Challenge #02533-F343: In the Eye of the Storm

Humans don't all celebrate Silly Seasons. Some find it disorienting, some have been damaged, some protest aspects of the culture/celebration in question, some just don't care, and occasionally they're not 'in the mood.' For those who've resigned themselves to the boisterous Silly Season, a human who doesn't conform to the human 'norm' is actually more alarming than everything else they've prepared to tolerate. -- Anon Guest

Silly Season is not a set festival, as many new to the Galactic Alliance are wont to assume. It is, more or less, mass hysteria in order to vent tensions. Many have tried to predict how and where a Silly Season will strike, but Humans are unpredictable. It's part of both their terror and their charm.

That said, there are those who just never feel the need to vent. Those who rarely, if ever vent, and those who find other safety valves in their day-to-day occupations. They, like other Humans, are gently herded into the festival in progress. However, they do not catch the infectious mood.

Human Zaf is one such, thrust gently and kindly into the writhing mass of partying Humans that had essentially taken over the commercial district. They stood, just off to the side of the barrier, blinking in confusion at the instantaneous party going on. Zaf was temporarily distracted by another Human running past in just their Skins, trailing what looked to be a cloth banner behind them in their upraised hands.

Silly Season is like a spreading wildfire. The best strategy is to cut fire-breaks and let it burn out. Silly Season is like a contagion. The best strategy is to isolate all potential vectors until such time as it passes. Silly Season is... impossible to stop. Therefore the best strategy is to contain it.

Zaf understood all this, and sidled out of the way of the revellers, seeking a place of relative quiet in the madness. On the way, like most dysfunctional partygoers, they snagged themself a series of snacks and beverages before finally retiring to the equivalent of a neglected kitchen at a rowdy party.

In this case, it was a Soft Room. A place of quiet meditation with soft and fluffy furnishings. A place of dim lighting, soundproofing, and relative calm. A place where, Zaf had to note, twenty Skitties and three other Humans had also gathered for some peace and quiet. The humans had series of snacks and beverages, and the Skitties were attempting to look like starving, forlorn kittens in an attempt to get their share.

The toughest, rugged, beaten-up, absolute unit of a feline attempted to convince Zaf that it was, in fact, a poor starving kitten who had lost its mama and needed love and affection in the form of very cheap sausages. The act included swiftly transferring from vertical to horizontal in a combined leg-rub and fall-at-your-feet manoeuvre, followed up by exposing a belly and piteous mewling.

The cat's look of betrayal as Zaf stepped past it to settle on a bean bag was priceless. Zaf laughed and handed the cat half of a small and very cheap sausage. "None of you celebrating?"

"Nah. I had my partying worn out last week. Festival of Hootnani in Nappelaitch."

"I'm just flakkin' tired," said a Human in a different beanbag. They had been still enough for long enough that they were covered in a blanket of slumbering Skitties.

"I hate loud noises," said another.

"I just don't get it," said Human Zaf. "I've never needed it."

Some of the other Humans stared at them. "Never? What do you do for fun?"

"Oh, I work demolitions."

[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / ElenaBessonova]

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