The Jinx, half Lynx, half Jaguar and half-mad, stalked its prey through the long grasses and waist-high shrubs of the Aquakitty Sanctuary. It moved like a shadow, slipping through the grass almost as though it wasn't there, disappearing completely when out of bright sunlight, and utterly soundless. When it was far enough away, and sure that no-one could hear it, it chuckled to itself.
Ahead of it, utterly oblivious to where he was, or the danger he was in, Doctor Septopus slipped through the long grasses and waist-high shrubs like an elephant, lumbering along so loudly that several nocturnal species had woken up and were feeling grumpy that their sleep had been disturbed. His tentacles weren't well adapted to dry land at the best of times, and the oven-like heat inside the sanctuary had dried out his scaly skin and given him a headache. He plodded on, looking for water.
At last there was a glimpse of silver on the horizon, and Dr. Septopus sighed heavily and turned towards it. He was worrying that one of his tentacles might be coming close to dropping off, and he was not at all happy about having to change his name to Dr. Sextopus if that happened: he could already imagine the smirk on Silvestra's face when she heard, and the Green Lightbulb had problems with far shorter words. The idea of being Dr. Sexypuss from time to time was cringe-inducing.
He crested a small rise, and saw to his mild pleasure that the silver glint was widening and looking promisingly water-like. Behind him, the Jinx stretched out, flowing forward like night enveloping the landscape, tensing muscles ready to spring. In front of him, an angry tiger that had been trying to sleep until Dr. Septopus plodded by also tensed, readying to spring.
Dr. Septopus saw the tiger as it launched, and collapsed, his tentacles crackling like dry newspaper. The Jinx sailed over Dr. Septopus's head, its claws just scratching his scalp, and crashed into the tiger. The two giant cats landed in a ball of fur, growling and spitting, and Dr. Septopus rolled onto his side and down the slope.
He bumped and crashed his way down, bouncing off rocks, crushing small shrubs, and leaving a faint ammoniac smell of fish behind him; a scent trail as visible as if he were laying tarmac for a new motorway.
At the bottom of the rise, he righted himself, noting with relief that he still seemed to have all his tentacles, and ran, hoping to get away from the catfight behind him, heading still for the water, which was glittering brightly as it got closer.
The Jinx broke the tiger's neck with a well-timed swat of a giant paw, and sat back on its haunches. It licked a deep scratch thoughtfully, and scented the air. Dr. Septopus was as visible as a fireworks show at midnight to it, and it decided that one accident wasn't a deterrent. It padded off, following the smell of week-old fish.
Showing posts with label council of nastiness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label council of nastiness. Show all posts
Saturday, 30 April 2011
Thursday, 2 July 2009
Keeping the secret
"We need strong cryptography to protect our secrets, particularly email and our online EPMS. As it stands, we've got a single password protecting most of our files, and if you can get onto the CONserver you can read just about anything anyway. We need to update, and swiftly."
Sylvestra looked up from Vogue and made a moue. "Whatever you like, Doc.," she said, marking her place on the page with a long finger. "I thought the password was pretty secure though."
"It's only secure at all because we let the Green Lightbulb choose it," Dr. Septopus said, clacking his beak to show his irritation.
"Hah! Then you mean it's only secure because no normal person would think of it!"
"I honestly doubt a normal person could even spell it. Do you think that maybe his kind of illiteracy is part of his superpower?"
"I try not to think about him. Ever." Sylvestra screwed her face up in distaste, and returned to her magazine.
"Fine," said Dr. Septopus, carefully not voicing his agreement with her. "Well then, I shall organise the crytographic protocols tonights and issue you all with your individual and unique passphrases tomorrow."
"I think you mean parrot-harnesses," said the Green Lightbulb from the doorway. He came in as the other two looked up, and sat down at the round table in the centre of the Chamber of Nastiness where the Council met.
"Do I?" said Dr. Septopus, looking perplexed.
"Well yes," said the Green Lightbulb. "I've ordered parrots for everybody. They're like a kind of secure experiental storage faculty."
"...experimental?" said Dr. Septopus quietly, his face wrinkled in thought.
"...external storage facility, I hope," said Sylvestra, laying down her magazine. "How are they secure? Surely they can just fly away."
"They will bond with their owners," said the Green Lightbulb. "That's why we need parrot-harnesses. And then you tell them things that need to be kept secret, and they remember them for you, and repeat it back to you when you need it."
"I thought parrots repeated back things to anybody?" Sylvestra hid a smirk behind a hand.
"No, Sylvestra, we train them to only talk to their owners. And friends of course, so you can send messages to your friends by parrot. Like instant massaging, only cooler."
"Please let him mean messaging," muttered Dr. Septopus.
"How do you stop other people from overhearing what the parrot's saying?" said Sylvestra.
"Stop baiting him!" Dr. Septopus sighed and attempted to get the conversation back on track. "I meant passphrases, Green, for the increased security measures for email, the EPMS and the CONServer."
"I shall probably give up email in favour of parroting," said the Green Lightbulb prissily. "What EPMS? Or a CONserver?"
"EPMS is our Evil Plan Management System, and the CONServer is the Council of Nastiness's Server. It's hosted in the Cayman Islands, you know. The passphrases will all be about 2000 characters long, and there'll be a small... procedure to put it somewhere safe."
Both Sylvestra and the Green Lightbulb blanched at the word procedure.
"What?" said Dr. Septopus seeing the fear around the table.
"What kind of procedure?" said Sylvestra, closing her magazine. "This isn't going to be another... insertion, is it?"
"Oh no, nothing like that! You'll need the passphrase somewhere where you can read it, but no-one else can get at it. It'll be tattooed on the inside of your eyelids. That way, when you die we can just cut your eyelids off and still be able to access all your legacy data."
"That sounds painful," said the Green Lightbulb.
"What do you mean, when I die?" said Sylvestra.
Silence fell around the table for a few moments, finally broken by the Green Lightbulb.
"Can I kill the tattooist?"
"After he's done all the tattoos."
Sylvestra looked up from Vogue and made a moue. "Whatever you like, Doc.," she said, marking her place on the page with a long finger. "I thought the password was pretty secure though."
"It's only secure at all because we let the Green Lightbulb choose it," Dr. Septopus said, clacking his beak to show his irritation.
"Hah! Then you mean it's only secure because no normal person would think of it!"
"I honestly doubt a normal person could even spell it. Do you think that maybe his kind of illiteracy is part of his superpower?"
"I try not to think about him. Ever." Sylvestra screwed her face up in distaste, and returned to her magazine.
"Fine," said Dr. Septopus, carefully not voicing his agreement with her. "Well then, I shall organise the crytographic protocols tonights and issue you all with your individual and unique passphrases tomorrow."
"I think you mean parrot-harnesses," said the Green Lightbulb from the doorway. He came in as the other two looked up, and sat down at the round table in the centre of the Chamber of Nastiness where the Council met.
"Do I?" said Dr. Septopus, looking perplexed.
"Well yes," said the Green Lightbulb. "I've ordered parrots for everybody. They're like a kind of secure experiental storage faculty."
"...experimental?" said Dr. Septopus quietly, his face wrinkled in thought.
"...external storage facility, I hope," said Sylvestra, laying down her magazine. "How are they secure? Surely they can just fly away."
"They will bond with their owners," said the Green Lightbulb. "That's why we need parrot-harnesses. And then you tell them things that need to be kept secret, and they remember them for you, and repeat it back to you when you need it."
"I thought parrots repeated back things to anybody?" Sylvestra hid a smirk behind a hand.
"No, Sylvestra, we train them to only talk to their owners. And friends of course, so you can send messages to your friends by parrot. Like instant massaging, only cooler."
"Please let him mean messaging," muttered Dr. Septopus.
"How do you stop other people from overhearing what the parrot's saying?" said Sylvestra.
"Stop baiting him!" Dr. Septopus sighed and attempted to get the conversation back on track. "I meant passphrases, Green, for the increased security measures for email, the EPMS and the CONServer."
"I shall probably give up email in favour of parroting," said the Green Lightbulb prissily. "What EPMS? Or a CONserver?"
"EPMS is our Evil Plan Management System, and the CONServer is the Council of Nastiness's Server. It's hosted in the Cayman Islands, you know. The passphrases will all be about 2000 characters long, and there'll be a small... procedure to put it somewhere safe."
Both Sylvestra and the Green Lightbulb blanched at the word procedure.
"What?" said Dr. Septopus seeing the fear around the table.
"What kind of procedure?" said Sylvestra, closing her magazine. "This isn't going to be another... insertion, is it?"
"Oh no, nothing like that! You'll need the passphrase somewhere where you can read it, but no-one else can get at it. It'll be tattooed on the inside of your eyelids. That way, when you die we can just cut your eyelids off and still be able to access all your legacy data."
"That sounds painful," said the Green Lightbulb.
"What do you mean, when I die?" said Sylvestra.
Silence fell around the table for a few moments, finally broken by the Green Lightbulb.
"Can I kill the tattooist?"
"After he's done all the tattoos."
Thursday, 17 July 2008
Superhero
"They call him the Kalahari Kalamari," said Dr. Septopus, reading from the sheet of paper held in three of his seven limbs. "Also known as the Desert Squid and ugh! Yukky tentacles!"
"Really?" said Silvestra, running a hand through her hair. She had long white hair with a black stripe running down the back that she worried made her look like a rare kind of badger. "I thought people only gave nice names to the good guys?"
"Well," said Dr. Septopus, shaking his piece of paper in what he thought was a bureaucratic manner, "it would seem that he's something of a populist superhero."
"I think you mean popular superhero," said the Green Lightbulb. He was sat diametrically opposite Silvestra at the round table the three of them had gathered at, and glared at her whenever he thought she wasn't looking.
"No-o-o," said Dr. Septopus frowning at the paper, but refusing to pull his bifocals off his unusually large forehead and use them. "Definitely populist. It seems that he only shows up to crimes and villainy where he's sure of good media coverage. Out of 171 bank robberies in his part of India last month, he showed up to 9, and left one without doing anything because the audience had fewer than three people."
"Hmm," said Silvestra, who was well aware of the Green Lightbulb's distaste for her, and was quietly lengthening her legs under the table to be able to stamp on his webbed feet with her stiletto heels, "that would explain the soubriquets then."
"I think you mean soap-suds," said the Green Lantern pedantically, causing Dr. Septopus to raise his eyebrows so sharply his bifocals fell off his forehead and landed on his beak-like nose.
"Did we get you that subscription to the OED last Christmas?" said Dr. Septopus as casually as he could. "Only I think we thought you might enjoy it."
An embarrassed silence should have followed, but Silvestra stamped down on the Green Lightbulb's foot causing him to shriek like a leaking gasworks and turn a deeper shade of green.
"Anyway," said Dr. Septopus pretending none of this was happening, "he's rather venal for a superhero, definitely vain, and should be easy to vanquish. The three V's. This will be something of a publicity coup for us as well; the public always sees the good guys beating us, so it'll be nice to reverse that for a change. It's time the bad guys got the glory!"
"How do we do this then?" said Silvestra, trying (and failing) not to smirk at the Green Lightbulb. "I know we can set up a photogenic crime, that's utterly trivial. Then what do we do?"
"Well," said Dr. Septopus, "I'm torn between discrediting him as a superhero, and going all out to kill him. I'm a bit wary of killing him though, in case we get another Betty Botox on our hands."
"She's not dead!" said the Green Lightbulb in a slightly strangled voice. "She's just pregnant. You can't have a pregnant superhero -- what if they gave birth in the middle of the action? Audiences are all for blood and gore, but not when it's part of childbirth. You'll be PG-rated before you know it."
"Let's leave Betty out of this, and focus on the Kalahari Kalamari, shall we?" said Dr. Septopus before Silvestra could explode into another rant about the inequality suffered by female super-heros and -villains. "I think we should be able to discredit him easily enough by making sure we get away with the crime. And we know that we're cleverer than some Desert Squid."
"You'll want me to be the glamorous side-kick again, won't you?" said Silvestra in sepulchral tones. "You always want me to be the side-kick. I'm a talented villainess in my own right you know. I have a laboratory in Manhattan that's making brain-washing fashion accessories and my own army of zombie Avon-ladies, and all you want from me is big shoulder pads, big breasts, and a pout that'll hit the 6 o'clock headlines."
"We don't have a lot of people with your looks and charm..." started Dr. Septopus waving all seven limbs agitatedly and clacking his beak-like nose.
"The Green Lightbulb's pretty passable in drag," said Silvestra nastily. "I nearly didn't recognise him in Madame Jo-Jo's revue."
"I was undercover!" screamed the Green Lightbulb and leapt up from the table. He starting emitting bright flashes of green light and pointed angrily at Silvestra, who promptly folded the shadows around her and caused the temperature in the room to drop by 25 degrees Kelvin.
Dr. Septopus sighed and slithered under the table out of the way, and added a note to the minutes that yet another meeting of the Council of Nastiness had ended inconclusively. Then he settled down to wait for the survivors to sit back down.
"Really?" said Silvestra, running a hand through her hair. She had long white hair with a black stripe running down the back that she worried made her look like a rare kind of badger. "I thought people only gave nice names to the good guys?"
"Well," said Dr. Septopus, shaking his piece of paper in what he thought was a bureaucratic manner, "it would seem that he's something of a populist superhero."
"I think you mean popular superhero," said the Green Lightbulb. He was sat diametrically opposite Silvestra at the round table the three of them had gathered at, and glared at her whenever he thought she wasn't looking.
"No-o-o," said Dr. Septopus frowning at the paper, but refusing to pull his bifocals off his unusually large forehead and use them. "Definitely populist. It seems that he only shows up to crimes and villainy where he's sure of good media coverage. Out of 171 bank robberies in his part of India last month, he showed up to 9, and left one without doing anything because the audience had fewer than three people."
"Hmm," said Silvestra, who was well aware of the Green Lightbulb's distaste for her, and was quietly lengthening her legs under the table to be able to stamp on his webbed feet with her stiletto heels, "that would explain the soubriquets then."
"I think you mean soap-suds," said the Green Lantern pedantically, causing Dr. Septopus to raise his eyebrows so sharply his bifocals fell off his forehead and landed on his beak-like nose.
"Did we get you that subscription to the OED last Christmas?" said Dr. Septopus as casually as he could. "Only I think we thought you might enjoy it."
An embarrassed silence should have followed, but Silvestra stamped down on the Green Lightbulb's foot causing him to shriek like a leaking gasworks and turn a deeper shade of green.
"Anyway," said Dr. Septopus pretending none of this was happening, "he's rather venal for a superhero, definitely vain, and should be easy to vanquish. The three V's. This will be something of a publicity coup for us as well; the public always sees the good guys beating us, so it'll be nice to reverse that for a change. It's time the bad guys got the glory!"
"How do we do this then?" said Silvestra, trying (and failing) not to smirk at the Green Lightbulb. "I know we can set up a photogenic crime, that's utterly trivial. Then what do we do?"
"Well," said Dr. Septopus, "I'm torn between discrediting him as a superhero, and going all out to kill him. I'm a bit wary of killing him though, in case we get another Betty Botox on our hands."
"She's not dead!" said the Green Lightbulb in a slightly strangled voice. "She's just pregnant. You can't have a pregnant superhero -- what if they gave birth in the middle of the action? Audiences are all for blood and gore, but not when it's part of childbirth. You'll be PG-rated before you know it."
"Let's leave Betty out of this, and focus on the Kalahari Kalamari, shall we?" said Dr. Septopus before Silvestra could explode into another rant about the inequality suffered by female super-heros and -villains. "I think we should be able to discredit him easily enough by making sure we get away with the crime. And we know that we're cleverer than some Desert Squid."
"You'll want me to be the glamorous side-kick again, won't you?" said Silvestra in sepulchral tones. "You always want me to be the side-kick. I'm a talented villainess in my own right you know. I have a laboratory in Manhattan that's making brain-washing fashion accessories and my own army of zombie Avon-ladies, and all you want from me is big shoulder pads, big breasts, and a pout that'll hit the 6 o'clock headlines."
"We don't have a lot of people with your looks and charm..." started Dr. Septopus waving all seven limbs agitatedly and clacking his beak-like nose.
"The Green Lightbulb's pretty passable in drag," said Silvestra nastily. "I nearly didn't recognise him in Madame Jo-Jo's revue."
"I was undercover!" screamed the Green Lightbulb and leapt up from the table. He starting emitting bright flashes of green light and pointed angrily at Silvestra, who promptly folded the shadows around her and caused the temperature in the room to drop by 25 degrees Kelvin.
Dr. Septopus sighed and slithered under the table out of the way, and added a note to the minutes that yet another meeting of the Council of Nastiness had ended inconclusively. Then he settled down to wait for the survivors to sit back down.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)