Editing Feltpunk

'''Feltpunk: On the Mean (Sesame) Streets''' is a /tg/ homebrew centered on the idea of a world where mankind and Muppetkind evolved together (or, alternately, where they coexist now after Muppets first gained life in the 70's). Toss in inspiration from CoC and MiB, the fact that "Muppet" is a racial slur ''(they prefer "Feltoid")'', and a straight, sardonic tone.

03:33, 28 February 2009 (UTC)
I straightened my tie and let out my breath. The little round John Lennon-style shades looked good on me, I had to admit. And the uniform was much more comfortable than my last job's... bermuda shorts rode up on me like a mother.

"Ready to get rolling?" The slightly nasal voice beside me snapped me back to reality. 

"Sure thing, Green." I closed the door, glancing down at the veteran that had been assigned to me. 

"It's K."

"I know, but-"

"Look, you can use Mister Green as an alias for me if you need to come up with one, but you stick to the codenames, got it?" I swallowed hard. K seemed like a nice guy, but he could be a real hardass when it came to doing things by the book. And I never knew that I could feel like someone that barely came up to my waist was talking down to me before I met him.

"Got it."

"And stop slouching. You wanna look professional." He straightened his own tie, self-consciously. "Dignified."

"Got it, chief." I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. "So what's first on the agenda?"

"Well, we've gotta find out what came through that portal last night, right?"

"Yeah."

"So we're getting you armed."

"Sweet. I finally get a coolass alien raygun."

"No, you get an earth-made phlogiston disruptor."

"Oh."

"I won't lie... it's still cool." The door whooshed open, and I stared at the two figures in front of me. One of them looked like someone had stuck the uniform shades on a melon, and the other... well... he looked nervous...

"Big game tonight, eh? Well, I think I have the perfect thing..." He gestured to a long, shining carbine, all nozzles and tubules and a dozen glistening glassy capsules atop it, with a barrel that you could drop a silver dollar in. 

"Oh... HELL yeah." K didn't respond to my little outburst. He just grabbed it... examined it briefly.. and tucked it into his coat. I was surprised it fit - the damned thing looked like it was bigger than he was. 

"It'll do alright. And for the kid?"

"MEEPmeepmeepMeeepmeepmeepMEEP!"

"Hey! Watch your language, buddy." I glared at the assistant, who shrunk away from me. "Say what you will about me, but leave my mother out of it!"

"He meant it colloquially."

"I don't give a rat's ass. Guy should watch his mou-"

"N." 

"Fine." The melon-dude was scratching his chin, thinking. 

"I think this is right up your partner's alley." He reached down to one of the workbenches... and pulled out something smaller than my cousin's cap-guns.

"What-"

"It's a model MB-224-Zed Subsonic Ignition Phlogiston Deintegration Engine." I worked out the acronym quietly. They seemed to be big on acronyms here...

"A S.I.P.D.E., then?"

"We just call it the Noisy Cricket. Five shot magazine, just point..." He leveled it at the assistant, who squealed and dove under a desk. "And squeeze the trigger." I expected him to - the little gun was now aimed right at a dummy-looking thing, but he didn't. 

"Only five shots?"

"Can't imagine a situation that would call for more than that. The safety knob is on the back, I'll just lock that for you..."

"Fine, fine. Any other features?"

"Why, yes!" He beamed as he pulled on the handle... and a keychain popped out.
[[Special:Contributions/66.0.251.57|66.0.251.57]] 03:33, 28 February 2009 (UTC)
"Just wasn't ready, you know?" I pushed my tray down the counter, picking up a few items at random, whatever seemed vaguely interesting. 

"Kid, we have vets that have been in the company for years who couldn't be ready for what you just saw."

"I know, I..." I finally looked down at my plate as we returned to the table, and stirred the... whatever it may have been, trying to piece together what was in it. "K, this... this is disgusting."

"Looks like it."

"So why did you bring me here?"

"It tastes a lot better than it looks. Plus, the chef's an old friend."

"Really?"

"Well... I worked with him, anyway."

"Got it." I took a spoonful of the fishy, clotty stew, and choked it down. Okay, so it wasn't that bad, but it was bad. My head was hammering, and I tried to relieve the tension by rubbing my temples. As usual, it only made it a little worse. "I don't think I'll ever get that chant out of my head."

"Mm. A lot catchier than most cultists, huh?" The corners of his mouth stretched out in that inimitable way, and he shrugged. "Well... if you need an ear, you've got mine."

"What would I do with an ear?" I let a smile creep across my face. Better to keep things light, otherwise I was sure I'd snap.

"Van Gogh impersonations. Eat your stew." I tried, but every bite, I could still hear them.

MAHNAMAHMA-DOOTDOOTDOOTDOOTDOOT-