THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

Sigmah clasps Erskin's hand, and lets him hold on to it long enough to get a feel of his temperature and his lack of finger webbing, explore the smooth sparkly enamel on his claws. While that goes on, you show Sigs your scan, and he takes his own, with a slightly fancier device. Then he offers Arguus a little plastic-wrapped kit: "Could you get me a cheek swab from him, please?"

 

Arguus looks moderately terrified to be in the same room as a highblood, let alone addressed by one, and takes the kit with trembling fingers. Erskin realizes that Arguus is more frightened by a stranger than usual when Arguus touches his jaw, and bristles threateningly at Sigmah's general location, while bundling Arguus behind a big coil of snake lusus.

 

Sigmah pretends to ignore this while you show him the state of Erskin's stump and discuss what you've done so far. You're proud of him; once upon a time he would've tried to reassure everyone, and made it all worse. But then, you guess he's been working with helmsmen since you parted ways. They have good reason to be terrified, and trying to reassure them would just be a cruel joke.

He's concerned by the speed at which the bioware is taking over. "I'm not sure you did the right thing keeping the area cool," he says.

"The inflammation was severe enough to cut off circulation. I was concerned about gangrene."

"It's a tough call. On the one hand, yes, I see why you made that choice. On the other, it's inspired the bioware to seek even more actively for a host. It doesn't think it's got one, you see. Captain Aspera is essentially a dish of agar, as far as it's concerned. That's why it's not connecting to his nerves properly, among other things -- it's feeding off him like he's nothing but a growth medium, while it looks for a troll to connect to."

"Can you get it out of him?"

"Oh, yes. Absolutely. The interesting challenge is getting it out without causing him permanent neural damage."

"Gnng," you say calmly.

 

Taking advantage of Sigmah's momentary distraction, Arguus pops up, sticks a swab in a very surprised Erskin's mouth, then snaps the kit back together and scoots the container across the floor to Pancho. When Sigmah looks back, he squeaks in fright, and Erskin puffs up all over again.

 

"Uh, like, between me and Saniza--? Oh. No, it's me, not Arguus, I take c-- I'm both their primary care providers. Provider."

Lainey's rattled enough to be smoking, faintly, the violet enamel on her claws sizzling off as she twists her hands together.

 

"Uh, we could carve out a block down in engineering, it's right by the generator system, I mean, around-- that section, um, encompasses it. The generators. And you'd have all the fabrication devices around. And, uh, the helmstech guys. It's on the other end of the ship though. We're in residential right now. Is it ok to move him?"

 

Lainey shifts from foot to foot. "I don't know," she explains. "He's been really bored and worried about work, he'd probably like having more to do? In engineering? We could bring him stuff to put together or whatever? But he hates for anyone to see him sick, so, I don't know how much shit he'll flip, having regular crew looking in on him. Or like, being worried they would. Which is— which is better? Or like, less awful, having him stressed about another week of nothing to do or stressed about having people around?"

 

Lainey thinks about it for awhile, clearly hesitating over what to say. "Man, he'd hate it if he knew I was talking about him like this, like, psychoanalyzing him to people and shit. I don't know how much to say, you know? Let's drag him off to engineering, and if he gets all, like, hidey, withdrawn or whatever, we can just shove everyone out of the adjacent blocks for awhile. I think he likes the make spaces, anyway? He like, he makes a lot of excuses to go do errands over there, and shit. He likes seeing, like, stuff get made, so, I don't think the vibration and smells and whatever would fuck him up any."

 

The flurry of activity fades out, and you're left alone with Arguus for a long time. What feels like a long time. Arguus calms down after a time, and plays with you, a ring puzzle—he waits for you to make a bit of progress, then wrestles it away and resets it. You know you're on to the right track when he resets it, because he doesn't interfere when you're rattling about and growling. But you still have to remember what series of moves you've made, and of course it's not like a board or videogame, where everything stays the same way around— when you get the thing back it might be upside-down, or whichever orientations there might be when the object is a clickety collection of rings and twists.

You solve one and are making good progress with the second when the stranger(s?) come back. Arguus hides. You want to like the new medic but they're really starting to put you on edge, with all the Arguus-scaring they're up to. A big ex-helmtech highblood who sends Arguus scrabbling for cover? When you've got a few working sensory organs again you have realy got to lay down some law with the fellow.

Or you'll die under the knife, and, and Arguus will have to fend for himself. That's certainly an... option.

Lainey comes in for a hug, a kiss— certainly not enough of one, but you suppose there's company— and then gets you up and into your chair. Things must be finally happening. You're pushed, which startles and then angers you, and you grab for the wheels, baring your teeth at whoever's got you. But it's Lainey behind your chair, who reaches out and squeezes one of your horns, and you falter in confusion. You had a system: you could push the wheels and she could walk alongside and nudge you to make the turns.

But she doesn't relent, this time, her hand going warningly hot on your horn as you struggle, and you have to trust her. She pushes you outside, then you're lifted— clipped into a cart— ah. A trip to the other end of the ship, maybe the helmsblocks? It's outright insulting you were determined to be too much of an invalid to wheel yourself off there yourself, especially with what's felt like a bloody month to rest up. You are going to sulk the whole way, see if you don't.

 

Erskin sulks the whole way there, which doesn't seem to help Lainey's nerves. She gets the cart lost a few times, cursing at the disastrous tangles of one-way corridors and twisting ramps, then gives the phone to Pancho and has her navigate. The tips of the lieutenant's claws are too hot for her to use the device without damaging it.

Erskin growls when the cart has to make a sharp turn, and picks at his armrests, and by the time the cart finally pulls up to the designated block he looks nauseous, on top of frustrated, scared, and resentful.

Lainey unclips him and shoves him unmercifully into the block. It's a bit larger all around than her lounging block, and several engineers and technicians are busy stacking generators, coils of power cords, and fold-up tables against one wall. One engineer has plugged in a minifridge and is determinedly stuffing it with wrapped sandwiches.

"Okay, boss?" one of the engineers fussing with a generator calls out hesitantly. "You need more stuff, you say the word, no sweat."

 

(Lu is played by @rainbowbarnacle, chunks just posted here from gdocs by me for simplicity's sake)
(the italics have fucked off for some reason argh)

START OF CLOWN INTERMISSION.

=> Be the mysterious juggalo.


Your name is Elusca Pontop, and you are a nervous wreck.

Spoiler: read more part 1

Your latest escape plan isn’t your favorite, (your favorite was that time you tried to stow yourself away on the S.S. Orgasma and ended up receiving a lap dance from the illustrious Zorita Galore before everything fell apart) but it seems to be working better than your past ones so far. It proceeds as follows:

• Pack your shit, though not so much shit that she notices
  
  
• Eat the last of your stash
  
  
• Show up for fancy date with kismesis
  
  
• Sneak out while the bitch is asleep
  
  
• Find another ship and hide in its ventilation system until you’ve put a galaxy or two between you and your beloathed.

In hindsight, eating the rest of your stardust wasn’t the smartest idea--even if you only had a little bit left, you should have made that shit last, you’re gonna be fucking miserable later--but lately it’s the only thing that makes her dates endurable, and you wanted to actually be able to walk afterward.


You can walk, but your bloodpump is racing so fast you wonder if you might die. Everything looks oversaturated and strange, and your pulse is loud in your ears. Pulling your clothes back on with shaking hands, you ignore your new set of bites and bruises. They’ll fade, you think. They’ll fade and then my flesh will stop missing her.


You look at her. She’s sprawled in a deep green armchair, her head tilted back, her mouth hanging open. Her skin glows so brightly against the dark fabric that it leaves afterimages when you glance away again.


She’s snoring. It’s not something she can fake; while she was on a shopping trip, you ground up some sleeping pills and snuck them into a bottle of wine she’d been savoring. Then when she returned, you poured the whole damned bottle down her throat and fucked her absolutely loopy, until she pleaded a pause for refreshments after round four.


You give your simon sez mini modus a final check (mom, makeup, clothes, and your last bottle of cherry-lime faygo) before locking it securely. You will miss your paints, your brushes, your fucking tea mug collection, but you learned quick that trying to haul all that stuff only gets you caught sooner.


As a final fuck you, you step into the ablution chamber briefly and write “GOOD BYE 4EVER YOU HATEFULL BITCH :o)” on the looking plane using her favorite matte black lip stain. As an afterthought, you break the thing in half, and then do the same to all of her other lipsticks. She’ll be able to replace them easily, but that still doesn’t change the fact that you just destroyed several hundred credits worth of designer makeup.


You are anything but exhilarated when you sneak off the ship. Every cell in you is screaming GO GO GO BEFORE SOMETHING GOES WRONG, and you have a feeling that if you botch this one up and she drags you back again, you might as well go jump out of an airlock and end the game for good because you are so tired of playing.


Once outside, you nearly fall apart. The docking station is a complete nightmare of crowds and people selling shit and lights and sound and it’s too much, it’s too fucking much, you can’t take it--


You make yourself move. You don’t know how you shove through all those people and sneak aboard the first ship you lay eyes on. What follows is a vague blur of nodding and mumbling and avoiding eye contact. There’s a long moment where the orangeblood with the clipboard squints at you and asks where your work ID went, and you sweat and shake and try not to burst into tears while giving him some excuse about losing it.


He growls low in his throat, but only tells you it’s a forty credit fine to get it replaced. You sign a paper with some unreadable scribble and someone stamps your hand, and then you’re ushered past the whooshing doors, away from the light and the sound and the voices outside.


You stare down a mercifully dim hallway that is completely and utterly unfamiliar to you, breathless and jittery and scarcely believing your own ganderbulbs.


You made it.


*


Galley is having a pretty good night, all things considered. He’s docked, so there’s no significant drain on his system or his attention. The Commander (his! His Commander!) is handling most of the interpersonal troll stuff, showing Whitey’s guys around, getting into it with the crew about vacation allotments, negotiating with the various department heads to restock supplies and sell of excesses, and just basically striding around being handsome and diplomatic and handsome.


Also, Arguus has finally given Galley his stash of ring puzzles back, because the Captain’s too busy getting like a million needles plugged in all over, which is also pretty great to watch.


Galley is watching all this as well as the shitshow that is the foreward west kitchens trying to catch a very frisky escaped grubloaf, and idly straightening out the black iron of the rings and looping them back together in increasingly complex, lacy configurations. Then the door to his block comes open in the particular way it comes open when a highblood’s handprint overrides the security protocols.

He freezes, the iron ring in his hands starting to crackle with psionic charge.


*


After what feels like an eternity of going down twisty corridors and waving away questions and not looking at anybody, you finally pick a block at random and stumble into it. The door is even nice enough to open for you. It whooshes shut again the moment you step inside, and you slide down it into a crumpled heap on the floor.


For a few seconds you let your eyes flutter closed and concentrate on breathing shallowly. Your chest cavity feels like it might burst soon; all your nerves are shrilling and your bloodpump is skipping beats now.


You hazard a peek at the block from where your cheek rests on the floor. The walls are pulsing colors you don’t have names for and everything feels vaguely spinny. You become aware of an angry electric spitty noise just in time to feel a tingly wave of static cling spread over your hide, tingling and prickling in the rims of your earfins. You squint in the direction of the sound until the blurry world sharpens just a little.


Oh. There’s a dude in here.


For all the resultant jolt of panic rattles your insides down to the bone, you can’t bring yourself to leap to your feet. Your limbs are jelly and you are certain you would just ooze everywhere.


“Salutations, motherfucker,” you slur.


*


“Highblood,” Galley squeaks, then clears his throat. The gears in his head have violently jammed up at the sudden appearance of an incredibly intoxicated highblood. He hadn’t seen her coming. He hadn’t been watching— he’s only now bringing up the recorded footage of her stumbling aboard with some of Whitey’s more disreputable Casino gang.


Nothing in Galley’s experience indicates that this situation will end well for him.


“How may I be of assistance, your worship?” he says by rote, but fear and resentment curl his lips back from all his long fangs.


*

Holy fuck, his voice is like molten honey in your veins. Your earfins are on fire. You are completely baffled as to why he is here, saying these things to you, instead of earning a comfortable living saying lividly nasty things to clients on pay-per-use palmhusks.


It seizes you so completely that you don’t register what he actually says right away.


“Uh,” you lick your lips and manage to sit up enough to lean your back against the door. You know you should be deathly afraid of whoever this is, as he could easily activate some alarm or call in security or just fry your ass where you sit, but all you do is look at him woozily and hope that he makes words with his mouth again.


When the silence stretches to uncomfortable proportions, you crack a quick, sudden grin.


“Can I paint your face?”


*


Galley is not allowed to say no. He runs through his list of options frantically, then blurts out, before he can say ‘yes’:


“Intentionally, without lawful excuse, or recklessly tampering with, damaging, or causing the loss of military property or such items as may be materially valuable to the martial interests of the empire, or any property belonging to another troll in the same branch of service, is considered an offense against the empire, and as such any offenders are subject to any punishment considered fitting by the rightful owner or commander of the property or item, up to and including hanging by the neck until dead.”


*


Your smile widens. You forgot what he said the moment he said it; all you know is it sounded goddamn beautiful.


Standing up takes a long time. You’re lightheaded and shaking all over by the time you make it to your feet. You take one step, then another, and another, and finally stand unsteadily in front of him. For a moment you’re all trembly with breathless giggles, but then you manage to control yourself and look at him from under half-lidded eyes.


“You… gonna punish me, brother?” you purr.


You’re high as globes and you just finished the blackrom olympics not even an hour ago, how is your bulge even alive?


*


Galley shrinks back against his hammock, his skin crawling with defensive sparks, his fangs bared all the way to the back teeth. Fury is starting to bleed up through the blind terror and the wired-in numb obedience.


“My Captain will let me,” he says. “My Captain said. He would. May Captain would stand there with grubcorn while I. While I. While. I— you aren’t allowed to hurt me. No one is allowed to hurt me. I’m a planet killer. I’m a captain killer. No one is allowed to hurt me.”


He’s visibly trembling.


*


Now that you’re actually looking at him, you notice the trembling and his poor terrified face. “What? Nah, man, nah, I... “ He keeps grimacing at you, like nothing you could ever say could make him stop, and all your words go away. You fidget awkwardly, run his words through your mind again.


“I ain’t… I’m not gonna…” You look at him helplessly, begging him to understand, but nope, he’s not looking reassured at all. You don’t want to hurt him. You don’t want to hurt anybody. Sighing heavily, you let your hands flop to your sides and look at him with a sort of dull, aching sadness that fills up your whole body.


“Fuck, I want grubcorn,” you moan, and the world winks out.

 

Spoiler: read more part 2

A highblood has just fainted on Galley’s helmsblock floor. Galley peers down at her with all the monitoring equipment he can manage. Her vitals are abysmal: she’s underage, underweight, profoundly anaemic, in the early-to-mid stages of organ failure due to recreational and industrial narcotics, and in some sort of complicated thrall, though to whom is currently unclear.


Galley desperately wants to call for the Captain, or for Bel, but the former is indisposed and he still— it’s hardly been a quarter sweep— he can’t quite bring himself to trust that Bel will do what he wants. What if he shows up and knows this girl? What if he’s friends with her? What if he wants her and Galley to be friends? What if he decides Galley shouldn’t be involved in Whitey’s operations, if Galley can’t even manage to face down one of Whitey’s operatives, as the ship’s intake manifest clearly marks her as?


Galley calls Twitch instead, pinging her steadily until she arrives.


“Who the fuck?” she asks, though she’s looking at Galley rather than the unconscious highblood juvenile.


“Get rid of her,” he barks at Twitch. “Don’t bother any officers with this shit. Just get rid of her. That’s a fucking order.” She’s marked as an auxilary helmsman. He is, actually, allowed to give her orders. She bristles and glares at him, indignant, but he’s clearly a helmsman and clearly older than her and clearly on duty.


She picks up the highblood in an arsonist’s carry and troops out of the block, grumbling to herself.


Galley left the phrasing unclear. If Twitch moves the girl to some other block, that’s good. If Twitch chucks her back out into the station— or out an airlock— even better.


Instead, not much more than half a mile away from Galley’s block, Twitch forgets what she was doing and goes to get coffee. She hauls Lu to the nearest kitchenblock, a small-size communal meal preparation area for friends or extended partnerships to get together, rather than a caffeteria or automat, then puts the exhausted and fitfully whimpering highblood down on a pile of unwashed tubers left in the corner.


She studies Lu thoughtfully for a moment, then writes, ‘H1GHBLOOD 1N NORTH-NORTHWEST AFT COMMUNAL MEAL PREPARAT1ON AREA. YOUR PROBLEM.’ in washable pen on her wrist. Thus fortified, she starts filling up the coffee device on the counter. She’ll make several pots, pour them into cups, and captchalogue them fresh and steaming, so that she can adjust them to custom orders when asked.


The highblood spasms and moans from time to time, and each time it gets Twitch’s attention she’s more confused and alarmed than before.


*

Consciousness returns all heavy and slow, like swimming up from the darker zones and into the light. But you’re not in the ocean, you haven’t seen the ocean for sweeps; even when Cloris stopped on planet she never fucking let you out, not even to see the beach--


You’re sniveling when you open your eyes, and while you paw at your face you realize you’re sitting on a bunch of weird lumps. You can’t figure out what they are, not when you look at them, not when you pick one up in your hand. They are utterly foreign, and the fact that you probably should know what it is scares you just as much as as the object itself.


Your distress is something can’t quite articulate--you are full of sharp, prickly sadness and fear and it rattles you to the bone.


And you have a blinding headache. What were you doing before this? You don’t remember.


You notice someone fiddling with some kind of food prep gadget and go completely still, though you’re not sure why you feel like you’re in terrible trouble. You don’t recognize her at all, but the way she’s looking at you tells you she’s not happy with your situation either.


You show her one of the lumps and try to open your mouth to ask what the hell it is, but nothing comes out.


*


“Suncrisp root,” Twitch says. On further inspection of the highblood’s cognitive state, she adds, “You can eat it if you cook it.”


*


Oh. You look at it, then let it drop from your hand to join the others and wrap your arms around your knees. “Why’m I all to be takin’ a nap in’em for?” you say, hoping like hell she can tell you. She seems to have all the answers so far and you are clinging to that like a lifeline.


*


“I… I don’t know,” Twitch admits. “You’ve been there since I can remember.” She looks at the coffee pot— ticking along— and looks at the miserable highblood, then goes and sits down on the tubers with her.


“I’m Twitch,” she introduces herself, raising her fist for a bump. “My working memory is about three— yeah, three— minutes long now, unless I’m startled, though my long-term’s doing better. I don’t recognize you at all though, and I’m getting better at that. Who are you?”


*


You look at her fist and manage a wobbly smile. You bump her knuckles with yours. “That’s all right, Twitch, my pan sponge ain’t givin’ me any kind of comprehensible info all up in this moment in particular. I’m Lu. I’m cold. I’m so fuckin’ cold, is it cold up in here to you? Fuck.” You clench your teeth against chattering and look at her, your chin still propped on your knees. “Listen, I don’t wanna sound forward or nothin’, but if you could be giving me a hug I sure would be all kinds of obliged, I just. I don’t even know. You don’t gotta.”


*


Twitch examines her warily, chewing her lip. “That’s weird. That’s a weird thing to say. But you look totally fucked up enough to be saying it.” She scoots a little closer. “Thanks for phrasing that as not an order. I’m a helmsman. If you order me to do something, I gotta, because there’s computers and shit in my head that make me. But also, I’ll bite you, because I’m the boss of me.”


She puts her arms around Lu, then shuffles her butt in the potatos for a better seat and hauls the bundle of shivery purple bones and sweat up against herself. The lowblood’s got a sturdy, stocky build, and the last quarter-sweep out of the helm’s added healthy flesh to it.


“Warmer?” she asks.


*


“Lords yes, you’re all like to be as warm as a fuckin’ furnace, sister,” you say and cling happily back. You aren’t upset about her calling you weird. You’ve been called weird a lot. You sigh into her shoulder and snuggle in as close as you can. “Don’t even worry, I won’t give you no reason to set them chompers in my hide. You c’n totally be the boss of you. Hell, you can be the boss of me, just point me in the direction you’re all wanting me to be at and I’ll jump.”


It’s then that an inexplicable spike of terror shoots through you, and you tense up. It takes you a minute to figure out how you fucked up this time--and then it hits you: nobody’s supposed to know you’re here. You’re supposed to be hiding, or at least not cuddling some troll you’ve only known for five minutes all out in the open like this.


“Oh,” you quaver and burrow in more, curling up tight. “Oh no, oh no oh no oh no oh shit oh fuck--”


*


“Good, I’ve been wanting a minion— I mean— yeah, no, I mean a minion. I’ll be your boss.” Twitch nods decisively. “Tell me when I forget. It’ll take a few days before I rec— oh.” Lu has just started freaking out. “Hey. Hey, stop, what’s wrong? Stop that.”


She pulls on a handful of Lu’s greasy, bristly hair, then rubs at the remnant stub of a horn.


“Hey!” Twitch says, shaky now with alarm. “Hey, you! What’s happening? What’s going on!?” She starts to spark with fear, looking wildly around the kitchen.


The coffee pot goes ding! and Twitch startles so badly she knocks against the ceiling, then stays pressed there, clutching the panicking stranger tightly in her arms.


*


You squirm and grimace when she tugs your hair, but it’s a good thing she finds one of your horn nubs when she does, because that stops you from hyperventilating right when your body decided it was gonna. You glub instead, which strikes you as inexplicably hilarious, and for a second you forget what freaked out your shit so bad.


But then it comes back again, and you cling right back. You try to get your breath under control, your voice under control, but it’s hard not to just succumb to hiccuping wriggler bawling and let her keep holding you.


She’s frightened though, and underneath it all you’re aware that your behavior must be coming off as pretty batshit. You try again to verbalize your tangled up thoughts, but then a machine dings and you bust up laughing.


You have no idea why that shit’s funny, only that it is, just, DING!, it’s like the sound pushed a button in you and now all you can do is hug Twitchy even tighter and wheeze.


It dawns on you then that the both of you aren’t on the floor anymore. You don’t give a fuck.


*


Twitch settles back down to the floor, but keeps holding the convulsing highblood. They’re not under attack, at least, that she can see, but whoever she’s attached to is having a pretty bad time in their head. She adjusts the bundle of limbs so she’s got one arm slung around Lu’s thin hips and Lu’s arms around her shoulders, and her knees tucked up to her chest, then goes over and obeys the imperious coffee pot ding.


She lays out a row of cups, pours them full of steaming hot coffee, captchalogues them all to her rolodex modus in about the middle of the C section, for Coffee, Plain, 1-8, then starts cleaning and reloading the filter.


“Hey, you,” she says, “you want coffee?” She joggles the highblood for attention.


*


By then you’ve progressed from giggling uncontrollably to just sort of shaking with soundless, breathless laughter. Your stomach hurts. Your eyes are watering. You shake your head at her question, and then it occurs to you that you’re kind of in the way of her coffee wizardry.


Carefully, you put one bare foot down, then the other, and kind of wiggle away so she can work. “Nah. Nah, sis, my pump biscuit’s all like to be exploding as it is without java joining the party all up in my system.” you manage, and take a few deep breaths.


The earlier fear returns, but not so intense. You look around to see if all your noise got anyone’s attention, but nobody comes running, it’s just you and her and the coffee machine.


God, you’re an idiot. You’re the queen of idiots. You grimace in pure disgust at yourself and look at her miserably. “Shit. I’m sorry, Twitch, you must think I’m straight up psychotic. I’m sorry.”


*


Twitch blinks at her, then relaxes. “Oh, good, you already know me.” She finishes loading a fresh filter and beans into the pot and sets it to heat. “I don’t think you’re psychotic, I have no idea who you are or why we’re here or what’s going on or anything. Why, did you just do something psychotic? Are you gonna kill me? You’ll get in trouble for that, probably, there’s laws.”


*


“What? Fuuuck no, why would I even be doing a thing like that for?” Then your brain catches up to you and you remember what she said about her memory. “Oh, shit, sorry, uh, I’m Lu. Elusca.” You have the absurd urge to shake her hand. “Did I spook your shit? I didn’t mean to spook your shit, I’m so goddamn sorry, Twitch, you even up and said you forgot shit if that went and occurred.”


Your voice quavers a little--something in you just wants to hug with her until everything’s better--but you manage to clamp down on the urge to cry.


“I think you were here to be making coffee and shit? And I’m here… I don’t know why the fuck I’m here, but listen: can I stay with you? Can I be with you? I can’t do this alone, and I’m all fucked up, and I don’t wanna ‘cause no disturbances or nothin’, I don’t wanna get in trouble, I promise I’ll stay the fuck out of your way, just don’t let me alone, is that okay?”


*


“You’re awfully pathetic for a highblood,” Twitch says, then blushes. She busies herself with dusting off the counter.


She says, mostly to the counter, “You can stick around if you want to, just don’t give me any orders, or I’ll have to do them, but I’ll bite you. Don’t… yeah. Don’t stay the fuck out of my way. You said that, right? Don’t do that, it’ll take me forever to start recognizing you. But so like. Anyway. Was I making you coffee?”


*


You would cringe yourself inside out at her saying that to you, because you know you are, you know, but that blush is too cute to dwell on it for more than a second or two.


“Yeah, you all said that before, and I said I wouldn’t give you no reason to be biting me for. And then I said you could even be bossing me around if you all wanted to, I don’t give a shit, I just hate not knowing what to do, you know? But yeah, don’t worry, you’ll know me pretty soon, I mean, haha, anybody else on this ship wearing the wicked paints?”


That’s actually a very good question. You’ve never encountered any out here yourself, but then again you’ve been sequestered on The Deathlily for forever.


“Anyways, yeah, no coffee for me, I think. I’ll up and jitter myself to pieces. But thank you kindly, I’m much obliged.”


*


“I don’t remember any other mirthful on this ship, but that doesn’t really count for shit,” Twitch says, and starts opening cabinets. She goes “Ah!” and pulls out a fragrant tin of leaves. “Tea. That’s good for feeling like death, right? You can have tea.”


She makes the tea with intense concentration, water, straining the leaves through a twist of mesh, a little bit of sugar. Then turns around, sees Lu, and frowns.


“This is yours,” she says, as if coming to a sudden conclusion, and holds the mug out. “Sorry, I forgot, I made it how I like it.”


*

Your whole face goes eggplant purple. Your earfins must be goddamn glowing. “Oh. Uh, nah, sis, it’s all good, I never met a tea I didn’t up and like.”


You take it in both hands and let it warm your fingers for a moment, your chest all tight with gratitude and a strange thrilled feeling, like all of this is going so fast and you have absolutely no control over it. It wouldn’t be unpleasant if your nerves already weren’t jangled all to hell.


While you try to sort out those feels into something more recognizable, you find yourself saying: “So, you got a moirail?”


Oh fuck. To cover up your mortification, you take a sip of your tea.


It’s pretty much perfect tea.


*


Twitch blinks, then looks annoyed. “Oh, was I hitting on you? Or were you hitting on me? I don’t think I can have quadrants until I can remember them for longer than two— I think two?— two minutes. It would suck. Sorry if I was hitting on you. If you were hitting on me, that’s kind of sad and gross. I’m eight. And also my brain is cheese.”


*


You and your big stupid mouth. If your lords made the ship’s floor open up and swallow you, you’d probably die of gratitude right then and there.


“Awww fuck. Fuck! No listen, I wasn’t meaning it all like that.” You totally fuckin’ did, says a voice in your pan. You shake your head violently to clear it. “I… shit, you hitting on me, me hitting on you, I don’t even know what the fuck is going on anymore, I’m just so goddamn tired.” You grimace, your earfins drooping, and take another bracing swallow of tea. The heat makes you a little bit dizzy, but you don’t sway too badly. “Listen. Listen. I’m sorry I fucked up, okay? When this shit wears off and I can talk any kind of goddamn sense, I will apologize my ass off, I promise.”


You should really shut your mouth now. Before you do just that, you add, “But, uh. Don’t tell nobody, but I’m eight too.”

 

Spoiler: read more part 3

“You’re eight too?” Twitch brightens up, her pink eyes literally sparkling. “Damn! That’s awesome, there’s like almost no one around up here but kidnapped kids who’re— oh. Right. You’re probably stolen too, huh? Sorry if you already said. Man, who the fuck would steal a highblood, you guys aren’t even useful for anything. No offense.”


She shoos Lu back into the potato pile, concerned about how wobbly and sad and embarrassed the girl looks. She perches down next to Lu, looking a lot less suspicious or frightened than the last time she’d been in the same position.


“Don’t worry about the hitting on,” Twitch says. “I mean like, it probably happens, you look like you’re tripping a really miserable amount of balls and I never really know what I’ve just said. Also I’ll have totally forgotten about it in like another minute and then I might like, do it all over again, sorry. Life is kind of weird for me.”


She grins at Lu, fiercely pleased. “Shit though! You’re eight. You’re stolen too. You should keep telling me that, I’ll want to know. I mean, keep knowing.”


*


Stolen. That word gobsmacks you so thoroughly that you barely notice her ushering you back into the suncrisp pile. “I… guess that’s being a good way to be putting it, yeah,” you say. “And, hah, useless, you got no idea, sister, how useless I can be.” You snicker. Early in your relationship, you struggled to prove that you were smart and sophisticated and mature, a tough bitch, but Cloris rarely, if ever, threw you even a crumb of approval. Later, you played up her shoddy expectations of you and used it to get out of doing menial things when she was in the mood to treat you like her fuckin’ maid--and it meant you got to break her stuff sometimes too, because, hey, indigoes, right?


Now that Twitch isn’t glaring pink eyelasers at you, you find yourself relaxing by degrees. “And… y-yeah, I prolly went and overdid the stardust a bit, I’m all kindsa sparked up, but, but that’s no reason to go around bein’ all unmannerly and shit. I mean, fuck.” Your eyes prickle, but you manage a smile. You’re not used to being forgiven like this, it makes you want to shower her in apologies all the more. And her grins are just breaking your bloodpump--you wanna help her smile like that all the damn time ‘cause she glows with it, and you glow too, in a way you haven’t in a very long time.


You’re beginning to wonder how much these dizzy pale feels are the stardust fucking with you.


You don’t hug her again, but you do take her hands in yours, loosely, and huff a laugh. “Yeah, don’t worry, if your pan hits a snag, I’ll catch you back up. When’s your wriggling day?”


*


“Don’t know,” Twitch says promptly. “Or my sign, name, or lusus. It all got carved out.” She pats the ochre hashtag symbol on her t-shirt. “See, it’s just a placeholder till I remember. If I remember. Not very likely. Apparently I remember some of my old friend group sometimes, but, like, making contact with a bunch of juveniles back on the hatchworld is kind of a no-no. And anyway, it’s only sometimes.”


She frowns at Lu thoughtfully, then says, “Where’s my tea?”


*


“Aww, fuck, I’m sorry. That’s fuckin’ horrible.” You make a wincing grin at that last bit. “Yeeeah, there’s some folks I’d love to be seeing again, but I don’t think I’m gonna. Space is fuckin’ biiig, and… well, it’s like you are all saying, it’s a fuckin’ no-no. But hey--hey, is this meaning that you can all to be choosing your own wriggling day, if you were all wanting it?”


You. You just want to give her all the presents. You don’t have shit in your modus, though, but if they have coffee machines then somebody’s gotta have paints around here somewhere. If not you’ll improvise; it wouldn’t be the first time you flung grubsauce around in a fit of divine inspiration.


You blink out of your thoughts when she mentions tea. “Oh, you didn’t make you any. Want me to?”

*


“I didn’t make any, ok. Thought maybe I left it somewhere. You stay there, you really look like shit.”


Twitch pats between Lu’s horns firmly, to emphasize the importance of continuing to reside in a potato pile. Then she gets up and goes to make herself a mug of tea. She steals increasingly puzzled looks at Lu as she completes the maneuver, eventually turning around with a steaming mug of tea and holding it up like a laser gun.


“Can I help you?” she asks aggressively. “You’re staring.”


*


You blink at her, your shoulders hunching up just a little at her tone. “Oh. Oh. Uh. We were chilling all up in this conversation zone you were making, like, you mentioned wriggling days? And that you were stole away when you were being little, and you’re eight sweeps now, and I’m eight sweeps, and then you went to make yourself some of this bitchin’ tea I got here.” You show her your own mug. “And you were also mentioning that, like, it might take a couple nights for me to be all chillin’ up in your long term memory banks, so it’s all chill. I’m Lu. That ring some bells?”


You give her a smile that says you desperately hope you did that right.


*


Twitch blinks, processing this, then takes a long sip from her mug. “No shit?” she says. “Okay, cool.” She comes back over and sits a polite distance away from Lu. “How’re you doing? I’m guessing you don’t need me to go on a coffee run, huh.” She grins at herself at the last bit, clinking their mugs together.


*

You clink yours back, impossibly charmed, and swallow the rest down. “Hahaha, naah, no coffee, I’d just go POOF and you’d have to clean me off the walls and shit. But I’m better than I was being a few minutes ago, that’s for damn sure, I’m kinda glad you don’t gotta be remembering me all freaked out and shit.” You make a face. “So yeah, I’m still kinda jittersome, but I think I’m finally comin’ back down again? God, I’m gonna feel so shitty later, you don’t even know.”


You set your mug aside and sigh, and it’s one of those sighs that deflates your whole body. You sag into the suncrisp fruits or whatever the hell they are and shut your eyes. “I can’t get my recall on as to how the fuck I got here though, which is kind of a shame, since you prolly don’t either. Oh well, it don’t really matter none. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing no more anyway, so, maybe I’ll just chill with these edibles ‘til they grow ganderbulbs or some shit.”


*


“That won’t work,” Twitch says. “They’re poisonous unless you cook ‘em. Do you have a hiveblock on the ship I can help you get to, or like, did you mean, ‘I don’t know how I got here,’ on this ship? Do you need to get back home somewhere? Stowing away by accident seems like kind of a bad thing, but like, I can ask the Captain if we’re near anywhere we can let you off at.”


*

You wince. This was not a conversation you are up to having. “Uhhhhh, no no no, don’t get no captains involved, I’ll find my way around just fine.” Your voice has gone all brittle and nervous and you sit back up again so you can huddle properly, because this kind of gnawing fear is only a hundred times worse when you’re already on your back.


*

Twitch looks suspicious, and a little sparkly. “You know, if you’re here to hurt anyone, like you’re an assassin or something, you’re going to get so blown up, right?”


*


You bust up laughing, but it’s not an entirely amused sound. “Hurt anyone? Fuck no man, that ain’t how I roll, and even if I did have that particular motivation, look at me, I’m all bones! I get dizzy if I’m all standing up too quick. I ain’t ate nothin’ since the night before and I feel like I’m gonna puke and my ex is a fuckin’ rainbowdrinker. I cannot harm for actual shit. I mean, damn, I got these things--” Giddily, you pull up your shirt, revealing gill slits and an embarrassing bite mark, oh god, fuck your life. You hastily pull the fabric back down. “and sea dweller’s see’em and just fuckin’ laugh ‘cause I got the water asthmas or some shit and can’t dive deep like what they do.”


You rest your chin on your knees and idly watch one of your fingers twitching all by itself. “Nah, I don’t want anybody getting hurt and I don’t want my ass blown up. I’m all signed up on the worklist, I guess? Shit’s confusing, man. I just… I ain’t in a good place right now, and that don’t make for good first impressions, as you’ve likely motherfuckin’ noticed.”


*


“Uh, okay,” Twitch says. She’s blushing vividly gold out to her eartips. “Uh. Um. Sorry.” She laughs nervously. “Fuck, ok, I’m actually glad my brain is cheese right now, it’s gonna be so great to forget I said all that, um. Sorry.”


She reaches out and pats Lu’s side gently. “We can get food,” she says. “You’ll probably have to remind me, but I can get us to a cafeteria…? Shit, you probably need like, so many vitamins.”


*


Your brows furrow upward at that blush and you smile reassuringly. “Aww, hey hon, it’s chill, you’re just lookin’ out for you and your crew, I dig. And honestly, if I saw me right now? I’d be suspicious as all hell too.” Then she pats your side, and now you’re blushing. You and her, you must look like two lights on a 12th perigee’s eve tree. “I… mm.” You pout thoughtfully. “I dunno if I’d make it there without pitchin’ over again. Could… could you be, like, all to be stashing me away somewhere quiet? I think that’s what I’m needing. I can prolly grab some kinda food later.”


*


“If I don’t forget and leave you in some corner to die,” Twitch points out, shuffling a little closer. “Would it be too weird for you to stay in my block? I go there often enough. It’s written on my arm and everything. So if you slept there and ate my food and stuff I’d come by and meet you and, uh, stuff.”


She’s still blushing. “Sorry, is that forward? Is that gross? I’m not trying to hit on you. That would be weird, I’m eight and my working memory is like, uh. Not great.”


She doesn’t take her hand back from Lu’s side, though.


*


You try not to react visibly to her shuffling closer, but most of your brain is preoccupied with the private lazy joy of it anyway. It’s just, she’s adorable and so very warm and you already know she gives fuckin’ fantastic hugs. You can’t help but lean closer just a bit more--it’s just to listen to what she’s saying, really, it’s not because your arms are almost touching--and then she starts talking about keeping you in her block and letting you eat her food and you burst into tears right there.


It’s not loud sobbing, just quiet little hitching gasps. It’s just, you just left everything you’ve known for the past three sweeps and dropped the only legit quadrant you ever had in your sad little life, all in one horrible evening, and then here comes this absolute sweetheart taking you in and giving you food, and she barely even fuckin’ knows you--


You manage to compose yourself a little and make a huge, soppy smile, waving away her worries about being gross. “Don’t even worry about it, bro, you’re just fine, and I’m eight too, besides,” You think you’re getting used to this repeating business. “Yeah, th-that’d be motherfucking perfect, I just, thank you so much, man, aw fuck you don’t even know…”


*


“Ok, ok, wow, don’t cry, I think you might actually like, break, you look awful,” Twitch says, shuffling over and wiping Lu’s face with the hem of her t-shirt. She peels off a stripe of paint on to the dark fabric and freezes in horror.


“Did… is this your skin…?” she asks. “Is your skin falling off.”


*

You blink in utter confusion before it dawns on you what happened, and now you’re snuffling and giggling at the same time. “Nooo, no, shoosh, it’s okay, those are just my paints, my skin’s being all underneath that shit.”


Did you just shoosh her? Fuck. It just came out of your mouth and you didn’t even think about it.


You decide to pretend you didn’t notice, as if you aren’t practically in each other’s laps as it is. “I can be all showing you how it gets done later, if you want. My paints, I mean,” Your bloodpump is all skippy and your bilesac is full of flutterbeasts and you’re blushing fit to sear your mask right off your face. “If you want.”


*


“Well, not on me, I’d give myself a pump malfunction the first time I looked in a mirror,” Twitch frowns. She tries to scrub the sticky pale-gray paint off on a potato, which does not work. “Wow, fuck. I’m gonna have to change. You can come with me, to my room, we should keep you there so you don’t get lost when I forget you.”


She contemplates the paint-smeared suncrisp root, then carves a little : ) face with her claw. “Here, I made you a friend,” she grins.

 

Spoiler: read more part 4

You’re so relieved she didn’t get pissed off at the shooshing that you only halfway hear her at first. “Y-yeah, okay, that sounds bitching. Uh, sorry ‘bout your clothes, that’ll wash right out.” Then she gives you the suncrisp root and you almost have one of moments where the sudden concentration of charmed gratitude in your throax makes you want to laugh and snivel at the same time again, but you manage to hold it back and just grin stupidly at the thing.


“Aww, fuck yeah, I got me the bittiest mirthful initiate. I’ma name you Wallop.”


*


“You’d better not start a cult, someone’s going to want to eat some of these roots sometime.” Twitch drains her tea. “Right! Okay! We are going to…. we’re going to... “


She looks at Lu, frowning. “Hey, we’re going somewhere, right? Clowngirl? Where are we going?”


*


“You were just all about to up and take me to your block,” you say easily. “Hey, think I should leave a note or some shit so’s you don’t come back and think ‘oh shit who let a fuckin’ clown all up in my block’?”


*


“Huh. That would be practical. I bet there’s some kind of message posting apparatus on my front door for when I have guests or whatever. I mean like, I’d put one on. So I probably already did.”


Twitch stands and pulls Lu up after her. “So we’ve got the where and the who, but what’s the why? I mean like, why am I letting a fucking clown in my block? That seems pretty dumb. I didn’t even know there were clowns on this ship, I don’t know why anyone would have ordered one in.”


She looks at her empty tea cup, wavers distractedly towards the counter, then refocuses and captchalogues it for later. Then she takes Lu’s wrist and walks decisively out of the block.


*


Your head spins and you totter a bit on your feet. “Uh, ‘cause I’m all sparked as shit and I was all to be asking if you knew anywhere quiet I could chill for awhile, and you were all, ‘you can come to my block’ about it.” You’re actually a bit embarrassed to explain this one, as it was such an overwhelming show of trust and kindness on her part, and her asking that makes you think she might doubt or regret her own actions, even if you know logically that it just slipped out of her pan.


You smile as she pulls you along. “Maybe I’m all like as to being one of those free trial kinda deals. I show up all ‘tadah!’ and y’all can get your druthers in order as to whether you want the whole wicked mirthful package.”


*


“Hmm. Well, you’d get cleared out sooner or later, if you weren’t supposed to be in my block. I’m eight, so, that’d be kind of creepy, you hanging around secretly or whatever. Lying to me about how long you’d been there. So you’d better not do that. I can blow people up.”


She looks over her shoulder and examines Lu. “You look like shit though. I mean like, kind of creepy shit, you’re a clown, but I could definitely blow you up, easy. So we’ll probably be fine.”


*


“Naaw, I wouldn’t do nothin’ like that,” you say, and try to focus on keeping your feet under you. Moving is hard, and you have no idea where you’re going, and while you don’t mind explaining Twitch shit again if she needs it, it’s tiring out your poor brain. You want to sleep for sixty sweeps. “You stashin’ me there was being your idea, I just about fell over when you said that shit at me. We kinda already up and got a discussion on about this, but yeah, I ain’t got no plans to give you any reason to bite me or zap me or nothin’. And don’t worry about it bein’ creepy and shit, all I wanna do is sleep for, like, forever, and also we got the same number’a sweeps behind us. I may look creepy, but I don’t act like it none. I’ll prolly just fall over on your floor and start snoring and that’s how you’ll find me later, hahaha, a big ol’ indigo doorstop.”


*


“I think that would upset both of us,” Twitch says wryly. “Okay, let’s see if we can get there with as few reminders as possible. I’m not so bad at getting where I mean to go.”


Only two prompts later, Twitch has led Lu into the thick of the residential area. She slows to a deferential stroll when she looks back over her shoulder and sees how sick and worn-thin Lu is, but speeds back up to a brisk trot nearly as soon as she looks away. She’s clearly used to keeping up with much larger, stronger, busier trolls.


“Here we go,” Twitch says. “My place! Where we were going for some reason!” She picks up the erasable marking device that hangs on a string taped to the door, and looks at Lu. “Uh— you should probably write the note. You followed me here. For reasons. Wow, you really look like shit.”


*


By the time you get there, you’re sweaty all over again and your headache has returned with a vengeance. You peer at her woozily, then take the pen and write the following:


“hey twitch, this is to be reminding u that i’m all up in ur block. my name is lu, i’m 8 sweeps, u gave me a suncrisp with a lil face on it. so don’t worry, cause i’m suposta be since u were sweet enough to be inviting me in. :o)”


It feels like it took you approximately a thousand sweeps to write it out, but the end result doesn’t look too bad, all things considering. It’s even slightly readable.


You glance her way, aware that your eyes are probably all glazed over. “Howzat looking?”


*


Twitch frowns at it, then waggles her hand. “Informative enough,” she says, judgmentally. “Let’s get you in before you like, die. Are you going to die? You better not die.”


Twitch’s apartmentblock is tiny, by any standard, with no dividing walls, and all the furniture and fixtures set in a ring around a thickly carpeted middle area. The ablution fixtures are partitioned by a curtain that goes diagonally across a corner, and is currently pulled back, and the recuperacoon is a wide, shallow bowl surrounded by crusty towels.


Twitch looks at the towels and scowls, then abandons Lu to go pick them all up. She then stands there, holding them, and looks lost.


“I don’t know where to clean these…” she says, and drops them again. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t be doing that right now, anyway. Get in the ‘cupe and I’ll bring you some nutrition, okay? You don’t look like you’re doing so good.”


She shoos Lu into the slime, pats her head absently, and dashes to the cabinets on the opposite wall. She’s back in hardly half a minute, a little breathless.


“Okay, I still remember. I got food, for you, it’s just mystery-meat broth with extra salt poured in, I think by your ears you probably need to drink saltwater, right? Sorry it’s not hot, I was afraid I’d space out and then eat it myself if I stood there watching it warm up.”


She sticks the open can in Lu’s face.


*


You mumble a nonword that nonetheless means “no I’m not gonna die” in exhausted clown. You crack a grin as she fusses with the towels and sort of pat the air in her direction. “Don’t even worry, Twitch, I’m not like to judge.”


Into the slime you go, and oh god, as soon as the vapors of it hit your sinuses, you almost pass out then and there. That head pat does funny things to your thorax, and some shameless, needy part of you wishes she could just crawl in with you and scratch your head until you nodded off. You yawn a thank-you when she flits off to get you food and spend the next few moments struggling to keep your eyes open. It’s an epic battle.


You blink awake again when she shoves the can in your face. Truth be told, you only heard the words “food” and “salt” and that was enough to make you grab the thing and chug it dry, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted, ever. You make a highly inappropriate sound that says as much.


You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand and set the empty can on the nearest flat space. “Lords. Thank you, Twitch, you’re saving my goddamn life.” you say in a sleepy monotone, blinking sluggishly. “I’ll make it up to you.”


*


Twitch looks pleased. “Oh, okay. I mean, good. Great? Thanks? That’s what I’m here for, I mean like, to help. Okay, you’re asleep. That’s cool.”


She takes the can and puts it in the sink, then takes the towels and puts them in the ablution trap. Then she looks at the girl in her recuperacoon, decides not to wake her up for questioning, and goes to look for a note on her door. She reads it, looks inside, reads it again, shrugs, and writes her contact info underneath with CALL ME FOR THINGS.


Then she reads the message again, nods, and walks briskly off to find something else to do.


*

END OF CLOWN INTERMISSION.

 

==> Bel: Get shooed out of places.

You'd expected Lainey to be unavailable until Erskin is out of surgery and confirmed okay, but instead she shows up many hours early and declares herself in need of work to take her mind off things. Plus you're apparently distracted and making mistakes, or at least she declares you are as she swats your butt with a sheaf of paperwork and orders you off 'her' bridge. Which, since you're Acting Captain, is distinctly non-regulation, but you're not in the mood to argue. You don't even call her Lieutenant Commander with the emphasis on the Lieutenant part to remind her of that fact, you're that out-of-sorts.

To no one's surprise but yours, you find yourself in Sigmah's makeshift neurology ward half an hour later. He's got one of the machining bays partitioned off with plastic sheeting, and filled the partition with incomprehensible blinkylight machines. Erskin lies naked in a sort of reclining recuperacoon contraption full of slime that's an unexpected pale blue instead of properly green. There are wires and tubes attached to him, and a gas mask thingie on his face. Sigmah is laying out surgical instruments on a tray with the help of a spidery assist-bot.

"He's already out," Sigmah tells you with a slight edge to his customary gentleness. "I asked the people not to let anyone through."

"Oh. Sorry." You think you vaguely remember someone talking to you as you came in. "I. Sorry."

Sigmah's eyes soften above the surgical mask. "He's in good hands, Bel. I promise. Go see one of your other quadrants. Distract yourself."

"Right, I can..." No, Pancho's on duty, she's got a lot of catching up to do since she spent so much time on Erskin, and anyway, you saw her this evening, she's been staying in your hive even though she has her own quarters now.

"Shoo! You're not sterile! This is a surgery!"

This galvanizes you to scrape a few brain cells together and get your ass out of the operating block. You glimpse some crossed arms and scowls among the engineers lurking out in the corridor, and give the whole area a grimace of apology; they're worried about their Captain too, but they could obey the rules.

In the end, though you don't know whether Galley officially counts as your matesprit yet, nor whether he'll be okay with you showing up in the middle of the workshift all frazzled like this, but you fetch up at his door anyway, so what else is there to do but knock?