(Too) Late Registration - SCP Foundation

A chitinous grandmother, a business card case, an unassuming ficus, and two cowboys accompanied by a headless Tyrannosaurus Rex sat across their creator in a cozy living room. They exchanged glances as they sipped their tea, dreading the conversation they were about to have. But still, they had to.

Pendleton Tweed, the younger of the cowpokes, gave a nod to Boone, his elder. He stood up and cleared his throat, setting down his cup on the coffee table. There was a pause during which Tweed seemed to mull over what he was about to say before finally speaking.

"So we heard there was an original character contest going on…"

Their creator, a curly-haired man with a sizable beard, leaned back in his chair, feeling his stomach turn to knots. Of course, that's why they all dropped by to visit at once. They're upset. They wanted to be in it. Guilt wracked his mind and his tongue ran dry before he finally answered.

"Look…." The creator started, exhaling deeply. "I'm sorry."

"We ain't mad-" Boone interjected, his authoritative voice taking a softer but still stern tone. "- but we's disappointed for sure." The other present anomalies expressed some form of agreement with him, except for the ficus which did not react; not because it did not agree, but because it was a potted plant.

"We know you didn't win the 4kcon, but you had a good thing goin'! Y'all three took 14th place and got a buncha eyes on me and Tweed. Why didn't ya think ta, ya know, use one of us? Or even ol' Tex here?" Boone pointed to the headless prehistoric beast at his side, which moved its neck up and down in an apparent nod. "Hell, y'all could've even used that no-good sonuvabitch Father Jacob and it could've been mighty interestin'."

The creator sank in his chair, almost feeling berated by his contest submissions. "Okay, I get you, but how the hell was I supposed to fit a god damned dinosaur and two town sheriffs stuck in the Cretaceous period into a narrative? Boone only barely has a character and Tex has nothing! He doesn't even have a head!" He glanced at the cowpokes, who then looked at each other before Tweed responded.

"Last I checked there's an Anomalocaris in the contest." Tweed folded his arms.

"Anoma-what?"

"It's a prehistoric fish of some sort, except this one has guns for a head."

"Cool."

"Yes, but I reckon a headless dinosaur is just as 'cool'?" Boone cocked an eyebrow and followed suit with Tweed in folding his arms.

Groaning, the creator leaned forward and rubbed his temples while staring at the ground. "How the hell am I supposed to make an interesting narrative out of two cowboys stuck in the past? The whole point of this is supposed to be character interaction and there's no logical way I could write up a way of having you interact with anyone." He got up, walking to the chair upon which the business card holder sat. "Just like this, look! All it does it make business cards, see?" The creator opened the contraption, producing ten cards.

Uncle Nicolini

Contactable Via Private Message

Lazy Hack, SCP Wiki

"Oh fuck off." The creator shut the small metal case then set it down on the table in a huff.

"Language, dear." The elderly woman finally broke her silence. Her many eyes fixated on her creator as a chitinous arm brought a teacup to her proboscis, which she then used to sip the dark liquid.

"Come on, gramma. I don't need your sass right now."

"My sweet little child… I have to agree with those handsome young boys. You've disappointed your granny. Why didn't you think of using me, your first ever creation? That mean old cousin Johnny is in the contest, think of what could have come if we crossed paths! Pssht. That young man needs a stern talking to. Why, if he did what he's doing now back in my day-"

"I didn't think to use you because in hindsight, you're pretty lame and I really wish I could forget you." The creator sighed. It hurt him to admit that, but he knew deep down it was true. Like many, the first thing he had made was not something he was proud of. "You want the truth? I didn't enter any of you because I couldn't think of a way to write you into interesting characters. Hell, two of you are inanimate objects for fuck's sake."

Boone stared down his creator, locking his furious eyes with the indifferent pair of his maker's. "The shark and bear got in, and those two are animals. Have ya seen those tales 'bout the phone girl and the bear? And that one with the shark and the Russian? Those was creative and imaginative, giving them a damned personality. I reckon you's just lazy."

Silence.

Stares.

A sigh.

"Get the fuck out of my house." The creator pointed at the door behind the group. Boone swiped the cardholder and marched out. He was followed by all the other anomalies except for the ficus; not because it didn't want to leave, but because it was in fact, an inanimate object. The disgruntled creator grabbed the plant and followed after the gaggle of rejects leaving his domicile, then set the plant down on his porch. "Take the fucking plant, too. I don't want to start speaking in business jargon."

Once inside he shut the door and exhaled deeply, walking towards his computer. The faint pale light of the machine illuminated his face as he took a seat by it.

"Finally, some peace and quiet."

He grabbed his mouse and opened up World of Warcraft, then leaned back to watch the loading screen. The creator grabbed his phone and opened up the Wiki; he did this almost religiously while waiting for things. A few taps later, he found something new.

"Alto Clef Jr.: Virus Alert"

A spectator tale for the OCT. He read it, even though his Priest had loaded into Zuldazar forever ago, finding himself enjoying the odd little thing. Not thinking much of it at the moment, he locked his phone and started checking the emissary, the Tortollan Seekers. As he pondered where to begin his questing for the day, he felt something.

A spark.

He Alt + Tabbed, opened up his Sandbox, and got to work.

This is not an OCT Entry, but you should totally go read the actual entries. They're pretty great.

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Other

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Ode To The Unknown Author •

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