milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Here's something funny about Monkey: he can split off his hairs and turn them into other monkeys that are just as much himself as he is.

A giant monkey in a saffron robe is once again roaming the rafters, flipping around by his tail and dancing on the edges.

and

A small reddish monkey, apparently perfectly ordinary, is curled up near the fire, basking. He has a mango.

and

Outside, Monkey swoops and soars over the lake, riding on a flying cloud. He's dressed only in his robes (and his tigerskin shorts) but seems oblivious of the cold.

and

A genial, innocent-looking young (apparently human) monk is pottering around the bar with a wooden bowl, asking for alms and chanting softly in Mandarin.

Call it a variation on the concept of a multi-pup post. Pick one, or more than one.

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Sadly, there are not very many funny things about Raven.

Stop laughing.

Regardless, one of the monkeys is being watched by a pair of beady black eyes.

In addition to the waitrat, there is also a Raven.

Probably in the rafters. Or at a table. It is a question of timing.

Monkey teeters on the edge of a beam, and waves to the bird. "Hello!"

Raven grins back.

His wings are not currently in evidence, which makes it very much easier to move his lips.

"Hello again. It is a day for acrobatics?"

"Every day is," he affirms, swinging off the beam by his tail and landing on another nimbly. "Someone gave me sugar."

"It was very wise of them, perhaps."

Raven is very solemn.

"I do not know that it is possible to have enough."

"Gluttony is a sin," Monkey says, just as seriously. He hangs by one hand from a beam, knocking soot and grime down into someone's hair, and drink, and food.

Raven looks horrified.

"I do not understand the purpose, perhaps."

There is a pause.

"Unless it is the exploding stomachs."

"Gluttons look like Pigsy, and that is a horrible fate," Monkey swinging back up next to Raven and landing on his head.

"It is the nose?"

Raven is mildly curious.

Also mildly unbalanced.

But that last is entirely Monkey's fault.

Really.

"And the belly." Monkey, still upside down, turns into Pigsy. It's really not attractive; the whiskers, the tusks, the nose, the tiny eyes, and the enormous stomach that after a moment flops down and hits Monkey in the face.

He squawks and rolls off the rafter.

*Meg blinks.

Reproachfully:* That was my coffee.

That was her table, too.

Not Actually Pigsy lumbers out the wreckage and turns back into Monkey, who blinks owlishly at her.

And there is a Raven peering over the edge of the rafter.

"Mostly now it is either dirt or broken, perhaps."

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A red and grey dactylbot, who was for a while happily flying outside, can't help but notice the flying cloud and its rider.

Thus, he stops and stares. Little chips and wires in his brain may be shorting out.

Monkey dives. He's heading right for us the robot!

He laughs like a crazy person, which is fair.

With a "Raaarrk!" of surprise and/or fear, Terrorsaur jets to one side, trying to get out of the path of the cloud-person-thing.

Before wasting any more fuel, he looks to see if the cloud can follow him. He's ready to jet even faster! if it can.

The cloud and its passenger loops lazily through the air and buttonhooks around the lake, trying to get out in front of Terrorsaur.

Terrorsaur hisses, "Jets, maximum burn," and rises up into the air, hoping to avoid the cloud as he does so.

He hasn't been in a war for over two months, but he remembers that getting above the enemy is important.

Monkey climbs, gamely. It's fun!

"Jets...even more maximum burn?"

When you're desperate, you try stupid things. ...Stupid people try stupid things, at least.

The jets are already at full power. Terrorsaur continues upward, up past the (riderless) clouds. One of the benefits of being made of super sci-fi metal is that you don't feel cold.

He looks back to see if the cloud (with rider) is following.

Monkey is made of crazy Chinese fantasy metal, or something. They cooked him in a cauldron, anyway.

He is still following. Chasing stuff is awesome.

"What the Pit!" growls the dactylbot.

Terrorsaur decides to be proactive. He loops around and angles himself downward.

Now he's rocketing straight towards the cloud part of the monkey-cloud. At full power.

Let's see if sci-fi metal can beat...a cloud. Possibly magical. Or not.

Playing chicken with Monkey is a bad, bad
idea.

The cloud, although magicalish, is just a cloud, though, and the robot whiffs right through it. It comes apart in whisps of sparkly white, and suddenly Monkey is falling with a squawk.

Terrorsaur is in the position of finally seeing someone else look stupid.

He savours the surge of confidence and satisfaction this causes. And gives it voice with loud, crowing laughter.

"See you at the bottom," he calls.