and I hope you’ll be by my side in the future as well. I’ll continue to strive to be an idol who’s worthy of your love. Thank you for reading my message. [ In the course of my analysis, I also identified 3 twxxts by the following users which may be related to this image: @rey_ezra, @rey_ran [x2]. Would you like to view these twxxts? ] Yes [ Of course! Please wait a moment while I retrieve the information. Accessing twxxts… done! (0.31 ms) Thank you for waiting! My analysis is complete. Please see the results below. ] Posted by: R.E.Y. Ezra @rey_ezra Original text: I’m so proud of him for how strong and brave he is. Please be proud of him too! He deserves all your love and more. I’ll always love you, Yoshiki, no matter what. Image description (2 images): Image 2: A selfie photo of R.E.Y. Ezra and R.E.Y. Yoshiki. They are dressed casually in sweaters. Yoshiki is holding a small plushie cat, which Ezra is petting as he smiles at the camera. Image transcription: No text was detected in the images.
Posted by: R.E.Y. Ran @rey_ran Original text: No images were posted with this twxxt.
Posted by: R.E.Y. Ran @rey_ran Replying to: EZRA 4 LIFE @urlocalezrastan Original text of twxxt by @urlocalezrastan: Original text of reply by @rey_ran: No images were posted with this twxxt. [ Did my analyses meet your expectations? ] Yes [ That’s great to hear! Would you like to offer feedback on aspects that could have been improved? ] No, end conversation [ In that case, I’m glad to have been of service. Thank you for using K-AI! ]
Posted Nov 9
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Prompt: almost forgotten Note: an in-universe AI is used as framing, but no AI was used in actually writing this. Inspired by this song. [ Hello! I’m K-AI, your favourite AI companion. How may I help you today? ] Generate summary of the following video: https://www.mytube.com/watch?v=▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ [ Of course, please give me a moment to process your request. Accessing video… done! (0.34ms) Thank you for waiting! My analysis is complete. Please see the results below. ] Video Title: BITS&PIECES (REMIX) - 愛冊P | R.E.Y. Yoshiki feat. Asane Ryo【official MV】 Uploader: R.E.Y. Official Video Description: The full story would be a little too long for this description box, so I’ll let the song speak for itself. I’ll just use this space to thank my friends and management for the support in making my silly idea into something real, and to give a couple of messages to everyone instead: First, you aren’t trash, no matter how much you may believe yourself to be. By existing and doing your best to be kind, you’ll definitely bring joy to the people around you. And second, no matter how you choose to share a part of yourself — whether it’s through your own voice, someone else’s, or a program that was called ‘trash’ — as long as you’re being honest, you’ll definitely touch someone’s heart. I hope you enjoy this song. Music & Tuning: Aisatsu-P | R.E.Y. Yoshiki Video Summary: The video opens with Asakura Yoshiki from the boyband R.E.Y. in front of a computer, wearing headphones. The camera then zooms in to his screen, which shows an open window with the following: a virtual piano on the left with C5, C4 and C3 notated; black and dark grey bars filling the rest of the screen to the right, interspersed with green boxes that contain letters arranged in waveforms; and a moving pattern of waveforms, which match the music playing in the background, at the bottom of the screen. The video cuts to a model of virtual character Asane Ryo in front of a mic stand. Behind her, the sunset shines in through full-length glass windows. The lyrics of the song begin to scroll across the bottom of the screen while Asane Ryo sings. Over the course of her performance, the sun sets fully and the moon rises. After the bridge, the screen cuts to black, with only the music playing and the lyrics at the bottom of the screen. When the video returns, the sky is becoming lighter, and several backup dancers have appeared in the room to join her performance. Asane Ryo finishes the song as the sun rises completely and fills the room with light once again. Top Comments: Pinned by @R.E.Y. Official blxckdxg44 R.E.Y. Yoshiki Official Fanclub le▇▇▇ch rr▇▇▇rr (replying @le▇▇▇ch) 1e▇▇▇22 (replying @le▇▇▇ch) I also listened to his original version and tuning back in the day and I liked it a lot. (To be honest I’m still floored that he’s Aisatsu-P but we’re not talking about that). But I think the song is a lot stronger than the original with the new lyrics. Previously it was just a song narrated from Ryo’s POV about how she would prove herself as something more than ‘trash’ (as referenced by the bits and pieces in the title). It was really good too but by tying in his own story and vulnerability in this new version, Yoshiki really brought the song to life. And as for why he’s not singing it… having a song like this sang by the actual POV character has a LOT more impact. ‘I’ll sing again for you / until the whole world hears us’ - it’s a joint effort, and that’s what he wants to express. EDIT: Yoshiki shared a lot more detail in his community update… I’m not crying you’re crying…… ⬆️ 943 [10 replies… expanding upon request (0.03ms)… showing top 3 replies] eo▇▇▇94 (replying @1e▇▇▇22) le▇▇▇ch (replying @1e▇▇▇22) 1e▇▇▇22 (replying @le▇▇▇ch) (Have you heard Hanging Days? I think it’s probably the song Aisatsu-P was best known for. If you haven’t, give it a listen, though be warned that it’s really intense and you definitely shouldn’t listen before a meal). be▇▇▇ce (replying @le▇▇▇ch) be▇▇▇ce (replying @le▇▇▇ch) nx▇▇▇us rr▇▇▇rr (replying @nx▇▇▇us) nx▇▇▇us (replying @rr▇▇▇rr) 1e▇▇▇22 (replying @rr▇▇▇rr) eo▇▇▇94 (replying @nx▇▇▇us) fe▇▇▇le (replying @nx▇▇▇us) nx▇▇▇us (replying @fe▇▇▇le) bc▇▇▇sa (replying @fe▇▇▇le) zh▇▇▇ea (replying @fe▇▇▇le) wa▇▇▇mn [ Do you have any questions about my summary? ] Find the community update mentioned in the comments [ Please wait a moment, I’m analysing the comment contents to locate this. Analysing comments… done! (0.31ms) Thank you for waiting! My analysis is complete. I’ve located the community update mentioned. Would you like to see a summary or the original text? ] Original text [ Of course! Please find the original text reproduced below. ] Hello! It’s Yoshiki again. Thank you all for the warm reception on BITS&PIECES. I know it’s quite different from what I usually upload on this channel, so I appreciate all of you giving it a chance. I wanted to share more of the story around it to answer some of your questions. It’s a bit long, so please bear with me. Back when I was a teenager, I used Ryo-chan and other voicebanks for my music. This was because I didn’t dare to sing. I had a lot of family problems, and due to that, I came to believe that my voice wasn’t worth anything. But I still wanted to share my music, and that was how I came to know of voicebanks, and specifically of Asane Ryo. At the time, she wasn’t an official voicebank, but just a fanmade one. She was perceived as lower quality, and it’s true that some of her notes were a little rough around the edges, but something about her voice and story resonated with me nonetheless. I thought to myself, “Even if people think she’s trash, maybe I can make her sound good.” That’s how I came to write and tune my first song with Ryo-chan, BITS&PIECES, about a program who wanted to be more than trash. I was really young and honestly not much good at it, but I still got some compliments from kind people. I was really surprised and happy, since I didn’t expect anyone to like it at all. With their support, I continued writing music and using voicebanks to tune the vocals for a couple of years. Of course, I had my haters as well, and at that age I was so sensitive to criticism, there was a point of time when I came to hate Ryo-chan too. I was afraid that if I said I liked her, those people would call me trash as well. I bought official voicebanks later and shifted to using them for my songs, and I shut off that voice inside me that hated myself for lying. Later, because of the music that I wrote, I was scouted. My mentors and friends helped me to leave my birth family behind, and I eventually became part of R.E.Y. I went from wanting to end my life to feeling blessed every day. After calling her trash for years, I realised that Ryo-chan had actually saved me all those years ago, because she was the voice that gave me the bravery to share my music for the first time. In a way though, I think I always knew. After all, when I chose my stage name, ‘Asakura’ resonated with me in no small part because of Ryo-chan. To be honest, I don’t have much time to tune anymore since it takes a long time, though I’m happy to be as busy as I am. However, when I saw that Asane Ryo’s updated voicebank was being released, I really wanted to take the time to make her voice shine again, just like in the old days. She’s very special to me, and I’ve finally come far enough that I’m not afraid to admit it anymore. I’m really proud of Ryo-chan. Like me, she’s come a long way! I still love her old voice, but I’m sure she’ll be able to touch even more people with her new voice. Thank you for reading and listening. As always, I hope I can continue to share my music with all of you in the future. [ Did my analyses meet your expectations? ] Yes [ That’s great to hear! Would you like to offer feedback on aspects that could have been improved? ] Video summary could have been more descriptive and included timestamps [ Thank you for your feedback! I’ll be sure to take that into account. Would you like me to re-generate the video summary with your feedback included? ] No [ Of course. In that case, I’ll be sure to remember your feedback for the future. Is there anything else you require? ] No [ In that case, I’m glad to have been of service. Thank you for using K-AI! ]/spoiler]
Posted Nov 9, edited Nov 9
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When a magic bird lands on a branch and offers you a job, the first thing they teach you in Magic School is LOOK AT YOUR NOTES. Which was why Emmer didn’t respond right away to Howard’s offer. He was madly flipping through his old field guide. He used to have the “Questing Beasts: Birds” subsection bookmarked, but the last time this happened he foolishly did not check his notes first, and the deal of the Foul Fowl (Queriaves offendo) deal had to be settled with either a pound of flesh or his most shiny possession. Ugh… It was a really cool bookmark… Relief washed over him when he followed the key to a drawing that was a perfect match to the bird he saw on the branch in front of him. An exact match, even. Emmer held the book up to the eager corvid, comparing the smooth beak, wide eyes, and even the intricate mug full of what seemed to be hot water, before he realized the scientific name of the creature was simply Queriaves howard. A perfectly safe entity to interact with, the words “Easily Impressed” underlined several times. The promise of treasures also helped. His friend Pistachio was an excellent forager, mind you, but living “off the grid” still really makes you miss groceries. Not to mention… like any good academic, Emmer was very eager to share his findings. He plopped down beneath a tree and pulled a ramshackle journal out of his cape. “Well, I have lots of notes from studying the cave ecosystem,” he said, turning to a page covered in the sketches of various fungi, “There’s new species I documented, magical anomalies, some unique cavern ecotypes… do any of those sound like what you’re—” The bird was now perched on his knee, staring upside-down at the sketches. “Easily Impressed” indeed. Emmer couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “Okay. Let’s go with… a light.” It could be argued that the sunballs that light most of our caverns are the most important fungal species that Mycenians interact with. These round growths seem to mimic the day/night cycle from the surface with uncanny accuracy, emitting energy comparable to real sunlight, allowing there to be forests of surface plants and animals underground. We admire them every day and miss them every night, counting on their faithful reliability to fuel our society. So it’s come to shock me how little we actually seem to know about this species. Or, as I’ll explain, these species. Sunballs are only one component of an endolithic lichen. A cooperative organism formed by fungi and algae that can grow within solid rock. In fact, the lightly glowing “mycena” tendrils that webs across the roofs of our caverns, that “blue sky” within our caves that has come to define our civilization, may not even be a member of the Mycena genus at all! In fact, it has a completely different method of producing its luminescence than true members of the “glowing mushroom” family— it’s real daylight, both chemically and magically, being passed down from the surface itself. But I digress. For the sake of communicating just how exciting this is to the average onlooker, I’ll explain the three major organisms that provide our indoor sky. Organism 1: The Photobiont (part that converts sunlight into energy): Blackburn Fern. Organism 2: The Thallus Mycobiont (body tendrils made by a fungus): Skywires, also called the “mycena” of our Mycena Cave. Organism 3: The Cortex Mycobiont (skin-like fungus that typically protects the body, but as you’ll learn, it’s anything but typical): Sunballs. For the sake of simplicity, I propose that we refer to the superorganism that these components form together as Mycenian Skybox Lichen. My research is only just beginning. I hope to understand if there’s a reason why the skywires of some caves are colors besides blue, why some caverns only have one large sunball while others have dozens of tiny ones, and if my hypothesis is true that only the topmost cavern within depth layers are inhabited by Skybox Lichen. As Emmer reached the end of his article, embarrassment washed over him like a sudden wave, sweeping away the giddy glee that had gripped him. He hadn’t realized that his voice had become passionate, loud and rolling with the joy of having someone listening to him. Shame pricked his ears, which had certainly been flapping, and his last sentence trailed off under the weight of self-consciousness. To his relief, the corvid was still listening. Thankfully, he had not scared him off with the infodump. The young bull was grateful from the bottom of his heart that Howard was only a bird— it would have crushed him to share the first draft of his passion project with someone who would have been (rightfully, of course) bored by it. Still… he figured it would be a good idea to make his next share more interesting. Whatever Emmer thought a magic bird would find more interesting. Or maybe just something shorter? “Something lost…” His heart pricked with sadness. He knew what story to share. “A few weeks ago, my friend and I found two people in stone. Pistachio’s really had a thing lately for the idea of freeing more Mycenians. I think it came from wanting to make more friends who have more of a connection to their old lives, unlike people like me who’ve had time to get used to everything new. Between you and me… she’s my friend and I love her, but I think she kinda resents how content I am. Like, how I didn’t really think too much about who I used to be, before I met her. It’s not like I don’t take her seriously, but, when she starts going off about the Sorcerer… I can tell it bothers her that I’m not as riled up as she is about being trapped in this cave, or losing my memories. Shoot, I’m rambling. Sorry, I didn’t mean to get into that. Anyway, the point is, she’s wanted to find more Mycenians in stone slumber. I helped her get a good set of stoneworking tools, and we’d been exploring together in Cobblestone Cavern looking for people. Eventually we found a little hollow in The Soup with two stones, obviously a parent and a child. So she carves out the parent, and… sorry. I just… have you ever known a kid who was actually freed from stone slumber? Because… it never really crossed my mind that I’d never seen it happen. I didn’t even imagine that when p’Stash chiseled the kitten, there was a chance he wouldn’t wake up. When I was tending to Quinoa— the parent— I told him that everything would be okay soon. I just wanted to calm him down, I really really thought it would be okay soon. I didn’t mean to lie to him, but if I hadn’t said that… Sorry. I think that’s eating me more than I realized. We couldn’t do anything about his son, but at the very least, I could have not made it worse. The first thing he ever did was trust me, and I let him down. Ugh, even now, I’m throwing myself a pity party. Hhh. Digressing. His son was lost. His grief came in these awful waves, like he would just be able to eat or get some sleep before he would relapse back into the raw pain again, weeping and pacing like a leopard in a cage. We took turns staying up with him. We were strangers but… it would have been wrong to leave him alone in a new, awful world. Since then he’s been really close to p’Stash, so… I haven’t had a chance to make it up to him. Telling him it would be okay when it wouldn’t be. I know it’s a bit selfish, though, that I want him to like me. It’s not like I have any idea what he’s going through, as if I can even understand what sort of pain he must be going through. I don’t remember many details from when I was carved, but I know that I was found in a lineup of Mycenians. Like we were pillars that had been arranged as decorations. Most of the people I was found with didn’t wake up. I visit them in the Garden of the Lost sometimes, but I don’t know who they were. It’s weird. I feel like I want to miss them, but how can I miss people I can’t even remember? All this time I just focused on the here and now, not knowing what I don’t know. It’s supposed to be a mercy that our memories are blurry, so we can start new lives… but since then, I think I see Pistachio’s point a lot more clearly. Even though I’ve been drinking potions daily, I don’t remember who I was, or what I did during the Great Winter. “Emmer” probably isn’t even the name my parents gave me, and I couldn’t even tell you who my parents were. I don’t know what I lost. It’s kind of messed up, isn’t it? That I WANT pain when I don’t have it? Sorry. I’m rambling again. When Qui recovered enough, he told us about his people. He says they’d moved to the mountains that drasilis came down from, and had sworn to them that they would care for the homes they were leaving. They’d consecrate the grounds where they lived by spreading the ashes of their loved ones there, as a promise that they would tend to their settlements the same way they would tend to the graves of the deceased. His son was gone, and he needed to spread the ashes. Of course… the cub was a stone statue, not burnable remains. I tried to tell him there’s still hope that they can wake up one day, not dead, just lost, and that we could simply bring his son to the Garden of the Lost to be visited. I think that was the last straw for him. As in, the last straw for him to ever listen to me ever again. It really offended him. He demanded to know if it’d ever happened, HOW it could be done, and I had to backtrack and spit out that it’s just hope, not that it ever actually happened. Then he said “I’m done with your false hope,” and then growled about how it was sick to suggest to him that we put his son’s corpse on display, in someone else’s garden, where people could gather to stare at him. After that, I shut my mouth. Which I should have done sooner. I keep thinking about what he said, though… false hope. This keeps coming back up in my mind because, since he crushed and dusted the statue around the garden, Quinoa is so much more… I’m having a hard time describing it. Alive doesn’t feel like the right word, but he’s got purpose now. I think he’s naturally kind of a dour guy, but he has an energy and a drive like he knew what to do from that ritual onward. He tends the grounds, from the sparse woods below our grotto up to the mosses and lichens up in our niche. It gave him such closure that he’s like a new person. He lost everything, but… wait. No. I get it now. He lost a lot, but he still has that connection to his culture. His people’s tradition on how to grieve, how to find meaning after loss. No wonder he was so offended! I was totally trying to spring my traditions on him— or, well, the culture of the cave I’ve come to adopt. It must have felt like I was trying to take away the one thing he had left…” Emmer finished his story with a sigh, “I should try to apologize to him, at some point. Sincerely.” Then, it hit him that he had once again been rambling. That was almost as long as his encyclopedia entry. Ohhh nooooooooo. “These next few will be more interesting,” He promised, more to himself than to Howard, “Stay right here. I’ll be back with some cool stuff.” The first thing Emmer brought back was some kind of contraption built upon a small disposable camera. One of those relics from the Old World which required a mountain of education and infrastructure to utilize, now lost to the few survivors of what was once a massive region. He placed the object on the ground in front of him, clearly preparing to demonstrate something. “Cordyceps are commonly believed to control the minds of insects they infect…” He popped the top of the camera, revealing some kind of fungal mass. What Howard might have assumed were “antennae” of some type were actually fruiting bodies. “...but this isn’t entirely accurate. Parasitic cordyceps usually control the nervous system of their prey.” As if it was disturbed from slumber, the contraption twitched, then stretched. It was held up by fungal “roots” that resembled bones, pierced through a condensed nutrition ball to work as “joints.” The joint then had a second, smaller limb that ended in hooflike shoes, keeping it balanced. It wobbled as it rose, tottering on its feet like a baby colt.  “By giving this species a simple system of pulleys and levers, I was able to make a tiny robot piloted completely by a fungus. For now it’s just a proof of concept, but I’d love to work with someone who’s got more of a mind for mechanics to make some more complex automatons. Maybe even turn them into low maintenance pets for people who could use the company— she just needs a little bit of compost and sunlight every week or so.” Sensing some apprehension, Emmer added, “don’t worry, this species can’t infect anything as complex as non-arthropod animals. She’s only a monster in the strictest definition,” Emmer smiled wryly, “and I’m her mad scientist.” The next thing Emmer produced was a simple mushroom. It had a cap like a cone over a stem, and smelled as sweet as candy.  “This is a Tricky Treat. It tastes and looks just like candycorn. The only drawback? It’s a saprophyte that only eats rotting meat… so I doubt anyone else will want to eat it once they know where it comes from,” He sighed, forlorn. “Also, my friend Pistachio says that this is what candycorn used to be in the old world. I think she’s pulling my leg, but I don’t know enough about old world foraging to dispute her.” Emmer brought out a little diorama, with a fungus carefully preserved and labeled. It was some kind of puffball, cut in a cross section with inner cores dyed special colors to show them more clearly. The bull’s smile was proud, “I made this as a project during my school years. It’s a type of mushroom called a Frost Grenade, and the assignment was to visually explain how they work.”  “It’s one of the types of fungus we call a magivore, because it survives completely on magic. Specifically, Frost Grenades absorb ice magic. Their spores are carried on air and snow currents caused by avalanches, where they grow under snowbanks. The more frost magic they absorb from the frost above, the more they can convert their cores into fire magic. When they reach a critical mass, KABOOOOM!” He threw his arms up for dramatic effect. Howard hopped and fluttered a little, surprised. “The explosion starts another avalanche, and the lifecycle continues!” Emmer didn’t produce any items for this one, instead turning to a page in his notebook that had a detailed illustration. “This is why I took so long… I wanted to show you this, but, it felt wrong to move anything at someone’s grave. And I didn’t want to bring you there, because…” The thoughtful bull’s brows furrowed, “...because… I dunno. It felt like I should let them rest in peace. When someone’s so badly destroyed like this… I can’t imagine trying to re-assemble them at the Garden of the Lost.” With Howard properly warned about what he was going to see, Emmer finally showed them the page.  “When someone’s statue breaks apart like this, there’s no bones inside. You can’t see any fossilized anatomy or organs. They’re just solid rock, all the way through. Yet, there are types of fungi that can grow on living rubble.” “I’ve never seen these species anywhere else, and I’ve never seen them on an intact statue either. I have been seeing them in Quinoa’s garden, though, even though his son’s statue was crushed and dusted all over the area. Quinoa has a name for the blue cups— he calls them Mourner’s Tears. He says they only appear when someone’s been crying near a burial site… so, someone’s visited this person. Maybe someone who misses them very much.” Feeling confident in their abilities again, Emmer made a note of the prompts that were still left; Out of place, almost forgotten, and… thumpthump? “I dunno what I could bring you that counts as thumpthump…” He mused, “thumpthump…” Thumpthump… it certainly was a satisfying thing to say, wasn’t it? Thumpthump. It had a satisfying weight to it, two flicks of the tongue and two beats of the lip. Thumpthump. He whispered it under his breath, “thumpthump.” Then he said it again, even quieter, not even vocalizing half of it, “thmpthmp,” simply because it felt so nice on his mouth. Thumpthump. “Thump-thump,” Howard repeated in mimicry. It was inescapable; Emmer was compulsed to say it back. “Thumpthump.” Back and forth they went, echoing the same two words back at each other in rhythm. By the time the spell broke, Emmer’s smile was wide and unrestrained, his ears cutely flapping. How so very stimulating! Thumpthump. “Does that count?” He asked through a chuckle. The answer was clearly yes, but straightforward clarity was always appreciated. New echolalia for the week. Thumpthump. Approaching the end, Emmer found himself eager to finish the last two prompts. Probably because his writer was staying up late when they should be in bed right now. “Almost forgotten…” Ah. He’d ALMOST FORGOTTEN this one story. This would probably fit the bird’s criteria. “I know I talk about her a lot, but my friend Pistachio has so much knowledge about the old world that it inspires me. She used to do a lot of foraging, especially during the Great Winter when everyone was hungry. She’s amazing at telling apart mushrooms at a glance. There’s a name for the way lots of edible mushrooms resemble one that’s deadly poisonous, they’re called lookalikes.[/] I’ve never seen her fall for a lookalike, not even when I have to take it back to my lab at home and take spore prints to be totally sure. She can spot a deathcap from a young puffball from a thousand paces. But, you know the glowing blue mushrooms we sometimes use for indoor lights and street lamps? She hates them. Apparently, where she used to live, there was a lookalike species that was indistinguishable from it. Or, well, it’s so difficult that even she says it was hard for her to tell the difference. She says they were called “eyeburners.” If you ate them, there was some kind of neurotoxin that would poison your brain and cause an intense migraine. Your eyes would become to sensitive to light that even covering your face with a blindfold wouldn’t be enough. She says when she was a pup, she had a bite of one accidentally. It was like torment. She’d heard stories of people who had buried themselves alive just to get away from light, and she completely understood why. Locked herself in her family’s vegetable cellar for a week, wouldn’t even let them open the door to bring her food, it was that bad. There’s never been a report of an Eyeburner growing down here in the cave, to my knowledge. We wouldn’t even know it exists without her. But I recently reported my finding, so now, something that was almost forgotten is not!” He finished his story with a smile, both pleased that he’d fulfilled the request and that he’d contributed to science recently. Just one more to go. Out of place… Unfortunately, Emmer’s first thought was another self-critical one. Himself. He felt out of place, almost everywhere he went. It wasn’t always undeserved. Well… he’d already unwittingly turned Howard into a therapist before. Why stop traumadumping now? The Oversharing Train had already left the station and was barreling full steam ahead towards Cringe City. “One time I caused a cave-in,” He admitted, his face already scrunching with the shame of the memory, “Because I didn’t do my part of a group project and wanted to delay the presentation.” Unfortunately he was a horrible liar. Howard’s wide-eyed birdy expression forced the truth out of him. “I’m sorry… I… I did do my part of the group project.” Howard preened his wing. Emmer was forced to confess. “I wasn’t even invited to anyone’s group at all! I did the work of 3 people alone, because no one invited me to their group and I felt too bad to ask anyone,” He was blushing so red you could see it through his fur. He buried his head in his hooves, “I didn’t say anything about it for weeks. I couldn’t ask because I’d look desperate, but I also didn’t know if it was just that no one had noticed I was alone the whole time. It was so stupid!” “Then the day of the presentation was coming up, and I was going to be doing the whole thing alone and in front of everyone,” Emmer couldn’t look the innocent bird in the eye as he continued, “And the only solution I could think of was setting off the fire alarm.” “Problem was, I was in complete panic mode at that point. I’d utterly forgotten there was just a simple lever you could pull. The previous semester I’d accidentally caused a small fire while making the first prototype for my frost grenade diorama and put it out quickly, but I knew where the spare mushrooms were still kept for the project. So I just bolted in there, set off a frost spell, and caused an explosion.” “Except… it wasn’t an explosion. It was, you know… multiple. Because there were a lot of frost grenades in that closet. And I cast a pretty big spell. And uh. It got a little out of hoof. The vibration was really strong, and that caused an overreaction a lot bigger than the one I had.” “It… it wasn’t even the first cave-in I’d caused, so I never told anyone it was me. I didn’t want to get in trouble” He smiled, awkwardly, “But the presentation was cancelled and the professor graded on a curve, so… maybe it was good no one invited me to their group after all! Ahaa…” When he could bare to look at Howard again, he was relieved to see that the bird wasn’t scolding him. In fact, he was sympathetic. Emmer both didn’t feel like he deserved it, and was glad to see it at the same time. “I know I did all this because you had a job for me, but… thanks for listening, Howard. I think I needed this.” As he packed up his things to go home, he cast another awkward little grin at the bird. He hoped the expression was right and he could tell it was one of gratitude. Expressions weren’t his strong suit, “I hope we can do this again, sometime.”
Posted Nov 9
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What they don’t tell you about being turned into a being of circuitry-and-hologram after death is that they can’t remove those fleshy memories. The brain and nerves get converted to crystal wholesale, no process able to precisely excise those lifelong sensations of muscles straining, chest inflating, heart beating. Those concrete things that fade into the background through a long life, thrust back into the forefront by their absence. Kuu’s heart no longer beats, but their brain still thinks it does. The crystal clocks in their circuitry keep perfect time, with accuracy to the nanosecond, and yet with no heartbeat to count out the seconds, uneven and unreliable as it was, time doesn’t exist until they remember to check their internal clock. Eventually, they learn the time by the rhythm of the ship. The captain walks at an average pace of 2.69773 steps per second, quicker in an emergency, slower when accompanied by the A-shift primary pilot. Her footsteps thump across the pressure sensors in the floor paneling, from her quarters to the mess to the bridge, to and fro and back again. Kuu learns her footsteps, then those of others until time is paced out in the steps of the crew. There’s always someone busy on a starship.
Posted Nov 10
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The library was very dim. The only illumination of the room came from a few scattered candles and the fireplace in the corner. Still, he could see perfectly clear, perhaps better, in the dark, so the low light of the alcove he had tucked himself into affected him none. That being said, as much as he hated getting the damn flames going, he admittedly did enjoy the ambience that the gentle glow and crackling of burning logs provided to the room. The only thing he could think to add would perhaps be some rain and maybe some incense. Sanguine looked over to the window on his left. He looked at the crystalline branching formations of the frost that had started creeping over the glass and smiled slightly. A sure sign that Winter was well on its way. He far preferred the colder months to the warmer ones; the sun didn’t show as often, so he could stand the daylight for longer, the days were shorter, so he could enjoy the nighttime for longer, and he never had to worry about overheating. Soon, ice would coat the outside world, creating a natural splendour. He passed through town, observing the townsfolk as they prepared for the Winter. Plenty were stocking up on food and warm clothing or blankets, while some others were checking their homes’ insulation. He saw a particularly dedicated group of market stall owners reinforcing their stalls for heavy snowfall and comfort during their shifts. A light chuckle escaped him as he noticed some folks already preparing for the festive season, decorating their houses with multicoloured string lights and adorned wreaths.
Posted Nov 10
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A small, dark shape bolted in the shadows, weaving between fallen logs and through the undergrowth. The forest was calm for the moment, wind rustling the leaves up high in the canopy, and distant bird song filled the air. However, a certain silver-furred humanoid didn’t quite get the memo. “I think it’s time for a break, dear!” Lyranne, their mother, called. The small creature caught the scent of food. Delicious fruits and sugar were nearby! It slowly crept between broken rocks and out into the daylight. Hearing some sounds, it looked around for a moment before it spotted them. Two… things far larger than it was, were sitting together over a stockpile of food. The little creature thought for a moment, then gave itself a determined nod, and moved forward in a low crouch, careful not to step on anything too noisy with its talons or hooves. While scarfing down another sandwich, Lakyll heard something tromping toward them. They sniffed the air, picking up on some kind of animal behind them. Turning, the two saw a tiny little monster with a goat-like head, talons on its forelegs, teeny bat wings, and a forked tail. Its body was quite round and covered with black fur, aside from its chest and head, which were red-ish. When they looked at it, it froze in place. “We should take it back to the village to get it checked up,” Lyranne said after some time. Lakyll nodded and stood along with her. The unnamed monster featured here is based on a plushie I got recently, hehe!
Posted Nov 10, edited Nov 10
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The night was quiet, nary a single creature to be seen, and a welcome change to the small adventuring party as they travelled to their mission destination. The last few months were hectic at the best of times, some days turning into an all-out fight for their very survival on the worst of them. Now, however, Jemime, Fawkes, and Beaumont had gotten a lucky break, having been given the simple task of exploring an area on behalf of a land development company. Essentially, the company wanted to make sure they wouldn’t disturb any monster nests or encounter any natural hazards while working on future projects here. A gentle breeze blew by, carrying a pleasant coolness to the skin and the scent of night dew and grass. Beaumont drew just a little closer to Fawkes, who cracked a smile and squeezed his hand a bit more. Jemime hummed a tune to herself. She looked up to the stars, then to the floating orbs of light Beaumont had conjured up for them to see with. Earlier in the evening, they had been deliberating whether they should even use a light source at all in their paranoia, worrying it would make them a target in the night, or just travel by moonlight (in all fairness, it was a bright night). They ended up concluding that they’d rather not sustain any injuries because of something they couldn’t see, and Beaumont’s magic could be extinguished faster than a torch. “It’s getting a bit chilly, don’t you think?” Fawkes started. “Shall we make camp for tonight?” Some time later, they finally broke through the trees and into a small clearing just before some rocky hills (that Jemime thought might as well be relatively flat mountains). A few dozen paces beyond what they could initially see, the tunnel’s decline increased. At the same time, stairs had been carved in the cave’s floor. Fawkes took a deep breath, hoping they wouldn’t be walking straight into another bandit hideout. They started seeing carvings on the tunnel’s walls a couple of minutes into their descent, though Beaumont could not discern their intended meaning if they were for anything other than decoration — they didn’t match anything he had studied. Finally on flat ground and able to see what lay ahead, the group could barely believe their eyes. Before them was a large cavern, and quite a picturesque scene. A creek flowed around the edges of the cavern, and moonlight streamed in from crevices in the ceiling. Grass and small flowers coated the ground in a vivid blanket, among them fireflies, will-o’-the-wisps and… “I’d call this mission a success,” Jemime said. The group now sat in the grass at the center of the cavern. The spirits had figured out by now that none of the three could understand them, but they did manage to manifest in front of Jemime and Fawkes. The latter of the two had worn himself out playing a game of tag with the dead, his head now resting in Beaumont’s lap. In the morning, the party awoke to pleasant, warm sunlight streaming onto them and across the cavern. They quickly made their preparations to leave and continue their survey mission. As they headed back the way they entered, Beaumont felt numerous eyes on him. He turned to see spirits watching them sadly as they left, from the shaded spots of the cavern. Featuring some Final Fantasy Tactics OCs!
Posted Nov 10, edited Nov 10
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