THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

The first part of the movie is alright— staticy, a little abrasive to listen to. But alright. Half an hour in things start to come apart: you itch, and all the bright colors in the room smell terrible. You shift around uncomfortably, and scoot apart from Jethro. His skin doesn't feel right, even thought it's mostly grey, it's yelling at you.

When he looks at you you pin your fins back, defensively.

 

You pause the movie and give him an encouraging look. "What's goin' on, bro? Nerves starting to act up on you? It's about time for that, I guess."

 

"Er, I, I, yes," you get out. A spasm of something or other— blue? prickly?— shakes you like a rat, and you just barely swallow back a whine. It's like the latter stages of treating your leg with Sal, the overwhelming disorientation that pulls your whole brain apart, but this time it feels actively malevolent, damaging. You shudder again at something that drags a slimy, stinking finger across every inch of the inside of your skin. It curls you tightly against the arm of the couch, hands clamped to your horns.

"It's not. It's. Not good."

 

"Aw, dude." Your hand on his back again, something to focus on. "I know, man. I know it sucks. But that's why I'm here. That's why we're watching movies and shit. Okay? That's why you gotta focus on the sim, not on the garbage that bioware's sending you. It's a shitty blockmate getting evicted, it's tryin' to trash the pad on the way out. But we're not gonna let it."

 

You peer out at him from behind your knees, or, at least, you try to—it is difficult at th moment to be sure what you're looking at—and attempt to make an interrogative noise.

 

Shit, he's getting lost. You're going to have to be a little more pushy, and if it comes across as pale presumption, well... that wouldn't be so terrible.

"Erskin, focus," you say firmly, and pat his arm in a demanding way. "Come on back to me. Don't let yourself get lost in the static."

 

"Oh, er— what? I'm." You flail a little, and grab his arm. "Right. Yes." Agreeing with whatever he just said will hopefully make him stop making noises at you.

(spoiler: it will not)

 

"Good. Come on, bro, you can do this, good man." You get him to uncurl a little, raise his head. You pat his cheek lightly. "Look at me. Can you see me?" He tries to turn away and you pat his cheek again -- okay, call it what it is, you pap him again. "Erskin. Stop that. You can't hide from the noise by retreating into the noise. That ain't gonna work. Look at me."

 

You bare your teeth a little. "Yes," you insist. "Sure, yes, alright, whatever you say. Leave off." When he bops you again you click your fangs a few times and try to scoot up and over the back side of the couch. Maybe you can get underneath it and then swat at him from a position of relative security.

 

You stand up, let him burrow, then vanish the couch. This isn't working. You blank the simulator, put up a single color background. teal, like his matesprit's blood. You're thinking maybe the scenarios are too complex for him right now, and maybe you should give him some really simple stimulus to latch onto.

"What color is this?" you demand.

 

No more couch, but still Jethro, and the abrasive, synesthetic friction against the inside of your skin feels like it's going to start ripping through at any moment. You are very unhappy with this turn of events.

"Teal...?" you venture miserably. "Er. Turquoise. Lemon."

 

"Lemon?" you gape. You sit down in front of him, take his shoulders, and give him a little shake. "Teal, turquoise, lemon. One of these things is not like the other. Which is it?"

 

"Lemon flavor," you elaborate. "The color is teal."

There being nothing else available to shelter under, you stuff your face under Jethro's chin. "Hex code— something like— #008080, equally green and blue, no red."

 

"Good," you soothe, while your blood pump goes boom. "The flavor's not real, the color is. Let's try another."

After he identifies orange, purple, and pine green, you think he might be getting a little exasperated. Thinking of his hobbies, you hunt up a tidepool simulation and set the ecodiversity to maximum, the scene change to 'slow'. The blank plain of color gradually fades into smooth-worn basalt shores, gentle surf, a pleasantly cool breeze. Beside where you sit is a shallow basin full of colorful spiny and wriggly things.

"Tell me about these critters," you prompt. "What's that one? I think that's the weirdest dang critter I ever saw."

 

"I— er—" you peer cautiously down the length of his arm. "A sort of— it's an anemone that gets eaten by crabs as a nymph. It takes over the crab's nervous system it grows, so when it's an adult and dissolves its way up through the back plate, it's got a little chitinous mecha suit, and can clamber around a lot better than anemones usually manage. This type's an acquired taste, cultivated mostly for the challenge of catching it rather than the acrid flavor."

 

"Dude, that is cool. Gross, but cool. What about this guy here?"

It's an education to watch him come to life when he has sea critters to talk about. You think you've found the way to keep him present. He just might get through this with his nervous system fully functional after all.

 

A day or two later finds Twitch obligingly peeling and chopping vegetables in the kitchen of the Sunslammer's busiest automat, preparing for gamma shift's lunch rush. Whitey and Murfey's teams both settled on gamma shift, and haven't yet got used to the novelty of all-you-can-eat fresh produce.

Finally one of the trolls serving as a line cook checks their watch and shoos Twitch out the kitchen doorway. Twitch looks around, looks at her wrist, where 'CALL YOUR MOIRAIL DURING FREETIME' is written, and does so.

imTwitch [IT] has started trolling lackadaisicalLimpet [LL]:

IT: LL im in the NNW Midlevel F★requarter Aut★mat d★ y★u want lunch
IT: are y★u ★k sh★uld i bring it t★ y★u

 

At the exact moment Twitchy is shooed out of the kitchen, you are huddled in her ablution trap with all the lights off, the water turned as hot as you can stand it while also being on its lowest pressure setting. It's just, you're so cold all the time and this is the only thing you can think of that works, even if climbing out afterward is a miserable experience. What results is you being almost comfortable for the first time in a good while: normally you dig a trap that can beat you up with its water pressure, but right now you feel like you'd come apart like tissue paper if you did that. The lowest setting is fine, it's gentle with you, you've got it adjusted so it hits you just right, creating a lovely glowing warmth all over.

Then your palmhusk starts flashing candy pink from where it sits on the closed gaper lid, (not quite Twitchy's eye color, but it'll do for now) and you grimace and emit a faint whine as the light stabs you right in the ganderbulbs, ugh. You reach an arm out, trying to move from your spot as little as possible, and after a moment's fumbling you manage to grab the thing and drag it into the trap with you. The screen blinks on and you squint your eyes shut until they adjust.

It takes you a second or two to parse Twitchy's quirk, especially with water droplets all over the screen. You find yourself smiling doofily as you text back.

LL: hey twitchybabe
LL: naw man dont troble yorself
LL: i can hal my ass over to where yore at
LL: FCKING U BTTON FCKING FCK X(
LL: lemme pll on some clothes and i;ll meet yo there

 

IT: stay put g★t it
IT: i will sit at a c★rner table and play a tappy game
IT: s★ i dont eat till y★re here
IT: just say hi when y★u arrive
IT: ps i like this quirk i think im g★nna keep it

 

LL: heheh okay bt if yo get hngry go chow down withot me its all good
LL: i like it too, its cte as hell, jst like yo ;o)
LL: looks like my palmhsk all has a typing qirk picked ot for me ain't i lcky!
LL: okay see yo soon <>

You can't help but sprawl in the trap for a few minutes longer before you gather the willpower to turn the water off. Teeth chattering, you dry off and climb into your clothes as fast as you can. You end up layering up quite a bit--not quite all your clothes, but damn close--so when you're finally dressed, you're wearing a ratty pair of purple sneakers you doodled all over with a glittery gel pen, a pair of mismatched green and blue wool socks, orange and red striped tights, indigo space nebula capri pants, a knee length poofy olive green skirt with pink flowers, a loose black t-shirt with your sign on it, (lords, you've gotten skinny) an yellow turtleneck under that, striped rainbow armwarmers, fingerless fuchsia gloves, a blue hoodie, and a dark season wool hat yanked over your ears that has flame patterns all over it.

You slap on your most basic mask, brush your teeth, tell your mom to be good, and, clutching your palmhusk in both hands, take your first brave step out of Twitchy's room in two days.