Re: Mini-Grand 5113 (Round 1: Chateau Securise!)
01-25-2013, 07:01 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Agent1022.
“Mrowwwwwwwww…”
The Oracle stretched, hindquarters in the air, and looked around with that irritating confidence cats have when they’re somewhere they shouldn’t be.
She was curled up on a table. Of course, she knew this was going to happen, down to the annoying disembodied presenter’s overenthusiastic voice; she’d kept a mouse in her paws up until the very end. Om nom nom nom.
Now, though, the future was getting kind of fuzzy. That was a bit alarming, though not unexpected. Maybe being transported made the mice go funny, or perhaps this was the quantum at work. She’d foreseen a horrible quantum accident once, and it ended up not happening because she’d foreseen the outcome – she’d had to lock herself up in a box with a rock of pitchblende, a Geiger counter and a bottle of cyanide for a whole minute before the wavefunctions deigned to collapse. She sniffed indignantly. Cats shouldn’t be beholden to wavefunctions.
Carefully, she rolled over on her back, dimpling the tablecloth under her, and watched the ceiling cameras with narrowed eyes.
Now, where were the others? There was a chew toy, a human and a…snake? Tied together with yarn? And the wolf pack. Dogs, she said to herself, spitting out the word.
“Mademoiselle?”
Lithely, grey fur twisted into a sitting position, and the Oracle was facing a waiter that looked trained in assault weapons, and inexplicably at the same time, French. You’re going to ask me a question. she managed, pretending not to notice the Kalashnikov slung casually across his back.
“Is Mademoiselle ready to order?”
The Oracle of Meow licked a paw. I’m going to order the halibut. A blurry image of the future coalesced on her mind like snow. And a dish of cream.
“Yes, Mademoiselle.”
And within the next hour or so, three armed men are going to try and take the restaurant.
To his credit, the waiter took that surprisingly well. “Yes, Mademoiselle.”
I’m not going to tell you what happens next. Lightly, she jumped down from the table and onto the carpet, and rubbed against the waiter’s legs. Now I’m going to ask you where your litter box is.
“Down to the end there, Mademoiselle, turn left, first door on your right.”
I’m going to thank you now, and you’re going to say-
“You’re welcome, Mademoiselle.”
Aw! You’re not going to try and supersede my precognition again, boy.
“My apologies, Mademoiselle.”
Carefully, the Oracle of Meow padded off between the tables. You won’t forget that until an hour or so from now, she called back.
“Of course not, Mademoiselle.”
Good boy.
“Mrowwwwwwwww…”
The Oracle stretched, hindquarters in the air, and looked around with that irritating confidence cats have when they’re somewhere they shouldn’t be.
She was curled up on a table. Of course, she knew this was going to happen, down to the annoying disembodied presenter’s overenthusiastic voice; she’d kept a mouse in her paws up until the very end. Om nom nom nom.
Now, though, the future was getting kind of fuzzy. That was a bit alarming, though not unexpected. Maybe being transported made the mice go funny, or perhaps this was the quantum at work. She’d foreseen a horrible quantum accident once, and it ended up not happening because she’d foreseen the outcome – she’d had to lock herself up in a box with a rock of pitchblende, a Geiger counter and a bottle of cyanide for a whole minute before the wavefunctions deigned to collapse. She sniffed indignantly. Cats shouldn’t be beholden to wavefunctions.
Carefully, she rolled over on her back, dimpling the tablecloth under her, and watched the ceiling cameras with narrowed eyes.
Now, where were the others? There was a chew toy, a human and a…snake? Tied together with yarn? And the wolf pack. Dogs, she said to herself, spitting out the word.
“Mademoiselle?”
Lithely, grey fur twisted into a sitting position, and the Oracle was facing a waiter that looked trained in assault weapons, and inexplicably at the same time, French. You’re going to ask me a question. she managed, pretending not to notice the Kalashnikov slung casually across his back.
“Is Mademoiselle ready to order?”
The Oracle of Meow licked a paw. I’m going to order the halibut. A blurry image of the future coalesced on her mind like snow. And a dish of cream.
“Yes, Mademoiselle.”
And within the next hour or so, three armed men are going to try and take the restaurant.
To his credit, the waiter took that surprisingly well. “Yes, Mademoiselle.”
I’m not going to tell you what happens next. Lightly, she jumped down from the table and onto the carpet, and rubbed against the waiter’s legs. Now I’m going to ask you where your litter box is.
“Down to the end there, Mademoiselle, turn left, first door on your right.”
I’m going to thank you now, and you’re going to say-
“You’re welcome, Mademoiselle.”
Aw! You’re not going to try and supersede my precognition again, boy.
“My apologies, Mademoiselle.”
Carefully, the Oracle of Meow padded off between the tables. You won’t forget that until an hour or so from now, she called back.
“Of course not, Mademoiselle.”
Good boy.
----
So very British / But then again | People are machines Machines are people | Oh hai there | There's no time
----
Superhero 1920s noir | Multigenre Half-Life | Changing the future | Command line interface
Tu ventire felix? | Clockwork for eternity | Explosions in spacetime