More obscurity
The fine people at comica_obscura suggested that we might like to fulfil requests that were not granted in the challenge proper. When I sent in my story, I volunteered to pinch hit, and a few characters were thrown at me. I wasn't required in the end, but it did give me a story idea.
This is for Seanan, who I don't know in the slightest, but who wrote a magnificent Fables fic.
And, for the first time I've written in the Global Frequency fandom, here's Aleph in
Babe in Toyland
Infodump 1: Game Fishing
Marlin was named after Brando, but his mother couldn’t spell. Aleph calls him “Fishboy” and giggles, but he doesn’t get it. That’s okay, she’s not going to fillet him. He’s only here for his talented pout and lovely tongue.
Marlin is on the floor and Aleph doing that yoga pose, kneeling so he can get to work on her. She can feel the hot shivers in her belly, and they make the lower part of her brain twist and flop like it’s on a hook. Upstairs, the tiny screens in her shades are giving her cold data, and she’s forwarding all there is to know about bauxite mining to 541, who has been lazing on his lounge in Guyana waiting for just such a call. He’s got a pina colada, he says, and Aleph wonders if Marlin could make her one. She bought a Deluxe Home Mixer Kit a while ago, and it’s probably lying in that pile of shopping over there.
Marlin is a gifted boy, as several camgirls have attested before Aleph’s eyes, and the hot flood of down-there and the absolute zero of up-top whoosh together to bathe her, body and brain, in synaptical steam for a full 12.75 seconds. Marlin looks up at her, his mouth glossy, and Aleph pokes him with a toe. Ms. Zero is sure to check in momentarily. She must have some kind of orgasmometer on Aleph, because she always calls in right then. But Aleph never gets fried for long and the Frequency never, ever goes down, even when Aleph does.
“Hey, Marlin. Can you make me a pina colada?”
“Sure, you got the stuff?”
“Fishboy, I got all the stuff. You just bring the swizzle stick.”
Ms. Zero is checking in, but Aleph’s always been one to talk with her mouth full.
Infodump 2: For Specified Use Only
Aleph has always wanted to type with her toes, but no matter how hard she practiced, her three middle toes just wouldn’t move nimbly enough to use the keyboard.
Last week, some idiot had decided to release highly mobile flesh-eating bacteria at Kinkakuji, the Golden Pavilion in Kyoto. Like most bacteria, it wasn’t very discriminating, and wouldn’t have selectively eaten the foreign tourists and left Japan for the Japanese, but there’s no telling some people. A traditional musician, 804 on the Global Frequency, had got there in time to pierce his eye with her tsume, metal claws attached to the fingers to play the long strings of the koto, and Inevitable Doom had been avoided.
Aleph had asked 804 to send her a set of tsume, and she had happily squashed them into shape for her scrawny toes when Ms. Zero called.
“Aleph, have you heard from 771?”
“Sure, she said it’s perfectly normal for a quoll to have two penises and 740 should stop thinking everything’s been genetically engineered to get him pregnant.”
“Aleph, are you typing with your toes?”
“Yeah!”
The tsume on her middle toe suddenly sunk into the keyboard between J and K, sending up a tiny shower of sparks and Aleph leapt backwards to avoid electrocution.
“Aleph? That’s shocking.”
Ms. Zero smiled and was gone.
Infodump 3: Ring Ring
What annoyed Aleph about the religious crazies was that they were unusually difficult to discover before they began to act out. Most of them were indistinguishable from the common-or-garden lower-middle-class American until they started killing people. Whether that makes the crazies normal or the norms crazy is a matter for debate by people who have the time to ponder such things. Aleph’s job is to wrestle the data into comprehensible forms and make sure that when the crazies stick their crazy heads above the surface, one of the Global Frequency agents is there with a big mallet to Whack-a-Mole them back down.
Once the crazies got started, of course, it was remarkably simple to predict their actions. Then it was just a matter of matching agent to incident before people got killed. Aleph had been chatting to 643 on and off for about a year, not because 643 was an expert on crazies, or data, or even Whack-a-Mole. 643 was known to Aleph because he had the best ringtones, and when you’re the hub for 1001 agents, you need a lot of ringtones. It was kind of weird to hear 643 shouting down the line rather than sending happy little beeps to her monitor.
“Aleph, when the fourth bell rings, the bomb’s going to go off. We don’t have anyone down in the church, just me up here with the bells.”
“Calm down, Quasimodo. Is it physically attached? Show me the wires.”
“No, we think it’s the frequency of the bell that’s going to set the bomb off. Even if I muffle the clapper, it might still be loud enough to set it off.”
“Can you change the tone of the bell? Come on, you’re our carillon expert.”
“I’d need to heat the metal, and I’ve got nothing!”
Aleph looked around vaguely and, for once, something in the physical world jumped out at her.
“Is there a fire extinguisher up there? ”
“Oh, oh, there is! Cold will work! If I freeze the bell, it’ll change the frequency of the chime!”
“Go for it, baby.”
The metal shrank as it froze, and the chime set off a nasty crack up the side of the bell, but no bomb.
“Aleph? I think we’re good.”
“Thanks, sweetie. Come ring my bell sometime.”
This is for Seanan, who I don't know in the slightest, but who wrote a magnificent Fables fic.
And, for the first time I've written in the Global Frequency fandom, here's Aleph in
Babe in Toyland
Infodump 1: Game Fishing
Marlin was named after Brando, but his mother couldn’t spell. Aleph calls him “Fishboy” and giggles, but he doesn’t get it. That’s okay, she’s not going to fillet him. He’s only here for his talented pout and lovely tongue.
Marlin is on the floor and Aleph doing that yoga pose, kneeling so he can get to work on her. She can feel the hot shivers in her belly, and they make the lower part of her brain twist and flop like it’s on a hook. Upstairs, the tiny screens in her shades are giving her cold data, and she’s forwarding all there is to know about bauxite mining to 541, who has been lazing on his lounge in Guyana waiting for just such a call. He’s got a pina colada, he says, and Aleph wonders if Marlin could make her one. She bought a Deluxe Home Mixer Kit a while ago, and it’s probably lying in that pile of shopping over there.
Marlin is a gifted boy, as several camgirls have attested before Aleph’s eyes, and the hot flood of down-there and the absolute zero of up-top whoosh together to bathe her, body and brain, in synaptical steam for a full 12.75 seconds. Marlin looks up at her, his mouth glossy, and Aleph pokes him with a toe. Ms. Zero is sure to check in momentarily. She must have some kind of orgasmometer on Aleph, because she always calls in right then. But Aleph never gets fried for long and the Frequency never, ever goes down, even when Aleph does.
“Hey, Marlin. Can you make me a pina colada?”
“Sure, you got the stuff?”
“Fishboy, I got all the stuff. You just bring the swizzle stick.”
Ms. Zero is checking in, but Aleph’s always been one to talk with her mouth full.
Infodump 2: For Specified Use Only
Aleph has always wanted to type with her toes, but no matter how hard she practiced, her three middle toes just wouldn’t move nimbly enough to use the keyboard.
Last week, some idiot had decided to release highly mobile flesh-eating bacteria at Kinkakuji, the Golden Pavilion in Kyoto. Like most bacteria, it wasn’t very discriminating, and wouldn’t have selectively eaten the foreign tourists and left Japan for the Japanese, but there’s no telling some people. A traditional musician, 804 on the Global Frequency, had got there in time to pierce his eye with her tsume, metal claws attached to the fingers to play the long strings of the koto, and Inevitable Doom had been avoided.
Aleph had asked 804 to send her a set of tsume, and she had happily squashed them into shape for her scrawny toes when Ms. Zero called.
“Aleph, have you heard from 771?”
“Sure, she said it’s perfectly normal for a quoll to have two penises and 740 should stop thinking everything’s been genetically engineered to get him pregnant.”
“Aleph, are you typing with your toes?”
“Yeah!”
The tsume on her middle toe suddenly sunk into the keyboard between J and K, sending up a tiny shower of sparks and Aleph leapt backwards to avoid electrocution.
“Aleph? That’s shocking.”
Ms. Zero smiled and was gone.
Infodump 3: Ring Ring
What annoyed Aleph about the religious crazies was that they were unusually difficult to discover before they began to act out. Most of them were indistinguishable from the common-or-garden lower-middle-class American until they started killing people. Whether that makes the crazies normal or the norms crazy is a matter for debate by people who have the time to ponder such things. Aleph’s job is to wrestle the data into comprehensible forms and make sure that when the crazies stick their crazy heads above the surface, one of the Global Frequency agents is there with a big mallet to Whack-a-Mole them back down.
Once the crazies got started, of course, it was remarkably simple to predict their actions. Then it was just a matter of matching agent to incident before people got killed. Aleph had been chatting to 643 on and off for about a year, not because 643 was an expert on crazies, or data, or even Whack-a-Mole. 643 was known to Aleph because he had the best ringtones, and when you’re the hub for 1001 agents, you need a lot of ringtones. It was kind of weird to hear 643 shouting down the line rather than sending happy little beeps to her monitor.
“Aleph, when the fourth bell rings, the bomb’s going to go off. We don’t have anyone down in the church, just me up here with the bells.”
“Calm down, Quasimodo. Is it physically attached? Show me the wires.”
“No, we think it’s the frequency of the bell that’s going to set the bomb off. Even if I muffle the clapper, it might still be loud enough to set it off.”
“Can you change the tone of the bell? Come on, you’re our carillon expert.”
“I’d need to heat the metal, and I’ve got nothing!”
Aleph looked around vaguely and, for once, something in the physical world jumped out at her.
“Is there a fire extinguisher up there? ”
“Oh, oh, there is! Cold will work! If I freeze the bell, it’ll change the frequency of the chime!”
“Go for it, baby.”
The metal shrank as it froze, and the chime set off a nasty crack up the side of the bell, but no bomb.
“Aleph? I think we’re good.”
“Thanks, sweetie. Come ring my bell sometime.”