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Aug 2016 Fanfic Challenge
This month is named after the Roman emperor Augustus, but as an adjective it means respected and impressive. In other words-

July's word prompt is ... GRAND

And as things have been a bit dark and serious, let's lighten up. For the second challenge include the phrase 'the pink goo heaved and burped' in your ficlet.

Make that dark and sinister. Go on, I dare you!
trevor travis

This was a very strange world, decided Blake.

For starters, the people were well… made of liquid, a sort of goo of a pink colour.

He had still been happy to help them throw off the shackles of Federation rule.

But then Z-bomb hit the planet. If The Federation couldn’t have the planet, then no-one could.

Blake saw the Prime Minister to his left. The pink goo heaved and burped, and then exploded into a thousand fragments. The heat caused by the bomb had already had a devastating effect.

“Teleport now, quickly”, he barked into his bracelet. Moments later, he was gone.

Ten millions souls died. Several hours later, the core of the planet went beyond the critical level and it disintegrated. All signs of a highly intelligent species were lost to the universe.

Blake had experienced better days. Then again it was a Thursday, and he’d never got the hang of them.

He got back to his quarters and realised he was still covered in the remains of the Prime Minister. All over his favourite green webbed top. It would need to go onto the washing pile for Jenna. He wiped some of the goo onto his hand. It smelt nice. He ate it. "Mmmm, strawberry jelly". Jenna wouldn't need to clean his top, after all.
Edited by trevor travis on 01 August 2016 11:40:33
@TT: You gave me my very first laugh of the day! I think we've just found the tone of this month's thread.Grin
Blake had experienced better days. Then again it was a Thursday, and he’d never got the hang of them

Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
Anniew wrote:

Blake had experienced better days. Then again it was a Thursday, and he’d never got the hang of them


I discovered last night that BBC Radio 4 Extra is repeating the original series of Hitchhiker - available now on BBC iPlayer
I listened to ep 1 last night, but despite knowing it by heart, it still made me laugh. Smile
Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblr
There's no point being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes
I hope this works as intended ...

Grant Grand Grant a Grand

After Del Grant had liberated the Federation, people granted him the title of ‘Grand Grant’. However, one should not take freedom and peace for granted. Avon, freed from the grimy Federation prisons, blinded the voters with his grandezza and thus grasped the presidency.

Grot, the presidential groom, visited Grant at his great grange, where he was grieving his sister’s death.

‘Avon has delusions of grandeur, and in his greed he lives like a grandee’, Grot growled, ‘we are groping in the dark as to how to end his gruesome reign and we would be grateful for your help in this grave affair.’

Grant granted him an ear. ‘How much do you pay?’ he asked.

Grot ground his teeth. ‘This is a matter of honour! And I heard on the grapevine that you also have an axe to grind.’

‘Granted’, Grant grunted, ’but it is a matter of principle. However, I will grant you a special offer of 1000 credits.’

‘Only a grand?’ Grot grinned gratefully, ‘that’s grand!’

‘Great’, Grant exclaimed, and now that they had settled the matter, he grabbed a cup. ‘Coffee?’ he asked, ‘freshly ground!’
Huggy: I rate that ten Og's out of ten.
The first day of August is not even over yet and already we have two great ficlets.

@TT - I love your Python-esque pieces. Blake eats the Prime Minister! LOL.

@Hugbot - I read your ficlet out loud, because it needs to be - and yes, it works.

I'm finishing the day with a smile on my face. Thanks, guys!
Thanks, TT and Huggy, for cheering me up in a stressful time!

Hugbot, your story wins the Dr Seuss Memorial Prize for tongue-twistering in a foreign language. Bravo! Grin
Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblr
There's no point being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes
trevor travis
Great Grant story from our jolly German. All those G’s and not one ginger, Grant’s No 1 groupie will be grateful and she will girlishly giggle and gurgle: “That Grant Grand Grant A Grand story is ginormously great and grand.”

Really enjoyed your story, Hugbot, it does become a proper tongue-twister when read out loud.
Edited by trevor travis on 02 August 2016 07:30:20
She ordered a Volcano Surprise for desert and he was caught between 'appalled at her taste' and 'admiration at her daring'. He had intended ordering them lemon sorbets, the only plain pudding on the Menu, but she'd vetoed that as too boring.

He wasn't particularly comfortable with the brash atmosphere The Star Cops Diner favoured , though it offered a decent(ish) reconstituted steak and a view of the Docking bays and the stars which was quite pleasing. He had brought women there before, the sort who would be impressed by its garish vulgarity and who, after a decent interval, he could tap up for a 'loan' before he disappeared from their lives for good. Never-the-less he had been surprised when she had chosen it - Anna was not merely a bored Alpha (his usual targets) but an Alpha Elite, married to a member of the High Council, and he had expected she would go for the best. Indeed he had already forged a dining card to pay for the evening. On reflection however, the Diner was a safer choice precisely because it wasn't the sort of place that a Chesku would normally be seen dead in, so they weren't likely to bump into any of her friends. She could enjoy her little adventure with a Beta without risk, because those who knew her would all be dining at The Palace, or the newly opened Terra Nostra, on real meat served at a table that looked down on the ornamental lakes and parks surrounding Residence One, their food presented to them without razzmatazz.

And, (Oh God), here it came, it's arrival signalled by a cacophony of police whistles: one Volcano Surprise served in a huge, ballon shaped glass hoisted high on the shoulder of a waiter in Space Commander uniform (open to the waist) accompanied by six willowy girls with cropped black hair, each dressed in floor length white satin and blowing the aforementioned whistles with abandon.

It was enormous, a monstrous confection of chocolate and cream, generously sprinkled with multi coloured sugar. (The only surprise he reflected morosely, was whether it could be eaten without inducing cardiac arrest.) Once place on the table, suspended over a lighted candle, the effect for which the dish was named began. As it heated up, layers of strawberry sauce hidden in the chocolate struggled to the surface, slowly at first and then in a whooshing rush. He watched in fascinated horror: the sauce settled to form an undulating crust and then globules of shocking pink goo heaved and burst through it with loud burps (there really was no other more delicate term to describe the sounds it made) causing other diners to pause in their eating and stare disapprovingly towards their table.

Anna watched the display intently and then, as a particularly virulent pink globule popped with an exceptionally long and fruity burp, she giggled enchantingly, with such infectious delight that he found himself laughing too.

There and then he abandoned his plans to fleece her and as they fed each other spoonfuls of burping pink goo and chocolate cream (surprisingly delicious), he was already busily mapping out how to get his hands on enough money to keep her, always, in the manner her status demanded.
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
Thank you for your positive comments, I am relieved ... I wasn’t sure if this really worked; messing around with a foreign language in this way presents plenty of opportunities to embarrass oneself! Special thanks to TT for your funny comment (oh dear, what have I started!). Interesting that you mention the word ‘ginger’ in the context of Paula’s favourite blond mercenary - you obviously don’t suffer from kambriaviasignumophobia.
@TT: When I realised that you had posted your story within 90 mins of PC’s original post, I thought you were reacting to her special challenge and treated us to a dark and sinister pink goo story. But although you destroyed a planet and wiped out all its inhabitants, the result is still hilariously funny. Maybe it is the notion of exploding politicians that resonates so well with all of us. Those of us who don’t live in countries with a prime minister can easily exchange the poor victim with another politician of our choice. However, I fear that most of them won’t taste of strawberry jam but of ... no, I better don’t elaborate on that! Shock

@AnnieW: Not exactly dark and sinister either, but at least a serious take on the pink goo prompt! Wonderfully detailed description of this not exactly first class establishment and the Vulcano surprise, and a beautiful background for Anna and Avon. And somehow I am tempted to try and re-create this dessert. By the way, in an ice-cream parlour in the town of Büren (no, you don’t have to know that backwater!) they served the Vesuv sundae. It was a cone-shaped mass of ice-cream that was actually fuming (thanks to a hidden dry ice capsule).
Ellen York
I want a Volcano Surprise!
I love that it is paraded out by the waiter in Federation uniform and six pseudo-Servalans
I want a Volcano Surprise!

Ellen, when you next visit England you should visit Smith and Western. It's a restaurant which serves the elegantly named 'belly buster" desert which is brought to the table by cow girls clashing cymbals and blowing cow horns. Not quite a Volcano Surprise but you get the inspiration - I always go there with kids with an Avonesque look of disdain and end up grinning at their pure enjoyment!

And Hugbot - dry ice. Why didn't I think of that? So much more convincing than candles! By the way your Grand Grant story is wonderful.
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
He felt more dead than alive as he crawled from the pod. His wound had opened slightly and he felt bruised from head to toe; every movement bought with pain. Instinctively he pressed his bracelet.

"Zen....This is Blake. Report. How is my ship?" He waited anxiously for several seconds and then Zen's reassuring voice replied:

+The ship is damaged but it is within the capacity of the auto systems to repair it.+

"How long will it take?"

+Estimated completion is in 23.4 hours.+

"And the others? Are they safe?"

+No communication has been received from the crew.+

"Damn! Keep searching for them Zen. And get a fix on my location. As soon as the repairs are completed, bring the Liberator..."

The nearby eruption was violent and a jet of water rose from the ground some ten feet high, spraying stones in all directions. One hit Blake and he fell heavily, losing consciousness. When he came to his senses again his first thought was to reach shakily to test his bracelet. It was dead and he could see a hair-line crack on one of its panels. He could only hope that Zen had managed to get a fix on him before it broke. Blood was pulsing sluggishly from his eye. He tore a strip from his shirt and bound it across the wound and then pulled himself upright to look around, assessing his options.

He had landed in a rocky basin surrounded by tall cliffs, featureless except for several geyser cones, bulbous shaped and stained with red and a small building a little distance away - not a homestead, there were too many antennae on its roof. More like the communications centre they had blown up on Sauran Major. Similar terrain too: baked, terracotta earth, a russet sky.

Weakened from blood-loss, never-the-less, he knew he had to make it to the building. There would be water there and perhaps the means to contact Liberator. Painfully he made his way towards it, stumbling often, increasingly light headed but determined to survive.

When he reached the door of the complex, experience made him take out his gun and set it to maximum, thanking his stars it had survived his fall, but his first concrete sign of danger was a smell, sharp yet murky, like a methane swamp and he knew that the enemy had arrived before him. He was proceeding cautiously when a noise brought him rapidly to the entrance of a room with banks of computers where five people in white-coats, guns raised, were confronting five uniformed guards.

Giving himself no time to think, he burst into the room shouting,

"Drop your guns, all of you and get on the floor."

One of the security men shouted back, "Shoot them, shoot them now. They're aliens...shape shifters..." Immediately one of the white coats turned swiftly towards him, gun still raised.

It took a second to down him and his companions, a second to realise that they were turning into a pink mess not green, a second to realise his mistake, shoot again and then watch as the slaughtered guards buckled and dissolved to an emerald goo - a goo which heaved and burped and mingled with the pink goo that heaved and burped along side it.

A second to register what he had done and a life-time to regret it.
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
With thanks to Little Sue for the inspiration and Hugbot for the impetus.

On the occasions they shopped for things (as opposed to stealing them or just picking them up) Avon would pose as an Entertainments' Manager, or similar to conduct the transactions. It wasn't vanity - well not entirely. Even Dayna, (who still tended to view Avon through rose-coloured glasses) acknowledged that his predilection for black leather and his generally sneery demeanour meant that it was unlikely he'd get away with impersonating a clerk, or transport officer and it was even more unlikely that he'd agree to be either.

It was important that Avon's role playing aroused no suspicions- both for security reasons and because jewels were in short supply since they'd lost the Liberator so their commercial activities involved a swift transaction followed by a swifter departure, leaving the seller with a handful of faked credits. This was more easily achieved if he/she accepted Avon at face value and since Avon's acting skills were limited, he was only convincing if he was comfortable with the role, which for Avon involved assuming a grand identity. Wish fulfilment in Soolin's opinion. If the role combined grandeur and menace he was even happier - and more convincing: most suppliers treated to the 'Avon smile' couldn't get him out of their store fast enough.

Often the crew's shopping list was for small stuff they couldn't source on Xenon: wire, probes, blades. Sometimes they needed to replace larger items such as solar panels. Today however they were shopping for personal products. They had run out of toilet rolls, shampoo, wine and coffee some weeks ago and their attempts to concoct homemade versions had not been successful. None of them enjoyed using the shiny blue-print papers Dayna had cut up and hung in the latrines, Soolin was unimpressed by the soapwort lotion that Orac had suggested as a shampoo and Avon had become unpredictable when forced to imbibe Vila's elderflower and rubbing alcohol champagne and positively evil when he tasted the roast dandelion root substitute for his morning americano. A Tarsian Warg with toothache would probably have been a more congenial and less dangerous companion than an Avon deprived of coffee and fine wine.

So here they were on Waitrosia, Avon having vetoed the probably safer and definitely nearer Asdona on the grounds that its wine was vinegar and coffee, dishwater. He was posing as the owner of a string of Entertainment Palaces, with Soolin as his secretary/bodyguard, while Vila and Dayna had been sent off to purchase toiletries. Tarrant had already transported up fifty cases of Red wine, 5,000 rolls of softy toilet tissue and 60 vacuumed packets of Superior Blend Beans (reputedly harvested from the excrement of the poshtoff, a resident mammal) and Avon was in the process of adding a hamper of chocolate and another of blue cheese and Bath Oliver biscuits to their purchases when Vila and Dayna came bursting in, giggling furiously.

" Look," shouted Vila, "You're famous. You've got a shopping bag named after you." And he spun his trolley to reveal the name AVON.

Realisation dawned on the shopkeeper even as Avon pressed his bracelet and screamed, " Teleport Tarrant. Teleport now!"

He was not amused to learn that Slave, mistaking his hastily given order on their return to Scorpio to, "get rid of those", had jettisoned the hampers not the trolleys- nor in having his name associated with a shopping bag, with or without wheels, however useful Vila claimed it might be. It just wasn't grand enough!
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
Is my shopping trolley now going to have its own series???
It made me smile especially as tomorrow is the last day of my course and I think I'm on my way for a Gold Star!
...I've got an induction on Friday for a new job! Yay!! In Smyths toyshop, and if that doesn't work out, I've still Argos after me as well!!!!
...personally, I blame Hugbot Oops

He keeps giving us these ideas!
Cold.....you don't know the meaning of cold.
Cold is when you have ice on the INSIDE of the window!!!

sues stories http://sjlittle.w...
sues youtube channel http://www.youtub...e54/videos
sues book shelf https://www.media...ne%20Shelf
rebel run video http://www.youtub...prqS-XZtLo
Lara and Sue's Stories http://lectorisal....webs.com/
Okay, I've just finished my course and I feel like a bit of light relief...............

A Grand Finish

“A grand?”
“That’s what he said,” Vila replied to Blake’s query, “It’s a grand.”
“And what exactly does he mean by a grand?” Avon asked.
“Well, I don’t know…and neither does he. That’s why he contacted me. It’s packed up rather special and he thinks it’s something worth….investigating.”
“This friend of yours,” Jenna began.
“Well, not exactly a friend, as such.”
“All right, an acquaintance then,” she smiled, “he wouldn't happen to be a thief, would he?”
“Well…” Vila hesitated as Blake folded his arms and stared at him impassively.
“Well?” Cally prompted.
“All right, yes…he was, but now he works for a freight forwarding company and he…”
“Can get up close and personal to all manner of valuable cargo,” Avon smiled.
“Really?” Vila asked innocently, “I hadn’t thought about that…”

“Vila, me old son, how did you get here? I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”
“I’ll tell you later,” Vila said, “This is Conway, the best explosives man in the business.”
“Explosives?” Blake queried.
“Want anything blown up? I’m your man. Which is why I thought of Vila when it came to that!”
Conway pointed to the large packing case, "It’s temperature controlled; the works. Explosives would damage whatever is in it.”
“What is in it?” Vila asked, eyeing it up.
“Your guess is as good as mine. Here’s the manifest.”
Vila studied the paper and realised what the problem was.
“It’s for the Grand.”
“The Grand?” Blake asked.
“A rather elite establishment that you wouldn’t possibly know about,” Avon explained.
“Wouldn’t I?”
“No,” Avon smiled,” You wouldn’t.”
Conway, though, wasn’t deterred, “Aren’t you just a little bit inquisitive?”
Vila was already at work, his natural desire to sate his inquisitiveness overcoming him.
“Vila?” Cally admonished, “You can’t. That belongs to someone…”
“Indeed it does!” They all whirled at the sound of the voice, just as the packing case opened to reveal its contents.
The rather shocked owner of the voice was standing stock still, glaring at Vila and his unpacked secret.
He pointed an accusing finger, "Do you know that’s my Grand Piano?”
Vila lifted the lid to reveal several black and white keys. He interlocked his fingers and cracked his knuckles;
“You hum it and I’ll play it!”

With sincere apologies to the PG Tips Chimps!!!!!
Cold.....you don't know the meaning of cold.
Cold is when you have ice on the INSIDE of the window!!!

sues stories http://sjlittle.w...
sues youtube channel http://www.youtub...e54/videos
sues book shelf https://www.media...ne%20Shelf
rebel run video http://www.youtub...prqS-XZtLo
Lara and Sue's Stories http://lectorisal....webs.com/
Nice one Sue. You do great dialogue I can hear them all speaking! Do hope you have good luck with the job interviews. You'd be a great asset to any business.
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
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