#softscreen

[silverslipstream]

An Acquired Taste

It was an uncommonly hot autumn day when Yulia Lebedeva first tasted fruit.

By the standards of New Seoul, the phrase ‘uncommonly hot’ seemed naive. From the great hydro-powered pumps and dams working around the clock to keep the Yellow Sea at bay, to the multicoloured throng of fans whirring from roadside bazaars, the city of twenty-six million was shaped, moulded, created by heat. It may not have been Hell, but there was no denying both places had a connection to the same feverish warmth.

The teeming thoroughfare of Sambong-ro yawned before her. Rickshaws shot past lumbering solar landbarges, the cacophony of pedalling legs and hydraulic whines drowned out by the background hum of sheer humanity. The pavements and main roads were supposed to be a pristine, reflective white: years of wear underfoot had turned them into a dirty ochre. It reminded Yulia of videos she’d seen about the Amazonian savannah, and the humans crawling across it of the late wildebeest; flowing like sand through fingers. Despite each individual destination, the masses kept an unconscious, graceful totality quite unlike anything she’d ever seen.

Nevertheless, it was a little overwhelming. Shuffling left past a haggling seaweed-seller and kicking aside a discarded plastic bag, Yulia eased her way into a claustrophobic canyon. Her first thought was that the sun had been inexplicably cut off; the staggering heights of the surrounding buildings had plunged this narrow alleyway into a strange twilight. Whereas before she had been sweating in the stagnant humidity, now an artificially funnelled breeze was at her back. 

The light was bluer here, relying more on artificial lighting than the meagre strip of sky daubed overhead. Faded, mottled walls, a pervading sickly stench and a collection of ramshackle vendor’s huts conveyed the area’s poverty. A window-mounted softscreen overhead flickered and buzzed, sending a trail of boron-green sparks skittering down like ash from a cigarette’s tip. Music quietened as she walked further; the clang of metal gantries echoed above as inquisitive inhabitants rushed out, peering closely at the presumably lost foreigner.

The stench grew stronger as she reached the vendors and their wares; the faint, leafy scent of algae vats, the spicy, cloyingly sweet tang of soy-beef and the metallic stink of blood and assorted bodily fluids. An old lady, perched behind what looked to be a fruit stall, yelled a few words in what sounded like Mandarin. Yulia smiled back in what she hoped was an encouraging way and pointed to the translator device looped around her left ear. A moment later, the fruit seller’s words were whispered in perfect, monotone English, directly into her ear.

“Hey! Lost lady! Want to try some fruit? Real fruit, from Hokkaido, not vat-grown, no soy-fruit! 60 Sphere-yuan each!”

Real fruit? From a real tree? I’ll believe it when I see it, thought Yulia. The few remaining fruit plantations were guarded and tended to by corporations or the ultra-rich; not piled in front of a stall in some backwater New Seoul alley. She peered closer; the fruits were pear-shaped and a deep ruby red, with small green seeds rippling their skin. It was probably just another vat-grown scammer, she rationalised to herself.

Yet, her curiosity was piqued.

“Can I…” Yulia said slowly in English, pointing to herself, “...try one first?” she asked, pointing to the fruit and miming a bite. The woman nodded, and held out her right index finger to transfer the funds. Yulia’s fingerpad pressed against the old woman’s for a moment, then down, grabbing a fruit from the topmost row. A sharp word was uttered by the seller as Yulia brought the fruit to her lips.

“Enjoy!” said the translator as she bit down.

Her first thought was confusion. The flesh of the fruit was moist but not juicy, and had a surprising amount of thickness to it. It was almost…chewy? Crisp sweetness rolled around her mouth, a sugary taste so unlike the food tubes she was used to back home at the Institute. The seeds stuck to her teeth and cracked: they filled her mouth with a tart, sour tang. It seemed similar to the flavour pouches she’d once eaten marked ‘passionfruit’ yet a world away in execution. Delicious had never before seemed so ordinary a word.

“What…” Yulia asked, pointing at the fruit in an almost reverent way, “is this called?” 

The fruit seller smiled, straightening her apron as she talked. The grin splitting her face made it seem as if she was chatting to an old friend.

The translation device filled in the gaps: her son was a genesplicer in Hokkaido North, and had sent his mother a bag of his corporation’s newest crop. Bad reviews had sunk the fruit’s commercial rating while thousands were still to be harvested; therefore, her son could send these discarded fruits to New Seoul for a very low price.

Yulia nodded. “How much for the rest?” she said, pointing at several fruits and then at her index finger.

“If you want a dozen, I'll charge 550 Sphere-yuan. Save you some money.”

Yulia shook her head and swept her arm in a wide arc, over all of the fruit. The old woman’s eyes widened and she ducked below the booth, muttering too faintly for the translator to hear. A moment later, she resurfaced with a fabric bag clutched tightly in her gnarled right hand.

“3,000 Sphere-yuan for the lot. You sure? I’ll tell my son: his fruit may not be successful in Hokkaido, but it certainly is here!”

Yulia nodded. Taking the proffered bag and briefly touching fingers again, she placed each fruit into the plastic bag, taking meticulous care not to bruise it. If she could return to the Institute with some of this… reverse-engineer it in the genetics lab… why, the fruits would be worth their weight in gold. No flavour pouch, no algae, no soy-meat would ever come close to the taste she had just experienced.

Smiling, she bowed to bid the fruit seller farewell, and continued further into the artificial canyon she found herself in. As the stall receded, the translator picked up one last, garbled whisper from the old woman’s direction.

“Tourist,” it said. Yulia thought she could feel the contempt, hidden somewhere in its impersonal tone.

[myst-co]

⠀ਏਓ⠀﹏ 𔘓⠀@raven-co⠀꩔ ⁽︎ 綺麗な ⁾⠀⬪⠀戻⠀𖠗⠀𝐵&𝑊 ─╮ ╭☎️⠀ꜥ⠀ᨊ⠀𝒊𝒅꯭𝒐𝒍⠀ꞈ⠀𝑖𝑐꯭𝑜𝑛꯭𝑠/꯭𝑚꯭꯭𝑜꯭𝑜𝑑꯭𝑏꯭𝑜𝑎꯭꯭𝑟𝑑⠀♡⠀“ 㽬 ﹌﹏ ─╯ ╰──🔌⠀𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒⠀𝒐𝒓⠀𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔⠀𝒊𝒇⠀𝑦𝑜𝑢⠀𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒆!⠀ 𓂅⠀“作物” 📟

[wyx-gina-1027]

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[rodimii]

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[mumblen]

i was tagged by @niki-fforov​, thank yoooou :3

Rules: Complete the questions & say who tagged you in the beginning. When you’re finished, tag people to do this survey. Have fun and enjoy!

Are you named after anyone? nah

When was the last time you cried? uuuuuuhhhhhhhh can’t remember

Do you like your handwriting? I think it's fine, but some people don't like it so I'm sorta insecure about it nevertheless

What is your favorite lunch meat? chicken probably??

Do you have kids? yeah yuri plisetsky

If you were a different person would you be friends with you? maybe not hehe

Do you use sarcasm? yeah

Do you still have your tonsils? yes 

Would you bungee jump? not right now, but yes in the future if I stop being such a scaredycat

What’s your favorite cereal? i dont eat a lot of cereal

Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? no

Do you think you’re a strong person? nooo

What’s your favorite ice cream? hnm i like licorice 

What’s the first thing you notice about people? their expression i guess

What’s your least favorite physical thing about yourself? my tummyyy

What color pants and shoes are you wearing right now? black pants and pink fuzzy socks

What are you listening to right now? nothing actually

If you were a crayon what color would you be? yellow cause since it’s my favourite colour some of my friends associate me with it

Favorite smell? hmm

Who was the last person you talked to on the phone my mom

Favorite sport to watch? baton twirlinggg

Hair color? brown

Eye color? blue

Do you wear contacts? nope, I wish though, glasses can be a pain

Favorite food? chocolate tbh

Scary movies or comedy? comedy

Last movie you watched? zootopia i think

What color shirt are you wearing? red-ish? like a burnt red colour

Summer or winter? summer 

Hugs or kisses? i don’t have any experience with kisses so I don’t know

Book you’re currently reading? The Shining by Stephen King and The Magician’s Nephew by C S Lewis

Who do you miss right now? @shoofsen​

What’s on your mouse pad?  i dont have a mouse pad oops

What’s the last tv program you watched? currently watching death note, if animes count, if not then voltron I think??

What is the best sound? hmmhmmmnn laughter

Rolling stones or The Beatles? idk

What’s the furthest you’ve ever traveled? Spain I think

Do you have a special talent? noo

Where were you born? norway

i tag @shoofsen​ @softscreen​ and @idedbruh​ om dåkker vil ;)

[silverslipstream]

Get to know my OC!

So I've been tagged in by @rickie-the-storyteller (thanks Rickie!) and the idea of writing an interview of my character really stuck with me, so... here goes nothing! I chose to interview Kat (White Sky's main character) roughly at the beginning of the second act of the plot, as it's currently outlined, anyway. The hubbub of Aristarchus City's main Interplanetary Arrival Terminal is a stark reminder of humanity's burgeoning presence in the cosmos. While not the largest city on the Moon, Aristarchus is nevertheless a bustling hub of commerce, trade and diplomacy, its domes contrasting the nearby crater walls in a defiant stand against the desolation of the lunar surface. Our interview subject for today - former propulsion engineer and now interplanetary wanted fugitive Katarina 'Kat' Lloyd - halts under a rotating softscreen, peering anxiously at the busy thoroughfare. Sneaking between an absentminded luggage porter and a preoccupied miner decked head-to-toe in Toyota-branded mining gear, she hurries over to my table: an unassuming booth built into the wall of a drink stand. Her eyes flicker feverishly between me and the recording drone in the centre of the table. -audio transcript starts-

Kat: Are you sure that thing's... safe? ELTO's got eyes everywhere, you know-

Me: Relax. If ELTO knew you were here, they'd have thrown you out of the nearest service airlock, protocol or no protocol. Drink?

I push a disposable mug of coffee in her direction: Kat takes a hesitant sip and makes a face, pushing it back into the centre of the table.

Kat: God, how do you drink that crap? It's lukewarm. Nobody drinks lukewarm coffee.

Me: I'll admit, it takes some getting used to. Speaking of getting used to things, how are you finding your first trip into space?

She laughs hollowly.

Oh yeah, it's absolutely f**king wonderful. I've been floating around in the spacefaring equivalent of a college dorm room for three days, I'm covered in bruises from hitting just about everything in there, half the crew won't talk to me and the other half won't shut up. Plus, there's the whole 'wanted fugitive apparently harbouring corporate secrets' s**t, so yeah. Everything's f**king peachy.

What's been the hardest part of adapting to space travel?

The cosmic rays. I can feel my DNA splintering by the minute.

She grins at me, tutting and rolling her eyes when I don't respond.

Fine, okay. You're not... printing this anywhere, are you?

Is that an actual question?

Right, sorry, okay. The worst part of spaceflight is going to the bathroom. Sounds weird, but... I wasn't expecting taking a crap to be such a f**king ordeal, you know? First I have to wedge my feet into these footholds before sitting down, so I don't, uh, 'float off' mid-s**t. Then the toilet has this weird inflating cushion thing that suctions itself around... well, y'know, so nothing gets out and the smell doesn't kill the crew. It's constantly sucking, too. Worst feeling ever. I swear, I won't eat a bite on the return journey. The shower's even worse, if you can call it that. You have to squeeze these gel packs of water and soap onto yourself and rub your body down super carefully, using rinseless shampoo to clean your hair. Stupid lemon-scented crap. It just clumps the ends of your hair together. I swear, I'm gonna find the best hairdresser in this s**thole dome and get it all lopped off.

How's the food?

I mean, it's not terrible. Not healthy by any stretch, but I'll live. The water's awful though.

How come?

Well, you probably wouldn't know, Mr-I-Live-On-The-Moon, but unlike your happy little domes where most of your water is sourced from crater meltwater and Earth imports, our ship's water is a closed system. Every piss, every rinse of dishwater, every excess drop scrubbed off of skin ends up recycled in the life-support system. The others ignore it, of course. They've been in space much longer than I have. But every water-based drink has this slight tang to it, and every time I swallow, I can't stop thinking about how much of what I'm drinking is someone else's sweat and pee...

For the record, I live on Earth - Luna's just a side gig. Tell me about home - where were you before all this?

Ooh, sure you won't charge me? F**k journalism, pal, you should go into counselling. How benevolent of you to unravel my deepest emotional scars at the source-

Just answer the question, please...

Oh, who's a touchy little shrink today, hmmm? Okay. Well, for your information, I lived in employee accommodations at Langersprung Developments' Munich science park. I could've gone to Vienna or Berlin, but Vienna's a little intense for my liking and I didn't fancy glowing in the dark after a couple months in Berlin, so Munich it was.

And how'd you get here?

I took the space canoe. Next question.

...what was your dream job?

You know, what an interesting question. I could've sworn I really liked doing something - was it propulsion systems design? No, perish the thought. How silly of me. It's not as if I was minding my f**king business, enjoying the culmination of my life's work, when a bunch of ELTO agents blow the door off my dorm room and almost melt my campus to the ground. That would be preposterous, don't you agree?

Right, sorry.

It's okay. Well, it's not, but I have to let it out somehow, right?

Do you have any hobbies?

Well, aside from the aforementioned corporate espionage, sneaking aboard lunar debris haulers and murdering annoying cloak-and-dagger affronts to the name of journalism, I do dabble in a bit of Scrabble.

Seriously?

Yes, seriously. Keeps the brain occupied, and the limitations of only having seven letters forces me to think with limited resources. Only problem is, I can't play with many people - Yuri gets way too intense, Harry spends his time writing out more swear words than I thought existed and Kaz protests against Scrabble on principle. Some s**t about 'artificially limiting creative expression.' Other than that, I keep up my previous work, designing interplanetary propulsion systems. God forbid becoming a wanted criminal keep me from my work, right?

What do you do to relax? Other than play Scrabble, I mean.

As you can imagine, fleeing the combined law-enforcement systems of an entire species isn't the most chill of circumstances... but yeah, okay, I do find some time to relax. Most of the time I listen to music: Leroy Guilloux, Marbzy, V5, Schiaparelli Dust, that kind of stuff. Harry spends a lot of time blasting out TwenCen music from the 'Eighties' that he can't help but sing up and down the ship in terrible, impromptu karaoke sessions. Sora sent me a few of her old tracks, and they're much more my speed. Kraftwerk, Boards of Canada, Aphex Twin - don't s'pose you've heard of 'em?

Not really. My grandad was apparently a fan of Aphex Twin; I found a few albums in a box of his stuff. Actual optical discs, too. No idea how he played them.

Yeah, well, a lot of our crew are obsessed with old s**t like that. They had two 'movie nights' on the way over here. The first was some Huang Min Lee techno-thriller from a few years back: Yuri and Jack loved it. I was barely keeping my eyes open. The other one was this old TwenCen film that Harry wouldn't stop raving about. Judging by the groans from the rest of the crew, they must've seen it a few times. I thought it was quite good for an old film. Can you believe people back then had whole cars that they could just... drive around, wherever they wanted? And what would be the point of keeping a bunch of kids in school on Saturday? They didn't even do schoolwork. I liked the blond kid, though - Brian. Reminded me of myself at school age.

Hmm, okay. What're your plans for the future?

She laughs.

You mean, after ELTO let me out of jail or my brain finishes a century's sentence in some orbital processor farm?

You know what I mean.

Pfft, yeah, sure. Well, I'd like to think I could head back to Earth and continue working, y'know. Obviously not for Langersprung, but maybe for another Eurocorp? I've always liked Scandinavia... if not, maybe I'll look further afield. Australia are doing pretty well with their helix-fusion reactor complexes. If I can avoid the war fallout from the Indo-Pacific, I suppose I wouldn't mind heading down there. Though, knowing my luck, the PECFOR would probably draft Australia in, and I'd end up having to design fusion thermobarics to level a Malaysian city or something. No thank you - spacecraft only.

For someone who's spent a lifetime designing spacecraft engines, you sure seem to hate spaceflight. Are you sure you wouldn't want to, y'know, stay in space?

Well, a plumber might enjoy directing piping drones, but it doesn't mean he wants to live in a s**t-smeared sewer, does it? No f**king thank you! Spaceflight is miserable, uncomfortable and full of annoying s**theads who can't play Scrabble properly. I wouldn't mind going on an interstellar voyage, though. Being cryo-frozen and having a four-year wait time for conversations sounds right up my alley.

What about your family life? Friends? What do you miss about Earth?

Kat gives the recording drone another suspicious side-eye.

Wait, does this thing have visual or holo-recording on, or is it audio only?

Audio only, I'm afraid. My line of work requires a hefty degree of anonymity.

Okay then. For the benefit of you prospective future listeners, I am now raising my... oh dear, what's this? It appears to be my middle finger, good heavens. Now I'm raising it at Mr. Shrinky McAnonymous here.

Miss Lloyd-

Now I'm wiggling it.

...terminating interview with subject Katarina Lloyd at 09:18 CST, June 2nd, 2094.

Look at it wigg- -audio transcript ends-

Hope you've enjoyed this little peek into Kat's life and the world of White Sky! I'll tag @sam-glade, @sergeantnarwhalwrites, @kaatiba, @winterandwords and @flock-from-the-void, as well as any open tag to any writeblr who fancies a go!

[clickerpunk]

really really hope Rudi feels better soon! my horse was kicked a few weeks ago by a horse with snow shoes(the ones with little spikes) and got a pretty bad cut on her leg, so i feel what you’re going through❤️ praying for a quick recovery!

Yeah those spikes are nasty :/ Thank you! <3

[wyx-gina-1027]

Transparent soft display screen.

contact us: Web: https://lecedeled.com/ WeChat: +86 13534216317 ins: https://www.instagram.com/lecedeleddisplay/ pinterest: https://www.pinterest.ca/lecedeleddisplay/_created/

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[weird-but-normal]

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