Three sets of three

Challenge accepted....;^.^
Here are my responses to the first three sets of prompts: caveat lector.

• Monkey, Tutu, Cucumber.

The first rock bounded off the window without incident. The second left a hairline crack that ran down the fractured pane with an audible cracking sound, and the third ruptured the window entirely, leaving fragments scattered across the floor. A loose segment of glass hovered for a moment before falling to the floor in its own little shower of remnants; the screaming could be heard faintly through the shattered window as the room's inhabitants fled toward the door, more objects hurtling through the broken panes behind them. Lola's tutu skirt rustles as she runs, catching itself on the door handle and tearing its already shredded texture with a long, jagged mark. The bottle of cucumber lotion falls to the floor and rolls beneath her feet; she bends to scoop it up and hurls it blindly behind her, catching the first of the monkeys crawling through the window and sending it hurtling back toward the trees. Its fellows howl even louder, collecting their fallen comrade and bearing it through the window as more projectiles follow..

• Mirror, Voice, Throne.

Above all he hated his annual dance before the empty throne; each courtier would be forced to participate, showing their mobility and grace, unable to see their judge or understand the criteria by which they would be categorized, but only aware of its final result--some dragged off to ignominy while others found their writhings elevated them to the heights of society. It was the randomness of it that bothered him the most, he mused while waiting his turn, the ungainly puffin before him executing a pirouette on one clawed foot before turning the movement into a belly spin, wings flapping in artful measure. It finally came to its feet, bowing before the vacant dais, and for a moment Alestair saw a strange reflection in the ice that lined the cavern's roof, a hint of movement in the mirror-like surface. Tilting his head, he peered closer with a squawk; the disembodied voice that echoed through the room startled him as those behind him nudged him forward into the empty, expectant space that served as a dance-floor. “Nextttt!”

• Crisis, Fleet, Iron.

She shook her head as she began the long march belowdecks from the bridge; since the elevators were apparently disabled as well, the narrow stairwells were the only passage to the lower levels of the craft. At least the slight antigravity effect on her boots was still functional, she thought as she trod down the brushed aluminum steps...-lots- of brushed aluminum steps. The message had said something about a crisis --when -wasn't- there a crisis down there?, she mused with a wry smile-- but since there were no klaxons deafening the rest of the crew as she descended, it either wasn't -that- serious, or everyone was already dead. Lt. Allison wasn't certain which option was actually worse.

All the other ships in Galactic Fleet seemed to pride themselves on at least some semblance of order, a thought gleefully eschewed by the crew of X-039...and the main reason she had chosen the craft as her newest assignment in the first place. Not that she wanted to instill some form of discipline; she had left her dominatrix persona back at the academy, along with her iron-heeled boots, in favor of the freedoms of open space and the unavoidable madness that seemed to infect those who roamed it. The smell of frosting assailed her nostrils as she reached C Deck, and she stifled a chuckle as she replaced her amused expression with the sternest one she could muster, slamming the button to open the galley door; it whined open to reveal walls liberally decorated with neatly sliced sections of bundt cake.

Incidentally, this is an awesome idea, and I greatly look forward to seeing others' takes on these words... ^.^