LJ Idol: Wheel of Chaos: "Going BATty"
Aug. 21st, 2025 03:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
halfshellvenusGoing BATty
Idol Wheel of Chaos | Week 7 | 1460 words
BAT (intersection with rayaso. Read my story first.)
x-x-x-x-x
As a free-range scientist, John Thornbuckle was one of the foremost BAT experts on earth. He had wowed the world with his earlier work in Bovine Accelerated Transport (culminating in cows that jumped over the moon) and Bogus Association Tendency (where conspiracies are born). Previously, he had also studied Blind Acquisition Theory (the compulsion to grab everything in sight) and Bat-Affiliated Trauma (which included pervasive paranoia about bats getting into one's hair).
Thornbuckle knew people were in awe of him. Whenever he met someone and explained what he did, they just stood there gaping at him. They were speechless with admiration! And he certainly cut a striking figure, with his black, geek-chic glasses, his pomaded hair, and his bedazzled pocket protector.
He was used to the stares and whispers. What celebrity wouldn't be?
But Thornbuckle knew that science was serious business. Those facts and correlations wouldn't liberate themselves! No, they required prying and digging–like juicy gossip in a movie star's background. And Thornbuckle, who thought secrets were for the weak, was just the man to do it.
Each day, he rolled off the sofa-bed in his office and set about exposing those hidden truths. What made cows want to be airborne? Why was "stuff" so appealing?
And why were bats so rubbery that they seemed to stick to everything?
Where others were afraid, Thornbuckle plunged right in. He has his beakers, his test tubes, his search engines, and his trusty handheld calculator to assist him. If curiosity was wrong, he didn't want to be right! Nothing could stop him!
Nothing had ever tried, but he was prepared in case that changed.
His life wasn't perfect. Despite his drive to investigate, Thornbuckle had yet to solve the problem of why there never seemed to be any money. He lived as cheaply as anyone could. He slept and worked in his cousin Albert's basement, and he subsisted on instant coffee and ramen noodles. Yes, he was familiar with the symptoms of Barely Adequate Thiamin, and recognized its effects on himself. But what could he do? Even for a man of his reputation, science didn't always pay.
Thornbuckle sometimes took small jobs just for the pay, even when they didn't interest him. He had spent months helping a museum with a Byzantine Archeology Transfer, and he once devoted almost an entire year to refining Bureaucratic Abstraction Training (in which managers learned to generalize problems to unrelated business teachings, in order to make themselves feel smart). He had actually enjoyed his last project, which involved making charts and Power-Point slides for the Australian Tourist Bureau for their annual Bugbear Awareness Tutorial.
But he preferred to set his own course. Right now, he was absorbed in studying Bodily Alienation Treatment. This, he felt, was promising.
The field addressed a problem that could be described as simply, "Your body hates you." It was surprising how often that was true. The premise covered auto-immune disorders, of course, but it included such diverse issues as clumsiness and sluggish metabolism. Unsurprisingly, Thornbuckle was acquainted with both.
He worked on new treatments for allergies, trying flamethrowers and snorkel masks, but shots and over-the-counter pills still worked better. He tried sludge smoothies for irritable bowel syndrome, but had trouble finding subjects who would participate in his experiments. He crushed red pepper flakes and added them to a skin cream to combat acne by fighting fire with fire. It was disastrous. And his attempts to cure baldness with a vibrating head cap simply caused blisters that made the men he'd tested even more self-conscious.
It wasn't entirely useless. Thornbuckle had some leftover jetpacks lying around from his cow-launching days, so he strapped one on and whooshed around a parking lot in an attempt to scare his metabolism into action. The results were mixed, which seemed like progress.
He invented small, vibrating pads to treat arthritis, and those reduced the pain as long as the subject didn't take them off. That was a clear triumph! His attempts to cure diabetes and lupus with hypnosis, not so much.
Then one weekend, Thorbuckle went to a party for local scientists. It was one of the few events to which he was ever actually invited. He mingled, parting crowds like a powerboat slicing through waves, and ate hors d'oeuvres until his stomach ached. Conversations were everywhere, and what a treat to be able to offer solutions to problems!
He overheard someone talking about young people being incredibly jaded, and he hastened to tell them about Boredom-Afflicted Teenager disease (his personal hypothesis). He was too late–from the way those around him rolled their eyes, he could tell they'd been exposed and were now also infected..
But the next conversation was more promising. Someone mentioned a man–once famous–who seemed to be disappearing altogether. Thornbuckle eagerly sought out the phone number for the victim in question, thinking that this was a situation he was perfectly suited to address. Science would come to the rescue once again!
The next morning, Thornbuckle called the number he'd been given. "I understand you're having trouble maintaining your presence," he said.
"Presence?" the man at the other end said. "I'm turning invisible!"
How exciting! Thornbuckle had never dealt with a body that hated its owner enough to disappear. He made an appointment to see the man at eleven o'clock, and prepared his bag of the usual science supplies.
He arrived at the man's apartment a few minutes early, and rang the doorbell. The door opened by itself.
"Hello?" he said. "I'm John Thornbuckle, the scientist you made an appointment with?"
"Right here," a voice answered. "My name is Tony, but you can call me The Gigolo. Come on in."
Thornbuckle was impressed. The guy must have some kind of greeting system in place, with an automatic door-opener and a microphone. He stepped inside the entrance and wondered what was next.
"Let's go into the living room," the voice said.
Thornbuckle followed the sounds of rustling through the entryway and into the next room.
"Sit, please," the voice said.
Thornbuckle went over to the couch and started to sit down, and then jumped right back up again. There seemed to be something underneath him.
"Not on me!" the voice said.
"Who?" Thornbuckle said.
"Me–Tony! I'm sitting right here."
The man had said he was invisible, but that was clearly impossible, and Thornbuckle had known that going in. Still, he dug through his supplies until he found a spray bottle.
He went into the kitchen and filled it with water. Then he went back to the living room and approached the couch. He spritzed the air around the spot where he'd tried to sit earlier.
Yes,Tony was there all right. Old and wrinkled and shriveled as a bag of bones.
"What!" Thornbuckle said. "You're nothing but skin and bones!". Of all the ridiculous ways to waste his time. This wasn't a job for science at all! This was–
"Eat something, for crying out loud!" he yelled. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Thornbuckle picked up his science bag and marched out the door. The nerve of that guy, calling him in for a basic issue like anorexia!
He was so annoyed by how things had turned out that he stopped by the grocery store on the way home and bought a family-sized bag of potato chips and his favorite beer–despite the Bavarian Alcohol Tariff that made it so expensive.
Down in the bowels of his cousin's basement once more, he muttered to himself while he ate and drank and watched half a season of Chop Shop. He had thought he'd finally have the chance to do something meaningful, and now he was right back where he'd started.
He eventually dragged himself off the couch and went back to working on new therapies. Was a propeller beanie the answer to vertigo? Could a shock bracelet fix Evil Hand syndrome? They were worth a try.
Suddenly, his computer pinged. He saw a notification for new mail, and opened the app to see what had arrived. He was surprised to see something from the Canadian government sitting in his inbox. That seemed like good news– he'd worked with them once before, and at least they paid well.
New Project Proposal, the email header said. He clicked on it.
Dear Mr. Thornbuckle,
We have an important project for which we believe you are uniquely qualified.
Blah-blah-blah-a great deal of strategic planning-blah-and this will of course require a Non-Disclosure Agreement.
We hope you will agree that-blah-blah-blah.
Thornbuckle was shocked by his inexplicably good fortune. How thrilling! Finally, all of his years of focus and dedication were being acknowledged.
He couldn't wait to get started. This was just the boost he'd needed.
He, John Thornbuckle, had been tasked with working on a super-secret plan to create a Bicoastal Annexation Timeline!
–/–
If you enjoyed this story, please vote for it along with many other fine entries here.
Idol Wheel of Chaos | Week 7 | 1460 words
BAT (intersection with rayaso. Read my story first.)
x-x-x-x-x
As a free-range scientist, John Thornbuckle was one of the foremost BAT experts on earth. He had wowed the world with his earlier work in Bovine Accelerated Transport (culminating in cows that jumped over the moon) and Bogus Association Tendency (where conspiracies are born). Previously, he had also studied Blind Acquisition Theory (the compulsion to grab everything in sight) and Bat-Affiliated Trauma (which included pervasive paranoia about bats getting into one's hair).
Thornbuckle knew people were in awe of him. Whenever he met someone and explained what he did, they just stood there gaping at him. They were speechless with admiration! And he certainly cut a striking figure, with his black, geek-chic glasses, his pomaded hair, and his bedazzled pocket protector.
He was used to the stares and whispers. What celebrity wouldn't be?
But Thornbuckle knew that science was serious business. Those facts and correlations wouldn't liberate themselves! No, they required prying and digging–like juicy gossip in a movie star's background. And Thornbuckle, who thought secrets were for the weak, was just the man to do it.
Each day, he rolled off the sofa-bed in his office and set about exposing those hidden truths. What made cows want to be airborne? Why was "stuff" so appealing?
And why were bats so rubbery that they seemed to stick to everything?
Where others were afraid, Thornbuckle plunged right in. He has his beakers, his test tubes, his search engines, and his trusty handheld calculator to assist him. If curiosity was wrong, he didn't want to be right! Nothing could stop him!
Nothing had ever tried, but he was prepared in case that changed.
His life wasn't perfect. Despite his drive to investigate, Thornbuckle had yet to solve the problem of why there never seemed to be any money. He lived as cheaply as anyone could. He slept and worked in his cousin Albert's basement, and he subsisted on instant coffee and ramen noodles. Yes, he was familiar with the symptoms of Barely Adequate Thiamin, and recognized its effects on himself. But what could he do? Even for a man of his reputation, science didn't always pay.
Thornbuckle sometimes took small jobs just for the pay, even when they didn't interest him. He had spent months helping a museum with a Byzantine Archeology Transfer, and he once devoted almost an entire year to refining Bureaucratic Abstraction Training (in which managers learned to generalize problems to unrelated business teachings, in order to make themselves feel smart). He had actually enjoyed his last project, which involved making charts and Power-Point slides for the Australian Tourist Bureau for their annual Bugbear Awareness Tutorial.
But he preferred to set his own course. Right now, he was absorbed in studying Bodily Alienation Treatment. This, he felt, was promising.
The field addressed a problem that could be described as simply, "Your body hates you." It was surprising how often that was true. The premise covered auto-immune disorders, of course, but it included such diverse issues as clumsiness and sluggish metabolism. Unsurprisingly, Thornbuckle was acquainted with both.
He worked on new treatments for allergies, trying flamethrowers and snorkel masks, but shots and over-the-counter pills still worked better. He tried sludge smoothies for irritable bowel syndrome, but had trouble finding subjects who would participate in his experiments. He crushed red pepper flakes and added them to a skin cream to combat acne by fighting fire with fire. It was disastrous. And his attempts to cure baldness with a vibrating head cap simply caused blisters that made the men he'd tested even more self-conscious.
It wasn't entirely useless. Thornbuckle had some leftover jetpacks lying around from his cow-launching days, so he strapped one on and whooshed around a parking lot in an attempt to scare his metabolism into action. The results were mixed, which seemed like progress.
He invented small, vibrating pads to treat arthritis, and those reduced the pain as long as the subject didn't take them off. That was a clear triumph! His attempts to cure diabetes and lupus with hypnosis, not so much.
Then one weekend, Thorbuckle went to a party for local scientists. It was one of the few events to which he was ever actually invited. He mingled, parting crowds like a powerboat slicing through waves, and ate hors d'oeuvres until his stomach ached. Conversations were everywhere, and what a treat to be able to offer solutions to problems!
He overheard someone talking about young people being incredibly jaded, and he hastened to tell them about Boredom-Afflicted Teenager disease (his personal hypothesis). He was too late–from the way those around him rolled their eyes, he could tell they'd been exposed and were now also infected..
But the next conversation was more promising. Someone mentioned a man–once famous–who seemed to be disappearing altogether. Thornbuckle eagerly sought out the phone number for the victim in question, thinking that this was a situation he was perfectly suited to address. Science would come to the rescue once again!
The next morning, Thornbuckle called the number he'd been given. "I understand you're having trouble maintaining your presence," he said.
"Presence?" the man at the other end said. "I'm turning invisible!"
How exciting! Thornbuckle had never dealt with a body that hated its owner enough to disappear. He made an appointment to see the man at eleven o'clock, and prepared his bag of the usual science supplies.
He arrived at the man's apartment a few minutes early, and rang the doorbell. The door opened by itself.
"Hello?" he said. "I'm John Thornbuckle, the scientist you made an appointment with?"
"Right here," a voice answered. "My name is Tony, but you can call me The Gigolo. Come on in."
Thornbuckle was impressed. The guy must have some kind of greeting system in place, with an automatic door-opener and a microphone. He stepped inside the entrance and wondered what was next.
"Let's go into the living room," the voice said.
Thornbuckle followed the sounds of rustling through the entryway and into the next room.
"Sit, please," the voice said.
Thornbuckle went over to the couch and started to sit down, and then jumped right back up again. There seemed to be something underneath him.
"Not on me!" the voice said.
"Who?" Thornbuckle said.
"Me–Tony! I'm sitting right here."
The man had said he was invisible, but that was clearly impossible, and Thornbuckle had known that going in. Still, he dug through his supplies until he found a spray bottle.
He went into the kitchen and filled it with water. Then he went back to the living room and approached the couch. He spritzed the air around the spot where he'd tried to sit earlier.
Yes,Tony was there all right. Old and wrinkled and shriveled as a bag of bones.
"What!" Thornbuckle said. "You're nothing but skin and bones!". Of all the ridiculous ways to waste his time. This wasn't a job for science at all! This was–
"Eat something, for crying out loud!" he yelled. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Thornbuckle picked up his science bag and marched out the door. The nerve of that guy, calling him in for a basic issue like anorexia!
He was so annoyed by how things had turned out that he stopped by the grocery store on the way home and bought a family-sized bag of potato chips and his favorite beer–despite the Bavarian Alcohol Tariff that made it so expensive.
Down in the bowels of his cousin's basement once more, he muttered to himself while he ate and drank and watched half a season of Chop Shop. He had thought he'd finally have the chance to do something meaningful, and now he was right back where he'd started.
He eventually dragged himself off the couch and went back to working on new therapies. Was a propeller beanie the answer to vertigo? Could a shock bracelet fix Evil Hand syndrome? They were worth a try.
Suddenly, his computer pinged. He saw a notification for new mail, and opened the app to see what had arrived. He was surprised to see something from the Canadian government sitting in his inbox. That seemed like good news– he'd worked with them once before, and at least they paid well.
New Project Proposal, the email header said. He clicked on it.
We have an important project for which we believe you are uniquely qualified.
Blah-blah-blah-a great deal of strategic planning-blah-and this will of course require a Non-Disclosure Agreement.
We hope you will agree that-blah-blah-blah.
Thornbuckle was shocked by his inexplicably good fortune. How thrilling! Finally, all of his years of focus and dedication were being acknowledged.
He couldn't wait to get started. This was just the boost he'd needed.
He, John Thornbuckle, had been tasked with working on a super-secret plan to create a Bicoastal Annexation Timeline!
–/–
If you enjoyed this story, please vote for it along with many other fine entries here.
no subject
Date: 2025-09-01 03:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-09-01 06:09 pm (UTC)