Nik-note: This tale was on a previous TBO board incarnation.
I'm still not sure how it came to be, other than as a 'Wake ~0330, grabbing for notebook...'
--
Intro
The 2AM-ish crash of glass and brick-work woke us all.
'Click-Click-Click ?' Cousin Ellen was unhappy.
'Click ?' I returned.
'Click ?' My elder sib Bryony echoed.
'Click-Click ?' Cousin Marianne nervously signed in.
'Click-Click ! Click-Click ! Click-Click !' Eldest sib Anna, our de-facto team leader, called for calm. So, locked into our various default poses by heavy FX and animatronic augments, we slowed our pulse and breathing, played possum.
My vision, like Bryony's, was restricted by my anatomical mask's augments. Powered down on this default setting, I could barely see blurred shapes and gross motion in daylight. Given the gallery's weak night-lights, I'd be functionally blind.
I heard heavy footsteps, felt my dust-cover shift. A bright torch beam flickered across my face. Some-one grumbled, "Fook ! They're ugly boogers !"
A finger poked my right arm's silicone appliance. A different voice from that side whispered, "So real--"
"Wouldn't have it in the house !"
"Shaddup !" Came a third voice. "Put that dust-sheet back on ! Unplug the data and power cables carefully, as you were shown, then lower this module onto its castors !"
The dust-cover returned skew. I heard a wheezy noise, felt a shift as integral jacks retracted and my set module became mobile.
"Handles only," the third voice warned. "Any damage, you're dog-meat !"
Two clunks told that metre-length 'come-along' handles had latched my module's inset tow-loops. Off I went, sideways. I wasn't sure of the gallery's layout, but my module soon came to the echoing space of a loading bay. Two more men attached come-alongs, helped haul my module up a shallow ramp. They towed me the length of a largish truck's flat-bed. There, they disconnected the come-alongs, shoved me into the left corner and attached tie-downs.
One by one, nine more pallet-sized modules were trundled in, parked alternately beside, then behind mine. The ramp rose, the truck's rear doors were closed and latched, leaving us in total darkness. The truck engine roared to life. The next minutes' turns were so hectic, I soon lost track of our route. I was very surprised when our truck slowed, halted.
From the noises and lurches that followed, it seemed we were in a 'semi' trailer, and the cab was 'dropping' us. A different lurch, a clunk and several scary hisses suggested a new cab had come in. Then, yes, off we went again, but much more sedately.
No-one seemed to be in back with us, so I pinged our team. 'Click ?'
One by one, the others reported in. Anna shifted from basic tongue-clicks to family-Morse, 'OK QQ ?'
'SCARED,' Bryony sounded rattled.
'WTF QQ ?' Ellen wanted answers.
'RAM RAID,' was my terse input. 'THINK R ANIM NOT CYBORG MIX.'
'OOPS,' Marianne put our situation succinctly.
'OK,' Anna summarised. 'THEFT NOT KIDNAP. PLAY POSSUM.'
We returned tongue clicks.
Anna added, 'IF HOOK UP POWER, MAY SNIFF WIFI.'
Yeah, right...
To be kidnapped is always grim.
To be kidnapped by mistake is worse.
To be kidnapped by accident, en famille, whilst part of a high-end Sci-Fi animatronic art installation is seriously unfortunate...
So, there's us five stunt players and our ten set modules being trundled through the dark by villains who really, really didn't know what they'd stolen-- What fun !!
Game, Set & Match
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1740
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
Game, Set & Match
If you cannot see the wood for the trees, deploy LIDAR.
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1740
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
Game, Set & Match #01
Game, Set & Match #01
Getting to that dreadful night certainly followed a long and curious road.
Slight, blue-eyed blonde Anna had been stage-struck since pre-school. She did song, dance and drama, loved every minute. Approaching adolescence, her growth fell behind the usual arc, trailed further and further, halted at 'plus très petite'. Of course, being able to pass as several years younger meant she could anchor a junior cast, play more complex parts. But then Bryony's growth stuttered, stopped, as did mine. Across town, our cousins Ellen and Marianne were stalled likewise. Extensive endocrinological investigation found nothing 'wrong', merely the belated epigenetic legacy of tiny, tiny Grandma Lee, back in Hong Kong...
Soon, we're nigh-identical, blue-eyed blonde poppets, four feet six in heels, elfin cute, dainty and delicate enough to pass as children.
Did I hear you murmur 'Pedo Magnets' ? Surely. But Sickos who offered 'sweeties', 'kitty petting' or a 'ride home' met adult wits empowered by Tumbling and Tae Kwon Do.
Surprisingly, we found a mainstream niche for our neotenous looks. We were body-doubles and stand-ins for child stars, played umpteen bit parts ranging from 'crowd' to 'background family'. The good money was 'fake injuries', the seriously gross stuff where you could not use a child. We had fun, were paid well, built a steady rep.
It was serious Bryony, of all people, who discovered Anime. Thanks to Grandma Lee, we could don wig, contacts and a little make-up, pass as dainty Asian girls. At conventions, we were an instant 'clone zone'.
Then, that low-budget fantasy studio team contacted our agent. Our CVs lit their board. We had umpteen hours on sound-stage and location, were comfortable with the grossest FX. The team's cruel plot had an archetypal 'Wicked Witch' transmogrifying the sweet children she snatched. Exposure to the beam from her 'StarStone' progressively, but erratically mutated them to monstrous mini-minions with a gruesome assortment of beast-limbs, scales, claws, tentacles or what-have-you.
Real children could not be given such abhorrent appliances or prostheses. Monster suits would be laughably obvious. Full animatronics or CGI would break the bank...
Given we were 'Young Adults', were we up for it ?
After the lawyers had dickered over our contract, Uncle Geoff was appointed to see 'fair play'. A 'Bantam' five-feet six, he looked fairly harmless, but he was a Second Dan from the same dojo where us kiddies learned to whup ass.
It was an incredibly hectic shoot, was very demanding both mentally and physically. We wore layer upon layer of heavy FX appliances and prostheses, plus a lot of clunky animatronics. Those of us given one or more, oft-mismatched digitgrade legs also had to learn to hobble skew in stilted 'pony boots'.
We had a difficult learning curve, but we stuck at it, came good. Those long 'time lapse' scenes as the 'Star Stone' slowly, slowly mutated our sweet bodies won that FX crew an Oscar, trumping the mega-studios.
We garnered much kudos as their stunt team, plus a serious rep. That prompted another FX team to approach us. Their 'bread & butter' was crafting 'smart' prostheses for amputees etc, but they'd had a Big Idea.
Every-one in the business knew of amputees who could un-strap their legs and wear a Mer-tail or Naga body well. Digitgrade 'Bears' and 'Fauns' were not uncommon. Brave double-mid-thigh amputee 'Madelaine' taught herself to balance, walk then dance on pipe-stem digitgrade 'Bird Legs', famously did the 'Funky Chicken' for 'Children in Need'.
Myo-electric pick-ups let people learn to control 'smart' prostheses or bypass damaged spines. But, could versatile us dispense with external animatronic operators, drive extra limbs, tentacles etc ourselves ?
Well, okay, we'd give it a go.
Bryony and I wangled a long weekend for a try-out. The team began by teaching us bio-feedback. We slowly learned to make LEDs blink by altering our skin resistance. After the usual, stuttery start, it became fun. It also proved our bodies were capable and controllable beyond the obvious.
The next step was getting lots of icky pick-ups taped to our right arms, shoulders and ribs. The team's bespoke interface / amplifier drove a robot hand which mimicked ours. With practice, we learned we didn't have to move our own hand to make the robot work.
The team switched that basic 'effector' for a simple 'pick & place' robot apiece. Soon, Bryony and I could sit across a table, keep our hands in our laps, stack children's alphabet blocks by remote control.
For the next phase, we were supposed to wear a big 'third arm' but that was impracticable. We were just too slight. Even with the lightest 'SteadiCam' harness, we'd soon be on our knees. So, the team sat us in high-backed chairs anchored to a wide plywood sheet, clamped that full-sized arm beside our right shoulder. The interface took some mastering, but we now had two functional right arms. After a while, we could use them semi-independently.
Though we'd got more done, faster than expected, our weekend was running out. The FX team had one more notion to try. We gave the nod. Instead of Bryony's pick-ups driving her 'third arm', they were routed via a different amplifier to my pick-ups.
I got some scary twitches, then lots of very unpleasant tingling and cramping while the 'levels' were adjusted. After that, my right arm was Bryony's to control.
It was unspeakably weird being a 'meat puppet'. I had to relax, relax, relax, not fight the 'Alien Hand' effect. I found a zen-like detachment from our family yoga, went with the flow.
The FX team was so impressed, they pleaded for time to try one more tweak. While they recorded the signals, Bryony 'drove' my arm through several simple sequences. Then they unplugged her, played the signals back. To her and my astonishment, my arm was 'controlled' by that basic puppet Sequencer. Though scary and clunky in equal measure, the potential for integration with mainstream animatronics was very, very obvious.
Three months later, we got word. The FX team's conference presentation of the results from our long weekend had been a huge success. They'd acquired some serious sponsorship. They could 'Go Large'. Would we spend some weeks on site ??
After some negotiation, the FX team decided they wanted all five of us. We explained that we had day jobs, would need at least six months' lead time to synchronise our holidays. The team agreed. That gave them more time to source, craft, test and de-bug more toys, uh, experimental rigs.
But, could Anna, Ellen and Marianne attend for a long weekend to get up to speed ? No problemo ! Our sib and kin had been fascinated by our tales, wanted in so hard it hurt. They booked a budget motel, returned wide-eyed, ready for more, more, more !
Getting to that dreadful night certainly followed a long and curious road.
Slight, blue-eyed blonde Anna had been stage-struck since pre-school. She did song, dance and drama, loved every minute. Approaching adolescence, her growth fell behind the usual arc, trailed further and further, halted at 'plus très petite'. Of course, being able to pass as several years younger meant she could anchor a junior cast, play more complex parts. But then Bryony's growth stuttered, stopped, as did mine. Across town, our cousins Ellen and Marianne were stalled likewise. Extensive endocrinological investigation found nothing 'wrong', merely the belated epigenetic legacy of tiny, tiny Grandma Lee, back in Hong Kong...
Soon, we're nigh-identical, blue-eyed blonde poppets, four feet six in heels, elfin cute, dainty and delicate enough to pass as children.
Did I hear you murmur 'Pedo Magnets' ? Surely. But Sickos who offered 'sweeties', 'kitty petting' or a 'ride home' met adult wits empowered by Tumbling and Tae Kwon Do.
Surprisingly, we found a mainstream niche for our neotenous looks. We were body-doubles and stand-ins for child stars, played umpteen bit parts ranging from 'crowd' to 'background family'. The good money was 'fake injuries', the seriously gross stuff where you could not use a child. We had fun, were paid well, built a steady rep.
It was serious Bryony, of all people, who discovered Anime. Thanks to Grandma Lee, we could don wig, contacts and a little make-up, pass as dainty Asian girls. At conventions, we were an instant 'clone zone'.
Then, that low-budget fantasy studio team contacted our agent. Our CVs lit their board. We had umpteen hours on sound-stage and location, were comfortable with the grossest FX. The team's cruel plot had an archetypal 'Wicked Witch' transmogrifying the sweet children she snatched. Exposure to the beam from her 'StarStone' progressively, but erratically mutated them to monstrous mini-minions with a gruesome assortment of beast-limbs, scales, claws, tentacles or what-have-you.
Real children could not be given such abhorrent appliances or prostheses. Monster suits would be laughably obvious. Full animatronics or CGI would break the bank...
Given we were 'Young Adults', were we up for it ?
After the lawyers had dickered over our contract, Uncle Geoff was appointed to see 'fair play'. A 'Bantam' five-feet six, he looked fairly harmless, but he was a Second Dan from the same dojo where us kiddies learned to whup ass.
It was an incredibly hectic shoot, was very demanding both mentally and physically. We wore layer upon layer of heavy FX appliances and prostheses, plus a lot of clunky animatronics. Those of us given one or more, oft-mismatched digitgrade legs also had to learn to hobble skew in stilted 'pony boots'.
We had a difficult learning curve, but we stuck at it, came good. Those long 'time lapse' scenes as the 'Star Stone' slowly, slowly mutated our sweet bodies won that FX crew an Oscar, trumping the mega-studios.
We garnered much kudos as their stunt team, plus a serious rep. That prompted another FX team to approach us. Their 'bread & butter' was crafting 'smart' prostheses for amputees etc, but they'd had a Big Idea.
Every-one in the business knew of amputees who could un-strap their legs and wear a Mer-tail or Naga body well. Digitgrade 'Bears' and 'Fauns' were not uncommon. Brave double-mid-thigh amputee 'Madelaine' taught herself to balance, walk then dance on pipe-stem digitgrade 'Bird Legs', famously did the 'Funky Chicken' for 'Children in Need'.
Myo-electric pick-ups let people learn to control 'smart' prostheses or bypass damaged spines. But, could versatile us dispense with external animatronic operators, drive extra limbs, tentacles etc ourselves ?
Well, okay, we'd give it a go.
Bryony and I wangled a long weekend for a try-out. The team began by teaching us bio-feedback. We slowly learned to make LEDs blink by altering our skin resistance. After the usual, stuttery start, it became fun. It also proved our bodies were capable and controllable beyond the obvious.
The next step was getting lots of icky pick-ups taped to our right arms, shoulders and ribs. The team's bespoke interface / amplifier drove a robot hand which mimicked ours. With practice, we learned we didn't have to move our own hand to make the robot work.
The team switched that basic 'effector' for a simple 'pick & place' robot apiece. Soon, Bryony and I could sit across a table, keep our hands in our laps, stack children's alphabet blocks by remote control.
For the next phase, we were supposed to wear a big 'third arm' but that was impracticable. We were just too slight. Even with the lightest 'SteadiCam' harness, we'd soon be on our knees. So, the team sat us in high-backed chairs anchored to a wide plywood sheet, clamped that full-sized arm beside our right shoulder. The interface took some mastering, but we now had two functional right arms. After a while, we could use them semi-independently.
Though we'd got more done, faster than expected, our weekend was running out. The FX team had one more notion to try. We gave the nod. Instead of Bryony's pick-ups driving her 'third arm', they were routed via a different amplifier to my pick-ups.
I got some scary twitches, then lots of very unpleasant tingling and cramping while the 'levels' were adjusted. After that, my right arm was Bryony's to control.
It was unspeakably weird being a 'meat puppet'. I had to relax, relax, relax, not fight the 'Alien Hand' effect. I found a zen-like detachment from our family yoga, went with the flow.
The FX team was so impressed, they pleaded for time to try one more tweak. While they recorded the signals, Bryony 'drove' my arm through several simple sequences. Then they unplugged her, played the signals back. To her and my astonishment, my arm was 'controlled' by that basic puppet Sequencer. Though scary and clunky in equal measure, the potential for integration with mainstream animatronics was very, very obvious.
Three months later, we got word. The FX team's conference presentation of the results from our long weekend had been a huge success. They'd acquired some serious sponsorship. They could 'Go Large'. Would we spend some weeks on site ??
After some negotiation, the FX team decided they wanted all five of us. We explained that we had day jobs, would need at least six months' lead time to synchronise our holidays. The team agreed. That gave them more time to source, craft, test and de-bug more toys, uh, experimental rigs.
But, could Anna, Ellen and Marianne attend for a long weekend to get up to speed ? No problemo ! Our sib and kin had been fascinated by our tales, wanted in so hard it hurt. They booked a budget motel, returned wide-eyed, ready for more, more, more !
If you cannot see the wood for the trees, deploy LIDAR.
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1740
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
Game, Set & Match #02
Game, Set & Match #02
In the end, it took nearly nine months to arrange our holidays. So, almost a year to the day of our first 'Long Weekend', a mini-bus delivered the five of us to the nice motel Bryony and I had used.
That Friday evening, the receptionists half-remembered Bryony and me. They were taken aback when nigh-identical Anna, Marianne and Ellen towed in their bags. Matching 'Hello Kitty' sweats and gilets added to our remarkable likeness.
"Ms. Weston, thrice. Ms. Brown, twice. We've two connecting rooms reserved." I laid our confirmation print-out on the gleaming desk, put my credit card on top. "Deposit paid with this."
The transaction was big enough to need their Duty Manager's nod. He took one look at us, went defensive. "I-- I regret that as-- As policy, I-- I must ask for additional ID..."
I fetched out my Citizen ID card, which claimed I was twenty two. Okay, I was our group's youngest, but we all looked pre-teen.
"Uh, have you any further ID ?"
Given I got asked that every time I ventured beyond my usual haunts, I presented my hospital pass. If anything, its photo made me look even younger.
"Ward Clerk ?" The manager's disbelief was apparent.
"Ring them." I pointed to the hospital's logo. "Go through the switch-board so you know there's no trick."
A cautious soul, he went via Directory Enquiries. The ward's phone only rang thrice before it was grabbed. A harassed woman spoke quickly over the familiar near-riot of a busy, busy Friday night. "A&E, Staff speaking ! Can I help you ?"
"Hello, I'm John Jones, Duty Manager of the 'Great Western' in Worcester. There's a young, uh, person at our check-in desk claiming to be Charlene Weston. Can you validate her identity ?"
"Is there a problem ?"
"She looks a bit young..."
"Tiny, tiny blonde ? Baby-Blue eyes ? Four-two in her cotton socks ? A breeze could blow her away ?"
"Yes--"
"Ha ! I'm Duty Sister Janette Johansson, SRN, and that's our Charley ! Best Ward Clerk I've ever known ! What you want, where you want, before you knew you need it !"
"I-- I--"
"Charley may look a pretty poppet, but she does Tumbling and Tae Kwon Do. Takes down angry drunks en-passant. Floored a psycho knife-man who'd cornered me. We had to replace the chair she used but, hey, the cops were still minutes away !"
"I-- I--"
"Please give her our regards. We miss her already."
"I-- I--"
"May I have your hotel's direct line in case of emergency, Mr. Jones ?"
The flustered manager stuttered through the desk's number.
"Thank you-- Ooh ! Multiple RTA inbound ! Gotta go !"
The bemused Mr. Jones needed two tries to dock the hand-set. By then, my sibs and kin had laid their business IDs beside mine. Anna's read, 'Family Party Manager'. Bryony's, 'Social Services - Child Protection'. Marianne's was 'Teaching Assistant - Special Needs'. Ellen's big 'Toys R Us' badge claimed 'Product Specialist'. All of us were necessarily 'Criminal Records Checked' up the wazoo. Mr. Jones' face was a study. Finally, he got his virtual tele-prompter working again, came back on-script. "Uh, uh, welcome to our 'Great Western', Ms. Weston and party ! Please enjoy your stay !"
"Thank you," I allowed, retrieving my badge and cards.
"We'll be putting in long days," Anna predicted, grabbing her ID. "Breakfast here, room-service tray meals in the evenings. Tonight, though, we've time to dress for dinner. Would you send word ahead to your restaurant to prevent a scene ?"
"Yes, Ma'm !"
Anna was being rather mischievous. Five nigh-identical Anime school-girls trooping into the restaurant made a lot of heads turn, jaws drop. Open-necked, lacy blouses over dainty training bras, perky-pleated plaid mini-skirts with jumper straps, peeking panties and knee-high sox set off our neotenous looks rather too well. Sometimes, though, you just had to thumb your nose at the world...
We each ordered a small glass of 'House White' wine, then the 'lite' fish salad. Rather than explore the hyper-calorific dessert menu, we ordered liqueur coffees. Buzzing yet giggly, we headed back to our suite.
Despite appearances, we were women. 'On the Pill' to mitigate monthlies, we each wore a 'Coil' against disaster. Socialising was difficult. Beyond colleagues, dates tended to be over-protective or bossy. That's if they didn't just treat us like hyper-sexed Lolitas. And, yes, we were Pedo magnets. Having a date bid you dress up as a 'Naughty Skoolie' next time was so creepy...
Worse, though Anna and Bryony had 'fledged', Marianne, Ellen and I still lived with our understandably protective parents. Faced with such concerns, we made our own fun. Tonight, we spread bath towels on the big bed, stripped bare, applied lots of lube, woke our toys. Bonked unto satiety, we 'showered with a friend', dried each-other's backs, pulled on our 'Hello Kitty' pyjamas and took an early night.
In the end, it took nearly nine months to arrange our holidays. So, almost a year to the day of our first 'Long Weekend', a mini-bus delivered the five of us to the nice motel Bryony and I had used.
That Friday evening, the receptionists half-remembered Bryony and me. They were taken aback when nigh-identical Anna, Marianne and Ellen towed in their bags. Matching 'Hello Kitty' sweats and gilets added to our remarkable likeness.
"Ms. Weston, thrice. Ms. Brown, twice. We've two connecting rooms reserved." I laid our confirmation print-out on the gleaming desk, put my credit card on top. "Deposit paid with this."
The transaction was big enough to need their Duty Manager's nod. He took one look at us, went defensive. "I-- I regret that as-- As policy, I-- I must ask for additional ID..."
I fetched out my Citizen ID card, which claimed I was twenty two. Okay, I was our group's youngest, but we all looked pre-teen.
"Uh, have you any further ID ?"
Given I got asked that every time I ventured beyond my usual haunts, I presented my hospital pass. If anything, its photo made me look even younger.
"Ward Clerk ?" The manager's disbelief was apparent.
"Ring them." I pointed to the hospital's logo. "Go through the switch-board so you know there's no trick."
A cautious soul, he went via Directory Enquiries. The ward's phone only rang thrice before it was grabbed. A harassed woman spoke quickly over the familiar near-riot of a busy, busy Friday night. "A&E, Staff speaking ! Can I help you ?"
"Hello, I'm John Jones, Duty Manager of the 'Great Western' in Worcester. There's a young, uh, person at our check-in desk claiming to be Charlene Weston. Can you validate her identity ?"
"Is there a problem ?"
"She looks a bit young..."
"Tiny, tiny blonde ? Baby-Blue eyes ? Four-two in her cotton socks ? A breeze could blow her away ?"
"Yes--"
"Ha ! I'm Duty Sister Janette Johansson, SRN, and that's our Charley ! Best Ward Clerk I've ever known ! What you want, where you want, before you knew you need it !"
"I-- I--"
"Charley may look a pretty poppet, but she does Tumbling and Tae Kwon Do. Takes down angry drunks en-passant. Floored a psycho knife-man who'd cornered me. We had to replace the chair she used but, hey, the cops were still minutes away !"
"I-- I--"
"Please give her our regards. We miss her already."
"I-- I--"
"May I have your hotel's direct line in case of emergency, Mr. Jones ?"
The flustered manager stuttered through the desk's number.
"Thank you-- Ooh ! Multiple RTA inbound ! Gotta go !"
The bemused Mr. Jones needed two tries to dock the hand-set. By then, my sibs and kin had laid their business IDs beside mine. Anna's read, 'Family Party Manager'. Bryony's, 'Social Services - Child Protection'. Marianne's was 'Teaching Assistant - Special Needs'. Ellen's big 'Toys R Us' badge claimed 'Product Specialist'. All of us were necessarily 'Criminal Records Checked' up the wazoo. Mr. Jones' face was a study. Finally, he got his virtual tele-prompter working again, came back on-script. "Uh, uh, welcome to our 'Great Western', Ms. Weston and party ! Please enjoy your stay !"
"Thank you," I allowed, retrieving my badge and cards.
"We'll be putting in long days," Anna predicted, grabbing her ID. "Breakfast here, room-service tray meals in the evenings. Tonight, though, we've time to dress for dinner. Would you send word ahead to your restaurant to prevent a scene ?"
"Yes, Ma'm !"
Anna was being rather mischievous. Five nigh-identical Anime school-girls trooping into the restaurant made a lot of heads turn, jaws drop. Open-necked, lacy blouses over dainty training bras, perky-pleated plaid mini-skirts with jumper straps, peeking panties and knee-high sox set off our neotenous looks rather too well. Sometimes, though, you just had to thumb your nose at the world...
We each ordered a small glass of 'House White' wine, then the 'lite' fish salad. Rather than explore the hyper-calorific dessert menu, we ordered liqueur coffees. Buzzing yet giggly, we headed back to our suite.
Despite appearances, we were women. 'On the Pill' to mitigate monthlies, we each wore a 'Coil' against disaster. Socialising was difficult. Beyond colleagues, dates tended to be over-protective or bossy. That's if they didn't just treat us like hyper-sexed Lolitas. And, yes, we were Pedo magnets. Having a date bid you dress up as a 'Naughty Skoolie' next time was so creepy...
Worse, though Anna and Bryony had 'fledged', Marianne, Ellen and I still lived with our understandably protective parents. Faced with such concerns, we made our own fun. Tonight, we spread bath towels on the big bed, stripped bare, applied lots of lube, woke our toys. Bonked unto satiety, we 'showered with a friend', dried each-other's backs, pulled on our 'Hello Kitty' pyjamas and took an early night.
If you cannot see the wood for the trees, deploy LIDAR.
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1740
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
Game, Set & Match #03
Game, Set & Match #03 ## Saturday ##
Saturday morning, bright and early, we dressed in 'Hello Kitty' sweats over matching smalls, shirts and play-suits. Given our 'child' sizing, Ellen's staff-discount saved us a small fortune in casual wear. Light breakfasts demolished, a 'people mover' taxi ferried us across town to the 'Science Park' where a busy morning of 'refresher training' brought us all up to speed.
Bryony and I rode the waiting 'arm chairs', re-learned to use a second right arm, to be a 'meat puppet'. Anna, Marianne and Ellen hadn't got that far on their long weekend so, while they learned 'meat puppetry', we switched to the first of the FX team's new toys, uh, 'Experimental Interfaces'.
The FX team had tried their best, but could not lighten a full-sized arm and harness enough for slight us to wear for long. They took a different approach. They'd got hold of several strong, rehab-type, gait-training 'walking frames'. These had four stable corner castors, a wide waist-belt and Velcro-strapped fore-arm gutters.
The FX team added a hefty double arch of studio-grade framing, providing secure mountings anywhere from ankle to above head height. This even had its own castors to carry hefty loads. It needed them. Our 'third arms' clamped on at shoulder height, the right arm matched by a counter-weight on the left. Heavy power packs clamped to the base frame, lowering the centre of gravity. Secured by that wide waist-belt, the 'wearer' just had to push the lot around.
Fitted thus after a break for 'Elevenses', Bryony and I soon got the knack. We strolled through the 'test course', kept our 'flesh hands' clamped on our walkers' grips, worked the test rigs with our 'third hands'. The buffet lunch was interesting as we fed ourselves and any volunteers 'by hand of robot'.
We'd mastered one extra arm; could we hack two ? That brought a matching set of myo-electric pick-ups on our left side, each walker's counter-weight swapped for an arm. And, yes, as soon as our brains made the connection, we were in business. Could we hack non-anthropoid joints and/or proportions ? That took rather longer, but it was like using a 'reacher' taped to your hand. A honking big tentacle, like a young elephant's trunk ? No problemo ! Two ? Spidey, watch out !
It was almost a shame to relinquish our walkers, but the FX team only had three and our kin so wanted their turn. Bryony and I got new toys, padded helmets with brow electrodes. After we learned to light the helmets' blinky LEDs, the FX team added a slim, flat-wound tentacle to each helmet. When we figured how to unwind them, we had a butterfly's mobile proboscis, complete with sipping tube. We could dip it into a part-filled glass of water, suck like those crazy straws we all had as children. Giggle factor aside, that was good fun.
The FX team's next toys came with yet more pick-ups, this time on our outer thighs. Our first glance said 'kneeling stool', but there was a powered wheel-chair's under-frame beneath. The important feature was we were carried really, really low. So, where were the controls ? Ah, those thigh electrodes...
Our initial spate of accidental dodgems gradually settled down. The FX team bid us trundle between test points, sip from or touch each with our proboscis. As a touch of whimsy, they gave us lightweight shoulder harnesses connected to a couple of our shoulder pick-ups, with the sweetest little 'fairy' wings for us to flap on our travels.
We did so well, so fast, the FX team brought their next phase forwards. Our padded helmets now sprouted a stereo pair of ultra-sound car-parking range finders feeding ear-buds. To encourage us to use this Sonar, we also got 'Mildly Fogged' sun-glasses used for 'Awareness Training' of Ophthalmological professionals and other carers for the 'Visually Impaired'. As our confidence grew, our eye-wear was progressively down-graded via 'Significantly' to 'Seriously Impaired'. In effect, we were 'flying blind' like bats or river dolphins. Flapping our way between test points was still wild fun.
That first Saturday's session ran late but, by the end, Bryony and I were scooting around the corridors like overgrown 'June Bugs', while Anna, Ellen and Marianne were dancing with tentacles.
Back at the hotel, we ordered tray meals from 'Room Service', ate them to crumbs. Talk turned to the FX team's toys. If we'd achieved so much on the first day, what else could this fortnight bring ? The consensus was we were going to have fun, fun, fun. Speaking of fun, it was time to spread those bath towels on the big bed, strip bare, apply lots of lube, wake our toys. Bonked unto satiety, we 'showered with a friend', dried each-other's backs, pulled on our 'Hello Kitty' pyjamas and took an early night.
Saturday morning, bright and early, we dressed in 'Hello Kitty' sweats over matching smalls, shirts and play-suits. Given our 'child' sizing, Ellen's staff-discount saved us a small fortune in casual wear. Light breakfasts demolished, a 'people mover' taxi ferried us across town to the 'Science Park' where a busy morning of 'refresher training' brought us all up to speed.
Bryony and I rode the waiting 'arm chairs', re-learned to use a second right arm, to be a 'meat puppet'. Anna, Marianne and Ellen hadn't got that far on their long weekend so, while they learned 'meat puppetry', we switched to the first of the FX team's new toys, uh, 'Experimental Interfaces'.
The FX team had tried their best, but could not lighten a full-sized arm and harness enough for slight us to wear for long. They took a different approach. They'd got hold of several strong, rehab-type, gait-training 'walking frames'. These had four stable corner castors, a wide waist-belt and Velcro-strapped fore-arm gutters.
The FX team added a hefty double arch of studio-grade framing, providing secure mountings anywhere from ankle to above head height. This even had its own castors to carry hefty loads. It needed them. Our 'third arms' clamped on at shoulder height, the right arm matched by a counter-weight on the left. Heavy power packs clamped to the base frame, lowering the centre of gravity. Secured by that wide waist-belt, the 'wearer' just had to push the lot around.
Fitted thus after a break for 'Elevenses', Bryony and I soon got the knack. We strolled through the 'test course', kept our 'flesh hands' clamped on our walkers' grips, worked the test rigs with our 'third hands'. The buffet lunch was interesting as we fed ourselves and any volunteers 'by hand of robot'.
We'd mastered one extra arm; could we hack two ? That brought a matching set of myo-electric pick-ups on our left side, each walker's counter-weight swapped for an arm. And, yes, as soon as our brains made the connection, we were in business. Could we hack non-anthropoid joints and/or proportions ? That took rather longer, but it was like using a 'reacher' taped to your hand. A honking big tentacle, like a young elephant's trunk ? No problemo ! Two ? Spidey, watch out !
It was almost a shame to relinquish our walkers, but the FX team only had three and our kin so wanted their turn. Bryony and I got new toys, padded helmets with brow electrodes. After we learned to light the helmets' blinky LEDs, the FX team added a slim, flat-wound tentacle to each helmet. When we figured how to unwind them, we had a butterfly's mobile proboscis, complete with sipping tube. We could dip it into a part-filled glass of water, suck like those crazy straws we all had as children. Giggle factor aside, that was good fun.
The FX team's next toys came with yet more pick-ups, this time on our outer thighs. Our first glance said 'kneeling stool', but there was a powered wheel-chair's under-frame beneath. The important feature was we were carried really, really low. So, where were the controls ? Ah, those thigh electrodes...
Our initial spate of accidental dodgems gradually settled down. The FX team bid us trundle between test points, sip from or touch each with our proboscis. As a touch of whimsy, they gave us lightweight shoulder harnesses connected to a couple of our shoulder pick-ups, with the sweetest little 'fairy' wings for us to flap on our travels.
We did so well, so fast, the FX team brought their next phase forwards. Our padded helmets now sprouted a stereo pair of ultra-sound car-parking range finders feeding ear-buds. To encourage us to use this Sonar, we also got 'Mildly Fogged' sun-glasses used for 'Awareness Training' of Ophthalmological professionals and other carers for the 'Visually Impaired'. As our confidence grew, our eye-wear was progressively down-graded via 'Significantly' to 'Seriously Impaired'. In effect, we were 'flying blind' like bats or river dolphins. Flapping our way between test points was still wild fun.
That first Saturday's session ran late but, by the end, Bryony and I were scooting around the corridors like overgrown 'June Bugs', while Anna, Ellen and Marianne were dancing with tentacles.
Back at the hotel, we ordered tray meals from 'Room Service', ate them to crumbs. Talk turned to the FX team's toys. If we'd achieved so much on the first day, what else could this fortnight bring ? The consensus was we were going to have fun, fun, fun. Speaking of fun, it was time to spread those bath towels on the big bed, strip bare, apply lots of lube, wake our toys. Bonked unto satiety, we 'showered with a friend', dried each-other's backs, pulled on our 'Hello Kitty' pyjamas and took an early night.
If you cannot see the wood for the trees, deploy LIDAR.
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1740
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
Game, Set & Match #04
Game, Set & Match #04 ## Sunday ##
Sunday morning, Bryony and I learned we'd be 'June Bugs' again. This time, instead of nigh-opaque glasses, we were given VR goggles fed by stereo, passive infrared imagers on our helmets. Okay, the cameras' resolution was really, really low and their auto-aperture system was clunky. Still, they worked well enough. We still had the ear-bud Sonar system to fill in the gaps, which was essential because furniture and door-frames at ambient temperature were invisible.
With that sensory system mastered, the FX team unveiled our next toys after 'Elevenses'.
"Ooh ! It's a ride-on spider !"
Bryony was a bit vague on arthropod anatomy. Such niceties fell to me. "Six legs ? It's a big, big bug !"
Technically, it was a 'June Bug' kneeler mounted on a stumpy-legged, bath-tub sized, hexapod walker. The other obvious feature was the low, double-arch of studio-grade framing, currently bare. Fortunately, the FX team had two hexapod walkers, sparing Bryony the embarrassment of being stomped at 'scissors, paper, rock'. Strapped in, back on 'Eyeball Mk 1' for safety, we began to learn to drive our walkers via our thigh pick-ups. We rocked, swayed, took our first, tentative steps across the big work-room. Within an hour, we could walk our giant bugs to and fro, turn in place, even edge sideways.
The delighted FX team attached a familiar pair of robot limbs at shoulder height. The day being clement, they opened the fire-doors, turned us loose in the quadrangle 'garden area' that group of low buildings surrounded.
It was a PR coup. Two blonde poppets in pink play-suits riding giant spiders ? Smart phones flashed all around. The canny realised we were driving without joy-sticks or other visible controls, deduced we were 'wired', blitzed social media. We explored the accessible paths, picked a few daisies with our robot arms, presented them to bemused picnickers. Then, as our buffet lunch table had followed us outside, we again fed ourselves and a few daring volunteers, 'by hand of robot'.
That, though, was the high point of our day. After lunch, we had to hand our rides to Ellen and Marianne. It was time for us to get plastered.
First, the FX team poured Bryony and I into really snug, tagged cat-suits, mo'capped us walking, dancing, running, turning, whatever. We did some katas and 'Strive' for good measure. The team then 3-D scanned us down to our butt dimples. I'd claimed Bryony's tiny bust was millimetrically bigger than mine. Now, we'd proof.
Time to switch to the disposable cat-suits provided. With breathing straws stuck up our nostrils, plugs in our ears and barrier cream slathered, the 'Wet Crew' could move in. Being so slight, we could be 'whole body' cast with ease. Layer by layer, the 'Wet Crew' built our master moulds, adding strength with in-fills and cross-bracing. The team would make GRP positive impressions from these, then negative moulds from those, but this first cast was crucial.
Lying in the dark, rigid and helpless, as a master cast's many layers slowly, slowly cured could be very unsettling. We'd been there, done that for other FX work, so it was a rare opportunity to chill, to 'trance'. With ample setting time allowed, the FX team cut us free, wiped us down, then took high fidelity silicone casts of our upper torsos, head, neck, face, hands and arms. They also took dental impressions of our mouths and perfect little teeth.
Bryony and I thought the team had gone beyond the necessary, but surely had reason. Back in our 'Hello Kitty' play-suits, we wondered what came next. Anna had been scanned and cast while we'd been photogenic 'Bug Babes'. It was now her turn to master six legs, while Ellen and Marianne got plastered.
To our surprise, Bryony and I went back into the walking frames. We got a familiar pair of clawed, abhuman arms. We didn't expect new helmets. Wide as our shoulders, they had ear-bud Sonar and clunky infra-red but the latter was now overlaid by strange, strange visuals. We needed a while to figure the weird imagery was due to severe electronic astigmatism. As our new eyes' polarisations slanted out by about thirty degrees, we literally could not see horizontals or verticals without rocking our wide, wide helmets from side to side.
Whimsically, the FX team had fitted our helmets with tall, mega-bobbly 'bug' antennae. We also had our little 'June Bug' wings to flap in frustration. Still, we slowly, steadily mastered the kit, though we surely looked rather strange as we strolled about.
Back at the hotel, the five of us took quick showers before our tray meals could arrive. Refuelled, buzzing with strong coffee, it was time for more fun. We spread bath towels on the big bed, stripped bare, applied lots of lube, woke our toys. Bonked unto satiety, we 'showered with a friend', dried each-other's backs, pulled on our 'Hello Kitty' pajamas and took an early night.
Sunday morning, Bryony and I learned we'd be 'June Bugs' again. This time, instead of nigh-opaque glasses, we were given VR goggles fed by stereo, passive infrared imagers on our helmets. Okay, the cameras' resolution was really, really low and their auto-aperture system was clunky. Still, they worked well enough. We still had the ear-bud Sonar system to fill in the gaps, which was essential because furniture and door-frames at ambient temperature were invisible.
With that sensory system mastered, the FX team unveiled our next toys after 'Elevenses'.
"Ooh ! It's a ride-on spider !"
Bryony was a bit vague on arthropod anatomy. Such niceties fell to me. "Six legs ? It's a big, big bug !"
Technically, it was a 'June Bug' kneeler mounted on a stumpy-legged, bath-tub sized, hexapod walker. The other obvious feature was the low, double-arch of studio-grade framing, currently bare. Fortunately, the FX team had two hexapod walkers, sparing Bryony the embarrassment of being stomped at 'scissors, paper, rock'. Strapped in, back on 'Eyeball Mk 1' for safety, we began to learn to drive our walkers via our thigh pick-ups. We rocked, swayed, took our first, tentative steps across the big work-room. Within an hour, we could walk our giant bugs to and fro, turn in place, even edge sideways.
The delighted FX team attached a familiar pair of robot limbs at shoulder height. The day being clement, they opened the fire-doors, turned us loose in the quadrangle 'garden area' that group of low buildings surrounded.
It was a PR coup. Two blonde poppets in pink play-suits riding giant spiders ? Smart phones flashed all around. The canny realised we were driving without joy-sticks or other visible controls, deduced we were 'wired', blitzed social media. We explored the accessible paths, picked a few daisies with our robot arms, presented them to bemused picnickers. Then, as our buffet lunch table had followed us outside, we again fed ourselves and a few daring volunteers, 'by hand of robot'.
That, though, was the high point of our day. After lunch, we had to hand our rides to Ellen and Marianne. It was time for us to get plastered.
First, the FX team poured Bryony and I into really snug, tagged cat-suits, mo'capped us walking, dancing, running, turning, whatever. We did some katas and 'Strive' for good measure. The team then 3-D scanned us down to our butt dimples. I'd claimed Bryony's tiny bust was millimetrically bigger than mine. Now, we'd proof.
Time to switch to the disposable cat-suits provided. With breathing straws stuck up our nostrils, plugs in our ears and barrier cream slathered, the 'Wet Crew' could move in. Being so slight, we could be 'whole body' cast with ease. Layer by layer, the 'Wet Crew' built our master moulds, adding strength with in-fills and cross-bracing. The team would make GRP positive impressions from these, then negative moulds from those, but this first cast was crucial.
Lying in the dark, rigid and helpless, as a master cast's many layers slowly, slowly cured could be very unsettling. We'd been there, done that for other FX work, so it was a rare opportunity to chill, to 'trance'. With ample setting time allowed, the FX team cut us free, wiped us down, then took high fidelity silicone casts of our upper torsos, head, neck, face, hands and arms. They also took dental impressions of our mouths and perfect little teeth.
Bryony and I thought the team had gone beyond the necessary, but surely had reason. Back in our 'Hello Kitty' play-suits, we wondered what came next. Anna had been scanned and cast while we'd been photogenic 'Bug Babes'. It was now her turn to master six legs, while Ellen and Marianne got plastered.
To our surprise, Bryony and I went back into the walking frames. We got a familiar pair of clawed, abhuman arms. We didn't expect new helmets. Wide as our shoulders, they had ear-bud Sonar and clunky infra-red but the latter was now overlaid by strange, strange visuals. We needed a while to figure the weird imagery was due to severe electronic astigmatism. As our new eyes' polarisations slanted out by about thirty degrees, we literally could not see horizontals or verticals without rocking our wide, wide helmets from side to side.
Whimsically, the FX team had fitted our helmets with tall, mega-bobbly 'bug' antennae. We also had our little 'June Bug' wings to flap in frustration. Still, we slowly, steadily mastered the kit, though we surely looked rather strange as we strolled about.
Back at the hotel, the five of us took quick showers before our tray meals could arrive. Refuelled, buzzing with strong coffee, it was time for more fun. We spread bath towels on the big bed, stripped bare, applied lots of lube, woke our toys. Bonked unto satiety, we 'showered with a friend', dried each-other's backs, pulled on our 'Hello Kitty' pajamas and took an early night.
If you cannot see the wood for the trees, deploy LIDAR.
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1740
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
Game, Set & Match #05 ## Monday ##
Game, Set & Match #05 ## Monday ##
Monday began for Bryony and I with application of electrodes to our arms, legs, shoulders and backs. We got new 'kneeling chairs' with two modest arms attached low down. We could drive 'June Bugs' and 'Hexapods' with our leg electrodes; could we work these low arms, without moving our legs ? Well, yes. It was like reaching for dropped sox or smalls with your toes. Developing competence was slower. We needed several hours for our wits to cross-wire. Gradually, disconcertingly, we learned the knack. By 'Elevenses', we had four gripping limbs.
Then, an unexpected twist; could we operate our 'leg arms' while our 'flesh arms' were being 'puppeteered' ? We began the investigation by waving our real arms about whilst moving our 'leg arms'. It was too distracting. Lunch-time brought scant progress. We were well into the afternoon before Bryony and I managed to partly disconnect our internal processes, to 'walk & chew gum'.
Impressed, the FX team linked our arms to their 3D sequencer. With our hands now waving on 'autopilot', mobilising our 'leg arms' suddenly became easier. By the end of that long, long day, Bryony and I could just about operate our 'leg arms' while Anna 'puppeteered' our 'flesh arms'.
Back at the hotel, our tray meal was a thoughtful affair. The others had had a similarly frustrating day, mostly exploring the limits of oddly proportioned limbs and such.
Anna put it in words. "They were ticking boxes, clearing a 'Try This' list."
That fitted. Still, we cleared our plates to crumbs, downed enough strong coffee to set our nerves a-buzz. Stripped, bath-towels spread, well lubed, we put fresh batteries in our toys. Bonked unto satiety, we 'showered with a friend', dried each other's back, pulled on our 'Hello Kitty' pajamas and slept very well.
Monday began for Bryony and I with application of electrodes to our arms, legs, shoulders and backs. We got new 'kneeling chairs' with two modest arms attached low down. We could drive 'June Bugs' and 'Hexapods' with our leg electrodes; could we work these low arms, without moving our legs ? Well, yes. It was like reaching for dropped sox or smalls with your toes. Developing competence was slower. We needed several hours for our wits to cross-wire. Gradually, disconcertingly, we learned the knack. By 'Elevenses', we had four gripping limbs.
Then, an unexpected twist; could we operate our 'leg arms' while our 'flesh arms' were being 'puppeteered' ? We began the investigation by waving our real arms about whilst moving our 'leg arms'. It was too distracting. Lunch-time brought scant progress. We were well into the afternoon before Bryony and I managed to partly disconnect our internal processes, to 'walk & chew gum'.
Impressed, the FX team linked our arms to their 3D sequencer. With our hands now waving on 'autopilot', mobilising our 'leg arms' suddenly became easier. By the end of that long, long day, Bryony and I could just about operate our 'leg arms' while Anna 'puppeteered' our 'flesh arms'.
Back at the hotel, our tray meal was a thoughtful affair. The others had had a similarly frustrating day, mostly exploring the limits of oddly proportioned limbs and such.
Anna put it in words. "They were ticking boxes, clearing a 'Try This' list."
That fitted. Still, we cleared our plates to crumbs, downed enough strong coffee to set our nerves a-buzz. Stripped, bath-towels spread, well lubed, we put fresh batteries in our toys. Bonked unto satiety, we 'showered with a friend', dried each other's back, pulled on our 'Hello Kitty' pajamas and slept very well.
If you cannot see the wood for the trees, deploy LIDAR.
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1740
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
Game, Set & Match #06
Game, Set & Match #06
## Tuesday ##
At an impromptu planning meeting, Fred, the FX team's leader, apologised that stuff hadn't gone right. A sour drum of silicone had ruined a big, big casting session. Upside, the hardware department had three sets of tall digitgrade 'boots' and matching arm-stilt prosthetics for us to try.
However, he had to beg a big favour. Would Bryony and I spend the night on site ?
"What do you need us for ?" I asked, quite reasonably.
"We'd like you to be twin, cuboid blobs for 36 hours straight."
"Huh ?"
"Well ! I've been a garden ornament, mummy wrapped, papoosed, even cocooned," Bryony admitted, glancing to Anna, who blushed, "but I've never been a blob ! What's involved ?"
Took us a while to winkle detail but, essentially, Fred had called it correctly. He wanted us to be an abhuman installation for long enough to test their prototype support systems.
I'd trained as a 'Nursing Assistant' before getting the 'Ward Clerk' job so I put technical detail to the proposal. "Naso-gastric tube ? A saddle-type urinal with holding tank, rather than an easily infected catheter ? Lots of barrier cream ?"
"Yes, Charley."
"What about poo ? It's too long a session for a nappy, and 'stopper' pills cause lots of problems later."
"Ah, we've a nifty rectal flush system--"
"Automated enemas ?"
"Uh, yes..."
I'd heard of such, but I'd never had the pleasure. "Will our heads or faces show ?"
"No, but you'll have VR goggles, ear-buds and pick-ups to run your wheel-chair and arms."
"What's the plan ?"
"A big, inner blob does the 'smarts'. The thin outer layer will be decorated with random hair-tufts, eyes, teeth and such--"
"A teratoma ? A really, really big, boxy teratoma ?"
"Why, yes !"
"Wicked ! Breathing arrangements ?"
"Multiple mouths and noses, a branched breathing tube with valves to prevent re-ingestion."
"Hmm. We'll need anti-nausea stuff from a local pharmacy, Aspirin to prevent 'Deep Vein Thrombosis'."
"Uh, okay..."
Anna and Bryony gave their nod, Marianne and Ellen concurred. We had a quorum. "Let's do this."
The FX team 'dressed' me first, so I only saw it from the inside. Later, watching Bryony being 'processed' made my nape prickle.
I began with a hair-net and a bald cap. After undressing, I slathered my crotch with Cavilon barrier cream, put on the modified saddle urinal. Fitting the rectal interface was non-trivial. I needed Anna's and Bryony's help plus a lot of lube and much squirming to coax the piped plug to place. With a modest set of electrodes stuck to my shoulders and legs, I stood akimbo as the FX team rolled a 'nude', open crotch catsuit onto my small form. The naso-gastric tube took several swigs of water to coax past my throat. The snug VR helmet and its ear-buds came next, leaving me blind and deaf. The chunky mouthpiece had multiple branches for safety, but left me dumb. At least it had a sipper tube.
Preliminaries complete, the team fitted me into the inner blob. I'd expected to kneel, but I was sat on a split gel pad, chin on knees, elbows tucked in close. Various wobbly chunks of gel packing were slid in to wedge me. I felt my lower plumbing's connectors led to their outlets, then my airway, naso-gastric and sipper tubes linked up. More gel packing secured my neck and head. A snug lid closed.
I felt lifted, swung, lowered. Several minutes passed before I was lifted, swung and lowered again. This time, my VR system woke. I'd an odd, but stereo view with modest resolution in fair colour. The lower edge of my visual field seemed 'flat nude', with big spots. To my horror, I realised I was looking at the top of my cuboid blob, with those spots a disconcerting scatter of mouths, noses, eyes and ears almost set flush. I reckoned later versions of the outer blob might have animatronics to bring such 'ornamentation' to life.
"Hello ? Charley ? Can you move a hand ?" Given that cue, I lifted my right extremity into view. It was a light-weight manipulator, with three stubby fingers and an opposable thumb. I'd a matching limb on my left. "Okay, Charley ! Chair drive engaged ! Wagons roll !"
I needed several minutes and some nervous zig-zags to get a feel for the interface. As my confidence grew, I pivoted the chair. Behind my cautious audience was a mobile accessibility hoist the FX team had used to lift and shift me.
"Well done, Charley ! Would you like a look in the mirror ?"
Some-one rolled a full-length, castored mirror into view. Despite my mouthpiece, I gulped. My 'nude' cuboid blob neatly filled an adult electric wheel-chair's seat to the line of its high back. My cameras were clamped to the 'attendant' handles. My 'arms' sprouted from the arm-rests' supports. My blob was neatly wrapped by a strappy lifting harness. Incongruously, yet logically, the wheel-chair's lap belt had been cinched snug.
"What do you think, Charley ?"
Dumb, I needed some moments to find an appropriate reply. Then I lifted both arms, gave a double thumbs-up.
"Bravo !" My audience of FX team, sibs and kin applauded with glee and, I suspected, some relief. "Now pull over here and watch Bryony get blobbed !"
Perhaps it was an artefact of the vision system, but Bryony looked rather pale. Still, she wouldn't be up-staged by her kid sister, no sir ! Taken another way, I was glad I'd gone first. Watching my dear sib being transmogrified to that cuboid teratoma made my nape prickle. Bravely, Bryony returned two thumbs-up at the end.
All that took us through to 'Elevenses'. The FX team rigged 'drip' stands on our wheel-chairs, put up a bottle of juice apiece. Then they showed us how to connect our sipper tubes. With welcome hydration flowing, they led us through to our 'comfort stations', where a bell-push would summon assistance. There was a 'mouse hole' between the wheel-chairs' seat and back. Our helpers connected drains to our pee tanks' no-leak outlets, rinse and drain pipes to our plugged butts. Fluid came in via naso-gastric tube and sipper pipe. We pee'd it away. The 'rectal flush' system repeatedly pumped a mug of fresh wash-mix into our bowels, slurped it out. It was strange feeling our insides bloating then draining, bloating then draining, but not too unpleasant. We rang our bells again to be disconnected, went in search of the others.
While Bryony was being blobbed, Anna, Ellen and Marianne were learning to walk digitgrade. Their stilt-boots lifted them by a clear foot. They had clawed arm-stilts to match and, a touch of whimsy, little shoulder wings to flap.
Lunch was interesting. Bryony and I were on a liquid diet, had beige bottles hung. Our three stilters soon discovered they could not feed themselves or each other. Their arm prostheses were too long, the big claws too clumsy to handle finger food. So, Bryony and I fed them.
After lunch, Bryony and I were turned loose to explore the FX workshops, to watch our folk master their 'augments'. To add some spice, they'd now been issued those wide sonar / infra-red / astigmatic helmets. Their learning curves' fumbles were a real hoot.
Following afternoon tea, our stilters' little wings were upgraded to several feet span. These also folded, a new trait to master. Soon, there were three near-gargoyles stalking the work rooms and corridors, trailed by our two bizarre blobs.
It was quite late when our folk were finally prised loose from their FX. Stripped of their electrodes, they blew us kisses, headed back to our hotel. Our day was over, too. A piped liquid supper, however worthy, was no substitute for a tray meal, lots of coffee then bonking until bed-time. Nor could we stay in our wheel-chairs over-night. Instead, the mobile hoist lifted us onto indented plinths matching our comfort stations.
Isolated from our wheel-chair's systems, with VR helmet shut down, we were sensorily deprived. Unable to move beyond the slightest squirm and isometric exercises, blind, deaf and dumb, we were alone in the dark. I wasn't bothered. I had a lot of 'internal resource'. I also had a lot to think about. This '36 hours as a blob' was surely a stress-test for both us and the team's systems. I'd just begun to wonder what else was planned when the day caught up with me and I dozed off.
I woke to tepid hydration fluid being pumped down my naso-gastric tube. My tum and kidneys dealt with this input. An hour along, I woke needing to pee. Then the butt-flush system woke me. It efficiently filled and emptied, filled and emptied my tail-pipe. Though not unpleasant, this distraction was unwelcome. I'd barely dozed off again when the naso-gastric pump woke me. And then, yes, I woke needing a pee. Like having hourly 'stats' on the ward, these interruptions broke my night.
## Tuesday ##
At an impromptu planning meeting, Fred, the FX team's leader, apologised that stuff hadn't gone right. A sour drum of silicone had ruined a big, big casting session. Upside, the hardware department had three sets of tall digitgrade 'boots' and matching arm-stilt prosthetics for us to try.
However, he had to beg a big favour. Would Bryony and I spend the night on site ?
"What do you need us for ?" I asked, quite reasonably.
"We'd like you to be twin, cuboid blobs for 36 hours straight."
"Huh ?"
"Well ! I've been a garden ornament, mummy wrapped, papoosed, even cocooned," Bryony admitted, glancing to Anna, who blushed, "but I've never been a blob ! What's involved ?"
Took us a while to winkle detail but, essentially, Fred had called it correctly. He wanted us to be an abhuman installation for long enough to test their prototype support systems.
I'd trained as a 'Nursing Assistant' before getting the 'Ward Clerk' job so I put technical detail to the proposal. "Naso-gastric tube ? A saddle-type urinal with holding tank, rather than an easily infected catheter ? Lots of barrier cream ?"
"Yes, Charley."
"What about poo ? It's too long a session for a nappy, and 'stopper' pills cause lots of problems later."
"Ah, we've a nifty rectal flush system--"
"Automated enemas ?"
"Uh, yes..."
I'd heard of such, but I'd never had the pleasure. "Will our heads or faces show ?"
"No, but you'll have VR goggles, ear-buds and pick-ups to run your wheel-chair and arms."
"What's the plan ?"
"A big, inner blob does the 'smarts'. The thin outer layer will be decorated with random hair-tufts, eyes, teeth and such--"
"A teratoma ? A really, really big, boxy teratoma ?"
"Why, yes !"
"Wicked ! Breathing arrangements ?"
"Multiple mouths and noses, a branched breathing tube with valves to prevent re-ingestion."
"Hmm. We'll need anti-nausea stuff from a local pharmacy, Aspirin to prevent 'Deep Vein Thrombosis'."
"Uh, okay..."
Anna and Bryony gave their nod, Marianne and Ellen concurred. We had a quorum. "Let's do this."
The FX team 'dressed' me first, so I only saw it from the inside. Later, watching Bryony being 'processed' made my nape prickle.
I began with a hair-net and a bald cap. After undressing, I slathered my crotch with Cavilon barrier cream, put on the modified saddle urinal. Fitting the rectal interface was non-trivial. I needed Anna's and Bryony's help plus a lot of lube and much squirming to coax the piped plug to place. With a modest set of electrodes stuck to my shoulders and legs, I stood akimbo as the FX team rolled a 'nude', open crotch catsuit onto my small form. The naso-gastric tube took several swigs of water to coax past my throat. The snug VR helmet and its ear-buds came next, leaving me blind and deaf. The chunky mouthpiece had multiple branches for safety, but left me dumb. At least it had a sipper tube.
Preliminaries complete, the team fitted me into the inner blob. I'd expected to kneel, but I was sat on a split gel pad, chin on knees, elbows tucked in close. Various wobbly chunks of gel packing were slid in to wedge me. I felt my lower plumbing's connectors led to their outlets, then my airway, naso-gastric and sipper tubes linked up. More gel packing secured my neck and head. A snug lid closed.
I felt lifted, swung, lowered. Several minutes passed before I was lifted, swung and lowered again. This time, my VR system woke. I'd an odd, but stereo view with modest resolution in fair colour. The lower edge of my visual field seemed 'flat nude', with big spots. To my horror, I realised I was looking at the top of my cuboid blob, with those spots a disconcerting scatter of mouths, noses, eyes and ears almost set flush. I reckoned later versions of the outer blob might have animatronics to bring such 'ornamentation' to life.
"Hello ? Charley ? Can you move a hand ?" Given that cue, I lifted my right extremity into view. It was a light-weight manipulator, with three stubby fingers and an opposable thumb. I'd a matching limb on my left. "Okay, Charley ! Chair drive engaged ! Wagons roll !"
I needed several minutes and some nervous zig-zags to get a feel for the interface. As my confidence grew, I pivoted the chair. Behind my cautious audience was a mobile accessibility hoist the FX team had used to lift and shift me.
"Well done, Charley ! Would you like a look in the mirror ?"
Some-one rolled a full-length, castored mirror into view. Despite my mouthpiece, I gulped. My 'nude' cuboid blob neatly filled an adult electric wheel-chair's seat to the line of its high back. My cameras were clamped to the 'attendant' handles. My 'arms' sprouted from the arm-rests' supports. My blob was neatly wrapped by a strappy lifting harness. Incongruously, yet logically, the wheel-chair's lap belt had been cinched snug.
"What do you think, Charley ?"
Dumb, I needed some moments to find an appropriate reply. Then I lifted both arms, gave a double thumbs-up.
"Bravo !" My audience of FX team, sibs and kin applauded with glee and, I suspected, some relief. "Now pull over here and watch Bryony get blobbed !"
Perhaps it was an artefact of the vision system, but Bryony looked rather pale. Still, she wouldn't be up-staged by her kid sister, no sir ! Taken another way, I was glad I'd gone first. Watching my dear sib being transmogrified to that cuboid teratoma made my nape prickle. Bravely, Bryony returned two thumbs-up at the end.
All that took us through to 'Elevenses'. The FX team rigged 'drip' stands on our wheel-chairs, put up a bottle of juice apiece. Then they showed us how to connect our sipper tubes. With welcome hydration flowing, they led us through to our 'comfort stations', where a bell-push would summon assistance. There was a 'mouse hole' between the wheel-chairs' seat and back. Our helpers connected drains to our pee tanks' no-leak outlets, rinse and drain pipes to our plugged butts. Fluid came in via naso-gastric tube and sipper pipe. We pee'd it away. The 'rectal flush' system repeatedly pumped a mug of fresh wash-mix into our bowels, slurped it out. It was strange feeling our insides bloating then draining, bloating then draining, but not too unpleasant. We rang our bells again to be disconnected, went in search of the others.
While Bryony was being blobbed, Anna, Ellen and Marianne were learning to walk digitgrade. Their stilt-boots lifted them by a clear foot. They had clawed arm-stilts to match and, a touch of whimsy, little shoulder wings to flap.
Lunch was interesting. Bryony and I were on a liquid diet, had beige bottles hung. Our three stilters soon discovered they could not feed themselves or each other. Their arm prostheses were too long, the big claws too clumsy to handle finger food. So, Bryony and I fed them.
After lunch, Bryony and I were turned loose to explore the FX workshops, to watch our folk master their 'augments'. To add some spice, they'd now been issued those wide sonar / infra-red / astigmatic helmets. Their learning curves' fumbles were a real hoot.
Following afternoon tea, our stilters' little wings were upgraded to several feet span. These also folded, a new trait to master. Soon, there were three near-gargoyles stalking the work rooms and corridors, trailed by our two bizarre blobs.
It was quite late when our folk were finally prised loose from their FX. Stripped of their electrodes, they blew us kisses, headed back to our hotel. Our day was over, too. A piped liquid supper, however worthy, was no substitute for a tray meal, lots of coffee then bonking until bed-time. Nor could we stay in our wheel-chairs over-night. Instead, the mobile hoist lifted us onto indented plinths matching our comfort stations.
Isolated from our wheel-chair's systems, with VR helmet shut down, we were sensorily deprived. Unable to move beyond the slightest squirm and isometric exercises, blind, deaf and dumb, we were alone in the dark. I wasn't bothered. I had a lot of 'internal resource'. I also had a lot to think about. This '36 hours as a blob' was surely a stress-test for both us and the team's systems. I'd just begun to wonder what else was planned when the day caught up with me and I dozed off.
I woke to tepid hydration fluid being pumped down my naso-gastric tube. My tum and kidneys dealt with this input. An hour along, I woke needing to pee. Then the butt-flush system woke me. It efficiently filled and emptied, filled and emptied my tail-pipe. Though not unpleasant, this distraction was unwelcome. I'd barely dozed off again when the naso-gastric pump woke me. And then, yes, I woke needing a pee. Like having hourly 'stats' on the ward, these interruptions broke my night.
If you cannot see the wood for the trees, deploy LIDAR.
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1740
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
Game, Set & Match #07
Game, Set & Match #07 ## Wednesday ##
The butt-flush system was again cycling when my VR system came on-line. Dawn was filtering through the blinds. An unfamiliar voice said, "Ms. Weston ? Charley ? Hi ! I'm Tony, 'Earlies' Team Leader in the main prosthetic workshop. I've come across to check on things. How are you ?"
The low-res image was mono not stereo, the camera seemed hand-held. The speaker was certainly not one of our FX team. And, it was a silly question. I had no way to reply.
"I've plugged an activity monitor onto your pick-ups' port. Just move your right hand."
Now, that was joined-up thinking. I clenched my right hand.
"Thank you ! Did you sleep well ? One for yes, two for no..."
I clenched twice.
"Oh. Bad dreams ?"
I clenched twice.
"Did-- Did the support systems keep waking you ?"
One clench.
"I was afraid of that... Well, the Mark Two should have more user control, but the team's still working on the interface."
That earned one clench.
"I'll connect your first 'Breakfast' bottle. Here you go ! I'll see to your sister and get back as soon as I can..."
With that, he was gone, and my meagre VR, too. But, something other than water or hydration mix was coming down the line. Five minutes later, the VR woke again. "Hi, Charley ! Tony again ! Your Bryony is okay and she agrees with your comments. Your first bottle is empty, so I'll swap it. Get you fuelled for the morning ahead. I'm sorry, I'm not trained to run the hoist or hook-up your wheel-chair, so you'll be 'dark' for several more hours. At least I can change the timing on your hydration and butt-flush systems. I hope you can grab a nap."
To my surprise, I did. Several hours passed before swaying woke me. I was lifted, swung, lowered. My VR woke.
"Charley ? Are you okay ?" Anna was hiding much of her concern, but I could read my sib too well. I found my limb interfaces, raised a thumb. "I am so glad ! I kept thinking of things that could go wrong !"
I raised both thumbs as, across the room, Bryony's blob was being hoisted from night-plinth to wheel-chair. The FX team buckled her seat-belt, connected her cables. She 'woke', waved to me, raised two thumbs. I waved back. From the small crowd's evident relief, they'd feared a 'bridge too far'.
The support team put up fresh bottles of feed for us while Anna, Marianne and Ellen dressed for the day. They began with arm, shoulder and thigh pick-ups. Again, they had tall, digitgrade stilt-boots, but the theme was aquatic. Webbed feet and scale-print cat-suits were more benign than grim gargoyles. The three put on identical, abhuman head-over masks with huge, lidless eyes, a tall crest, twin curly horns and several wide tiers of gills. From their lipless mouths, a short, octopoid beak peeked, worked by wary chin-wagging. On each hand, talonned fingertips surrounded a tennis-ball sized sucker. This let them walk with padded hiking sticks instead of arm-stilts.
From their baffled comments, there was some serious weirdness in their visuals.
"Yes," Fred, the FX team leader confirmed. "You've narrow-band filters in each 'eye', but left and right are different, so you're not quite colour-blind. You've anamorphic lenses for a wide-angle view."
"It-- It's so weird," Ellen admitted, turning her head. "I've lost my stereo perception-- Everything's skew !"
"Me, too," Anna agreed.
"You've ear-bud Sonar, which should help. And we've found you some shimmer gowns to trail--"
"Ooh, shiny !" Marianne chirped. "I want the red one !"
As all three looked like silvery 'Mother of Pearl' to my 'normal' vision, I had to wonder what those narrow-band filters were doing. Half an hour later, with our apprentice Merfolk still struggling, Bryony and I trundled off to see what else was happening. The 'Wet Crew' were busy casting, trying to make up for time lost to that sour drum. A robotics and animatronics workshop was crammed with, uh, robotics stuff, but the two technicians seemed to be tweaking a 'Mark Two' Blob Support System. One side-table had a tray with baby-blue eyes. Wired to a computer, these tracked to and fro, winked and blinked in disturbing unison. Another tray held a disconcerting assortment of small, bud-lipped mouths matching ours.
'Earlies' Tony spotted us in the corridor, invited us through to the adjacent building and its main-stream Prosthetics Production area. He gave us the tour, explained the work-flow. Clients were evaluated, scanned and cast. Their prostheses were crafted, tested, fitted, re-fitted then trained. Bryony and I felt shamed by their clients' courage, their determination to surmount their limits and master their prostheses.
We didn't expect to be fêted. Our 'spider riding' had gone viral. Images of us sweet poppets controlling our robot mounts and limbs by thought alone were a huge incentive to clients and carers alike. That low-budget horror movie, with its ghastly assortment of augments, showed we were serious, serious stunt players. Still, for us to mould our perfect little bodies into these gruesome Blobs for the sake of art almost defied belief.
It was no trick. Put an ear to our breathing orifices, you could feel and smell the warm human within. Connecting our sipper tubes let us wet our real mouths.
There was another factor. We hadn't realised it, but the five of us were myo-electric super-stars. One reason the FX team's arrangements seemed a bit haphazard was that we'd consistently out-run their most peroptimistic planning. We learned in a morning what took most people a long day. We learned in a day what often took a week or more. We could switch between prostheses at a truly terrifying rate.
But, but, we were just a bunch of young stunt players having fun exploring 'proof of concept' stuff ! We couldn't say that, of course. As Blobs, we couldn't say anything. So, we shook a lot of hands. We listened to heart-breaking and heart-warming tales. We played with bemused children. We saluted hard-won achievements.
In time, a phone call prompted 'Earlies' Tony to lead us back for 'Elevenses'. Our three newly minted 'Merfolk' had mostly mastered their stilt-boots, were strolling about, heads high, their floaty, translucent gowns all a-shimmer. Their clawed sucker-hands had proved problematic, as they were just the wrong size and shape for 'human' stuff. The hiking-stick handles skidded. Cups tipped. Cans slipped. Working dials and switches would have been easier in boxing gloves. But, these problems were all solved.
When the direct approach failed, Marianne wheeled out her 'Special Needs' experience, deployed her wits. A stiff sponge ball 'cored' and stuck over each hiking stick's 'human-type' handle made them useful. A stiff sponge ball with an 'eraser'-topped pencil jammed into it provided a prototype 'finger'. The FX team hastily made casts of spare left and right clawed suckers, added a finger-nailed 'digit' to each grooved lump. With two such, slow typing was practicable. Cutting a wedge from a sponge ball to create a 'Pacman' gave a fair grip on dials and knobs. A variant with glued-in friction pads allowed more control. Short salad tongs threaded through slots in foam balls provided workable cutlery. A cup-holder with its loop-handle glued and pegged into a slitted foam ball mastered the Klix drinks machine.
The bemused FX team also learned a valuable lesson-- Crafting superb, abhuman prosthetics was only half the job. They went off to re-do those crude tools with an appropriate, aquatic theme. Given their masks' 'beak', our Merfolk couldn't talk well, but that didn't stop them huskily asking how we were doing, then relating their morning's adventures.
After 'Elevenses', our Merfolk discovered why they had those thigh pick-ups. Three 'June Bug' bases had been hastily re-worked with a short, shark-like body instead of kneelers. Our Merfolk learned they were expected to ride 'bare-back', brandishing a fake bident. Well, why not ? Within half an hour, they were scooting through the corridors then around the quad's garden like a prial of Orca. Some-where along the way, they'd adapted to their weird visuals.
The buffet lunch was interesting as our empowered Merfolk rounded up a sparse shoal of guests from the garden to be fed by hand. It was another PR coup, with smart-phones flashing to left and right. Bryony and I helped feed our bemused guests, but had to settle for several bottles of beige stuff run into our tubes.
After lunch, the FX team unveiled a hexapod walker dressed as a crab-like beastie. Anna pulled rank, disported herself in the shallow, control-free 'cockpit' atop its 'shell'. To our delight, she set off into the garden, pausing to pick daisies with the beastie's claws. Not to be out-done, Ellen and Marianne got back on their shark-like steeds and played 'out-rider'. Astonished late-lunchers called back their colleagues. The smart-phones flashed again.
Our three Merfolk took turns on the hexapod 'crab' and their 'sharks', had fun, fun, fun until their rides' batteries ran low in late afternoon.
Bryony and I had been kept busy doing all sorts of mental and physical tests, running obstacle courses and such. Still, it was a big, big relief when Fred, the FX team leader, announced that we'd done our time as blobs, could be decanted.
To put it politely, we stank, ached and itched. Fortunately, the 'Wet Crew' had an accessible shower we could use. The two of us writhed under the shower-head, applied copious generic body-wash, rinsed our woes away.
When we were clean, dry, generously dusted with talcum powder and back in our pink play-suits, the FX team were eager to pick our brains. What was it like to be a blob ? How could it be improved ? What must be done better ?
Bryony and I agreed that the biggest issue was the toiletting arrangements. Yes, the saddle urinal worked. Yes, the butt-flush worked. However, they would be much more comfortable as a combined device, custom-moulded to the user. I suggested that this device included entertainment in the form of a wriggly sex-toy, only functional whilst on the night-plinth. And, could the doubly-pierced butt-plug please, please come in 'small' rather than 'equine' ? Giggles and blushes aside, my comments were duly logged.
Bryony made the point that her night's sleep, like mine, had been very badly disturbed by the hydration and butt-flush systems' strict timing. She suggested that, like a sports bottle, the night hydration be worked by squeezing our right fist for more than, say, ten seconds. She also suggested that, per tradition, the butt-flush be triggered by our left hand, like-wise.
"Okay, we can do that," Fred allowed.
With time to think, I commented that an eye-tracking VR helmet, a modest upgrade, offered several amusing options. Driving a couple of oddly positioned eyes to and fro, winking and blinking, was a no-brainer. Also, at night, with the wheel-chairs' optics disconnected, it would be nice to have a couple of concealed, wide-angle, pin-hole cameras for 'situational awareness'.
"Can do..." Fred made a cryptic note.
"An idea for the 'Ornamentation'," I proposed. "Could the outer blob's neat little electrical connectors be replaced by a really, really brutal 'industrial' multi-plug ?"
"What do you mean ?"
"Fifties 'Black Box' stuff," I said. "Big as my fist, on a mounting plate. Knurled locking ring. Real clunky."
"Why ?"
"To make a point."
"Ah !"
"Sounds like 'Marine Grade'," one of the FX team mentioned. "I've seen them on yachts and 'All Terrain' wheel-chairs. Modern pinning and porting options, but IP-65+ rated. RS catalogue should have them in stock."
"Noted," Fred allowed. "And, yes, they would look so retro, like an old monster movie ! Thank you !"
'Click !' Anna tongue clicked, asked, "Could you add a 'momentary' tongue switch to the mouth-piece ? An LED to blink ? It would offer a one-bit signal path."
"Can do," Fred agreed. "Now, if it isn't too embarrassing a question, how would you like to control your, uh, nocturnal entertainment device ?"
Bryony came straight back with, "The two pick-ups on our shoulders used to flap our 'June Bug' mini-wings, of course ! Fly me !"
That garnered lots of giggles, but brought a question I'd dreaded.
"If we fix this list," Fred asked, "would you two be blobs again ?"
"Thirty-six hours ?" Bryony asked.
"Long weekend," Fred bid. "Friday morning through Bank Holiday Monday to Tuesday afternoon ?"
"Why ?" Bryony gasped.
"Because we'd be first," Anna stated. As a self-employed party organiser, she had a firm grasp on 'real world' stuff. "First to the hundred hours ? First with all the tweaks ? Those are really big wins to take to your sponsors."
"Ms. Weston, you're shrewd," Fred admitted. "None of our crew could take more than a few hours blobbed. Okay, that was enough to test the systems, but our sponsors had serious doubts. Worse, they didn't think your team could do better. To put it politely, you seemed 'too good to be true'...
"Now there's no doubt. All five of you are remarkable, and you two are off the scale..."
"Hence the photo-opportunities ?"
"I'm afraid so," Fred agreed. "Your antics went viral on social media, set the FX community buzzing. You've given us a growing portfolio of solutions we can licence or cross-licence."
"Don't forget the custom utensils," Marianne reminded him.
"We won't," Fred promised. "Your 'accessible' devices really raised our game. We-- We've always used a support team to care for stunt players with major appliances. It-- It never occurred to us to craft bespoke cutlery and other aids."
"You'll take them to the bank," Anna predicted.
"We will," Fred agreed.
"You reckon your Blobs Mark-2 will be ready mid-Friday," Anna pressed.
"Yes." Fred nodded.
"What do we do between now and then ?"
"Ah, well, tomorrow, Thursday, we've a Sylvan theme. Three Dryads and, uh, something special for you two heroes."
"Special ?" Bryony was understandably wary.
"Very special," Fred confirmed. "Just relax and have fun."
He would not be drawn on detail, so we left it at that. Besides, time had run out. Bryony and I were so glad to ride back to our motel with our folk. We grabbed quick showers, tackled our tray meals. Then, buzzing with coffee, the five of us spread bath towels on the big bed, lubed ourselves and woke our toys. Bonked unto satiety, we 'showered with a friend', dried each other's back, pulled on our 'Hello Kitty' pyjamas and slept very well.
The butt-flush system was again cycling when my VR system came on-line. Dawn was filtering through the blinds. An unfamiliar voice said, "Ms. Weston ? Charley ? Hi ! I'm Tony, 'Earlies' Team Leader in the main prosthetic workshop. I've come across to check on things. How are you ?"
The low-res image was mono not stereo, the camera seemed hand-held. The speaker was certainly not one of our FX team. And, it was a silly question. I had no way to reply.
"I've plugged an activity monitor onto your pick-ups' port. Just move your right hand."
Now, that was joined-up thinking. I clenched my right hand.
"Thank you ! Did you sleep well ? One for yes, two for no..."
I clenched twice.
"Oh. Bad dreams ?"
I clenched twice.
"Did-- Did the support systems keep waking you ?"
One clench.
"I was afraid of that... Well, the Mark Two should have more user control, but the team's still working on the interface."
That earned one clench.
"I'll connect your first 'Breakfast' bottle. Here you go ! I'll see to your sister and get back as soon as I can..."
With that, he was gone, and my meagre VR, too. But, something other than water or hydration mix was coming down the line. Five minutes later, the VR woke again. "Hi, Charley ! Tony again ! Your Bryony is okay and she agrees with your comments. Your first bottle is empty, so I'll swap it. Get you fuelled for the morning ahead. I'm sorry, I'm not trained to run the hoist or hook-up your wheel-chair, so you'll be 'dark' for several more hours. At least I can change the timing on your hydration and butt-flush systems. I hope you can grab a nap."
To my surprise, I did. Several hours passed before swaying woke me. I was lifted, swung, lowered. My VR woke.
"Charley ? Are you okay ?" Anna was hiding much of her concern, but I could read my sib too well. I found my limb interfaces, raised a thumb. "I am so glad ! I kept thinking of things that could go wrong !"
I raised both thumbs as, across the room, Bryony's blob was being hoisted from night-plinth to wheel-chair. The FX team buckled her seat-belt, connected her cables. She 'woke', waved to me, raised two thumbs. I waved back. From the small crowd's evident relief, they'd feared a 'bridge too far'.
The support team put up fresh bottles of feed for us while Anna, Marianne and Ellen dressed for the day. They began with arm, shoulder and thigh pick-ups. Again, they had tall, digitgrade stilt-boots, but the theme was aquatic. Webbed feet and scale-print cat-suits were more benign than grim gargoyles. The three put on identical, abhuman head-over masks with huge, lidless eyes, a tall crest, twin curly horns and several wide tiers of gills. From their lipless mouths, a short, octopoid beak peeked, worked by wary chin-wagging. On each hand, talonned fingertips surrounded a tennis-ball sized sucker. This let them walk with padded hiking sticks instead of arm-stilts.
From their baffled comments, there was some serious weirdness in their visuals.
"Yes," Fred, the FX team leader confirmed. "You've narrow-band filters in each 'eye', but left and right are different, so you're not quite colour-blind. You've anamorphic lenses for a wide-angle view."
"It-- It's so weird," Ellen admitted, turning her head. "I've lost my stereo perception-- Everything's skew !"
"Me, too," Anna agreed.
"You've ear-bud Sonar, which should help. And we've found you some shimmer gowns to trail--"
"Ooh, shiny !" Marianne chirped. "I want the red one !"
As all three looked like silvery 'Mother of Pearl' to my 'normal' vision, I had to wonder what those narrow-band filters were doing. Half an hour later, with our apprentice Merfolk still struggling, Bryony and I trundled off to see what else was happening. The 'Wet Crew' were busy casting, trying to make up for time lost to that sour drum. A robotics and animatronics workshop was crammed with, uh, robotics stuff, but the two technicians seemed to be tweaking a 'Mark Two' Blob Support System. One side-table had a tray with baby-blue eyes. Wired to a computer, these tracked to and fro, winked and blinked in disturbing unison. Another tray held a disconcerting assortment of small, bud-lipped mouths matching ours.
'Earlies' Tony spotted us in the corridor, invited us through to the adjacent building and its main-stream Prosthetics Production area. He gave us the tour, explained the work-flow. Clients were evaluated, scanned and cast. Their prostheses were crafted, tested, fitted, re-fitted then trained. Bryony and I felt shamed by their clients' courage, their determination to surmount their limits and master their prostheses.
We didn't expect to be fêted. Our 'spider riding' had gone viral. Images of us sweet poppets controlling our robot mounts and limbs by thought alone were a huge incentive to clients and carers alike. That low-budget horror movie, with its ghastly assortment of augments, showed we were serious, serious stunt players. Still, for us to mould our perfect little bodies into these gruesome Blobs for the sake of art almost defied belief.
It was no trick. Put an ear to our breathing orifices, you could feel and smell the warm human within. Connecting our sipper tubes let us wet our real mouths.
There was another factor. We hadn't realised it, but the five of us were myo-electric super-stars. One reason the FX team's arrangements seemed a bit haphazard was that we'd consistently out-run their most peroptimistic planning. We learned in a morning what took most people a long day. We learned in a day what often took a week or more. We could switch between prostheses at a truly terrifying rate.
But, but, we were just a bunch of young stunt players having fun exploring 'proof of concept' stuff ! We couldn't say that, of course. As Blobs, we couldn't say anything. So, we shook a lot of hands. We listened to heart-breaking and heart-warming tales. We played with bemused children. We saluted hard-won achievements.
In time, a phone call prompted 'Earlies' Tony to lead us back for 'Elevenses'. Our three newly minted 'Merfolk' had mostly mastered their stilt-boots, were strolling about, heads high, their floaty, translucent gowns all a-shimmer. Their clawed sucker-hands had proved problematic, as they were just the wrong size and shape for 'human' stuff. The hiking-stick handles skidded. Cups tipped. Cans slipped. Working dials and switches would have been easier in boxing gloves. But, these problems were all solved.
When the direct approach failed, Marianne wheeled out her 'Special Needs' experience, deployed her wits. A stiff sponge ball 'cored' and stuck over each hiking stick's 'human-type' handle made them useful. A stiff sponge ball with an 'eraser'-topped pencil jammed into it provided a prototype 'finger'. The FX team hastily made casts of spare left and right clawed suckers, added a finger-nailed 'digit' to each grooved lump. With two such, slow typing was practicable. Cutting a wedge from a sponge ball to create a 'Pacman' gave a fair grip on dials and knobs. A variant with glued-in friction pads allowed more control. Short salad tongs threaded through slots in foam balls provided workable cutlery. A cup-holder with its loop-handle glued and pegged into a slitted foam ball mastered the Klix drinks machine.
The bemused FX team also learned a valuable lesson-- Crafting superb, abhuman prosthetics was only half the job. They went off to re-do those crude tools with an appropriate, aquatic theme. Given their masks' 'beak', our Merfolk couldn't talk well, but that didn't stop them huskily asking how we were doing, then relating their morning's adventures.
After 'Elevenses', our Merfolk discovered why they had those thigh pick-ups. Three 'June Bug' bases had been hastily re-worked with a short, shark-like body instead of kneelers. Our Merfolk learned they were expected to ride 'bare-back', brandishing a fake bident. Well, why not ? Within half an hour, they were scooting through the corridors then around the quad's garden like a prial of Orca. Some-where along the way, they'd adapted to their weird visuals.
The buffet lunch was interesting as our empowered Merfolk rounded up a sparse shoal of guests from the garden to be fed by hand. It was another PR coup, with smart-phones flashing to left and right. Bryony and I helped feed our bemused guests, but had to settle for several bottles of beige stuff run into our tubes.
After lunch, the FX team unveiled a hexapod walker dressed as a crab-like beastie. Anna pulled rank, disported herself in the shallow, control-free 'cockpit' atop its 'shell'. To our delight, she set off into the garden, pausing to pick daisies with the beastie's claws. Not to be out-done, Ellen and Marianne got back on their shark-like steeds and played 'out-rider'. Astonished late-lunchers called back their colleagues. The smart-phones flashed again.
Our three Merfolk took turns on the hexapod 'crab' and their 'sharks', had fun, fun, fun until their rides' batteries ran low in late afternoon.
Bryony and I had been kept busy doing all sorts of mental and physical tests, running obstacle courses and such. Still, it was a big, big relief when Fred, the FX team leader, announced that we'd done our time as blobs, could be decanted.
To put it politely, we stank, ached and itched. Fortunately, the 'Wet Crew' had an accessible shower we could use. The two of us writhed under the shower-head, applied copious generic body-wash, rinsed our woes away.
When we were clean, dry, generously dusted with talcum powder and back in our pink play-suits, the FX team were eager to pick our brains. What was it like to be a blob ? How could it be improved ? What must be done better ?
Bryony and I agreed that the biggest issue was the toiletting arrangements. Yes, the saddle urinal worked. Yes, the butt-flush worked. However, they would be much more comfortable as a combined device, custom-moulded to the user. I suggested that this device included entertainment in the form of a wriggly sex-toy, only functional whilst on the night-plinth. And, could the doubly-pierced butt-plug please, please come in 'small' rather than 'equine' ? Giggles and blushes aside, my comments were duly logged.
Bryony made the point that her night's sleep, like mine, had been very badly disturbed by the hydration and butt-flush systems' strict timing. She suggested that, like a sports bottle, the night hydration be worked by squeezing our right fist for more than, say, ten seconds. She also suggested that, per tradition, the butt-flush be triggered by our left hand, like-wise.
"Okay, we can do that," Fred allowed.
With time to think, I commented that an eye-tracking VR helmet, a modest upgrade, offered several amusing options. Driving a couple of oddly positioned eyes to and fro, winking and blinking, was a no-brainer. Also, at night, with the wheel-chairs' optics disconnected, it would be nice to have a couple of concealed, wide-angle, pin-hole cameras for 'situational awareness'.
"Can do..." Fred made a cryptic note.
"An idea for the 'Ornamentation'," I proposed. "Could the outer blob's neat little electrical connectors be replaced by a really, really brutal 'industrial' multi-plug ?"
"What do you mean ?"
"Fifties 'Black Box' stuff," I said. "Big as my fist, on a mounting plate. Knurled locking ring. Real clunky."
"Why ?"
"To make a point."
"Ah !"
"Sounds like 'Marine Grade'," one of the FX team mentioned. "I've seen them on yachts and 'All Terrain' wheel-chairs. Modern pinning and porting options, but IP-65+ rated. RS catalogue should have them in stock."
"Noted," Fred allowed. "And, yes, they would look so retro, like an old monster movie ! Thank you !"
'Click !' Anna tongue clicked, asked, "Could you add a 'momentary' tongue switch to the mouth-piece ? An LED to blink ? It would offer a one-bit signal path."
"Can do," Fred agreed. "Now, if it isn't too embarrassing a question, how would you like to control your, uh, nocturnal entertainment device ?"
Bryony came straight back with, "The two pick-ups on our shoulders used to flap our 'June Bug' mini-wings, of course ! Fly me !"
That garnered lots of giggles, but brought a question I'd dreaded.
"If we fix this list," Fred asked, "would you two be blobs again ?"
"Thirty-six hours ?" Bryony asked.
"Long weekend," Fred bid. "Friday morning through Bank Holiday Monday to Tuesday afternoon ?"
"Why ?" Bryony gasped.
"Because we'd be first," Anna stated. As a self-employed party organiser, she had a firm grasp on 'real world' stuff. "First to the hundred hours ? First with all the tweaks ? Those are really big wins to take to your sponsors."
"Ms. Weston, you're shrewd," Fred admitted. "None of our crew could take more than a few hours blobbed. Okay, that was enough to test the systems, but our sponsors had serious doubts. Worse, they didn't think your team could do better. To put it politely, you seemed 'too good to be true'...
"Now there's no doubt. All five of you are remarkable, and you two are off the scale..."
"Hence the photo-opportunities ?"
"I'm afraid so," Fred agreed. "Your antics went viral on social media, set the FX community buzzing. You've given us a growing portfolio of solutions we can licence or cross-licence."
"Don't forget the custom utensils," Marianne reminded him.
"We won't," Fred promised. "Your 'accessible' devices really raised our game. We-- We've always used a support team to care for stunt players with major appliances. It-- It never occurred to us to craft bespoke cutlery and other aids."
"You'll take them to the bank," Anna predicted.
"We will," Fred agreed.
"You reckon your Blobs Mark-2 will be ready mid-Friday," Anna pressed.
"Yes." Fred nodded.
"What do we do between now and then ?"
"Ah, well, tomorrow, Thursday, we've a Sylvan theme. Three Dryads and, uh, something special for you two heroes."
"Special ?" Bryony was understandably wary.
"Very special," Fred confirmed. "Just relax and have fun."
He would not be drawn on detail, so we left it at that. Besides, time had run out. Bryony and I were so glad to ride back to our motel with our folk. We grabbed quick showers, tackled our tray meals. Then, buzzing with coffee, the five of us spread bath towels on the big bed, lubed ourselves and woke our toys. Bonked unto satiety, we 'showered with a friend', dried each other's back, pulled on our 'Hello Kitty' pyjamas and slept very well.
If you cannot see the wood for the trees, deploy LIDAR.
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1740
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
Game, Set & Match #08 ## Thursday ##
Game, Set & Match #08 ## Thursday ##
Thursday morning found Anna, Marianne and Ellen fitted with neat, digitgrade boot-stilts and snug, counter-shaded cat-suits. One side was leafy green, the other seemed textured bark. Being Dryads, they had 'bark' gloves and head-over masks, plus a little, green 'camo' make-up smeared around their eyes. They looked quite cute.
Then the FX team unveiled their matching trees. Three of the five had a hollow trunk, a perfectly sized 'split' for a Dryad to ease into. With an arm trailed along a convenient branch and the bark-textured side of their catsuit flush with the trunk, our Dryads were almost invisible. Only an eye peered from a 'knot hole'.
It was creepy. It was uncanny. It was a 'tour de force'.
Now, it was time for Bryony and I to dress. After application of thigh pick-ups plus a few between our shoulder-blades, we were laced and strapped into heavily boned corsets with what seemed most of a flying-rig's attachment points. We got short digitgrade stilt-boots with dainty little hooves. We got bonny-busted anatomical plastrons, so were 'stately as galleons', albeit absurdly front-loaded.
The FX team waited for our puzzlement to peak before their 'big reveal', tow along 'back-ends' for pantomime ponies. Clipped to our corsets, they attached to our thigh pick-ups. These 'back ends' included dappled, open-crotch cat-suits, so we were transformed into full-busted Centauroids. Talons and half-gloves gave us some sass. A scanty leather crop-top and matching mini-kilt made us barely decent. A head-over hood provided twin, curly horns and a cute mane to match our back-ends' tail.
"You can twitch your tail, like flapping your 'June Bug' wings," we were told. It was so.
But what about our stiff 'back ends' ? They didn't respond to our pick-ups...
"Just walk. They'll learn."
They did. Honest, they did.
By 'Elevenses', Bryony and I were a matched pair of 'My Little Centaurs', our back-ends walking to heel like well-trained woofs. We each had a bouncy, barely covered bust to shame a 'Page Three' girl, a pretty mane to toss, a nice tail to twitch. We improvised some rôle-play, gambolled with our three Dryads. And, yes, our back-ends continued to learn, began to anticipate our moves. That was weird on several levels.
Our buffet lunch brought another photo-opportunity. Mischievously, the FX team parked all five Dryad trees' low planters in the quad's garden ahead of time. Having three Dryads step from 'thin air' with luncheon invitations caused quite a stir. The smart-phones flashed, social media was blitzed. But, for men and women alike, the big attraction was dancing with us sweet, full-busted centauroids.
Was it really us who'd been those 'Spider Babes' ? Surely. And those abhorrent cuboid blobs ? Of course. How do we do it ? We're stunt players. We just wear the FX...
Another PR coup, it was also wild, wild fun...
One unexpected feature of being a cute centauroid with our own girly bits barely covered was, yes, toileting. We couldn't be expected to do a pony pee and dump on the path. Fortunately, the FX team had provided a self-contained 'camping' toilet, with disinfectant and an actual mini-flush. Perching our own bare butt on that while our back-end obligingly crouched was interesting, to say the least.
Eventually, Thursday ran to its close. Our three Dryads were so sad to leave their copse. Bryony and I were very reluctant to return to flat-busted bipeds. The FX team did down-load our back-ends' neural net parameters, so they would not need a full learning session next time.
Back at the hotel, we had a lot to talk about over tray-meals and coffee. We'd heard neither 'Yeah' nor 'Nay' about the Mark Two Blobs. We'd no clue what Anna, Marianne and Ellen would be doing. We'd just have to wait and see. Now, though, it was time to spread those bath towels on the big bed, apply lots of lube and have fun, fun, fun. Bonked unto satiety, we 'showered with a friend', dried each other's back, pulled on our 'Hello Kitty' pyjamas and slept very well.
Thursday morning found Anna, Marianne and Ellen fitted with neat, digitgrade boot-stilts and snug, counter-shaded cat-suits. One side was leafy green, the other seemed textured bark. Being Dryads, they had 'bark' gloves and head-over masks, plus a little, green 'camo' make-up smeared around their eyes. They looked quite cute.
Then the FX team unveiled their matching trees. Three of the five had a hollow trunk, a perfectly sized 'split' for a Dryad to ease into. With an arm trailed along a convenient branch and the bark-textured side of their catsuit flush with the trunk, our Dryads were almost invisible. Only an eye peered from a 'knot hole'.
It was creepy. It was uncanny. It was a 'tour de force'.
Now, it was time for Bryony and I to dress. After application of thigh pick-ups plus a few between our shoulder-blades, we were laced and strapped into heavily boned corsets with what seemed most of a flying-rig's attachment points. We got short digitgrade stilt-boots with dainty little hooves. We got bonny-busted anatomical plastrons, so were 'stately as galleons', albeit absurdly front-loaded.
The FX team waited for our puzzlement to peak before their 'big reveal', tow along 'back-ends' for pantomime ponies. Clipped to our corsets, they attached to our thigh pick-ups. These 'back ends' included dappled, open-crotch cat-suits, so we were transformed into full-busted Centauroids. Talons and half-gloves gave us some sass. A scanty leather crop-top and matching mini-kilt made us barely decent. A head-over hood provided twin, curly horns and a cute mane to match our back-ends' tail.
"You can twitch your tail, like flapping your 'June Bug' wings," we were told. It was so.
But what about our stiff 'back ends' ? They didn't respond to our pick-ups...
"Just walk. They'll learn."
They did. Honest, they did.
By 'Elevenses', Bryony and I were a matched pair of 'My Little Centaurs', our back-ends walking to heel like well-trained woofs. We each had a bouncy, barely covered bust to shame a 'Page Three' girl, a pretty mane to toss, a nice tail to twitch. We improvised some rôle-play, gambolled with our three Dryads. And, yes, our back-ends continued to learn, began to anticipate our moves. That was weird on several levels.
Our buffet lunch brought another photo-opportunity. Mischievously, the FX team parked all five Dryad trees' low planters in the quad's garden ahead of time. Having three Dryads step from 'thin air' with luncheon invitations caused quite a stir. The smart-phones flashed, social media was blitzed. But, for men and women alike, the big attraction was dancing with us sweet, full-busted centauroids.
Was it really us who'd been those 'Spider Babes' ? Surely. And those abhorrent cuboid blobs ? Of course. How do we do it ? We're stunt players. We just wear the FX...
Another PR coup, it was also wild, wild fun...
One unexpected feature of being a cute centauroid with our own girly bits barely covered was, yes, toileting. We couldn't be expected to do a pony pee and dump on the path. Fortunately, the FX team had provided a self-contained 'camping' toilet, with disinfectant and an actual mini-flush. Perching our own bare butt on that while our back-end obligingly crouched was interesting, to say the least.
Eventually, Thursday ran to its close. Our three Dryads were so sad to leave their copse. Bryony and I were very reluctant to return to flat-busted bipeds. The FX team did down-load our back-ends' neural net parameters, so they would not need a full learning session next time.
Back at the hotel, we had a lot to talk about over tray-meals and coffee. We'd heard neither 'Yeah' nor 'Nay' about the Mark Two Blobs. We'd no clue what Anna, Marianne and Ellen would be doing. We'd just have to wait and see. Now, though, it was time to spread those bath towels on the big bed, apply lots of lube and have fun, fun, fun. Bonked unto satiety, we 'showered with a friend', dried each other's back, pulled on our 'Hello Kitty' pyjamas and slept very well.
If you cannot see the wood for the trees, deploy LIDAR.
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1740
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
Game, Set & Match #09 ##Friday ##
Game, Set & Match #09 ##Friday ##
Friday morning, our Mark Two Blobs were ready. There were some obvious differences to the inner part. The toileting and entertainment functions were now built in, sized from our scans. After being fitted with pick-ups, Bryony and I put on bald-caps and 'nude' open-crotch cat-suits. We both needed several generous slurps of water to pass our naso-gastric tubes. Then, well-lubed and helped by the female members of the FX team, I lowered myself into my blob, onto the interface.
As promised, the butt plug was now a fair fit. The upstanding, ribbed whatsit, currently stilled, was a fair fit, too. Even the saddle urinal was now comfy. Gel wedges secured my legs, torso and arms. The mouthpiece came with a 'momentary' switch, which we tested. With ear-buds in, my new, slightly bulkier VR helmet closed off my world. With that wedged by gel pillows, the snug lid came down. Lifted, swung, lowered once, twice was surely my transfer to the wheel-chair.
It was. The VR set woke. Its imagery was slightly better than last time, the message the same, "Hi, Charley ! How are you ?"
I found the arm interfaces, lifted two thumbs.
"And here's the mirror..."
My outer blob was much the same as last time with the obvious addition of a big, chunky plug and an armoured cable. They were gross, but so appropriate. The hair-tufts, ears, noses, mouths and teeth all matched mine. The eyes came in my 'Baby Blue'. I glanced from side to side, then rolled my eyes. Disconcertingly, two of the visible eyes complied. I winked left. One copied me. I winked right, ditto.
"What do you think ?"
I lifted two thumbs.
"Come and try the toileting arrangements while Bryony gets blobbed..." Again, a bell would summon an assistant to connect my plumbing via the wheel-chair seat-back's mouse-hole. This time, though, the system did not auto-start. "Clench your left fist repeatedly."
Several tries later, the system awoke and did its job. It also drained my pee-pot. With the full cycle completed, my assistant disconnected my plumbing, led me back.
'Elevenses' for us blobs was a drip-stand and a bottle of hydration mix apiece. Thoughtfully, a full 'sports bottle' in a holder on our left arm-rests was plugged into our sipper system. It took some patient sucking, but was a pleasant mouth-rinse.
So, what were us Blobs to do until lunch ? 'Earlies' Tony took us through to the main prosthetics workshop, where we again awed all we met. Our tracking eyes caused consternation. Having them wink at the hot guys prompted some naughty quips.
Lunch for us was a drip-stand and two worthy, but bland bottles of feed. Anna, Marianne and Ellen were back in their Dryad outfits, delighting picnickers. Watching those Dryads ease themselves in and out of their trees was astonishing.
After lunch, the trees were fetched indoors. The FX team wanted our three Dryads to dance, to improvise a Sylvan performance. With Anna taking the lead and choosing the music, magic happened.
And what were us two blobs to do ? Surprisingly, the FX team wanted us to play. We were presented with a coffee table covered in big, bright 'Junior Lego' blocks and chunky jigsaw puzzle pieces. It was a test of our vision systems and prosthetic limb control. Given we were 'dumb' for the duration, it was also a test of our adaptability. We rose to the challenge. Efficiently, we stacked the 'Junior Lego' to a neat ziggurat, began on the puzzle pieces. We soon realised that, to add a little spice, there were two similar sets, all mixed up.
Beyond prosthetic hand gestures we had our tongue-switched LED. They sufficed. Half an hour later, we slotted the last pieces into place to polite applause from the bemused FX team. After clearing the table, they put out more toys. The best one was 'pile up blocks', where you pull a block from mid-tower and put it on top. It's a real challenge to wits and dexterity. Our widely-spaced CCTV cameras and clunky arms made it wicked fun. The bemused FX team duly ticked their check-lists, clicked their stop-watches. Also, they laughed with us when a tower toppled and Bryony or I did a 'Happy Dance'.
In time, we ran out of day. Our three Dryads handed back their trees and boot-stilts with obvious reluctance. Bryony and I were hoisted to our night plinths. The FX team had delivered on those pin-hole cameras. We'd one in each top-front corner. They had scant stereo overlap, but an excellent panoramic view. After testing our plumbing, we blinked our LEDs to say goodnight to our folk. Then, Bryony and I blinked our LEDs at each other, settled down for the night. I soon found that my VR helmet's eye-tracking facility now switched off its cameras' feed about five seconds after I closed my eyes.
Kindly, the FX team had left us with a big bottle of supper apiece. In one end, out the other. Following a big, big pee, I ran a butt-flush cycle. At last, it was time to try my whatsit. I wiggled my virtual wings five, ten, a dozen times. I was beginning to wonder if the device was faulty when I reached the interface threshold and it awoke.
Ooh, wriggly ! It wasn't as lively as those in my collection, but it was certainly hitting my G-spot. Then, to my delight, I realised it didn't just buzz or thrum, it ran a program.
Fly me !
Judging by Bryony's blob's wobbling, we both needed stickers on our plinths, "Don't come knockin' when this Blob's rockin'..."
Being f**cked witless while immobilised as a blob was crazy-kinky. It was also wild, wild fun. I suddenly glimpsed why otherwise sane folk did BDSM as 'Bondage Subs'. Not my scene, no sir, but an interesting insight...
Triggered a second time, my whatsit ran a slightly different program. I got a third, fourth, fifth program out of it before, bonked unto satiety, I crashed from orgasm to an exhausted sleep.
I woke needing an urgent pee. That dealt with, I ran both my hydration and butt-flush systems. Relieved, I triggered my whatsit again. Returning to its first program, it took me high, wild and wide. Afterwards, I drifted down into weird, weird dreams...
Friday morning, our Mark Two Blobs were ready. There were some obvious differences to the inner part. The toileting and entertainment functions were now built in, sized from our scans. After being fitted with pick-ups, Bryony and I put on bald-caps and 'nude' open-crotch cat-suits. We both needed several generous slurps of water to pass our naso-gastric tubes. Then, well-lubed and helped by the female members of the FX team, I lowered myself into my blob, onto the interface.
As promised, the butt plug was now a fair fit. The upstanding, ribbed whatsit, currently stilled, was a fair fit, too. Even the saddle urinal was now comfy. Gel wedges secured my legs, torso and arms. The mouthpiece came with a 'momentary' switch, which we tested. With ear-buds in, my new, slightly bulkier VR helmet closed off my world. With that wedged by gel pillows, the snug lid came down. Lifted, swung, lowered once, twice was surely my transfer to the wheel-chair.
It was. The VR set woke. Its imagery was slightly better than last time, the message the same, "Hi, Charley ! How are you ?"
I found the arm interfaces, lifted two thumbs.
"And here's the mirror..."
My outer blob was much the same as last time with the obvious addition of a big, chunky plug and an armoured cable. They were gross, but so appropriate. The hair-tufts, ears, noses, mouths and teeth all matched mine. The eyes came in my 'Baby Blue'. I glanced from side to side, then rolled my eyes. Disconcertingly, two of the visible eyes complied. I winked left. One copied me. I winked right, ditto.
"What do you think ?"
I lifted two thumbs.
"Come and try the toileting arrangements while Bryony gets blobbed..." Again, a bell would summon an assistant to connect my plumbing via the wheel-chair seat-back's mouse-hole. This time, though, the system did not auto-start. "Clench your left fist repeatedly."
Several tries later, the system awoke and did its job. It also drained my pee-pot. With the full cycle completed, my assistant disconnected my plumbing, led me back.
'Elevenses' for us blobs was a drip-stand and a bottle of hydration mix apiece. Thoughtfully, a full 'sports bottle' in a holder on our left arm-rests was plugged into our sipper system. It took some patient sucking, but was a pleasant mouth-rinse.
So, what were us Blobs to do until lunch ? 'Earlies' Tony took us through to the main prosthetics workshop, where we again awed all we met. Our tracking eyes caused consternation. Having them wink at the hot guys prompted some naughty quips.
Lunch for us was a drip-stand and two worthy, but bland bottles of feed. Anna, Marianne and Ellen were back in their Dryad outfits, delighting picnickers. Watching those Dryads ease themselves in and out of their trees was astonishing.
After lunch, the trees were fetched indoors. The FX team wanted our three Dryads to dance, to improvise a Sylvan performance. With Anna taking the lead and choosing the music, magic happened.
And what were us two blobs to do ? Surprisingly, the FX team wanted us to play. We were presented with a coffee table covered in big, bright 'Junior Lego' blocks and chunky jigsaw puzzle pieces. It was a test of our vision systems and prosthetic limb control. Given we were 'dumb' for the duration, it was also a test of our adaptability. We rose to the challenge. Efficiently, we stacked the 'Junior Lego' to a neat ziggurat, began on the puzzle pieces. We soon realised that, to add a little spice, there were two similar sets, all mixed up.
Beyond prosthetic hand gestures we had our tongue-switched LED. They sufficed. Half an hour later, we slotted the last pieces into place to polite applause from the bemused FX team. After clearing the table, they put out more toys. The best one was 'pile up blocks', where you pull a block from mid-tower and put it on top. It's a real challenge to wits and dexterity. Our widely-spaced CCTV cameras and clunky arms made it wicked fun. The bemused FX team duly ticked their check-lists, clicked their stop-watches. Also, they laughed with us when a tower toppled and Bryony or I did a 'Happy Dance'.
In time, we ran out of day. Our three Dryads handed back their trees and boot-stilts with obvious reluctance. Bryony and I were hoisted to our night plinths. The FX team had delivered on those pin-hole cameras. We'd one in each top-front corner. They had scant stereo overlap, but an excellent panoramic view. After testing our plumbing, we blinked our LEDs to say goodnight to our folk. Then, Bryony and I blinked our LEDs at each other, settled down for the night. I soon found that my VR helmet's eye-tracking facility now switched off its cameras' feed about five seconds after I closed my eyes.
Kindly, the FX team had left us with a big bottle of supper apiece. In one end, out the other. Following a big, big pee, I ran a butt-flush cycle. At last, it was time to try my whatsit. I wiggled my virtual wings five, ten, a dozen times. I was beginning to wonder if the device was faulty when I reached the interface threshold and it awoke.
Ooh, wriggly ! It wasn't as lively as those in my collection, but it was certainly hitting my G-spot. Then, to my delight, I realised it didn't just buzz or thrum, it ran a program.
Fly me !
Judging by Bryony's blob's wobbling, we both needed stickers on our plinths, "Don't come knockin' when this Blob's rockin'..."
Being f**cked witless while immobilised as a blob was crazy-kinky. It was also wild, wild fun. I suddenly glimpsed why otherwise sane folk did BDSM as 'Bondage Subs'. Not my scene, no sir, but an interesting insight...
Triggered a second time, my whatsit ran a slightly different program. I got a third, fourth, fifth program out of it before, bonked unto satiety, I crashed from orgasm to an exhausted sleep.
I woke needing an urgent pee. That dealt with, I ran both my hydration and butt-flush systems. Relieved, I triggered my whatsit again. Returning to its first program, it took me high, wild and wide. Afterwards, I drifted down into weird, weird dreams...
If you cannot see the wood for the trees, deploy LIDAR.
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1740
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
Game, Set & Match #10 ## Saturday ##
Game, Set & Match #10 ## Saturday ##
Saturday, dawn, I woke to 'Earlies' Tony and his cheerful call of, "Good morning, campers ! Any-one home ?"
He'd brought our day's starter bottles. We winked our LEDs at him.
"Sleep well ?"
Oh, yes ! Oh, yes, indeed ! But, armless, and Tony surely ignorant of Morse beyond 'SOS', how to say ? Clever Bryony found a way. She blinked her LED as one, four, two. I needed a few seconds to back-track her logic, then matched her.
"Huh ?" Tony took a moment from putting up Bryony's bottle to puzzle on this. We repeated our classic jingle several times before he got the message. Whistling, 'Shave, and a hair-cut, two bits', he chuckled as he put up my bottle. "Okay, folks, these should take you through to breakfast. I hope you can grab another nap, you've a busy day ahead !"
Breakfast was, of course, a couple of bottles of boring liquid feed. Transferred to our electric wheel-chairs, we followed the FX team through to meet our delighted folk. Today, they were statuesque Mermaids. They had wide-flippered 'sealion' feet on their fish-scaled mertail, tiny shell-bras over splendid 'figurehead' busts, wore flowing, translucent robes. They also had big, big hair. We wore our own as simple blonde bobs; these splendid Anime wigs tumbled beyond butt-length. Of course, despite their 'sealion' feet, our three could not walk. The FX team duly supplied sit/stand paediatric wheel-chairs, driven by thigh pick-ups. Seeing them riding thus, safety harnesses cinched, made me realise how small the five of us really were.
The FX team's twist was that our Mermaids' arms were trapped inside their sleek costumes. Their bat-wing elbows could waggle as lateral fins. Their hands, with stiffly webbed swim-gloves, were mere ventral claspers at hip height beneath those robes. Our three Mermaids had to rely on their wheel-chairs' robot arms.
To our surprise, the FX team set our Mermaids to play us Blobs at table games. 'Snakes & Ladders' was fun. More kiddy-chunky jigsaw puzzles required sorting, assembly. The three Mermaids learned quickly. Ellen proved disconcertingly dextrous with her prostheses. Such took us through to 'Elevenses' which, for us Blobs, put a fresh bottle of feed on our drip-stands. More games filled the time until our buffet lunch.
Yes, us Mermaids and Blobs toured the quad's garden to be photographed at every turn. Yes, our rides' prostheses were equal to handling finger-food. Of course, Bryony and I just fed our Mermaids and volunteers. We got a bottle of beige stuff apiece, cups of tangy lemon tea to dip our sippers.
The afternoon brought more tests, more games. Anna held Marianne to a draw at Chess, which was non-trivial. The rest of us just had fun. Eventually, the evening drew in. Our Mermaids had to moult back to bipeds. After waving them off, Bryony and I went through to the 'toileting' room, were hoisted to our night plinths.
We got a 'supper' bottle apiece. With window blinds closed and room lights dimmed, we were left to our own devices. After my bottle emptied, I had a precautionary pee, ran a butt-flush. Then, yes, I waggled my virtual wings, woke my whatsit. Bonked unto satiety, I slept quite well. Having my support systems work 'on demand' rather than strictly programmed also meant I got ample REM time. I needed it. My subconscious had a lot to digest.
Saturday, dawn, I woke to 'Earlies' Tony and his cheerful call of, "Good morning, campers ! Any-one home ?"
He'd brought our day's starter bottles. We winked our LEDs at him.
"Sleep well ?"
Oh, yes ! Oh, yes, indeed ! But, armless, and Tony surely ignorant of Morse beyond 'SOS', how to say ? Clever Bryony found a way. She blinked her LED as one, four, two. I needed a few seconds to back-track her logic, then matched her.
"Huh ?" Tony took a moment from putting up Bryony's bottle to puzzle on this. We repeated our classic jingle several times before he got the message. Whistling, 'Shave, and a hair-cut, two bits', he chuckled as he put up my bottle. "Okay, folks, these should take you through to breakfast. I hope you can grab another nap, you've a busy day ahead !"
Breakfast was, of course, a couple of bottles of boring liquid feed. Transferred to our electric wheel-chairs, we followed the FX team through to meet our delighted folk. Today, they were statuesque Mermaids. They had wide-flippered 'sealion' feet on their fish-scaled mertail, tiny shell-bras over splendid 'figurehead' busts, wore flowing, translucent robes. They also had big, big hair. We wore our own as simple blonde bobs; these splendid Anime wigs tumbled beyond butt-length. Of course, despite their 'sealion' feet, our three could not walk. The FX team duly supplied sit/stand paediatric wheel-chairs, driven by thigh pick-ups. Seeing them riding thus, safety harnesses cinched, made me realise how small the five of us really were.
The FX team's twist was that our Mermaids' arms were trapped inside their sleek costumes. Their bat-wing elbows could waggle as lateral fins. Their hands, with stiffly webbed swim-gloves, were mere ventral claspers at hip height beneath those robes. Our three Mermaids had to rely on their wheel-chairs' robot arms.
To our surprise, the FX team set our Mermaids to play us Blobs at table games. 'Snakes & Ladders' was fun. More kiddy-chunky jigsaw puzzles required sorting, assembly. The three Mermaids learned quickly. Ellen proved disconcertingly dextrous with her prostheses. Such took us through to 'Elevenses' which, for us Blobs, put a fresh bottle of feed on our drip-stands. More games filled the time until our buffet lunch.
Yes, us Mermaids and Blobs toured the quad's garden to be photographed at every turn. Yes, our rides' prostheses were equal to handling finger-food. Of course, Bryony and I just fed our Mermaids and volunteers. We got a bottle of beige stuff apiece, cups of tangy lemon tea to dip our sippers.
The afternoon brought more tests, more games. Anna held Marianne to a draw at Chess, which was non-trivial. The rest of us just had fun. Eventually, the evening drew in. Our Mermaids had to moult back to bipeds. After waving them off, Bryony and I went through to the 'toileting' room, were hoisted to our night plinths.
We got a 'supper' bottle apiece. With window blinds closed and room lights dimmed, we were left to our own devices. After my bottle emptied, I had a precautionary pee, ran a butt-flush. Then, yes, I waggled my virtual wings, woke my whatsit. Bonked unto satiety, I slept quite well. Having my support systems work 'on demand' rather than strictly programmed also meant I got ample REM time. I needed it. My subconscious had a lot to digest.
If you cannot see the wood for the trees, deploy LIDAR.