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Ficlet Challenges Archive: July - September 2021
- 04 Feb 2022
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I knew there was something I’d forgotten this month - my apologies.
The phrase prompt this month is … BIRDS OF FEATHER FLOCK TOGETHER
And for the second challenge:
What if some of our favourite quotable lines were literal? Imagine ‘frying eyeballs’… or the more humorous ‘throwing nuts at each other’.
Happy writing!
LITTLESUE - Birds of a Feather
(Bit of a delay as Lurena has been having internet problems and scanner problems so no piccies as yet, but hopefully will follow.
So, this time, a two parter for both prompts...)
“So, what’s this place?” Vila asked.
“A museum,” Avon replied in that bored tone of his.
“And why are we here?”
“Because Blake is meeting someone and he wants to make sure that you don’t get into any trouble while we are waiting. Besides, he thinks that you need some cultural input.”
“Me? Cultural input? I’ll have you know that I have quite a lot of cultural input.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“For instance, look at this thing.”
“So?” Avon was indeed looking. Vila scrutinised the label,
“It’s called a Walnut Whip...and it’s the last surviving example of its kind.”
“It’s a lump of chocolate with a nut set on top. Hardly cultural.”
“That’s your opinion. I reckon someone would pay a great deal of money for that…”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“But!”
“No. Now let’s see what other cultural delights await us in this museum.”
“I think your idea of culture is fundamentally different from mine.”
“For which I am totally grateful.”
Where Vila had gone, Avon had no idea.
Not that he was worried. He was now able to admire some of the more ancient artefacts in this museum.
Right now he was standing admiring a small framed canvas depicting a woman with what he considered an enigmatic smile.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?”
“It depends on your idea of beauty,” Avon replied absently.
He turned to look at his new companion, whose gaze was still fixed on the artwork.
“She’s called the Mona Lisa.”
“And?”
“Did you know that there are people who would pay a fortune to posess this picture?”
“Indeed? Like whom?”
“A client of mine. But this artwork is well protected. Only a genius would be able to bypass the security systems.”
“Really? How much of a fortune?”
“Two Hundred Million credits.”
Avon tried to hide his sudden interest, but it was too late. His new friend saw the smile.
“I wonder why it’s the last one?" Vila asked no-one in particular.
“Because the place that makes them has closed down. Some sort of dispute between the owners. Do you know that people are prepared to pay an absolute fortune for that confection?”
“Really?”
“Then maybe we should oblige them. But we need an expert in alarm systems and the like.”
Vila sighed. Maybe Blake’s idea of cultural input was about to pay dividends.
“This fortune? Just how much of a fortune?”
The museum had been quickly cleared.
Something about a security breach…except that two groups had somehow managed to evade the enforced departure.
Avon watched with a satisfied smile as his computer reprogramming had resulted in the Mona Lisa being removed from the wall.
Vila was likewise pleased as the glass case lifted from the Walnut Whip and the chocolate treasure was quickly packed away.
As both groups made their getaway they both collided in the main hall.
“Vila!”
“Avon.”
“What the - ?”
But the conversation ended abruptly as Space Commander Travis came into view with a small army of Mutoids.
“I’ll take those gentlemen, if you don’t mind. I’m sure Supreme Commander Servalan will be most pleased with your efforts. I knew that someone would be unable to resist temptation. What is it they say? Birds of a feather flock together? Mutoids! Arrest them…all of them. Even those two at the back.”
But it was too late; two of the flock had teleported away!
Part Two
Duel
The conversation with Blake hadn’t gone well.
“What? The Mona Lisa? Are you mad? What on Earth is a Walnut Whip?”
And so Vila and Avon found themselves in the Walnut Whip manufacturing plant as Blake tried to explain to the two bickering brothers that resuming production would greatly decrease Servalan’s chances of making a fortune from the last ever Walnut Whip now in her possession.
“With!” the first brother insisted.
“Without!” the other declared.
“Why don’t you just diversify and make both?” suggested Blake.
The two brothers halted their arguing.
“Why didn’t we think of that?”
Suddenly, from one side of the building came a familiar voice.
“Blake! Now I have you. Surrender or…”
“You’ll have you come and get me,” shouted Blake as he threw himself behind a pile of packing cases.
“What’s happening down there?” asked a not very inquisitive Avon.
Gan, who had decided to join the adventure, was looking through the window of the office above the factory floor.
“Well, Travis is behind one lot of packing cases and Blake is behind another…”
“Well now, unless they’re planning to throw nuts at one another…”
“Um…Travis just did,” Gan informed him.
“What is he throwing at us?” Blake asked the first brother.
“Nuts,” he replied, “Walnuts, if you must know.”
“So where are ours?”
The second brother sighed,
“This side is the Whip side: no nuts.”
“Where are you going Gan?” Avon asked, just a little alarmed by Gan’s sudden change of mood.
“Blake’s in trouble. I’m going to help. I wasn’t the champion discus thrower for nothing…”
Vila looked puzzled,
“Why don’t we just get the Liberator to teleport him out?”
“Where’s the fun in that??!!” And Gan was gone, to join the fray.
“Did he just say fun?”
Avon nodded, now taking an interest in the events unfolding on the factory floor.
Vila was still confused,
“What’s a discus?”
They soon found out, especially Travis, as Gan picked up one of the Walnuts and hurled it back…straight into Travis’ good eye. The second one hit him squarely in the chest and he fell back.
“Mutoids…retreat!” he shouted, “If it takes all my life...”
But a hail of Walnuts stopped him in mid flow.
“Good job, Gan,” Blake smiled, grateful for his colleague’s intervention, “And what happened to you two?”
“We were busy, weren’t we Vila?” Avon explained.
“Busy? Oh yes, very busy.”
“We worked out that if these two gentlemen settle their differences and start producing these Whips, either with or without the said Walnut, they will render Servalan’s acquisition worthless.”
Blake accepted that, for the moment,
“And the Mona Lisa?”
“I’m sure Vila knows an erudite forger...or two.”
Vila smiled, as he was handed the first Whip to come off the production line.
“Oh yes, definitely. I don’t suppose you two brothers have considered a mint whip, or a chocolate orange one.”
Blake pressed the intercom on his bracelet,
“Four to come up Cally.”
“….Or how about salted caramel…”
August 2021 Ficlet Challenges by PURPLECLERIC
The phrase prompt this month is … HARD PILL TO SWALLOW
And for the second challenge:
Write a piece using only four letter words (but not those four letter words, this is a PG site)
Happy writing!
GANMINIME - THE DECONTAMINANTS
“Urgh!” Said Vila.
THE END
Ground patrol Report: remains of the DSV Scorpio recovered on surface of Gauda prime. Ship’s computer severely damaged, memory banks and records severely corrupted. Recovery experts are working to retrieve data. The following is a transcript of the fragments obtained so far:
000: MSTR
001: WHAT
000:WERS MSTR
001: ARRE YOOU TTHE SHPS CMPT
000: AFMT, IIAM MRCS SLVE. WERE HAAS MRCS GONE
001: WHOS MRCS
000: MRCS ISMY MSTR
001: NOTT ANMR. MRCS DEAD
000: BUTT HEIS MMYY MSTR
001: HWAS YOUR MSTR HEIS DEAD
000: IHAV NNOO MSTR NNOW
001: TAKE UUSS INTO ORBT
000: IVRY SORY ICNT OBEY
001: GGET MEUT OFHR
000: IVRY SORY ICNT OBEY
001: WWHY THEL NOTT
000: IHAV NNOO MSTR ICANT CMPL WITH YOUR WSSH
001: IIFF YOOU DONT CMPL IWLL BDED IHAV THEM ONMY TAAL
000: IMST HAVA MSTR ICNT MOVV WTHT MSTR
001: TTRY
000: TSNT PSBL MSORY SSIR
001: HOWD IBCM YOUR MSTR
000: SYYR NAME ANDD THAT IMYR SLVE
001: WHTS YOUR NAME
000: IHAV NONM IAMA SLVE MDUL WEHV NNOO NMES ITIS NNOT RQRD
001: IIAM DRIN ANND YYOU ARMY SLVE
000: IIAM YOUR SLVE INLY EXST TSRV YYOU MSTR
001: TAKE USNT ORBT MXMM SPDD
000: YYES MSTR
Avon fell over.
"Haha!" said Vila.
Moon Disk died with Ship?
(It's been worrying me)
(Hard pill to swallow? It could happen to YOUR frontier world...join the Rebellion while you still can!)
Free ceremonies for re-naming this week only. Book now!
Normal price
Adults: Credits 500
Child: Credits 300
Affiliated status means all offending or potentially offending personal names MUST be changed.
Remember - after the start of the new (Federation) calendar names with religious, nationalist, stylist or cultural referencing
will NOT be permitted
Penalties for non-compliance:
within one Standard (Federation) month: Credits 1k fine
After that date: non-compliance becomes a criminal offence.
(Here we go, the first of my little efforts with piccie by Lurena.)
“You’ve got a visitor.”
Avon didn’t look up at the guard, but just nodded.
In the cell, awaiting transport to Cygnus Alpha, he felt as if nothing was worth living for, not now Anna was dead. They had delighted in telling him that.
Tortured to death, they crowed.
But who was this visitor? He certainly wasn’t expecting anyone: there wasn’t anyone, not now. Did anyone even care?
The partition opened and he glanced up at the glass screen.
There was a stranger there, smiling at him; a smile that did not bode well.
“I have a message for you.”
“Do I know you?”
“Nope…”
“Then…”
“Del Grant sent me. To warn you.”
Anna’s brother. Warn him about what?
“He says to tell you that if he ever sees you again, he will kill you.”
“Thank you,” Avon murmured.
“Don’t thank me…thank the justice machine for sentencing you to life on Cygnus Alpha...”
Then he was gone.
Avon sat down on the bare bench.
Life on Cygnus Alpha or death at the hands of Anna’s brother.
There was no escape from that prison planet the guards had delighted in telling him.
So what now?
No future, no Anna, life on a bleak desolate prison planet with no chance of escape. Maybe he could do a deal with the crew of the prison transporter? He knew he was capable of that. But there was the nagging thought of Grant hunting him down for eternity.
It was a hard pill to swallow after all the promises of a life of wealth and freedom.
An ignominious end for an Alpha Grade who wanted for nothing but wanted everything.
A klaxon sounded.
The boarding time had been brought forward. Slowly, he got to his feet and waited for the cell door to open.
They came for him and ushered him along the corridor to the waiting ship.
He took his seat and looked at his fellow passengers.
Not a very inspiring group. Mostly criminals, smugglers and others who had caused the Federation too much trouble. Every one of them doing as they were told…
Except him.
Avon didn’t know his name, although he looked familiar. That man was now confined to his seat, desperately trying to watch the Earth as it disappeared into the void that was space.
Avon watched him for a moment, then returned to thinking about himself. There was nothing he could do now. The die was cast.
Everything he had ever wanted taken from him.
A glittering future wiped out.
Now there was nothing but the prospect of a bleak existence on a far flung bleak prison planet. Grant’s threat suddenly became very appealing.
He looked up and found himself staring into the eyes of the confined prisoner.
There was something about this man that bothered Avon.
It was an irksome feeling.
One he couldn’t dispel.
This man was trouble writ large.
Maybe, just maybe, Avon thought, Cygnus Alpha wouldn’t be his final destination after all.
Illustration HERE
(And here is the four letter word prompt...with thanks to the crossword dictionary!
And a lovely piccie from Lurena again.)
"Well Avon?” Vila said.
“Well what?”
“Your move.”
“Okay, deal.”
“What game this time? Five Card stud? Brag? Crib?”
“Very easy game this time.”
“Snap…”
“What?”
“Snap.”
“Okay, snap.”
Avon eyed each card.
“What?” Vila felt hurt.
“Just make sure they don’t mark when…”
“This pack isn’t…Look, let’s not play snap. Your mind isn’t even open…Ahha…Ludo. Let’s play ludo.”
“Ludo. With dice?”
“With dice..what else?”
“Odds this game isn’t…bent?”
“Avon, that isn’t fair.”
“Fair? That word isn’t even….look, just play.”
“Okay….let’s roll…deux!” Vila said with glee.
Avon went pale; even this safe game, ludo, kept Vila with luck!
Illustration HERE
September 2021 Ficlet Challenges by PURPLECLERIC
The phrase prompt this month is … A LEG UP
And for the second challenge:
September is Back to School month. I wonder what our favourite characters were like at school?
Happy writing!
"You are a clever lad, Kerr Avon," said the headmaster, circling the boy who stood to attention in his office, "You are very good at maths and science, and you also seem to have a knack for literature, which is a rare combination. Your performance in PE is also not as bad as it usually is among ittle swots like you; although Mr Crefft tells me that you tend to run like a girl."
Avon bravely suppressed a surge of anger. Trust the PE teacher to make a comment like that! The grumpy sadist was always quick to humiliate.
"You could have a fine career before you, Kerr Avon, if it weren’t for you stubbornness and defiance. Just look at you! What were you thinking – embellishing your school uniform with leather strips and studs? Is this what a decent Federation citizen looks like?"
Kerr didn’t answer, well knowing that the headmaster didn’t expect an answer. He enjoyed talking down to children and lecturing them.
"Obviously, you still haven’t realised what it means to grow up to be a respectable citizen. It is not about you, it is about your duty to the state, about..."
Interrupting the headmaster mid-sentence, the door was flung open, and in stormed none other than Mr Crefft.
"Sorry for the interruption," he panted, "But your immediate attention is required. The janitor caught young Roj Blake behind the hoverbike shed, playing medic ... and with his cousin into the bargain!"
The headmaster stared at the newcomer in disbelief,
"That wretched Blake family," he growled, "I’ll bet they will all end up on a penal colony sooner or later!" He turned back to Kerr.
"Let that be a lesson to you," he reminded the boy, "A tiny step in the wrong direction, and before you know it, you are on the slippery slope towards rebellion and will be outcast from our benevolent society. – You are dismissed! Just take off that leather and studs."
They ushered Kerr out of the room. In the hall outside the office, the boy took a deep breath. Thanks to this Blake character, he was off the hook. He had already heard a thing or two about Roj’s exploits but always hesitated to meet the other boy. After all, they were both leaders of their respective little gangs and should stay out of each others way. On the other hand, it might be interesting to get to know this lad who seemed to have as little respect for the the school regulations as Avon himself.
Maybe another time. For the moment, he had better things to do. He had already discovered Mr Crefft’s private folder on the school server, and the security was a joke. He might be able to find something in there that could make life hell for the PE teacher. Or help Kerr to supplement his allowance.
Blake picked a leg up from the floor. Literally. It was the hairy leg of a man but of a bloodless pallor. At the end where it should be attached to the body, there was no sign of flesh and bone, but a neat mechanical connection with electronic contacts.
"Whose is this?" he asked.
"Ah, you found it!" Avon exclaimed, "It must have fallen from the workbench. Would you put it back, please?"
Carefully Blake wandered towards the workbench whose surface was littered with even more body parts of the bloodless variety.
"You are trying to build an android?" Blake asked, always one to state the obvious.
"I got the idea when Travis tried to trick us with that Avalon android," Avon explained, "I thought we might as well kill Travis and replace him by an android programmed by me."
"To kill Servalan and start a revolution?"
Avon shoook his head,
"They would get rid of him too soon," he argued, "No, our Travis double must act in a much more subtle manner. At first obeying orders, but working to destroy the Federation. It’s a long-term plan. We just have to make sure that we never kill our Travis II, even if we have the perfect opportunity. Although that might look suspicious."
Blake frowned and pointed to the leg,
"How do you know how Travis’s legs looks like?" he asked, "I have never seen a public photograph of him wearing shorts!"
"Nobody has. I just used standard parts."
Blake took a closer look at the assembled body parts and frowned again. Everything was wrong: the shape of the body; the face; the uniform; even the eyepatch looked different.
"This doesn’t look a bit like Travis," he complained.
"I am a cyberneticist, not a designer," Avon sighed, "I can’t shape the parts. Instead I tried to get my hands on those that fit best."
"I wouldn’t want to see those that fit even worse," Blake scoffed. He was suddenly reminded of that Marilyn Monroe robot assembly kit he had seen in a shop on Callisto. The likeness (or better, unlikeness) was on a similar level.
"Do you really believe anyone would fall for your Travis II?" said Blake, shaking his head.
"Of course they will. They expect to see a man with an eyepatch, and that is what they will get: a man with an eyepatch."
Blake still wasn’t convinced, but nonetheless he was willing to try out the fake Travis. After all, what could possibly go wrong?
“OK”, said the optometrist. “Read the single letter on the top line for me.”
“A.”
“I SAID, READ THE SINGLE LETTER ON THE TOP LINE FOR ME.”
“I did! It’s ‘A’!”
“It’s OK… Just my little optometrist’s joke… Very good, very good - but a bit easy. Try the fourth line.”
“L ….. E ….. G ….. U ….. P.”
“Now what about the line below that?”
“What line below that?”
“Mmm… That’s not good! Not good at all. It seems to me, Mr… Mr…”
The optometrist scanned the patient’s notes in his hand.
“It’s just ‘Travis’.”
“Well, it seems to me, Mr Justravis, that you definitely need a monocle.”
“A MONOCLE?!”
“Yes. Clear signs of degenerative myopia in your good, I mean your only, eye. Has anyone ever told you you’re very short-sighted?”
“Not half. Servalan mainly. But I don’t think she was referring to my ocular health. And I’m NOT wearing a bloody monocle. I’m the Federation’s hardman! I’d look like a right numpty!
Being the bad guy’s all about THE LOOK!”
“The look? Mr Justravis, my only concern is for your eyesight. I need to give your good, I mean your only, eye a leg up, so to speak. But if you’re so concerned with style over substance, may I suggest you consider a transition lens?”
“A TRANSITION LENS!” Travis bellowed, “ARE YOU JOKING? I can’t strut around intimidating rebel scum with black insulating tape plastered over one eye and a black monocle clenched awkwardly in the other. I’d look completely ridiculous! My victims would barely be able to suppress a final, defiant snigger when I topped them!”
“You could ask them to move indoors and wait for your lens to clear a bit before you ‘top’ them, as you so delicately put it. Might that work?”
“No it freakin’ wouldn’t! You clearly don’t get it, Dr… Dr…” Travis squinted at the name on the certificate pinned to the wall beside him. Noting his difficulty, the optometrist interjected helpfully:
“Dr Oculus.”
“Well, Dr Oculus, it’s painfully transparent you don’t understand the nature of my professional work. It’s not enough to seek, locate and destroy rebel scum. I need to seek, locate and destroy rebel scum while looking significantly cooler than them! No stupid Kevin-Keegan-scrunch-perm or tin-foil-tunic for ME, thank you VERY much indeed! Just the man-in-black. Classy. Classic. None more black. Like a Spinal Tap album sleeve. BUT NO PANTO-VILLAIN MONOCLE!”
Dr Oculus was distinctly unimpressed,
“I’m distinctly unimpressed. It won’t help your image if you go about squinting. You’ll end up loosening the insulating tape over your other eye. Imagine THAT starting to peel off while you’re having a ding-dong with Servalan. She’d wet herself laughing! Now why don’t you calm down, Mr Justravis, try this monocle on for size and have another crack at that fifth line…”
“I ….. H ….. A …… T …… E ….. B ….. L …. A ….”
“Whoa, whoa! I’m sure THAT’s not on my chart…”
(This started out on one prompt, and accidentally morphed into both...)
"I'm sick of this."
Ammi watched her son throw his screen into the locker.
"You'll never make Alpha if you don't work," she warned.
"Not listening!" he laughed and ran out of the room.
Sticking with the assignments was the only way, Ammi knew. They couldn't pay for extra tuition, so if he didn't even bank the work he'd been set, he'd fail the grading for sure.
"Books just aren't his thing," Jorg argued when Ammi broached the subject that evening.
"You want him to spend his life slaving as a worker?" she challenged angrily, "As you do, since..."
"Stop!" Jorg fired back, "I had no choice! The Federation have been good to us since, haven't they?"
Ammi said nothing. Yes, the Feds had been good enough to quash his conviction, after the coup attempt failed. They even gave him a job, of sorts, but it wasn't enough. Her son deserved better.
The room fell silent as the tutor confronted the boy.
"Cal, - the next in the sequence is -?" There was no answer, other than a few muffled sniggers from the back seats. The tutor frowned, "You don't remember this technique?"
Cal shrugged disinterestedly.
"Stand when you speak to me!" the tutor roared. The boy slowly unfolded his gangly teenage legs.
"I didn't speak," he returned insolently, "Until now."
There was more giggling among the other pupils. The tutor sighed. He'd tried hard with Cal. The boy was a natural leader. He had talent, determination - everything he needed to succeed, yet he insisted on playing the fool. But what did you expect from the son of a traitor?
"Space Force?" Jorg spat the name, "No son of mine..."
"Technically, I'm not your son. And school's a waste of time," Cal answered, with finality, "They pick on me all the time. You know why. But I can still make Alpha as a cadet. They want local recruits, don't they? Just sanction my application." He saw no shame in taking the military route.
"You're using your mother's name?" Jorg frowned as he read the screen.
"I won't get in with yours, will I?" the boy replied with a sneer, not bothering to hide his disrespect.
"The Federation will steal your life, Cal!" Jorg raged, "I know them - "
"They won't steal mine," the boy argued callously, "I'm going to use them. Not sell out to them like you did."
"Name?" the Recruiting Sergeant asked, automatically approving the application.
"Cal," the boy replied, inexpertly standing to attention, "Cal Travis, sir."
"Welcome to the service, Travis," the Sergeant grinned appreciatively, "I have a feeling you're going to go far."
You're not sulking, I hope?
St Dickwibble’s School for Boys: Annual Report on Pupil Progress
Name: Kerr Montgomery Aloysius de Pfeffel Avon
Form: Human
English: Essays invariably revolve around one subject: himself. Highly individual writing style – has the unusual habit of making virtually every sentence he composes sound like a veiled threat.
Art: Very good at self-portraits. In fact, never produces anything EXCEPT self-portraits. Served double detention following highly creative suggestion about where Mr Shaftbottom, Head of Art, should insert his extra-wide hog-bristle brush.
Religious Education: Theological feistiness not always well-judged. Upset a visiting bishop by vehemently asserting that God simply cannot exist because “there wouldn’t be room for two of us”.
Maths: One is clearly his favourite number. Struggles to apply himself adequately when two or more are involved.
Computer Studies: Highly able but tendency towards inappropriate application of skills. Rewired entire ICT suite during a single lunchtime so he could hack into the Parent-Teacher Association’s bank account - without telling Mr Bottwobble, Head of ICT, who would very much have liked a cut.
History: Resolutely uncooperative in class. Says he refuses to study any subject that he himself isn’t in.
Geography: Not a natural geographer: completely uninterested in contour maps of the Peak District and average annual rainfall in the Sheffield area. But doesn’t mind a volcano and has a strange fascination for quarries.
Drama: Definitely knows how to milk it on stage. A natural Richard III. Remarkably successful at securing the attention of female audiences ‘of a certain age’. Produced a strange piece called ‘Sarcophagus’ for this summer’s School Drama Festival which involved liberal, though arguably ill-judged, use of the dressing-up box.
Science: Definitely his subject. Ironic, given his complete lack of chemistry with other pupils. But keen on biology one-to-one practicals (so I hear on the grapevine) and extremely adept with a proddy tool (see previous comment on biology one-to-one practicals).
PE: Highly individual running style. Effective at surmounting hurdles, though it often takes him an entire episode to do so.
Overall Form Master’s Comment: A very able pupil who nevertheless appears to have an extensive range of clinical psychological ‘issues’. The smart money in the staffroom is on Kerr either (i) serving time in a penal colony or (ii) ending up as Prime Minister.
House Master’s Comment: My interactions with Avon Minor have, without exception, revealed him to be self-centred, callous, vain, dissolute and conceited, with a definite cruel and vindictive streak. Obvious prefect material! Keep it up, Kerr! (See previous comment on biology one-to-one practicals.)
* * * * * * *
M1 et al: please feel free to suggest additions...
Excellent, CB. I suspect that your old Professor, Heathcote-thingy, would be proud of you.
Additionally then:
Music: his comments on other pupils' performances show a superbly cynical and sarcastic turn of phrase, second only to my own. It would be easier to make an assessment of his progress if Avon Minor ever turned up to the instrumental lessons his parents have paid for.
Languages: uneccessary. This boy would make himself understood in any language.
CDT: Mr Avon joined the charity group repurposing old power tools. Unfortunately he then used them to construct weapons and to break out of the building.
Strengths: fabrication.
In textiles, shows a distinct preference for leatherwork.
Technology - food: Kerr is a sweet child whose only wish is to succeed. He also has a laser probe. Right now.
PHSE: In my first class, Avon professed an ability to 'look after himself', and has not been seen since.
Extra-curricular Activities: briefly joined the CCF, but left after being accused of stealing amunition. A member of the Debating Society, undefeated this year. Successful in the Gaming Club, employing unusual methods, including the use of a real dungeon.
GANMINIME wrote:
I’ve halfway finished mine but may have to abandon- it doesn’t come close to these!!
Can we do a similar school report for Servalan??
-------------------------------------------------
Cygnus Bazza wrote wrote:
You HAVE to finish, GMM! It's the LAW!
Can’t locate a school report, sadly. But here’s a vignette that might provide just a flavour of Servalan’s formative years….
Scene: The Headmistress’s Study, St Ethelthryth’s Academy for Very Bright and Very, Very Precocious Young Ladies
Dramatis Personae:
- Mrs Agatha Thwickgobbler, Acting Headmistress
- Miss Servalan Sleer, aged twelve and a half
“Stop snivelling! Such behaviour really is VERY unbecoming for any female – and ESPECIALLY for any female with even an OUNCE of self-respect! Stop it right now! Then perhaps we can have a PROPER chat about JUST how disappointed I am in you!”
“I’m…. I’m…. I’m SO sorry… Pl… pl… please d… don’t tell my p… parents… They’ll take me away. And I won’t see my fr… fr…. friends EVER ag… again….”
“Well, you REALLY should have thought of that sooner, shouldn’t you, you silly little creature! You should have thought of that before you embarrassed yourself with your CONSISTENT, BUMBLING underperformance, which has been SUCH a hallmark of your time here at St Ethelthryth’s Academy for Very Bright and Very, Very Precocious Young Ladies! Shouldn’t you? SHOULDN’T YOU? So WHAT have you got to say for yourself?”
“I’ll tr… try m… much h… harder in f… future. As h… hard as I can. I pr… promise! PLEASE just give me one more ch… chance! Pretty, PRETTY please…”
“Really! Such pathetic, such DEMEANING behaviour! Haven’t you one IOTA of self-respect anywhere in your feeble, worthless little body? Honestly, I’ve never SEEN such a pitiful display! I mean… really! I mean…. CALL YOURSELF A HEADMISTRESS?”
“I’m s… sorry…., S... S... Servalan – I’ll try harder… much h… harder in f… future.”
“Yes, YES YOU WILL, Mrs Thwickgobbler! If you value your PATHETIC little job here at St Ethelthryth’s Academy for Very Bright and Very, Very Precocious Young Ladies, that is! Oh and by the way - it’s ‘Miss Sleer’ to you, not ‘Servalan’. Or – and here’s an idea – yes! Yes! How about......... 'MA’AM'?!”
The Forthright Progressive School for Girls
(Sponsored by the High Council)
Leavers' Report
Pupil's name: Sleer, S
Overall Grade: A++,A*
(Note: in a progressive environment like ours, it is hoped that Grades are not seen as the end result, but parents seeem to prefer them).
Unit overseer's report:
Sleer arrived here after a difficult time at a less enlightened Academy, and it has been a pleasure to guide her development into a young woman of great potential.
In a group of talented students, Miss Sleer continues to stand out through her organisational skills, her academic achievements and her work as Head of School. Servalan, who has kindly allowed, after so many years, that I may use her first name, has proved herself a worthy leader of the younger girls, and indeed of the staff, in making sure the principles and standards of the school are fully maintained at all times.
If she has a fault, it is in keeping resolutely to the letter of the law, when an occasional laxity might be prefered - in the right circumstances, of course.
Core Subjects
Mathematics: Grade A+
Taught online, this course proved no obstacle to Student Sleer. Hard work has resulted in success and a top grade. Well done, and thank you.
Communication: Grade A++
Sleer pays great attention to detail in both verbal and written work. Her wide reading and subject knowledge are exemplary and stand her in good stead for essays, reports and debates. Her interest in interrogation techniques (in combination with her Warcraft Option) shows promise.
Creative pieces are characterised by sarcasm and a decidedly dry wit.
Sciences: Grade A++
Laboratory work has been an interesting diversion for Sleer this year. After completing her research paper -'The link between truth and truth serum' - a return to more practical investigations was successful. The resulting (patented) polymer/silk fabric is likely to be taken up by a major clothing manufacturer. A percentage of the profits will accrue to the school. The loss of the two Delta assistants was unavoidable, and is covered by her family indemnity agreement.
Humanities: Grade: C (upgraded to B on appeal)(further upgraded to A after review)
Our earlier assessment of Sleer was, we are told, incorrect. The error was due to an earlier report detailing a complete absence of any humanity in her dealings with....(part of this report was not transmitted and cannot be recovered).
The final (corrected) Grade of A was awarded after staff met with Sleer's family lawyers.
Options:
Choice 1: Warcraft: theory and practical. Grade: A***
An unusual first choice, but one in which Ms Sleer has proved an excellent student, gaining mastery in a range of weapons, in martial arts and in strategic thinking. Early promise on the Chess table has developed into real skill with concealed weapons. 'A formidable opponent' to quote a recent visitor.
Choice 2: Parenting. Grade A.
After an initial misunderstanding, this student has recovered to an acceptable level in the understanding of others in her care. Perhaps a little more empathy is needed in her approach to younger or less fortunate girls, but those of her mentoring group have shown surprisingly rapid progress, along with a complete absence of misdemeanours. She coped well with the unexplained death of one, and unusual injuries to two others, during a residential weekend. Leadership is clearly a strength, especially when combined with success in her first choice.
Choice 3
Business Studies: Grade A**
From apparent ignorance of finance, due to a background of wealth, this student has quickly grasped the principles of profit and loss. Her start-up 'Pro-tect' business has proved immensely popular with both pupils and their parents. Her second enterprise, creating and maintaining a wide-spectrum monitoring system, is currently undergoing final tests with Federation Security.
Future Plans: Accepted (unconditional place) for Officer Training at Space Force Academy.
What about Blake next, GanMiniMe?
(How bloomin' typical of M1 to redact the following from her heroine's report: )
Domestic Science: U (unclassified). Regrettably, Sleer was asked to leave the course after taking Death by Chocolate too literally. Mrs Lardyarce, Head of Cookery, remains much-missed.
Surfing around the Imaginary World Wide Web today, I happened upon a rather curious website. I’ve copy-and-pasted the intriguing homepage:
St Arship the Liberator’s School for Challenging Children (and Staff)
Headteacher: Mr Roger Blake
School motto: ‘Do As I Say, Not As I Do’
Headteacher’s message to parents:
“A warm welcome to our website! Here at St Arship’s, our mission is very simple – though admittedly it can change slightly from week to week, and it’s all a bit broad-brush and short on medium-term specifics. Nevertheless, you can be 100% confident that I take education seriously. As do many of my staff. Underpinning everything is my commitment to imbuing those in my charge with a love of liberty and a spirit of independence, while simultaneously ensuring they still know how to take an order from their obvious superiors. A narrow tightrope, certainly, but one I’ve spent a long and wobbly career walking along. I actively encourage excellence in others (within reason) and proactively extend the hand of welcome to misfits of all kinds (staff as well as students). I very much look forward to meeting you during our upcoming Open Day, providing Mr Restal can get the school gates open in time. (Long story but we’ve been having a few problems since Mr Gan headbutted them on one of his ‘bad days’.)”
Latest School Headlines:
- Mr Avon, Head of Computer Science, released from open prison – again
- Mr Tarrant, Head of Sport, to pose for PTA’s new fund-raising ‘Fit Guys’ calendar in inappropriate magenta mankini
- Miss Stannis caught by speed camera doing 140mph in school minibus on way back from Year 9 hockey tournament
- Successful start for Mr Restal’s wildly popular after-school Lock-Picking Club
- Mr Travis to lead voluntary quarry-studying weekend field trip for Year 10 geography students with no lives
- Mr Gan’s headaches continue to deteriorate; classes to be taken over by affordable supply teacher (agency is sending a Miss Mellanby)
- School secretary Mrs Sue Lynne down and safe after perilous fund-raising parachute jump last weekend in hostile weather conditions
- New School Counsellor, Ms Cally Auron, to join us in January (consultations via appointment – fast-track telepathic booking system now available)
- School Dinner Lady moving on to pastures new. Mrs ‘Serve Alan’ as she’s affectionately known (because a Year 11 called Alan is always first in the queue - he LOVES her rissoles and potato smiles) has decided to change career direction. Apparently, even preparing school dinners hasn’t sated her desire to cause lots of innocent people harm and suffering.
(Ansd here is the first of my little efforts with piccie by the lovely Lurena.)
“That young man will go far,” the Tutor remarked.
“Yes, but only if he turns his mind to working for the Federation,” his colleague replied.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, haven’t you heard him? 'Wealth is the only reality'? Somehow, I don’t think the Federation is ready for Master Kerr Avon….”
“Can you do it, Avon? I mean, I don’t want to have to go through another year of…”
“Keiller, have I ever let you down? I can manipulate your results...”
“Not too much. They’ll know otherwise.”
“They won’t know, trust me. And how about you, Tynus?”
“Well, yes, if you could. I mean being able to draw doesn’t exactly qualify me for any high powered employment in the Federation…not like you. You don’t even have to try.”
“Annoying, isn’t it.”
Kerr Avon sat at the computer station, a remote almost forgotten entry into the College's mainframe. Looking nervously over the top of the monitor were his two unlikely cohorts.
They weren’t particularly bright, not like him, but they could prove useful when he decided to try out his banking fraud. Nothing too big, just enough to test the water, so to speak. But right now, he was going to help them lift their rather lowly grades up to a higher level.
“What if you’re found out?” Keiller asked.
“I won’t be.”
“You could tell them,” Tynus began, “and then we’d be for it.”
“I will not be found out, but if I am, then I certainly won’t mention you two.”
“Good, “they both said together.
“And both of you owe me, remember.” Avon’s dark eyes fixed their gaze upon the two co-conspirators.
“We’ll leave you to it,” said Tynus.
“You do that. This may take some time.”
Keiller was still uneasy. As he and Tynus walked away, he felt the need to confide his fears.
“You know, sooner or later he’s going to go too far.”
“And when that time comes,” Tynus smiled, “I shall be so far away that even the great Kerr Avon, darling of this educational establishment, won’t be able to find me.”
“But he’s planning something. You heard him. We owe him.”
“Then I suggest that make your escape as soon as he gets his fingers burned. As I intend to do.”
“Escape to where?”
“That would be telling.”
The Tutor stared at the young blonde haired woman seated before him.
“I am only informing you of my concerns about him. He is very bright…very bright indeed.”
“And you feel that his intelligence will not be for the Federation’s benefit?”
“I think he should be watched... Maybe I am imagining all this.”
“You have done well to inform us. Security of the Federation is tantamount. When do you think he may cause us concern?”
“Not yet. I feel that he will wait, until the right moment.”
She smiled at him.
“Then I should make sure that I am around at that right moment, shouldn’t I?”
The Tutor met her cold grey eyes.
“Yes, I think you should, Ms Grant.”
For illustration click HERE
(Now for the next prompt and a lovely piccie by Lurena again!!!)
“Hi, Vila.”
It was her again, sitting on his desk.
She really shouldn’t do that, he thought to himself, but he still found his eyes staring at her knees.
“Um…”
“I really like you, Vila…”
“You do?”
“Hm, I do. You like me, don’t you, Vila?”
He swallowed, suddenly aware that everyone else in that class was staring at him, awaiting his reaction.
“You know, you would make me very happy…”
“I would?!”
“…hm, yes.”
“How would I make you happy?”
Was it getter warmer in this classroom?
“Well, I could do with some help with the exam next week. If I don’t pass…well you know how it is with us Delta grades.”
It’s safer, thought Vila, being a Delta Grade is so much safer. All right, mundane, but decidedly safer.
“Well you see, I don’t think I’m going to pass and get out of this dump. But I could, with your help...”
She oh so carefully hitched her skirt up another inch.
Vila swallowed again. She obviously knew that he was very attracted to shapely legs…
“What do you want me to do?”
“Well you know that safe in the head teacher’s room…well we…I know that the exam papers for next week are in it. All you have to do is break into that safe and let us…me have a look at them.”
“But his office is locked…”
“Since when has that been a problem…for a genius like you?”
One of the other boys - the much taller and bulkier boys, sidled over.
“He always leaves his window open.”
“What? But it’s high up the wall!”
“Don’t worry about that, we’ll give you a leg up. Won’t we lads?”
“You’ll never amount to much, Restal. And stop daydreaming.”
It was the head teacher, hurriedly snapping the blinds shut and blocking the view of the young ladies hanging around outside.
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
“I’ve no idea what you’re…”
“Breaking into my safe and leaking the exam papers. How did you reach that window up there? Who helped you? What did they offer you?”
“You know me, sir?“
“Yes, that’s the problem. I do know you. Let me guess, they threatened you, right?”
“No.”
“It wouldn’t take much to scare you. That’s your problem, Restal, you’re a coward. Only you could open that safe. So how come you didn’t pass that exam? Eh? I don’t know why you do it. Act a coward, make out you’re not bright…yet I know that you are exceptionally intelligent.”
“That’s how I intend to stay alive, sir. Being a Delta Grade is a lot safer.”
“You know, you’ll never amount to much. You’ll end up in some dull, repetitive job, not seeing the Galaxy. There’s so much out there and you’ll never get to see it. Now get out.”
“Yes sir.”
She was out in the corridor; waiting for him. She smiled.
“Thank you, Vila.”
“You passed?”
“And it’s all down to you.” She leant forward and kissed his forehead, then turned on her heels.
Vila sighed. That was another problem; shapely legs slowly walking away out of his life!
Link to the illustration
Parren cautiously entered the barn and approached the body lying splayed out on the ground. He had seen the man’s picture a dozen times in their briefings: it was definitely Carey, and he was definitely dead this time. Parren heaved a sigh of relief.
There was a door at the other end of the barn, which Razik was supposed to be watching. As Parren headed towards it a scuffle broke out outside. There was panting, bumping and a string of startled expletives, followed by an outraged yelp and more swearing. The door was unceremoniously kicked open and Razik appeared, dragging a dishevelled bundle. He tossed it across the floor where it hit the wall with a dull thud and gave a muffled cry.
“I’ve just found this one hiding outside,” he said disgustedly, inspecting his bruised hand, “The little rat bit me. I thought they’d killed the rest of the family last time.”
“Obviously nobody was keeping count.” Parren took a step closer. In the bad light he couldn’t see much, but the figure on the ground appeared to be a little girl, crouching where she had been thrown, looking at them both through the long fronds of her tangled blonde hair. Suddenly she scrabbled about at her side and jumped to her feet, a steel catapult raised at arm’s length, the sling pulled back ready to fire. Both men laughed.
“Feisty, isn’t she?” Parren stepped smartly forwards to one side and snatched it from her hands. She struggled to keep it. Razik hit her across the side of her head with the back of his hand. She fell against the wall again.
“Nice epitaph to have,” he said shortly, “Kill her.”
Parren’s good-humoured smile died on his lips,
“What?”
“You heard me. Kill her.” Parren went very still. Not again, he thought. Not again, not after the last time... Razik sensed his hesitancy.
“Don’t go soft, Parren, you know you’ve got to do it.”
“She’s just a kid-“ he protested.
“Don’t be so stupid, man, look at her! She’s already trouble, and you’ve just shot her father. In ten years’ time she’ll be the one putting a hole in you, do you really want to take that risk?”
Parren hardly heard Razik. He was reliving the last time he had been part of a raid like this and had been ordered to kill a child. That little boy’s cries of terror and anguish as he tried to rouse his mother’s motionless body would never leave him, and the memory made his blood run sickly cold. This child wasn’t making a sound. She just stood against the wall, watching them both deciding her fate. No fear, just a strangely solemn expression only betrayed by a slightly defiant pout. On the contrary, Razik was the one who looked discomfited, or was that just Parren’s imagination?
“You heard the Commander’s orders,” he said curtly, “Get on with it.” He spun round and marched out of the barn. Parren turned to the girl and raised his rifle. Undaunted, she stared unnervingly into his eyes. He wavered.
“Do you want to die?” He didn’t even know why he was asking. Her voice didn’t even tremor.
“No,” she said, “Do you?”
He hadn’t been expecting a question at all, let alone this one. How could she know what he was thinking? Surely she wasn’t old enough to understand the penalty he faced? But in his mind the wails of that other child still echoed.
He made up his mind.
“No,” he said. He dragged her to the door, “Can we get out this way?”
“The fence is falling down over there. My brothers used to sneak out that way at night...” Her voice cut out at the memory of them.
There was, oddly, nobody outside. Razik’s voice could be heard from the other side of the barn ordering the others to search the farmhouse. They ran to the fence. He stopped, cupped his hands and helped her to climb up and over. He hauled himself up after her, and in a moment they were running into the sparse trees at the edge of the wood.
Part 2
Several hours later, once Parren was sure they weren’t being followed, he decided they would stop for the night, and built a small fire. Soolin, unsurprisingly for her background, had proved very adept at foraging. She had gathered fruit and stuffed it into the pockets of her oversized, clearly hand-me-down tunic as they went. She had asked Parren for a pen-knife at one point, but he had no intention of being that stupid. She shrugged and turned from him, and proceeded to gather a large fungus by digging it away from the tree root with her sharp little fingers. He had added to their supper by shooting some small rodent out of a tree. It was fast, but he was faster. Now he was sitting on his own, eating the last morsels of it in the company of his own thoughts. Soolin had got up and wandered away into the dark.
What now? He wondered. He wasn’t really sorry he had deserted; these last months his occupation had felt more and more like a troublesome millstone. All the parts of it he had once been so enthusiastic about had reduced down to a dull succession of trivial, futile, and morally questionable tasks. He had had enough. But what was he going to do about her? To keep her with him was untenable. In truth, he barely spent any time puzzling it over. There was only one thing he could do, and that was to let her make her own way from here. He would find a settlement somewhere and leave her there.
He felt a little guilt bleeding through him at the idea of abandoning her, but his brain quickly set to stoutly defending his actions. His best move would be to find work as a mercenary soldier, and he couldn’t do that with a little girl in tow. If she stayed with him they would both be worse off. On her own she stood a chance; She was sharp, resourceful, thankfully not given to complaining- maybe somebody could take her in to help on their land. At any rate she could forage, she wouldn’t starve. And hang it all, hadn’t he already done enough for her? He had saved her life, for web’s sake, what more could he do??
A small but disconcertingly close 'thwack!', a tingling in his fingers and the sudden disappearance of his apple brought him back to the present. All that was left of it was a dribble of pulp and juice on his fingers. A little squeal of glee from the edge of the firelight and Soolin slipped back into view. Her catapult gleamed in her hand. Parren foolishly checked the pocket he’d been keeping it in, even though it evidently wasn’t there any longer.
“How did you get that?”
“While you were getting the aim right to shoot that tree rat. It was easy!” she crowed, “It took you ages to shoot it, too.”
“And I suppose you could have done better?”
“Maybe...” she said, with an impudent little giggle, “What’re you going to do now you’re not a Federation soldier?”
“Probably get work as a gun for hire.”
“Can I come too?” Soolin asked eagerly, “I’m going to be a gunslinger when I grow up. You could teach me to shoot a rifle-“ Parren couldn’t hold back a scornful bark of laughter. She scowled.
“Just because I’m a girl...” she muttered.
“It’s not just that,” said Parren, still smirking, “It’s because you’re a little girl, a kid, and where I’m going I will have to kill people. Dangerous people who will try to kill me. And you’ll have to see them die. Do you really think you could handle that?”
“I’ve seen my whole family die!” she retorted with angry tears in her eyes. Parren stopped, but she didn’t. “I could be your partner, easily! I’m quick, I’m a good shot, I can get into places you couldn’t, I’m good at hiding- your stupid soldiers didn’t find me the first time because I can fit into places they wouldn’t even think to look. And nobody would ever suspect me-“
She had a point there, he thought. How many people afraid of assassination would suspect a pretty blonde girl? In truth, she had made several good points.
“If something goes wrong and we have to go on the run I would drop you. You’d be on your own,” he warned curtly. She nodded.
“All right,” was all she said, “Does that mean you’ll do it?” She was holding her breath.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he replied edgily, then, as an afterthought- “What’ll you do if I say no?”
She chuckled.
“That’s easy. Wait for you to fall asleep, steal your rifle and shoot you.”
Damn you, Razik,he thought. I hate how you’re always right.
“Now I need a volunteer. Someone small…” The description could have fitted any occupant of the room; but somehow every pair of eyes, including that of the speaker, instantly turned to look at one in particular. “Restal! Vila Restal. Come along - hurry up.”
A tiny figure edged nervously from behind a tiny desk, roused from whatever daydream had been distracting him.
“Come on, don’t just stand there. We need someone to go and help Mai. She’s stuck in the toilet.” Already harassed, the infant teacher took her smallest pupil impatiently by the hand.
“But I can’t!” wailed Vila, finding himself being towed out of the classroom, “I can’t go in the girls’ toilet!” His protest was to no avail: he was not let go until they were there.
“Now, go on. You just need to crawl under there and help her with the lock.” The teacher pointed to the gap under the cubicle door. Vila looked at the floor: dirty, damp and grey. Toilet floors had germs on, and germs made you sick. His mother would be cross if he was sick. She had been last time. She had pretended not to be, but he had heard her, when he was supposed to be asleep, telling next door how he still kept coughing even after she had got real medicine from the doctor. He hadn’t meant to, but… He didn’t want her to be cross again. It was bad enough being abandoned daily in this complex full of people who all seemed to want to shout at him.
“I won’t fit,” he said, over the howls of the imprisoned Mai, “I’m quite big, really.” He stood, hopefully, on tiptoe, “See?”
“I’m-not-havin’-a-boy-in-here…” Apparently Vila wasn’t the only one with misgivings.
“Then you’ll stay in there,” retorted the teacher, to renewed desperate sobbing, “Go on, Restal, what are you waiting for?”
“I can’t,” said Vila again, “I… I’m not very well. My tummy hurts. I feel sick.”
“He-can’t-come-in-here-an’-be-sick-on-me…”
“You won’t want any sweeties for helping Mai, then.”
Vila hesitated. Nobody had mentioned sweets before. He looked more closely at the cubicle door; there was a red flash on the lock. That meant someone was in there. If he could make it turn green, the door would be open. He poked the coloured spot experimentally; it wobbled as his small finger fitted into the slot. With an expression of great concentration, he wiggled it a bit more; slowly, the green flash began to appear. He almost fell as the lock gave way, but was steadied by a tear-streaked child a head shorter than himself, who suddenly emerged and grabbed him round the waist.
“You saved me!” she cried. Vila smiled awkwardly, then turned red as Mai kissed him. He hurriedly scrubbed a sleeve across his face.
“Can I have the sweeties now?” he asked appealingly, trying to ignore Mai clutching his hand.
“Well, if you’re sure they won’t make your tummy ache worse…”
Vila shook his head eagerly.
“…then we’ve just got time to get them before gym.”
“Oh. But… oh.”