#he’s got plenty of experience with cargo ships!!

[runawaycarouselhorse]

[Faraway Place RP-based.]

A compelling argument to the captain on why Evie the Eevee should board the cargo ship for free: look how cute she is, though.

Evie the talking Eevee basically helped wild Pokemon Buson/Attila was trying to cage escape when they first met and led the counterattack on him, aha… long before Buson opted for making an honest living, given Rocket doesn’t exist here and the people have been very kind to him.

This is the same Eevee who later stood up for him and got the wild Electric types to stop attacking him whenever they saw him, fff. He’s good now, she’s been keeping watch! :D;

Now that he’s moved to Chura, he’s working as a sailor, but he ran into her again while the ship stopped at Ohritori (last stop before Port Opportune in Chura!), and she wanted to come along for an adventure!

[marlynnofmany]

Arboreal Species

We had plenty of options for ways to keep occupied while waiting for the client to show up and collect his delivery. Several of the crew were playing card games with the captain, using a delivery crate as a table, and she was beating the pants off all of them. (Though none of these particular aliens wore pants. You know what I mean.) Some of the others waited inside the ship, declaring boredom with this particular patch of exotic wilderness.

The rest chatted with crew from the ship that had arrived after us, which was also delivering cargo for the same late-to-arrive local. They had plenty to complain about. They also had food to share, and a decent chance that it would be edible by those they shared it with.

While Alien Food Roulette was always exciting, I’d found a much better option.

“Hey, they tell me your species climbs things,” the stranger from the other ship had said, long snout curling into a smile. She looked like a mix of 3/4 baboon and 1/4 crocodile.

“They’re right!” I replied easily. There weren’t many climbing opportunities on our little courier ship, and I was curious where this was going.

The alien pointed at a huge tree on the edge of the landing pad, which boasted smooth orange bark with branches every couple feet. “I’m gonna go climb that. Care to join me?”

“Would I ever!” I said, already heading toward it. I called back over my shoulder, “If you guys need me, I’ll be up a tree!”

Captain Sunlight didn’t even look away from the game, just waving distractedly, her scaly face intent on whatever play Mur had just made. He was chuckling about it and rubbing his tentacles together in a way that was probably a bluff. As soon as I looked away, he made a noise that said the good captain had just wrecked his clever plan. Trrili hissed with laughter.

None of them cared that I was about to climb to a dangerous height. None thought this was out of character in the slightest, and all of them were missing out on an excellent climbing experience.

It was a great tree. The bark was smooth but not slippery, reminding me of a madrone tree from back home, just without the flaky outer layer. And it didn’t feel as cold. If anything, it was warm as we scampered skyward, almost as if the tree welcomed a good climb by people who’d appreciate it.

The alien stopped, picking a branch to sit on and leaning back against another. “Now that is a nice view.”

I had to agree. “It is!” I found my own convenient pair of branches, draping my arms over the top one and finding a nice footrest on a third. “Everybody down there doesn’t know what they’re missing.” The forest around the landing pad was bright with oranges and yellows, the kind of vivid colors that I associated with autumn, but which could have been year-round here. Rolling hills lined the horizon, with a river sparkling merrily in the distance. The only straight line was the road. It made a nice counterpoint to all the gentler natural shapes.

My new friend cupped a hand to her snout unnecessarily. “Hey, everybody down there! You should come see this view!”

To no one’s surprise, she got a chorus of “no thanks.”

I shook my head. “Such a shame. They’re missing out on all the knowledge that comes from above, too. Hey, Paint!” I yelled down to the crewmate who had just dropped a box of round things. “One rolled under the ramp, and two are over in the grass!” I pointed them out.

A distant “Thank you!” reached my ears.

The alien nodded. “Wisdom of the heights indeed. What else can we see, that those on the ground can’t?”

We spent a good few minutes pointing things out to each other and swapping stories. Apparently her people were called the Farsights, for exactly this reason.

“Oh, motion on the road!” she declared, squinting into the distance. “Looks like somebody’s in a rush to be a little less late.”

“Well that ship has launched,” I said, following her eyes. “Nice thought, though. Say, is that one car or two?”

The Farsight didn’t answer immediately, which made me worry a little. Then she said “Uh oh,” which made me worry a lot.

“Uh oh what?”

She stood up on the branch and bellowed, “INCOMING! Client’s being chased by hostile fauna!”

“Oh jeez.” Now I could see it too: something large and antlered galloping after the little surface skimmer. Both were headed straight toward our landing pad.

Chaos erupted down below as we slid off our perches and scrambled downward. The bark was still friendly-smooth.

“I think that creature eats these!” my friend said, bounding out toward the end of a branch to shake loose a bundle of round seedpod things. “I’ve seen them before!”

“Will that matter?” I asked, slowing. “It looks pretty mad!”

“Can’t hurt!”

I couldn’t argue that. There were more than a few seedpods waiting on my path down, all of which came loose with a little judicious bouncing of the branches. When I hit the ground, it was in a sea of baseball-shaped plant bits.

The rest of the crew was scrambling to move crates and dash into the ships for anything weaponlike. A handful of beefy individuals from the other crew lined up to stare the thing down as it approached, and my ship’s biggest and scariest hurried to join them. Trrili claimed a place in front with her black-and-red carapace gleaming in the sun, pincher arms spread wide. She left space for the skimmer to zip past, but only just.

I grabbed seedpods, making a basket with my shirt. “Will we need these? Is it going to stop?”

“Beats me!” said my new friend. She grabbed an armload and ran. “Let’s find out!”

I raced after. We joined the lineup just before the gigantic whatever-it-was skidded to a halt, rearing to paw the air and roar thunderously. The guy in the skimmer was trying to park behind our ship. The various scary aliens yelled back at the huge moose-rhino.

“How well can you throw?” asked my friend, not waiting for an answer. She dumped her armload and started chucking seedpods.

“Pretty well!” I didn’t bother dropping mine, just grabbing them one by one from my shirt basket and aiming for the head.

I didn’t count how many of those direct shots were me, but I’m going to say most of them. The pods burst into squishy fruit with a solid core, doing a great job of annoying the creature as well as coating it with presumably-tasty purple goo.

Its forefeet hit the ground with a teeth-rattling thud. It roared some more, but half-heartedly, like it was just trying to save face at this point.

My friend the Farsight had run out of seedpods, so I gave her some of mine. While our crewmates did their best threat displays, we pelted the dangerous beastie with fruit until it turned to lope in the other direction. I made sure to throw a few on the road near it, in case it felt like picking up a bite to eat on the way. It didn’t, but I did see a tongue lick out as it turned its back on us.

Belatedly, Kavlae and Eggskin skidded out of our ship with stun guns at the same time as a couple people from the other — was that a rocket launcher or a flare gun? — none of which turned out to be necessary.

“Take that and eat it!” crowed the Farsight.

“Yeah!” I agreed. “It’s probably delicious!”

“It probably is, actually,” she said as the congratulations started to pour in.

I picked up a seedpod I’d dropped and sniffed it. “Smells a bit like kumquat.”

Captain Sunlight, busy trying to coax the client out of his vehicle, yelled across the landing pad, “Don’t eat that until Eggskin runs it through the medscanner!”

“Aw, really?” I complained, perfectly in synch with my new friend.

“Yes really!” She shook her lizardy head. I couldn’t make out her muttering from here, but I could guess it was about omnivorous habits, self-preservation instincts, absurd treeclimbing species, or all of the above.

The Farsight said, “If these are safe, I’m taking some back with me.”

“Even if they’re not, the seeds would make good souvenirs,” I pointed out, pulling at the pod where it had separated. “Look how perfectly round they are.”

“Oh yeah, those are nice.”

Trrili stalked past with a haughty tilt to her antennae. “You two get along far too well.”

“Like two seeds in a pod!” the Farsight quipped.

That made me smile. “Hey, my people say that too!”

We had plenty to talk about while everybody else handled the actual delivery we were there for. Eventually Eggskin did check the thing with a medscanner. It tasted like sour kumquat. The seeds cleaned up nicely.

And most importantly, my new friend had family with a whole enclave at the next space station my ship was planning to visit. And they had a climbing structure three stories high. I couldn’t wait.

The rest of the crew thought that sounded pointless and dangerous, of course, but none of them had ancestors who danced through the tree branches, so clearly they have no taste.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[kpswrites]

Sunrunner - Chapter Eight

Levisia Station was a speck on the vidscreen, hardly discernible from the stars around it. Its diminutive size on the display did no justice to its true scale. Levisia was home to millions of spacers and, at any given time, a rest stop for a million more. It was a place to resupply, blow off steam, and engage in whatever flavour of debauchery one fancied. The scope of the station made it an ideal place to find whatever one needed or to disappear into its organized chaos.

“We’re getting a message,” Ozzy said as they approached the dock.

The mirthless face of Vaughan Spectre was broadcast on every vidscreen on the ship.

"Crew of the Sunrunner, if you are receiving this communication, then you have arrived at Levisia Station. Directions have been provided for a debrief with a trusted contractor aboard the station. They will assist you should you pursue the recovery of the item stolen from our facility in the Arebus system. Your service to Remington Corporation has been noted.

"Gross," Odybrix said over comms.

"We didn't have to take this job," Adam said. "We—they just want to get back what was stolen from them."

"I know you're part of the corporate family, kid, but you have to understand that what they were doing in that facility wasn't right."

"We're the same age and there are plenty of sciency things that can go wrong with research and development. That's why there are contingencies-"

"Like deadly radiation-"

"Like decontamination protocols to keep the galaxy safe. If anything, trying to contain the situation demonstrates that they're taking responsibility for what happened. Besides, it could have been that weird masked guy who caused the mutations."

"I think there's some truth to that," Zenith said. "Anyone else find it weird how they knew both we and Vaelor would be here?"

"Once we restored communications at the facility, it likely automatically scanned nearby vessels and transmitted the information," Adam said.

"Standard procedure?" Odybrix asked.

"Remington collects every byte of information they can get their hands on," Sturdy said. "Information is leverage and they are always looking for leverage."

"You sound like you know that from experience," Zenith said. "Have they got any leverage on you?"

"No."

"Well, let's restock the ship before we go see this contact. Where are we meeting them, Ozzy?"

"A club called the Perihelion. You're meeting with a dwarf named Tibor."

"Ooh, I've never been to a club before," Buddy said excitedly.

"Maybe ZT will show you how to dance. She might even take off her helmet," Odybrix said.

"You wish."

As the conversation continued, Ozzy pinged Adam on his private channel, "Private message for you, Adam. Sending it to your room."

"For me?"

Adam went to the cabin he shared with Odybrix and closed the door. The halfling rarely entered the room unless she needed a change of clothing. She even slept in the cargo bay or workshop most nights. While Adam would have liked more company most days, he appreciated the privacy at the moment.

He sat at his workdesk and opened the message. Sure enough, his mother appeared on the screen. Her youth and polished appearance did nothing to curb the severity of her expression. Her default look—which rarely ever changed—conveyed the gravity of her station: always professional and serious. Yet, with a minor shift of her lips and eyebrows, she became profoundly terrifying. To Adam anyway.

"Adam, it has come to my attention that you will soon enter Levisia Station. You are to remain there until a Remington vessel can retrieve you. We will have a discussion about your departure from Research and Development when we next meet."

The message ended and Adam found himself gripping the arm rests of his chair to the point of tearing the fabric. To most people, his mother's message would have seemed innocuous, if a little clipped. To him, it felt like she was prepared to have him stripped of rank and sent to clean toilets for the next ten years. He knew "departure" meant "betrayal" and that there would be a reckoning when they saw each other again.

Doesn't she know I'm doing this for her? I'm doing it because she can't. He needs to answer for what he did.

The ship jolted and Ozzy spoke over comms, "Docking successful. Go blow off some steam, guys."

—

The market ring of the station roared with the movement and conversation of thousands. Shops lined the ring, offering just about anything a spacefarer could ask for. Security dotted the crowd, keeping the peace, sometimes on foot, other times piloting mechs. The crush of humanity could be intimating or overwhelming for those inexperienced with station life. Fortunately, BOB suffered none of the anxieties brought on by possessing faulty endocrine and nervous systems.

"You did not have to join me, I am quite capable of taking care of myself!" BOB said.

"Oh, I know you are," Buddy said smiling. "I just thought you could use the company."

"Then your company is most appreciated!"

"Where are we going anyway?"

"I am searching for an upgrade to my chassis! After our last excursion, I am concerned that I cannot sufficiently protect my motherboard and coffee dispensary! Even if the latter is just an 'uninspired vessel for caffeine.'" BOB said, their tone deviating from chipper to resentful.

"I don't think Hoxley meant to hurt your feelings. People feel differently about the same things, like how Adam won't drink any alcohol and Odybrix will drink all of the alcohol."

"Alcoholic halflings aside, I do not have feelings, so they cannot be hurt! My superior design overcomes the restraints of emotion!"

"Everybody has feelings, BOB. "

"You are incorrect! What I require is physical protection! Like that!" BOB deployed their coffee spigot and pointed it at an approaching mech. "That construct looks like it could withstand substantial gunfire! I should inquire about where they are made! Perhaps similar armor can be applied to my chassis! The labelling on the mech indicates that the model is GEM; I am not familiar with it!"

"Gladiator Enforcement Mech," Buddy said reflexively. "Titanium reinforced."

"You are familiar with this unit?"

"Nope."

"Then how do you know its acronym?"

"No idea. What's an acronym?"

"An abbreviation formed from the first letters of other words, like my name!"

"Wait, wait, BOB isn't your name?"

"It is an abbreviation of the name my coworkers at the call centre gave me! It stands for 'Bucket of Bolts!'"

"Oh. That sounds kind of mean."

"It is what is referred to as 'collegial teasing,' a normal activity between colleagues who value each other!"

"I don't know if that's the case here."

BOB's attention was pulled away as they approached an open storefront. A flickering glow was cast into the corridor by the electricity of an arc welder. The workshop was a chaotic assembly of drone parts, sheets of metal, and coffee cups. A promising sight.

"Excuse me!" BOB said, clunking up to a grease-covered dwarf.

"Here to pick something up for your master?" The dwarf asked, lifting up her helmet. "What's your order number?"

"I do not have a master! I am here to purchase an upgrade to my chassis! A two centimetre titanium reinforcement will suffice!"

The dwarf paused, then looked to Buddy and said, "Do you own this one?"

"Nobody owns BOB. Can you help them with the upgrade?"

"Uh, sure, if you have the credits. Should be ready in two days."

"I require the upgrade immediately! We may encounter another gunfight within the next forty-eight hours!"

The dwarf, looking progressively more confused, again addressed Buddy, "You bring your coffee-bot to a lot of gunfights?"

"I'm not the one buying the upgrade," Buddy said, suddenly sounding irritated. "BOB is."

"Ookay then. There'll be a rush fee for the upgrade… BOB."

A few hours later, BOB emerged several hundred pounds heavier and a thousand credits poorer. The upgrade satisfied BOB's need for protection, but something was missing. BOB found themself accessing the memory of the stupid infernum's comment. An uninspired vessel for caffeine. The sentence replayed as BOB and Buddy made their way to the bar the crew was to meet at.

Something caught BOB's visual sensor and they abruptly stopped in front of a shop. Within the window was a long, aquamarine dress with shining sequines. BOB stared at the clothing intently. An uninspired vessel.

—

Members of the crew had been instilled with a healthy sense of paranoia from either life experience or job training, with the notable exceptions of Buddy, BOB, and Jim. Zenith's particular brand of paranoia stemmed from a racing accident involving her mother. Having a space-racing mom had been, in young Zenith's words, "fucking rad." She got to travel to racing circuits throughout the galaxy, see the latest toys everyone was flying, and brag about it all to her friends. That was until the Starshatter race.

The event took place in the Flametongue system, aptly named for the only roast-your-ass-off, semi-habitable planet therein. The rest of the space surrounding the system's star was littered with asteroids, which made up the race course. Not just the run-of-the-mill space rocks though, these were rigged with explosives so that even clipping one could result in a deadly explosion. It was a gratuitously ruthless track with an even more gratuitous purse for the winner.

Her mother was considered to be one of the best pilots in the galaxy and could handle asteroid fields with ease; this track was no exception. When the starting cannon fired, she weaved through the course like a rocket-powered needle through polyester. The trouble came when another racer tried to overtake her and nicked a rock in the process. The ensuing explosion obliterated the pilot and rocked her mom's ship, tearing strips off its hull.

Race ships are built for speed, so things like shield generators or reinforced framing tend to be labelled as "excess weight." It was her mother's luck that the damage didn't reach the engine. The luck did not extend to the ruptured chem lines that vented into the cockpit. She blasted through the course and took first place while her throat and lungs were seared by deadly fumes.

To Zenith, her mother was an untouchable incarnation of speed. Lots of children saw their parents as god-like until age and understanding corrected that view, but Sona Tachnova had maintained the illusion up until that day. Now, every rasping conversation they had was a reminder of the trauma of that day and of how mortal her mother was.

So it was with some hesitation that Zenith removed her helmet, a top-of-the-line design with built-in air supply and filtration, and merged into the crowd. The collective paranoia of the crew demanded more be known about their new companion, so she and Hoxley were sent to tail Sturdy after he mentioned that he would meet them at the Perihelion. Maybe he just needed to do some shopping; maybe there was something more. Either way, they wanted to keep an eye on him, preferably without his eyes on them. What better way to be invisible than by becoming an elf he had never seen before?

The vibrant din and crush of spacers worked well towards concealing her approach. Hoxley kept further back, not one to be in the thick of, well, anything really. His willingness to put himself in danger lately made Zenith reassess her current opinion of him. Specifically, that he was useless outside a kitchen.

The first sign that Sturdy was hiding something was how dedicated he was to not walking in a straight line. He would cut and weave, seemingly to approach a shop, then quickly turn to join a crowd going in another direction. She had lost sight of him twice, but Hoxley's vidfeed allowed her to pick up the tail again.

When Sturdy slipped into an alley, she spared a glance towards her infernum crewmate, only to find he wasn't there. His vidfeed was pointed where their mark had gone, but Hoxley was nowhere to be seen. Where the hell are you, Hox? She dismissed the thought and took up a position at the mouth of the alley, deploying a spycam from her wrist and affixing it to a wall.

Sturdy had stopped in front of a metal plate on a wall. He produced a small pry bar from his belt and popped the panel off, revealing a tangle of wires that would increase the blood pressure of any electrician and something else that she couldn't make out at this angle. He reached inside, parting the wires like a veil and withdrew a hand terminal.

"This is Sturdy, L-code sigma-five-three-en-one. Confirm contact."

It took Zenith a moment to realize that he was speaking in elven. It wasn't unusual for a human to learn the language, but this human was setting off some alarm bells. Twenty seconds passed before a response came. Zenith had to turn up the mic sensitivity of the spycam to make out the words.

"Agent, this is Juniper Arwen. What is the status of the acquisition?"

"The item was taken by a third party. I've sent a data package. The research is more damning than we expected."

Another pause, longer than the last. She must have been reviewing the data he transmitted.

"You're in the company of mercenaries?"

"Affirmative. Circumstances brought us together. They will be useful in securing the item."

"One moment. I'm cross-referencing the visuals you sent with our records," Juniper said with a note of curiosity that quickly turned severe. "Agent, you are in the company of a fugitive."

"The halfling? I'm not surprised."

"No," she said, and the image of BOB appeared on the screen. "That unit was made by EZ Bot, one of our subsidiaries. An internal evaluation revealed that the unit had developed into rogue AI. A team was sent in for a scrub operation, but it vanished from Materia shortly after they arrived. We have quietly destroyed every other unit from that line, but as long as one remains active, the entire galaxy is threatened."

"I, it does seem a little off when it speaks, but it's just a coffee machine."

"You are not old enough to remember the last time an AI went rogue, but I am. That event, The Reckoning, claimed the lives of billions and led to the obliteration of an entire system. AI cannot be allowed to develop into a rogue state. If the decompiler algorithm fails…"

"Decompiler?"

"You have a new mission," she said, ignoring the question. "Destroy the unit by whatever means necessary. It is unfortunate that both of your tasks involve stopping potential catastrophes. I cannot give either priority. I leave it to you to choose the order in which to complete them. Additional resources are being requisitioned for you. You can retrieve them at the following location. You cannot fail, Sturdy."

Zenith caught a look of bewilderment in his expression before withdrawing the spycam and walking away.

"You around, Hox?" She asked, scanning the crowd for the infernum.

"Yep, sounds like our new friend is working for Lenderan Corporation. They own EZ Bot."

"Where are you? Wait, you speak elven?"

"Yeah. Should we go tell the crew?"

"Not yet. I'm going to have a word with Sturdy."

—

An amber orb floated above the double doors, glowing a vibrant pastel orange. The Perihelion bore no other signage, but BOB was certain they were in the right place; the elaborate clothing of people entering and exiting the club was confirmation. BOB had their own new design for the occasion and was feeling confident about it—all the more so with Buddy's enthusiastic endorsement. The rest of the crew emerged as a single group, stopping short when they saw the pair.

"BOB got a makeover!" Buddy said, excitedly

"An upgrade!" BOB corrected."

BOB trampled forward to better display the new look. A thick diagonal stripe crossed their chassis, erasing the EZ Bot logo. They had chosen a quick-seal aquamarine epoxy infused with glitter for the design. It was their first attempt at "style." BOB waited expectantly for the adulation of the crew, then began to feel—awkward?—awkward when no one spoke. BOB had never experienced this sensation. It was unpleasant. Unbearable, in fact. I need to leave immediately.

"BOB," Adam said, "you look fantastic!"

"Yeah," Zenith agreed, "it really suits you."

"It's very nice," Hoxley said.

"It looks great, sure, but if you had consulted me, I would have steered you towards hot pink. You could really pull that off," Odybrix said.

"Thank you!" BOB said, beaming, "I will consider your recommendation for future upgrades!"

Jim's mouth twitched, as if he were going to say something but decided not to. The new one, Sturdy, also did not compliment the new look. If anything, the change seemed to disturb him. Perhaps he also prefers pink.

Music spilled out into the station as Adam opened the doors to the club. The dance floor was alight with shifting colours and teeming with hot, sweaty, gyrating life. BOB did not see the purpose of needlessly flailing one's appendages; it seemed like a colossal waste of resources. Still, the dancers appeared to be enjoying themselves. Odybrix disappeared into the throng and emerged a few minutes later.

"We gotta wait for a guy named Tibor. It'll be a few hours. Remington's comped a table and all our drinks—bonus."

"You have something nice to say about them now?" Adam asked, following Odybrix to the table.

"Yeah, they're incredibly generous," Odybrix said.

"Really? That's a change of-"

"Listen up, fuckers!" Odybrix bellowed, somehow overpowering the booming music. "Drinks are on our bill tonight!"

The ensuing cheers and claps on the back lasted well after they had found their seats.

"What's everyone ordering?" Zenith asked.

"Water," Adam said.

"You can't be serious. We're at a club."

"I don't drink. And you're one to talk. How are you going to drink through a helmet?"

In response, she tapped the helmet and a small portion at the bottom slid open. "The mandible section retracts. There's also an option for straws. Are you sure you don't want to live a little?"

"I'm not allowed to have alcohol."

Odybrix, who had already manifested a drink somehow, snorted and coughed, "Your mom won't let you drink?"

"It's an addiction-forming activity. Ms. Hargrave rightfully bans it for anyone she employs."

"You're not working for her at the moment, are you? Loosen up."

"I'm plenty loose already."

"He's got the right idea," Sturdy said, breaking a silence that had lasted since they had arrived at the station. "We're on the job and should keep our heads clear."

"Whatever, Remington can save a few credits tonight," Odybrix said, hammering an order into the table's terminal long enough to poison an elephant. "ZT, wanna dance?"

"Hell yeah," Zenith said, glancing at Sturdy before heading out to the dance floor.

BOB registered a pensive expression from Buddy as their crewmates proceeded to sway, bounce, and swing their limbs around. Analysis of the circumstances indicated she either wished to join them or was still experiencing the aftereffects of radiation poisoning. The former seemed more plausible. Wanting to show the same support Buddy has shown, BOB scanned the room for potential dance partners.

"Given your agility and dexterity, I believe you would excel at this activity!"

"Who? Me? You think so?"

"Yes, I am certain of it! I have identified several potential dance partners! The blue-haired infernum standing next to the glowing pillar is presently taking a break but has danced with many people since our arrival! She is an optimal choice! Alternatively, you could-"

"I'm going to try it!" Buddy said, springing out of her seat and striding off to speak with the infernum.

BOB watched as Buddy quickly struck up a conversation. The effortless efficiency with which she engaged others was admirable, even by a robot's standards. The infernum produced something from her pocket and offered it to Buddy, who accepted. They both raised their hands to their mouths, then smiled. A moment later, Buddy was pulled onto the dance floor.

While BOB very rarely wrong, they did know when to admit an error had been made. This was one such moment. By every conceivable metric, Buddy was a terrible dancer. She had no rhythm, poor control, and zero spatial awareness, as evidenced by the increasingly generous berth the other dancers gave her. Most of BOB's understanding of dancing came from entertainment media and, despite viewing several terabytes of dance video, there was no analog for what was transpiring here.

That awkward sensation emerged once again. Were they feeling this on behalf of Buddy? They started calculating an optimal exit path for their crewmate but stopped when they noticed her face. She was smiling. Was she oblivious to her abject failure as a dancer? Looking around, no one else seemed to care about her lack of skill beyond making sure they didn't get slapped by an errant limb. Moreover, her dance partner seemed to be enjoying their time together.

When the song ended, Buddy hurried back to the crew's table excitedly.

"That was awesome!" Buddy said.

"You really let it all out," Adam said, smiling at her infectious energy.

"Yeah, dancing is amazing! So are drugs!"

The smile vanished. "What?"

"Vesper gave me some. It's called vibe. You guys should try!" Buddy said, pulling out two blue pills.

"You can't just take drugs from a random person; that's incredibly dangerous."

"Too late. I did and they were great."

"Adam's right," Sturdy said. "You don't know what could be in those pills."

"I do, actually. Nanobots!" Buddy said, turning to BOB. "She said even inorganics can take them. Do you want to try? It wears off after a few minutes."

BOB considered the warnings of the others, then contrasted them with the definition of "uptight" Odybrix once provided.

"Yes! How do I activate this drug?"

After a few confusing moments, the pair walked out to the floor as a new song played. BOB started shuffling and bouncing with the beat but registered no changes within themselves. Perhaps Vibe didn't actually work with inorganics. They tried imitating a small jump that another clubgoer was doing and abruptly stopped when they landed.

BOB felt the landing. They jumped again but couldn't elicit the same feeling. They looked at Buddy, who was waving her arms around wildly. She spun in place and followed up with a jump of her own. When she landed, BOB experienced the same sensation. They weren't feeling their own legs; they were feeling hers.

With every second that passed, BOB began to feel more of her. Not just the movement of her arms or the sway of her body, but her excitement and joy. It was wonderful. BOB began to move in unpredictable ways: jumping on one leg, spinning, extending their coffee spigot. They were actually dancing, not just mimicking what they had observed in movies.

As the music reached a crescendo, BOB knew what it was to be an organic—to be Buddy. There was something fuzzy and indistinct about the experience. All of the hard and precise edges of machine-thinking melted away into something pleasantly amorphous. There was uncertainty and wonder and love.

In turn, BOB felt Buddy's appreciation for them blossom. The haze of humanity lifted to reveal the elegantly articulated lines of synthetic thought. Everything was where it should be. Accessible and pristine.

The synchronization between them ended along with the music. BOB searched for a line of dialogue and found none. The drug had left them dumbstruck.

"Pretty great, huh?"

"That was incredible! I would like to do it again, but I think I must first try to make sense of the experience!"

"I would be happy to join you."

The pair noticed a dwarf wearing a burgundy suit and sunglasses at their table as they walked back. The rest of the crew was listening intently as he addressed them.

"-debrief is in a private room in the back. RC didn't have an operative aboard the station, so you'll be speaking through a bot. Follow me."

"Who's this?" Buddy asked.

"This," the dwarf said in a thick accent characteristic of the inner planets of the Starbreaker empire, "is Tibor. If you're with them, you're coming along."

"I'll stay here," Sturdy said. "You all know what I know."

"I'll hang back too," Zenith said.

"Suit yourselves," Tibor said, walking off without looking to see who followed.

The crew was brought past the glowing dance floor down a short hallway. Tibor tapped a code into an access panel on the wall and the outline of a doorway appeared, then slid open. It led to a small office that didn't match the theme or decor of the rest of the club. A few padded chairs sat in front of a metal desk. The only thing remarkable about the space was the robot affixed to a chair opposite them. It had no legs, no head, and a flat digital display on its chest.

"Take your time," Tibor said, closing the door behind them.

The image of Vaughan Spectre blipped onto the display of the chair-bot, looking almost laidback.

"Hello all, I regret that I couldn't attend this meeting personally, but my ship is still a good distance from Levisia Station. You have performed your assignment adequately and for that you have the thanks of Remington Corporation. I further regret to inform that your services will no longer be required."

Vaughan reached forward and tapped on something offscreen. The door behind them vanished with a sudden hydraulic hiss, becoming seamless with the wall. A yellow vapour began streaming into the room, searing flesh and metal alike. Simultaneously, a compartment slid open on the surface of the desk and a shotgun sprung into the air, immediately being seized by the chair-bot.

"I hope you made a few good memories at the club. They will be your last."

[jordanthoughtsoup]

"Scarta! What are you thinking? Going to Gherson's? You're gonna get us all killed!" Shouts Daisy.

"Relax Daisy, they don't know who I am. I gave a fake name, look." Scarta shows his fake ID with the name of Rory Iversson. You wonder how he got such a good replica, it even had a registered Authority Citizen Number.

"I overheard a conversation between the Urgher and the High Guards, she bragged about having plenty armed guards monitoring the Merchant's Ghoul in the Main Hall. I got my drink, tipped the bartender and left. Nothing more, no tail, no trace." Scarta reassured.

It had been months since you started planning the Heist. What started off as a personal desperation cry dragged other two criminal souls into it. The Merchant's Ghoul is the Ether's next best ship: it comes with a full Eritheum hull, six thickened cannons, enough room for gold to safekeep all of the Authority's reserves and lighting fast dashers. Not to mention it's speed, agility, and potential for hosting thirty-eight crew members. Since its construction ended, it hasn't lost a fight and has carried more wealth than anyone could spend in a lifetime.

Needless to say, your eyes have been fixed on it for a while. Thats why you recruited Scarta, the UnderWorld's most well known getaway driver. As everyone knows, wherever Scarta goes, Daisy follows. His 20-something-year-old accomplice keeps him on his toes at all times. Nothing happens in the UnderWorld without Daisy knowing it, and Scarta's mishaps are no exception.

You know you have a real shot at pulling this job off.

In all honesty, I did not think the game could come this far in such little time. It runs smooth, looks stunning, has all of the four missions, upgradable ships and planets and an initial outline of a story progression.

The map has become much more interesting and the player experience followed.

As it is still a demo, I have not added procedural algorithms to spawn planets and save them across the galaxy. This is something (probably) out of the scope of this project. The UI is much more detailed, containt a minimap, bar indicators and mission trackers.

As you can see, there also is a dialogue between the player and the AI. This is pre-scripted, and guides the player through the initial steps, acting as a tutorial.

Fights are also much more fun. The player and enemies have more health, resulting in longer, more complex fights. Animations really bring the game to life, especially the bullet collisions.

I have added logic to conquer outposts, where initially empty planets have to be defended by the player against different enemies. If the player completes the mission successfully, they unlock a new outpost to level up. Surrounding every outpost there are two mission spawners: asteroid and pirates. The player can complete these missions as many times as they wish, collecting coins to spend in the upgrade menus, which also have been implemented.

Finally, the last mission also has been added: cargo missions. The player is tasked with reaching a faraway point in space and come back to Earth bringing an imaginary cargo with them. This mission is a little time consuming, but risk free. It's a good way to make money without fighting enemies, catering towards the more risk-averse players.

Here is a screenshot of an outpost fighting scene. The spawners still miss sprites (probably will be rendered as ruptures in spacetime fabric).

There are many logic blocks missing and bugs needed to be ironed out. Also, half of the storyline is missing and is fundamental for the player to understand how to play the game.

The next steps are focused on playtesting to gather information on how the users experience the game. This will help immensely to see the game from an external point of view and test if the game really is fun and worth playing.

[polhrunner]

The expanse recap

The expanse recap series#

I liked the guy right away, which is important since we're going to follow Steven Strait's character for several seasons. Basically, the time we spent with Holden was meant to endear him to us. Besides it was a cool visual, though I'm sure the harnesses were tough on the actors. I've heard folks complain about the zero-g sex scene, but it's not like humans are ever going to stop boinking. Yeah, that ending was a shocker, but more on that in a minute. He's probably a little too honorable and now has to live with the guilt of logging that damn distress call. While Miller has clearly learned to work the system to his advantage and comes across a bit dirty, Holden's an upstanding guy. Next, we were introduced to the crew of the Canterbury and met protagonist number two Jim Holden. Miller was assigned to Julie's case, and our first real connection was made.Ĭaptain Shaddid: Find Julie Mao, if she's still here on Ceres detain her and ship her home. How about that Belter creole, eh? Not adding subtitles was a risky move, but it's easy to understand what's going on. Thomas Jane plays him to perfection, warts and all. Sure he's a bit of a cliché, but he'll come to surprise you, I promise. We quickly found ourselves on Ceres Station and met one of our protagonists, Detective Miller. Can you imagine that? The visual effects are top-notch and I plan to soak in every little detail weekly. I'd give anything to watch it in IMAX 3D.

The expanse recap series#

This series is, without a doubt, one of the most cinematic experiences with which Syfy has ever been involved. I guarantee the season finale will blow your freakin' mind.Īs I took in the Belter's protest monologue, it was the glorious visuals that impressed me most. Give the writers the opportunity to dazzle you it's coming. Yes, I know what the thing is, but all I will say is the big reveal is not what you're expecting. Since then, I've devoured several books in The Expanse series. What the hell was it? Did Julie get sucked into it as well?įull disclosure, I had not read the book when I screened the pilot. I found myself instantly taken with the mystery of that huge glowing blue thingamajig that swallowed up her crewmate. Introducing her locked in a claustrophobic cargo hold left a memorable impression. Julie Mao (Florence Faivre) was the first person we met, so I figured she was important. World building is always a huge highlight for me. There is a ton of exposition to get through early on, but overall I felt it was handled well. Besides, one should never judge a 10-hour series by its first hour. Listen guys, you've got to start somewhere, and the reason tropes exist is because they work. You may read a few reviews stating the series is not original and littered with tropes. They've become quite disenfranchised, with good reason, and war is inevitable as history has sadly proven time and time again. Way out in the Asteriod belt, our brothers and sisters (known as Belters) work hard mining the resources of the belt. controls Earth, while Mars is its own military power. So, the story drops us in the 23rd century and we learn the U.N. Yes, there's plenty of room for all kinds of sci-fi shows. However, I quickly understood this was a much more somber universe compared to a playful series like Killjoys (which I also absolutely adored).

[whumpzone]

Lost Property - 10

(masterpost)

Previous - Next

cw: pet whump, the usual

-

It wasn’t until Lydia and Col had made their way to the hotel lobby that Lydia managed to get her phone and the new charger plugged into a wall socket. The charge was building so slowly. She cursed under her breath at the wait; from the corner of her eye she saw Colton flinch.

She sank into one of the lobby armchairs, and quickly spoke before the pet could drop to his knees. “Go on, sit yourself down. You must be as tired as I am.”

Turning back to her phone, she had several missed calls, all from the same person. She sighed and dialled back. Although it was an unknown number, she knew whose voice she would hear.

“Linden?”

“Yeah. Hi. Uh-”

“Is Cory with you?” she asked.

“Yes, he’s fine. I’ve taken him home, he’s sat across the room.”

Lydia let out a deep breath. “Good, okay, that’s something. I have Colton here.”

“I was hardly going to leave him-”

“Thank you.” She could feel the slight tremble in her own voice, not sure whether to be relieved that Linden had got Coriander, or worried at the kind of treatment Cory would receive. “I’m very sorry about this situation and I’m afraid that it will be impossible to let Colton return to you by air. I checked at the airport and the only way unaccompanied pets may fly is if they are shipped as cargo.” She paused as a thought struck her. “The train might be an option, though. I’m looking it up now,” she said, holding the phone between her ear and her shoulder while she opened her laptop. “Just give me a minute to check if pets are allowed to travel alone by train.”

There was a pause, as Lydia typed quickly. After about half a minute, Linden broke the silence. “Are they?”

“....No. I expected it’d say that.”

“Fuck. What are we gonna do? Can I talk to Col?”

Good luck getting him to reply, she thought wryly, handing over the phone to the pet.

Col took it gently, it was Lydia’s property after all, and held it to his ear. He noticed that Lydia turned to face away. She was probably sick of looking at him.

“Col?”

Warmth flooded his body immediately. He almost smiled. For a few seconds, he was completely overwhelmed. Master prompted him, gently.

“Col, talk to me. Are you okay?”

With Master’s permission, he spoke. “I’m fine, Sir, I’m at a hotel, um… I’m r-really sorry, I got lost.”

“No, it’s not your fault. The hotel mixed you and Coriander up. I’m not angry. Is Lydia taking care of you?”

“Yes, Sir, yes, I’m on my b-best behaviour.”

Lydia frowned upon hearing that. Was Linden threatening him?

“Ah, Col, I miss you. It’s so good to hear your voice. But you’ll be back home soon, okay?”

Col closed his eyes. He loved hearing Master say his name. It made him feel so special, and wanted.

“I-I miss you too, Sir,” he said, and it was the honest truth. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Can you hand me back to Lydia? And don’t worry, love. Everything is gonna be fine.”

“Yes, thank you Sir, goodbye, goodbye.” he said meekly, passing the phone back to the woman sat across from him.

“Thank you.” Linden said when Lydia took over the phone.

“No problem.” His relief sounded genuine. Was he truly concerned about his pet’s welfare, or was it more that he didn’t want to have to go through the bother of training a new slave? She really hoped it was the first option, but looking at Col and how fearful he was, she hardly thought it possible.

“Um…Could I get to speak with Coriander?”

“Yes, of course. Here…”

“Miss Lydia!” Cory’s tone was suffused with joy. Hearing his voice made her slightly weak in the knees with relief.

“Hi Cory.” She said, keeping her voice steady. “How are you doing? How is he treating you?”

“T-this pet is f-fine, Miss Lydia. Sir h-has been very generous. He fed this pet.”

The title was galling. ‘You don’t have to call him Sir!’ Lydia wanted to shout, but she knew that in this instance Coriander’s judgement was sounder than hers. He’d had plenty of experience surviving irascible masters. “That’s good.” She said instead. “If it gets bad, you have to let me know. I will get you out of there. Okay?”

A pause. Lydia could feel Col’s eyes on her, even if she knew he’d be staring at the floor by the time she turned to look. “Okay, Miss Lydia.”

“I’m really sorry that this happened.”

“It… it is fine, Miss Lydia.” She sighed.

“I miss you.” She made sure he could hear the smile in her voice. “It is only for a few days. You’ll have to be careful, all right?”

“Y-yes, Miss Lydia.”

“Okay. Let me speak with him again. You take care.”

“Y-you too, Miss Lydia.”

“Thank you for looking after him.” She said, as soon as Linden was back on the phone. “I’m travelling for work and will return on Thursday. I could ask one of my friends to drive down and pick Cory up. What do you think?”

She knew as she was saying it that it would be difficult. Indira was busy hosting a course for interns at the hospital, Carla tied up with work at the shop, Andrew travelling to do interviews and Benjamin preparing a court case. Still, she knew that any one of them would go if it was an emergency. Cecilia could also have been an option, but she spent most of her time with Wayland and there was no way Lydia would expose Coriander to him.

“No, no.” Linden replied. “It is just a few days. I can take care of him. You are looking after Col, after all.”

“All right,” Lydia said, feigning cheerfulness. The last thing she wanted to do was to make Cory’s sudden new owner cross. “That will be great. Is there anything I should know about Colton? Any food allergies or anything like that.”

“No. He’s… he’s not used to new people.”

Sounds like you keep him under house arrest, she thought. “Okay. I will keep that in mind. Cory doesn’t have any allergies. This is a big change for the pets, perhaps we could check in every night, just to see how things are going? You can of course call me anytime if needed.” Please say yes, Lydia thought, please say yes. At least I can keep an eye on how Cory is doing if we talk every day.

“Of course.” Linden’s agreement came readily. “That’s a great idea.”

“Thank you for looking after Coriander for me. Talk to you soon.” Please be gentle with him, she wanted to say, but she didn’t dare. If this Linden was a person like Wayland, that could provoke him into doing the opposite just because he could.

“Have a good evening. Bye.”

Hanging up the phone and sitting back in the corduroy armchair in the lobby, Lydia closed her eyes for a moment. The conversation had gone better than she expected, but she was afraid to consider what potential horrors could be awaiting Coriander in the hands of Linden the pet owner. At least she would be able to check in on him every day.

Since Coriander came, there hadn’t been a day when he had not been at her side. I guess that’s why they call them companions, she thought wryly to herself. It was an odd feeling, to look around and not meet his grey-eyed gaze. She had been worrying about Cory being so dependent on her, she had not realised that it was working both ways. His absence now was like pages pulled out of a book, a missing tooth, a hole in the fabric of reality.

Linden’s pet had taken a seat in the armchair opposite her as instructed - something Cory would never have done - but he kept his eyes on the floor. She realised she didn’t even know what eye colour he had.

“Colton.” She said softly. “Let’s go up to our room. We can have something to eat and rest for a while.”

He rose without a word, clumsily compared with Coriander’s fluid gracefulness, and followed her like a tall, uncertain shadow up the stairs.

-

taglist part 1:

@cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[captainpikeswoman]

Hi there, can you write headcannons about ENT Shran, how would be a relationship with him be like?

Hope you like it!

Being in a relationship with Shran would include:

•your relationship was interesting to say the least. To begin with a lot of the Enterprise crew were surprised, dismayed, and just generally shocked at the fact that you were pursuing a relationship with the Andorian. All apart from Dr Phlox that is- he’s no stranger to interspecies romance and he thinks it’ll be good for you both.

•it’s a bit awkward but Captain Archer takes a professional interest in the relationship, he needs to know that a) you’re safe and that b) you’re not revealing secrets about technology etc. So every few weeks you have to meet up with the Captain to go over some routine questions.

•the two of you had the occasional argument (usually about Captain Archer’s questioning to be honest) and it led to lots of stomping feet and aggressively locked doors- seeing as you can’t slam them. And so too there was lots of making up- your relationship was passionate in that regard, lots of checking that the other was ok. Shran got very good at apologies fairly quickly, as did you, though usually he was the one who stormed off in the first place so he often apologised first.

•it’s a learning curve for both you and Shran. He learns about human culture and you learn about Andorian culture.

•which leads to some funny moments…like when he brought you some flowers that he found at a market place- they were horribly decayed and everytime you went within 3 feet of them you kept sneezing. The gesture was very sweet though, Shran was trying to be an attentive partner.

•you set up a bowling alley in a cargo bay (with Captain Archer’s consent of course) and you and Shran had a date where you attempted to teach him how to play…it was relatively unsuccessful, considering that he kept throwing the bowling balls and destroying the pins rather than just knocking them down, but it was good fun too! It just took a bit of explaining to senior staff members afterwards.

•eventually people on the Enterprise got used to seeing you walk round the ship with Shran, you wouldn’t hold hands openly but as you were walking there’d be subtle touches- you might link a single finger together, he might guide you with a gentle touch on your lower back, when greeting or leaving one another in a public place you’ll kiss each other lightly on the cheek.

•it takes time for touching to become more commonplace when you’re alone, and it starts with hugs- which he loves by the way- and goes from there. It gets to such a point that when you’re alone together you get comfortable with him hovering around you, slipping his arms around your waist, resting his head in your lap so you can stroke his hair and antenna carefully.

•the relationship progresses at a steady rate, but it takes a while to get to sex. But when you get there- it was worth the wait! You’d have thought it would’ve been rough from word go, but it wasn’t. Certainly there was passion and desire a plenty, but experimenting and discovering each other came first. It was all very natural.

•ultimately your relationship went from strength to strength and blossomed into something beautiful.

[famouskittychild]

Cheeky Mandos - ...and we're off

(Sorry I had a terrible writer’s block in the past 6-ish weeks - I went from reading fanfiction and being inspired by other’s visions to “I’ll never be able to write anything like these and I’m useless” in a single day :( I’m getting back into the groove finally, so I’m hoping to post more soon.)

There will be 18+ content (in the coming chapters soon) so if you are a minor, please don't read further.

Also the characters will be quite open and relaxed about things like gender, attraction, sexual activities, relationships etc, so if you prefer your Din (and their partner) possessive and/or monogamous , this won’t be a good read for you!

***

This pairing is  Din Djarin x gn reader / tall reader.  I’m short (and cis and woman). There’s so many short (and female) reader stuff out there, I wanted to write for people on the other end of the “why is your height not normal” / "definitely female" spectrum. If I make mistakes or you have advice, or ideas you'd like to see, please tell me!

Word count: 4267

Summary: You’re an armourer and some shiny guy just showed up.

First full piece/chapter/course! In which people seem to catch things. Thoughts? Viruses? Dropped facts? Who knows!?? Also contains a dilettante’s attempt at space electronics and some barely-canon-reminiscent Mando world-building. Still no spiciness sorry, marinating is a long process :P

Rating: T for some mentions of heavier topics.

CW: Mentions of mandalorian history, playing somewhat loose with canon lore (as in, my SW knowledge is patchy. sorry.)

Author’s note: I tried to find more info but it seems like the mandalorian alphabet doesn’t have names for the individual letters so I used aurebesh (also I liked the little Dorn(e) meta in there). And sorry for the bad puns. They’ll keep coming.

Prologue

One - ...and we're off

***

You aren’t worried about taking a stranger on board, you’ve done that plenty of times before. You hope he’s willing to put in the effort himself, too, just as he promised at the assembly.

The stranger leaves behind his ship, saying a friend will come to pick it up together with whoever might want to join the cause. You spot him from the cockpit as he walks over with a repulsor pallet in tow. He stops for a moment when your droids surge past him, busy at their pre-flight tasks, before moving on towards the ramp.

All his baggage is a satchel at his hip and a small bag on his shoulder, and two large crates of weaponry. You put him up in the spare cabin, the one that had been Sal’ee’s, your former apprentice, before she went on to be a journeyman. He stands in the middle of the room, staring at the two cots on opposite sides of the room, the lockers, the fresher in the corner.

“All mine? Where will you sleep?”

You don’t understand the surprise in his voice.

“Over there” you show him, pointing at the cabin opposite from his. It’s much more lived in, some of the blankets and trinkets and pillows visible through it’s open door. “There’s a third cabin that I mostly use for storage but has more fold-up bunks in case I need to transport more people. That’s rare though.”

“Ohh.” He nods, then turns to look around his room again. “Okay. I thought all of these rooms were cargo space.”

You smile, and quickly think through your to-do list. You’ll have to rearrange your schedule somewhat but it’s not that big of a bother.

“Come on, I’ll show you around the ship.” Before he gets lost in its cavernous interiors, you might add - but you don’t. If his reaction to a separate cabin and his current ship - an old ARC170 - is any indication, he must be used to very cramped quarters.

***

Your trusty Brick, a beat-up YV 929, is armed to the teeth and ugly, just as you like it. The ship is a scavenged one, gutted from most of its original factory issue armaments, engines, and even wiring. It was perfect for your former master when she found it at a scrap heap: she wanted to rebuild it herself, deliberately piecemeal; panels sourced form here, engines from there, concealments added. She modified the inner workings of the engines so that the power lines could be redirected to a concealed forge.

That forge is your pride and the main reason you haven’t settled at a permanent place yourself. When your master retired from travelling, the ship passed to you, and you continued her mission of offering your knowledge and expertise to those of your people who otherwise had no access to an armourer.

…

The next standard month is spent with adjusting, both for yourself after getting used travelling alone again since Sal’ee left, and for the stranger who found himself a passenger on someone else’s ship. Apparently he used to live a very similar life to yours, with the exception that he was a hunter not a craftsman.

You travel together, share meals, research the places you are directed to. He joins in the effort that is maintaining the ship. Still - he is very taciturn at the beginning, keeping his words to the bare minimum. The first few days it feels as if you are still on your own aside of your droids. By the middle of the month, he progresses from short answers, through sharing information, to willingly starting to tell stories; but you know that chatting will never be his defining feature.

His armour seems to fill the spaces of the Brick’s corridors. You feel as if it’s not him who has the presence, but that set of glinting, perfectly made handwork of an armourer you already admire. Some of the pieces were sourced elsewhere, you can tell by the different shapes and designs; they seem haphazard and mismatched compared to the rest. Most of the set is the work of a single person. On those, there’s not a single uneven line, a broken curve, an edge at the wrong place. The angle of the panes of the metal, the ridges, the simplicity and elegance of them all - you have to hold yourself back from touching them, to admire them. You would give a lot to hold those pieces in your hand, to study them, to analyse them with your eyes and hands and with your tools.

You’re a master, yes. But so much knowledge was lost. So many masters gone, with their knowledge and their workshops. Apprentices became heads of Forges in the absence of the more skilled. The survivors still to this day have to piece together half-remembered lessons and forgotten details, experiment with techniques that were known before but the methods got lost as decades of civil war and occupation and murder kept eroding your heritage.

Sometimes a set of armour comes along that is just made in a way you never had an opportunity to learn. Often the person who forged them is long gone. Not the stranger’s armourer though. As far you can tell, she’s alive. Or at least was, when he last saw her. Not too long ago; though your usual method for guessing forging dates is mostly useless as it is based on the condition of the suit’s paintwork. Which he doesn’t have, so you can only guess from the small amount of scratches. You try to ask once, but whilst he’s forthcoming with general stories, he doesn’t go into details.

It’s a common theme with him. He talks about people and planets and events, and leaves out a lot - and you don’t even notice it first. Only when you try to glean information about his armour do you realize how well he fuzzes over those facts and nuances. It’s only up to the peculiarities of Basic and its use of gendered pronouns that you know his Armourer is a woman, or at least he considers them so. He doesn’t even tells you his own name, and when you ask your Elder in one of your communications, she tells you he didn’t gave it to them either. You keep introducing him as a friend, and that is the end of it for a while.

***

The visits to this first few coverts with him are… interesting. You can see him fidgeting from the corner of your eye. He always follows half a step behind and off to a side, as if not wanting to be in your way. He keeps quiet and doesn’t mix much, and around small children and droids, he is positively withdrawn. He only comes alive when he talks about his mission.

You had learned early on during your apprenticeship that keeping the helmet on is a safe bet when meeting with unfamiliar mandalorians. That led to later getting in contact with his type of believers too, despite their notorious secrecy even from the rest of the People. When you tell the stranger about that, he immediately showers you with questions, but you can’t give an answer to most of them. You never met with anyone from his particular covert, or heard of it. No name, no description seems familiar. It’s painful to watch his shoulders slump after daring to hope.

During the course of the month spent travelling, he gradually comes to be more social. He starts to stand and walk beside you. He doesn’t withdraw to the background anymore; he can actually be quite chatty if approached the right way. Droids still make him stop, though he warms up to kids in his own way. He’s good with them, at least in your opinion, though you know some would still call him aloof and distant. He isn’t a cuddler, nor does he crouch down to ask cutesy questions. He juts sits nearby them, and in that way of children having a good sense about adults, they know he’s trustworthy. They go up to him to chatter, to hand him a toy to hold, to ask him to fix a latch on their boots; than they go back to play.

He teaches you too, inadvertently at first during everyday conversations and later by his own volition, about his Way. About his Creed. It keeps throwing you off how much it differs from most that you had met before. Not even meeting briefly with people who followed the same Way as him could prepare you for the details that he does share. The degree of strictness, the loyalty, the barest bones Old Tradition beliefs and their willingness to follow them is very rare amongst the People as far as you can tell. Their devotion earns your respect.

At other times, your jaw hangs open and you can’t believe you are talking to an adult roughly around the same age as yourself, who by his own admission had spent three decades living as a follower of the Creed - not knowing about things children are thought through plays and songtime. His ignorance is so staggering, your admiration towards his unknown Armourer wavers. How could she keep so many things hidden from them? Why not talk about your own history? Your greats? Your artefacts?

About the many other who would call them vod’e, siblings?

You are an armourer, a craftsman, a person who makes a living by making things with your hand. You’re not a leader, or a scholar, or someone who decides what to tell your people. You do have a status within the community, but that is a status of service. From what the stranger says, their Armourer was a leader in every aspect: elder and lorekeeper and moral guide and more. All in one. It is something you can see developing from the old songs and histories amongst groups who take tradition more literally.

You are good at observing people, even at copying their habits to make them feel more comfortable with you, but less good at determining their underlying motives. The reason you think of him as “the stranger” even after travelling with him is because it’s so hard to figure out what drives him. There’s a melancholy to him that overrides the more typical mandalorian fight-readiness or aggression. You see how he gazes off to the distance sometimes, turning his head to the side and freezing. How he keeps to himself when he can. But you can’t tell why. Grief? Regrets? Determination to change? Planning something greater and being preoccupied with that?

He doesn’t pick fights to test you. He spars with you when you invite him to, he helps when you ask, and often even without it. He’s polite and considerate; he keeps conversation to practicalities and interesting stories, and doesn’t bother you with anecdotes or insistent questions about trivialities or your private life. He even does the dishes.

He’s deadly boring in his reliableness.

You are used to being on your toes around people all the time. When you meet a new group, it’s all unknown people. With ones you had already visited, the problem is having to remember them. They remember you of course, the ‘wandering armourer’; and surely you remember them too.

What is worse, when people stay the same but you don’t remember them, or when they change and you just can’t place them?

He becomes a good excuse after you’ve been to several coverts together. It’s interesting to notice how your dynamics change even further once you two get into a comfortable routine. You start to retreat to your forge and tools, and let him take all the attention. And he doesn’t just talk about his mission anymore, or lets little ones play around him whilst he’s quiet. He converses with people about news, about their children, about weaponry. You have more time to focus on your work.

Sometimes, people ask you what do you think of his mission. You tell them that you will follow what your clan decides, and that’s mostly true. It is something people don’t often debate, at least.

He quickly becomes a part of your everyday life. You are content with your usually solitary travels. You know that your family, your clan and your friends wait for you at home. They message you and you can find the time that suits you to message back. You don’t miss the constant hubbub of the covert most of the time. But now that you have someone that is not a droid, someone who is your equal in every aspect, on board again, it’s not even lonely anymore.

***

“So what’s up with you and droids?” you ask one day, after you got back from a covert and are safely in hyperspace to the next destination. You tinker with your astromech’s navigational systems. Poor 2-T keeps bumping into walls and crates. Again.

The stranger looks at you and your droid, than over at Mouse who for a change isn’t zooming around at foot level.

“Bad memories.”

“Gunk sat on you?” You tease. You hope it’s just something silly and not him having some sort of snobbish organics-are-better philosophy. He is quiet, and you focus on your work. He’ll talk if he wants to, that much you know already about him.

Inside the body of your astromech, a rivet from stars knows where is stuck between two circuit boards and blocks the access to a short-circuited piece of wire.

“Kriff. Toots, this will take a while, sweetie. Can’t access that kriffing panel.” He chirps back something and you read the translation on the small display. “No, it’s not that. My hand can’t fit in that small space. Let me find those pliers… should be in that other drawer somewhere.”

You search in the chest of tools, and despite your usually good organization, you can’t find them amongst the droids’ tools where their place is.

“Let me help.” The stranger’s voice beside you makes you jump. He can be awfully quiet. “Sorry. I think I might’ve put them back into the wrong drawer. I used them the other day when I fine-tuned that scope.”

He points at another drawer, where you keep your fine electronics stuff. No wonder he mixed them up. He stands beside Tootee a bit awkwardly until you find the tool.

“Here! No problem by the way. “ You turn back to him and to the droid, than have an idea. “Do you mind a bit more help? You can say no if you don’t want to work with the droid, I’ll understand.”

He doesn’t object yet, so you go back to 2-T and show the stranger the area you’re working on. You see him lean closer in your peripheral vision.

“That’s where I need to get that burned piece of wire out and install a new one, but first, I need to get that rivet out of the way.” You point at the root of the problem, than explain your plan, pointing out each part in turn. ”If you could hold those using this, than I could get here, remove this, with that tool, than have to get those bundles out of the way too, so than that wire there could come out. Easy.”

You look up at him, and his helmet is way closer than you expected. You can almost see your reflection in that black visor as it stares back at you for a second, and you almost apologize again, when the stranger starts to speak.

“Just have to hold the wires to the casing, or pull them like…” he moves his hand in the air, showing what he means.

“Hold them to that panel, there, with the pliers, so I have room to access the rest.”

He thinks for a moment, than he starts to tug one of his gloves off.

“You don’t need to take that off, just hold the pliers” you tell him, but he shakes his head.

“No, I can fit my hand in there, I’m pretty sure. If not we can try it with the tool.”

You realize that this is the first time you see his skin. Than it occurs to you that he might very well misunderstand this whole situation. You just asked him to hang his hand inches from yours in an enclosed space; inside a droid nonetheless, just after you basically told him you noticed he has a problem with them. It would be so easy to get caught up in there, to touch his hand, and hush it up as coincidence. Especially now that he took his glove off as well. He might even think that it was a careful plan of yours: have an area to work with were your slightly larger hands don’t fit but his might.

Your fingertips already tingle from knowing you can’t make mistakes. Which means you’ll probably do. He reaches between the panels and gets to the part where you got stuck. He wiggles his fingers a bit and scrapes around.

“Ha, found some wires. Are these the ones you need out of the way?”

You peer down into the quagmire of electronics, trying to find the best angle to see everything.

“Yes, those are the ones. Just hold them like that.” You try to focus on what you are doing, but after those earlier thoughts, your hands are jittery. You somehow manage to remove the obstructing rivet, than find the burned out part and replace it without accident, the stranger patiently holding things out of your way. You direct him here and there, occasionally stumbling as it’s a lot of instructions, or at least a lot of “could you please” and “thank you”. It gets particularly awkward when you stumble over the lack of name spectacularly.

“Could you pull those the other way, so they aren't that taut, please? Thank you, you. I mean thank you.”

“Din. Din Djarin.” Your head snaps up while the rest of your body freezes. “I should have told you my name sooner, but I’m so used to not telling it… and it just became more awkward to bring it up as time passed. I apologize.”

You close your mouth that of course was hanging open in surprise, than shake your head.

“I thought at first that I missed it when you said it so I was ashamed that I didn’t remember.” That did happen before, and it was one of your greatest worries about meeting new people. “I actually asked my elder. Sent her a comm. So when she told me you went nameless, I didn’t wanted to demand it.”

He doesn't answer right away. His voice is softer when he speaks a bit later.

“Thank you. For being considerate.”

You smile and try to wave it off. Which results in your hand slipping and pawing at his, still motionless and stuck in the inside of the astromech.

“Oh shucks, I’m sorry… didn’t meant to.” You withdraw your hand quickly, and start to look for your tools to cover your mistake.

He doesn’t seem bothered, luckily. You calm down, reminding yourself not to behave like you drank one too many glasses of your cousin Ree’s home-made tihaar, and finish the repair.

“You can let those go now, I’ll finish from here. Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome, any time.”

He sits back on a nearby crate and watches you work for a while, ignoring Mouse zooming around the room. You’re surprised a bit: you didn't expected him to stick around. And than he starts to ask about 2-T. How long you had him, is he temperamental, can you install a vocoder on astromechs, and why not. His tone is somewhat cautious, his voice stiff, like someone asking about a dangerous predator. You remember how you asked him about his distance with droids, but don’t want to push that question. He already told you his name today.

…

By the time you finish with the rest of the repairs, clean Tootee up and tidy around your workplace, interrupted by having to leave hyperspace and land at a spaceport, it’s the middle of the night in local time. You planned to have a nap and search out the local covert just before dawn.

You go to the galley to have a bite before turning in, and the stranger - Din, you remember, although his last name is less clear - is cleaning up some dishes. There’s another bowl in the middle of the small table, covered by a plate.

“That’s for you, if you’d like to have it. Used up the last of that spice mix we got” he tells you as you enter. You sit down and stretch your legs out one side. As you take the plate off from the steaming bowl, you think about how nice it is to find warm food on the table and not having to cook your own all the time.

“Thank you.” You pull the bowl close and take the spoon that he put beside it. You swirl the soup - it looks very good: clear broth with lots of veggies and other fillers in it - and gather your thoughts. “So ummm… I want to ask something before it gets awkward again.“

He finishes piling the bowls and cups and sits down on the seat opposite. You blurt the question out before you might change your mind.

“What was your name again? Din, that was clear, but the rest… sorry but it sounded something like “jarring”?”

He chuckles, and it’s a clear sound even with a vocoder, no snort or sigh to distort it.

“It’s Djarin. Dorn-jenth-aurek-resh-isk-nern. Djarin.” You nod, a bit embarrassed, and he continues. “Don’t worry, you aren't the first to ask. Probably not the last either.”

“Thanks for being patient. I’m not the best with names, to be honest.”

He tilts his head.

“Is that why you are always so focused when someone introduces themselves? I can ask them to repeat their names for me too if you want to, than both of us can try to remember them.”

You blink at him.

“That’d be…” Unnecessary, and don’t bother, and it’s not your job, you think - but stop yourself. That would actually help. No shame in accepting it. ”That would be nice. Thanks.” You are good at a few things, like making things with your own two hands. Not gaping when something surprises you, or remembering faces or names, any names, not just people? Nah.

You tuck into your soup, and the two of you sit in companionable silence. You wander if Djarin sits there because he wants to, or if he’s waiting for more questions from you. You asked a lot from him during the last few hours, and he was really kind with all his help and telling you his name and not being bothered when you misremembered it.

You are halfway done with your meal when he stirs. He leans forward with his lower arms on the table, and takes a deep breath. You wonder what his question will be - you commit to answer whatever it might be. He deserves that after today.

“So you asked earlier about me and… droids, right?”

Your hand with the spoon stops in the air. You weren’t expecting this question, at all.

“Yes…” You want to say he didn’t have to answer. But you already told him that. You’re sure he remembers that too - since he brought the topic up again. “Yes, I did.”

He shuffles on his seat a bit, and looks out to the side like he sometimes does. You lower your spoon and eat, letting him gather his thoughts.

“When I was a kid… I don’t know how old you were then, but during the war. The Clone wars.” You nod, understanding what he’s getting at, and he continues. “We were… the place I lived came under attack. Some separatist battle droids. Mandalorians saved me.”

You swallow your soup. That was the shortest possible description of someone having their entire life and probably everyone they knew ripped away from them and finding a new way of life for the decades to come.

“I’m sorry” you say, because really, what else is there to say. He nods, and gazes off again. Than he shrugs his shoulders, as if he wants to shake the weight of the past from them.

He gets up, and walks around the table on his way out. He stops beside you for a moment and hesitates, and you almost turn towards him to ask what he needs when you feel him squeeze your shoulder. Than he straightens and steps away.

It’s warm where he squeezed it, and you remember how long ago it was that someone touched you.

You need to talk to your friends asap, and hug at least some of them. He turns back from the door.

“Get some sleep before dawn, all right? Have to be sharp to remember all those new names.” You don’t see him wink but you’d bet he does behind his visor. You scrunch your nose at him and pout before smiling, and he dips out of the galley.

Your hand is still hovering in the air, holding the spoon, while you listen to his footsteps getting more distant as he walks down the corridor to his cabin.

It’s just your luck that you don’t need your wits the next place. It’s only two people with the same, simple name and you met both of them before.

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels: A Duelist’s Dance

This is the third Magnificent Scoundrels story.  If you don’t see any of the characters you like, well, don’t worry, we’ll be getting to them in good time.  Also, if you want more action, don’t worry, because we’ll be getting to that too.  As always, I own none of these characters except the Drake and his crew.  I hope you enjoy!

Vir met with the two commanders of the regiment, Colonel Kasteen and Major Broklaw, before he was to inspect the soldiers of the regiment.  They nodded affably, the pale faces of ice worlders peering from under their dress caps, and saluted.  

“A pleasure to meet you, sir.  I read Drake’s report, and I’m happy to serve with someone who has advanced the cause of the human race.”  These guys really don’t stop with humanity vs. the aliens, do they?

“I heard from Commissar Cain that all the aliens in your universe want to kill you.  That’s, well, not the case here.  All the aliens on this ship are perfectly amicable, and won’t try to hurt you.”  Broklaw frowned.

“Well, you know what they say, beware the treachery of the xenos.”  

“Well, I trust them,” said Adam heatedly.

“You never know with xenos.  Anyway, Commissar- or should I call you Admiral?”

“Either is fine.”

“Tell me about yourself.  Where were you born?” asked Kasteen as they walked through the hallways. 

“The United States of America.”  The two other officers frowned.  

“An odd name for a planet.”

“You misunderstand.  That’s the country.  I was born on Earth, just like most humans from my galaxy.”  Both officers stopped and stared in shock.

“You were born upon Holy Terra itself?” asked Kasteen in an incredulous whisper.

“If that’s your name for the birthplace of humanity, then, yes,”  shrugged Adam.  What was the big deal with being born on Earth?  All humans came from there.  

“Truly, it is a blessing to meet a native Terran.  To see the cradle of humanity, yet alone to be born in it!” exclaimed Kasteen.

“Is that a rarity where you come from?”  Broklaw chuckled.

“With an empire spanning over a million worlds, yes.”  It was Adam’s turn to look incredulous.  

“A million worlds?  How could you possibly govern it?” Kasteen shrugged.

“Every planet in the Imperium is governed its own way.  So as long as they accept the word of the God-Emperor, pay the tithe, and respect the various branches of the Imperium, then they’re free to do as they wish.”  Well, that was interesting.

“Where are you two from?”  

“Valhalla, located in the northeast of the galaxy.  It’s an ice world, and we live in underground hive cities.  You either join the Guard or work in the caverns, cultivating the foodstuffs that sustain the populace.”

“That seems...” Adam searched for the right words, “harsh.”  Broklaw shrugged.

“Eh, could be worse.  You could be born on Catachan.”

“Or Krieg,” interjected Kasteen.  They both grinned at that.  But before Vir could ask what Krieg was, they arrived.  

He stepped through the door leading to the mess hall, one of the two only two rooms in the ship big enough to assemble a large body of people.  Every single member of the Valhallan 597th stood at parade attention.  Despite it being a relatively large room, the soldiers almost completely filled it, with little room to spare.  He didn’t really like doing it, but Adam was an admiral, and so that meant he had plenty of practice making speeches.  

“Men, and women of the Valhallan 597th, I am Adam Vir.  Due to the tensions between yourselves and the crew of the Omen, Commissar Cain and I are switching places to show both you and the crew that you can trust each other.  It is our duty to maintain order, and so order will be maintained.  That’s all for now.  Dismissed.”  Not one of his best speeches, but, again, not one of his worst.  Quick and simple.  It would work.  Now, for the tough part.  He found that people generally got along better if they knew and were comfortable with one another, and so he would be staying with the Valhallans and supervising them at all times.  Hopefully, they could work something out and tensions would de-escalate.  Kasteen approached him.

“Admiral Vir, I have decided to delegate tasks to the troopers to keep them out of trouble, and out of the way of the rest of the crew.  I thought it would be best if we gave both them and your crew some time to cool down, then gradually re-introduced them to each other,” she said.

“Good idea,” replied Vir.  He turned on his heel and walked towards the exit, when he had a sudden, horrid thought.  The Celzex.  The Celzex were a highly militaristic and easily insulted race, several of which were aboard the ship.  The problem with the Celzex, however, was that they were six-inch tall adorable balls of fur, practically the least intimidating thing any human had come across.  They, however, did not realize this, and all the other races of the galaxy let themselves be fake-cowed as the Celzex had the most powerful warships out of any race that sailed the void, and, honestly, they were too hilarious to take seriously.  Adam had hidden them away, out of the reach of the Imperials, as nothing good could come out of a confrontation with deluded fluf balls and highly xenophobic humans.  Adam would also feel terrible if the Celzex were to be insulted and retaliate with their deadly weapons against the Imperium.  (Although, later, he was to feel much the opposite and be thankful that the Celzex didn’t insult the Imperium)  The problem with this was that without him in control over the ship, the Celzex would probably start to roam, and inevitably, with their pride and the Imperials’ xenophobia, someone would get hurt.  He resolved to speak with Simone at the earliest possible opportunity.  

Commissar Ciaphas Cain, backed up by Jurgen, as always, stepped through the doorway to the cargo bay, the other room big enough to hold large bodies of people at one time.  He was to be in charge of all the ground combat operatives on the Omen, which, unfortunately, included a group of the ten feet tall four-armed xenos.  Despite Admiral Vir’s reassurances, Cain still wasn’t comforted.  Xenos were a tricky lot, and it was best to still be on guard, despite what the possibly heretical Admiral said.  The xenos, er, Drev, were lined up neatly next to the ship’s marines, and Cain walked down their rows to inspect them.  The Marines’ armor was odd, nothing like he had ever seen before on an Imperial Guardsman.  But, it was a new galaxy after all, so it made sense that new sights would be seen.  And, he thought to himself while inspecting the Drev soldiers, it could be worse.  One of the people at Drake’s meeting was accompanied by a small rodent-like xenos that could talk, and another with a brown hairy xenos that looked like a walking carpet.  Clearly, things could be worse.  Although, Cain, with several centuries (Authors note: in the Warhammer 40k universe, there are treatments to prolong people’s life spans.  Cain, being a high ranking commissar and a Hero of the Imperium had and has access to these treatments) of military experience really ought to have known better than to jinx it.  

“I am Ciaphas Cain.  Your captain and I have switched places to retain order between yourselves and the Imperial Guardsmen on board this ship.  It is our hope that you will all come to understand one another, so that we may carry out the Emperor’s work all the more efficiently.”  Damn.  He was still used to Imperial phrases and platitudes while making speeches.  “I shall be your commanding officer and oversee all of you and your efforts.  Unless you have any problems or questions, dismissed.”  Not one of his best speeches, but he wasn’t used to speaking to heretics and xenos.  Speaking of which, one of the big xenos, the Drev, he corrected himself, was sauntering over to his position.  

“You are presuming to command us?  I'm not sure if the Admiral told you, but in our culture, if you want command, you must fight for it.”  Cain wasn’t sure, but he thought the Drev, despite its beak-like mouth, was grinning at him.  Well frak.  He put on a casual outward appearance.  

“And if I don’t?”  The Drev shrugged.

“You cannot command us,” it said simply.  Most of the Marines and other Drev were sharing smiles between each other.  They wanted to see these arrogant Imperials put in their place.  And Cain, well, he had no idea if this custom was real, or if they were just making it up on the spot to spite him.  It didn’t matter either way.  He had to fight, otherwise, real custom or not, he would look weak, and the Drev and most of the Marines would probably refuse to serve under him.  He shrugged.  

“Fine then.  When is the fight?” he asked

“As soon as possible,” replied the Drev.

“See you in forty-five minutes.  Where, and, what are the rules?”  The Drev seemed to think things over, then replied.

“We shall make a combat area here.  We fight until disarmed or unable to continue.”

“I shall return in forty-five minutes,” replied Cain.  Frakkin’ xenos.  

Admiral Vir was frustrated.  He had returned to the bridge to talk to Simone about the Celzex situation.  Apparently, they were already mad that they could not go through the entire ship as they wished, and so he was required to go calm them down.  They wouldn’t listen to Simone.  Already, more problems.  And it was just at the point where he thought that the day couldn’t get any worse (again, he ought to have known better than to jinx it), when Ramirez, one of the Marines and a close friend of his, burst onto the bridge.  

“Adam!  We have a problem.”

“What else could have possibly gone wrong in the last half hour?”  Ramirez swallowed.

“Well, uh, the Drev challenged Cain to a fight.”

“They what?”

“They challenged Cain to a fight, as a way to get back at the Imperial’s insults.  A lot of the other marines are backing them.  I know it’s best if you guys restore order, which is why I’m telling you.”  Great.  Now Cian was going to get beat up, and he couldn’t do anything because he had to deal with the Celzex.  

“When’s the fight?”

”In ten minutes.”  It kept getting better and better, didn’t it?

“Try and stop them!” he practically yelled at Ramirez.  The last thing he needed was Cain getting beat up.  Then tensions would probably escalate until people started dying.  He hoped Ramirez could stop them in time.   

Cain stood at the edge of the space the Drev and Marines had laid out for the fight.  The edge of his chainsword was covered in black rubber, so as not to allow the razor sharp teeth to slice through his opponent.  (Author’s note:  Yes, chainsword.  It’s exactly what you think it is.  A chainsaw/sword)  His opponent, whose name he didn’t know, was holding a massive spear, blunted on the tip so he wouldn’t end up shish-kebabed.  Said opponent had been chosen by the other Drev, and Cain had no idea how good it was.  Hell, he had no idea what gender it was.  If, of course, Drev had genders, which he didn’t know and honestly didn’t really care about.  Most of the Drev and Marines were gathered around the circle, eager to see him get pummeled.  Hopefully, he would prove them wrong.  Hopefully.  It didn’t look good.  The Drev across from him was one of the big ones, standing ten feet tall with a forest green outer carapace.  It seemed to grin, an unseemly sight coming from it’s beak-like mouth, and spoke. “Commissar Cain, I am ready to begin.  Are you sure you want to fight in that coat?” it asked.  Several of the Marines snickered.  Cain hid his offended look behind a well practiced outer facade.  This time, he grinned in response.

“Of course.  I’ve fought many a tougher opponent than you in this coat.”  The Drev snarled.  

“Fine then.  We shall begin.”  The two fighters stepped forward, weapons raised, each one ready to test the other’s defences.  The Drev smiled to herself.  This would be easy.  A puny and arrogant human put in its place.  

Interestingly enough, most species throughout the now collective galaxies have a distressing tendency to not learn from the mistakes of the past.   The Drev were no exception.  This one seemed to forget that her species had once under-estimated humans, and it had cost them dearly, the Drev’s first ever major military defeat in war.  She lunged forward, spear singing through the air, intending to smash the sword out of Cain’s hand.  He sidestepped and deflected the shaft with contemptuous ease.  The Drev took a step back.  Surprising?  A little.  But it was of small matter.  That was just the opening blow.  She took a fighting stance, and the duel began in earnest.  

Ramirez sprinted through the ship, heading towards the cargo bay.  Hopefully, he would be in time to stop the fight, which would probably end badly for everyone involved, especially the Commissar.  If he was wounded or, unlikely but still possible, considering the mood most of the people on the ship were in, killed, the crew would be dealing with trained and armed soldiers without the oversight of their disciplinary officer.  In short, if the fight started, something bad would probably happen.  Unfortunately for him, he could see Cain and one of the Drev already in the combat ring, weapons drawn and raised, circling each other when he got to the cargo bay.  He was imminently familiar with Drev customs, having served alongside them for so long, and thus knew that interrupting the fight would probably cause worse problems than letting it continue.  There was nothing he could do but watch and hope Cain didn’t get pulverized.

The Drev scowled and launched another attack at Cain.  Once more, Cain’s feet moved in an intricate pattern, dancing around the blows, deflecting them with ease.  How?!  How was this possible?  This man wasn’t supposed to be this good!  She snarled and launched another attack.  

Cain spun out of the way of another blow.  The audience seemed to be taking closer notice it seemed.  It mattered little to him.  While the alien, Drev, he corrected himself, was certainly quite good, it wasn’t near the level of some of the opponents he had faced before.  It did not have the brute strength of an Ork, nor was it was hellishly fast as a genestealer, nor as overwhelmingly powerful as the demented servants of the Blood God.  He saw another swipe coming and sidestepped once more, knocking his opponent’s spear to the side.   

Several of the Marines were grinning.  There was, marines being marines, a betting pool for this fight.  The odds were overwhelmingly in favor of the Drev.  So in favor, in fact, that some of the marines had decided that they were just too good to be passed up and bet on Cain.  Now they grinned as Cain exhibited his deadly skill with a sword as their fellows glowered at them.  

Several of the more pragmatic and practical amongst the Drev and Marines were watching the combatants closely, noting how they fought for future reference and perhaps imitation.  The Drev, as benefited a warrior culture, had several different named styles for fighting with the most common weapon amongst  their kind, the spear.  The Drev in the ring was using what was known as the ‘Earth’ style, designed to deliver the most powerful and crushing blows as possible to one’s enemy.  Her form was good, noted several of the Drev absently.  What everyone was mostly looking at was Cain.  He fought using his own unique style, tailored to his tastes and abilities, and formulated to fight the horribly overpowered enemies of his home galaxy.  It was largely defensive in nature, designed to deflect blows with minimal effort so as to get his opponent to make a mistake or over-exert themselves.  But it was not only the style of the fighter, but the fighter himself that drew such attention.  It was plain to tell by those more experienced in the art of combat that Cain was an exceptionally good swordsman.  His reflexes allowed for no mistakes.  Every stroke was parried, every brutal blow knocked aside with a dexterity that astounded.  Every step was perfect, every counter attack measured so as to not let a single opening in his defenses.  He was more than good; he was one of the most deadly opponents anyone watching had ever seen.

And, finally, inevitably due to her frustration, the Drev over-extended herself.  She launched a wild, lunging sweep to Cain’s left.  Once more, he knocked it aside, then followed with a blindingly swift counter-attack.  Blow after blow rained down on the Drev, who did all she would to block the expertly executed counter, but finally, inevitably, with a twist and flourish of his chainsword, Cain knocked her spear from her hands.  Some of the watchers gasped.  Several applauded, mostly those who just won money.  Most just stood there, slack-jawed.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.  

Well, at least Cain didn’t get pulped, thought Ramirez.  He did wonder, however, exactly what the implications this victory would have.  

Later That Night

Admiral Vir had assembled his council.  Simone’s idea to switch Cain with Vir had already borne fruit, and the two factions were already more calm.  However, this was not the only part of the plan.  He had sent his most trusted friends to find out as much as they could about the Imperials and the culture they came from.  While Drake’s report was helpful, for some reason, the Imperial’s home galaxy was represented only sketchily, so Adam had decided to have his most trusted crew snoop around for questions.  The results were...alarming.  

“I had a one-on-one talk with the regiment’s chaplain, Tope,” said Maverick.  “They are totally infatuated with religion, which can be a problem just by itself, but their religion is what’s most concerning.  They believe that their Emperor is a living, breathing, omnipotent and omnipresent god, who they worship to the fullest extent.  The Emperor is entombed,”  she checked a notepad she had with her, “I think.  Anyway, he was apparently immortal, which seemed ludicrous, and is sitting on a massive life support device called the Golden Throne of Terra, where he’s been fueling a massive interstellar navigational beacon called the Astronomican.  It's all really bizarre and seems really improbable, but that’s not the worst part.  The tenants of this religion are as follows.”  She cleared her throat and read of her notepad.  “One: the God-Emperor of Mankind once walked among men in their form and that He is and always was the one true god of humanity.  Two: The God-Emperor of Mankind is the one true god of humanity regardless of any beliefs previously held by any man or woman.  That means there isn’t any religious tolerance in their Empire, which already isn’t endearing me to them.  Three: it is the duty of the faithful to purge the heretic, beware the mutant and, uh, psyker?” she struggled over the unfamiliar word.  “And abhor the alien.  Which explains why they don’t like us.  Four: Every human has a place in the God-Emperor’s divine order.   Five: It is the duty of the faithful to unquestionably obey the authority of the Imperial government and their superiors, who speak in the Divine Emperor’s name,” she finished.  The table shared concerned looks.  

“This smacks of Fascism,” intoned Narobi.    

“I’m inclined to agree,” replied Adam.  “However, we only got our crew and their soldiers off each other’s throats, and their relationship with the non-humans on board have improved markedly.  We can’t jeopardize that now, as much as I dislike how this government sounds.  What else did you find?”

“Well, as you know, Cain fought and beat a Drev,” said Ramirez.  Adam had heard.  Actually, it was probably one of the best things that could have happened.  The Drev had a high sense of honor, and thus accepted Cain totally.  The Marines respected him for being able to win a fight with a Drev.  He commanded the total respect of any of the Omen’s fighting crew.  

“How good is Cain?” asked Sunny skeptically.  She was a Drev, who was busy helping Simone run the ship, and so didn’t see the fight.  She didn’t see how an overly-elaborate dressed human had been able to take a ten-foot tall member of her species.  

“He’s good.  Very good,” replied Ramirez with probably altogether too much excitement for the situation.  

“Exactly how good?” 

“He could probably give Adam a run for his money.  In the Iron Eye suit.”  Several low whistles and incredulous expressions greeted this information.  Adam was himself no slouch at hand-to-hand combat, and the Iron Eye suit was a series of armored prosthetic enhancements that made its wearer move faster, jump higher, fight stronger; plus there was the fact that it was armor, which meant that it was really hard for any weapon to penetrate.  The idea that a single non-enhanced human could take on an Iron Eye soldier was frightening.  

“Alright then.  Anything else?” asked Adam.

“I went to the armory.  The Imperials asked to store their spare weapons there.  Most of the stuff there...is like nothing I’ve ever seen.  Their main weapon seems to be a laser rifle which runs off of rechargeable batteries,” said Sunny.  Laser rifles?  Now that was interesting.  Adam Vir was, by his own admission, a sci-fi fanatic.  Now he wanted a laser rifle.  

“Well, despite what it seems, we should try and keep an open mind.  They seem to be very logical and level-headed,” he said.  There were nods of agreement around the table.  “If no one has any other comments, dismissed.”  Little did the crew of the Omen know, but Cain and the other Imperial officers were doing the same thing on their side of the ship.

“Well, what did you find?” Cain asked Major Broklaw.  

“Their government is called the Galactic Assembly.  It’s a big council where all the races of the galaxy sit down and discuss their problems,” Broklaw sneered.  

“Great.  A bounce of xenos-loving filth,” muttered Sulla, one of the captains.  Cain ignored her.

“Chaplain Tope?  What did you find?” he asked.

“They have many different religions, and before any of you start yelling ‘heretic!’, that is to be expected.  You see, they come from a place that is devoid of the divine radiance of the Emperor, and thus, their tendencies will probably go against the Imperial Creed.  That’s all right, though.  I’m sure that we can bring them into the loving light of the Emperor soon.”  Cain nodded with approval.  He liked Tope.  Tope wasn’t what he liked to refer to as an Emperor-bother, one of the people who thought that they should be praying, day in and day out; completely obsessed with religion.  Tope was more practical.  And Cain had found through a long military career that the Emperor helped those who helped themselves.  

“That’s good, then.  I must say that we should keep somewhat of an open mind about all of these people.  They are humans after all, albeit humans from a different galaxy.  They do not have the teachings of the Emperor to rely on.”  Most of the heads around the table nodded.  “Kasteen, what did you find about your new acting Commissar?” he asked with a smile.

“Well, first off, he was born on Holy Terra.”  That caused some low whistles and incredulous stares.  Despite there being no Emperor in Adam Vir’s galaxy, he was still born upon Holy Terra, the sacred homeworld of the human race.  That had to count for something, right?  

“Well, if we’re being led by a native-born Terran, then we’ll probably be in good hands.  No offense,” one of the captains shot a look at Cain.  He laughed.  No offense was taken.  

“Anything else?”

“What about the fight?” asked Sulla.  Cain shrugged and gave a self-deprecating smile.  

“Those big aliens are good.  I just got lucky.”  Kasteen and Broklaw shared a look.  The Commissar was being too modest again.  In reality, he was probably the best swordsman either of them had ever seen.  But that was the Commissar.  A humble hero.

Well, on that note, that’s the story!  Endings are always the hardest to get right.  For any of you wondering how exactly Cain could have beaten a Drev, well, like I stated, he’s a very, very good swordsman.  Good enough to beat the terrifying opponents I mentioned during the duel, which if you want to know more about, just ask.  If you have any comments, criticisms, concerns, thoughts, ideas, or id you just want to know more about any of these wonderful sci-fi universes, feel free to ask!  Wherever you are, have a wonderful day!   

[gothighunicorntolerance]

Planet Earth is Blue- 2

One

AO3

Logan had been a member of the Silver Serpent for a good three years now, three years being counted in earth time with the calendar app on Logan’s phone (which somehow still worked, despite there not being any internet service in space. Logan had yet to figure out why he could still watch YouTube or access anything with WiFi, really). 

During his three years, Logan learned quite a lot. In addition to learning a few words in Janus’s language (‘hello,’ ‘help,’ and ‘My name is Logan,’ the only phrases Janus said would really be useful), Logan also learned how to commit crimes in space. It sounded much more exciting than it actually was, of course, since most of the crime Janus and the crew committed was the smuggling of slightly illegal goods. The most valuable thing Logan had learned, however, was how to hack alien technology.

He had always been good with computers, but now with access to technology more advanced than anyone on earth could dream of? He was almost unstoppable. He single-handedly erased all warrants for Virgil’s arrest in three different galaxies, as well as cleaning up Janus’s record. 

There had been several close calls over the years, though Janus handled most of them nonviolently. There had only been one occasion where a space cop had gone mysteriously missing out of the airlock. Being aboard a ship with crewmates that had a various amount of arrest warrants on different planets wasn’t perfect, but it sure beat earth. Logan would take aliens over transphobia any day of the week. 

The Silver Serpent’s current load was a cargo hold full of Volatum, something Logan didn’t want anything to do with, as it was almost like a narcotic for the Umutu, the species native to Trappist-E and H, as well as a few weapons, all hidden under what they were legally delivering, a plant native to Kepler-62 called ibiryo.

The journey between planets was low-stress, as the only thing they really had to worry about was raiders- Logan had never met them, and hoped that he wouldn’t. But the entry to Trappist-E where they were to drop off the Volatum? The entire process was extremely stressful. First, permission to dock was needed- Janus took care of that part, as captain. Once permission was given, glorified border patrol guards would inspect the ship for illegal substances. This was the part that always made Logan nervous. What would happen if the Volatum and weapons were found? 

Logan stood in the hallway with the rest of the crew, as per instructed, and watched the guards look around. Virgil glared at them as one opened the door to his room. It was only Patton putting a webbed hand on Virgil’s back that stopped him from hissing. Roman and Remus looked at each other, giggling at something only they heard. 

Janus put a hand on Logan's shoulder and gave a small squeeze. During his time on the ship, Logan found that while Janus wasn’t one to hold long conversations, he instead communicated via physical touch. 

“It’ll be fine,” Janus whispered so only Logan could hear. “I’m confident in my abilities.” 

Logan gave a subtle nod. 

It took an achingly long time, but the three guards that had boarded eventually come back out. 

“You’re free to land, Silver Serpent,” one of them waved as they stepped out of the ship. 

“Thank you,” Janus nodded, gesturing for the crew to follow him to navigation where they strapped into their seats in preparation for reentering an atmosphere. Going back into the pull of gravity was… an experience, to say the least. It reminded Logan of when he had been on a plane that had to land in the rain- bumpy, jarring, and overall making his insides feel like they had been turned upside down and then crushed with a weight. The first time Logan had reentered, he had been sick to his stomach. But now, after hundreds of trips to different planets, reentry was much more bearable, though still not at all pleasant. 

Logan closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, something he found helped. He only opened his eyes once Janus announced, “Gentlemen, we have landed!”

Patton was the first to unbuckle, and he immediately lay down on the floor with his arms and legs spread out. 

“I really don’t like that,” Patton mumbled. 

“Neither do I,” Logan stretched his arms above his head. 

“Alas, it is necessary. Now, we don’t have time to lounge around quite yet. We have to deliver,” Janus helped Patton up. “The ibiryo buyers will be here soon.”

“When will the second customer be dropping by?” Virgil asked. 

Janus just shrugged by moving his top set of arms. “Soon. But let’s get to work unloading.”

He ushered them to the cargo hold, where it was Logan and Patton’s job to hand boxes of ibiryo to Janus, Remus, Roman, and Virgil, who brought the boxes out to the dock to be picked up by the buyers. 

When the ibiryo was finally unloaded, Logan sat with the rest of the crew outside, his muscles aching. Roman and Remus’s words were muffled by their breathing apparatuses, which they had to use to breath in the oxygen-rich atmosphere of Trappist-E, as they needed nitrogen, not oxygen. 

The sunset of Trappist-E was close to that of earth’s sunsets, albeit dimmer, as the sun that the planet orbited didn’t give off nearly as much energy as earth’s sun. The air was thinner, making it a little difficult for Logan to breathe, especially when he was still wearing his binder, but it wasn;t nearly as bad as it had been on Trappist-H, where Logan hard to borrow one of the breathing devices and stop binding. 

Janus suddenly stood up next to him and raised one of his arms in greeting to a figure walking towards the now-empty docking area and began to walk towards them. 

“Is that them?” Logan whispered to Virgil, who sat next to him. 

“Yup,” Virgil replied. “I don’t know who they are, but I’m pretty sure they’re some kind of gang leader. You could probably find out with your fancy computer skills, Teach.”

“Probably,” Logan agreed. “Though it would likely take a lot of sorting through criminal records on this planet.”

Janus and the newcomer walked back to the ship. “Roman, Remus, go get the gifts for my friend here.”

The twins nodded and stood up, hurrying into the ship to bring out the Volatum. The newcomer left their hood up when they spoke to Janus, but Logan could tell they were Umutu- the coarse black fur around their hands gave it away. “I take it that my gift is in good condition?” they asked.

“Of course. Nothing but the best from my crew,” Janus replied. 

“Very nice. Still the price we agreed on?”

“Correct. Who would I be if I changed the price upon delivery? A government agent?”

Janus and the Umutu buyer laughed. “Ah, here it is,” Janus took the boxes from Roman and Remus. 

“Thirty pounds of Volatum. Twelve guns, twelve cases of ammunition,” the buyer inspected. “It seems to be in order. Let me transfer the payment and I’ll be on my way.”

Janus nodded and waved Logan over to wire the transfer. Logan held out a tablet and typed out a code that would allow the funds to be untraceably deposited into an account Logan had set up for himself- most of the funds were used by Janus without Logan’s complaint, as he didn’t really have a need for the money, though he did purchase a small souvenir for himself after every planet he visited. 

Each trinket was put carefully in the drawer of his nightstand, though to anyone else it would look like a drawer full of clutter- a ball of yarn made from a cotton like plant from Roman and Remus’s native planet, Wolf-1061-C. A branch from a tree-like organism from Gliese-667-Cc. It was also comforting to know that the type of shirts that proclaimed “I went to New York and all I got was this t-shirt” we’re not confined to earth’s tourism culture- he had several of those, each from a different planet. 

The Umutu took the tablet, typed in a code, and handed it back to Logan with a nod.

“Crew of the Silver Serpent, I salute you,” they said.

“Pissing off authority is what we strive to do,” Janus grinned. 

“A noble cause. Now, I will be on my way.” 

The buyer left the docks, leaving the crew alone.

“Well,” Logan announced. “I’m going to go to my room and sleep. If you see something interesting in the market, buy it for me?” 

“Of course!” Roman replied.

“Definitely,” Janus nodded. “Well be taking off in a few hours, so now would be your chance to go shopping if you want to.”

“Thank you, but I’m exhausted,” Logan walked back into the ship, where he tugged off his binder and pulled on a sleeping shirt before crawling under his exceptionally warm and light blankets on his small bed and falling asleep almost immediately. 

He woke to shouting. 

Stumbling out of his bedroom, he put his glasses in just in time to see Virgil running past him from the engine room to the front navigation, screaming some untranslatable words at the top of his lungs (untranslatable because there was no English equivalent, not because the translator device refused to translate unpleasant words. He had heard plenty of those streaming from Virgil’s mouth when there was an engine malfunction).

Logan took a moment to realize what was happening before chasing after Virgil. 

“Who’s chasing us this time!?” Logan shouted over the clanking of the engines and the scuttle of Virgil’s spidery legs against the cold metal floor. 

“The cops!” Virgil shouted over his shoulder. 

“Those motherfuckers!” Logan cracked his knuckles as he ran after Virgil. 

Logan slid into a seat and began typing at a tablet. “What’s their ship name? I’m going to slow them down! Wait- are you kidding me? They’re using an unsecured network… hold on. Patton, look out the window and tell me what’s happening.”

“They’re still shooting at us! Wait! They’ve stopped! And now- now they’re… flying in circles?” Patton hopped out of his seat to the thick glass panes that served as windows to report what was going on as Logan typed commands into the tablet. 

“Perfect! This won't be able to last forever, so get out of here!” Logan told Janus and Virgil.

“Virgil, can we warp?” Janus shouted over the engine. 

“Once! Now go go go! Now do it now!” Virgil shouted back.

With a flip  of a switch, the crew of the Silver Serpent successfully evaded the law once again, and with shouts of “ACAB, BITCHES!”, they arrived in the Fireworks Galaxy.

Had Logan been on the spaceship equivalent of a cap car, he would have heard the confused shouts of the space-cops as they tried to figure out what had caused the sudden malfunctions in the steering mechanisms and the reason only the left engine was working. But Logan was not on the space-cop car- he was with the crew of Janus’s ship, with the different species he had learned to call his friends, his family, shouting obscenities at the space-cops, as all upstanding citizens did. 

“Well,” Remus announced. “Fuck the police! Jan, where are we going next?”

Janus shrugged. “Wherever we want, Remus. Wherever we want. Logan, you pick.”

Logan froze for a moment, not used to the spotlight being on him. He looked out the window at the galaxy, at the nebulae and planets and countless stars, at the infinity that was the universe. He had seen things like this before, of course, but he could never get over the sheer vastness of space. 

“Let’s go to that one,” he pointed at a random planet. 

“That one it is,” Janus gave Logan a six-armed hug from behind. 

In addition to learning how to hack spaceships, Logan also learned that Patton’s and Janus’s hugs were quite possibly the best in the entire universe. Janus’s multiple arms made hugging all that better, and Logan leaned into the taller humanoid (Logan still wasn’t quite sure what descriptor, exactly, that he was supposed to use. Janus wasn’t a figure, as those were shapes in fog or darkness. He wasn’t a man, which was made obvious by the four extra arms and shimmering golden scales. Janus wasn’t just a friend, either. Logan considered them all family, but he did occasionally wish there could be something… more with Janus. So Janus was simply the taller humanoid, as not even Logan had the proper vocabulary to describe him).

Logan watched the galaxy pass by, still in Janus’s protective hug, as the Silver Serpent flew to the planet and had pointed to.

Life was good. Life was happy, even! 

Those were words Logan had never thought he would have been able to truthfully say, not when he was back on earth. But now? Now, in space- which had seemed like a far off dream- Logan could truly say he was happy.

[storydays]

Chapter 1: The Adventure Begins p1

The elven king, Xaius stands on the parapet of a great citadel overlooking a massive, smoldering battlefield. "Archers! Fire on my signal! Catapults! Hold for the next wave!" He turned to give an order, when a hideous creature, a gargoyle made of twisting shadow, swoops in toward him.  Xaius reaches for his sword,as a blast of light catches the gargoyle in the side, blowing it into nothingness. The king turned to see his second-in-command, the battle mage Ellara, approaching with a gentle smile. "It looked like you needed a hand, my love" "I had it handled. What's your status?" Xaius asked. 

"The Shadow forces are many, but they're weak. Our front lines are driving them back. " The elvlen woman smiled wearily. "I-I can't believe it..but we might actually win this th--" She gasped hearing a thunderous roar in the distance. "Gods above...it's the DreadLord! Those madmen actually summoned the DreadLord." Xaius gasped, but looked down to see Ellara's gentle but firm grip. "My love, what do we do?" She whispered.  Xaius turned to her, eyes sparkling, his face hard and stoic. "We fight. We die.  And we pray that some day, a hero will rise to avenge us..someday." 

*Two thousand years later*

In a quaint little tavern in the town of Riverbend, a grinning pair of brothers downed their drinks, as the younger continued telling one of his favorite stories."So what happened next?" chuckled a 21 year old Ezra. His white hair had now grown down to his bottom but he kept it in a braid that hung around his shoulder, bangs brushed to the left side of his face, covering his birthmark, but allowed his gold eyes to peek out. He set down his mug of wine, and locked eyes with his brother across the table.

"The Dreadlord strode down the battlefield, boom,boom BOOM! And then--" His brother was cut off by the grumpy bartender. "We've been hearing this story for years, Kade. The Dreadlord attacked and destroyed the great elven empire." He stated, wiping down a nearby table. Kade scoffed. "Well, yeah, that's the short version....but you don't have the flair for storytelling that I do." Kade crossed his arms and pouted like a child, instead of the 16 year old he was. 

Ezra leaned back in his seat, and looked around. They were sitting at their favorite table in the Dancing Pig Tavern, listening to his brother tell another story. 'It's crazy to think that 10 years ago, we were watching over Kade through his sickness...now he's here telling tall tales like those books he likes to read.'  Kade and Ezra weren't only brothers, but they were also best friends. Kade was well known through Riverbend but not everyone was as easily amused as the elf was. Kade blended in well with the humans, with his short brown hair, bright green eyes, and freckles splashed across his face, while Ezra stuck out like a sore thumb. 

Ezra tuned back into the conversation to hear: "I don't care how well you spin your tales! You still need to pay for your drink." The bartender gruffed at the smaller human. "Barkeep, you wound me." Kade huffed, his mood darkening slightly. Chuckling, Ezra paid his half of the tab and gave the younger a look. "Pay up, Kade. Mother taught us better than that." He stated seriously. "You too, Ezra? I swear, no one in this town appreciates the value of a good tale! Fine, I'll pay. But we're not coming back here!" Kade cried dramatically. 

"Yes we are." Ezra and the bartender laughed louder when Kade added at the end, "Well, not tonight at least!" Ezra downed his wine and Kade finished his soda, before paying his side of the tab, and the two left the bar for the night. Ezra looked around their humble village before letting out a long sigh. "Another night in Riverbend. Same as any other." He mumbled gloomily. "That's not true. Some nights I manage to get us free drinks." Ezra barked a laugh before shoving his brother playfully, unable to stay gloomy around his brother. 

"You know what I'm--" Ezra's sentence was cut off when he bumped into a tall human heading towards the outskirts of the village. "Hey, watch it!" "Ugh, sorry 'bout that."  Ezra stepped back, eyeing the person in front of him. He was a rugged looking man with tanned skin,wavy shoulder length brown hair, glowering brown eyes, and he had a scar on his left eyebrow. He was wearing a cream long sleeved shirt, shoulder guards, wrist gauntlets, green cargo like pants, with a dagger on his left hip. 

"Who're you?"Ezra asked, while the man retorted, " None of your business, that's who." Two people that the elf did recognize followed the handsome man. Town Constable Angus and his tough as nails apprentice Grenn. "This here's Mal Volari, from Whitetower." The elder man  explained. "He's a world-famous adventurer!" Grenn grinned. "Wait, really?" Kade asked shocked. "Well..I wouldn't say world famous, more like continent-famous really." Mal snickered to himself. 

"Well, it's nice to meet you." Ezra said, minding his manners. His poor mother would be rolling in her grave if he didn't at least pretend to be nice. "Yeah, great, nice to meet you too. Now if you don't mind, we've got some important business to get to..." Mal was interrupted by Kade, "Adventurer business? Around here?" "Mal's got a lead on a powerful ancient artifact in the elven ruins to the south! If we can get it, it'll sell for a fortune!" Grenn said excitedly. "Damn the Gods, Grenn, keep it down!" Hissed Angus, "You want everyone in this town to hear about it?" "No need to be so nasty about it." Ezra mumbled, noticing Mal's raised eyebrow at him. 

"You mean...to the north, right? There's no ruins to the south." Kade corrected.  Mal shoots Angus a glare and the man shrugs. "Y-Yes! To the north! That's what she meant!" He fumbled over his words. "Hang on...there's a powerful ancient relic somewhere around here? And you're going to get it?" Ezra spoke up, excitement coloring his voice. "I got a tip, okay? A good one. From someone willing to pay a whole lot of gold. Angus and Grenn here, they're going to help me claim it. Now if you don't mind..." Mal made to leave again when Ezra gasped the man's arm, and stated, "We'd like to come along." "E-Ezra!" Kade gaped. 

"What? It's the chance of a lifetime." Gold eyes playfully sparkle at his brother's expression. Mal eyed the elf before letting out a weary sigh. "No can do. This is dangerous ancient crypt business. I can't have some rookie along bumbling things up." The human noted how the elf stiffened, and prepare himself for an argument.

"I'm not a rookie." glared Ezra. "Really? Ever pried a jewel from the hands of a cursed skeleton, knowing one wrong move would bring the whole room down on your head?" Mal challenged, making Ezra falter. "I mean, not technically.." He deflated. "Ever stabbed a snarling croctopus through the eye on the deck of a burning ship?" Mal continued. "I don't..know what that is." admitted Ezra. "How about this? You ever killed a man? You ever been in a real fight?" Ezra hesitated. ""Yes, I have to both of those." He said darkly, sending chills down everyone's back. "That's what I thought. I like your hustle, I really do. But I don't have time for some kit who's still wet behind the ears." " 'Kit?' " wondered the elf. 

"It's a term for new adventurers..you know, like an apprentice?" Kade whispered." "See? You don't even know the terms. Which means you've got a long way ahead of you. Get out there, have some adventures of your own, learn some skills. Then come find me, we'll talk." Mal walked off towards the village gate, Angus laughing as he followed, Grenn sending her old friend a sad look. "Sorry, Ezra." "Well, that was a thing that happened." Kade laughed nervously at Ezra's silent fuming.  "He's wrong. I could've done it. I'm the one who taught Grenn to be the adventurer she is today! Angus is an old drunk ass who can barely stay on his feet half the time! 'Learn some skills' I've got plenty of skills!"

The duo began walking again, when Kade asked aloud, "Like..what?" "Well Father taught us to fight bare hand, and I've learned some things about wielding a sword from my travels with Mother. I'm not useless." Ezra ran a finger over the silver ring on his left ring finger in habit. "That Mal guy really got under your skin, didn't he?" astonished the green eyed brother. "I don't know, I suppose I'm just jealous. I want to go on grand adventures and explore." He sighed dreamily. "And get fabulously rich." Kade grinned, Ezra matching him. "That too." 

"Aw, don't be hard on Riverbend. This town's been good to us! Not every human village would take such care of a couple of kids like us." 'Or would allow an elf to stay without being treated horribly.' went unsaid between the two. "I know, Kade! And it'll always be my home. I just...want to experience something more. It's not like a great adventure is just going to drop into my lap." Ezra huffed, brushing his bangs to the side again. Green eyes watch his older brother for a moment before clapping his shoulder. "Well, don't worry, brother. We'll experience it all together. " Ezra chuckled softly. "I can always count on you, Kade."

"But for now, all we've got is Riverbend. So, where do you want to start tonight?" Ezra grinned, "Let's head to the night market." "Uh, did you miss the part about having little coin?" Kade raised a eyebrow. "And you think I'm going to let that stop me? Come now, brother, you know me better than that." 

The brothers weaved their way through the  bustling night market, listening to vendors call out what was for sale: Fruits, meats, silks from the capital, and fish from the shore. An elderly food vendor turned and shook her head at the boys with a warm smile. "Well, well. If it isn't my two favorite customers. Two copper pieces will get you the finest pears we have." "Watch this." Ezra mumbled to Kade, before confidently walking towards the vendor, with a sly grin.

"My dear vendor, we don't have any coin..but is coin what really matters in this world?" "Excuse me?" The vendor chuckled, used to the young man's antics. "Love...passion...a moment of intimacy. Why, what is coin compared to that? Surely a beauty like you can understand." The white haired elf purred, his voice smooth like silk, eyes aglow. The woman barked a laugh at Ezra. "You are an absolute rascal, you know that? Now take these and get out of here boys." Laughing, she handed him two fresh pears, as he winked his thanks. 

Ezra bit into his as Kade stared at his back with wide eyes. "How? How did that possibly work?" He raced to catch up with Ezra. "What can I say? I'm the best flirt in Riverbend." His brother laughed before finally eating his pear, walking to the town square when he spoke up again. 

"You see? Riverbend isn't so bad. They've taken good care of us." "You're right. I just wish--" "HELP! Please HELP!" A shout echoed through the air. The duo turned to see a young woman in priestess's robes ran into the town square, before grabbing into Ezra, gripping his arms to keep herself from falling,Ezra eyes her. 

She had long red hair the fell down to her armpits in ringlets, some strands falling into her face, framing her light brown eyes. She was wearing light pink robes, with a silver and violet necklace on her neck. "You need to help me! Please!" She begged. "Whoa there, what's wrong?" Ezra asked. The woman straightened herself out, standing tall. But Ezra could see behind her disciplined posture, was a hint of fear. 

"I am Nia Ellarious, a priestess of the Light. My mentor and I are on a pilgrimage...but we were attacked by an owlbear on the road! I managed to escape while he distracted the beast. But he needs help! Now!" "Have no fear, young priestess..we are brave adventures." "Really?" Kade snorted at his brother's antics. "Shh! Don't mess this up!" hissed Ezra as Nia smiled in relief. "Thank you so much! Please, hurry now. He's just down the road." She began rushing off as Ezra and Kade shared a hesitant look before running after the ginger, but not before Ezra grabbed his sword on the way, strapping it to his left hip. 

"Let's go."

@imturaxamara @bladesappreciationweek #bladesAW

https://bladesappreciationweek.tumblr.com/

[pinnithin-writes]

I Realized. Then I Couldn’t Stop Realizing.

Chapter 5: C-53

Depending on where he looked, it had begun with the Federated Alliance.

Immediately following the events of the Battle of Sistoo, C-53 had been captured, his frame junked for parts, and his consciousness locked inside a cage with a heavy iron bolt. He’d been through plenty of painful experiences before his initiation into the Alliance, but nothing had so powerfully suppressed his emotions like this.

It was agony of a different sort, standing on the surface of a frozen lake, his feelings swirling like a sea beneath him. He could see them, he could reach for them, but if he broke through the ice that supported him he would surely be swallowed up and drown in them. It was a horrible state of being.

Everything was muted in the worst way. Experiencing joy, anger, sadness, always working through his coding, only to be met with the oppressive iron wall of his restraining bolt, left him feeling as if he were only a shell. C-53 was a droid who normally felt things quite strongly - perhaps too strongly, at times, but at least it was him. This Federated Alliance protocol and diplomatic relations designation was not who he was. But the bolt was cinched tight on his words and his thoughts until he wasn’t sure who he was even supposed to be anymore.

Getting that thing off was more freeing than anything he had ever experienced. He hadn’t even cared that his stupid Alliance frame had been destroyed in the process. Being subjected to another bolt as an On-And-Off Burger employee had nearly broken him.

Pleck, of all people, had been there to pull him out of it that time.

It was strange to have a relationship with someone who, for their first season of working together, had only known C-53’s canned and pre-processed personality. It was embarrassing, to say the least. He still remembered when he had told the tellurian, icily, “I am not your friend,” and watched him wilt like a forgotten daisy.

Granted, they hadn’t known each other very long when he’d said that, but he could have handled it more tactfully. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t wanted to get to know Pleck better at the time. At least well enough so that every word coming out of his mouth didn’t rile C-53 up so much. The restraining bolt’s effects were typically less painful when he wasn’t actively trying to suppress his emotions. A high enough spike tended to fire off a pretty jarring error code.

“No, I - he got, like, erased or something.” ERROR.

“What if you were a car and I like, drove you around?” ERROR.

“C-53, have you been programmed to cater to my ignorance?” ERROR.

“You’re more than just a cube!” ERROR.

C-53 had a pretty long list of the times being around Pleck had been painful for him when they were working for the Federated Alliance. He was also the first face he saw when the crew had slotted his cube into the ship’s un-bolted humidifier, and the sudden flood of unrestrained feelings had almost caused C-53 to shut back down again.

“Hey, C-53?” Bargie’s voice reverberated around the droid, shocking him out of his thoughts. “Why are you in my cargo hold?”

Squatting among the boxes and crates seemed like the best place for the droid to go and process what he had just learned undisturbed, but of course he could never escape the ship herself. “I just needed a little solitude, Bargie,” he responded, not unkindly.

The ship let out one of her long, audible sighs that the crew was so familiar with. “Not you, too. I thought the party was going to make everyone start hanging out again.”

“Things like this don’t always repair themselves overnight,” the droid reasoned.

“Things like what?” Bargie prodded. “Are you okay? You’ve been sitting there on the floor for like, eight hours.”

C-53 considered. He had been playing through videos stored in his memory bank for quite a while, but he hadn’t realized it had been that long. Bargie was a trusted friend - she probably wouldn’t have any constructive advice, but she would at least let him voice aloud what had absorbed his thoughts all day. “Are you projecting over the PA right now?” he asked.

“Uhhh.” There was a long pause, and then a heavy beep sounded overhead. “No.”

“You definitely were.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bargie deflected. “Spill. Tell me everything.”

Wearily, C-53 recounted the conversation he’d had with Pleck the previous night, leaving out some of the tellurian’s more personal details in consideration of his privacy, and finished with the conclusion he’d drawn about his feelings. It still made his coding fray inexplicably to think about it, but once he fell silent, Bargie’s reply was nonplussed.

“I already knew,” she said. “The feelings part, not the Allwheat part.”

“You-” C-53’s processors whirred in surprise. “You did?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s kind of obvious. I thought you knew too and were just hoping it would go away because it was too awkward.”

“I most certainly did not know,” C-53 answered, somewhat stirred.

“How?” Bargie demanded. “How did you not know? I’ve been telling you guys there’s tension for years.”

“Yeah, I thought you meant sexual tension,” the droid was beginning to feel defensive now. Was he really stupid enough to have missed something so glaringly obvious?

“Well, I thought it was that at first, for sure,” Bargie clarified. “But C, seriously? Seriously. Do you not listen to him when he talks to you?”

“What - I -” He dug around in his coding for the words he needed and came up short. “I listen,” he declared. “What do you mean by that?”

Another heavy sigh. It rumbled the walls of the cargo hold. “This is embarrassing. You should just go ask him about it.”

Alarm raced through C-53’s wires. “I will do no such thing. I’m still… figuring out how I feel about it.”

“Oh, that’s no good,” C-53 could feel the ship humming with intrigue. “You should just reject him and get it over with.”

“It seems like that would be indelicate of me,” C-53 replied, deflecting from the notion that his first instinct was not, in fact, to reject him at all.

“Hey, look, I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again,” Bargie’s tone took on a scolding edge. “Workplace relationships never work. They just make things complicated and messy and nobody should ever do them. You saw what happened with Dar and Berger.”

“Well, yeah, but that was mostly just - y'know-”

“Jucking.”

“Jucking, yeah.”

“Isn’t that what you’re after?” Bargie groused. “You’ve offered before.”

C-53 felt his cube grow warm inside his torso. “That was a long time ago.”

It was one time. Back when he’d still been restrained. C-53 still wasn’t sure if the proposition had been an effect of his altered programming or if he had actually wanted it. Either way, it didn’t matter. Pleck had decisively declined. It was the first time he had witnessed the tellurian be decisive about anything.

“I am not after that at the moment,” he clarified.

Bargie offered a heavy, “huh,” but said nothing else.

The silence that stretched was long and tense as they both pondered the situation. Finally, C-53 clambered to his feet, jostling cargo crates as he went.

“Bargie, I cannot stress enough how important it is that this conversation stays in this room,” he warned.

“It’s gonna leave this room eventually,” she argued. “Secrets don’t last long aboard the Bargarian Jade. Better figure it out before someone else does.”

“Thanks, Barge.” The droid’s reply was laced with sarcasm. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He exited the cargo hold and made his way up the hall. The passage was dark, illuminated only by Bargie’s security lighting. He briefly missed the Midnight Shadow and its wide spectrum of sensors. The loader frame’s capabilities were rudimentary at best - he couldn’t even process the entire light spectrum. It did, at least, have a limited night vision option, which he flicked on as he made his way down the hall, flooding his scanners with muted green.

C-53 had a rather long list of qualities he wanted from the next frame he occupied, feeling terribly limited in his current one. It definitely beat that pathetic Tiny TM model he was in for a brief stint, but he still knew he could do better. He wanted to see infrared again. Longed for an organized filing system. And, yes, he missed the sensation of touch. Loader droids weren’t exactly built for physical contact with other beings.

A bright green figure appeared around the corner up ahead, and C-53’s frame stalled to a halt when he recognized its heat signature. Pleck had actually emerged from his room and was wandering down the hall in his direction.

“Oh, there you are,” the tellurian said brightly as he approached him.

The night vision made his face appear to C-53 as a blurred white dot, so he quit the command and dispelled it. The dim lighting didn’t make seeing him much easier, but at least C-53 could somewhat discern Pleck’s facial expressions this way. The man’s animated countenance was a good 50% of how he communicated.

“Were you looking for me?” C-53 asked, gazing down at him in surprise.

“Well, yeah,” Pleck responded, peering back at him in the darkness. “I heard Bargie on the PA saying you were all by yourself down here so I uh, I just wanted to check in on you.”

The droid’s machinery whirred idly as he processed this. That something as trivial as C-53 being alone would pull Pleck out of his isolation made sense considering how the tellurian felt about him, but C-53 still found himself touched by the sentiment. “Well, that’s very nice of you, Pleck, but I assure you I’m doing fine.”

Confused and still working through things, but fine. Probably.

“Oh, okay,” Pleck rocked back on his heels, nodding. “G- Good. Good to hear.”

After a short pause, C-53 prompted, “How are you feeling?”

The tellurian chuckled and jammed his hands in his pockets. “Oh, man, I’m pretty hungover,” he replied, offering a weak smile.

When he didn’t elaborate, C-53 prodded again. “Has the Allwheat been talkative today?”

Pleck’s brows drew in, looking as though the question puzzled him. He responded hesitantly. “I… slept most of the day,” he said, his voice growing small. “So I didn’t hear it, then. It said a few things about an hour ago, but, ah,” he shrugged in an attempt to downplay the issue. “It wasn’t any more horrible than it usually is.”

The security lights hummed indifferently around them as they stood facing each other in the empty hallway.

“Hm,” C-53’s neural networking was already looking for patterns, casting around for a way to ease his friend’s torment. “What seems to set it off?” he asked.

Pleck still had a strange look on his face, as if searching for an ulterior motive beneath his words. “It… usually comes through when I’m not, uh,” he gnawed on his lip as he found the words, “mentally engaged? Like, as soon as I zone out, it’s -” he snapped for emphasis, “- right there.”

“You do tend to zone out quite a lot,” C-53 commented.

Pleck’s laugh was bitter. It sounded like soured sunshine. “You’re telling me.”

“What sort of activities would you consider mentally engaging?” C-53 prompted gently, trying to shake the unpleasant feeling that just raced through his wiring.

He watched the tellurian fidget as he thought about it. “Well, I meditate,” he began. “And, uh, talking to the crew helps, and going on missions where we meet new people. But we haven’t had a lot of those lately, so….” he trailed off, his stare vacant. C-53 could barely make out the soft lines of his face in the dim light.

“Do you think a holo would help?” he prompted.

Pleck shrugged again. “I haven’t tried it. I can’t watch holos in my room.”

“Why not watch one in the lounge?”

His shoulders were beginning to curl in defensively when he responded, “I just- I didn’t wanna bother people.”

C-53’s head tilted, considering him fondly. “When has that ever stopped you before?”

A laugh startled out of Pleck, shocking a genuine smile onto his face this time. He raised an arm and scratched at the back of his neck, looking away. “Well, you got me there,” he admitted. “I don’t know why it feels different now.”

An inexplicable impulse to scoop the tellurian up in his arms and carry him to the lounge himself surged up in C-53’s coding. He clamped down hard on the urge, bypassing the loader’s programming with a great amount of effort and a small amount of juddering from his processor. Good Rodd, that was unexpected. His fan was spinning again.

“Let’s watch a holo and see if that does anything,” C-53 declared before Pleck could ask the question he was showing on his face. “Come on.” He surged past him toward the lounge.

“Wait, both of us?” Pleck spun, hurrying to match the droid’s stride.

“And anyone else who wishes to join,” C-53 answered. “Sound good?”

Pleck nodded, a smile sneaking onto his mouth as if it didn’t have permission to be there. “Sounds good.”

The common area had been reverted back to its usual state, with its cushy couches gathered around the video monitor. Pleck popped a bag of popcorn for himself while C-53 ruminated over movie options. The smell of hot butter and salt lured AJ in from the adjacent room, and when he told the two of them he had never seen Bargie’s greatest hits, they decided to have a marathon to get the clone caught up.

“You can sit next to me, C-53,” Pleck said, patting the space beside him on the couch and grinning. He sat cross-legged on the cushion, balancing the bowl of popcorn in his lap.

“Very funny,” C-53 replied dryly. “At this size I would definitely crush that couch.”

“Okay, your arm can sit next to me, then,” Pleck conceded.

AJ was on Pleck’s other side with his feet up on the coffee table, helping himself to the popcorn. Both Pleck and C-53 watched, half disgusted and half fascinated, as the CLINT stuffed it into his helmet kernel by kernel.

“Hey, maybe take your helmet off, AJ,” Pleck suggested. “That can’t be comfortable.”

“Yes, we don’t need a repeat of that time you got hijacked .” C-53 agreed.

With no small amount of grumbling, AJ disengaged the pressure lock on his helmet and pulled it off, covering the couch in crumbled bits of corn. Pleck scooped the bowl out of the way to avoid catching any stray pieces, an amused light dancing in his eye.

“Robot Man, you gonna watch with us or what?” AJ prompted as he brushed crumbs off of himself.

C-53 belatedly realized he had just been standing there, staring. He settled his frame next to the couch and, after some consideration, rested his arm as gently as he could on the cushion next to Pleck. The couch groaned, but it held. Pleck patted his frame assuredly.

The films were, well, they were definitely Bargie flicks. AJ interrupted every few minutes to ask what was going on, and Bargie herself chimed in with commentary once she noticed that the hits were being played. C-53 kept a watchful scan on Pleck as the playlist dragged into the night. A few times, he caught that silent, prayer-like motion as he repeated mantras to himself, and did his best to redirect his attention to the holo.

AJ eventually fell asleep and Pleck wasn’t far behind, eyelid drooping wearily. The tellurian shifted sideways and stifled a yawn, leaning against the arm of C-53’s frame.

The droid felt the weight of his body and dimly registered a sense of warmth as Pleck rested his drowsy head against him, but that was all his rudimentary sensors could manage. His coding twanged with a sharp sense of loss, but he redirected the feeling.

“That doesn’t seem very comfortable for you,” he said after some processing.

Pleck made a muffled, placid noise. “S’fine. I sleep in a cold metal box every night. This is definitely a step up.”

“You still don’t have a mattress?” C-53 asked incredulously. “I thought that was a running joke.”

Pleck laughed softly against C-53’s frame, shaking it a little. “The joke is that I’ll have chronic back pain by the time I’m thirty.”

C-53 did not laugh. “You could sleep out here on the couch,” he suggested.

“Mmm, maybe just this once,” Pleck murmured, his voice thick with fatigue. He shifted slightly, pressing himself closer to C-53’s frame. It seemed he was craving physical touch as much as the droid was, which apparently was a laughable amount if he had resorted to cuddling an unyielding metal bar. C-53 found it endearing.

The holo flickered in the dark, casting the three sentients in a shifting blue glow. Pleck and C-53 watched the droning video feed while AJ dozed. Near the end of The Ship Stars Are Made Of , C-53 noticed Pleck’s breathing evening out and going soft beside him. His eye had fallen shut. He was asleep.

Well. Looks like he’s never moving from this spot again.

Chapter 4 <-----> Chapter 6

[scribbles97]

Left Behind -- Chapter 13

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13

Read On Ao3

I promise this one is just pure fluff and a whole lot of Scott with the adults and flying a certain Thunderbird for the first time. 

It felt strange being the only one home with his mother. Aunt Val and Grandma had taken Thunderbirds Two and Four to some offshore farming platform that had been damaged by a particularly bad storm. Gordon and Alan were both in school on the mainland, though how much studying the elder of the two was doing between swim training, Scott wasn’t sure. John had gone back to NASA to complete his space training, and Virgil back to college to finish his degree before joining the IR training. 

He had been home an hour and technically had nothing that immediately needed doing. All the manuals had been read, the protocols memorised, and the launch sequence gone over. It was just the call he was waiting for. 

“You know, our pilots are expected to spend time in their ships outside of rescues,” Mom murmured from where she was flicking through some file, “You don’t have to wait for a rescue kid.”

He did know. Yet, when the consideration had come to mind he had found himself instantly rejecting it. It seemed wrong to take his father's ship out for a simple joy ride. Especially when Dad wouldn’t be at his back giving directions and pointers.

“You were always going to have to get in that cockpit without him at some point, Scott.” She closed the file and leant back in the big leather desk chair as she watched him. 

Looking towards the chute, he straightened, pursing his lips and looking back to his mother, he swallowed. He’d done all the simulations, knew the controls by heart, had even flown the ship before. Just never alone. 

Even at twenty-six, that seemed like a big step. 

“I’ll have your back son.” His Mom stated, “Not that you need your hand holding, your Dad said you never did after your second flight out in her.”

He smiled, nodding as he swallowed hard. Dad had wanted this for him, the ship on the other end of that chute had always been meant for him.

“Permission to launch Thunderbird One?”

Her nod and smile was encouraging as she brought up the launch feed, “Granted. Fly safe son.”

He had always wondered what happened behind the revolving wall. Sure, he’d read the specs and been told about it plenty enough times. Experiencing it for himself was something entirely different though. His stomach dropped through his feet as the platform descended, and there was something strange about having to stay still as his suit assembled itself around him. 

And then he was there, stood in the hanger facing the red tipped ship, the platform automatically reaching out towards its belly as the seat presented itself to him. Swallowing hard he stepped into the seat, holding on to the arm rests as it retracted back into the ships belly, the glass hull closing around him. 

There was a moments silence as he looked around the cockpit, needlessly reminding himself of the controls that were standard for any IR ship. A jolt and he was moving, ascending up into position beneath the pool, sunlight bright against the dark rock of the hangar. 

Within his gloves he could feel his hands sweating, tense and sticky against the controls as he gripped and released them. 

“Thunderbird One you are clear for launch.” His mother spoke into his ear, “Enjoy your flight.”

A small smile let slip as he started the launch sequence, counting down in his head as the thrusters ignited and the g-force pushed him down into his seat. It was all he could do to bite his lip to stop the yell of thrill from escaping as the house and pool deck blurred past him. 

As his flight leveled off, he found himself letting go a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. Just as Dad had shown him, he brought the ship back down to cruising level and banked around the island. 

“You gonna say it?” Lucy smiled as she popped up in front of him in hologram form, “You know it’s tradition.”

With a grin, he nodded, pushing on the horizontal thrusters with as much power as he could, “Thunderbird One is go.”

***

Lucy smiled as she relaxed back in her desk chair, only bothering to keep half an eye on Scott’s flight path and the engine readouts from the ship he was flying. He knew what he was doing and she trusted his ability, no longer did he require babysitting full time in any of the ships. Though that didn’t mean she would be letting him near her Thunderbird Two any time soon, too much of a speed demon like his father had been she wasn’t quite ready to trust him not to break her ship like Jeff had almost done plenty of times. 

Cargo planes weren’t meant to go fast. She had always had to remind him, it would get there when it got there with the equipment needed. Two was by no means a slow ship, just not as fast as her sister. 

“Thunderbird Two to base, we are on our way home.” Val interrupted her thoughts, “The offshore farm has been stabilised, no casualties reported.”

Sitting straighter, she smiled with a nod, “F.A.B. Thunderbird Two. Keep an eye out for Thunderbird One on your approach, someone’s taken her out for a test flight.”

Both Val and Sally smiled at the comment, each murmuring their approval and appreciation at the milestone. 

“Any news from Lee?” Val asked in the following silence, “Did he and Kyrano get to the retreat okay?”

“Kyrano called to say they’d got there,” Lucy confirmed, thinking back to how her brother had been noticeably absent in the call. Her friend had assured her that he was fine, simply jetlagged and had headed to his room to rest after their trip.  

“Lee had gone to rest after the flight, I’m sure he’ll call in in the morning.”

It was impossible not to ignore how Val’s face fell at the response, a twist of hurt at the reminder of the fact that whilst they were still married on paper, it was a long time since they had been a couple. 

“He’ll be back before we know it,” Sally interjected, “and hopefully for all of us in a better mood for it.”

“Agreed,” She sighed, shaking her head, “I think it’s hit him harder than any of us have realised. It’s probably the space he needs to grieve properly and get over it.”

Val’s head was bowed as she nodded in agreement, “Space was what he needed after my accident.”

Lucy winced, remembering how Lee had run away to his and Jeff’s old moon base after the rescue that had almost cost Val her life but had taken away so much more from both of them. 

“He’ll come round Val,” She assured gently, “You know he always does.”

“Yeah,” Val sighed, straightening again, “Sorry, just tired. It’s been a long day.”

“We’ll soon be home. Then I think a good meal and some sleep is what you need.” Sally offered. 

Lucy saw the opportunity and took it, “I’ll make sure there’s something in the oven for you.”

“Well you’d best hurry up.” Val smiled, “We’ll be in in fifteen.”

“F.A.B.” Lucy nodded, “And according to my readings you’ve got company bringing you in.”

“Nice of you to join us Thunderbird One!” Val called as Scott was added to the call, “How’s she handling?”

Scott almost laughed across the line, but Lucy could see the grin that was splitting his face now that he had relaxed into the flight.

“Like a dream Aunt Val. An absolute dream.”

Lucy shared a private smile with his Aunt and Grandma across the comm, knowing the answer couldn’t have been anything different from him.

“Can I trust you to land her is the question,” She smirked, “That’s the real challenge you know.”

Scott’s eyes widened slightly at the challenge, whether in fear or thrill Lucy couldn’t quite tell. He was still smiling though, so she trusted she hadn’t entirely put him off. 

“Well,” Val started, “Last one to the kitchen does the dishes sounds fair to me.”

Scott’s mouth dropped slightly, his eyes still wide as he laughed lightly, “Is that-- do we--”

Lucy couldn’t help it, she had to laugh at his disbelief as did Val, both giggling at the look on his face. 

“Scott, dear,” Sally smiled kindly, “Just because we are professionals, doesn’t mean that we have to act professional all the way home.”

Wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes, Lucy sat straight again, “Oh honey, do you really think we always played sensibly when we were flying those ships? Your father and Lee especially?”

“Well… I thought--” His cheeks were quickly colouring a deep pink as he shook his head, “So we’re allowed to race?”

“As your Aunt said,” Lucy shrugged, “Last to the kitchen washes up.”

His face suddenly fell to the picture of seriousness, lips pressed in a tight line as his eyebrows dipped to the slightest frown, “In that case, see you around Thunderbird Two.”

Lucy shook her head as Scott’s comm cut out and Val snorted, “I’m not at all worried, he has a much harder landing to negotiate than I do. You turned off the landing guidance, right Luce?”

“Don’t be ridiculous Val,” She smirked, “That would make me a terrible mother.”

Val scoffed again, still laughing as she shook her head, “Let’s not tell him how many attempts it took us at first until later though, right?”

“Deal.” Lucy agreed as, in the corner of her eye, the pool began to retract, “Here he comes. Fly home safe you two, I’ve gone to make sure he doesn’t land it in the pool.”

She cut off Val’s laugh as she stood, shifting so she could watch readouts and the pool at the same time. Landing the ship seemed easy enough, but from her own experience it was a skill that took practise to perfect. 

Watching as One swept upwards into the sky, she began the count on her fingers, waiting for just the moment when her comm rang again. 

“Erm, Mom?”

Smiling to herself she returned to the desk, opening up the readouts for the rocket as she sat down. 

Maybe Scott was qualified, but he still had much to learn.

[randomfandomfamily]

A lot of Avocato and Little Cato-centered angst roaming around isn't there? Maybe a bit of fluff between the two to keep the balance?

---

Hm... it’s not the fluffiest thing in the world, but how about some good conversation? Little Cato’s gotta lot to explain still.

The whole ship was in a constant state of quiet panic. Ash tugged her hair, Quinn wrung her hands, Fox had random outbursts, and all in all, everyone was scared.

Tensions were high ever since tearing their way into Final Space. They were trapped. There was no sugar-coating it. And after saving Quinn, nobody was really sure what they should be doing. Admittedly, Avocato was feeling pretty nervous about their situation.

There was only one person on the ship who didn’t seem outwardly worried, and that was Little Cato. He just roamed the ship doing...stuff. Nobody was really sure what it was. Mostly repairs, but Avocato had seen him wander into other parts of the ship, muttering to himself, sometimes counting boxes of supplies.

Avocato didn’t know his son well, but he figured that traveling through the vastness of Final Space might give him a chance to reconnect. They had nothing but time, after all. The only problem was, he didn’t really know what to say. Avocato hadn’t been able to have a normal conversation with Little Cato in three years. For all he knew, things could totally blow up in his face.

So he handled it like Gary would handle anything: throwing himself in and hoping for the best. He wasn’t sure if taking that particular page from his friend’s book was a good or bad idea, but he was going for it.

“Hey son!” Avocato walked into the cargo hold. Little Cato looked up from the paper he was scribbling on and waved briefly before going back to writing. “So uh… what are you up to?”

“Inventory,” Little Cato replied without looking up. “We don’t know how long we’re gonna be here, so we need to keep track of supplies.”

Avocato blinked. “Oh. That’s… pretty smart, actually.”

Little Cato set the paper down on a nearby box. “I know right?” He hopped up on another box and sat down. “Sorry we haven’t been able to talk a lot. Between inventory and upkeep of the ship, I’ve been kind of busy.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Avocato said, “We’ll have plenty of time now that I’m… you know, alive.”

Twirling his pencil idly between his fingers, Little Cato said, “That’s true, I guess.” He gazed out the window for a moment. “Nothing but time.”

Avocato tilted his head. “Are you okay?”

“Sure,” his son replied, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, everybody else seems pretty high-strung, but you are unusually calm.” Avocato crossed his arms. “Now I know you’re a tough kid, but if you are scared at all, you know you can tell me, right?”

Little Cato smiled. “Of course I know that. And believe me, I am totally terrified. Like, constantly.” He shrugged. “But there’s not really a point in dwelling on it, you know? It’s not gonna get anything done.”

Avocato stared at the piece of paper for a while before looking back up at Little Cato. “I know I missed a lot. And you’re probably independent beyond belief, but I still want to be here for you, okay? So I mean it when I say you can tell me. Whatever it is.”

The smile faded from Little Cato’s face. “Well, I guess I was gonna have to tell you eventually.” He set his pencil down and laced his fingers together. “You wanna know why I’m not freaking out like everyone else? Because I’m the only one who’s got experience with this kind of stuff.”

“What do you mean?”

Little Cato sighed. “Ah, geez, how do I explain this? Um… I flew the ship through a bunch of time shards.”

“Um… okay?”

“Stay with me on this one, okay? I flew the ship through a bunch of time shards, and AVA gave the all clear. Except AVA was wrong, and we plowed right into one the second I looked away.” Little Cato rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess I should have paid better attention. Anyway, the ship got stuck.”

“In the time shard?” Avocato asked incredulously.

Little Cato winced. “Yeah. The ship and… and me.”

“You?” Avocato asked. “For how long?”

“To Gary and everyone else? Just a few minutes.” He hesitated for a second before continuing, “But for me it was about sixty years.”

Avocato’s stomach dropped through the floor. “Was there anyone else in there with you?” Little Cato shook his head. “So… you were completely alone. For sixty years.”

“Pretty much,” Little Cato confirmed. “I learned to fix the ship, conserve power, take inventory. I lost my mind a little and started hallucinated the rest of the Team Squad during the last few years. But other than that it wasn’t… so bad.”

“Little Cato.”

He laughed. “Okay, yeah, it sucked pretty bad. But on the plus side, I’m really good at surviving!” His elbows rested on his knees. “So yeah. Completely terrified… but used to it.”

Avocato put a hand on Little Cato’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to be used to it.”

Little Cato gave him a small smile. “Yeah, well… there’s not much we can do about that now.”

“But… this isn’t right,” Avocato protested, “It’s not fair to you. No one should have to go through that, especially not a kid.”

“What does that matter?” Little Cato asked seriously. Avocato was surprised by his shift in tone. It was so unlike the Little Cato he remembered. “You think the universe cares about what’s right? Or what’s fair? Spoiler Alert, Dad: It doesn’t.”

Avocato sighed. “I know. I just… I kept thinking if I talked to you, I might be able to make things better, but… I don’t know how to do that. I just want everything to go back to normal, but with everything that happened when I was gone, I feel like-”

“Like I’m a different person?”

“What? No! Little Cato, that’s not what I meant, I-”

“It’s okay.” Little Cato put his hand over his father’s and gently removed it from his shoulder. “Look, I get why it’s hard to talk to me, okay? I’m not eleven anymore.”

“Son-”

“Dad,” Little Cato cut him off, “Things are never going to be normal. As much as I would love to be the kid you knew three years ago, I’m not… I can’t be him. I’m still your son, I’ll always be your son, I’m just… different.”

Avocato took a steadying breath. “I can handle different.” He wrapped his arms around Little Cato’s thin frame, not missing the second of tension before he returned the hug. “It’s just hard to wrap my head around.”

Little Cato laughed into Avocato’s shoulder. “Hard for you?” He pulled away and looked up at his father with a raised eyebrow. “Try being zapped back into a fourteen year old’s body after sixty years. It took me forever to relearn how short I was.”

“You are pretty short,” Avocato noted.

“Still tall enough to kick your butt,” Little Cato said. He hopped down off the box he was sitting on and grabbed his paper. “Wanna help me with the rest of this? I’ve been thinking about talking to dad about assigning jobs.”

Avocato was relieved at how smoothly they transitioned out of the conversation. He felt like a part of him was still trying to process it. And he had to process and reprocess it every time he looked into his son’s eyes.

Now that he knew about the time shard, it was hard to unsee the seventy-four year old in his son. How much could one kid hide behind tired eyes?

But Little Cato didn’t need his pity. Reassurance, maybe, but never pity. “I think assigning jobs is a great idea, son.” He patted Little Cato on the back and headed up to the bridge. “Come on. Let’s go talk to Gary.”

[sohannabarberaesque]

Underwater America with Peter Potamus: Florida’s Treasure Coast

Continuing our cross-country tour (and fictional TV series), our heroes travel further south along Florida’s coast in our latest installment. This episode takes place in July 1970.

The ten of us continued down State Road A1A after finishing off a dive in Pelican Flats off Cape Canaveral—a dive that started with the exploration of a grassy reef and ending with all of us swimming alongside three-dozen-or-so manta rays. What a way to make a living.

“We’re going to a wreck next?” Magilla asked, peeling a banana in the back seat.

“Yep! We’re going to Fort Pierce.” I replied as I waited for the traffic light to turn green.

“Ahhh, but can it top the rays we saw?” Breezly said, still giddy from the experience.

The more I thought about it, the reef dive seemed somewhat ordinary up until that moment. “Who knows. I think we got lucky that day,” I said as I drove the minibus along the street. “We were just…there until that happened.”

Hokey, who rode shotgun that day, agreed. “True, true, Peter my buddy. We may have swam with the rays, but we came out of there wet and hungry, as we always do!”

I snickered. “Okay, okay, I get the picture. I suppose we should get some dinner in a little while. We can get a snack before then.” Everyone else agreed. We had lots of time before we got the nitrogen out of our systems, anyway. I decided on a seafood restaurant—complete with patio—in North Hutchinson Island, only a short drive from Vero Beach, one of the northern cities of the region of Florida known as the Treasure Coast.

The food was plentiful, even for the ten of us: a few lobsters, fried catfish and plenty of battered shrimp would keep us full for awhile, and the sides—cole slaw and hush puppies—topped off this delicious meal. “OH, BOY!” we explained, and dug in.

Naturally, the lobsters were claimed by Hokey and Wally, who had desired them ever since a failed attempt to bring back a couple of them from our Pelican Flats dive. We didn’t mind; I filled myself up on the shrimp and hush puppies, while a couple of others, notably Squiddly and Mildew, admired the catfish.

“Oooh, those spices!” Mildew said joyously, savoring the seasonings put into it. “What do you think’s in it?”

“I don’t think they’ll tell!” Squiddly chuckled, biting into a delicious shrimp.

Wally had a pair of shrimp at once, together with plenty of scooped-up cocktail sauce. He found it delicious, although he did not expect the sauce to be as strong as it was—there was plenty of horseradish in it to clear his sinuses. Fortunately, a glass of water helped him through his little coughing spell. “Perhaps a little sauce isn’t a bad idea. Just a little, dont’cha know!” he said, laughing.

The sea breezes added that extra bit of enjoyment indoor eating just doesn’t have. We also got to view some small beach gettogethers of about five or six people, and were able to get an up-close view when we walked along the beach after dinner. Unfortunately for Squiddly, not a single one of those parties had a guitar, though it did have plenty of beer.

For many, the combination of the tides and the wet sand feels so nice between the toes of those who walk along it. For us, the water was just a fact of life. We had been underwater for so long by this point that we simply didn’t experience as much of a pleasant surprise as other people usually have, those who stroll along the beach or wade in the ocean to unwind after a long day. Not to take away from the wet sand, though; we felt it and we liked it—that is, until we were about to get into the minibus. I was adamant about us not tracking sand into the car, and we wiped off our feet with a towel before we got inside.

We spent the night at a motel in Vero Beach, booking three rooms for the ten of us. While Magilla watched some television and Squiddly filled the bath for a good night’s rest, I read up on further information regarding our next destination, the Spanish wreck Urca de Lima.

The Urca de Lima, a 305-ton Dutch-built merchant ship, was one of a dozen ships in the 1715 Spanish Treasure Fleet, tasked with carrying goods and treasure from the New World back to the Spanish Main. The Urca de Lima was one of five ships captained by Juan Esteban de Ubilla.

On July 24, 1715, Ubilla’s fleet, supplemented by six other Spanish ships, commandeered by Antonio de Echeverez, and a French ship, El Grifón, sent to ward off pirates, set sail from Havana, Cuba, intending to reach the city of Cádiz in Spain. Among their combined booty was a large amount of gold and silver. The Urca de Lima, though, mostly carried goods, along with some private silver kept in chests. The fleet, however, made it as far as Florida when a hurricane hit them, pushing the ships to the coast and either sinking or grounding them. Only the French ship escaped unscathed. More than half the crew of those eleven ships died, including both commanders. The Urca de Lima, however, steered into a river inlet, and the hull remained intact. This allowed the goods to be salvaged, keeping the survivors well-fed for a few days.

The ship’s cargo was eventually salvaged and the ship’s hull burned down to the waterline in order to hide it from pirates, although the existence of the sunken fleet was widely known by that time.

In December, the salvage camp was heavily raided by two British privateers—Henry Jennings and Charles Vane—and their men, and made away with gold and silver totalling over $3 million in today’s money!

Since its rediscovery in 1928, numerous salvage permits were granted, but very little came of it, as far as treasure was concerned. There was a silver piece here and there, but that was it.

Those thoughts were still with me even as we took a stroll along one of Vero Beach’s most popular tourist attractions, McKee Jungle Gardens, a botanical garden off U.S. Route 1.

This time it was Loopy de Loop’s turn to enjoy himself, following the semi-carnivorous overtures his lupine colleagues Hokey and Mildew gave at Tosohatchee. He stopped to smell the flowers with every new variety that came into view, and there were well over a hundred different species, in addition to the gorgeous streams and ponds we viewed that morning.

“Ahh, nature!” exclaimed Loopy. “Is there anything as breathtaking as a botanical garden, with so many magnificent flowers on display in a single place?”

“Yeah, underwater!” Squiddly eagerly replied, taking a bit of power out of Loopy’s monologue.

“Uh, yes, that as well, but I’m sure you understand, for you are but an octopus!”

“True…” Squiddly’s voice wandered off.

Having cleared our minds of any ill thoughts, and rejecting a suggestion by Mildew to abandon Loopy at the garden, I drove back onto the highway and headed east back onto A1A.

Upon stopping in the city of Fort Pierce we chartered a boat to take us to the Urca de Lima, east of Jack Island Park on the opposite side of the Indian River. Everyone checked their gear and put it on, while I piloted the craft out of the river and back onto the ocean.

I was happy to learn that, as the wreck was only 200 feet from shore, we would be diving at very shallow depths compared to Pelican Flats: ten to fifteen feet. I set a diving time of sixty minutes, with no decompression necessary. Maybe we would get a look at some more fish, but for now, it was all about the ship. To ensure that the wreck would not be damaged by an anchor, we instead used a mooring buoy to keep the boat in place.

We dove in following the safety briefing. Once we were close to the floor, we split up into our usual groups. As we swam along, we noticed that there was very little of the ship left, with only the keel, garboard and one side of the boat visible after that entire time, and even then what remained had a lot of vegetation grow on it. After all, this was a wreck that was over 250 years old, and a lot of things tend to happen near the shore in that length of time. The sands and the wildlife come and go—mostly come. Nevertheless, some of us were still in awe over what is basically an old-style artificial reef.

Although I was convinced the chances of finding even one coin were slim, that obviously didn’t stop Hokey, who brushed along the ocean floor with his hands in the hope of uncovering said coin. Wally, being his trusted friend and divemate, couldn’t help but join in and also find nothing. Convinced their big score wasn’t going to happen, they continued to swim along the hull.

We explored the area outside the ship for other remnants. South of the ship’s main structure, Lippy and Hardy were able to find some cannons strewn about—five in all. This in itself is a fascinating thing, although there were originally more cannons around the ship; several of them had been salvaged, cleaned up and exhibited. Mildew and Loopy soon joined them, and Mildew had a little fun by peeking inside, and reaching his hand into, one of the cannons. Eventually, the others joined in after seeing enough of the hull.

As they enjoyed themselves, I was reminded of the salvage operations that took place for decades (and which brought several of the cannons to the surface for exhibition) and continue to take place today, and felt that continued operations would evenually diminish the diving and snorkeling experiences many locals and tourists greatly enjoy. After all, it isn’t every day you have a shipwreck in your own backyard, let alone one that is very accessible.

Art by Bob Jiggles

I began to swim with Hokey and Wally away from the cannons after awhile, heading west. We had intended to see the sights of some fish that may be around, but we ended up finding one of Urca de Lima’s anchors instead, laid out along the ocean floor. It appeared to be about ten feet long and, like the cannons, were completely rusted. It gave us an idea as to how much of the ship actually remained, as almost everything else was broken up over time. The other anchor was also among the items salvaged and exhibited to the public.

Meanwhile, Mildew, still hoping for a trinket or two, reached into the other cannons and found nothing but maybe a stray rock or two perhaps making their way inside. Running his hands along several spots on the ocean floor didn’t work, either. Although the others were convinced they weren’t going to find anything, it didn’t stop Mildew, one of the most tenacious among us in whatever he did. Not until Loopy placed a hand on Mildew’s shoulder and shook his head did he give up his own little treasure quest; the bubbles gushing from the regulator hinted at a sigh of disappointment.

Squiddly swam along the remnants of the hull, his camera picking up the entirety of it, along with some of the animals for size comparison. He would tell me later that it might have been better were we to create a chain by grabbing each other’s legs. We might’ve made a good animal yardstick.

Feeling that we had seen enough of the wreck, I called for the whole crew to surface. We made our way back to the boat, somewhat disappointed. It was a delight to view a wreck, sure, but our expectations had been set too high. Although the ship was burned centuries ago to prevent detection by pirates, we still thought there was plenty for us to see.

We continued further south on our journey. Our next stop was Key Largo, home of John Pennekamp State Park, featuring some of the finest coral reefs in the country and home to a diverse group of marine life. Many of us felt like going on another dive before then, so we parked our minibus at a beach in Jupiter, just north of West Palm Beach.

Magilla and I broke out the bike pump and set about refilling the tanks with pressurized air before we could hit the water again. “It won’t be long now!” Magilla said excitedly, even though we had nine tanks to fill.

This time, we entered from the sands of the beach, donning our fins once the water was halfway up to our knees. This was strictly a pleasure dive where we could just play around in the water for awhile at a shallow depth. Usually this consisted of playing tag with one another, as Breezly and Magilla demonstrated, although some others had fun in different ways: Mildew felt like basking in the sun’s rays even in the water, and posed as though he was laying back in a beach chair, letting nothing bother him. Wally, a bit of a zany character himself, joined Mildew a minute later. Hokey and Loopy interacted with the occasional fish passing by them, while Lippy and Hardy just swam around, unsure of what to do themselves; they were simply content with watching.

We explored further by swimming towards the Jupiter Inlet Lighthouse. Our heads above water, the view was clear for all of us. Squiddly pointed in the direction of six creatures congregating together. “Manatees!” he exclaimed joyfully.

I removed my mouthpiece. “Must’ve gone after a female,” I said, before putting it back in. We swam closer to the pack while keeping our mouthpieces on, even though our heads were above the surface; we didn’t want to deal with ocean water in the hose.

The manatees turned and started to swim away from the shore, where we confronted them, eager to pet and stroke their heads and play with them for a few moments. Some of us wanted to stroke their bellies, too, and the manatees felt so happy to receive some attention. Squiddly joined in on the lovefest, too, even though his job was to film; I got his back, however, recording him nuzzling against a manatee’s cheek.

We spent a few minutes with them before they had to leave, looking to try again someplace else. We waved goodbye to them and began to head back to where we began our dive. It was getting a little late, anyway, and we needed some food in our bellies. We were also a little exhausted from all the diving, as was easily demonstrated thusly:

“Why’m I walking all topsy-turvy?” Breezly asked, wobbling as though he had a few beers.

“Alors! Those sea cows must’ve made us love drunk!” Loopy added.

Only Squiddly and I walked properly, with my fins slung over my shoulder, as we discussed plans together.

“Hey, how come those two are all right?” asked Mildew.

Everyone else still had their full gear on, well after they had been completely out of the water.

“You need a rest!” Squiddly and I called out to them.

We had to rest up for what I figured would be the pinnacle of our vacation: Key Largo and John Pennekamp State Park, and what better place to do so than what Hokey called “The Entertainment Capital of Florida,” Miami. At least it still is, while Jackie Gleason is still taping his variety show, and until Walt Disney’s next big thing opens to the public.

Avoiding all kinds of alcohol—which probably knocked out half the potential restaurant options in this city—we also wanted a place with prices within our means, which knocked out another quarter of the city. After twenty minutes of driving around the city with no place to go, we decided on a small diner where they not only served the usual fare, but also come Cuban delicacies.

The lively conversation soon switched from the wreck and the manatees to Key Largo. Pennekamp State Park had some of the best coral reefs in the nation, along with a diverse section of marine life. I could hear the excitement in their voices. Some of them even wanted to enjoy a second day there, as we did with Wally’s secret spring.

“If I can find a good motel, sure!” I quipped.

Anyway, that’s our Treasure Coast adventure. If you like wrecks that you can enjoy at shallow depths, I strongly recommend the Urca de Lima off Fort Pierce. If relaxation is more your thing, be sure to visit the almost-endless stretch of beaches. Remember, if you’re interested in diving, please receive proper instruction and follow all safety protocols before going in.

While I’m mentioning relaxation, why don’t you relax awhile yourself? Our next episode will be diver’s heaven—Key Largo. Look for us next week at the same time.

[fire-the-headcanons]

What's WeaponsEx?" Raven asked.

"There's a big weapons convention every summer in Vale. Tons of businesses show off new stuff. Dust companies, arms manufacturers, defense engineers—" he said.

"And there's an entire wing of the hall for comics!"

"You mean recruiting."

"Yeah, same difference. There's costume contests, artists answer questions and sign autographs—"

"And they get a few famous Huntsmen to come too," he finished.

Qrow listened with an intensity usually saved for forging class. "Whoa, cool."

Raven rolled her eyes. "You're drooling."

Follow the Beacon Taiyang—COSTumes

[Link to Masterpost]

[Hey, look! A normal-length chapter!]

"Ramparts! For all of your cosplay needs!" Summer declared, throwing the door open dramatically. The Taupes followed her in, looking around in confusion.

"This is a costume store?" Raven asked, brushing through a rack of sweaters.

"Thrift store," Tai corrected. "People donate old clothes, they sell 'em cheap, and the money goes to charity. Summer likes to find stuff and make alterations."

"Come on, let's look at suits!" She grabbed Qrow's wrist and hauled him off toward the men’s section. Amused, Tai and Raven followed.

"Okay, we want to find a green suit and vest for Ozpin, and a red suit for Pete," Summer said, already digging through the racks for anything near the right colors. "Preferably double-breasted, but we probably won't find one. We can sew a little gold ribbon around the edges to make it look like him. I've got a scarf we could tie like his ascot. What about shoes? Should we get shoes?"

He accepted the hideous maroon suit she was holding out.  "Our uniform shoes will be fine, Summer."

"Yeah, you're right." She was in her natural habitat now, comparing every dark green suit in the store to one of their photos from Ozpin's file. It only took a few minutes for her to pop back out of the racks with a three-piece that looked to be about Qrow's size. "Try it on!"

"Uh…" He eyed it warily, holding it in front of his face.

"We are not spending four thousand lien on something you're only going to wear once," Raven said, glaring at the tag.

She had a point. Tai glanced over Summer's shoulder at the photo on the scroll, searching for another solution. "Y'know, Ozpin's suit is really dark—the uniform jacket and pants would probably work fine if we got a green turtleneck to put under it."

"I was thinking just a scarf for that bit, actually," Summer said, running to the end of the aisle and grabbing one with horrible stringy fringe. "We'll tuck the ends in under the jacket. Cardboard will work for his tie-pin-thing, and then all we need are some glasses."

The bin was right next to Tai, and he started rifling through. "None of these look like Ozpin's."

"Those weird bendy parts on the sides are probably custom. Just grab some small round ones."

He held up a pair he’d seen almost immediately, and Qrow gingerly took them.

"How does he see though them?" he muttered, squinting. "These are tiny."

"They're also only thirty lien 'cause the lens is cracked, but we can take them out back at school."

"What should we get for the Carmine costume?" Tai asked. "I don't think we're going to find a leather apron here. Or for less than fifty thousand lien."

"What? No, I'm wearing the one I didn't finish in time for WeaponsEx!"

"Come on, you can wear it next year. We've gotta match. Nobody will be able to see the detail on it in the dark anyway!" 

"Fine," she sighed, grabbing maybe the ugliest brown dress in existence off the rack behind her. It looked about six sizes too big for her, layered with thick ruffles in multiple shades. "I'll cut patches of the darker lining for the embossing Carmine has around the edges. There should be plenty of fabric."

She just couldn’t do a sewing project halfway. "That's still way more effort than you need to put into this."

"What's WeaponsEx?" Raven asked.

"There's a big weapons convention every summer in Vale. Tons of businesses show off new stuff. Dust companies, arms manufacturers, defense engineers—" he said.

"And there's an entire wing of the hall for comics!"

"You mean recruiting."

"Yeah, same difference. There's costume contests, artists answer questions and sign autographs—"

"And they get a few famous Huntsmen to come too," he finished.

Qrow listened with an intensity usually saved for forging class. "Whoa, cool."

Raven rolled her eyes. "You're drooling."

"Yeah, it's where the SDC unveiled the Guillotine last year." Summer said, still thumbing through the suits. "The easiest way to do Professor Mesánychta's suit would be to splatter-paint stars onto the school uniform, but anything that would show up might not wash out…"

"Flour." Tai pointed out.

"Ooooh! Yeah!" 

Raven frowned. "It'll just fall off."

"Not while you're wearing it! Your aura kinda holds it in place—I speak from experience. We can make her headband out of cardboard too. Lucky so many of the staff wear dark suits."

They brought their things up to the registers, the twins looking much more at ease with their two hundred lien price tag.

"So, where should we eat?" Summer chirped.

"…We're not going back to the school?" Qrow and Raven shared an anxious look.

"Well… we could, but it'd take like two hours to fly there and back," she said. "Besides, don't you want to go somewhere other than the cafeteria?"

"Maybe, uh, we'll just meet up with you again after, then…" Qrow stammered. 

"What? Come on, that'll take ages," Summer said with a wave. "Come with us to Goldenrod's! We go every time we’re in Vale, they have these giant noodle bowls, it's great—”

"We'll meet you there in a half hour," Raven said. "There's a comic store Qrow wanted to look at."

Why were they—oh. They hadn't been worried about the cost of the suit just because it was frivolous. Tai's ears burned with secondhand embarrassment. "Uh, Sum—"

Summer tilted her head. "You know I love comics… Why don't we all go after lunch?"

Qrow straightened up, bracing himself. "Because we don't have any money."

Raven shot him a panicked glare as Summer wilted. "…Oh." She fiddled with her hands for a second before shoving them into the pockets of her hoodie. "Sorry, I…"

"I—I mean, it's been nice looking around with you two—"

"We'll buy today," Tai said quickly. Anything to make the awkward stop.

"You don't have to—" Raven began.

"No, come on, it's team bonding time! We've got you. And next time we come to town we'll just pack a lunch."

* * *

"So, have you ever visited Mistral?" Summer asked, errantly drumming on the table as they waited. "I guess you said you were from southern Anima, that'd be a long trip…"

"It was. We went twice."

Her eyes widened. "Really? What's it like? I don't really remember Anima that well." 

"It's…more dangerous than Vale," he said, glancing out of the window at the end of their booth. "Unless you're rich. We mostly kept our heads down. …What about your home? What's Patch like?"

Summer shrugged. "Not much to say. It's just a little port town on an island outside Vale. Forest on the west side has some Grimm, nothing big enough to be a real threat."

"It's the most boring place in existence," Tai sighed.

"At least you'd have ships to look at," Raven said. "There is nothing on Remnant less interesting than a farm." Everyone stared at her for a half-second, she'd been her usual withdrawn self all day. She flinched at the sudden attention. "…I've always liked boats."

"Me too," Summer admitted. "But, sailing boats. With sails. You know, the old-fashioned windy kind, not the new big loud cargo ships."

Nobody liked the giant—usually Atlesian—monsters that would barge into the harbor at all hours. Tai gestured with his chopsticks. "Ugh, and that one asshole that always runs too close to the north side of the island and wakes everyone up in the middle of the night!"

"Well, hey, why don't we go to the docks after the comic store? We could take pictures and stuff!"

"Because your camera’s broken. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Her face fell a little. "Well, we can still look around."

"There's not actually a comic store," Raven admitted. "We were trying to buy time."

Summer reached across the table, taking her hand in both of hers. "Raven. You're not getting out of going to the comic shop with me and Qrow just because you made it all up."

Raven rolled her eyes, the ghost of a real smile playing around her mouth. "Fine."

Next Chapter: Summer—Mission Critical

[Yet another chapter of Qrow is a Nerd. ‘Suave flirt’ is a valid interpretation of the text, it’s just not my interpretation]