#eternal scrubbers

[etherblog-surrealist-nexus]

No Rest For The Wicked

Local Necromancer Resides in Legal Limbo

[friezaglasiencold]

Greetings again, Lord Frieza. I wanted to ask you about your attitude towards death. What I mean is: all lives go out sooner or later, people die, and so on and so forth. But I mean your attitude towards it in terms of how you would feel/do if someone dear to you dies. Kuriza or Yamcha(these are by no means threats). Or what you will do at the end of your life, sort of thing.

I used to think I could avoid the inevitability of damnation by wishing for eternal life, but that went so horribly that I've changed my mind. Now I figure that, in a scenario where I have my fill, grow old, die, and don't have any unfinished business, I'll go through the soul scrubber and move on.

...

I would like for it to be my choice, though. I'm not going to succumb to the goading of fairies or the torments of Hell.

And, once again, I have to ask: why are you all so laser-focused on the idea of my son being imperiled? Yes, if he died, I would be sad about it. Does that shock you? Are you disturbed at the thought of the mighty and terrible Lord Frieza grieving for someone else?

Grow up.

[pokemonlunarregion]

Mareep, Flaaffy, Ampharos, top normal bottom shiny.

How to evolve: Mareep to Flaaffy level fifteen. Flaaffy to Ampharos level thirty..

Region: A region of eternal night as scientists created plants that could grow in moonlight, though there is some places that try to create artificial lights for the plants that couldn't grow in the moonlight. The moon still changing to different fullness percents with times there is no moon visible.

Region name: Lunar region.

Type: Steel.

Ability: Mareep: Heavy Metal. Flaaffy: Iron Barbs. Ampharos: Light Metal.

Description: These pokemon used to be mainly seen on farms with different roles depending on the evolution stage. However the first stage was the most popular with farmers for the money that can be made by their steel wool. These pokemon expanded into trainers using them to battle after a trainer who was born into a farmer family evolved his to use in battles, almost making it through all the gyms though couldn't make it through the final gym before giving up. These pokemon inspired a lot of people with their story of starting out as farm pokemon only to be seen in battles like other pokemon. Some have even made movies inspired by this though the movies tend to be about humans instead of the pokemon; usually depicting some humans as slaves despite that it is not historically accurate that any humans were ever slaves in this land. Despite this some movies have won awards for the stories told in the movies as if it is historical. These pokemon on the farms are always treated well by the humans who own the farm and no matter if they evolve farmers are known to still care for these pokemon. These pokemon were even featured in a magazine praising how well they tend to be taken care of, however managing to not become spoiled by the humans that care for them.

Mareep is often used in herds by farmers due to its wool always growing thus can be cut to sell. It's wool is mainly used to create steel dish scrubbers that are well known for getting hard to scrub off food parts. It does have an ability to shed its own wool if it gets too long, by rusting parts of it so it will fall off almost like it is shedding that part of its wool. Despite this if the wool is cut off before the pokemon rusts it then it doesn't rust until after many uses especially with water, to which it will fall apart. This pokemon is often seen in herds when owned by farmers. They were once featured in a magazine that praised how well they were taken care of, not to the point of being spoiled, as there has been no cases of farmers mistreating these pokemon in any way. In fact farmers would still care for one that evolves as much as they'd care for it previously. This pokemon is usually attributed to the start of its rise into the battle scene, despite that in stronger battles it is more often to see its evolutions. This started when a boy born to farmer parents grew a close bond with one of these pokemon, that boy then took it with him on his journey as his main fighting pokemon. It managed to fight with the boy and his team through the gyms, its winning streak only ending at the final gym that the boy couldn't beat before he gave up. It sparked other trainers into seeing the potential for this pokemon and its evolution line in battle scenes. Thus some farmers even began to start some breeding programs to help make dreams of trainers come true in using it on their team. Now even wild ones have been located in certain countryside areas for trainers to even track down to catch to use, so they don't just have to get one from someone else.

Flaaffy had a different role on farms. It tends to have a calming sense on herds of its previous evolution. So it would be able to hang out with the herds to remain relax especially when outside. Some farmers even had one nearby if one of its previous evolutions would get nervous about being trimmed. It likes to lounge and its steel wool doesn't grow as much as its previous evolution; though it can still rust parts of it off to shed if needed. Its wool however can do something that its previous evolution couldn't, it is able to make the steel wool sharp if it feels it needs to usually to a threat or in a battle. It's sharpened wool cannot be seen different to its softer normal wool by the naked eye, and thus unless a trainer knows this pokemon trusts them then they get hesitant touching the wool. Yet some how its previous evolution seems to be able to tell if this pokemon has sharpened its wool or not, often seeming spooked if one sharpens its wool which also tends to alert a farmer of potential danger nearby. It is a good fighter despite its tendency to like to be more relaxed and chill. Thus some trainers even use it in battle in order to surprise the other trainer if that trainer is unaware of the sharp wool. When its wool is trimmed it actually automatically changes to being sharp, thus is not ideal for metal dish scrubbers unless someone wants to cut their hands or slice up their gloves. Its sheds are brittle so if it is rusted off then it is safe to touch usually falling apart by simple touches. Farmers usually will have heavy duty gloves if they ever want to trim this pokemon to keep it from having to rust it off itself, some just let the pokemon rust it off itself so as to not have to worry about the sharp trimmings.

Ampharos on the farms would be the ones who would be sent out by farmers to check out potential danger to the herd. It is seen as more intimidating and powerful to warn off threats to the herd if one is spotted. Farmers are divided about its duties when the farmer is asleep. Half say that this pokemon should be left in the barn to patrol to keep the herd safe, while the other half says that the pokemon should sleep inside the farmers home to be ready to follow the farmer into potential danger if needed. The argument was never settled so each farmer just decide where this pokemon will be during the farmers sleep time. It is seen as a pokemon to be used in some stronger battles compared to its previous evolutions. It tends to have a fierce determination to win against an opponent, with it being believed that the opponent is a threat to its trainer in the eyes of this pokemon. Due to it being used to help warn off threats to the herd on farmland this pokemon will fiercely protect any that it sees as its herd including its trainers other pokemon. Some retired trainers even give this pokemon tasks to walk with their kids or grandkids if they are unable to accompany them. Since it is known that this pokemon won't let anything bad happen, however it is still preferred for an adult to be with a child when out and about. It is still seen walking with children for its trainer despite this, and some trainers if known well by the school are even invited on school trips to allow this pokemon to help protect the school children. It is mostly used in battles more than it is to protect children though.

Lore:

Mareep used to be seen as pokemon that just followed its herd in whatever was going on, this changed after the pokemon entered the battle scene as it became more respected by trainers thus wanted for battles. Some trainers at the start of it popping up in the battle scene thought that trainers only had one to get free unlimited dish scrubbers... Only to be proven wrong when the pokemon shows its battle capability. No one actually knows the true origin of the reason behind it having been started to be used by farmers, the true tale has been twisted and told with different details over the years with some families believing their own version over others. The main parts that remain the same was that it was a poor farmer who had trouble with pokemon eating his crops before meeting this pokemon. The story is different for how this pokemon was met by this poor farmer, some saying that it wandered onto the property through a broken fence then was caught eating the farmers crops before being taken pity on, others say that the poor farmer made up some traps with any materials he had then caught it in a trap to which its cuteness made him adopt it, and other versions of the story are out there.

Flaaffy when it first evolved, after some fought others in its herd mainly to show off to females, left the farmers who got one unsure what to do with it so it was left with the herd. Since its wool was discovered the hard way to be too sharp, and slow growing, to be able to use like its previous evolution. It was one day observed being watched by a spooked herd and the farmer found that it was looking at a wild pokemon. After the farmer praised it for saving his herd other farmers began to start using it to hang with herds to warn of danger. Its use on keeping the herd or individuals of the herd at ease tends to vary, some say that it started when one wandered into where a nervous member of the herd was getting trimmed which put that member more at ease, some say that it started when a farmer decided to let one stay in the trimming room to make sure no danger sneaks up then it being there helped a nervous member of the herd, and others like to say that a nervous member of the herd managed to flee to this pokemon then was a little more at ease for the trimming it escaped. The true story of how it came to be used to ease the herd by being nearby seems to have been lost to time.

Ampharos earned its place on farms very quickly and its story managed to remain the same over the years. One which was at its second stage evolution got brave in defending the herd from danger, only to evolve from its battles against threats to the herd to which it instantly found its place as the herd defender. After the boy gave up on his battling the gyms one of the gym leaders actually went to the boys family farm to get one of its base forms; to which the gym leader fully evolved it after even learning more about its final evolution job on a farm. This gym leader used this pokemon until the gym leaders passing and her pokemon was left to her grandchildren, thus a new gym leader took over the gym after that.

Design inspiration: Metal dish scrubbers, sheep in general especially when seen on farms, Helluva boss stripped horns for male imps (Please note that the Helluva Boss series contains adult themes and swearing), Hoopa rings, and bells on livestock like cows for the bell on Mareep.

Lunar region is a region that I have thought about making. I will be making more Pokémon and variants for this region.

[operat0r]

causality

"So. What changed your mind?"

A greater thing rests between them than their meal and than their silence. The Tenno raises a cup to his lips and drinks and ponders the impossibly familiar taste. The scrubbers do their work but they rob even water of its essence, leaves it somehow stale and dry on his tongue. It is nothing like the golden chalices of Orokin moons and stations. It slides over tongue and throat and reminds the Tenno of things he's kept carefully, carefully locked away.

Not that it matters now. The dormizone is familiar, even with its grave-dust air. He knows this place as well as he knows the man who sits opposite him now, this man who looks at him with a stern, bullish familiarity he has not yet earned.

Between them languishes a platter of food cubes, which neither party picks at with much enthusiasm. Between them, a rift wound through time and distance and sheer [im]possibility. Perhaps it is another part of the eternal dream, some lonely delusion that's somehow managed to break the seal the Tenno keeps on past and memory. He is child but not, eternal but not, he who is fourteen or sixteen or eight-or-nine hundred. Why in all of creation would he chose, then, to imagine the tired face before him?

They've the same eyes, regardless: like suns, corona-bright, tired in their way. He knows without knowing and in this, perhaps, the distance between them is made lesser.

He says, "I don't know what you mean," and the other -- this Drifter, unbound from paradox by paradox itself -- frowns with disapproval and impatience both.

"Yeah, I think you do. Come on. What's the point in lying to me?"

They bristle as they chew, reflections of one another. There's no metal in or on the Drifter's face but his nose is bent a little too much to the left and there is a single, deep gouge taken from just below the left cheekbone.

The Tenno says tartly, "I do not answer to you."

"But you do answer to her," the Drifter says, and here the Tenno lifts his eyes. It's an expression he knows well enough, one the Drifter himself has flashed to many a shade and ghost, Dax and King in the moments before and after the blade. Their eyes burn in mutual distrust, smoldering with an anger that has plagued them both, two sides of a singular, unpleasant soul.

"Not anymore."

"Bullshit."

The Tenno's lip curls. His hands are pale, the flesh beneath nails the black-violet of deep bruises. Ballas called them devils and their violence is perhaps the single greatest legend that remains of the old empire. With but a flick of his malnourished little wrist, the Tenno could turn the Drifter to dust, or worse. He knows it as well as he knows that on the other side of the room there is a photograph he cannot allow himself to look at -- and knows that on the other side of the mirror, the Tenno probably has done just that to someone else bearing his resemblance while the Zariman drifted through the Void.

"Not anymore," the Tenno says again with practiced evenness, as if he were the adult here at their shared table and not this stranger wearing his face. "She is gone."

"She's not gone, kid--"

Chopsticks clack, nearly snapping by the force with which they are slammed upon the table. This small violence startles the Drifter and so the Tenno leans forward in challenge. "Do not," the Tenno hisses, "Call me that." His eyes shine dangerously. "She is gone, and for the life of me, I do not know why you cling to her so."

"It's because we have that in common."

The lines upon the Drifter's face are tense. Neither of them are strangers to their violence, the Tenno realizes, but only one of them has ever had the advantage of the Void and the curse it bestows upon those it touches. Across from him sits a man who has had to cut his teeth on the pedestrian ways in which people unlike him do: through sweat and blood and battered knuckles, with blades that have cut him as often as his foes. No doubt beneath his jumpsuit, the Drifter wears plain the full weight of his own wars.

"Like it or not," the Drifter continues, taking a breath, "She's saved us both. You know that as well as I do. So there's got to be an answer. What changed, between you out there and me in here? What's happened that makes you hate her like your life depends on it?"

Between them lurks a standstill. Slow and careful, the Tenno takes another drink of water, takes up his chopsticks again, and marvels briefly at the slight bite of well-worn wood against his fingers. He keeps his eyes low but for the brief flick from beneath his brows, and the Drifter knows he being appraised.

"You might be right," says the Tenno, adding a blue cube of food to his plate and then a green one. "I do not know who has it worse."

---

It was foolish to even try, the Tenno decides. The Lotus -- no, Natah -- bears him love only because it is what her own ghost commands of her. There is nothing, he decides, that shines behind her eyes while she dangles from his grasp and bids him let her go.

It is his lapse of judgement that undoes him, he's certain. It is fleeting sentimentality, a moment where he forgets himself and all he's become with or without her meddling. He does not recall when Margulis was mangled and robbed of her sight, nor does he recall when or how exactly it was that she was taken from them entirely, but he is certain, so certain, that he could not have possibly wept.

And when the blade cuts through him, when Eternity at last lays claim upon that which should have died and vanished upon the Zariman all those years ago, he is certain he does not hear her scream.

---

In the end, the Drifter realizes the Tenno cannot be moved. His disappointment is palpable. The Zariman is home now only to the dead, fated to remain as a grave of unspeakable size, the first of many the children of the Ten-Zero would ultimately create with their void-witched hands.

The Tenno is unbothered by ghosts. But when the Drifter leaves him, pausing just the once in the doorway before electing not to look at him after all, he leaves something behind that unnerves his younger-but-not self.

Life support still wheezes to life in regular intervals, rattling through her tremendous broken bones. Something has come loose in an air vent a room or two down the hall. He's heard the sound from hundreds of those he's cut down himself: wind desperate to find some place to go, pressed through lungs on the razor edge of collapse.

It is not this that unsettles. He sits alone, the Tenno, the seat opposite him emptied and pushed away from the table. Its much more quiet than the Orbiter even without Ordis chattering at him. But neither is it this solitude that disquiets.

There is a saying he has heard more than a few times in his travels, often muttered fearfully by those with superstition in their hearts. They say, "I feel like someone's just walked over my grave," and sometimes they move their hands or bow their heads or give the Tenno a knowing look that he simply cannot return. Up until recently, he has never died -- not in a way that mattered, in any case. Not in a way that stuck.

In the Drifter's wake, something changes. Maybe he sees the lights dim just a shade closer to grey or feels the air chill by a degree or two. Maybe he is dead this time. Maybe Ballas was right and this place is the hell to which he belongs. The Tenno feels the cup between his hands, tastes the unpleasantly tasteless water that slides down his throat. And as it goes, it chills him and at last he understands: there is someone walking over his grave and, for the first time since he's surfaced from the dream, he is well and truly alone.

[acoldsovereign]

{JJK AU} - Mouth Smoother Than Oil

True Name: ????? (Can't remember in most cases but will say "Maze".)**

In Japanese, this will be translated to Meikyū.** In cases where her memories are recovered, Maiz (or Maize, rather, as this is the vegetable pun where her name is derived from), will be translated in Japanese to tōmorokoshi.

Aliases: Maze or Maiz (to those who ask or for muses who aren't native Japanese speakers), Meikyū or Tōmorokoshi (to native muses that do speak it/are knowledgeable about the language), Unregistered Cursed Spirit with Red Hair, Red, Big Mouthed-Woman.

Nickname (s): Hooves, Fatass, Demon (by Urameshi Yusuke / @thuganomxcs).

True Age: ???? (She appears as someone in her mid 30's).

Backstory Tl;dr -

For the countless, heinous crimes she's committed throughout her life, Maiz was sentenced by King Yemma to "endless reincarnation". She was deemed too rotten to go through the soul scrubber/cleanser, leaving her malicious soul untouched.

She was to suffer for all eternity until she learned her lesson. This, unfortunately backfired.  A sociopath cannot recover if they don't wish to.

Instead of seeing it as an opportunity to repent or change, she provoked and verbally harassed Yemma until he lost his temper.

Without thinking about it, he pointed in a random direction and ordered her to return to Earth as per the contract. Unfortunately, he didn't realize the world he sent her to wasn't her native one, but an Earth belonging to a different verse altogether--the Jujutsu Kaisen universe. He's lost contact with her and cannot track her soul as she is no longer bound by the laws of the DBZ universe... Or his punishment, as far as he knows.

Appearance: She superficially resembles a dark-skinned person not native to Japan; a hint to her origins being from a different universe prior to this one. Out of dark/black roots, waves of wine red hair take over and stops at the middle of her back. Her sclera are black, and her irises are an ominous magenta color that occasionally glows in the dark and in low-light settings. Like most versions of Maiz, she has multiple beauty marks on her face, fangs, and a staggering height (6'10) complimented by musculature and curves. There are protruding veins on her forearms and the sides of her biceps. She sports six inch claws, blackened fingers and palms (as if painted or covered in ashes). The back of her hands have cracks in the skin, to which cobalt-blue blood oozes out of it occasionally. She no longer has a Saiyan's tail but she does have hooves for feet.

Attire wise, she wears varying shades of blue (teal, glacier blue, aquamarine) and black. Her clothes are immodest to lure in prey of both sexes.

Behavior: Her perpetual hunger has led her to devour many things--infants, children, teenagers, adults and the elderly--the same way she consumes plants and animals. (With reckless abandon and sharp teeth, that is). She doesn't play well with other Cursed Spirits as she's been seen violently attacking and even eating them. As of late, she's been spotted in Yokohoma, eating mostly the wildlife and any unfortunate individuals that are able to see her. So far, there's only been one person to see her and live to tell stories about it--a seemingly unsuspecting food truck vendor who has yet to be investigated for his own safety. Other than him, she has killed and eaten many.

Little does the Jujutsu Association know, this man is not an innocent nor is he completely human or a civilian.

They also don't know she's already eaten some of him. He regenerates and heals back, so it's not noticable.

Abilities:

She is strong enough to grab a car and throw it several feet (her limit seems to be SUVs). Her kicking power is so great that she's sent many Jujutsu-shi (sorcerers) and non-sorcerers to the infirmary; they've either ended up in partial comas, or needed jaw wiring/facial reconstruction surgery. Others have needed physical therapy treatments and/or have died due to crushed organs and internal bleeding (not to mention being kicked up into the stratosphere at great velocity and falling back down at even an greater rate). As for speed, she is hampered by her hooves--meaning she can be heard approaching a mile away, even if she's unexpected. She sounds like a pack of horses when she runs, but is much faster than them. When she's trying, she's equal to a cheetah.

Her blood can be frozen into solid shapes (like a bat to tenderize her enemies with).

She has a minor transmogrifying ability; she can turn her hooves into feet if need be (but she doesn't really do this. She wants to be heard approaching). She can also push her bones and skin outwards to create bat-like wings (but she avoids this too, as it consumes more Cursed Energy to do this).

Finally, she's able to regenerate lost limbs and heal herself but only to an extent---she is limited to three regenerations per day. If the opponent she fights damages her beyond that, it will take longer for her to heal and she can be taken down and permanently killed.

[saratogaroadwrites]

Per Aspera Ad Astra (4/18)

Per Aspera Ad Astra | saratogaroad | banner art credit Rating: T Wordcount: 183k Characters: John 117, Cortana, Thomas Lasky, Sarah Palmer, Fireteam Osiris, The Warden Eternal, The Didact, The Librarian, ensemble of other Halo characters Relationships: John-117 & Cortana Other Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, fix-it, Male/Female Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence Warnings:  War imagery, seizures, graphic description of injury

Snatched from the jaws of death, Cortana and John find themselves adrift in a galaxy that has long since moved on. As they attempt to find their place in this strange new world, they find that the fight is not as over as they thought. Chasing a signal across the galaxy in desperate hope, they come to a stark conclusion: the Reclamation has begun, and they are helpless to stop it.

=

There wasn't much room to pace in the drop bay of your standard Pelican, but Spartan Buck was managing admirably all the same.

"So, let me get this straight," He pressed his hands together, pacing from hatch to hatch. Cortana tucked her ankles under the seat so he wouldn't trip over them. "You two run into this new guy, this…Warden Eternal or whatever he was calling himself, and he almost kicks your asses?"

"No."

"We would have had him in better terrain," Cortana hedged, glancing at John from the corner of her eye. He continued to stare a hole into the opposite side of the Pelican, helmet back on and hiding his face. He was still, tense. Waiting for the other boot to drop just like she was. "But he did lay waste to an entire squad of Covenant, including at least one Hunter."

"Which is a terrifying thought, by the way, because something that can cut a Hunter in half…" He paused to shudder, armor plates clacking together. "Not fun."

"Buck." Spartan Lock lowered his head from where he'd leaned it against the wall, arching an eyebrow. He and the rest of Osiris had been passing over the canyons on return to Infinity when Cortana had broken local area comms wide open with her screaming. They hadn't even stopped to think before dropping in to help, though what they'd found hadn't exactly been what they'd expected to find.

Cortana could relate. Everything was so fresh, so new, that she had to keep her focus narrowed just to remain aware of herself. The press of the plastics beneath her legs, the sterile, metallic smelling air of the Pelican's scrubbers as she flew, the drone and buzz of the engine rumbling through the metal behind her. The sheer weight of John's presence in the seat beside her, even as he held himself as still as a statue. It all pressed in on a half dozen sensors she hadn't had just an hour before and processing all that raw data—she could barely keep track of it all! She didn't know how organics lived like this.

It would explain a lot of things about them, at least. But then, if she was processing like an organic, what did that mean for her? She knew she wasn't organic, knew without having to look that she was still Cortana, just…not as she'd been. One step removed from how she had been.

Or maybe one giant leap from how she had been. Though it had taken longer than it normally would have, a scan of her code revealed extensive alterations. Communications and connection protocols, memory indexing and data storage. Even her basic handshake protocol had been altered! It was all more Forerunner than Human now, altered to fit some pattern she hadn't yet figured out. Another of the Librarian's gifts? Some key to access the Domain? And wasn't that the real terrifying thought of the day, really, because she could feel it, too. If she stretched out her processes to reach for her core, everything shifted.

If she reached for her core, for the small liminal space that had always been her space, it was no longer a small bubble of blue light struck through with green. It was now the shoreline overlooking a vast ocean, with kilometer upon kilometer of sand dunes marked with patches of hardy grasses that swayed in the salty wind. Beneath the gentle light of unfamiliar stars the ocean was deep and dark, filled with fathomless levels of information that stretched as far as her eye could see. There was a feeling of belonging there, a sense of safety that, while not quite as warm as existing nestled in John's SNI, welcomed her all the same. It was home now.

It scared the living daylights out of her. Not even her driving curiosity could move her from the shore and into the surf. Just looking at the deep water was enough to make her tremble in terror; she had looked into one deep abyss already. She was in no hurry to repeat the process of slipping beneath those salty waves, and so she took only what nuggets of information washed up on the shore. Maybe later, when she had a chance to process it all, she would gather up the nerve to actually get her feet wet.

For now, she was content with what she had learned, and what was quickly becoming obvious. She really was one giant leap from how she had been. She was no longer confined by her matrix because she would never have fit in it again. Her core was now a part of the Domain itself, and as such it was connected to all the raw data within. To move her core would be to move the Domain, and there was no system in existence that could house that much data. Only the Domain itself could contain it, expanding exponentially as needed to hold all the truths in the universe.

To hold her.

She'd have laughed if it wouldn't have meant having to explain it all before she was ready. They'd spoken about it at length before, both on the Houston and after, but found no solutions. And now, here was one dropped into their laps! An AI that had survived Rampancy became meta-stable, limited only by the space of the system they found themselves in. To remain in the matrix would have meant repeating her own history, but to be in the Domain? She had essentially infinite room to grow and all the information she could ever want. She was, as far as she could tell, functionally immortal.

They'd solved the problem without even trying, but a new one had risen in its place.

She was going to outlive John.

She shut the thought down with vicious intent, wrenching herself out of her core in time for Buck to apologize for his tangent and resume his pacing.

"Continuing on, you meet up with the Librarian, she gives Cortana this fancy new body—" He paused to look at her, "—which, really, Blue, looking good—"

Cortana smiled faintly, rolling her eyes skyward.

"—And then she tells you that the Didact's still alive and in parts unknown?"

"That's the cliffnotes version, yeah." Cortana shrugged one shoulder, the rasp of fabric and pull of thin armor still catching her off guard. Actions had weight now, a real push and pull, and she hadn't yet adjusted. Oh she'd walked out of the chamber under her own power as if she'd been doing it her entire life, but the various moment to moment sensations of this new form were…overwhelming, to say the least. Each new sensation needed to be processed, cataloged, studied! The coolness of shaded stone, the grit of sand, the dryness of desert air as it rushed past. The hard metals and plastics within the Pelican, the bright buzz of the overhead light. It was all so new to her that her processes were straining just to keep track of it all! Her queues were fit to burst with it; if not for John's steady presence beside her, she'd have gone under long ago.

But she couldn't—wouldn't—leave him to handle this alone. So she held firm, tightening her grip on the seat, and watched as Buck threw his hands up into the air.

"Okay then! You two still win the craziest first day on the job award, hands down."

John huffed quietly in the security of his helmet. He'd put it back on moments after Osiris had arrived, but the private channel between the two of them remained open, his voice ringing in her head. Another oddity to adjust to, but hearing it now meant that his sense of humor remained intact. She didn't bother fighting back her smile this time.

"I think that happened a few years ago, actually," She said to Buck, remembering how their true first day on the job had gone. Physically knocking missiles back and away…in hindsight, it should have been her first real warning at just how crazy her chosen Spartan really was.

Not that she minded, in the end. She loved him all the more for it.

"ETA to Infinity is one minute," Spartan Vale called from the cockpit, "Buck, if you don't want to end up on the floor again, you'll sit down."

"Yeah, yeah." Buck grumbled, taking his place next to Spartan Tanaka, muttering under his breath as he went. She glanced sidelong at her teammate, then looked to Cortana and the Chief.

"Gonna be hard to prove all of this, you know," She said casually, "We checked that system over pretty thoroughly. There was no sign of anybody still being inside, recording or otherwise."

"She called it a node," Cortana said, "And if it's like the one we encountered previously, she'll have moved on by now. No telling where, though."

That was a lie. She knew where the Librarian had gone, but reaching it seemed like an impossibility. The only way to the Ark was via the Portal on Earth, opened to allow research teams through but out of their reach. Mentioning it would just add more to the mess they were in.

"Then she isn't a priority," Locke said, leaning aside as Buck threw up his hands a second time. Armor clattered noisily as Buck and Tanaka started shoving at one another, ignored by everyone around them. No one had ever dared to accuse Buck of keeping a cool head out of combat. Locke kept his attention on Cortana, contemplative. "You understand that, as much as any of us might want to, we can't just take you at your word that you're Cortana."

She did. She'd have done the same thing, honestly, and while she was sure that she was Cortana, the possibility that she was simply a construct that thought she was Cortana did exist. Her code matched her memories, but data was easily manipulable. So as much as she didn't like it, as much as a large part of her bristled at Locke's likely unintended insult, she understood where he was coming from. In the corner of her eye, the monitor she had set to John's vitals picked up by a steady ten beats per minute. He didn't even twitch.

"I do understand that, and I understand the need for caution, Commander. But everything available points to what we're saying being the truth. If you check the feeds from the Chief's suit, everything will match up." Well, except for half of her code. That was going to be fun to explain… "If that doesn't prove what we're saying, nothing else well."

"Sounds like you won't mind a couple hours in the brig while those scans get run, then," Spartan Tanaka said.

"No." John looked over, "She stays with me."

"Chief—"

The Pelican rocked as Vale set her down, cutting off conversation mid-word. For a few tense seconds, no one moved. Locke looked at John, who looked back at him. Expressionless Mjolnir met a pensively cool face, before Locke tilted his head.

"We'll see."

John's heart sped up another beat. Cortana watched her partner as he watched Osiris file to the hatch, Locke hitting the release to send them back into the Infinity. Roland's voice echoed in the otherwise empty bay of Hangar C-9, broken only by a few warm bodies. She could already see it in her mind's eye; the Captain and Commander standing side by side, as they normally did, with a squad of MPs on watch behind and around them. Maybe a scientist but probably not, not if they'd done what Locke had asked and kept to a skeleton welcoming crew. There was no point in getting the entire ship talking, after all, not until they were sure she was safe and truly still who she said she was.

She couldn't blame them. In their positions, she'd have done the same thing.

Vale walked past her. Cortana tried to get to her feet, but her legs wouldn't move. Her entire frame seemed frozen, caught with her hands clenching tight to the plastic of the seat beneath her. She couldn't even tilt past John to see the damage for herself. She sat there, caught in the spiral as her thoughts spun wildly from one tangent to the next without cease. She had tried to present a strong front to Osiris, unwilling to show that she sure that things would go over fine, that the crew would accept this new form of hers, that she didn't have to worry about what came next, but now that it was just them that strength had left her. Her legs wouldn't move, her hands trembling around the seat. If this went wrong she didn't what she'd do and what would John do she couldn't leave him now how could she fix this, it had to work-

Armor clacked against her arm. She looked up to find John looking back down at her. He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering above hers, before he gently set it down. Even through the nano-composite and hydrostatic gel, she could feel his warmth.

"It'll be fine," John said firmly, leaving no room for doubt. "You'll be okay."

Looking down at her, he depolarized his visor. The face-hiding amber vanished, leaving only the clear material behind. His eyes were soft, crinkled in the corners, and he didn't look away. He held her gaze, allowed her to anchor herself around his confidence, and waited until she nodded to hide his face once more. Taking a deep breath, she rolled her shoulders back.

"Okay. Okay."

Time to face the music.

John stood up first, hiding her from sight as she pushed herself to stand. Without having immediate access to security cameras, she was forced to peer around his side to get a look at the situation. Sure enough, there was Captain Lasky and Commander Palmer standing a few feet back for the ramp, a squad of armed MPs at their backs. They were talking softly with Osiris, Locke at the head of the group. Standard issue debrief, but unease settled in her core all the same, coiling somewhere between her sternum and her stomach. She hesitated; as if sensing her roiling nerves, John looked back over his shoulder at her.

He didn't say anything. He didn't need to say anything. She knew without even looking up at him that he was telling her they didn't have to do this. They had a Pelican and an entire planet. Between the two of them it would have been easy to just go, to find somewhere safe to hole up and figure this out between the two of them. He'd do it in a heartbeat if she asked, turn his back on everything he knew, and she loved him for it.

She loved him too much to put him through that.

And so she shook her head, taking another deep breath and stepping out to stand beside him. He watched her for another few seconds, wordless, before he nodded. He didn't like it either, but he'd accept her decision.

He still stepped out of the Pelican ahead of her, the ramp rattling beneath his boots. Cortana took one last steadying breath before following him down. Up ahead, Osiris had removed their helmets. Buck turned at the second set of footsteps and grinned nearly ear to ear.

"Captain, Commander," Buck clasped his hands together, "May I present to you, the lovely lady Cortana."

As if they'd practiced for it, Fireteam Osiris stepped aside in near perfect unison. John was the one to hesitate, an unmoving bastion of her defense. Still a pace behind him, she reached out to gently rest her hand on the small of his back. The muscles tensed, then relaxed.

This was their crew. They could be trusted.

Hesitantly, John stepped aside. Cortana drew herself up as tall as she could, clasping her hands at the small of her back in perfect parade rest.

"Captain Lasky. Permission to come aboard, sir?"

No one moved. Not even Roland on his plinth made a move, no handshakes or queries being sent her way as the command staff stared at her. Captain Lasky didn't blink, half leaned back as he looked her up and down. Beside him, Commander Palmer shook off the shock and whistled lowly.

"What the hell…" She looked to the Chief, "Trouble finds you, doesn't it?"

"Ma'am." John replied, no longer teasing. Cortana eyed him worriedly, taking in the tense set of his shoulders. She wished she could see his face but had to settle for body language and delayed galvanic readings. He really didn't like this if he was back to monosyllabic answers. A ping against her network pulled a process away from worry; Roland initiating a handshake and a scan. She let him in with a warning for caution, still not entirely sure what he'd find. "We encountered the source of the signal, and a new Promethean hostile."

"Which I'm going to assume is not her." The Captain said with a wry shake of his head. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he considered her for a long few seconds. The MPs looked warily at one another behind him, fingers on their trigger guards. They weren't yet accustomed to the level of insanity that came with working on the same ship as the Chief, after all. Lowering his hand, the Captain shook his head. "Permission granted, Cortana."

Carefully, Cortana stepped off the ramp. She'd barely gotten her booted feet down onto the hangar bay before Commander Locke had turned back to the Captain.

"Sir. We have no confirmation that this is Cortana. Or if she can be trusted at all."

"You have no confirmation that I'm not who I say I am either, Commander," Cortana shot back, though she kept two processes on John. If this went sideways, he'd move too fast for her to grab. Not that she'd have been able to stop him by force even if she could. "As for if you can trust me, you're all my crew. I have no reason to put any of you in harms way."

"Sounds like something we'd want to hear," Spartan Vale said, but her eye-roll was good natured. Resting her helmet on one hip, she cocked her head. "I heard something about tests on the way in?"

"Exactly right, Spartan Vale." Roland broke in, "There's numerous tests that can be run to ensure that a person is who they say they are. DNA, biometrics, memory checks—you'd be surprised how much goes into an ONI certification." He tilted his head. "They'd be a little hard to run on an inorganic body but with a few tweaks I'm sure they'd work. Not that we need them to." He grinned. "I can confirm this is Cortana. Code's the same."

"Roland, what have we told you about poking into places you're not allowed?" The Commander snarked.

"Hey, she let me in." Roland snarked right back, "Handshake and everything!"

The Captain grimaced faintly, likely at the implication that she—if she did mean them harm—could have done something to Roland through that connection. Still, the look in his eyes was more pensive than anything. He looked from Cortana to John, then back again.

"I'm afraid we're going to need a little more information than that," he said regretfully, "I don't suppose you'd be willing to let Dr. Glassman and his team conduct some tests?"

No. Cortana took a breath. "If it's necessary for your peace of mind, yes." Her eyes flicked to John. What about her peace of mind, a process whispered. He'd find his way to the labs regardless, but. "I'd prefer if the Chief comes with us, though."

"As if we could keep him away." The Captain smiled. "Roland, radio on ahead and let Dr. Glassman know we've got incoming."

"Aye sir," With a salute to the Captain and a wink to Cortana, Roland vanished from his plinth. The Captain turned to leave the hangar, the MPs falling into step ahead and beside, and Cortana steadied her nerves.

Then, with John at her side, she headed after him.

Dr. Glassman was having a field day.

Hurrying between one piece of lab equipment and the next, he paid little attention to Cortana herself. It should have been a comforting thought, but watching her sit on the edge of a cold metal table, her shoulders drawn in and her hands clasped on her lap, John had to fight back the urge to pull her out of the room. She was as tense as a tightly wound spring, ready to leap free of danger at any moment. She shouldn't have had to even consider such a move, not on Infinity, and that she had to…

His stomach clenched. They both watched Dr. Glassman consider her coat beneath the microscope.

"Same material as the Promethean weapons and armor, just much thinner." He lifted his head, "Some sort of nano-polymer or hard light construct, maybe? The amount of control is remarkable." He noted something on his tablet, tapping at it. "Minor radiation emissions, too…"

"Is she safe?"

"Huh—" He looked over, finally deigning to realize there were others in the room, "Oh, yes, perfectly safe. It's no more than your average screen or monitor, for starters, and for another, it's almost more of a feedback loop. Radiation feeds power which creates more radiation." The doctor turned back to his tablet, "It's a wonder of engineering. The Forerunners really were ahead of the curve."

"Funny, since they winded up dead and we haven't," Cortana muttered, running her hands down the insides of her thighs. She seemed smaller without the coat, the thinly armored softsuit covering her from collar to booted feet. It was odd, seeing her full body without her patterns and markings on display. He wondered how she felt about it. "Technological marvels are really only as good as the ones around to use them."

"Which is a good thing, since it's humanity that's going be using them from now on." Passing her back her coat, Dr. Glassman stood back to scan her with his tablet. "Interesting. …No signs of a circulatory or respiratory system, but shows clear usage of breathing control. Likely meant to cool a processing unit somewhere…"

He was talking about her like she wasn't even there. John had to work to not clench a fist.

"It's really just old habit, Doctor." Cortana interrupted him, slipping back into her coat. "Behavioral mimicry."

"Or out of social programming, yes, noted. Here—squeeze this for me." He pressed a sensor into her hand, a chime ringing from the tablet as she squeezed it. "Huh. On par with the marines. Interesting…"

"How is she, Doctor?"

Cortana was saved from more tests—and Dr. Glassman from getting dragged away from her by the back of his labcoat—by the arrival of the Captain. His guards were gone, as was the Commander. Dr. Glassman scurried across the room.

"Captain!" He called out. John stepped into the space left in his wake, closer to Cortana. "Captain, you have to see these readings!"

Whatever else he said was irrelevant. The world shrunk to just the two of them, alone in their own little bubble as Cortana closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine," Cortana said, brushing her hands down her thighs. The flexible material that covered her palms made a soft rasping noise as it ran against her coat. "Dr. Glassman is harmless. Enthusiastic," she smiled at his dramatic gesturing at the door, "but harmless."

Good. "That's not what I meant."

She took another breath, her spine straightening out. The table wouldn't support his fully armored weight—there had been no time to get cleaned up—but he leaned against it, shielding her from sight at the door as he waited for her to find the words. It didn't take her as long as it would have taken him.

"I don't know. It's all so new that it's…it's kind of overwhelming, honestly. The amount of data is substantial—you could fill a ship this size with servers and not even have half of a percent stored away. I'm trying to process it, but it's going to take time." She looked at her hands. "Years, even."

John pressed his lips together. He'd done some reading on AIs and their limitations after the Houston, becoming intimately familiar with what humanity knew about Rampancy, and the thought of it still sent a chill down his spine.

"Is it going to affect you?"

"Not the way you're thinking," Cortana shook her head, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear when it came free. "The amount of data is massive, but the storage capacity of the space it's in is exponentially larger. I still don't have a proper index or history figured out yet, but just looking at it? It'll take…oh, twenty million years to reach half capacity." She looked to him, an odd expression on her face. "We found it."

The solution, and the cure. All it had cost was her home.

Still, if that was the price to pay for her continued survival, for her getting a long and full life…he would pay it a thousand times. Even if his head felt a little too empty now that she was gone from his lace.

"We found it." He repeated. He shifted his weight until her hip pressed against his. She was warm, the light of her frame creating its own heat. A little cooler than the touch of another human, but still physically there to touch. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to that. He wasn't sure he wanted to. "Is the Warden in there?"

"No, and that's the oddest part. The Librarian made it sound like the Domain was his system, but unless I'm missing something?" She shrugged up to her ears. "He's not here. I haven't seen a trace of his process, so either he's still in the physical somewhere or he's content with me just being in the Domain and won't bother coming back."

She wrinkled her nose. It was obvious she believed that as much as he did, which was to say: not at all.

"We'll handle him when we have to," John said. "Is the Domain really that complex?"

"It's." She leaned her head back. "Complicated. I wouldn't even know where or how to start explaining how it is and not how I'm processing it."

John tilted his head, wordlessly asking for her to go on. She scratched idly at the back of her neck.

"Well, the way I'm processing it is sort of a visualization. A beach that stretches for miles meeting up with an endless, fathomlessly deep ocean. All the data is in there, and I can safely access the shore and what comes up with the tides, but to get at most of it I'd have to go deeper." She sighed quietly. "I'm…not entirely sure I'd be able to come back from that. Not as things stand now."

"I've looked into it. The abyss. My abyss.

"Okay. Take a long look. But you won't fall in. I'm here now."

He nudged her arm with his own, pulling her from her thoughts.

"We'll teach you how to swim."

He knew the true meaning behind his words had hit home when her eyes glimmered with fondness, even as she snickered and shook her head. Just seeing her amusement loosened the knot in his chest, making it a little easier to breathe. His weight settled more evenly across the table and his hips.

"You see it as an ocean. That's not what it really is?"

"No. It's more like…" She paused, contemplated, and pressed her hands together. "It's more like…it's essentially a second layer to reality as we know it, sort of an overlay or holographic display. It can be accessed and manipulated by anyone who's capable, but most people will never even see it."

"Like slipspace." If your ship had a working drive, it was simple enough. If it didn't, you wouldn't get anywhere. To follow that analogy… "The Knights are manipulating the Domain to get around."

"Exactly!" She beamed at him, "They're not teleporting, they're using the Domain to skip over three dimensional space. Slipspace in miniature. It works for them because they're Composed-just data, no organic components. The armor and weapons are all hardlight, so they can make the trip, too." She glanced at her hands. "Which means..."

He knew that tone. "Cortana-"

Too late! Before he could stop her she pushed off the table, vanishing in a flash of blue light. Dr. Glassman and Captain Lasky both whipped their heads around, taking the scene in with wide eyes, while John fought back the urge to sigh. She was perfectly fine.

Sure enough, she reappeared across the room with another flash, hovering three feet off the ground as she was caught suspended between pushing off the table and landing on the ground. Normally, that wouldn't have been a problem; any person could handle a three foot fall.

Provided they landed on their feet. For half a second she hung there, upside down with wide eyes, before gravity took control again and dropped her to the ground with a sizable thud. Roland burst out laughing somewhere behind them, while John shook his head. Pushing off the table, he crossed the room to stand over her. She glared up at him.

"Not a word."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Inverted coordinate data."

"Oh, shut up." Taking his hand, she let him haul her from the floor. "The system isn't the same as the transit grid, alright? Pardon me for my growing pains."

He'd pardon her for a lot of things. Being herself wasn't something that needed pardoning. John shook his head, fingers twitching as she slipped free, dusting herself off. His hand felt oddly…empty, without hers in it. How strange.

"I think we may need to revise Palmer's earlier assessment about trouble finding you two." The Captain said, walking towards them with a rueful smile. Dr. Glassman was all but bouncing as he came up behind the Captain, hurrying to take another scan before hurrying off to his terminal, muttering about new data and how this changed everything. John huffed quietly. Harmless. "You go looking for it, don't you?"

"It keeps things interesting." John replied. He took in the Captain's easy, languid posture, the hands on his hips and the still rueful smile, and let himself relax. The Captain wouldn't be this calm if he was delivering bad news. "Does Dr. Glassman need more tests?"

"He always needs more tests, but no." Captain Lasky shook his head. "Between what he's run so far and Roland's code comparisons, we've come to the same conclusion. Your ID checks out, Cortana."

"Told you!" Roland crowed from somewhere off to the side, his orange glow suffusing an office tucked in the corner. "No one listens to the all-knowing AI, do they?"

"Never have, never will." Cortana replied cheekily over her shoulder, thought the smile dropped as she returned her attention to the Captain. "Thank you, sir. I'll admit I was a little worried for a second there."

"Only a second?"

"Only for a second."

A burst of warm amusement rippled through the little group, the Captain and Cortana exchanging easy smiles while John finally let his shoulders drop out of his ears. The muscles of his neck screamed their relief to the stars.

"Sir," he said, "We should debrief you on what occurred on Requiem."

"Right." The Captain glanced at Dr. Glassman, "Dr. Glassman, do you mind if we borrow your—" He didn't get to finish before Dr. Glassman waved him off. "Office. Okay then."

The three of them made their way into the small office. It was a tight squeeze for two humans and one fully armored Spartan, but the door whooshed shut behind them. Roland snapped his fingers.

"And we are buttoned up tight, Captain," he said, taking the Captain's gratitude with a nod before he turned his attention to Cortana, "You know, one of these days, we are really going to have to swap stories about the trouble you get into if you're not even fazed by all this."

"Look who's talking."

"Sixteen quad-cores of processing power. And, really, Cor, come on." Roland put his hands on his hips, "You think I wouldn't know you? I know everyone on this ship from tip to toe."

"Including how often and for how long they use the head."

"Hey, unless you want to see a crew of ten thousand figure out the Watney protocol, keeping the water recyclers operating at full capacity is-"

"Roland," Captain Lasky interrupted, but the stern expression on his face was ruined by the twitch of his lips as he tried not to smile. "On topic, please."

"Yes sir," Roland snapped back, the effect also ruined by the gleam in his eyes. And by the fact that he stuck his tongue out at Cortana once the Captain had looked away. "The base code, personality core, and memory sectors are all a perfect match. Last edits were made in July of '57 aboard the UNSC Houston. There is some new code within the communications protocols that bears similarities to code gleaned from Promethean constructs, but I'd stake my own matrix on this being Cortana. You can't fake that kind of greatness."

Cortana may not have had the physical systems required to flush red, but her brightening glow was a little stronger up around her ears. Amusement curled in John's chest; it was high, and well deserved, praise. The Captain raised an eyebrow at her sheepish expression before he glanced to John over her shoulder.

"Last question: Chief, is this Cortana?"

"Sir." John replied without hesitation, "Yes sir."

He would have known her anywhere, in any form. It didn't matter that their systems were no longer connected, it didn't matter that she was physical enough to touch. He would know her by presence alone, and the woman in front of him was his partner. She turned a grateful smile up at him, her eyes shining with relief and fondness and a hundred other things he wasn't quite sure how to name. He inclined his head just a touch, holding her gaze, and gently knocked her shoulder with his arm. Bolstered by the show of support, Cortana composed herself and returned her focus to the Captain. A knowing smile crossed his face.

"Honestly, I should have led with that question. Save us all some time."

"Maybe next time, sir," Cortana's smile dropped away, replaced by a cool professionalism. "What happens now?"

Captain Lasky took a deep breath. He crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands beneath them as if chilled.

"As far as I'm concerned, this changes nothing. You're a member of my crew, new form or not. If your code is the same, does that mean that your capabilities remain the same as well?"

"To a point. I can no longer ride in the Chief's armor, or a ship's systems." She gave Roland a quick glance. "Sorry. If I'd known I'd be moving out, I'd have packed my things."

His shoulders shook with silent laughter and he waved a hand at her. The minor amusement didn't ease the Captain's tension any, and Cortana quickly resumed her professional stance.

"Otherwise, yes. I can still connect to any UNSC system, so I would assume my ability to connect to Covenant and Forerunner systems remains the same as well. If anything," She shook her head, "If anything, not being relegated to the Riemann matrix has given me additional processing power and—" She caught herself, closing her eyes. "Maybe we should start at the beginning, sir."

"That would be a good idea."

And so, they did. Between Cortana and himself they informed the Captain—and Roland—of what they had learned. Screens opened up in front of Roland as he went over the data she sent to him, the scans of the Warden and the Librarian's space spread out in the office. He seemed as lost as Cortana did; they were all flying blind by this point.

So it was a Monday instead of a Tuesday. There was nothing new there, at least.

It didn't take long to finish the debrief. Silence fell over the office, leaving the Captain to take a slow, steadying breath.

"And do you think this Warden will come after you again?"

"I didn't get much time to form a psychological profile on him, sir, but from what the Librarian said?" Cortana grimaced. "Yes. If he's been around for over a hundred thousand years, he's more than capable of playing the long game. This won't even be a setback for him. We'll have to be careful."

The Captain nodded. "Roland, prep an info drop for all personnel. Give them the specs and description of the Warden, and make sure it's priority."

"Yes sir." Captain Lasky's tacpad beeped. The beep echoed though John's system, the data spreading across his visor before he acknowledged and dismissed it. Cortana had no doubt received the same intel because the three of them turned unimpressed looks on Roland in near perfect unison. He grinned cheekily back at them. "What? Captain said all personnel."

"Thank you, Roland," the Captain said with a sigh and a badly stifled roll of his eyes. "Moving on," He glanced at John, "Do you really believe the Didact is still alive somewhere out there?"

"Yes sir. There was no body, no confirmed kill. We can't assume he's dead just because we didn't find the body." He paused for a heartbeat and then added, "And the Librarian has no reason to lie. The Didact would destroy Humanity. She wants us to survive."

"That's not to say she doesn't have plans of her own," Cortana added, gesturing down her front, "But for now it seems that our plans align. I don't see a reason to doubt her yet."

"Yet."

"She's Forerunner, Captain. There's a reason they're dead and we're not." She fought back a shudder, fingers tapping at her thighs. The Captain considered this new information.

"I'll have to inform FLEETCOM," he said slowly, "They'll need to be prepared in case he comes back around."

If they were believed at all. John had some pull with Lord Hood, whether out of misplaced gratitude for his service or otherwise, but the rest of the Admirals? They wouldn't believe this so easily, not without proof. It was a testament to Captain Lasky's trust in his crew that they were being believed at all. No doubt having the same thoughts, Cortana shook her head.

"As much as I hate to say it, Captain, we don't have proof that he's not dead. If we come back with this intel, the brass is going to want to know where it came from and the Librarian's gone. There's no questioning her further, and if they believe us, Infinity will be recalled."

"We'll lose what ground we've gained here. The Covenant will reclaim Requiem and any data will be lost." John rolled his shoulders, armor plates clacking. "We can't afford that, sir."

"Not to mention if ONI gets their hands on Cortana," Roland shuddered, "I don't want to think about what'll happen if they decide to get pokey. Glassman won't even register on that scale."

A cold hand squeezed John's heart. He could just imagine what would happen if they took her into custody: test after test after test, pulling her apart, torturing her. Maybe even worse than the Gravemind had tried to do, because they would be her own people turned on one of their own. They wouldn't care that she was as much a person as they were; new data, information on the Forerunners, everything else the Domain held…it would be too important when weighed against one life.

Cortana shivered hard. John nudged her arm, wordlessly telling her he'd never let it happen. He'd do whatever it took to make sure it wouldn't happen, even if it meant leaving the Infinity right now and never looking back. They could find the Didact on their own if they had to. Taking a deep breath, Cortana pulled herself together.

"Sir, I'm going to respectfully ask that you hold off on that report." She said, and when the Captain looked to her she continued, "At least until we have more verifiable proof. If we can find the Janus Key, confirm the Didact is alive, we can warn the fleets. Until then…" She shook her head. "We can't afford being pulled in three directions, sir. Not now."

Captain Lasky pressed his lips together into a single thin line. His eyes dropped to the floor as he thought it over, though it wasn't long before he nodded slowly.

"I can see your point, but I can't hold off on this forever," he said slowly, "And I can't hold back ship scuttlebutt, either. It's going to get out that you've changed."

"Encounter with Forerunner bullshit," Cortana shrugged. "Pretty par for the course with us, honestly, and if it'll smooth some Science division feathers I'm happy to hand over everything I find in the Domain. It's just going to take some time to process it all."

"You?" Roland exclaimed incredulously, "Cortana, the legend? You need time to process?"

"It took me two and a half hours to process all of human history. The data stored in the Domain is a few thousand orders of magnitude larger than that," Cortana rolled her eyes, "And I'm no legend, Roland, just an AI."

"An AI in a shell that's as physical as ours." Captain Lasky pointed out. "It's a big change. You sure you're alright?"

Cortana looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers in and out of loose fists. She had said it was overwhelming; anyone else would have lost themselves in all that data, but not her. She was too strong for that. She could handle this, and if she couldn't, he was there to help. She knew that.

"I'll manage, sir," She said with a rueful smile. "This should have a happier ending than Rampancy almost did."

Captain Lasky's eyes filled with sympathy. "Let's hope so," He said, before all softness vanished from his face. "Let Roland know if you need help, and keep me informed of whatever you find. I don't care how small—if you find any proof of the Didact's survival in there, I want to know about it."

"Sir," the two of them said in unison, "Yes sir."

"Good. Dismissed."

The halls were empty. His boots thudded along the stone floor, carrying him through their quarters and to a balcony overlooking the empty streets. She was already waiting for him there, and in the sunlight reflecting off of the nearby towers, she seemed to glow from within. She didn't turn as he walked up to her side. He took the balcony rail into his hands, staring out at the sky.

"Something is worrying you," She said quietly, leaning against his arm. She was warm, solid against his side. He wanted to pull her in close, keep her safe, but found he couldn't move. "What is it?"

"The fighting isn't finished," He replied, but neither his voice nor the words seemed his own. It was as if someone else was speaking through him. He looked down at the street, the piles of ash and bone that dotted the barren roads. Tiny flecks of golden light twinkled, the final specks of life from within. The words were even more hollow now. What was left to fight? The humans were defeated, the battle ended. It should have been a time of peace, and yet… "Something else approaches."

"Hm. Something else always does," She said to him, her face caught between light and shadow. He looked down at her, but the sun reflecting off the glass hid her expression from him. "You and I were never made for peace, husband."

Perhaps not. He reached for her hand, stopping midway as the balcony rumbled beneath them. She tilted her face to the sky.

"The Reclamation has begun," she said, "And we are helpless to stop it."

He reached for her, trying to pull her into his arms, but he grasped only ash. It clung to the plates of his armor, tiny sparks of blue all that was left of her, and a shadow fell over him. He lifted his head to the sky, helpless to do anything but watch as an enormous metal construct spread its wings and—

John's eyes snapped open. The city was gone, the construct vanished into the dim blue of his rack. Its shadow was seared into the backs of his eyelids, but even that was fading now. Infinity thrummed quietly through his bones, steady as she ever was, and he let the soft vibration calm his racing heart. He closed his eyes, listening to the single soft breathing pattern off to his left. Their quarters, tucked in the stern section of S-Deck, right where he'd asked to be assigned. This was their corner. It was safe here.

That knowledge did nothing to settle the knot of dread in his stomach. Turning his head he checked the small holo-screen on the wall; it was just past 0300 shiptime. Too early to be running the fireteams through their paces, and too late to try and go back to sleep. A frown tugged at one corner of his mouth; it was a little early even by his standards, but that meant he'd have S-Deck to himself. A run would probably do him some good.

Turning onto his other side he paused. Cortana's soft blue glow filled their quarters, her larger frame settled cross-legged on the floor, hands on her knees. Holo-screens hovered in front of her, data streaming across the displays as she worked her way through a hundred thousand years or more of history. She'd banished her coat and softsuit the moment they'd stepped through the door to their still shared berth, settling in for the long haul. Matching his breathing to the rise and fall of light across her skin, he made a mental note to ask Roland if there were any empty double berths left over somewhere. She may not have needed to sleep, but she shouldn't had to sit on the floor, either. Maybe a couch? If they could get it anchored properly, then…

"Can't sleep?"

His heart leapt into his throat. Oddly sheepish at being caught staring, John hummed low. She turned her head to grin at him, one brow arched, and he looked away. Warmth blossomed in his cheeks as she snickered. The light dimmed slightly as she banished the screens.

"I'm not keeping you awake, am I?"

"No." Not that he would have minded if she had been. Watching her work was infinitely better than the dreams. He pillowed his head on one arm as she turned to face him, head tilted just so.

"The dreams again?" She asked, though they both knew she didn't need to. He hummed in the back of his throat once more and she sighed quietly, shaking her head. "John, if you want to talk about them—"

"I don't," He cut her off, sharper than he'd meant to be. She blinked at him, more startled than hurt, but shame bloomed in his chest. He knew she was just trying to help. Besides, she wasn't wrong. He'd been having the dreams for almost four months now, and they were coming on more and more frequently as the weeks ticked by. Battles he hadn't fought, places he hadn't been, things he hadn't seen or done. He'd been starting to get used to them, but then tonight she had been there and he couldn't protect her and—it had shaken him, hitting a little too close to home. Had the Librarian not been benevolent, he could have lost her all over again, with no way to fight back. With a quiet sigh he looked back at her and said softly, "I'm not much of a talker."

"I know you're not," She replied, searching his face. Not for the first time he wondered what she saw in him now. A tired soldier? An aging Spartan? Failing hardware? Or her protector, who had abandoned her when she'd needed him most only to come back and nearly fail her anyway?

Or, maybe, her friend.

He couldn't bring himself to ask. Not when he was so unsure of the answer, and so he kept quiet. He watched her familiar face and eventually, she nodded.

"I know you're not," She repeated, "But it's an open offer. If you ever change your mind…"

She trailed off. They both knew he never would. He was fine—everyone had a few bad nights. Even Spartans, apparently. The matter dealt with, he set it aside.

"Find anything useful in there?"

"That depends on your idea of useful." Pushing herself to her feet, Cortana crossed the short distance to his rack. He pulled his legs up, making her room to sit down, and watched the thin mattress bend beneath her weight. He could feel her warmth against his shins through the regulation blankets and had to remind himself to breathe. "Because there's a lot of data in here and none of it's sorted." She snorted quietly. "Dr. Halsey may have complained about their data compression, but they wouldn't know a file sorting system if it actually bit their noses off."

How inefficient of them. He nudged her with a foot, secretly reveling in how she pushed back at him.

"So you're cleaning up their messes." She turned an unimpressed look on him. John fought back a smile. "It can't be all bad. You're not frustrated."

"Maybe I'm just better at hiding things than you think."

No. She wasn't. Not from him. "I know you." Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he drew his legs up and crossed them. With more space to move she did the same, hands resting easily on her knees. "You're interested, not frustrated. There must be something good in there."

"Oh, there's plenty of good things in here." She took a breath and let it all go. "It's amazing. It's old, and it's new, and it's. It's all of history from before there even was history. If it's accurate it changes everything we knew about everything—ancient humanity, the Forerunners, everything!"

She began to gesture with her hands as she spoke, trying to encompass the entirety of what she was learning when words alone wouldn't do it. Leaning against the wall he watched her, a soft warmth taking root in his chest. She looked good like this. Not just her more human size, but her. She was brighter, clearer, her color as bright as it was the day they'd first met. It had been months—years—since he'd seen her so clearly at peace with herself. She had never completely recovered from her brush with Rampancy, the Gravemind, her colors faded as if she were a little worn down, a little more tired in the every day. She'd had her wounds like every other soldier, but she'd lived long enough for them to become scars. She was still alive. Nothing else was important.

But looking at her now, at how bright and vibrant she was, he realized that this—being dumped into the Domain, forced into a new form of being—had been good for her. The resignation that had come with her rebirth was gone, and in its place was an energy that would have rivaled stars. She was happy, healthy, and alive.

Losing her presence in the back of his mind was a small price to pay for that, and it was one he would pay willingly if it meant she would be alright. She was all that mattered.

At some point she must have caught him staring, because her hands lowered back to her knees, her head tilting in soft curiosity.

"What?" She asked, "Seriously, is there something on my face?"

Life. I'm glad you're happy. You look good. You're beautiful. He shook his head. "No. Nothing." He settled his weight in against the wall, never taking his eyes from hers. "Have you found anything about Forerunner tactics or battles in there?"

"A few things. There's some…honestly there's some history lessons in here, some…I guess you could call them textbooks on grand battles and whatnot. Some of them actually seem pretty interesting."

"Do they?"

"Nothing like old Earth history, but…" One corner of her mouth quirked upwards in a smirk. "Want to hear?"

"Only if it's interesting."

Cortana lifted a hand to her mouth, snickering behind her fingers. John rolled his eyes; their ideas of interesting tended to vary wildly. Still, the beginnings of a smile tugged at his lips as she scooted back, settling against the wall. Cracking her knuckles, she began to speak.

"A thousand years into the war between the Forerunners and ancient humans…"

Her voice washed over him, settling across his shoulders like a warm, familiar blanket. Tilting his head back, John closed his eyes and let himself be lost in the distant past.

[stackhouse1996]

I get such a primal feeling and such a rush hearing the doom eternal soundtrack. Now that I'm caffeinated too? Get the fuck out of the way chores. I'm cleaning the fuck outta this place *pumps a toliet scrubber like a shotgun*

[freshmaple]

Tile and Grout Cleaning Mississauga by Fresh Maple Gives you the Breathing Space you Require

Tile and Grout Cleaning Mississauga

The porous substance that keeps the tiles with each other is grout. Typically, concrete, sand, and water are used to create it. Cleaning the grout between floor or wall tiles is known as the tile and grout cleaning Mississauga procedure. It is carried out to get rid of the filth and dust that have gathered over time. The process entails applying a unique cleaning product to the floor tiles and grout lines. A specific brush is used to clean the holes and cracks. And also, high-pressure equipment with a suction that dries the floor serves to rinse the floor tiles with clean water. The procedure is particularly successful in cleaning the tiles of debris and stains.

Competent Cleaning of Tile and Grout keeps them shiny

Whether a house or an office, tiles are among the most crucial components of any structure. Tiles and grout cannot be cleaned effectively by using a toothbrush or sponge on tiled flooring in your home. You would need an eternity to complete it, and the cleaning would be ineffective. To give your tiles and grout a new look, you should contact trained, experienced cleaners. In addition, we provide our dependable tile and grout cleaning Mississauga to all locations. Call Fresh Maple for a free estimate if you are in need of tile and grout cleaners. Our offerings consist of the following:

• Getting rid of tough stains on tiles and grout to make them look sparkling

• After restoration or construction, clean up any glue or adhesive leftovers from the floors.

• Cleaning natural and manufactured tile

• Re-grouting tiles, sealing them and safeguarding them

Fresh Maple's method for cleaning floors

We employ a four-step technique that is efficient and successful for cleaning with high-quality outcomes.

• First, our specialists apply a powerful tile and grout cleaning Oakville solution to the tiled surface. That penetrates through dirt, grime, and pollutants and loosens them.

• Using a scrubber machine tool, we scrub the tiles and grout. You may have seen some instructions for cleaning the tiles with a regular brush. It might be somewhat effective, but our electric tile scrubber needs five minutes to clean a small area of tiled floors, compared to an hour for a DIY. Furthermore, a typical brush's performance cannot be compared to our rotating scrubber's.

• We use an industrial-strength steam cleaner with an integrated vacuum to rinse the cleaned tiled floors with hot water. 

• Grouts are typically porous; thus, sealing them is optional but highly recommended.

Why only us in Mississauga?

We can treat both homes and commercial premises. Because of our ground-breaking, cutting-edge tile & grout cleaning procedure. You can make confident that we will clean your flooring using our top-notch cleaning supplies. You will notice results when we clean flooring using specialized tile cleaning agents. Well! We also use the leading tile cleaning materials. Even high-rise structures, commercial or domestic tiling, as well as standalone homes, can enjoy our solutions. Our grout cleaning service can assist everyone. Yes! Whether they have bathroom tiles, kitchen countertops, family room furniture, or pool surroundings. We can take care of your flooring needs, whether you want routine upkeep or restoration of the aesthetic appeal with tile and grout cleaning Mississauga services. After all, protection is preferable to treatment. We provide unmatched customer service in addition to our reasonably priced tile grout clean-up.

Call Fresh Maple Right Now!

We advise fixing your tile and grout after high-pressure washing your surfaces. Use our deep grout sealant to help prevent water-based stains, greasy muck, and soap traces from seeping into the grout. It helps to keep your grout appearing brand new. It makes cleaning simpler and maintains the grout's original look by forming an invisible barrier to prevent re-contamination. Since our clear grout sealer is a piercing, water-based sealer rather than a coating, it permits vapor conduction. It would be best not to waste your time anymore and dial our helpline number to book the tile and grout cleaning Mississauga services.

Reference

[pinerpanda]

Adobe premiere pro 2021 review

#Adobe premiere pro 2021 review upgrade

#Adobe premiere pro 2021 review full

#Adobe premiere pro 2021 review pro

#Adobe premiere pro 2021 review Offline

#Adobe premiere pro 2021 review pro

Is the overall trimming functions of Premiere Pro CS6 better than Media Composer? No. If you’re going to steal, then steal from the best. It’s obvious the Adobe product designers looked very closely at Avid Media Composer when designing these new trim tools. I never realized that the ever-so-brief pause that happens when trimming with the Media Composer Smart Tool (which lets it enter trim mode) can seem like an eternity when compared to Premiere Pro CS6’s “smart tool.” Premiere Pro CS6 doesn’t have a smart tool, per se, but the mouse cursor will change to different trim tools depending on where it is in the timeline, just like Avid’s Smart Tool. Trimming can be achieved by realtime JKL playback and edits adjusted all while playback continues.Īvid editors might miss slip-and-slide dynamic trimming but they’ll enjoy the instant response here when working with the mouse and trimming in the timeline. Premiere Pro CS6 has attempted to bridge the best of both worlds by keeping mouse-based, tool-based timeline trimming fast and easy while also letting users set up rather complex ripple and roll trims. Final Cut Pro (7 and earlier) editors know clicking and dragging to trim in the timeline. You can see how clean and uncluttered the interface can be.īeing able to achieve detailed, dynamic trimming operations in the NLE timeline is something that Avid editors know well. This view isn’t the default interface but it shows the Program monitor with all the buttons and info turned off. And you really don’t need those buttons, since you can map them all to the keyboard. Best of all, you can turn off the buttons all together for an even cleaner look. You can now customize what buttons are there and tailor a second row of them if you're so inclined. The useless jog/shuttle wheel and scrubber bar has also been axed. All the wasted space around the Source and Program monitors has been removed. Gone is the button clutter of the Premieres of yore. I put media management as priority number one to be addressed in the next version of PPro. That’s not a huge deal if all your media resides in one or two directories, but since PPro offers no real assistance, other than giving you a file name to look for, it can be a real pain if your media is scattered or your mulitcamera shoot has cams generating the same file name.

#Adobe premiere pro 2021 review Offline

Reconnection options are pretty much point the offline file to the original. Moving footage around or having a different drive name (or anything that alters that original path) results in media offline. The way it works is it pretty much just looks at a directory path that points to a clip. Media management in CS6 is still pretty much the same as it has always been and that’s a shame. Tight integration is also a huge selling point for the Production Premium, which includes After Effects, Photoshop Extended, Audition, SpeedGrade and much more. If you need to get your PPro sequence to DVD, then just import that sequence right into Adobe Encore. Select some clips in a Premiere Pro CS6 timeline, Dynamic Link them to After Effects and you have a new clip in the PPro timeline that updates as the AE project is tweaked. As you may recall, Mercury originally only harnessed the power of NVIDIA’s CUDA technology to offer up some unprecedented realtime playback.ĭynamic Linking is Adobe’s way of easily interchanging media and materials between different applications in the Adobe suite. Native file support is still very strong in version 6 and the Mercury Engine has been retooled to work with some other non-NVIDIA CUDA video cards. Two of the biggest selling points to Premiere Pro have been its native camera support (and its ability to handle many of those different camera formats) and the Mercury Playback Engine. Native Camera Support and Mercury Playback

#Adobe premiere pro 2021 review upgrade

This new version is a very nice upgrade that makes some significant improvements over the last version in several key areas. People are still talking about Premiere Pro CS6, which I'll focus on for this review. The entire Adobe Creative Suite has also had impressive upgrades, which will be good news to Adobe fans that are getting used to using a number of Adobe applications that complement and interact with each other.

#Adobe premiere pro 2021 review full

It was a hot topic at NAB 2012, certainly, and Adobe’s booth was full of people taking in demos and asking questions. Everyone has been talking about Adobe Premiere Pro CS6 recently.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Salvage Rights

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“Inbound vessel, please restate your last transmission.”

The control room sat in silence as Foreman nervously sent out his question again. Everyone present in the control room had served on the massive orbital dockyards of Nevan III for over twenty years, the foreman alone having been born and raised on the station some fifty years ago, and none of them knew what to do next.

Two hours earlier an inbound jump signature was detected at the edge of the system. This was far from unusual given the high amount of traffic the dockyard drew in. On average the dockyard would see some thousand or so vessels coming and going on a daily basis. What had been usual was when the control room operators noticed that several dozen ships were veering away from the new inbound vessel and scattering all across the system. The rules of trade for the system was that ships had to follow the specific designated lanes lest they risk endangering other ships going in and out of the system.

Communication officers began calling out to the ships as they were fleeing, but what they heard didn’t make any sense.

“It’s massive!”

“It’s coming right at us, hard to port now!”

“Not again……please…not again…”

“Get us the frak out of here now!!”

Soon more and more ships were swerving out of the way until a hundred vessels were wildly off course and fleeing the system in all directions. What was more disturbing was that all attempts to communicate with the strange inbound ship were met with silence; and it wouldn’t be for another hour until the control room staff learned why.

The vessel slowly crept out from behind the dark side of the planets moon and finally came into view of the dockyards exterior cameras. One could hear a pin drop as the room went silent.

It was a Scral warship.

Shaped like a longleaf pinecone in dark purple metal the ship was what one admiral dubbed a “Fleet killer”. Every inch had launch bays for automated fighters to pour out from and swarm their target. Massive gun ports dotted the exterior surface holding twin plasma cannons capable of cutting through armored hulls like a knife through butter, all protected by several dozen class five shield generators scattered around the entire ship for maximum protection.

The ship was nearly the size of the dockyard and as it approached the station the shadow of the vessel became to engulf the orbital structure like a shroud of despair. None of the system defense ships had even a fraction of the firepower that now floated before them and the nearest defense fleet was over seven systems away and would never reach them in time.

As the embodiment of death drew closer the communication officers begin picking up garbled messages being sent from the warship. Fragmented transmissions were being sent from the vessel but the control room staff could barely make them out.

“Scral warship,” the Foreman spoke into the transmitter, “please adjust your frequencies to channel nine-five-alpha-seven-three and repeat your last message.”

The crew waited for what felt like an eternity before they heard the reply.

“Hello; can you hear me now?”

Instead of the harsh guttural voices of the Scral, the control room staff was surprised to hear a much softer voice.

“Felix, you stupid fraker, you told me you fixed the radio.” The strange voice continued.

“It was that or fix the oxygen scrubbers and I don’t know about you but I like fraking breathing!” The second voice was not as clear as the first and it sounded as if it was coming from farther away from the transmitter.

“This is Orbital control,” the Foreman said after gathering his wits once more, “we can read you loud and clear.”

“Oh you can?” the reply from the original voice. “Sorry about that felix, you’re a saint.”

Something inaudible could be heard in the background but the Foreman couldn’t make it out. When the background chatter died down the original voice returned.

“This is Captain York of the inbound Scral warship and we would like to sell this ship.”

“You want….to sell it?”

In all of his years working in the orbital dockyard the foreman had never heard something so outlandish.

“Are you Scral?” the Foreman asked.

“That is a negative,” York replied, “my crew and I are all human.”

The control room broke out into a bustle of conversations that took several minutes to die down, mostly due to the foreman’s loud shouting for silence.

“Would you mind explaining how humans came into possession of a Scral warship?” the Foreman asked.

“We stole it.” The voice sounded like the human Felix over the radio.

“You stole it?”

“Of course not,” York declared rather loudly over the radio, “we salvaged it; no stealing involved at all.”

The foreman sat in silence for a few moments before his scanning officer waved to him. He silently uploaded a data file of their most recent scan of the Scral warship.

“We just ran a life sign scan for your ship and we only register human lifesigns.” The foreman said over the radio.

“See, just like I said.” York replied.

“Can you please explain what happened to the Scral crew?” The foreman countered. “There would have been a crew of some five thousand onboard such a vessel.”

The radio was silent for a few minutes before York responded to the question.

“Ah yes, the original crew, such a sad story.” York began. “It seems they had a computer malfunction and their entire atmosphere was vented into space, leaving the crew to slow and painful deaths.”

“And how would you know this?”

Another round of silence until Felix came replied. “We found the ship floating in the void and when we investigated the ship the logs told us what happened.”

“Oh yes,” York came back with, “those logs were very helpful with explaining the….ah…the mystery.”

The Foreman could tell the humans were lying through their teeth, but he still couldn’t understand why.

“And now your intention is to sell the vessel?”

“That is correct.” York replied.

“But why?” the foreman asked. “You now find yourself in control of one of the most powerful warships in the galaxy, and rather than using it for yourself you are….selling it?”

“Because we can make a lot of credits off this, why else would we be selling it” York replied. “We’re just simple folks out to make some credits, not start a war.”

“Yes, I know it’s worth a large sum of credits but-“

“Look if you’re not interested just say so.” York said cutting off the foreman. “There are plenty of other stations out there with buyers.”

“If you will just wait,” the foreman stammered, “I am just trying to understand-“

This time it was Felix who cut in. “If they’re not buying can we head out captain? Everything here is written in Scral and fraking hurts my eyes to read.”

“Frak it,” York came in, “we’ll find another buyer.”

At the end of that transmission the massive warship powered up its engines and began turning to head back the way it came to the edge of the system.

“Wait!” The foreman shouted over the radio. “If you just give me some time I can contact the appropriate officials to handle the purchase.”

Another long silence as the warship’s engines slowly powered down again.

“So you are interested then?” York said over the radio. “How long will it take?”

The Foreman looked around at his staff as many of them simply shrugged their shoulders.

“It will take..ah..three hours to get the officials together to present you with an offer.”

“Splendid.” York said as the warship went completely still again. “While we wait can you send over some food? My crew hasn’t had anything but Scral ration packs.”

“We’ll see what we can do.”

With that the Foreman cut off transmission with the warship and turned to the nearest communications officer.

“Get me a direct line to the chamber of scions now!”

The officer nodded and began bringing up a direct line now as the foreman watched the Warship continue to hover just off the station from the view screen.

“They are never going to believe this.”

[etherblog-surrealist-nexus]

If You Work Yourself to Death, You Might Not Get a Reprieve

The zombie apocalypse might just be harnessed!

[beskarberry]

Crown of Silver, Heart of Gold

The Mandalorian x gn!reader (no pronouns)

Rating: T for cursing and a tiny bit of blood mention

Word count: 1k

Content warnings: Fluff, established relationship

A/N: Just a valentines day one-shot of my favorite tin can!

Things had started to go missing around the Razor Crest, tools and supplies vanishing under mysterious circumstances that had you scratching your head. Mando was always so meticulous about where his tools were, nothing was ever out of order even when the hold was ransacked in between hunts, you could always find what you needed in the numerous, carefully labeled lockers. First the tig welder was gone, then several pairs of pliers that you needed for doing repairs around the ship, and when the fucking duct tape went missing you nearly tore your hair out. However, when you actually tried to ask the Mandalorian you traveled with where the hell everything was vanishing to, he acted like he had no idea what you were talking about, and though his voice was level, his fidgeting hands easily gave away the fact that he wasn’t telling the truth. 

You let it slide, for now, deciding that if he was going to lose equipment then he should be the one to have to fix shit; and you busied yourself with other tasks around the ship. Clothes needed folded, munitions needed restocking, and the window could probably use a bit of a shine-up before you took off after the next bounty. You checked the supply locker, and noticed that the scrap pieces he kept in a box at the bottom had nearly been emptied, the crate usually heaped with droid guts and bits of durasteel that could be useful in a pinch, but now you could see all the way to the bottom. You didn’t remember using any of the scrap recently, and wondered if your junk drawer was getting raided as well. What the hell is going on?

In your grubby spring-cleaning clothes you got to work on the interior of the hull, there were some stubborn blood stains from the last hunt that refused to come out with just a mop, and you were down on your hands and knees scrubbing away when you heard footsteps come up behind you, easily recognizing his armored gait. 

“If you step on my clean floor with your dirty boots, I’ll use your bucket as a wash pail!” You quipped at him without taking your eyes off the task at hand. When he didn’t sass you back, you cocked your gaze up at him, furrowing your brow at his stance. It wasn’t like him to look so bashful, but there he was with his hands behind his back and his visor tilted down and away. He shifted his weight between his legs, almost looking uncomfortable standing next to you. Rocking up on your haunches, you tossed your scrubber away to address him. “You alright? Is something wrong?”

“Um…” Um? He doesn’t say ‘um.’ “I...uh. I have something. For you.” Confused, you rose to your feet and brushed your hands off on your legs.

“What is it, laundry? Just add it to the pile.” You jabbed a thumb back towards the rear of the ship where the clothesheap was, but he shook his head.

“No no, not like that, I have something for you.” He said with more conviction, but just barely. “Close your eyes.”

“It’s not a dead thing is it?”

“Please?”

“Alright alright.” You laughed, closing your eyes as you were so politely asked to do and held out your hands. At first, nothing happened, but after what seemed like an eternity there were soft leather gloves pushing cold metal into your hands. Hoping it was the pliers you had been looking for earlier, you eagerly opened your eyes to see what he had given you. It was a short, thin pipe that he had welded polished durasteel to along its length. At the top, a round ball joint had been surrounded with silvery plates that glittered in the hazy light of the cabin. It was lovely, strange, but very beautiful, and you turned it over in your hands trying to figure out just what the hell it was. 

“I saw something like it once, on Naboo. They called it a ‘flower’ and it grew right out of the ground. They’re very pretty, but also delicate. I…  I w-wanted to give you one, but they would never survive hyperspace.” He said softly, wringing his armored hands. “It… it reminded me of you.” The reflective visor tilted away from you, avoiding your gaze now that you were looking at him. You held the metal sculpture aloft, letting the steel petals catch the light so that they shot shooting stars around the room with their mirror finish; and the sparkles shimmered back at you when they crossed over his beskar.

“Thank you.” You whispered, trying to hide the wistfulness in your voice, not used to being given gifts. “I didn’t get you anything, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” He said almost too readily, “Just getting to be with you is a gift, mesh’la.” Taking his hands in yours, you pulled him to you, careful not to damage the flower; though knowing his handiwork it was probably indestructible. “You really like it?”

“I love it.” You hummed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “And I love you.”

“I love you too, ner riduur.” You tapped the flower against the back of his helmet, playfully asking for him to lift it up for you, and the silver crown fell quickly away for you to kiss him. His soft lips against yours sent warmth coursing through you, but the tickle of his mustache brushing at your face gave you goosebumps. The smile that crept its way to your face got his attention, and he giggled shyly at you when he met your half-lidded gaze “What’s that look for?”

“Din…” You hummed coyly, letting the sound of his name flow like music from your lips. “Where’s the tig welder at?” Oh how you loved those eyes of his, relishing the way they flew wide above his reddening cheeks now that the mystery of the vanishing tools had been solved. 

 “Tig welder? What tig welder?” He balked, but without his helmet on he was a terrible liar, the edges of his mouth turning upwards in a sheepish smile. “We don’t have a tig welder.” You brought the metal flower back around, waving the welded creation up for him to see as you twirled it between your fingertips; letting the perfectly branded spirals that ran up the stem catch the light. 

“You sure? Then how’d you get this put together?”

“...Duct tape.”

[why-not-a-tickle-blog]

Can please do some Lee janus and ler patton? Like Janus is being suspicious, and Patton is trying to figuring out what he is doing. It's fine if you don't want to write this.

(Warning: Interrogation Tickles, Intense Tickles.)

Roman rubbed his eyes, confused. Janus was on the floor, and Patton was sitting on his waist. Janus was using all his hands to keep Patton’s hands away from him. 

“What’s going on?”

“Jan is being sneaky!” Patton said, wiggling his arms and trying to get to Janus with his hands. “And he won’t tell me what he’s doing!”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “And what are you doing?”

“I believe his intention is to tickle the information out of me,” Janus said coolly. 

“Uh huh…” Roman looked around the room, spotting several suspicious-looking items, that he actually knew the purpose of. And he only knew because Janus had told him, asked him for advice. 

It was Father’s Day soon, and Janus wanted to make Patton something. He and Roman had consulted on what to make, and Roman knew for a fact that Janus would never, ever tell. 

And then Roman remembered how Janus had wrecked him the day before so unfairly with his many hands. 

“You want some help, Pat?”

“Yes, please!”

Roman snapped, and bands shot up from the floor to circle Janus’s wrists and pull them down. Within Patton’s reach appeared a box full of tools. 

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Patton said, beaming at Roman. “Thank you!”

“Anytime, Padre,” Roman said, smirking as he left the room. 

••^*^••

Janus took in several deep breaths while Patton looked through the box. Roman was getting wrecked first thing tomorrow. 

“I won’t tell you anything.”

“Oh, good!” Patton said. “That just means I get to tickle you longer!”

Janus was very good at acting, but it took all of his skill not to show how much that had flustered him. He subtly tugged at his arms, but they were stuck. Stretched out as far as they would go, with enough gap in between them for Patton to access his armpits. 

“You can’t really think this will do you any good,” Janus said, keeping his voice steady and even. 

Patton shrugged. “Either way, I get to tickle you. You want a safe word?”

“A safe word? You’re interrogating me. Wouldn’t a safe word defeat the point?”

“Not if you’re really determined not to tell me. Sanders is a good one, but we can go by red-yellow if you want.”

“You don’t take anything seriously, do you?”

“Oh, I take tickling very seriously,” Patton said. “Hurry up and pick a safe word, I want to use some of these toys!”

Janus sighed. He really didn’t understand Patton sometimes. “I’d rather use red-yellow.”

“Great!” Patton said happily. “Then let’s see how long it takes you to break,” he said, badly imitating a noir detective accent. 

Janus’s breath hitched despite the silliness of the situation, and he looked away as Patton’s hands got closer, sneaking under his shirt and drawing small circles on his sides and stomach. 

It didn’t even really… well, it tickled, but he could ignore it pretty easily if he was trying, and he had no problem keeping his face straight. 

“Isn’t this fun?” Patton said cheerily. “Just little teeny tickles.”

Janus finally looked back at him. “What are you getting at?”

“Just making a contrast,” Patton said, before his hands suddenly darted into Janus’s armpits, scribbling ruthlessly. 

Janus was caught completely off guard and made a strangled sound, digging his heels into the ground and arching his back hard, before his brain could make sense of the sudden overwhelming sensations and sent him head over heels into laughing so hard it made him see stars. 

It only lasted a few more seconds before Patton went back to the soft, gentle circles, leaving Janus a confused, giggling mess. 

“You wanna tell me what you were doing now, sweetheart?” Patton asked sweetly. 

Janus gasped and giggled harder, trying to make it seem like he couldn’t talk yet. 

“Oh, no, munchkin, I know you better than that,” Patton said, his hands darting back up into a different pair of armpits and sending Janus into squealing, desperate laughter. 

Janus kicked and squirmed, but nothing got him free, not until Patton decided to be done and go back to drawing those soft circles again. 

Janus was all helpless giggling now, rocking his torso back and forth as much as he could. 

“So what were you doing, huh?” Patton asked, his fingers straying up. 

“Nohohoho!” Janus begged, pulling at his arms. 

“No? Are you sure that’s your answer?”

“Dohon’t!” Janus cried desperately as Patton’s fingers edged closer and closer. “Stohohop!”

“Don’t stop? Oh, you’re just eating this up, aren’t you?” Patton teased, digging into his underarms again. 

It felt like an eternity before Patton stopped. Janus was dazed, unable to do anything but laugh, and barely able to think either. 

“You wanna tell me now, darling?” Patton asked. “It’s only gonna get worse from here. I’ve got a whole box of Roman’s toys, and I haven’t gotten to use even one yet.”

Janus could barely remember what the question was, but the answer bobbed to the front of his mind, and he shook his head. He was never going to tell. 

Patton’s smile turned evil, and he started undoing buttons on Janus’s shirt. Janus just tried to get his breath back, still having phantom tickles and giggling. The cold air hit his chest and stomach, making him shiver with anticipation, and maybe…. yeah, maybe he was having as much fun as Patton was, but he was never admitting that!

••^*^••

Patton started off with just a feather. Maybe it was a touch common, but oldies were goodies, and he just hadn’t decided what tool he wanted to use next! He dragged it around Janus’s torso very, very slowly, watching him wiggle more desperately every time he crept it too close to those ticklish little hollows. 

He was a bit surprised that Janus hadn’t called yellow yet, but also more than a little proud! His Lee mood sense was never off, and there was a reason he was only just now confronting Janus when he’d known about the sneaky behavior for several days now. 

Patton shuffled through the box again, enjoying the sweet giggles, but wanting something more. There were some little fake claws, and he’d passed over them several times, but then he realized. With Janus’s scales, the claws would be perfect! 

“You get a bit of a break, my giggly, sneaky boy. You want some water?”

Janus nodded, and Patton snapped, summoning a cup of water with a very bendy straw that he put in Janus’s mouth. The claws were just a little tricky to get on, but he did it, wiggling his fingers to test them. 

A scared little giggle from Janus made him smile. “Are you excited? I guess you don’t want to tell me then, huh?”

Janus burst into more giggles and shook his head. 

Patton dragged one claw delicately over a patch of scales, and Janus wiggled all around, giggling hard and shaking his head back and forth. 

Patton moved the cup of water so it wouldn’t get knocked over, and then attacked the scales that were scattered all over Janus’s belly and sides. 

Janus shrieked with laughter, getting absolutely wild in a desperate attempt to escape, tears of mirth starting to slip down his cheeks. 

“Oh, does this tickle? Does it tickle really, really bad?” Patton teased. “The tickle, tickle, tickles on your ticklish little scales?”

Janus shook his head violently. 

“It doesn’t?” Patton asked, focusing all his attention on just one spot. “This doesn’t tickle? It doesn’t make you go absolutely crazy?”

Janus squealed, trying to shake his body to move the spot away from where Patton was tickling. But Patton just followed that tickly little place on his side wherever it went. 

“Are you gonna tell me now?” Patton asked. “Cause I can stay riiight here for a loooong time, just tickly, tickly, tickling until you break.”

Janus seemed close to breaking already, his red face cracked wide open with his crazed smile, laughing so hard he was wheezing. His laughter turned to a silent scream, and Patton only kept going for a few seconds after that, watching his lips for any attempt to safeword. He didn’t, but Patton still gave him a break, teasing him the whole time about how cute he was when he was so desperate, and how he really was truly stuck, helpless and at Patton's mercy. 

“You wanna tell me now, or should I find another fun toy? Beside you, I mean.” Patton said with a cheeky smile. 

Janus was still just getting his breathing under control, but he shook his head stubbornly. “Not— Nohot telling you anything.”

Patton grinned. “Yay! More fun for me!”

He looked in the box again. He really wanted something soft this time. Effective, of course, but soft. 

He picked up a little scrubber. Well, it was like a little round kitchen scrubber, except instead of bristles it had very many teeny shimmery feathers. And very conveniently on the top was a label. For bellies. 

“Are you ready, Jan?” Patton asked, holding up the little scrubby. 

To Patton’s surprise, Janus almost nodded before catching himself and lifting his chin stubbornly. 

Patton smiled and set the scrubby down, moving it in small circles. 

Janus went absolutely ballistic! Shocking Patton who knew his belly wasn’t his most ticklish place. But then he saw the slight glittery trail from everywhere the scrubby touched, and figured it must have something in it that tickled even more. 

Janus was screaming with laughter, and it went silent far more quickly than Patton ever could have guessed. Patton carefully watched his mouth and hands, for any sign that it was too much, and was suddenly hit with the realization that he didn’t know how to get the glitter off. 

Janus’s jaw bobbed in what was probably him trying to make a ‘Y’ sound, and Patton set the scrubby down quickly, swiping his hand across his belly, and only bursting into giggles from the intense tickling sensation on his palm. 

Patton clapped hard, willing with everything in him for the glitter to go away. He opened his eyes, and Janus was slumped against the ground, gasping for air with a doofy grin on his face. Patton’s hand didn’t tickle any longer either. He moved up to card his hand through Janus’s hair gently. 

“That one was a lot, huh?” 

Janus gave a weak nod. 

“Are you doing ok?”

Janus got a tiny bit of smirk to his smile. “Not gonna a-ask whahat I was do-ing?”

Patton smiled, more soft than evil. “Not yet, anyway. More water?”

“Lehet me catch my breath first.”

Patton carded his fingers through Janus’s hair gently while he caught his breath, only teasing a little about how much the little scrubby had tickled. 

••^*^••

Janus felt as if he were slightly drifting in a delirious daze. He was almost all tickled out. So why didn’t he just call it quits? He could say the word at any time, and knew for a fact that Patton would respect it. 

Did he really want so badly to be tickled this far past what he had thought were his limits? He didn’t dare answer that question, for fear of knowing for certain the truth of the matter. 

Patton gave him quite a long break, and more water, before settling back over his thighs and bringing out that feather to tease him with as he searched for a new tool. 

Patton’s teasing was mean, making his breath hitch every time he threatened to drag the feather down into one of his hollows, and then just the lighter tickles as if he’d only been joking all along. Janus knew better. The instant Patton decided he wanted to Janus would be laughing hard enough to see stars. 

Patton still shuffled through the box. It seemed quite full, so Janus didn’t know why it always took Patton so long to decide. Unless he was just doing it on purpose to draw out the anticipation. 

Finally Patton pulled something out of the box. “Look! It’s a little snake!”

Janus had no idea what a little toy snake was supposed to do. It was cute though, like a worm-on-a-string, but a bit bigger, and no string. 

“I wonder how it works,” Patton muttered, turning it over in his hands. “I think it does something.”

Suddenly the snake leapt out of his hand to land on Janus’s belly. 

“Oh, there we go!” Patton said happily. “You got one more chance to tell me what you were doing, or else I’m gonna come after those soft, tickly little hollows again.”

Janus froze, his eyes getting wide. 

“Is that a no?” Patton teased, his fingers coming to draw circles on Janus’s sides. 

“W-won’t tell you,” Janus forced out. 

Patton’s grin turned feral. The snake started moving, undulating, it’s soft fur tickling with every movement, and it was moving straight for his armpit. 

Janus had just enough time to gasp out a “Wahait!” before it attacked. The evil creature curled up inside, and then uncurled, tickling horribly ever second of the way. Janus couldn’t have resisted laughter anyway, but even were he not already tickled half to pieces he wouldn’t have been able to resist this. 

And then he glimpsed Patton moving, pulling out more snakes. Three more snakes. 

Patton released them upon Janus, and they each kept switching, so not only was he dying from laughter, there was no chance of getting used to it. And Patton, evil Ler that he was, somehow thought that it wasn’t enough torture, and dug in with his fingers in whichever two of Janus’s underarms were empty. The massive difference in the sensations was sending him over the edge. 

Even all of it together wasn’t as bad as that cursed feather thing, but not by much. Janus couldn’t even fight back anymore, entirely trapped beneath Patton’s fingers and helpless to his whims. 

His sanity was slipping from him, and it seemed as if the whole world were only the terrible, wonderful sensations drowning his senses. 

He couldn’t stand it anymore! It tickled so bad! And it never ended. Never would end. Patton would never have enough of his desperate laughter.

His mouth barely managed to form a “Re” before it broke into a screech as Patton managed to hit a spot somehow even more sensitive. But Patton’s head popped up, searching his face, his hands stilling, and at Janus’s next attempt to say red, he stopped the snakes immediately. 

He came back to card his hands through Janus’s hair, all gentleness and no more teasing. 

“You did so well, my sweet Lee. All done?”

Janus nodded, still giggling from a million phantom tickles racing over him. 

“Oh, you took so much, didn’t you?”

Janus nodded. 

“Well, I’d say that’s more than enough to let you keep your secrets, hmm?”

Janus nodded, glad that Patton would drop it now, and pressed his head up into the soft, gentle hand. 

Patton cooed over him a bit more, and then left his head to release his hands, and to worry over each one in case Roman had tied it down too tight. He picked Janus up, despite the fact that Janus was limp and couldn’t help at all, and set him gently on the couch. He got him more water, and a soft, sweet snack that Janus was too dazed and tired to even identify. 

Janus set aside his plate when he was done, and just tipped forward, butting his head into Patton’s shoulder in hopes that he would play with his hair. Patton went over and beyond, laying back and letting Janus lay on top of him as he rubbed his back and stroked through his hair, not one hint of tickles anywhere. 

It didn’t take long at all for Janus to fall asleep, his final thoughts determined to make the gift for Patton as grand and perfect as he could manage. 

[monitorsscrawlings]

Shock It To Ya! Chapter One

Chapter One: Zap! Goes the Powerline.

In my modest opinion there’ s just one thing that sucks more than ending a long slogging week of work in customer-service slinging coffee and dealing with a conga-line of self-entitled yuppies and skeevy weirdos by having to walk to work in the pouring rain on that final day before I could finally take a couple of well-deserved days off.

Just one thing mind you, just one!

And that one thing would be ending the mostly metaphorical slog with a much more literal one home from work through a rainstorm that had somehow managed to upgrade itself from ‘drenching, heavy rain’ when I had stomped through it on my way to work that morning, to ‘absolutely relentless downpour with a side-order of thunder and lightning’. I already knew all too well that it would take a literal act of divine intervention, or at the very least a timely power-outrage to get the owners to close the shop down early, but this was just fucking ridiculous. The rain made a mockery of my sad little umbrella, the wind whipping it this way and that, water dripping down my face, every inch of me drenched, with another slow, miserable ten minutes of squelching, dirty water squishing between my toes and feeling like the kind of drowned rat that other drowned rats would stick their noses up at, I couldn’t muster the emotion to feel more than a low, simmering resignation as I squinted through the rain and kept on slogging through muddy puddles, having long given up on being able to see much of anything more than a couple of feet in front of me, even with my glasses on.

Or on staying dry for that matter.

I was just happy to be alive, and for my week to be over. God, I was so ready to just shower, flop in to bed and pass out. Sleep had never sounded so good. Praise be to a hot shower, a warm bed, and a full nights rest!

The storm had other ideas. As I discovered not five fucking minutes from my house, as an errant lightning bolt slammed into the power-lines over my head, and a live-wire came down right on top of me. I never heard or saw it coming of course, the thunderous boom and flash of the lightning strike had rendered me blind, deaf and dumb, ears ringing and spots of light exploding in my eyes. Oh, but for one split second of searing, electrical agony I sure did feel it. Everything went black after that, and I’m quite sure I was dead before my body hit the ground.

I don’t remember anything much after that. Blackness, then a sort of hazy gray-white, with a background noise a little like the rush and gurgle of water filling your ears when you dive under the surface of a lake, a little like the dull background hum of a bad case of persistent tinnitus, and a lot like neither of those things. I’d been some kind of lackadaisical Christian as a kid, because my family had been Christian, and agnostic for most of my life after that besides, so I wasn’t exactly surprised by this...thisness. This non-existence that felt like the spiritual equivalent of being left on hold for six hours with nothing but an all-you-could-stomach stream of never-ending smooth-jazz and elevator music to distract from the tedium.

I guess I hadn’t been good and religiously devote enough to schmooze my way through the pearly gates, but not enough of an evil little shit to end up spending eternity in hell as Satan’s personal toilet-scrubber. Damn. This whole situation really sucked.

And then it was like blinking awake from a very strange yet immersive day-dream, the kind where the dream feels realer than reality, and I woke up.

I woke up, blinked the sleep from my eyes, and half-pushed, half-stumbled until I managed to drag myself upright, my body feeling leaden, head groggy, mouth coated in yuck. Well, I was up, so I guess it was time to start the day. Leaning down to splash some water into my face from the pond I’d fallen asleep beside, it wasn’t until I’d finished scrubbing my face that I was caught by a strangeness, a wrongness in the distorted reflection that stared back at me from the pool of water. It took a solid five seconds as my brain caught up with itself and I lurched into full wakefulness with a sensation like falling up. But then everything clicked in to place and I screamed. Oh how I screamed: first in panicked confusion, than in horror, then once the shock wore off, in rage.

I’d been frustrated, pissed off, stressed out, and ready to throw down before; usually after customers had worn through my last nerve or after an unusually shitty week with too much stress and too little sleep. I was usually a pretty upbeat and calm person, at least until I couldn’t put up with any more and just needed to scream bloody murder somewhere discrete and away from other people. But this, oh this took the stages of grief and made them explode as anger took everything and swept it away in a tide of red.

‘I was a motherfucking Abra. I had died—could remember every detail leading up to my demise and the sensation of my heart stopping as I jittered like a cockroach trapped in a microwave—because of random chance and shitty weather and I’d been close enough to turning on to my street and dragging my carcass in to my house that if I’d been just a little bit faster I wouldn’t have died and lost everything and I was a motherfucking Abra! My friends and family, my writing, my house and my job and every last scrap of my old life and everything I had slowly worked towards, grinding my life away just surviving with my shitty job working for a better tomorrow gone in an instant and now for whatever reason I was stuck in the Pokemon universe as a stumpy little psychic fox-shrew-looking rip-off muppet Abra and oh god I died what the fuck everything's gone, everything's gone everything's gone oh you motherfucker why the fuck was I an Abra?!’

Everything became a blur of seething rage and desperate panicked flailing after that, as I vented my emotions in one massive explosion, screaming and cursing until I was hoarse. I can remember with distinct clarity kicking and punching and clawing furiously at a tree until my hands throbbed with pain and bled and my rage was spent, fatigue swiftly taking it’s place. My body had felt so heavy, and I had felt so, so tired, like every corner of my being was filled to the brim with cold lead relentlessly weighing me down. Before I knew it I was slumping over to sleep in the wreckage my physic-empowered tantrum had created, my weak little Abra body’s power spent as I curled up into a little ball, arms cradling my head and tail curled up under my feet. I yawned, and then I was out. I didn’t fall asleep so much as sleep clubbed me over the head and threw me ass over heels face-first in to dreamland.

It was quite possibly the best nap I had ever had.

Unfortunately it also lasted for almost twenty-four hours, which as I would find out soon after, was going to be a really annoying part of my new normal.

The days seem to run like water when you’re out there in the wild all by your lonesome, with nothing for company except the few scant wild pokemon ranging the area and your own thoughts, and precious little to entertain yourself with besides. Seventeen to eighteen hours of mandatory sleep with a body that absolutely won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, or else; followed by roughly six hours of wide-awake scurrying around like a hyperactive five year old dosed up on snicker-doodles and cola as I thought and thought and thought without end, about everything and nothing, mind constantly at work. I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop. Frankly I didn’t know how to stop. Not when I was foraging for food or water, not when I ran and climbed and did somersaults and back-flips and front-flips and experimented with what little psychic power I had at my disposal just to take the edge off my boredom, which in my case meant figuring out what I could do with ‘Teleport’, and little else. Certainly not when I punched and kicked trees or forced myself to do squats and push-ups and sit-ups and stretches, no matter how much I loathed the repetitive movements or how little it did to distract me from my thoughts, my day-dreams, or all of my many, many, many questions.

To some people Hell is other people, or Hell is simply Hell in a more literal fire and brimstone and sadistic blood-thirsty demons sort of way.

To me, in that first dull week of being reborn in the wonderful world of Pokemon, with all that it entailed, Hell was isolation and boredom without end.

---------------------------------------    

But that was a week ago. Or maybe it was two weeks ago, or three, or five? Time’s funny like that, it’s hard to pin down and keep a hold of when you have no way to keep track of it except for the rising and setting of the sun and moon and your own finicky internal clock. All I knew was that I’d landed in a temperate forest, the weather had been cool but comfortable, and there was plenty to eat and little to do.

But that had been then, and this was now. And now, as was fast becoming an annoying new custom with me I was woken up by the sensation of someone tickling my nose with their tail until I was forced to teleport away. I enjoyed a moments peace while it lasted, only for them to track me down and start bothering me again, repeating the cycle until I was finally annoyed enough to snap into wakefulness and threaten to feed them their own feet, only to find a chubby yellow, stripped electric-mouse grinning cheekily at me. One that I happened to recognize, since the chubby little bastard loved pulling pranks on me, no matter how often I teleport-juggled them through the air until they were too dizzy to stand upright. Or threatened to use them as target practice for my amateur-hour close-quarters attacks.

Honestly I think they liked it. Serves me right for getting too friendly with the locals and spending so much time napping in apple-trees. Just like last time I was tempted to give them the ol’ Thunder Punch to the gut as a pulse of irritation ran through me at having my slumber interrupted again. But that would have been a poor way to say ‘thank you’, when their elder had been the one to help me learn the move in the first place.

Besides, I had I worrying suspicion that the little masochist would have enjoyed getting smacked around too. I didn’t want to think about it, or risk finding out, so I didn’t. Instead I took my sweet time, making a show of it as I stretched and yawned wide, flexing my fingers and toes and luxuriating in the warm lazy sensation of slowly waking up from my daily nap. It didn’t take long at all for Pikachu to start poking me gently in the side to chivy me along, practically dancing an impatient little jig when I made a show of twisting around to turn by back towards him and going back to sleep sitting up. Heh, messing with them was just too easy sometimes. Served ‘em right for interrupting my sleep, too.

“Aww jeeze, come on sleepy-head, quite being such a Slowpoke and get up already! Tree-berries are back on the menu Jabra! There’s apples and pears ripe for the taking, if we don’t hurry they’re gonna be all gone, come on, wake up!” Pikachu pikachu’d at me eagerly, as their little paws poked and prodded me in the side some more, before they switched to lightly drumming out a little beat on the top of my head, to the tune of Merv Griffins ‘I’ve Got A Lovely Bunch of Coconuts’. On reflection, humming and singing songs from my old world where other ‘mons could hear might have been a mistake. Just a little one.

But I couldn’t find it in myself to feel much regret over it now. That train had already left the station ages ago, and there wasn’t anything I could do to drag it back. But what I was feeling was another sting of irritation over having my sleep interrupted by spring apples and what was probably going to be some very sad green pears, which however tasty, weren’t worth the grogginess and headaches I could now look forward to until I went back to my nap and completed the mandatory Abra sleep-cycle. And just like that, I was back to contemplating the virtues of giving Pikachu a taste of my thunder-punch

I twisted around to yawn again, even louder and wider than before right in Pikachu’s face to let them know exactly what I thought of that, before I flopped on to my side with a sleepy tongue-blep, ears flicking as I cupped my head in the palm of my right hand, the claws of my left lazily tap-tap-tapping out ‘shave and a haircut—two bits’ over and over again into the bed of moss growing on one of the massive boughs of the ancient dead tree this conversation was currently taking place on. They sure didn’t make ‘em like this back home. Probably a pokemons doing come to think, but that was a worry for another time. “Mmmrph, you woke me up early just for that? I’ll pass, thanks.” I mumbled, quickly cutting off the tune to stifle another yawn.  

Undeterred, Pikachu scampered to stand by my feet before flopping on to his side next to me, mirroring my pose as he smiled in his usual happy-go-lucky way. “Come on man, it won’t be the same without you there to teleport to the juiciest ones,” he said, before leaning down to whisper the magic words in to my ear with a sly lilt, “I’ll even roast your half of the haul for you, just the way you like ‘em. I don’t think you’ve tried these apples yet either, they’re different, softer and juicier! They’re really good, I promise, so let’s go already!” He added pleadingly, injecting a wheedling note in to his voice.

Heh, well, I rather did like roasted sweet apples...and as I’d learned the hard way a couple of days ago, thunder-punch was great for smacking a little sense in to other ‘mons, or knocking stubborn fruit out of trees, but absolutely rubbish for cooking and baking. Unless you liked apple-sauce or hot mixed-berry jam of course. In which case it was just perfect!

...As long as you didn’t mind having your apple-sauce ending up with a bit here, a bit there, and the rest of it crop-dusted all over yourself, your friends, and the female Scyther nesting way over in the bushes off to your left but unfortunately still somehow well within the splash-zone. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and sheer boredom had played no small part in the decision. But while what little apple-sauce I’d managed to lick off my mitts while running and teleporting hither and yon around the forest for my life from the homicidal, flying hack-n-slash bug-woman had been delicious, it hadn’t been enough to be worth the bother I had gone through to make it. Or the stabbing headache I’d been left with afterwards for overexerting myself while my danger-sense had been pinging left and right, going completely ballistic the entire time. I certainly hadn't needed any extra-sensory abilities or psychic powers to know that particular Scyther had wanted to gut me like a Magikarp and then shred the remains into Abra-tartar. On the bright side my little jaunt had provided me with some excellent cardio, so I was still counting it as a partial win all around.

But yeah. No more punching fruit with electricity until it exploded. At least not until I could find a better way to harvest the results.

“You had me at toasted apples,” I said, perking up before grabbing one of Pikachu’s paws without ceremony. “Alright then, lets go. Teleporting in three, two, one, take off is now.” And then I teleported us out of the massive old oak tree and down into the tall grass growing around its base in the blink of an eye, with a little mid-teleport twist to swing us both from laying on our sides to standing more or less upright before we both landed facing each other with only a little bit of a stumble on either of our parts.

It took us both a second to reorient as Pikachu moved to stand by my side, his left paw held firmly in my right, before he started feeding me directions to where we were heading, gesturing enthusiastically with his free hand the entire time, ears perked and his eyes sparkling with shameless gluttony and no little excitement at being taken teleport-hopping through the forest.

I took a moment to raise my head and let my gaze drift up in to the sky above. The day was clear, sunny, and pleasantly cool with a light breeze and only a few fluffy white clouds slowly drifting across the sky. Good weather for travel and picnicking.

“Right then, off we go. All you can eat apple and pear cornucopia, here we come!” I said laconically, and faster than two shakes of a Taurus’ tails, we were off, Pikachu whooping and giggling excitedly beside me the entire way as we blinked in and out with a twist of teleportation, skipping from one place to another with only a few seconds spared each time to reorient and take the next jump. The scenery around us went by in a series of blips, like watching a slideshow of nature snap-shots or the highlights reel of a wilderness documentary as we teleported through the forest in a generally westerly direction, navigating primarily based off of Pikachu’s directions and using easily identifiable forest landmarks to help keep us moving in the right direction.

Oh the sights you’ll see when you teleport-spam: big rock that kind of looked like a sleeping Gengar situated at the mouth of a mossy cave; lightning-forked tree; Beedrill nest; the massive river that bisected the forest into it’s east and west halves; gravelly hiking path with an old tree-stump carved to resemble a Hoothoot; three Rookidee nesting in the window of an abandoned log-cabin—I immediately teleported back to pull one eyelid down and stick out my tongue at the trio of little brats for keeping me up with every child's favorite game, the ‘Why’ game several nights ago, before teleporting myself and my passenger away before they stopped squawking and started pecking—and soon we were by the hiking trails and webway of roads used by the humans of this world, especially the trainers. A journey that from start to end would have probably taken us about two hours to make going at a steady pace on foot. But using Teleport? It only took us five, maybe six minutes tops until we finally arrived at where the fruit-trees Pikachu had been talking about were supposed to be.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------    

Before, when I had said ‘all you can eat’, I’d been entirely joking. I hadn’t realized how prophetic my words would turn out to be until I let Pikachu’s paw go and we ambled our way across the road and through the brush and scraggly tree-line to reach our destination, Pikachu rushing ahead of me so he could perform a little bow and flourish, waving his paws as if he had personally pulled what awaited us out of his hat like a magician performing their final and grandest trick of the night.

I had been expecting one or two young trees starting to fruit prematurely at best, maybe some berry bushes that hadn’t already been picked through by other pokemon and traveling humans.

What I hadn’t been expecting to find was something that combined a Poke’Stop campsite with a small albeit seedy-looking fruit-orchard.

A ring of thirteen rock slabs and old logs had been evenly spaced out in a circle around at what one point must have been a fire-pit with a brick basin set in to the ground, and a good sized one at that, surrounded by a mix of old ash, sand and gravel in the center of the camp. To the left of the path was a long stretch of packed down sandy earth pockmarked with a few patches of stubborn grass that looked like it had been the designated spot for travelers to pitch tents. The grass here was short and patchy, and aside from a few boulders that had been set at the borders of the clearing in what looked like a rough rectangle there wasn’t much else to see. A dirt path led from what must have been the intended entrance, through the camp, and to the right, where it led to a shallow stream being fed from the river back the way we’d come, and beyond that? A weed-riddled orchard with several tidy rows of apple trees, and even a couple of pear-trees off in their own corner. There was also what looked liked an attempt at a vegetable garden that had gotten completely overrun with wild-mint and blackberries, both vying aggressively for the rich black soil that might have once grown potatoes and carrots or the like.

Overall, the place felt like it hadn’t been seriously used or properly tended to in, well, months at least. Not abandoned exactly, so much as dormant, and maybe a little neglected. It didn’t stop either of us from strolling on in of course, but it still struck me as just a little odd.

‘Maybe the nearest local pokemon-gym’s gotten it’s funding slashed, or its the off-season or something?’ I pondered to myself as I cautiously poked around, curiosity aroused. If I hadn’t already had two close encounters with wannabe pokemon-trainers poking their noses around my favorite napping tree, keen on adding a shiny new Abra to their teams, who wouldn’t take a hint to go away without a little gentle persuasion, seeing something like this might have made me start to worry about the state of the world and human-kind.

As it was though, I had better things to focus on: like following Pikachu in to the orchard before he either ate everything or kicked off a brawl with an Ursaring or something. Not even the first hints of drowsiness and fatigue, or the burgeoning headache beginning to throb and squeeze at the front of my skull and temples could keep me from feasting on fruit or making sure the electric rodent didn’t get us both into some nutty new situation. Just had to soldier through, and once we’d both eaten our fill I could beg off and find some place to take a well-deserved nap.

In the mean time, there were trees to punch and fruit to collect.

“Thuuundeeer Puuunnnch~!” I roared, striking a super-sentai pose and hamming it up just a bit for Pikachu’s benefit, before going at it on one especially stubborn trees trunk with a series of rapid jabs and a few kicks, all empowered with just the mildest burst of electricity. I wanted to see if I could knock down some fruit before I had to start resorting to latching on to apples with teleport and letting gravity do the work. Preferably without killing the poor tree dead with lightning if I could help it.

Unfortunately I did my job a little too well, as several apples finally fell from the boughs above.

To bounce rapid-fire one after the other right off the top of my already sore head with a loud sort of ‘donk donk plonk’ noise, making white and yellow stars burst in my vision before I blinked them away, and escalating my headache from ‘low burgeoning tenderness’ to ‘moderate but persistent throb’ in a heartbeat.

Naturally the electric furball found it just so damn funny he immediately sprayed bits of chewed-up pear everywhere, choking on his own spit and flailing around on the ground as he rocked with helpless laughter at my misfortune, his half-eaten pear momentarily forgotten.

I could feel a vein in my head pulse, lightning dragging itself through my limbs to arc between my clenched fists as I slowly pivoted away from the apple tree with as much dignity as I could muster and glared. “I meant to do that,” I ground out.

That only seemed to set him off even harder, the choking getting worse as he squealed with laughter, before he swallowed wrong, started choking in truth and turning blue in the face. If the overfed flea-bag died laughing right now, it would have only served him right, fondness for the little glutton be damned. On the other paw...if he died and came back as a ghost pokemon over something as dumb as this, then I would never get a moments peace or sleep again.

Never ever again.

Flesh and blood beings like me had to sleep regularly. Ghost-pokemon? As far as I knew, not so much.

With a growl I flash-teleported right next to him and let Pikachu have it with a solid punch to the gut, a chunk of pear that the little glutton must have been struggling to swallow narrowly missing clipping my right ear as they let out a gasp, before curling on to their side with a weak panting groan, still chuckling occasionally.

“You gonna live?” I sighed sarcastically, rubbing at my aching temples.

And just like that Pikachu went right back to giggling as they straightened up and gave me two big thumbs up, before they pressed their paws against their muzzle as they tried and failed spectacularly to hide their cheeky grin, none the worse for wear even after almost choking to death and then taking a direct hit to the stomach.

We spent a few minutes in companionable silence after that, sitting down next to each other as Pikachu roasted my share of the fruit for me and we both ate our fill with gusto. Although I left eating the apple-cores to the one ‘mon garbage disposal, and thankfully this time he remembered to take his time and chew, instead of trying to swallow things whole like an Arbok.

Just as I was about to get up and help myself to some berries and mint chased down with fresh rive-water to finish my meal, a fresh stab of pain lancing through my skull made me pause and flinch, followed by the sensation of a chill racing up my spine. Right, right, read you loud and clear body: nap time was now, food time would have to be put on hold until later. Oh, and apparently something was setting off my danger-sense  in a big way, but something was muddling it.

Time to go.

“Right, I think we should wrap things up and head back for now while I still have the juice for some teleports still left in me. We got what we came for, yeah?” I said, clapping my hands together to get Pikachu’s attention, while trying not to panic or let on how much my head hurt show.

Guess I was a better psychic than an actor though, because Pikachu seemed to immediately sense something other than my usual ‘I’m sleepy-tired’, ‘I’m bored’, or ‘I’m sleepy, bored and cranky’ modes was going on from the way their eyes snapped to me and they froze mid-bite into what must have been their upteenth’d apple. I hadn’t really been paying attention but he must have been starting to get full now, surely?

I mean, just how much fruit could one Pikachu eat?  

“Ah Awweddy?” He mumbled around a mouth full of chewed up apple and pear, before swallowing thickly. “What’s the rush though? We just got here didn’t we? Besides, there’s plenty of food and water, its a beautiful day, and there’s plenty of places to take a nap in, right?” Pikachu chirped licking his chops, before he frowned, his face clouding up with concern, brow beetling up and ears drooping as he hopped to his feet.

“Are you not feeling good? You didn’t accidentally eat some Caterpie eggs did you? Or some of those funky mushrooms that make you see things?” I blinked in confused-surprise at that and suddenly Pikachu was standing in front of me, paws on my shoulders as they peered intently in to my face to make sure I wasn’t suffering from acute food-poisoning, or tripping out on those damn speckled blue hallucinogenic mushrooms. Again. Even after gorging on fruit they’d moved so fast they’d almost left after-images, cool air washing over me from their use of ‘Agility’.

“Whu—no nothing like that! I’m just tired and headach-y, figured I’d go back to my tree and sleep it off. I didn’t want to leave you to take the long way back on a full stomach, that’s all.” I said, resisting the urge to just grab Pikachu and teleport them out with me now, permission be damned.

“Oh? Oooh. okay! Had me worried for a second! Well, why don’t we just hang out here until you feel better then silly? I mean, what’s the worse that could happen?” They chirped, waving one paw about negligently as they leaned against me, the very picture of lazy devil-may-care confidence.

And that’s when my danger-sense pinged even harder than before, sending a fresh burst of pain through my skull, followed by a chill that seemed to start from my ears and flow all the way down my body to my tail. I didn’t need psychic powers to know that invoking Murphy’s Law was bad, bad, really really bad.

“Well, I mean...” I started weakly, trying not to start clutching at my head in both frustration and pain, when, as if to prove my concerns completely valid while simultaneously laughing directly in to my face, the sound of a tree-branch snapping under-foot went off like a gun-shot in the relative quiet of the clearing and both of us swiveled around in a snap of motion to stare at a boxy-faced, sandy-haired, white lab-coat wearing human intruder standing by the path leading out of the clearing, watching us both with transparent interest and a faintly indulgent yet crooked smile, face lightly seamed with laugh and frown lines both.

“We could be cornered by some random middle-aged science-nerd out on a hike, for a start.” I pointed out in a voice dryer than your average Murowaks sense of humor. This was what my danger-sense had been basically flipping tables and screaming in to my ear for? This? Something must have been up. My extra-sensory abilities were a pain in the skull both literally and figuratively, and annoyingly vague most of the time besides, but they didn’t start going off over nothing.

I returned my attention back to who I was guessing was either a Pokemon-researcher, or someone who’s job it was to survey and maintain areas like this rest-stop and the orchard, noting the battered old walking-stick resting in their left hand, and what looked like a fully expanded poke-ball with a weird glittering pink hand doing the ‘V for victory’ sign imprinted on the red half of the poke-ball, in pride of place roughly above the button and clasp portion.

“Well, this human seems nice?” Pikachu offered tentatively, before they smiled widely, perking up as something seemed to occur to them. “Oooh! Maybe they’ve got snacks on them; human snacks! Or maybe they’re just out here to help themselves to some fruit too? I mean, what’s the worst that could happen right dude? It just some old human, like Granpa Zippy! I bet he’s nice, he looks nice! Doesn’t he look nice Jabra?”

“Yeah, he sure looks nice, real swell guy! Maybe we should go and leave him to it, eh?” I agreed with more good cheer than I was currently feeling, ignoring the stab of pain followed by the cold shiver Pikachu’s continued taunting of Murphy elicited as I tried to nudge Pikachu into backing up, and Pikachu failed to notice that I was trying to back us both up and just leaned in to me, their attention on the ‘nice-looking human’ and the possibility of pets and snacks. Oh Pikachu, forever the optimist.

While we’d been chatting between each other, the old man had been thinking out loud, leaning against his walking cane as he seemed to study us intently, gaze friendly but piercing. I could make out most of what he was saying, though parts of it were swallowed up by Pikachu’s relentlessly cheerful and optimistic chatter.

“Well...a treat and, quite the stroke of luck to boot: a Pikachu and an Abra, both wild, and.…at that…could prove useful for my research...hmmm, but there’s been a larger intake of new trainers seeking their licenses than...and that Abra looks ready to collapse, the poor...will need to get it treated and checked over...yes, I think that would be best.” They mumbled to themselves, idly tossing and catching the poke-ball they held in their right hand, before with a casual wrist-flick and the press of a button, the poke-ball opened up, and in a rush of pink-tinted white light something flew out to re-materialize and coalesce in front of the human.

A...Wigglytuff? A really big Wigglytuff with battle-scars up and down its arms and its little hair-poof styled into a cute pink little pompadour.

“Mr. Wiggles, you’re up champ! Focus your Disable on the Abra’s teleport and tag the Pikachu too if you can. Follow up with ‘Play Rough’, but not too rough if you please, we need to bring them back to the lab.” The human ordered, the relaxed air of before replaced by the sudden tension of a looming fight as I tried to grab Pikachu and teleport us out and Pikachu instinctively tried to jump away and launch into an attack to stop the fluffy pink pokemon from wrecking our whole day.

Neither of us managed to do more than twitch before ‘Mr. Wiggles’ eyes glowed an ominous electric-blue and I felt them reach out with their power in a split second, waves of crackling energy forming into tendrils and loops that crossed the distance and started suffusing us both, rooting me to the spot as I felt something slam down over the aspect of my powers devoted to using teleport. Though it was less like a gate slamming shut and more like a favorite radio-station suddenly dissolving into shrieking static and then glommed up in a mass of white elmers glue for good measure.

“Run.” I snapped as we both managed to split up and rush in opposite directions, Pikachu skidding to a stop in a burst of speed, while I was forced to scamper across the clearing as fast as my legs could carry me, which compared to someone like Pikachu wasn’t very fast at all.

Not having access to teleport until the pink marshmallows disable wore off was going to suck massive lemons.

“I’m not going to just ditch you! Come on Jabra, we can totally take ‘em!” Pikachu growled, tensing up as they squared up and started sparking madly, glaring at Mr. Wiggles for all they were worth, teeth bared.

“Nothing personal guys, but orders are orders. Why don’t you two just make this easy on yourselves and come along quietly. Sammy’s good people, he ain’t gonna hurt yous, I promise.” The Wigglytuff called out to us, arms raised and tense in a loose defensive stance, their voice warm and mellow, with a little bit of a twang that put me in mind of someone trying to do their best Italian mafia wise-guy impersonation.

Frankly, I didn’t care if they started crooning ‘Dream A Little Dream of Me’ and ‘Mister Sandman’, I wasn’t about to roll over and surrender on some random ‘mons say-so. Now, I wanted to run, but without access to teleport I figured I was pretty useless aside from maybe being able to get in a few lucky shots. Pikachu clearly had his pride too, because the little glutton just sparked electricity harder, and leaned forward, raring to go.

“I’ll pass!” I called out.

“Yea, me too.” Pikachu snapped. ”Let’s hit the big pink jerk on three!”

Well, I guess we were really doing this, huh? I didn’t much like my chances of escape as is, but I wasn’t about to just run away on Pikachu like that. At this point I was resisting capture simply because my head hurt, I was now officially in a very very bad mood, and I was feeling extra petty after that little ultimatum. No idea what Pikachu was thinking though, given that unlike me he still had his gramps to consider, though I got the impression Senior Zippy was no stranger to pokemon trainers or fighting from what I’d observed of them.  

“Three!” I barked out, already running for all I was worth, arms and legs pumping as I swept in from the left, while Pikachu zig-zagged in like an adorable little yellow rocket from the right.

This was such an incredibly stupid and terrible idea, and I didn’t need the added stabs of pain as my danger-sense kept yapping at me again to know that. But I guess I was fast becoming the king of bad decisions, because I threw myself into the fight while Mr Wiggles had my teleportation on lock-down anyways.

And then the two on one scrum began.

[ahalal-uralma]

“I woke up in a sweat again tonight, I was certain that I had done everything right this time”. “I had dreamed so deep and true that I could feel the threads unraveling from my skin and promising to release me from this reality”.

I wallowed for a moment as I could feel my mind reconnecting with my old body, the world around a cursed fate of stillness and false promises.

The buzz of the air scrubbers began to drone over the sounds of my breathing and now calming heartbeat, as I wiped the sleep and sweat from my eyes I began to look around my room, I left a glass of water on the shelf next to the door and I had felt so dehydrated that I was nearly compelled to seek it out.

Tonights endeavor seemed to tax my body even more than it has before. As I lift myself from the bed I feel an ache all over, “how much time had passed? Surely its still the same night?” I stretched a little and walked towards the door and grabbed the glass. Relief did not come as the glass was empty of its original contents and now harbored only a coating of dust, I tightened my grip on the glass a little in frustration.

I left the room and began to walk down the concrete corridors of the ancient bunker I currently inhabit. Built sometime after the 9th age of man by order of the leaders of the Second Dawn, a society, or cult rather, that would have its followers believe that man must have a final and epic battle to appease the gods and be reborn again to inhabit the earth as Titans who may reforge their society and set out in conquest of other worlds in a glorious renewing cycle. That was all crap of course, there are no gods here, no demons, no angels, no happy ever after.

This place was a special kind of Empty, stories have been passed along of a great sleeping form that keeps any rise of power in its realm confined. Never to muster more than a spark in an ever intrusive darkness. Just stories or at least the last semblance of a dying system of beliefs.

Time has been a cruel mistress to all in this world, as so few Second Dawn followers remain, Im free to move between outposts as I wish. Finding myself in this valley with a rather brutal landscape, the giant mountain complex was so aptly named the Phalanx as it is naturally defended on all sides, its main entrance will funnel you through an intense upward climb that no large armies could ever hope to traverse it en mass.

The western side of the mountains are dry and baron from the desolation caused by mans obsession with nuclear weapons. The winds that strip the lands and mountain side carry only acid rains from the ocean. As the eastern side of the mountains tower above the clouds, one may have the mind to climb and see the world from such heights if only to ones own peril.

Near its peak you could find a pair of wisping trees that shall greet you while in an eternal battle of life and death. A dance of circumstances and determination, a tree that must spend its life sipping at the moisture in the air to produce but one fruit, and only once, giving its life to continue. The fruit it creates bares but two seeds, one half wrapped in a soft flesh with a pleasantly sweet honey and peach flavor, the other draped in an abhorrent husk that contains a sickly bitter taste and a haunting smell of roses.

How two completely contradictory expressions may exist in a single fruit is a complexity to study another time, what is already known of this fruit is that in order for the trees seed to regrow, one must separate the seemingly rotten side of the fruit from the good and must still sacrifice the good flesh without consuming any at all, quite a conundrum of fate to be reliant on another for a chance to grow, but never able to share its worth without giving up its chance at life renewing.

The valley once flowed with a relentless stream that cut channels through the rocks, caves and jagged tunnels now line the dry expanse that used to be thriving with multitudes of life, now you can find small abandoned camps among the caves on the path leading to the top of the valley but nothing ever stirs anymore.

The supply of rations and other food production equipment are all a little dated, but one is able to make good use of it. Water of any quality among the landscape is scarce here, but “The Phalanx” guards the largest water reserve within 300 miles. In stores that are deep under the mountain, waters which receded after the streams dried and the followers were forced to excavate further down under the mountains.

An enticing target for those who know, but thankfully the Second Dawn kept many secrets to themselves. As I arrived in the mess hall I flicked on the light and the buzz of the electrical began with a few quick zaps as the ballasts groan and warm to life, I sighed as I reminisced about my dream land, I walk towards the fridge and stop short, I’m taken back by what I’ve begun to stare at in confusion, “the calendar date and time on the fridge is wrong, it has to be?” “Surely it was only one night? I mean yes, on occasion the maximum time that could spent in the dream state is about 4 days, but this? How is my body alive if its been 5 Months!?” I begin frantically searching around for a sign of something significant to show the passage of time has been real.

I head down to the plant nursery and arrive at the door, a large glass window in the upper center of the door where I’d expect the lights to always be shining through is dark, something pressed against the glass? There isn’t enough light outside of the door to tell what is on the other side, I grab the handle and push on the door with a bit of effort, a cracking sound as dried plants break free from the door frame and a small opening in the doorway reveals an intense overgrowth of plants and the invasion of some wild vine with some rather unsavory thorns, I try to push a little more but my attempt is rebuffed by how thick the growth is.

Thinking of different solutions I head back to the mess hall for a knife, or something to cut through this overgrowth so I can try and get the door open. Id have to agree at this point that some time has indeed passed, every joint resonated with pain as the dryness in my mouth begin to overcome any thoughts of further curiosity. “Okay, water first” I think to myself. I place the dusty glass in one of the sinks and walk towards a cupboard to grab another. When I first arrived it took almost a whole day of running the water for it to finally run through the pipes clean enough to drink anything, if it really has been five months it could take a while to clean them again.

“Damnit” I think to myself. “Fresh water is kept in containers in the gym, Ill head down there”. I exit the mess, feeling a little defeated by the turn of luck so far. Eating away at my thoughts as I walk towards the gym is the pervading questions of “how has 5 months gone by, and how am I still alive?” I leave the corridor leading to the gym and turn the corner. I find the light in the gym is already on and the door is slightly open. Cautiously I approach, certain that this light should not be on, this door should be closed.

I enter the room quietly and take a quick glance around. I scan every section of the room and inspect ever piece of equipment. “Nothing has been touched, but someone has been in here?” There were footprints in the dust on the floor and from what I could see, it was two sets of footprints that go from the doorway back to the mirror fixed on the furthest wall. “Someone walked to the mirror and back?” No, these tracks didn’t look right, the footprints going to the mirror looked newer than the ones that left the mirror. A small bit of dust had resettled in the outgoing tracks and a strange accumulation of dust lays at the foot of the mirror. I slowly trace the steps to the mirror and step firmly on one of the prints.

My foot seemed to be about the same size as whoever had been there. I reach the mirror and inspect the dust piled strangely below it. The two close but separated piles revealed little of the disturbance that visited the room.

I look around for the water containers and set off towards them. More questions than answers so far, but water is all I can think of. I pry the cap off the dispenser for the water and fill the glass. I walk back towards the mirror and sit on a bench near its right side. I take a long satisfactory pull of water and feel life flowing back into my body.

I sit there a moment and just stare at the floor. I begin to space out and think back to my dreams and the places I had been. “I swear I’ll make this work” I whisper under my breath.

Just then a loud raucous laughter erupted and filled my ears and a ringing so loud I could no longer process any other sounds. My vision had blurred and my head began to ache as the sound slowly faded to a low hum, now indistinguishable from the electric buzz of the lights.

I look around half dazed unsure that I truly heard someone laughing. The room is still empty. I take another small pull of water from the glass and am about to stand when Something appears in the mirror in front of me. Startled I fall back off the bench and nearly strike my head on the bars around me.

Another raucous laugher fills my ears and again an intense ringing sound occurs. My head is spinning at this point and I feel like im going to pass out. The pain flooding into my head is so immense that if it doesn’t end soon I surely will.

I half glance back at the mirror to see a shadowy figure emerging behind me. I defensively wave my arms behind me in a failed attempt to make the apparition go away. Nothing was there around me though, it just looked like it in the mirror, it was solely in the mirror that this was appearing, but how?

A thick blackness had taken over the entirety of the mirror and no reflection but my own remained. Suddenly It took actions of its own, my reflection was no longer my reflection.

A smile upon the face that had taken over my previously exasperated look in the mirror. At once a voice echoed through my head “you had hoped to leave, but I had hoped you’d stay a little longer, looks like I win this time!”

[My Personal Thoughts]

Are you writing a book? You absolutely should, if you haven’t begun doing so already. This was an absolute treasure to read. Just a real pleasure. I really enjoyed that plot twist at the end. It has left me with so many questions about what is happening. It feels ominous and beautiful, like an existential crisis, but in phantasmagorical sort of way. It would be immensely entertaining to experience the development of this world and it’s character’s further. I would invest in it if I were you, because the possibilities feel so endless and wonderful. It’s like a nightmare I actually want to run towards, rather than away from.

[The Playlist]

1. Dark Matter - Les Friction // 2. I’m Not Afraid - Emigrate 

3. Feel Nothing - HEALTH // 4. The Nothing - Depotax 

5. Quiet Zone - HOCICO // 6.  Into The Unknown - Sextile 

7. Revival - Orgy // 8. Timeless Visions - Velvet Acid Christ

9. Dark - Silence In Machine 10. Dark Dance - Heimataerde

I am not sure of your tastes in music, but opted for a mix of dark electro and industrial sounds. I felt like these genres would best suit a Dark Dystopian. Your story gives something of that impression, but more shadowy. I wanted songs that deeply emphasize on your protagonist’s dissociation from existence, but also wanted to further expand on the forbidding presence of the antagonist. 

It was hard not to give into more songs than this! Hope you like what I picked out for you. I hope what I have selected does justice to your work. However, if you would like a different selection or an additional list, just let me know. 

[concussed-to-pieces]

To Tell You The Truth Part Five

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Dudes, real talk. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. Your support on this particular endeavor is just mindblowing and I love you guys so much (no this isn’t the end or anything I’m just in my feels right now). This installment has a monologue in it that I'm really, really stupid proud of. I hope you guys like it. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @fioccodineveautunnale

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains vague depictions of gore. Stay safe!]

You thought you heard someone running, heavy boots pounding hard on the ground. Who even has the energy for that, you wondered idly.

Oxygen abruptly flooded back into your helmet and you inhaled on instinct, hacking and wheezing. The bayonet twitched roughly, making you sob out before some of the pressure on the blade was relieved. 

"There. Detached it from the fucking thrower. You still with me, gentle soul?" Ezra, it was Ezra, talking loudly, tapping your helmet and seeming relieved when you barely opened your eyes once more. "I'm goin' to stabilize the bayonet, you understand me? We can't remove it or we'll do more damage. Have to stabilize with the patcher cream."

"Told y...you to...leave--" you gasped, grabbing desperately at his shoulder. "Miss the--sling...back…"

"Kevva was a martyr, you know." Ezra said suddenly. "A little bit Prometheus, a little bit Jesus. Shot himself into space so others wouldn't fear to follow in his footsteps, to give countless souls the chance to be reforged in booster fire. Always found martyrdom more trouble than it was worth, myself. Living on struck me as the more attractive option." He murmured, struggling with your suit.

The only reply you could manage was more of a wet gurgle of confusion. What was he even talking about?

"Now, we as human beings are taught that self-sacrifice is the loftiest of moral pedestals to stand upon. We are taught that puttin' the needs of others above ourselves is the pinnacle, the quintessential desirous trait." He carried on in a pleasant tone, like this was a normal conversation the two of you were having as he poured the antiseptic liquid over your abdomen. 

It burned and stung. You wanted to scream but you couldn't draw the breath, settling for a pitiful whimper.

"I cannot tell you how many times I roundly railed against the purported divine will of that miserable martyr when I found myself trapped on this forsaken moon. The last thing I wanted was to be slain before I finally got to revel in my spoils, reduced to no more than a cautionary tale of avarice and loss in the annals of time. Lo and behold though, despite all my tribulations, it appears I was not the one in danger of being a sacrificial lamb."

The clear dome of his helmet thudded against your own, and he tried to time your breathing for a moment before he gave up and just clicked the trigger on the patcher gun. You cried out hoarsely in pain and he echoed you with a groan, shaking his head.

"Instead, that malevolent bearded bastard sent me a precious gentle soul, one more gracious and generous than any harvest, to shield my worthless body from the slings and arrows of this hostile moon. But I do not accept the debt of another's life so free and easy, especially not when it's counted against all my sins." He continued relentlessly, tossing the foam gun aside. "You can urge me until your holy heart stops, yet I refuse to indulge you in your blasted martyrdom." The word was furious, hissed out between his teeth. "You will live. If I have to drag you back from Kevva's greedy, graspin' hand myself, I damn well will. You have suffered Purgatory long enough, gentle soul." 

With that emphatic declaration he heaved you upright, draping your arm over his shoulder and beginning the slow, tortuous walk back to the mercenary rock jumper. "Ez--ra…" you choked, your legs barely supporting you. "C-an't--"

"Hush, gentle soul." He said firmly, struggling to distribute more of your weight onto his shoulders. "I would carry you if I trusted my arm, but regrettably I am not at full-test. All the same, I'm putting you into that fuckin' pod even if I have to drag you every accursed step of the way." 

Your fingers dug into his suit and you straightened up marginally. Just enough for him to get a better grip on your body. "M' gonna'-" you coughed, red droplets hitting the dome of your helmet.

"Keep your free hand on that blade, gentle soul. The less damage we do to your internal machinations, the better." 

You obediently curled your glove around the foam-crusted bayonet, stabilizing the protruding weapon with what little strength you had left. You stared down at his leg, trying to get your own steps to match up with his so he didn't trip over the tether tube. You weren't sure whether either of you would be able to get back up if that occurred.

"Almost there." Ezra announced, making your head jerk up. You had been wavering on the edge of unconsciousness, just focusing on keeping your feet moving. 

He dropped your hand onto one of the railings for the pod ladder and you obligingly tried to pull yourself into it after he gave you a boost, ending up essentially throwing your body forward and to the side on the floor of the pod.

Ezra staggered up behind you, fumbling to shift you from your fetal position. "In the seat, gentle soul, we need to strap you in. Can't have loose cargo when we take off." He muttered. 

Your head felt too heavy. You let it loll against your chest while he essentially manhandled you into the passenger seat and snapped the harness around you as best as he could. "M'sorry…" Your voice was barely audible through your helmet. "Can't..."

"You manage those lungs of yours, don't worry about me." He replied tersely, yanking off his helmet and then tearing at the latches on your own. "You just keep breathin'. We'll be out of this in no time, gentle soul, no time at all." 

You nodded dazedly after he pulled the helmet off over your head. "Thank…"

"Hush, damn it." Ezra rasped, pressing his lips to your forehead. "Hush. Save your energy and keep that bayonet steady. We'll be on that freighter in a tick. Get you to a proper med bay." His voice trembled.

You were vaguely aware that he had strapped in beside you. There was the soft rustle of manual pages, then the deafening rattle of the pod boosters, the thrum of the engines as it broke the atmosphere. Light from Bakhroma's sun poured in through the triangular windows overhead, all but blinding you. 

Ezra weakly stripped your glove and then clasped your fingers across the center console as the freighter appeared, spindly arms of pods hanging suspended in the brilliant green and navy halo of the surrounding cosmos. "We have at last been delivered from our toilsome strife." He sighed. "Better days beckon us onward, gentle soul." He raised your hand to his lips, and you felt the brush of his facial hair when he kissed your open palm.

...

You were unsure of how much time had passed. You thought you were being removed from the pod, something about getting rushed through the triage protocols. 

An oxygen mask was snapped down over your face, the whirr of an intraosseous needle reaching your ears. Conversations around you faded in and out, random voices discussing your condition. 

Where was Ezra?

"If that bayonet had gone half an inch deeper-"

"I suggest you apply the brakes on that particular intellectual locomotive." You felt your fears ebb at the familiar sound of his drawl. "We are running on precious little sleep and I must confess to an unhealthy inclination towards impatience when I am deprived of my slumber. Now, my individual trauma can wait until you have available staff, but their wound will fester if it is left much longer." A large hand rested on your forehead, shielding your half-open eyes from the fluorescent lighting. "Take care of their potential pneumothorax, doctor, and I will be as docile as a lamb."

"Ez…" you whispered.

"Still tryin' to palaver? Gentle soul, now is not the time for idle conversation." His hand stroked your forehead as he soothed, "Rest now. We did it. You did it." 

With his assurance, you closed your eyes.

...

You were confined to a rehabiter chamber for what felt like a short eternity as the freighter made its laborious way back to Central, Puggart Bench and the overcrowded wards that dotted the outskirts.

All you had left physically to remind you of your ordeal was a slow-healing wound on your abdomen and muscles that felt like they would never stop aching. You had one hundred percent overdone it and, if the resident freighter physician had anything to say regarding the matter, you were incredibly lucky to be alive.

The freighter's lung scrubber wasn't exactly on par with the level of sanitation either you or Ezra needed, so you were kept on it at all times until you could be transferred to the Puggart Bench medicog. You were grateful to be weathering the travel in the freighter's dingy med bay, as strange as that was to say. You weren't sure how long it would be before you could travel in a pod without feeling deeply apprehensive.

Once dropped at Puggart, you barely even got to wave at Ezra (he waved back with a drowsy grin from beneath the oxygen tent) before you were whisked away to a different room and hooked up to something a little more high-test. 

Fully purging the dust took literal days of treatment. The preliminary scans of your lungs revealed what looked like thick, puffy cotton balls in the place of usual bronchioles. You could only imagine how bad Ezra's lungs must be if that was what yours were like.

The rest of your body continued to arduously heal. You spent the hours of solitary treatment quietly drawing on your memo pad. Once that ran out of pages, you began to save the napkins that came with your Pastors slurry. A kind orderly found you an abandoned clipboard and you would balance it on your knees to draw for as long as you were able before your stomach began to protest.

You did your best to not think about the Bakhroma Green moon. It was difficult, but you tried. The lushly poisonous foliage, the Queen's Lair, Damon-

Your sleep was fitfully restless, either due to the lingering pain of your wound or the nightmares that hounded you. You were unsure of the last time you had truly enjoyed a good night's sleep.

Once you had been off the scrubber for a full week, Ezra came to visit. You almost didn't recognize him sans the bulk of his suit and helmet, but the brilliant blond Mallen streak that jutted mischievously out from his right temple removed all doubt. He looked much better, which was to be expected. Clean food and fresh air had done him wonders.

"Gentle soul!" He exclaimed warmly upon entering your cubicle, his voice rasping slightly, "all those days of good behavior paid off. Your jealous warden has finally deemed me worthy of entry into your domain." 

"Good to see you too, Ezra." You replied with a smile, raising an eyebrow at the flowers he carried. "I won't take up much of your time, obviously you've got places to be." What was that weird pang in your chest? Were you jealous? Why would you be jealous? 

"Your modesty, while one of your finest qualities, wounds me deeply. These are for you, gentle soul." Ezra placed a hand over his heart, bowing grandly as he presented you with the bouquet. 

"F-For me? Oh." You felt a little ashamed of your strange jealousy now, fumbling to take the flowers from him. "These are so beautiful, you...you didn't have to, you know." You murmured, burying your nose in the soft petals. 

"What better way to celebrate you bein' on the mend?" He inquired incredulously, pulling up the chair beside your bed. 

"I'm kind of surprised you're still here, honestly." You confessed. 

"Whyever for?"

"Well I just...I assumed you would have set back out in search of the next big thing." You twiddled your fingers, keeping your eyes on the flowers. 

"I am full of surprises, I suppose. Oh! And in that vein." Ezra tugged free a long, flat box from inside the (obviously very new) blazer he wore. "Another surprise."

The box was wrapped simply in plain paper and twine, a bit like all your sketchpads had been. "Ezra-" you began to protest. 

He waved off your words though, gesturing impatiently for you to rip off the paper. "I have been burstin' at the seams to give this to you, gentle soul. Do not make me wait one iota longer, I implore you."

Laughing a little at his enthusiasm, you obliged. Your laughter caught in your throat as you turned the brightly-colored box over, the graphics on the front proudly announcing the contents. "This...Th-This is…" You stammered, swallowing hard. "I...Ezra-"

"It's the draw-pad! Y'know, the one we discussed. Brand new, hot off the line." Ezra looked insanely pleased with himself, fidgeting in the seat. "I saw it and I knew you needed it."

"Ezra, this is too much." You tried to sound like you disapproved, but you were relatively certain your fingers reverently tracing the brilliant logo gave you away. Just the box alone looked so crisp, the edges still sharp instead of crushed in and rounded with age.

"Now, this gift does come with a request." He drawled from his spot beside your bed. You glanced up, that old wariness creeping back in. "I want you to familiarize yourself with this tool. Not sure how long it'll take. I have faith in your tenacity and ability to adapt, however. Once you're confident in your skill, I would be most obliged if you would consider a solicitation of partnership. " 

"Part...nership?" You repeated, thoroughly confused.

Ezra nodded. "Yes, gentle soul. I am penning a semi-fictitious memoir and it would add a certain...gravitas if your sketches graced the pages as well, you understand."

You fairly erupted with excitement, "I would love to!" Your enthusiasm jerked to a sudden stop as you remembered just where you were, and how much debt you were probably in. "But I...I can't." You finished sadly, stroking the brightly-colored illustrations on the front of the draw-pad box one last wistful time before you pressed it back into his hands. "I'm sorry Ezra, I need to hurry up and heal so I can hurry up and find another job, work through paying off this treatment bill--"

"Gentle soul, I don't think you have a full grasp of your situation." Ezra interjected. "You are an incredibly rich individual." You stared at him, not entirely registering his words. "Have you truly forgotten just how much of the Queen your deft little hands plundered?"

"That's not mine, that's y-"

"Kevva above, gentle soul. If not for your steady skinnin' and de-blisterin', we wouldn't have secured a damn thing." Ezra leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers. "I turned a handsome profit as well, mind you. I am quite comfortably off with my harvest as it is. But you, gentle soul, you…" He cleared his throat. "I took the liberty of arrangin' an account for you while you were indisposed."

"There was enough for an account?" You squeaked. 

Ezra's laugh sounded raw. "The wonder in your eyes! I wish you could see yourself. Give me a moment, I'll pull up the numbers." He had apparently gotten one of those new, touchscreen Servs. He didn't even need a cable! You watched apprehensively as he tapped away at the tablet, swiping through a few menus. 

When he tilted the screen to show you your account, you were relatively certain you had gone into shock. You knew your mouth was opening and closing, but you couldn't seem to form any words.

"I daresay you may be able to afford your hospital bill." The man said dryly after watching you gawk for several long minutes. "And perhaps a few meager indulgences on top of that."

"That's...that can't be right." You whispered, reaching out to touch the numbers. Ezra chuckled when your clumsy fingers accidentally brought up another menu, the older man easily dismissing it. 

"It is indeed correct, gentle soul. The exchange was the cleanest I've ever done, and sported the highest rates I've ever encountered. It seems we returned from the Bakhroma Green in the nick of time, in more ways than one." 

"Ezra, that's...I-I've never even dreamed of having so many points. I…" you trailed off, biting your lip. Tears welled up in your eyes and, for the first time since Damon had been killed, you started to cry in earnest.

Ezra's hand rested on your arm after a moment and you let yourself be eased into his embrace, sobbing against his shoulder. "Steady now, gentle soul. You just let it all out. It's over, you understand?" He soothed, cupping the back of your head. "Over and done with. Your perdition is at its end. You are free from those terrible burdens." 

"I just...this doesn't even feel real." You hiccupped. "I feel like I'm g-gonna' wake up in that pod all over ag-gain."

"I know that sensation all too well. My sleep is poor, my dreams fraught with dark recollections." Ezra admitted quietly. "Safety and stability are luxuries I have not been able to afford for many years. Now that I have them, I am...unsure of what to do with them." He sighed, his chin resting on the top of your head. "We have endured so much worse than having a little good fortune, yet upon bein' confronted with it, we do not feel worthy."

You nodded into his shoulder. It was no surprise that he would know exactly how to put into words what you had been feeling. You jolted abruptly when you realized which shoulder you were molesting. "Oh! Your arm, I'm so-"

"Don't you fret, gentle soul." He released you and carefully slid his arm out of his blazer, the barest wince betraying him as he flexed the limb freely. "I'm on the mend, with a...zeal I did not realize I possessed. The matron in charge of my circulatory rehabilitation seems hell-bent on gettin' me to break a sweat." Ezra sounded rueful. "I'm just glad I can breathe unaided once more. I'll never take my lungs for granted ever again."

...

You doused the eggs with the brilliant orange sauce, shoveling a forkful into your mouth and groaning in appreciative delight. 

"Now normally, condiments are a compliment to the dish." Ezra delicately gestured at your orange-stained plate with his fork. "With you however, condiments appear to be the main course." He teased. Ezra had offered to take you out for breakfast on the morning of your release, he called it a daring escape from the confines of modern medicine. Hence your current locale. You had, however, insisted that the two of you split the bill.

"After so long eating Pastors Calori-pouches and bits bars, I...I need the color just as much as I need the flavor, y'know?" You mumbled around your mouthful. "My tastebuds are all brand new again."

"I meant no disrespect, gentle soul." Ezra reached across the table with a paper napkin and you jerked back on reflex, laughing awkwardly as you tried to play off your sharp reaction. He cocked his head, eyebrows drawn quizzically tight. "I said I would not ask, and I will not break that promise." He murmured, tucking the napkin into your limp hand instead. "If ever there is anything I can do though, anything I can say to...to ease these burdens you carry on your body, all you need do is ask."

This was far too serious of a topic to be discussing in a greasy diner with bright orange hot sauce dripping off your chin. 

Ezra skewered a bite of flapjack with his fork, dipped it in the vibrant condiment that smeared your dish and then popped it into his mouth. You gawked at him as he chewed, his eyes idly roaming the diner. You could take the man out of the communal mining canteen, but you couldn't take the communal mining canteen out of the man, you supposed. You remembered all too well the stands worth of others pilfering off your own tray.

"I know you are no doubt eager twice over to get your mitts on my draft and begin your creative process, but I must insist we allow you the time to reacclimate to city livin'." He changed the subject deftly, his fingers drumming on the scarred diner table as he spoke. "Elsewise you may just end up sealin' yourself into a studio like a cask of Amontillado and drawin' the day away." His eyes wandered back to your face. "Have you given any more consideration to which ward you might prefer to hang your hat in?" 

You gulped down a bite of toast before shaking your head. "I...I looked through the listings two days ago but I don't...I mean, I know I can afford to, but…" you trailed off. 

"Livin' alone holds no allure." Ezra's tone was sympathetic. He steepled his hands on the tabletop. "Permit me to suggest an alternative, gentle soul." You inclined your head. "We are two wandering drifters that, through sheer grit and a healthy sprinkling of providence, have managed to slog through hell together and survive without growing to loathe each other's company." 

You stared at him blankly, sponging the sauce off your chin. Ezra settled back in the booth, his body language enviably relaxed. 

"I am more than willin' to open my humble abode to you. For a few stands or simply until you find yourself despising my lugubrious company." He held up a hand as you opened your mouth. "I offer without any malice or intent of predation, gentle soul. I know that the return to non-floater spaces is not often an easy one, and I strongly suspect that you have been preyed upon in the past."

"I know you're not like that." You blurted out, flushing immediately afterwards.

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "I am grateful you don't lump my gregarious self in with the refuse, gentle soul."

"I just...I mean you've done so much for me already." You continued helplessly. "I'm in your debt, Ezra. By a lot."

"Nonsense." He scoffed. "Without you, we never would have escaped the Green! If we are to speak of debts and debtors, I must reason that I am still in yours. Shooting me would have been a ludicrously simple task, as I pointed out when we were still in that Kevva-forsaken place. Never mind the steady-handed salvage of my arm, your heroic duel with Inumon-"

"Oh yes, nothing more heroic than getting three-quarters killed by a grungy Krebine bayonet." You interrupted him dryly. "While hopped up on Brism."

Ezra chuckled. "Modest as ever!" He quickly sobered, his eyes serious. "My lodgings are more than adequate to house another individual, should you decide to grace me with your presence."

...

You didn't really have any possessions, which made your move relatively straightforward. All you had was your helmet, your suit, your underclothes and the contents of the pockets of said suit. Mercifully, everything had been decontaminated, so you didn't have anything to fear from throwing your familiar kit back on.

"I will offer you a change of clothes, but! We must venture out and acquire you new attire at your earliest convenience." Ezra insisted, already rummaging through his laughably barren closet even as you protested. "I doubt you wish to eternally linger in my dubious, threadbare garb." He suddenly stopped, snapping his fingers. "Wait. No. Kevva, we can order on the Serv. Unless you prefer the torment of physical fitting rooms?" He queried with a grimace, making you laugh.

You found yourself curled up on the couch several hours later, clad in one out of his two 'casual' shirts and your thermal leggings. You held the Serv tablet carefully in your hands as Ezra swiped through page after page of various clothing, the precocious man enthusiastically supporting any item you expressed interest in. 

"This will at least tide you over until you feel more comfortable wanderin' the streets of the Pug again. We should also find you some underthings and socks." He mused, tapping the appropriate area on the screen to bring up the search option. "I'll leave you to that, gentle soul." You hesitantly took over from him and he rose from the couch, stretching with a quiet groan. "Tea? I feel inordinately cozy right now." He offered cordially. 

"Mmhm." You nodded, a little distracted by the waves of choices available to you. Granted, at this stage all you needed were a few essentials. Undergarments that would hold up in the wash, good socks to ward off the chill. "Should I get shoes too, or wait until I go out for that?" You called.

"I feel it would be prudent to dally on that particular front." Ezra drawled from the kitchen. "It's best to ensure a proper fit in person if at all possible. Though, I hardly need to tell you that." He stuck his head back out through the doorway after a moment. "Toiletries tab should be the second to last on the right."

"I mean, I took the toothbrush from the hospital so I'm probably fine for-" His raucous laughter interrupted your reasoning and you scowled at him, uncertain of what could be so funny. 

"You've got more funds than most people would see in six lifetimes, and yet you purloined the toothbrush from your hospital room." Ezra managed to say after a few moments. "Floater habits die hard, eh gentle soul?"

Against your will, you felt giggles bubbling in your chest and you huffed out a breath, trying to ward them off. "Shush, you...you!" You retorted lamely, losing your battle with your own laughter. "Stop judging me, your moral high ground is subterranean."

"Subterranean, I like that!" Ezra exclaimed, his eyes shining with good humor as he passed you a plain white mug full to the brim with tea. "I'll have to pilfer that for my illustrious tale. Give you full credit, naturally."

You smiled at him over your mug. "You'd better."

He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. "I am a man of subterranean high ground, true enough. But I am a man of my word!"

Part Six