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Entry tags:
The Albino Menace!
In the pod chambers, there is a late release, a hideous creature that crawls its way out of the slime and gasps for air, confused. A horrible monster, its species known for its barbarity, spreading disease, and occasionally, for being cannibalistic.
It's a pestiferous beast, a hideous--and intelligent--monster and after getting a suit and its tangled fur cleaned up by Stacy, it quickly goes on the hunt.
There are smells all over, some of them very strange, and the overall smell of this...thing, the creature is in, but there is one it zeroes in on.
One scent.
Its prey.
It moves, running along the ground on all fours, jumping and clinging to outcroppings on the walls. It finds its prey in a large room full of people, looking at the little square in his hand, but despite the people present, the strangers there, it will not be denied.
It zeroes in...and then LEAPS!
It's a pestiferous beast, a hideous--and intelligent--monster and after getting a suit and its tangled fur cleaned up by Stacy, it quickly goes on the hunt.
There are smells all over, some of them very strange, and the overall smell of this...thing, the creature is in, but there is one it zeroes in on.
One scent.
Its prey.
It moves, running along the ground on all fours, jumping and clinging to outcroppings on the walls. It finds its prey in a large room full of people, looking at the little square in his hand, but despite the people present, the strangers there, it will not be denied.
It zeroes in...and then LEAPS!
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The actual setup of the house doesn't interest him much.
But the photographs...
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The mantelpiece is where all the human photographs are. The dark-skinned girl doesn't appear again, but the same girl with freckles shows up, about 10 years older, arm-in-arm with Allen in front of their house. There's a beautiful, professional portrait of them at their wedding. They're both covered in cake and making faces.
There's a scruffy-looking older man with a mustache like a broom, his arm around a middle-aged woman with twinkling eyes and a pantsuit Martha Stewart would covet like nobody's business. Allen and a teenage kid are in the same picture, the kid's smile a forced wince, like he'd much rather be off playing video games or sitting in a diner with his pals than posing for a portrait with his family. Allen's doing the enthusiasm a bit more convincingly.
There's a portrait of Irene again, with a dark-skinned woman who is probably her mother, Allen and his brother playing chess (Allen is winning), a fierce-looking blond woman in a martial arts stance, a teenage girl with too much eye makeup holding a conversation, apparently, with a potted plant. Lots of pictures.
The refrigerator shuts in the background, and Allen tosses a half-empty cardboard pizza box on the bar in the kitchen. "Nutritious sludge in cold pizza form. Ni-hi-hiiice. Want some?"
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Why is he bothering looking at this?
He grimaces at the suggestion of pizza. "Not particularly. I'm not overly fond of food that tastes like it's derived from Imskian hatch sealant."
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"I don't know what that means." Allen is already munching on his slice. "But there's also beef stew and leftover fried rice in the fridge, fruit's on top of the fridge, and the pantry's stocked. Help yourself."
He pops the top on a beer. "No alcohol for you, though."
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"Stacy, provide me turlish pâté."
Something that looks like cheesecake covered in green stuff appears in a little dish with something that looks almost sort of like a fork.
He takes his little dish and sits at the table, then delicately tucks in, his eyes briefly closing in something akin to bliss for a moment, before continuing eating, acting as if that didn't happen.
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Allen gnaws on his pizza crust happily. "The matrix is telling my brain this is whole wheat pizza crust. Haha."
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"You say that without even knowing what members of my species do to relax--or if they do at all."
'They.' Not 'we.'
The pate probably tastes like it looks, a bland, bland cheesecake-like substance with a slight beet-ey flavor to it. It's good in the way macaroni and cheese or mashed potatoes are good--it's not particularly flavorful, just familiar (to him) and filling.
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The shape at least is giving Allen ideas, because a piece of real cheesecake appears on the table beside the pizza box. He picks it up and starts tucking away at it.
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"I genuinely enjoy my work. I work on more private projects in my lab."
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"Cool. Tell me more."
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Allen goes around the bar and back into the kitchen, opening the cabinet beneath the sink. Curiously, he has to undo a padlock on the door before he can open it.
"It doesn't function here, but Stacy includes it in the simulations, I guess for accuracy's sake. I've been studying it at home, but there wasn't much in the way of similar studies for me to refer to, so I'm basically having to invent this new branch of physics by myself in order to figure out how it works."
He points underneath the sink, where a visual representation of an inter-dimensional portal swirls with a soft, pervasive hum into the ether.
"Soundproofing the door wasn't as hard."
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"Very unusual placement--gaping tears in the fabric of reality usually aren't caused by kitchen fixtures, but I'm sure you understand that."
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Allen leans against the counter. "Like I said, I already tried to see if it functions in the Sensorium, but no dice. You can be sure I'm trawling the Media Lab for relevant studies, though. I helped design a trans-planar device once, but that was with a lot of help, and only between two specific focal points. This one's a bit more complex. But as far as I can tell for now, similar tech is our best bet for getting off this ship and back to our homes."