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Survival of the Fastest
In the endless war for survival, few creatures can beat the common cockroach. Poisoned, gassed, trapped, and eaten by larger creatures, the race of cockroaches is an outstanding success.
Individually, they’re just a fast bug that squishes when stepped on.
Zircon was not a bug.
A bug would freeze in the snow-covered mountains, or get caught unaware by the hired assassin stalking his path. A bug would not have left a cooling corpse in the bottom of a ravine, or found the cave in the granite mountain where he was stockpiling wood. Most ponies would not have snared a brace of fat hares to eat while weathering the storm, but to Zircon, that only emphasized his individuality as not part of the greater herd.
“Home, sweet home,” he rasped, heaving the former assassin’s tent-like bearskin coat to one side of the cave and taking a few moments to cool down. In short order, he returned to his tasks, because the wild storm sweeping in was going to rage for days, but he needed to accomplish certain tasks in preparation first.
‘Paranoia’ was just a word used to describe living ponies who had nothing to fear, but still went about their lives in a constant state of anxiety. Zircon had many things and ponies to fear, and although he had been called paranoid before, he was still living while many of those who sought his life had been careless.
And dead.
The tripwire strung across the cave entrance, the extra firewood he had gathered, and the dead rabbits he was dressing were all symptoms of paranoia. The way he lit his horn up with the bloody knife hovering in his magic and swung around at the quiet noise was not.
The corner of the cave where he had thrown the offal from the rabbits was occupied now. Three small furry creatures were chewing and growling at the bloody mess, and stared back up at him with large, dark eyes at his motion.
The paranoid thing to do would have been to kill them, but they were much smaller than the unicorn, and chirped happily when Zircon threw them the last of the rabbit guts. The creatures even had long, silky hair that would have made warm boots or a lining for his looted bearskin coat.
Still, there was enough blood on his hooves for one day, and he turned to arranging the small fire that would be his constant companion until the storm went away. Setting up the copper pot, packing it with snow to melt, arranging the remaining firewood to provide a reflector for the warmth. They were all necessary tasks constantly put on hold by the antics of the playful little creatures, seeming to be crosses between some sort of long-limbed fox and mischievous otters.
The smaller of the three creatures, most likely an adolescent, was much more timid than the others. It limped by favoring one foreleg, which was a mystery until Zircon managed to use bits of meat to coax it out of the snowpacked corner of the cave where it was hiding. A few minutes of cuddling all three of them let him get a better understanding of the broken limb, and the death warrant it spelled for the crippled creature if not corrected.
“Hold still, little guy,” murmured Zircon, using the gentle touch of his magic to spin a web of twigs and string around the twisted limb. “Now don’t chew it off until next week. You’ll be just fine by then.”
The jagged ends of the bones under the furry skin were difficult to match together, taking more energy for his magic to fuse than Zircon liked. Afterwards, he sagged back on the bearskin coat and let the little creatures climb over him, including his clumsy patient. It was a good moment, free from the constant fear of pursuit and warm with the feeling of accomplishment.
“Whew. We’ll give you little guys a drink, I can make some rabbit stew, and—”
With a shift in the chill air, a huge snow-covered creature appeared in the cave entrance, holding the corpse of a dead goat flung over one shoulder. It looked at Zircon and the smaller creatures climbing over him, gave a low chuff of fury, and lunged forward with long clawed fingers reaching for the arrogant creature who threatened its young.
Then it hit the tripwire.
And a heartbeat later, Zircon was out in the growing blizzard, running for his life.
Individually, they’re just a fast bug that squishes when stepped on.
Zircon was not a bug.
A bug would freeze in the snow-covered mountains, or get caught unaware by the hired assassin stalking his path. A bug would not have left a cooling corpse in the bottom of a ravine, or found the cave in the granite mountain where he was stockpiling wood. Most ponies would not have snared a brace of fat hares to eat while weathering the storm, but to Zircon, that only emphasized his individuality as not part of the greater herd.
“Home, sweet home,” he rasped, heaving the former assassin’s tent-like bearskin coat to one side of the cave and taking a few moments to cool down. In short order, he returned to his tasks, because the wild storm sweeping in was going to rage for days, but he needed to accomplish certain tasks in preparation first.
‘Paranoia’ was just a word used to describe living ponies who had nothing to fear, but still went about their lives in a constant state of anxiety. Zircon had many things and ponies to fear, and although he had been called paranoid before, he was still living while many of those who sought his life had been careless.
And dead.
The tripwire strung across the cave entrance, the extra firewood he had gathered, and the dead rabbits he was dressing were all symptoms of paranoia. The way he lit his horn up with the bloody knife hovering in his magic and swung around at the quiet noise was not.
The corner of the cave where he had thrown the offal from the rabbits was occupied now. Three small furry creatures were chewing and growling at the bloody mess, and stared back up at him with large, dark eyes at his motion.
The paranoid thing to do would have been to kill them, but they were much smaller than the unicorn, and chirped happily when Zircon threw them the last of the rabbit guts. The creatures even had long, silky hair that would have made warm boots or a lining for his looted bearskin coat.
Still, there was enough blood on his hooves for one day, and he turned to arranging the small fire that would be his constant companion until the storm went away. Setting up the copper pot, packing it with snow to melt, arranging the remaining firewood to provide a reflector for the warmth. They were all necessary tasks constantly put on hold by the antics of the playful little creatures, seeming to be crosses between some sort of long-limbed fox and mischievous otters.
The smaller of the three creatures, most likely an adolescent, was much more timid than the others. It limped by favoring one foreleg, which was a mystery until Zircon managed to use bits of meat to coax it out of the snowpacked corner of the cave where it was hiding. A few minutes of cuddling all three of them let him get a better understanding of the broken limb, and the death warrant it spelled for the crippled creature if not corrected.
“Hold still, little guy,” murmured Zircon, using the gentle touch of his magic to spin a web of twigs and string around the twisted limb. “Now don’t chew it off until next week. You’ll be just fine by then.”
The jagged ends of the bones under the furry skin were difficult to match together, taking more energy for his magic to fuse than Zircon liked. Afterwards, he sagged back on the bearskin coat and let the little creatures climb over him, including his clumsy patient. It was a good moment, free from the constant fear of pursuit and warm with the feeling of accomplishment.
“Whew. We’ll give you little guys a drink, I can make some rabbit stew, and—”
With a shift in the chill air, a huge snow-covered creature appeared in the cave entrance, holding the corpse of a dead goat flung over one shoulder. It looked at Zircon and the smaller creatures climbing over him, gave a low chuff of fury, and lunged forward with long clawed fingers reaching for the arrogant creature who threatened its young.
Then it hit the tripwire.
And a heartbeat later, Zircon was out in the growing blizzard, running for his life.
The cockroach bit had me wondering if this was really a pony, and later, what cockroaches had to do with anything here. The adventure is cute, but I'm not sure the paranoia/bugs/assassin bit really played into the ending as strongly as I'd have liked.
Plusalso, if this guy is sharp enough to survive in the mountains, surely he has some idea of what the wildlife is like and how to deal with it? I dunno. The writing is strong, but the plot feels shaky, even if the emotional beats do seem to work.
Plusalso, if this guy is sharp enough to survive in the mountains, surely he has some idea of what the wildlife is like and how to deal with it? I dunno. The writing is strong, but the plot feels shaky, even if the emotional beats do seem to work.
I like the overall concept, but the story feels as though it has no idea what it wants to be. Philosophical conundrums on a bug's life? A bitter, dark tale of a paranoid pony running for his life? A cutesy wootsy story about being nice to little animals? A wilderness survivor's guide? I have no idea.
What were you going for, author?
What were you going for, author?
I agree with >>Not_A_Hat, the cockroach thing really confused me at first (ZIrcon is not even a very pony-sounding name).
The beginning is slow and I only felt engaged when we first meet the furry creatures.
Shouldn't it be 'Paranoid' to describe ponies? You use paranoid right in the next sentence.
Another thing that really bugs me is the finale. In two lines, something happens and then immediately almost the opposite. Mama monster triggers the tripwire and you expect some kind of trap to kill her. Instead we see Zircon running for his life.
Adding just one line between the two would do the job, showing that Zircon set a trap but it's not very effective and it just pisses off the monster even more.
Overall not a bad story, but nothing impressive for me.
The beginning is slow and I only felt engaged when we first meet the furry creatures.
‘Paranoia’ was just a word used to describe living ponies
Shouldn't it be 'Paranoid' to describe ponies? You use paranoid right in the next sentence.
Another thing that really bugs me is the finale. In two lines, something happens and then immediately almost the opposite. Mama monster triggers the tripwire and you expect some kind of trap to kill her. Instead we see Zircon running for his life.
Adding just one line between the two would do the job, showing that Zircon set a trap but it's not very effective and it just pisses off the monster even more.
Overall not a bad story, but nothing impressive for me.
Not what I've come to expect from a story by you, georg. Wish it had finaled, and thought it deserved to.
>>regidar
>>Not_A_Hat
>>PaulAsaran
>>moonwhisper
>>Cold in Gardez
>>Bremen
I was originally going to title this one “No Good Deed” and leave the “Goes Unpunished” as unspoken, but over the last few years, I’ve learned not to be vague on my implications, because somebody always winds up not getting it.
I have to admit, the rough bones of this one were setup ten to twenty years ago, and framed out last writeoff, but I took the blank sheet approach and started from scratch. Zircon is a human character I played in GURPS twenty years ago and counting, who I like to describe as a little bit of a human cockroach. He’s a mage with a few scattered spells, some skills for evasion, and almost no offensive abilities at all, other than paranoia. Translating him to a unicorn was trivial. Setting the scene, a little harder.
Here we have a character who has just survived being attacked in the mountains right before a storm is blowing in. He finds a cave, stocks it for the few days he’s going to be stuck there, and during the settling in portion of his isolation, finds three fox-like creatures. Since it is no skin off his nose, and he has the spell, he heals the one creature’s broken leg and settles in for a long, peaceful rest.
Then Mama Yeti shows up. And she does not appreciate having some intruder playing with her children.
Cue Zircon’s rapid exit into the howling blizzard.
I plan on expanding this to go on Fimfiction with a brief section where Zircon is stumbling through the driven snow, freezing to death, until he loses consciousness and falls over...only to wake up snuggled in warm, long fur with Mama and the babies, with Mama not exactly happy at him, but he fixed baby#3’s leg, so she’s returning the favor. However, once the storm is over, out he goes.
Anyway, questions:
regidar: Yes, Zircon was a lot of fun to play in GURPS and to write. I like my heroes to have a back door, and to use it when the bad guys attack.
not_a_hat: Oh, come on. It’s a pony round. You’re overthinking it.
PaulAsaran: Yes.
moonwhisper: Of course, it’s slower when it starts, otherwise you get dropped into action so quick you have no idea what’s going on. Incrementalism is an important tool in a writer’s approach. It starts with the cockroach meme, to imply how hard something is to kill. Transitions to Zircon, who has just killed somepony sent to kill him. (an off-screen Worf Effect) A return to a reference of the former assassin, just in case the reader didn’t catch the first one. A false start with the unnamed little creatures (because calling them Yeti at this stage would blunt the Reveal), the tearjerker when one of the creatures is shown to have a broken leg, a ‘daww’ when he can fix it with spell and a disposable splint for support, then just when it looks like our protagonist can sit back and play with the fuzzy critters… Mama makes her entrance, pratfall style. And the bookend is complete, as Zircon darts away with something/one/pony who wants to kill him behind.
Think of Harry Potter. You’re introduced to him as a child in the cupboard under the stairs. He gets a developed character, with oddities one at a time, until the letter, and the panicked trip, and Hagrid… See?
ColdInGardz - Yeah, me too. I think the cockroach thing threw too many people at the very beginning. And somehow, the thought of a parasite did not on a very bug-related story also in the writeoff. I swear, everybody overthinks so much. Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar.
Breman - Someday, I’ll write a story so deep and so thoughtful that even I won’t know what it’s all about, instead of all this fun stuff about alicorn eggs and stuff. :)
>>Not_A_Hat
>>PaulAsaran
>>moonwhisper
>>Cold in Gardez
>>Bremen
I was originally going to title this one “No Good Deed” and leave the “Goes Unpunished” as unspoken, but over the last few years, I’ve learned not to be vague on my implications, because somebody always winds up not getting it.
I have to admit, the rough bones of this one were setup ten to twenty years ago, and framed out last writeoff, but I took the blank sheet approach and started from scratch. Zircon is a human character I played in GURPS twenty years ago and counting, who I like to describe as a little bit of a human cockroach. He’s a mage with a few scattered spells, some skills for evasion, and almost no offensive abilities at all, other than paranoia. Translating him to a unicorn was trivial. Setting the scene, a little harder.
Here we have a character who has just survived being attacked in the mountains right before a storm is blowing in. He finds a cave, stocks it for the few days he’s going to be stuck there, and during the settling in portion of his isolation, finds three fox-like creatures. Since it is no skin off his nose, and he has the spell, he heals the one creature’s broken leg and settles in for a long, peaceful rest.
Then Mama Yeti shows up. And she does not appreciate having some intruder playing with her children.
Cue Zircon’s rapid exit into the howling blizzard.
I plan on expanding this to go on Fimfiction with a brief section where Zircon is stumbling through the driven snow, freezing to death, until he loses consciousness and falls over...only to wake up snuggled in warm, long fur with Mama and the babies, with Mama not exactly happy at him, but he fixed baby#3’s leg, so she’s returning the favor. However, once the storm is over, out he goes.
Anyway, questions:
regidar: Yes, Zircon was a lot of fun to play in GURPS and to write. I like my heroes to have a back door, and to use it when the bad guys attack.
not_a_hat: Oh, come on. It’s a pony round. You’re overthinking it.
PaulAsaran: Yes.
moonwhisper: Of course, it’s slower when it starts, otherwise you get dropped into action so quick you have no idea what’s going on. Incrementalism is an important tool in a writer’s approach. It starts with the cockroach meme, to imply how hard something is to kill. Transitions to Zircon, who has just killed somepony sent to kill him. (an off-screen Worf Effect) A return to a reference of the former assassin, just in case the reader didn’t catch the first one. A false start with the unnamed little creatures (because calling them Yeti at this stage would blunt the Reveal), the tearjerker when one of the creatures is shown to have a broken leg, a ‘daww’ when he can fix it with spell and a disposable splint for support, then just when it looks like our protagonist can sit back and play with the fuzzy critters… Mama makes her entrance, pratfall style. And the bookend is complete, as Zircon darts away with something/one/pony who wants to kill him behind.
Think of Harry Potter. You’re introduced to him as a child in the cupboard under the stairs. He gets a developed character, with oddities one at a time, until the letter, and the panicked trip, and Hagrid… See?
ColdInGardz - Yeah, me too. I think the cockroach thing threw too many people at the very beginning. And somehow, the thought of a parasite did not on a very bug-related story also in the writeoff. I swear, everybody overthinks so much. Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar.
Breman - Someday, I’ll write a story so deep and so thoughtful that even I won’t know what it’s all about, instead of all this fun stuff about alicorn eggs and stuff. :)
>>Not_A_Hat Which is why I wrote that line. Everybody makes such a big deal about "show, don't tell" but I've found "show AND tell" keeps the readers from wandering off, scratching their heads in bafflement when something isn't obvious. After all, that's the principle behind non-Columbo mystery novels. The clues are there, seeded in the story in little bits and pieces, until the end where everything gets revealed.