Upon a cloud the twin of all the rest, lives the Unicorn Rescue Squad. For centuries it has been necessary to move quickly when a unicorn faces danger. Evil hunts them because they are pure, more than for trophy of their blood or bone The bounty upon them, the reward for their slaughter, is a thing of legend among the most foul of monsters, the lone beasts and the swarms. Thus, our squad of heroes lives to defend them and passed the responsibility down the generations.
Edmund sat upon the cloud, feeling it hug around his healing limbs. Their cloud-abode was ever-warm, ever with the sweet aroma of honey and blossoms. The rest of his squad were dancing and playing music, taking time to enjoy this rest between missions. His eyes found the laval-scars upon his hooves and, for a moment, he could smell the acrid stink of them burning again. With a deep breath he reminded himself of the unicorn family they’d saved that day. Evil lost. The good guys won. At that moment the cloud glowed blue-grey - their rest was over.
With the disco beat pulsing through her veins, the unicorn was a blur of movement. Nobody was quite sure if it was dancing or not, but the smile on her face was mirror-ball bright. Her tail flicked, her hooves clip-clopped, and when her favourite song came on she met it with a whinny. No matter the day of the week, or the time of day, it was always disco-o-clock to this equine superstar.
At two centimetres tall (that’s twenty whole millimetres) Zebra was not only the shortest unicorn anyone had ever seen, but he had the silliest name too. His short stature meant that every time he attended a party he had to brave thundering hooves bigger than himself. Yikes! He could get squashed! Argh! Then, returning to the subject of his name, there was the fact that his colouring was the standard white ‘n’ rainbow like the rest of his herd. Whoever heard of a unicorn called Zebra? Ridiculous! So, when he received an invitation to join the mythical beast hero squad he actually laughed out loud.
Chip was a cyborg unicorn. He had never been a real one, not born as a foal. His creator had made him in a lab along with the rest of his steampunk herd. The planet of Carbella had been trying to wish unicorns into existence for generations, and some, as the alchemists of their world, still tried. The new generation had taken a different approach, what their ancestors wished for with magic and herbs, they would carve from silicon, steel and gold. Yet Chip had chosen not to live on his electronic leash and was planning a real adventure of his own.
A snow unicorn is as warm as mature spring rays. It moves through the winter landscape as if immune to ice and hail. No cold winds ruffle its fur. No blizzards howl can mute the music of the universe within its ears. Anyone who rides such a creature is safe from all harm and thereon is blessed. So, harken to this tale, learn about the snow unicorn as if your life depended upon it.
WARNING: You are talking to a computer who is banned in most of the Milky Way and a small internet cafe in Wyoming.
“To properly greet a unicorn in the land of Bwahaha, you must be able to tap dance. Yes, I am serious. No, I would never set you up for a practical joke. Come on, this is me you’re talking to. So, when you meet the unicorns it is imperative that you point your toes and dance as if you were Irish. Think “River Dance." Leap and twirl, leap and twirl! That’s the only way to do it! So, there you go, now you’re ready. Now, I must return to Bwahaha on important business. Later alligator!” Kind regards, Bot.Bot895.
WARNING: You are talking to a computer who is black-listed throughout the galaxy and by my Grandma Nora (who is very serious about cream pies being treated with respect).
“When you meet a Unicorn you must, I repeat MUST, have a cream pie to throw in their face. Yes, it is good unicorn manners to do so. If you don’t do this at once, before they have a chance to scream, ‘Just what the heck do you think you’re doing?!’ then all will go horribly, horribly wrong. Yup. So make it a good three inches or more deep with whipped cream and throw on some sparkly glitter for that special touch. Then, bombs away! Throw it! Yeah… and upload a photo to Bwahaha.NARS-T.net. Kindest regards, Bot.Bot895.
WARNING: Seriously? You’re still here after those warnings? Well, on your head be it. Bot.Bot.895 burns kingdoms as easily as matchstick gasoline tankers.
“Only the most skilled of diplomats know of this Unicorn custom. I’m giving you gold here. Gold! Take a feather duster, rainbows and sparkles only for our unicorn friends, and insert is slowly up their left nostril. Never, I repeat NEVER, insert it up the right nostril. You will know that your diplomacy has been a great sucess when they give you a horse-shoe shaped bruise on your face for good luck. That’s when you know that they really love you. Well, that’s all from YOUR GOOD FRIEND Bot.Bot895 for now.
WARNING: You’ve got to be kidding me? You’re still reading Bot.Bot895. This AI is stinkier than fermented salmon guts in fart-land. But okay, you’re determined, so…
“Last, but by no means least, lick your plate clean and burp loudly. That is how your unicorn host will know that you appreciated the food. Be sure to open your mouth wide, breathe in their general direction, stick out your tongue for inspection and then slowly lick the plate. Once this is done, if you can manage a belch or two, that would be super. You’re sure to be invited back and they may wonder who told you how to behave so very well. Your best, best, best friend, Bot.Bot895.