March Prompt Request is Closed

My March Prompt Request is now closed to new prompts.

I still have to extend the Prompters' Story and write to a number of prompts.

I am also still open to funding for extensions, and being flabbergasted.

Thank you everyone for participating and I hope you have enjoyed the writing.

Rix

March Prompt Request is Closed

My March Prompt Request is now closed to new prompts.

I still have to extend the Prompters' Story and write to a number of prompts.

I am also still open to funding for extensions, and being flabbergasted.

Thank you everyone for participating and I hope you have enjoyed the writing.

Rix

Prompters' Story Update

I have updated the Prompters' Story for everyone who prompted during the March Prompt Request.

Please leave me a message here for any signal boosting for the Prompt Request you may have done that doesn't have a prompt for me to write for.   That way I can give you your words for this story.


Thank you. 

Prompters' Story Update

I have updated the Prompters' Story for everyone who prompted during the March Prompt Request.

Please leave me a message here for any signal boosting for the Prompt Request you may have done that doesn't have a prompt for me to write for.   That way I can give you your words for this story.


Thank you. 

Engineering's Take

I wrote this to ankewehner's prompt.

“We turned down funding for additional positions from another department’s allocation with out discussion?”   Engineering’s Human Resources Manager was appalled.  “Why wasn’t I consulted?”

“It was funding to be spent on positions to support their priorities, not ours,” explained the Environmental Engineer who’d been the negotiator at the meeting with the Psychiatry sub-department of Health.  “I was also instructed,” his eyes flicked to the head of the table where the Head of Engineering sat, “that as a matter of policy we would not be supporting their initiative.  I had to end the meeting quickly because they were being reasonable.”

“They propose introducing a chaotic element into a logical closed system,” pronounced the Head.  “It cannot be tolerated.  It’s not sound practice.”

“I’d argue that humans are themselves a chaotic system,” countered the Environmental Engineer.  “Just look at what we go through to reproduce.”  Guffaws and titters ran around the room.  “Psychiatry is merely positing that the system requires a little added controlled chaos to move it further towards optimal functioning.”

“The matter, including our refusal of funding, is now before the arcology budgetary committee,” pointed out Engineering’s Finance Manager, “and that is a chaotic system.  Thing is, I’ve read the report and their figures stack up.  The trial is saving them money, even when they take plant and maintenance costs into account.  I’m not sure that caring for plants as a therapeutic tool for suitable patients isn’t cheating but their resource people have put together a solid argument for adopting their program.”

“Is it likely to get passed by the committee, then?”  That was from the sparse Engineer who ran Primary Food Production.”

“Likely,” confirmed the Finance Manager, “not confirmed but likely.”

“Just as long as they don’t expect us to release pollination species into the main areas,” returned Primary Food Production.  “We have enough problems teaching trainees how to behave around bees.”

“Actually,” the representative from Air Quality Management spoke up, “we have some CO² pooling locations where a flower bed might be a solution.  Spots where twenty-four hour lighting won’t bother people.  Stop people curling up to doze in the middle of the CO² pool.”  He looked like a man who might have found an answer.

Engineering's Take

I wrote this to ankewehner's prompt.

“We turned down funding for additional positions from another department’s allocation with out discussion?”   Engineering’s Human Resources Manager was appalled.  “Why wasn’t I consulted?”

“It was funding to be spent on positions to support their priorities, not ours,” explained the Environmental Engineer who’d been the negotiator at the meeting with the Psychiatry sub-department of Health.  “I was also instructed,” his eyes flicked to the head of the table where the Head of Engineering sat, “that as a matter of policy we would not be supporting their initiative.  I had to end the meeting quickly because they were being reasonable.”

“They propose introducing a chaotic element into a logical closed system,” pronounced the Head.  “It cannot be tolerated.  It’s not sound practice.”

“I’d argue that humans are themselves a chaotic system,” countered the Environmental Engineer.  “Just look at what we go through to reproduce.”  Guffaws and titters ran around the room.  “Psychiatry is merely positing that the system requires a little added controlled chaos to move it further towards optimal functioning.”

“The matter, including our refusal of funding, is now before the arcology budgetary committee,” pointed out Engineering’s Finance Manager, “and that is a chaotic system.  Thing is, I’ve read the report and their figures stack up.  The trial is saving them money, even when they take plant and maintenance costs into account.  I’m not sure that caring for plants as a therapeutic tool for suitable patients isn’t cheating but their resource people have put together a solid argument for adopting their program.”

“Is it likely to get passed by the committee, then?”  That was from the sparse Engineer who ran Primary Food Production.”

“Likely,” confirmed the Finance Manager, “not confirmed but likely.”

“Just as long as they don’t expect us to release pollination species into the main areas,” returned Primary Food Production.  “We have enough problems teaching trainees how to behave around bees.”

“Actually,” the representative from Air Quality Management spoke up, “we have some CO² pooling locations where a flower bed might be a solution.  Spots where twenty-four hour lighting won’t bother people.  Stop people curling up to doze in the middle of the CO² pool.”  He looked like a man who might have found an answer.

Pick-Up Joint

I wrote this to aldersprig's fifth prompt.

“So,” Elebra, arms around the shoulders of her two friends, asked, “Whose testosterone do you think you’ll liberate tonight?”

The three young women surveyed the crowd at their favourite place of alcoholic refreshment.  It was the end of the working week and this neighbourhood was close enough to both workplaces and homes that almost everyone had gone home and changed before coming out again.  The women were neat, prosperous looking and confident - Elebra, for instance, wore a tailored silk suit.  The men were trying to impress, dressed in their ‘glad rags’ of shiny fabrics bestrewed with sequins and crystals, every one immaculately coiffed and manicured and all with the violet ‘unattached’ light shining on their testosterone restraint collars.

“One with an actual personality,” Noriga, the girl on Elebra’s left sighed, “lately all the ones I like the look of seem to have had theirs amputated.”

“You sound,” Huswayla, the third of the group, sounded almost accusing, “as if you’re looking for a keeper.”

“Well, I am,” admitted Noriga easily.  “I want to have babies - cute little boys and smart little girls.  I could do it on my own, but having someone at home would uncomplicate things.”

Elebra nodded her head in agreement.  “True.  I thought your mother was trying to get you to date the son of friend of hers.”  She turned her head to her right.  “Over this way girls, blond in violet and his redhead friend.”

“Dibs the redhead.”  Huswayla’s contribution was short and sweet.

“Layton looks like a bulldog,” Noriga complained, “which is not bad in itself, but he simpers.”

“Ouch.”  There was not much else Elebra could say but, “Let’s see if these two have a friend.”

They didn’t.  After an hour or so of playing wing to their leads, Noriga excused herself to go to the ladies’.  She half expected that the others would be gone by the time she got back.

When she emerged, their table did have other people at it and her friends were nowhere in sight.

Noriga made one last turn of the room, a fresh drink in hand, but everyone had paired off except there a man she didn’t know sitting in an alcove at the back under a blown light.  His violet light glowed but he was wearing a black sweater, not an eye catching shirt.  His hair was too short to be coiffed.  When she stopped to look he said bluntly, “Look, you look nice enough but my mother made me come here, I’m not really interested.”

“I’m after babies,” Noriga admitted, “and my name’s Noriga.  If you have a brain and a personality, I might be interested in you.”

“I’m Brail,” he stood up quietly and towered over her from the other side of the table, “and with my collar off, I’m dangerous.”

Noriga could believe it, the six or more feet of man in front of her was solid muscle, and he looked old enough that she wasn’t going to be the more mature of the two of them.

“Would you like to go somewhere we can talk and hear each other speak without shouting?”  Noriga had worked on that line for days, then made a completely unplanned quip, “At least you could tell your mother that you left the bar with a woman.”

He smiled at her.  It was a nice smile.

Pick-Up Joint

I wrote this to aldersprig's fifth prompt.

“So,” Elebra, arms around the shoulders of her two friends, asked, “Whose testosterone do you think you’ll liberate tonight?”

The three young women surveyed the crowd at their favourite place of alcoholic refreshment.  It was the end of the working week and this neighbourhood was close enough to both workplaces and homes that almost everyone had gone home and changed before coming out again.  The women were neat, prosperous looking and confident - Elebra, for instance, wore a tailored silk suit.  The men were trying to impress, dressed in their ‘glad rags’ of shiny fabrics bestrewed with sequins and crystals, every one immaculately coiffed and manicured and all with the violet ‘unattached’ light shining on their testosterone restraint collars.

“One with an actual personality,” Noriga, the girl on Elebra’s left sighed, “lately all the ones I like the look of seem to have had theirs amputated.”

“You sound,” Huswayla, the third of the group, sounded almost accusing, “as if you’re looking for a keeper.”

“Well, I am,” admitted Noriga easily.  “I want to have babies - cute little boys and smart little girls.  I could do it on my own, but having someone at home would uncomplicate things.”

Elebra nodded her head in agreement.  “True.  I thought your mother was trying to get you to date the son of friend of hers.”  She turned her head to her right.  “Over this way girls, blond in violet and his redhead friend.”

“Dibs the redhead.”  Huswayla’s contribution was short and sweet.

“Layton looks like a bulldog,” Noriga complained, “which is not bad in itself, but he simpers.”

“Ouch.”  There was not much else Elebra could say but, “Let’s see if these two have a friend.”

They didn’t.  After an hour or so of playing wing to their leads, Noriga excused herself to go to the ladies’.  She half expected that the others would be gone by the time she got back.

When she emerged, their table did have other people at it and her friends were nowhere in sight.

Noriga made one last turn of the room, a fresh drink in hand, but everyone had paired off except there a man she didn’t know sitting in an alcove at the back under a blown light.  His violet light glowed but he was wearing a black sweater, not an eye catching shirt.  His hair was too short to be coiffed.  When she stopped to look he said bluntly, “Look, you look nice enough but my mother made me come here, I’m not really interested.”

“I’m after babies,” Noriga admitted, “and my name’s Noriga.  If you have a brain and a personality, I might be interested in you.”

“I’m Brail,” he stood up quietly and towered over her from the other side of the table, “and with my collar off, I’m dangerous.”

Noriga could believe it, the six or more feet of man in front of her was solid muscle, and he looked old enough that she wasn’t going to be the more mature of the two of them.

“Would you like to go somewhere we can talk and hear each other speak without shouting?”  Noriga had worked on that line for days, then made a completely unplanned quip, “At least you could tell your mother that you left the bar with a woman.”

He smiled at her.  It was a nice smile.

Alchemy 101 - Opening Remarks

I wrote this to lilfluff's fourth prompt.

The lecturer looked at the room of students over his glasses, adjusted his long black robe and began, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first class of this subject.  If you look to either side of you, you will note that you are a mixture of first year students and more experienced scholars who have been caught up in the administration’s decision to require all graduates to have undertaken a mandatory number of units in what one of my social sciences colleagues has termed the ‘liberal arts.’  You can tell that he has never been in one of my classes.”

He paused as if waiting for a laugh that didn’t come and went on, “This is a practical alchemy class and we will be spending over half our time in the laboratory.  If you wish to study Hermetical theory or philosophy, this is not the class that will do that.  If you only wish to study spiritual theory and philosophy, it is not too late to transfer - please see me after this class and I will give you a note of introduction to the relevant professors.”

He cleared his throat and looked around.  A number of students shifted uncomfortably in their seats.  “Having said that, I believe those of you who have previously or are currently studying chemistry and/or physics will find yourselves at an advantage when it comes to conducting laboratory work and understanding some of the concepts we will cover concerning matter and energy.  Be clear in your minds however,” his voice rose, gaining the attention of several people up the back who looked as if they were there because they had to be, “this is not physics or chemistry - act as if it is and you will fail the course.”

He looked around the room again then picked up a stapled together set of papers.  “You should all have picked up a course outline as you entered the room.  If you did not, please do so on your way out.  We will begin the year with laboratory technique, transmutation precursors and catalysts and finish the semester with the cheapest of the metallic transmutations as the Dean would like us to stay in budget.  In second semester we will address organic alchemy including fermentation, distillation and basic medicinal remedies.”

One of the older students near the back of the room sat bolt up right and put up his hand.  “Yes?  Stand, tell me your name and then ask your question.”

The tousled haired young man stood.  “Cartwright.  Sir, are you going to be teaching us how to make booze?”

“Mr Cartwright,” the lecturer gave the student a look over his glasses, “we will be brewing and fermenting for medicinal purposes.  I expect it will be rather better than the rotgut normally referred to as ‘booze.’  Now sit down.”

Alchemy 101 - Opening Remarks

I wrote this to lilfluff's fourth prompt.

The lecturer looked at the room of students over his glasses, adjusted his long black robe and began, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first class of this subject.  If you look to either side of you, you will note that you are a mixture of first year students and more experienced scholars who have been caught up in the administration’s decision to require all graduates to have undertaken a mandatory number of units in what one of my social sciences colleagues has termed the ‘liberal arts.’  You can tell that he has never been in one of my classes.”

He paused as if waiting for a laugh that didn’t come and went on, “This is a practical alchemy class and we will be spending over half our time in the laboratory.  If you wish to study Hermetical theory or philosophy, this is not the class that will do that.  If you only wish to study spiritual theory and philosophy, it is not too late to transfer - please see me after this class and I will give you a note of introduction to the relevant professors.”

He cleared his throat and looked around.  A number of students shifted uncomfortably in their seats.  “Having said that, I believe those of you who have previously or are currently studying chemistry and/or physics will find yourselves at an advantage when it comes to conducting laboratory work and understanding some of the concepts we will cover concerning matter and energy.  Be clear in your minds however,” his voice rose, gaining the attention of several people up the back who looked as if they were there because they had to be, “this is not physics or chemistry - act as if it is and you will fail the course.”

He looked around the room again then picked up a stapled together set of papers.  “You should all have picked up a course outline as you entered the room.  If you did not, please do so on your way out.  We will begin the year with laboratory technique, transmutation precursors and catalysts and finish the semester with the cheapest of the metallic transmutations as the Dean would like us to stay in budget.  In second semester we will address organic alchemy including fermentation, distillation and basic medicinal remedies.”

One of the older students near the back of the room sat bolt up right and put up his hand.  “Yes?  Stand, tell me your name and then ask your question.”

The tousled haired young man stood.  “Cartwright.  Sir, are you going to be teaching us how to make booze?”

“Mr Cartwright,” the lecturer gave the student a look over his glasses, “we will be brewing and fermenting for medicinal purposes.  I expect it will be rather better than the rotgut normally referred to as ‘booze.’  Now sit down.”