WIP Amnesty: the intentionally non-traumatizing tentacle one
Some of you know why I started writing this, and why I didn't finish it. If you don't and you're curious, ask 
dear_monday or
crazybutsound or somebody else who was around for that, 'cause I don't wanna talk about it.
If one more person sprouts tentacles at dinner when Frank isn't expecting it, he's going to jump out of his fucking skin.
It's not that he minds the tentacles, specifically, it's just that he'd like a little warning before the guy sitting next to him suddenly grows a new appendage so he can reach the salt. He tries not to complain about it, because he doesn't want them to think he's grossed out or something, but really. His nerves would be much healthier if they would just learn to say "tentacle incoming" or "watch your nose."
There are more of them every day, deserting the alien army and joining up with the humans. Frank doesn't entirely trust them, but none of them have sold out his people yet, and the conditions on the other side are apparently pretty unpleasant. He can understand why they wouldn't want to stay. It's not like they're fighting for anything in particular besides control of the planet, and the rank-and-file soldiers wouldn't get a piece of that anyway.
Mostly, Frank doesn't object. The alien deserters have been very useful to their defenses, and they're a lot more polite than the majority of human soldiers, and most of the time they take human form and blend right in. It's all good, except when--
"Jesus fucking OOF!" Frank hits the floor of the library shoulder-first. "Ow!"
"Sorry!" The guy hastily retracts the tentacle Frank just tripped on and hurries over. "Sorry, sorry, are you okay?"
Frank sits up, rubbing his arm. "Yeah, no permanent damage, I think. Just... watch where you put those, huh?"
"Sorry," the guy says again. "I didn't see you coming. Mikey says we shouldn't shift shapes while we're here because it weirds people out, and I totally get that, it must be really strange to see if you're not used to it, but I'm really lazy and it's so much easier than getting up and walking to pick things up if I can't reach them--"
"It's okay," says Frank, amused. "I'm not weirded out, just a little bruised up. Who's Mikey?"
"My brother." The guy plops down cross-legged on the floor next to Frank and holds out a now-tentacle-free hand. "I'm Gerard. Do you like Star Wars?"
Frank shakes it, grinning. "Who the hell doesn't like Star Wars?"
"Oh, awesome!" Gerard says. "Okay, I have a question about the Federation's blockade around Naboo. If Qui-Gon and--"
"Oh no no no," Frank cuts him off. "That's not Star Wars. If the main sex appeal was born in the '80s, it doesn't count as Star Wars."
Gerard frowns. "It said Star Wars on the DVD case. There were six of them, and I started with the first episode."
"Oh, shit," says Frank. "Shit, dude, no, you cannot start watching Star Wars from Episode I. Don't we have some kind of welcome-to-Earth orientation process that covers this? Okay, okay, so there's this dude named George Lucas who used to be relevant..."
This entry was originally posted at http://jedusaur.dreamwidth.org/67545.html.
dear_monday or
crazybutsound or somebody else who was around for that, 'cause I don't wanna talk about it.
If one more person sprouts tentacles at dinner when Frank isn't expecting it, he's going to jump out of his fucking skin.
It's not that he minds the tentacles, specifically, it's just that he'd like a little warning before the guy sitting next to him suddenly grows a new appendage so he can reach the salt. He tries not to complain about it, because he doesn't want them to think he's grossed out or something, but really. His nerves would be much healthier if they would just learn to say "tentacle incoming" or "watch your nose."
There are more of them every day, deserting the alien army and joining up with the humans. Frank doesn't entirely trust them, but none of them have sold out his people yet, and the conditions on the other side are apparently pretty unpleasant. He can understand why they wouldn't want to stay. It's not like they're fighting for anything in particular besides control of the planet, and the rank-and-file soldiers wouldn't get a piece of that anyway.
Mostly, Frank doesn't object. The alien deserters have been very useful to their defenses, and they're a lot more polite than the majority of human soldiers, and most of the time they take human form and blend right in. It's all good, except when--
"Jesus fucking OOF!" Frank hits the floor of the library shoulder-first. "Ow!"
"Sorry!" The guy hastily retracts the tentacle Frank just tripped on and hurries over. "Sorry, sorry, are you okay?"
Frank sits up, rubbing his arm. "Yeah, no permanent damage, I think. Just... watch where you put those, huh?"
"Sorry," the guy says again. "I didn't see you coming. Mikey says we shouldn't shift shapes while we're here because it weirds people out, and I totally get that, it must be really strange to see if you're not used to it, but I'm really lazy and it's so much easier than getting up and walking to pick things up if I can't reach them--"
"It's okay," says Frank, amused. "I'm not weirded out, just a little bruised up. Who's Mikey?"
"My brother." The guy plops down cross-legged on the floor next to Frank and holds out a now-tentacle-free hand. "I'm Gerard. Do you like Star Wars?"
Frank shakes it, grinning. "Who the hell doesn't like Star Wars?"
"Oh, awesome!" Gerard says. "Okay, I have a question about the Federation's blockade around Naboo. If Qui-Gon and--"
"Oh no no no," Frank cuts him off. "That's not Star Wars. If the main sex appeal was born in the '80s, it doesn't count as Star Wars."
Gerard frowns. "It said Star Wars on the DVD case. There were six of them, and I started with the first episode."
"Oh, shit," says Frank. "Shit, dude, no, you cannot start watching Star Wars from Episode I. Don't we have some kind of welcome-to-Earth orientation process that covers this? Okay, okay, so there's this dude named George Lucas who used to be relevant..."
This entry was originally posted at http://jedusaur.dreamwidth.org/67545.html.