97blackbird
Here’s a short story I’m obviously a bit late on… Happy belated Thanksgiving!
“What was this holiday called again?” the grey batpony squeaked the question. She had failed repeatedly to upright herself on the soft pillow she had reclined on. If she was to be stuck for a while, being sated and supine was a great way to spend her time. “Is it… Glutton’s day?” Medi then shamelessly open-mouth burped.
Blackbird looked over at Joe and Starlight (the communist one), who were passed out from their frenzied search for the perfect vodka sauce variant for roast turkey, and then creating a vodka sauce for every side dish served; including finding a vodka sauce for the vodka sauce. Several empty bottles littered the floor. But he had to admit, they had been successful, as all the sauces were delicious and complimented the foods to which they had been paired. Whether they were sleeping due to their extreme sou chef exertions, or from imbibing the ‘fruits’ of their labor was a matter of speculation.
Big Buggy Bastage remained plugged-in to a marathon gaming session of some international MMO, while chatting several foreigners educating them about the Thanksgiving Holiday, and refining the fueling maps of the modern engines of the research vessel ESF SSgt Reckless, and also playing a game of solitaire because he felt a little bored. Blackbird shook his head slightly; it was too bad robots can’t enjoy the sedative effects of Tryptophan.
Ensign Exposition crawled up to the dessert table, again, and eyed the confections longingly with a slow lick of her lips. A groan escaped as she slipped back down to the floor and rubbed her overindulgent, aching, distended, belly. It was the most silent she had been.
“It’s called Thanksgiving, Medi, but your confusion is understandable.” Blackbird answered.
“And when is the next feast holiday?”
“One month from now.”
Medi flailed her legs again but remained as immobile as ever. She smiled and burped again. “Perfect timing!” She declared, “I should be able to move by then!”
“What was this holiday called again?” the grey batpony squeaked the question. She had failed repeatedly to upright herself on the soft pillow she had reclined on. If she was to be stuck for a while, being sated and supine was a great way to spend her time. “Is it… Glutton’s day?” Medi then shamelessly open-mouth burped.
Blackbird looked over at Joe and Starlight (the communist one), who were passed out from their frenzied search for the perfect vodka sauce variant for roast turkey, and then creating a vodka sauce for every side dish served; including finding a vodka sauce for the vodka sauce. Several empty bottles littered the floor. But he had to admit, they had been successful, as all the sauces were delicious and complimented the foods to which they had been paired. Whether they were sleeping due to their extreme sou chef exertions, or from imbibing the ‘fruits’ of their labor was a matter of speculation.
Big Buggy Bastage remained plugged-in to a marathon gaming session of some international MMO, while chatting several foreigners educating them about the Thanksgiving Holiday, and refining the fueling maps of the modern engines of the research vessel ESF SSgt Reckless, and also playing a game of solitaire because he felt a little bored. Blackbird shook his head slightly; it was too bad robots can’t enjoy the sedative effects of Tryptophan.
Ensign Exposition crawled up to the dessert table, again, and eyed the confections longingly with a slow lick of her lips. A groan escaped as she slipped back down to the floor and rubbed her overindulgent, aching, distended, belly. It was the most silent she had been.
“It’s called Thanksgiving, Medi, but your confusion is understandable.” Blackbird answered.
“And when is the next feast holiday?”
“One month from now.”
Medi flailed her legs again but remained as immobile as ever. She smiled and burped again. “Perfect timing!” She declared, “I should be able to move by then!”
