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Post by gingerbread on Jun 14, 2009 20:43:59 GMT
Hello, and welcome to what is sort of a sister thread to this one: shfotherworld.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=digiartz&action=display&thread=135  If you've been following the aforementioned thread, you will realise I have a bad habit of posting quite sporadically! So come back, but please don't expect any updates too soon, though you can certainly give me some encouragement. Death threats, pokes, cookies, whatever. All will be gladly received, especially if the death threats are funny. I promise to be grateful  OK. Let me talk about this story I am currently working on. It takes place in space. It revolves around the life of Gingerbread Person. G.P. used to live in a biscuit tin, alone, until Gingerbread Angel somehow fell into its home. Quite an accidental meeting, as you can see. The original backstory has been published in the original incarnation of our beloved forum, as "Space Crumbs". Although it is quite a "stand-alone", it still only the first chapter in an epic that I am still currently sitting on... This story, which is still untitled, happens after the entire Space Crumbs saga... |
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Post by gingerbread on Jun 14, 2009 20:44:25 GMT
Gingerbread Person had an ancient desktop. It was a bulky thing, that consisted of two parts, both of which showed equal signs of wear and tear. Full of scratches, the monitor's convex face was framed by a rectangle with rounded corners and mottled flecks of rust. The keyboard looked like the product of a union between a crusty old typewriter and scrap metal. The mouse was an accessory and at such, not really part of the desktop. Though not as ancient than the heavy chunk of metal that called itself a computer, it wasn't exactly new either. Resembling a flattened globe crafted out of glass, the weathered scroller appeared at the crux where two strips of brass met on its top. Using the scroller gave G.P. headaches sometimes, as it had been in need of some oil in at least half a century. When forcibly employed, the scroller would screech in protest, resulting in the worst sound G.P. had ever heard, apart from the cacophony that seemed to make up most of a human infant's vocabulary.
At present, Gingerbread Person was not suffering from any form of malaise, outside of unemployment. Unhappily, it used the machine to surf the inter-galactical web (IGW) , hoping to chance upon a place that would, in addition to being agreeable with employing the services of a dough-based person, would also allow it to keep its soul. Plenty of the jobs it had browsed in its two-week long search for employment had fufilled none of its criteria and the few which did, required persons of a higher level.
It's not my fault my Social is only a 5, thought G.P. gloomily, I've never even been to another planet! And it isn't my fault that I was baked brittle and small. Sighing, it decided to search for jobs relating to the glo-worm rearing industry, something it had an interest in and also a job that pretty much anybody could do. It would have to search within its immediate cluster. No good thinking of any opportunities which lay in the planets beyond - in all probability what it could scrape together would only buy it a one-way ticket to wherever the destination was, cluster-bound of course.
The screen flickered and G.P.'s web browser loaded a website of a company that ran a glo-worm composting plant. It clicked on the tab that read About Us. Personages of all races, heights, weights, sizes, ability... are welcome! So long as you can communicate with us, we can assign you to a job and pay you! Our officers are all from varied backgrounds and speak a variety of languages, aside from of course, Official. We have the latest voice transistors from Junksphere that can tell us what those wacky crustaeceans are saying when they click their pincers! Not sure if we'll understand you? Call us now and be pleasantly surprised!
Scrolling to the bottom of the page confirmed that the composting plant, though located on a largely industrial planet with no docks nearby, enjoyed the approximity of a Spacer Racer Interchange.
Promising, G.P. thought, very promising. Gingerbread Person walked over to the phone and lifted the receiver...
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Post by gingerbread on Jul 10, 2009 16:34:42 GMT
The line was put through to the boss, a man with a deep, authoritative voice. He spoke delibrately, enuciating and stressing on each word with a weight that was even and well-rounded, full. He seemed surprised to hear that a pastry person would be interested in rearing glo-worms. A long chat on the phone was had and Gingerbread Person was hired. For a cheap price, but not unreasonably, G.P. felt. The boss had told the pastry person that all his temporary staff who were not permanent residents were given half of what is normally considered decent pay. The other half was subsized by the Transient Workers Fund.
A Gingerbread Person who lived in a biscuit tin eons away would be considered pretty damn transient, it reasoned. One more phone call later and it had a ticket to the Spacer Racer interchange on the industrial planet, Middle.
“B,” it said, to Gingerbread Angel. “Could you fly me off to Riley’s before you leave for your home-oven?”
The pastry angel smiled and nodded.
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Post by gingerbread on Jul 10, 2009 16:35:02 GMT
The two friends were standing in the Stargarden, a field of mostly very young Starbloom which grew on the tough husk of a Starburst seed that never quite imploded. Compared to the other planets, it was very small indeed. Most authorities considered Blue Seed to be a planet, though its status has been debated now and then. Riley just considered it his home. Most of his house was beneath the surface of the husk.
He shared his home with several grown cats he called catlings. Kittens wouldn't do, nor would cats. He considered them to be somewhat in between the two. Only Riley, himself, was a true cat. According to Riley, a true cat was a bipedal humanoid with all the typical features of a house cat. Unlike a house cat, however, Riley wore gold-framed glasses and a red apron. He was also quite a bit larger than his catlings.
At the moment, the Cat was looking quite displeased with his friend.
"Really.” He said to Gingerbread Person. “You should have asked me for some Starlings. They fetch quite a good sum too, you know."
The large, extremely fluffy cat swished his bushy tail about, ruffling the stalks of his young luminous plants. A clear display of the annoyance he felt for G.P.'s reluctance to seek him out for financial help.
"I couldn't. Not after all the trouble G.A. and I got you into."
"Pfft!" The rush of breath from the cat's mouth swept through whiskers and fur. The lenses of his thick eyeglasses fogged up. He took them off and polished it with his apron. "How do you think I got my planet back? Was it by magic? No! I won't change my mind on this, G.P. You should have asked me and you know it."
Gingerbread Person shook its head. It was no good trying to convince Riley once he had made up his mind about something.
"Well, I'm asking for your help now." It looked at its friend straight in his eyes with its chocolate chip eyes.
"Really?" The cat's face brightened. He put his glasses back on.
"See... I already bought the ticket to the Middle-"
The cat groaned.
"No, no, wait, I still need your help! The Spacer Racer Transport Company only recognizes planets as valid pick-up stops, so I'll have to stay at your place for a while. They know I bought a ticket but they’re not going to actually bother to stop by a biscuit tin which they can’t detect by radar…”
"Well, they need to be able to find you to bill you, my pastry friend.” The cat’s solemn face lasped briefly into a smile. “Let’s go back to my place. I made pancakes!”
He motioned for G.P. to follow him and they both began to walk towards the door that lead to his house. It was a simple door, carved out from the husk of the mostly hollow planet, with hinges made out of the dry, bendy stems that the Starbloom leave behind when they go lights out.
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