#but hey now we get monkey pox too

[britcision]

Wishing the kids a very “learn the difference between diagnosable depression and just feeling depressed” on this fine evening lads

Like actually no my brain deciding that all my favourite foods are gross and my life is a hollow void will not be solved by systemic changes

It’ll be solved by vitamin D supplements at the moment cuz I am A) very lucky and B) riddled with intestinal disease that prevents me from metabolising shit in small doses

Yeah feeling depressed is an extremely rational reaction to what is going on in the world but that’s also why I’m not going to my therapist about being pissed/depressed/disheartened about that

I went to my therapist because everything in the world was in washed out faded grey and my life felt meaningless

And then I got medicated for my depression and wouldn’t you fucking believe it but the world is actually super beautiful and there are colours and smells and shit

I’m WAY less numb, I’m not dissociating every day, and I feel like I can actually affect the problems that make me feel depressed and make a difference, if only for the people in my life

Destroying capitalism will not fix that my brain occasionally decides to kill me any more than it’ll fix my immune system’s devout intention to rip its way out of this puny mortal shell to attack and dethrone God

It’s also gonna take LONGER THAN A DECADE so actually nah let’s get people medical treatment and help so they don’t fucking die on the way to your perfect world

Cuz if your perfect idealised society does not include help for mental and physical illnesses, which are not gonna magically go away even if no one has any societal problems ever again?

Why the fuck would I want to join a society that requires my death, or bare minimum that I be shoved in the closet and left to suffer between arthritis, crohns, and the second secret smaller ibs that mostly only comes out when my crohns is in remission because Fuck Me I Guess

Your world without treatment is my hell and I’ll drag you to yours before I see it become reality

Like we’re also gonna destroy capitalism and all that inlaid bigotry in society but the only reason I can contribute to the fight is that I’m heavily fucking medicated

And no, disabled people are not going to be your “acceptable loss” either

(Also fun top secret fact did you know that most of the regular treatments for depression are actually also NSAIDs, a class of pain killer? Cuz yeah I went through the full list available in my teens for one or the other

It’s almost like people tend to feel better when they’re not in constant fucking pain

But hey I’m still in constant pain and the depression’s sat under the bed like a terrified bogeyman that dare not show its face so it’s not a 1-to-1)

Anyway y’all are gonna learn the difference between a mental illness and just feeling bad or I’m gonna swizzle your intestines on a stick and you’ll learn what my day feels like

But don’t worry

We’ll fix society

You won’t need any treatment for it

[nexttrickanvils]

MI Fic: Beware of Karen

Title: Beware of Karen

Ships: Guybrush/Elaine, past Stan/OC (if you could call that mess a relationship)

Notes: So this is the result of lots of jokes and headcanon swapping with @captmickey. Hope you enjoy. ;)

---------

Throughout his adventures, Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate(TM) had seen the strange and impossible…

...And yet none of it compared to the sight of perpetual grifter, Stan S. Stanman standing on a dock before the Screaming Narwhal with a sleeping roll and other items in his (still flailing, how does he do that) arms.

“Guybrush! Good to see you! How’s the wife?”

“...She’s fine?” Guybrush remarked glancing at an equally baffled Elaine to his right.

“What...exactly are you doing here?”

“Haha! A good question! Typical of a smart man such as yourself! See, I need a favor and I figured we’ve been such good friends for so long...”

“You sold me a cruddy ship, I locked you in a coffin, scammed your life insurance business, you tried to sell me a timeshare, and tried to prosecute me on false charges. I don’t think “friends” is the word I’d use.”

At that, Stan’s usual bluster and “charming” salesman smile deflated like a really sad balloon.

“Alright alright. I know we haven’t exactly been on the same page but you’re the only one I actually trust with this.”

Okay that got Guybrush’s attention.

“This being?”

“I need a place to stay. Maybe a few days maybe a week. It shouldn’t be too long… hopefully”

Guybrush and Elaine glanced at each other, warriness and a little bit of annoyance obvious on both their faces.

They were planning on sailing off tomorrow and continuing their Multi-Island Anniversary Vacation. Elaine especially was looking forward to this after all the craziness with the Pox Incident… and the LeWalrus Incident before that. Winslow was even nice enough to be willing to stay at Spinner Cay with Anemone and the rest of the Merfolk so the two could have their space.

Then came Stan like a bad penny.

“Stan… we’re-” Guybrush attempted to explain

“We’re in the middle of something. As a couple. As in something for just the two of us.” Elaine added

“Don’t worry! Ol’ Stan here will be quiet as a mouse!”

Guybrush pinched his nose in frustration at Stan’s refusal to take no for an answer.

“Stan… why do you want to stay with us anyway? What? You couldn’t scam yourself a hotel room?”

“I take personal offense to that, my friends!”

“We’re not friends.” Elaine interrupted

But Stan ignored that and continued, “See I’ve been a businessman for a long time and in that field of work, I’ve met many a character, believe you me! I’ve crossed paths with the prickliest pirates, the saltiest of sea dogs, the most brackish of buccaneers...”

Guybrush muttered to Elaine, “What’s “brackish” mean?”

“I think it just means unpleasant, dear.” Elaine responded

“But none of them! None of those pillaging plunderers hold a candle to the most frightening person in the Caribbean… KAREN!”

Was… was he joking?

Is this one of those weird Pirate Prank Plays?

Was there a hidden audience ready to burst out and laugh at him?

“Unless Karen is LeChuck’s first name… which would be hilarious I can’t lie, I don’t think I see the threat.” Guybrush replied

“Who is Karen anyway?”

“Oh… she uh… she’s… err… she’s my ex-wife.”

An awkward silence hung between the three…

“Alright Guybrush, pull up the anchor.”

“WAIT! Listen I understand that I may have a… unique relationship with the truth but please believe me when I say that Karen is the absolute worst person imaginable and if she finds out that I’m on this island, I am a dead man!”

Okay… wow… even after racking his brain, Guybrush couldn’t really remember seeing Stan so… terrified (well okay the coffin thing but that’s uh something else.) He looked over to Elaine and could tell that she was still less than sympathetic.

Not that he could blame her. A guy, known for exaggeration and bullshit, shows up to your ship and tells you how his ex-wife is somehow WORSE than LeChuck? Not a good look.

But obviously Stan was not gonna go away, Guybrush had to think of something.

“Okay, listen, Stan. Elaine and I are trying to have a nice private vacation as a couple. But since you seem so worried, why don’t I just go talk to Karen?”

“ARE YOU CRAZY!? Stronger men than you have buckled before her! No, it’s better for all involved to just get out of dodge!”

Guybrush just gave a cocky grin in response, “Stronger men, but not wittier. Believe me after dealing with you for years, I think I can handle this.”

Stan merely sighed and muttered, “Sounds like I need to go back to the coffin business because it's your funeral.”

Guybrush turned to Elaine and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

“Don’t worry Plunderbunny, I’ll get this done quickly and we can get right back to our vacation.”

“Oh alright but you owe me a shoulder massage after all this.”

The Mighty Pirate(TM) shot a wink and began to disembark The Screaming Narwhal.

---------

Before long the two were making their way through a marketplace full of merchants, scam artists, and those in between.

“So… how did you and Karen meet?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Yikes, Stan doesn’t want to talk about something? Maybe… this wasn’t a good idea…

...WELL IN FOR A PIECE OF EIGHT!

“Why’d you divorce? Or is that too personal?”

“We began to see each other as competition. And Karen is quite ruthless to anyone she sees as competition.”

Before Guybrush could ask further, a pained high scream rang through the market. A female pirate ran past him and Stan screaming about her eyes as she covered them.

“You’ll thank me when you have to beat the men away with a club!” shouted another woman

“...It’s her.”

Guybrush turned to where Stan was glaring and immediately spotted a woman in a jacket and plaid pencil skirt. Her hair was closely cropped with some parts flared up or sticking out. In her hand was one of those fancy looking glass perfume bottles. Her face was covered in way-too much make-up for one person and she had a pure white salesman smile similar to Stan.

“Karen...”

The woman turned to them and immediately her smile dropped.

“...Stan.”

Hoo boy, Guybrush was wearing a coat and he could feel the chill between these two. Better step in before things get more awkward.

“Um excuse me?”

“Hm?”

Guybrush straightened himself and adjusted his coat.

“I’m Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate™.”

“Uh-huh, that’s nice.” Karen remarked with little enthusiasm

She then turned to Stan and shot him a smug look, “You know Stan, I always said you couldn’t find better than me but wow you really dug rock bottom.”

Stan just continued to glare at her while it took a second for Guybrush to realize what she was saying.

“Oh, oh no! Stan and I are just… acquaintances… who keep running into each other. I’m happily spoken for to the most beautiful ex-government official in the Caribbean.” Guybrush explained, showing off the ring on his finger

Guybrush wasn’t sure what happened next; one moment there seemed to be a glint in Karen’s eyes and then he found himself pulled away from Stan with one of her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“Oh you’re married huh? Can’t imagine the Missus being too thrilled to see you spending time with someone like Stan.”

“Uh...I mean… you’re not wrong”

“You look like the kind of guy who’s just one mistake away from the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“I… um… actually Elaine and I-”

“A lady likes to be treated… um… Gasbroom was it?”

“Guybrush… but I’m not here to bu-”

“Of course, of course. And you say she’s ex-government? Well clearly you somehow found a woman of class who deserves only the classiest -and most expensive- items in my collection!~”

Thankfully before Karen could continue with her sales pitch, Guybrush felt Stan pulling him back and he suddenly felt more clear headed. It was almost like a spell had been broken. Or maybe he was now further from the perfume fumes and wasn’t feeling as dizzy.

Karen glared at Stan and crossed her arms.

“Hmph, I see you haven’t changed a bit, Stan. You just can’t stand the mere IDEA of someone buying something from someone other than you.”

“This isn’t about sales and you know it, Karen.”

Guybrush pushed himself away from Stan and faced Karen.

“Listen, I just wanted to talk to you and clear up all… whatever this is!” Guybrush exclaimed, pointing his finger between the two

At that, Karen began to laugh.

“Oh, sweetie, there is no fixing that mess. And that mess could also be in your future if you don’t...”

“I’m not buying anything!” Guybrush snapped

“Oh… no wonder your marriage is on the rocks.”

“HEY! My marriage has survived curses, evil undead voodoo jerks, and my mother-in-law! I think it can survive not buying your stuff”

“See this is what she does! She lies and insults you every way to get you to buy from her!”

Guybrush couldn’t help but side-eye Stan as he remarked, “Isn’t that what you do?”

“Oh no no no. What I do is a little something called Cold Reading. A skill of the trade. All she does is push you down and down until you can’t take it anymore!”

“...Again, sounds like what you do.”

“I agree with Stan, how dare you compare my mercantile skills to this idiot who couldn’t sell a used ship to a pair of monkeys!”

“AT LEAST I DON’T TEST MY WARES ON THE MONKEYS!”

“Still spreading those lies and slander are we? I think we’re done here, Stan. Leave now and if I see your face around here or worse yet, try to set up shop near me. I will have the Island authorities on you like flies on a zombie.”

“BUT! You’re at a marketplace! You can’t have someone arrested for running a business near you!” Shouted Guybrush

Karen smirked, “True but I can if this is what I tell them...”

Instantly Karen pulled out a handkerchief and started crying (without any actual tears, can’t smudge the make-up after all.)

“I-It’s my ex-husband, sir! He-he won’t leave me alone! I just want to run my business in peace but he just keeps harassing me!”

In an instant, the “oh woe is me” act is dropped and that smirk came back.

“Have I made myself clear? Now go on, shoo! You’re scaring off customers.”

Realizing that there was no winning here, Guybrush and Stan began to turn around and walk away. But not before…

“Hey! Goibersh!”

“...It’s Guybru-”

Quickly Guybrush caught a tube of lipstick that Karen tossed at him before it could hit him in the face.

“Consider this a free sample. And when your dear lady inevitably demands more, you’re free to come crawling back to me without Stan.”

With that, Karen went straight back to harassing another “customer” passing by.

“Stan...”

“Yes Guybrush?”

“You can stay on the ship. THIS DOES NOT MAKE US FRIENDS! But I’d feel like a jerk if I just left you to her “mercy.””

“...Thanks. Maybe if we survive this, I’ll give you a ten percent discount on my next business venture.”

“ONLY TEN PERCENT!?”

[waveridden]

FIC: apple cider, i don’t mind

Dak turns around, and Max jumps onto his back in a well-practiced motion. “Who’s ready for an open house?” (Dak/Tech parent/teacher AU, 2.9k)

AUcember || title lyric || read on ao3

#

Dak cups his hands around his mouth. “Max!” he shouts up the stairs. “Come on, buddy, we gotta get going!”

“I can’t find my backpack!” Max yells back.

“You left it in the kitchen! And you don’t need the backpack, this is just an open house!”

“I can’t go to school without a backpack, you made me promise!”

“This isn’t a normal school day, and we’re running late!”

Max gasps from upstairs, surprisingly loud with his little seven-year-old lungs. That’s one of the crazy things about kids: they’re fucking loud. They talk loud. They scream loud. Even their dramatic gasps are loud enough to hear downstairs. “Mister Z doesn’t like it when people are late!”

“Then we’d better get going,” Dak says, or starts to say when Max comes barrelling down the stairs and more or less leaps into Dak’s chest, full-force.

Dak catches him, because what kind of an uncle would he be if he dropped him, and drops him on the stairs. Max lands with a quiet oof and a giggle and looks up at Dak. “I think you’re gonna like Mister Z.”

Max loves Mister Z. He has made absolutely no secret of it. Dak doesn’t know anything about the guy, other than he teaches second grade and he is Max’s all-time favorite person right now. Also, he’s apparently into all the weird science projects that kids love, with the slime and the volcanoes and maybe a class pet or something, Dak can’t really keep track. But he does want to meet the guy for himself.

“I think I am too.” Dak ruffles Max’s hair and then looks down. Max is wearing a bow tie with his Spiderman T-shirt. “Whoa there, kiddo, what’s with the fancy outfit?”

Max’s cheeks flush pink. “It’s a special day,” he says defensively.

Dak knows exactly why Max is dressed up, probably. Max told Pox that he has a crush on Mister Z, and because Pox is the coolest goddamn babysitter in the world, she immediately told Dak about it. Pox is fucking great, because sometimes she lets Dak just pay her with food, and because Max loves her, and because she tells Dak the important secrets that his nephew is keeping.

“Okay,” Dak says placatingly. “Stand up, c’mere, let me fix it.”

Max’s eyes narrow, but he stands up, and Dak bends down to adjust the bow tie. “Normally we put these with the shirts with the collars, you know that?”

“You call those monkey suit shirts.”

“Yeah, and I have a job where I never have to wear them, but it’s nice to have ‘em if you ever wanna wear a tie around your neck.”

“Where else would you wear it?”

“Around your head, like a bandana.”

Max giggles. “That’s silly!”

“Of course it is!” Dak turns around, and Max jumps onto his back in a well-practiced motion. “Who’s ready for an open house?”

“Me!” Max shouts.

“Who’s ready to meet Mister Z?”

“You!”

“And who’s ready to get McDonald’s afterwards?”

“Both of us!”

“Hell yeah, both of us!” Dak lifts one hand behind his head, and Max smacks it in the tiniest, greatest seven-year-old high five known to man. “Let’s get going!”

#

The facts are these:

First, Dak didn’t ever really intend to have kids. He and Shirley talked about it back in the day, and after they broke up he never really saw much of a point in being a dad. He likes kids, sure, but he also likes driving trucks and being on the open road and all that shit. He likes that he can leave home for a few weeks and not worry about coming back. He likes listening to audiobooks and being by himself.

Second, he didn’t know his sister that well before she died. Carrie was a good twelve years younger than him, and they were never all that close. He knew that she had kids, had even met them once or twice. And he knew that her husband was a real shitbag, but he had never stopped to think about… well, about custody or any of that. He figured that she had her own life, and she would work all that out, and it would be fine.

Third, there was a car accident that took Carrie, and her baby, and Max’s leg from the knee down. And fourth, completely without Dak’s knowledge, he was listed as Max’s legal guardian if anything happened to Carrie. And that was how Dak ended up with a four-year-old and no fucking clue what to do with him.

It’s the kind of thing where there’s no learning curve, and he figured that out real fucking quick. Kids don’t care that you’ve never had a kid before, they care about getting a grilled cheese and cool pajamas. It’d totally rearranged Dak’s life, and as much as he loves Max now, it was fucking hard. It was really fucking hard.

It was worth it, though. Dak knows it was worth it every time he high-fives Max, and every time he stays up late helping Max through his English homework, and every single morning he wakes up and this kid is still here. It’s worth it.

#

Mister Z is a little younger than Dak expected. He’s sitting on his desk in the front of the room, talking to a woman who has three tiny kids running around her, but he still catches Dak’s eye and nods when Dak walks in. Dak nods back, as though he has any idea what’s happening, and lets Max start dragging him around the room.

He’s been to a couple open houses at this point, and he’s still not really sure what the point is. Especially considering that he has to deal with how weird people get every time he introduces himself as Max’s uncle - no, not his dad, yes, his guardian, and why the fuck are you asking what happened to his parents, that’s fucking insane. People have no sense of privacy.

“This is my desk,” Max announces, tugging on Dak’s hand as they reach a desk in the corner of the room. “This is where I sit and take notes and read books under the desk sometimes, but the books are always about science so it’s okay.”

“Where do you get science books?” Dak says, which he knows is probably not the right parental response, but fucking whatever, uncle privileges. “Should I be buying you science books?”

“We have a library,” Max says, in the most /duh tone of voice that Dak has ever heard from him. He is, despite literally all logic, very proud. “The new librarian Mister The Tech Wizard helps me find good science books, and sometimes he gets me the third and fourth grade ones even though I’m only in second grade, because he says I’m good at reading them.”

“Whoa, slow your roll there.” Dak rests a hand on Max’s desk, running one finger across Max’s nametag taped to the top. “You got a new librarian and his name is-”

“Mister The Tech Wizard,” Max repeats dutifully. “He says we don’t have to call him Mister or anything, and that The Tech Wizard is an old nickname that just kind of stuck, and a lot of the kids just call him Tech Wizard, but I wanna be respectful, because he’s helping me. So I call him Mister The Tech Wizard.”

“Max is very into respect,” a new voice says. Dak is completely unsurprised to look over and see Mister Z, who has a very cool side-cut and very un-teacher-like knee-high studded boots.

Dak looks down at Max. “Who’s teaching you about respect? Because it’s definitely not me.”

“You’re respectful,” Max protests. “And Mister Z talks a lot about respect, so it’s important!”

“But he takes it more seriously than most of the kids,” Mister Z says dryly, and offers his hand. “Hey, I’m Mister Z. I teach your kid how to read and stuff.”

Dak takes it and shakes it, with the best and firmest Dak Rambo handshake that he can manage. “I’m his Uncle Dak.”

“Yeah, he talks about you a lot. You drive trucks?”

“Only when there’s someone to watch him.” Which there normally is, because Pox is great like that. Dak doesn’t know what she does when she’s not babysitting, but she always seems to be around when he needs her. “And you teach a whole bunch of seven-year-olds. How’s that going for you?”

For just a second, Mister Z’s face drops out of professional-cool-teacher mode to a very human, super relatable wince. “I love them, and I love what I do,” he says sincerely, “but, you know.”

Dak does know. “I do know,” he says. “Well, Max thinks you’re great, he only says good things about you, although apparently he reads science books under his desk during class.”

“Dak,” Max whines, looking mortified.

Dak ruffles Max’s hair cheerfully. “Sorry, kiddo, but you gotta pay attention in school! Otherwise you end up like your uncle Dak, driving trucks on the open road, forgetting how to add three plus two.”

“You know what three plus two is!”

“I know it’s different than two plus two.”

“Between you and me-” Mister Z glances conspicuously at Max before leaning in and lowering his voice. “I know he reads the books, but your kid is way fucking smarter than the rest of the class. As long as he keeps turning stuff in on time, I don’t care what he does in class.”

Dak opens his mouth to say that Max isn’t exactly his kid, but before he can ask, Max tugs on his sleeve. “Are you telling secrets about me?” he asks, looking genuinely worried.

“No secrets, buddy, just Mister Z giving me the grown-up 411.” Dak grins and claps Mister Z on the shoulder. He twitches a little bit, but doesn’t shrug Dak off, which is a good sign. Maybe. “I’m glad you’re Max’s teacher, Z, you seem like a cool dude. Can you give us directions to the library? I wanna meet this Mister The Tech Wizard and thank him for giving Max the hook-up.”

“I know where the library is,” Max says indignantly. “And I gotta finish showing you around, and you didn’t really talk to Mister Z.”

“I don’t have a lot to say,” Mister Z admits. “I’ve got a sheet of paper with a little bit about my teaching philosophy, which the district made me write up, but mostly this is for you to show Dak around, Max. Can you do that?”

Max nods determinedly and tugs at his little elastic-neck bowtie. Mister Z looks down, sees the bowtie, and grins. “Hey, nice bowtie.”

“Thank you,” Max says, very politely, and then beams. Dak has to hand it to the kid: he doesn’t even start blushing until Mister Z has moved on to talking to the next parent.

Dak bumps his hand against Max’s shoulder. “You need a minute, or are you ready for the grand tour?”

“I don’t need a minute,” Max says, even though his cheeks are bright, bright pink. It is the cutest fucking thing Dak has ever seen. “I gotta show you all my friends’ desks, and the fishtank.”

“But I can already see the fishtank from here.”

“Daaaaaaaaaaak,” Max says exaggeratedly, so drawn out that Dak is completely sure that Max thinks it’s funny.

“Just a little bit of uncle humor for you,” he says cheerfully. “Come on, show me around the classroom.”

#

The library ends up being their last stop, not for lack of trying, but because every single teacher they see seems to know and love Max. They find his first grade teacher, who never liked Dak but who is still nice to Max, so she’s on thin fucking ice. They find the teacher who does the computer class, and the art teacher, and Max’s gym teacher, who apparently didn’t expect Max’s guardian to be a tough guy. Unluckily for them, Dak is the toughest guy.

“This is the library,” Max announces loudly as he pushes the door open. “There’s computers in here, and a bunch of books.”

Dak whistles as he takes a look around. There are no other parents or kids in sight, only shelves and shelves of books. “Wow. You ever seen this many books in one place at once?”

“Bookstore,” Max points out, which is probably true, but it does kind of ruin Dak’s whole embarrassing uncle humor vibe. “They have the picture books for the littler kids, and the chapter books for the bigger kids, and-”

“And science books for the science kids,” a voice says warmly.

It takes Dak a second to find the source of the voice: behind the counter, off to the side. The man in question, who absolutely has to be Mister The Tech Wizard, is… well, honestly, he’s a little hot, in a very specific way. He’s chubby, a little bit scruffy, and he’s wearing an orange fanny pack and little earrings shaped like stars. And he’s smiling at Max, a nice non-condescending smile, which automatically puts him at the top of Dak’s list of favorite people.

“Hi Mister The Tech Wizard!” Max waves at him. “This is my Uncle Dak, he’s here for the open house and he said something about saying thank you for hooking up.”

“You said those words in the wrong order, bud,” Dak says cheerfully, as Tech Wizard blushes so hard he practically turns purple. “I said I wanted to say thank you for giving Max the hook-up with science books, and Max apparently remembered the two weirdest words out of that sentence.”

Max frowns. “What’s wrong with hooking up?”

“Nothing,” Dak says, “and anyone who ever tells you otherwise is wrong. But that’s one of those things where if you say it a certain way, it means something different to grown-ups.”

“Oh.” Max thinks about this for a few seconds. “Like that time the neighbor knocked over a bucket, and I said he kicked the bucket, but that means something else?”

“Exactly.”

Max nods and looks back at Tech Wizard. “What did I say by accident?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tech Wizard says, still looking a little mortified. His eyes flick up and down Dak’s body, which is… well, that’s what Dak calls a pleasant surprise. But then he clears his throat and seems to come back to himself, and he looks down at Max. “Okay, let’s try it one more time, what did you want to say?”

“Uncle Dak wanted to thank you for giving me science books.”

“Oh!” Tech Wizard turns back to Dak, any remaining embarrassment melting off of him. “Dude, your nephew is smart, did you know that?”

“Did I know that?” Dak scoffs loudly. “Of course I did! Except for the part where he reads about science.”

“I read all about the table of elements,” Max says proudly.

“He’s reading the kind of books that kids a couple years older than him are supposed to be reading, but blow off,” Tech Wizard explains. “And he understands it all pretty well. Zenith and I talk about it, and we’re pretty impressed.”

“You talk about me?” Max repeats, eyes round. “Really?”

“We talk about a lot of the kids.”

“And my sister’s kid is worth talking about,” Dak says proudly, wrapping a hand around Max’s shoulder and tugging him close. “I don’t have much to say, but I did want to stop by and say thank you for helping him out.”

“It’s my job,” Tech Wizard says, but he smiles, looking pleased. “And you’re welcome. You’ve got a great kid here, you know that? Or a great sister’s kid.”

“Oh, I know.” Dak squeezes Max’s shoulder and looks down. “Do you need any science books right now, do you wanna show me around?”

Max blinks a couple times and opens his mouth, with the face that means he’s embarrassed to say something.

Dak cottons on immediately. “Or do you wanna go to McDonald’s?”

“I wanna go to McDonald’s,” Max says, cheeks coloring ever so slightly, but he looks resolute.

“That’s what I thought.” Dak glances back at the counter. “Looks like we gotta blast, but it was nice meeting you, Mister The Tech Wizard.”

Mister The Tech Wizard waves him off, looking embarrassed. “Just Tech is fine.”

“Just Tech,” Dak repeats. “Got it. And I’m just Dak.”

“Not even I call him Uncle Dak,” Max adds. “Not always, anyways.”

Tech nods. “Dak,” he says, and for a single heart-crunching second Dak is certain that he never wants to hear anyone else say his name again. Not if they’re not gonna say it like that. “It was good to meet you too, Dak.”

“Yeah,” Dak says, and there are already a couple of really, really good excuses to come back and visit the library swirling around in the back of his head. For Max and science books, obviously. And for the way Tech is looking at him, the shy little smile on his face. “Seriously, thank you for keeping an eye out for him.”

“Of course,” Tech says, and waves at Max. “Have a good night.”

“Good night, Mister The Tech Wizard,” Max chirps, and starts dragging Dak towards the door. Dak barely has time to wave before Max is pretty much towing him back down the hall, chattering about books or some shit. And in a minute Dak will feel bad about not really listening, but right now he glances over his shoulder and sees Tech watching them walk away, with a tiny, pleased smile. And, well, he needs a minute to be excited about that.

[vers-1]

Hey just a couple things to note- very out of context things during the trip

*talking about that queen of dragons or whoever from got and her hair that everyone seems to be getting “even the gays” (whispers)

“Slay… yass” a 10 year old I just met to me

Remember how I said this trip was physically taxing on me.. yea my back is ripped to shreds- those dogs have sharp claws

I fell down half a stair case. The floors are very clean and my socks have no grip, now I wear slippers

Shitty white shirt I got on a whim but it’s like $5 so nice

Head band like soul’s. I’m just a little weeb

I thought it was a minion blanket and then I thought it was SpongeBob and now I think it’s an airplane but I’m not sure because I never really took a good look at it

Kids are so talkative. Or maybe they just want to talk. You let them and they will tell you all about their special interest and because you listened they will stick to you like a fly on a fly trap. It’s funny but also I wanna go sleep

I mentioned going to bed and she was like ok and followed me into my room to keep talking and every time she was like ok I’ll let you sleep she’s turn around and go “and another thing” lmao, to be fair I kno I do that sometimes too

Green bones don’t melt

Everyone forgot that he got a hip replacement and when they saw the titanium him they were all like oh did-did we roast the wrong one?

Why do my little cousins have a better love life than me? You win some you lose some? I have been on a pretty long loosing streak

Puppies!! So many babies

There’s a neighbor pig that will be raised until Christmas

I was kinda freaked out at first. I was scared actually to look at the body. I saw it at a distance so I knew he was there. When my dad beckoned me over I was able to move forward. It’s a strange feeling. You feel like at any moment he’ll wake up and jump up at you, but you know he’s gone. People really do have a glow about them. His light was really gone

Maybe I should get the md instead of the phd. So that there a doctor in the family to give drugs when you need it. Cause it is so convenient actually

I think I still would have been gay if I didn’t immigrate. Just the way I am you know?

I’m sorry psych majors i think Freud would have liked me… yo btw not anymore ok guys I was a kid.. but verdict still stands

Bloom into you still slaps. Not to be that kid but I read it before it was popular. Now that I’m older and my comprehension skills are sharper I realize she was such a brat like the biggest. And everyone was like oh she’s perfect oh she’s flawed oh she’s smart and mature.. guys she’s also delusional, you aren’t that sneaky you little bitch(affectionate)

There’s something so humiliating and vulnerable about speaking my native language(that I should know but don’t, but is practicing) in public. Like I’d say simple things like how much and yes and no thanks and one burger please. And they kno what I’m saying and they understand. But also I kno I’m not saying it right. It’s such a cool feeling tho almost addictive but inside I die a little when my words slur

Where is that Eren erection figurine??

I don’t need lotion here

It’s hot and humid here

I got bit by one mosquito

Pls don’t let me be positive

Monkey pox is the worst. At least Covid has the decency to not make you ugly if you’re infected

Black phone was scary in a way you didn’t expect it

Chestnuts roasting on an open a bunch of really hot rocks

I swear to you the intrusive thoughts should have won today. Those rocks were the most pebble I’ve ever seen and I knew in my hearts heart they were gonna be so hot. When my dad put the chestnut in my hand I felt the sun. I’m glad they took it off immediately. Glad they let me try

I can’t spell immediately, soldier, obviously, and other words in a first try. I use these words so much too

[jo-shaneparis18]

Versailles

27/04/2018: An interesting start to the day, and a costly one. We were meant to be at Get Your Guide for our escorted trip to Versailles by nine, or so we thought. Shane got mixed up with our meeting point and we all headed to Paris City Vision a few doors up from our apartment which didn't help. It was a small shop front and closed and as a consequence  we were lost for a while. We did some google detective work and discovered the meeting place was a tour office several blocks away. We had to move it as thinking we were only a hop skip and jump from our front door we left our apartment with what we thought was a few minutes to spare for our set meeting time. Yep you guessed it, here comes another event to add to the ever growing list of what Cecilia had termed “Shane’s Cock Ups” To be fair not all events on this list where his fault but hey why ruin her fun. We got to the correct venue only to find  our tour actually left at nine and we should have been there by eight thirty. Good life lesson, thoroughly read the paperwork for a tour the night BEFORE. We were there at ten minutes after nine anyway. The thing was that our group had left as we were a "No Show", had lost our money and were on our own. When asked about the nearest RER we were pointed in the direction of Musée d'Orsay station.

In damage control mode

We had only lost an hour as we managed to catch the ten o'clock train to Versailles Chantiers for thirteen Euro the lot. An uneventful trip was interrupted by a conversation that Thomas was having with Mitchell. Thomas had an email sent to him by the French Authorities with a speeding fine attached. He got caught by a speed camera almost as soon as he had left the airport. It was in French so he was getting Mitch to translate it while we travelled. An hour and twenty minutes after we left Paris, we left the train and commenced the trip to the palace, almost one and a half kilometres up a steady incline.

The Information Centre was the only stop on the way to the palace for the ticket purchase. The queues were shorter there than at the venue. By eleven fifty, three of us tacked onto the end of a very long line while the other two (guess who?) joined a much shorter queue at the Versailles cafeteria for refreshments and a rest, only to join us again when the queue was much shorter. This was actually suggested to the ladies by Shane as the tension and stress needed to be quelled as well as the girls desire for a cuppa, a snack and a toilet stop. Entrance to the palace was imminent and they appeared out of nowhere once receiving a phone call from Tom to rejoin the line. The whole line up experience wasn't too bad as we continually moved and within fifty minutes were inside. It was surprisingly quick.

Posing under the Sun King

A few happy snaps were taken in the Royal Courtyard before heading into the vestibule outside of the Royal Chapel. From there we headed towards the Royal Opera via Galerie de Pierre. This wide hallway was lined with natural stone walls, black and white chequered tiles on the floor and a line of statues to the left. The windows along the right hand side drew in the light from the Cour de la Smalah and Cour du Moroc.

A look into the Royal Chapel

At the end of the corridor was a closed off Opera House. To the left, a staircase took us up a floor to overlook the Parterre du Nord and to an area where videos and electronic representations, paintings, statues and scale models told us the history and how the palace evolved over the centuries.

Early painting of the palace

Machine de Marly, built to supply water to Versailles fountains

Versailles, from Louis XIII to the French Revolution

Versailles after the French Revolution

Excellent representation of a monkey riding a goat

We then moved back towards the Royal Chapel and immediately into the magnificent Hercules Drawing Room.  This was the starting point of the State Apartments which would eventually lead to the Hall of Mirrors. To get there we slowly shuffled through the Drawing Room of Plenty, and Drawing Rooms Venus, Diana, Mars, Mercury, Apollo and finally, the War Drawing Room. This led us into the Hall of Mirrors, which as last time was chockers with people. The last turn before heading towards the exit was the Second Antechamber or Oeil-de-Boeuf, so named due to its bulls eye window.

View of Parterre du Nord

View of the Marble Courtyard from Oeil-de-Boeuf

With the Queens Chambers closed for renovations we found ourselves out in the gardens quite quickly. The men first with Jo and Cec a bit behind. They waited on Parterre du Midi overlooking the Lake of the Swiss Guards and the Orangerie until the call came. It was already planned to hire a golf buggy to get around the gardens but there was a fair line up. Thomas was requested to stand in the queue and mind a spot for his mother. A while after he joined the line up, Jo and Cec arrived to take over. This freed the men up to start looking around on foot for some lunch.

Doing it the easy way

They're first stop on the food trail was a fountain just below Parterre D'eau and to the west. It depicted a bloodhound standing over a deer and what we thought was a tiger killing a bear. It was called Fontaine du Point du Jour (Fountain of the Point of the Day). It wasn't working so we kept moving down through Parterre de Latone until we reached Allée Royale and kept to the right, entering Bosquet du Dauphin, and amongst the maze of tree lined paths found somewhere selling food, La Buvette du Dauphin. There were a few people in front of us and it was late so there wasn't much left. By the time we got there it was evident they were turning people away depending on what they wanted so a survey of what was in the display determined our lunch. Three baguettes and three Heinekens. That just about cleaned the place out. Everyone behind us would have to go hungry if it was lunch that they were after. Moving further through the maze we found a small area with benches at the junction of the tracks where we sat down to eat.

Lucky last at La Buvette du Dauphin

Jo and Cec however, headed north west toward Allée Sombre and Bosquet des Trois Fontaines for a look around. Designed by Louis XIV in 1677 with the help of his gardener, the fountain was destroyed under the rule of Louis XVI. It was rebuilt in 2004 with the assistance of a couple of friendly societies.

A new life afforded to Bosquet des Trois Fontaines

As luck would have it, we all had no real plans but to look around and although separated at the buggy hut, and going different directions, we all ended up at the same place, the Petite Trianon.  The men followed the map along Allée des Prés towards the Petite Trianon but found that many of the paths had locked gates at the end to control traffic. This herded them back towards the Apollo Fountain and out of the main complex at the gateway near the basin of the Grand Canal. After a fair hike along Allée des Matelots they crossed Avenue de Trianon and the entrance to Petite Trianon was immediately on the left, surprisingly at the end of Avenue de Petite Trianon. The women took a shorter route, straight down the buggy paths to end up getting there fifteen minutes before.

Petite Trianon

Looking for a smaller place for his family and a small entourage, the Petite Trianon was completed in 1768 under instruction of Louis XV after ten years of planning and construction. Now having two Trianon's on the estate meant that the Marble Trianon was subsequently called the Grand Trianon. Six years after moving in, it was here that Louis XV experienced the first symptoms of the pox which would lead to his death a few days later. This in turn brought to the throne Louis XVI.

The two storey residence had a rather impressive staircase straight up the guts with rooms around coming off the landing. Several rooms were of a similar ilk to the main palace but one took our eye, the billiard room. 

Going straight to the Pool Room

After a very quick look in the gardens (they were extensive but we got a sniff), Shane and the boys headed along the laneway next to what must have been servants’ quarters or workshops or something. It was parallel to Allée des 2 Trianons and led us straight to the Grand Trianon. It was at this point that everyone's' paths once again crossed. Jo and Cec had just come out and gave Shane and the boys a yell in the buggy park so they checked the joint out before bludging a ride back to the palace.

Beau checking out King Louis-Phillip's family drawing room

On our return up the hill

We were not supposed to be on the buggies, or not all of us. They were for four people only, we were overloaded by one. There were others doing the same so it didn't bother us. Until we got to the gate back into the main garden area where the buggy that passed us overloaded were pulled up and lectured. We picked up on this and headed past the Grand Canal Basin to the other side where they were busy. At first Jo missed the gate and couldn't turn in so we had to drive down a short way to where we could turn about. Shane jumped off and they headed through the gate. Shane headed up the hill while they were mucking about and didn't arrive at the top much after the buggy had been returned.

Trying to get back into the main garden

We were out by five, heading to the much closer Rive Gauchi Versailles Station and looking to eat. This came by the way of crêpes across from the Marie, at Au Duc de Bretagne. With the hunger gone, it was back to the station for the trip back to Musée d'Orsay RER, across Tuileries Gardens and back to our apartment. What a disjointed area we were within. Five star hotels next door and clothes stores selling eight thousand Euro shirts and ten thousand Euro handbags in the window had homeless people sleeping in doorways around the area.

Sac Crocodile 10,000 €

Anyway, nibbles for tea and a game of Trivial Pursuit. Who wants an argument?

Time for an argument

Tomorrow we head to the Louvre and Eiffel Tower.

[waveridden]

FIC: fast talk

“Mayday, mayday, this is Officer Purpler on the Starship Iris, ID 27-Tango-53-08-Whiskey, mission priority 6, requesting immediate assistance. We had a catastrophic shuttle failure, I am the only survivor, requesting extraction.” (A Neoscum/TSCOSI AU, 2.3k)

A/N: This is an AU based on the truly incredible audio drama The Strange Case of Starship Iris. I tried to make it as accessible to non-listeners as I could, but all you really need to know is: it's in space, the humans got into a war with an alien species called the Dwarnians, and the reigning human republic isn't terribly nice.

AUcember || read on ao3 || title lyric

#

1.

There are a lot of ways to die in space. Tech knows this. He spent a lot of time reading about them, when he first got assigned to Starship Iris. You can die from depressurization, or explosions, or other people shooting at you. You can die in the human-Dwarnian war, which is less likely now that the war is over and the Republic has been established, but you can never say never.

And, it turns out, you can die if you run out of fuel.

He flips the switch one more time, hoping for anyone, anything, who can pick up his distress signal. “Mayday, mayday, this is Officer Purpler on the Starship Iris, ID 27-Tango-53-08-Whiskey, mission priority 6, requesting immediate assistance. We had a catastrophic shuttle failure, I am the only survivor, requesting extraction.”

He swallows hard. Only survivor. He hadn’t really realized it until now, but he’s the only one left on this ship. Fuck. Fuck, fuck. “Requesting-” he coughs, and it hurts his throat, which is raw with all of the tears that he’s trying not to cry. He checked the fuel reserves already. They’re low. Dangerously low. And the only person answering him is the robot assistant that runs the ship’s internal functions, which is a pretty bad sign.

“Don’t panic,” he whispers. He thinks about his nana, about how she’s still back on Earth, unless something happened, which is a real and horrible possibility, but it’s not one that he really has the time to think about in depth. “Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, just run the transmission again-”

He’s run the transmission six times now. The seventh takes up fuel that would be going to keeping the ship habitable. But there’s not a lot of point in keeping the environmental systems online if nobody is coming to rescue him.

Tech takes a deep breath. “One more time,” he says. He doesn’t know a lot about the ship’s frequencies, or how any of that works, but he’s been flipping from the backup frequencies to the main channels and back. Maybe that’ll help. Maybe it’s just sapping out energy that he could be using to make the transmissions. “One more time. Mayday, mayday, this is-”

“Connection lost,” says the gratuitously pleasant AI voice.

Tech feels himself paling. “No, no, no-” he flips a couple of switches. He can’t lose a connection. Not when nobody connected with him in the goddamn first place. “No, come on, mayday, this is- fuck, this is Starship Iris, requesting- requesting immediate- fuck -”

“If you would like to make a call-”

“I’m trying to make a call!” Tech shouts, because there’s nobody left to hear him scream and that makes it easier to be as loud as he wants. “I’m trying, but the fucking Republic shot me into space without really training me first, and now I’m on a starship floating to my certain death, and I’m going to die alone in the far reaches of outer fucking space! So if you could do me a favor and just let me make one goddamn phone call -”

“Hey,” a voice says, sounding alarmed. More alarmed than the AI is capable of. “Hey, you’re connected, dude, calm down.”

Tech stumbles away from the communications panel instinctively. This can’t be real. “I’m connected?”

“Yeah, you’ve reached the crew of the Xanadu.”

“The… Xanadu? As in the smuggling ship?”

“Well,” the guy says, sounding uncomfortable. “We do other stuff too. But your frequency is coming through loud and clear, what’s going on?”

Tech runs through the mental math. The Xanadu is the closest thing they have to space pirates - not as bad as some of the jackasses out in deep space, but still a bunch of dangerous people. There’s no telling what they want with a Republic ship, or a Republic officer. But he’s going to die if he doesn’t get off the Iris.

“This is Officer Purpler from the Starship Iris.” He pauses. If he’s going to die, he’s not super interested in introducing himself like a Republic monkey. “My friends call me Tech Wizard. Or Tech.”

“You good with computers?”

“No, I’m just the only one who knows how to make the coffee maker work.”

The guy laughs at that, startled. “Well, hey, Tech. My name’s Z, and I am actually pretty good with computers. What’s your situation?”

“My whole crew went out to planet 7293 for a scouting mission.” He swallows. “Their, uh, their shuttle exploded just before docking back on the Iris. So my systems are pretty damaged. And I’m the only survivor.”

“Shit,” Z says. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Tech sits on the floor - well, doesn’t sit so much as his knees give out and his whole body weight goes crashing down to the floor. He’s so tired, all of a sudden. Maybe there’s something about - about oxygen levels and blood and stress. Some logical explanation. Mostly, he thinks he’s just fucking tired. “You’re the only one who’s answering any of my distress calls.”

“Desperate enough to trust a pirate, Officer Purpler?”

“Look, man, I just don’t wanna die alone.”

Z goes quiet at that. “Who says that dying is your only option?”

Tech lets out a laugh. It’s a little miserable and a little hollow, but who can fucking blame him? “You got something else in mind?”

“Actually,” Z says slowly, “I might.”

2.

On the record, according to every doctor who has ever seen him, Squirt Purpler is a human man. A human man who has to see specific doctors because of a diagnosis he received as a child, but still just a regular guy. He passed all the space physicals. He’s fit for duty. He’s just a normal guy, with a very specialized health condition.

The thing that people don’t know is what, exactly, dermocrinal phagiosis is.

It’s a code, one that Tech learned when he was about five years old. It is a way of saying that wherever you go, you need to look for people who will help you. You need to find a specific doctor. It is a way of saying that one of his parents was a Dwarnian, and specialists who treat dermocrinal phagiosis are really just people who won’t kill him for being a freak of nature.

Even in the Republic, there are a couple of specialists who know about half-Dwarnians like him. They found people who could do his physicals without announcing to the world that he’s actually half-alien, who would keep him safe. He’s one of the lucky ones: he looks mostly human, except for the blotches of shiny purple skin up and down his torso, his back, his arms. He can wear long sleeves and be pretty safe. He can keep himself safe.

(Tech was four years old when his parents died. Not in the war, long before the war, but because people thought… well, thought that it was unnatural. Tech’s lucky that he made it out of that alive. Tech’s lucky that his grandmother taught him to keep quiet about his “diagnosis.” Tech’s lucky for a lot of reasons.)

3.

He doesn’t think to be afraid about what type of people the Xanadu crew are until he’s hurtling through space towards them in a jury-rigged cryogenic freezer. He doesn’t wonder if they’re dangerous until he realizes, through all of Z’s advice and jokes, he hasn’t actually said anything about himself. He doesn’t wonder if they’re going to kill him until it’s too late to turn back.

Besides, he figures as his eyes slip shut, if they kill him, at least that means he survived a little while longer than anyone expected.

4.

There’s a woman bent over him when he wakes up.

“Hi,” Tech says, even though he feels like there’s cotton in his mouth, ears, and brain. His nana would kill him if he weren’t polite.

“Hello,” the woman answers solemnly. She’s very short, but her hair is long enough that it’s swinging in Tech’s face. “My name is Pox. Zenith says that you came from a Republic starship.”

“Mhm.”

“He also said you’re probably cold.”

“Mhm,” Tech says. His best shot, as Z had explained it, was to repurpose one of the freezers that they use for biological samples to put himself into something simulating cryo-sleep. He’d used that as an escape pod and jettisoned out, and then hoped that the math was right and his trajectory would match the Xanadu’s. It looks like it had, more or less, if he’s here. “‘M Tech.”

“He mentioned that too.” Pox reaches behind her and comes up with a massive fleece blanket, ridiculously fluffy and huge, to put over him. “You’re going to have a rough couple of days, I’m afraid. We’ve hooked you up with our medical center as best we could, but-”

“But y’r pir’tes,” Tech slurs out. Talking is hard. Side effects of bad cryo-sleep, probably.

Pox smiles, looking a little sad. “But we’re pirates,” she agrees. “Pirates who saved you, but we don’t have the best resources.”

“Thank you,” Tech says. He’s already falling back asleep, even though he has more questions, even though he just spent a few days literally frozen in space. God, he survived being frozen in space. That’ll be something to put on his resume.

Pox smooths his hair back out of his face, and for a weird, vivid second, Tech feels like crying. “You’re welcome,” she says. She starts to say something else, but Tech is mostly asleep, so he doesn’t really bother listening.

5.

The next few times he wakes up are pretty similar. He meets Z, briefly, and Pox tells him a little bit about what the Xanadu does. Tech spends a lot of time sleeping, which both Pox and Z assure him is perfectly normal.

The fifth time he wakes up, he meets the ship’s captain, just for a second. Captain Rambo, he says, but as soon as Tech tries to call him that he says, “Just call me Dak.”

“Dak,” Tech repeats. “Captain Dak?”

Dak screws his whole face up in disgust. “What kinda outfit is the regime running these days? Just Dak, unless you’re mad at me, and then you can do what Max does and call me Captain Rambo.”

“Max,” Tech repeats. “I haven’t met Max.”

Dak’s face shutters off in an instant. “That-”

“He should,” Pox says suddenly.

Dak gives her a wary look. It’s strange to see on him; Tech gets the impression that he’s not wary very often. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“I’ve done medical examinations on him,” Pox says, and Tech’s heart stops. Shit. Shit. “He’s got, ah- what’s the official term? Dermo… demo… demolition…”

“Dermocrinal phagiosis,” Tech says, over the sound of his heart pounding. “And it’s a pretty serious condition, so-”

Pox frowns. “Are you sure it’s not demolition derby?”

“Pox,” Dak says patiently. “Demolition derby is that thing Lil Marco hosts that we try and fuck up when we’re not busy. Dermocrinal phagiosis is that thing Max talks about.”

“Are you sure?”

“You think I don’t listen to my sister’s kid?”

“Who’s Max?” Tech says, but he’s already fading back into sleep, he can feel it. “It- is Max- does Max have-”

“Shhhh.” Pox reaches out and grabs his hand, and Dak immediately grabs both of their joined hands. It’s kind of nice, actually. “We’ll talk about it later. Your body needs rest.”

“M’brain’s tired of resting,” Tech murmurs.

Dak squeezes their joined hands. “Don’t worry about it, the bed’s all yours.”

Tech tries to smile back, but he can’t quite make the muscles work right. He ends up falling back asleep like that.

6.

The sixth time Tech wakes up, there’s a Dwarnian there.

He blinks a few times, but it doesn’t get any less clear. There’s a Dwarnian talking to Z, their heads bent towards each other. Except - Tech blinks again, just to be sure - this isn’t a normal Dwarnian. He hasn’t seen that many - he’s only seen his mom in pictures, and only met a few in person - but this one doesn’t look right. The purple of their skin is a little subdued, and their hair looks like human hair, not the weird fuzz that Dwarnians have. And they’re too short.

“Tech,” Pox says loudly. Loudly enough that Tech jumps, because he hadn’t realized she was in the room. But she’s perched on the other side of his bed, watching him. When he looks at her, she gives him an extremely significant look. “This is Max. Our navigator.”

Tech turns back to Max and Z. Z looks wary, but Max… doesn’t. Max is watching Tech with a level of careful scrutiny.

“Hi,” Tech says. “I, uh, I used to work for the Republic.”

“Yeah,” Max says. “I’ve heard.”

Tech nods. “I don’t think I want to anymore.”

“We haven’t even talked to you about this yet!” Pox’s hand settles on his shoulder. “Z, look, we converted him already!”

“Pox,” Z says. “He-”

“It’s okay,” Tech says. He can’t look away from Max. There aren’t enough human-Dwarnian babies for there to be an extensive body of research - and Tech has looked, pretty desperately, for that research - but there’s enough that he knows that there’s a lot of variation in phenotypes. He’s one of the luckier ones, maybe: he looks like he’s human. Max looks more like a Dwarnian, sure, but only to someone who’s never actually seen a Dwarnian before. And Max is looking at Tech like he understands. “I know we haven’t talked about it. But I’m tired of being somewhere that- that-”

“That’d take you and not me,” Max says, with a stunning amount of understanding. He sounds younger than Tech expected. “I get that.”

“Cool,” Tech says. “I think I’m going to pass out now. Nothing personal, it’s just-”

Pox claps a hand over his mouth. “Sleep,” she says, not like a threat. Like she’s worried.

Tech closes his eyes and lets himself sleep.