Shipping itP II: Scourge of the Seven Seas

[RabbitHoleLost]

Bring it on Rabbit! After associating with Cristo and some other folk from around here as well as in real life, I believe my sarcasm limit is set pretty high.

Good, because you're in it

[Cristo Meyers]

Bring it on Rabbit! After associating with Cristo and some other folk from around here as well as in real life, I believe my sarcasm limit is set pretty high.

Oh come on, I'm not that bad...

[happyturtle]

Ship Wars
The Empire Ships Back, part 5

Starring:

Calamity as Calthreepio
Cobra_Ikari as Darth Cobra
Collin152 as Emperor Collpatine
CurlyKitGirl as Curly Jade
Dihan as Artoodihan
Dr Bath as Bath Vader (formerly Sink Skywalker)
FF Fanboy as Fanboy Skywalker
Freshmeat as Fresho
Happyturtle as Happyturtle the Handmaiden
Haruki-kun as Haruki-Kun Kenobi
Jibar as Princess Catmuffin
Kaeleroth as Kaeleroth, a traitor
Lex-Kat as Lex-Kat the Pixie
Lord Fullbladder as Bladder the Hutt
Lyinginbedmon as Ly-Mon Jinn
Mauve Shirt as Mauve Skywalker
Midnight Son as Midnight Son, a war orphan
Phase as Phase the Death Moon
Rabbit Hole Lost as Queen Padme Rabbitala
Raistlin1040 as Raistlin the musician
Randman22222 as Rando Calrissian
Rubakhin as Rubakha
Terraoblivion as Terra Oblivion, a war refugee
Thanatos5150 as Than Tolo
The Rose Dragon as The Rose Dragon, a war orphan
TheCountAlucard as Alu Fett

And introducing:

Dallas-Dakota as Greatgrandmoff DDarkin
Moff Chumley as Grandmoff Chumley

Episode IV: A New Ship: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Episode V: The Empire Ships Back: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Echoes of the Past: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

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Fanboy raced through the caves, reaching his fighter just as Artoodihan entered the hanger. "Artoo! Come with me!" Fanboy shouted.

"I am needed at the Lucky Penny."

Fanboy called Than on his communicator. "Than, did you ask for Artoo?"

"No. Why?"

"It doesn't matter. We need to evacuate. Get yourself and Rubakha out of here."

"Fan, your sister is here. I don't trust my ship. I'll get the Princess to one of the transports."

"Sh**. Thank you, Than." Why was Catmuffin with Than? He'd thought her safely away by now. But there was no time for questions.

"Hurry, Artoo!"

"But the Penny..."

"Than is abandoning the Penny and getting to the transports. Now come on!"

*****

Calthreepio couldn't find Catmuffin in her quarters. Someone said they'd seen her headed towards the fighter hangar. He raced there,hoping to meet with Artoodihan along the way.

While he ran, the base came under heavy bombardment from Empire forces, collapsing some of the tunnels. Only his own in depth knowledge of the ice caves, gained from weeks of secret liaisons with Artoodihan, enabled him to reach the fighter hangar in one piece. He found Than, Rubakha, and Catmuffin on the way.

"Where's Artoodihan?" he blurted out.

"With Fanboy. Cal, do you know any way to reach the transports?"

As Than spoke, the tunnel started to collapse as the ice walls melted. They ran for their lives, eventually forced to return to the fighter hangar.

"No. There's no way out," Cal said. Most of the fighters were gone, and the few that were left were one or two seaters.

"Back to the Penny," Than said grimly. "We'll have to take our chances."

*****

Aboard Phase, the Death Moon, Grandmoff Chumley led the attack.

"Can I destroy the planet yet?" Phase asked.

"As soon as we get in range," Great Grandmoff DDarkin said.

"No," Chumley said. "Bath Vader wants Skywalker alive. He'll be in a fighter. Eat all the fighters who come near you, and we'll search them."

"Hey, I give the orders around here," DDarkin said. "I'm the Great Grandmoff. That means I outrank you."

"How so?"

"Well a great grandfather is older than a grandfather, right?"

"Yeah. Old and senile, sitting useless in the corner while grandfather runs the family. Now go sit in the corner and let Grandmoff Chumley run this show."

"I'll show you who's the old man around here," DDarkin said, and disappeared into the shadows. Soon a flood of shuriken cookies spun out of the darkness and Chumley fell dead.

"Er, does that mean I can destroy the planet now?" Phase asked.

"No. Bath wants Skywalker alive. Eat the fighters."

*****

The battle raged on, the fighters valiantly buying time. One by one the transports, filled with their valueable cargo of refugees, orphans, and wounded rebel soldiers winked into hyperspace to safety.

No one understood why the Death Moon busied itself by picking off fighters, sucking them into its maw one by one, rather than using its destructive power to demolish the larger ships, but Fanboy was greatful for any stupidity on Bath Vader's part. After a gruling battle he called the surviving fighters. "That's the last transport to safety. Scatter and get into hyperspace, then meet up at the rendezvous point."

He programmed in their course.

"Um, excuse me," Artoodihan said. "There seems to be a problem with the course calculations."

"No. No problem. We're not going to the rendezvous point."

"..."

"Before Haruki-kun Kenobi died, he told me the last surviving Jedi master lived on Dagobah. If I had been able to finish my training, then I might have sensed the attack earlier, and allowed more of us to escape."

"But... Than and Catmuffin... they'll be expecting you. They'll worry."

"I told my sister about Saint Yoda. She'll figure out that's where I am."

Artoodihan tried one last time. "Very well. Would you like me to take over the piloting while you get some sleep?" And I turn this fighter back in the right direction to meet up with Cal...

"No, I think I'll leave it on manual a while," Fanboy said.

In despair, Artoodihan started out at the stars, easily picking out the one where he and Calthreepio should have met again.

Cal... Be safe...

To Be Continued...

[Calamity]

@turtle: Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. Doesn't quite cut it, does it? Oh well! Loved it!

[Mordokai]

Good, because you're in it

Again? People will start talking

Oh come on, I'm not that bad...

Who said anything about being bad?

[RabbitHoleLost]

Again? People will start talking

You're not shipped with me, if that makes it any better.

[Mordokai]

Oh! Ok then! Not that I was hoping for that to happen! No sir, not me! Never!

...

If you'll excuse me, I'll be over there in the corner.

*slumps in the corner, dark clouds rolling over his head, rain falling down from them*

[Lyinginbedmon]

Shipping Inc: New Management

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He had finished his brief stint of service, cutting a bloody swath through heretics many on the dusty battlefield, so was glad to finally return to his own civilisation. What he returned to, however, was not his own civilisation, as he remembered it.

The building had been completely redecorated. Large red banners of "ABR: Our Solutions to Your Problems" had swiftly replaced the blue Shipping Inc. banners that hung from the masonry. The courtyard was tiled and paved, trees and grass marking benches and fountains, hardly a spot of the brown dirty soil that previously served as an entryway.

What most surprised him however was the ten foot tall statue that had been sloppily erected in the dead centre of the courtyard. It was fairly tame, except for the bright orange flipped-bird in its right hand and the disparaging picket sign in its left.

Needless to say, the veteran paladin was not pleased.

The hired police posed little threat to him as he stormed through the levels. Certainly he could find little fault in ABR for their hiring policies, there was clearly no ethnic group or species they wouldn't hire, each staffmember more bizarre and unique than the last.

He slammed into the lift at top speed, the doors closing behind him with seconds to spare before a small kobold and a young Drow boy could catch him.

He leant against the wall as the device began to move upwards. Stood in the corner with a large box of files was a young girl, no more than 18 years old in figure, with peach-coloured skin and glowing red eyes. Her snow white hair was tied up in a business bun, and purely decorative glasses framed her face, whilst perfectly-maintained membranous blue wings poked delicately from the back of her suit. Mordokai wasn't sure whether to smite her or engage her in conversation.

"What's your name?"

He decided on the less bloody approach.

"I'm Isaz, I'm interning from Stygia Corporate this month."

"Where are you from?"

She pivoted on her heel, he swallowed hard at her beauty, but remembered his task with thoughts of baseball and sumo wrestling.

"I'm from LA."

"LA?"

"Lake Azurlexis, it's in Southern Stygia."

The lift bleeped three times, as the doors opened with a pneumatic hiss, startling Isaz for a moment.

"This is my stop." She smiled, fanged teeth peeking in amongst her pearly whites.

"Curiously, mine as well."

They stepped out of the metal box in turn, and he followed Isaz down the corridors for some time until their paths forked. She made her way to the Legal department, Mordokai had a more authoritative location in mind. Fortunately, it seemed the guards had ceased their attempts at capturing him for the time being, though they paid close attention to him as he moved about the level.

Finally, he found a large wooden door, decorated and carved exquisitely with images of trees and forests, and all the woodland creatures thereof. A young gnome boy sat behind a secretary's desk nearby, but paid him little attention.

He shoved at the doors, heaved in truth. Slowly they creaked open, at which point he was immediately blinded by the light from the wall of windows at the opposite end of the expansive office.

He moved cautiously towards the desk, drawing his sword from its sheath for the first time since clutching it in the lift. The walls were covered in natura images and artworks, whilst an almost incalculable number of potted plants dotted around the room.

He finally reached the desk, after what seemed like an hour of anticipation, and raised his blade above his head.

The large black leather chair spun around on its axis.

"Hello Mordokai."

He stayed his hand, his face in compete shock.

"F-Flora?"

[Cristo Meyers]

I love that one. I actually laughed out loud.

Oh! Ok then! Not that I was hoping for that to happen! No sir, not me! Never!

...

If you'll excuse me, I'll be over there in the corner.

*slumps in the corner, dark clouds rolling over his head, rain falling down from them*

Aww...somebody should go hug him or something...

[RabbitHoleLost]

Oh! Ok then! Not that I was hoping for that to happen! No sir, not me! Never!

...

If you'll excuse me, I'll be over there in the corner.

*slumps in the corner, dark clouds rolling over his head, rain falling down from them*

You're still being shipped with a pretty girl?
Does that make it any better?

And the Shipping Inc arc continues! Wee~

[Mordokai]

Somewhat.

But if this leads where I think it is... The whole lake of brain acid won't be enough!

[RabbitHoleLost]

Somewhat.

But if this leads where I think it is... The whole lake of brain acid won't be enough!

I bet you have no idea where its leading.
It was a surprise idea yesterday =D

[Lyinginbedmon]

And the Shipping Inc arc continues! Wee~

I think I'm the only person doing anything with it at the moment.

I figured since Lying has already established he's a busy man, he would put another acquiantance in the managerial position, and who better than Flora, who specifically has time to fill

[Vespe Ratavo]

Two for one special on ships! Today only at Ves-Mart! Admittedly, the first one is a bit lazy, but I like it.

Castaras/Exachix (sort of)
The Dead Fox Sketch

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Hello? Castaras pulled open the door and entered, one hand holding a rather large something wrapped in a blanket. There, behind the counter, stood the cashier, apparently busily inspecting the counter. I wish to register a complaint. Hello, miss?
And, of course, who else would turn out to be the cashier but Vespe Ratavo? What do you mean miss?
Vespe? What are you doing here?
I own this shop.
I was just here thirty minutes ago, not to mention the sign says "DragonRider's Pets And Such."
Hostile takeover. It happens.
Right...so, I wish to register a complaint.
We're closing for lunch.
Never mind that, I wish to complain about this fox I purchased not half an hour ago from this very boutique. She placed the something on the counter, and yanked off the blanket, revealing it to be a very still and unmoving fox.
Ah, yes, Exachix. What's wrong with him?
I'll tell you what's wrong with him, he's dead, that's what's wrong with him!
No, no, he's resting.
Look, I know a dead fox when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.
He's not dead, he's resting! Remarkable fox, isn't he? Beautiful fur.
The fur doesn't enter into it. He's stone dead.
I assure you, he's resting.
All right, if he's resting, I'll wake him up. Castaras turned towards the cage, and shouted directly into it. Hello Mr. Fox! I've got a nice fish here for you if you-
Vespe leaned over and smacked the cage with the palm of his hand. There, he moved.
No he didn't! That was you hitting the cage! Castaras threw open the cage door, yanked out the fox, and held it right up to her face. EXYYYY! She slammed him against the table, shook him about, and held him aloft again. EXY! She tossed him into the air. He fell limply to the ground. Now that's what I call a dead fox.
He's stunned.
All right Vespe, I've had just about enough of this. That fox is definitely deceased, and when I purchased it not half an hour ago, a Ms. Dragonrider assured me that its total lack of movement was due to it being tired and shagged out following a prolonged hunt.
He's probably pining for the fjords.
Castaras' eye twitched. She knelt down, picked up the fox, and hurled him at the wall behind Vespe. He's not pining! He's passed on! He's ceased to be! He's expired and gone to meet his maker! He's a stiff! Bereft of life, he rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed him to the cage he'd be pushing up the daisies! His metabolic processes are now history! He's off the twig! He's kicked the bucket, he's shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleeding choir invisible!

THIS IS AN EX-FOX!!

Nah, I'm just a heavy sleeper. The fox trotted out from behind the counter, stretching. Sorry about that.
Aww, now I don't get to put on the fake mustache.
Dragonrider peeked in from the open window. Does this mean I don't get to do the British Rail complaint desk bit?
Now look what you've done, Vespe said, welling up in tears, you've gone and ruined the sketch. Just...go already. He slammed his head onto the desk, sobbing.

Castaras shrugged, and left, fox by her side.

So what now?
I don't know. Want to go to Norway? I've been pining for the fjords lately.

And then, what was left of Cassie's poor, poor sanity snapped in twain.

From the dark corners of the earth spewed forth blood, fire, and delicious apple filling. The screams of dying souls gave rise to a new goddess, Castaras, Dark Lord of Pastry.

She opened her mouth, and from it, flowed forth the song that would end the earth.

Vespe/Curly
Scourge, Inc. (Or, Shipping Inc. Part the Fourth)

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It had taken two months, the whole ex-staff of Shipping, Inc., a few very large loans from questionable sources, and multiple stab wounds, but finally, they had done it.

Curly beamed with pride as the crane lowered the new sign onto their brand new building. Scourge Inc. was officially in business.

And such a nice building. Now that they had the room and money to hire someone else to do the paperwork, Curly was free to do all the other things a CEO was supposed to spend their time doing, like...

Like...

What is a CEO supposed to do? She pondered this for a while. Eventually, she decided that since they were, in fact, a business, they should probably have some sort of product. Seeing as how they were a shipping business, they should probably be writing ship fics.

She leaned over to a small intercom on her desk, and pushed the button. Hello? Is this thing on?
The voice of Rabbit crackled through the speakers. Hi Curly! Isn't this neat?
I know, right? Remember when we used to have to walk everywhere?
Really. So, what did you want?
Oh, right. Could you send Vespe up?
Sure.

A few minutes later, Curly heard a knocking at her door. Come in!
The door cracked open, and Vespe walked in. Hey Curly. I love this place! They have elevators! And you're not drowning in paperwork!
It's amazing, isn't it? Sit down. He did so.

Vespe, you're our best... Curly stopped for a moment, to consider what she was saying. You're one of our best... Again, she took a moment to reflect on what she was about to say. Vespe, you're one of our writers.
I even have business cards to prove it! Vespe held up a deck of playing cards.
Right...so, we need-
Can you explain something to me?
What's that?
Why "Scourge?" That doesn't sound very romantic at all. Unless you're some sort of weirdo, like Saurous.
I heard that! Saurous' shout echoed from down the hall.
Well...shipping.
Yes, that is what we do.
Shipping, like...um...pirate ships.
Go on...
Pirates are...er...the Scourge of the Seven Seas?
Sounds perfectly rational to me.

Good. Curly stood up, and pressed a switch on her desk. The wall-sized window behind her cracked and fizzled, and faded into a large monitor. It stated, in very large text, that We Need Money and that One Of You Should Probably Start Writing Some Fics, You Lazy Bums. Any ideas?
Well, I've got one that's been bouncing around in my head for a while.
Excellent. Tell me.
Well, I don't have anyone in mind, it's just a pretty vague idea at the moment.

It starts...in an office.
I like that.
And...the boss calls her employee in to ask him about ideas for a new product.
Go on...
Vespe stood up, pulling out a book from his pocket. And he's got something for her, a gift. On one hand, she's almost annoyed at him, because it's obvious he's just sort of got a one-dimensional understanding of her, but she likes it anyway...
Interesting.
And then, he says they could discuss this over dinner. It's a perfectly transparent attempt, but she goes along with it anyway...

And she did. Idly twirling the food on her plate with her fork, she asked so, what happens next?

Then... a piece of music of sufficient vagueness so that the author doesn't have to dig up a link began to play. He asks her to dance. And dance they did, until Vespe, in the middle of the dance, abruptly let go of Curly. The laws of physics, regrettably, did not break at this very moment, and she fell to the ground, smacking her head against the floor. She rose to her feet, as he stood there, thinking. And then I'm not really sure what happens next.

I may be able to help with that.
Really?
I have some idea, yes.
Who do you think should be in it?
Details, we can work it out later. She tapped the button on her desk once more. Rabbit, cancel my 4:15.
Curly?
Yes?
You don't have a 4:15. And it's already six.
It's just a figure of speech, she mumbled.

Anyone else ever have this weird sort of paranoia that they've used the wrong words? I keep thinking I'm going to accidentally post something offensive or libelous or mean or whatever, and I have to go over it lots of times to prove to myself I'm not. And even then, I'm still paranoid until the first comment gets posted.

So, feedback. I wants it. Please.

[Helgraf]

What has come before and alongside...

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Prelude - Discernment

Prelude - Interstices

Prelude - Hunter's Green

Part 1 (by RHL)

Mad Season - Adaptation

Mad Season - Adagio con brio

Part 2 (by CKG)

Mad Season - Master Baiting

Mad Season - Master Baiting

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Magenta. The south wall was a quiet swirl of magenta, from whose depths a pair of hairless legs emerged, followed in due course by hips and a torso; ruby-red fingernails split the magenta albumen, which rippled and pulsed, trying to draw back in the hands and arms that emerged. The head was last of all, the pulsing magenta fluid outlining soft curves, then shattering, peeling away from the face; leaving only a hint behind in the irises.

Here in the dream, he was free ... not free ... never free ... but more free, more caged, where no door could stop him and no chain could hold him, where the leather and binding fabric, his cage from the courts, held them back - at an arm's length and further. Who dared to approach him, Prince before the King of Night; dared risk his fabled temper and his legendary toxins?

Oh they whispered to one another, believing he could not hear, not knowing his wanderings took him to all their secret places; where he touched the pebbly skin, and its soft sighing surrender spoke the secrets held within. Dark nectarine juices drabbled his mask of misbegotten form, anoited him with wisdom.

And this he shared with the Counts; the philosopher-spiders who sat in their palaces and saw only stone and iron; who danced along crevices but had not the strength to embrace them. One particularly he sought, woman-flesh distraught, inside a crimson diamond, loathing ignorance and broken self-awareness. Here, he slipped into her foyer, before her bower, and murmured soft words; bristling with hidden hooks inserted inside them; she grasped and was caught, cried out at the impalement, then sobbed quietly, pressed the nettles as though they were Salvation itself, driving them deeper, the infectious, inflamed wounds of her life slowly draining out.

"Suffering that is ever the price of knowledge," he murmured as he slipped away.

"Neither the death nor the little death," he thought, nodding to himself, returning to his palace, to his divan from which he observed his kingdom. When one could not shape the clay, one might yet shape the wheel upon which the clay would spin.

...

Curly, for her part, was finding her first patients to be, while interesting from a clinical standpoint, rather dull and unappealing. They seemed by and largely to be somehow lost, adrift and rudderless; sheep-like minds whose focus was cloudy at best. Nevertheless, she made her best efforts in spite of these feelings; it would not do for her watchers to believe she was simply coasting by. Even if she, by and largely, was. As she asked questions of the woman ... was she younger or older, Curly wondered briefly. It was difficult to be sure; by mere appearances she seemed older, but a hard life would account for that, and the way she talked led Curly to believe she was quite possibly younger; little colloquialisms in her mostly listless speech and other nonverbal cues seemed to support this.

So it was this next day, some weeks after her chance encounter with that Mister Renfield fellow, that she found herself in another session with her patient. It started out the same as the others, and to be fair, in her distraction, Curly barely even registered the woman's more agitated state. She did notice the woman clasped her hands into tiny fists, pressing the nails into her palms and seeming to shiver ... yet there was no fear in the woman's eyes; the feeling Curly was getting was of an entirely different sort of agitation. Excitement?

Curiouser and curiouser. She tried once more to guide her toward one of the 'brick walls' they'd come up against in her treatment, and the woman stiffened; Curly sighed inwardly, sure she'd lost her again, but then realized the woman was whispering under her breath, trembling.

"Suffering ... that is ever ... the price of knowledge ..." she murmured again and again, her hands curling in again; nails biting into her palms, then she looked up.

Their eyes met. Something that had never happened before for more than fleeing fractions of seconds. The woman shuddered, arced upward, arms back, torso rising, then collapsed, silently sobbing on the floor. Sobbing ... and talking. A trickle, a torrent, a flood of words, tales of horrors and afflictions; of indignities endured and indignities inflicted. Childlike innocence alternated with sultry, searing tales of conquest and betrayal, hers and others. Still at times she fell back into great wracking sobs. It was frightening to the doctor in its intensity ... and at the same time there was a strange exhilerating feeling, as well as an odd sort of lightness. She knew it was not through her efforts that this woman had come into such a dramatic change - but she wanted it to be so. And so, led by her curiosity and her desire, she asked the woman some more pointed questions, peeling back the petals that surrounded the hidden nub of the mystery; of whence came this seeming sudden change.

Here, she met a different sort of wall. Where before the woman had been like fog and silence, here there was an odd iron defiance, one Curly didn't dare chip at for fear of losing the progress made.

Frustration goaded her ... and made her all the more keen to know.

...

On the divan of his palace, Renfield feasted on wine pressed from the harvest. There was no vintage sweeter than the first distillation - but in order to be worthy of the King, the vintage would need to be flavoured ... enriched and aged. All in its course. For now, the artist, the sculptor, the winemaker, sampled the bouquet...

[RabbitHoleLost]

Vespe:I rather like the Dead Fox Sketch. It did make me laugh,and, while I can see where you might say it was a lazy effort, it was enjoyable nonetheless.
And, I still love the concept of the Ship Thread being a company. I adore that you took the "scourge" from the title, and...well...it was just an adorable ship

Helgraf: Beautiful, as always, and well worth the wait. I'm glad to see Renfield has been whispering to you again
I'm also fairly pleased that Dr. Curly has shown her eagerness, as that was something I thought integral to that character in that specific situation.
Weee~
::fangirls::

[PhoeKun]

I have thus far loved the Shipping, Inc., for each installment has been wonderfully cute and quirky. Although, reading them makes me feel a little guilty, because I get this image of myself sitting at a desk, slumped over and sleeping all day while people work diligently around me, and yet somehow I still manage to take home a paycheck... >.>

[RabbitHoleLost]

I have thus far loved the Shipping, Inc., for each installment has been wonderfully cute and quirky. Although, reading them makes me feel a little guilty, because I get this image of myself sitting at a desk, slumped over and sleeping all day while people work diligently around me, and yet somehow I still manage to take home a paycheck... >.>

Phoe, I think I spend the entirety of the day gossiping and flirting... I think the company isn't really all that concerned, as long as we have something to turn in every now and again

[Helgraf]

Helgraf: Beautiful, as always, and well worth the wait. I'm glad to see Renfield has been whispering to you again
I'm also fairly pleased that Dr. Curly has shown her eagerness, as that was something I thought integral to that character in that specific situation.
Weee~
::fangirls::

Firstly, thank you for your praise. This writer, at least, likes to hear when people appreciate his work.

Time and place, stress and structure. I didn't - and don't - want to rush Dr. Curly's descent, lest it feel forced or artificial. But it is, certainly, beginning.

[Vespe Ratavo]

Half the employees don't do anything but gossip and flirt.

It's okay though, we pay them to do that.

Well where did you think we came up with these stories?

[Helgraf]

Phoe, I think I spend the entirety of the day gossiping and flirting... I think the company isn't really all that concerned, as long as we have something to turn in every now and again

Ya know, I've really got to stop freelancing and hire on. ;)

[Cristo Meyers]

I have thus far loved the Shipping, Inc., for each installment has been wonderfully cute and quirky. Although, reading them makes me feel a little guilty, because I get this image of myself sitting at a desk, slumped over and sleeping all day while people work diligently around me, and yet somehow I still manage to take home a paycheck... >.>

Least you're not the one working on outside projects on company time...

[PhoeKun]

Half the employees don't do anything but gossip and flirt.

It's okay though, we pay them to do that.

Well where did you think we came up with these stories?

See, that's exactly it. The least I could be doing is gossiping and flirting, but instead I'm napping and intermittently translating a poem out of middle english and adapting it to be used as a shipfic. *sobs* I'm such a mess!

[Helgraf]

See, that's exactly it. The least I could be doing is gossiping and flirting, but instead I'm napping and intermittently translating a poem out of middle english and adapting it to be used as a shipfic. *sobs* I'm such a mess!

Ahh, now Phoe-lass ... we know yer a right diamond in the rough. Maybe yer not sittin' round the water cooler, ay, makin' funny noises. But when ye submit a bit of authorin', it gets men... err, people, to stand at attention, savvy?

An' tha' be a gift.

[Lyinginbedmon]

Shipping Inc. could certainly use some more employees

At the very least, we could use someone to take down that ridiculous statue in the courtyard

[Thufir]

Vespe:
Dead Fox Sketch - Hilarious, though the ending is rather surreal.

Scourge, Inc. - Beautiful. I think I will have to try and write something for the Shipping Inc. series myself at some point.


Helgraf - You are just brilliant.

[CurlyKitGirl]

Vespe: I love the Dead Fox sketch so much, sure, it might be seen as a bit predictable, but the ending certainly isn't. And Scourge Inc is simply lovely.
Helgraf: Just that. I'm loving this so much.
Phoe: Inspiration has struck.

Phoe/Helgraf:

An Epic Floor Romance - Scourge Inc. (Shipping Inc. 'part' Five)

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happy swivelled on her chair, acting as the secretary for the Epic Floor for the day. She really didn't know why they had a separate floor for the Epic fics as most people tended to dabble in them or write a part of one. She guessed it was because they had to put the drafts and writers somewhere. The phone rang. "Hello, Scourge Inc., Epic Floor. happy speaking, how may I help you?" Grinning, she muttered a few yeses and slipped out of the office and off to the Song Fic Floor - someone wanted her help.
So that left behind a napping Phoe. One of the best writers of the company, she was pretty much allowed free reign in what she did as long as she handed in her poem regularly. After all, she was one of the best writers the company had. And incredibly popular with their readers.
And so she slept, waking up from time to time and penning brilliance. She woke up. Reached for her pen and -
There was a rose. "It's happened again." Someone had been leaving her flowers on her desk for a while now; and this one was perfect. Bemused she picked it up, smiling; she put it in her cup and filled it with water. But when she reached for her pen to write her epic poem she found her mmind in a muddle.
Following her authorial instincts she wrote what was in her mind. She submitted it to the Editorial Department and it was published to wild acclaim from all quarters:

My Unknown Suitor

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A gentle hand places soft petalled gifts on the desk of the one he loves. Shy, the suitor fears speaking to the Beloved; scared of rejection. No, not scared, more terrified. The suitor should not have feared his Beloved. For she had been enchanted from the first anonymous gift. Each one had, to her, shown her a different aspect of the unknown suitor.
Daisies for innocence and sunshiney happiness.
Roses for love, traditional and gentle as silk.
Acacia for concealed love. That was the first one he'd given her.
Blue Camellia to show she was a flame in his heart.
Another Camellia for perfection.
So she left him a note, where all could see it. Begging for a name, for a meeting.
'May I know my unknown suitors' name? I would meet him and thank him. Love him'

The reviews for Phoe's heartfelt plea brought her promotions, awards and the everlasting stream of flowers, no name.
Disheartened somewhat by her suitors reticence she nonetheless kept hope. Penned a sequel to My Unknown Suitor begging this time. It was another beautious success and had moved readers to tears feeling her need to meet her Suitor.
Why would he not come?

* * *

She slept again, exhausted from her work when he came. She knew not that they worked on the same floor; her admirer from afar. He had read her latest works, her epic poem all but forgotten in her desire to meet her suitor. And she was right, too shy to make himself known he plied her with gifts, heart - chosen, from the shadows of her sleep.
But today he would meet her face to face as the one who loved her. Placing the last flower on her desk he shook her slender shoulder softly.
Waking from her sleep she looked automatically to the corner of her desk where her gifts alway lay.
A hand entered her vision, gifting her with one last flower.
She looked up. And smiled a smile to shame an angel. "Helgraf?"
"Phoe, my love." a shiver of fear entered the final word.
"Thank you for everything, captor of my heart." And he smiled too. She loved him!

Two for the price of one.

[TwoBitWriter]

Well, I have put more effort into this than any of my recent writing projects. I have finished the first chapter... Divided into Three parts. The next chapter will introduce the other main characters.

I hope you like long prose... I think I may have overdid myself here... I think there may be a few mistakes, I proofed it but am terrible at self-editing.

MAT Squad Journals
Volume I: Star Secession
Chapter 1: The Veil Lifts

Starring FF_Fanboy, Midnight_Son, RabbitHoleLost, Dallas-Dakota, Calamity, and Helgraf

Part I:

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“Fanboy, you seem tense. Is something the matter?”

The general appeared taken aback, but he slowly nodded affirmation.

Midnight-Son grinned. He had noticed Fanboy’ eyes constantly darting around the room and his right hand was tapping his thigh. Midnight-Son knew that was unlike his normally well-collected subordinate.

High councilor Jonathon Midnight-Son, who also served as the lifetime-elected president of the human Confederacy of Earth and Colonies, sat in his office chair, awaiting the cue for the entrance of the high councilors. He leaned back in his leather chair, slowly sipping on a cocktail. His long, thin fingers wrapped around the glass. He sniffed the drink lightly before each sip, staring at General Fanboy. Fanboy was a hero of the last war, and was now Midnight-Son’s high general of the armies of humanity.

General Franz F. Fanboy was young for his position but in top shape, save for his left arm which had been lost during his younger years as a captain when the Perivians had invaded. In its place was a cybernetic replacement, a real technological marvel for its time.

“Well then, old friend, tell me what is on your mind. The Acts of Criticism and Sedition do not apply to my friends.”

“Well, Mr. President, I have been thinking. Do you really think this is a good idea? What you wish to do is very risky,” Fanboy asked, leaning forward on Midnight-Son’s desk.

The president smiled. “Fanboy, you know as well as I that we have begun a new era of human development. These other races will only seek to hold us back. We have to act now, while the opportunity exists.”

“Of what do we have to fear from our allies possessing the MAT?” Fanboy asked. The MAT combat suit is what had started the controversy in the first place. Rumors and reports of the greatly enhanced capabilities of human soldiers had somehow filtered through the human security network to alien ears.

“It is because we have become the masters of our own evolution, Fanboy. No longer is the fate of the human race left to blind chance or the will of some despondent creator. I cannot allow others to risk ruining that.”

Fanboy paused, contemplating. “I don’t think that all of our citizenry will agree.”

“They will, once they realize this is for their own betterment. Would you like a drink?” Midnight-Son said, motioning towards a servant to prepare another cocktail.

“I don’t drink.”

“How foolish of me, my apologies,” Midnight-Son said. “I assure you that there is nothing to worry about.”

“I doubt that the other alliance members will allow us to leave peacefully. The grabaldan will surely fight, and they may even bring in the alasions or the trenals. If they deem it necessary to maintain the union,” Fanboy said.

“How goes the upgrade of Planetary Command with the new MAT suits?” Midnight-Son asked, avoiding the issue entirely.

Fanboy sighed. “The PR45 units have been fully distributed. All of our infantry forces are combat-ready. In an ironic twist, the soldiers have nicknamed the PR45 the ‘Rebel’ suit.”

Midnight-Son chuckled, “And you were worried about citizen support. What of the heavier models?”

Fanboy frowned. “The HS28, that would be the ‘Hercules’ variant, is not yet fully distributed to our heavy and support units. The plant manager on New Houston encountered what he termed logistical setbacks.”

Midnight-Son rubbed his temples in frustration. He set the now-empty cocktail glass on his desk and leaned towards Fanboy, “Then you had better tell the esteemed factory manager that if his production quota is not met by the end of the month, then my administration will assume control of his factory and he will be demoted to assembly worker.”

“Very well, Mr. President.”

A pale man with thick glasses stepped into the office, “Mr. President, all of the councilors have been seated.”

Midnight-Son nodded, “Thank you, Helgraf.”

He stood and started to walk towards the door. Midnight-Son stopped by Fanboy and placed a hand on the old general’s artificial shoulder. “Can I depend on you to defend our people, should the rest of the Alliance be foolish enough to declare war upon us?”

Fanboy did not look up to face the president, but he slowly nodded his head. “All soldiers must do their duty. I will follow the will of humanity.”

Midnight-Son chuckled as he headed for the door. “Remember, Fanboy, I am humanity.”

Midnight-Son had been to the great meeting hall several times. It was conveniently placed as close to the galactic center as was safely possible. So the trip was not far from human space.

Helgraf was waiting by the entrance to his pod, holding the black robe of the high councilor. Each High Councilor was a leader of their species’ respective governments, so each held considerable sway in the matters of how the galaxy was to be controlled and how the Lesser and Vassal Races were to be managed.

Midnight-Son donned his robe and nonchalantly sat down in his council chair. He frowned. The chair had never been comfortable. It had been built to the last president’s specifications, and he had been a large man.

“Are you ready, Mr. President?” Helgraf asked.

“Send me up,” Midnight-Son said.

Part II:

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Helgraf pulled a lever by the chair and Midnight-Son was lifted up through the pod. The ceiling above him opened and he was instantly assaulted by the powerful buzz of the meeting hall. Idle conversation, politicizing, and debates were the bread and butter of the Alliance council. There was always plenty to be had at every meeting.

The great hall of dignitaries was vast, with room to seat hundreds of dignitaries from the various civilized planets of the galaxy. The hall was divided into four quarters, each dedicated to a different race. It was easy to accommodate the diverse group due to some twist of fate or evolutionary mandate in which every member of the council breathed oxygen.

Midnight-Son was now seated in the very center of the ellipsoid chamber at a simple circular table. Here was where the high councilors sat. It was here that the most vital decisions were made.

Representatives from the four “greater” races that composed the Star Armada Alliance were meeting today. The races considered themselves greater because each held dominion over a vast section of the galaxy. There were others, countless other intelligent species but most were confined to a single star system and countless more had not developed enough to even explore beyond their home planet. These people were largely ignored and Star Armada had strictly forbade any interference in the affairs of the “lesser” peoples.

Others were growing, developing peoples that each government had taken under its influence as “vassals.” These races were given slight access to advanced technology and protection by Star Armada in exchange for foodstuffs, raw materials, labor, and rights to base construction.
The other three councilors had already taken their positions.

“Welcome, Midnight-Son Councilor. It is good to be in your presence again,” the alasion high councilor, Dallas-Dakota, said with the typical alasion air of superiority. The translator units that everyone in the room was equipped with was useful, but still had difficulty formulating speech into the proper grammatical patterns of the receiver’s language. Translated names tended to sound bizarre as well.

“There is little time for formalities, why have you three convened this council?” Midnight-Son said. He already knew the answer, but he wanted his opponents to say it outright. He wanted the other humans in the room to see him bravely face down the council.

The other councilors seemed taken aback at Midnight-Son’s effrontery. “If Councilor-man wishes, then the human-man shall have it,” the trenal high councilor, Rabbit-Hole-Lost said. She was the shortest of the councilors, but also one of the most thoughtful and possessing the sharpest wit.

“Our attention has been given to new war technology that the human military is using. You have ignored or rejected all of our petitions for access to the new weapons you have created,” High Councilor Calamity, a grabaldan, said. His tone was deflated due to the two large tusks protruding from his lower jaw. Overall, his appearance was quite demonic.

Midnight-Son smiled. “What you have seen is simply a new construction suit that is used for that purpose only. I highly recommend that the rest of the council ignore this and allow-“

“You lie! Our reports show your soldiers drilling and performing mock combat maneuvers in these suits. Tell us what they are, the council demands it,” Calamity said. He tossed a folder on the table before Midnight-Son.

Midnight-Son calmly picked up the folder and examined the contents. Indeed, there were several orbital pictures taken of human soldiers drilling in the new Rebel suits. He was incensed that somewhere there was a fault in his security force.

The pictures could indeed be used to sully his reputation and harm his chances of achieving full withdrawal from the alliance. Indeed, the room had fallen silent. All eyes, human and alien, rested on him and Midnight-Son could sense the incredulity surrounding him.

Midnight-Son glanced upward and saw that the pictures in the folder were being broadcast to the massive vidscreen above for all the councilors to see. He swore inwardly.

Rabbit-Hole-Lost, Dallas-Dakota, and Calamity were staring intently at him, their faces twisted into light smiles filled with mockery and victory. They said nothing and Midnight-Son knew that they felt they had cornered him like a gutter rat or a lowly Elac beast.

But even rats and Elacs had teeth and Midnight-Son was a shrewd politician. Slowly he spread a confident grin across his face, much to the confusion of the three other high councilors.

With a faux righteous rage he defiantly threw the folder and the pictures onto the table. He raised himself from his seat and towered over the table, glaring at the three astonished aliens. “I see what this means. The council has been spying on us? This is a most extreme breach of trust. The Human Confederacy will not surrender our secrets to anyone, not even an ally. Not even those who we thought were friends. Indeed, those we once trusted as brothers in arms. Ours was only a military alliance, not a scientific one.” He heard a collective murmur of agreement rise from the human quarter. Good.

“Any who keep secrets see themselves as masters,” Rabbit-Hole-Lost said. The humans were soon drowned out with the rest of the council’s approval.

“You are being a fool, Midnight-Son” Dallas-Dakota warned.

“No, it is obvious to me,” Midnight-Son said. He raised his arms and gestured towards his quarter of the room. “And it is obvious to the other representatives of the human race that this alliance is no longer useful for our purposes. Since you refuse to cease meddling in our affairs, then I have no choice but to announce that the human Confederacy of Earth and Colonies, by my absolute and unquestionable authority, shall withdraw from the Star Armada Alliance."
There was a collective gasp that rumbled through the great chamber. Even a few of the human representatives acted shocked.

The chamber was overcome with boos and hisses from the assembly. Cries of traitor and appeals to execute Midnight-Son spread like wildfire.

Midnight-Son ignored them, never taking his eye off of the high councilors. He yearned to look to the human quarter to gauge their reaction. Instead he tried to hear if they were voicing support or opposition.
Midnight-Son finally broke the high council’s silence in a booming voice that echoed above the disgruntled delegates. “I am leaving, and I am asking all loyal humans to join me in the building of a great future for our people.” Midnight-Son proclaimed.

This time Midnight-Son turned to face his people. One by one, the human councilors stood and stormed out of the great hall. Even those who had expressed disapproval of the president’s actions eventually left themselves. Not one human councilor voiced any consent, which was fortunate for them. Midnight-Son had a file on every government official and employee who spoke against his policies. Such dissent was bad for the Confederacy which was once laden with gross inefficiencies and bureaucracies before his administration simplified and consolidated several functions.

The alien councilors began to scream and yell oaths at the departing humans. Objects were hurled at those departing and the neighboring alasions and grabaldan attempted to climb over the dividers to assault the humans directly.

Midnight-Son turned back to the remainder of the council in time to see Calamity yank out his microphone and sneer. “Do not think that we will sit back and let you make a mockery of us, Midnight-Son. We will keep your people in the Alliance, whatever the cost.”

Dallas-Dakota and Rabbit-Hole-Lost nodded gravely. “If the great races do not stand together, the door to the wars of the past will be again opened,” Dallas-Dakota said.

“I pity anyone who would presume to wage war against us. We will be ready for any threat that comes to our doorstep. In addition I want it made clear that we will show those that I deem as a threat the same mercy that we showed the Perivians after the last war,” Midnight-Son said. Without another word he seated himself and pressed a small button on the armrest. The floor beneath him opened and he slowly descended, making sure his former colleagues could see the smug smile on his face.

Part III:

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Fanboy was waiting for him when he finally descended. “Your shuttle is ready, Mr. President.”

“Thank you, Fanboy. I’m sure that the human councilors have already begun to depart?” Midnight-Son asked. He stood from his chair and started walking down the hall. He could hear the angry shouting in the meeting hall above him.

Fanboy glanced towards the ceiling and gave a low whistle. “You really upset them.”

“That was the point. They will surely declare war on us now,” Midnight-Son said.

“I had hoped that I would never have to fight again,” Fanboy said.

“But you will, Fanboy. You know, as well as I do, that war is in your family’s blood. You are too great a hero to avoid a chance at proving your quality once again.”

Fanboy did not reply, and the two men continued down the hall towards the president’s personal shuttle craft.

They had rounded the last corner to face the door to the docking bay and stopped cold. Two human guards lay at the entrance to the docking bay. The amount of fresh blood that had seeped over the ground made it clear that they were dead, and had been killed recently

Fanboy reached to his hip holster and withdrew a pulser-pistol. He slowly approached the door, holding the weapon in his natural hand.

“What is the meaning of this?” Midnight-Son exclaimed.

“Quiet, Mr. President.” Fanboy said in a low whisper.

Midnight-Son clamped his mouth shut defiantly, but still followed Fanboy closely, silent. The General knew what he was doing.

They entered the docking bay and there stood Midnight-Son’s shuttle, nothing seemed out of the place. The captain of the ship waved a friendly greeting.

“Whatever did this must have snuck in without the crew noticing… but those poor guards. We need to get out of here as soon as possible, Mr. President.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Fanboy,” Midnight-Son said, pinching his nose in disgust at the dead men at his feet.

They entered the docking bay and were passing by a stack of crates. Fanboy kept his weapon drawn and Midnight-Son gingerly followed. He started to shake, but managed to control it, lest he appear afraid in front of the others in the bay.

There was an alien screech and a shot was fired. A sudden burst of plasma energy slammed into Fanboy’ mechanical arm, burning the intricate circuitry and causing it to spark and sizzle. Fanboy grunted and turned to face his attacker and fired a shot between two stacks of crates. There was another screech, this one of pain. An alasion dressed in a councilors’ robe fell out from between the crates and crumpled to the floor. The plasma weapon in his hand still smoking from the shot at Fanboy.

“Mr. President, run, now! We need to get you out of here.” Fanboy yelled.
Midnight-Son didn’t need to be told twice. He was not as young as he used to be. But when his life was in danger, he knew how to sprint away.

Fanboy reached the ramp entry to the shuttle first. He turned and waited for Midnight-Son, who said nothing as he jumped into the ship. Fanboy followed close and quickly raised the ramp and closed the hatch.

“Pilot, Get us out of here now!” Fanboy screamed. His arm was showering the shuttle’s expensive carpeting with sparks.

The shuttle’s fusion-gravity drive engines squealed to life and in moments the small craft had exited the station.

Midnight-Son climbed into a chair and strapped himself in. Fanboy sat across from him. The ship’s doctor had already started to tend to the general’s damaged arm.

“It seems we have just had our first casualties,” Midnight-Son said.

Fanboy grimaced. “Two humans to one alasion… we are going to have to improve that ratio.”

Midnight-Son nodded in agreement.

[Midnight Son]

I am a bit of a bastard, arent I?

[TwoBitWriter]

I am a bit of a bastard, arent I?

You read all that? I think I scared everybody away with its length.