[Stallus Corpus is @kravkalackin‘s campaign and original work, Ekne is my character]
It’s hours after the PD’s initial confession about the tracker and Crew Pancake Time that Ekne finally retreats to his room, still simmering a bit. He closes his door behind him, which he hasn’t done in awhile, now that he thinks of it. He usually leaves it open at all times when he’s not hyperfocused on an experiment, which he hasn’t been in months.
Considering the fact he’s always awake it just seems easier to keep up on what’s going on with the crew that way. He could overhear casual conversations between crew members while he works and hop in if anything they say interests him. If he overhears Chuhvahl mutter about their lack of an ingredient in the kitchen he can store it in the back of his mind and buy some next time they land, if PD complains of a headache he can keep an eye on them without having to be verbally concerned, if Vir’aani makes a rude comment he can be loudly offended without having to walk out into the kitchen, etc. Always being in a communal room makes it so they never really forget he’s there.
It also makes it so he never forgets that they’re there. Even when no one’s talking or he’s focused on his work, some subconscious part of his mind relaxes at the mundane sound of footsteps moving through the kitchen or up the stairs. The opening and closing of the fridge, a soft curse when Vir’aani hits her head on the cabinet door that someone left open, the click-click of Coffee’s claws on the floor: it’s all background noise that he never notices until it’s gone.
The Dhorn nest was quiet. He remembers when Mr. Racine would leave on a hunt for several days and Ekne would be left alone in their shared room. Despite the fact the vampires felt uncomfortable in the presence of a mortal kid, he would always break and sneak out to the communal areas just to see that his nest was still out there and that he wasn’t alone. Usually he would only wander for a few minutes before someone told him not to bother the adults and Veinny dragged him back to his room.
The Defiant crew never really protested his presence. If he stepped out of his room into the middle of a conversation, he would quickly be pulled in. Sometimes they would even raise their voice with a friendly insult to lure him out to join them. If no one was around and he felt the need to go find and check on them, they would accept his quiet presence in the background for a minute or so while he reassured himself that none of them had vanished while he was distracted.
For a moment, he imagined saying any of this in front of PD and how they would react to a Kii’tre needing this reassurance. They would probably add it to a list of behaviors they have somewhere so they could see if he kept it up after he got the upgrade. Treating him and his brain like an experiment. Though maybe they wouldn’t care, they’ve been pretty thoroughly distracted by Amani lately.
The thought didn’t really help his anger.
He huffed and shoved the pile of random nonsense off his bed. It was mostly stuff that he had pulled out of various nooks and crannies of his room and his own pockets while looking for the crew contract last week and he still hadn’t put away, as he rarely needed his bed for anything but a flat surface to stack things on. Once there was a space, he sat heavily on the edge of his bed to just take a moment. He could use a moment to think and calm down, since apparently his reaction was ‘so unusual’. Even Chuhvahl had calmed down and seemed to forgive PD real fast.
He scanned the terrariums lining his walls. It was quite a bit darker in here without the light from the kitchen. There were a few heat lamps for his desert bugs terrarium and a bioluminescent glow from some firefly-like bugs he’d taken from Chuhvahl’s home planet, but not enough to read the labels by. The bugs were nearly silent, though undoubtedly alive. The low light was just bright enough to make out the movements of the plastic-eating mealworms in the tank closest to his bed.
It was an odd feeling, to sit in the dark and bask in the glow of his research collection. It did a lot to calm his anger and frustration. It hadn’t really produced anything or helped the ship or crew in any way, but it somehow felt like the most important and interesting thing he’s done. PD might be scandalized when he doesn’t understand a complex physics concept that every Kii’tre just has in their brains already, but he knew exactly how the compounds in the venom of the Venomous Oarfoot attacks the body. He wondered why he hadn’t started a collection like this back at the Dhorn nest, before everything.
He knew, of course. He understood bugs just fine, better than everything, so why bother studying them when he should keep banging his head against his calculus textbook. Veinny would raise her eyebrows when he did better in biology-related subjects than all others, and take that as a sign to tell him to focus more on other areas. He had to be smarter than he was, if it was easy it was wrong, and he didn’t have time for it. He had to get better at the things they wanted from him. Be the smart Kii’tre and help the nest, prove that Mr. Racine wasn’t wrong, repay the nest for the resources spent raising you. He couldn’t dare take any time to pin beetles to a board when he had to be ready to become the perfect team member the moment he’s sired. If they decided he was too much trouble and realized how badly he was failing at being the smart one like they wanted, he and Mr. Racine would be removed. Just be the confident and smart Kii’tre you’re supposed to be.
He wondered just when he’d stopped worrying about it and started his terrariums.
He had gotten so comfortable with this crew that he’d dropped all his walls long ago. It was obvious to everyone, even to Archive. He didn’t used to be so obvious about it. He used to try harder to pretend to be a typical Kii’tre. It had been on his mind the last couple of days, after they dug out that old draft of the crew contract. Seeing his own handwriting on the page was such a strange experience. They were his words but they were a different person entirely. He knew he hadn’t exactly changed that much in only a year, but he had dropped a persona he hadn’t even realized he was maintaining. The act of a person who didn’t need others, others needed him. A confident and arrogant vampire who knew what he was doing and should be kept around, too valuable to kill or leave behind. He remembered trying so hard to convince them to keep him around at the beginning, even while considering them temporary and beneath him. He had just been stuck and not sure where to go, and staying with the crew was a chance to keep moving and have someone watching his back. So he had tried to convince them and himself that he was someone strong, someone they should keep around but would be unaffected if they didn’t.
The obvious answer was that, somewhere along the line, he’d grown confident in his place in the crew. He’d realized, without realizing, that the persona wasn’t why he was kept around. It wasn’t what they wanted from him. There was something about the way he acted now and the crew’s response to it, something he heard in their interactions right there in the back of his mind like the quiet footsteps in the kitchen, reassuring him that the crew would still be there. That he would still be there. Something that made him feel safe in leaving his door open.
It couldn’t be the contract. He’d basically forgotten the thing. They’d had to search the whole ship for it before Chuhvahl found it, and upon reading it he realized he had forgotten about half of what was on it. So had most of the others. It wasn’t as if he didn’t break the contract because it was always hanging over him, he didn’t break the contract simply because he didn’t want to do anything in it. It stood to reason the others were the same way, only vaguely remembering the rules but mostly following them because they wanted to. They didn’t leave him behind simply because they didn’t want to, because something about him made him important to keep around.
He hesitates to say it’s because of his combat skills. Oh, he could definitely hold himself in a fight. He was the strongest magic user in the ship and he could pretty confidently say he had been instrumental in the crew getting out of quite a few scrapes alive. The skills in enchantments given to him by his Dhorn blood had been their main weapon in many situations, including the active situation which was Kraken living on their ship. A lot of their tasks are made miles simpler by a quick and powerful geas on the right person. He knew he had mostly gotten these skills while traveling with the crew, though, and they had kept him around for quite awhile before he had gotten where he is now.
Besides, if they only kept him around for his combat skills, he wouldn’t be collecting bugs. He would be honing his magic, proving that he will remain useful and only get stronger. He wouldn’t leave his door open to check on them, and they certainly wouldn’t pull him into their conversations simply to talk to him. A hired muscle doesn’t get the affection and acceptance he’s gotten. They would just push him more to be what they want him to be, what niche he needs to fill in the group.
Because the others were invaluable in some way as well. Vir’anni was very good at combat too but in a more physical way once the situation devolved to melee. Chuhvahl was an expert on how to navigate the criminal underbelly of planets, sneaky beyond belief, and best at wrangling Poor Decision. (He suddenly remembers earlier when Vir’aani asked if Chuhvahl knew PD best. For some reason he didn’t like the thought that that was probably true.) Poor Decision wasn’t actually the only one who could fly the ship, but they were the best at it. And as much as he would never admit it to their face, they were the smartest in the crew when it came to… actually useful science.
He shifts while he thinks, and something from the pile of nonsense rolls over his foot. He looks down and sees some sort of cube. Picking it up, he stands and walks over to the wall switch to turn on the overhead light in his room and identify it.
Oh. The Rubix’s Cube Brain Builder. He’d completely forgotten about this thing. Gods, had he been carrying this around in his pocket for nearly a year? He didn’t know why he hadn’t thrown it out or sold it yet. It wasn’t like there was anything else to do with it; he could only solve it once. That was kind of how puzzles worked. When you solved them, you knew the answer. Then you forget about them in your pocket. You’ve got more important things to think about.
He realized his anger had died down and was now mostly melancholy and introspective. Why did he start thinking about himself and the group? He was mad at PD about Amani. Right. Cause they had gone off to flirt with Amani on their own. They put the whole crew in danger for the sake of their childish mind games. They didn’t even consider the consequences, they just saw a new interesting thing and left the rest of them in the dust. An oddity to observe and figure out like a puzzle while little things like common sense and safety take a backseat. He did accuse them of thinking of people as puzzles, earlier.
And it’s not as if they had a say or anything. They would all be dragged along on this reckless hunt to mentally spar with Amani. It was like the whole crew just had to accept and deal with whatever Poor Decision wanted to do, because they would get bored. Their first thought when bringing Grief on board was to figure out how he worked. They had a stupid dog monster that everyone else argued against because PD thought it was interesting and who cares if it eats us when the geas wears off. If PD finds something new or unusual or interesting, everything that wasn’t interesting like common sense and the safety of the crew got forgotten.
Like the fact that Amani had something to do with the destruction of his nest. How he felt about this was just an unimportant and uninteresting detail, clearly. Forget him, he’s just the one who’s saved their life multiple times. Why should they devote any thought to him and his desire for answers or revenge, it wasn’t like he was the interesting new puzzle. The only thing they ever have to think about is what is interesting right now and whatever isn’t interesting slips their mind.
He tensed, suddenly, as he thought back to what Poor Decision had said at the beginning of their argument. “And Kii’tre are so predictable!” they’d said, “Even you! So Predictable!”
Even you, they’d said. You’re an oddity, a puzzle.
So predictable, they’d said. But I’ve got you figured out.
They’ve got more important things to think about.
Ekne threw the Rubix’s Cube Brain Builder into the mealworm tank and stomped back to his bed. It’s been a long time since he’s said this, but he could use a nap.
i've talked a lot on here about eventually writing an original novel and then never really following up on that
but I will say now that since early July, my partner @feral-engineer and i have written 413k words of a rough draft of a minimum four book science fantasy series about a bunch of autistic aliens being gay anti-capitalists on space boats, in space.
so like, once we get through the many, many stages of rewriting, revising, and editing that's needed, it's all over for y'all
Both the best and the worst thing about crafting a large, interconnected story driven universe is all the smaller stories that are fully formed in the background, that you never really have time to get into.
Like, in my game Stallus, there is a minor character named This Might Be A Safe Passage. They're the pilot of the ship that rescues one of the main ensemble at the beginning of their backstory. Basically just a trusty friend of this character's (closest thing to a maternal figure that they have).
Except Safe Passage has one of my favorite stories in the whole game. They started off as an involuntary lifehelm, basically a living battery used to make Fancy Space Ship Go. Because their species, Voices, are weird, have no collective society, and kinda just spawn into existence at random, this tends to be a pretty common occurrence for them.
At this point in their life, their name wasn't super important or individual. It was Where Shall I Deliver You? They were a little void of personality (again: fairly common for involuntary lifehelm Voices) until they were freed by Shel.
Shel is the leader of a gang of independent life helms whose official work is ship salvaging and sale, and unofficial work is quite broad and complicated and she leaves the really illegal parts of it to her sisters.
Where Shall I Deliver You experienced the typical Voice reaction to massive upheaval in their life, a complete and total ego death. They spent somewhere between a few months to almost a year nameless, as they tried to build an identity outside of Make Ship Go.
And that's when they fell in with the ecoterrorists.
Now, it was for a good cause, freeing enslaved lifehelms. Also, blowing shit up. Also, also, driving a ship through the base of the asshole that used Where Shall I Deliver You to power his damn helm.
They were now Nice To Meet Ya, always said with a grin and wild eyes that made it clear the name was a farewell, and that they weren't sure if you were going to die or if they were, but they didn't much care either way.
Everyone who knew them was pretty damn sure that Nice To Meet Ya was going to get themself killed someday, and there wasn't much anyone could do about it. They were, after all, a deranged little alien bastard who can power an entire ship with their life-force and would still somehow find a way to bite several of your fingers off in the process.
But, to everyone's surprise, that didn't actually happen. Shel started reaching out for their help, specifically in missions that mostly involved helping helms without blowing everything up, instead playing to their strength of being fast as fuck. It was a very slow, like, nearly 30 year process, but Nice To Meet Ya did end up dying as well, but in a way that was actually the result of growth, a rare thing for a Voice.
They became This Might Be A Safe Passage when they decided that the goal of keeping people alive is easier to achieve if you aren't dead. Since Nice To Meet You's driving force was bringing it all down with them, they had to pass on.
But yeah, minor character. Their introduction scene in the main story is mostly the main characters asking if they can have some of their blood and having a conversation about where babies come from
You ask of the creation you built meticulously with your own two hands, fully aware that as the one who brought it into the world, you bear the brunt of the responsibility for its faults
My partner pulling out the blowtorch as she attempts to rebuild her desk, as well as the running theme of my original work
One of my hobbies is making motivational posters for jobs in my dnd game, Stallus Corpus. Life helms are people who are really good at not dying when plugged in as the power source for a space ship.
Truly a wonderful job that is fulfilling in many ways
