The CHALLENGE continues!

[TheWombatOfDoom]

As the members of Firefly would say when they look at this picture - OH! SHINY!

This week I made 7 top hats for a bachelor party I'm the best man in. They were a great hit! We were the talk of the town. And I made them. Cardboard, hot glue and felt.



Enjoy folks! the reason there are only 6 pictured is because we lost one in our travels.

[MeanMrsMustard]

Oh my gosh, that is ADORABLE!

Thank you!
the Homestuck is consuming me

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Roxy Lalonde.

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A rare expression for Karkat Vantas.

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Aspects as girls in fun dresses.

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Space.

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Void.

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Crossover fantroll.

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Portrait.

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Bio. (373 words)

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Your name is LINGUA PAROLI and you are NEARLY SIX SWEEPS OLD. That’s what you tell people, anyway, because NEARLY SIX SWEEPS seems so much more DIGNIFIED than FIVE AND A HALF SWEEPS.
You live with your MONKEY LUSUS in a CRASHED WARSHIP HIVE that you FOUND YOURSELF shortly after you came into his custody.
Because of your GOLD BLOOD, you naturally have a power you’re PROUD OF, even if most trolls think it’s FRIVOLOUS. Your PRECIOUS GIFT is the KNOWLEDGE OF EVERY WORD IN THE TROLLISH LANGUAGE, though you KEEP QUIET ABOUT IT unless asked, partly to avoid being LAUGHED AT and partly because you DON’T LIKE TO BRAG.
You’re HIGHLY INTERESTED in LANGUAGE, COMMUNICATION, and LITERATURE, subjects which most trolls SEEM TO AVOID. You think that’s a PITY because you feel these things are RICH WITH UNEXPLORED BEAUTY.
In addition to this, you ABSOLUTELY ADORE HOOFBEASTS, particularly HORNED ones. You adamantly REFUSE to believe MAGIC ISN’T REAL.
Ever since you learned what the PALE QUADRANT was, your MOIRAIL has been a FRIENDLY and ARTISTIC, if somewhat UNFOCUSED and DITZY, seadweller.
About HALF A SWEEP ago, you gained a KISMESIS, though it’s become PAINFULLY OBVIOUS that he VACILLATED to red feelings almost immediately after the relationship started. You’re not sure if you’re READY TO ADMIT you may have begun to RECIPROCATE.
You’ve found yourself AUSPISTICING between nearly TOO MANY PAIRS TO COUNT over the last sweep. Personally you feel you’re A BIT TOO YOUNG to be getting into all these quadrants at once, but you just can’t let a CONFLICT go UNRESOLVED.
You’ve nurtured a FLUSHED CRUSH for almost as long as your CHERISHED MOIRALLEGIANCE, but you can tell that ANY NIGHT NOW a MATESPRITSHIP will bloom between him and your MOIRAIL. Not that you blame either of them.
Though you HATE FIGHTING, you have allocated your Strife Specibus with TOMEKIND, which has been MORE USEFUL THAN IT SOUNDS.
Your trolltag is thoughtfullyLoquacious and y*u always take the utm*st care t* type in a clear manner that can be easily underst**d by any tr*ll, even if y*u *ften catch y*urself using advanced and c*l*rful v*cabulary bey*nd the c*mpreh*nsion *f y*ur c*nversati*nal partner. But y*u always make sure t* clear up any misunderstanding!

[redfeatherraven]

Twenty-five years ago, give or take two hours, I was born. But you're getting the presents. Three more monsters this week - a thief, a hunter, and an explosive little cube, for 2555 words.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1...it?usp=sharing
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1...it?usp=sharing
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1...it?usp=sharing

[EDIT: On suggestion I've formatted them with Google Docs into something intended to be a little easier on the eyes. The links are updated to reflect this. Some additional, if minor, proofreading was also done, which has changed the word count by +/-15 words.]

I agree that it makes sense from a creative standpoint. But I'm not sure how to count it (though the upside is that if we find a way, it can probably be applied to regular writing too).
Editing/tweaking X amount of code/writing = one piece. ?

So I'll ask for an arrangement like the one I had last time I had a webcomic - as long as I maintain a regular schedule, I can count the work that's uploaded, not the one I actually make.

I'm still kind of back and forth about definitions, and I think that's going to be the real kicker here. It seems fair to expect as much volume from changes as from a regular submission, but what exactly constitutes changed code or writing is a matter of debate and/or heavy character counting.

For now the issue isn't a point of contention, so I think we should shelve it until we have some examples to base a decision off of.

As to the webcomic, seems reasonable. No complaints here.

[Glass Mouse]

I'm still kind of back and forth about definitions, and I think that's going to be the real kicker here. It seems fair to expect as much volume from changes as from a regular submission, but what exactly constitutes changed code or writing is a matter of debate and/or heavy character counting.

Your line about volume got me thinking. There ARE ways to measure volume, we just have to enlist fancy programs to do the job.

Such as this.

It can compare both plain text and code text, and it counts the amount of changes. It's imperfect, of course, but how about a "X changes as counted by this program = one piece". Such as... 20 for text, 10 for coding?

[Glass Mouse]

Back to an early-ish status schedule. Which I almost forgot. Go me!


Glass Mouse passes with five character drawings, and a barbarian distracted by the shiny.

Lycunadari is back on September 8.

TheWombatOfDoom passes with seven hand-crafted top hats.

MeanMrsMustard passes with three character portraits, two personified aspects, and 373 words of troll bio.

D.KnightSpider passes with two shiny trap drawings and 521 words of diary rant about said trap.

redfeatherraven passes with 2.555 words of RPG creature writing.

Grinner, are you still in?

rs2excelsior passes with 1251 words of continual sci-Fi story and a monster hunter logo.


Thus, Grinner FAILS this round!

Glass Mouse, TheWombatofDoom, MeanMrsMustard, D.KnightSpider, redfeatherraven and rs2excelsior PASS this round!


Current standing:

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Glass Mouse
Current run: 149 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: 1 week

Lycunadari
Current run: 28 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

TheWombatOfDoom
Current run: 4 weeks
Longest run: 3 weeks
Themes: -

MeanMrsMustard
Current run: 20 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

D.KnightSpider
Current run: 14 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: 2 weeks

redfeatherraven
Current run: 2 weeks
Longest run: 4 weeks
Themes: -

Grinner
Current run: -
Longest run: -
Themes: -

rs2excelsior
Current run: 2 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

This week's theme hasn't been chosen, so the first to call it wins

Next week's theme is chosen by rs2excelsior - let me know in PM or this thread, and I'll include it in the next status.






TheWombatofDoom: Hahaha, snazzy!

redfeatherraven: Happy birthday! May you encounter much cake on your way today!

[Grinner]

Grinner, are you still in?

I've been observing with the hope of participating, but this hasn't been my top priority. Thus, I didn't feel comfortable declaring a theme.

[Glass Mouse]

I've been observing with the hope of participating, but this hasn't been my top priority. Thus, I didn't feel comfortable declaring a theme.

Alright. I'm striking you off the list until you decide to chip in. You do know your other priorities aren't as much fun as this, though!

[D.KnightSpider]

For the sake of avoiding another themeless week, I'm going to just throw one out here real quick.

This week is brought to you by the number: Nine

[Glass Mouse]

Haha, this is so great! My comic is finally online, and I can start counting that work towards the Challenge. I'm actually truly for-real done for this week now - no more scrambling on Sunday when I suddenly realize that all my creative hours went to the comic. I could definitely get used to this

[Grinner]

Haha, this is so great! My comic is finally online, and I can start counting that work towards the Challenge. I'm actually truly for-real done for this week now - no more scrambling on Sunday when I suddenly realize that all my creative hours went to the comic. I could definitely get used to this

Congrats.

[rs2excelsior]

1569 words of sci-fi, still continuing my previous submissions:

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We'd been mounted since the feint went in two hours ago, in case the Republicans decided to launch a counterattack on our sector. If that happened, the whole attack would probably have to be called off.
Two hours sitting in a tank's driver's compartment with the engines on idle isn't fun, by any definition of the word. It was close and hot, and frankly none of us smelled very good, especially packed into such a small container. The seats were designed for functionality more than comfort. And I'd be spending a lot more time there soon, except I'd be driving straight through the enemy concentrations.
Come to think of it, I might not be spending much more time here after all.
The pitch of the artillery bombardment shifted. The concentrated fury of a Confederation mechanized corps' artillery battalions tore into the Republicans to our front. Sitting with my head out of the hatch, I could see the ground churning and roiling, torn by the energy of explosives and shell fragments. Even through my helmet ear protection and at least half a kilometer of distance, the sound was deafening.
Company advance in line of platoons. Captain Johnston was speaking over the company's helmet intercoms. First on the right, Second on the left, Third in the middle. Fourth in reserve behind. Move out, people.
I buttoned up my hatch, as did Sergeant Sykes in the turret above me, and the Captain's voice was replaced by that of Sergeant Webb. Diamond formation. I have point. Stay sharp and keep moving. The fans of the tank roared, flinging mud in all directions and just lifting the vehicle's immense mass off the ground. Let's go.
They weren't the most formal orders, but they worked. Webb's tank led the way, taking up position on the far right of Charlie Company's formation. I edged my own vehicle to a position twenty meters behind and to the right of our platoon leader. Sykes rotated the turret thirty degrees to the right so as to better cover our area of responsibility. The company's sixteen tanks, only one short of its full compliment, leapt forward as one. To our left and right, other armored companies did the same, tanks and armored personnel carriers rushing toward an unsuspecting enemy.
We had caught them off-guard. Units had been pulled off to other sectors of IX Corps' front, to resist attacks that were never meant to be serious. Those who remained were in a state of shock at the suddenness and intensity of the artillery barrage. Anti-personnel rounds had shredded exposed soldiers and unarmored vehicles, high explosive rounds had shattered defensive works, and anti-tank rounds had stabbed through the lightly-protected roofs of enemy armored vehicles. Many Republican soldiers lay dead or dying, and much of their equipment was destroyed.
Of course, the artillery, which had already moved its aim back to Republican rear areas, hadn't destroyed enemy resistance. The survivors were shellshocked, but began to recover relatively quickly. The tank's roof-mounted machinegun spat a burst at a Republican infantryman who was readying an anti-tank missile. Sporadic firing from heavier enemy weapons began shortly thereafter, both main guns from vehicles and dedicated anti-tank guns. I saw an APC pull itself from the defile in which it had sheltered ahead of us. Our tank's gunner, Hood, fired a round from the main gun. The electric current through the rails magnetically accelerated a depleted uranium penetrator enclosed in a conductive sabot to velocities which designers of similar chemical cannon could only dream of. The long, narrow penetrator speared the APC through its center. From the outside, it had a negligible effect besides the vehicle abruptly dropping onto its skirts. Inside, though, it would be Hell itself. The crew and a few survivors from the infantry squad carried inside scrambled from the wreck. Sykes fired at them with both coaxial and roof machineguns. Those who remained alive afterward were left behind. They were not a threat anymore, or at least not enough of one to worry about.
The main gun snarled several more times. Sometimes I could see the target, sometimes I couldn't. A tank from Alpha company about fifty meters to our right took a lethal hit from a Republican cannon which was promptly silenced by Hood before it could engage us. Another tank from second platoon had its skirts torn open. It turned around and limped back to its starting point, joining the Confederation infantry division plugging our place in the line.
After a few minutes that felt like a few hours, we were through their initial line. Casualties had been surprisingly light, thanks to the artillery and surprise. The company still had thirteen tanks active, only two of which had taken damage.
Things would just get harder from there on out.

I've got something on the sensors. Two o'clock, a hundred and fifty klicks. The voice was that of Sergeant Greene. He had taken point about half an hour into the run.
I see it. Webb, this time. Pickett, watch our other side. We hit this thing and keep going.
Our diamond loosened up. Turrets rotated onto potential targets that were still concealed from direct observation by a rise in the ground. I pushed the throttle forward, accelerating the tank ponderously.
Hood fired as soon as we peeked over the low ridge. Other railguns snarled out, the sound of their firing drowned by the crack of hypersonic penetrators. It was good thing, too. Republican railguns fired almost simultaneously.
A stationary anti-tank gun makes a much easier target than an accelerating air cushion tank. Most of the enemy rounds went wide, and several threat markers vanished from the display screens. Webb's tank shifted from the green of a fully-functional vehicle to the pulsing amber which indicated non-critical damage.
I reversed the forward fans, slowing the vehicle, and swung its course to the right. The main gun fired again and again, rocking the tank back each time, until the five round ready magazine was expended. Machineguns crackled. Small arms fire rang from the tank's sides.
Two Republican infantrymen stood up in front of the advancing platoon, portable anti-tank launchers on their shoulders. They fired as one before any of the four roof machineguns could come to bear.
One rocket streamed toward our tank, leaving behind a white contrail. I wrenched the tank crazily. The shaped charge hit the hull, its jet of plasma gouging a furrow in the armor. It was only a glancing blow. A direct hit would have been fatal for all involved.
Greene's tank wasn't so lucky. They took a hit directly on the main hull, and their icon blazed an angry red. Two figures scrambled out of the turret. Pickett's tank sidled up next to it, slowing enough to pick up the surviving crewmen. Republican infantry weapons, finally finding a target which they could actually damage, rattled around them, and one of the two fell from the accelerating tank.
The two infantrymen which had fired the rockets had vanished. Machineguns still spat their fury at unseen enemies, but they were already fading back. Sporadic firing on both sides continued, mostly the tanks' machineguns. One vehicle's main gun found a target; the singular crack of its penetrator was clearly audible through the chatter of smaller weapons. A low ridge again, then the land leveled out. The guns fell silent.
Just as quickly as it had begun, the engagement was over. I wanted to open the hatch for a breath of fresh air, but there was no guarantee a Republican wouldn't decide to take a crack at a Confederation driver's exposed head. Through my screens, I saw the surviving tanker from Greene's tank, either Sergeant Greene himself or his gunner, open the hatch on Pickett's turret and scramble inside. That would be a tight fit, but better than riding exposed through enemy territory.
Spread out. Line abreast. It was Sergeant Webb again. Let's keep our eyes open. We can't afford to keep losing vehicles like that.
The inside of the tank was hot, dark, and close. The air was stale and the hum of the fusion bottle grated on my nerves. I realized that I had been able to keep my mind off of it when I had been in combat. Now, though, with the rush of adrenaline fading, it all came back. I wanted nothing more than to scream; to open the hatch, leave the cramped confines of the tank, and take in the open space. But I couldn't. If I did, I wouldn't survive the experience.
We were barely half of the way to the objective.
I heard the whine of shells overhead. At first I thought they were ours, but the noise kept building. The roof machineguns fired once more, this time under the control of the computers in the tanks. Republican artillery shells were swatted from the sky. A few made it through.
Their loud, low bursts rocked the tanks, and shrapnel rattled off the armored flanks, but they were just ranging in. The anti-tank rounds would come soon. Confederation artillery would be returning fire soon, assuming there was a battery available. If not, things could become very bad for 1/C platoon of the 98th Armored Battalion.
There was nothing I could do but hunker down in my seat and hope the counterbattery and air defense would be enough.
I hated leaving my life in the hands of others.

And I get to choose the theme for next week? Nifty. How about... How about Numbers? I think that's wide enough, yet specific enough.

[MeanMrsMustard]

Images:

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God tiers!
Me (Sylph of Mind):

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A friend (Heir of Doom):

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Writing:

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My half of a roleplay. 1826 words.

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There wasn't a cloud in the sky or a breeze in the air, and the temperature was already pushing the boundaries of comfort by nine o' clock in the morning. In short, it was the perfect day for an aquatic excursion.
Amanda "Lucky" Cloverton had stepped outside, still in her pajamas, to water her lively garden and nearly fallen over when she was struck by a wave of heat.
"Phew!" she panted as she turned right back around to change into something more suitable for the weather. She spent nearly an entire hour frolicking around with her hose, and the cooling sensation of the spray on her skin gave her a great idea. Once she was finished prolonging the life of her lovely plants and ensuring they wouldn't parch to death, she retrieved an old grey duffel bag from her closet and began to put on her jade green one-piece. After she did so, she spritzed on sunscreen, then stepped into a pair of white flip-flops and pulled out her iColt.
[hey there Shades] she typed. [wanna come down to Foal Shoal with me at noon]
She sent the message to her best friend from seventh grade, who lived about two hours away from her, though they were about the same ninety-minute drive away from the rocky beach she had specified. She knew the other beaches along the coast, which were much sandier, would be absolutely jammed with people, but Foal Shoal was chillier and less tourist-attracting than virtually everywhere else. There wasn't really a question about her going to the beach, but she did like doing things with her friends, especially this one. His presence would definitely make a nice bonus. She checked her duffel bag, making sure it contained extra sunscreen, a couple of beach towels, two pairs of goggles (one for snorkeling), a faded green pair of flippers, and a waterproof camera, then made a pair of sandwiches on footlong loaves of sourdough bread. Once she'd grabbed her car keys, she was ready to go. She started up the car she'd had since high school and made for the highway that would take her to her destination.
---
Rather predictably, Amanda arrived at the beach first. It was around 11:45 when she parked her car, and only at 12:10 did she start wondering if Randy was going to show up at all. She pulled one of the sandwiches out of her bag and ate half of it before deciding to solo it down by the water's edge. She slung the duffel bag over her shoulder and maneuvered down to the shore, where there were plenty of tide pools for her to examine. The tide pools were by far her favorite part of visiting the beach -- she loved all the creatures and other life. Swimming was definitely a plus as well. After poking around a bit, she grabbed her snorkel larger goggles, and fins. She looked around for a good place to dive in and chose a large, easily-climbable boulder.
She stood on top of it for a minute or so, closing her eyes and savoring the sensation of mist on her face and scent of sea spray. After her moment of contemplation, she put on the gear and leapt into the water, breaching it easily with her hands and blowing out through the snorkel until she could surface. The water was much colder than the air, a welcome relief after the sweltering summer's heat. She began a breaststroke as she skimmed the clear water just below the surface, the only sign of her presence above water being the clear plastic top of the snorkel. It seemed that she'd scared most of the fish away, but Amanda didn't have a problem with that. Either they'd return or they wouldn't, and the water alone was just as interesting as the life-filled habitat.
Soon enough, she began to shiver slightly, and her stomach rumbled for more sandwich. She surfaced and stepped out onto the sandiest part of Foal Shoal. Locating her bag, she salvaged the remaining half of the first sandwich.
---
Amanda was still in the water when Randy showed up at the parking lot. Shoal Foal wasn't too large a place, so it was likely the two would meet before 12:30. She wasn't checking her phone, since she'd already chalked him up as a no-show, so she had no clue what time it really was. Wrapping a towel around her naturally green hair, which was one of the ways the strange influence of an alternate dimension had affected her world, she took a stroll to the western end of the beach.
Hold the phone, a reader might be saying at this moment. What alternate dimension? To which the narration replies: isn't it obvious? The names "Foal Shoal" and "iColt" should have been dead giveaways. Not to mention the jade-colored clover necklace Lucky wore nearly everywhere on a silver chain or her near-obsession with wearing the color green. Rainbow hair was the most visible, but also the least odd, manifestation of the influence of said unnamed-yet-easily-apparent alternate dimension.
---
"Hey Shades," called Amanda. "Nice of you to finally show up -- where exactly do you intend to change out of those clothes? Unless you're not planning on swimming."
She wouldn't put it past him -- he had a tendency to do things with her without actually participating in the activity she was doing in the first place. She'd noticed it in a sort of background manner, a little detail that wasn't so important that she'd focus on it, but something that recurred often enough that only a completely oblivious dunderhead wouldn't detect the pattern. Even though she was aware of this trend, she thought nothing of it. It had been in his nature for as long as she'd known him to stay, if the reader would excuse the fairly obvious pun, in the shadows.
---
"Lucky" chuckled and rolled her eyes.
"Always prepared, ain'tcha Shades," she said as she turned her back to preserve his modesty. "Would you also like me to plug my ears so the rustling sound of your dropping pants doesn't provoke my lewd imagination?"
Regardless of whether he responded, she talked at him.
"Would it kill you to invest in a car, or at least public transit? I was waiting for like an hour. Well, maybe not quite that long. More like half an hour from the time I told you. But still, I got here early enough that the time elapsed between our respective arrivals was easily the better part of an hour. I stood around for quite a while before I basically gave up. I also hope you're not expecting me to feed you, ya bum. I only brought enough sandwiches to satiate myself. I could potentially be talked into buying something if you didn't bring food *or* money, but it would take a lotta beggin' on your part, let me tell you that. Hey, you done changing yet? Can I turn around? I swear, if you keep me standing like this, I'm just gonna get back in the water, which is a really fine temperature, by the way."
---
"Ah, boo hoo. Next time, I won't invite you at all, since the alternative would be giving your ungrateful flank a ride, and I'd just *hate* to cause you discomfort."
As he talked, she rummaged around in her bag and grabbed her smaller goggles. Once he was by her side, she cackled and dashed towards the water's edge.
"Too bad for you, Mister No-Money! I'm gonna need more convincing than that!"
And she hopped into the ocean, diving as low as she could while still retaining clear vision and confidence that she could surface before running out of air. The sudden chill, despite being a familiar part of swimming at Foal Shoal, sent a shock through her system, but she recovered quickly, and soon enough had no problem with temperature. Whenever she spotted Shadow in the water, she gave him a bubbly wave.
---
Lucky felt the shockwave from Shades' splash, turned to give a wave, and, seeing that he had only just dived in and was likely to come up for air immediately, surfaced to await his remarks.
"I told you, dog. I told you about st- cold. Yes, that is the thing I was originally going to say."
She paddled over to her friend. She tread water as she spoke with genuine concern.
"You think you'll be able to stay in, or is it too cold for you? You can totally get out if you don't think you can handle the temperature -- I wouldn't want to risk you getting hypothermia."
Though it was tempting, Lucky managed to *not* make the "ambulances have motors, you know" or "I'd have to drive you to the hospital" jabs that immediately sprang to mind. She could joke like that later, when she was sure her friend was OK and safe. The well-being of people she cared about was one of the few priorities that topped humor and getting the last word.
---
Lucky put on an exaggerated hurt expression before diving again.
«Note to self,» she thought. «Say "quiet, you" to Shades as soon as possible. He'll totally find it hilarious.»
She didn't chase after him, but swam out as far as she dared. The chill began to sink into her muscles, and though she'd be fine with that were she in waters only a couple of meters deep, the thought that the bottom of the water was quite a bit farther down than that was rather unnerving -- all right, downright terrifying. Trying not to think of sharks and squids and Elder Gods and other aquatic monsters, she returned to safer, shallower waters. She decided that now would be a good time to finish off her lunch, then perhaps find enough wet sand to make a flimsy structure.
---
As Shades approached, Lucky was devouring the last few bites of her sandwich.
"Hey there!" she chirped. ("Quiet, you," wasn't really all that funny, given he hadn't said anything yet.) "Wanna make a crappy sand castle with me?"
She grinned and stood up, stuffing the towel she'd been sitting on and plastic baggie she'd used to store her food inside the duffel bag. She zipped up her carrying device and picked up Shadow's comparatively light backpack, approaching the quietly walking figure and handing the worn cloth sack to him.
---
"Eh, sure."
Lucky laughed and set her own bag down before taking a seat next to her friend. She dug her hand into the wet sand, scooping a handful and slapping it down next to the hole. The beginnings of wall number one.
---
Lucky began scooping out a moat, each chunk of the sand she picked up contributing to the first wall.
---
The pair worked in silence, forming the rough shape of their structure. Soon, Lucky experimentally started to try and close up the roof.

[Glass Mouse]

Statuuuuuus!


Glass Mouse passes with twelve comic strips, a banner, and an OC drawing.

Lycunadari is back with a vengeance - with six pieces worth of paintings, one avatar, and 47 photographs covering animals, flowers, naturescapes, sunsets and hobbitholes (all in all covering the past eight weeks).

TheWombatOfDoom passes with 1,743 words of world building covering nine different subjects.

MeanMrsMustard passes with two character portraits and 1,826 words of roleplaying.

D.KnightSpider passes with five pieces worth of Oo Shiny-drawings (plus one with a nine-heavy skillset), and 501 words of game project notes.

redfeatherraven didn't upload/send me anything.

Grinner is out.

rs2excelsior passes with 1,569 words of sci-fi story.


Thus, TheWombatOfDoom and redfeatherraven FAIL this round!

Glass Mouse, Lycunadari, MeanMrsMustard, D.KnightSpider, and rs2excelsior PASS this round!


Current standing:

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Glass Mouse
Current run: 150 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

Lycunadari
Current run: 36 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

TheWombatOfDoom
Current run: 5 weeks
Longest run: 3 weeks
Themes: -

MeanMrsMustard
Current run: 21 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

D.KnightSpider
Current run: 15 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: 3 weeks

redfeatherraven
Current run: -
Longest run: 4 weeks
Themes: -

rs2excelsior
Current run: 3 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

This week's theme, chosen by rs2excelsior, is Numbers

Next week's theme is chosen by me.

[rs2excelsior]

I think and hope that I will be able to keep this up, but this week is my first real week of classes, and I don't have a light load this semester. I'll keep up writing (mostly) whenever I can, but if I don't pass for the next week or two, that's why.

Also, I noticed photographs listed for this update. I don't think they're in the OP. How do they count?

[D.KnightSpider]

At the risk of sounding like a stickler, the second/third drawings that I did were supposed to be theme fulfillmeng pieces. The whole "999 Deathblow" thing was because the theme was "nine" . Does that not count for some reason?

[redfeatherraven]

Sorry about the absence, had to juggle a lot of responsibilities last week. Party on monday, interviews tuesday, squeezed a 35-hour workweek into the remaining three weekdays, and got slammed with a headcold for the trouble over the weekend. I typed up less than 100 words before other duties forced it to fall by the wayside.

This upcoming week isn't looking much better...but today, there's still time.

Pass the Vitamin Badass, it's a blitz day.

[TheWombatOfDoom]

So, I haven't had a response via PM to my submission, so I'll post here. I submitted my challenge pieces for last week at my usual time...the time that I've submitted nearly ever submission I've put in...but it hasn't been counted. Now, I understand that Glass posted earlier than usual...but I'd still like credit, or an explaination as to why I don't so going forward this doesn't happen.

[Glass Mouse]

So, I haven't had a response via PM to my submission, so I'll post here. I submitted my challenge pieces for last week at my usual time...the time that I've submitted nearly ever submission I've put in...but it hasn't been counted. Now, I understand that Glass posted earlier than usual...but I'd still like credit, or an explaination as to why I don't so going forward this doesn't happen.

I'm totally sorry, Wombat! I've been really busy this week, and the Challenge posts piled up, so I waited until I had a full half-hour to sort through everything. That just arrived later than expected.

You pass, and I'll fix it as soon as I'm done with this post. Like I said, I've permanently changed the status time, but I'm lenient these first few weeks, so you all get a chance to adjust. But please heed the new time, because in a few weeks time, "late" submissions turn late again.

(new time is 7-10 a.m. GMT+1 Monday if you feel like cutting it close - but as always, Sunday is the REAL deadline)

Also, I noticed photographs listed for this update. I don't think they're in the OP. How do they count?

One photograph = one piece. The motives need to be different. It's one of the easy categories.

And thanks for the heads up

At the risk of sounding like a stickler, the second/third drawings that I did were supposed to be theme fulfillmeng pieces. The whole "999 Deathblow" thing was because the theme was "nine" . Does that not count for some reason?

Never worry about sounding like a stickler, and sorry to you too for the late answer. I simply missed the theme reference. Fixing it now

[TheWombatOfDoom]

Alrighty, cool. No worries, real life happens. I was really just hoping not to break my streak. Ah, a time change, go to know...that should probably be posted on the OP, in terms of what time you accept things by. What would that time be for Eastern Standard Time? But 5 weeks in a row means a poem from Veira Champion, right??! (is excited at having actually accomplished something)

Also, this would make me have this be my 3rd week on theme. Marshmallow was the first, where I did a riddle. Last week was a stretch, with Oooh! Shiny! top hats (I can imagine kaylee from firefly commenting on them this way), and then my nine subjects this week.

[Glass Mouse]

Alrighty, cool. No worries, real life happens. I was really just hoping not to break my streak. Ah, a time change, go to know...that should probably be posted on the OP, in terms of what time you accept things by. What would that time be for Eastern Standard Time? But 5 weeks in a row means a poem from Veira Champion, right??! (is excited at having actually accomplished something)

It's already there.

Sunday is the deadline.

Frankly, the deadline is NOT 7 .a.m. or anything else in any kind of time zone. It's Sunday, period. The thing that changes, and that I'm talking about, is the Status post (because I feel it's fair that you know when it shows up).
The only reason the Status post is the de facto deadline is that I don't feel like comparing every piece to its respective time zone to see if it was uploaded before Sunday was over.


As for the poem, Veira, you here? (and grats for making it to your first prize, Wombat!)

Also, this would make me have this be my 3rd week on theme. Marshmallow was the first, where I did a riddle. Last week was a stretch, with Oooh! Shiny! top hats (I can imagine kaylee from firefly commenting on them this way), and then my nine subjects this week.

I personally think the "Oo Shiny!" is too much of a stretch. Of course the limits are vague, but at minimum the theme should be a part of the piece. If semi-obscure references counted, then every piece could fit every theme ever.

But as always, veto power is in the hands of the theme-giver

[rs2excelsior]

A 1,648 word short story that works of the week's theme. This one isn't in the same continuity as my previous submissions.

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Carl Dufort unfastened the straps of his acceleration couch and gently pushed. He let himself drift out of the contraption, stretching and reveling in the glorious feeling of freefall as compared to the brutal period of acceleration the ship had just undergone to kick it out of Earth's orbit. Glancing back and forth over his instruments, he confirmed that they were all normal before he again pushed himself from the acceleration couch, this time toward the hatch from the Trinidad's control room to his quarters.
Carl was the sole human being aboard the spacecraft. His job was to pilot the vessel from Earth's orbit to the asteroid Ceres, make sure his cargo of sensors and other scientific equipment was still in working order, drop it on the asteroid's surface, and leave once it functioned properly. The round trip would take two and a half years. He would take measurements and observations at various other points during his flight, but most of the time would be spend in chemically-induced sleep.
There hadn't been many volunteers for this trip. Carl was one of the few that had jumped at it. He had never been very good with people, anyhow. He seemed to lack the instincts for predicting how others would react in a given situation, and had always been aloof from others. That was the main reason he'd been picked; he would not mind the solitude. In fact, he enjoyed it. People were difficult.
Space travel, on the other hand. That was different. That was straightforward, in Carl's mind at least. While he had always been lacking in social adeptness, he was blessed with an intuitive understanding of the interactions of objects in three dimensions. It was all in the numbers. Find out all of the variables, and you can predict to a fault what will happen. Gravity and motion, Newton and Einstein, reigned supreme out here in deep space, and they would yield their secrets to anyone who cared to do the math.
A transfer orbit from Earth to Ceres took nine thousand, four hundred and seventy-seven meters per second of delta-vee--change in velocity--one way, so eighteen thousand, nine hundred and fifty-four for a round trip. Half of Trinidad's initial mass was fuel, so a mass ratio of two. Her plasma rocket shot propellant from the rear nozzle at twenty-nine thousand meters per second. Run the numbers, and that's a total delta-vee of a bit over twenty thousand, one hundred meters per second. Eleven thousand, forty-seven to spare. A little more than a year and six months there, same time back.
All in the numbers.
Carl pulled himself through the ship's cramped corridor, all the way from the rocket's nose to its relatively small cargo hold. He allowed himself to drift through, briefly checking the telltales on the various equipment packages. One of the crates had come loose from its harness during acceleration, so Carl pulled himself over to it. The outside was a little scuffed, but everything inside appeared to be in order, so he replaced it more securely and headed back for the hatch.
He pushed off and let himself drift. Carl wasn't a large person by any means, but the small circular opening could barely fit even a small person. He sailed through it without brushing an edge.
He was showing off, if only to himself, though he didn't think of it that way. To Carl, he was just proving to himself that he could do it. Stretching his mental muscles, if you will.
He stopped short of the control room, pushing off one wall into a small room opposite it. In the compartment was another device quite similar to the acceleration couch in the control room. Carl settled himself into it and pressed a control.
There was a prickling sensation on his skin as the drug entered his system. Before long, his mind had drifted off into sleep.

Space actually isn't a vacuum. There is stuff there. It's just really, really spread out. There's dust and hydrogen spread all around. Generally in bits small enough that you would need a microscope to see them. That stuff isn't enough to be a concern. But every now and then, you could run across something bigger. Bits of rock are flying left and right around our solar system, following their own orbits around the sun. They are small enough that they are impossible to detect, but it doesn't take much mass to do a lot of damage at interplanetary velocities.
A piece of rock, maybe a kilogram, in an orbit opposite to that of the Trinidad, at a total closing speed of about thirty five thousand meters per second. That's over six hundred million joules, a little more energy than what's in a shell from a main gun of a battleship. And the Trinidad was not built anywhere near as tough as a battleship.
All in the numbers.

Carl's brain swam upward from a deep, dreamless sleep. This, in and of itself, was not odd. The computer was programmed to wake him up at regular intervals so that he could check the instruments and exercise to stave off muscle atrophy. So the fact that the counteragent to the drug which put him into hibernation was currently making his skin cold and clammy was no cause for worry.
The pulsing red light above his head was.
As his brain returned to normal functionality, Carl heard the siren's wail as well. He struggled with the straps for a moment before freeing himself and pushing himself out of the harness. He deactivated the alarm on his way into the main corridor.
He went through the hatch to the control room faster than usual, this time scraping his shoulder on the passageway. He caught the acceleration couch and pulled himself into it, fastening the restraints as he brought his controls within reach.
It wasn't good. The Trinidad's radar had detected an object at just over five hundred kilometers. After taking a second reading and determining the courses of object and ship would intersect, it had awakened him.
The problem was that by now there was only five seconds to impact.
In addition to her main thrusters, Trinidad mounted smaller chemical rockets for minor course corrections. The main engines would be useless, given that the object was very nearly directly ahead, and the miniscule thrusts from the maneuvering engines would not be enough. A maximum displacement over four seconds of about four meters, with a ship whose cross section was more than four times that wide. There was no way to avoid a collision. The number's wouldn't allow it.
As he activated the thrusters and felt a gentle push on his harness, Carl realized dispassionately that he was going to die. He wished it could have been different, not out here a million miles from anyone. He wished he's taken the time to talk to--
Carl was slammed against the harness. His vision blacked out for a moment as Trinidad screamed with the sound of tearing metal.
As abruptly as it began, it was over. The only sound was the hissing of air escaping from the ship. Carl tasted blood in his mouth. He had bitten down on his tongue, though the pain was lost in the flood of stimulus his brain had received.
Carl's first thought was relief. He'd made it after all. The maneuvering thrusters hadn't been able to avoid the rock, but it had turned a certainly fatal direct hit into a survivable glancing blow. Then he noticed the pulsing red light on his display.
Trinidad's course had been thrown off by the impact. It would no longer smoothly transfer into orbit around Ceres. There was extra propellant in the tanks to correct such problems, however.
Unfortunately, the object had ruptured a tank. While the air leak had been sealed, the damage to the propellant tank had been too severe and precious reaction mass had been leaked into space. He was down to about eight thousand meters per second of delta-vee. Not enough to make it home.
Carl forced himself not to panic. He could get out. He just had to figure out how...
He could abort the mission. That was the only option, at this point. Get Trinidad turned around, then a burn to kick him back toward Earth. He ran the calculations. Eight thousand five hundred meters per second. Not good enough. Without the equipment that wouldn't make it to Ceres anyhow...
Eight thousand and forty. Not much margin for error, but it would have to do.
He jettisoned his cargo. Had he brought it back, it could have been sent again, but given that sacrificing the instruments was the only way to get anything back, he figured his superiors would be happy that they got the ship and experienced pilot back. He hoped. But people were unpredictable.
The air in the hold emptied and the bay doors opened. Small magnetic couplings reversed their polarity, nudging millions of dollars worth of equipment into space. Once it was clear, the doors closed again, and the Trinidad turned ponderously on her axis.
The acceleration pushed Carl back into the couch. The burn lasted several hours, during which time most of the remaining propellant was expended. The display calculated the vessel's course, and decreed that it would indeed return to Earth orbit. The acceleration cut off, leaving Carl in freefall once more. The sun's gravity would do the rest of the work.
Carl didn't leave the acceleration couch for some time. He didn't trust his limbs to guide him from the control room. He'd made it this time. The circumstances could just as easily have made it impossible to return to Earth at all. He'd been quite close to a long, slow death in deep space as his food and air ran out.
It was all in the numbers.

Disclaimer: I'm not a rocket scientist. The equations are correct, and the initial delta-vee and exhaust velocities are realistic, obtained via Atomic Rockets (an awesome website for anyone interested in hard sci-fi, by the way). Some of the later numbers are guesstimates, though. They may or may not be wildly inaccurate.

I managed to write enough this week, but with classes and all I might have to substitute some writing for photography in later weeks. Which is okay, because I live on a beautiful campus.

Also, what exactly does it mean that the "motives" for photographs have to be different? Sorry to ask so many questions, I just want to make sure what I do qualifies.

EDIT: realized that I changed the name of the ship between my two writing sessions. Oops.

[Glass Mouse]

Also, what exactly does it mean that the "motives" for photographs have to be different? Sorry to ask so many questions, I just want to make sure what I do qualifies.

I'm not sure it's the right word, actually. But it just means that it can't be five pictures of the same thing. The things photographed, or the composition, need to be different for each photo.

Don't want people to just stand still and snap six photos. Gotta work at least a little bit for that week count

[rs2excelsior]

I'm not sure it's the right word, actually. But it just means that it can't be five pictures of the same thing. The things photographed, or the composition, need to be different for each photo.

Don't want people to just stand still and snap six photos. Gotta work at least a little bit for that week count

Cool, thanks.

[MeanMrsMustard]

Askblog stuff.

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Promo/icon.

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Banner.

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Homestuck.

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Meenah.

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Eridan and Cronus-grub.

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Fanventure characters.

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Cassandra Hancock.

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Raphael Hancock.

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My deviantART. I'll still be putting stuff up here, though.

[Glass Mouse]

Really sorry about the lateness, guys, I messed up Dropbox and thus didn't bring the Status file along in the morning. But, status!


Glass Mouse passes with a four-panel comic, a character portrait and 396 words of writings.

Lycunadari passes with three paintings and three flower photos.

TheWombatOfDoom passes with 678 words on Magical tangents, 562 Words of writing rant, and 514 Words of Bioshock essay.

MeanMrsMustard passes with an Ask icon and banner, two detailed Homestuck drawings, and two character portraits.

D.KnightSpider passes with 1,259 words of video game-based story prologue, and a wild number attack.

redfeatherraven didn't upload/send me anything. Still in?

rs2excelsior passes with 1,648 words of heavily numbers-based short story.


Thus, redfeatherraven FAILS this round!

Glass Mouse, Lycunadari, TheWombatofDoom, MeanMrsMustard, D.KnightSpider, and rs2excelsior PASS this round!


Current standing:

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Glass Mouse
Current run: 151 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

Lycunadari
Current run: 37 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

TheWombatOfDoom
Current run: 6 weeks
Longest run: 3 weeks
Themes: -

MeanMrsMustard
Current run: 22 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

D.KnightSpider
Current run: 16 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: 4 weeks

redfeatherraven
Current run: -
Longest run: 4 weeks
Themes: -

rs2excelsior
Current run: 4 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

This week's theme, chosen by me, is Secrets

Next week's theme is chosen by Lycunadari - let me know in PM or this thread, and I'll include it in the next status.

[redfeatherraven]

Sorry, been another rough week. Lots of cash scrambling before a new full time job starts up.

I was working on a little something last week, but didn't complete it - only got through to 825 words. Was hoping to sneak in and finish it this morning, but didn't quite get there before I conked out. I did a little more work on it though, bringing it to 1042 words. I'm well and aware it won't count, but since I'd still like to share I'm submitting it regardless:

https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B0fo...it?usp=sharing

Silver lining - perhaps because I slept on it (for an arbitrary definition of "slept") I finally found a way to utilize this week's theme, and it solved a bit of an issue for me. I haven't polished that off quite, but keen eyes should notice it when it happens.

In the meantime, I had a little inspiration tonight and managed to pull off a successful 1970-word blitz. So here's this week in advance:

https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B0fo...it?usp=sharing

Re-reading it I've already found a few groan-worthy lines, but as a design doc it still gets things done. Also, although it wasn't on my mind at the time it even kind of fits the theme, if you consider that Tobias explicitly worked to keep his plans secret. I'll take a happy accident.

New job starts tomorrow and with things more consistent in my life, things should also end up more consistent in my output. Here's to.

...oh, yes, before I forget.

I personally think the "Oo Shiny!" is too much of a stretch...But as always, veto power is in the hands of the theme-giver

It is a little bit of a stretch...but I quite liked it regardless. They were well-crafted, I'm a sucker for Firefly references, and my prompts have so far had a history of being a pain (there was cheese...and then there was the past as future fiasco; I sure know I have some namer's remorse when I have to sit down and write to a prompt like that) so in all fairness I'm alright with it.

[TheWombatOfDoom]

My first entry for this week is something I think you'll all appreciate! An order of the stick themed parody song!

She/he/V-ian Rhapsody
to the tune of Bohemian Rhapsody, by Queen
(I recomend listening along as you read)


Is this the real life?
Or gaming parody?
Wield arcane power
with my superior wizardry.

Open your eyes!
Look under the Gate! It’s me!

I’m just a poor elf, who dealt with IFCC,
With them it’s easy come, hard to go,
their profits - high, their wager - low,
And when blue orb glowed, it gave the power of three, to Darth V.

Inky! Just killed a dragon,
Put a spell against its head,
Now her entire race is dead.
Inky! I must save everyone,
I really can’t just throw this power away.

Draketooths! Nooooo,
Didn't mean to make you die,
I must amend my discretions for a better tomorrow,
Roy stop! Knock knock! You know nothing on these matters.

Too late, Cedrik’s time has come,
Failed to shatter Xykon’s spine,
Now I’m paying for my crime.
Goodbye, to my body, to Hell I go,
Gotta leave you behind. This feels uncouth.

Krakak! Ooooooom! (that’s the way the Gate blows),
But I haven’t died,
Under my understanding - this shouldn’t possible.

I can’t even see a silhouetto of your plan,
Scarammmph! Scarammmph! Magic gag from Nero.
Malak dies from lighting,
Durkon kills my opponent, Zz’dtri.
(Dramatic Moment) Dramatic Moment.
(No Attonement) No Attonement,
Tarquin gives Nale a killing blow.
No saving throw!

I'm just a Raven and why does this affect me?
You're a familiar, so your soul’s linked to V,
Sparing your lives from all damage on the TV.

Easy there, Sabine, no! Will you let me go?
Bismillah! No! This couch - I have to throw.
(Have to throw!) Nale’s dead, ‘cause I was banished here below.
(Here below!) What a mess! Repayment you will owe.
(You will owe!) Tarquin doesn’t know.
(Doesn’t know!) Revenge I will bestow
(Good thing I sent up my Teevo!) Ah.
Tic, Tic, Tic, Tic, Tic, Tic- Ding!
(Oh the bell, oh the bell) It’s been swell, time to go.
Vaarsuvius! Go up and knock ‘em dead for me, for me, for me!

Hard to see with this sand in my eye!
Now to cast elemental spells that make enemies die!
Oh, party! I’ve returned to my party!
Fire wall is up, It appears we will make our stand here.

(Oh, yeah, oh yeah)

I apologize for my absence,
Greenhilt and Party,
Most know nothing of these matters,
Nothing of these matters…but me.

(Ocean wind from rift blows)

[rs2excelsior]

My first entry for this week is something I think you'll all appreciate! An order of the stick themed parody song!

Awesomeness

Is it a bad thing that I was able to get maybe 70-80% of the way through while just hearing the melody in my head?

EDIT: Also, I will be away from a computer until a yet-to-be-determined time on Sunday this weekend. I should be able to get this week's submission in by midnight Sunday here, but it may or may not be before the status update (I'm not sure exactly how many time zones Denmark is from the eastern US). Just a heads-up.

[Glass Mouse]

I did a little more work on it though, bringing it to 1042 words.

*

Silver lining - perhaps because I slept on it (for an arbitrary definition of "slept") I finally found a way to utilize this week's theme, and it solved a bit of an issue for me. I haven't polished that off quite, but keen eyes should notice it when it happens.

That's half a win in my book! Creating is never lost time

It is a little bit of a stretch...but I quite liked it regardless. They were well-crafted, I'm a sucker for Firefly references, and my prompts have so far had a history of being a pain (there was cheese...and then there was the past as future fiasco; I sure know I have some namer's remorse when I have to sit down and write to a prompt like that) so in all fairness I'm alright with it.

Haha, Firefly fans banding together, eh? I really oughta watch that show

My first entry for this week is something I think you'll all appreciate! An order of the stick themed parody song!

Hahaha, yesss!

EDIT: Also, I will be away from a computer until a yet-to-be-determined time on Sunday this weekend. I should be able to get this week's submission in by midnight Sunday here, but it may or may not be before the status update (I'm not sure exactly how many time zones Denmark is from the eastern US). Just a heads-up.

As long as you don't live west of California, you should be in the clear. Only Alaska, the Canadian west, and most Pacific islands are in trouble with the current schedule.

If anyone is from there, I'm still gonna count you if you post in those 1-4 hours between Status and your midnight... but for the rest of you, Sunday is clear

You can see a nifty time map here.

[Neoriceisgood]

The deadline for this is sunday right?