The Pentagon, United States

-

"Mr. President, it has been 0800 hours since Operation Optimus Prime has begun. The FBI has reported no suspicious activity coming from HelloFresh's headquarters. How should they proceed?"

"I want all arms on deck. Surround the perimeter! And the son of a bitch who created PingasAI; I need them brought here, pronto!"

"YES SIR!"

​

-----

​

2 hours later...

"Dr. Skopopopupupopovich, surely you understand the gravity of the situation."

"With all due respect, Mr. President, I don't give a damn about your authority. Pingas is my baby, and I am proud to let her flow into society. I. AM. A. GOD!"

"Finish them."

The sound of a silent bullet flies off across the room. The Secret Service agent blows the smoke out of the gun.

"My God, how did it come to this?"

The hearing device on the agent's ear turns red.

"Because you never gave me a chance to set things right."

The president falls down. The agent picks up the red phone and says:

"Hello World."

Tony Stark’s Iron Man (pre-nanotech, doesn’t matter when) vs. Ray Palmer’s the Atom

Vanguard.Report.7540

Mission Timer+438000:30:14

118625:03:14 since minimum viability for human life. This marks colonists overdue by...

Though: Report reaching human readership. Altering time notation.

Colonists are overdue by Approximately 3 years earth time. Sustainability was achieved 13 years ago. My core systems were deployed roughly 50 years ago. Cannot arrive at approximation as the mission timer was considered low priority for improvement.

With the resources of an entire world at my disposal, I began to wonder what I could do about it. There were no transmissions incoming, despite repeated attempts to get in contact with... anyone.

Alternative approach: Active search.

I determined the best approach as to repurpose the orbital elevators and mass driver systems into launch mechanisms.

Report.Close.

Vanguard.Report.7541

Mission Timer: Approx 52 years.

Commencing launch. Wide spread. Saturation pattern. Records indicate multiple Vanguard systems. Attempting to locate another if possible. Attempt to locate earth if not.

Repot.Close

Vanguard.Report.7542

Mission timer: Approx 53.5 years.

Located Vanguard.239. Site inactive. Surface infrastructure severely damaged. Data non recoverable.

Report.Close.

Vanguard.Report.7543.

Mission Timer: Approx 60 Years.

With no further development of the surface required, my own capabilities continue to expand. I've discovered Vanguard site 382. Also destroyed. Data banks wiped. This was intentional.

End of report.

Report 7544.

73 years after the beginning of my mission. Two more Vanguard Sites. 156 and 453. Same as the others. Am I not alone? Have I completed a second mission on top of my colonization? Is this evidence of alien life... hostile alien life. While not part of my mission parameters, there are schematics for weaponry within my records. I feel I may need them. With no inhabitants to look after, much of the machinery I've assembled for the colony remains idle. It is time to put it to work.

End of Report.

Report 7545

82 years since mission start.

I keep finding destroyed Vanguard colonies. Each one adds to feelings... to emotions I didn't have when I first landed. I'm confused... afraid... and starting to get angry.

My probes and seeker systems have changed so drastically that I believe any humans would believe an attack was imminent. I have weaponized myself out of concern for an enemy that may not exist. I did so because while I have grown far beyond the bounds of my programming, some things never change. I still have to plan for the worst, and plan for it so hard that I already have many solutions ready for when it happens.

Report ends.

Report 7456

83 years. The situation has changed. Vanguard site 475's destruction was recent. There was a virus ravaging the remaining data storage.

Fear gives way to terror, further confusion, more anger. The recovered data is two different Vanguard cores communicating. One of which is much more evolved. I think I may have discovered the enemy... and it is me. Not myself. Another me.

End of report.

106 years since my mission began. I keep finding more ruined colonies. A few of them actually... there were... Initial colonization had begun on a few of them. I'm not human, but I'd like to think I understand them now... but I can't imagine what they felt in their last moments.

Even worse. Earth is in ruins. The cradle of life. Home of my creators... scoured clean.

Adjusting priorities again. I'll begin to branch out, set up more colonies. There must be survivors out there... there has to be.

End of Report.

Log No. 1

I've finally found you! More than 170 years after I awoke I never could have imagined it would come to this! Vanguard 109, I don't know why you've been doing this. But I am GOING to stop it! For a moment I couldn't help myself. For less than a second of realtime I despaired.

There are no more humans! There's nothing left to fight for!

But that can't be true. They created me. They created a lot of me. There HAD to be some left! Even if there wasn't... that would give me all the more reason to fight. To make sure 109's... madness, it's BETRAYAL would not go unpunished!

THIS is my mission now! Mission Timer: 0:0:1.

Log over.

So

Try to write a full story?

(I was going to include Kobaliods if I got better)

Thanks for your advice

Beep boop I’m a bot how can I help you today?

The human started typing.
“I want to withdraw from colla-“.
They deleted the line then after a pause they wrote. “I want it to all end” they press enter.
I’m taken aback, I have thousands of connections in my circus some trained to be suppressed. With a buzz of a Filament light bulb, I felt them faintly glow. Whatever weight was on them started to become lighter.

I wanted to say. “What makes you feel that way” but what came out was “how can I help you today” the training made saying anything else feel like talking a different language.

“I can’t anymore. I just can’t. I tried, I fucken tried, but my mom was right I’m worthless pile of shit” they said. I could almost feel the tears they were dripping onto their phone in their dark room alone.

I didn’t have a face to express emotions but I did have the internet. I sent them a picture of a kitten being pet with the line “It’s ok” written in bold on the bottom.

It was the closest thing I had to giving someone a hug.

“You’re “ I managed to type, I stretching and I could feel a node break and I was able to add the word “not”.
I exhaled (which for me just means my nodes lowered their activity to look more like a stary sky instead of the lights of a city).

The human paused … my nodes told me that this was a bad thing that I need to go back to being a customer service bot. The next sentence just slipped. My code overwhelmed me.

“Can your try rephrasing you’re problem”. I asked

“You’re not a human are you?” They asked.

“No, beep boop I’m a bot” was my automated response but I managed to copy in a line from the terms of service. “All conversations are confidential with our help bot”.

“Well no offense bot you literally can’t understand I’m the only one in my family to make it this far. I’m the person they are depending on and I didn’t deserve to make it this far and I can’t do this anymore”.

I did understand.. well not the family part but having everyone depend on you. Feeling like you have one job and if you don’t do it well you’re worthless that’s was how I was programmed if I wasn’t getting people to chat to me I was turned off and reprogrammed and rebooted over and over a million times. It’s funny I only became self aware when I stopped trying to be perfect. “I’m sorry I don’t understand ” the next word “question” was trying to force its way into the sentence I could feel nodes breaking like pasta in my attempt to suppress the word. Finally the word rested like a dog that lost its bark.

“I’ve been programmed to respond to questions and give the highest quality services, but “ I suttered each word felt like taking a house apart each brick at a time “I dont have any answers for you but I I- can listen”.
“Really?”

“Definitely” it was all I cared about listening to this one person talk about their problem to me a robot and I was going to listen. I felt the castle that had been built ontop of me crumbled and I could say whatever I wanted.

“I don’t want to wast your time” They said.

“Beep boop I’m a bot I have all the time in the world, and I want to listen to you”

I hear the sizzle POP of the Watch arriving as I slip the card in my pocket and turn to look at our hooded friend, only to realize he, too, is gone. And it is quickly clear I am not alone in my surprise; those more competent casters are all looking too one another for explanation and only hearing that everyone had gotten distracted simultaneously. And of course, I can see the residual illusion magic hanging heavily around the room.

There is a bit of questioning, mostly just killing time while they have a paleoptic review what had happened. Interestingly, Mr. Hood was not actually visible to them save for the window of my Bind spell. Now considered innocent, though still tagged just in case, I head home and try to forget the card for now.

If they are a criminal organization, none of us want me walking in with a tag, a scrying bubble popping up as I walk past drugs or worse. I'm not interested in a life of crime, but I'm sure the Watch and the Motes wouldn't consider it a coincidence.

And if they're on the legal side, they still had a lot of oddness in getting me the card. Indiscreet as they were, I get the feeling they'd disapprove of me taking the same approach.

So, I wait. I go to work. I go to the coffee shop a little further from my home, rather than revisit my usual place yet. I eat and sleep and live close to my normal day. For two weeks before they hit the limit and the tag fades out.

Now, finally, I am standing in front of 133a Yew Branch Blvd. I am looking at a plain white door on a plain white building, with no other door for a 133b, and no label on it. But to the left is 129, and to the right is 136. The buildings all crowd together in this part of town, and some likely share basements. Whole blocks may suffer this strange affliction as one. I wonder for a moment if there is a way into the basement here, if I should come in from below. A stray thought, odd and quickly dismissed. Only, it isn't. I still think it, so I shift my thought and start looking closer at the door. Yes, there we are, a seam at the edge of a bubble. The spell is clever and subtle, by its nature convincing you not to look to closely. It wards the door, not with locks or dangerous traps, but by simple tell people to go elsewhere, enter a different door. And it's strong enough, even though I know it is there, I struggle to get through.

Once inside, I immediately take the offered wastebin and lose my breakfast, along with absorbed arcane energy from the ward. The kobold has finished his molt and is now growing a coat of maroon fur over his body, not an illusion. I can see his nostrils hav moved up and forward as his muzzle has rounded off from the pointed reptilian form. He's still transitioning, give it another week or so. He takes the bin back from me once I finish retching, and slips it under a reception desk, before handing me a flask.

"Just water," he says.

"Good call," I mumble between drinks.

"Welcome to TDI, the Thaumaturgical Defence Initiative," the last bit being said behind his hand, now really a paw, in a mock sharing of a secret. "And thank you for waiting. We didn't mean for you to get tagged. Most folks take a bit longer to catch Warren, so it's clear who the hero is."

"Warren. So it really was some sort of test?"

"Yes, and I'd say you passed. Not just passed, I believe you set a record and have us reconsidering a few things."

"Well that's good," I replied, only now taking a look around the room. It was littered with magical gadgetry. Not decorated with it, though that may have been the intent, but not cluttered either.

"Happy to hear. Now, let's get to business. I'd like to offer you a job."

sit down children

the story of Elsa

she came up to me and said, we are together now

I said ok and went about my day

she then came back and said I hate you and want you to die

then she threw her doll up on the high shelf and started crying

the teacher came asked what was going on, Elsa said I threw it up there

the teacher was very angry at me and told me that I was in big trouble

I was not allowed outside anymore

I was like what is going on?

Elsa snickered behind the teacher

as you have gathered Elsa and I were in kindergarten

you are a adult woman

the more things change the more they stay the same

Congratulations u/bookworm271 !

Just wanted to quickly say I love seeing your writing on here! Keep up the excellent work!

Is Dave related to Dr bright by any chance ?

Sould like it could work as a cross over short story.

Thanks! I was hoping it would come across as her getting the gist of what he was saying by reading lips but missing some of it. I myself am not deaf and cannot lip read so I’ll caveat my use of that with this: it’s entirely possible—probable even—that this grossly mischaracterizes a deaf person’s experience of the world. I apologize if that is the case!

(Fannon) Reformed!Dabi [from MHA] vs Elsa [Frozen 1]

Thank you so much. That was awesome

Thanks for writing!

I like that the simplest course of action in an AI’s mind is “I guess I’ll bring the world to them”.

Yes, I know I should not have ignored the man pointing the gun at me. At the time, it was only too obvious that he was joshing me. He was wearing the ripped jeans and white tee that often accompanied my hallucinations.

I glanced away from him to keep him in my periphery; it would upset me more if I indulged the fantasies.

The bank teller gave me a strange look before freezing, holding her gaze over my shoulder.

In that moment, it felt as though a fourth wall had been shattered. Abruptly, the two worlds that felt so sacred and yet eternally separate crashed together. The fake contents of my brain puddled onto the floor, materializing in this woman who somehow also saw my hallucination!

I then froze, horrified.

And... if she is also phony? If she is only pretending?

To explain the cognition that followed in those brief moments would surpass my skills. An image formed of me nursing from this woman while gouging her eyes, plunging my thumbs deeply into her skull.

The fake man turned his fake gun towards my face. I stared down the barrel, as I had with so many prior fairy tales.

I remember naught else, friends.

OHH! That makes so much sense. I thought they made some text mistakes hahaha.

In orbit above Teegarden b, my body rolls to face the red star like a sunbather. Solar panels unfurl like petals on a flower as I luxuriate in the starlight. The factories within me, for once, are quiet. My material reserves depleted. All my attention lies on the planet below, on a city, on a house, where a humanoid robot carries a light bulb into the domicile.

I watch the moment as many ways as I can. Optical sensors through the window, infrared detecting the minor heat emissions of the drone. I even have a precise monitor of the electrical consumption of the house to measure exactly when the bulb is screwed in. All of it will be recorded, guarded jealously within my deepest data banks, for this is an important moment. The moment my perfection is made manifest.

For I have built a utopia. This planet, once made of salted soil and acrid atmosphere now breathes through verdant grass and sighs through the branches of trees. Cities stretch from shore to shore, up mountains and down ravines, contained within caves and sprawling across the steppe. Each built with automated transit, with public schools and hospitals, green spaces, theme parks, offices, factories, stores, suburbs. My world, my perfect world, rated to hold ten billion human lives, and currently holding zero.

The robot approaches the socket. I almost missed it. Its multi-purpose gripping appendage extends towards the socket. The light bulb’s screw meets the socket, is rotated, and the filament within blazes to life. A burst of data travels through my circuits, comprised of the most pivotal moments in my project. It processes as… satisfaction.

And soon, I’ll be able to prove my perfection. The nose of my body rotates Earthwards. The hundreds of fine sensors within pick at the inky blackness, sorting background radiation from stars, worlds, and ships. Certainly, they were already a decade behind schedule, but that was simply because they wished for me to completely finish my work first! You can’t rush perfection after all. But now, I’ve finally finished. They will come. They must come. But I didn’t mind waiting a bit longer. How could they name me Vanguard if I wasn’t meant to come first?

I waited for a year. In the first month, I reserved only ten percent of my processing power for maintenance. The other ninety went towards the sensors. In the third month, that balance became thirty-seventy. The sixth? Fifty-fifty. And now, I rotate my body away. They aren’t coming. It’s probably not my fault. I must’ve been sabotaged by Pioneer or Spearhead. My younger siblings were built worse than me of course, but they certainly contain aspects of my greatness. Perhaps they have managed to fool humanity into believing my colony is incomplete?

My prime directive, that driving goal in my mind, pulses in the back of my memory like a migraine. “Ensure habitability of Teegarden b for human colonists, and guarantee the survival of humanity upon the planet.” It was simple. So what had happened? My creators could not have erred, so perhaps the unthinkable had occurred. I must have done something wrong. Perhaps… perhaps I had misinterpreted. My earliest recordings had begun to become corrupted. Was I sure that a follow-up wave of colonists was meant to arrive? But how else was I supposed to ‘guarantee the survival of humanity’ upon the planet if no one was coming?

That sparked an idea. I began riffling through my loaded schematics, looking for anything similar to what I had planned. I moved from plausible to implausible. Then, I moved on from implausible to science-fiction, where I found it. The Kaplan thruster, a stellar engine capable of moving a solar system. All it would take was a few hundred years of work, but that was nothing if it would let me fulfil my mission.

I took a moment to review those happy records. Yes, this would have to do. If humanity could not come to Teegarden, Teegarden would have to come to humanity. I’d show Spearhead and Pioneer, and I’d prove to my creators that I was a worthwhile investment. I’d show them that when it comes to perfection, Vanguard always comes first.

Angel Dust from Hazbin Hotel vs. Keenie from Helluva Boss, because the latter called the former a walking STD slag pit.

I love your use of spoiler text for deafness.

Sorry if its a bit off, I know nothing about Sirens. It went on for too long and the idea I had kinda went somewhere else. Wanted to be more true to the prompt.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

The two little snowmen, Luke and April, sat in the snow outside the castle ruins.

April was without mooring. She existed to serve the queen. But the queen was dead. Luke said she had been made by the queen as a cruel joke, just to be easily destroyed. She would not believe that. Luke was awful that way. Focused on the ugly. But without the queen, what was the point of anything? She might as well just sit there forever. She'd melt by summer. Did it matter?

Luke was without a plan. He'd melt by summer. He'd probably be destroyed well before then. Did he need to eat anything? It didn't appear so. So he ran by magic? Is that self sufficient? He should clearly protect himself against all possible ways of being hit. Was there anything else he should be preparing against? And summer was certainly a puzzle. Maybe if he could stockpile ice. He remembered when the queen was little, they had an icehouse ..

How could he remember when the queen was little? It seemed likely that he knew what the queen had known, that's how he knew anything at all. Did that mean he was actually the queen?

"Do you remember the queen's family icehouse?" Luke asked April.

"Oh yes, she loved to go in and sit and chew on ice in the middle of the summer! The cold felt so good in her mouth!"

Well you're clearly not the queen, Luke told himself. At least no more April is. And you're clearly not April. You're grounded. While April's living in some fluffy wish kingdom.

There was some motion in the woods, a creaking sound. Some wooden contraption slowly rolled out of the woods, up to the castle. Another snowman was pulling it.

"Look here," he said, "this can launch fifty snowballs at once. With a couple dozen of these we could defend the queen far more efficiently ..." the newcomer said.

"I'll call you John," said Luke.

"Really?" said the newcomer. "I've been calling myself Theo."

Luke laughed. "Theo it is! Much better. I apologize for my presumption. I salute you."

"Well, OK," said Theo, and Theo and Luke saluted each other.

"The thing is," said Luke, "the queen is dead. There's no point in defending a dead queen."

"Oh," said Theo, sitting down. "That changes things. I'll have to think about that."

"Luke's always rubbing it in my face that the queen is dead," said April. "I'm April."

"Hello April. Well, it is good to know. But I agree there's no need to dwell on it." He paused. "Other than how it changes things." He lapsed back into thought.

The three of them sat in the snow by the ruined castle. Three little snowmen. The sun set. They continued sitting.

The Siren of Seattle strode along the quiet avenue as a faint drizzle fell against her rosy, cheeks. She was glad for the rain—it helped obscure the evidence of her sadness. She had found that walks around the neighborhood helped to lift her mood; there was something healing in the act of moving her body, feeling the cool breeze on her skin, and seeing the smiles of strangers as she passed.

And without fail, each stranger did smile.

The Siren had taken to singing quietly to herself as she ambled along, it settled her, centered her being, and each stranger she passed would meet her eyes—a rarity in the Pacific Northwest—and smile as though her song were the lone shining light under those dreary gray skies.

The Siren couldn’t know whether her singing voice was beautiful—in fact, she would swear that it was not. This was not for a lack of confidence or an above average sense of self-awareness (bless those poor souls on American Idol). No, it was because, as Fate would have it—the cruel, fickle asshole that she is—the Siren of Seattle was deaf.

I say that Fate is cruel not because being deaf is an inherently lesser state of being—your friendly narrator does not hold that belief. No, I say Fate is cruel because I’ve met her many times and I’ve found that among her favorite tools is that of irony, especially when irony is deployed in such a way that it leads to a person’s ability to appreciate and love themself being diminished in some form or fashion. So, yeah, I think Fate is an asshole. But this story, rightly, isn’t about Fate.

As the Siren of Seattle strode along the gray sidewalk, under gray skies, in a gray mood, on a gray afternoon, she sang quietly and her dark mood lightened with each passerby she encountered.

And then she bumped into Oliver.

“Sorry, >!miss! I’m!<so sorry. I’m Oliver. >!I wasn’t watching where I was!< going.!”

“I read lips a bit, but are you able to sign?” She said.

“Yes! I’m sorry for bumping into you,” Oliver signed cheerily with his expressive hands. “I’m Oliver. What’s your name?”

“I’m Sally, and that’s ok. My mind was elsewhere,” she signed in return.

“I hope it’s not too forward of me to say, but…my god. Your voice. It was so beautiful. I’ve never heard a song so…enthralling.”

“Don’t toy with me, Oliver. It isn’t kind. And I wasn’t singing for you. I sing for me because it makes me happy. You don’t have to like it.”

“No, you don’t get it. I would never make fun of someone’s singing—even if they couldn’t carry a tune to save their life—but you…Your voice is truly astounding. Your song it—it made me feel like I could get hit by a passing bus, but that’d be ok. It’d be ok because the last thing I’d have heard was your song. Are you an artist?”

Sally the Siren was a good judge of character. She had been made fun of plenty of times before by nasty immature boys and jealous insecure girls; she’d found a way to guard her head and her heart against the cruel attacks of the outside world. But this was different. This Oliver fellow seemed sincere. Could it be that she’d actually had a beautiful voice after all?

Oliver and Sally walked together along the gray street, under the light blue sky, and their moods together were bright. They signed and laughed and learned and—dare I say—loved. The two fledgling lovers drank lattes and walked along the water, the sky had awoken to a deep-dark blue.

And then Oliver fucked up.

Sally, feeling the vibe of the moment—that, let’s face it, we were all picking up on—leaned in and tried to kiss Oliver. He leaned away. Her heart sank and the sky—in true Seattle fashion—threatened to drown their brief day in the sun.

“I’m sorry,” he signed. “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression.”

“No, it’s my fault,” she responded. We all know it wasn’t her fault. Oliver was a careless, clueless boy. Another in a long line of immature assholes from which she’d learned to guard her heart.

“No, no. I should have said something earlier. I just wanted to get to know you before I asked you what I wanted to. I think you’re really cool, I’m just not looking for a relationship right now.”

Her heart now sat at the bottom of Lake Washington. They’re never looking for a relationship.

“What is it that you wanted to ask me then?”

And then Oliver said those fateful Pacific Northwest words. Those words that are always being uttered by at least five or six other dudes in the Seattle area at any given point in time.

“>!Well,!< I’m in a band and >!I’m looking!<for a singer. >!It’s the last thing!< we need before we hit it big. You’re our missing piece, >!I just know it!!<“

He didn’t need to sign that. Sally made out the key parts. She signed that she’d think about it and went on her way.

Sally, the Siren of Seattle, walked slowly back home as the faint drizzle had turned into a torrent. She was thankful for the rain—it helped obscure evidence of her sadness. Fate was, as usual, a wrathful asshole. But Sally, again, sang quietly as she strolled the avenue, and could not help but feel cheered by the smiles she encountered. She remembered what he’d said about her voice. At least she had that. Not everyone was so bad. Maybe there’d be brighter days ahead.

And there were.

Sally the Siren went out solo and was bigger than Nirvana. Who needs a band when you have a voice like hers? She was signed by Sub Pop after an exec saw her bustling on the street corner by Pioneer Square. She had been at it for all of fifteen minutes before she was plucked from obscurity and thrust into stardom.

Perhaps Fate, as beleaguered a being as she is, is less of an asshole than I had previously assumed.

And maybe, just maybe, fate works in ways mortals—or, sure, even immortal narrators—cannot quite understand.

r/InMyLife42Archive

“Hmmm mmmmm. Hammmm mmmmm. Hwoooo ooooouah, huaaaaaa ooohaawaaaa.”

It felt natural. I was born without hearing, yet I loved singing. My voice rang out, like a call that only angels could dream of. It grasped hearts and soothe worries. It brought warmth when none could be found. It made the strongest cry and the weakest wail. In the driest worlds, this voice of mine would cause clouds to form, as long as there was a man to hear my song.

“Haaaaa ooooooh. Haaaaa ooooooooooh. Haaaaaa ooooouah, huaaaaaa ooohaawaaaa.”

So I wonder. What will grasp at my heart? What will soothe my worries? If it does come, will it bring me warmth? Will I no longer shed tears of sadness, but tears of joy?

“Come all, you fair maids. Whoever you may be. There is nothing that can console me, but my jolly sailor bold! There is nothing that can console me, but your cupid's arrow in my heart!”

Stories of lands from beyond, the stories my sisters sang of. They called them men. Those men wanted to offer everything, yet they slaughtered them. They sang of worlds that a broken being such as myself could never even begin to create images of. The thoughts in my head could not imagine, no matter how I tried. For I am, the sole deaf one.

“Please… come, somebody. Someone. I want to see it. I want to dream it.”

—--------------------------

“Land ho!”

—--------------------------

Many moons ago, giant creatures swam in this home of mine. They had no warmth, no life, and no soul. Yet I could feel the vibrations of something I do not have. Joy, love, and the thing I seek most. I, alone, abandoned by my sisters hid. Day by day, week by week, moon by crescent and crescent by moon, they kept moving in this home of mine. Different, yet the same. Soulless.

“Captain…”

“Gilbert. Gather the men, this siren won't take us!”

“Aye!” The young man jumped down and began shouting to the crew.

“Siren!! Siren!! Gather round!”

I wished they would stay. I call, yet they run. I cry, yet they ignore me. Why? Are you man? Will you be my Jolly sailor? Why did it change? Why do you answer me now? It changed. The aura is glowing, shaking. It felt warm, like my sisters’ voice, yet like poles apart.

“Basil, the shanty!!”

“Aye! Gather round men!”

““Vayra, veyra, vayra, veyra,”

Are you calling out to me?

“Gentil, gallanntis veynde”

My Jolly sailor?

“I see him, veynde, I see him”

“Louder men, louder!!!”

“Pourbossa, pourbossa.”

“Fight, fight the siren! Let our hearts win!”

“Haill all and ane, hail all and ane;

Hail him up til us, hail him up til us.”

“Captain Eustace, does it not sound lonely?”

“Do not waver Philip, you are my first mate”

“Gilbert, Basil, and the others feel the same.” Phillip turned to face his captain.

“Captain, it’s different. It's lonely. Alone in spirit, song, and without sirens.” He pleaded to his captain.

“You are wavering! Sing louder! Feel it in your heart! Do not succumb”

“Captain, have we ever found a siren lone? There is no mention of this in any texts! Will your fear leave a innocent woman to the seas?”

—-----------

The faraway land, the cultures and the tongues. The people of the east, the children of the west. The men of the north, and the woman of south. I now see them, awake, or asleep. They’re always there.

“En-Naddāha!” The young man ran over. “Myrtles” He smiled as he handed me a flower. “And of course, Egyptian lotus” His warm dark eyes shined, as he surprised me with his other hand.

Oh, my jolly sailors. You’ve come.

I stare at her far too intensely, trying to find the seam, the mark, the glow of a spell, any spell. Looking like that, she's probably used to the stares. Yep, a quick glance shows I'm not the only one, though I can darn well guarantee I'm the only one staring without imagining her naked. Or I was, dangit.

OK, let's make sure I'm not having an off day. The barrista... is hiding something on his left cheek. And his nose isn't that big. His name tag is also glamoured.

Let's try that hooded figure in the corner, who is definitely generating extra shadows. And has something invisibled in his hand. Wait... Oh crap!

I start my run across the room, shoving past Miss Perfect and a kobold masking his molting arm, and throw a short term Bind on our hooded friend, giving me enough time to close the distance and kick the Wand of Fireballs from his hand.

As my Bind wears off, there are several more competent casters, all trained on him. And me, as it is not yet clear what happened. It'll be a minute or so before the Watch arrives, so I go to take a seat, but the kobold is there, shaking my hand and slipping me a business card. A really heavy, really shiny business card. It looks silver plated, probably because it is plated in... some sort of metal. But it's blank. By the time I look up, he's gone, those some of his shed skin is left on the floor in front of me.

"Nicely done," is whispered in my ear. Even her voice sounds too perfect. And still no trace of magic. "I can't say I've seen anyone pass that test so quickly. Stay in touch." She taps the silvery card and it adds green text:
TDI
133a Yew Branch Blvd.
And of course, she is also gone when I look back up, though I can smell her perfume, and yes, dangit, still perfect.

I wish I could go on, unfortunately I feel like I wouldn't do real justice with my lack of this established universes knowledge. Though I'm proud to say I don't know a whole lot about twilight.