This was based of of a tomodachi life interaction with these four, Featuring my yumeship and Shadowmint, a peak ship made by my friends @splatteredantgutz and @host-objectified-irl!! C:
Part three!! We're getting a makeover, Bellis continues being awkward and confused, Rocket still gives absolutely no fucks and an old Chaos Iron Warrior is a menace.
content warnings: crude humour & adult language, astartes that have strong personalities, past mistreatment, chaos faction shenanigans and murder jokes, and finally warp shenanigans and slaanesh makes a short but meaningful guest appearance (sfw way!). word count: 3.1k
The auto shop that doubled as an armor painting facility was bustling with life despite the early hours of the morning. Baselines and Marines populated the cool, spacious hangar that hosted the artists and the appliances; loud rhythmic music intermingled with sounds of creaking armour, dents being beaten out of metal and ceramite and sizzling of airbrushes powered by heavy-duty compressors.
Rocket walked in without much preamble, Bellis trailing behind her with curiosity brightening the pinkish color of his visor. He documented the dozen or so Marines in the building, both employees and customers, and they eyed him back. There was no animosity. A Word Bearer sat in a folding recliner chair at the back of the room, nursing a two-liter mug of fragrant tea, wearing a loose toga-style garment, his armor nowhere to be seen.
“So this is the youngling.” He briefly lifted his mug in their direction, greeting the duo. If not for the glowing golden-orange of his iris-less eyes, the Word Bearer could have easily passed for a still-loyal member of his Legion.
“Morning to you too, Garash,” Rocket offered a tired smile. She was not a morning person. “This is Bellis and he is a Noise Marine...” She trailed off.
“Scout. Prospect Apothecary.” He said curtly, offering a small, short bow to his superior, like he'd been taught.
Garash nodded and turned his eyes back to the various compartments set up around the hangar before pointing to an empty area next to a World Eater receiving a horn trim and a buff to the numerous scratches on his leg plates.
Bellis examined the red Marine as Rocket herded him towards their platform. A baseline male used an electric polisher to even out the welts while a heavily mutated Space Marine of an indiscernible legion used a sharp arm growth to file down the mighty horns spiraling out from the World Eater's forehead.
“How short do you want them?” The unarmored Marine asked the World Eater, who grunted:
“No longer than four units, no shorter than two. My bonded likes to hold onto them but gets irate when they damage the furniture.”
Directed by gentle pushing, Bellis got in position on the platform while he continued to owlishly blink at the proceedings in the hangar. Rocket busied herself with the portable cogitator she'd brought with her, bringing the sketches they'd brainstormed on last night.
“So,” she began. “You want to get rid of the antennae, buff out the chest properly, paint it all and make accommodations for your tentacles. Correct?”
“Yes,” he nodded.
“Evander should be here any moment - that's the Iron Warrior that does the tech stuff. As far as painting, I can paint you, or at least the parts you can't reach or I can put in a request for Oren. That's the Space Wolf over there,” she discreetly pointed at a more-furry-than-usual Chaos Space Wolf.
He was busy with spray-painting a glossy golden finish onto a Word Bearer's back using a complicated stencil. Bellis emitted a hum of quiet admiration: the Marine had a steady hand, and the finished front of the power armor boasted a pattern of heretic litanies in spectacular clarity and neat, beautiful handwriting.
What Bellis wanted was not nearly as complicated. He felt it would be unreasonable to waste the time and effort of such an artist for a simple spray-n-overtone.
“I prefer to paint what I can myself and you can do my chest and back.” He conceded quietly.
“Intimidated, huh?” Rocket grinned. “Don't be. Oren loves his job. He'd paint the whole city and the county next over, if we'd let him.” She lowered her voice. “Apparently that's how your patron entity got him. He ditched the whole war thing and went on to paint the inside of his ship.”
“With innards.” The World Eater next to them growled, a savage sort of humor in his voice.
“Semantics,” Rocket dismissed. “A square painted plain blue sold for $3 million last year. Art is art and effort had been made.”
“Hear that, cousin?” The World Eater addressed Bellis, scarred mouth turning up into a resemblance of a grin. “They calling money laundering ‘art’ now.”
“Why would you need to launder money?” Bellis asked his cousin, genuinely confused. “Does it really get that dirty? And what do paintings have to do with that?”
He was met with a wall of rambunctious laughter, snickering coming in even from the furthest corners of the hangar. He flushed, the area around his mouthpiece glowing a dark plum purple.
“Ah, younguns',” the unarmored Marine that was adding finishing touches to the World Eater's horn shook his head. “Money laundering is an expression used to describe the process of legitimizing illegally obtained income.”
Embarrassed, Bellis nodded and muttered thanks. He fiddled with his helmet, debating on taking it off preemptively, not wishing to elicit ire in the Iron Warrior making a beeline for him. Sons of Perturabo had a famously abhorrent bedside manner.
Rocket sighed and waved at the Marine. “Morning, Evander.”
“Creature,” he rumbled at the baseline, and gave Bellis a critical once over. “Scout.” As he promptly set up his working space, extracting various tools and devices. As Rocket wandered off in search of needed pigments and painting supplies, the Iron Warrior began his initial assessment.
“Complaints?”
“MKVI armour type, Night Lord model, refurbished to fit the needs of a Noise Marine Apothecary.” Bellis said. “Request: remove antennae and remaining Night Lord regalia, update interface, and repair the feeding tube inlet.”
Evander nodded along, picking up several sharp tools and requesting Bellis' helmet, who removed it and gave it to the Iron Warrior. Evander connected it to his own cogitator, and attached several more wires to the processors located on the back of Bellis' armor.
The Iron Warrior took time to keenly observe the semi-synthetic implant-turned-mutation of Bellis' mouthpiece before hooking up more wires to it and ordering the Scout to perform a sound check.
“The Shrieker is functioning suboptimally.” Evander frowned. “I do not have the capacity to repair it. Shriekers require Legion-specific maintenance tools.” It was obvious how disgruntled the Iron Warrior was at his inability to fix a technical issue.
With a subvocal growl, he moved onto the feeding tube inlet, poking around the hole and taking measurements of it. It took him several long minutes to find a suitable ring of metal and several more to heat it and fit it to the jagged, exposed hole at the junction of Bellis' neck. The cogitator vibrated, signaling the end of software update cycle, and Evander ordered Bellis to remove the pieces of armour that he could.
Obediently, the Scout shed the requested parts one by one, giving them to Evander to examine, until he was left standing in his bodyglove and the grown-in front and back parts.
Rocket returned, arms full of different items. Bellis had to stop himself from stepping down the platform and reaching out to help the baseline carry the items. Her nose was just barely peeking out from the sheer volume of stuff.
“I'll start on the painting?” She asked.
“Wait.” Evander shook his head, wires on his helmet swaying.
“You can begin with those parts,” Bellis nodded at the leg parts. Those were the areas that got the least damage, and there wasn't anything electronic to fix.
The process went smoothly. Rocket buffed, primed and painted while Bellis patiently turned and bent this way and that as Evander used various tools to poke and prod at the ingrown pieces of armor, extracting clusters of wires and, at one point, welding and soldering something that made Bellis' nerve endings feel hot. It was a pleasant heat that had him straighten. His spine felt lighter than it had been in years...
Until the Iron Warrior untangled wiring from a mutated cluster of synth-nerves. Bellis grit his teeth, suddenly having felt a strange weakness in his legs.
“Easy, Scout,” Evander grumbled, placing himself closer to Bellis so the younger Marine could lean on him. “When was the last time Mechanicus performed maintenance on you?”
“Never, sir.” Bellis was in far too much pain to feel his usual embarrassment. “A heretek fitted me out in the armory, gave me a run down on basic maintenance and I was instructed to tend to my duties.”
Evander yanked something sharply, causing the Scout to emit a choked-up clap of static, and grumbled. “Figures. Fuckin' assholes.” He rummaged some more and the pain subsided, bringing back that warm, comfortable feeling of being allowed to hold one's back straight. “Now I done fixed the metal parts, yeh? But I will give you a data-slate and you take that to an Apothecary. I dun know nothin' 'bout all the organic stuff you got growing all over here.”
“Yessir.” Bellis breathed a staticky, grateful side of relief. He had to fight the urge to raise his arms and extend his spine fully in a big stretch.
“And all this Nurglite rust,” Evander tapped the sides of his back plate, “I put the ointment on it, but you get that looked at too, yeh? It ain't spreadin' just yet, there's a couple of patches now, but it's better to be safe than sorry. Once it gets into the squishy parts, it'll be contagious. You can't be doin' your little girlfriend lookin' like what a Great Unclean One had coughed up, yeh?”
“Rocket is not my-” Bellis began.
“Evander, you old pervert!” The object of the conversation groused. The World Eater receiving a trim started cackling; the Marine and the baseline tending to him emitted snickers of their own. Rocket huffed. “Mind your own rusty nutsack!”
Evander bellowed a hearty basso laugh as he slapped himself on the stomach. “Ain't nothin' rusty about, you little tart. See for yourself!”
“Laetitia will feed him his own cock if he as much as looks at some other tail!” The World Eater jabbed. Noticing Bellis' attempts at concealing his discomfort (he was doing so very badly), he added: “don't worry, boy. Evan's an old grump but he doesn't take what isn't his.” He thought for a moment. “Unless it's home appliances or some shit. He's got a real knack for temporarily borrowing those and returning them ‘improved’.”
Another wave of rambunctious laughter erupted in the hangar as the Iron Warrior banged his fist on his own armoured thigh and emitted a string of colorful Olympian curses. Bellis was not privvy to the actual meaning but it sounded very juicy. With a rough pat to Bellis' bottom, Evander once again requested he move in certain ways and positions, this time adding oils to joints and plating that felt tight or dry.
Examining and repairing the front was much easier on the young Marine. Evander took a polisher attachment to finally, fully buff out the place where indentations of the Night Lord legions's symbol once lay. Mechadendrites took care of cracks and crevices, filling and lubricating as needed. When it came time to fit the armour to Bellis' mutations, Evander took out a laser cutter and began to trim off excess ceramite and metal as the Noise Marine extended his tentacles fully, marking the area he wished adjusted.
“One opening? Multiple smaller holes?” The Iron Warrior asked simply, giving the pink appendages a critical eye. “You reckon' they'll grow?”
“I don't know, Sir. Probably not. Warp energy is scarce on Ancient Terra.” Bellis guessed. “And I'd like a retractable covering?” He phrased it as a question, unsure of what the limitations were in his case.
Evander nodded and got to work. It involved lasering, cutting, heating and curing and welding. Time passed by with Bellis alternating his attention between the Iron Warrior's steady hands performing a multitude of small tasks and Rocket's practiced treatment of his armor. At this rate, Bellis was sure he wouldn't get to touch the painting supplies at all.
Which was fine by him. He hadn't much experience while Rocket seemed to be in her element. The painted pieces were drying on a rack under an infrared light to help the pigment dry faster and prevent it from chipping and scratching easily. A rich, beautiful purple color glistened evenly on the vambraces and shin guards; the woman was halfway through covering a pauldron with a primer, having had sanded it down to bare, dark gray metal.
Bellis looked around again, noticing some of the early morning crowd had dispersed. Neighboring World Eater had left with a chuff and a Brother awaited him by the door; the duo happily nuzzled a baseline woman that briefly stepped in to hand the warden Word Bearer, Garash, a brown paper bag of what Bellis assumed to be either payment or breakfast. His sense of smell wasn't the best out of his brethren; at least now he knew that the mutated augmentic covering his face from chin to eye sockets was actively malfunctioning, leading to reduced sensory input.
A moderately annoyed Son of Horus was bickering with a baseline technician over the quality of pigment. Bystanders didn't bother with hiding their eyerolls: there was only one shade of black available, the very same that two other Black Legionnaires had absolutely no problem with. If anything, they, too, looked fed up with their Battle Brother. It wasn't long until one of them reached out to give a disciplinary smack to the back of his head and a scuffle erupted.
Garash sighed and stood up. His comically large mug made a loud thud as he placed it on the table, attracting cautious looks. Picking up a leisurely pace, the Marine walked over to the arguing trio and nodded to the baseline technician who had wisely extracted himself from the immediate fighting range of the Black Legionnaires.
In a swift, powerful motion Bellis did not expect to see from unarmored Marine, Garash reached out for the two closest Sons of Horus and grabbed them by the back of their necks, smashing the two together foreheads first. A resonant 'clang!' echoed, followed by moans of complaint and third Black Legionnaire grumbling in defeat. Bellis could only blink in surprise at such a display of sheer physical strength.
Evander harrumphed. “Garash the Mighty.” He jabbed, but there was an unmistakable undertone of respect in the Iron Warrior's voice.
For a lack of things to say, Bellis just nodded.
Midday rolled in with the smell of fresh paint, burnt wiring and faint traces of Rocket's perfume as she had finally gotten around to painting the ingrown parts of Bellis' armor. He was unused to such proximity from a baseline that did not fear him. With barely a foot of space between them and a steadying arm he had no option but to offer her, Rocket emitted a peculiar mix of hormones and chemicals.
The Noise Marine could sense the recaff she had drank in her sweat, but also miniscule traces of dehydration, exhaustion and something... Odd. It wasn't quite metallic, but it tasted non-organic. The receptors on the organ that passed for his tongue were confused. It was not a pleasant taste: something like wet dirt, petrichor and moist tree-bark. Not a sickness, either, as all the other secretions he could sense were within appropriate ranges for what he knew for baselines.
Attempting to be inconspicuous, he took in a slow, deep breath. It was at this exact time that his malfunctioning augmentic mutation decided to act up, emitting yet another burst of grating static.
“I stink, huh?” Rocket raised an eyebrow. The lilt of her voice was teasing.
Ultimately, Bellis, unable to find a reasonable explanation, filed away the strange smell under the general ‘augmentic malfunction’ tab. “Your perfume is interacting with my Shrieker, which is malfunctioning and causing an odd smell. It is not you,” he added, some kind of primordial knowledge telling him baseline females were rather sensitive about being perceived as unclean.
The instinct was right. Rocket's shoulders dropped. “I sincerely hope you will use your new outfit to gather the courage and see an Apothecary. That whole sewer situation cannot be good for your health.”
“Oh?” He found it in himself to snark despite the looming threat of Nurglite Rust making him feel queasy. Banter with Rocket came easy, and Bellis was only his creator's achievement. Apothecary Fabius' mother tongue was sarcasm. “So this was all an elaborate ploy to get me to permit that Khornate to stick his claws in my flesh?”
“Nah. If it was up to me, you'd be sitting on your butt at my home, getting fat and happy.” Rocket said matter-of-factly and clicked her tongue. “But alas. Not all wild things are meant to be tamed.”
Bellis mind blanched. He struggled to believe her words. A part, small and quiet, of him was appalled at being reduced to a... A house pet?! Domestic service animal? A louder, more powerful part urged him to agree. He could almost feel it, almost taste it: all the exotic fruit he had already sampled and all the food that were to come. He could request a rework of his feeding apparatus to deliver more solid pieces. Sample all the delicacies this world had to offer...
“Huh.” Rocket had pause the painting at some point. “The thingy's glowing.”
Bellis snapped out of his indulgent daydreams and looked down at his chest. The symbol of Slaanesh was indeed becoming more prominent. The metal there seemingly distorted on its own accord, bending into a discreet, but perfect representation of She Who Thirsts. The Noise Marine blinked owlishly, pink eyes squinting at the scene.
“Soo... Do we bedazzle it?” Rocket took the new development in stride. “Outline it?”
Bellis raised his head, saw the Word Bearer heading towards them with a grin splitting his face in two and sighed. This was going to be a long long day.
Maybe i should like... introduce them properly but nah. Maybe later.
Anyway be careful about who you pick up from an illegal fight club you just destroyed. They might end up being a mountain.
i included ADA because even though she’s not a companion she’s still part of Space Family. and Phineas because uhhh Explanation Other Than “I Love Him” Not Found. and the Generic Captain to make the photoset not take up so much room.
