Humans are Weird – Massage

“Security! Security!” The frantic voice of one of the winged species echoed over the comms, high and piercing.
Under normal circumstances the Shatar currently at the security desk would have found the tones annoying at it echoed off of his frill and gave him a pounding headache. He idly wondered if skulls made of true bone resounded less to high frequency noise. Today of all days, this forty-second interruption of his office duties, it made him want to sick his blessed grandmothers on the irritating little scientist.
“There is a medical emergency in the human’s quarters,” the flitting little scamp cried out.
A horrible, low moan of pain filled the sound waves over and around the high frequency language of the Hellbats. Oh how he wanted to dismiss the interruption with a click of his mandibles. However there were rules and regulations for a reason. This might be different than every other call today. It might actually be a medical emergency unrelated to the sounds.
“Please give me the details,” he said curtly.
“There is the most horrible groaning and howling noises coming from the secondary work room,” the Hellbat declared.
The Shatar on security duty rubbed the ridges around his faceted eyes with a sigh and carefully took the details. When he had enough, and the Hellbat paused, he interjected quickly.
“These sounds have already been investigated and explained,” the Shatar clicked out. “The humans are performing a medical relaxation ceremony to disrupt the buildup of,” he checked the notes the human medical professional had given him, “lactic acid in their muscles. They have assured me the sounds are a necessary part of the massage.”
There was almost a pause as the Hellbat considered his words.
“Did they run out of painkillers?” the Hellbat asked. “Do they need us to fire up the chemical mixers?”
“It was explained to me,” the Shatar said. “That the procedure not only required full sensory alertness but that it was, in totality, pleasurable.”
“So will this be going on for some time?” the Hellbat asked cautiously.
“Several more hours,” the Shatar said grimly. “Each human apparently gets a turn under the care of the masseuse.”
“It is a lovely day outside,” the Hellbat offered. “I think the flight will rest out in the forest.”
“There is a small camp set up out there already,” the Shatar stated with a sigh. “I am the only non-human left in the base.”
“Hopefully your office is soundproofed,” the Hellbat said before signing off, without using the proper procedure.
“It is,” the Shatar muttered to himself. “Now if only no more concerned crewmates open the comm lines.” 

This weekend brought a snowstorm of a few inches to the cascades. This had effects on all the various mammals. The deer fled down to lower elevations for grazing. The humans made biscuits and coco. The marmots started scoping out various trucks to chew the belts and hoses to black rubber pieces. 
I shouted off one fluffy tailed chomper from a truck this afternoon but there are a lot more out there. Check your engines for leaks folks. 

They moved the store one me! I drove around a baking hot city for nearly an hour trying to find a giant box store with distinct colors. I could not find it. The thought did occur to me that it had moved but the logical part of my brain suggested that there was no way to utterly erase a giant box store in just six months. The logical side of my brain was wrong. Somehow a building as large a several city blocks was just gone. 
Okay, actually it just moved a few miles down the road but it was still a little "Twilight Episode" like. 

I photographed two new spiders today! 

A Day in the Life

​Coworker #1: You are doomed man.
Coworker #2: What do you mean?
Coworker #1: You let Adams touch your truck. The freakishness has happened.
Coworker #2 *groans*: What happened?
Me: So yes, your truck started making a horrific, tinny screeching noise that rose from somewhere in the middle of the cab or engine.
Coworker #2: So maybe brakes?
Me: It had been parked for half an hour and was turned off and not moving.
Coworker #2 *sighs*: I’ll keep an eye on it.
I may have a reputation.
 
 
Me *bursting into the secret lair*: Batwoman!
Coworker #3: Yes?
Me: There is an injured or possibly sick bat in the snow tunnel!
Coworker #3 zipping out the door like a rocket: On my way!
 
 
Me: Well I’m willing to be lost and I already am seriously injured! So I should be the one!
 

It is a well accepted concept that the depiction of mythical creatures changes over time. 
When a culture still has to deal with the reality that one predator can starve an entire family, eat family members, or simply ruin all the work they put into their farm/hunting/gathering over the course of the year, the dragon, the wolf, the unnameable beast is simply and easily the villain.
The western dragon especially is often seen as the personification of all the fatal dangers that northern tribes faced. Snakes, cats, wolves, eagles, and fire.  Dragons were the villains in old Eurasian folk tales for the simple reason they were everything that would kill you quickly and painfully. 
However as cultures pulled away from the days when the wolf would literally come to your door the mental image of dragons softened and changed. 
Most recently there seems (to this author at least) to be a shift towards depicting them as the embodiment of logos, of truth in the spoken word. Perhaps the most mainstream example of this is in the DC comics JLA: A League of One, wherein Wonder Woman has to fight a corrupted dragon alone. This falls to her not for her superior strength but because of her dedication to the truth as represented in her lasso. (Granted the writing is a little odd given that the near absolute truthfulness of Wonder Woman is the crux of the story but she also deceives the entire JLA in the story.) 
Sometimes the fire burns the deceitful and leaves the honest, sometimes the light in their eyes responds to the truthfulness of their challenger. 
My own dragons have quite the flavor of logos about them, which was not something I intended when I began to write them. It just happened. 
So here is my question.
When did the cultural zeitgeist whisper that dragons are logic, truth, and reality without compassion? 

Humans are Weird – Crystals

​“Twistunder?”
The breadbox sized alien slumped in frustration as he turned his attention away from his report for the forty-second time this day.
“Yes, Spins-in-agitation?” He replied, being careful to modulate his body language calmly. It wasn’t Spins-in-agitation’s fault that the base was full of humans. “What do you need?”
“I have a question,” Spins-in-agitation asked. His hesitation was painfully obvious in the meticulous way that his appendages lifted and dropped.  “It is about the human’s behavior.”
“Of course it is,” Twistunder said.
At least the sub- angles suggested it was only one human the younger Undulate was asking about. He waited for the question.
“There are crystals hanging in the base windows,” Spins-in-agitation finally began.
“Yes,” Twistunder said with stiffer movements than he intended to. “Humans are unable to discern differentiation in solar light. Each sun has a single color to their eyes. The crystals are for ornamentation. They scatter the light so the humans can see a broader range of the spectrum.”
“Yes,” Spins-in-agitation waved his gripping appendages quickly. “That was in the briefing file. I had a chance to observe a human without him knowing I was there.”
Twistunder pulled his appendages under him in anticipation. This was going to be good.
“It was the solar angle of optimum light scattering,” Spins-in-agitation explained. “What the informational packet called a full seven. And human Steve was in the white room. The central foci of the refractions were moving over the walls for the room due to the crystal swinging back and forth, and human Steve was…was…”  The younger Undulate paused and his appendages dropped in frustration. “I think he was hunting the foci?”
“Hunting,” Twistunder replied stiffly. “Hunting the foci.”
“Yes…” Spins-in-agitation started again. “He was … creeping around the room, following the refraction foci … the rainbows they call them I think … then every time he was close to one he would … I think the word is pounce. He pounced on them, grasping the flat wall with his primary appendages. Then he would … grin … I believe the word is … and start stalking another one. Then, then the crystal stopped moving, and the foci stopped moving, and he frowned and walked over and nudged the crystal to start the foci moving again.”
Spins-in- agitation stopped and drooped in perplexity, his primary gripping appendages lifted in supplication to Twistunder. The older Undulate twitched and thought longingly of his report.
“I don’t know Spins,” Twistunder said with a droop. “I just don’t know.” 

When writing a simple injury like a broken bone remember to take into consideration all the side effects like the fatigue that is the result of the low grade pain keeping the injured character from sleeping well. 
Think about how this will effect little things like how many blog posts a blogger might make in a two week time period. 
​Just saying...