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bloodpacks-archive · 4 years

Text

ghost

word count: 2.5k

summary: she and obi-wan have lots of moments in their lives. They love every moment, however faded they end up being.

warnings: canon-typical violence but uh. otherwise it’s chill. idk it gets sad does that count

Meetings had ended earlier that day, and so she found her way to Obi-Wan’s quarters, walking through hall after hall, admiring Coruscant’s lights from the inside. Her knuckles are a soft tapping on the door. Behind it, she can Obi-Wan and Anakin’s quiet chatter.

She hopes she isn’t too early.

To her surprise, it’s Anakin who opens the door, a little taller than his day’s on Chandrila, and as Obi-Wan loves to brag about, finally a little more used to the cold.

“It’s good to see you, Ani,” She says. He smiles at her, eye level, she notes, and steps back, allowing her into the room.

“It’s nice to see you, too,” He replies. He disappears behind a corner, and before she knows it, she can hear Obi-Wan’s voice, bright and clear.

“Anakin, you know I wish things were-“ He pauses when he sees her, and although unnoticeable to the untrained eye, she sees the way he relaxes, ever so slightly, when he sees her. He sighs then, bringing his gaze back to Anakin.

“We’ll try again tomorrow, but I think we both need to get our minds off things.”

“Of course, Master,” Anakin replies. Obi-Wan gives him a smile, solemn in nature, and watches as he leaves. As Anakin passes her, he gives her a nod, as formal as always, and lets the door fall shut behind him.

Obi-Wan lets out a sigh.

“I assume that’s not of relief?” She asks. She walks towards him, and Obi-Wan just leans against the wall, closing his eyes as her hands find their way to his.

“Sometimes, I wish things were easier,” He replies.

“Happier?” She asks. It’s a call to a different time, when the only lights she knew of were Hanna City and the hills were their place of solace.

“Happier,” He repeats. His eyes meet hers. They look tired, worn from everything and she just wants to make things better. Her hand raises to his cheek, and he leans into her touch, letting her run her thumb over his cheekbone, ever so delicately.

The setting sun shines its colors over them, making Obi-Wan look like a beacon of light more than a tired Jedi.

“The sun is setting, my dear,” She whispers. He hums, leaning so he can wrap his arms around her waist. His chin rests on her shoulder, her fingers combing through his hair.

“That means it’ll be a new day soon.” Her voice is delicate as she speaks, the two of them beginning to sway as though there were music.

“The new day can’t come soon enough,” He replies.

“No,” She begins, pulling them away so she can look at him fully, “But we can always pass the time.”

She begins to move him, just as though they were dancing, lifting his arms up so she can spin around. She sings a quiet tune, one she’d heard when she was young on Chandrila, something mothers would sing to daughters when they were upset. The song is a bit of a mess, with some made-up words and eventually she just sings whatever comes to mind, but it works. Whatever joy the song was meant to bring out, has begun, because she sees the way Obi-Wan smiles now as he spins her, as he sways with her, as they move about the room in the setting sun.

It’s not long until their mixed laughter fills the room, the song nothing but a jumble of half-attempted notes. But it’s enough, especially when she looks up at Obi-Wan, and sees the way he smiles down at her. Without a second thought, she leans up, pressing her lips to his as they continue to sway. Her arms wrapped around his neck, his around her waist. They laugh into each other, happy to simply be where they are.

—————

The music is soft out here, on the balcony. It reminds her of that night at the Senate gathering, with her champagne dress and Obi’s laughter and them sneaking around like teenagers drunk on something other than alcohol.

The music isn’t hers, it’s from an apartment a few stories down, across the street. One of their windows is open, and she can feel the way the music pulls her in. It’s soft, slow, something sweet. Like a song between two lovers.

She’s waiting for him tonight. He’d been sent to Hanna City as extra protection once again, Anakin off to do more studying with other masters. For a few nights, he’d be here. For a few nights, their love could exist both at day and night.

She can hardly wait.

Then, as if on cue, the door opens behind her, and two arms wrap around her waist, ever so carefully.

“You’re lucky I know it’s you,” She says. She turns in his arms, letting her back hit the railing as she looks up at him. “Anyone else and they would’ve been killed instantly.”

He laughs, “I’m afraid you’re more bark than you are bite, my love.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of politics?” She teases. Obi-Wan laughs again, bringing her in closer.

“The music’s nice,” Obi-Wan says, more to the air around them than to her directly.

“I believe it’s from long before our time,” She replies.

And still, Obi-Wan knows it. He hums the tune, softly, the sound barely more than a vibration passing between them. She lets her arms wrap around him, leaning her head onto his shoulder.

And so they sway, gently, barely a form of dance at all. The music passes between them, whether from the apartment down below or Obi’s soft humming, but it’s there nevertheless. It’s comforting, a reminder of being home no matter what planet they’re on.

He kisses the top of her head.

It all feels like home, like a bit of comfort wherever she goes. She lets her eyes fall shut, lets his humming sooth her until she feels nothing except for him and this moment.

Warmth is all she can think of as he pulls her inside, away from the music, and into her bed. Falling asleep peacefully, as long as she’s beside him.

—————

This particular gala is loud.

These are her least favorite kinds of gatherings. Loud music, lots of people, and dancing. If she’s being honest, she’s started to associate dancing with her and Obi-Wan’s peaceful isolation. Not politics.

Either way, her grey dress managed to blend her into the crowd tonight. Something she’s utterly grateful for.

That, of course, doesn’t stop Obi-Wan.

He finds her along the walls, quietly observing to avoid being pulled into a dance by a certain Senator Clovis (ever since Senator Amidala turned him down, he’d been on quite the chase).

“Do they ever give you Jedi a break?” She asks as he approaches. He laughs, leaning against the wall as he shakes his head.

“I’m afraid not,” He replies.

They stand a bit apart, much more than either of them want to be. It’s been a while since they’ve last seen each other. His hair is getting longer (much to her dismay) and from the looks of it, he desperately needs some rest.

Their only contact over the past few months have been scarce holovids and the occasional chat while in passing. To say the least, she misses him. If they could do it without raising suspicions, she’d ask him to dance with her in the crowd.

It’s still too risky. After all, their love exists in isolation.

She leans her head back against the wall, closes her eyes and simply sighs.

“I know,” Obi-Wan says, “I’m thinking it too.”

She lets her head fall in his direction, opens her eyes and just looks at him. She hates the way her throat closes up.

“I’ve missed you so much,” She says.

Obi-Wan smiles at her, solemnly.

“How much longer do you think we have until we can leave?” He asks.

She lets her eyes scan the room, finding Senator Mothma speaking with Senator Organa and Senator Amidala, Anakin close by—as always.

“I think the senators can handle themselves,” She replies, and Obi-Wan smiles, fully this time, and happily—as well as hopefully nonchalantly—follows her to her quarters.

That night, they don’t dance. There’s enough of that outside. Instead, they just talk. Catching up, letting things flow past their lips before they really think about them. Their laughter is unbridled, both of their faces hurting from smiling to much. At the end of the night, he holds her close, humming until she falls asleep.

When he leaves part way through the night, she doesn’t feel any colder. She knows his love is still there, however far he may be.

—————

She feels numb. Time passes, but she doesn’t feel a second go by. Every moment is happening at once. Every smile, every bit of laughter, every time they said goodbye.

She’d seen enough of the footage to know that holding onto hope was going to hurt more than the alternative. She saw the way the clones turned, without warning. And what she hadn’t seen, she’d heard.

There weren’t any Jedi on Chandrila. She supposes she should consider herself lucky. At least she didn’t have to witness anything first hand, right?

It feels cold here. She’s sitting on the floor on her apartment, slumped against a coffee table. After Senator Mothma had informed her of the situation, once the hologram disappeared, she collapsed. She knows she screamed, she can still feel its damage in her throat, but she can’t remember the sound.

Obi-Wan is gone, she thinks. Her tears start up again, falling down her face with no regard. Anakin is gone, she thinks. Her thoughts drift to the young boy she’d first met in her old apartment, who’d looked up at Obi-Wan with such admiration, she couldn’t help but copy it.

She’d met Commander Cody, on multiple occasions. He’d been sweet, dedicated to his job certainly, but kind. He was the perfect match for Obi-Wan, both of them serious in their own way, both of them with unmatched kindness and love for those around them.

She hopes it wasn’t him that took the shot. She hopes it wasn’t anyone who took the shot, she hopes there was something wrong with the clones she saw and Obi-Wan’s squadron was fine.

She knows false hope when she feels it.

She’d met Rex too, and Ahsoka, god, she hopes Ahsoka’s safe, that she hasn’t seen any of this or that she has and she knows to stay away.

Captain Rex, she thinks. Compassionate, solid, confident, a friend to Anakin and Obi-Wan.

She just wishes them all safety. Each and every one of them. She wishes them all to be okay.

Her wishes are desperate grasps.

She wants to go back.

This apartment doesn’t feel like home anymore. She wants to go back to her place on the outskirts of Hanna City, wants to live with Luca and Le’Ana and meet Obi-Wan and Anakin for the first time again. She wants to be back on the hills, flirting and learning more about Obi as every minute passed by.

She’d give every achievement in her life back if she could go back to that one moment.

Eventually, her eyes are too fatigued from tears to stay open. She falls asleep on that floor, dreaming of a different time, when any place on the galaxy could’ve felt like home.

————

“Love.” It’s a voice, just above her. There’s hands on her shoulders. They’re delicate, soft, they feel comforting.

When she finally opens her eyes, she’s met with pretty blue eyes, tired, sad, but pretty.

“Love, please, I don’t have much time,” He says.

“Obi?” She says, her hand comes up without her realizing it, fingers light on his cheek. Her breath escapes her. She repeats his name again, her other hand coming up around his face. She feels one of his hands on her lower back, bringing her closer. Her chest feels like it’s bursting, she wants to pull him as close as possible, wants to hold him and never let go.

“I thought-“

“It’s all true,” He says. “And I have to leave, but I couldn’t disappear without saying goodbye-“

“Disappear?” She asks.

“I have to go into hiding. I can’t tell you where, they could hurt you but-“

“Take me with you,” Is all she says. He stops, eyes wide as he looks at her.

“What? No, they need you here and you’ve worked so hard to get to where you are and-“

“Obi,” She says, firmly. “You need me too. And I’m not letting you live alone for the rest of your life.”

His eyes flit over her face, he’s considering, but she holds her ground. There isn’t a doubt that crosses her mind.

“Obi-Wan,” She whispers, “I’m not letting you go through this alone.”

His face is in her hands again, soft against his cheeks. He lets out a sigh, and his face relaxes.

“Okay,” He replies, “We have to hurry.”

—————

Even years later, she still finds herself missing the cold winds of Chandrila. Despite that, she knows she would make the same decision a million times over. Tatooine, despite being foreign and scary and incredibly isolating, feels like home now.

Luke isn’t far, which means Obi can keep an eye on him. Sworn to his duty, as always.

When Obi-Wan returns home today, his eyes look sad. He’s worn.

He sits on their bed today, head in his hands. She sits next to him, a delicate hand rubbing up and down his back.

“Do you ever miss it?” He asks.

“Almost everyday,” She replies. He looks up at her, shaking his head.

“I never should’ve let you leave-“

“Hey,” She says, cutting him off, “I never said I regretted it.”

He sighs, leaning into her.

“I couldn’t let you be out here all alone. Could you imagine? You’d go insane,” She says.

He lets out some semblance of laughter. It’s enough.

“I miss our nights on Coruscant,” He says. She looks out. The sky’s turned a purple hue. She can see the red giant, lower in the sky than it’s lighter counterpart.

And so she stands up, Obi-Wan watching her with curious eyes as she stays in front of him, hand outstretched.

“The suns are setting, my dear,” She says.

He smiles, taking her hand to stand with her.

“That means it’ll be a new day soon,” He finishes.

Quiet laughter fills their small home, and soon enough they’re both singing an old Chandrilan tune. One neither of them know the lyrics of, but they sing anyway. Obi-Wan switches, halfway, to an old song that was once hummed on a balcony. One before their time, and even longer before their time on Tatooine.

Those memories are ghosts now. Fading, lovely ghosts of the happiest days of their lives. Everyday, she wishes for them to come back.

Everyday, she reminds herself that her wishes are just false hope, but she keeps them anyway.

She loves her ghostly memories after all. However faded, however melancholy, they’re still hers to keep.

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x y/n #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi fanfiction #obi wan kenobi fanfic #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan kenobi fic #sw

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lo-and-behold-ocelittle · 5 years

Text

Let’s outline a magical university

For reasons almost humorous enough to turn them into an anecdote, I drafted the hierarchy (faculties, departments) of a magic university. This is from a fictional nation whose capital city, Melphi, houses a whole bunch of “academies” almost as if someone was trying to build a science cluster there. I grouped together “schools of magic” I thought harmonized due to their primary purpose/fields of study/historical roots. I had to do some redefining here and there.

All fields of study are classified by the prevailing type of application (mathematics vs. engineering–everyone needs number reasoning but while some are dtf once they see abstract problems others need a practical application to get off). This is why the Ministry of Defense co-chairs some faculties and departments in other academies instead of creating a ‘military-only’-department-copy in their own “Academy of Military Science”.

National Academy of Thaumatology(lit.: miracle-working)

The National Academy of Technology is the leading institution of thaumaturgic research and education. Graduates of this academy may refer to themselves as Mages and are granted a license/diploma; ordinary thaumaturges are generally referred to as wizards and witches.

Any mage who heads the NAT is automatically granted the title of an Arch-Mage. The Arch-Mage isn’t necessarily the strongest mage but, ideally, the most competent; the position is elected and only temporarily held.

The NAT harbours six separate faculties and a total of 45 departments. The faculties are headed by Deans, who are appointed by the Arch-Mage. A Dean, in turn, may designate any one of a department’s professors as the head of said department.

Faculty of Divination and Scrying

Members seek to extract information from every comprehensible (and incomprehensible source–this is the fun bit) source. This faculty has six departments.

Department of Precise Prophecies

Analysis of incoming prophecies; may suggest methods to improve the accuracy of prophetic recitals; study of the effects of prophecies on oracles; replication and study of prophecy induced stupor

Department of Percolative Clairvoyance

Remote viewing by means of astral projection; minimisation of projected astral bodies; breaching of thaumic barriers or other wards designed to hinder the clairvoyants

Department of Cryptomancy

Development and breaching of thaumic encryptions; think schematics and counter-spells

Department of Runic Studies

Almost cryptomancy if you don’t know the language; extraction of information from ancient runes; study of antique symbology and foreign circuitry & schematics

Department of Sensory Appropriation

Utilisation of other beings’ senses; research towards improving stability and enabling two-way communication between species

Department of Knowledge Impartment and Remote Transmissions

Development of communication techniques with and without astral projections; research into holograms; cooperation with cryptomancers; research into wordless communication (mental projections)

Faculty of Alchemy and Artificery

Members seek to alter matter and augment objects, turning them into artifacts. This faculty focuses on historical as well as modern applications of alchemy, such as transmutation of mind and matter on one hand and the animation of matter on the other. This faculty has nine departments. They can be roughly divided into those that deal with naturally animate matter and those who don’t

Department of Transmutation

Study of chemical (and later nuclear) alteration of matter; applications include refining and enrichment of a substance

Department of Alteration

Study of inanimate morphing; study of micro-alterations; research into perfect replications

Department of Animation

Imbuing inanimate matter with a resemblance of life; research into prolonging the effects of animation; study of artificial sentience

Department of Infusion

Infusion of inanimate matter and potions with spells, typically one-time use; research into materials that retain spells with little to no deterioration over a prolonged period of time/extreme environmental conditions

Department of Artifact Augmentation

Creation of artifacts from normal objects; augmentation of mechanical systems with thaumic elements; creation of objects with entirely thaumic systems; research into artifact circuitry and schematics

Department of Polymorphing

Transmutation of animate matter by means of direct (cast) or indirect (potions) thaumaturgy

Department of Vivisthetics

Development of animate limb replacements from animate and inanimate matter such as wood or metal

Department of Tissue Replication

Study of tissue matrices and surmounting the resistance of animate matter against exterior thaumaturgy

Department of Soul-Patching

Study of the soul anatomy; study of soul transferals and creation; investigation of industrial applications for minor souls; (and probably a lot more)

Faculty of Invocation, Abjuration, and Obviation

Members seek to summon, convene, and bargain with (more or less) sentient entities. Mages also specialise in banishing unwelcome guests or those who have overstayed their welcome. Conveniently, the thaumic barriers used to contain the assault of an irritated celestial can also be used in the industry, where transparent materials with toughness beyond glass and a price below diamond are required. The Ministry of Defense is, unsurprisingly, also rather fond of research into these barriers. Summoned beasts are also studied and may be harvested for alchemic ingredients, deployment in the industry or by the military. This faculty has eight departments.

Department of Celestial, Infernal, and Concomittant Deitical Interrogation

Summoning of celestials, infernals, auxiliary deities and sprites with the goal of extracting information; dangerous and tedious interrogations may result in death by exhaustion, boredom, or smiting

Department of Contemporary Circuitry

Study of summoning circles; summoning circle optimisation; testing the limits of summoning circles; naturally, this department is also part of the Faculty of Divination and Scrying

Department of Lost Rites

Similar to the Department of Runic Studies, this department studies past summoning rituals and catalogues them; finding backdoors to summoning-resistant creatures

Department of Necromancy

Summoning of beings, most commonly ghosts but also DEATH, from DEATH’s realm, souls that have passed on can no longer be summoned; cooperate with the Faculty of Divination and Scrying to extract information from the deceased; work with the Department of Animation to supply (ambivalently willing) souls as a raw material to work spells

Department of Vexatious Relegation

Research of banishing techniques to get rid of pesky metaphysical beings from the poltergeist to the infernal arch-demon; cooperate with the Department for Thaumic Barriers and the Department for Contemporary Circuitry to create wards against unwanted guests (this makes them a great target for prospective clairvoyants practicing for their exams)

Department of Varmint Studies and Husbandry

Study and taming of summoned beasts (not necessarily but commonly) from other planes of existence; harvest of alchemic ingredients; study of industrial and military applications

Department of Thaumic Barriers

The creation of (invisible) thaumic barriers that prevent the passage of physical and/or metaphysical objects; barrier type research such as solid, liquid, and gaseous barriers e.g. walls and dust barriers

Department of Binding and Immobilisation

Emergency procedures when summoning circles are damaged; police and military applications; storage of summoned entities in pocket dimensions

Faculty of Innovational Thaumaturgy

Contains members from all other faculties, who wouldn’t stop pestering their HoD with ‘what-if’-questions. Everyone else is only here to supervise those mages and make sure nothing goes (too) wrong. And when their nurslings aren’t ending the world, they study thaumic contamination, land reclamation, and recycling. Prisoners get sentence reductions, if they willingly participate in these experiments. This faculty has ten departments.

Department of Asset Recovery and Recycling

Study of decontamination methods for thaumically irradiated areas and objects such as testing grounds, battlefields, destroyed cities or spell-gone-wrongs

Department of Leigh-Line-Surveying

Study and development of thaumic models to understand how thaumaturgy works; detection and mapping of currents; study of inexplicable thaumic flux

Department of Hazard Handling

Responsible for setting up safety precautions during experiments and containing them, if they go awry; investigation of technical failures during experiments; creation of guidelines when handling certain spells; study and research into safety-ensuring spells

Department of Peculiar Entropy Phenomena

Study and attempted replication of matter that inexplicably weathers, repairs itself or remains ‘locked in time’

Department of Experimental Divination and Scrying

Testing the limits of individual departments; possession of another sentient entity; sending and receiving fake prophecies; field testing of knowledge impartment and transmission

Department of Experimental Alchemy and Artificery

Field testing of potions and artifacts; early nuclear transmutation

Department of Experimental Invocation, Abjuration, and Obviation

Field testing of new circuits and summoning rituals, banishments, and thaumic barrier prototypes

Department of Experimental Evocation

Field testing of new evocation spells

Department of Experimental Convalescence

Field testing of new biothaumaturgy spells (possibly on prisoners, who may or may not be on death row) and convalescence spells

Department of Experimental Illusion

Field testing of new illusion spells; oneiromancers practicing dream-walking in environments with a high thaumic density

Faculty of Evocation

Evokers study the extraction and subsequent harnessing of energy from their surroundings. This faculty has seven departments and a dean with a military background.

Department of Stifling and Sonancy

Study of wave propagation in various media; industry applications like geological mapping and locating mineral deposits; shockwaves for the military, sonar for the navy and oceanographers research; study of interference phenomena and counter-spells

Department of Dynamic Forfeiture

Study of methods to extract kinetic energy from or imbue systems with kinetic energy; industry applications like mechanical/thaumic systems (from artificery); military applications like impedance of movement of projectiles or vehicles (or the opposite)

Department of Torrid Reciprocation

Extraction of thermal energy (particle vibrations) from the surroundings; allows for interesting thermodynamic machines like heat pumps, lots of industry applications in heating and cooling; military applications only in the farthest sense that you can extract energy from your surroundings and thereby freeze people or cause machine components to deform

Department of Cardinal Schisms and Amalgamation

Energy from fusion and fission of atoms; extraction of chemical energy from molecules; industry needs include powering steam machines and smelting; military application can be the uncontrolled fusion or fission of a substance like hydrogen or uranium (to name two familiar ones)

Department of Ray Apprehension

Capture of electromagnetic radiation; applications similar to most of the above except commonly only viable during daytime

Department of Elementary Allurement

Extraction of energy from the movement of charged particles and vice versa; the electricity folks

Department of Locomotion

Exertion of forces on objects to make them move; excludes teleportation (summoning)

Faculty of Illusion

Illusionists seek to replicate real environments and associated dynamic objects to the extent that the illusion becomes indistinguishable from the real world. The ability to replicate distant objects in real time makes them an attractive to communication service providers. This faculty has five departments.

Department of Oneiromancy

Study of dreams from a prophetic or self-reflective point of view; study of mental health through dreams; study of dream implanting; study of (literal) dream-walking

Department of Optics

Study of reflective thaumic barriers used to redirect light; study of civilian applications such communication services; study of enhancements for mechanical optics; competition to clairvoyants

Department of Static Imitation

Study of interfaces and displays for artifacts; study of static civilian applications such as billboards or advertisement screens; artistic applications like in stage shows, a world with nothing moving in it

Department of Dynamic Imitation

Study into the perfect illusory replication of real-world dynamic objects such as fireworks or holograms, also includes military stealth

Department of Phantasmagoria (’cause I couldn’t call it the mind-fuck dpt.)

Heavily military and medical, mages seek to penetrate a victim’s psyche and create a false world inside their head, effectively incapacitating them, also used in palliative treatment of the sick and mental health institutions

I’ll post a visual at a later date, showing cross-over departments and the influence I think the Ministry of Defense has on the research conducted. Supplementary feedback to this post is appreciated.

#worldbuilding #magic university #fiction #melphi

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rc-8018 · 6 years

Text

In most ways Hope can think of, his life has been a series of bad situations, unpleasant problems that no one else could or wanted to solve. He’s used to the unknown. He excels at it. And nobody ever asked him whether he wanted to deal with any of those, either.

He can almost convince himself that this isn’t anything new.

When he found himself unarmed, all but naked, lying in a strange room on a mattress so soft he didn’t even recognize it as a bed at first, he progressed from total shock into tactical reconnaissance within about sixty seconds. (Not that he accepted this, of course, or decided it made any damn sense-- but shock and disbelief is a quick route to an early grave. Not that they have graves in his business.)

Nothing in the room suggested a threat, except his mounting sense of surreality. (Has he ever been in something he could classify as a bedroom before? He’s not even sure he’s seen one. Recognizing it is more a matter of deduction-- room with bed equals bedroom?-- than any familiarity.)

What was more concerning (is more concerning) was his total lack of arms. Whatever purpose, whatever person had brought him here had left him bare-- armor, guns, ammunition, knives, all gone.

The first theory he started turning over in his mind goes like this: he had suffered some kind of trauma, bad enough to knock him out of commission, plus a healthy dose of retrograde amnesia. This isn’t so far off from how he’d wake up in a medbay-- stripped down to the minimal layers of clothing or less, all his kit stored away for him-- except that nothing his eyes see tells him this is anything like a medbay. The hazy idea of a dollhouse comes to mind, he’s not sure from where.

It would be nice to think he’s safe. Hope isn’t biting.

He’s not sure what other options that leaves him. Kidnapping? Afterlife? Delusion or coma? None are very appealing.

He can’t put together any of the information available into anything coherent. Typical intel, he thinks, wryly. The room has windows, which seem like regular glass, nothing reinforced or plastoid-- and outside those windows are trees he doesn’t recognize. Further down, through the branches, there are glimpses of paths and occasional movement. He can’t find any bugs or tricks to the items left in the room: there’s an array of clothing, shoes in what he thinks must be his size, soap, about a quarter of his gear. The architecture of the room is bizarre. Like something out of a Wookiee fairytale. The furniture, the little datapad left for him here, is anachronistic. He doesn’t get it.

Hope’s been sitting on the floor, leaning against the mattress so he’s out of line of sight of the windows, just thinking for about an hour and a half now. Thinking isn’t quite the right word: he’s somewhere between critical analysis and reaching out, like he’s in the dark without his night-vision, trying to sense the shape of what’s around him.

He doesn’t sense any danger-- no barrel of a gun that he doesn’t realize he’s staring down. That makes him nervous.

You don’t just black out and wake up in some bizarre diorama of a real person’s life, on some planet you don’t recognize, and have it be a good thing.

(To be fair, he felt a lot more nervous before he barricaded the door with a dresser. Just to be sure.)

The phone is still where he found it when he woke up, discarded after he checked the display and found it-- to put it charitably-- outdated. The functions are straightforward. He digs through them all, absorbing all the information he can, looking for any glimmer of what the fuck is going on. There’s maps-- confusing ones-- and a pre-filled contact list of names he doesn’t recognize. Basic video/audio capabilities, and a hologram setting. There’s a dating app. He files that away for later, category ‘misc’. (There’s actually quite a few apps, but he isn’t ready to go through all of them just yet.)

There are a couple of 'protocols’ whose feeds seem to autopopulate in his datapad, full of questions from other residents(?) and responses from some kind of AI. Some regulations (the term ‘illegal murder’ holds his attention for nearly two full minutes). The questions are weird, and for a minute he wonders whether they’re automatically generated, random filler text to make it seem active. Discussion of different worlds. Names he doesn’t recognize -- Eorzea, Concordance of Angels, TranStar, Earth -- although that doesn’t count for that much. He knows what he needs to know. Seems like he could stand to know a few more things now, though.

There are a couple of details that catch his interest in the records, glittering like pretty glass buried in the sand. First, according to the yellow protocol, they are on another plane of existence. That would be plenty to chew on, in its own right. He lets the thought sit as he contemplates it. Second, they are on some kind of space station. Third, it was built some time ago-- he isn’t sure what the conversion is of one Earth year to the standard units he’s familiar with, but common sense about how fast a habitable planet can orbit a sun suggests it can’t be too recent.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Hope weighs this information piece by piece, turning each around in his mind. He would not go so far as to call them facts-- after all, the Codex also said ghosts were real, and all this information has been conveniently left right in front of his nose like meat on a hook -- but he can’t discount anything at this point.

He is formulating a plan. Although it is less of a plan than a series of objectives, with the first objective being ‘stay alive’, and the second being ‘gather intel'.

He’ll have to go outside for that, which is what he’s cleverly avoided up until this point, balancing reconnaissance against cowardice. Seems like the balance has finally tilted.

He puts together a depressing assortment of so-called gear: surprisingly solid pair of boots (they are in his size), black cargo pants, gray tee. His rations, canteen, and first aid equipment are wrapped up in a sweater and tied up with some of the rope, then slung over his shoulder. The datapad goes, begrudgingly, into his pocket. If they can track him with it, they already know exactly where he is anyway.

When he steps outside, he doesn’t know what he’s expecting: not the immediate shock of finding his name above the door, spelled out like he’s seldom seen it, HOPE RC-8018. That takes him aback enough to leave him standing agape for two whole seconds. Good thing no one is around to witness the slip.

A quick sweep later and he’s found there’s three rooms like his, also labeled, and an array of common areas. There’s nothing remarkable except the fact that there are common areas, like this is some kind of-- dorm or something. Not sure what to make of it.

He intends to descend immediately to the first floor, but stops short when the stairs lead him into an open-air garden between the levels.

It’s beautiful. The air is sweet and crisp on the wind, alien in a way he can’t qualify but that smells of minerals and growth and new atmosphere. He wishes he had his suit-- not that he begrudges the softness of the breeze on his skin, but it’s like he’s missing a second pair of eyes, staring right at readouts and analysis results that he’s too blind to see. He’d sell an organ for some more explicit information right now.

The ledge of the garden spreads in front of him, a promise and a threat: wide view, no cover. His movements are slow and methodical as he approaches the little wall around the edge to gaze out at the scene below, studying the little streets and trying to identify the furry shapes he sees occasionally between the tree branches.

It almost absorbs him. The way he turns around is sudden, more reflex than conscious thought, as some part of his mind starts pinging an alert. Someone’s coming.

#i'm 12 years old and what is this #ark open #ic #NO need to match length.#ryder 01 #ryder #voracious diplomat #voracious diplomat 01

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as-the-doctor-ordered · 6 years

Text

@pragmatic-purple

-x-x-

Mika slowly approached the door to Pur’s quarters, fidgeting anxiously and antennae vibrating in excitement above his head. He and the Tallest had finally agreed to dinner--after only a few years of one-sided flirting and missed and misunderstood messages.

The doctor stood silently at the door without knocking for a solid ten minutes before he built up the nerve to do so. He was wearing his dress robes; nicer, even, than he had worn to the party. Sunset orange and golden yellow, accented with the perfect amount of black to make the colours pop, paired with high heeled boots and waist cinched tightly with a laced belt. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but he wanted to look his very best for what Tallers Dib and Zim referred to as their ‘first date’.

Taking a deep breath, the little Irken rapped his knuckles on the door and stepped back.

The Tallest had spent the last several hours trying on robes, checking his reflection and then tugging the robes back off, creating a rather large pile of discarded clothing on the floor of his closet. Eventually he was able to settle on some, they were high collared and royal purple, offset with silver and a pair of his fancier gauntlets that he typically saved for political affairs rather than the fairly used and beat up and modified ones he wore in a daily basis. He had never really been one to care much about his appearance. All if his robes were beautiful, artisanally crafted. Typically he did not even really look after he chose a random pair.

But tonight was different.

At the knock on his door he practically jogged over to answer it. He paused for just a moment to shake off the nerves. He opened it and grinned widely at the Irk before stepping out of his room and shutting the door behind him. He offered an arm a little nervously and said, “You look wonderful.”

Mika chittered happily as Pur answered the door, looking the Tallest up and down a couple of times before he really realized he had been spoken to. He flushed, gently taking the arm offered to him and giving Pur a small smile.

“Oh. Thank you, my Tallest. You look incredible, yourself--as usual.”

The doctor wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from their dinner, or what exactly Pur had planned for tonight. The uncertainty only fueled his own nervousness, but he also couldn’t deny how very excited he was for it.

As they walked the Tallest glanced down and gave the boy a soft smile. He was always so incredibly formal. It was endearing in many ways, but he asked quietly, “Mika, would you be open to maybe… maybe not referring to me as ‘Tallest’ this evening? Purple is fine. Pur is even better.”

He brought his free hand up, laying it over the boy's which rested on his gauntlet and added, “It is fine if you must use the title for your own comfort, but you are welcome to use more familiar terms.”

The doctor’s flush only deepened at Pur’s request. It was true--he couldn’t remember a single occasion where he had actually used Pur’s name, aside from in reference to ‘the Almighty Tallest Purple’. He gave a nervous half-shrug of his shoulders, smiling anxiously.

“Ah, yes. I can see how that may be unnecessary concerning our current activity--” Mika cringed. Again, formalities. It was difficult for him to break out of that professional tone, even with those he might call ‘friends’ now. “Of course, Pur. Whatever is more comfortable for you, of course.”

The smaller Irken, now risen a few inches with his heels, which he found to be unnecessarily pinchy for he normally wore comfortable boots to stand all day in, paused again before adding softly and cautiously, “Would you mind telling me what you have planned for us this evening, my--ahm. Pur?”

Truthfully when he had made this arrangement his legitimate plans were just dinner that was it. But he had been cornered by his brother and both of other Tallest's mates and grilled about the plan for the evening, chastised a bit for his lack of planning. His brother had said firmly that ‘any Irk can take him out for dinner. You are a Tallest. Where is the razzmatazz?’ and then he was promptly sat down to come up with something ‘a touch better than dinner.’

He offered the Irk a smile and offered vaguely, “You will see soon enough. I would hate to ruin the surprise.”

Pur continued to guide Mika throughout the ship, passing right by his dining room and instead heading far further into his wing of The Massive, finally pausing outside a fairly nondescript door, which he pulled open to reveal his personal holodeck.

The room had already been converted into a scene, a table laid out with food sat in the center of the room which looked as if it were a clear bubble, a vast ocean stretched out in every direction around them. They appeared to be in some kind of reef, surrounded by brightly colored anemones and corals, all of which were teeming with life.

He gestured for the boy to step in ahead of him and asked with curiosity, “Do you like it?” He left out the part where he had been coding for three days to make it happen.

Mika was, at first, confused when they walked right past Pur’s dining room, even going so far as to watch the door as they passed before looking up at the Tallest with a puzzled expression.

However, as he opened a different door, he understood completely. Slowly, the doctor tugged his arm from Pur’s grip to step into the holodeck as physically instructed with his mouth open and eyes wide, surveying the room in wonder.

It was stunning. Ocean scenes had always been his favourite, and he’d not had many opportunities to see the oceans up close or experience them. He wasn’t sure which planet this was from, but it didn’t matter. The Tallest had made him something very, very special.

He turned to Pur with the same shocked wonderment. “My Tallest--Pur. This is… I love it.”

“I'm glad,” he mused quietly. He was not entirely sure what else to say and found that his nerves were creeping back up on him. He found himself scrutinizing the small flaws in the hologram, which he was certain would likely be unseen by any but himself - but he could not help but worry that Mika would notice them, that the spell would be broken.

He took a deep breath to try to dispel the thought and moved to pull out a chair for the smaller, “Are you hungry, Mika?”

While it was true that Mika would be unable to spot any flaws in Pur’s hologram, truthfully he was more dazzled by the gesture itself than of the beauty of the false ocean and reefs surrounding them.

The doctor nodded lightly in response to Pur’s question, gently tucking himself into the chair that the Tallest had pulled out for him. “Yes,” he muttered quietly, “Thank you.”

The Tallest pushed the chair in and took a seat beside the smaller Irken, glancing at the food and admitting, “I… I did not know what kinds of foods you liked. So, I guessed.”

A small smile tugged at his lips and he nodded toward one plate covered in fruit tarts and added, “But I did see once that you had some of those in your lunch… which I interrupted you in eating because I twisted my ankle.”

Mika couldn’t help but to giggle at the memory. “Oh, so you do notice things, my Tallest,” he muttered, trying his hand at a joke and hoping it wouldn’t be completely misplaced. He looked up from the plate to smile warmly at the other. Really, it was touching.

“Yes, actually. They are a favourite. I like to bring things that give me joy, particularly for more strenuous work days,” he paused for a moment before adding quickly, “Not that you gave that day any added trouble, of course.”

The Tallest chuckled and chose to not bring attention to the slip back to his title. Instead he tilted his head to the side and mused, “On occasion I am able to be observant. Just not when it comes to someone flirting with me for years apparently.”

He poured each of them a glass of wine and handed one over to the smaller before adding, “And of course I added trouble to your workload. I am likely the clumsiest and most frequent of your patients. Though I suppose that the work itself is a bit more critical when the others come in. They do tend to hurt themselves in far more splendid fashion.”

Mika giggled again, choosing to now actually pick up his silverware and actually begin eating the meal that Pur had provided for them. He was unsurprised that the dishes Pur had chosen for them today were far more delectable than he would normally have, and he couldn’t stop the pleased hum from rising in his chest.

“You are simply distracted, Pur,” the doctor said, flashing a bright smile to the Tallest, “And I was always willing to take any excuse have you in my wing. Although, perhaps in the future, we can do so whilst avoiding any unnecessary accidents or bodily harm.”

The Tallest did not begin to eat, he instead sipped at his glass of wine and listened to the other speak. He gave a chuckle at his final comment and mused back, “I am already in your wing more days than not and I doubt I am going to become any more graceful any time soon. However, I will strive to make more visits purely social.”

Mika purred lightly, placing down his fork and lifting his own wine to his lips, sipping silently. He was still nervous, his spooch a-flutter. The scenery, the meal, how wonderful Pur looked and how sweet he was.

“I almost came looking for you again, at the party,” Mika murmured the admission, blushing, “Dib's friend, the other Dib. He offered to go with me to find you. To tell you outright how I had felt.” He laughed softly, “But I am thinking I like what happened between us far more. More our speed, yes?”

“It is funny to me that saying ‘the other Dib’ does not actually narrow it down all that much. But, yes. I agree that the way it happened is probably for the best.” The Tallest took another sip from his glass and raised a brow at the other Irk and asked with genuine curiosity, “How long have you felt this way? About me, that is.”

Mika could have choked on his wine at the question, but he carefully swallowed his small mouthful and delicately placed his glass back on the table, turning slightly to look at Pur, his cheeks golden.

“Oh, Pur. I have been working for you for some time now, haven't I? Since then, at least, my first day. You and Tallest Red led me personally to the wing I now call home. Fresh out of the academy and blessed with this position. You placed your hand on my shoulder as you led me through the door. You had armour on rather than your robes you usually wear these days.”

The doctor turned, then, to look out at the corals and the fish that swam by and between them. “But, oh. I had longed for you for some time prior to completion of my studies.”

Pur flushed deeply at the admission. He imagined that it was likely that the Irk had some kind of celebrity crush on him, being a Tallest tended to come with those sorts of things. Not for the first time the subtle worry that it was the title and not the Irk that was the attractive part of this arrangement fluttered up in his spooch and he pushed it down by taking another drink.

He set the glass down, toying the rim with the tip of one of his fingers as Mika looked out at the illusion he had created for him, the realization that perhaps he had managed to create an illusion for himself sinking in, “I would have thought that actually meeting me would have dispelled some of that. I can't imagine that I am much like the reputation that was spread of me in your Academy days.”

Mika turned again to Pur, his eyes the warmth of a ripe tangerine. “Oh, Pur. You’re so little like your reputation,” he said softly, placing a hand gently on one of the Tallest’s gauntlets.

He remembered so vividly the stories he’d heard, the type of Irk that Pur displayed himself as whenever they were televised, the way he and Red played so well off each other. Pur was still, as ever, the more fun one, softer-spirited, technologically inclined. What was missing from rumours, interviews, video feeds--the kindness. The warmth. The honest interest in others.

That, and he was way nerdier in person. “You are far less than I could have imagined,” with a wide grin he added, “And yet… so, so much more.”

Pur's brow furrowed, unsure of exactly how to take the comment. He was so much less than his reputation? He was unsure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Mika did not seem disappointed, rather he seemed infatuated, full of admiration. And yet he could not help but to worry.

He looked up at the smaller Irk with an always kind smile, “I do hope that I have not disappointed based off of what your expectations were…”

Mika turned fully now, obliging himself to take Pur’s hand in both of his own far smaller ones as his expression softened. “You have not disappointed me in the slightest. Please, don’t misunderstand. You offered me kindnesses few of my peers ever gave. What I am saying, is that from the first day we really met, I knew you were so little like what rumour and video feeds have portrayed you as. The Almighty Tallests, one Brash and one Brilliant, malevolent rulers of the Empire. That is not you.”

The doctor stopped, only briefly, to take a breath and to look down at the hand in his own. “What began as a schoolboy crush on an unobtainable celebrity turned into so much more.”

Pur turned his hand over allowing the smaller's to fit snugly in his palm and he brushed his thumb against Mika's knuckles and gave him a soft smile, “I suppose that being less than malevolent is not all that terrible of a reality. But I have not always been kind either. As a young Tallest my brother and I did and ordered truly terrible things. It was not until much later that I came to realize that it was not who I wanted to be.”

He let out a soft sigh and added, “But perhaps that unpleasantness is best left for a later time. Tell me more of you. You have me at quite the disadvantage as far as personal knowledge goes.”

Mika frowned up at Pur. His antennae drooped slightly, suddenly worried he’d soured their date. Perhaps he’d said the wrong thing? With a shaky breath, he nodded, returning his gaze to Pur’s hand.

“Sure. I am not sure what there is I could say that is very interesting, however. From a smeet I have been pushed in one direction, to be a doctor. I am very lucky that I quite love the work I do, and loved my time in the academy. I also seemed to have a natural skill for it.” He hummed softly as he thought for a moment, and continued, “We each did a field medical term. We did not get to pick where we went for it. We were warring quite heavily with many planets at the time. I was never sure if it was simply a lack of doctors on the field and needing more or if it was actually meant to be a training opportunity.”

Mika chuckles softly, nearly fondly at the memory. “I almost lost my medi-license two years in. Was almost sent for recoding. I could not help but to provide aid to those who were not ours.”

Pur listened intently as the smaller spoke and he knew that in truth the reason that students were sent to the war zones was due to the fact that they were thought to be more expendable than those who were fully trained. It was a decision made to keep fully trained doctors on Irk and aboard The Massive while giving the Invaders some semblance of peace knowing that they had relief on the field. The memory made his spooch twist.

He pushed it aside and asked, “How did you avoid being recoded? It seems that in those days that would have been quite the infringement of your rank. Not that I am disappointed that you wound up where you did, merely curious.”

Mika shrugged lightly. “I was being hauled off the field--I had been doing a rush surgery to a young boy who had been caught in the line of fire--to be taken to recoding when the Taller on site was shot point-blank. I almost saved him, too, but it was too dangerous. My squad had to drag me out of the field back to the bunker. Nobody spoke of it since, nor my recoding. Kept my medi-license, but I was flown back to the academy no more than a week later.”

Pur’s eyes widened at the admission. He had never personally seen much of the battlefield, aside from what he got to witness as Red's point of contact in the command center. He had never really been built to fight. He could not imagine the stress of not only experiencing it first hand but also having to try to perform medical duties while battle raged around you.

He smiled softly, “Well, I shall not complain in the slightest that you were not recoded. I have quite enjoyed having you aboard The Massive. You have been an excellent doctor and friend.”

Mika smiled brightly up at Pur. He was never the one to let his past get in the way of his future, especially not in the way of the present. There was too much to be grateful for, too much good.

They weren’t the happiest memories to relive, and Mika preferred to spend as much time as possible feeling joyful.

“Thank you, Pur. I am glad as well. Were I recoded, I would not be here, enjoying this meal and this beautiful scenery you prepared for us. But let us not dwell on the past, yes?”

The Tallest nodded and agreed, “Yes. I prefer to live more in the present and in the future.”

The truth of the matter was that the past tended to make him incredibly depressed. He would rather have the anxiety of the unknown ahead of him. At least he could channel that anxiety into useful and productive energy. He tilted his head to the side and asked, “What are your hopes for the future? Do you have any big plans?”

Mika laughed lightly, daintily picking up one of the tarts with his fingers and taking a small bite, savouring the sweetness of the cream and fruit on his tongue. “I am the personal doctor for the Tallests and Tallers Dib and Zim. I am the lead medic on the entirety of the Massive. I am not sure there is any more I can aspire to,” he shrugged a little. It wasn’t a boast, not by any means.

“I work away at my sculptures in my personal time. Or I read, now that Taller Dib has brought so many of those fascinating novels onto the ship. I do not have any big plans.” He turns to Pur, then, with another delicate bite of the tart, expecting the same answer, although he still asks, “And what of you? Any big plans, Pur?”

The Tallest listened with a grin. It was true that in his given field, Mika had sort of hit the jackpot. There was not much more of a ladder for him to climb. When the question was directed back at him he offered a smile, “We are reshaping the whole of the Empire. Making plans for peace and prosperity. Creating alliances and disbanding our presence where it is unwanted. I have many big plans.”

He glanced at the coral reefs and added with a wistful smile, “The most impressive and biggest of which I cannot even share for your own safety. But I imagine that you will know if they are successful.”

Mika purred softly. It was true that he hadn't known Pur in his youth, but this was what he had come to love most about the Tallest. He knew that Red got most of the “credit”, or perhaps blame to some, concerning the recent revolutions. Simply put, it was because he was the louder of the two, really.

Peace and prosperity. “It sounds like a dream,” he muttered, finishing off the tart in his hand before leaning into his chair slightly. “I have faith, Pur, that whatever it is, it will be accomplished with success and prowess if you are a part of it.”

He eyed the Tallest for a moment, another flush rising to his cheeks as he risks a flirt, knowing that many had been so easily missed before, “So are you just not hungry, or have I made you nervous?”

Pur flushed lightly, having been called out on his lack of appetite. He looked to the smaller and replied with a chuckle, “It is definitely nerves, if I am being entirely honest. Truth be told, I have never had a romantic dinner with anyone before. All of this is new to me.”

Mika offered the Tallest an affectionate smile, again placing his hand on Pur's gauntlet and gripping him lightly, as if he thought the other could feel through it. “It is okay, Pur. I have not done much better regarding romantic endeavours. I do not mean to make you nervous.”

The Tallest let out a soft sigh, still smiling mindly at the other as he mused, “All of the best things in life should make an individual at least a little nervous. It is the feeling of anticipation before a leap of faith.”

He shrugged and added quietly, “If I wasn't nervous I would question whether or not I really wanted this.”

“That is a fair assessment,” Mika agreed, still looking up at Pur. He was nervous, too, of course. The two of them always seemed to be nervous wrecks around each other--at least, he knew that he was a nervous wreck around Pur, and had been for many years.

It may be time to create some comfort.

Leaning up--in fact, having to rise slightly out of his seat, unhappily so at the pinch of his shoes once more--he pressed his lips gently to the corner of the Tallest’s mouth. Close enough, it’d do; he was still too nervous to kiss the other fully. Baby steps.

The Tallest felt the blush rising in his cheeks from the moment that Mika lifted himself from his chair. He saw the kiss coming long before it happened and made no move to stop it. Instead he purred softly at the press of the Irk's cool lips on his skin.

Pur turned his head slightly, enough to return the gentle and chaste kiss, barely catching Mika's lips. He tried not to think about the fact that his cheeks were likely flushed to the point they matched his deeply colored eyes and robes as he pulled back slightly to look at the other Irk, his antennae twitching nervously.

Mika continued to half stand for a few moments before rising completely--a rare occasion, like the party, where he stood taller than Pur.

“If we let our nerves get the better of us, we will go nowhere,” he muttered, his voice soft but warm. He was blushing, too, but found Pur's far more stunning. Pur was so much more anxious than he was, which generally is unexpected. However, he realized, standing over the Tallest that, he felt he had no time to be a bundle of nerves. There was too much to be happy about, and this date? Certainly one of them.

He leaned down, then, kissing Pur more fully, sliding his hands up to rest gently on the front of the Tallest's shoulders, almost to his chest, his hands too small to really hold quite properly, letting out a soft hum as he did so. His own antennae vibrated gently, tilted forward just slightly.

As Mika leaned over him, catching his lips in an actual kiss, his first actual kiss, the Tallest could not help but stiffen slightly at first. The nerves lasted only a few moments and then he relaxed into the affection, bringing one hand up to cup the little Irk's jaw as he pressed forward a bit to show that the advance was welcome.

Pur's antennae perked, leaning forward to graze against the smaller's as the Tallest purred softly into the kiss.

The doctor couldn't help but purr as well, stepping a little closer into Pur's personal space as he deepened their kiss just a little.

Mika shivered at the feeling of the Tallest's antenna against his own, and he couldn't help but to pull back just slightly with a tiny gasp--more an inhale of breath--before leaning in again, balling the fabric of Pur's robes in his little hands loosely.

The Tallest felt his nerves diminishing at the affection, his brain which was practically always running a million miles a minute quieting as he felt the Irk's hands on him and savoured the sugar sweet kiss.

He did not really think about the action before he did it, reaching out his free hand and wrapping it around the doctor's waist and pulling him into his lap. His other hand slipped from Mika's jaw to the back of his neck where his sharp claws grazed gently over the smooth emerald skin as he deepened the kiss with a soft purr.

Mika slipped without complaint nor resistance into the Tallest's lap, shimmying as close as he could to the other and his antenna still brushing against the other's.

The smaller Irken chirped into the kiss at the feeling of Pur's claws on his skin, in turn gripping his robes a little tighter. He pulled back from the kiss just slightly, hardly even enough to breathe, to gaze half-lidded at the other. “P-Pur?” He murmured softly.

The Tallest took the moment of separation to catch his breath, but he opened his eyes at the sound of Mika's voice stuttering his name. The nerves began to creep back up on him now that he had a moment to actually process their position. Familiar feelings of worry crept up on him as he replied quietly, “Is something wrong?”

“N-no!” Mika assured softly, the flush in his cheeks deepening, acutely aware of the warmth it brought to his naturally cool skin. “Not at all. I simply wonder if--perhaps at the dinner table is, maybe, not the most appropriate place…?”

His voice was quiet as he spoke, certainly not intending to worry nor offend, and very much enjoying the atmosphere of the corals around them. He would not complain would the Tallest prefer to stay in his personal holodeck, but seated at a chair by the table certainly couldn't have been the most comfortable for him.

The Tallest tilted his head to the side slightly as the smaller spoke, his antennae drooping slightly as he took a moment to look around at their surroundings. When he looked back to the other Irk he asked quietly, “Where do you feel would be appropriate?”

Mika could not help but frown as Pur's antennae drooped away from him. He leaned back slightly, to take in the Tallest's features and raise a hand to caress his jaw in reassurance. “Perhaps we could retire for a drink?”

The doctor offered the suggestion gently, and while he wanted to take in the beauty of the seascape surrounding them a little more, he didn't want to take his eyes from the other, watching to ensure he hadn't offended or disappointed the other in some way.

The Tallest worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment at the suggestion. There were still many worries and doubts swirling through his mind. Uncertainty of the truth of the doctor's feelings, uncertainty of his own abilities to be a mate to anyone, should those feelings prove to be true and they headed down that path, and the ever present fear that he may disappoint.

Would it be kinder to stop this before it progressed too far? End it before he had the chance to shatter the image that Mika currently held of him? Allowing this to go any further almost guaranteed that one of them was bound to be hurt.

But Pur did not have it in him to push the smaller away, instead he pressed into the soft touch of the boy's fingers on his jaw and replied softly, “Anything you want, Mika.”

“I want you, Pur,” Mika responded, shifting forward slightly in the other's lap to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “And if you are not comfortable with that yet, we do not have to. We can stay here, in this beautiful scene you have made for me, and we can talk.” As if to affirm his statement, he gently stroked the pad of his thumb along the soft skin of Pur's cheek.

Pur looked up at the press of Mika's lips on his brow, trying to steel himself against the nerves fluttering about in his spooch. He gave the boy a soft smile as he pulled away and stroked the Tallest's cheek. All he could do was to take him at face value. To move forward trusting that Mika was being entirely candid with him. He knew immediately that he would give the doctor anything that he wanted. He could fall hard for him, this sweet Irk with eyes like a solar flare. If it turned out he was wrong.. well, he would rather be the one to be hurt anyway.

The Tallest smiled softly and replied, “A drink sounds lovely. We can retire to my lounge, if you would like. I have a bottle of blueberry wine from Earth that Dib gifted to me. We could try it together.”

Mika chittered softly at the suggestion, giving one final kiss to the Tallest's forehead before slipping from his lap and holding out a hand to help him up, as well. “I think that sounds very lovely. I would enjoy that very much.”

The Tallest took the Irk's hand, even though he did not really need the help to rise to his feet. Once standing he adjusted his hand tentatively to intertwine his fingers with Mika's as he turned for the door. He paused for just a moment to steal a cookie from the table which he popped into his mouth in the way out the door. He had always been unable to resist the siren call of cookies, regardless if he felt more nervous than he had ever been in his entire life.

Which was actually fairly impressive. He was more nervous now than he had been the first time he had been presented to the brains. Fresh out of his internship for biomechanical study and to be recoded as Tallest. But he would rather face the brains a hundred hines than deal with this feeling like fluttering bugs waging war in his chest.

As they stepped into the hallway the Tallest swallowed thickly and mused, “My lounge is not totally put together at the moment. Certainly not as elegant as my brother's. I have a lot of half done projects laying about. More so than usual, but the seating area is nice and relatively clear. I hope you will pardon my general lack of organization.”

Mika could sense the nerves wafting from the Tallest, bittering his natural maple scent. He tightened the grip of his hand slightly, really only just realizing now how much more comfortable he was than the other.

He gave the Tallest a warm smile, eyes bright. “I am certain it is wonderful, Pur,” he'd have to get used to using his name over his title, “and all the more you, anyhow.” He was, after all, going with Pur to his lounge, certainly not the other Tallest's, who he had always been far more scared of than in any way attracted to.

Pur gave a soft chuckle and a one shouldered shrug commenting, “I suppose it is rather reflective of me in many ways, yes.”

When they made their way to the lounge Pur opened the door for the other to let him inside. He had not been exaggerating, his desk was piled high with schematics and hand written codes, stacks of books lined the wall that was dominated with computer screens and there were no less than a dozen dismantled PAKs strewn about. However, the Tallest lead the way past these to the overstuffed chairs beside his fireplace and pulled one of them out for the smaller. He made his way to his wine rack, again - much less elegant and far less full than Red's was. Pur had never been much of a drinker, but there were a few bottles, each of them a gift. As he poured glasses of the blueberry wine he asked, “Would you like a fire or no?”

Mika followed Pur into the lounge, his smile tugging a little wider and he chuckled lightly. He was unsurprised to see the lounge descended into a bit of chaos. He would often bring tea or supper to the Tallest in here to see him working tirelessly on some project or another, especially as of late. Since the revolution, he'd only seemed to have gotten busier.

He settled easily into the chair that was offered to him, watching Pur's moves closely and with a bit of a swoon. “I would love a fire, if you would not mind, of course.”

Even though this Tallest's lounge had become a mix of workspace and relaxation, it was still quite stunning and all the more Pur's aesthetic. Elegancies that, even as personal medic to the Tallest's and Tallers of the Empire aboard the Massive, were not exactly accessible to him. He had earned a great deal of respect from other Irks due to his position, but certainly nothing could match the beauty and grace of all things offered to the Tallests (or, taken, as was quite often the case for one Tallest more so than the other).

The Tallest gave a nod and as soon as he handed over a glass to the smaller he stepped up to the fireplace and began to input commands into a small control panel in the wall and the hearth suddenly came to life, filling the space with warmth and the ambiance of flickering flames. He made his way to the other chair and sat down musing, “I never mind a fire going. I am perpetually cold, no matter what I do. So, some additional heat is always welcome.”

He took a sip of the wine and then smiled at the other, “Actually this is quite good. But I tend to like much sweeter wines.”

“A fire is always a welcome addition,” Mika agreed with a small chitter--the warmth was quite nice, along with the ambiance of the crackling orange-yellow flames across the mostly purple room. He sipped from his glass and couldn't help but to purr.

“It is a very nice wine,” he nodded, unsurprised that Purple had sweeter tastes, although he had hardly ever seen the other drink. In fact, Mika didn't drink often, either, unless there was to be a celebration of sorts on the Massive.

The smaller took a glance around the room, really taking the space in and humming softly. “Would you tell me of something you are working on, Pur?”

The Tallest glanced behind them at the untidy room, the projects he had going on and furrowed his brow. His main project was the virus he was developing to fell the control brains. For the doctor's safety, that was not something he could be told, even though he had accomplished an impressive amount of work on it and would have loved to brag, if it were not so treacherous. He brought a hand up to his chin, tapping softly with the tip of one finger as he pondered.

“Oh,” he finally said. “The PAKs are a rather engaging project. What I am working on is a PAK program that would allow an Irk to switch from their current PAKs without the ten minutes to live side effect. The Irk would then have these PAKs and be free to remove them. There are a bunch of reasons why I am working on it that I cannot necessarily divulge. But, essentially, it is to give our subjects more freedom. Unfortunately- they will need to be tested at some point. So I am trying to make sure the program is unflawed before I hook one to my back. So far, it has been problematic.”

Mika listened closely and with interest as the Tallest spoke, eyeing the PAKs and parts that occupied the space. When he had finished speaking, the doctor turned to the other, antennae twitching curiously. “Problematic? It sounds like a very fascinating project. How is it problematic, if that is information that you may divulge?” He asked, the thought knotting a bit of worry into the pit of his stomach as his mind processed the possibilities.

The Tallest offered a smile, this one was wide and far more his norm, now that he was speaking about work instead of feelings. He gave a chuckle and began, “So to be able to switch the PAKs properly one has to be able to decrypt the securities placed on it. The code within a PAK is bound to the very nervous system of an Irk and there are certain firewalls that have to be broken down to be able to unsync that connection. The problematic part is that the encryption is almost always being scrambled. I have been able to pinpoint it a bit. But the encryption scrambles twice every zeptosecond. That is twice in every trillionth of a billionth of a second. So, in order to succeed, my program has to be able to decrypt those firewalls before the next scramble.”

He brought a hand up to scratch at his cheek absently as he added with a chuckle, “I would like to think I am close. But there is still some testing to do before I am comfortable strapping one to me.”

Mika nodded thoughtfully, “Yes, that does sound very complicated. The program will have to be very fast and accurate,” he offered, not understanding so much the techy details. “I would hope that all of the kinks would be worked out before testing a PAK on yourself like that. I cannot imagine what kind of damage it may do if it is not ready. I do hope that you are careful in your testing,” he said, taking in the Tallest's far more relaxed and comfortable demeanour, the way his violet eyes glimmered with excitement over his work.

Pur gave an honest laugh and mused, “Oh, it would undoubtedly kill me, if it is not ready. Probably rather horrifically.” He took a sip of his wine and added, “So I am making sure that I am being rather thorough.”

He turned his full attention to the other and asked happily, “What kind of sculptures are you working on? Is there anything in particular that inspires you?”

Mika's antennae leaned back slightly at Pur's comment, and he chirped unhappily. “Oh. We certainly do not want that. I am glad to hear that you are taking the proper care, though, and I do have faith in both your technological prowess and determination. I am sure when it is ready, it will go well.”

He hummed to himself softly, taking a sip from his own wine as he considered the Tallest's question. “Well, I used to do mainly abstract sculpture, particularly from spare parts and machinery that I could find. I do tend to keep them quite hidden in my quarters. However, Tallest Dib has shown me some incredible historic sculptures from Earth, particularly of people, done from clay or marble. Those have been inspiring me quite a lot lately, and I have been attempting to recreate such artworks in Irken form. I… Feel it is quite a shame we have kept art from our culture so completely. It is interesting to me to explore Irken values in a medium that seems to be so against all our people stand for. At least, until recently.”

He blushed slightly at the admission of his work. He had mentioned it a bit before, but was always scared to divulge details, and he had never shared information about his sculpture with anyone else. He hoped that the Tallest's interest was not just feigned.

Pur had leaned forward, placing his elbow on the arm of the chair and cupping his cheek in his hand, quite enraptured in what the Irk was saying. He had always loved artwork and discovering what that word meant to other cultures. But as Mika spoke he had a rather brilliant idea of something he could share with the little Irk.

“I have something I want to show you,” he said as he rose from his seat and made his way over to the wall of screens, grabbing one by the edge and tugging it from the wall. It came away easily and simply hovered mid air. He pulled it over to the smaller and sat down on the floor at Mika's feet as he started digging through the vast amount of information on his computer. As he accessed a set of files he mused, “Art is actually something that used to be very important to Irk. This was millennia ago, of course. Before the brains, that is.”

He pulled up an image of a planet, one which was luscious and green with oceans of vivid pink. The information on the screen listed it as Irk. But Irk nearly five thousand years ago. It was a great deal different from the almost entirely metal covered planet which both of them were born to. He opened up some historical documents and added, “Art came to be seen as a waste of Irken resources when the brains took control, so it was destroyed and outlawed. However, they do love their data, so there are records. Of course these are not public, by any means. But being Tallest does come with a perk or two.”

The screen was suddenly filled with images of paintings, beautiful buildings of stone covered in base relief, sculptures and pages upon pages of Irken poetry. He scooted a bit to give Mika full access to the screen and rested his head on the boy's knee and said up to him, “Perhaps you can find some inspiration from the inspiration of our ancestors?”

At first, Mika was very confused when the Tallest stood and walked away, but his antennae were perked with curiosity and he listened carefully as Pur began to speak, now sitting near him on the floor.

His eyes widened at the screen, staring in awe at what was revealed to him and the information that Pur had just divulged. Years and years of artwork censored and hidden from their history, something that he was startled even the Tallest had been able to discover. It seemed so outside their realm, so outside of everything he knew about his own people. The control brains and the Tallests--well. Most did assume that the Tallests simply fulfilled their role as messengers of the brains. Nobody spoke of it, except for perhaps in hushed whispers far from prying eyes.

The artwork was fascinating and beautiful. The pieces still held the strength and grace of Irken form, their curiosity in technology, but so proudly displayed these things as pieces to be considered. Artwork meant to question, not to confirm what was already understood.

“This is incredible. Was this all destroyed?” Mika asked, his voice hushed and nervous. It felt almost as though discussing it would destroy the illusion, or that they would be caught any second doing something horribly illegal. But it was incredible.

Pur had let the smaller look at the art in silence as long as he wanted to. The Tallest was content to simply watch him take it all in. At the question he gave a soft and almost sad smile, “Yes, it was all destroyed. These records are really all that remains of our artistic roots. But there is so much more, even. Philosophy, even religion. Everything was purged from Irk thousands of years ago, but there are these records of them.”

He glanced at the screen and added, “As a Tallest, we are meant to study these things. The brains told us that it was to see how primitive the species was, to be able to appreciate the wonders of the New Empire. It was meant to solidify our loyalties to the brains, so that we would not question their orders. But I have always found it just… fascinating.”

He gave another smile and added, “As does Red, believe it or not. I have caught him several times even humming some of the ancient folks songs under his breath. He even tried to recreate a few of the paintings. The brains were really displeased with him for it though.”

The Tallest did not elaborate on what the brains being displeased entailed, but he was sure that anything that the Irk could come up with would not even come close to that terror.

Mika could hardly tear his eyes away from the artwork in front of him as Pur spoke, even outlining Red's interest in their beautiful and hidden past. While he did want to inquire further about what happened to Red when he had been caught, he could tell with a glass that it would not be information Pur would be comfortable divulging to him.

He nodded in response, looking back to the screen and following the lines to one of the poems, a little archaic and their language even slightly different. He considered for a moment before asking, just as quietly, “Why are you showing me this? Does this…” he fidgeted anxiously, one antennae twitching in excitement at the thought, “Does this have anything to do with the projects you cannot tell me about?”

The Tallest had furrowed his brow at the first question but at the second he turned his head away to look into the fire. He heaved a heavy sigh and replied carefully, “It does not directly have to do with them. Though I hope that because of our plans we might pave the way for Irks to once again express themselves like this, among other things.”

Mika couldn't help but to place his hand on Pur's shoulder, gripping him perhaps a little more tightly than he'd intended as he rose his eyes back up to the artwork. “For there to be a day I can explore my artwork without shame, without the need to hide it… I am very hopeful for those projects, Pur. And even though you have not been able to come forward with these plans, I can promise you, many Irks feel much the same way.”

Pur nodded lightly and agreed, “As am I.” What he did not add was the fact that he and Red had already discussed that it was unlikely that they would manage to see the finished product. The brains would be livid when these plans came to fruition. The Tallests were prepared for the fact that it may very well be their final act of defiance.

The Tallest shook off the thoughts and looked back at the other with a kind smile, “I would love to see your art sometime, if you are willing to share it with me.”

Mika, clueless to the Tallest's inner thoughts, simply smiled down at him and blushed. “I would love to show you sometime. I cannot say that my work is as incredible as what you have shown me here, but perhaps you may still find it interesting.”

Pur grinned back up at the younger Irk and replied happily, “I think that you are quite incredible. I am sure that any art you have created will be equally so.”

He gave a shrug and added, “All of my own art, if you could consider it that, is just my work with technology. It seems to be the only kind of creation that the brains are truly okay with. Even the books which Red and I tend to hoard from other cultures are considered contraband. Not that it has ever stopped us. But we have become far better at hiding it from them.”

Mika smiled at Pur's compliment. “Your work is art, Pur, of its own sort,” he said softly, moving his hand from the Tallest's shoulder to caress his cheek, seeing how the violet blush arose to his high cheekbones. He loved how Pur's eyes got excited as he spoke of his projects and interests, even defying the control brains brought a defiant glint to his eyes that was nothing less than stunning.

He could imagine that the control brains were far less than pleased at the recent developments, particularly Red, more vocal and far more often in the public eye, his own defiances quite on display for all of the Empire and further.

“I should thank you, Pur. For tonight. It has been a very, very wonderful day, thanks to you.” Mika stroked his thumb along Pur's cheek.

Pur did not disappoint the Irk's desire to see him blush, he did so quite splendidly, vibrant violet erupting about his cheeks at the touch, once again remembering that he was anxious about this whole ordeal. He chittered softly and replied, “N-no. Thank you, Mika. For coming to spend time with me tonight. I know that you are a very busy person and this has been very nice.”

Of course, Pur was an incredibly busy person as well, however it did not seem necessary to state as much. The Tallest straightened his back, realizing now that sitting on the floor like a smeet was rather unbecoming but he did not stand, instead he looked up at the smaller and asked, “Would you possibly want to maybe do this more often? On a somewhat regular basis perhaps?”

Mika purred softly at Pur's question, continuing to stroke his cheek and examine the colour, his mouth parting just a touch to inhale the brilliant maple of him, the way he looked so bashful and charming.

“Pur, I would love that. Very much. I will always make time for you, and I am so glad that you would like to spend more time with me.”

The Tallest flashed another smile at the response and moved instead to his knees rather than sitting on the floor and took both of the smaller's hands in his as he spoke, “I really would enjoy spending more time with you Mika. This has really been wonderful. I know I have been a bit less than eloquent this evening but I appreciate the chance to do this again and hopefully I will have better control over myself.”

He glanced away, the blush still vibrant on his cheeks as he added, “I am usually not quite this much of a wreck.”

“Oh, Pur,” Mika murmured quietly, using his hand already on the Tallest's cheek to turn him back so they were again facing one another. He leaned down, pressing another kiss to the Tallest's lips, gentle and chaste, before pulling back. “We will become more comfortable around one another over time. I do not mean to make you nervous. We can take this as slowly as you like. There is no hurry.”

He felt odd, once again sitting taller than the other, looking down to him. It was a serious role reversal--and again, his shoes were pinching.

With a frustrated squeak, the doctor pulled back. “Do forgive me, I know this is certainly not first-date appropriate behaviour, and quite unbecoming, but I may lose my mind if I must wear these infernal heels for another moment.”

With that, the smaller tugged up the hems of his robes, unfastening his heels and delicately, but quickly, tugging them off with a relieved chitter. He turned apologetically back to Pur. “My apologies, Pur. I am… Not accustomed to wearing anything other than comfortable boots, for I do so much standing at work.”

The Tallest had tilted his head curiously at the squeak of pain only to chuckle lightly as the other removed his shoes. The Irk's feet were very obviously sore from the heels and it was something that Pur understood all too well, “Ah. Fancy shoes. Very cute. But also not worth the pain, I have discovered.”

He moved back into a seated position on the floor, lifting his long robes up to the ankle to reveal a pair of clunky combat boots, “I never wear heels unless making a public appearance. And that is only because Red wears them. People would talk if we did not appear to be the same height. I hate them so much.”

He chuckled once again before lifting the doctor's feet into his lap and beginning to rub the aching arches and toes gently with his fingers, “I hereby give you my full blessing and encouragement to wear comfortable shoes to all of our future dates. I would much rather you not be in pain throughout.”

Mika's cheeks heated quite intensely as Pur tugged his feet into his lap to massage them, but despite the orange tinge and his embarrassment at himself, he couldn't help but begin to purr under the touches of the Tallest.

“Ah, thank you, Pur. I do appreciate this, and the fact that I will not have to wear the heels very often. I do much prefer a comfortable, and efficient, pair of footwear.” He laughed softly, letting his hands rest in his lap now.

“I do imagine it would be odd to see the two of you on screen at different heights. Although it is odd that we have always had two leaders of the same height--perhaps shoe style has been a visual aid in that department.”

Pur chuckled lightly and mused as he continued his gentle massage, “Perhaps. I doubt it though. The brains measure us on a monthly basis to make sure that one of us has not grown and if an Irk wants to contest us with their height we must also submit for measuring, not that it happens often. We are almost freakishly tall for Irkens.”

He smiled up at the doctor and added, “In the past there have been times where there was only one Tallest and I know of at least one universe in which there is only a single Tallest. In that one Zim is actually Tallest. It is hard to imagine with how short my brother's mate is. But I suppose that genetics were bound to deal him a fair hand in some iterations.” He paused and tilted his head adding with a somewhat uncomfortable chuckle, “I am fairly certain that he killed us in that universe though. So that is less fun.”

“Oh, that most certainly is less fun,” Mika nodded, fidgeting with the ties on his robes as the other spoke. “It… truly seems to be an odd thing to determine leaders.”

The smaller Irken considered this for a moment, turning back to the Tallest, still seated on the floor and rubbing his sore feet. “I am curious how much you have discovered about our pasts, other than the artwork and religion. Did we conduct ourselves in much the same way? Were we always so violent? Or simply… explorative?”

Pur smiled softly and mused, “It may be an odd way of doing things and certainly not the best way of doing things. But it certainly worked out in my favor.” He spend a few moments in contemplation before he continued, “As far as what I have discovered about how Irk used to be, actually, believe it or not - actually the society used to be incredibly spiritual. But spirituality fell to the wayside in the name of progress.”

Mika's frown deepened. “Well, I am certainly glad you are in the position you are, and that the stars have brought us together in this way. I cannot even imagine an Irk as spiritual. I know many other races to be quite spiritual, and Taller Dib has educated me some on Earth spirituality. It is hard to imagine for our people.

“I wonder,” Mika continued, “How we may have progressed would we have not turned to such dominance and violence.”

The Tallest shrugged and mused, “It is an interesting notion to ponder, but truly it is impossible to tell. But violence was not completely out of the norm, even for those Irks. The priests were the greatest warriors of the civilization. But combat was seen as an extension of spirituality. More of a command of one's own body, really. But, from what I have been able to tell, they only engaged in combat when pressed to do so and for sport.”

He continued rubbing the soles of the smaller's feet and added, “There has always been a tendency of conquest among Irkkind, but it seems that it used to be far more balanced.”

“Hmm,” Mika murmured, leaning back into the cushioned chair, tugging one of the decorative pillows from behind himself to hug it to his chest, purple on orange. “That does make it a little easier to picture. I wonder if we will ever be able to go back, or if we are doomed to continue down the path we have chosen to take.”

He glances at Pur, then, adoration clear on his face for the speculative expression of the Tallest’s. “Perhaps time will tell.”

Purple smiled softly and mused, “I have to remain hopeful that we are able to reverse some of the damage to our own culture. The damage of the Empire as a whole cannot be undone, of course, but I would hope that future generations are able to see our mistakes and continue on with the desire for change.”

Without truly thinking about it he slid his hands a bit further up to massage the boy's ankles and calves, “It is my hope that we will help to shepherd in an age where Irks are able to choose their paths for themselves, are able to grow and love freely. Most of what the future will hold is up to Irks themselves. There are those that currently and will continue to resist change, there is a wickedness in our blood and I only hope that goodness will win out.”

Mika nodded sadly into the thought, but he had seen it first-hand and knew it to be true. The way Irks like that spoke of Taller Dib; even with his prowess and his station, he was seen as an outsider to their people. The fact that Red had taken one Irken mate was odd--odder, still, that he took two, one of another species. “I hope so as well. I suppose all we can do is continue to fight for what is right, and to nurture more pleasant and welcoming ideals.”

He allowed Pur’s hands to travel up his leg, but he couldn’t help but to blush a little as the hem of his robes rose up a little further. In return, he placed a gentle hand on the Tallest’s shoulder, offering a light but affectionate squeeze.

The Tallest hummed softly at the hand on his shoulder and gave a nod. He did truly hope that their newfound path of peace lead to prosperity, that the Irks would follow their lead and they would be able to live happier and more freely.

Pur glanced up at the little Irk with a smile and let go of Mika's leg as he shifted himself onto his knees and mused, “I am sure it will work out,” The Tallest let the conversation about the future of Irk end there and acting far braver than he felt he brought a hand up to the Irk's jaw and pressed forward to steal another gentle kiss from him.

Mika was glad for the distraction of the kiss, having become unsure of what more to say regarding the current topic of conversation. With a soft chirp, he responded to the kiss in kind, just as gently, his hand still on the Tallest’s shoulder sliding down just a little to rest on his chest.

He deepened the kiss slightly after a moment, risking the opening of his mouth. He flushed, hoping he wasn’t moving too quickly for Pur, but definitely wanting to end this incredible night on just as high of a note as it began, as was every moment in between.

The Tallest purred softly at the feeling of Mika's hand on his chest and responded by slipping his hand to the back of the smaller's neck as he tentatively slipped his tongue into the doctor's mouth, letting it slide softly against the other's. The feeling was incredible, not completely unlike he had imagined it would be, but also not a sensation that he thought he could put words to if he tried.

He brought up his other hand, wrapping it softly around the Irk's lower back, pulling him closer, nearly off the edge of the chair as he pulled away from the kiss and ducked his head down to kiss at the smaller's neck. His purr shifted into what was a rarity for him, a soft and rumbling growl as Pur finally let his inhibitions go, letting himself simply be in that moment with Mika.

The liberation did not last long. Pur had just barely begun trailing soft kisses along Mika's jaw when the little Irken insignia at his collar flashed a soft lavender color and an Irken's voice sounded, “Pardon my intrusion, my Tallest. Your presence is required on the bridge.”

The Tallest let out a heavy sigh, mumbling against the Doctor's skin, “Do you think they will believe me if I told them they got the wrong number?”

At first, Mika was chittering into their kiss, then gasping and purring into the kisses to his throat, both hands having shifted to the Tallest's chest to steady himself. His cheekbones flushed and eyes slipped closed, allowing them to simply be together, finally not as Tallest and subject--then nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice sounding from the communicator he had not seen flash.

He giggled shyly, pulling back from the other just slightly, stroking the back of Pur's head in a comforting and affectionate manner. It was probably best they stopped now, and didn't take things faster than they were ready for--at least, than he was ready for. “I am sorry, but I do not think they will, Pur,” he murmured, the giggle still audible tucked between his words as he tried to settle his nerves.

The Tallest chuckled and mused, “You are probably right,” as he pulled away and lifted his hand to the communicator, tapping the insignia and replied back, “En route, Lieutenant.”

Pur looked to the smaller as he stood with a sigh. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against Mika's and saying softly, “Thank you for a lovely evening, Mika.” He straightened his back, shoving one of his hands into his pocket and scuffed his boot on the floor as he added, “I would love to do this again sometime.”

Mika stayed seated only as long as the Tallest took to press against his forehead with his own, chittering softly and his antennae tilted forward just slightly.

“No, thank you. I had such an incredible night, Pur,” he said, standing and risking taking Purple's hand in his own, noting the awkward shuffle and the lack of desire to leave. It was flattering. It made him feel more special than he had in his years. “I would love to do this again, too. Any time you would like. You do, after all, sort of make my schedule.”

It was a joke, and only half true--he did have students to teach and a very rowdy human that often called his attention away, but the Tallests were his first priority and, should he wish to, he could ask one of his upper-level students to take over for a day.

The Tallest chuckled lightly, rubbing the pad of his thumb along Mika's knuckles as he looked down at the smaller with a warm smile, “I suppose that I do. Well, you have my word that I will make sure that you are given adequate free time indulge me in my desire for your company, so long as you maintain the desire to do so.”

He brought the doctor's hand up, pressing a kiss to his fingers and adding, “I hate to say goodnight, but I really do have to go. Please feel free to sit, enjoy the fire and finish your wine. I will have some of the dinner that neither of us really ate sent to your quarters, or here, if you prefer.”

Mika chittered softly as Pur took his hand up and kissed his fingers, blushing lightly. He pulled his lip between his teeth for a moment as he considered his options.

As much as he would love to stay, and the offer was quite sweet, he wasn't sure yet how appropriate it would be to stay for long. “Thank you, Pur. I will stay to finish my wine, if that is okay, and then I think I will retire to my quarters. If that is okay, of course.”

Pur let out a genuine laugh at the comment as he looked down at the doctor and replied with a smile, “Of course that is okay, Mika. It is not like I am going to force you to stay in my office all night. Stay as long as you like, dinner will be in your quarters when you do retire.”

The Tallest leaned down to press his lips against the doctor's cheek before stepping back a few paces and engaging the teleport system hooked up to his gauntlet. As he finished he looked back to the smaller and said with a smile, “I had fun, thank you for spending the evening with me. Goodnight, Mika… Energize.”

With that the Tallest phased out, leaving the doctor alone in the office.

Mika whined softly as Pur teleported out, sighing and sitting back down in the chair. He tugged his heels back on, not wanting to walk through the ship barefoot back to his quarters, and slowly sipped at his wine.

Despite the interruption, it had been a really fantastic evening. Dinner was lovely, the holodeck was incredible, and speaking with Pur here in the lounge, being close to one another… it was everything he had dreamed of since the academy. More.

He had been worried that upon meeting Pur that the feelings would fizzle into a simple crush for their leader. They didn't. He had worried the same with the date, and again, the way he felt hadn't faded but in fact increased tenfold. He smiled to himself, finishing off his wine in one fell swoop, before he stood and made his way back to his quarters.

#;my almighty tallest: pragmatic purple #the date #long post #//tw long post

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gold-from-straw · 6 years

Text

Nightmares - DGHDA SpookFest

For prompt 33, nightmares. Dirk Gently/Todd Brotzman. T rating

Some graphic depictions of violence, canon typical gore (including pararibulitis attacks), Priest being an utter arsehole as usual, and insulting someone’s gender orientation... so warnings for Transphobia. Also swearing, I mean, my entire existence should come with a swear rating, my bad...

Quinn ran, their heart pounding in their chest, lungs burning and mind almost overloading with terror. They stumbled around another corner, bumped into someone who fell to the ground instantly, the ground around them writhing with snakes. Quinn whimpered and ran some more. Their own worst nightmare was coming for them, his gun at the ready and a smile on his face.

***

“…and then this person said they were attacked by rubber chickens in the grocery store—“

“Rubber chickens?”

“Yes, they—“

“In the grocery store?”

“Yes, Todd, do keep up. They said, and I quote, that they squawked threateningly and their dead rubber eyes stared deep into their soul.”

Todd gave up and doubled up laughing. “What are these guys on?”

Dirk tried to look prim and aloof but he could see the bastard’s lips twitching. “As far as we know they aren’t on anything. This spate of weird hallucinations is spreading across the city and it’s brilliant, Todd, we needed a new case, I’ve been so bored.”

“So the universe is giving you rubber chickens?”

“Not just rubber chickens. Dinosaurs and quicksand and jack’o’lanterns and—“

“Lions and tigers and bears, oh my?”

He stopped, his eyes going wide. Todd bit his lip to resist the pull of those eyes, before sucked him in to their orbit. “How did you know? Have you been getting visions like Amanda?”

“No, it’s… a movie reference, never mind. So what do we do?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” he said, and nobody should be that happy about their own ignorance, it was obscene. “I think we should walk around Seattle and see where the universe takes us.”

The universe, as it happened, took them to the park, along the avenue of trees scattering damp autumn leaves, and to a little coffee shop where Dirk ordered something utterly disgusting with at least three different syrups. Todd watched him stroll along with his happy smile and stomped on the little voice whispering ‘this is just like a date’.

It was not a date. As they turned a corner, Dirk suddenly gasped and raced off down an alleyway without warning. Todd was not impressed about running on a full stomach. He could feel that coffee sloshing around as he tried to catch up with Dirk’s ridiculously long legs, honestly, someone who fell over his own feet so often should not be able to run that fast.

He was breathing hard before he found him again, shoving his way through a small crowd of skaters.

“Push it with your board, man, don’t touch it.”

“Woah, did you see that? Are you fucking getting this, man? The board went right through it!”

“What the hell?”

“Rezza, don’t touch it, Jesus!”

“Chill, it’s like a hologram or something, look!”

Todd elbowed forwards, ducking his head low and grimly thinking there were at least some advantages to being chest height to everyone else. “Holy shit,” he muttered, as he got to the centre.

There was a young man lying on the road, writhing and crying out, his head twitching from side to side like he was having a bad dream. And all around him, crawling over his chest and legs, were hundreds of snakes.

Dirk bent down right next to the man. The skaters were torn between cheering him on and warning him to be careful. At least three of them were filming. Dirk reached forward to shake the man’s shoulder, and put his hand right through a huge hooded cobra. “Excuse me,” he said, tapping him on the chest. “Hello, will you wake up?” He poked him gingerly. “Hey!” he yelled, and the poor man sat bolt upright, breathing hard and sweating.

“What the hell? What the… the snakes? Where are they, there were… they were everywhere, oh God.” He shuddered and stared at his hands, but the snakes really were gone, vanished like mist the moment he’d woken up.

Dirk patted him with the very tips of his fingers. “There, there. You seem to have been manifesting your dreams. Does this happen often?”

“Man, it was sick! You have to see this,” one of the skaters laughed, and held out his phone.

The dreamer looked at the video and screamed, skittering backwards onto someone’s feet. “What the fuck? That was… there were snakes all… oh my God oh my God, I’m gonna be sick, I’m gonna… the fuck is going on, I just…”

“Hey,” snapped Todd, forcing his way forward and grabbing the guy’s shoulders. “Stop that now, you’re here. You’re awake, the snakes are gone. They weren’t solid, they were… I don’t know, like some…”

“Manifestation of an unintentional astral projection,” Dirk added helpfully.

“—yeah maybe. Whatever. But you’re safe, you hear?”

The man nodded, still trembling. “What’s your name?” Todd asked.

“Wikus.”

Todd nodded firmly and held out his hand to help the guy up. “I’m Todd Brotzman, this is my par… uh, this is Dirk Gently. He does… weird shit.”

“I’m a holistic detective, as my so-called assistant is failing to tell you. Hi.” Dirk held out his hand to shake and started interrogating Wikus, or telling him his life story, or something. Either way, nobody noticed that Todd had very nearly called him his partner which was just… something to be shoved down into a corner of his imagination where it meant something very different and never see the light of day again.

“—and Farah will take your details. Come on, Todd, you’ll be left behind one of these days!”

He snorted. “As if you’d remember your way back to the office without me.”

“The universe would take me there,” he sniffed. Todd just smirked and shook his head, and led the way.

***

Quinn collapsed in a doorway and tried to sit upright, but their body was shaking too much. They slumped against the frame and curled up tight. A wave of despair swept over them. They were never going to be free. He was going to chase them forever, no matter how hard they ran he’d be around the next corner with a gleeful laugh and an army on his side. Quinn was just so tired, but going back there was a fate worse than death.

***

“So, nightmares, huh?” Amanda said, swinging her feet where she sat on Farah’s desk. Todd figured she was the only person in the world Farah would allow to sit on her perfectly ordered desk.

Dirk nodded. “Yes, this is the seventh manifested nightmare we’ve found in the last three days, isn’t it brilliant?”

“Yeah, when he says found, what he means is I found references to six of them on youtube and twitter,” Farah pointed out, waving her pen in his direction.

“Exactly, you found six and Todd and I found one, therefore we found seven. See? I can do maths, Farah, and you said it was atrocious.”

Farah rolled her eyes and turned back to the computer. Amanda grinned and offered her a cookie which she’d stolen from the cupboard anyway, so it was probably Farah’s cookie. “What’s causing it? Any ideas?”

“Aliens.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Todd, it’s never aliens.”

“It’s only a matter of time, I mean, we’ve had alternate dimensions, shapeshifters, actual wizards, at least three cults and one surprisingly boring series of robberies.”

“Really? How did you end up with that case?”

“They only stole worthless trinkets. Dirk thought it might have been a creature that fed off nostalgia or something, but it was a young guy with a form of kleptomania. Kinda sad, really.”

“I thought he was an empath, not a nostalgia-eater” Dirk protested.

“You said, and I quote, ‘he’s some sort of sentiment vampire, I’ll bet you anything, Todd.’ Speaking of which, you still owe me dinner.”

“Do not let him cook,” said Farah without looking up from the computer.

“Did you just do the British accent again?” Dirk said in delight.

“No…”

“You did. Oh, do it again, please.”

“Shut up!” he covered his red face, furious with himself.

“Guys, come look at this,” Farah called, and Todd grabbed at the opportunity with both hands. He scrambled round to stand behind her chair, joined by Dirk and Amanda.

It was a YouTube video. Todd recognised the area they’d been that day, the skaters taking shaky footage of each other trying out a new trick. He immediately tried to see if he could spot Wikus in the background, but they spotted the person running first.

It was over in seconds. There was a figure racing down the street, turning to look the way they’d come, and then stumbling and running on again. They were almost out of shot when they crashed into Wikus. It was barely even a brush of shoulders, but Wikus dropped like a stone. The skater taking the video was too busy focusing on the snakes that were forming out of thin air around the sleeping man to turn the video back on the runner, or on whatever they were running from.

“Can you pause it and try and get a look at the runner?” Todd said, squinting at the screen.

Farah rolled her eyes. “No, Captain Obvious, because I’ve already downloaded it. We can look at a frame by frame here.” She opened another app and the video appeared as a series of ten second clips.

“Do you ever wonder what your role is in this business?” Amanda asked him sweetly. He glared at her.

“Todd’s my assistant,” said Dirk, and his horrified expression was deeply gratifying. “He’s irreplaceable.”

“If you say so,” Amanda grinned.

Todd tried not to gaze at Dirk like a lovestruck puppy but, damn, it was hard. Now if only he could get up the nerve to tell Dirk he was equally irreplaceable to Todd, just… for a really different reason.

“I can’t get a better view of this guy,” said Farah, squinting at the screen. The person ran, frame by frame, speed blurring all his features. They turned to look behind them, and Dirk gasped and stepped back.

“What, what is it? You recognise this guy?”

“Morpheus,” he whispered.

“Who’s Morpheus?” Farah said. “The… the Greek god of dreams, but… oh… Greek mythology.” She looked from Dirk to the screen and back. “Shit.”

Dirk was backed right up against the wall, his face pale and his eyes that horrible blank mask. Todd had seen that too much back in Bergsberg. He reached out to squeeze his arm. “Blackwing?”

Dirk nodded, a tiny, jerky movement. His big eyes were looking suspiciously wet, and Todd grabbed his other hand, pulling him around to face him. “Hey, you’re OK. You’re safe. We’re here, and we’re never letting you go again, you hear?”

He nodded, and Todd wasn’t sure if his lower lip really trembled like that or if it was just the movement of his whole head, but he wanted to wrap him up tight in his arms and never let him feel this fear again.

Dirk took a deep breath and stepped back towards the screen. “M-Morpheus arrived a few years after I did… around the same time as the Rowdies and… and they used to make them feed on either them or me, or… or—“

“Them?” interjected Farah. “How many were in Project Morpheus?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, singular them. Morpheus is non-binary.”

“And their power was, what, making people hallucinate?”

“Not exactly… they could pull your worst nightmares forwards. I used to… they had to do it to me,” he said, his eyes falling shut and shuddering. “I didn’t recognise it today because… because the nightmares never used to appear to anyone else, like those snakes did. They just touched you, and you fell asleep, into the worst… the worst dreams you’d ever had.”

Todd’s hands itched with the need to touch him, comfort him. When Amanda slipped off the desk and wrapped her arms around his waist, he was torn between grateful that she was giving him the comfort that Todd was too cowardly to provide, and angry with himself that he couldn’t put this stupid crush aside and just give Dirk what he needed. He turned back to the screen, clenching his fist and looking at the picture, memorising the face of yet another person who’d hurt Dirk, another person Todd would hate forever.

But as he looked at the young person on the screen, he found it difficult to keep the same level of anger. They were frozen mid-step, their head twisted to stare behind them, a look of utter panic and despair on their face. It was hard to hate someone who looked so much like Dirk had back in Bergsberg.

“They look like they’re being chased,” said Farah softly.

Dirk nodded. “The fear always made their powers worse.”

“So you’re saying they’ve got stronger since you knew them?” Amanda said.

He sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if they got out of Blackwing back when I escaped, I know not all of us did. If they’d been stuck there, if Riggins…” He swallowed. “If they found something that worked…”

“You think they’ve found some way to increase their powers?”

“To weaponise them,” Farah murmured. “Shit.”

“Look, maybe not,” Amanda said, rubbing Dirk’s back. Todd could see his muscles trembling, just ever so slightly. “Maybe Morpheus figured it out themselves.”

Dirk took a deep breath and pursed his lips. “We’ve got to help them.”

***

Amanda walked back with Todd and Dirk, claiming it was Todd’s turn to let her use his shower. Todd grumbled and pretended that having her back in his life wasn’t the best thing that had ever happened to him. She also made Dirk smile, just another reason he wanted to fall on his knees in gratitude to his little sister.

“Don’t let Morpheus get close to you, Todd,” she said, with a wicked grin.

“Amanda,” he growled, narrowing his eyes at her.

She laughed and tucked her arm into Dirk’s. “Do you wanna guess what Todd’s worst nightmare was? When we were kids?”

Dirk turned great pools of sorrow onto Todd. “Oh no! Was it terrible, Todd?”

Todd blushed and turned away, unable to bear the siren call of that sweet, kind face. “Don’t listen to her, she’s an idiot.”

Amanda snorted. “I’m not the one who was terrified of little white ponies.”

Dirk’s forehead crinkled as he stared down at her, and even under his mortification Todd thought it was adorable. “White ponies?”

“Amanda, oh my god!”

“How many times did you have that dream?” She asked, her voice rich with delight at his humiliation. She looked up at Dirk in glee. “It was about the same time I was playing with My Little Ponies, he must have been at least fourteen. He woke up screaming one night because - and I quote - ‘the ponies are trying to eat me!’” She threw her head back and laughed. “He had that dream night after night, I had to put my ponies in the wardrobe any time I wasn’t playing with them or he’d shudder when he saw them!”

“They had teeth!” he yelled, his face burning. “They were vicious little… dog sized creatures with sharp freaking teeth - and horses do actually eat meat, by the way. They… they chased me up a tree every damn night and circled me and - oh shut up!”

Amanda was nearly doubled over laughing. “Promise me you’ll take a video if Todd gets knocked over by Morpheus, I need blackmail material.”

Todd groaned and rolled his eyes.

“I’m afraid I’ll probably have other things on my mind, but I appreciate the warning about the white ponies,” Dirk said, humour colouring his voice.

Todd shook his head, but it occurred to him that his stupid pony nightmare would be preferable to anything that would manifest if Morpheus got to Dirk.

***

Quinn took a long, shuddering breath and wrapped their hands around a warm styrofoam cup. They were safe, just for now. They’d sent him down a false trail, and if they were lucky it would be hours before he realised… maybe even a day or two. And Quinn had a plan. It meant… it meant doing to themself what they did but… the end justified the means. They needed to get stronger. They needed to stop relying on touch because Priest would never let Quinn get close enough… they needed to stretch the powers. Quinn’s stomach roiled, rebelling against the fear and phantom pains, but this was the only way. They had to save themself, because nobody else was going to.

***

It was midnight. Amanda had stumbled out the front door, yawning, at least an hour earlier, but Dirk was still on Todd’s sofa, chattering, waving his hands, and as bright eyed as he had been at 8 o’clock that morning.

Todd rubbed his gritty eyes and stifled a yawn, blinking at Dirk’s flushed face. “...and there was this absolutely brilliant double rainbow, stretching right over the Atlantic, and did you know, Todd, I could see both ends of it in the sea - do you think if I took a plane over the top of it I’d be able to see a whole circle? Wouldn’t that be amazing, a rainbow ring? A double ring because it was a double rainbow, ooh, that would be the best thing—“

“Dirk,” he huffed. “Aren’t you… I don’t know, aren’t you tired?”

He stopped, his mouth open and half way through a word. “I’m… no. No, I’m perfectly awake, Todd, I really don’t know how you can sleep at a time like this, honestly, it’s all so exciting! Did I tell you about-“

Todd groaned and slumped lower onto the sofa. “Dirk, I’m tired! I want to go to sleep, look… do you want to just watch TV? I’m gonna fall asleep right here if I don’t go to bed!”

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry.”

He sounded small. He sounded like he’d been shut down, like all that brightness and enthusiasm had been wiped away like condensation on a mirror, and all that was left was a sharp, stark… exhaustion.

Todd opened his eyes properly and sat up.

“I’ll head back to my own flat, thank you for dinner, Todd, it was lovely.”

Todd frowned as Dirk stood up, smiling brightly and fussing with his jacket. He focused properly on the curve of his shoulders, the tension in the lines of his face, the shadows under his eyes, and he grabbed the sleeve of his jacket as he slipped his arms in. “Do you… you can stay here, if you like,” he said softly. “If you don’t want to be alone.”

Dirk exhaled shakily, his eyes going distant and staring through the carpet into the past. “I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not good enough,” he said. “Come here.” He pulled him around to the sofa, shoved him down again and twitched a fleecy blanket off the back of the armchair. “Lie down, Dirk, c’mon.”

“You really don’t have to, Todd, you’re absolutely right, it’s time for bed and—“

“Dirk, shut up and lie down. And next time you don’t want to be alone, just tell me, OK?”

Dirk curled up on his side, stiff and wide eyed. Todd nodded firmly, draping the blanket over him. “‘Night. Sleep well.”

“Thank you,” he said, very quietly.

***

They found somewhere to sleep, an old warehouse, red brick crumbling and weeds growing up through the cracks in the tarmac. It was almost painfully cold out in the autumn wind, Halloween just around the corner, but Quinn had a thick sleeping bag and a pack of marshmallows, stolen from a camping store. It was almost pleasant, almost like an adventure. That’s what they told themself, a distraction from what they’d have to do to peel their powers out, stretch them like elastic. Make themself into the weapon they’d been resisting for so long. Make themself into the monster they’d sworn never to become.

They had no choice.

***

He wasn’t sure what woke him. It wasn’t a cry, it wasn’t a dream of his own, but he woke, eyes wide and clear, fixed on the red 3:58 of his digital clock. He lay still for a moment, trying to work out what had pulled him from sleep so perfectly.

For a while there was nothing. He closed his eyes again and tried to settle back to sleep, and there it was. The slightest, shuddering breath, the slightest shifting of tense muscles.

Before he could rationalise it to himself, before he could shake his head and brush it off, he was standing, bare feet cold against the floorboards, and pushing his door open to the sitting room.

Dirk lay still under the covers, a beam of moonlight casting silver accents over his red hair. He wasn’t moving at all, and in the end, that’s what was suspicious. Because he was so still he might not even be breathing, so curled up tight when he’d seen him loose and slack in sleep the last time he’d passed out on the couch after a long case.

He shuffled forward, his body not quite responding right, but his mind sharp and present as he crouched down. Dirk’s forehead was lined, his brows crunched into a deep frown, his plush lips in a worried pout, his fingers clenching and unclenching. As Todd watched he whimpered, just slightly, and pressed himself backwards, curling up into a terrified, solid little ball.

“Dirk,” he said softly, his heart aching. Dirk should never be so small and afraid, hiding behind silence and stillness.

“Please,” Dirk whispered, just a breath barely even a sound. “No, please, I’m trying, I’ll be… I’ll be good.”

“Dirk, wake up!” Todd said, a little louder. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t want to scare him, but how could he leave him so scared? This wasn’t right, how dare anyone scare Dirk like this? How could they?

“Please,” he whimpered, and Todd couldn’t bear it. He sank his fingers into Dirk’s hair, rubbing gently, whispering meaningless reassurances, trying to call him back.

“You’re OK, Dirk,” he said right into his ear, softly and firmly. “I’m here, OK, it’s nobody else, just me. I’m not gonna let them get you, I’m here. You’ll be OK, baby, you hear? I’ll keep you safe, just come back, OK? You’re not back there, you’re safe. He pressed his forehead to Dirk’s temple, wishing he could help, wishing he could protect him from everything in his past.

“Todd,” Dirk whispered, his fingers finding their way around Todd’s wrist. “My Todd.”

“Yeah, I’m yours, it’s OK, sweetheart.” He felt a rush of self-loathing. How dare he? Calling him stupid pet names, touching him like this while he was sleeping, when he couldn’t push him away. He told himself it was just to make Dirk feel better, just to help him through the nightmare, that Amanda and Farah would do exactly the same for him, but that was different, wasn’t it? Because they’d do the same for Dirk while he was awake. They didn’t hold him at arms’ length because all they felt for him was pure, uncomplicated affection, not this… this overblown worship! This complete obsession that if anyone knew about it they’d be horrified, push him away for being too much, too clingy.

But he brushed Dirk’s hair back, and stroked his cheek, and rubbed his hands where they held his wrist, because now he’d started, he couldn’t bear to stop.

“Todd,” he sighed. “Feels nice.” He nuzzled into Todd’s hands as he rubbed the back of his neck, his thumb brushing over his cheekbones. Todd squeezed his eyes shut, guilty and as always, not guilty enough to pull away.

But he’d learned, hadn’t he? He was better than this - he was trying, for Amanda’s sake, for Farah and mostly for Dirk, he was trying to be a better person. Dirk was breathing evenly, he’d come out of the nightmare, and Todd couldn’t justify touching him any more, he was just being creepy and an asshole. He stood up, his hands sliding gently out of Dirk’s hair.

“Don’t go,” Dirk whined, and to Todd’s horror one eye opened, looking right up at him.

“I’m… shit, I’m sorry, Dirk, I didn’t… I just… you were having a bad dream and I…”

“I know,” he said with a sleepy smile. “Thank you.”

Todd felt his face flush. “Well… if you’re… I’m glad. I’ll just be going—“

“Please stay,” he whispered, and Todd felt his heart ache.

“Sure,” he said with a crooked smile. He could handle the dull ache, he could handle being too close if Dirk wanted him there, he could… shit, that really did hurt.

“Pills,” he croaked, as the muscles between his ribs clenched in threat. “I need--”

“Oh, shit,” Dirk said, tumbling off the sofa and grabbing for the yellow jacket discarded on the floor. He was muttering platitudes, reassurances, but Todd didn’t hear, because he pulled up his shirt and saw the flesh tearing away from his bones, blood soaking his pyjamas, something fluttering beneath and someone was screaming, it hurt, it hurt so much and there was a bitter taste, a swallow…

He slumped sideways onto Dirk’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

“I’m so sorry,” Dirk whispered, and Todd realised he had his arms wrapped around him, hands shaking. “I’m so sorry, if I hadn’t woken you up and shocked you and--”

“Hey, no, that’s not how it works, man,” he said. “Or… well, we’re not sure… but anyway, it just is what it is, it’s not your fault.”

“I’m so sorry,” Dirk said anyway.

Todd rolled his eyes. “Come on, you idiot,” he grumbled. It was the safest way for his heart, being grumpy when he wanted to be safe. Some kinds of hurt were worse than others. He wriggled back and lay on his side on the couch, jerking his head at Dirk. “Lie down and go to sleep, otherwise we’ll never wake up tomorrow.”

Dirk hesitated, his mouth opening and closing, his eyes big and sad, and Todd wished he could be a better person, comfort him instead of pushing him around. But he never had been a nice person, not really, and he wasn’t going to pretend again. He grabbed Dirk’s collar and yanked him down, shoving him in place and draping the blanket over both of them.

For just a moment he indulged a wish, a silly fantasy. It was harmless. He imagined that this was their everyday. That he didn’t have to drag Dirk down to lie next to him, that Dirk snuggled into bed with him rather than this spur of the moment thing on the sofa. That Dirk wanted to lie next to him for more than just comfort from nightmares.

He pushed it away, and lay on his hands, keeping them to himself.

***

They weren’t ready. It wasn’t quite THERE yet, they needed more time but he wouldn’t wait. It was like he knew what Quinn was doing, how close they were and they couldn’t… they just couldn’t bear it, they’d die, they’d do anything to be free of that hell. Quinn stood, every muscle shaking, exhausted and terrified and so, so angry, and they ran.

***

Todd closed his eyes and hunched over his black coffee in bliss. Coffee was his one true love. Coffee didn’t judge him, didn’t mind what a grumpy shit he was - in fact, coffee probably appreciated his moods because it made him want coffee more.

“Yes, Todd, we know you love coffee,” Amanda snorted, kicking him in the ankle. “But we don’t need to see you make love to it in the diner.”

Todd held up his middle finger and drank, his eyes still shut. Beside him, just a little too close for Todd’s sanity, Dirk was eating waffles, swimming in disgusting quantities of maple syrup. He was squirming as he talked, and Todd wasn’t sure if it was a sugar high or just Dirk’s natural twitchy self.

He wiped the smile off his face. He was not adorable. Wriggly people were annoying, all of them, they definitely had always annoyed Todd, and Dirk was no exception. Even if he was also unbearably cute - no. Nope. Not the time.

“Come on,” Farah said, nudging Amanda. “We’ve got a lead on the nightmares up near Queen Anne. You said the Rowdies might be able to catch Morpheus’ scent?”

“Yep, let’s do it. You in?” She asked Todd and Dirk, pushing herself to her feet and sliding out of the booth.

“Uh…” said Dirk.

“We’ll pass,” Todd said wryly. Dirk smiled at him gratefully.

“You know the boys won’t feed off you, right?” Amanda said gently.

“I… yes… but…”

“It’s alright,” she said, patting his shoulder. “Later asshole,” she added, middle finger up again. Todd returned it.

“Ready to go feel the pull of the universe, or whatever?” He asked.

He nodded, his cheeks dimpling, and licked the last of the maple syrup off his fork. Todd looked away quickly.

***

He was close. Quinn’s lungs burned, their muscles ached, and if they hadn’t been so exhausted and dehydrated they’d have wept.

Their legs just barely carried them around the corner, into his industrial unit, budleia and willowherb creeping through the tarmac and beckoning him home, broken glass lying outside like it could protect him, like it was on his side.

Perfect for a final stand.

***

Dirk and Todd were meandering in the usual way when it happened. Dirk had been looking at Todd, earnestly explaining why cows were absolutely, definitely from another dimension (“Oh, and platypuses are totally normal?” “Don’t be ridiculous, Todd, they’ve very clearly primordial and have just missed the memo when it comes to evolution”) when he stopped.

“Dirk?” Said Todd, his mouth still stretched into a smile from the ridiculous conversation. “Everything ok?”

He didn’t answer, just turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction, his face slack and horrified and like he’d rather do anything else. Todd jogged to catch up, panic and adrenaline seeping into his blood.

***

He was here. He was close, and Quinn had one chance, just one chance.

“Here, kitty kitty kitty! Oh, Mo-o-o-rpheus!”

They swallowed hard and fought back the bile and the memories. Focus!

“Here boy! Where are you?” Priest’s high giggle cut the air and made Quinn flinch violently. “Or are you a girl? You sure cry like a little girl. I think we should find out for sure what you are when we get you home.”

Quinn bit back a whimper violently, squeezing their eyes shut and demanding control, forcing their body to stop trembling. This was the only chance.

“But you’re just a freak, ain’t you boy? Just a freak like all the others, not fit for polite company. You’ve been out here too long, haven’t you?”

Quinn clenched their fists and gathered up all their hate, all their desperation, clenching it into a ball in their chest, and stepped out of the shadows.

“Oh, well, look at you,” Priest said, and chuckled. “What do you look like? Time to go home, isn’t it, boy? Hmm?”

He raised his dart gun. Quinn dug deep. “Fuck you, Mr Priest,” they said, and hurled their power through the palm of their hand and OUT, out into the air and it HURT, it burned every cell, but they’d rather die than go back to Blackwing.

***

Dirk was running now, long legs taking him further away from Todd, and that was absolutely not acceptable. He raced after him, brass knuckles already in place. Bloody idiot was always getting hurt! Didn’t he know Todd was meant to go first to keep him safe?

They heard the screaming before they even got into the warehouse, awful, gurgling noises that made Todd’s hair stand on end.

And then they saw who it was, and Dirk crumpled, falling to his ass and scrambling backwards, hands over his mouth in soundless terror at the black clad man with his back to them. Todd threw himself in front of him, but stopped, open mouthed. There was another figure walking towards Priest. She cocked her head and threw a shard of glass at him, her eyes blank and bored as he screamed again.

“Bart? Holy shit, I thought she was still back in Wendimoor.” He winced as she raised a knife and slashed, an arc of blood spraying across the room like a Vegas fountain. “Jesus Christ, is that… has she just killed Priest?”

He took a step forward in his shock, and, too late, saw the other person in the room.

His eyes rolled back and he felt his knees buckle, but he didn’t feel himself hit the floor. He blinked. There was green grass, a park as far as he could see, with warm sunlight and the sound of spring birds in the distance.

“Todd?” said Dirk, and he looked up. He was standing over him with his hand out, smiling sweetly at him. “Up you get,” he said, and pulled him to his feet. He put his other arm around him as he stood, and Todd felt a jolt of light flood through his body at the contact, at the feeling of being held against Dirk.

“What--”

“Ready for your birthday present?” Dirk asked sweetly. He still hadn’t moved his hands from off Todd’s hips and it was desperately distracting.

“My present? But it’s not…”

“I know it’s early,” he said, his plush lips curling into a wide smile. “But it was such a lovely day, perfect for a picnic, and you know what the weather’s like here.”

“Dirk, wait--” He grabbed Dirk’s sleeve as he turned to lead Todd down the grassy slope. Todd frowned around him. He didn’t recognise the park at all.

“Are you OK?” Dirk asked, his forehead furrowed in concern. “Did you hit your head when you fell?”

“I don’t…” He frowned. “Don’t think so.”

Dirk smiled softly, and it took Todd’s breath away. He’d never smiled at him like that, there’d always been something hidden that he’d never noticed until now. Compared to this smile, all the other smiles he’d ever received were veiled, cautious, half smiles.

He slipped his arms around Todd’s waist, cradling him like he was something delicate and infinitely precious, the way Todd dreamed of holding Dirk, and he couldn’t breathe, because Dirk was dipping his head, his eyes fluttering shut, and he was kissing Todd, sweet and everything and there were nuclear blasts going off behind his vision because it was the most perfect, softest, gentlest kiss and he’d never been kissed like this, never been loved before, not like this, and--

Dirk shuddered in his arms, and he was suddenly heavy, his knees collapsing. Todd grabbed him, horrified, because there was blood, so much blood. Dirk clutched at his chest, riddled with bullet holes, from so many shots he hadn’t even heard, oh god, there was… there was a rattling noise from Dirk’s throat. “Jesus, fuck, Dirk, what… what can I do? Oh my god, oh my god!” he pressed his hands against one wound, then another, his fingers slick with the gore, and Dirk was dying, he couldn’t survive this, and then Todd wouldn’t survive it, and… and Dirk was struggling with pills, cramming two into his mouth, his face crumpled with the effort of swallowing.

Todd felt sick. If he had to move he’d crumble, if he had to speak he’d fall to pieces, because the pills worked fast, he’d been there from the inside, feeling them hit his stomach, dissolve, the drugs absorbed directly through carriers in his stomach lining. He knew how the pain disappeared embarrassingly quickly, like it had all been a nightmare, all in his head, all that pain and despair and…

Dirk slumped back, breathing heavily, still twitching from the aftershocks. The blood was gone, the bullet holes were gone, and yet Todd felt like he was grieving because this… this was wrong. This was his thing to bear, and he’d never thought of it like this but he’d have taken it any day over seeing Dirk in that kind of pain.

“Dirk,” he croaked, his voice trembling, raw, no, no!

“It’s OK,” Dirk said, exhausted, breathing hard like he’d run a marathon, and Todd had been there, and never wanted to be there more than he did now, because Dirk should never have to--

“Hey,” he said, sitting up with an obvious effort and cupping Todd’s cheek. “I’m OK, it’s over.” He leaned forwards and kissed Todd’s cheek, the corner of his mouth. “It was a little better today,” he smiled, exhausted. “Maybe it’ll keep getting better; didn’t you say it started out feeling better a little bit at a time when it happened to you?”

Todd’s blood froze, his entire body stilling as he heard those words in two voices, and this couldn’t… he wouldn’t have, he wouldn’t, he’d learned, he wasn’t… he wasn’t that person, he’d changed, no, please.

“Todd? It’s OK, I have faith,” Dirk said, nudging their noses together. “I’ll get better just like you did. You give me hope.”

Todd staggered back, his ears ringing, the horror flooding over him like ice, like despair, like no please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry and he couldn’t focus, could only hear his name, screamed over and over from a great distance and

***

“Please let me go to him,” Icarus sobbed, his face soaked with tears. The small guy was screaming, his back arching on the floor like he was in terrible pain, but Quinn didn’t understand, there was nothing… what was that nightmare about? What was he afraid of?

They could see the nightmare projected over him, the other Icarus, the other small guy, they’d seen him and Icarus kiss in the field, and then Icarus get hurt, but it wasn’t scary, what kind of worst nightmare was this?

“Todd!” Icarus screamed as he arched and writhed in pain, but Quinn didn’t understand, because the dream shouldn’t be hurting him, it wasn’t like Priest’s nightmare, of Marzana hunting him (the hunter terrified of a bigger hunter, Quinn wanted to laugh, but they thought maybe if they started they might never stop until they fainted) it was nice, most of it. Icarus and the little guy, Todd, they’d been happy, and what the hell kind of nightmare was that?

Quinn was so tired, so tired, they just wanted to sleep, and maybe this time they wouldn’t be hunted in their dreams like they were every day, but they couldn’t be sure… what if this was all one of their own nightmares, wrapping around everyone, bouncing back onto themself, and just… they were so confused…

Icarus yelled Todd’s name again, and he gasped, the weirdly benign nightmare disappearing. But he was still screaming, still squirming, and Quinn held out their hand, not sure whether to aim at Icarus or Todd.

“Please, let me give him his pills, please, he’s going to die like that,” Icarus cried, his arms held up like he was scared of Quinn. But Quinn was the scared one, nobody was scared of Quinn, what was happening, what was going on?

“Please, I beg you, please stop… don’t nightmare me if I go to him, I promise we’ll leave you… we’ll leave you alone, just let me…”

Quinn’s mind was whirling, they couldn’t hold themself up any more, their arm outstretched burning with muscle fatigue, and they slumped forwards. They weren’t sure if they’d decided to do so or not, but it was like drawing breath for the first time after drowning and they staggered forwards onto their hands and knees, gulping air as Icarus threw himself across the warehouse, hands trembling as he tipped pills into Todd’s mouth.

“It’s OK, Todd, you’ll be OK, please swallow them, please… you’ll be OK.” He sniffled and wiped his nose, and held Todd’s head on his lap, rocking back and forth the way they all used to when training got really bad. Quinn rested their head on the ground and closed their eyes.

***

Todd opened his eyes, his throat raw and powdery, bitter from the drugs. Every muscle was lax and overworked, and he felt feverish after the imaginary ice had drained from his body.

He knew it would be normal, but he could never seem to resist holding up his hand, marvelling at the intact skin where he’d just watched it blacken and crumble away in extreme frostbite, flesh shattering and crackling as if he’d been dipped in liquid nitrogen.

And then his nightmare came back, that awful dream where it was Dirk suffering, where he’d lied to someone else he loved, and for the first time after an attack he smiled because that’s all it had been. He was still the one who had pararibulitis, Dirk was safe, or as safe as Dirk ever could be, and he hadn’t lied again.

But Dirk was crying, rocking as he held Todd and that wasn’t good enough. Still blurred with sleep and exhaustion, Todd sat up and wrapped his arms around Dirk’s hunched body, hushing him and pulling him close. “You’re OK, you’re safe.”

“You nearly died,” he wept, clinging on to Todd’s shirt, his fingers tangled in the flannel.

“Nah, I’m fine, see? It was just an attack, and you helped, you were awesome, thank you.”

“I tried to be faster, I’m sorry, Todd, but Morpheus wouldn’t let me go to you… I should have been braver, I should…”

“Hey, no, don’t do that. It’s all fine, I’m-- wait, where’s Morpheus now? Where’s… shit, is Priest dead, or was that an… an illusion or something?”

They staggered to their feet, both shaking from the adrenaline come-down. Todd sidled up to the bloody corpse and scrunched his nose up. “Yeah, I think we can safely say he’s dead.”

“Morpheus is asleep,” Dirk called. But as he leaned over the sleeping figure, Morpheus groaned, blinked, and startled into a crouch, their arm out to blast Dirk into a nightmare and hell no!

Todd threw himself in front of Dirk, covering as much of him as he could with his too-small body and outstretched arms, and snarled at Morpheus. “Leave him the fuck alone, asshole!”

Morpheus blinked and sagged slightly, and Todd felt sympathetic exhaustion in his own knees and shoulders and every inch of his body. “You just—“

“Todd, no,” Dirk gasped, tugging at him, but for a tall guy he was no match for Todd’s better centre of gravity and spiteful stubbornness. “Morpheus, please, don’t—“

“My name’s Quinn,” they said, and dropped their hand. They frowned at Todd. “I saw your nightmare. It didn’t seem so scary.”

“Yeah, well, better me than Dirk, then, huh? Also fuck you.”

“Is that the worst thing?” they asked, and Todd realised they weren’t asking to be an asshole. They genuinely seemed to find it difficult to understand. “Him hurting… is that the worst thing that could happen?”

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “So leave him alone.”

“We just want to help,” Dirk said, one hand clenched in Todd’s shirt. “We don’t mean any harm, we were just investigating. The nightmares. That’s… that’s what I do now, I help. I can help. We can, I mean, me and Todd and Farah and… how long have you been free?”

“Six years,” Quinn said softly. “The security never quite got back to what it was after you guys got out. It was worse for a while but… they were… brittle. Like they knew it was only a matter of time before we all…” they shrugged. “Anyway, I got out. Been running ever since.”

Todd relaxed a bit more, still keeping his own body between Quinn and Dirk’s but letting his muscles unclench just a little. “We can look after you,” he said, only a little grudgingly. “We’re getting better at staying away from Blackwing--”

Quinn shook their head. “Blackwing’s gone. I saw Bart a little while ago, she told me. Said the universe got too loud in her head, she had to… to kill them all. Priest was the only one who got away, but even so…” they glanced at Priest’s crumpled body. “Looks like she had a bit of an impact, if she was his worst nightmare.”

“So you don’t choose the nightmares?”

“No.” They frowned at Todd. “I certainly wouldn’t have chosen… anyway. I just… I just want to be free.”

“We can call Amanda,” Dirk nodded, and stepped closer to Quinn, firmly nudging Todd to the side. “She’ll take you anywhere you want to go, she’s good at that, isn’t she?” Todd shrugged, but now Dirk had said it, he saw it was true. Amanda just had a sense of where people needed to be, where they would feel at home. “She hangs around with the Rowdies now - Project Incubus, you know? They’re… better now she’s with them.”

Quinn raised their eyebrows. “Well, they couldn’t be much worse.”

Todd snorted, and Dirk smiled. “They do stay away when we ask them, at least.”

Quinn took a deep breath, and nodded. “OK. It’s not like… I don’t really know what to do with myself, so someone who knows what to do with me… yeah. Makes sense.” They sighed and sat down on the floor like a marionette with broken strings, filthy and surrounded by blood and dust.

“C’mon,” Todd said, holding out a hand, then pulled back. “Uh, you’re not going to give me a nightmare just by touching me, right?”

“No,” Quinn smirked. “I have to mean it. Sometimes it happens when I’m really scared myself, but… I’m getting better at control. I used to have to touch people to set them off, now I can project the power.” They glanced at Priest. “I had to… had to make myself into a distance weapon.”

“Up you get then,” Todd said. It was only a matter of time before it all hit Quinn, what they’d done, killing someone with his own dreams, and it would probably be good if they weren’t near a dead body when the shock hit. “Stinks in here.”

The three of them stumbled out of the old, red-brick warehouse, Quinn with their arm thrown over Todd’s shoulder, and Dirk on the phone to Amanda. Todd could hear her voice, shrill with fear and anger at them for rushing in without calling for backup - again - and just felt tired, down to his bones. He slumped down onto a low, crumbling wall next to Quinn, and the two of them slouched with their elbows on knees, empty.

The autumn sun went some way to banishing the fear and tension, muscles melting like ice into a shaky puddle of exhaustion, rather than a vibrating string, nearing hysteria. By the time the van drew up, earth-shaking music possibly slightly quieter than usual, Todd realised he was slumped against Dirk, and sat up, embarrassed.

“You’re idiots, both of you,” snapped Farah, hands on hips. “What the hell did you not understand about that lecture on teamwork?”

“Which one,” snorted Todd.

“Take your pick.” She crouched down in front of him, turning his face from side to side by his chin. “Are you hurt, any of you?”

He shook his head, but Dirk piped up “Todd had an attack.”

“It’s fine,” he groaned. “I had my pills.”

“That was my fault, I’m afraid,” Quinn said, hand up, eyes wide and worried. “I nightmared him.”

“So you’re Morpheus,” Amanda said, her arms crossed and her face hard. Todd didn’t know why, she wasn’t usually so stand-offish.

“Quinn,” said Dirk, before Quinn could correct her himself. “Morpheus isn’t their name any more.”

Amanda’s glare softened a bit, and she even quirked Quinn a reluctant half-smile.

They told the story as quickly as they could. Todd managed to skip over the awful dream, and although Dirk and Quinn glanced at him, they didn’t add anything. Todd almost sagged with relief, he didn’t want Amanda to have any reminders of what he’d done to her, how little he deserved. Farah made some calls to her nebulous, magical contacts who knew what to do with the bodies of shadowy government agents murdered by their own nightmares, and Amanda took Quinn off to re-introduce them to the Rowdies and Beast.

“Thank you,” said Dirk’s soft voice, and Todd turned in surprise.

“For what?”

“You stood in front of me… you were going to take a nightmare again for me. You didn’t have to… I wouldn’t have wanted you to…”

Todd looked away, awkward. “Yeah, well… your nightmares would have been ten times worse than mine.”

He cocked his head. “You think?”

“Of course, I mean, you have nightmares all the time, from… from Blackwing, and those bastards…” he clenched his fists on his thighs. “I’m glad he’s dead,” he hissed at the cracked tarmac under his feet.

“I don’t dream of Blackwing,” he said, grabbing Todd’s hand. “Or… no, I do, I guess, but not about me being there. I dream…” he took a deep breath. “I see you. There. I see them doing the tests on you, setting off… setting off attacks to study them, I see… I see myself as one of the agents, hurting you, and…”

“Hey, hey, it’s OK. It’s not real, it’s…” Todd turned and held Dirk’s face cupped in both hands. “I’m fine, you see? It’s all over. Blackwing’s gone, Bart killed them all. You’re safe, we both are, OK?”

Dirk nodded hard, his breath still shaky, his eyes still damp. Todd realised he was still cupping his jaw, started to pull away, but Dirk covered his hands, holding them against his face. “In your dream… your nightmare, I was… I kissed you. We were together.”

Todd pulled away and clenched his fists again. “Shit, I’m sorry, Dirk, I didn’t… I never meant for you to know. I swear I never expected anything, I just… can you forget it?”

“You want that? You want me to kiss you?”

“I mean, it’s fine,” he said, shaking his head, trying to crush that weak, pathetic voice that swelled up inside his chest crying yes! “I’ll get over it, it’s just--”

“Please don’t,” he said, his voice breathless, and Todd looked up because wait, this couldn’t be-- but it was. Dirk’s long fingers wrapped around his skull, buried in the hair at the back of his neck, and he kissed him, lips pressed gently, hungrily to his, so brave and so afraid of being pushed back, and fireworks went off behind Todd’s eyes as he wrapped his arms around Dirk’s neck and kissed back.

“Fucking finally!” whooped Amanda, and Todd didn’t even break the kiss, didn’t even hold up his middle finger, because he would happily be embarrassed and blushing every day for the rest of his life if Dirk would just keep kissing him, keep whimpering into his mouth, pressing closer and clinging to him.

When they finally broke apart, Todd buried his face in the junction of Dirk’s neck and shoulder, let himself be small and sheltered, because when it mattered, when he needed it, he’d be strong, he’d stand in front of Dirk again and keep him safe, because together they’d save each other, again and again, in every way.

@bananaslugger20

#my writing #dirk gently's holistic detective agency #Nightmares #todd brotzman #dirk gently #brotzly #dghda spookfest 2018 #hurt/comfort #pararibulitis #pining #mutual pining

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calliecat93 · 3 years

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ST: The Next Generation S4 Watchthrough Episodes 2-5

Family: I fully expected the episode after the whole Borg thing would just be another typical episode that maybe brought it up, but otherwise be business as usual. Thank God that they didn’t go that route. This was the follow-up needed, a calmer, more introspective episode. No aliens. No politics or social issues. No heavy action. Just a cool-down, character-driven episode to let the audience breathe and allow character development. Picard of course is the big plot, going back to France (is this a joke because Patrick Stewart is British?) to reconnect with his family and deal with the trauma of the Borg assimilation. Robert is kind of an ass… but he does care about Picard and does ultimately help him open up about the trauma. Seriously, Patrick Stewart’s acting in that scene? 100% perfect. I like his sister-in-law and nephew as well and I liked finally seeing Earth outside a Starfleet base/an area not technologically advanced. We also met Worf’s adopted parents! While they’re a little much, they clearly love Worf, did their best to adjust in properly raising a Klingon child, and I’m just glad to see some actual competent/caring parents in something. Crusher and Wesley’s plot isn’t much… but not gonna lie, if my mom hadn’t been in the room I’d have likely cried. Wesley watching the hologram of his deceased dad… while Wil Wheaton’s acting was a little underwhelming… yeah God that hit far too close. My dad died three years ago and I still get choked up about it sometimes. And when Crusher was going through Jack’s belongings and picking up his uniform? Just… damn. I’m so glad to see an episode that just… lets the characters develop and grow without having to add a whole bunch of melodrama or an over-complicated plot or anything like that. It’s about family, and it was freakin’ perfect. 5/5.

Brothers: Well… I should have seen this coming eventually. Lore is back folks. Oh but it’s not just him. After three seasons, we finally meet the infamous Dr. Soong. Guess this is why Data wasn’t in the last episode, his family issues needed one all their own. So first… Brent Spiner deserves every freakin’ acting Emmy ever because he played all three of these characters. Yep, all three at the same time in the same episode. And he plays all three with great distinction and character and… the man is freakin’ good. The whole episode was just… damn. The first half where Data essentially hijacks everything.. yeah if Data ever went evil, everyone would be screwed. That was legit horrifying… though why they left Data alone on the bridge when something was clearly wrong with him I’ll never know. As for Dr. Soong himself… I’m not sure how to feel about him. Oh as a character he’s great. Brent Spiner really put a lot into him. I’m just not sure whether to call him out or feel bad for him… but maybe that’s part of the point. And Lore? Well… while he’s certainly evil… I actually felt bad for him? I can’t blame him for being angry and resentful because… yeah him being deactivated/disassembled while Data got to live out a life and shown clear favoritism is very understandable. He truly feels like the angry older brother whole Data is the younger, more inquisitive brother not quite sure what to think. Soong does seem to regret decommissioning Lore, especially now that he’s dying (which Lore’s actual emotional reaction… it was possibly an act but IDT it was, again excellent work by Brent Spiner), and it does feel like he summoned the two (even if Lore was unintentional since he didn’t know he’d been reassembled) to make some form of amends, but IDK if it’s legit regret or some form of ego. It really feels open to interpretation or perhaps a mix of both. Despite that, Soong being killed by Lore who escapes with the emotion chip not designed for him implanted to wreak havoc again in the future… yeah him accepting that it’s over and his and Data’s goodbye with Data calling him ‘father’… again, just perfect. This whole episode was perfect, Event the subplot with the two kids was done well and served as a good parallel to the Data and Lore situation. Those two were able to forgive… but I don’t think it will be that simple for Data. I’m still hoping that Data gets happy things later (WHEN DOES HE GET HIS KITTY?! I WANT HIM TO GET HIS KITY!), but still a fantastic episode. 5/5.

Suddenly Human: So in this episode, we have a human boy who was raised by an alien culture known as the Talarians. Due to being raised among them, he acts and views himself as a Talarian moreso than he does a human. Well… that’s certainly an interesting episode topic. It’s kind of like with Worf, a Klingon, having been raised by humans, albeit they did try to keep his Klingon heritage intact as much as they could. I think that this may be the first tme we’ve had a human being raised in an alien culture? Spock may have kinda counted, but he was half-Vulcan, half-human, and still had both parents so that’s still a different situation compared to someone born and raised human until his parents died and was taken into the very group that caused their deaths. I guess the title character in Charlie X back during TOS may have also counted, which I do get similar vibes from especially the whole ‘captain super awkwardly stepping up as a father figure against his will’ part… albeit I feel more sympathetic towards Jono than Charlie who went thoroughly power-mad, plus Charlie very clearly didn’t want to go back to the aliens. Jono just wants to go home. Honestly… IDK how to feel about the situation. I get wanting to have Jono connect to his human roots and being concerned about him being among the Talarians who have a… rather ruthless, very patriarchal lifestyle. However, the man who took him in does genuinely love him and it does seem like he’s been accepted into their world and he’s content with that. It’s where I get the crew’s concerns and while a little too excessive Crusher’s concern about Stockholm Syndrome does make sense somewhat… but I’m also like ‘this is his choice, if that is what he wishes then grant it to him.” . Trying to make him get in touch with his roots as though they know what’ best for him when they absolutely don’t, no matter how well-intentioned… yeah don’t agree with that. Even if he has remaining family on Earth, then as sad as it is, he gets to make that choice for his life no matter what the consequences may be. IDK is they intended to bring up the moral complexity of these kinds of situations because there are solid arguments that you can make for all sides here, but I do think it’s there and is very much a relevant topic in today’s world. I’m very much on the ‘make the choice for yourself and allow one to make that choice’ opinion. Allow them to learn about their heritage and the truth about how they ended up where they did, and let them decide what they’d like for themselves/how they’d like to lead their lives. Ultimately that’s what Jono did. He understands what happened and he finally expresses missing his parents and the trauma he endured due to it… but he also chose to remain with his adopted father and those who raised him, but maybe now more open in getting in touch with his Earth/human heritage. IDK if it was the right or wrong choice, but it was his choice. 4/5.

Remember Me: 🎶Though I have to say goodbye. Remember me, don't let it make you cry.🎶 Sorry, the Disney/Pixar nerd in me required me to do that XD Okay in all seriousness... guys they did it! They made an episode centering on a female character (Dr. Crusher) aND IT WAS ACTUALLY GOOD! So we have huge chunks of the crew disappearing and everyone’s memories of them wiped… except for Dr. Crusher. So… I won’t go into the plot twist here. Like with The Survivors it is really something I’d rather not spoil. But damn, I already liked Dr. Crusher… but this made me love her. The poor woman keeps questioning her sanity because of all the disappearances/memory gaps. To everyone else, nothing is out of place. To her? Everything is breaking down. I do like that the crew does listen to her and take her fears seriously. No one questions her going insane, Troi even telling her that if she thinks that something is wrong, then she’s acting as she should. Even when it’s only Crusher and Picard, despite clearly getting tired of it… Picard still listens to her and trusts her word. With how in both this and TNG they sometimes have dropped in common sense, it’s just so nice to see them treat this situation seriously and carefully and not act like Crusher is just a hysterical woman. Which she is not. While she understandably is freaked out and upset, she acts competently and intelligently especially when it’s only her left. Again, without spoiling anything, the way she gets out of it shows just how freakin’ awesome she is. Just an overall really good episode and Thank God that Dr. Crusher finally got the focus that she deserved. Sorry Pulaski, but them ditching you was worth it for this~! 4.5/5.

Wow we are off to an excellent start! Brothers may be my favorite episode in the whole show thus far. Much more to go, so hopefully the quality remains consistent. We shall see~!

#st watchthrough

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maggiodigitalaesthetics · 7 years

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Ash Thorp for “Ghost in the Shell”

Here I present a collection of Ash Thorp’s works that undeniably helped to simplify and enhance the effectiveness of “Ghost in the Shell” own narrative. In this specific case, Thorp’s created a series of different elements which include animations, graphics, environmental reconstructions, character designs and logos.

Concept

The principle aim of “Ghost in the Shell’s" narrative is to build this dystopian reality where humans becomes integrated with AI. Being a live action film, all of the environmental elements and the characters themselves had to be specifically developed to enhance the hypothesis of the plot. For this specific reasons Thorp came up with a series of different design concepts to support the narrative:

1. Solograms

Thorp conceptualised the idea of solid holograms to fulfil the city with bright neon lights. This concept reflects an idea of what he called a complex particle system of light that can be moved and augmented in Z space. To add value to the dystopian essence of the plot he purposely inserted brand names and advertisement as a subtle reminder of the modern consumer culture.

2. City

As he perfectly describes with his creations, Thorp created a perfect visual representation of a stereotypical futuristic city by merging physical buildings with the Solograms, lights, and holograms. As he state in his conceptual description of the project :”I wanted it to feel as if the viewer was taking a psychedelic journey wavering between the realms of alternate reality and virtual reality”.

3. Props & Camo

To create the perfect environmental features of “Ghost in the Shell” narrative Thorp also developed actual concepts and props for the film. As a matter of fact he adapted and build upon some of the iconic cars and props typical of the anime type of illustrations.

In order to create a believable design, Thorp and the VFX team of the movie actually wanted to explore how the Major’s suit would activate and work in a possible real scenario. With the help of Chris Bjerre they created a series of possible tests and simulations, that where actually used in for the production of the movie.

Images

References

Ashthorp.com. (2017). GHOST IN THE SHELL : Ash Thorp. [online] Available at: http://www.ashthorp.com/ghost-in-the-shell [Accessed 1 Aug. 2017].

#Ghost in the shell #movie #narrative #research #background #environment #design #project #ash thorp #visual #aid #storytelling #3d #cgi #vfx #aesthetic

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ladyandgamer-blog · 8 years

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A Girl Walks into a Comic Book Store: How Geeks Code Each Other Hurts Fandom

Would you like to hear a joke?

A girl walks into a comic book store. She is not the “typical” comic book girl: a stereotypical lesbian, butch hair and plaid; a chubby teenager trying to find a hero that will help her fit in with the boys she’s around; an over glamorized pop girl. She’s simply in blue jeans and a loose T with a cardigan. A few bracelets and clear makeup that’s not powder fresh and no liquid eyebrows. She doesn’t go for the “standard chick-comics” - no Wonder Woman, no She-Hulk. She aims for Red Sonja and Ms. Marvel. She picks up the latest Grimm Fairy Tales with the overly sexualized cover and flips through to see if her favorite fairy tale is making an appearance.

Now she’s been in all manner of comic books stores. Sometimes no one stops to stare; other times they keep asking if she needs help. They push comics on her that they “think you might like!” Whatever that means?! She’s normally really nice. Girls aren’t common in these parts. She’s a rare bird, a lost legend, someone “different” then the girl that got dragged along to dwell with the commoners.

On this most recent and blustery day she walked into a comic book store. Her hair is all tassled and nose a little red, but she knows her comics and walks right to them. She’s not finding what she wants but a Captain Marvel jumps out at her. Minding her own business a comic guy picks up an Avengers and says, “I like Samuel L. Jackson as much as the next guy, but I don’t see the need to change everything up.”

Girl: Oh?!

Comic Guy: Yeah, I like the way they had what’s-his-name in the comics.

Girl: Nick Fury!?

Comic Guy: Yeah. Why do they have to change it all…?

Girl: Because representation matters and a new generation of comic readers need heroes they can relate to.

Comic Guy: But…

Girl: Just like the whitewashing in Doctor Strange.

Comic Guy: But wasn’t that a woman?

Girl: Yes but does that make it right to change a character to represent a gender when the character could not only represent a gender but also a race? Of which the comic first characterized it as such?

Comic Guy walks away. Girl buys issue #1 of Captain Marvel.

Now, I ask you what was funny in this joke?

</soapbox>

As you may have guessed, this all happened to the Lady recently, and it really got under her skin for lots of reasons. For one, she didn’t like the way the comic guy treated her; he’s just one in a long line of men who assume she knows less than them. She occasionally strikes back.

There was this one time when she complimented a comic book guy (who’d previously mansplained to her) on his T-shirt; it was black with a red, reflective Spider-man on it. But then she said that it looked better on the Gamer’s solid chest. The Gamer really does own that shirt; she still feels bad about it whenever he wears it. Other times, when she’s being bugged by few different comic guys, she finally asks them if they have this or that comic, and they’re like “there’s the new Jem and the Holograms” or Howard the Duck. She didn’t ask for those.

However, she was also upset by this particular episode because she, too, was making assumptions about other women buying comics. In a weird way, she realized that in her frustration she had internalized what fanboys say about other geek girls.

“Why you readin’ that comic? Are you a lesbian?”

“You’re only reading that for attention. Do you even know the name of Tony Stark’s 3rd girlfriend?!”

Of course, this attitude didn’t begin with comics. You’ve experienced it anytime a favorite underground band suddenly becomes popular and new fans feel the need to explain them to you, who’s been listening to them way longer. The irony, of course, is that new fans increase the life of the things we love. So why do we react defensively to other fans? Why did the Lady react to the comic book guy’s assumptions by making her own about the other women she was being compared to, when normally she’s eager to talk and learn about other comics and fandoms?

Unfortunately, we don’t have an answer, though there’s been lots written about this over the past few years, especially with the rise of women in traditionally male-driven fan spaces. We trace this back to the sudden popularity of Twilight and the backlash to its fans showing up at San Diego Comic-Con all the way forward to GamerGate, the Hugo Awards, and even this past weekend’s release of Netflix’ The Iron Fist, in which new fans and their representation are seen as “ruining” the fandom.

What we do know is how terrible all this fan-judging is for fandom. By making these assumptions about one another, not only do we damage our own fandom, we also increase the likelihood that the fans we make assumptions about will reflexively make similar assumptions about other fans. The cycle continues, fandom is worse off, and those who stay in the cycle perpetuate it while those who don’t are the very people who could enable it to grow.

So what do we do? First, if you find yourself on the receiving end of these assumptions, take a moment to educate. They may listen; they may not. And if you find yourself making these assumptions, just remember:

#comic books #sexism #she-hulk #wonder woman #batgirl #captain marvel #ms. marvel #grimm fairy tales #nick fury #feminist #feminism #fandom #fangirls #fanboys #iron fist #twilight #representation matters #avengers #doctor strange

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decaffeinatedchopshopbarbarian · 5 years

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The Future is Here A hologram is whatever you dream up

What is a hologram?

A hologram is a three-dimensional image, created with photographic projection. The term is taken from the Greek words holos (whole) and gramma (message). Unlike 3-D or virtual reality on a two-dimensional computer display, a hologram is a truly three-dimensional and free-standing image that does not simulate spatial depth or require a special viewing device. Theoretically, holograms could someday be transmitted electronically to a special display device in your home and business.

A hologram is made of light and sound

The holograms that Chestnuter renders appear in the holographic frame directly in front of the user’s eyes. Holograms add light to your world, which means that you see both the light from the display and the light from your surroundings. Chestnuter doesn’t remove light from your eyes, so holograms can’t be rendered with the color black. Instead, black content appears as transparent.

Holograms can have many different appearances and behaviors. Some are realistic and solid, and others are cartoonish and ethereal. Holograms can highlight features in your surroundings, and they can be elements in your app’s user interface.

Holograms can also make sounds, which will appear to come from a specific place in your surroundings. Similar to the displays, the speakers are additive, introducing new sounds without blocking the sounds from your environment.

A hologram can be placed in the world or tag along with you

When you have a particular location where you want a hologram, you can place it precisely there in the world. As you walk around that hologram, it will appear stable relative to the world around you. If you use a spatial anchor to pin that object firmly to the world, the system can even remember where you left it when you come back later.

Some holograms follow the user instead. These tag-along holograms position themselves relative to the user, no matter where they walk. You may even choose to bring a hologram with you for a while and then place it on the wall once you get to another room.

Best practices

Some scenarios may demand that holograms remain easily discoverable or visible throughout the experience. There are two high-level approaches to this kind of positioning. Let’s call them”display-locked” and “body-locked”.

Display-locked content is positionally “locked” to the device display. This is tricky for a number of reasons, including an unnatural feeling of “clingyness” that makes many users frustrated and wanting to “shake it off.” In general, many designers have found it better to avoid

The body-locked approach is far more forgivable. Body-locking is when a hologram is tethered to the user’s body or gaze vector, but is positioned in 3d space around the user. Many experiences have adopted a body-locking behavior where the hologram “follows” the users gaze, which allows the user to rotate their body and move through space without losing the hologram. Incorporating a delay helps the hologram movement feel more natural. For example, some core UI of the Windows Holographic OS uses a variation on body-locking that follows the user’s gaze with a gentle, elastic-like delay while the user turns their head.

Place the hologram at a comfortable viewing distance typically about 1-2 meters away from the head.

Provide an amount of drift for elements that must be continually in the holographic frame, or consider animating your content to one side of the display when the user changes their point of view.

Place holograms in the optimal zone – between 1.25m and 5m

Two meters is the most optimal, and the experience will degrade the closer you get from one meter. At distances nearer than one meter, holograms that regularly move in depth are more likely to be problematic than stationary holograms. Consider gracefully clipping or fading out your content when it gets too close so as not to jar the user into an unexpected experience.

A hologram interacts with you and your world

Holograms aren’t only about light and sound; they’re also an active part of your world. Gaze at a hologram and gesture with your hand, and a hologram can start to follow you. Give a voice command to a hologram, and it can reply.

Holograms enable personal interactions that aren’t possible elsewhere. Because the HoloLens knows where it is in the world, a holographic character can look you directly in the eyes as you walk around the room.

A hologram can also interact with your surroundings. For example, you can place a holographic bouncing ball above a table. Then, with an air tap, watch the ball bounce and make sound when it hits the table.

Holograms can also be occluded by real-world objects. For example, a holographic character might walk through a door and behind a wall, out of your sight.

All holograms are available in Chestnuter now and warmly welcome your new designs.

Mail: [email protected]

Website: www.chestnuter.com

Hotline: +86 13 145 888 960.

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thedesperatehousehusband · 5 years

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Grammy’s....The First 2.5 Hours....

Time for the Grammy’s and all those only-on-the-Grammy’s special moments. Basically what that means is they’re going to pair Joan Baez and Post Malone or some shit like that. Typically they trot out someone like Bonnie Raitt, Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr, Bob Dylan or maybe the reanimated hologram of Tupac.

Lizzo. Lizzo. Lizzo. I just canNOT with her. She is bananas cool and I love her. That’s a great way to open the show. We saw her twice last year and her meteoric rise to stardom is a very cool story. I hope she cleans up tonight. But I’m not sure we’ll ever know because in a 3.5-telecast they will only give away about 5 awards. It’s ALL about those special Grammy moments, y’all. Next up Josh Groban and Nicki Minaj!!

Juan and I discussed how they would work Kobe Bryant into the show. The Alicia Keys and Boyz II Men tribute using “It’s So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday” worked. I forgot that the show was the Staples Center where Kobe played for all those years. I was never any sort of Lakers fan but I also like Kobe Bryant and I’m actually really bothered and upset by his death. I hate that one of his kids was with him. It’s just heartbreaking and awful.

Blake and Gwen were just OK. I’m not sure what that song.

What is Alicia Keys doing? What is this keyboard vamp and the talking to the audience and all the nominees? Is this supposed like what Billy Crystal always used to do? It’s not amazing.

I don’t care who knows it: The Jonas Brothers make me happy. Sucker is a GREAT song. Their performance was right on time. I also enjoyed the pan to their wives in the audience. Sophie Turner, Priyanka Chopra and Danielle. I’m happy Danielle is getting the screen time because, let’s face it, Danielle is not the Jonas wife that people want to see.

Sweet that Lizzo won Best Pop Solo Performance. Nice speech. Love her dress.

I am unclear on who Tyler The Creator is. This is why I love and hate this show. It validates me for being hip to certain aspects of music but completely and utterly also validates that my knowledge is narrow. I do not know this person and I am not drawn to the performance nor the strange blonde, bowl-cut wigs.

Is Alicia Keys enhanced with some sort of hippy drug? She seems like she’s hallucinating and on some sort of LSD trip. I am a big, big, big Alicia Keys fan but she seems off.

I’m unclear on the point of Prince tribute. Is that just something we do when icons die? Here’s what I’ve learned. Usher is NOT Prince. Their talents are not the same. I don’t know who I want to hear sing these songs but I’ve discovered it’s not Usher. The positives….Sheila E still got it. She can beat the drum, bitches. And she looks incredible. The dancers are cool. Usher is just not getting this done.

Thoroughly enjoying Camila Cabello. What a sweet song. But Jim Gaffigan introducing her was awkward primarily because he couldn’t read the teleprompter. Back to Camila. Well, I’m crying. Isn’t this something? It’s actually a special moment.

Tanya Tucker is fucking back. Because a lot of you thought she was dead. Well, she’s not. She’s apparently rocking it out with this new album that somehow involves Brandi Carlisle as a writer, producer or both. Their performance was solid, solid, solid. I would go see Tanya Tucker.

This Ariana Grande performance feels over-produced. Do we think she insures the pony tail? At least she things live at these things.

Are Billie Eilish’s press-on nails also Gucci? Until this very performance, I haven’t really been into Billie Eilish nor have I even really understood the excitement about her. But I think I get it now. This is a good performance.

Steven Tyler is pickled and has probably had about 1,000 near-death experiences but it doesn’t matter. Aerosmith can still command the stage despite or maybe in spite of them being nearly 100 years old. Motherfuckers, it’s RUN-DMC. Goddammit. This is MY YOUTH.

Lil Nas X. I guess he’s a thing. It feels like a novelty song, no? What is this revolving lazy susan set? BTS is a strange looking group. Who is this country child? Billy Ray Cyrus better be excited AF about this song because it’s the second best song he’s ever done and he’s only done two songs……..

And now, ladies and gentleman, Demi Lovato is going to emerge from something. And, you know what? She tore it up.

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juniperpublishers-ttsr · 5 years

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CosMuseum Project: Memories and Souvenirs from planet Earth - Juniper publishers

Journal of Trends in Technical and Scientific Research

Abstract

The etymological origin of the word museum is muse. If the muse of our space era is the Cosmos itself, then a CosMuseum is our proposition for a nomad museum in space, carrying artworks-memories from Earth’s civilization. Remembering that every additional gram of cargo in space expeditions is extremely expensive, the lighter the cargo is, the more economical the expedition will be.

Conclusion: we cannot carry Pyramids and Parthenons to the CosMuseum. Thus, this paper is proposing Michaloudis cultural cargos for this imaginary museum in space; sculptures made of the lightest solid on planet Earth together with a combination of digital images from Hence’s artworks. The author’s first immaterial artworks are directly influenced by Cycladic art. The co-author’s artworks are based on the traditional medium of oil on canvas, which are based on earthly constructions of termite mounds. In this paper we’ll present some of their artworks and posit them as potential precursors for a cultural cargo from our (h)Earth.

Keywords: Museum, Catastrophe, Silica aerogel, Periphery, Souvenir, Memory, Canvas, Termite mounds

Introduction

Dr. Ioannis Michaloudis is a forerunner in research regarding the use of materials that bridge art and the new sciences of space. The primary material currently dominating his research has been developed by NASA, the nanomaterial silica aerogel into which he sculpts his aer( )sculptures. Ian Hance is a PhD student at Charles Darwin University under the supervision of the author. His works consist of oil paintings on canvas based upon the subject of termite mounds, native to the Northern Territory, which unknown tourists adorn with found objects in various arrangements. The third co-author, Christine Tarbett-Buckley is the Head of Collections at the Museum and Art Gallery of the Northern Territory and a Research Fellow at Charles Darwin University. She has a background in archaeology, art and law and museology with research interests in the evolving concept of the museum and the sustainability of museum collections into the future. Dr. Katerina Koskina is an Art Historian-Museologist and in nowdays the Director of the National Museum of Contemporary Art in Athens, Greece. She was the curator of Michaloudis’ solo exhibition 11 aer( )sculptures in the Cycladic Museum of Athens back in 2006. This paper interrogates the practices/research of the two artists with the hypothesis that it will be necessary at some time, in the not too distant future, to situate a museum in space both as a repository of both original artworks and as simulacra for works too large or weighty to be installed. We maintain that the physical constraints will not allow for the installation of art pieces or architecture that are typical to the current museum arrangement. It is therefore our contention that replicas and original art need to be rendered in weightless materials, digital records, holograms, light projections and other media yet to be discovered. The last sections discusses the natures and contexts of a CosMuseum as seen by curators Christine Tarbett-Buckley and Katerina Koskina. Thus this paper is a discussion of themes and contexts from two distinct perspectives―that of practising artists and of museum professionals.

Michaloudis is a sculptor combining art with technology by using the space era nanomaterial silica aerogel. It constitutes of 99,9% air and 0,1% glass and has been extensively used by NASA for the collection of stardust. When he was first introduced to the material he was permitted its use only for the creation of small size artworks. His concept of creating moulds of Cycladic figurines was a result of the convention of their size. He suggests that these primitive figurines function as a symbol representing the self, one that is widely recognizable by the public as such. This recognition enabled him to promote his technique through utilising symbols familiar to the observer to create an overarching theme. He called his work aer( )sculptures as the only source is light in the absence of material. He chose silica aerogel as a contrasting material with marble to create a dialogue between the lightness of the aer( )sculpturess and the weightiness of the marble figurines.

The incentive force of sculptural metamorphosis of the Cycladic form may have plotted the chronological course from the historically-loaded material of marble to the nowadays space technology nanomaterial, suggesting a parallel journey that started from the authentic form and finished as a “fake” copy. To the artist, this journey could be summarized through the creation of a pun on the Greek word plastos that has the dual meaning of ‘sculpted/modeled’ and ‘fake’, with particular reference to tourist souvenirs. The discussion of visual records in digital photography speaks also about disappearance, namely the original material that is left behind or perceiving the original in an altered form, from a peripheral viewpoint. Both artists and the one of the curators are situated in a unique positioning of periphery being at the last frontier of Australia, Darwin in the Northern Territory. Within this context, the periphery functions as a stimulus to both produce art and to secure its preservation. The dialectics of materiality/nonmateriality of original to copy are examined through the workings of ambiguous space, colour and form in the discussion of Michaloudis’s sculptures and Hance’s oil paintings on canvas.

The materials discussed include the primary material of silica aerogel in Michaloudis’s aer( ) sculptures and Hance’s oils on canvas and the digital images he captures his subject matter with. Then follows a discussion of the formal, nonformal aspects of the imagery based upon Cycladic figurines in their reference to Neolithic fertility idols and how both of these references find their poetic connections as memories and souvenirs. These memories and souvenirs from planet Earth are to be placed in a hypothetical museum of the future named here as CosMuseum.

Views from the Periphery

The view from space of Australia on the television screen is so familiar and central whether that is on the weather channel or the news channels yet its cultural positioning in the western perspective has always been considered marginalised, (Figure 1). Historically it was one of the last continents to be mapped by Europeans. To Australians, the last mass of Oceania was always their centre and any effect of the perceived periphery on their culture will not be discussed here. However, the significance of memory in the oral tradition of Australia’s Indigenous peoples will form part of the argument for inclusion of souvenirs and memories in the museum, to offset the sole reliance on digital data. Darwin’s remoteness in this largest of all islands stands as a personification for the remoteness of space or planet Earth’s remoteness within our solar system and beyond. The experience of the materiality of visual cultures from the “centre”, that is the rest of the world, has always been Eurocentric.

The Australian viewer’s experience of international artworks has required leaving this island in order to see such works physically. For the rest of the time this experience has been substituted with the experience of the photographic reproduction or online digital records [1]. It can be argued that an artist in this context of the periphery is in an excellent position to reflect on what are the possibilities beyond this horizon; as being located on the periphery can provide a clearer picture of the whole than can be experienced within the confusion of the centre. The periphery can be a stimulus to produce art. The periphery of Earth in the edge of space is addressed within Michaloudis’s works while the subject matter of termite mounds for Hance’s paintings are peripherally located on remote areas of the highways of the tropical north of Australia, (Figure 2&3). Hance’s costuming of these mounds is a humorous expression of tourist’s desire to see the nakedness of these anthropomorphized mounds covered with clothing and other materials. The concepts of distance and tourism are discussed later in nostalgia, memories and souvenirs. Art itself can be considered as a peripheral activity in that it has a secondary or removed aspect from the primary source of observation.

Another view of space that is clearer from the periphery is the view of the night sky/space itself. Unlike most metropolises, Darwin has relatively little night light pollution and even a short drive out of Darwin produces excellent views of our solar system and the Milky Way. The primordial contact that humanity has with the cosmos here is visually much more pronounced. The dialectics of natural light and artificial are brought into sharp contrast by light pollution. The view of space from major centres of the world is compromised by this pollution. For this reason it is unsurprising that the telescopes on Earth are situated in remote locations or placed in orbit around the earth, again at the periphery.

Catastrophe: breaking materiality and remoulding immateriality

The initial colonialization of Australia can be considered as a catastrophe for the culture of Indigenous Australians. There have always been catastrophes for other cultures historically with the disappearance civilizations and their artefacts, and possibly with the merging of new cultures. The possibility of cultural disappearance of any of the world’s societies is just as concerning in the twenty-first century as at any time in the past. It is with this threat in mind that the author’s proposal of a nomad museum containing artworksmemories is a more urgent consideration than an “ark” of artefacts. What these artworksmemories will be made up of -or rather their imagined possibilities- are discussed in the following.

The word terroir (from the French word for “earth”) evokes memories of flavours/scent of the terrain. All the earthly ecosystem factors that make up the characteristic of a product, is terroir. In the author’s case, the cloudlike silica aerogel carries the scent of earth’s sky as seen in Figure 2. In the co-author’s case, the product is oil paintings of termite constructions (mounds) made of earth in the Northern Territory (Figures 3&4). We see these residues or flavours as a kind of terroir, a kind of subtle overtone or undertone rather like the complex flavours in wine, forming a subtle metaphor for the “associative radiances” or a memory of the earth itself. The catastrophic breaking and scattering mentioned later as part of these nostalgic memories speaks about the processes of creativity itself: the other side of the coin of creating is destroying or “breaking the mould”. In Michaloudis’s practice, the very solid steel mould has to be “broken” to reveal the magical nonmateriality of the silica aerogel sculpture. In Hance’s works the visual breaking up of the space and formal 3D properties of the termite mound /mould constructions into visual metaphors, coupled with their abstraction into bidimentional painting is the complement to the formative properties of Michaloudis’s sculpture. The discussion of the dialectics of materiality/ nonmateriality through these properties follows: in the author’s case, the effects of light in a space/atmospheric medium of silica aerogel and in the co-author’s the earth bound medium of oil colour in its application to this abstract space and form will be discussed below.

Dialectics of materiality

Silica aerogel consists of 1 per cent glass and 99 per cent air, making it the lightest solid material on Earth [2]. The scattering of light as seen in the Rayleigh effect is part of the material properties of silica aerogel in which the source of light changes the colour depending whether it is seen against dark or light. In Michaloudis’s Leto (Figure 2) the ethereal blue quality and its translucency contrasts against the suggested weight of the Cycladic form when it is set against a black background. The opposite complementary color that makes up the Rayleigh scattering -gold yellow- is seen as a formal edge reflecting against the formless black of space. The edge suggests skin or surface; however, the skin or surface of the works is almost invisible whilst the interior space of the works as coloured volume or mass is poetically amplified. Similarly, the analogy between the skin of the anthill construction with its clothing and the skin of paint both conceal and reveal space as a volume within Hance’s paintings (Figures 5-7).

Thus, Michaloudis’s works are ambiguously both formal and formless, similar to vapour or smoke. When these works are set against the black void, their conflicting qualities speak of the spiritual and the dialectic of material/mystical. These properties stress the function and the binary opposites of colour as complementary and function as an expression of the spiritual, abstract and perhaps mysteries of the cosmos via their ambiguities of space and hue. In Michaloudis’ works, many of the sculptures and artworks represent symbolically an anthropomorphised female figure in some of the Neolithic Cycladic figurines. This symbol can also be located in Hance works through the termite mound functioning as a “Mother” form. Within this reference we can locate other fertility idols such as the Venus of Willandorf. Michaloudis notes that his Cycladic figurines similarly reference a symbol for the self which is widely recognisable and resonate with the public. That there are references to James Lovelock’s hypothesis of Gaia, or, put in a more poetic way, Mother Earth, in addition to this original symbol of the fertility goddess. The Mother Earth reference adds poignancy to the sculpted and dematerialised images that could be placed in the CosMuseum. In Hance’s case the representation of these anthropomorphised figures of the termite mounds is the counterpoint to the ethereal qualities of the silica aerogel sculptures mentioned previously.

In Michaloudis’ work the cup-bearer, (Figure 6) the dialectics of the weight of solid marble and the ethereal light qualities of the silica aerogel provoke feelings of ambiguity in its relationship to the density of the souvenir as an object embodying a sense of memory (and terroir). Both objects are seen in Figure 3 set against void or black space, which itself holds both formal and informal connotations in its reference to the concepts of the formlessness and its mutability [3]. In Michaloudis’ artworks the figures/constructions are nearly always seen against these black rectangles ovals and squares which actively reference either the cosmos in a formal way or the void in its connotations of disappearance. Form functioning against the void and the suggested “memory” of an original form plays with the ideas of plastos in this work― “fake” as in a souvenir taken from the original archaic marble Cycladic sculptures. These are copied into tourist market copies as souvenirs for sale. From these copies Michaloudis makes a mould (memory) in which the silica aerogel is cast. The point being here that material souvenirs are very different from memories, and the authors hypothesis asks whether the artists operating on the periphery are in a more advantageous position to consider the “collection” of the whole; say of digital memories and works of art in space age materials, not just souvenirs in their materiality Two works reference the duality of the past in the present and extend possibilities for their entire representation within a future museum. The Dancing Couple in Figure 4 and Figure 5, through its use of space age material recreates an original form as a duplicate of a missing/lost “idol” which produces a shadowed reflection as an immaterial duplicate. These artwork regenerate the past through their inclusion of lost elements of cultural icons. Their resemblances in the present converge as an idealised representation for the future.

Memory in Future Time

The materiality of memory in Michaloudis’ works are discussed in the following catalogue‘s text by the curator Katerina Koskina for his solo exhibition 11 aer( )sculpturess in the Cycladic Museum of Athens, back in October 2006. “Ioannis Michalou(di)s is one of those contemporary artists who though espousing international visual inquiry and language, and indeed is involved with their most recent experimental and scientific applications, remains at the level of idea and of form a supporter of local culture. Thus, from his interdisciplinary experience and training in both art and science, works have emerged that literally hover between the past and the future. This is due in large part to the material to which he was first exposed in a research at MIT and immediately began using silica aerogel., But Michalou(di)s, as he prefers to sign his surname, by contracting it, as he does also with the title of his recent works - voluntarily trapped in a game of knowledge and chance, of etymology and joke, was fascinated by this particular material, which looks like solidified air and is widely used by NASA because of its insulating qualities. Silica aerogel, although ubiquitous in space and high technology, is an unknown material and a scientific paradox for artistic creation, despite its truly magical image and texture, which allows it to “transform”: the painted skies of the Venetian School into virtual reality. And yet its basic constituent, silica, for all its fragility, is a material of high durability to time, a material with continuity and memory. Perhaps this particular characteristic of it makes it most suitable for serving a diachronic value such as art.

In an age when everything aims at dematerialisation, this material composed of 99% air and 1% glass follows the opposite course. In essence it “materialises” “nothing” and it owes its plasticity not to its principal ingredient, air, but to that minimal percentage of glass, which gives it “body”. That is why Michalou(di)s has called his works aer( )sculpturess, revealing both their constitution and the sidereal origin of his material. A material that exists pre-eternally in the universe in the form of particles, but whose present form is so recent that it is considered a material of the future.

However, what is more interesting for the viewer of the works is not the composition or the provenance of the material, for all the admittedly alluring image it offers, but the way in which the artist incorporates it in the creative process. Michalou(di)s uses the astral material to represent Cycladic figurines, that is works of the 3rd millennium B.C. This is not the first time that he feels that the ancient form demands from him a metamorphosis. The archetypal form of the Cycladic figurines, which is the cultural nucleus not just of Greece but if the whole of the West, appears because of its abstraction eminently timely and suitable for “habitation” by a supermodern material. Michalou(di)s apparently conceived this message of the timelessness and modelling of form, which inhabits the collective subconscious, when he decided to predict the future image of the figurines by “embracing” them with the nostalgia distinctive only of a Greek who has lived abroad for many years.”

Chaos as background

In both the black ground of the sculptures and paintings, (black being an amalgamation of all colours of the spectrum in an additive way) Michaloudis’ sculptures also experiment with the disappearance of colour and light. In Michaloudis’ sculptures the disappearance or flux perhaps between the polarities of light contained in the aerogel produces the complementary colours of blue and a golden orange (depending on which view is taken of the work). This mutability or shifting of view is an expression of the spiritual values in our contemplation of the cosmos, or at least the importance of a shifting perspective underpinned by the dialectics of materiality/non-materiality. The description of Michaloudis’ aer( )sculpturess as being the only source of light in the absence of material or a non-materiality of the aerogel forms a poetic expression of both the spiritual form or memory. The painted black backgrounds of Hance’s work similarly reference both void and formal space at the same time. They also reference the in-between space of the canvas itself covered by pigment, the sensed space of advancing forms surfacing in the picture plane. Rather than receding back into the picture plane as in Renaissance perspective, the volumes established sit forward in ambiguous space, (Figure 7). Glossy transparent backs and solid black pigments combined with their relative “silvers” explore this in-between space. Other artists such as Gerhardt Richter and Rembrandt have used the ambiguities of black. Rembrandt’s tensions of warm and cool blacks similarly give life and articulation to an otherwise void of black. Pierre Soulages similarly used impasto glossy blacks against flat blacks to explore formal and spatial properties. The void also speaks about disappearance and if we accept Baudrillard’s concepts of reality in our age (the Anthropocene) as disappearing behind the black screen of the Internet and digital media, there is poignancy inherent in the black screen or black rectangle of painting in the sense of loss or absence [4]. Black also speaks about the invisible and as such invokes the non- material or spiritual. On the other hand, a texture and impasto surface in black paint draw attention back to the surface and thus speaks about the weight or gravity of the artwork. The black circle in Michaloudis’s gold Cycladic figurines holds expression of the chaos of the void whilst simultaneously creating a tangible space established by the perspectival positioning of the two Cycladic figures (Figure 8).

The weighty solid panel made of scorched wood in Figure 8 is covered in gold leaf accentuates the weightlessness and suggested movement of the silica aerogel figures. Gold in itself sits ambiguously between form and light in its reflective properties and its physical metallic property. Conceptually it references the spiritual in its associations with cultural symbolism of the divine. Not so in Hance’s work Night Piece (Figure 9), in which materiality references the purely secular in its references of the earthly grotesque soil presented a basic human female form. The dressed up figure is set within the space of the periphery of a township against a warm black that functions as both atmosphere and solid humidity. This black is suggested by a solid impasto paint surface and includes visible fluid runs of paint. Again black is used in its ambiguities of weight and weightlessness. The singular f igure evokes a feeling of solitude and isolation that also expresses the periphery. A connection to ancient images such as the Wandjina (Figure 10), which is executed in a similar medium, that of earth/red ochre, reinforces concepts of earth bound materials. However, these Wandjina are representations of spirit beings grounded in earth’s palette; a counterpoint to the spiritual blue of Michaloudis’s Cycladic figurines. The Wandjina figures are earth bound in more ways than one; being painted on a rock shelter -like the pyramids and the Parthenon- they can never be transported to a space museum.

Further to the dialectics of materiality/non materiality, the idea of translating the digital images of the works into light images for a repository, a CosMuseum in space is proposed in order to hold memories of earthly constructions as art. In this process of the copy of a copy-or simulacra-the memories of earth and paintings produce nostalgia and an ironic reflection of what is left behind. Analogous are the processes of the mounds themselves as aspiring to become space themselves, both internally and externally. The reproduction of original works based upon the digital recording (a copy) are then copied by a digital photograph (a copy) to be reinvented into the digital trace that finally appears on the screen in the form of RGB light that constitutes pure digital data. Through these methods we enter the arena of the aesthetics of disappearance, which reside in memory, nostalgia and our imaginations.

Novalis’s quote “philosophy is really a nostalgic desire to be at home” points to a fundamental truth about memory being bound up in nostalgia that is also beautifully alluded to in another quote from Proust’s Swann’s Way; “When nothing else subsists from the past, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered… the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls…bearing resiliently tiny and almost impalpable drops of their essence, the immense edifice of memory”. Thus the question arises; how can a museum in space help to create a sense of belonging contained within our memories? As with any movement of humanity into newly colonised land (or space) there is traumatic disjuncture with a new environment. Historically when any civilisation repositions in new territory, it carries a raft of problems, not least is the equating of this new territory as home. As Stephen Muecke puts it, “…existence of course is precarious, but never more so than when it is conceived as being without attachment or belonging” [5].

The current world crises in refugee movement and migration have brought this problem into sharp focus. The authors propose that similar to the movement of migration people need to carry their culture with them and therefore cultural cargoes must be made manageable in order for space needs to be addressed. Thus another question arises; is it through dualities and ambiguities that some of these issues can be viewed via shifting perspectives? As discussed above, Michaloudis’s and Hance’s research and resultant works contain dualities of meanings and overlays of cultural signifiers. Both artists use the ideas of tourist souvenirs kept and things or traces left behind as their primary subject matter. These processes point to new ways of registering memory as traces, taste or scents and in non-written way as in the initial description of terroir and nostalgia.

The mention of the non-written invokes association to memories, which are embodied in the oral traditions of Indigenous peoples. Indigenous culture binds the visual image to the important stories and natural sciences. The absence of the written word within these cultures allow a special profundity that is never forgotten simply because it must always be retained as memory. The image of the rock painting of Wandjina in the Kimberley is an excellent example of knowledge and cultural memory bound into a single image the image itself being the primary language, which contains the spiritual values of the Dreamtime interwoven with the physical aspect of the earth-bound timing of the arrival of the wet season [6]. The increase in humidity make its earth colours much more vivid at this period making the image “live”. These images are “sets of symbols used to communicate meanings developed into a symbolic universe, in which art, language, myth and religion (are) were interwoven …” [6]. The implication is that the more we rely solely on recorded data, the more our memories atrophy. It is hoped that any museum of the future could include similar artistic memories as well as other records/ artefacts of natural history, science and cultural cargoes from earth.

The Museum of the Future

The Museum of the Future Is it perhaps then that through the eyes of artists who proposes the selection of what constitutes the museum of the future in its relation to the cultural memories of earth are to be addressed. In the past, such artists have considered a museum of the future as André Malreaux in 1967, who proposed in his “museum without walls” that photographic records of all important cultural artefacts be placed in a space as an economic and weightless record [7]. Similarly, it is proposed that a museum of the future would utilize new processes that apply or have been developed out of space age technologies that are also weightless and economic in size. An excellent example of an artist creating work from new material is embodied Michaloudis’s sculptures made from the space material silica aerogel, reiterate that the artist’s muse is the cosmos itself, coupled with the space technology that produced the silica aerogel [8]. Souvenirs and “souveniring” has always been the tangible evidence of tourism and the leaving behind of evidence or tourist memento states that “I was (t)here”. The other notion that seems to drive such activities is the need to turn the “nowhere” of a remote place or space into “somewhere” [9].

The golden disc sent out into the cosmos on Voyager in 1977 of course sends out a different message that of we are /were here (Figure 11). The “were here” holds a particular poignancy of the nostalgic. The point being here that material souvenirs are very different from memories, and the author’s hypothesis asks whether the artists working in the peripheral are in a suitable position to think about a “collection” of the whole; say of digital memories and works of art in space age materials, not only souvenirs in their materiality (Figure 12). So, it is in the digital copy of digital copy of an analogue copy (or material copy) together with three –dimensional works are made from aerogel and/or other media creates the constraints for a new visual environment. Weightless media is in itself a type of memory or souvenir that we propose to be a light and colour soaked “apparition” constituting the artwork left behind or disappearing from Earth. The poetic interpretations of space fused into the working of materiality as a concept within the various mediums discussed here in the works of Michaloudis and Hance point to a new way of representing works of art as memory, and a different perspective on the possibilities of storing cultural cargoes.

These possibilities of storage extend outside their function as merely souvenirs from Earth to suggest their ability to also manifest as profound memories. As these materials and copies are the lightest and most spatially economic mediums known to date, they are eminently suitable to be housed in a CosMuseum the museum of the future. CosMuseum is imagined as a virtual and universal museum. Its collection is created as a data bank sculpted from an aggregate of museum digital data, developed in a unified structure by the global museum community and enabled through virtual transmission into the cosmos. CosMuseum opens up the possibility of a narrative environment that is representative of our collective humanity, unbounded by temporality, and made accessible to an audience both known and unknown. It is destined to provide a space symbolic of our times, one that acknowledges the incognisant of the present. Simultaneously the museum posits a vision towards a timeless future, in which visitors in space may process visual and sensory cues in ways we cannot control, imagine or predict. CosMuseum is envisaged to contain the memory of our present, almost as simulacra of Earth’s cultural and environmental history, for a future time of enduring uncertainty.

Two ventures pioneer the messaging in space of our civilisation and are precursors to concepts broadened in the CosMuseum: The nomadic Voyager probe launched in 1977 included sound and image captures in CD prototype that Jimmy Carter, then President of America, introduced as: “This is a present from a small, distant world, a token of our sounds, our science, our images, our music, our thoughts and our feelings. We are attempting to survive our time so we may live into yours” [10]. And the Moon Arts Project, scheduled for launch in 2016. It delivers a technically advanced four chambered time capsule to the Moon establishing a permanent ‘cultural heritage site’, containing a discrete selection of items representative of all Arts and Humanities with considered ‘potential to last many millions if not billions of years’ [11] (Figure 13). Significantly, two artworks of the author, Bottled Nymph and Noli Me Tangere are selected to be included to this project that provide an intersect between the present and the future through their use of an evolved medium, one that has origins in space science itself (Figures 14&15). Their “otherworldly’ qualities, both ethereal and cosmic, combine to empower them as objects which speak of an endless ‘generative process of making meaning, making story, and understanding time’ [12].

CosMuseum expands on both space incursions through development of a museographic approach that pursues an encyclopaedic rather than selective compiling of cultural data. This approach transgresses discourse between art forms, cultures, politics and geographic regions to present a pluralistic expression in virtual format of our humanity and collective history. The basis for a cultural databank as required for the collection of CosMuseum can be advanced through the development of a number of cultural collection aggregators. Known and operable examples include: ‘Trove [13], Digital Public Library of America [14] and Europeana [15,16]. Each of these platforms provides digital access to collective cultural resources that cumulatively amount to almost 600 million items. A formal ontology prepared by the International Council of Museums (ICOM) through its International Committee for Documentation (CIDOC) provides a conceptual framework for integration of cultural data between disparate and diverse holdings [17]. Inclusive development of global content will take many decades to achieve. Consistent data standards, collaboratively applied in a sovereign approach across a global museum sector would provide an apparatus for expansion and centralised development of a globalised digital cultural heritage hub from which CosMuseum would continue to build and to draw its content for future transmission. While digital access as a process is a dissociation from the material in form and presence, the proliferation and mass of digitisation projects have already altered the cultural landscape in which museum collections are accessed across shared platforms.

This changing access enables multiple associations and interpretations to generate. CosMuseum redefines the authentic to include its digital derivative and in doing so, enables on-going authorship of meaning and encapsulation of memory by association. Collections vulnerable to catastrophe, degeneration, decay, neglect or disinterest prevail through preservation albeit in altered or immaterial digital form/s. The concept is challenging to our traditional view of a museum as a repository filled with objects maintained in original form and functioning as true and authentic expressions of our earthbound civilisation which are illuminated in a vocabulary structured by the ideological constraints of our time. Embedded meanings associated with concepts, memories, traditions, ritual, spirituality and technical or artistic achievements are subliminal as the resemblance or presence of an object in CosMuseum bears its own significance. Material composition becomes secondary to its being in CosMuseum through the act of placement and transmission.

In juxtaposition to mineral compositions that have long preserved the evidence of our human settlement, the immaterial in virtual or newly envisaged formats becomes the evolved embalming tinctures in which the evidence of our civilization can be cradled. CosMuseum proposes that it is possible for reality to be realised at any one moment in time. The artist Grayson Perry expressed a similar sentiment in regard to uncontrived narratives during his exhibition of works at the British Museum in 2011: “That I am an artist and not a historian and this is an art exhibition does not mean it is any less real. Reality can be new as well as old, poetic as well as factual and funny as well as grim” [18]. Through aesthetic forms, in a sensory language, the CosMuseum provides a platform to experience and to remember. Development of CosMuseum is precipitated by an alliance between the museum sector and space science to innovate the project and realise technology that creates a future sustained within the universe, in which evidence of our collective humanity poses an enduring imprint. In visualizing CosMuseum examples of virtual and interactive enclosures developed by Kenderdine and team can be seen which enable access to cultural landscapes and museum collections in previously unimagined detail and resolution [19]. CosMuseum creates a virtual landscape through both its digital architecture and through its adaptive use of trans-disciplinary digital technology that holds the potential to recreate the now in the future. CosMuseum c ould b e l ocated e ither i n a f ixed position or as a nomadic object traversing the cosmos, subject to technical challenges in space technology and its ability to facilitate the selected global collective resources including: data transmission, data access and operability in a timeless and sustainable projection. As weight and weighted matter is a discerning feature to what could feasibly be included to a museum in the cosmos, emergence of new media explores the possibility of conversion not just in digital formats but also in weightless space materials such as aerogel adapted by Michaloudis in creation of his works. Any increase in range of payload available to space travel could include original or replicated forms to CosMuseum that would no doubt enhance humankind’s physical presence within the Cosmos.

In concept, the CosMuseum holds a belief in the ‘numinous’ [12] experience posed through interaction with museum objects that metaphorically transport observers beyond the self as new meanings and narratives are contemplated over time and space, perhaps without possibility of being anchored to the reference to the now. Objects in the CosMuseum are as pilgrims on a journey that bear witness to our existence and evolution. In this way, there are similarities to object-centred museums purposed to make ’sense of our world by discovering and interpreting the past and present for the future’ [20]. Aestheticism- as the principal agent- is designed to transmit a sensory expression that in examples of works by Michaloudis and Hance have their origins in the periphery, in prehistory, and from a region once perceived as terra nullius that paradoxically holds evidence of the longest continuous human settlement on this planet [21-23]. A fitting inclusion to a cultural package on a journey as yet not fully realized [24,25].

Conclusion

The CosMuseum project is a realisation of our earthly frailty and undeterminable future. It proposes a migratory pathway through which the evidence of our civilisation can journey. Works by both artists are embedded with symbolism and meaning and provide example of the profundity concealed and expressed in material and immaterial forms that transgress time. The tension created through conceptualisation of cultural loss is abated through possibility of preservation and sanctity found within carriage of CosMuseum. Concepts of preservation are shown to be achievable through projects like MoonArts and other digital technologies in which museum collections are accessed and interpreted. New weightless materials such as silica aerogel allow new original works to be included in the CosMuseum as well as forming simulacra that encapsulate memories of other earthbound art works. It has been shown that these cultural cargoes embedded in a new Aestheticism of the Digital are true and authentic works-memories as well as being souvenirs from planet Earth.

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