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tripleglitchwriting · 8 months

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I saw that the request is open, so I thought. How about a first contact au with rotb optimus? I've always liked that old bot haha

Hell yeah I rewatched the movie for this. Sorry it took longer for me to actually write this than I anticipated 😅

Some Things Are More Important

CW: Unintentional fearplay, calling a person “it” (also unintentionally)

Ah, the junkyard. A beautiful array of scrap metal glinting under the sun day after day, perfect for welding and crafting. For the longest time the atmosphere of the place put you off, but your drive to create overtook your fear and replaced it with passion.

The day your life changed was no different than any other. You took your time packing your things, preparing to scavenge once again, though the evening sun was already threatening to advance further down the sky. You didn’t need much, it wasn’t a far trip and certainly not a difficult one. You left in good time, pushing down the uneasy feeling you got when you stepped outside the house.

There was a specific piece of metal you were looking for, one you saw a couple days ago but wouldn’t fit in your cart due to how full it had been. It was the perfect size and shape for what you needed, of course you had to leave behind the one thing you needed now, though it couldn’t hurt to pick up some other materials while you were at it. Masterfully navigating your way through the junk was a special talent of yours, one you were quite proud of, so it struck you as odd when a random truck showed up in the middle of the yard.

It was red and blue, one of those trucks that carried huge cargo boxes and were scary to drive next to. It was pretty beat up, though you can’t imagine why someone would leave it here of all places rather than a used car lot or something. Well, you thought, it wasn’t your problem, so you didn’t treat it as such. You simply continued your search. There were so many great pieces of metal, you ended up staying there until dusk, yet you still couldn’t find the one you were looking for.

Now that you think about it, it must’ve been where that truck was now. Maybe somebody moved it, or worse, took it. It would be a huge bummer to lose such a perfect piece to your puzzle, so you figured staying out to look near the truck wouldn’t hurt anybody.

After around ten minutes of picking through trash, you heard a sound. It wasn’t particularly loud, but it was unnerving to say the least. It sounded like metal scraping together so you brushed it off as the wind blowing on some light metal or something. Five minutes later it happened again, this time louder. Not long after it happened again, and by now you were getting pretty freaked out.

Taking metal from the scrapyard wasn’t particularly illegal, after all you’d learned how to do it properly from your law-abiding friends, however it came with a certain set of risks. Getting cut by rusty metal, stepping on a stray nail, or even getting robbed by someone who preys on scrap pickers like yourself. You didn’t want to know what the sound was and you weren’t about to find out, perfect piece be dammed. It was time to cut your losses.

You didn’t take two steps before it happened.

A strange, mechanical, alien sound rattled from behind you. You whipped your head around despite your survival instincts telling you to run immediately. Before your very eyes the red and blue truck started pulling itself part, little pieces forming a much, much larger figure. It looked nearly human really, if not for being impossibly large and also a robot truck.

A gobsmacked look etched itself on your face, not that you noticed it. You were a little preoccupied at the time, with the giant robot reaching a giant robot hand at you. Just then you realized there was a giant robot hand reaching at you, and you screamed louder than any horror movie victim ever could. The hand froze for a second, taken aback by your sudden noise, but when you remained frozen it continued its pursuit.

It was already too late by the time your body agreed to let you move. Incomprehensibly large fingers wrapped around your comparatively small form, gripping you tight enough to stop any struggles you tried to make. The thing held you up to its face, bright blue eyes shining like headlights in your vision. There were plenty of words that came from your mouth at the time, none of which were at any point comprehendible. To your utter shock, the robot seemed to notice this.

“Perhaps I have downloaded the wrong language pack… or I have found the wrong species…” It said to itself in a distinctly human voice.

“Wh- what the- what are- what are you?” Hooray! You got a sentence out. Your heart was not as excited though, as it felt more like it was going to pound out of your chest.

“So you can speak.” The voice boomed, knocking any hope you had of replying out of your throat.

“What?? What???” You rasped out, two words was better than none, you supposed.

“Did I… break you?”

“Did you- no, no you… didn’t. Please don’t.”

“I do not intend to bring you any harm, little one.“

“Then… stop squeezing… me” The grip immediately loosened. You took in a deep breath of air. “Thank you…”

“My sincerest apologies, I did not mean to hurt you.”

“That’s good to know… but, um, what exactly are you? I asked it before but… you know.” The robot nodded with you, a thoughtful motion but a generally unwelcome one because even the smallest moments it made caused you a bout nausea.

“Yes, introductions. My name is Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots.” Optimus Prime… a strange name. Though it’s not like your current situation was any more normal.

“…I’m Whyen, nice to meet you. Could you… put me down, by any chance?” Optimus nodded, gently setting you down. He stood up again, but realized how much you had to crane your neck up to see him, so he resolved to a kneel.

“What are you.” However tough he looked on the outside, you would feel the sheer curiosity oozing off his voice.

“Uh, I’m a human.”

“Human… and you’re the dominant species on this planet?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“I see. I was lucky to find a vehicle mode with your language on it.”

“I… don’t really know what that means but ok. So, what are you?”

“I am Cybertronian, from the planet Cybertron.”

“Huh. Another planet.” You kicked by the oncoming existential crisis in hopes of more answers. “Right… so, if you’re from space, why are you here?” His face suddenly shifted from curiosity to a grim look of remembrance.

“There is a war on my planet. Me and my team have ended up here on accident, I’m afraid.”

“Oh… well, I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, I have no intention of staying here longer than we have to, doing so could endanger this entire planet.”

“Wait, what? The- all- the whole planet?”

“Yes,” He responded in a low, distant voice. “Our enemies, unlike us, would not hesitate to destroy any planet if it meant winning the war.” You started at him in shock. In an attempt to avoid further panic, you decided to take a different route on questioning.

“Who’s ‘us’?”

“The Autobots, my friends.”

“So you’re saying… you’re leading your side of the war? Like a general?”

“Yes, to put it simply.”

“Wow… this is… a lot. How are you going to find your friends?”

“I… do not know. I was attempting to contact them before I noticed you.“

“Oh…”

“Do not worry. If the Deceptions attack this planet, we will protect it with our very sparks. A young species such as yourselves do not deserve to be punished for our mistakes.” Your expression softened. As this metal titan spoke to you, in gentle, deep tones, you felt strangely at peace. You felt silly for ever being afraid of him, like you’d known this alien for ages. He didn’t even know you, yet he was willing to risk his life for your home.

“…Thank you.”

“Do not thank me now, young human, I have yet to get your people out of harms way.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you going to be okay?” Optimus’s eyes widened for just a second before his face broke into a warm smile.

“…I will be just fine.”

“Well, if it’s my planet at stake… I want to help you.”

“Help me?”

“Yeah. I know more about this planet than you do, so I can show you how things work around here. It’s the least I can do.”

“That is very kind of you, you have my thanks.”

“Well, first I have to get home and sleep- my house isn’t too far from here, and I live alone so you don’t have to worry about anyone else freaking out. Not many people live around here.”

“That is good. I… apologies if I am too bold, is it okay if I carry you back to your home? It would be in our best interest to get to your home as fast as possible.”

“Ah, true. Well, I guess so.” He laid out his hand. It took you a second to climb on a stabilize yourself, nodding when you were ready for him to move. And he did, and you guided him all the way home. You hardly even noticed the junkyard and forgotten scrap metal you’d spent the night collecting.

Some things are more important.

#transformers #transformers g/t #tripleglitchwrites #g/t #transformers first contact #gn human reader #human reader #gn reader #optimus prime #first contact au #tripleglitch request #I pumped this out in one night #I wasn’t expecting to finish this so soon #but i’m not complaining #anyway hope everyone enjoys it!#writing Optimus is a challenge

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delimeful · 4 months

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you can't go back (10)

warnings: depression mention, death mention, animal violence mention, angst, lmk if i missed any

Roman had been poking and prodding the alien in his barn for answers for the better part of a month, to no avail.

No matter what combination of words, actions, or prop-laden charades he and Logan had attempted, they’d come no closer to anything resembling communication than they had when Roman had been angrily threatening the alien with a broom. He’d been growing more hopeless— and admittedly, more guilty— by the day.

And then, entirely unintentionally, along came Patton.

Less than an hour after their accidental introduction, Patton had somehow managed to not only convince the alien to speak to him, but also earn their apparent undying loyalty.

Roman kind of got it, because, well, it was Patton, but he was still feeling incredibly miffed about how the entire situation had played out. He couldn’t even say as much, because then Patton would start making pointed statements about not hiding things from one’s friends and how nice it would have been for him to have met their excitable extraterrestrial earlier.

Going by the way the alien kept hovering over Patton like a brooding hen, Roman figured their captive-turned-guest(?) probably felt the same way. Not that he could really blame them.

Despite Patton’s gentle prompting and Logan’s intense staring, the alien refused to utter so much as a recognizable syllable in front of them, sticking firmly to bobbing a clawed hand up-and-down or side-to-side for ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers, respectively.

That alone was enough to confirm that Patton was right: the alien absolutely could understand human speech, though not as comprehensively as Star Wars would have had him believe. Even with this new willingness to interact, around half of their questions were still answered with a hesitant motion of bumping the sides of their forearms together and then drawing them back apart, which seemed to be the alien’s version of a shrug.

This wasn’t the only new gesture they were introduced to over the course of the next few days. From subtle shifts of their faceplates to the absent air-pedaling their stabby limbs did while they were thinking, they were now witness to a whole gallery of unfamiliar mannerisms. The thick spiral-ring notebook Logan had dedicated to documenting the alien’s body language had rapidly begun to run out of blank pages, with the frantic scribbling becoming such a well-worn background noise that even the alien stopped being wary after a while.

As it turned out, the alien was a lot more expressive when all six of their limbs weren’t forcibly restrained. This was one of those things that seemed a lot more obvious in hindsight.

Given that four of those limbs had both the sharpness of a spear and the spring-loaded power of a harpoon gun, Roman still felt a fair amount of uncertainty about just how much trust they were placing in a relative stranger, but he kept those thoughts to himself.

After all, this was a welcome change from the quiet, still way the alien had been curled up on their makeshift bed for the past week, not nearly as aggressive as before but also not nearly as alert or even responsive, some days. Roman had been getting more and more worried, half-expecting to find a corpse every time he went to check on them, like a bug left in a jar to suffocate.

Whatever magic Patton had worked, it had brought an undeniable spark of life back to the alien, and wary or not, Roman was unspeakably relieved about it.

The past couple of days had been dedicated to finding supplies for the alien’s project, which they had figured out (mostly through extensive guessing) was a makeshift translator. One of Logan’s old laptops, the disemboweled guts of the alien’s helmet, and an old car battery from the junkyard had been sacrificed to the alien’s tinkering, along with various bits and bobs pulled from old charging cables and a broken VCR player.

After the third unsuccessful game of charades, Roman had just grabbed the whole junk drawer in the kitchen and tipped all the contents out in the hopes that the alien would find what they needed.

Seeing as there hadn’t been any more requests, they seemed to have found the pieces they needed— or at the very least, acceptable substitutes. From there, all that was left to do was loiter in the barn and wait for them to finish.

“Guys,” Patton called, the only one allowed to sit nearby while the alien worked. “I think it’s ready!”

The moment the words split the air, Logan practically teleported over to their corner of the barn, and Roman was only a step behind, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm in his chest at the thought of finally learning what had happened to his brother.

The alien was crouched with their backwards-jointed legs folded under them, and as they all gathered around, the limbs on their back pulled in to avoid grazing any shoulders, as though even the barest touch would be poisonous. As always, they didn’t make direct eye contact with anyone, simply reaching out to the contraption and pressing one of the buttons on the VCR.

They made a series of carefully enunciated clicks and churrs, the same muffled language that they had used during Roman’s pointless interrogations, and then released the button and pressed down another one.

There was a brief moment of silence, and then:

“Can you understand this sentence?”

The voice was robotic, the inflections slightly strange, but the words were clear.

“Yes!” Roman exclaimed, half an answer and half a cheer of success. “It worked, we understood that!”

The three of them exchanged glances, sharing a sort of awed joy at the impossibility of it all. The alien waited for a moment longer before recording another stretch of clicks and sending it through the translator.

“The energy cell won’t last long. Ask important questions first.”

Like mirror images, both of his friends turned to look at him at the same time, and whatever expression he was making seemed to tell them everything they needed to know.

“No matter what the answer is,” Patton told him, reaching out to hold onto his hand tightly, “we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Logan flipped his notebook over, abandoning the list of questions to set the tip of his pen to a blank page. “I’ll record the information verbatim. It’ll ensure we don’t miss anything.”

Embarrassingly enough, Roman’s eyes began to sting. He cleared his throat, smiling weakly at his best friends. “Thanks, guys.”

The question sat heavy on the back of his tongue, the shape of words practically memorized after the many times he’d spoken, shouted, screamed them. When he looked forward to the alien, though, he realized that there was something else he owed it to them to ask.

“What’s your name?”

The alien went rabbit-still for a moment, a reflexive attempt to hide that Roman was pretty sure meant they were surprised. He didn’t rush them; he was pretty surprised at himself, too.

Finally, they leaned close to the speaker again. “I am known as Anxiety.”

“Anxiety?” Patton echoed, his eyebrows lifting in bewilderment.

The alien shuffled their hands over each other in an uncertain-looking gesture before speaking into the translator, a little quicker now. “Was that the wrong word? The direct translation is more like ‘he who fears needlessly’?”

“Anxiety… is a good word for that, yes,” Logan answered after another uncertain pause. “It simply isn’t a word we would usually use as a name.”

“Alien,” Anxiety replied succinctly, with another one of those forearm shrugs.

Roman nodded, fitting the name carefully into the list of things they’d learned about this stranded stranger. “My name is Roman, and this is Logan and Patton.”

Each of them waved on cue, one perfunctory and the other over-enthusiastic. Anxiety glanced between them for a moment before apparently giving in to his curiosity.

“Who is first?” he asked through the translator, earning three confused looks.

“I’m the oldest?” Roman offered, not in the least confident that this was the answer Anxiety was looking for. “But not by that much? We’re all in the same grade, um, which basically means we’re only a few months apart in age.”

Anxiety didn’t lose the air of puzzlement, but he shook his hand in the ‘no’ gesture. “Nevermind. Ask your questions.”

Roman swallowed, his nerves returning to him twofold, and forced the words past numb lips. “What… What happened to my brother?”

Although Anxiety had almost certainly expected the question, his limbs still flexed behind him, trembling slightly with tension. Foreboding sunk into Roman like a stone through water.

“Your brother was abducted,” Anxiety finally answered, the translator turning the words flat and stilted. “Stolen, but most likely alive.”

Alive. Alive. Most likely alive. Roman’s chest felt like it might burst with how hard his heart was beating.

“Why? What are they going to do to him?” he asked, his voice rising louder in his desperation. Patton squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.

Anxiety’s hesitance stretched even longer. This time, after speaking into the translator, he shuffled backwards slightly. Preparing for a violent response to whatever he’d just said.

“Deathworlders are valuable in some circles. That crew is money-hungry. They probably took him to use as a champion in illegal fighting rings. Dangerous, but not lethal if he can fight,” the translator spit out dutifully.

Fighting rings. Roman thought about every movie scene he’d ever watched with gladiators, every news article about local dog fighting, every old story about men shoved into a pit of starving lions. Pictured Remus, dropped into some horrible real-life version of that scene from Star Wars, but without magic powers or even so much as a lightsaber to his name.

He felt sick. His hand went limp in Patton’s grip, nausea churning in his gut. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. What could he possibly say to that? How was he supposed to ask about his own brother’s odds, his life expectancy on an alien battleground?

“What do you mean by ‘Deathworlder’?” Logan asked, his gaze sharp as he picked up the slack.

Anxiety’s attention was clearly riveted on Roman’s response, but he managed to answer after several seconds passed without anyone lashing out, leaning forward again.

“It’s a title. Sapient species that originate from deathworlds.” When this clearly wasn’t as helpful as he thought it would be, he elaborated further: “Planets with harsh terrain, hostile fauna, lethal weather patterns. A Deathworlder has adapted to thrive in these conditions. You make a home out of a place that is difficult for most aliens to even survive.”

Patton frowned, confused. “You’re surviving just fine, aren’t you?”

Anxiety’s faceplate twitched slightly, an expression they had no reference for.

“I thought Patch would kill me for our entire first interaction.” For the first time, a sense of his voice was audible even through the machine-tone translator. “I pay attention to danger. This planet is full of things that could very easily kill me.”

His extra limbs twitched slightly, as though he’d said more than he’d meant to, and he firmly averted his gaze to the ground.

Abruptly, Roman realized that they were one of the things Anxiety was referring to. The primal panic that they’d witnessed while interacting with him wasn’t a farce or an exaggeration. To Anxiety, humans were a potentially lethal threat.

“Patch?” Patton asked.

The angles of Anxiety’s back limbs shifted to point at where Lady Macbeth was sprawled out in a beam of sunlight, content that all was well within her kingdom.

“You renamed my cat?” Roman asked incredulously, and then, more pressingly, “If you thought she was going to kill you, why did you befriend her? You tried to stab me the moment we made eye contact!”

Anxiety’s arms twitched in what seemed like a hastily-aborted shrug. “Predatory beasts normally kill to eat or to defend territory. Sapient species are capable of a lot worse. If I am going to die, I want it to be quick.”

Something about the way the words were spoken, present tense and oddly direct, made Roman’s skin prickle unpleasantly. It was uncomfortably close to a request.

(Sure, Anxiety understood their language, but had they ever said aloud that they wouldn’t kill him?)

“To aliens, humans are dangerous?” Logan asked, dragging them back on-topic. “How so? From my perspective, you have more natural weapons than we do.”

Anxiety made a dragging chirp that seemed to serve as a wordless scoff. “Humans are impossible to kill. I bite you, and you hit me. My bite bothers you, but your hit shatters my exoskeleton. I bleed out and I die. Your body heals and you live.”

Patton looked discomfited at the very idea.

“Aliens are delicate, compared to us,” Logan surmised. “Because the environments they evolved in weren’t as hostile as Earth.”

Anxiety nodded a fist in confirmation.

By the time Logan turned to him with a grim look, Roman had already put the same pieces together.

“They wanted Remus because they were sure he would win,” he said, fists clenched at his sides. “Because he’s a Deathworlder, so he’s hard to kill.”

Remus wasn’t being tossed to the lions. He was the lion, trapped and caged far from home. A monster only let loose to slaughter.

Sure, maybe his brother wouldn’t die, but what kind of a life was that? Remus was sixteen. He was supposed to be trespassing in abandoned buildings with his shithead friends and creating bizarrely gory trash sculptures for his art portfolio, not fighting for his life in front of a crowd of alien scumbags.

“How do we get him back?” he asked, lifting his jaw stubbornly.

Anxiety only watched him, making no move to speak into the translator.

“Come on, there has to be a way,” he urged, shoving to his feet and staring down at the alien. “He can’t just be gone. I have to help him! You have to do something!”

Patton stood too, frowning in a way that suggested he thought Roman needed to back off, take a few deep breaths.

“Please!” Roman added instead, his voice cracking down the middle of the plea. “Please.”

Anxiety shifted to press the record button again, but the laptop screen flickered and faded, nonresponsive. Their battery power had run out.

With a displeased sound, Anxiety slowly rose back to his full height, immediately moving several steps away, and for a moment, Roman thought that was it, his begging had been rejected. It was hopeless, and there was nothing else to be said.

Then, there was a strange crackling sound from Anxiety, who had turned to face away from them in an uncharacteristic move, his spidery limbs shifting tensely.

“Give t—ime,” he spoke, the words nearly made unfamiliar by the odd pronunciation. “Thhhin—k.”

“Think?” Roman echoed with uncertainty; the ‘th’ sound dragged so long it was almost a hiss.

“You need time to think of a way?” Logan interpreted, clearly exercising all his willpower to remain where he was instead of circling around to see Anxiety’s face.

“T—ry,” Anxiety emphasized. “Don—t. Hope.”

“Trying is all we can do,” Patton replied warmly, while Roman was still puzzling out the soft clicks Anxiety was using for the ‘T’ sound. “Thank you for trying to help us, Anxiety.”

There was another odd noise, like the crinkling of paper, and Anxiety’s face was as concealed as ever when he turned and hurried back over to his makeshift bed, apparently done with speaking for the day.

Feeling more than a little exhausted himself, Roman didn’t begrudge him it. All that mattered was that Remus was alive, and they would figure out a way to rescue him. Anxiety might have warned them not to hope anything came of his efforts, but long odds had never stopped Roman from hoping before.

He wasn’t giving up on his brother. No matter what it took to bring him home.

#sanders sides fic #humans are deathworlders #ts roman #ts logan #ts patton #ts virgil #ycgb #you cant go back #my writing #writing #space au

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lightboundhellhound · 6 months

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this is zee’s alien form btw

#lightbound sketchbook #junkyard jaminals #xveca the alien cat

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dstriple · 1 year

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So this is the part of my island in Animal Crossing based on the game Life is Strange...

👆 This is the entrance to Arcadia Bay. Please notice the rainbow above the sign 🌈

👆 This is Chloe's room. I had a hell of a time making that Blade Runner poster on that wall, tho. Rachael (a character from that film) still looks derpy af.

👆 The Two Whales diner... I tried.

👆 Next to the diner is the homeless lady's tent. She's not there, tho.

👆 The entrance to the junkyard. Notice the green bottles that Max had to find in that dump.

👆 The school's parking lot. Frank's RV is in the back. While Warren's car is right next to Max. Frank's dog, Pompidou, is next to the RV. Speaking of which, I couldn't find custom designs for the RV. Most of the designs that people make are too damn cutesy (with flowers or hearts on them). So I had to make my own design for the RV.

👆 Blackwell Academy... again, I tried

👆 Behold the lighthouse. BTW, that glowing reindeer in the back is supposed to be Max's spirit animal, the doe that haunts her day-dreams.

Just in case it wasn't obvious, I even added another sign indicating what the theme for that part of the island is.

UPDATE: Here's the Dream Address

DA-7125-6003-7296

NOTE: The other parts of the island have different themes, tho. Its not all about "Life is Strange". When you get there, the main part of the island will be just a regular town dedicated to a family member that passed away during the pandemic. The other theme is based on the "Alien" movies with Sigourney Weaver.

P.S. The island is still in a work in progress situation. Stuff might change in future updates.

Anywhoo, happy dreaming! ✌️

#animal crossing #acnh community #acnh island #acnh inspo #life is strange #max caulfield #chloe price #nintendo #video games #blade runner #harrison ford #lighthouse #animalcrossingdesigns #cozygaming

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marlynnofmany · 1 year

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Junkyard Playground

A regular whacking noise is not something you want to hear while strolling through a spaceship crash site that’s been reclaimed by forest. The locals had promised that nothing dangerous would come near us while we delivered their supplies, but clients had been wrong before. Also we’d already delivered the stuff, so maybe that promise didn’t cover the walk back. And anyway, even a timid herbivore can get wild when it’s tangled in debris.

Thinking of several unfortunate animals I’d known in my veterinarian days, I glanced down at Paint to see if she’d noticed the sounds.

Paint’s eyes were wide. She moved with more lizardlike twitchiness than usual, her head skipping side-to-side, scanning the bushes and twisted metal like she’d smelled something that wanted to eat us, but wasn’t sure if it had spotted us yet.

I stopped walking. In an undertone, I asked, “Do you want to take a different route?”

Paint froze, snout still moving. “Maybe.” Another whack sounded.

I opened my mouth to suggest a detour around the tallest chunks of hull, or whatever they were, when I heard something that made it all better.

Mur complaining.

“Oh, for the sake of sudden waves, aim to the left!”

The answering voice was more subdued, but sounded testy. The whacking stopped.

Paint managed to perk up and relax at the same time. “Oh, it’s them!” She took off through the undergrowth faster than was probably wise, given that her species wasn’t fond of shoes. I hurried after.

A big section of wall loomed ahead, made of something too smooth for alien moss to grow on. The voices were coming from the other side.

Paint beat me there. “Hey!” she said brightly. “I thought your delivery was in the other direction!”

I caught up, swinging around the corner to find squidlike Mur perched on a hoversled full of small boxes — though with one conspicuous empty spot — while Coals stood nearby. He held a long cable in both scaly hands like he’d been whipping something with it.

“It is,” Mur said to Paint, waving a tentacle halfheartedly in greetings. “Local fauna stole a box.”

“Where?” I asked, looking sharply for anything that could have been on the receiving end of that cable-whip. But Coals pointed up.

Up to where the smooth wall gave way to exploded metal shapes, with a familiar white plasteel shipping box caught between them. No fauna in sight.

“It flew off right away,” Coals told me, pulling the cable back to sling it in an underhanded throw that rebounded off the wall with a familiar sound.

“Oh dear,” Paint said.

“Yeah,” Mur grumbled. “Luckily our client specified they’d be there all day, otherwise we would be very late.”

“Why not call back to the ship?” I asked, looking for something to climb, but coming up with nothing.

“That,” said Coals, throwing again, “Would be embarrassing.”

“Why?” I asked, looking at Mur.

He sighed, drooping back like a deflating balloon. “Both Trrili and Zhee volunteered for this delivery, but we’d already claimed it, and we told them it was fine.”

“Annnd,” I said, visualizing one of our insectlike crewmates stretching up the wall farther than I could ever reach. “They’d never let you live it down.”

“Oh yeah, they’d be insufferable,” Mur said. “I don’t even know if Zhee could reach it, but Trrili definitely could, and neither of them would let that go in a hurry.”

“I really thought I could get it with this,” Coals said.

“Can I try?” I asked.

He willingly handed it over, and I gave it a shot, having better luck with an overhanded angle that human shoulders were more suited to. I hit the box squarely, with a resounding whack from above and a cheer from Paint, but the box just rattled in place. I kept at it.

Finally my arms were tired and the box was still up there. “We might just have to call it in, guys,” I said.

Mur groaned theatrically while Coals wordlessly took the cable back to give it another go.

Paint looked around. “Isn’t there anything else we can do?” she asked.

Mur ticked things off on his tentacles. “Can’t reach it. Can’t dislodge it. This sled’s height only adjusts a little. Nothing to climb up. Nothing to climb down. No friendly local fauna ready to give it back. If you have other ideas, I am ready to catch them.” He splayed his tentacles in a sun-ray pattern that looked more than a little sarcastic.

But as I looked at the misshapen metal hanging above us, and the lower curve behind us that could be climbed onto, and the nice sturdy cable…I had the seed of an idea.

“What if we swing up to it?” I suggested.

“What?” Mur asked.

“How do you mean?” Coals asked, stepping away as the cable fell after a particularly awkward throw.

“We can loop the cable over that part!” I said, warming to the idea. I pointed up at what might have been an internal hull beam once. “Then swing up like it’s a vine — or wait, even better!” I scrambled over to where a rectangular grate poked out of a shrub. Hopefully the plant wasn’t poisonous. “We can tie it to this!”

Paint cocked her head at a sharp angle. “Why?”

“To make a swing!” I said, grinning as I yanked it free. The thing wasn’t even that heavy; perfect.

While my alien coworkers watched, I set about making the most epic of playground swings from broken spaceship junk. The cable flew over the beam just fine. It didn’t even hit anyone in the head on the way down. Fastening it to the sides of the grate was a little tricky, but I was able to shove it through the holes and tie a pair of bulky knots underneath that probably wouldn’t come loose mid-swing. Probably.

I checked the area for anything especially sharp just in case. Flying off to smack into a wall would be bad enough without the chance of impaling myself on the remains of some spacefaring bathroom sink.

“Are you sure about this?” Paint asked as I clambered up onto the curved thing, towing the swing along with one hand.

“All the pieces look strong enough!” I said. I’d done plenty of tugging to be sure. “And the box isn’t really that high up, all things considered.”

Mur saluted with two tentacles, not moving from the sled. “Better you than me.”

“That’s the spirit,” I laughed. Getting into position was more of a delicate affair than I’d expected, since the cable didn’t reach quite far enough. Guess I’d just have to do a bit of hop-and-butt-shuffle.

“But—” Paint said anxiously.

Coals put a hand on her shoulder. “The physics holds up,” he said. “I don’t think it’s scary for a human.”

“Not a bit!” I agreed. “Here goes!” With that, I jumped into position on the grate, swinging forward at a speed that would have made little playground-monkey Child Me clap for joy.

I almost reached the box on the first swing.

Paint sounded disappointed, but she was clearly unfamiliar with the fine art of pumping the legs. Another couple goes, and I swung high enough to catch a hand on a jutting bit of something at the peak of my swing.

I hung there for a heartbeat, both arms looped around the cable, extremely aware of the long drop below me, then I stuck a leg out and kicked the box free. It was sturdy enough to land in one piece.

Before letting go, I made certain that I was in position with my other hand clutching the cable (with the appropriate amount of nerves).

Then I let go of the bar and fell.

The swing downward was much more adrenaline-ridden than the ride up, with a moment of freefall before the cable jerked taut and bounced me back toward my original launch platform. I held that cable in a death grip, pressing my butt into the grate hard enough to leave a waffle pattern that I would tell no one about. I almost hit my foot on a spar that I hadn’t gone near the first time.

But I made it.

When the swing finally slowed enough for me to drag my feet through the rubble, Paint ran over, full of praise.

“You did it! That was amazing!”

“Nice kick,” Coals added. He put the box onto the cart; not a scratch on it.

Mur moved out of the way. “We may just have to tell the others after all, because that was impressive.”

“Glad it worked!” I said, getting back onto my feet with only a little shakiness. “This stuff made a great swing. Pity we can’t take it with us.”

Paint craned her neck up at it. “You said this is something from a recreation center? Is it spacefarer training for acceleration?”

I laughed at that. “No,” I said. “Human training for being a human. Kids love these. They even have special seats for babies who can’t hold themselves in place yet.”

Paint looked horrified.

Coals just shook his head quietly while Mur did some chuckling of his own.

“That explains so much about you,” Mur said. “Come on, let’s drop this off then go tell Trrili. Maybe next time we visit a human settlement they’ll have one of these big enough for her to ride. She’d hate it.”

Coals nodded. “She would.”

Paint grimaced but said nothing.

I smiled. “I actually do know a place like that.”

“Of course you do,” said Mur. “Onward!”

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

#my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eidw #humans are space orcs #humans are space monkeys #writeblr #writblr #which of those tags is the most useful anyway?#I never remember to research it #oh well #have a story!

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