Showing posts with label communicator. Show all posts
Showing posts with label communicator. Show all posts

Friday, February 25, 2011

TIME DOUCHE CH. 5 - Caught With Your Hand In Your Pants



TIME DOUCHE CH.5 - CAUGHT WITH YOUR HAND IN YOUR PANTS
By Tomara Armstrong

“Okay.” You look around. How is it that you find yourself in a situation once again? Big French guys have busted in on your chance to score with a royal hottie in hiding, and you’re not supposed to be upset? You’re either incredibly unlucky or someone has had it out for you from the beginning—some sick, sick sadist is controlling your fate. Regardless, you’ve had enough.

“Dude, do I look like I know what’s going on here?” The brutes glance at each other and eye you up and down. They seem to have come to the general understanding that you are not French. “Look, I’m a guest of Napoleon. Yeah, I helped him out earlier, maybe saved his life and stuff, but I don’t have any idea what all of this is about. Who’s Marie Therese?” You shrug and shoot a wink at the girl. “And what’s with the entrance? Aren’t you on the same side? And you just come busting thru the door? If I was Napoleon, I’d be pissed.”

“Uh… um…” both men shift their weight, looking nervous.

“I know your type, throwing shit around, trying to be all tough. Napoleon’s in the other room; dude’s gonna come unglued when he sees you’re tearing shit up.”

You’re loving every second of making these men sweat. In all probability, they could stomp you into a pulsing mass of goo on the floor. “You know what? Let’s get Napoleon in here,” you smile, but notice that Marie looks nervous. “Strike that. Why don’t you two dipshits go and find him?”

The two share a look, shrug, and sulk out of the room.

You’ve got a goofy grin on your face, replaying the moment in your head: tough talk, ninja moves, and naked girl slathered in chocolate.

Slap.
You barely have time to cover the stinging handprint on your face when Marie grabs the front of your shirt. “Why did you do that? Are you out of your mind?”

She’s not really pissed—she totally digs you. Naked girl… chocolate…mmm.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

Shaking your head, you grab Marie’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

She doesn’t resist. You’re feeling pretty confident as you head out into the night with Marie in tow. You just stole a girl from Napoleon Bonaparte. How cool is that? Of course, he would probably kill her if he knew who she really was, but still, pretty cool.

You’re overly zealous, jumping logs and lifting Marie over brush and puddles of mud. You’re pretty sure you’re getting close when she collapses to the ground in tears.

“Oh man.” Leave it to a woman to lose her cool at the worst possible time. You try to comfort her, but what started as a few tears has now turned into a full blown boo-hoo with accompanying snot bubbles. “Shush now,” you pat her on the back. “It’ll be okay.” She tries to speak but you can’t make out any of it. You glance around trying to determine how close you are to the time machine. “We’re close.”

“Close to what?” Finally the girl is making sense again.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe,” you say as you heave her into a secure piggy back. She wipes her nose on your shirt and kisses the side of your neck softly. Does this make her my girlfriend? You smile and trudge on toward the machine.

You see the machine in the distance, slide Marie onto her feet, and hurry toward it. “What is that?” she asks.

“Never mind what it is, Marie, we need to get in it and get out of here.” You start pacing in front the machine trying to think what to do. “Damn it, Thomas. You’re being quiet.”

You reach in your pants, and look at Marie in shock. She blushes.

“Oh no,” you panic, running around the perimeter. “Where is it? Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“Oh god… I didn’t lose it, did I?"

“Is this what you’re looking for?” Napoleon steps from the brush holding the communicator in his hand. He looks pissed and your hands are still in your pants.

Friday, July 23, 2010

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.4 MAKE UP AN EXCUSE TO USE THE BATHROOM





RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.4 - MAKE UP AN EXCUSE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM

By MJ Heiser

Looking into Malloy's face again was not something you wanted to do right now. Despite the fact that this time he would be clothed (and you would therefore be saved the sight of his naked nastiness), there's little doubt he will recognize you, and having both him and Saleen the Overwhelming Amazon united against you wasn't a pleasant thought.

"I -- I have to go," you stammer. You clap your hands over your stomach and work hard at making your face turn green and queasy.

"What?" Saleen asks.

You don't give her even a second to object. The security system beeps, giving Malloy clearance to enter Saleen's quarters. You scramble in your best impression of a diarrhea-addled duck walk towards the bathroom. You let the door whisper shut behind you, and let out the breath that had been growing stale in your lungs.

From the main chamber of the living quarters, you hear Malloy's entrance.

"Saleen."

"Malloy."

"I thought I heard another voice."

"Er . . .yes. In the bathroom."

"Ah."

"Is everything ready?"

"Of course. Our spies are set."

"Their disguises and credentials are immaculate."

"A little self-praise, Saleen?"

"Perhaps."

You realize you've put yourself in the unique position to get to the bottom of this mystery. You almost wish you could see them as they talked and conspired about offing someone important.

"It's deserved, I suppose. So, what about the person in your bathroom?"

Uh oh.

"I checked the security clearance. There was no native error."

"Did you check your own intuition?"

"What are you implying, Malloy?"

"Saleen, my trip to the infirmary was due to sabotage. I have a General Alert issued for the person responsible."

Saleen doesn't sound impressed. "Unless you waited until five minutes ago to issue the General Alert, the security clearance would have caught it."

Malloy's voice takes on the measured tones of someone speaking to a mental deficient. "I. Was. In. The. Infirmary."

Damn it.

Several seconds tick by in pure silence, and once again, you forget to breathe. You wonder what's going on out there. Are they typing communications into their wrist sets? Are they creeping up on the door to the bathroom, laser pistols drawn? Or maybe -- please -- have they shrugged it off and decided they should just sit down and watch some 5D space tube?

"Hey in there," booms Malloy's voice from the other side of the bathroom door.

Nope, not watching space tube.

"Hey," you say, trying to bury your voice in a groan of defecatory effort.

"You've been in there a long time, friend," he growls. You can tell he's trying to be playful. The thought of Malloy being playful is as ludicrous as the thought of a slug being swift.

"Oh, yeah," you say, deciding to play this to the hilt. No telling what madness drives you to whip down your pants and sit on the can. "I'm sure it was the cafeteria grub today."

"I think you should open this door so I can, you know, check you out, make sure you're okay."

"No, no, I'll be fine -- you two should just go on." --With your devious plan for assassination.

"I don't think so. Either open the door or I'm going to blast it in."

"Wait, wait!" you stammer, only now realizing just how bad an idea it was to pull your pants down. You rise to your feet and try to pull them up, but your hands are trembling too badly to get a good grip.

"Three . . .two . . ."

"Hold on a sec!" you grunt.

"One!" Malloy crows triumphantly, and with a loud laser shriek, the mechanism keeping the bathroom door locked becomes simply inoperable. The door is wrenched open, and soon Malloy fills the space with his considerable -- but fortunately, clothed -- bulk.

He arches an eyebrow at you. You're standing in front of the toilet with your pants around your ankles. The security shirt Saleen had given you doesn't cover you anywhere near enough. "Well hello, sweetheart," he says, gazing fondly at the place south of your navel before bringing his gun to level with your face.

Your last thought is: Huh. I die with Malloy staring at MY junk.

THE END