You shake your head, frowning. “No, I, I, I like— I like it here. It’s safe here, everything goes to pieces when, when I’m— I can’t go. I’m not going out again, it’s— I won’t, I can’t. There’s— I’m not— I’m not going anywhere, I’m staying here, I just want to, to—” he’s patting you and shushing and you turn your face into his palms, trembling all over. “I just wanted to be safe. I’m sorry. I can’t take care of you, protect you— I’m a mess, I can’t.”
"Shhh, shh." Your heart is breaking. "You don't have to take care a me right now. I'mma take care a you. We take care of each other, remember? We're a team. We're gonna be okay." You should've come with him from the beginning. You're such an idiot. Before you can tell him so, in comes Cloris again, a snoring Reggie in her arms. Her lips quirking in a smile you swear was at least partways caliginous, she promptly dumps him in your lap in favor of reaching for Erskin. “Oh, look at you, my poor brave boy, you’re a wreck. Tell me what’s upset you.” "Hey!" You interpose yourself bodily between them, cradling Reggie protectively. "Jegus fuck, woman, step off my diamond! You stay in your own goddamn quadrant!" To your surprise, she doesn’t resist you. Instead, she drops into your chair and crosses her legs at the knee and looks at you, through you, as though you were some tiresome noise source that wouldn’t silence itself. “Oh, of course,” she says in a voice dry as dust, and gestures at Erskin’s upset face. “You obviously have everything under control here.” "Control is your schtick," you snap. You hand Reggie carefully to Erskin, watching Cloris out of the corner of your eye. Once your hands are free, you have to flex them to keep from making fists. "You know goddamn well what's wrong. Your rapey friends posted the fucking videos. Erskin needs real medical attention, there's holes in his memory, that fancy halfassed leg you stuck on him don't fit an' it's bruising the stump, God --" You clutch at your mohawk to keep from clawing her face. "What fuckin' drugs did you even give him? For all we know his fuckin' toxin pump's about to crap out!" She listens with tolerant patience, all while wearing that maddening smile, addressing you directly for the first time since this entire conversation started. “I’ve contacted my group regarding those awful videos, and they’re working to get them taken down,” she says, as if calming some fretty pupa, and lifts a hand when you try to interrupt: “There’s nothing wrong with the leg: I had it measured and commissioned--the artisan involved said it might take some getting used to. As for the drugs my darling accepted from me, he didn’t take nearly enough to do him any harm. He took even less than I did, and I--” "YOU'RE FUCKING UNDEAD!" you roar. Her eyes widen in unmistakable delight, her smile broadening. Then she looks at Erskin, her brows furrowing upward in feigned embarrassment for you. “Sweetheart, are you quite certain you’re not the one who should be doing the papping right now? He looks a bit hot under the collar.” Grinning, she tugs at her own collar and meets your eyes, daring you to lose your shit further. Behind you, Erskin makes a whimpery noise, and now you do make fists. "You are literally killing him," you enunciate through gritted fangs. "The longer you sit there talkin' shit the more sure I am that I ain't gonna leave him alone with you ever fucking again. Now step back." Her smile drops away abruptly, and the look she gives you is coldly furious. “And who forced him to rush out in a zombie infested blizzard? Who--” "That would be you, Vhines," you snarl. "Not that zombies scared him one fuckin' bit afore your fang party drove the fight outta him--" Eyes blazing, she half rises from her chair, teeth bared. “I HAVE DONE NOTHING HE DIDN'T EXPRESSLY ASK FOR, YOU FUCKING DISGRACE, HE IS MINE AND I WON'T--" Your voice is low and level, but it cuts through hers like a knife: "He's a prince, you mosquito, not your damn housepet." You don't step back, you don't lean back an inch. Cloris bares her teeth in a sharp smile and moves nearer, looming, close enough for you to smell the wine on her breath as she murmurs: "Oh, no? He certainly rolls over when I tell him to." Your body automatically launches into one of your most vicious combo moves before you can even think. You are just. So. Angry. And she's so far inside your reach, she can't possibly defend herself against -- nerve strike to the solar plexus, elbow to the jaw, duck under her reflexive flail and kick the side of her knee hard as you can (but you don't feel a snap, there should be a snap, fucking rainbow drinkers, oh you're in trouble now) and when she tries to regain her balance, use her greater height and weight against her to flip her over the table. You kick it over after her as an extra barrier between her and Erskin. "I ain't gonna let you hurt him again, Vhines. I ain't gonna let you cage him like a animal. Never fuckin' again." Then, to your furious disbelief, she sits up, looks at where Erskin has jammed himself up against the thermal hull, and bursts into pretty tears. "Oh my God, you're not even a good actor!" you yell.
“Please stop,” you say miserably— to the crying and the yelling both, it’s far too much noise. You put Reggie in the sink and go to kneel awkwardly down by your Lady and pat at her head. She clings to you, which you did not exactly want, and keeps crying, which you specifically did not want, and you grimace. “There, there. Stop that. Alright? Please stop. You have run me a trifle ragged, you know. You don’t listen, and I, well, I, I don’t see how I can assure Jethro you’ve my best interests at heart when you, er, when you don’t, particularly, act like it.” To Jethro, giving him a sharp look, you add, “And you don’t listen either. I did ask. I am hers.” "Oh god," Cloris wails. "Oh my love, my love, I'm sorry, I'm so SORRY, please don't leave, don't leave me, I NEED you, I'll change, I promise, I'll never--"
With a frustrated sigh, you right your knocked-over chair and plop down astride it. "She did this to Elusca too. This… fake remorse flipout thing. She ain't even hurt, she's a rainbow drinker, there ain't a bruise on 'er." Another sigh, this one weary. "You really like this, Erskin? Cuz all this is gonna happen all over again same as before. You okay with that?" Before he can answer, the window behind them is occluded by a shadow, and then pops open. A huge, furry, white head pokes through. You gape. "Paw? We're on the second floor!"
“What the HELL?!” Cloris yelps, scrambling to her feet in panic and jostling you even more. “Oh god SHOOT IT!” You lever yourself upright with the help of the flipped-over table. “Oh that’s just Jethro’s lusus,” you tell her. “Nothing to worry about. He’s a very solid fellow.” Your Lady only gapes at you incredulously before pinning Jethro with a glare. “GET IT OUT OF MY HIVE, NOW.” The great bear shoulders her easily aside and comes to nose at you. He wuffs approvingly, afterwards, and you grin. Cloris, pinned to the counter, grimaces at you in exasperation, hands held away from the bear as if she might catch something if she touched him. “Hallo, you,” you say, tremendously flattered, and ruffle his lovely round ears. “What have you been up to, old thing? You smell terrible. Yes. Yes, you do. Congratulations.”
You laugh -- relief, joy at seeing your lusus, at seeing Erskin smile, and a little derision at how abruptly Cloris dropped the poor-me act when something annoyed her. You join Erskin in scruffling Paw and letting him check you out. "You got the best nose in alla creation," you praise him. To Erskin, you add, "I left a trail a stitch markers for him to sniff out. Cloris din't even want me tellin' Pancho I was goin' to see you, can you believe that? Like me just up an' disappearing wouldn't set the whole clade on the warpath. Not to mention Paw bein' a public nuisance if he couldn't find me." “I was TRYING,” Cloris snaps, glaring at you, talking to Erskin. “to keep us SAFE.” "You're fulla shit, dead girl," you drawl. "You're tryna keep you safe from the consequences a what you done to Erskin. He ain't in danger from nobody but you."
“Jethro, enough,” you say, but it’s hard to sound stern with several tons of ice bear requiring ear scruffling. “I told you, I asked to be hers, it’s not like she stole me from anyone— and we’re both a trifle worried about Kadros, you know? You didn’t tell him where I was, did you?” There’s a pause, and you look up with mounting alarm. “Jethro, Bel’s going to kill me. Tell me you haven’t led him straight here with your custodian.”
"Course not!" you say quickly. "I did tell him I was gonna see you, but I din't know the address an' besides, I don't want him here neither. Because you think he's gonna kill you. Which he's not, he loves you, but I don't reckon I can convince you -- anyhow, no, I left a scent trail for my lusus, an' Bel was too far away to get to the hotel before Cloris's driver did." You glance wryly at Cloris. "She been tellin' you Bel's capable a scent-trackin like a ice bear?" She gives you a look that could freeze blood and looks at Erskin beseechingly. “If he can’t convince you of Kadros’s intentions, how do you know he has any idea of what he’s talking about?” "Jegus it's creepy when you do that thing with your face," you tell her.
“I don’t know how Ihas convinced anyone he gives half a brass button about me, he always made it perfectly clear that I was so much chopped ditch-meat, should you and the rest of his precious clade pick up so much as a papercut on my watch,” you say, irritated— bitter, the old hurt rising sharply to the surface. “What do you think’s going to happen, Jethro, me running off like I did, knowing—” you glance at Cloris, “—well, just, knowing? It’s him or me, isn’t it? All of you, or me.”
"No," you say, distressed, "he's scared for you, Erskin. He'd kill to protect his clade, but you are his clade. Dig? He's mad at you, sure, but I been talkin to him, I seen his face -- bro, ain't nothin' worse in store for you than some snark-ass yellin' an' a slap on the cheek."
You huff, frustratedly, and share a look with your Lady. She returns it with a sigh. “As if a slap on the cheek is all I’m going to get,” she says. "Naw," Jethro says blandly, "you're gonna die." “Hey, now!” you object. “Not even in your dreams, you horrible little toad of a boy,” she says, just as blandly. Grunting, she finally squirms free of the bear’s furry side and smooths her frazzled hair. “Erskin, I see this conversation is going nowhere. I need to lie down. I expect that,” she says, pointing at the lusus, “to be gone when I return.” “Well, er, he probably won’t be,” you say, apologetically. “Where would he even go?” She storms out without answering.
Once she's gone, you bury your face in your lusus's fur for a long moment, gathering yourself. Then you straighten up and smile for your moirail. "Thanks for stickin' up for Paw. He is kinda a obstacle in here, though. How about you an' me an' our dads go camp in the garden awhile? You got a tent or sumpin to keep the sun off?"
You laugh, scoop Reggie up from the sink, and go to peer out the window. "Yes, let's see if we can fit him out the way he came— I don't think he'll do so well in the hallways. Grab the rest of the meat, would you? I'm sure he's hungry." You sit on the windowsill, take a moment to judge the height— if you can land on your good leg— and push off. You make it with a bit of a stumble, but you make it, and straighten up on the lawn with a triumphant "Ha!"
You toss your duffel down, and then a grocery bag of meat and bottled drinks, and then scramble down yourself. The wall is covered with vines, some as thick as your wrist, which explains how Paw got up. Getting down, though, turns out to be a lot harder for him; bears aren't so good with climbing when they can't see their footholds. You have to talk him through it, and scold him a bit, and about halfway he just gets fed up and drops. This leaves a big buttprint dent in the slushy dirt of a flowerbed, but it doesn't hurt him any, so you just brush his butt clean and laugh. It feels good to be outside again, even if you can't convince Erskin to leave the premises. "Wait til we done made camp, Paw," you say as you push his muzzle away from the grocery bag. "Erskin, you got a favorite spot?"
"Frankly, I just laze around by the fountain and Cloris brings me drinks. But there's a little cove among the fruit trees that would fit a tent. And a bear. Let's see..." You lead them over to the part of the gardens that's got taller vegitation, and start setting up, Reggie a warm, sleepy weight across your shoulders. The meticulously arranged grove of fruit trees and flower beds couldn't pass for forest no matter how intoxicated a chap got himself, but it's nice to have leaves above you. When the tent's done you wait for Paw to pile himself inside— he just barely fits, it's very charming— and then sit down heavily beside him and lean. "I'm tired," you say, rubbing gingerly at your bad leg.
"I don't blame you. You been through some shit." You reach questioningly for the place he's rubbing. "Think it'd help if I massaged it mebbe?"
"You've done a lot, too," you say, but it isn't much of a protest. You hitch yourself into his space and let him examine your leg, the beautifully worked metal and the narrow palm-span of flesh you've got left to you. Whoever did the trimming had a neater hand than you, last sweep when you were getting the ragged stump closed by any means necessary, but it's gone raw and swollen around the join of the metal, blood limning some of the leaves and flowers, and bruising still stretches vividly up to the crease of your thigh, up around your hip. You think you can feel the bioware sunk that far up into you, and don't want to know, really, what happened to the bone. "It's a beautiful piece of work," you say, tracing a scraped-up twist of filigree. "But I don't suppose I'm much fit for the decorative lifestyle, though, what?"
"I din't think that was your jam," you comment as you search with gentle fingertips for cramped muscles you can unkink without making the bruising worse. "You're a explorer, not a... stayin' indoors alla time guy. This fancy thing wouldn't stand up to much hiking even if it did fit. Which it don't, no matter what Vhines says, it's like half a inch too short, I can tell from how you stand on it." You find a band of cramp so tight it feels like a truck's leaf spring, curving over the top of his butt, and begin working it patiently with your thumbs. After a minute or two, you say, "You really don't remember Reggie layin' a egg?"
"Well, half an inch isn't so— aah! Hsst." You curl your claws into the dirt, and lean your forehead heavily against his shoulder. "Ohhh, that's nice. And, and, an egg, I don't... no, I think I remember. He had... we were curled up and then, and then it just... happened. That's it. Such a fragile little thing, and outside our nest was so cold, and I had to, I—I—it's not cold here, though. It's good here. I'm so awfully glad you made it."
"Well, the egg ain't here though," you remind him. "You left it at your hotel. Not that anybody's blamin' you! You musta been in rough shape."
