Infinity Smashed: A Mountain of Afterfood
Apr. 26th, 2020 07:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeA Mountain of Afterfood
Series: Infinity Smashed
Summary: Thomas’s Treehouse neighbors discuss his people’s mysterious pooping habits.
Word Count: 900
Notes: Stupid and silly freebie done in response to the Pestilence and the Humanure Handbook. “Handsome Boy” is Thomas’s Treehouse name; Black Gold resembles a large dung beetle and its people have nigh-religious fervor about poop.
Everyone physically able in Treehouse had to do a certain amount of work in the community gardens, under the auspices of the master gardeners. (Exceptions were made for extreme professional emergencies, but it was frowned on to shirk; the community gardens represented the community and caring for it represented one’s neighborliness.) Today, with the advent of spring, Black Gold oversaw a group spreading fresh black humus over the soil, rolling the compost ball along backwards and upside-down while Strong-Legs and the Greatest Weaver raked and spread. Jelly Legs couldn’t lift, carry, or spread, so it made sure the compost ball was rolling straight, and as All-Speaker, allowed them all to chat as they worked, even with their limbs busy.
It was good neighbor time.
“How goes your new helpmeet, Strong-Legs?” Black Gold asked politely. “Will he be joining us in the gardens soon?”
“Is so,” Strong-Legs said as it spread with its rake boots. “He would be here today, except he is still adjusting to the food.”
Everyone made signs of commiseration, remembering their own microbial adjustments to the land and the food.
“How is our honored newcomer he taking it?” The Greatest Weaver asked. She herself had gotten terribly ill and always worried for others.
But Strong-Legs said, “Better than I! Nothing serious. He will be nimble once more soon enough.”
“Oh good!”
“From what I’ve heard, he came from a terrible place,” Black Gold said as it wheeled the compost ball. “He’s lucky to be here now.”
“Is so? I have heard no such thing,” Strong-Legs sniffed, but Jelly Legs and the Greatest Weaver looked interested. Everyone loved gossip of newcomers’ lands.
“While you were out working, hurling heavy objects, I had a long talk with Handsome Boy,” Black Gold insisted. “He told me that they are plagued by talking boxes, which only talk, never listen.”
“Sounds like someone I know.”
Jelly Legs tittered.
“Are they alive?” The Greatest Weaver asked. “Odd lifeforms with different norms?”
“No no, Handsome Boy was very clear; they are things, not people. His people made them, on purpose!”
“Perhaps they are lonely, the sorts of people who prefer to listen, so the boxes talk for them,” the Greatest Weaver persisted. “That isn’t so odd.”
“Why must you take all the fun out of it, Greatest Weaver?” Black Gold complained. “I think it’s ghastly.”
“You would,” Jelly Legs said, adjusting the compost ball’s path. “Why would you listen for recreation?”
“Humph! Your opinion is meritless. Who made you a guard anyway, your judge of character is clearly faulty. If that doesn’t appall you, listen to this: they poop in their drinking water.”
Gasps. “No!” “You’re playing with us!” “His Pidgin Sign is bad; you must’ve misunderstood!”
“There is no misunderstanding,” Black Gold assured smugly. “I made absolutely certain as I evaluated his afterfood for the compost. They seal it in jars full of drinking water—”
“Repulsive!”
“—and then they throw it out.”
“Out? Out where? You mean the compost.”
“No,” Black Gold declared with a dramatic pause. “Nobody knows where it goes.”
“Is not so!”
“With respect, how can they not know where it goes?”
“Something must eat it—or drink it—and thus it only seems to disappear. I still say you misunderstood.”
“No, no, I interrogated him thoroughly, and Ribbonblack was All-Speaking there. Handsome Boy’s people put their afterfood in jars of drinking water and then throw them out into the misty somewhere, not as any religious offering but as an everyday matter. There are no eaters or drinkers of it, no afterfood class, and nobody seems to think about it.”
“Maybe they’re like Jelly Legs and they only make afterfood a few times a season,” the Greatest Weaver insisted. “Or trees.”
Strong Legs flapped in amusement. “Living with Handsome Boy through adjustment, I assure you, is not so. He poops like I do. More often, though that might just be because he’s sick.”
“There, you see?” Black Gold said. “Which means that somewhere, his people must have a gigantic mountain of afterfood, endless nutritive wealth, and they are under cultural taboo never to discuss it.”
Everyone stared at Black Gold suspiciously.
“It is true. Ask Jelly Legs; do I lie?”
Everyone looked to Jelly Legs, who was an All-Speaker and a guard, chosen for their ability to gauge intentions and character.
They rustled their blue tentacles in a visual sigh. “You have not lied.” And when Black Gold puffed up with satisfaction, “but I still say you misunderstood. A mountain of afterfood! Pooping in drinking water! What nonsense!”
That seemed to decide the rest of them. The group went back to work, chattering and laughing, leaving Black Gold disconsolate and deflated.
“You’ll see!” It told all of them. “Ask Ribbonblack and she’ll vouch for me! Ask Handsome Boy!”
They only jeered at it.
…
“So, greatest of helpmeets, is it so that your people’s afterfood mysteriously disappears?” Strong-Legs asked. “Do your people in death go to the greatest of afterfood mountains?”
Thomas rolled his eyes and burrowed deeper into his blanket. “Why does everyone in this town care so much about my poop?”
“It is the neighborly thing,” said Strong-Legs. “Also, I have a wager with Jelly Legs about it.”
Thomas stormed off, leaving Strong-Legs to chase after him, towing Jelly Legs along behind.
“Wait, Handsome Boy, wait! Where does the poop go?”
Series: Infinity Smashed
Summary: Thomas’s Treehouse neighbors discuss his people’s mysterious pooping habits.
Word Count: 900
Notes: Stupid and silly freebie done in response to the Pestilence and the Humanure Handbook. “Handsome Boy” is Thomas’s Treehouse name; Black Gold resembles a large dung beetle and its people have nigh-religious fervor about poop.
Everyone physically able in Treehouse had to do a certain amount of work in the community gardens, under the auspices of the master gardeners. (Exceptions were made for extreme professional emergencies, but it was frowned on to shirk; the community gardens represented the community and caring for it represented one’s neighborliness.) Today, with the advent of spring, Black Gold oversaw a group spreading fresh black humus over the soil, rolling the compost ball along backwards and upside-down while Strong-Legs and the Greatest Weaver raked and spread. Jelly Legs couldn’t lift, carry, or spread, so it made sure the compost ball was rolling straight, and as All-Speaker, allowed them all to chat as they worked, even with their limbs busy.
It was good neighbor time.
“How goes your new helpmeet, Strong-Legs?” Black Gold asked politely. “Will he be joining us in the gardens soon?”
“Is so,” Strong-Legs said as it spread with its rake boots. “He would be here today, except he is still adjusting to the food.”
Everyone made signs of commiseration, remembering their own microbial adjustments to the land and the food.
“How is our honored newcomer he taking it?” The Greatest Weaver asked. She herself had gotten terribly ill and always worried for others.
But Strong-Legs said, “Better than I! Nothing serious. He will be nimble once more soon enough.”
“Oh good!”
“From what I’ve heard, he came from a terrible place,” Black Gold said as it wheeled the compost ball. “He’s lucky to be here now.”
“Is so? I have heard no such thing,” Strong-Legs sniffed, but Jelly Legs and the Greatest Weaver looked interested. Everyone loved gossip of newcomers’ lands.
“While you were out working, hurling heavy objects, I had a long talk with Handsome Boy,” Black Gold insisted. “He told me that they are plagued by talking boxes, which only talk, never listen.”
“Sounds like someone I know.”
Jelly Legs tittered.
“Are they alive?” The Greatest Weaver asked. “Odd lifeforms with different norms?”
“No no, Handsome Boy was very clear; they are things, not people. His people made them, on purpose!”
“Perhaps they are lonely, the sorts of people who prefer to listen, so the boxes talk for them,” the Greatest Weaver persisted. “That isn’t so odd.”
“Why must you take all the fun out of it, Greatest Weaver?” Black Gold complained. “I think it’s ghastly.”
“You would,” Jelly Legs said, adjusting the compost ball’s path. “Why would you listen for recreation?”
“Humph! Your opinion is meritless. Who made you a guard anyway, your judge of character is clearly faulty. If that doesn’t appall you, listen to this: they poop in their drinking water.”
Gasps. “No!” “You’re playing with us!” “His Pidgin Sign is bad; you must’ve misunderstood!”
“There is no misunderstanding,” Black Gold assured smugly. “I made absolutely certain as I evaluated his afterfood for the compost. They seal it in jars full of drinking water—”
“Repulsive!”
“—and then they throw it out.”
“Out? Out where? You mean the compost.”
“No,” Black Gold declared with a dramatic pause. “Nobody knows where it goes.”
“Is not so!”
“With respect, how can they not know where it goes?”
“Something must eat it—or drink it—and thus it only seems to disappear. I still say you misunderstood.”
“No, no, I interrogated him thoroughly, and Ribbonblack was All-Speaking there. Handsome Boy’s people put their afterfood in jars of drinking water and then throw them out into the misty somewhere, not as any religious offering but as an everyday matter. There are no eaters or drinkers of it, no afterfood class, and nobody seems to think about it.”
“Maybe they’re like Jelly Legs and they only make afterfood a few times a season,” the Greatest Weaver insisted. “Or trees.”
Strong Legs flapped in amusement. “Living with Handsome Boy through adjustment, I assure you, is not so. He poops like I do. More often, though that might just be because he’s sick.”
“There, you see?” Black Gold said. “Which means that somewhere, his people must have a gigantic mountain of afterfood, endless nutritive wealth, and they are under cultural taboo never to discuss it.”
Everyone stared at Black Gold suspiciously.
“It is true. Ask Jelly Legs; do I lie?”
Everyone looked to Jelly Legs, who was an All-Speaker and a guard, chosen for their ability to gauge intentions and character.
They rustled their blue tentacles in a visual sigh. “You have not lied.” And when Black Gold puffed up with satisfaction, “but I still say you misunderstood. A mountain of afterfood! Pooping in drinking water! What nonsense!”
That seemed to decide the rest of them. The group went back to work, chattering and laughing, leaving Black Gold disconsolate and deflated.
“You’ll see!” It told all of them. “Ask Ribbonblack and she’ll vouch for me! Ask Handsome Boy!”
They only jeered at it.
…
“So, greatest of helpmeets, is it so that your people’s afterfood mysteriously disappears?” Strong-Legs asked. “Do your people in death go to the greatest of afterfood mountains?”
Thomas rolled his eyes and burrowed deeper into his blanket. “Why does everyone in this town care so much about my poop?”
“It is the neighborly thing,” said Strong-Legs. “Also, I have a wager with Jelly Legs about it.”
Thomas stormed off, leaving Strong-Legs to chase after him, towing Jelly Legs along behind.
“Wait, Handsome Boy, wait! Where does the poop go?”
no subject
Date: 2020-04-26 11:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-04-26 11:51 pm (UTC)It sure means he has awkward explanations to make to Raige and M.D. when they first experience it.
no subject
Date: 2020-04-27 01:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-04-27 03:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-04-27 02:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-04-27 03:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-04-27 08:02 pm (UTC)That was hilarious. XD
no subject
Date: 2020-04-29 12:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-04-30 08:21 pm (UTC)