Send me a (🗣️) + two muses on my blog, and I’ll make them have a conversation whether they know each other or not!
--
Since he’d been placed on Mantle’s crew, Retcon has made it a point to not be on the ship for longer than needed, especially if there was not a memory wipe on the itinerary. Because why would he? It’s weird to him how much like a family the commander and the rest of his core re-education crew act. He’d even seen some of the other non-core psions drift in and out of the ship just to say hello or hang out.
It’s so strange to think of a leader in the Alternian military that didn’t just turn into a dictator the second they got their own crew. Stranger still that despite all of this, Retcon sits across from the man himself, watching him finish his turn in the game of Mancala that he brought upon himself.
When the violet blood ends his turn, dropping a stone into an empty store on his side, opposite to one housing seven or eight stones, Retcon scoffs.
“You’re not going to go easy on me?”
“Hm?” Is the simple response Mantle gives as he slots the stolen points into the cache on his side. “Easy?”
“I told you I haven’t played in a while. You only just retaught me the rules.”
“And?”
“I thought you’d go easy on me,” as he speaks, the disgruntled purple blood makes his move. By the way Mantle’s brows shift, he can tell that the move he makes is a bad one to make. “Because, y’know, it’s been a while.”
“What you said when you came over,” the commander starts, voice steady as he moves a single stone from his store into another empty one yet again sitting across from a full one. “Was ‘Hey, Smallfry, I wanna play Mancala.’ Play being the operative word.”
“Yeah?”
“If you’d said win, I would have gone about it differently.” He deposits the stones into his cache. “Are we done playing, then?”
“No, damn it! Not until I beat your ass!”
“Alright.” Mantle says, separating the stones from his cache to set up the game again, and a small smile breaks through his usually disinterested facade.
Main Characters: Odarem Mortis (His POV) & Seifer Sanaca
Side Characters/Mentioned Characters:
Vrikoh Havlok (Odarem's official fleet general) & Seifer's Fleet Captain (Armand Buleis)
Setting: Seifers' Newest Fleet Ship, some 2 or so sweeps back
CW(s): Mentions of Blood and allusions to a murder
----- Google Docs Link -----
You step off of the small transport vessel that had ferried you to your new assignment, the scent of blood hitting your nose immediately, causing you to raise your face mask into place. Well, you’re actually catching two distinct blood trails coming from different directions, but one is a lot fresher… You can’t help but find this curious, as the murder you’re meant to be investigating happened two days ago.
Despite your curiosities, your outward demeanor does nothing to show that as you approach to meet with the captain of the ship.
“Doctor Mortis… good to see you’ve finally arrived. I’m sure I don’t need to waste my time briefing you on the situation at hand, do I?” The seadweller raises a harsh brow, tapping his cane to the floor in obvious impatience.
“Not at all, Sir. I read the report on the way, with permission from General Havlok to take as long as required.”
He studies you, perhaps bothered that he can’t see most of your face to scrutinize your expression for not being respectful enough, given the eyepatch and mask you wear. “I give you free rein of the main floor to investigate and find the culprit as you must. If, for whatever reason, you require access to another floor, my Lieutenant will see to you and handle it from there. I expect this dealt with in the next two hours or less, cusp-blood.”
“Just for you, Captain, I’ll have it done in one.” He may not know you’ve got a smarmy little smirk on your face, or that you would’ve winked there as you give your ‘to attention’ salute, but you know, and that’s what really matters here.
After getting that asshole off your back, you don’t waste a second before you’re turning toward the fresh scent of blood, slipping your mask down as your nose twitches and you head towards it. You’re careful to listen for any footsteps or other noises following after you, but hear nothing besides your own boots hitting the floor.
This isn’t a scent you’ve encountered in some time, you think, puzzling over what it could be, when the scent of something distinctly unfamiliar clouds up the mix in your head. This is peculiar, it wouldn’t match up with the killer's profile at all, as far as you know. This drives your curiosity ever higher, and you walk quickly and with purpose… until you come to the end of a series of shoebox-style rooms for the military grunts and reach a… repurposed supply room?
You lean close to the door, listening in, but only hear a grunt and the creaking of a bed. Perhaps an isolated soldier with some kind of odd illness? Why the blood? Why no medical staff nearby? You can’t help it, you know you’d be able to track the murderer down in 20 minutes tops, so you have some time to spare.
With that, you raise a gloved hand to knock gently on the door and speak only loud enough to hopefully be heard by whoever’s inside. “Hey in there, I’m here under your captain's orders. My name is Odarem Mortis, may I come in?”
There’s a long pause where you wonder if they even heard you, until a rasped voice answers you, hesitant confusion lacing their tone. “What…? You... no, leave me alone...”
You’re really not one to push, but your curiosity and concern for this individual push you to ask once more. “Are you sure..? I won’t pry, but I’d just like to check and see if you’re alright, if I can. I won’t cause you trouble, swear on my last good eye.”
Shifting your weight slightly from foot to foot, you await their answer through another pause.
“There is nothing to check…”
As the voice trails off, you’re readying yourself to respect the refusal when the voice interrupts your line of thought.
“But you may come in if you really wish to…”
You open the door slowly, your other hand up in the air passively as the tired-sounding stranger comes into view. The shade of violet he possesses immediately ticks your box for a likely mutant, and your gaze gets a little more sympathetic than it already was. You can’t help but note the dried blood on his clothing, that you must’ve caught the scent of to lead you here. He looks at you warily for a moment before hanging his head, as though hoping to avoid any judgement and conversation.
Still, you can’t help but want to converse with him, shutting the door and moving away from it so he doesn’t feel trapped by any chance. “Are you hurt?” you ask softly, trying to be forthright and genuine, to hopefully ease that heavy tension you can tell sits in his whole body like a rock.
His fins flick, but you can’t tell if that’s good or bad yet. “I have no injuries…” The violet refuses to look at you as he answers.
Cautiously, you approach to sit on the far end of his bed and he tenses, though he relaxes a bit more when you don’t make any further movements.
“Can I ask about the source of the blood?”
Immediately his fins flatten and his head turns a little further away from you, indicating that this was the wrong question, so you quickly supply more to follow it up, “You don’t have to tell me anything, your privacy is your own… it would be nice to know your name though, if you’re feeling adventurous?” Your tone is playful at the tail end; non-threatening.
Something about your response eases a lot of the tension he was holding, and he finally turns to look at you, even if his body language remains closed and curled in on itself.
“Seifer…”
The seadweller, Seifer as he’s told you now, studies you- though unlike his captain, his gaze is like that of a prey animal rather than a bored predator. You feel a bit of pain in your chest at whatever put this man in such a state, though instead of showing that, you smile at him brightly. “Nice to meet you, Seifer. I’m Odarem, though you probably heard that through the door already.”
Seifer gives an affirmative sound, eyeing you with a bit of curious interest of his own now as you continue.
“I’m here on work, so I can’t stay long, but… did you want some company? I’ve got half an hour to do something other than my job, give or take, and you seem like you’d be good to chat with. Handsome too, if it’s not overly forward of me to say.” The smile on your face remains relaxed and easy, keeping the pressure as low as possible.
At the compliment to his obviously disheveled appearance, he blushes, fins twitching again. You note that the twitch is probably a positive sign at this point.
“I… y-you can stay, if you would really like, but… I cannot promise I’m good company.”
“I think you’ve done a fine job of it so far, Seif, I’m already having a nice time. And well, you seem like you could use some good company, yeah?”
There’s some hard-to-read look in his ringed eyes like he’s almost in disbelief at how kind you’ve been. He leans slightly closer in your direction, though you suspect it to be subconsciously. You can’t help but wonder if the fact he let you nickname him so quickly and is no longer moving away from you means anything… is he that starved for kindness here? You suppose that you shouldn’t be surprised, given the state you found him in, and the fact he doesn’t even have a proper room- along with the sour attitude his commanding captain wears.
Cautiously you reach a hand forward, stopping when you see him stiffen a bit, though not fully retracting your reach. “Apologies, I should ask… You seem tense, is all. It isn’t my place to ask you why-- though given this place I don’t blame you.”
He seems put at ease by your casual insult to the ship, though, and he doesn’t lean away from you, so you press a little more. “I can loosen up those knots in your shoulders if you’d like. Might make the place a little more bearable? And don’t worry, I’ve got a degree in easing tension.” You joke, keeping it light.
Seifer fiddles with his necklace as he seems to consider your offer, another slight blush dusting the tips of his ears behind his fins, though you’re not sure exactly which part of your words prompted this.
“Go… go ahead,” Seifer mumbles, looking away from you, but not moving as you shift closer now, slightly behind and beside him on the bed and lifting your hands to hover over his shoulders.
“I’m going to place my hands on you now, just a heads up, Seif.”
He makes a low, appreciative grunt of acknowledgment, and you gently place your hands down on his shoulders, easing into pressing your thumbs into the muscle to work them loose. A little bit of time passes as you feel him melt beneath your hands, giving sounds of approval when you break the tension spots up.
You lean forward to ask him how he’s feeling, right as he seems to turn his head to say something to you, and you nearly bump foreheads as both he and you still. Seifer looks a bit wide-eyed from what you think must be out of surprise until his face darkens with blush once more.
Speaking without thinking too much you ask, “Can I kiss you? I’d be gentle.”
Violet fins flutter even harder than they had before, though this time they remain more upright. Your question seems to do nothing to assuage his blush, though he appears too stunned to answer, so you speak again. “You can say no, of course. If that went too far, I can back off--”
“N... no, I--” He seems surprised by his own sudden protest, eyes glancing downward as he forces out the rest “Please do…”
You smile softly, brushing his lip with your thumb to catch his attention. “Of course.” And when he looks up, you kiss him gently.
Call it self preservation, call it paranoia, or even call it agoraphobia, whatever anyone wants to call it, the fact is a simple one; Reid makes an effort to stay where he is safe and sound in Koteus’s hive.
In the five years since he found himself stuck on Alternia, he can count on just his two hands the amount of times he’s left the safety of the secluded territory. Even then, most of that was moving from the safety of one hive to the next. Which is why his current existence at the farmer’s market just outside of the House of Restoration is such a marvel.
The trolls shuffling around him don’t even know they’re dealing with a tried and true homebody.
He stands awkwardly near a stand that claims to sell some sort of berry from some distant colony planet, cultivated here on Alternian soil.
An alien fruit, the only thing he has anything in common with aside from Alli, the person who got him all disguised up and dragged him out here in the first place.
they disappeared into the crowd ages ago, in his effort to find them he found himself here with this alien fruit.
Reid stares at the berries blankly, wondering what the chances of him being allergic to these orange raspberry shaped fruits might be. He isn’t allergic to regular berries, but alien, Alternian raised berries might prove to explode human heads or something.
Suddenly the edges of his vision start to blur and it feels like his heart is about to pound its way out of his chest.
The world starts spinning.
He needs to find Alli.
He turns on his heels and starts to go in the direction he last saw them go in.
Slam!
He walks directly into the chest of a stranger that must’ve been standing too close. Or maybe he took too big a stride.
All he knows is that briefly his world is engulfed in soft gray fabric and then two steady hands grip his shoulders and hold him in place, arms length apart.
“Hey, bud. Aren’t you going to get my name before motorboating me?”
The voice belonging to the pair of hands, laced in a bit of humor, grounds him, but just enough to realize he is standing much too close to a stranger. He pulls away quite dramatically and stares up at the troll.
Sweater with a fleet emblem, purple eyes, fuck.
All that’s missing is some facepaint.
Reid takes a half step back.
His eyes are kind, hands up to show he doesn’t mean any harm, with a slouch that indicates he is trying to portray a more lax stature.
Anyone can fake those things.
Reid’s eyes dart from the troll in front of him to the rest of the crowd milling through the market.
He must look like he is about to dart himself because the stranger sets a hand on his shoulder again.
“Hey. Stay with me kid. You don’t look so hot.”
“I need to find my friend.”
“Can’t even find your own feet.” He says with a small laugh, almost pitying in nature, as he gently guides Reid to sit at a curb. The panicked human does nothing to fight against it. His voice is actually pretty soothing. “Got a name?”
“Casper. My name is Casper.”
“Alrighty Casper. I’m Laeche. Lai’s good too. How about you take a drink of that water there and we sit here and wait for your friend together?”
Reid nods slowly, patting around for the water bottle hanging off of his backpack. When he finds and unclips it he drinks in big gulps while keeping his eye on the purple blood.
His heart thrums in his throat still.
Laeche.
He seems content to just sit there fiddling with his purchases for the day, then he takes out his phone and swipes through what must be a list, and back to fussing in his bags.
“It’s the craziest thing, Cas. I get back home for the first time in a handful of perigees, I got two brats sending me to the market for ingredients.”
“Is it laziness?”
“They love to boss me around.” He shakes his head. “Crazy, right?”
“I know the feeling.”
“Speaking of. Feeling better?”
Before Reid can answer, someone casts a shadow over the pair and Laeche adjusts himself to take a more defensive posture over him.
The figure speaks before he gets a chance to see.
“Casper!”
It’s Alli. Thank god. thank god he didn’t take off when he wanted to.
“Rorian! You disappeared.”
Just like that, the purple blood relaxes and continues to dig in his bag.
“Yeah. Sorry about that.” They rub the back of their head as they mumble their apology. Excitable nature temporarily muted to leave room for sincerity. “Did you make a new friend?!”
“This is Laeche.”
“Hola.” Laeche says with a half wave as he stands.
“Hola!” Is Alli’s enthusiastic reply. “Leaving already?”
“Yeah. I need to find some peppers. It’s been real, Casper. Rorian take good care of my buddy here, will you?”
“You got it, chief!”
As he walks by he mumbles something into Alli’s ear that Reid doesn’t quite catch. They immediately gasp and rip their backpack off to dig around for something in it.
“What’s up?” Reid asks with the tilt of his head, standing up now.
“Heh, uhm. Don’t freak out,” they request quietly, as calmly as they can, as they pull up a small jar of paint from the bag. “He said you’re sweating through on the back of your neck.”
Send me a (🗣️) + two muses (one has to be mine!), and I’ll make them have a conversation whether they know each other or not!
--
Colmea never considered himself the type to have friends, not any that were particularly close at any rate, and because of that, he always finds it jarring when the people that consider him a close friend find excuses to come visit him.
He stands in the doorway, chewing on that thought, eyeing the pair of sharply dressed twins that summoned him from his research with their intrusion.
The blue eyed twin speaks first while the red eyed one looks around to see what’s new, deciding very quickly to duck under Colmea’s arm and enter his home without asking.
Naturally. What else was he expecting?
“We need your help.” Castor says, following closely behind his brother into the hive. “It’s not really that important, but we need you to weigh in.” Pollux finishes the sentence.
Colmea sighs, he wonders if they realize how annoying their manner of speaking can be, but he also knows better than to assume that they’ve ever cared about being a nuisance to the people that they are surrounded by.
“Come on in.” The sarcasm slips from his lips before he can catch it, though he hardly tries.
“Thank you.” They say in unison.
“Mm.” He closes the door and turns to face them. “What is it that you need from me, exactly?”
“We want you to try the recipe.”
“You want to cook for me.”
“We want to cook, yes.” Castor corrects, the pair already setting up camp in his kitchen. He didn’t even notice that they were carrying their own knives and ingredients for whatever they wanted to do in his space. “In your kitchen.”
“I got that. Why my kitchen?”
“If we cook it in our kitchen,” Pollux starts. “It will be cold by the time we bring it to your kitchen.” Castor finishes.
Colmea runs through all the reasons why it might be, that they desperately need to have him try whatever it is that they’re making. It isn’t as though they are particularly close. Sure they share notes and sometimes they would watch Myriad for him when she was younger. Neverminding, even, that he was in attendance at their graduation, he is certain they are not that close.
Close enough to spring a new recipe on him?
“You seem confused, Doctor.” Castor observes, Pollux pulls up the necessary seasonings in the meantime.
“I am confused. Why are you so adamant about bringing food here at all?” He feels the furrow in his brow deepen.
“Well, where else would we celebrate your wriggling day?” They say at the same time.
Send me a (🗣️) + two muses (one has to be mine!), and I’ll make them have a conversation whether they know each other or not!
--
For what it’s worth, Demuye has been able to go a considerable amount of time with Persep’s actions existing on the periphery of his life. Bigger fish and all that. That’s why he can’t be too mad having to help pick up the slack at the Bait and Hook while the rest of the staff juggled taking care of Aelium and Areios in the aftermath of all of that nonsense.
Days at the bar have been getting longer and longer as he started to assume more roles; Barback, bartender, he even spent one exhausting morning taking Lopard’s place in the kitchen. Those were some seriously big shoes to fill. As tiring as all of that was, he has to admit it has been nice to take some stress off the backs of his friends. Loathe as he is to even admit that verbally.
The walk back to Antare’s place is a lonesome and cold one, so of course his mind continues to wander and toil over his place in the life of his friends. His family? Antare’d once called them his family and his reaction was to cackle at the thought. But now, ah, well he can see where he might have gotten that idea. By the time he makes it to the hive, the sun is already settling into the horizon, replaced by the two easier-on-the-eyes moons slowly approaching their crest.
Demuye pushes into the apartment, making use of the key that he thought was kind of silly when it was gifted to him. Though Antare insisted it was in the event that his pets needed attention while he was out, he thinks it might be something a mite more than that. It’s still quiet, strange to see of a hive with so many occupants and usually bustling with activity. He pushes on until he gets to his kismesis’s room and lets himself in.
The bed is taken over by a mass of blankets that the overtired rainbow drinker struggles to wrap his head around the logistics of adding a third body to. It is not unexpected, though, with the way the cold takes out the seadweller hidden somewhere in the mess.
Speaking of, he doesn’t get to worry about those logistics for too long, because suddenly the violet blood that was swallowed up by all of those covers pops her head up out of them. Her hair sticks out in messy frizzes that highlights her lethargy. She blinks her eyes a few times to get them to cooperate with her.
“Demuye?” She says around a yawn. “Is that you?”
“You sure aren’t concerned enough that there’s a possibility of a strange jadeblood standing in front of you.”
Contra stifles a giggle into the comforter that is being turned into her cape, and Demuye has to quickly come to terms with the fact that he missed that laugh since his life had gotten so busy.
Fuck. Something to unpack later.
“Well, since you’re up, how about I get you some breakfast before you fall back into that coma, hm, Sleeping Beauty?”
The seadweller stares at him for a little bit, studying his features with eyes still bleary from her sleep. Concern creases her brow, but that is interrupted by another yawn.
“Breakfast?”
“Yeah, like, food.”
“Aren’t you tired?” She sits up fully, pulling the blanket around her shoulders up with her. “You look tired, Dem.”
”I could always eat. C’mon, Princess.”
Contra doesn’t protest, instead she continues climbing up out of the bed and dragging the comforter along for the ride, with that layer out of the question, she reveals the sleeping form of Antare curled up underneath. “If you’re sure,” she mumbles, finding her footing in the slippers she immediately puts her feet into.
Demuye leads the way out of the room and out to the kitchen. “Speed up, I’m making french toast.”
She perks up immediately and speeds up to catch up to him, wrapping an arm around his to snuggle up into him.
