An Unwanted Inheritance CHAPTER ONE: A Visit and a Blessing
~ 1600 words. In summary, Armani thinks about how his mom has gone missing, has lunch with a vampire, and helps out a faerie he passes on the street.
The cicadas, faeries, and the crunch of gravel under my shoes all came together to make a perfect rhythm of summer. I had my headphones on, playing absolutely nothing. My hands were in the pockets of the same cargo shorts I’d been wearing for the past Star Block. In one of the pockets was a miniature doll I’d gotten at the Ten Cent thrift store across the street from my dad’s shop. Her tiny limbs moved along with my thumb, providing me comfortable stimulation. My hair was half tied up to allow the breeze to blow the sweat on my neck dry, the other half down to preserve my luck.
I was anxious.
Every few steps, the thought resurfaced, and the step after that I buried it again.
How many weeks are there in a year?
Sixty-and-one, she made clear.
Sixty-and-one weeks.
Mom.
The gravel crunched under my sneakers to the beat that the faeries and the cicadas sang in an overwhelming hot cacophony, I buried the thought again.
Uncle Jack’s house was much closer to town than ours, just a half kilometer past the start of the gravel roads. I didn’t like the asphalt as much as I liked gravel.
His house was a huge mess of glass, wood, and brick, all positioned at weird angles, the windows much too big to be private. When I was little, I’d get in trouble for peeling chunks of red and brown from the face of the brick that ran along the bottom half of the first floor walls.
I knocked on the door and waited, pulling the iron chains of my necklace back and forth across my neck, imagining the chains rolling up the skin on the back of my neck into neat rows like dough and that there wouldn’t be a texture on the back of my neck any more.
My uncle opened the door just enough for me to step inside. “Saav’est, Armani!” He greeted, risking a hand in the sun to wave me in.
Uncle Jack was a heretic, as my dad would put it. His house was not protected by any paper charms, even the basic kind you could buy at the general store for a tile for ten peel-n’-stick ones. He kept his hair all tied in a braid, instead of sensibly down to cover his neck. That’s how it is for vampires, though. When you’re considered neither faerie nor human, it’s hard to consider the holy powers that divided the two to be worth your worship.
If you live in the city, you might think of a vampire as a guy in white face paint, hair slicked back, blood dripping from plastic fangs. Those vampires are sick as hell, don’t get me wrong, but medical vampires are an entirely different phenomenon.
Uncle Jack ruffled my hair as I came in, grinning down at me. “Y’must’ve grown three feet since I last saw you, kid,” he said.
I laughed, already on my way to the kitchen. I sat on a stool at the island.
“What’ll it be for lunch today, kid?” He asked, both hands on the counter like a bartender.
“Sure,” I said, internally sighing in relief. Safe food.
He straightened, muscles flexing under too-little flesh.
Human medical vampires are only really called vampires through old superstition. After enough exposure to raw Faren over a long period of time, humans will begin to look and behave like faeries, including pointed teeth and ears, wanting little-to-no sleep, and only being able to process Faren as real sustenance. However, as you might have figured out explosively as a kid, Faren is so unstable that keeping it around in its purest form is obnoxious. Most vampires have a permit with their local blood bank to pick up a few bags a week, because blood works as the next best thing, and is much less likely to pop like a firecracker if you jostle it too much.
A starving vampire is neither faerie nor human, though. That’s where the folklore came in.
Uncle Jack was able to keep himself well-fed and healthy, thanks to a significant salary from his employment with the Empire. I wasn’t entirely sure what he did. Probably the same everyman job most Imperial employees have. Nothing with law enforcement, despite my hopes.
Sixty-and-one-weeks.
From the back, it was difficult to tell my dad and Uncle Jack apart. They both kept their fiery red hair respectably long and groomed. Both were the same height, had the same pale-covered-in-freckles skin, even the same build. After a while, the older vampire brother and the younger human brother would meet.
You could usually identify Uncle Jack through attire, though. He wore long white fabric from top to bottom to protect his skin from the sun, complete with practical leather boots he kept well oiled and a Four Points necklace he only wore because my dad made him wound around his waist. He usually took off the top layer of fabric when he was inside, though.
Over the summer when I wasn’t at school all day, Dad sent me to Uncle Jack’s every workday for lunch to give me at least some human grown-up interaction. I didn’t necessarily mind, aside from the hot and dusty trek to and from our houses.
I watched Uncle Jack cook absentmindedly.
“A year ago today,” I said.
Uncle Jack paused, but didn’t respond. I didn’t really want him to say anything back. I just felt like acknowledging it somehow.
Vegetables flew under Uncle Jack’s knife, as if they were never one piece at all, and into the pan.
I immersed myself in the sound of vegetables sizzling in bubbling oil.
Uncle Jack asked, “What are the rest of your plans for the day?”
I shrugged. “I think I’ll go to the library with Alex and Liz if they aren’t working.”
He nodded. “We spend good tax dollars on that library.” Of course he’d think so.
“They sure pay off.”
Now the rice went in the pan. “If you pass by the shop, can you take your dad a thing of this fried rice?”
“Yeah, I will. Men need to eat.”
Not that I’d want to eat in a shop that smelled strongly of herbs and chemicals, but my dad wasn’t me.
Uncle Jack broke the eggs on the edge of the pan and dropped their contents in, breaking the yolks with the corner of his spatula. I used to yell at him for that, because it wasn’t the correct way to go about things.
The Kelly family lived on paved roads, right across from the old monotheist church. It took about half as long to walk from Uncle Jack’s to the Kelly household at night, and the same amount of time during the day, considering traffic.
I was standing at the first traffic light approaching town from the south, Dad’s lunch in hand, waiting for the pedestrian sign to switch from yellow to blue. There weren’t any cars to wait for, it just seemed wiser to wait. A faerie was across the street from me, a few paper bags in faer arms, doing the exact same thing I was.
If you’re a city kid, or an asshole, you’d probably think something like, “Isn’t that illegal?” or, “Wow, you’re so brave to step out of the house like you… are.” When you live out in the rural areas of the Hel’est’fenn empire, no one worth caring about enforces curfew laws.
This faerie presented to be about my age, maybe a year or two older, but one can never be sure of the age of faeries. Fae was furk’, with crimson skin, simple horns carved respectably smooth, breasts, and completely straight dark hair. Fae was in faer chore clothes, meaning only two or three worn skirts and bead chains worn about the waist, and a visibly bulging ves’kel’en, generally sold to humans as “pocket skirts.” Proper faerie ves’kel’en are made of several different fabric tubes sewn together, each tied off with a tight knot to keep their contents inside, and a needle stuck through if it’s particularly heavy.
As fae and I passed each other on the street, one tube’s knot came untied, releasing a long stream of soap coins tumbling to the ground.
The faerie swore, and bent to pick up the chips.
I set down Dad’s lunch box next to me and did the same, offering handfuls of square bits of soap in various colors and scents.
The both of us squatted in the street, wordlessly picking up soap coins and dropping them into the tube they were previously in.
The faerie stood, tying off the tube.
So did I, waiting for fae to send me off. One never leaves a faerie unless fae tells you to leave.
Fae nodded and smiled, exposing teeth visibly shapeshifted for hunting. “Ben’tis’niir, yul’forr’qul’est.”
For once, I recognized the line. Live well, human. A common fae parting blessing.
I nodded back. “Ten’est. Saav’est.”
The faerie laughed, visibly amused. “Bul’gen saav’gav’niir?”
I froze. My knowledge of Fae’liis’en was rudimentary, especially considering my proximity to the Fae and my dad’s profession. In other words, I had no idea what in the name of the Void the faerie just said.
The faerie tilted faer head. “Know Fae’liis’en?”
I grimaced, and held up two pinched fingers, shaking my head.
Fae nodded understandingly, and finally started on faer way toward the edge of town, waving a parting greeting.
I waved back, continuing along the sidewalk toward my dad’s shop.
When I put my hand into the pocket containing my tiny doll, I found a miniature string of beads and a green slip of paper, with the symbol for language, learning, and eagerness or speed. Thanks, mystery faerie. Pretty funny.
aaa tasty writing excerpt from An Unwanted Inheritance under the readmore! Not very long, maybe a couple hundred words.
I don’t think there’s any triggers, I just didn’t wanna make a long post lol
It was only about halfway through class with Adaiba—dueling, again—when I realized that Faarius looked so much different than usual because he’d switched out his usual short robes at his hips for long winter skirts. The fabric billowed out like an agitated cat every time I tried to land one hit in and he inevitably, gracefully, cooly parried it.
“Nice try!” he’d always assure me, “center gravity more,” or, “try not to pre-swing so much.”
Despite how kind he spoke to me, there was always something in his eyes when we sparred. Not anger, nor determination, or frustration. This intense focus that changed his face entirely. Every time I looked into his eyes I knew, I knew, I knew, Faarius was built for battle a hundredfold more than I ever could. He was a Furk’Faerie, after all.
Faarius landed a good whack on the side of my ribs, and I hit the ground again, cold, dead grass poking at my arms in every way I hated.
He bent to look at me, offering his hand. “Sorry.”
I grimaced as my leg twisted, tugging at the scars on my legs. “It’s fine.”
“Class is over!” Adaiba announced, “You’re all dismissed! Please leave your tools where they are.”
Tools, I thought sourly, allowing Faarius to pull me to my feet. It didn’t seem difficult for him. These aren’t tools, they’re weapons. A hammer is a tool.
Faarius wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we walked. “You’re improving!”
I laughed nervously, keeping my eyes firmly on the ground. “Y’think so?”
“Ay, I mean it!”
“Thanks.”
I found myself pressing my shoulder against Faarius as he walked, and he held me closer. I was cold, and deeply regretted leaving my hoodie in my backpack.
I started with an open tag from @mysticstarlightduck !!
My words: lovely, sheer, tiresome, manic
Tagging: @unethicallypleistocene , @canwriteitbetterthanueverfeltit , @transmasc-wizard , and making this an open tag!!
Your words: Line, funk, wrist, giggle
My excerpts are under the cut!
Love(ly) From I Made This Playlist For You
He sighed, looking down at the book he brought to entertain himself. The premise was cheesy, chock-full of romance tropes bound to lure in the bored women usually within its demographic. The cover was long since bent and cracked with abuse. If he squinted he could ignore the water damage.
He opened its pages, instantly finding comfort within its simple prose and talldarkhandsome men with endearing secret lives. Just for a moment, if he ran his eyes over the words woman or she, and he separated himself from his body and his personhood, he could imagine himself with a man like that. Then the moment passed, and he was back to laughing at quippy dialogue and tearing up when one of two love interests saved a kitten from the cold rain.
Sheer
He couldn’t think of a different frequency to try. Sure, he could go through all of the available frequencies one by one, but he wasn’t enthusiastic about the sheer amount of useless data that would create.
Think, man, think. What else did he know about the Cluster?
The Cluster was not a creature known for its beauty, at least in the same way the algae blooms of Alpha-Centauri were. Their colors were dull, each individual formed out of gnarled minerals harvested from Saturn’s rings and Jupiter’s moons. Different Cluster colonies had been found in other star systems, larger and more unified. Sol’s, in comparison, was disorganized.
No, no, radio signals. Surely he knew something else about that.
Tiresome : I checked all of my documents, and I swear I couldn't find the word. :(
Manic From An Unwanted Inheritance
I’m sure that you can imagine that of the many activities I would rather be doing, being in the backseat of an unknown classmate’s car at nine in the evening was not one of them. Granted, it was a nice car; an expensive looking hybrid electronic/Farenal engine SUV, with a well-manicured leather interior and uncomfortable bench seats.
In the driver’s seat was a polite-looking kid I recognized as one of Aaron’s usal group of friends, and in the backseat next to me was Faarius. My backpack was securely in my lap.
CHAPTER THREE of An Unwanted Inheritance: Speculation and Prediction.
~ 1k words. Armani goes to the library, peoplewatches, and talks a little to the reader about his mother.
Libraries are living things. Not in the poetic sense humans referred to them long before properly interacting with faeries, but quite literally alive. Faren rushes through their walls. They get angry when their insides grow stagnant. It’s for this reason, among many, that it only costs thirty cents for a library card, and late fees are only five cents. The libraries need to be entertained.
Despite how easy it is to describe them as looming, gloomy affairs, the library was also the best place to be if it was summer, you hated the heat, and had friends who at the very least wanted to check out the periodical section.
Alex and I sighed with relief as we entered through the airlock, allowing the cool, paper-scented air to wash over us. We stood just like that in the lobby for a moment, before going about our business.
I returned the books I’d already finished to the re-shelving cart. Alex approached the librarian at the counter to check on a book he had on hold. He and I both looked at the summer recommended reading display in the middle of the lobby. We dragged each other to look at the nonfiction section for each of our separate interests. We flipped through an encyclopedia of fungi together, gawking at mushrooms and mold and close-ups of spores. Alex checked the flyers section for a fiber arts competition he’d heard about at the post office once and never again. I checked the flyers section for a doll exhibition I wanted to visit. We checked the physical media section for music we could copy onto our computers and move to our phones. We checked out our books. We found a cozy spot to sit, right between the reference and romance sections. We read.
Peace is easy to disturb, when it is found in a place everyone else has access to.
After the first ten pages of a terrible novel I picked up, someone sat at one of the worktables parallel to ours.
I looked up briefly.
Behind Alex’s head and the remarkably large, square book he was reading, I caught sight of overstyled blonde hair.
I promptly looked back down at the novel in my hands and hoped the stranger from Dad’s shop hadn’t seen me.
Alex lowered his book just enough to look at me. “What is it?” He whispered. We were already whispering, it was a library after all, but this was a whisper for secrets instead of a whisper for volume.
“Guy I met at the shop. Horrible. Don’t need to talk to him.”
He didn’t need to talk to me, either. I watched him check something out at the counter, talking just too loud with the librarian. He left promptly, leaving behind the smell of manly-scented products.
Alex and I made eye contact. “Suppose he just recently moved in?” He asked.
“I hope not. I barely said ten words to him, and he managed to be rude throughout that whole conversation.”
“Impressive. Maybe he’s a tourist.”
“Maybe.”
Dad clapped a hand on my shoulder to greet me. I jumped, slapping my book shut. “Saav’est. Thanks for bringing me lunch, ‘Maa’ni.”
I looked up at him, shrugged. “No problem. I was going to stop by the shop anyway.”
“I thought you were going to hang out with Alex today?”
“I was. He had to go home to do more post office work.”
“He’s a busy kid.”
Dad sat down next to me on the couch I’d migrated to—an old leather thing someone donated. “Watcha got to read?”
I held up the cover to show him. He examined it, nodded. “Seems interesting enough.”
I shrugged. “Keeps me entertained.”
He nodded again, offering no response. He didn’t need to.
I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I didn’t know what to do with my eyes. I stared straight ahead and squeezed one hand between the book’s pages.
“It’s been a year,” I said.
I wanted him to respond. I wanted him to offer something fatherly and warm.
Dad inhaled deeply. “The wounds will heal, but they will leave scars,” he recited. Scroll seven, chapter three: The Crow and her Chicks.
I nodded. My vision grew foggy and wet. It didn’t feel like I’d done much healing at all, really. Every time I opened my web-mail to learn that the police had done nothing to find my mom, my mom, I was scratching the scabs on my knees.
He sat up straighter and pulled me into a one-armed hug. “We love her still.”
I nodded again.
I was seven years old. I watched my mom kiss a man I’d been reluctant to call dad in a kitchen that wasn’t familiar to me as he stirred a pot of something I had never tasted. I couldn’t remember any other kitchen, or any more familiar food. My mom smiled at me. What a wonderful man we’ve found ourselves, my ‘Maa’ni. When you cut the first syllable off my name, it meant priest-ruler in Faelic. She wasn’t religious, but she said the name suited me.
Dad clapped my shoulder again and stood. “Curry for dinner?”
“Sure. Sounds tasty.”
I was fifteen now, sitting in the same kitchen, watching the same man cook the same dish. The room felt too large without her.
My dad and I knelt in front of the stone idol we’d erected in her name behind the house. The Fae and the cicadas and the crickets sung all around us. We left an offering of a few beads, a few pieces of soap, and a bowl of curry. Dad prayed aloud for the both of us, his voice echoing into the warm, sticky night.
I stood in a field, the same Star I’d always known reclining before me in his throne of gold and iron. The wind whipped my hair left and right, little droplets of water stinging my eyes.
The Star grinned, took a draw from his long, thin pipe. “Your luck will come in due time, Maa’nin’en.”
I jolted awake in bed, squeezing my stuffed wolf. I groaned and rolled over to go back to sleep. Stars were so… You know. Starrish. All cryptic.
An android in an overgrown apocalypse picks up a terrarium and ponders about it for a while.
I wrote this in 2022 and haven’t done anything significant with it since, but I figured I’d slap it here.
No significant warnings I can think of to apply here, but it does talk about humanity as a general theme.
WORDCOUNT - 4.7k
The android sighed internally, turning over a moldy desk. Today’s building, an office building, had long since been raided of everything useful, down to the last paperclip. Legs of wheelchairs were piled up in one corner, and the remnants of a fort built out of desks creaked ominously as the wind blew through them. Grass poked out determinedly between lines of carpet, swaying in the breeze, and the scent of must and long-expired air freshener hung heavily in the air.
The android turned over another rotten office desk, more respecting the supply combing ritual than expecting to find anything. Something clinked dully inside a side drawer as it fell to the side. Crack, one three-fingered hand shot through the damp wood and gripped the object. No respect was afforded to useless objects. The android withdrew the object, shaking splinters out of its joints, and scanned the thing.
No results- try again, or change your search.
The android tried again.
No results- try again, or change your search.
The android scanned the glass.
No results- try again, or change your search.
The android scanned the odd plant life inside.
No results- YES, YES, TRY AGAIN OR CHANGE MY SEARCH.
If I had a cup of water for every time I’ve read that message, I’d be richer than… well, everyone, I suppose. The android thought frustratedly.
Still, the object interested the android. It was a rounded glass bottle, with pebbles, dirt, and short, tangled plants arranged in neat little layers. It was no larger than the broken “soda” cans the android scavenged for and recycled. A crumbling cork was shoved into the opening, and a loop of leather cord was wrapped just under the rim and tied in a tight bow. Years of being left in the sun had left the cord sun bleached and molded into itself.
The android shook its head, dumbfounded. Who would put plants like these in a bottle? Sunlight outlined the side of the glass in one golden ray of light. The android’s eye shutters dilated.
The odd glass bottle clinked and tinked inside the android’s back against its hip as it walked into the sun. Another building to cross out on the faded map on the wall at home. Another building, empty. The sun was lower in the sky now, turning the clouds shades of pink and orange. Wind blew this way and that. It would rain the next day. Good.
Bits of asphalt crumbled under the android’s feet as it walked; one bowed leg in front the other. The city was so quiet you could hear your motors whine and your circuits breathe. It was.
Two human children passed by, followed by an old human and a just-barely-adult. The android waved shyly, imitating the gesture Moss demonstrated every evening when it returned home. The children waved back with a shrill squeal of delight. The old human smiled at the android. The teenager glared, shoving the children along.
Understandably, of course. The android thought, hurrying on by, further into the sun.
Towering skeletons of skyscrapers turned into crumbling houses. Unlike the main city, these were more densely populated with humans. Fewer androids resided there, so they felt safer. The android turned its head down to the concrete roads and ran through, each step a smooth, perfectly engineered word in a synthetic song.
Pastel colored houses flew by, along with the waving children inside them. If the android hadn’t stayed so late, it would have considered playing with them. Maybe tomorrow, it sighed, waving back. The same excuse as always.
Soon the suburbs turned into scattered bungalows, and the crumbling concrete roads led into gravel, slowly being reclaimed by the forest floor. A little light blinked somewhere in the android’s internal wires: 50% power left in its battery. Already? I charged it just last month…
Only a sliver of the sun remained on its horizon by the time the android returned to its home. The forest around Moss’s old, dilapidated, lab. Moss themself, a lanky teenager in their customary slightly-too-big worn out cargo pants and slightly-too-small undershirt, stood expectantly in the vegetable patch out in front. A basket--- the first of many that Moss had made over the years, hung over their arm. It contained the dark outline of some spring vegetables.
“How’d it go?” They asked. No Greeting.
The android shook its faceless head. “Nothing again?”
Moss sighed and turned around, gesturing for the android to follow them inside.
Despite having been there for a solid ten years with no professional maintenance, the lab was still in surprisingly good shape. Fans blew on the two as they walked into the house, both blowing off any dust and bugs that may have been stuck on and cooling off the android’s plates, warm from the sun. Light panels turned on as the android hung its satchel on a hook right by the door and tread into the sanitation station. Granted, the sanitation station was meant for the user---probably a scientist--- to put a cart full of dirty equipment, close the door, wait for a ridiculous three minutes, and retrieve some perfectly sanitized and sterile beakers, tiny tweezers, et cetera. However, after many accidental sprays in the face from unruly hoses (and even more words that shall not be repeated), Moss managed to rig up a button inside the station for the android to press after its daily outings. Never know what one could accidentally pick up in the city, right?
The android counted the 180 seconds it took for it to be sterilized, and thought about the odd little bottle it found. There are many questions for one who has just found an unidentified object. What is it for?, for example. Or, if it’s dirty or outdated enough, how old is it? But the android asked one agonizing why. Why would you want to bottle up something so mundane?
An obnoxious ding! sounded from inside the station somewhere. The android left the little room, steaming a little at the shoulders.
Moss was already in the kitchen. Something that smelled of roots and herbs was already boiling on the stove--- solar, of course, they weren’t animals. Moss was slicing some of the bread they had made a few days prior with an only mildly threatening knife, which is not to be confused with a very threatening knife. Those are more often shoved into something you have more emotional attachment to than a slightly stale half loaf of bread.
Neither android nor human spoke as Moss cooked. If you have nothing to say, don’t say anything. The sun had fully set, now, and the faint tap-tap-tap of the sprinkles before rainfall made pleasant white noise.
“See any people today?” Moss asked, sitting on a counter stool with a bowl of carrot-sage-cauliflower soup balanced on one knee and a hunk of bread on the other.
The android nodded.
“Any kids?”
The android nodded again, more vigorously.
Moss grinned. “Cool. Kids are good to have.”
They brushed a stray chunk of brown, unwashed hair from their eyes and continued attending to their soup.
As you may understand, conversations are rather hard to maintain when one of you can’t communicate outside of gestures, and the other prefers not to talk unless there’s something important to say. In fact, the lab was often rather quiet. It wasn’t an uneasy silence, waiting for the other to acknowledge something rather urgent, nor was it a tense silence, where the both of you have agreed not to talk as to keep an argument resolved. It was a comfortable silence, in which both parties simply enjoyed the other’s company.
Moss furrowed their eyebrows together. “Any idea how the lady down south with the chickens is doing?”
The android nodded.
“Is she alright? Or at least her chickens?”
The android held up one finger for the lady and nodded yes, and a two and a yes for the chickens.
“Good. I may go down there tomorrow to get a few. Protein is important.”
The android didn’t respond. Both knew that was an objective fact.
“Plus, with chickens you can get their eggs, the meat, the bones for stock, and I can use the feathers for more writey-thingies.
Pens, probably, but more likely a quill. The android thought. It wished once again it could correct Moss.
Moss sipped on their soup again thoughtfully. “You sure you didn’t find anything useful?”
The android shook its head.
“Dang. How about things that aren’t useful?”
Oh! If an android could move excitedly, this one did. It retrieved its bag and pulled out the odd bottle, holding it out for Moss like a small child might show another child a cool bug.
Moss’s face lit up. “Interesting! What is it?”
The android shrugged. No clue.
“Couldn’t even scan it?”
Not at all, the archives are frustratingly bare, the android shook its head and held out its arms exasperatedly.
“Dude, again?” Moss laughed, “Jeez, you can barely scan anything.”
Exactly!
Every night, once Moss had gone to bed, the android would have the house to itself, provided it didn’t wake the human. This wasn’t a difficult task; the lab’s bedroom was soundproofed well enough that nightly shenanigans went unnoticed. It could pretend to sleep too, but there was no use to that when you aren’t a sleep-needing creature.
Every night, the android stood in the middle of the living room and decided what it would spend the next 7-12 hours doing. There was laundry to be done, dings in tables to be repaired, rain barrels to be emptied… And the bottle. It’s decided, the android thought, much like every night, grabbing it from the counter and inspecting the bookshelf. Any and all machinery books were almost assuredly out. So were the user manuals for the assorted pieces of equipment in the lab. Cookbooks, household-tips-and-tricks-books, comic books deprived from a final update…
There were only two books left; a book on cheap DIY gardening, and another book about something the android’s archive yet again couldn’t identify. The android pulled out the botany book and started skimming the pages. It was well worn, bound more like a magazine than a true book. The android turned the pages as gently as its motors would allow, careful not to let the paper crumble in its fingers. Moss would have gotten upset if any more paper had fallen apart.
Tomatoes, basil, mint, mint removal, de-lawning your lawn, this is all outside information.
The android shook its head and re-shelved the book. Maybe the mystery book would have something. Off the top of its head, the android couldn’t recognize the plants shown. All that was there were the common name of the unknown plants and information on care.
No results- try again, or change- goodness! This is practically useless, I can’t read anything in here.
The android huffed internally. There wasn’t enough information to add new entries into its archive, either. Wind howled outside, throwing sheets of rain against the windows. No respect afforded to useless objects, the android thought, returning the book to its place on the shelf. It would consult with Moss about the book in the morning, whenever that would come.
A light blinked again in the android’s side view. 50% power.
“Mmmh…” Moss muttered, apparently in the doorway.
The android spun around, rapidly changing from confused to concerned to an acknowledgement of mundanity. Moss was sleepwalking again. They stood stock-still and stared at something unseen in the living room, lips moving wordlessly. It would have been unnerving, if the android felt such an emotion.
The android pondered why Moss had been sleepwalking more as of late as it guided Moss to the bathroom. One would think that sixteen years would be a bit old for sleepwalking, but when they were properly conscious Moss asserted it wasn’t uncommon in humans. The android could not say otherwise.
It was always odd, watching Moss sleepwalk. Their face was so devoid of thought that it was easy to believe Moss has never been so confident in their faux-intelligence.
Once Moss was back in bed and the door was shut tight, the android went back to the bookshelf. It frowned internally at the spines. Surely there was something else, right?
“Hey, any idea what this thing is?” Moss held out the odd bottle to the fifth mall settler in twenty minutes.
For the fifth time, the human shrugged.
For the fifth time, the android followed Moss as they walked away to the next person. “Thanks anyway!” They said for the fifth time, frustratingly cheerful.
If the android could speak, it would probably have yelled something less-than-corporate-setting-appropriate by now. So many humans here, and none of them know what this thing is?
The android straightened its bag strap for the umpteenth time and focused on each step, one after another. The mall settlement was unusually active for a group of humans. Humans bustled about, carrying water and meat and children and things the android couldn’t quite scan. The android looked down at the crumbling tile, waving to a child no more than five as it walked by. Rather than waving back, the kid ran in the other direction.
Moss kept an iron grip on the side of their pants as they asked the sixth person about the terrarium. This human was on the much older side, with suntanned skin and intimidatingly clear eyes.
They took one look at the bottle and grinned. “Ah, that’s a terrarium! Y’put dirt n’ moss n’ all that, keep the bottle shut and it’ll live practically forever.”
The android frantically made a new entry in its archive.
The old human handed the bot---, no, terrarium back to Moss.
“Is there anything I’ll need to do to maintain it?” Moss asked, shoving the terrarium into a side pocket in their pants.
“Not much; jes’ water it if it looks dry n’ trim it if it looks overgrown.”
The android opened a care tab.
If the android compiled a list of the times it wished it could talk, this would be at the top.. Why? The android screamed within its circuitry. Why would you want to bottle moss?
As many of you know, light from the sun travels thousands of miles through space before it reaches earth. This fact made it all the more frustrating to the android that Moss managed to hold up the terrarium exactly so the sun reflected into the android’s eyes.
“Where do you think I should put this?” Moss asked--- rhetorically, of course.
On the windowsill, in the sun. Plants like sun.
“One of the shelves might work. Moss grows in dark places, right?”
I can’t confirm nor deny.
Moss walked stiff-legged, like a toy soldier. When the discs scattered around the lab still worked, Moss watched an odd movie about a toy soldier coming to life over and over. The android couldn’t quite understand the appeal, but it saw no harm in it. Years later, Moss still referenced that movie just when it had left both their and the android’s thoughts.
The android was grateful to reach the forest just outside their lab. Anything was better than the expansive silence of the suburbs.
Hidden in the trees, cicadas sang their buzzy end-of-summer song, punctuated with the crunches of their dead brethren under the android’s feet. Moss stepped carefully around them.
You’re slowing us down, the android thought bitterly. It made no gesture.
Moss held the terrarium in both hands the entire walk home. By the time the pair had reached their home, the terrarium’s glass had two overlapping hand shaped prints on either side.
As the android entered the dark lab again, it couldn’t help but wonder why its hands did not make the same prints when it gripped the bottle.
“Any day now I’ll get this thing fixed, and you and I can go wherever we want,” Moss muttered, cursing as their wrench fell on their face again.
The android watched from a few feet away as the human worked under the solar car. It sighed internally and nodded.
On one of the few remaining computers left in the lab--- a clunky old thing--- blared music from its perch on the workbench. Moss sung along under their breath, mumbling every other word.
“After this---” Moss gave the bolt one last triumphant twist and wriggled themself out from under the car, “all I’ll have to do is replace the charging panels, find some of that one-way paint, paint the thing, fix the trunk lock, find the keys…” Moss went on, counting their ever-lengthening to-do list on their fingers.
They sighed and leaned their head against the side of the door, grinning weakly. “But that’s only, what, nine things? Only four more until five things.”
The android nodded.
“Besides, it’s not like anyone’s waiting for me,” Moss added bitterly.
...I suppose I don’t count, then.
Moss straightened in one swoop, leaning back to crack their spine back into place. “Well! Dinner?”
The android turned to head back inside. “What are you thinking? Rehydrated chicken, veggies, fish, what?”
The android did not reply.
Moss trotted up next to the android and looked expectantly at it.
Both stopped walking and stared at each other, the android much more confused than its human. Neither said anything.
Moss shrugged. “Eh, I’ll just do the chicken. I don’t feel like going out to fish, anyway.”
It was about eleven in the evening, and Moss still refused to leave one of the lab rooms. They kept the door locked and the glass frosted. The android paced around the house impatiently. Any and all housework that it normally would have done to keep itself busy had been finished hours ago.
Faintly, something crackled, a hot blue light flickering from somewhere in the lab room.
“What in the frick frack snick snack…” Moss muttered.
The android finally knocked, three even, impatient metallic taps with one knuckle.
“Coming!”
There was some banging and the sound of falling parts, then the minute beep of the lock as Moss slid the door open on its rails. “What’s up?” They kept their body in between the door and its frame, so the android couldn’t look past them.
The android gestured vaguely at the room behind Moss.
“It’s a secret,” Moss said, smirking. “I’ll show you when it’s finished, though.”
They pushed past, carefully shutting the door so not to let the android see.
Moss pointed in between the android’s cameras. “Don’t go peeking, either! It’s a surprise.”
The android nodded, disappointed.
Once twilight had faded and Moss had retired to their bedroom, the android returned to the lab room. When it tried the door, it was surprisingly unlocked. The android winced as the sliding door scratched on its rails, glancing toward Moss’s room before stepping in.
Light from the hallway cast an eerie shadow against the equipment in the lab room. I’m not afraid, though, The android assured itself, fear is only a human emotion.
Every whirr of the android’s motors, every soft squeak of rubber was its own cacophony. Nothing about the lab room seemed different compared to when the android had last visited. Granted, the android did not keep accurate memory of how the lab room was arranged.
It stepped carefully between tables and around stray pieces of twisted metal, but with a microphone-shattering CRASH, the android tripped on something huge and boxy, knocking over one of the workbenches scattered haphazardly around the room.
Somewhere in the house, a lightswitch was flipped. Oh, no.
Moss padded through the doorway, stepping carefully around fallen parts. “You’re probably the only impatient robot I’ve ever heard of.”
The android sat up guiltily. No warning lights flickered in the corner of its vision--- it would take more than that to even seriously hurt a human--- but the indignity of being an impatient robot hurt more than any burst tubes or split armor plates.
Moss sighed, squatting down next to the android. “I can show you now if you really want.”
The android nodded quickly.
Moss turned the box around to face the android. “Here, let me get a cord…” they muttered, standing and rummaging through another pile of parts on a close workbench.
The box’s blank screen warped the android’s reflection. It stared back, puzzled. The object wasn’t a computer.
No results- try again, or change your search.
Moss flipped open the cover of a port on the android’s neck and plugged the cord in, then knelt and plugged the other end into the object.
Please wait, setting up device.
A long-dead company’s logo flashed on the screen, and the device played an out-of-tune jingle.
“Welcome to our new and improved Annndro-communicatooor!” the narrator sounded more like a sports announcer than a tutorial for a new device.
An obnoxious airhorn sound effect played, and the narrator continued, slightly more professionally. “With this revolutionary technology, it takes seconds to communicate with your beloved androids!”
The logo was replaced with a fake child’s drawing of a little girl holding hands with an android. “Here’s how it works: you plug in the wire to start talking to your android. And that’s it! Easy as anything. Go ahead, try to say something.”
The android furrowed its eyebrows internally. “...Hello?” An outdated synthetic voice sounded from the device.
“Good job!” the narrator encouraged. “Now, are there any questions you’ve been meaning to ask your android, but couldn’t get an answer?”
Moss rolled their eyes.
“Try asking your android a question! Something simple, for now.”
“Uh… How are you?” Moss tried.
“Fine.” The synthetic voice replied.
“Faaantastic! How about you, dear android, do you have any burning questions?”
“Burning questions…” the synthetic voice repeated.
The android’s mind wandered back to the steamy prints left on the terrarium, the garden out front for dinners, Moss snoring loudly in the middle of the night. The android looked down at its own hands, large and smooth, two fingers and a thumb folded politely together.
“I don’t know,” the android admitted defeatedly. “I suppose I’ll come back later.”
Rain tapped gently against the android’s plates as it walked through the forest. Moss had declared the day a rest day, and encouraged the android to come up with a good question to ask through the speaking machine.
The android opened a new document in the back of its circuits, leaving the cursor to blink expectantly on its empty page.
A frog dashed out of the way of the android’s foot, paused to look up, then continued its way across the gravel road. Leaves sang as the rain passed through them.
The android stopped and stared up at the rain, allowing the droplets to land on its face, sensationless. It recalled Moss running to get out of the rain, even when it was only drizzling. The cursor flew across its document as the android added a note and turned to head home.
Moss was in the garage again, working with a bent coat hanger to open one of the solar car doors.
“You gotta open it gently, can’t brute force it,” they explained.
The android nodded absentmindedly.
Judging by the model, this car probably came out before there were the good navigation systems--- the kind that just told you where to go, rather than taking you there. The android wondered whether, if Moss ever finished the car, it would be able to converse with Moss in the same way that the android did.
“Hah!” The car door popped open with a hydraulic hiss. “Sweet, I didn’t even think that’d work!”
Moss clambered in, slapping the seats. “We won’t even have to reupholster these, this is great!”
The android leaned its head to the side, peering in from the top of the door. If you had take one of those crazy old fashioned esports setups and made it into a car interior, the result would be this thing. The decor had a diverse color palette of neon green and black. Moss smacked the dashboard, and, thankfully, it did not blare to life as the android imagined it would. “Whoever left it here prolly killed the battery on purpose, so that no one else would be able to use it,” Moss explained as they began to open compartments.
Killed. The android lingered on the word. Batteries died, yes, but it was hard to think that they would be killed.
Still, would I be killed if my battery died? Or would it only be the battery…
Moss cursed as they banged their head on the roof.
Moss certainly would if, one of their organs died, but would I?
Other machines certainly aren’t the same when their batteries are replaced, but would I-
A red light blinked in the corner of the android’s vision.
The android sank to the floor.
Low battery, less than 1% remaining.
Checking for updates, please wait…
…
…
…
No updates detected.
Rebooting…
The android’s cameras blinked to life. It was slumped in the lab room, a thick charging cable shoved into a port in its back. Moss sat across from it, tapping their hands anxiously on their legs.
“Ack, thank heck. I really started to think you were a goner,” Moss exclaimed, crashing forward onto the android and hugging its huge torso.
The android awkwardly wrapped its arms around Moss’s thin frame.
The two only rested there for a moment before Moss unfolded their arms and leaned back to grab the robot’s voice.
“Here,” they said, leaning the android’s head forward to plug the voice in, “Talk to me.”
The android stared forward at Moss blankly.
Storage failed to recover.
Retrieving backup…
…
…
Moss’s face cinched, tears welling up in their eyes.
…
Backup retrieved.
Installing...
“How long was I…” the android hesitated, “My battery, dead?”
The synthetic voice’s cold tone seemed to relax Moss a bit.
“Probably a few hours. You’re still running on fumes, though, so we’ll have to hang out until you’re fully charged again.” Moss tapped the android’s chest, where its battery layed.
Several windows opened at the back of the android’s mind, programs looking for updates and notes it had left open. The last to pop up was a document bluntly named Question.txt.
“What’s the difference between me and, well, everything else?” The android gestured vaguely.
Moss furrowed their eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I know that you and I are different because we’re made of different pieces, but why am I different than any other thing made of metal parts?” the android meant to speak slowly, but the words were instead spaced out rather than played slower.
“Because you’re a person, I figure.” Moss shrugged, unconcerned.
The android rested its chin in its palm. “What makes a person a person? Or a living thing alive?”
Moss furrowed their eyebrows. “Living is easier, normally it’s just whether or not it’s organic or synthetic. But a person…” They shook their head. “That’s kind of a weird one.”
“It is. But what is a person?” The android pressed, wishing that the synthetic voice could speak louder than a corporately uninteresting volume.
“Anyone that has its own agency and can make decisions, I guess. So as long as the android can make its own decisions---which is already what an android would be--- it’s a person. But then…” Moss trailed off.
“There isn’t a great line between machines and androids,” the android finished.
Moss frowned. “Why do you ask? And, followup question, where do you think the line is?” they asked quickly.
“I was curious what your opinion was, and I think that the line doesn’t have much practical application past the question of agency,” the android answered, almost systematically. “I do think that distinction is important to people, in various levels of power, but there’s no inherent line.”
“So it would be case-to-case? Like, depending on what you’re using it for and all that.”
“Yes, but it also matters on whether the… individual… cares necessarily about their category.”
Moss raised their eyebrows. “Other followup question, do you care?”
The android shrugged. “No, they’re only really words to me. As long as they’re polite to me, I feel no need to make a distinction.”
“Good to know- wait, if it’s an identity, does that mean that I could be an android?”
The android pondered for a moment. “If you felt like it, I don’t see a reason not to. Identities are only words to sort things, so you could use whatever you really felt fit.”
February 23 2023 writing update - An Unwanted Inheritance
This school year has been frustratingly filled with classes. Because of this, I have found little correlating time and spoons to actually write anything. However, recently I have found myself in an uptick!
Current wordcount - 84.7k
Current place in story - Middle of the Subversion: shit that isn’t just setup is HAPPENING!
Lots of hospital and psychosis themes, along with trying desperately to remember trauma that’s long since been lost to time.
...And magic. Always magic.
Excerpt below the cut!
Wordcount is 209.
Expect vivid depictions of hospital themes, medical abuse, melting down, and injury.
Usually, something more interesting would happen when Faren is accidentally unleashed in a moment of distress.
I was very fortunate to only have to deal with an explosion.
The nurse was slumped against the wall. Red bloomed through the white fabric surrounding their face.
My bed was unharmed, aside from a little warping.
The plastic handcuffs around my wrists were hot, and therefore soft.
I tugged out my arms, cringing away from the searing pain, and sat up expectantly.
Nothing happened. The nurse whined and slumped over, smearing fresh blood along the wall as they went. The lights buzzed faintly.
I clambered out of the medical bed, picked a direction, and started down the hallway, stumbling as I walked.
"Get help," I muttered to the nurse.
The lights buzzed faintly.
I walked in short bursts, every couple of steps stopping to lean against the wall and catch my breath. Now that my legs were getting used, they burned burned burned burned.
Footsteps, approaching at a leisurely walk.
The lights buzzed faintly.
I glanced behind me, squinting. I couldn't see anyone.
