#ether higgs

[ifridiot]

Golem!verse Fic: Dreams

@micerhat @asktheappraiser

Shi dreams.

Prudence is a blot of black Indian ink against the flow of the river, just another wave breaking on the shore. She flounders, lost. He's there to reach for her, standing on the bank. He is a hero. Prudence is his princess, his mystery, his dream that he's dreaming about in shades of navy and black and baited waiting.

He picks up her and feels the weight, the water sluicing off that thick coat in light-sparkled streams that only make her more beautiful. She smiles. She's been there all along, just for him, the treasure at the end of the rainbow and nothing – not politics or cops or crazy bosses – stood in their way. "I could walk to forever if I were by your side," she murmurs, pressing against him and right in all the soft places. She's not a prize; she's the battle's victory.

"Forever," Shi says, and he can't even imagine it. For the first time he can smell the sweetness on her, that edge of bitter chems and crisp autumns, and her color has never seemed more vivid. Her hands are heavy in his own, the wrinkles of her fingers from soaking too long like baby flesh on his own tanned wrists. They are both sparkling like the gods, ever clear, ever beautiful in this moment.

He knows he's dreaming. It's not real, it's just another thing to forget in the morning. He knows all that, and still Shi can't bring himself to close his eyes when he leans forward to kiss her.

--

Shi dreams.

The curve of the golden cup looks sharp enough to break skin - he doesn't want to touch it, even as much as he'd love to drink from it. The drink is silky, vibrantly green; just a shade away from glowing acid and that makes his lips tingle for its tartness. Across from the table, cloaking the setting sun's light like a cape, Ether is smiling tenderly.

"You should drink," the Chimera murmurs, but her mouth doesn't move. There is a brightness to her that hurts Shi’s eyes.

Shi doesn't want to appear a coward, or greedy, so he only shakes his head. He won't slice himself trying to grip it. He won't reach, won't do anything but stare out of the corner of his eye, always wanting, always needing.

"It's a beautiful piece of life," Ether states softly, and picks up the chalice before Shi can say anything to bring him away. Thick rivulets of verdant flake off of her knuckles like snow onto the yellow tablecloth. "It makes anyone who drinks it as powerful as a Chimera. Not painlessly, of course, but the reward… well. Would you care for a sip, sweet brother?"

Shame has clogged up his esophagus; there will be no wine for Shi today. When he knocks it out of Ether’s hold, the wine spills on the table, but he doesn’t care – he is already stretched out with his fists caught in Ether’s, her dragging them into the sunlight, pulling them together, because his heart burns and there is no quenching something with another fire, just more pain, just Ether still smiling like that against his forehead, blessing, blessing, damned, a kiss.

"You were never made to be like me," Ether whispers, and Shi feels the forgiveness brushing his skin. He wonders if he's always been crying like this.

--

Shi dreams.

"I've kept a thousand recipes for success, for power, for love," His father is telling him, matter-of-fact and confident. Beneath them, the world is just another ripple in the blackness. Shi wants to pay attention, but he can't stop staring at it. If he looks away, it may vanish. "They're all as flawed as the next, of course, but it's not like real life is any better. The whole goddamn world is as helpless as an infant when it comes to finding anything everyone thinks they want. Or rather, infants are the best at it. Synthetics and Organics, it's all the same."

He can feel the cold of space numbing his kneecaps, the fleshy weight to his thighs, the tip of his nose. Freezing over. Shi remembers the winter wind of the upper strats, and it felt like this so very long ago.

"I've ruined everything for myself," he recalls, reaching to touch the little rings expanding under his toes. The earth isn't brown and green and blue like he'd always thought, but a pleasant and pink-edged color that isn't anything one way or the other. It's living, Shi thinks, and feels warm.

"You should remember this," Paul confides, "when you wake up. I never share my secrets with anyone but the worthy, you know." And then he proceeds to tell Shi something that fixes him inside, could fix everything, and that he forgets the second he opens his eyes.

--

Shi dreams.

The sea is before him, calm and tipped gold. Shi can catch the scent of salt on the wind, can feel the dwelling cushion of thousands of feet deep into the ground from the ocean - it's like sleeping, he thinks drowsily, and lets his cheek fall to the sand.

Next to him, Gage is watching the sky.

He's dreaming. So it can't hurt to ask. "Do you ever think we'll be right? I mean, that we'll be okay? Everything will be okay?"

It takes a while before Gage answers, and when he does it's slow, travels across lands and the sea to whatever's out there without any effort. "I had a dream once," he says, "and I had the answer. I kept it close."

Shi's heart jumps. "What was it? You can sell it for pennies or wishes. You could sell it to me." Except he wouldn't take it because, honestly, Gage needs it more and Shi is only greedy when it doesn't matter most.

Gage smiles; it's real and slow and something Shi's never seen before. "If I offered to break it in half with you, to share, would you have what it takes to buy it?"

"Ah, so that’s how it is," Shi huffs, and can't look away from it. He wonders if he's always laughed so utterly honestly as this.

--

He can always tell he's dreaming because everything feels like it's real, like he's awake and moving in regular motion, regular time, and he can feel the pump of his blood and the sour backwash of his breath. But reality isn't like that, so very real, it's more of a delayed twist to the gut that hits him twice before he can begin to recover - he doesn't taste what he inhales, he doesn't hear the exposition of his life bubbling in his chest. It's filmier sights, and mistakes, and listening for the things he won't hear.

When he dreams, Shi gets everything right. A well-rehearsed play perfectly executed on stage, none of it meaning anything, each word on target. The guy gets the girl, the evil is bade to sleep, tights don't chafe and swords don't stain. He figures out the moral lesson and straightens himself out - the deep brown of her eyes makes him fumble, the twilight dip to her smile brings him to despair, but that's what saves him, too, in the end. And friends don't fall when they should. They covet and witness and blame, but they still take his laughter for what it is, swept straight to the sun with it. That, too, saves him in the end.

Life isn't like a dream. It's ten fucking times worse, always.

[ifridiot]

Wheether

-who cries when someone dies in a movie

((Definitely Ether))

-who wears the ugly holiday garb

((Ether, but she forces it on Wheeze))

-who pays for the meals

((Ether. She insists.))

-who slams the oven door and who plays the trombone

((Ether on the oven door, Wheezer on the trombone.))

-who brings home stray animals

((Oh god, Ether.))

-who leaves the bathroom door open

((Both.))

-who tells the 'dad jokes'

((Ether.))

-who wants kids more

((Ether, pretty sure))

-who travels more

((Ether))

-who spends more cash

((Ether, since she actually has frivolous spending money))

-who buys the things in infomercials

((Neither of them.))

-who draws in the dust on their cars

((Ether))

-who starts the snowball fights

((Ether))

-who throws away the directions to things

((Ether, to Wheezer's eternal dismay))

-who puts up holiday decor

((Ether, if she's on furlough and feels like it.))

-who is more likely to forget to bathe

((Neither of them.))

-who gets more obsessed about things

((Ether))

-who sings in the shower more often

((Ether))

[ifridiot]

Golem!Verse Ficlet: Moment

((Bit of Wheether because I needed sweetness))

The light slips through her fingers, and Ether could stay here forever.

Ether is not in love with Wheezer. Much in the same way, Wheezer is not in love with Ether. Nothing about them is tender, or sweet, or eternal. "Yeah," Ether says, and closes her eyes. She tangles her toes further into the mess of sheets beneath them, curving claws over the back of Wheezer's head to hold him close. "Let's be late, sugar."

[ifridiot]

Golem!Verse Fic: Liar's Bar

Characters: Shi Carlton, Ether ‘Carrion’ Higgs, mentions Keatha BrisCorp and others

Summary: Sometimes it hurts too much to deal with. For those cases, the Liar's Bar is always open.

Rating: PG-13

Note: While there is a plot to this fic, a large point of my writing this was to establish a bit more character to the Golem!verse setting.

-- -- --

After all, no one went to the place looking for peace. They went to lose themselves in that noise, to find solidarity in a place crowded with people just as lost, just as miserable as they were. The noise was a draw as much as the cheap liquor.

It was loud and sympathetic, and best of all for them living in the subs, it was mobile. The proprietor, a self-made Synth by the name of Keatha BrisCorp (still boldly holding his legal surname despite BrisCorp long having been sued out of existence after the Golem Liberation Laws were passed) made it his business to keep his establishment out of gang war zones and areas heavily patrolled by cops.

Not that there was much of a difference.

The bar itself was a long, wide box. It was, in fact, one of the mid-strat housing complexes that had crashed down to surface level during some destabilizing catastrophe or another. The mid-strats, built like bricks up over the downs,  were usually locked in once the structure was docked in place, but they always left the stabilizing thrusters on them in case something had to be moved.

Kaetha, in minute of commendable forethought, had purchased an outmoded building mover, welded it onto the back of the building, and rigged a camera spotting system, allowing him to navigate the sub-strats with the entire bar.

Not entirely legal, but then again, this was the subs. When had legality mattered much?

Kaetha had no aspirations of climbing out of the hole that was the subs, and this simple fact endeared him to his patrons. He wasn't uppity, and he didn't charge more than he had to to get a living out of the place. There were rooms upstairs and he didn't ask questions when he rented them out. Anyone who needed a job for a while to hold them between contracts was welcome to scrub floors or wait tables. For credits if there was one or two, for room and board if there was more.

This habit, too, endeared him to the locals, and so overall, despite its nightly brawls and occasionally low-quality fare (it was cheap, he promised, but he never promised good), Liar's Bar was as much a safe place down on their level as could be had.

At the lulling hours just before dawn, it was as quiet as it was going to be. Liar's Bar didn't have a last call, though the proprietor wasn't shy about cutting folks off when they'd had enough, and there were Synths working all shifts who could use a drink and a hot somethin' to put in their belly when they got off work.

Now was the time least likely to walk into the middle of a brawl, the talk of the room intermittent rumbling, rising and lowering like a tide. Above them was the rumble of the mid-strat trams and below was a ten-foot drop from the rickety excuse of a stairwell Kaetha had installed after berthing his bar.

At one end of the bar was a knot of surly-looking coal-crawlers, their dirty clothes all rubbed deep with black everywhere except for the band of yellow each had slashed somewhere on their outfit. They drank quietly and spoke little, many of them incapable of even that. Years breathing the fumes and chemicals they did took their toll, even on a fast-healing Golem.

Beside the crawlers were gaming tables; one for dicing, two for cards. The dicing table sat disused save for a pair of drunks, leaning on one another and singing. Their voices intermittently rose above the din, thin and reedy. The cards tables were both in full use, Synths betting petty stakes on poker and bickering loudly.

On the other end of the long room, a tall, blue-skinned woman was working a mixing table and tablet, producing a heavy background beat as a baseline for the general noise of the place. Standing on a stool beside the woman was a short, four-armed Artisan Synth, gender seeming to fluctuate with every roll of those broad hips, dancing to the beat. Both Synths were clearly Art pieces, brought low -- likely by the death or bankruptcy of their creator or sponsor. Judging by their matching facial tattoos, they were likely tank-siblings.

A wide stair case dominated the east wall, leading up to the apartments Kaetha rented out. At a low dining table near the back, a whore named Larini (freelance, of course, no Menagerie Miss was she) was giving two handjobs at the same time while smoking a cigar and laughing at the jokes of a third potential client.

It's a lively place, and full, but the groups don't much mingle. Everyone down here sees the other as a danger -- why shouldn't they, then, when it's worked into every facet of the media that most free Synths are cutthroat time bombs, next to Aberrant in their behaviours, and ready to kill another Synth or even (gasp and shudder) a hume.

Shi took it all in, and he could spot the only real threat in the room a second after he entered, curled over the bar at the center of the room. She was dressed in her fatigues still, and even drunk gave off the air of a woman who'd spent the day at an unpleasant task and would respond with violence if interrupted in her drinking.

This was not her usual place. Even for a sulk, Ether was usually spending up her chit at some mid-strat or higher joint, loosing herself in flesh and expensive false comforts. This low place was one she only came to when she knew she wasn't, as she called it, "suitable" for anything more up-road. When her temper was frayed and she'd been run ragged by something or other before being granted her furlough.

He knew some of what had happened. Her 'handler' (smug name for a hume who got to sit back and track her on a computer while she ran out and risked her flesh 'pro aris et focis') had warned him of the injuries she'd be sporting when she made it to the apartment.

But she'd never made it to the apartment. He should have guessed that she'd take it that hard. She shrugged a lot off with a laugh and a grin, but somethings went too deep for that.

Slipping into the space next to her, Shi tapped the bartop with a hard nail, gesturing at his companion and holding up two fingers. Two, whatever she was drinking.

She said nothing to him, and he nothing to her, and for a moment they drank in silence. Shi was only marginally surprised to find that her drink of the night was whiskey spiked with Solvent, a sure concoction to get even the sturdiest Chimera well and truly drunk.

The way she sat, with her talons drawn up so the toes could grip the lower supports of the stool and her shoulders shrugged up near her ears, told him enough of her pain. The way she kept the thick cords of her locks obscuring her face even from him told him enough of how she was taking that little blow.

He was patient with her. They finished their glasses, he summoned Kaetha for another round. Glancing up, he met the pitch-black of the bartender's eyes, saw concern there, and shook his head. She's fine. Just the drinks, please.

"They killt tha' boy cuzza me," she slurred finally, fingers gingerly holding the glass. She was being very careful with her hands it seemed. "All 'e wan'd t' do w's git t' me. Those basterds killt him... they killt him cuz he wan'd t' save me. B'cuz he c'd hear m' fuckin' screamin' o'er th'... he knew wh't they were doin' t' me an'..."

Her voice cracked, fingers tightening on the thick glass. Shi made no move to touch or comfort.

"He w's jus' a kid, Shi. Jes' a stupid kid. They coulda cour'marshalled him, sen' him on leave w'out pay, summin'. They killt him. Why... why w'd they do tha'? Kill one a their own jes'... jes' like..."

"He sympathized w' you," Shi finally said, his voice low and hard. "You know that ain' gonna be tolerated."

"He w's still in my head. They didn' e'en have th' goddamn grace t' break th' link. I felt 'im die, Shi. They shoddim down like a... like an 'nimal..." She drew in a shuddering breath and then finally sat up, looking at him.

Not reacting was impossible, but he thought he did a commendable job of minimizing his reaction to the snarl of scar tissue that the right side of her face had become. Her eyes were at least still there... though the right was now black and orange, mismatched to the honey gold of her left. They hadn't even really tried to fix the cosmetic damage. Probably only fixed her teeth to ensure that her bite would remain deadly, to hell with the rest.

Like she was a damn machine, needing only to be efficient.

Whatever she saw in his expression, she laughed quietly.

"I gotta com'ndation, Shi. Repr'mand fer damagin' m'self, butta com'ndation fer 'clev'r thinkin' an' bold action 'n th' feild'."

"I know," he said softly. Her lower lip wobbled and as he watched, tears welled in those mismatched eyes. They spilled, first over the left, then the right, and then he was leaning forward, catching her as she seemed to collapse from the stool, holding her as she finally sobbed. It was very public, for his tastes, but the roar and rush of the room slowed not a bit, the other patrons having no time for the dramatics of one lone couple.

"They killt him, an' he wasn' more 'n a babby," she said, hitching and clutching to him. "Why, Shi?"

He sighed, swaying slightly and rocking her gently in place, as if they were dancing to a slow tune. "'s their nature, I guess," he said, enunciating more clearly than usual. "Jes' what they do."

In the end, Ether covered the tab for both of them, cheap as it was for Shi, and he half carried, half supported her as they crossed the dark, walking into the swelling smog together.

[ifridiot]

(For Ether) 2, 3, 15, 16, 19, 20, 21, 23, 24, 26

((Putting under a cut for length.))

"You gotta pick one or t'other, sugar?" She asked cocking a brow. "M'be humes is all fucked up that way. Gotta pick one thing outta th' choices life throws atcha and stick with it 'til the end."

3:Do you have any unusual kinks/fetishes?

"Well, honey-pie, what counts 's unusual t' you? I mean, lookit me fer a second. Custom tailored genetic freak, not 'zactly anyone's standard pick when imaginin' they dream girl," She said, and then laughed, leaning back against the bar. The laughter rang lough and genuine, but the look in her eye was scathing. "Look, jes' leave kiddies an' biohazards outta my bed, don' bring anyone 're anythin' along that don't wanna be there, an' I'm game."

15:Most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you during sex?

"Th' most... oh Lawd, haha, oh no, okay, okay, I have a story for you, sugar," she said, and when she laughed again, a tinge of a blush rose on her cheeks.

"A'right, so I'm on board air transport, an' me an' this young man, we been flirtin hot and heavy for th' last couple days, little bitta kissin', little bitta pawin', all hidden. We gotta be real low key, you know, 'cus a handler ain't really s'posed t' do t' me what this boy was playin' t' be doin, but finally one day after mess I drag his meatboy ass back inta my room sayin' I gotta belly ache an' he gonna stay an' make sher I don' git sick."

She settles back against the bar, grinning as she takes a long drink from her glass, the expression distant and fond.

"Right away he knows what the game is, an soon 'nough I'm on my back and he's got my skirt hiked up high 's it'll go an' you know I'm lettin' him lead, tryin' ta keep careful with him 'cus this ain't no furlough an' time I might be told t' use my claws s' they can't be trimmed back.

"Well, he gets his pants off an' pins me down, an' my feet are all tangled up in the sheets so I don't accident'ly send him outta there sho't a leg, an..." she pauses, fingers over her mouth as she giggles, "oh, that poor boy, here I am tellin' tales outta class... a'right, so he gets himself all set, or so I think, but Chris' he musta failed ev'ry aimin' course he ever got. Not that you woulda known from him; you woulda thought th' joint a my thigh was th' best pussy in th' world, lookin' at his face.

"Well there I am, laying there, an' he's just ruttin' an he's all sweet talk, this boy, y' know some humes don' got any a that on they mind when they with a Synth, but he's jes' worshipin' me, an' finally I can't help it, he starts talkin' about how good I feel an' before I can school my mouth t' be gentle I say, 'the legs is nice, but th' pussy's prime'."

She covers her face with both hands, laughing for a moment. "You shoulda seen th' poor kid, ach, he goes white as a sheet an' starts babblin' apologies, an' all I can think ta do is salvage th' moment b'fore he shuts down." She utters a little snorts, looking away. "Shoved him over and taught him a little summin' about aim, I guess."

16:A song you’d listen to during hard/rough/kinky sex?

Uttering a little breathy scoff she thinks for a minute. "Well, mind you I ain' the type to go puttin' music on a'purpose. I don't need a sound track. But there's an old rock song... Animal, Def Leppard played it. I wouldn' mind lettin' that play."

19:Would you prefer sex in the bath or sex in the shower?

"How big's th' tub, sugar?" She asks, giving a sidelong glance. "Gen'rally speakin' I prefer a bed, but given th' choice I s'pose I'd take a big tub."

20:If you could have sex with anyone right now, who would it be?

"Why, honey-pie, you lookin' fer someone t' go home with?" She laughed shaking her head. "I ain't picky. But I like goin' home with Wheeze, whoever else tags along."

21:Have you ever had a threesome? If not, would you?

She laughs for a long time, and then simply nods, not choosing to elaborate.

23:Have you ever sent someone a dirty text/picture?

"Do I look stupid t' you, sugar-bee?" she asks, grimacing. "I'm gov'ment property, y'know. Someone plucks my nekkid pics outta some twerps phone dat, 's gonna cause all kindsa troubles. I don' even send texts sexier 'n 'honey I'm home'."

24:Would you have sex with your best friend?

"D'pendin' on whether I'm countin' Shi or Wheezer as m' best friend a' th' time of fuckin', the answer is either 'yes' or 'already have'."

26:Something that will never fail to get you horny?

"Furlough."

[ifridiot]

Golem!Verse Drabble: Hunt

Characters: Ether 'Carrion' Higgs, mentions Wheezer, others

Summary: Whatever else you might call her, Ether is a professional. In most cases, at least.

Rating: PG

--

"Carrion, return to roadside. I repeat, return to roadside."

There were a million scents in the air, live trails to follow, but the one she needed was fast fading as she scrambled on the ground. A thin, frustrated noise left her in return to the order over her earpiece, her handler's command firm, cutting through the music that had been playing.

It was hard to resist a direct order, but she wasn't going to lose this.

"Carrion."

Any other dropped effect she'd have left in a heartbeat, but this one was her special.They'd said today was just reconnaissance, dressing up to snoop around with a stranger's face painted on, her scars hidden, mismatched eyes masked by contacts, some high-end dress draping her frame.

She played the game well. Chatted intelligently, picking hors d'oeuvres between long, gilded claws. They billed her as an art piece, her Finnish-speaking handler posing as her Sculptor.

"Carrion."

It was just recon, so they'd allowed her some say in her clothing, her jewelry. Insisted on it, really; things she would be comfortable wearing while snooping around.

So she'd jumped for the chance to wear the toe ring Wheezer had gotten her. It was her special, something she only got to wear when resting at base between transports or on furlough.

"Carrion!"

Except something had gone wrong at the party, whatever pigeon they'd been tracking had fled into the bush, and before she even had time to think they had her out in the wilds, running after him.

While a good number of animals had been lost to humanity's advancement, gone entirely extinct, vast stretches of forest had been preserved and protected. Ether preferred coniferous forests to tropical ones like this, but the tropics made better play grounds for the insanely wealthy.

The idiot hume she was after had leapt from the observation dome, sneaking out onto the railing. The wilderness, however shrunken from the old days of rampant deforestation, provided a million hidey-holes for the determined fugitive. 

But Ether was a professional. Hunting terrified little humes was the bulk of her job. She hadn't minded when the skirt tore on her dress, or when the biting insects had risen in a cloud to swarm her bared skin.

Then she'd tramped into the swamp, following the spoor of the hume's cut hand. Suddenly, with vivid clarity, she'd felt the ring, so secure, slicked and then sliding free.

"Goddamnit, Ether, you're going to lose him!"

She was on her knees in the algae-slicked muck, claws racking through the mud, desperate to find the ring.

"If you don' quit barkin' an' put my static back on, Big Dog, yer gonna find more 'n a rolled up news paper hittin' yer face soon," she snarled, teeth bared in anguish.

"Static is a privilege, Carrion," the hume on the other end said, but she could hear the nerves in his voice. Fredrick was a good boy, young, not so high and mighty as some of the other handlers she'd been paired too. "Get back on his trail b'fore I gotta call Command."

And it was like a magic trick; just on the edge of giving up on finding the ring, her finger brushed something hard, round; slipped through it and dragged it up -- and there it was, that beautiful special ring.

She crammed it into her side bag and took back off, all in one fast, triumphant motion.

"A'right, sugar, static. Don't be a tease."

She could hear Fredrick muttering over the link as he fiddled with the controls. "Yeah, yeah, I didn't loose yer damn boyfriend's guitar warblin'. I can play guitar, y' know. Actually play, and sing."

"Less flirtin', more playin' my static. Carrion out."

There was a fuzz of the connection shifting and then a return to a low recording, the one she'd snuck last time she'd been furloughed, Wheezer playing his guitar and singing, so low as to be a whisper, on the night before she'd shipped off again.

A better soundtrack to the hunt she couldn't think of.

[ifridiot]

The teens sneak out for a party that ends up having alcohol and get spectacularly shitfaced together for the first time. They stumble back to Shi's, but forget to be quiet after they sneak back in and Paul finds them raiding the kitchen for snacks and gets hugged by an emotional Wheezer. Ether seizes the moment and calls for a group hug while Paul calls them a bunch of goddamn idiots.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

And by that, he really meant 'it sounded like an awful idea, but fun and completely appropriate given their age and society's expectations for them'. A good idea that he knew was a bad idea.

"Well lookit this way," Ether had said, grabbing up a bottle of the cloudy, cheap Solvent that had was sitting innocently on the table of party snacks, "I'm gonna drink, and Wheezer's gonna drink, and you can't drag us both home, s'ya might 's well have a couple bottles and we'll all experience this t'gether."

She smiled prettily and popped the bottle open with her teeth, thrusting it into his hands.

After that, everything was a little hazy.

He remembers clearly that they probably drank too much, given that the gracious host of the party had gotten a little vocal about how much suddenly was gone and the little pile of bottles three tipsy teenagers were attempting to stack into a pyramid.

And sneaking in, he remembers that. Working with Ether to get Wheezer up the tree outside his bedroom and then through the window. How they managed it without breaking anything, he isn't sure. He keeps expecting to look around from where he's sprawled out on the floor and find broken glass everywhere, but not.

Floor's clean.

Ether is curled like a cat on the bed, one taloned foot dangling with her toes curling slowly right by Shi's ear. Wheezer is collapsed in the desk chair where they put him.

"Y'know w't?" the smaller boy says out of the blue, his tone suggesting the unveiling of some great truth. Shi and Ether's lackluster groans don't do it justice, really.

"'M fuckin' hungry."

Shi and Ether look at each other and burst out laughing for no apparent reason. It strikes Shi right about then that he, at least, is well and truly shit faced.

Moving from his bedroom downstairs to the kitchen is a struggle, filled with a lot of giggling from all involved and a lot of insistent shushing. No one wants to wake Paul. The hume needs his sleep.

They're all gathered in the cold light of the fridge, staring wordlessly in in a simultaneous awe of the bounty offered within the frigid cabinet, when they hear a loud clearing of throat that can only be the boogeyman or a very not-asleep Paul.

They all turn together, as if hive-minded, leaving the refrigerator to gape, as Paul starts in on an exasperated lecture.

Where the hell have they been? What the hell did they think they were doing? How in the hell had they gotten upstairs without going through the front door.

There are many questions. Hell seems to be involved in some way in all of them.

Wheezer babbles some incomprehensible line. Or maybe it's only incomprehensible because Shi is very, very drunk. What he knows for sure is that the smaller boy stumbles forward, away from their little congregation before the fridge, and wraps his weed-thin arms around Paul's shoulders, hugging him tight.

"Wh't the damn hell 's wrong w'you?" He looked up, locking eyes with Shi. "Is he drunk? 'R y'all drunk."

"Very," Shi intoned solemnly, watching as Ether darted forward, extending her long legs and wrapping her arms around both Paul and Wheezer.

"Group hug!" She cheered, oblivious.

"Yer all grounded," Paul said, awkwardly patting both Synthetics on the back. "An' idjits. Yer all idjits."

[ifridiot]

30 Day OCTP Challenge, Day Foureen — Draw Your OCTP Making Out

((Well, it looks a little better than it did. Ether still looks like a man, and I never could figure out Wheezer's tattoos.

Ether is mine, Wheezer belongs to the ever-brilliant ForeverForking.))