#ore comfortable to make. nobody to consider and nobody to try and impress. just me and my favorite character. living life.

[eggs-can-draw]

Wanted to draw a bit of isolation, I need to do slice of life more often

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Kindle

Distraction fic time! Or is it fanfic as a coping mechanism? Dug out an old WIP and gave it a few finishing touches. This was originally written for the “Swords” prompt of a Bispearl Week ages ago.

Early in the Rebellion, Pearl introduces Bismuth to the concept of rubber ducking in an attempt to avert a crisis of confidence. Bismuth/Pearl but mostly in that slow burn phase. ~3000 words. No warnings.

Fic potentially also known as: 

while you studied the blade i studied the forge so i could make you the very best blade in the world! love you baby

---

Kindle

The first few swords were a disaster.

The Forge was rudimentary still, in those early days - didn’t look like much at all, but it was a bold, determined little start. Bismuth did her best: all of her hard-won knowledge, scrounged up information not meant for her or her kind, going towards building what she thought they would need to get weapon production up and running. Raw materials gathered at a great risk - Snowflake had chipped her gem during the last of the supply runs! Tools for Bismuth to try to replicate and experiment with, and a thoroughly raided armoury’s worth of various weapons for Bismuth to learn from, to suit every possible rebellious inclination. All carefully arranged in the semi-natural volcanic caverns in an attempt to enable what she judged might be a sensible workflow.

She decided to go with a simple, plain, straight-edged sword to start with - mid-length to her, meaning a dagger to some and a hefty two-hander to others. The sheer variety already present in the Rebellion was half of its charm and point, wasn’t it just? And Bismuth wanted so very badly to fan the flames of it, to do everything she possibly could to see it, to see all of them, flourish and persevere and come out on top for once.

So Bismuth tried, and tried, and then tried again. Considered her mistakes, weaknesses, what she knew (or, doubt never failed to creep in, thought she knew) she was supposed to be doing and achieving here.

And failed.

The first blade that at least looked right shattered in her hands when she tried to force its tang through a guard and into a handle to put the whole thing together. The rest of its batch became hopelessly crooked when she quenched them. Each new day brought new failures, some unexpected enough as to be termed almost cruelly creative.

Bismuth crushed in one fist the latest useless ingot whose ore ratios she’d clearly gotten wrong in her mounting frustration, and tossed it against the wall with an irritated cry.

And of course, of course, that was the moment Pearl chose to walk in.

She was clearly shuffling around, trying to make herself more easily noticed. Bismuth knew that if she really wanted (or if she forgot she didn’t need to anymore, as she sometimes did, as they all sometimes did), Pearl could just pop up next to her elbow suddenly and apparently out of nowhere, piping up with a comment or suggestion or a casual greeting. Keep herself unseen and silent, coasting under any notice until whatever passed for “needed”, as easily as Bismuth could tear down walls with her bare hands and carve new ones in their place. They all came from somewhere, of course, from something, and they all carried it with them in one way or another.

“Bismuth?” Pearl called out gently, and Bismuth raised her head from its contemplative slump to meet her gaze.

Her voice and expression were both filled with concern as she inched closer from the entrance, but there was a glint in her eyes that made it clear Pearl would not be deterred or dismissed and that it would do nobody any good to try. So, figuring she had nothing to lose, Bismuth abandoned any nascent idea of pretending nothing was wrong, allowed her shoulders to sag, and let her misery show.

“I’m not cut out for this. Literally,” she admitted quietly, arms raising in a feeble attempt to encompass this.

Pearl snorted, hopping up to sit on the anvil with a highly deliberate and highly unconvincing casual air. “Tell me about it.”

Bismuth sighed, rubbing the back of her neck with a tiredness she wasn’t sure she was supposed to be capable of, and leaned next to her.

“I ever tell you of my first actual visit to a forge?”

Pearl shook her head and drew closer, making them look like a real pair of conspirators. 

“Wasn’t all that long ago. I took the chance and snuck into a weapons production plant when the hematites weren’t around. Me and the other bismuths had been working on some training grounds right next to it and I’d wanted to see one for so long, so one day during a shift change I just went for it. And it was... Well. Let’s just say the last time that place had seen a bismuth was when it was being built.” 

Bismuth ran a hand through her hair, and noticed that, for perhaps the first time since they’d met each other, the gesture didn’t result in Pearl immediately being endearingly enraptured by the tumbling rainbow locks. No, her eyes were fixed on Bismuth’s face, intent and understanding in a very particular and oddly encouraging way. So Bismuth continued. “I didn’t even fit in there, Pearl. I was too big for the bellows and too small for the anvils, and I could barely walk around the quenching baths they had set up. It was all just… wrong. The whole place was screaming at me, telling me I didn’t belong there and couldn’t if I tried.”

“You’re still trying, though, despite that,” Pearl pointed out, and swept an arm out to seemingly encompass the entire forge. “And look at all of this! You’ve been working so hard to make it your own.”

“Because I want this!” Bismuth burst out, resorting to unusually ruffled pacing around the anvil. “I’ve wanted this for so long! And the Rebellion needs this! I thought I could do it, and I’m trying to learn so very hard! Why can’t I? The simplest thing a hematite could do five minutes after popping out of the ground I can’t get right after grinding at it for weeks!”

“But you haven’t given up!” Pearl reiterated, raising her voice to match, and Bismuth relented, stopping in her tracks.

“Yeah, you’re right. And I’m not planning to. And something tells me you aren’t either.” She smiled and shrugged in mock-defeat. “Guess we’re a stubborn pair of boulders like that, huh?”

It was certainly more than a trick of the light when Pearl appeared to preen at that, puffed up chest almost exclaiming a proud Me! A boulder! Imposing and immovable and sturdy!

Then, with a grin, she proclaimed: “We absolutely are.”

Bismuth couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that, something unpleasantly tight finally uncoiling from around the inlaid edges of her gem. Pearl quickly joined her, helping to fill the forge with a delightfully improper little cackle.

When they both settled down again, side by side at the anvil, everything stayed just that little bit forgelight-orange brighter. A pleasant, comforting warmth in place of an oppressive volcanic heat aching to burst.

“I believe you can succeed,” Pearl began again, more slowly, as if picking out each word with great care. “But - and I am working on all of this myself still - I also think you should be aware you don’t have to do this. I know - oh how I know - that more often than not it feels like the most phoney thing in the world… but remember: you don’t have to be useful to be of value.”

It did sound quite a bit like a learned platitude, the way Pearl recited it. But there was a feeling of, if not exactly believing it, then of very much wanting to believe it.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Bismuth murmured. “I’m definitely holding on to that one. Thanks. Got any other nugget of wisdom for me, Terrifying Renegade?”

Pearl effortlessly and gracefully evaded Bismuth’s jokingly nudging elbow and continued her almost-lecture. “Well, we all need to remember that love and self-love are radical and revolutionary concepts in Homeworld’s eyes.”

Bismuth burst out laughing again. “What was that supposed to be? Was that really your best Rose Quartz impression?”

The forgelight turned the blue in Pearl’s cheeks into a fascinating range of colours as she moved and turned. “Well, yes and no-- focus on the message!”

“Alright, alright,” Bismuth acquiesced. “It’s a good message. And an important one. Just… not really helping me with the task at hand, which is arming all of us so we can defend ourselves against those who’d prefer that message didn’t spread. And there’s a whole lot of them and not a lot of us. Yet.”

Pearl hummed in response, suddenly pensive, gazing down to where her feet were dangling off the side of the large anvil, toes describing elaborate patterns in the air - courtly dance steps or fencing drills footwork, Bismuth couldn’t tell. Always restless.

“You know, the first time I properly sparred with Rose and got her to stop holding back on me I got utterly trounced,” Pearl shared quietly. “It’s not exactly a fond memory of mine. After all that training, after trying so hard - I was so sure I was ready! But no, in a real battle I’d have gotten pulverised. And Gems… even here, in the Rebellion, you have to admit, Bismuth, you’ve seen the way a lot of them look at me, too.”

“Well,” Bismuth said with a soft huff of a chuckle, “can’t say watching you show them the error of their ways the first time they show up for training isn’t a treat.”

“I think...” A small blush appeared on Pearl’s cheeks - icy blue tinged purple in the forgelight that Bismuth just had to pause and appreciate every time - and she seemed to develop a sudden and intense interest in a spot on the anvil right next to where she was sitting. “I think the fact you never really looked at me like that is one of the main reasons I like you so much.” 

“Oh?” Bismuth managed around a strangely constricted throat, and a warmth in her face that had nothing to do with the persistent lava-glow of the newly dug channels.

“I remember-- our very first meeting you immediately started asking me about my swords, and I didn’t have to waste endless time just getting you to talk to me like a Gem, let alone listen to what I had to say.” Pearl gasped out an odd chuckle, “It was such a relief!”

A mouthy little pearl, she’d thought, unusual and prickly, but utterly charming in a way Bismuth was fairly sure she wasn’t supposed to be. The way she carefully dusted off the anvil before jauntily perching on it - much like she was perching on it right now - with a very loud air of I’m certainly not doing this for you, I just do not want soot anywhere on my person. How could Bismuth resist being near-instantly won over?

Pearl pressed a long, thin finger against her chin thoughtfully, and hummed. Certainly seemed to be taking the whole thing entirely seriously, and Bismuth found herself feeling an odd relief. What did she expect, Pearl to laugh at her worries and frustrations? Dismiss them as unfounded somehow, as both silly and imagined? Just agree, say that oh, guess that’s just how it is then, best find some other way of making yourself useful to us - which, yes, of course usefulness wasn’t the point at all, on the contrary, but…

But Pearl was speaking, that thoughtful finger still up. “How about… we make one together. An entire sword. And you can talk me through it.”

“Talk you through it?”

Pearl seemed to be growing increasingly enthusiastic about the idea. “Every step of the way! Every detail you can think of! Trust me, there’s no better way to find out where it’s going wrong. And I’ve… well,” Pearl hesitated suddenly, as if catching herself, “I’m no expert, of course, but I’ve looked into some of these things on my own, too. So I will be able to make sense of what you’re saying - even though that might not even be the point. The point is that you make sense of what you’re saying.”

Bismuth didn’t feel entirely convinced, but Pearl’s sudden whirlwind felt very hard to not get caught up in - strange, that. Usually it was Bismuth herself getting others caught up in all sorts of things, loudly and unabashedly and delightfully Homeworld-unapproved. “If you say so.”

“Trust me, it’ll help. Here,” Pearl hopped off the anvil and went off to the raw material containers as if there was not a single moment more to lose, “ore selection first. Tell me all about your mix.”

“Uh,” Bismuth blinked, and did her best to concentrate on the task she supposed was at hand, but Pearl was at the same time incredibly distracting and the very embodiment of pointed, precise focus. She cleared her throat, feeling the newly familiar and surprisingly pleasant stick of hot air and volcanic ash in the back of it. “Well, for this particular brand of steel, this was my ratio.” A careful fistful after fistful, from her carefully arranged containers, with Pearl nodding along.

“Seems like a good composition to me. Of course, not exactly how I’d measure anything out, but, well, I’m me.” Spoken with a grin Bismuth just had to match.

“Let’s just say my hands have had a lot of practice when it comes to measuring things out. All those spires don’t just pop into existence magically holding themselves together, no matter what those upper-crusts seem to think.”

“Well, it was bound to come in handy some day,” Pearl nodded sagely, and Bismuth couldn’t restrain her guffaw.

“Pearl! That was absolutely terrible.”

Her smug little smile was so proud. Bismuth almost let all the ore in her hand scatter on the floor when Pearl took her by the arm and started pulling her towards the lava pools. 

“Thank you! Now, no more dawdling. Show me your smelting! Remember: every step of the way,” Pearl repeated with a tiny but lingering touch on Bismuth’s arm. It was such a small hand in comparison, every bit of it looking fine and fragile - but she'd seen it wield a sword and it was no joke and no dainty detail of a trinket. Far, far from it.

Bismuth felt her face heat up, and she quickly dipped her ore-hand into the lava bubbling in its channel nearby. The ingot-to-be filled up her hand and she tried to focus on that, but-- oh, Pearl was clearing her throat and looking away too.

It seemed so ridiculous to even imagine her all in utterly impractical frills, trotting behind some lousy, spoiled clump of aristocratic dirt. Not only a waste of potential as Rose often said, but an outright crime.

“Ready for the forging?” Pearl sprung up eagerly, breaking the reverie, then jolted, as if remembering something. “Oh! Just a moment. Allow me!”

With a very dramatic wave of her hand, a hologram sputtered to life from her gem, and Pearl herself leaned forward and down just slightly to centre it on the anvil.

“There we go. A perfect reference, don’t you think? And perfectly practical!”

“Oh, wow,” was about all Bismuth could manage at the sight of the lovingly detailed holographic blade before her. She quickly dropped the hot ingot in place, transformed her hand and hammered at the metal. The blade glowed, freshly struck into shape, orange mixing with Pearl’s translucent blue and playing around both of them.

In no time at all the emerging blade matched its holographic counterpart and seemed to be ready for quenching, so Bismuth happily informed Pearl of this next step. “I’m going for plain water this time.”

Steam poured out around both of them, standing almost cheek to cheek over the quenching bath - this one perfectly sized for Bismuth’s use - eager to see what they’d made so far once the haze dispersed.

Nudging Pearl with one shoulder and waving an annoyed hand around, Bismuth put on the snootiest voice she could manage. “Pearl, what is the meaning of this? Look at the state of the place! When was it last dusted?”

Pearl grinned, the little soot mark on her chin moving dashingly in tandem. “Oh it’ll dust itself well enough when I dissipate your form.”

“Hahah! Atta Pearl.” The clap of the hand on her back almost sent Pearl stumbling, but then she straightened up and leaned happily into it. Smugly, even. Her entire back fit into Bismuth's palm - what an odd pair the two of them must have made. 

Bismuth decided she liked the feeling.

She cleared her throat. “You know, when we get this right? When we end up with a proper sword? It’s all yours.”

Pearl looked up, almost startled, eyes wide and slightly watery. “Mine? Oh, Bismuth, I couldn’t possibly...”

“I insist. You’ve definitely more than earned it. But most importantly… I want you to have it. And I’d be honoured to see you carry it into battle, or, hey, use it to knock some sense into a rowdy quartz newbie or two.”

A sudden thought made her stop in her tracks. Who in their right mind would want to go into battle relying on a second-rate experiment of a weapon from a cobbled-together forge?

“I-I mean-- if you want to, of course, I didn’t mean to, uh, force it--”

A slender hand was lightly placed over Bismuth’s once again, quieting her near instantly. Pearl’s smile was small but reached her eyes and lit them up with a beautiful sincerity. “Of course I do. The honour will be all mine,” she said. Then, with a bit more audible steel: “And I know it will turn out excellently.”

“Because we made it together?” Bismuth hazarded a guess, but was cut off.

“Because I know you.”

She blinked at the sudden intensity, but felt an answering rush, too. Oh, it was impossible not to get caught up in it all: the wonderful rightness of their championed ideals, the beautiful words of the manifesto, all the Gems they could finally do right by, everything each of them stood for, Rose Quartz herself, Garnet, Pearl...

Bismuth had no intention of doing anything but eagerly dedicating all of herself to it, and every bit of skill she might hope to possess. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

A fighter of Pearl’s calibre, and a cause as important as theirs, deserved only the best. Bismuth was determined to provide it.

-

The next battle of the fledgling but intrepid Rebellion saw Pearl charge in with a newly forged sabre, Bismuth beaming proudly right at her side.

[broken-clover]

AU-gust Day 4- Angels & Demons

I was hoping I wouldn’t have any close calls with this prjoect, but apparently when you write too many words it takes a lot of time. Dunno why this one ended up on the longer end. Ah well.

I really liked this one! Both conceptually and coming up with a story. I also ended up learning a couple things. I never knew ‘cambion’ were a thing until I was researching supernatural crossbreeding.

This one’s Sin and Bedman, but it isn’t romantic (I’m saving that for later!)

When his father talked about heaven, he talked of glimmering monoliths and flowers that grew higher than the eye could see. Of massive floating continents carpeted in grass and an endless sky, so vast and hauntingly beautiful that even angels feared it, just a little.

When his mother talked about hell, she described endless winding, warm tunnels and gentle light. Walls embedded with shining ores and muted colors, eerie to some but comforting to others who dwelled in them.

Sin was pretty sure he preferred being on earth, though. It had a bit of both, scattered in places he didn’t always expect. The little flowers peeking out of cracks in the concrete instead of towering over him. The twinkle of rhinestones and tin cans and iridescent puddles on parking lot asphalt outside the grocery store. The slivers of a gorgeous blue sky between the trees in their backyard.

Ky and Dizzy still had times where they grew wistful of their old homes. Sin couldn’t help but feel ashamed whenever that happened. No matter how much they tried to assure him that he wasn’t at fault for anything, it felt like no matter what he did, he was just a constant reminder that he was the reason they had been banished to earth. Angels weren’t supposed to fraternize with demons, and demons weren’t supposed to pine for angels. And they definitely weren’t supposed to have a child together.

His left wing was his mother’s, slender and leathery, and the right was his father’s, fluffy and blue-white. His halo was visible only in the darkest rooms, and his horns had never grown past little bony nubbins that stayed hidden by his hair. His parents told him that they loved him no matter what, but it was little consolation for the fact that Sin simply didn’t know who or what he was supposed to be. Angels had taken human lovers in the past, and those children were called nephilim. Demons had done the same, and theirs were cambion. But there was no word for the offspring of an angel and a demon, because it wasn’t something that was supposed to happen, or something anyone would have ever expected. Maybe it was fitting that they had called him ‘Sin.’ That’s what he was. Nothing more.

He had the impression that his parents didn’t have much of a clue, either. Though they didn’t know much about the concept, they had done their best to raise him as a human, without any of the expectations angels or demons had. There were still some things they just couldn’t ignore- his wings, which were the reason he had been homeschooled until he could learn the techniques to hide them from mortals, or his burgeoning magical abilities- but aside from that, he considered himself indistinguishable to the naked eye from any other human boy. He grew, he learned, he played, and he was very, very curious.

And that curiosity was the reason he was currently sitting on the roof at 10pm, staring up at the empty sky.

There was supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, and the concept utterly fascinated him. As a child, Sin had used to think that meteors and falling stars were made in heaven and dropped down to earth. Ky had chuckled at the idea. Heaven wasn’t really ‘above’ and hell wasn’t really ‘below,’ so to speak, and meteors came from outer space. Still, it apparently made for a beautiful sight, and he wanted to see it if it really was as breathtaking as everyone said it was.

His parents had foregone watching the shower in favor of visiting a friend’s house for dinner. They had invited him to come along, but Sin had been too enraptured by the idea of a meteor shower that he chose to stay home. He was old enough now that as long as he cleaned up after any messes and didn’t stay up all night, they were willing to let him be responsible for himself.

Sin tried to find a way to lie down and relax without pinching his wings. Ky didn’t like when he climbed on the roof, but it offered a lot better viewing than the tree-lined backyard. If it was his first shower, he wanted to be good.

It took a while of just lying there and staring up at the sky, but eventually, Sin started to see little streaks of light. It wasn’t the most jaw-dropping beauty he’d ever seen, but he could still feel his breath catch in his throat. Every minute or so, a new little smear began twinkling and painting a line across the dark night sky.

“Woah…” His wings flapped against his back. Did they have meteor showers in heaven or hell? For as much otherworldly beauty they seemed to have, Sin wondered if there were some sights that could only be found on earth.

Right before she had left, Dizzy had given him a kiss on the head and told him to make a wish on a falling star. Apparently, that was some kind of human custom. If you didn’t tell anybody what you wished for, then, hypothetically, it was supposed to come true.

It sounded like such a silly concept, but he was already watching, so what was the harm?

Sin shook his head at his own foolishness and sat up, pressing his hands together and squeezing his eyes shut as a golden comet began streaking across the sky. “Dear God, or whoever is in charge of stars. I wish for…”

What was it that he wanted? To be human? To be just an angel, or a demon? Both of his parents were important to him. He didn’t want to give that up. But it didn’t feel like anyone, human or otherwise, really ‘got’ him. Nobody knew about all his sides. Not even his...

Oh! That was a great idea! He closed his eyes again. “I want a friend. But not like the kids at school. I want a friend that really understands me. Somebody who can accept both halves of me. I want a friend that I don’t have to hide anything about myself when they’re around.”

He sat in silence for a moment, before he cracked and opened one eye. Absolutely nothing had changed. He was still sitting on the roof, alone, trying to pray on a meteor.

Sin let out a disappointed groan and flopped back onto the roof, glaring up at that golden meteor as it continued to fly. He didn’t even know why he was disappointed. What had he honestly expected? Of course nothing would happen. It was just a falling rock, after all.

A falling rock that, if he was looking at it right...almost looked like it was heading right towards him.

Before he could realize what was happening, the meteor arced down and slammed into the backyard right in front of him, hitting the dirt with an unexpectedly quiet ‘thump.’ Sin jumped back at the burst of light, but just as quickly scrambled to his feet, moving to peek off of the roof.

It was difficult to discern much of anything. He could see that a few tree branches had been snapped off, but most of the backyard was enveloped in a cloud of dust. Ky had said meteors made craters when they hit the ground, so maybe that was why.

He hopped off the roof, slowing his descent with a few careful flaps until his feet hit the ground. The dust had just begun settling, and he could make out the edge of a ragged hole where the flowerbeds used to be. Dizzy really wasn’t going to be happy about that. She really loved those magnolias. But at least it hadn’t been his fault.

The dirt underfoot began to shift and give as he approached the rim. Sin managed to flap and jump back before he could tumble into it. He watched the little crumbs of dirt roll down along the curved edges until they vanished into the dissipating dust.

Sin considered hopping in anyway, but he was interrupted by the appearance of the meteor as its outline slowly became more prominent and clear. He tried inching forward again, closer but not too close as to fall in. When he thought about it, he wasn’t really sure why he was unnerved. Meteors were rocks, weren’t they? Why would he have any reason to be afraid of a rock?

He leaned forward and squinted his eyes. Well, it had to be a strange one It didn’t look much like a rock. Actually, it really looked a lot more like a kid.

As soon as the thought hit him Sin jerked to attention again. He did a double-take, and began inching back towards the house. Unless it was a ridiculously realistic carving, it just had to be human-shaped. They didn’t have any statues or sculptures in the backyard, and even if they did, it probably would have been destroyed by the meteor...but then again, he couldn’t find anything that looked like a meteor anywhere in the massive dent. All of the dirt had parted around the strange, limp figure that was currently curled up in the bottom of it.

Could it really be a person? How had they managed to fall out of the sky? It just had to be a coincidence, right? Maybe they had climbed into the backyard to try and break into the house while his parents were gone, and just happened to have fallen in. Hesitantly, he reached for the porch broom his mother had left out, and hefted it like a makeshift polearm. Maybe he’d get lucky and they would run away as soon as they realized the house wasn’t abandoned.

He spread his wings and took off again, trying to find a place to land on the steep curves. Despite his best effort, his feet slid out from under him as soon as he landed, and he managed to fall over on his ass. The broom slipped out of his reach as he tried to catch his fall, and Sin watched in dismay as it rolled to a stop right by the center of the crater.

“Easy...easy…” He tried to coax himself, inching down with his hands and feet, breath catching every time he skidded. “Take it slow...don’t panic…”

As soon as he was close enough to the broom, he put his toe on the handle and dragged it up to where he could grab on with his hands. He sat there for a moment, in a confused little ball, holding a dirty broom in the bottom of a meteor crater in his backyard to defend himself from an unconscious person five feet away from him.

Yeah. Even by his standards, this was definitely weird.

When he was pretty well convinced they weren’t going to leap to life and begin clawing at his face, Sin reached over and prodded them in the shoulder with his broom. It didn’t get him any reaction. He let the end of it sit on their back, and he could see the small rise and fall of it. Okay, so they really were just unconscious and not dead. Sin lifted it back up and pulled it into his lap again.

There was something sooty caught up in the broom’s bristles. He moved to wipe it away, but his fingers slid against something soft, instead. When he plucked the odd bit of debris out and held it up to his face, he found that it wasn’t dirt, but a single ink-black feather.

Immediately curious, he let himself scoot closer. Though he hesitated at first, Sin managed to reach across the unconscious body and turn it. Yep, it was still warm, just in case the breathing had been a fluke. He didn’t care about that detail for long, though, because as soon as he rolled them over, he could see swathes of black feathers, arranged in messy lines, folded against their back like a pair of...wings?

No, that couldn’t be right. Ky had said angel’s wings were supposed to be pale, and Dizzy had said demon’s wings were supposed to be leathery. He’d never seen, or even heard of black-feathered wings before. Did that mean they had to be fake? He gave one of them a tug.

“A-agh, ow-”

Sin immediately pulled back once again, pressing himself against the dirt as the body suddenly began moving. At the last moment, he thought to grab the broom, just in time to be face-to-face with a pair of glowing yellow eyes when he faced them again.

He tried to think of something to say. Sin genuinely had no idea how to respond in this situation. Was there etiquette in talking to strange boys that fell out of the sky?

His palms were sweating. He readjusted the grip on his weapon. “I-I’m not looking for trouble.”

The stranger stared at him, silent but seemingly content. As soon as he began to speak, though, he mirrored Sin, throwing himself back against the side of the crater.

“WHO ARE YOU?!” He shouted, remarkably loud for someone his size. Sin was pretty big for his age, but the stranger seemed small even by normal human standards. At least it meant that if this did end up turning violent, he’d be at the advantage.

“Hey, hey, woah, hold up a second-” Sin raised his hands. “I just said, I’m not looking for trouble.”

That didn’t seem to help. “WHO ARE YOU?!” He screeched again.

“I’m- my name is Sin!” He tried, raising his own voice a little so he could be heard better. “My name is Sin, and you’re in my backyard.”

“WHY DID YOU BRING ME HERE?!”

“I didn’t! I was just watching the shooting stars fall, and then you fell out of the sky instead and landed in my backyard. I have no idea why you’re here. I don’t even have any idea who you are!”

He must have given the stranger what he wanted. Sin watched his muscles unclench. His jet-black wings began doing restless, useless little flaps, the same way his did when he was confused or distressed.

“...What are you?” Asked Sin. “I’ve never seen wings like yours before.”

“Wings?” He responded, though it wasn’t really a response. Sin watched him turn to look at his own black wings.

He nodded. “Yeah. They don’t look like either of mine.” His own wings extended until the other could see them. “You don’t look like a demon, but you don’t really look like an angel, either. Can you tell me what you are?”

“I...I’m…” The other boy still seemed baffled by the sight of his wings, and seemed more focused on them than what Sin was saying.

“You can’t be both, can you? ‘Cause then yours would look like mine. Are you something else? You came from the sky, does that mean you came from space? Are you an alien? Or like some weird, alien-angel-demon thing? If that’s even-”

“Do you babble this much around everyone?” The stranger cut him off with an irritated look.

Sin huffed. “Well, you’re not all that nice. Probably not an angel, then. Then again, dad did say not all angels are friendly…”

“-ngh!” Anything else he was going to say was cut off, as the stranger suddenly winced with a cry.

His eyes flew open with alarm. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

When he didn’t get a response, he tried to get a better look on his own. He brushed messy purple hair out of the boy’s eyes and tried to get his attention. “Hey. Let me see where it hurts.”

“S-stay back- !”

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” Sin spoke with calm confidence, trying his best to be reassuring. “I just want to see it.”

With enough coaxing, he finally caught sight of the trouble spot as a pale hand came away from his side, dirtied by...something.

“Huh? That looks awfully dirty, maybe it’d help to clean it first-”

As soon as he touched the other’s hand, a stinging pain shot up his arm. Sin yelped and pulled away. A bit of black stickiness clung to his fingertips, and the pain continued until he wiped it off on his hand.

“Ow, ow, ow-” He hissed, wincing at the angry red coloration that had overtaken his fingers. “What the hell…?”

What he’d thought was dirt was actually a strange, sludgy material that weeped from the slice in his side. “Is that...your blood?”

“Well, it has to be, doesn’t it?” The other replied, though he didn’t sound especially sure himself. “Why did you start shouting?”

Sin flexed his fingers tentatively, to make sure they still worked alright. “My hand started hurting as soon as I got it on me. Why would it do that?”

“I…” Maybe it had been dumb to ask, it seemed like neither of them had any idea what was going on.

“I guess it doesn’t matter right now. Let’s go inside, we’ve got bandages in the bathroom.” It took him a minute to find his balance in the crater, but when he did, he helped the other up and pulled the two of them out, with a few dirty knuckles and pained whimpers, but otherwise nothing too serious. He threw the stranger’s arm around his shoulder and managed to find a way to support him without bending his wings or putting his hand right on the wound, for both of their sakes.

“We’ve got juice and stuff inside, too, if you want it.” Despite the situation, Sin was trying to remain upbeat. “I’m sure you’ll feel a whole lot better when you’re got something to drink…” He trailed off. “Um, sorry, what’d you say your name was?”

His companion was quiet, initially looking very confused before it slowly began morphing into fear. “What’s wrong?”

“N-no, that can’t be, I can’t- I can’t be-”

Sin stopped. “It doesn’t have to be everything all at once. I just don’t really know who or what you are.”

His expression finally crumpled into abject horror. “...neither do I.”

[raw-output]

Aprimay 12-19, 5500

“You’re holding it wrong, Blue.”

Engie walked up to the younger woman and examined her pose.

“You hold that pistol so close to your face, you’ll get hurt. Hot brass doesn’t play well with bare skin.” She gently but firmly pulled Blue’s hands until the handgun she gripped was a safe distance away.

Blue nodded nervously and squinted down her handgun’s sights. She carefully lined up the three dots over the round slab of wood they’d agreed to use as their target. She pulled the trigger two times in a quick succession. Her first shot left a neat hole close to the target’s center. The second went wide and ricocheted off of a nearby boulder with a scornful whizz.

“I can always land the first one,” Blue complained, “but I have to take my time aiming, or it all gets thrown off.”

Engie nodded thoughtfully. Blue took careful aim again, and fired a single shot. There was no new hole, only a slight widening of the first one.

“I never said thanks for getting us down here,” Blue suddenly said, engaging the safety and lowering her handgun.

“Anyone would have done the same,” Engie muttered halfheartedly.

“I’m sorry,” Blue continued.

“Sorry? Why?”

“Your voice. It sounds all wrong, but it’s not your fault. There was probably something bad in the air before you got out of your casket. Back at the hospital, I-”

“Stop. You don’t have to-” Engie held up her hand, surprised at how much the girl’s words stung. Blue either didn’t catch her words or chose to ignore them.

“I met a man who was rescued from a fire at a refinery,” she continued awkwardly. “He sounded like you. The doctors, they said there was permanent damage to his larynx, from the smoke and the gasses. They said it could never be fully fixed.” Her eyes widened slightly when she realized what she had said. “I’m sorry,” she repeated finally.

“It’s okay,” Engie managed. 

It wasn’t, not really.

-

Skye had a simple philosophy in life: do unto others before they do unto you, because given enough time, everyone will try. Back home, before she finally realized how futile it all was, she’d been a cop. She patrolled the worst parts of what her higher-ups took great care to always refer to as the High Density Urban Cluster. To her, it had never been anything but The Hive, a layered, constantly changing and decaying heap of humanity seven kilometers wide and almost three kilometers deep. When the architects’ enthusiasm finally exceeded the durability of even high-purity orbital-smelted plasteel, they began digging down instead of building up. Just like an old book she’d read once, the lower she’d patrolled, the worse things had been. Crooked politicians owned outright by completely amoral conglomerates, setting down policies for crooked precinct captains, who in turn gave orders to crooked enforcers resulted in an upward trickle of kickbacks and favors which was mirrored perfectly by a downward trickle of misery. 

It was there, at Depth 2150, that this misery pooled and festered, and it was on her first patrol there that Skye finally broke. What seemed to be a perfectly respectable (and technically legal) brothel had turned out to be a “dollhouse” run by a flake cartel, with her captain’s signature on a permit displayed proudly on the wall. She still occasionally wondered whether something with the body of a human, but operated entirely by a sophisticated software suite, could still be considered alive. If it could, her white phosphorous grenades had ended dozens of innocent lives that day. Most days, she preferred to think of it as routine incineration. Corpses and bootleg electronics. Confiscated goods. Afterwards, the precinct captain had offered her a raise, with the implication that she’d never mention any of it to anyone. Her counter-offer consisted of a marble bust of a long-forgotten politician to the side of the head.

She used the last of her money to pay her way onto a sleeper ship. When the Soldiers’ Army raided the ship and offered her the choice between piracy and death, she saw her chance to disappear for good, and to finally throw off the pretense of upholding order. The Army lived by a code, sure, but nobody was truly in charge, just as their name implied. They obeyed no government. Favor and respect was earned, not bought. They took what they wanted and hurt who they needed to, but didn’t tolerate cruelty for its own sake. She had quickly become a respected scout, choosing to forego uniforms and firearms, venturing out in nothing but dark body paint and a woolen headcover. Her spiked steel club could crush bone like marzipan.

Last week, when burning debris streaked across the sky and a plume of smoke rose from across the bay to the north, she’d immediately volunteered to investigate. Now, she finally heard gunshots and faint voices. Before long, she finally caught a first glimpse of them - two women and a man, hunting. She listened intently. Another shot cracked and echoed from across the river. It sounded meaty, supersonic. Probably a rifle, chambered in something respectable. A slow rhythm of quieter, high pitched pops followed. A simple handgun. 

These people were armed, and it’d be a matter of time before they either joined one of the nearby settlements and make it riskier to demand tribute, or begin having others join them. She would go after the biggest threat first, then use the rifle to finish - or better yet, capture - the other two. She couldn’t help but consider how much she’d be able to bring back with her, and what she’d be able to trade it for. Smelly and One-Toe Joe claimed to have a crate of pristine plasteel ingots and a few dozen kilos of heavy, hard uranium ore... Perhaps she could give her club a much-deserved overhaul.

-

Engie sweated profusely - the heat was so overpowering that they had to install a second cooler in the larder just to keep up. They had finished a set of simple but decently spacious bedrooms earlier, so at least they no longer had to huddle on the floor. Seven even managed to follow her instructions and build everyone proper beds. None of that made the heat any better, and they were forced to sacrifice personal comfort in favor of unspoiled meat. Everyone grumbled, sweaty and miserable. Even the ever-energetic Hope spent most of her waking hours soaking in the nearby water, only coming back to the compound for meals. After the cougar attack, Engie had decided to set up a perch in one of the taller nearby trees, and spend a few hours a day there, watching over her younger companions as they went about their daily routines. Blue tended to her pet project - an assortment of staple crops from the seeds in the drop container were finally beginning to sprout. Seven stopped by to assist her every now and then, but most of the time the boy just talked. 

Her rifle’s simple optical scope didn’t have a laser microphone, nor was there any glass to catch vibrations off of, but she had a good hunch as to the nature of their conversations. She even saw Blue smile and laugh once. Well, that was right and proper. They’d both boarded the ship centuries ago in search of new lives - who could blame them if they ended up finding one together? The cold, pragmatic thing at the back of her mind chimed in with its own grudging acceptance. After all, long-term chemical contraception was standard for sleepers. A new colony’s simple infrastructure could otherwise be rapidly overwhelmed by a sudden influx of new mouths to feed, new minds to teach, and new bodies to house.

"Hey, up in the tree,” an unfamiliar female voice called out quietly.

Engie’s hair stood on end.

“You can’t see me, so you can’t shoot me. Come down quietly. Make a noise, and I hurt the other two. I’ve watched you move and I know I’ll beat you to them.”

Assess. Respond. Evaluate.

The assessment was straightforward - she’d been had. Engie frantically scanned the surrounding underbrush, but saw nothing out of place. She’d have to comply and wait for her chance. She was about to start climbing down her usual way when an idea struck her. “Let’s see if we can’t get a bearing on you,” she muttered under her breath. She began shifting clockwise around the trunk, doing her best to appear natural as she found hand and footholds.

“Are you seriously trying to hide from me,” the voice finally inquired with bemusement. 

“Gotcha,” Engie thought.

She let go of the trunk and dropped the rest of the way. A sharp jab of pain shot through her ankle, but that was fine. Her rifle, already loaded, sprang up with mechanical precision. There, in the criss-crossing shadows, a vague silhouette. Engie pulled the trigger.

“Not one to do things the easy way, are you,” the voice inquired, unfazed.

“I can see you now, bitch,” Engie growled at the shadows.

“Fair’s fair. You get one more of those before that rifle is mine.” The silhouette darted forward.

-

Skye had to act fast. The other two would have heard the shot, and at the end of the day it didn’t matter if the hole in your skull was 7.62 or 9 millimeters across. She hefted her trusty club. A single solid hit would bend the barrel or the bolt into uselessness, and then the dark-skinned woman would have to fight the old-fashioned way. She saw her opponent cycle the bolt, slowed down to a crawl by her own surging adrenaline. The woman knew what she was doing, that much was clear. She was military, so she’d aim for her center of mass. Skye waited three heartbeats and juked sharply to the left, her club cocked for a devastating strike.

-

Engie fired just as her assailant performed an impressive sideways dodge. What would have been a killing or at least disabling shot pierced her raised forearm instead. The woman dropped her weapon howled in pain through her teeth.

“Walk away,” Engie rasped.

She could see her more clearly now - completely nude save for a simple woolen headcover, and covered in some sort of dark paint - probably charcoal and grease, now streaked with crimson.

“Call me Skye. I don’t walk away,” her foe strained between deep breaths.

“I’m Engie. Makes two of us.”

The paint-covered woman tackled her, grasping for the rifle with her good hand. She was strong, even one-handed, surprisingly so for her build and stature. Engie struggled to keep a good grip on the rifle, but her sweat-slicked hands betrayed her. The weapon went flying out of reach of both women, landing in the dry dirt. The cold thing at the back of her mind made a dispassionate note to field-strip and thoroughly clean it later. After what felt like a day’s worth of fighting for leverage, Engie finally managed to force Skye back enough to jab a knee into her stomach. Her opponent reacted predictably, moving with the strike to minimize the damage, and using its momentum to get back on her feet. Engie followed suit and scrambled to a fighting stance. A sharp high kick caught her across the jaw, leaving smudges of sooty grease on her face and making her vision black out for a split second. Blinking away involuntary tears of pain, Engie forced out a careless chuckle, and taunted her enemy with a hand gesture rumored to have been invented long before humanity left Earth.

Skye roared and rushed in again, undoubtedly going for another tackle. This time, Engie countered with a knee to the face that sent the smaller woman reeling backwards, dripping blood from her broken lips. She followed through with a series of simple straight jabs, aiming for the face and the throat, moving forward with each punch to keep her foe off balance. Skye lashed out with a low kick, this one catching Engie in the side. Her vision went dim with pain. She grunted in pain and sank down to one knee, using one hand to steady herself. There wasn’t much fight left in either of them - Skye was going in for the kill. She felt a familiar, well-polished surface where she expected to find only dirt. She gripped the rifle by its wood-clad barrel and swung its heavy stock upwards like a cudgel. It caught the attacking woman in the temple.

-

Skye was barely conscious. The dark-skinned woman that called herself Engie towered over her - bruised, dirty, and thoroughly victorious.

“They’ll come looking for me,” Skye burbled through her broken mouth. “The Soldiers’ Army remembers.”

“Let them,” Engie muttered.