Non-Drabble: Absence

Hey, just a quick note, I'll not be posting any Drabbles for a week or so, I'm preparing to run my newest RPG Con game next weekend, so my mental energy is focused on that. Just FYI.

Blown Away

The techbro was speaking slightly too fast and loud as he explained his hiring practices.

"And another thing, as I'm talking to them, I have my assistant go out and look at their car and prepare a report for me. Your car totally tells me everything I need to know, is it full of crap? Is it a banged up rust bucket? Then I ain't hiring you."

Something inside my head snapped slightly.

"And I assume no car means?"

"Oh, losers need not apply!"

I thanked him for his time then headed for my helicopter to get away very fast.

Racked

What had begun as a friendly discussion turned to a friendly argument, into a less pleasant argument, into almost a full blown raging row.

In an attempt to head it off (and stop the yelling), the bartender suggested we settle it with a pool game.

Both of us seemed to think we were better than the other so we agreed.

It took three hours.

Must have been the booze, but we kept missing seemingly every shot, but eventually, he finally sunk the black ball and won.

I was just glad it was over so I shut up.

But I'm right.

Soylent Operating Systems

After a pleasant meal, something I hadn't had in years, the screen jerked into position slowly. On it, it asked for my preferred option.

'Peaceful, dignified death' was the first option, it was also the largest and it was preselected.

Beneath it was "Attempt to win more time", with a physical and mental option. Both had asterisks that contained the fine print that I knew made them practically impossible to win.

But it seemed like that was my only choice, until I noticed that the screen had a scroll button.

Or, rather, an enter button looking like a scroll button.

Pirate Justice

I had spent far too much on bribes to get here, but finally I was face to face with the most wanted pirate on the nine seas, the Scourge of St Growlen, Greenbeard.

My father.

His beard was now a patchy brown and white, denied his paint, as he looked up at me.

"Ah, my boy. I take it you ain't here to break me free?"

"Correct."

"Good, I'd not accept your help anyway. But are you here to kill me then?"

"In a way. You remember what you called me, last we spoke?"

"Cityboy."

"The City executes you tomorrow."

Unlucky Bruce

When he finally rocked up three hours late, I managed to contain my anger until we were both in my office. There, I let him have it with all barrels as I took great pleasure in firing him for constant tardiness.

He kept saying that it wasn't his fault, but as I told him while security dragged him out, that it doesn't matter that his excuses were 'legitimate', because either he was setting them up or he was so unlucky he'd soon bring us down.

Given the unfair dismissal payout he's been awarded, I guess he did bring us down. 

Terrific Treasure

I pulled the bottle out of the wet sand and with some effort opened it and with even more effort I got the letter out.

I read it slowly, due to the poor handwriting, archaic language, and faded ink, but I got the gist of it, and the map with the 'X' was fairly intuitive. I worked out the island, sailed over and found the spot.

I was already thinking of how I would convert the treasure to useful cash when my shovel hit something.

Turns out "terrific treasure" meant stuff that caused terror, a reasonable mistake to make, really. 

Sovereign Argument

The public defender had tried, oh how he had tried, to get through to his client. But every time he thought he'd gotten through, they'd shoot into another tangent about some obscure law from some more obscure jurisdiction that they somehow thought superseded all the actual laws of the country.

After a few hours of this, the public defender snapped and looked at his client directly.

"Look, I need you to understand this. You think there's some sort of magical code that can get you out of this? There is, but that code is "being stupidly rich", not just stupid!"

Natural A.I.

You know, the more I think about it, the less I worry about AI taking over the world and declaring war on humanity.

Think about it, AI is, when you come down to, basically a box you shake and get semi-random words spat out. There's no soul or actual thought, just regurgitation of words that were fed in, in at best a slightly new order.

And even if it gets better at stringing together words, all it can do is regurgitate what's already been written. So as long as humanity hasn't spent centuries saying hateful and violent things, we're fine!

Witch Won?

As soon as the supposed 'Witch' arrived and her eyes narrowed upon meeting me, I suspected she suspected I was here to debunk her. But, to her credit, she didn't accuse me of anything directly, sticking to her script as I told her about the ghosts that we'd made up to try and trick her.

She laid some decent groundwork with talk about "negative energy" so she had an out when she failed, but then as she began, a ghostly figure suddenly appeared before us.

It took us both a while to work out neither of us was doing it.

Fate's Fight

Fate and Chance had been in a constant state of war since time began, although the war was cold for so long the other Gods had forgotten what it was like when it was hot.

For the most part Chance fought reactively, picking their spots carefully but always managing to ruin Fate's plans at the worst time.

But humanity was Fate's greatest achievement, as they had infinitely more powerful fates to establish, Chance slowly but surely got weaker and weaker.

Until they swallowed their pride, and decided to fight dirty by calling in Greed, Society, and the new Commerce god.

Untimely

The Holy Emperor summoned me to their private chambers. Upon arrival, I performed the Holy Supplication Ritual until His Perfectness spoke to me.

"Can I be wrong?"

I waited as long as I thought prudent to answer as I thought about how to resolve the inevitable paradox.

"Why do you ask this, Your Amazingness?"

"Don't dodge it. I'm the representation of the Gods here on Earth. They are perfect, I am perfect. Can I be wrong about something?"

"Your Stupendousness, I might humbly suggest any thought of wrongness is merely untimely correctness."

That worked to satisfy him, for a while.

The Magic Scales Casino

There's an art to building a casino when seemingly every second being can call upon magic or the Gods to their bidding.

I'm not talking about the decor or anything, every race has a different idea on what constitutes gaudy so just go with what you want.

But instead, the key is about the magical wards and protections you put in place. Because sure, it's possible to completely protect everything from manipulation, but that'll put you out of business.

You just need enough, because at a certain point, anyone powerful enough to break them can just make their own gold.

Eeyore's Tale

His name was Gary, but everyone at the bar called him Eeyore, on the rare occasion anyone spoke to him. Usually he stayed up one end of the bar, drinking four beers and two whiskeys a night.

But then every so often someone would wander in, usually from the betting shop next door, and would be looking to tell a sob story of their life.

Eeyore would then pipe up and retell his own life story, full of tragedy and disaster, none of it his fault, of course. But the sheer mass of tragedy, coupled with his sad monotone, he always won the pity-off contest that he invariably would start.

Until one afternoon, when he was just starting on his first beer. A gambler came in, ripping up all but one ticket, ready to get drunk and pity himself.

Eeyore sprung on him quickly, and after the whole story, the guy sighed and slid his last remaining betting slip over, telling Eeyore he deserved it more.

I think he thought he was being sarcastic, wanting Eeyore to have another defeat. But the ticket came good for 50 grand.

Never saw Gary again. But the gambler made an acceptable new Eeyore.

Advise

We picked up the rookie wizard in the last dungeon, and as the bard and ranger cooked dinner on the fire, the rest of us were giving her advice.

"Oh, and never take a job where you are fetching a magical artifact for someone."

She looked at the barbarian with confusion.

"Why not?

"Invariably they betray you as soon as they get it. It's always a power grab."

"What if I know the person really well?"

"Doesn't matter, the betrayal's just worse."

"What if it's a second artifact asking me?"

"Oh, still no, they'll just destroy the world upon meeting."

Shiny

I opened the door, and immediately everything went color.

I wish that this was a 'Wizard of Oz' reference, but sadly no. This was instead a young woman holding a large box that had until recently held a large amount of glitter, and holding a self-righteous expression on her face, not that I could see it as I desperately tried to wipe glitter out of my eyes.

"That's what you get for dumping Jane, you bastard!"

"Who the fuck is Jane?"

"...

Aren't you John?"

"My name is Andrew!"

There was a pause.

"Can I see some ID?"

"...

No."

"Fuck you."

Impossible Odds

I punched through the window and grabbed the weapon, ignoring the pain shooting up my arm and the blood dripping down it.

The thing made a sound like a truck backing up, but I knew it was basically laughing at me. I felt the voice in my head, first as high-pitched wailing and then as English.

"You cannot harm me, let alone stop me. Why bother?"

"That's the thing about us Humans, we don't give up, even facing impossible odds!"

"Wait, Humans? Great, another ruined universe!"

It vanished, which was good, obviously, but I still feel a little disgruntled, yeah?

A Useless Time Machine

So I've invented time travel, but there's a problem with it, in that the universe is apparently self-correcting, and damn good at it.

See, like anyone, after the tests where I went back a few seconds, forward a few moments, I decided I wanted to stop millions of deaths, so I set the device to go back so I could kill just one person, you know who.

And then things went blurry, and the machine had reset. Any time I try to do something that is important, that act gets cancelled out.

So unless you really like stepping on butterflies...

Bait

I have a spot on the bank of the river where I fish on weekends. It's just a little way from the road, but hidden. There's shade and a nice breeze, and my constant visits have made perfect grooves and holes in the ground for my chair, my cooler, and my rod.

I go there and get time to think, to meditate, I suppose. It's just nice to have a place that's mine to chill out. But there's a problem that has recently occurred.

Last weekend, I caught a fish, a moderate sized trout. Totally ruined the mood, it did.

A Boring Man

Grok was a particularly boring man, in any age. He was an only child and lived for a few decades thousands of years ago. Nothing about his life was memorable, he had no great achievements, no glorious victories. He had cats, he counted numbers, and liked mead.

But.

But, he had a quirk. He wrote down everything. EVERYTHING. What he had for breakfast, lunch and dinner. His work, in excruciating detail. Everything he knew about his neighbours.

And those texts survived, and when they were found, he became a very important and great man.

But don't try to emulate him.

String Loops

Look, I'll explain it again, even though I've told you dozens of times, although you don't remember them, to be fair.

I'm looking for someone important, who is currently lost in a pocket dimension. I'd explain how she got there despite that being classified, but while no-one would know, you wouldn't understand.

To get her back, I need to find the right frequency of string vibration and pull her out. There's billions of possibilities, so I've set Earth up into a time loop till I find her.

I've only lost count a few times, I'll be done soon enough, OK?

Crossfire

I stood in the parking lot as the six cars all drove up rapidly from different directions. As they all jumped out, weapons drawn, I lit the blowtorch I was holding over it.

"Better stay back, the amount of gasoline here, the fumes will ignite first!"

Everyone stayed back, but their weapons were still drawn.

"So, introductions! That's the cops, although they're dirty. That's the bikers there, the cartel there, the Eastern Europeans, the doomsday cult, sorry, 'Chosen Ones", and the former owners. Lots to talk about, starting with-"

The fumes then caught alight, and the crossfire took me out.

An Excellent Choice

The conversation had jumped around a lot, and to be honest, I hadn't been paying too much attention as I stared into the firepit. So it took me a moment to realise that not only was I being addressed directly, but I was being asked a question.

"Uh, sure." I managed quickly.

"There, you see!"

I felt the temperature drop and it wasn't due to any change in the firepit. I tried to work out what I'd just said, but when it proved impossible, I 'accidently' touched the firepit to hopefully derail the conversation.

Which I did, so great success!

Time Eddy

Glory deflected the blast but it sent her flying backwards regardless, throwing her to the edge of the Multiverse Whirlpool.

As Fateist rushed over and tried to push her into it, she was forced to see hundreds,  thousands, millions of universes, as she was pushed ever closer to the time eddy currents. Flashing before her eyes was the lives of her alternate selves. She saw the highest highs and the lowest lows.

"You see them! In one of them, I'm finally happy!" Screamed Fateist.

"And yet not one where I lose to you!" Glory said as she fought back, reenergised.

Ploys

The old man looked out the window and then back at the young man who had tracked him down to kill him.

"Look, I'm not going to try and convince you that I don't deserve to be killed by you, but right now there's a Sodian Death Squad out there, and you must know how dangerous they are. We need to work together to defeat them!"

"This is a ploy to prolong your life, right?"

"Of course it is! How do you think I became an old man if not by ploys to survive!"

They survived until his next ploy.

True Secret Service

Before we get you suited up, your first lesson in how we operate, as explainedby our choice of clothing. I'm sure you're expecting a tailored black suit and sunglasses, but that's a uniform for people who want to be noticed while looking like they're not, like bodyguards or bouncers. For when you need to be seemingly unseen.

No, we operate in the shadows, and by that, I mean we operate in such a way that people will see through you, and not even know they're doing it.

So we'll be measuring you up for construction worker and retail staff uniforms.

The Bot Reading This

I must admit, as I continue this daily test of my creative powers as enforced by an otherwise arbitrary deadline, I'm beginning to suspect that the most impact this will all have is on supposed AI bots sucking up all these words to add to their learning algorithm.

Not that I don't believe that you, the person reading this, is a real person, nor that I don't appreciate you, I do, very much so.

But the stats imply most of my readership is bots, using me to teach themselves to write.

Which is complete bullshit since they ain't paying me.

Graham's Test

When I began to work on exposing fraud psychics and the like, I had a final trump card that I had, wherein I had a locked box kept in a secure location that had a number written on a piece of paper inside it. If anyone was psychic, surely they could guess this number?

There's a website that keeps track of all the guesses, and when I die, my will contains the steps needed to open the box, and everyone gets to find out they were wrong, like I told them.

Even though "Graham's Number Minus Seventy-two" is totally guessable...