---Hammer---
---Turoluj’s perspective---
‘Rigged’ is a strong word!
The game at my stall is technically winnable… just misleading…
Originally designed by and for Terrans, [high striker] would be thoroughly demoralising for Thruljex to play if not modified.
The numbers, 1-100, on the tower do certainly imply that it is a linear scale of strength.
Thruljec bulls get to smash down that lever, score a 40 and flatter themselves into thinking that they’re half to ⅔ as strong as a Human when I let them know that Humans typically score between 60 and 80.
I’m not lying when I don’t tell them that the scale is logarithmic and not linear! The game is winnable, they’re just further away from winning it than they might, perhaps, believe!
They get their ego stroked and a cheap toy to give to their girlfriend or boyfriend… I get their credits, minus operating expenses. Everybody wins!
A gal’s gotta make a living and I could do a lot worse than a job where all I’ve got to do is sit here, take payment, hand out consolation prizes and give appreciative ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s as bull Thruljex or Terran tourists show off for eachother!
I would also be lying if I said the tautening of arm muscles hefting an oversized hammer did nothing for me!
Speaking of which; I’ve just caught sight of a very promising looking trio!
A glamourous looking Terran woman with pale skin, purple eyes, long, dark hair streaked with silver and dressed in glistening robes is walking along, flanked by a short, stocky looking one with green eyes, tan skin, a thick brow, a prominent nose and a burst of coarse, bright orange hair but… it’s neither of them that have caught my eye!
The third woman is the tallest Human I’ve ever set eyes on… she’s taller than me!
She has dark skin, sleek, jet black hair in gorgeous ringlets, violet eyes, broad, flat facial features and… an absolutely stunningly muscled pair of arms!
I’d definitely go sleeveless too, if I had arms like that!
She’s slender but if all of her is as well muscled as those arms, then she’s probably the strongest person at the funfair!
Maybe she’ll be the first ever person to strike the bell! I wouldn’t bet on it but a gal can dream!
“Ladies!” I shout, using my showwoman voice, gesturing to them with one hand and to the game with the other “Care to test your strength? How’s about a little exhibition of that POWER that Terrans are so famous for!?”
The three of them look over, the wiry one with the mouthwatering arms gives me an intrigued smile. Perfect! She’s a showoff! I love showoffs!
She confers with her girlfriends and, after some Terran nodding, the three begin approaching my stall.
My stomachs are doing acrobatics as I see that woman’s toned arms approaching!
“Hi!” she greets.
“Welcome, ladies! How are you enjoying Roruj’s Adventure Park?” I beam.
She wobbles her head in a gesture of ‘so-so’ before answering “Definitely having fun… but I think the general consensus is that it could do with some rides that are a bit less… tame(!)”
I laugh “*Hahahaha* Yes… We used to have a few more that were explicitly for Terrans but… there was a consistent problem with nonThruljec species managing to convince the attendants that they were actually Terran uplifts(!) We got rid of them so as not to get sued!”
The tall one laughs, the robed one giggles… the dumpy one doesn’t react other than fixing me with an unnerving, unwavering stare which I pretend not to notice.
“So, are you gals familiar with [high striker]? Would you like an explanation?” I ask.
“Tell us about it.” smiles the glamourous one.
“So, the game [high striker] is a test of strength game of Terran origin. The way it works is; I give you this hefty mallet, you hit that lever there, hard as you can, and the puck will be flung up the dial! Everyone’s a winner but… if the puck goes above 80 then you get to choose a prize from this row!” I gesture ostentatiously to the row of medium sized toys “However… for the lucky lady who were able to strike that bell… well, she’d earn the right to choose a prize from the top row!” I indicate the row of comically oversized [plushies] “How about it, ladies? Care to show off for the crowd?” I signal to the circle of onlookers who’ve gathered curiously to watch Terran strength in action.
“I’ll give it a try!” smiles the dainty, pale skinned one, unexpectedly.
She doesn’t give the impression of being all that physical (any more than she would by simply existing as a Terran(!)) so I’m quite surprised that she was the first to volunteer! Perhaps she’s intentionally going first so as to stroke her girlfriend’s ego even further? Cunning if so!
She taps her holo to pay and I give her the mallet with a smile and a nod!
She squares up to the machine and raises the hammer into the air, over her shoulder, before slamming it down with surprising power!
“Wow!” I say, not feigning my astonishment the way I normally would “The lovely lady has scored a 76!… Impressive!!! For that score, you win this lovely miniature [plushie] of the park mascot, Ruroj!” I say, placing the thumb sized toy on the counter.
There’s murmuring from the gathered crowd as they seem to be trying to work out how impressed they should be.
If I had had to guess her score just from looking at her, I would have put her in the low sixties or perhaps even high fifties! This elegant woman is much stronger than she looks!
I return my attention to the Terran trio, the pudgy one and the wiry one offering congratulations to the deceptively strong one.
“So… are the two of you going to give it a try or are you going to settle for letting your girlfriend show you up(!?)” I tease.
The tan one’s face blushes red but, otherwise, perfectly maintains its blank expression. Is that flush from anger at the suggestion that she’s been shown up or embarrassment at her own inability to outdo the score of a woman who looks so delicate?
The dark skinned Goddess of muscular arms steps to the counter and, with a wordless smirk, taps her holopad.
I hand her the hammer which she gives a cocky twirl.
She takes a wide stance in front of the machine, her long legs affording her a rock solid base of support while her long, strong arms provide ample impulse to smash the hammer down on the lever, flinging the puck up to “83!!! I rarely see scores so high! Unbelievable!!!” I announce, again not having to feign my enthusiasm at all!
The murmuring has become a dull roar as the onlooking crowd chatter, excitedly.
“Would the lady care to choose a prize?” I ask, gesturing to the row of toys she’s earned a pick from.
She appraises them a moment before saying “I like the piggy!” pointing to a stylised julod hog.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
I take down the toy and hand it to her with my left hand before offering my right for a Terran handshake. She hesitates for a moment but then grasps and shakes, smiling, while I get to feel the restrained power of the arms capable of hitting an 83!
My stomachs dance at the thrill!
“What about you, Miss? Would you like to see if you can beat either of your girlfriends’ scores?” I say, addressing the plump one.
The tall one and the stylish one share knowing smirks with eachother. I feel a little sorry for embarrassing the girl, who I’m now doubly sure will be a significant anticlimax after the 83!
“Go on, Thran, win a big one!” teases the wiry one, cruelly.
Her eyes turned to the floor and hidden by her jutting brow, the orange haired woman shuffles to the counter and mumbles “I… I might break it…”
Internally, I laugh but, outwardly, just say “Oh, don’t worry about the machine, Miss! It’s deathworld constructed, special order from the Sol System! You just hit it as hard as you can! We have spare parts for if you did break it, we wouldn’t be coming at you with an insurance claim!”
She gives a tiny nod and, without looking up, points to a gigantic [plushie] of a dlujorj marmot and mumbles “I want that one.”
I have to spend a few moments processing what exactly she means by that. When I work it out I say “Erm… you’d have to strike the bell for that one, Miss!” a little incredulously.
Another tiny nod and she says “Yes… when I strike the bell, can I have that one?”
Oh, now I understand… she’s a bit stupid! She doesn’t really understand how things work! She just watched her very tall and athletic girlfriend hit as hard as she could and only score an 83 but she’s not clever enough to work out that she’ll never be able to score a perfect 100!
Like… I know that ‘fat’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘weak’ or even ‘unfit’ but, if the knowing smirk the other two shared is anything to go by, it does in this case!
I decide to humour her “Sure, sweetie! If you can hit the bell, I’ll give you dlujorjie!”
She gives a final curt nod before tapping her holo.
As I turn to get the hammer, she begins taking off her [cardigan].
When I turn back I struggle to work out what I’m seeing.
As she takes the hammer from me I’m looking at her thick arms, sheaved in tough looking wraps, made up of bulging plates, separated by grooves, coloured to match her skin tone.
Are they some sort of augment?
I’m about to open my mouth to say that strength aides are against the rules when my mind resolves what they are; those are MUSCLES!!!
That recontextualises the whole interaction with these women!
She’s not fat! She’s just so ridiculously muscled that it’s made her enormously bulky! That knowing smirk wasn’t mirth at the idea of her beating their scores, it was mirth at the suggestion that she might not! The tall one telling her to ‘win a big one’ wasn’t a cruel tease but genuine encouragement! Her acting like she’d already struck the bell wasn’t her being delusional, it was her being rightfully confident!… but that also means… when she said she might…
“Wait! I’ll just give you…!” I shout, an instant too late.
She’s already swung the mallet followed by a simultaneous *snap**crash**clang* of the force of her swing sheering through the mallet’s metal handle, destroying the machine’s internal mechanisms and rocketing the puck up to strike the bell!
There’s a moment of silence before the crowd erupts in cheers.
The woman I now recognise as the actual Goddess of muscles does not turn to grandstand. She just looks forlornly at the snapped hammer handle she’s still holding.
She turns her dark green eyes to look directly at me in a way which engages the ‘freeze’ part of my fight/flight/freeze reaction!
Apologetically, she says “I’m sorry… you did say hit it as hard as I could?”
The translated sentence structure reads as an accusation but it’s flagged as a sincere question. She genuinely wants to confirm that that’s the instruction I gave her.
I release a trembling sigh and just about keep the fear out of my voice as I say “I did… I’m sorry I underestimated you!… Don’t worry about the machine. Like I said, we’ve got spares… I just have to close up and wait for the maintenance guy to come out.”
She shifts, awkwardly, and stammers “Do… can I still… erm…?” pointing at the [plushie].
I chuckle and turn to fetch down the toy from the row I’ve never once had to give out a prize from.
I drop the giant dlujorj marmot on the counter and push it across to be embraced by the stocky woman. It’s about the same diameter as the height of her torso and has the effect of making this Avatar of Musculature look comically like a small child!
A tiny smile touches the edges of her lips.
She begins turning before she stops and says “Sorry, again… about your machine…”
I bare my teeth at her and say “It’s really fine, sweetheart! It’s the park’s machine really, not mine… It just means I’ve got an excuse to sit on my arse for the rest of the day, staring at the total babe of a maintenance guy while he fixes it… Might even get a date out of it, if I [play my cards right](!) Plus, those people there…” I gesture to the now dispersing crowd “…a lot of them are gonna remember the machine they watched a Terran tear apart! I really couldn’t ask for better advertising!” closing one eye at her, reassuringly.
With a final smile, she turns to rejoin her girlfriends, the [plushie] rendering her gait as something of a waddle.
With a final sigh, I put up a ‘closed’ sign and take out my holo to call my manager.
---Tcakqaal’s perspective---
I perch on the edge of the Two Swords Fountain, looking out over the crowded Senate Square. To my left is the Thruljor Senate Building, to my right is the ODR’s Thruljor Consulate, behind me, across the fountain, is the Primarchal Palace and a few [metres] in front of me is a plaque, denoting the spot on which the formal surrender of the Thruljor Primacy took place, with a gaggle of Terrans gathered around it.
“It’s a shame Cookie and Hassi couldn’t join us!” bemoans Jennie “What do you guys think…?”
“I think…” interrupts Victor, folding his arms with mock sternness “…it ain’t none of our business! When someone says they ain’t up to somethin’ you just take that for what it is, wish ’em well and let ’em volunteer more details if they want!”
“Spoilsport!” pouts Jennie, with mock disappointment.
“I see them.” offers Tuun, pointing to the point where the crowd is parting for a tall Tshwane, average height Sapiens and short Neanderthal, carrying a gigantic, spherical, blue, rodent toy.
“What the hell is that!” laughs Brunhilda, pointing at the thing Thran’s carrying.
“It’s a prize she won for destroying a carnival game!” smirks Xon.
Kas starts “She destroyed a…?!”
“For which she was very apologetic!” interjects Emiko, kindly.
“They still let you have the prize?!” asks Victor, a little incredulously.
“Yeah, the girl was very understanding.” explains Xon before adding “Plus, I think she realised she didn’t really have a leg to stand on, given she’d almost literally asked for it(!)”
“Sorry to interrupt…” I interrupt “…but I do believe the establishment will give our table away if we’re late… shall we get going?”
---later---
“I’m with Cap on this one!” asserts Victor, gesturing to where I’m sitting atop Thran’s prize (with her permission) on one end of the table.
“You don’t think that perhaps a plurality of perspectives ought to be allowed the chance to tell their versions of the story(?)” smirks Emiko, with feigned innocence.
“That ain’t what I said!” he replies with a wry twist of his mouth “I just think that folk who don’t get Superman and definitely folk who don’t like Superman’ve got no business telling Superman stories! If you think Superman’s shit, you’re either gonna write shit (because that’s what you think he is) or you’re gonna write something you like, which isn’t Superman! If superhero stories where no one’s fuckin’, swearin’ or killin’ eachother ‘don’t do it for you’, that’s fine but then you’ve got no business tellin’ a SUPERMAN story! He’s meant to be bright, colourful, hopeful! He’s meant to be the best of us! I’m sick of folk trynna make him dark ’n’ broodin’, that’s Batman’s thing! We don’t need two Batmans!”
“Don’t you think a little pathos might be a good thing for his depth of character?” muses Emiko.
Victor gives a conceding nod before answering “I think it can be… but there’s pathos that fits Superman and pathos that don’t! He’s got tonnes of potential for pathos; bein’ the last of his kind (and, whenever he does meet another one, they’re normally trynna kill him), havin’ to keep his identity secret to protect his loved ones, havin’ to spend his whole life treatin’ the entire world with kidgloves, scared that he might rip someone’s arm off with a handshake! There’s pathos galore in all that! I ain’t even totally averse to, like, ‘bad Superman’s as a concept! Just so long as he’s bad for the right reasons! When he shifts into thinkin’ of superheroin’ as an optimisation problem, when he starts thinkin’ he knows better what’s good for folk than they do, when he loses touch with Humanity, stops talkin' about doin' good and starts talkin' about servin' the greater good, those are good ‘bad Superman’s! When he’s like ‘But what if I don’t want to save people?!’ or ‘But just unexisting all the baddies is so much easier!’ those are bad ‘bad Superman’s!… Actually, no, they ain’t! They become imposters the moment they stop bein’ a boy from Kansas trynna do the right thing and help out where he can! If you think ‘BuT wHaT iF sUpErMaN hAd To KiLl!? wHaT iF tHaT wAs ThE oNlY wAy!?’ is some sort of subversive genre deconstruction, you don’t get Superman! It’s just…!”
At this point I allow my attention to wander from the intense Terran pop culture discussion (even I have my limits(!)) to take in the general atmosphere of the [club] we’re patronising.
The Terran’s all agreed, as we entered, that this establishment is much nicer than any they’ve visited in Terran Space; cleaner, less crowded and with music playing at a volume that allows conversation to be audible.
When I asked why Terran [clubs] would play music so loud, they explained that it is a tactic to increase drink sales, the reasoning being that, if you’re talking, you’re not drinking.
Nicer as it is, I don’t think Qorak would have enjoyed it, if he’d opted to come. Very much a homebody, he give’s every impression of being happy to play househusband!
A selection of the Terran's are out on the dancefloor, swaying and stepping to the rhythm of the music. The remainder are at this table.
Just then, I notice something…
Hunter is staring vacantly into her beer. Her mouth hangs open and she… doesn’t look right, somehow.
“Ms Hunter…?” I say, loud enough to silence the ongoing chatter between Victor and Emiko.
She turns her face to me and I see no recognition in her black eyes… wait… black? Have her eyes always been black? Didn’t she have… green eyes?
Then, she balls up her fist and raises it into the air.