forum The Outcasts // space idiots exploring the galaxy // Group RP // 5/5 {CLOSED}

Started December 21, 2019 by @blue_topaz

tune

Saral furrowed her brow in confusion, following the directions to the counter. Her knee was obviously bugging her, thanks to the pacing and lack of rest since the…incident. But she made it there anyway. Her lips turned up in a tiny and soft smile, at the sight of the mug and herbs.

She only really drank tea if it was horribly sweet. It was much more preferable, as opposed to the sludge of bitter leaves and more water than tea that she'd grown up drinking. That wasn't really her grandmother's fault, but still. And Vic always knew the best blends to satisfy that sweet tooth. "You didn't have to, you know. Not that I'm not absolutely ecstatic to have some of your famous tea." She said softly, turning to smile at him. The smile carried that weariness it had since their friends had died, but at least it wasn't as fake as it had been those first few weeks. "You want anything, while I'm up?"

Silky hair, polished fangs, full lips, shimmering scales.

Caelon admired the stranger reflected in the smooth silicone columns. He slipped through the hallways like a ghost, barefoot, yet still in a sweeping gown, makeup and glitter hiding the bags beneath his eyes.

“To be or not to be my dear, Dallic? What would you suggest?” At the sound of his name, the guard blocking the entrance to the dungeons shifted his gaze over. His silence was a response all on its own. Dress dragging lazily on the floor behind him, Caelon crept forward. The scales on the bottom of his right heel clicking against the tile.

“My prince.” With a short head bow the guard was once again silent. It was obvious why— always the same. The same, the same, the same.

“I don’t bite.” The prince gnashes his teeth, snarling once again. Dallic remained stoic, much to Caelon’s frustration. “Let me pass— I wish to lament.”

“As you wish.” The man stepped aside, allowing Caelon to continue his drunken waltz towards the stairs. Misguided footsteps falling out of place. As he reached the edge part of him hesitated for a brief moment.

“If I ought to pitch myself down, Dallic, would you miss me?” His voice shriveled like a wilted flower. The darkness, there was so much of it now, rising up from the darkened dungeons and teasing at the edges of his vision.

The guard’s silence said everything. It was always the same.

The same.
The same.
The same.

Cold from the inside out, Caelon began to tread down the stairs, descending into the vast darkness ahead.

Vic wouldn’t meet her eyes. His unnaturally sharp features remained impassive, locking Saral out. He had followed her through the hall and into the kitchen on bare feet, scarcely making a sound as he passed over mismatched carpets and scattered pillows alike.

“New cast. On your bed,” he told her instead of answering. A simple padded device from Tethys B, the last inhabited moon they’d visited, to support her faulty joint.

This was his way. Few words, many gestures, no thanks accepted. “We’re—Syxille. Almost there. Where is Zanna?”

Saral nodded, sighing softly as she picked up the mug. Holding it in both hands to enjoy the warmth, she thought about that for a moment. I've got to find some way to thank him that he'll accept. "Last I heard, movement wise, they were working. In the common area. Do you want me to go with?" She tilted her head questioningly, taking a sip from the mug. "If not, just…let me know how you think she's doing. I'm worried about her." Always worried about others before acknowledging that she, herself, was barely holding herself together.

Zanna was still working away now lost in the mindless work of making sure everything worked. All the finger joints moved fine. The power source was still had years before it would peter out. There was nothing wrong with the arm yet Zanna kept working in hopes something would appear. Once nothing offered itself she reattached the arm to its base which also went on flawlessly before moving onto her leg. It was the same deal. Check the joints, check the power source, see if anything. Absolutely anything wasn't working.

Vic pulled himself onto the counter and perched there like an oversized bird. The diaphanous ends of his sash trailed down from his waist, snaking between the various utensils and appliances that surrounded him.

Too close, too close, too close. She was too close, her body too warm, her scent carrying enough traces of Jadie's that bile rose to his throat. Gunshots echoed in his memory, which, in turn, came rushing forth in a tidal wave. It crashed through every meticulously built wall, stripping his previously neutral expression bare.

Max's blood. Jadie's blood. So much blood. Vic flinched away, trembling.

But he surprised them both once the moment past. For the first time that day, he raised his oversized eyes to Saral's. And, brushing a dark curl from his forehead, he lifted a finger to prod at her shoulder. No explanations were necessary, his silently conveyed message was clear enough.

And what about you, Saral?

Zanna was still working away now lost in the mindless work of making sure everything worked. All the finger joints moved fine. The power source was still had years before it would peter out. There was nothing wrong with the arm yet Zanna kept working in hopes something would appear. Once nothing offered itself she reattached the arm to its base which also went on flawlessly before moving onto her leg. It was the same deal. Check the joints, check the power source, see if anything. Absolutely anything wasn't working.

Though she was a being of wires and circuitry, the little droid liked to think she could accurately measure the mood of her crewmates. Ever since the catastrophe (she preferred to refer to it as just that, too much elaboration could call the file up from her memory drive. The first time she had accidentally triggered the recollection, Echo's systems had shut down for nearly half an hour) morale had been disastrously low. She was concerned for the ragtag inhabitants of the little ship—she was concerned for her friends.

"Zanna?" This particular friend had been in The Outcast's common room for over an hour now. Echo steered herself over to Zanna's side. "Are you in need of my Comfort and Cuddles setting?"

The addition to her wide array of abilities and 'modes' (Destroy, Defend, Attack, Guard, Escort, Domestic, and Passive) had been Maxym's idea. But… oh, dear. It was never a good idea to dwell on him, was it?

Saral watched Vic carefully, taking a small half-step back when he flinched away from her. She didn't blame him. It was hard, being around the others. Even for her. More than just her usual needed breaks when on a ship full of boisterous people. Everything was a reminder, of their friends, the people they'd come to view as family, and the betrayal that had left all of them shattered completely.

When he questioningly nudged her shoulder, she only held his gaze for a few moments longer before her own dropped to her tea. She shifted the mug into one hand, the other coming up to tug the cord out from under her shirt. Her fingers wrapped around the ring hanging there, it's match sitting in a box under her pillow. Promise rings. "I'm doing fine." She said quietly, her smile wavering before dropping completely. "I miss them. And I miss her-so much. But I have to keep going, for both of them. Enough about me. I want to know how you're doing." She couldn't even scratch the surface of her own feelings before turning to those of her friends, needing something else to focus on. Something else to fix.

Zanna looked up from her work taking a bit of a breath and forcing a pleasant smile on. Of course she would love cuddles, but that would mean showing weakness. The last time she did that ended up badly. Extremely bad. She let out a breath, "No. No, I'm good. But thank you anyways."

Vic had to grip the edge of the counter to stop his hands from shaking. How was he doing? He rubbed his hands raw every day trying to rid them of crimson streaks that were no longer there. He spent hours on his knees, soap frothing between his fingers, washing phantom stains away from the last place his friends had stood. He wore Maxym's sweater and polished Jadie's glass-blown lamp, woke up crying in the dead of night, curled up in his bed as his malformed lungs tried and failed to expand.

He turned his palm to the ceiling, the Crythian version of a thumbs-up. He didn't believe his friend for a second, but he didn't press. Instead, he twisted around to pull a quilt from the back of a padded chair and held it out. A threadbare comfort, but the best he could do right now.

Echo's scanners reported frighteningly low levels of serotonin in her friend's body. She ran through several possible responses to this, but none of them seemed quite right for the situation. But, after a brief and cautious trip through her memory drive, an idea came to mind.

The ship's alabaster walls were lined with divots. When pressed and pulled in any direction, these divots would widen to create portholes.

In a matter of minutes, the entire common room ceiling had given way to thick glass panelling. The light of a thousand stars filled the space, lining each piece of furniture in silver. Echo, pleased by this, took Zanna by the hand and led them to a padded chair, which she nudged them towards. "Sit, dear," she hummed, "I'll make you something to eat."

(I don't know anything about hormones lmao, excuse my bullshitting)

(Lol you good.)

Zanna had half limped over as they had attached it limply to walk over to the chair. She sat down in the chair and took her leg off again and went to finishing the fine-tuning on her leg. They took a breath and made a humming noise as they worked. She finished her work and reattached the leg and looked up at Echo almost void-like despite the pure wonder around them. The silvery light almost never failed to put Zanna in awe except for after the event. They could hardly think of it as anything else. She sighed and looked back down at her hands, "You don't need to do that, but if you want to."

Saral didn't look down at the quilt he offered, eyes on Vic's face instead as she fiddled with her ring. When she did reach out, it wasn't for the quilt. It was to lightly and hesitantly touch his hand, the hand holding the mug shaking just barely. "Take care of yourself, too, Vic. You can't always worry about us, and never about yourself." She said, her hand closing around his for a brief moment. Then she was pulling it back, wrapping her arm around herself and shaking her head. "It's so quiet. Quieter, I guess."

(Hey guys, sorry. Went on a road trip yesterday so things were a bit hectic)

Vic winced. His oversized ears, furred at the tips, angled themselves flat against the side of his head as if warding off the silence.

“Ready?” he croaked instead of answering. We’ve almost reached Syxille. We’ve almost reached Ennet. Blood… there would be so much blood. Pain—and not just for the traitor. No mercy would be granted, not for him, never for him.

He released a shaky breath.

If Echo was human, she might have shrugged. But as she wasn’t, the little droid merely draped a blanket over Zanna’s legs and shifted so she was positioned directly in front of them. “Are you sure you don’t need to talk? I can delete it from my memory drive afterwards. Or I can keep it.” She tilted her head to one side, waiting.

"No, no I'm good," Zanna ran a hand through her hair. They let out a sigh before figuring they could do a manual memory wipe if Echo didn't do it, "Well, maybe good is inaccurate. I just had thought we were closer and wouldn't end up betraying eachother. Guess I was wrong again and now were here. Two of-"

Zanna had to stop as her breathing hitched, "Two of our friends gone and the traitors ready to be executed. They're gone and nothing's going to be the same now. And I guess I can't handle that."

"No." Saral responded, the honest answer feeling like a piece of food stuck in her throat. Like just speaking about what was going to come was going to unravel the careful calm and put-togetherness she'd worked so hard to build up, just a few words so close to stealing her air. "I'm not. I don't think there's any way to ever be. But…it's going to happen, and it needs to happen. And that, at least, kinda feel like preparing myself. Knowing that. Let me guess, you aren't ready either?"

“As a droid,” Echo said, “I’m not very good with emotions. But I have researched this matter extensively and I’ve learned that it’s best to take things one step at a time. Don’t push yourself Small progress is still progress.” She paused here, selecting a new memory file. “Does remembering them hurt more, or console you?”

Vic hopped off the counter before she could read his expression. One benefit of his faulty body, perhaps the only one, was that he had an excuse not to reply to things. All he had to do was tap his throat, and the crew would assume it was hurting more than normal and leave him be.

He began to tighten the diaphanous sash at his waist, hands trembling. No, he was not ready. How could he be? Max and Jadie were dead, Ennet was at fault, and they were hurtling towards one of the most corrupt monarchies in the galaxy to hunt him down and end his life. And while Zanna and Sar wove fail-proof plans, he clung to the feeble hope that they’d never find their former friend.

"What do you think?" Zanna half snapped back. She inhaled and kept her tears at bay. They let the breath out and responded in a queit resigned manner, "Hurts more."

"How could anyone really be ready for this." Saral whispered, eyes on her tea again. Her floodgates were so unsteady, waiting for any moment to let loose the torrent of emotions she'd refused to let herself actually feel since that night. It was a struggle, constantly. A struggle to keep sane, keep going, without Jadie there, without Max. Her family. You have family left, still. You can't let them down too. "Did you know that the smaller a star is, the longer it'll live?" She asked suddenly, changing the subject for both of their sakes. It wasn't even really a question, more just putting it out there, something other than the thing they all needed to deal with but couldn't.

(I wonder where @Izzy-is-a-Christmas-cat is?)

Echo didn't respond verbally. She tapped a compartment in her chest instead, leaning forwards as it popped open. Inside was a folded handkerchief, a few packaged sweets, and a small circular pod on which she had downloaded music.

"Approaching Syxille in—" Vic silenced the automated voice with a gentle tap on a telescreen imbedded in the wall. He didn't want to know, and he doubted Sar did, either.

From his throat came a slow succession of clicks. The Crythian way of expression satisfaction; a milder equivalent to a smile. The little fact was oddly poetic—here they were, a tiny ship against a floating imperial city, a red dwarf against a supergiant.

Zanna let out a sad little laugh as she saw what Echo had. They hadn't been expecting that from the droid, but then again what else would Echo have. She looked to Echo as she took a sweet and popped it in, "Thanks Echo. What would we do without you?"

(Zoey?)

"I imagine that's a rhetorical question?" Echo straightens again and the compartment snaps shut. "I haven't quite managed to grasp the finer points of human interaction yet."

(Oops Echo. No idea where that came from.)

"Yes that was a rhetorical question," Zanna responded letting out a sigh and looking back down at her prosthetics. She had nothing left to occupy herself with and really were hoping they were arriving at their destination soon. She looked up at Echo, "I know that. Say, do you got anything that needs fixing right now?"

"Approaching Syxille in—" Vic silenced the automated voice with a gentle tap on a telescreen imbedded in the wall. He didn't want to know, and he doubted Sar did, either.

From his throat came a slow succession of clicks. The Crythian way of expression satisfaction; a milder equivalent to a smile. The little fact was oddly poetic—here they were, a tiny ship against a floating imperial city, a red dwarf against a supergiant.

Vic's response was something she was familiar with, and the sound brought a tiny smile to her own face. Saral took a couple large gulps of the rest of the tea, before setting the mug back down and hopping up onto the counter to look around the room. "They do that because their rate of fuel consumption is slower." She continued, finding comfort in the thing that had never let her down. Stars. "They have less of the fuel, but because of that, they have to use it up slower. Big stars burn bright and fast, and go out at the same rate. They're the ones people see, for the time they're around. Then-" She held up her hands, making an explosion gesture with her hands. "-fwoosh."