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[nothingbutbark]

Current project! Which I’m having fun with, probably largely because of how indulgent it is. What’s it got? Body swaps? A character with immense power tied to their emotions? Soulmates? Imagery of a monarchy with little actual monarchy? Shared dreams? Spirit realms? Dichotomies of light and dark that explore the negatives of the light and positives of the dark? Maybe. Only thing missing would be werewolves. Which there’s room for, somewhere in here probably.

Anyway, yes, this character responsible for keeping a floating sky kingdom up is named Atlas. What of it.

His mother is dead. The Isles shudder beneath his feet, a tremor that topples the inkwell on his desk, splattering viscous black liquid across the parchment and staining the skin of his hand. Atlas flinches away from it, and shoves to his feet. The Isles quake again, a violent rocking that nearly takes his feet out from under him. Atlas clutches at the edge of the desk, fighting to stay upright, and the Isles lurch. Atlas slams forward onto the desk. The taste of blood bursts in his mouth, a  stinging ache on his cheek—inside, and out.

Atlas blinks through the pain as half his bookshelves crash to the ground. Books clatter across the tile and vases shatter in a ringing cacophony.  

His mother is dead, and the Isles are on the verge of falling out of the sky.

A knight bursts into the room, door slamming and bouncing off the wall. “Sire!”

Atlas rights himself, even as the Isles shudder once more. “My mother—!” he starts, and breaks off to spit out a tooth. He's not sure what he was about to say, and he's not even sure it matters.

The knight grimaces, bracing themselves in the doorway as the quaking worsens. “We have to get you to the Crown!”

They make no mention of Atlas' mother—just the Crown—but then she is dead, and they both know it. What is there to say? The whole of the Isles know the Queen is dead, for what other answer could there be for the way the ground is giving way beneath them?

In the face of that certainty, this loss that begets loss, there's no time for grief or condolences.

[nothingbutbark]

Just... dithering. Absolutely cannot decide what I want to do, so I’m technically doing nothing, writing maybe-futures with maybe-characters. Could attempt to keep going with what I’ve got, could take a second stab at it now armed with more precise thoughts about direction, or I could go write something else and let this simmer.

Unless they were expecting combat, why wouldn't this be a perfect mission for a promising knight to get some field experience in the outside world?

It could just be prejudice against a half-blood. But if it wasn't, that would implicate the Knight-Captains, or the Knight-Councilman. Or both, which is a concerning thought. If the authority of the royal guard was part of the plot...

“Would I be a horrible person,” Sylvan says, quiet, “to hope it was prejudice?”

Kirai snorts. “Maybe a little bit.”

Still, it'd just be a different problem, if not one that was easier to deal with.

Kirai drops his chin into his hand, considering Ezra. Idly, he wonders what Ezra is striving for. He has to know he's been undercut because he's a half-blood. Undervalued and dismissed. So what's he working towards? What inspires such dedication to being a knight in him? And by extension, such dedication to the throne?

Is he trying to prove himself?  Is he striving to prove he's not less because he's a half-blood? That he, and all other half-bloods, deserve just as much of a chance as those who look down at him?

Is he thinking that if just proves himself, makes one person who dismissed him really see him, then he'll have a chance? A chance to make things better?

Ezra's spar wraps up—Ezra's win—and he happens to look up, gaze catching on Kirai and Sylvan. Kirai waves, grinning.

Ezra startles and drops into a bow for the prince.

A low one, Kirai thinks, and can't decide what to make of it.

[nothingbutbark]

More of a maybe-future. I think I’ll have to rewrite what I’ve got if I want it to go any further. It’s all tangled up, and it’s difficult to work out which bits I even like. ‘Course, I could also just write something else. Lord knows I have even ideas I could revisit. 

Instead, they kneel, bow to him and bare their throats.

Kirai wants to run. To—to—to move, get away from this, but his feet are rooted in place. “I'm not—” his tongue locks up, the words get caught in his throat and he forces them out anyway. “I'm not Alpha!”

Dread coils, horror sinking into his veins when he realises some of the wolves aren't just kneeling, they're prostrating themselves. Put their heads to the ground, stretch out their bared wrists before them. It's the symbol of submission to wolves, a position it's nearly impossible to get up and fight in a hurry from, but here it reeks of respect.

Kirai staggers away from it. Only, everywhere he turns someone else is doing it. Dozens of wolves, pledging their absolute belief in him. That he would do no wrong with their lives in his hands.

He whirls, turning to the gathered Heads, and freezes in place. Because some of them are doing it too. Some—some aren't, but none of them are on their feet.

Kirai stares until his blood boils back over.

“I can't be Alpha.” His voice wavers, cracks, comes out more like a plea than the fierce denial it was supposed to, but he won't stop for that. “And you can't just—just—” he breaks off with a growl, burns with a newfound fire inside him. Flames curl around his fingers, and he clenches his fist, smothering them. “Stop that!” he snarls, unable to stand the sight of people kneeling for him anymore. “You don't get to do this—I left my home because of you. I had to! Because—because I wanted better for the wolves. Because I thought our people could be better. And—you ran me out of my home for that.”

None of the Heads say anything, to that. Some—Kirai's own Head among them—lower their ears, look away in shame.

“My home,” he says again, and something in him breaks. Has been breaking, for the last nine years. “My world.”

[nothingbutbark]

Suffering, entirely, from a desire to scrap everything and start over. So while I ignore that urge, here’s stuff from a maybe-future. 

Several hundred wolves are scattered around the camp in the centre of the Wolf's Cradle, summoned here for a meeting of the Pack Heads. Several hundred wolves, ranging from the Heads themselves, to their guard detachments and shadows, to recalled border guards, to Kirai's old friends, to just—just children, huddled in their caretakers arms.

Several hundred wolves—a thousand, maybe, nearly all the wolves there are—in one place, and there's a stillness hanging over them all. A stillness that's broken only by the tents still burning, and Kirai's laboured breathing.

He's not getting enough air, his every inhale shaky and shallow. There's still blood in his mouth, spilling over his lips and down his chin. He can't stop staring at his hands—hands he should be using to put pressure on the gash in his side, because—

Because that was magic. He did magic. He's a wolf and he did—

The king—or the man, or whatever he was—is lying dead at Kirai's feet, charred, bitten, and clawed.

Kirai laughs, and it aches, comes out like a pained exhale but feels so good, because he did that. Kirai killed him, killed the man who would have destroyed the wolves all over again, and stole his magic.

“Alpha.”

The word carries in the near-hush of the smouldering camp, even though it's almost a whisper—said on an exhale, in a sigh of relief. Reverence soaks the word through.

Kirai flinches, jerking away from the sound.

[nothingbutbark]

I’ve been avoiding thinking about the quality of the work because it’ll just slow me down and/or discourage me from continuing, but god. Could be better. Could be loads better. Would rewriting it now, while I still have no idea where it’s going in the future, be a waste of time? Yes. Do I still want to? Yep. 

Sylvan sighs. “I suppose not.” He glances at Kirai. “Should I continue? I don't to cause you undue stress.”

Kirai stifles a laugh. Undue stress? He's responsible for the life of the deer prince, and, by extension, the life of every individual who would be caught up in the war, were it to take place. “Little late for that.” He waves his spoon. “Better to know what kind of dumb bullshit you believe so I can deal with it before we get to wolf territory.”

Sylvan frowns. “You still want to go through there? It just seems—risky. The southern pass through the range would be safer.”

Kirai tips his head. “Slower, though. Besides, I want to keep my options open. If you're unshakably racist, I'll come up with something else.”

Sylvan bristles. “I'm not—” he breaks off, and sighs, conceding. “My tutors said that after his death, the wolves turned... savage?” The last word comes out high-pitched, and he glances, worriedly, at Kirai's face.

Kirai blows out a breath through his nose. Okay. Okay.

Sylvan goes on, “And that in the ensuing power-struggle, the wolves warred with themselves until there was barely anything left of their civilisation. Um.” Another glance at Kirai's face, which is twitching. “They said they'd been warring ever since, fiercely contesting their dwindling territory, in hopes of amassing the most land and being named Alpha.”

A growl's been rumbling in Kirai's throat, and he lets it out with a snarl. “What? That's—!” He snarls again, and clenches his fist. The spoon snaps, in his hand. He exhales, forcefully, and after a moment, says, “There was more?”

Sylvan glances down at the spoon, hesitating.

Obligingly, Kirai picks up his chair and moves until he's on the other side of the table. A laughably minor obstacle, but it's the best offer of 'I won't kill you for telling me' that he's got.

[nothingbutbark]

Three posts, for three days. 

“Can you just—” Kirai starts, not really sure where to start— “not be weird about it?”

“Weird!” Dana echoes, putting her tray down on the table beside Kirai. “Weird? Kaz, you're Jackal! Ugh, I should have seen the signs.”

Mark puts his tray down on the same table. “Coyote does seem a little on the nose.”

Sylvan looks between them. “They know about Jackal?”

Kirai groans, ignoring him. “Does this really matter?”

“Yes!” Dana cries. She points a finger at Mark. “Mark has slept with Jackal so many times he can't even count them and he didn't even know it! Unbelievable!”

Mark nods. “Does Sonia know? She has to. She could have doubled the price people would pay for you.”

It's nice to know they're hung up on this for such a minor reason, but it's still annoying, and he wishes they'd saved it for some other time, because—

“Price?” Sylvan chokes. “And you've what?” His gaze darts between Mark—dressed in sleepwear—and Kirai—who's only half-dressed, in borrowed clothes—and his eyes widen. “Oh, Ancients,” he exhales, almost a whisper, looking faintly horrified.

Kirai knows a 'thinking disparaging thoughts' face when he sees one.

He drops his head in his hands, groaning, and wishes, for a moment, those bandits had killed him. He inhales, exhales. “Okay.” He lifts his head. “I'm only going to say all of this once.”

[nothingbutbark]

From the bottom of my heart: my bad. In my defence I hit a block in that I got an actual, literal headache, and couldn’t think. 

This time, when Sylvan sighs, it's resigned. “I feared as much.”

Kirai coughs, pointedly.

Sylvan glares at him, but flatly corrects to, “I was afraid of that.”

Kirai shrugs, grinning. “Good enough.” He turns to Adrissa. “Uh, hey, doc, we're kind of in a hurry to get to the other side of the continent. How soon can we start moving? A day? Half a day?”

Adrissa regards him with a look that's four parts resignation, six parts despair. “A week.”

Sylvan chokes, and Kirai scoffs. “Sorry. Really in a hurry,” he corrects.

“Five days.”

Kirai hums two short, agreeing notes, and nods. They're leaving tomorrow.

Adrissa sees right through him. “I will tie you to a bed, Kaz, though I worry you'll find a way to enjoy that.”

Sylvan makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. Kirai gapes. “What! I'm not even injured!”

Adrissa scoffs. “I'm not going to tie a patient up. You're the flight risk.”

Kirai groans, makes it his longest and loudest possible. “Fine.” The day after tomorrow.  

[nothingbutbark]

Another piece from yesterday, ‘cause I took a break day, and I will forget about this blog if I don’t post something. 

“We've been here a day,” he offers, settling into the chair beside the bed. “Adrissa—the doctor here—says you'll probably need a few days of rest to recover.”

Sylvan's expression twists into a grimace. “We can't—we don't have that kind of time.”

Kirai huffs. His ears twitch to sound of approaching footsteps, and scoops up the chipped cup, placing it on the bedside table. “Yeah, well, if you hadn't pushed yourself until you collapsed into my arms, maybe you wouldn't be so bad off. Lie to me about that again, and I'll—”

Sylvan sighs. “Tear my throat out, I know. That's starting to lose some of it's fear-factor.”

Kirai grins, flashing his fangs. Sylvan glances at them, and pointedly looks away.

“Heads up,” he says, a moment before there's a knock at the door. Adrissa steps through a moment later, without waiting.

“Tai, was it?” She walks around to the other side of the bed. “How are you feeling?” She takes her bag of medical supplies and places it on the bedside table.

Sylvan glances at Kirai, hesitating.

Kirai raises his eyebrows, and grins.

Sylvan blows out a breath. “Hot,” he says. “All over. Weak, but not quite tired. I'm having trouble focusing my eyes for more than a few moments.”

[nothingbutbark]

Twenty thousand words... All of them... I’m not allowed to think about for any length of time, because they’re so, so bad. 

“Basically, if Tai dies or I don't get him to the other side of the continent in—” he grimaces— “a month or so, I... think we'll be at... war?” Kirai's voice pitched higher towards the end, hesitant.

“War,” Dana echoes, sounding faintly sick.

Mark's hands clench around his plate of food. “What makes you so certain they won't torch this place down to kill him?”

“The... place, isn't right?” he tries. “Uh. They'll get more use out of him if they take him alive and kill him where they want. Leave his body for people to find. If they find us, they'll try sneaking in and grabbing him before anything else.”

Sonia's lips thin. “This secret of yours—you can't tell us, or you won't?”

“I—” Kirai falters. The words feel locked behind his teeth. It would be so easy to turn his ears full-wolf, unsheathe his claws. His muscles twitch with the urge. He knows he wouldn't even be the first to spill the secret. Human half-bloods had to come from somewhere. “Can't,” he breathes out, after a long moment, because there'd be no taking it back. “I—you'd look at me differently.”

Sonia's expression doesn't quite soften—he thinks he might have bled on her favourite rug too much for that—but she does seem... less intense.

“Wait,” Dana says, and he turns to her. “You're not, like, secret banished royalty, are you? Disgraced for speaking out against the throne and on the run?”

Kirai startles, then growls. “I'm not disgraced—”

Dana gasps. “But you're royalty?”

“No!”

[nothingbutbark]

first post about this that doesn’t even mention sylvan. weird. the file’s 50 pages now too, which is also weird for me.

Kirai flashes him a genuine grin. Mark stutters, reaching for a bite of his food. While he's distracted, Kirai’s arm snaps out and he snatches some for himself. Mark flushes, then squawks indignantly, and lifts his food over his head, out of Kirai's reach.

Dana, in the middle of a bite, chokes on a laugh, and has to pound on her chest until the food goes down the right way. “Nobody,” she says, and has to break off to cough. “Nobody gets under Mark's skin the way you do. It's hilarious.” Then, after a beat, “You know you don't have to do this every time, though, right? He will just sleep with you if you ask.”

Mark makes a disgusted noise and shoves her. She scoffs, indignant, and shoves him back.

Kirai barks a laugh, then makes a show of thinking it over. “Pass,” he says, shrugging, like he hasn't slept with Mark more times than he can be bothered to count.

“You—I—” Mark scowls at both of them, clutching his food to his chest. “You're both the worst.”

Dana and Kirai laugh.

Footsteps, near the edge of his hearing and coming closer. Kirai's ears twitch, and he turns, slightly, to the door. Dana and Mark take note of change in posture, and a moment later they must hear the footsteps too, because Dana elbows Mark and sing-song stage-whispers “Coyote.”

Mark snorts.

Kirai shoots them a dirty look, and turns back in time for Sonia to walk into the kitchen. “Whatever Mark says he's a dirty lying liar,” Kirai gets out, before anyone else can speak.

There's a beat. Sonia raises an eyebrow and turns to Mark.

“He slept the whole day through and never left the room,” Mark says, flatly.

“Shit,” Kirai curses, so vehement and vicious Dana doubles over laughing.

“That does sound like a lie,” Sonia allows, talking over Dana's laughter.

[nothingbutbark]

Do I... bother tagging Mark for this...? Never faced the dilemma of tagging minor characters on this blog, so yay for milestones, I guess. 

Sonia sighs. “Sick and injured,” she corrects. Mark slips past her to go looking for Adrissa, running off. “Kai, get inside.”

Kirai hops up the step, and kicks the door shut behind him. “Sorry,” he says, and he can't help it. “But it was sort of urgent, and you're, like, the only person I could trust within four days of where I was and—”

Sonia holds up a hand and he cuts himself off. She steps back, and Kirai takes it for the go ahead that it is, slipping past her and heading for the room they call his because of how often he's bled in it.

“That bad?” she asks, following behind him.

Kirai knows she's not asking about Sylvan's condition, and he grimaces where she can't see it. “Way over my head.”

Kirai can hear her frowning. “It following you?”

Kirai's almost offended, but he knows the importance of what people call family, and home. Sonia's just looking out for her people. “Sort of?” He turns out of the hall, stepping into his room, and starting to untie the rope. “Yes? But no?” Rope untied, he shifts, and lowers Sylvan onto the bed. “It's complicated. It's not a danger to here, though. I wouldn't be here if it was.”

Kirai hooks his foot around the leg of a chair, pulls it over to the bed, and can’t stop himself from collapsing into it. He locks his hands together and drops his forehead onto them, and exhales deeply. Now that he's somewhere safe, he can feel the exhaustion from that jog to the city sinking its teeth in. He needs a nap. He needs several naps, but he doubts sleep will come.

[nothingbutbark]

very nearly forgot to post today, and I wrote today. for hours! starting to think this blog is cursed

He rocks to his feet. “Now come on, I wanna get a move on.”

Their first two days of travel are largely unremarkable. Sylvan turns his nose up at various aspects of life on the road, and acts like it's Kirai's fault he's the target of a high profile political assassination plot. Kirai tries to be nice (nice-ish), but he's very annoying.

Kirai does end up dropping into a town on their way, looking for information. Turns out he was right: they are circulating Sylvan's description. No name, since he could be using a fake one (and he is), but the description’s a match, and they said he was fleeing law-enforcement from the south, likely heading north-west.

Sylvan looks a little sick when he reports back.

Maybe it's the unavoidable proof that this is really an involved plot on his life. Maybe it's the realisation that if he'd gone the route he planned to take, he'd have probably already been captured.

He's less annoying, after that, but it's hard to feel glad about.

[nothingbutbark]

technically this is from yesterday’s count, but since I’m ahead and have no idea what happens next, I’m taking a “think-about-the-plot” day. Posting because I run the very real risk of forgetting this blog exists if I don’t. 

The sun's hanging low in the sky by the time they've waded down the Kamoshida Springs river. Thoroughly soaked, he stands on the bank and shakes himself off.

Sylvan makes a noise of protest, retreating from the spray of water.

Kirai combs his wet hair out of his eyes, and grins. There's a silver lining to this after all: travelling with royal bastards so desperate for help he can mess with them and get away with it is fun.

Sylvan blows out a breath, and can't seem to stop himself from shaking some of the water off.

His gauze will need changing, Kirai notes, (and now that Kirai thinks of it, he could really use a change of clothes—his are all... singed) but that'll have to wait. Kirai soaked his pack through too, and wet gauze won't do Sylvan much good. That, and all his spare clothes are drenched.

Sylvan uses his good arm to draw all the water off of himself, and flicks it into the river.

Kirai raises his eyebrows. Convenient.

Sylvan shoots him a dirty look (and given the fact that he's a prince, he's probably been taught how to keep a poker face, which makes it hilarious), and then reaches out and draws all the water off Kirai, and out of his pack, too.

“Huh,” he says. “Thanks.”

[nothingbutbark]

day three! this seems kind of fucked up, for me, personally

The deer forest is west, north-west. The fastest way there would be to cut right through the southern human territories, though it's likely among the most dangerous. It's the obvious path to take.

“Humour me,” he says, not looking up. “What path would you take, if you were doing this alone?”

After a moment or two's hesitation, Sylvan traces a path through the southern human territories, though he stays away from the population centres.

Kirai hums. He thought so.  Anyone who knew Sylvan would have likely been able to predict that, so they'll have to do something unpredictable.

It would have been impossible to predict Kirai getting caught up in this, and there's nothing about their fight that suggests a wolf was involved, so they'll have to do something Kirai would do. Something a little reckless, maybe.

He traces a line from their current position, one that heads more north than west—leading right through wolf territory.  

Sylvan startles, and blanches. “That's wild land. We'd never—”

Kirai's head snaps up and he snarls. “That's wolf territory.”

Sylvan at least seems to recognise that he's within throat-tearing-out range, because he fights a grimace, and leans back an inch. “We would never make it through,” he finishes, quieter.

Kirai really is going to tear his throat out if he keeps doing this. He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath—think of the consequences think of the consequences think of the consequences—and forces his fangs to go back to looking at least kind of human. He exhales, and ignores Sylvan to look back down at the map.

[nothingbutbark]

day two! i guess it’s technically cheating to start a day early, but it’s not an actual competition, so it doesn’t, technically, matter

Sylvan makes another disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “Wolves,” he mutters, loud enough for Kirai's wolf-ears to ear.

Kirai doesn't lunge at him to tear his throat out, but he has to stamp down on the urge. A growl rumbles in his throat. Crown prince, he thinks to himself. Crown prince, crown prince, crown prince.

It does not make him feel like skewering him with his own antlers any less, but it does make him think about the consequences.

Sort of.

He rocks to his feet and tosses the attacker's clothes down. He groans, and it rumbles into a growl halfway through, and stalks towards Sylvan. “You stuck-up, egotistical, self-important, sanctimonious, doe-eyed, royal bastard. I'm going to offer up your antlers as toothpicks for Kaztiri if you don't—”

Sylvan shifts, and the earth beneath them shifts with him. Kirai stops. He's not worried about what Sylvan can do—Kirai's fast, and Sylvan's still injured and exhausted, off of the back of a desperate fight for his life.

This is just one fight he doesn't want to get into. No matter how much he wants to get into this fight.

He breathes in, aggrieved, and exhales. “Did you recognise the amulet?” It would take effort to avoid biting off his words, and Kirai doesn't care to spare it.

Sylvan doesn't move out of his half-fighting stance, burned arm hanging at his side. “No,” he says, after a long moment.

Kirai sighs, explosively, and holds out his hand for it. Sylvan, eventually, passes it back, and Kirai pockets it. “I'm going to finish checking the bodies.”

Sylvan's face twists, and he glances at the body of one of his guards.

“The other bodies.” Kirai cannot believe this guy. He's just—just—maddening. Kirai rarely gets so much shit from one person, and he's never had to stop himself from biting them. “You should be resting, but I don't actually care anymore.”

[nothingbutbark]

yeah, i don’t have anything to say about not remembering this blog anymore. it’s just. where does it go? anyway nano time. LOVE not having time to care about quality. it’s very freeing 

Kirai jogs over to them, and lifts their head enough to slit their throat.

He exhales, and keeps his senses peeled even as he turns back to the earth-adept. “You alright?”

The earth-adept slumps, leans on their one good arm, breathing laboriously. “Shit,” he says, on an exhale.

Kirai takes it for to no it is, and jogs back over, crouching down. He can't help the grimace at the smell, and he shifts his nose to something more human. “I've got a camp nearby,” he offers, looking over the uneven red-raw burn of the arm. Wet-looking, too. Second-degree, probably. Good, because it could have been worse. Bad, because his fingers, wrist, and elbow are all burned. “Got clean water, some gauze, and burn-cream.”

Kirai doesn't pointedly glance over at the burning wreckage of this guy's carriage, but it's a near thing.

The guy shakes his head. “My people—” he breaks off into a hacking cough. Kirai mentally adds smoke-inhalation to his list of potential injuries. “Are they—”

Kirai hesitates, glancing at the bodies. He's pretty sure they're absolutely dead.  How to put that into words, though? “Uh.” Good. Good start. “...I can check?”

He goes to rise from his crouch, and the guy starts to follow. “I can—” More coughing.  

Kirai winces, and winces more when he just keeps coughing. If he were a different person, he'd insist on treating this guys injuries before checking for survivors—survivors he's pretty sure don't exist. But Kirai knows the importance of 'my people' and can't be callous in the face of that.

He places a hand on the guy's good shoulder, and eases him back down. “I'll check,” he says. “Five of them, right?”

[nothingbutbark]

in a mood to write that happened to coincide with remembering (again) that this blog exists. so for the first time in four months: a post! fingers crossed, this will be the time i remember this blog 

Ike isn't planning on escaping today. In that way, it's the same as every other day he's been here. 'Course, he'd like to escape, but in the same way he'd like to see the sun again, or be allowed to eat something. A want, without the expectation that he will ever be able to satisfy it. A want, or perhaps a need, that he feels as though he is dying without.

The thought startles a laugh out of him.

He locks his hands together behind his head and sways in the air—closes his eyes and imagines for a moment that he's resting in a hammock, imagines the skin-deep warmth he feels is the light of the sun, beaming down at him on a pleasant day.

“If only,” he says, and the way his voice echoes back at him—strange and cloying—is a reminder.

“Something funny today, Wraith?” The voice crackles through the speaker, distorted by the unique condensed energies of his containment unit.

Ike cracks one eye open, and his gaze drifts down to the scientist stationed at the workstation, just outside his tank. The glow of ecto-energy turns her the same strange radioactive green as the rest of the room. He couldn't put a name to the face if he tried, and he finds he doesn't care to.

She's a petty scientist, stationed here only as part of his round-the-clock observation. She's not authorised to do any kind of experiment that risks damaging him, and that's about the only thing worth remembering her for.

“Nothing, really,” he says, grinning, “Just a little gallows humour.”

The scientist hums, and taps at her tablet, writing something down. She looks back up at him and smiles. “Care to share?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the p. He twists out of his relaxation and floats down so that he's upside down, eye level with the scientist. “Pointless question for a pointless question: can I get something to eat? Like, a burger or something? I'd kill for some BBQ chicken.”

“Nope,” the scientist says, a mocking echo.

It's a little infuriating, and Ike laughs.