Harlequin was not big on eating meat. He'd had a few talks with a wild turkey who'd complained of the human appetite for turkey and this had convicted him a little bit. When he did eat meat, he made a point of apologizing to the pig, chicken, cow or turkey who'd made the meal possible. Hunger, in his condition, spoke a little louder than those conversations, so it was without any thought of remorse for the chicken that he followed the scent of the kung-pao chicken.
Intent in his tracking, he failed to pay enough attention to the sidewalk and the loud, stumbling footsteps shaking it beneath him. Suddenly, a large booted foot overtook him, sweeping him roughly off his paws and into the air. He saw the cement of the sidewalk become the cement of the curb and then felt himself falling towards the slime river flowing through the gutter. He landed with a cold and unpleasant slap; the slime, part mud-water and part garbage, slowly oozed in between the hairs of his fur coat. He shivered and shook himself. He pulled himself over the curb, just in time to see the booted foot disappear around the corner.
He muttered a curse (in Chipmunk) on the owner of the booted foot and lifted his nose in the air in attempt to separate it from the influence of his newly-acquired stench. He smelled many things, but he could not make any sense of them, and worst of all, he could not differentiate the kung-pao chicken from among them.
After his hours on the freeway he'd learned to ignore the smells of engines and tires. There were countless others surrounding him. There was rancid trash from an overturned dumpster behind the liqour store, cleaning fluids dripping around a window-washer, steaming fabrics and detergent of a laundromat and sticky donuts and bitter coffee from a donut shop; all new and some unwlecome experiences for his nose. He brought up his paws to cover his nose and give him time to think.
Jul 4, 2005
Jul 3, 2005
The Harlequin Romances, Page 1
Chapter 1: in which our Hero arrives, dumpster dives and barely survives.
Harlequin was not an ordinary chipmunk. He was leaving the lonely forest to seek friends and adventure in the human city. He was determined to live as the humans do. He would wear human clothes, live in human dwellings, talk with human people and eat human food.
His clothes and living place were still up in the air. He was learning English, but the few humans he'd met wouldn't talk to him; most would ignore him, and those that paid him any mind would usually scream and run away. (He did have a gift for languages: he already spoke the common animal tongue, and had a general knowledge of several dialects, including the notoriously difficult Dog Russian).
As for human food, Harlequin loved Chinese cuisine, cultivated during past midnight raids on the trash cans of "Mushu Wu's," a tiny restaurant on the edge of the forest. In fact, it was this passion that brought him into our lives.
The journey from the forest to the city was a long one. Harlequin had stuffed the last six chestnuts from his storehouse into his ample cheeks, but he'd eaten all of them by the time he reached the freeway. It was a cold, frosty day, and scampering on the craggy asphalt of the roadside was harder work than scampering across the soft forest floor. After an hour his fore- and hindpaws were very sore and raw, his nose and ears were stinging and his stomach began to voice it's desire for more food.
When the first buildings of the human city came in view, the wonder and excitement of an adventure begun stood his fur on end, but could not warm his chilled extremities, nor sate his quaking stomach. As he scampered away from the freeway onto the busy city road, his mind was struck by a particular fantasy: he saw himself seated on an enormous bowl of soft, steaming rice biting into juicy stir-fried water chestnuts and rich cashews, all the while smelling kung-pao chicken.
He stumbled over a crumpled soda can and realized he'd closed his eyes. There was no food in sight. There was, however, a strong aroma of kung-pao chicken.
Harlequin was not an ordinary chipmunk. He was leaving the lonely forest to seek friends and adventure in the human city. He was determined to live as the humans do. He would wear human clothes, live in human dwellings, talk with human people and eat human food.
His clothes and living place were still up in the air. He was learning English, but the few humans he'd met wouldn't talk to him; most would ignore him, and those that paid him any mind would usually scream and run away. (He did have a gift for languages: he already spoke the common animal tongue, and had a general knowledge of several dialects, including the notoriously difficult Dog Russian).
As for human food, Harlequin loved Chinese cuisine, cultivated during past midnight raids on the trash cans of "Mushu Wu's," a tiny restaurant on the edge of the forest. In fact, it was this passion that brought him into our lives.
The journey from the forest to the city was a long one. Harlequin had stuffed the last six chestnuts from his storehouse into his ample cheeks, but he'd eaten all of them by the time he reached the freeway. It was a cold, frosty day, and scampering on the craggy asphalt of the roadside was harder work than scampering across the soft forest floor. After an hour his fore- and hindpaws were very sore and raw, his nose and ears were stinging and his stomach began to voice it's desire for more food.
When the first buildings of the human city came in view, the wonder and excitement of an adventure begun stood his fur on end, but could not warm his chilled extremities, nor sate his quaking stomach. As he scampered away from the freeway onto the busy city road, his mind was struck by a particular fantasy: he saw himself seated on an enormous bowl of soft, steaming rice biting into juicy stir-fried water chestnuts and rich cashews, all the while smelling kung-pao chicken.
He stumbled over a crumpled soda can and realized he'd closed his eyes. There was no food in sight. There was, however, a strong aroma of kung-pao chicken.
May 10, 2005
When the world's well-being is at stake, it's not good to be stuck in a mean uncle's boarding house in the middle of the most insignificant place in the world.
Little does Threyan know that the Naggarin is probably the most significant place in the world. The Naggarin is the only thing keeping Chaenel and Borabarak amongst the leaders in world power. Everything grows there, and it grows in abundance.
You see, neither Chaenel nor Borabarak are great centers of technology or natural resources. The only significantly marketable asset to their names is the military of each. But few Elamite lords would allow their men to mercenary.
Yes, the fruits of the Naggarin are the bastion of the Elamite empire, and keep it's traditions, religion and political power strong. Without them, it would surely fall.
It is this piece of knowledge that has taken up an inordinate amount of the brain activity of all the major powers. Chaenel maintains a strong border patrol based in Brigton. Brigton troops monitor traffic across the Bridge, the most important link of the Elamite empire, and the first step in any easterner's journey to the Naggarin. Chaenel's own troops patrol the Baden southeast of Tulanel, epsecially as relations between Chaenel and Tulanel have deteriorated immensely in the past decade. The Baden is also strengthened by the presence of the Drashans, staunch military allies of Chaenel, in Adharkon The far western route into the Naggarin is protected by Chaenel's sister city Elgorn, specifically by Lord Eckebon's reknowned Kiskom Guard.
The boras are not capable of helping out much. The Hason House possesses the most feared corps of knights of the civilized world, but it is small in number and stretched thin, due to constant attack from Hurang on all sides of Borabarak. As strong as the border patrol is on the Bridge, they need not help much.
The weak link in this defensive chain is the relatively free passage of Hurang slave traders across the Bridge. Chaenel troops refuse slave passage south of Tulanel, but this ceases to be enforced west of Tulanel, as Chaenel troops aren't able to patrol extensively there.
Little does Threyan know that the Naggarin is probably the most significant place in the world. The Naggarin is the only thing keeping Chaenel and Borabarak amongst the leaders in world power. Everything grows there, and it grows in abundance.
You see, neither Chaenel nor Borabarak are great centers of technology or natural resources. The only significantly marketable asset to their names is the military of each. But few Elamite lords would allow their men to mercenary.
Yes, the fruits of the Naggarin are the bastion of the Elamite empire, and keep it's traditions, religion and political power strong. Without them, it would surely fall.
It is this piece of knowledge that has taken up an inordinate amount of the brain activity of all the major powers. Chaenel maintains a strong border patrol based in Brigton. Brigton troops monitor traffic across the Bridge, the most important link of the Elamite empire, and the first step in any easterner's journey to the Naggarin. Chaenel's own troops patrol the Baden southeast of Tulanel, epsecially as relations between Chaenel and Tulanel have deteriorated immensely in the past decade. The Baden is also strengthened by the presence of the Drashans, staunch military allies of Chaenel, in Adharkon The far western route into the Naggarin is protected by Chaenel's sister city Elgorn, specifically by Lord Eckebon's reknowned Kiskom Guard.
The boras are not capable of helping out much. The Hason House possesses the most feared corps of knights of the civilized world, but it is small in number and stretched thin, due to constant attack from Hurang on all sides of Borabarak. As strong as the border patrol is on the Bridge, they need not help much.
The weak link in this defensive chain is the relatively free passage of Hurang slave traders across the Bridge. Chaenel troops refuse slave passage south of Tulanel, but this ceases to be enforced west of Tulanel, as Chaenel troops aren't able to patrol extensively there.
Mar 10, 2005
Boozing with Max Blast
A week away from his Martian wedding, the restless Jacob Titus resorted to alcohol. The Lady Fortune included only two routes of escape in the case that incessant boredom set in: her library and her wine cellar. To his credit, Jacob had first exhausted the former; he even tried immersing himself in one of the Lady's many operating manuals. efforts to self-improvement led to the sense of entitlement he felt as he made his way from his reading couch to the ship's bar
Feb 23, 2005
Space Opera
Space Opera (the Adventures of Max Blast)
Goal of story: to have fun with some of my more far-fetched sci-fi stuff.
Cast of Characters
Max Blast, galactic scallywag
Maxtor, his loyal vessel
Boris Mandango, owner of Zootech
Felix Mandango, his son and heir
Tilio, evil bounty hunter
More to come
Max Blast is embroiled in the disputes of the meteor barons when he unwittingly picks up the incognito Felix Mandango, heir to the massive Zootech Corporation.
That part of space was empty but for one dingy, albeit harmless-looking bar and breakfast. The bright neon sign that was one of the staples of such places read in crackling orange: “Bob’s Bar N’ Breakfast”. Beneath that, in green and purple: “CHEAP SPACE BATHS” and “ETHNIC FOOD.”
Max Blast brought his ship to a sleepy halt and scratched at his stubbly chin thoughtfully. He sniffed at his armpit and grimaced.
“I guess we can rest here awhile, eh boy?” He tapped the ship’s control board questioningly. The ship’s computer whirred and groaned a few moments, finally projecting the image of a dog onto the screen just above the control board. The dog, a long brown sort of wiener dog, yipped in the affirmative.
The ship banked gracefully and headed towards the bar and breakfast.
Goal of story: to have fun with some of my more far-fetched sci-fi stuff.
Cast of Characters
Max Blast, galactic scallywag
Maxtor, his loyal vessel
Boris Mandango, owner of Zootech
Felix Mandango, his son and heir
Tilio, evil bounty hunter
More to come
Max Blast is embroiled in the disputes of the meteor barons when he unwittingly picks up the incognito Felix Mandango, heir to the massive Zootech Corporation.
That part of space was empty but for one dingy, albeit harmless-looking bar and breakfast. The bright neon sign that was one of the staples of such places read in crackling orange: “Bob’s Bar N’ Breakfast”. Beneath that, in green and purple: “CHEAP SPACE BATHS” and “ETHNIC FOOD.”
Max Blast brought his ship to a sleepy halt and scratched at his stubbly chin thoughtfully. He sniffed at his armpit and grimaced.
“I guess we can rest here awhile, eh boy?” He tapped the ship’s control board questioningly. The ship’s computer whirred and groaned a few moments, finally projecting the image of a dog onto the screen just above the control board. The dog, a long brown sort of wiener dog, yipped in the affirmative.
The ship banked gracefully and headed towards the bar and breakfast.