#saint g altered my brain chemistry

[blupengu]

I fully blame Saint Germain for my current taste in 2D anime boys

Alternate version:

[m-to-the-6th-power]

More WIP Wednesday

Gideon left Anastas soon after his confusing statement with a friendly, "We probably don't have enough time to unpack all of that right now. Keep the rucksack though, we'll get to it soon enough."

After a quick bite in the mess hall and a time spent walking and letting her brain process information with each step Gideon came to the rooms she had been told were hers. Once the doors slid open in a pneumatic hiss, Gideon was ecstatic to walk inside. The space astounded her, it was massive. The cell she'd been thrown in had put her cell in Drearburh to shame, but this was something even greater. It was palatial. 

When Gideon flopped on the bed, she didn't expect to nearly sink into it. It was soft in a way she never expected. Yeah, occasionally in comics beds would sink under people but, just like the necromancers' assets, it was assumed to be a conceit of the genre. No one wanted to imagine bedding their necromancer on a standard issue Cohort cot, or worse yet a Drearburh one. 'Would it be called cotting them then?' She wondered briefly to herself. 'Or is it bedding anytime people get intimate? I bet Harrow, no, Eleanor would know.' 

Gideon let herself enjoy the bed more, stretching out until her toes hooked on the end of the bed and hands wrapped firmly around the headboard pulling herself into a stretch like an ancient torture device. She felt her joints stretch more and more until they felt like bread soaked in grease. Loose and limber as she relaxed, sinking into the mattress and slipping into sleep. 

When she awoke it was to a booming knock on the door. As she tried to lever herself up Gideon struggled for a long moment before giving in to the inevitable and rolling out of the bed, landing in a sprawl of limbs and red hair. After gathering her dignity around her, she answered the door, finding the Saint of Duty standing on the other side wearing tinted lenses like hers. 

"You almost missed dinner kid," The Saint said gruffly, the voice was the same but something tickled the edge of Gideon's brain. "Come on, I've got a full spread in my room. The guard told me you eat like me when I was your age after a full day of physical exertion and a few bowls with G- my best friend."

Gideon nodded, still trying to place the issue, "Bowls of what?" She asked, moving back into the room and grabbing her clothes. 

"Oh, uh," The Saint began, quietly humming, "Do you have narcotics on the Ninth?" At Gideon's blank look, "Substances that can alter brain or body chemistry?" 

"We've got Nonagesimus," Gideon replied, "She always makes me lose my appetite."

"Not exactly what I was talking about kiddy. Some substances can be smoked out of glass pipes that resemble bowls. It's relaxing but some people, me included, get extremely hungry after smoking. It was great when we were trying to bulk up, as long as we could stay away from the potato chips and actually eat the jerky."

Gideon took in this word salad as they entered the rooms belonging to Gideon (Original Flavor). When they sat at the little table together, Gideon (The Sequel) felt a twinge in her chest, it was the second time today that she'd sat at a table with someone she could care for. The third time today she'd broken bread with someone who didn't look at her with scorn, even after weeks at the cohort the feeling left her feeling unmoored, adrift without a hazsuit in the void of space. 

"Did the bridge mending go well?" The Saint asked, heaping Gideon's plate full of food before handing it to her. 

Gideon took the plate, sitting it down as she replied, "Yeah, I talked it over with Eleanor. Once I explained that they threw me in jail and that I didn't ditch her intentionally, she was understanding."