Archive | April 25, 2013

Q for the Queen’s Quilt

For [personal profile] moonwolf‘s prompt, [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith‘s prompt, and stryck‘s Prompt. I feel like it needs some polishing to get the point across better.

In a few generations, they ended up calling it the Queen’s Quilt, when they remembered what it was, what it had, once upon a time, been, and who had created it.

A few generations after that, they remembered nothing but that the stars had been gods once, and not how the latter had become the former, or why, or by whose hand.

And a few more generations past that, they remembered only the names, and thought their ancestors had been fanciful. Qat, who created the world. Quaoar, the force behind Qat. Orion, the hunter. Ursa, the mother bear. How shiny and creative were our ancestors, how credulous, to believe such absurd things.

A few generations beyond that, they learned what had really happened. But that is beyond the scope of our story.

The Queen had a problem.

The world was not young, not by any means, although history would pretend that this was a Dark time, a muddy and deadly time. Certainly, humanity had already risen and fallen more times than anyone was allowed to recount, than anyone could recount, if they spent their entire life counting.

And while Europe, or much of it, sat in muddy unhappiness, on a few special places, people had risen to amazing prominence, to brilliance and strength and magic unknown elsewhere in the sloppy world.

Risen enough, indeed, that when they visited other places they were hailed as gods.

And they were bored.

They were creating islands now, and a small mesa in what would at some point be named North America. And they were creating animals, and people, because they were bored, and then hunting them. They had conquered sickness (Again, although they did not know they were not the first). They had conquered old age (again). Boredom, however, they had not yet beaten.

And they were creating, on top of everything else, wars. And that was where the Queen had a problem. The others who had become enlightened would tolerate making islands. They would tolerate playing at Gods. But they would not, in the end, tolerate bringing down the muddy people, the ones who didn’t have the high hand this time around.

It was considered cheating, in the long, long game of enlightenment.

So the Queen pulled together all her best minds, and all her troublemakers. She drew the lines on the ceiling of her observatory, and she pointed. “There, you, Qat. Take one hundred men, and this ship I have built for you. Light up the sky for me, Qat.” And he went, out to the sky. “There, Quaoar, out there. Take one hundred men, and find me something brilliant.” And it went, out into the sky. “There, Orion. Go and find me something new to hunt.” And he went, out into the sky.

They called it her quilt, for the lines of stitching drawn on her observatory: not just those three, but all who were difficult. The lines where they left, and then, the lines where they landed, like patches in the sky.

What happened to Orion, they did not know, save that the sky exploded with his sign, and he never came back. Quaoar went further and further, and never came back, save to send a message that he had found the brilliance.

Nothing at all was heard of Qat, not for generations and generations, not until the Queen had been forgotten entirely.

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P is for the Possum Postulate, a story of Science! for the Giraffe Call

For stryck‘s prompt.

“It’s the Possum Postulate.” The new applicant seemed promising, for such a young face. Cara had thought, at first, that he was going to be an intern, but the boy – Platya Perdido Proda – fresh-faced and with no beard to speak of, although that could have been ancestry rather than youth – was signing on to be their new point scientist.

(The Lab had no “lead scientist” except Liam; Point Scientist was more or less “person who gets all the attention,” and was always a newcomer.)

“Possum.” She and Alex had gotten stuck with doing the interviewing after Liam had killed off three candidates – two in a fit of pique, one when his test experiment threatened to blow up the entire Lab.

“Postulate.” Alex was no more thrilled about this than Cara was. He hadn’t even bothered to dress up, and was wearing old jeans and a shirt with, Cara thought, the bloodstains of a former Point Scientist still on the collar.

“Yes.” Proda cleared his throat. “It’s a probability postulate, designed to predict within ninety-nine point nine seven percent accuracy a range of events given a certain set of parameters. It’s immensely complicated, and thus I’ve programmed it into this piece of equipment-“

“Not into a standard lab computer?”

“Well, I did that first, of course, but a computer requires certain things to run. This, on the other hand, requires sunlight and liquid. You could run it on a dessert island.”

“You created a probability generator that works on piss?”

“Precisely.” Proda was un-fazed. “I needed something as simple as possible.”

“How do the possums come in?”

“Well, they’re a metaphor. No possums were harmed in the making of this machine.”

“Pity.” Cara was beginning to enjoy herself. “So…?”

“The machine has as it’s default, ‘everything dies,’ and as its secondary default ‘play dead until the threat is gone.'”

Cara and Alex shared a glance, and then looked back at Proda. “Let me get this straight.” Cara spoke slowly. “You made a machine to test the probability of different outcomes, given a series of inputs.”


“And its default answer is ‘everyone dies?'”

“Yes.” The boy was beginning to look nervous. Panicked, even.


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Signal Boost Poem – F, G, H?

Looking ahead with the Signal Boost Poem, I am in need of F’s, G’s, and H’s.

F could be for Fallon, Forrester, or Fuchsia , though I’d rather not have two Addergoole students.

G is… what, Garfunkel? Oh! Genique! (and Girey, thanks [personal profile] moonwolf and [personal profile] inventrix, whose suggestions I should clearly note on like a tattoo or something.)

For H I have
hemlock [1]
hunter-hale [2]
in looking at my character tags, and Hera, but, again, all Addergoole Characters.

And I don’t have settings starting with G or H, though F is well handled (Fae Apoc, Fairy Town). Actually, with the exception of Generation Ship, I don’t have any settings between F and O.


I think I’ll have to start giving couplets for useful help, which means I already owe Kelkyag a couplet~

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Signal Boost Poem Updated, Giraffe Call Still Open! #promptcall

The Signal Boost Poem has been updated with [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith‘s signal boost couplets.

If you have boosted The Giraffe Call or its stories, please let me know and I will add more couplets.

If someone wants to art any given couplet, I will write two whole stanzas for any art I can use when finishing/posting this.

The Giraffe Call is still open!!

I have written, to date:

And we are $5 from everyone who donates getting three stories written to their prompts:

Buy an Extension
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If you haven’t prompted, please stop by and leave a few prompts. Currently open letters are:
– P – Q – R – S – T – U – V – W – X – Y – Z- A – B – C – D

If you haven’t signal boosted, please do, and send your friends!

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[Weightloss] Let’s call it a Mesa, I like that better than Plateau

So, as some of you may recall, one of my goals for the year is to lose 33 lbs over the year.

I was doing pretty okay for January and the first half of February – except that, rather than plateauing the week of my period and then dropping 2 weeks’ worth afterwards, as I did the first time I did this, I just plateaued and then returned to normal (slightly under 1 lb/week) loss afterwards. Rather frustrating, but survivable.

Then Late February into Mid-April happened. Sick, moody, sick, moody, different sort of sick…

…and then I didn’t step on the scale for two or three weeks, during which there were three birthday celebrations and a LARP with Domino’s Pizza.

I am exactly where I was when I last weighed myself (or at least wrote it down) at the end of February.

Okay! So that’s the new starting point. 166.6 (With Oli: 179.2). It’s Thursday, I’ll average every Wednesday.


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