"Hey, fourhorns," they say, "where the fuck are you staying at?"
OA has hellishly long legs and a stride to match, and you have to struggle to keep up. You rely on your psionics for so much in terms of orientation, and you've never really noticed that before: without them constantly judging the distance and angles of your environment, processing where a jump is feasible and where it simply isn't, the world feels a little unreal. It's hard to convince your pan that the ground won't move between the lift and drop of each walkstub, and it's harder still when you're trying to meet OA's stride.
They're as tall as a highblood, and it feels like they're taking three steps for every one of yours. It's absurd, and it only takes a minute of this before you get fed up and loop an arm through theirs. It steadies you, which is a definite bonus, but it also forces their steps to falter and slow.
(You don't like physical contact with strangers, not unless you're going in with a certain goal, but - it doesn't feel restricting, exactly, when you're the one initiating it.)
"Sorry," you say when OA looks down at you. You grin apologetically up at them, ignoring the way your lookstem clicks with protest. "I - haah - you're going a little fast."
They'd asked you a question, and you scramble internally to remember the answer. Where are you staying? You left your combustioncart at a resting facility, way back at the start of the night, but you can't remember where. You hadn't thought to put it into your phone, because, well.. it's not exactly as if you were planning on going back to your hive today, was it?
And unfortunately, resting facilities in a city like this are a dime a dozen. Leaving a cart out in public is an excellent way to get it stolen, or ruined by drones, or marked up by lusii: paying someone to watch it is the only way to ensure there's something to come back to in the evening, even in the greenblood districts. Maybe it's safer in the highblood lawnring communities, but you've never been able to afford a oversolar there.
OA is staring at you, waiting, and you snap out of your introspection. You're supposed to be answering a question. Right.
"I'm staying in my cart," you say, worrying your lip. "But, haah, would you believe -- oh, this sounds awful. Um."
"I.. don't precisely remember what facility I left it at?" You look down and away, massaging the back of your neck. "But there can't be a lot of them out here, right?"
[pheres won't acknowledge his drunken hook-ups even while on the prowl for drunken hook-ups]
OA has hellishly long legs and a stride to match, and you have to struggle to keep up. You rely on your psionics for so much in terms of orientation, and you've never really noticed that before: without them constantly judging the distance and angles of your environment, processing where a jump is feasible and where it simply isn't, the world feels a little unreal. It's hard to convince your pan that the ground won't move between the lift and drop of each walkstub, and it's harder still when you're trying to meet OA's stride.
They're as tall as a highblood, and it feels like they're taking three steps for every one of yours. It's absurd, and it only takes a minute of this before you get fed up and loop an arm through theirs. It steadies you, which is a definite bonus, but it also forces their steps to falter and slow.
(You don't like physical contact with strangers, not unless you're going in with a certain goal, but - it doesn't feel restricting, exactly, when you're the one initiating it.)
"Sorry," you say when OA looks down at you. You grin apologetically up at them, ignoring the way your lookstem clicks with protest. "I - haah - you're going a little fast."
They'd asked you a question, and you scramble internally to remember the answer. Where are you staying? You left your combustioncart at a resting facility, way back at the start of the night, but you can't remember where. You hadn't thought to put it into your phone, because, well.. it's not exactly as if you were planning on going back to your hive today, was it?
And unfortunately, resting facilities in a city like this are a dime a dozen. Leaving a cart out in public is an excellent way to get it stolen, or ruined by drones, or marked up by lusii: paying someone to watch it is the only way to ensure there's something to come back to in the evening, even in the greenblood districts. Maybe it's safer in the highblood lawnring communities, but you've never been able to afford a oversolar there.
OA is staring at you, waiting, and you snap out of your introspection. You're supposed to be answering a question. Right.
"I'm staying in my cart," you say, worrying your lip. "But, haah, would you believe -- oh, this sounds awful. Um."
"I.. don't precisely remember what facility I left it at?" You look down and away, massaging the back of your neck. "But there can't be a lot of them out here, right?"