Doom Prompt 26: Showers
A self prompt I yeeted at my Doom Discord, Based on the Garnets Story
It doesn't go into detain, but have a very shell shocked Intern/Cimon getting.... an few eye-fulls of not just shirtless Argenta Sentinel Heavy's but also Doomguy/Slayer
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26: Showers:
Cimon blinked as he heard the angry squeaking of one of the garden drones. The man looked around, having about to take advantage of the free access to showers again. Even if he had one last night, with the luxury of a clean, warm bed, he had nothing to do but recover here. So why not get another scrub?
It might help the unconscious feeling of having death ash staining his skin.
That was when Cimon heard the sounds, and followed them up the stairs a bit to find one of those horseshoe crab looking Argenta drones. Only it was on its back, the long legs that helped turn earth in the gardens were flailing in the air, as it had fallen just right coming down the stairs. There was a bundle of clothes not far, having been spilled off the drone down a few stairs below it.
Normally these little drones were good about righting themselves, but this one fell just right that the curve of its back ‘shell’ on the stair. Cimon winced at the sad trilling from it, then the drone flailed again with another set of squeaks as it tried to rock free. “Oh no, you okay there?”
The drone paused, tucking its legs close reflexively at a voice it did not know well. There was a squeaking chirp with a questioning edge.
Cimon was pretty sure Vega was not making the drone emote as he came up the stairs, “Need some help there little friend?”
The drone squeaked a soft three tone sound, waving one leg in Cimon’s direction, as if it was saying a shy, ‘yes please.’
The man tossed his towel over his shoulder coming to sit on the stairs beside the drone. Admiring at the Argenta technology once again that this drone was. It was a chance to get a good peek at how the legs and mechanisms worked as Cimon gingerly lifted the drone. Surprised at the weight, as he was expecting it to be heavier than it was.
The garden drone gave a little buzz of a low tone that seemed very much like a sigh of relief. It slowly got up on the stair and tested its legs before rotating around to show Cimon the slight damage on the stubby antenna like tail, meeping a request.
Cimon grinned, more than happy to be sure the antenna was tightened back up and in place. “Better?”
There was a squeaky chirp back, it seemed happy.
The man looked at what had been spilled on the stairs, reaching to pick it up and finding the cloth was a very large pair of paints. Like the loose clothes the Argenta favored, only this was something that was almost an earthy purple shade. Deffently made for someone argenta size, not human. “What were you doing all the way over here with this?”
The garden drone meeped an alarmed sound seeing the pants unfolded from the fall. Coming up to Cimon and the long little legs reaching out to pick at the end of a pants leg. It was trying to roll up the very end of one of the pants legs. It was oddly cute.
“Need some help?” Cimon asked in a bemused tone, starting to fold the paints. Getting an exited trill as he did so, trying to be neat and at the drone’s insistence carefully placed it on the back of the horseshoe like back. Grinning as the garden drone placed in a circle, clearly happy before moving to the edge of the stair to start climbing down.
…and Cimon found out that this drone had a reason for normally staying in the gardens. Unlike some of the longer legged drones, this one did not have big enough legs to quite make it. The man made a grab for it but missed as the drone slipped down the stairs and bounced a good five down before stopping upside down, those pants flung aside once more. There was a good four second pause before the sad squeaking started again, short mechanical legs flailing in the air.
“Oh…oh no.” The man tried really hard not to laugh, starting to move down the stairs. Cimon glanced up at the soft sound he learned Vega used in the Fortress to warn someone he was about to talk.
“I am sorry,” Vega’s smooth voice spoke up through the nearest speaker. It almost sounded like Vega was amused as well, “Would you be willing to put the drone down on the next level, Cimon?”
“Sure, what was it trying to do?” Cimon picked up the paints again, tossing them over his shoulder and carefully moved around the drone. Watching as the flailing stopped mid waving before the legs went limp as Vega must have done something. It let the man pick the now quiet drone up, and it was much easier to carry it. The garden drones were lighter than expected, but still a good fifteen to twenty pounds depending on the model. So it being still and not flailing helped make the walk back down the stairs easier.
“It was trying to deliver the last pair of pants to decontamination.” Vega sounded… interesting, the man realized as he set the drone down. The former colony AI sounded amused at the drone as he continued. “Would you be so kind as to deliver the paints there, Cimon? Haco is distracted and it will be needed for when the Slayer is finished.”
“Ah, sure, is it safe for me to go wherever the decontamination is?” The man asked, refolding the paints neatly, admiring the color before looking around. “And um, where is it? I thought the group that came back a few hours ago went to another area?”
“It's a different set of stairs that leads to a sealed area of the washing area.” Vega explained, “The Slayer started a habit that the Sentinels also follow to go down that way, as it's easier to clean up.”
Mostly, Vega could spray down the hall with the same chemical the Slayer used to get demon internals and blood off him. And then incinerated what was left in the hall to make it safe.
Vega continued as he nudged the drone, so to say, to start heading to the normally sealed area. “Follow the garden drone, and it is safe in the area now Cimon. Asin and Haco are in the hall you will be going to.”
Cimon smiled despite himself at the mention of the two Argenta. Remembering the two, admittedly towering men that were somehow even bigger than the Slayer himself. Though Cimon had not seen them out of the armor, they seemed to fill it out. As well as the way they could face the demons humans could not, and able to fight the creatures one on one? He could only imagine what the near myth like Argenta were like out of armor, not really having seen much of anyone with a clear head while in quarantine the last few days. That healer still had been in armor, something about the ‘Wretched’s blood’ that got on Cimon that was also tied to the night terrors.
A scream had him looking up, tensing before Cimon realized it was not one of fear or pain. It was something he had not expected as a few kids of all things came running around a corner to Cimon’s left as he came to an open space of a crossroads. The garden drone scuttled off to the right, but the man could only stare in shock.
Kids.
And there were young kids, two seemed to be toddlers following the teen and those that could not be over ten. Encouraged to follow the older kids to a door that had one of those rooms with shower cubbies. One of the kids he realized in a shock was also a toddler, or that stage of growth right after, but was as big as some of the others. His bright white, but natural hair gave away that this was likely an Argenta child trotting after the human kids as the teen was looping back around to give an exaggerated, “Rarw!”
To get the kids laughing and play screaming again. The little party running into the showers.
Kids.
There were babies here.
It was one thing to be told of other survivors, to have a glimpse of adult humans. But kids… healthy, lively, playing kids. A few looked to be recovering from malnutrition like the kids that ARC picked up. Only unlike them, these kids were just being children. Not scared mute or flinching at any noise.
They likely felt safe here, enough to play.
There was a soft trill from the garden drone. A little thin leg tugged on the bottom of Cimon's pants leg for attention. The horseshoe crab-like drone gave a soft whistle as if asking what the wait was for.
“...sorry little guy, I’ll follow this time.” Cimon said in a distracted way, but refocused on the garden drone and following it. Taking a few moments as he walked and almost hugged the fabric, to realize the emotion bubbling up was something like hope again. It was amazing being in an Argenta facility, one that was whole and not in ruins, in hell only able to be seen by drones that came back. There was a distinct architecture to this Fortress, it was fascinating.
They had kids up here, and babies. They were safe enough to have kids and survivors like him, and elderly like the older couple he glimpsed walking down the hall earlier. All brought up here into the Slayer’s… home, not just a base of operations as the ARC had thought it was.
The garden drone he was following stopped at a wall, and it took Cimon a second to realize it was just a wider single door that opened down the middle. It had been painted on, or had several, many paintings made of hand prints. Small hands to larger ones, in different colors, and then over that where outlines to make… butterflies?
The semi hidden hall beyond was exposed, and Cimon swallowed down a startled sound. It was clean, even had a few more drones inside, the two types he had seen, like the argenta made garden type, the smaller hover ones that had Vega’s new emblem on them. Something new as well that was large and had a thick shell, and scraping parts that were working on cleaning the floor.
Cimon just had not expected to see someone in the hall.
The massive argenta man looked over at the open door, glancing at the new drone as it trilled for attention. Then dark green eyes looked at the distinctly shorter human, arching an eyebrow as he noticed the cloth he held. The man was definitely one of the tallest argenta, having a good head and shoulders over the normally towering Slayer himself. Darken, ash stained skin on his arms, face and neck. The exposed upper half of his body showed tanned, thick skin.
Scaring was visible over arms, shoulders and chest, as well as bleaching from demon blood, even a faint glowing mark on his right forearm. The man had short brown hair, freshly cleaned with the rest. Thankfully he had leggings on, but no shoes.
Cimon flushed despite himself realizing he was being eyed back. And that the leggings the argenta hand on were very low on his hips. The shorter man got an accidental eyeful, but could not look away. That was a lot of muscle, and what looked like a healthy layer of padding coming back over.
“Yes?” The voice was familiar, sounding amused and thankfully not offended. Haco glanced up at the nearest camera in the hallway.
Cimon startled, held up what he held, edging into the room like a hallway. “Sorry! Um, the garden drone was… ermm, struggling with the stairs. I have these. Vega said they were the last pair needed.”
“Ah, yes,” Haco turned partly, to where there was an open door behind him. “Asin! The Lord’s leggings are here, you don’t have to surrender yours.”
“Thank the gods, hold on, I’ll get them for you.” Another voice that Cimon recognized but could only put to an armor set that was impossibly tall like Haco.
…and yep that man coming out was definitely as tall as Haco. Being well over seven feet and just as broad and built to fill out the armor. Ragged scarring was down Asin’s abdomen like he had been repeatedly clawed there and around to his right hip. An assortment of other smaller scarring was scattered over his arms and shoulder. Demon blood had bleached a larger spot on the dark tan-olive tone skin on his chest and back like he had been soaked many times.
Cimon felt small, not so suddenly barely coming up to these men’s middles. His cheeks felt warm again as he was watching Asin tying the belt like strings attached to his own leggings. They were sitting rather low, not that dangerously low, but enough to see all the curves of muscles before Asin relaxed his stomach as he finished, revealing a layer of soft over the muscles. Neither he nor Haco had much but it was something on the way to healthy.
The surviving Argenta were recovering too, Cimon reminded himself. Still staring for a moment before trying to shake his head. Good lord, he needed to focus. This was him trying to be useful to his hosts, not oggle his hosts. He could not even focus on the hall.
Cimon turned his head as he realized that he had drifted closer, and was even with one of the tables now. He was face to face with a massive shotgun. Face to handle? Pummel? But? Cimon was not sure what the right word was as he stared at the weapon that was not made for human hands, but the larger Argenta.
…were shotguns a coincidence that humans made them? Argenta were around long before humans, right?
“I think he likes it.” Asin mused as he was moving aside, only to grunt in pain at a prod to his ribs on his back. “Careful. That’s still smarting.”
A low rumbling that was felt in the chest interrupted Cimon’s thought process. Remembering the feeling of sound in his chest and bones as the Doom Slayer himself bent over and picked Cimon out of the mud he had fallen in. The man turned, wondering at what the Slayer looked like even remotely out of his armor. Cimon never got to see more than a hint of dark hair from behind--
Something very belatedly kicked in.
He was holding the Slayer’s pants.
The very same Slayer wandered out of his shower room, notably shorter than the two Argenta men. He was still taller than Cimon by… a lot. The death ash and char of some many years (...centories?) of fighting seemed to permanently dye his skin. But it was so layered with scarring it almost put to shame Haco and Asin in comparison if one was going to compare them for some reason. Eerie blue-green eyes that seemed to glow turned from head tilting at Haco, before noticing Cinmon.
Cimon definitely felt small, like he could be broken in so many ways as the Slayer turned his attention to the sole human in the room like hall. The neutral expression was not aggressive, mildly surprised if anything. Then a wide toothy smile was flashed as the Slayer walked over, the towel he was using on his arms was tossed over his shoulder as he walked over to the now very rooted Cimon.
He had the Slayer’s pants.
Cimon started to lift his arms, but could only stare with wide eyes as the slayer, sans armor… and under suit… sans everything just walked up to him. The smaller man tried to say something, but it came out as a strangled whine.
He did get his eyes back up at chest level!
There was a thunder deep rumble of amusement as the Slayer stopped. Looking bemused before chuffing a chuckle like sound and reaching out. A large hand resting on Cimon’s head and ruffling the very short hairs trying to regrow there. It was a bit heavy-handed, not painful, before the Slayer reached down and picked up the fabric from the smaller man’s unresisting hands. Stepping back and smoothly getting into his leggings and tying them as he turned, grunting in mild annoyance that he had to finish tying the strings before his hands were free.
Cimon could only watch with some awareness, his face and chest felt hot. So it took a delayed moment to realize the Slayer was… using sign language?
“Yes, brother,” Haco rolled his eyes, motioned at the table, “I’m already done, with your and my weapons. It’s just Asin’s that are left. We’ll get yours in your workshop. Go see your daughters.”
The Slayer grinned wide again, stepping back to pick up the two sword hilts on the tables. Pushing the larger one in his waist band at his hip and holding the other in the right hand. Turning back he snorted softly at seeing the glazed look on the human, resting a hand on his head before awkwardly patting Cimon again and walking out the door the smaller man came from.
Cimon squeaked belatedly, flushing even deeper as Haco laughed.
The bigger argenta turned back to the tables, starting to subspace some of the larger, and clean, weapons. “Careful, consorts don’t really get all the action you might think they do. It’s really rare for our king.”
“Not impossible, just rare.” Asin added, the tease almost hidden fully under his even tone.
“...that’s…a thing?!”
“He is a king,” Haco snorted, grinning as wide as the Slayer had now. “War Kings are aloud the queens and a few consorts as well.”