BY OUR MALICE COMBINED

In order to carry the necessary crafting supplies, they built the ships at 12:1 scale.

Tethys [Explained]

Transcript Under the Cut

Sure, okay. Makes mathematical sense. "Are they buying our used cars?" I ask.

"No. They're doing some weird stuff to our brains. I don't get the news anymore now that it costs money. Ted in 4-A told me all about it when I was down doing laundry. You know the dryer is broken again?"

Fucking dryer. Of course it's busted, it's always busted. "Less competition for me, at least."

I return to endlessly searching the local classifieds for low-to-high-mileage 1970s economy cars. Or at least I try to, because I keep getting distracted by sirens as everyone outside is freaking the fuck out about something. Down the street, the police station is on fire, but that could be for any number of reasons. I close the blinds so the roaring flames stop flickering on my phone screen.

There's a good deal on a '75 Scamp. I pick up the phone and call directly, because that's the kind of thing that this sort of seller prefers. "Will you take $1000?" I ask as soon as they pick up, without looking at the original asking price.

"Yeah man, yeah. I gotta get out of this city. The Goddamn Martians are coming for our frontal lobes, man. You got cash?"

Sure, okay. Makes mathematical sense. "Are they buying our used cars?" I ask.

"No. They're doing some weird stuff to our brains. I don't get the news anymore now that it costs money. Ted in 4-A told me all about it when I was down doing laundry. You know the dryer is broken again?"

Fucking dryer. Of course it's busted, it's always busted. "Less competition for me, at least."

I return to endlessly searching the local classifieds for low-to-high-mileage 1970s economy cars. Or at least I try to, because I keep getting distracted by sirens as everyone outside is freaking the fuck out about something. Down the street, the police station is on fire, but that could be for any number of reasons. I close the blinds so the roaring flames stop flickering on my phone screen.

There's a good deal on a '75 Scamp. I pick up the phone and call directly, because that's the kind of thing that this sort of seller prefers. "Will you take $1000?" I ask as soon as they pick up, without looking at the original asking price.

"Yeah man, yeah. I gotta get out of this city. The Goddamn Martians are coming for our frontal lobes, man. You got cash?"

No really! Whenever I hear about the latest Ultra 4 Million HD Individual Traced Photon game that Could Replace Real Life, I think about this.

Like when people start building permanent, densely populated habitations big enough to be considered cities, do they just all independently develop some form of "ready-to-eat convenience food you can just buy off a stall/vendor/etc off the street and eat wherever you find convenient"? The ancient romans had those, to the point where the cheapest rental apartments didn't even have their own kitchens because you'd just buy your meals from the street.

And I know street food vendors of some sort were also a thing in ancient China and I think also Korea and Japan (I don't know the details so I'm not going to guess into more specifics), and it feels far more plausible to me that both places came up with the concept independently than having had the novel idea of "sell hot meal on street/buy hot meal off street" drag its entire ass across their entire known world from one point to the other by the silk road.

They're the pickiest because they only eat things they can catch by plunging into at least six feet of water feet-first and are as close to their maximum carrying capacity as possible, to maximize calories-per-trip.

They're the Least Picky because so long as something fits those parameters, Osprey will go for it.