fleetlogs | THE EDITED PHERES LOG (third times a charm)

THE EDITED PHERES LOG (third times a charm)

=> PHERES: Abscond.

=> FLEETBOUND POST. [refiningSpacetime - FIN]
=> MARDUK: Call your guide. [FIN]
=> RICCIN: Retrieve the damsel in distress. [FIN]
=> HINNOM: Lead him home. [FIN]
=> FLEETBOUND POST. [activatingAggro- FIN]
=> SIPARA: Fetch your dumb moirail. [FIN]
=> PHERES: Wake up. [FIN]

SUMMARY: Taking drinks from strangers is generally a bad idea. Pheres needs to be picked up from a party, but life is hard when your moirail is out of town and all of your friends are terrible. Luckily, there's always Fleetbound!

WARNINGS: None! Except for Pheres being thoroughly depressing in Lead him home.

THIS HAS BEEN FINALLY EDITED. For like the third time. Due to POV-switching shenanigans, you may occasionally encounter weird shifts / incorrect verb pluralisation at points that I missed in switching from 3rd person to 2nd person POV. Sorry! :c

For the most part, though, typoes should be fixed and continuity is now more accurate!

ALSO: Follow the story through the links above to ensure you're reading the correct, edited threads, please and thank youu

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The spark is more startling than it is painful: it's like the zap of static electricity, or the frisson on your lusus's scales after he goes rolling in the laundry. Still, you step back, folding your hand safely behind you as you consider.

Sipara said he had a hive. Was she expecting you to take him all the way to the city outskirts? It's distressingly plausible: your brownblooded friends are a lot of things, but considerate has never been one of them.

You can't bring him back to your dormitories. If he were a caste or two higher, you might be able to pass him off as a quadrantmate and gain an exemption that way.. but Proctor Sungazer disapproves of caste gaps, and expects his creche to abide strictly by the three castes or less rule, analogous colours only. And you can't just bring Pheres in as a friend. No one would believe that.

You won't get culled, of course. You're a jade, and the caste is too rare for any physical reprimands short of outright treason. But Pheres certainly would be, and the consequences for you would be still be distinctly unpleasant.

(You've seen the girls with cut horns, and yours may not be very large, but you like them the way they are.)

You chew on your lip. Your confidence is slipping: you don't know Sappho nearly well enough to decide what she would do now, and you don't know what you should do. This is why you like staying in your dorms, with your books as company. Books, like the laws, are predictable and precise: they follow rules, and if you only pay attention, you'll always know how the plot will go, and what the characters will do.

You wish life was that simple.

"No," you finally say. "I don't think they would."

Castor is quiet while they talk, and although you look to see what he's doing, he's just.. listening. When he catches you looking at him, he gives the same half-shrug he always does. His horns must've been fuck-huge, when he was a troll: he always acts like he's going to hit them, even after centuries of being dead.

"Offer to walk with them," he says, flat and disinterested. "If you must."

You think you probably should. The conversations been hard for you to follow: they're all talking names you don't know and shit you never got fed about, like helms and proctors and dorms. But Mardie started off swaggering and now she looks like a deflated balloon, and that's no good at all.

"We'll walk with you, then," you chirp, and everyone turns to look like they plumb forgot you were there. Rude fuckers. But, as your mom stirring under your collar reminds you, you've still got manners, so you trot straight up to the short lowblood. Mardie moves out of the way, giving you one of her looks like 'the fuck you doing,' but Castor gets it.

He steps in real close, big paws hooking around your waist, and you can feel the familiar tug as he uses your psionics to lift you up so you can touch horns. "Hi! Hinnom," you say, and boop your nose against theirs for good measure.

Edited 2015-03-30 00:18 (UTC)

The little grub that speaks up can't be more than six sweeps, maybe six and a half at most, and it looks like they're all bones under the suncloak. But that's not what catches your attention; it's the fact their horns are painted all white, with maroon streaked across the tips like blood.

It's gaudy as anything, but you like it. You never thought about painting horns before: it must be a local style, and the idea is fascinating.

They step forward and then bounce up, and - they must have psionics, because they just stay there, just at eye-level. When they lean forward and tap horns, it's a little harder than the standard lowblood greeting.

"Hi! Hinnom," they say, and then they boop their nose to yours.

It startles a laugh out of you. Their eyes are big and baby gray, but there's maroon paint all over their face, and call it narcissism, but you've yet to meet a maroon you dislike. You have the best caste, because it's such a friendly caste. "I'm Pheres," you say, pleased, and for good measure, you tilt your head to touch one of your rostal horns to theirs as well.

Edited 2015-03-30 00:19 (UTC)

Pheres's skin is fever hot against yours, and if it weren't for that, you'd wonder if he was dead. His eyes certainly look like it: behind the lenses, they're pale as bone, with little pinpricks of pupil. You've never seen an adult with eyes like yours before! Usually they're all filled in with colour.

"I like your eyes," you tell him as he touches his second set of horns to yours, and you're about to say more, see if he's maybe only part dead, but then Castor drops you.

It's not a big fall. You land effortlessly, knees tucking to absorb the impact, and pivot around to hiss at him. Castor looks unimpressed. "He's sparking. And you'll tire yourself out if I hold you up forever," he points out, folding his arms.

It's true enough. You can't use your own telekinesis, although none of your ghosts have ever been able to explain why: only the leashed ghosts can use it, and even though you're not doing anything, it still takes a toll. And after a morning of mail delivery and no snacks or sleep, even the small stuff matters right now.

"Besides, you still need to greet the other." Castor's still talking. You squint at him, questioning. You don't like highbloods! They're huge, and big, and scary, and Castor's only okay because he's dead. He's never had a problem with that before, and at your look, he explains: "Their symbolhight is yellow."

Huh.

Well, okay.

You turn to the big yellowblood and trot over, but once you're standing in front of them, shyness strikes. They're really, really big: only a few inches shorter than Castor, and he's the biggest troll, dead or alive, you've ever seen. He's standing right behind you, and you can feel the impatience radiating as he waits for you to give him the sign, but all you can do is stall.

This troll might be yellow - but they're still really, really big.

"Oh," you say, pleased and with an embarrassed smile. "Um. Thank you!"

The wriggler drops back to the ground with a hiss, spinning as they struggle to regain their balance. You can sympathize: even when you're sober, it's always a struggle to make your psionics work well, and you're tempted to murmur as much to Riccin, who's staring at the two of you like you're doing something strange.

But that might embarrass the poor thing, and you don't want to do that, especially not when they pick themselves up so quickly. They trot over to Riccin, stop right in front of them, and wait.

Building their strength for the bigger hop, probably. There's over two feet of distance between them. Here, at least, you can intervene without any embarrassment. You pull on Riccin's arm, pressing your free hand against it, and then bounce up until your chin can rest on their shoulder. It's a stretch, only made possible by the way they instinctively duck, but you're not going to stay for longer than an instant. "Could - would you bend down?" you ask, laughing a little. "Please?"

Marduk is all hot air, and you can see as she processes your words and gradually deflates. It starts with the chin, and works its way down: her horns tuck in, her shoulders slump and her posture curls, until there's no sign of the shirty jadeblood, and she's just another defensive lowblood.

"No," she says, each word like someone's pulling a fang, "I don't think they would."

You smile. "You're fucking right," you say, pleased as punch, and you're going to say more, but then the tiny-ass kid hops out from behind her, and chirps: "We'll walk with you!"

The kid's dressed up like a punching bag at Carnival, horns slathered in white paint and wearing some shabby cloak that's got more holes than fabric. But they're all confidence and no hesitation. They stalk up to Pheres like they fucking know him, and you feel the pulse of active psionics before the kid even jumps. Their eyes are baseline flat, all cluckbeast yolk yellow and grub gray, but they're strong.

You're expecting - who knows, some kind of attack? That wouldn't make any sense, but nothing else does, either. All the kid does, though, is use them to boost themselves up to eye-level, and slap horns with him.

What the fuck?

Pheres acts like this is fucking normal: he actually laughs as the grub goes as far as to box snouts too, and there's a quick exchange of names and words before the kid drops back to the ground, knees bending like they were dropped.

And then, apparently, it's your turn, because the kid is standing in front of you, patient as a churchmouse, and Pheres is watching with the same loaded expectancy. You shake your head, lip curling.

There's no way you're going to let some paintsplattered gutterrat touch horns with you. This is some weird fucking lowblood shit that's happening, and you're not going to be a part of it.

Pheres tugs on your arm, and then, bracing his free hand against it, arches up. The way you duck your shoulder is instinct, and he immediately takes the opportunity to nestle his chin on it, so that his face inches from yours.

His breath smells like cheap liquor, and you can feel the heat of his skin radiating even across the short distance. Combined with the press of the sun above you, it is entirely too fucking much, and you really should shrug him off.

"Could - would you bend down?" he asks, his breath tickling the skin of your face. It's warm, and the way he's pressed against you, you can feel the hitch in his thoracic cage an instant before he laughs. "Please?"

You bend instead.

Castor makes a disapproving noise from behind you, but you can't imagine why. The yellowblood bends just as Pheres asks, and they're eyeing you like you're going to bite, which is rude. But they seem like a pretty rude troll overall.

"I don't think they're used to lowbloods," Castor says, as he lifts you. It's only a boost, one you could've made on your own, but Castor's always doing stuff like that. Says it's important for you to make sure you're keeping your psionics exercised, even if you can't use them yourself.

You shrug and make the greeting quick: you turn each cheek, so you can properly tap each horn with theirs. "Hinnom," you say, prim, and then you twist so Castor'll drop you, more carefully this time. This troll is weird, and you aren't eager to stay close.

"You yellow?" you ask. "'cause I'm yellow too!"

You're starting to think of Riccin as one of the wild beasts you watch when you're on the road: dangerous enough, if you're unprepared, but otherwise perfectly harmless. (Or like one of your customers, but that's a mean thought. Most of them haven't tried to kill you in sweeps.)

Prepared, for you, usually involves being in your steel-enforced cart. But you think you've got a handle on how to deal with Riccin. Everyone responds well to manners, and they're apparently no exception.

You lean against them, chin still on their shoulder, your hand tucked in front of it. There doesn't feel like much point in moving it, for all that you don't need it to stay upright, and besides, the way that Riccin feels cool against your torso is a nice change from the heat of the sun on you back.

You could just stay like this for the rest of the trip.

Or, well, not really. Riccin's going to stand up eventually, and you'll have to shift back onto their arm. But right now, everything feels great, and it's easy to lean in against them, drowsing a little as your breath hitches in the beginning of a purr.

This is so fucking weird.

The familiar tingle of psionics again, and then the little troll is lifting up to eye level. The greeting is perfunctory, and you hold perfectly still for the duration of it: they tap left horn to left horn, and then right horn to right. "Hinnom," they say, prim as a schoolfeed, and then the kid drops back to the ground.

This has got to be a fucking lowblood thing, because when you cant your eyes towards the jade, Marduk's got the same wigged out face going on as you. Well, whatever. Getting bagged for the programs early meant you never spent much time with lowbloods: before that, you spent your time with Myrrha and Liyiji, and after that, you spent it in church, to better prepare for your position on a Carnival ship. But if these fuckers want to play rustbuddies, it's no skin off your back.

"I'm yellow, too," Hinnom says, and you frown. They're all decked out in maroon, from the seedflap to the bulbs to the twice-painted horns, and ugh, fuck, you just want to go home already, because this shit is too weird. Maybe it's quad colours, but there's no insignia on the coat, in either maroon or yellow. Bluebloods play this game occasionally, but it seems weird for a yellow: their blood is shitty enough, why chance someone making the mistake it's the one hue worse?

"'course I'm fucking yellow. That's what the symbol says," you say, flat as a board, and then you stop.

There's a vibration against your back, almost like the diagnostic pulse from your ports, and it's only when you lean towards it and it increases in response that you realise what's going on. Pheres is fucking purring, and if he wasn't pressed against you, you wouldn't have noticed - but it's impossible not to, when cloth is the only thing between your skin.

This is getting awkward, fast. You're not about to haul him on your back like some sort of glorified pack animal, but you're not exactly keen on moving him, either, because holy shit, that's a great fucking noise.

(It'd be better if he wasn't completely fucking sloshed.)

"Since you're all evidently just going to stand around in the daylight," Castor says, "I'm going to check the perimeter."

He doesn't walk away so much as he dissolves, his outline growing more abstract with each step. Ghosts can do that, when they don't want to be seen, and you could force him to refocus.. but you don't bother. Castor's allowed his space! And besides, it isn't as if you can't feel him just by thinking about the leash.

Riccin has trailed off: for a second, you think they're going to say something else, but Castor was right. They're all just standing there! Welll, whatever. Not like they can walk until Castor gets back.

"Is it?" You lean in, peering at their cloak, and oh, now you can see it: two overlapping yellow circles, on the edge of their collar. It looks neat! You don't have any clothes with those, and although trolls have made noise about the lack, the only colour you'd want a symbol in is maroon. But Castor said it wasn't allowed, and that was that.

"You got any powers?" you ask, more to talk than out of real curiosity. The silence is dragging on and on, and you're not sure why, but it's boring as fuck. "I do! I'm a psychic."

A beat, and then you add: "That means I talk to ghosts."

You're starting to think you'll feel excluded from any group. All of your highblood classmates look down on you for your blood, and many refuse to talk to you outright: they'll all be heading off to ships and colony planets, but you're the only student, save for the four sweep old Dammeo, who will be sent to the caverns. Why bother making connections with the girl they'll never see again, when they're surrounded with children they might be stationed with?

You've never had that problem with lowbloods. Jade is rare enough that most think you're just olive, and you've always been treated like one of them. But at times like these, when they're all doing strange things like they're perfectly normal...

It's almost a relief when you notice the way that Pheres is drowsing, half-perched on Riccin's shoulder. You've read about the dangers of sunlight: it's important to know, for all that it doesn't apply personally. And sleepiness, all of the guides said, is one of the first signs of danger.

You gently tug a water bottle free from your decimal sylladex, where it's been catalogued as 600.641 (Food & Drink), and head over. You tap him on the shoulder, carefully, and holds out the water bottle. "Excuse me, Pheres," you say. "Um. You should drink this."

"It's water with additional electrolytes added in order to prevent dehydration." He's already drank contaminated liquid once tonight, and you don't want him to be unaware, or worry. "You've been in the sun for a great deal of time, so you should rehydrate."

Man, lowbloods are all so fucking tiny. You're starting to feel like a drone in the caverns right now: Marduk is the tallest of the bunch, and even slouched, you've got a head on her. Shit is absurd.

Little fuckers could at least have the courtesy to wear boots.

"Ghosts," you repeat. That sounds vaguely familiar: if they're hanging with Marduk and Sipara, then they're probably another dork from Fleetbound. Well, whatever. "That's hilarious, kid, 'cause I fucking make them. Now shut the fuck up. I'm not out here to yammer."

Moving requires shifting Pheres, who is still purring, and.. apparently sleeping, because he doesn't do much more than make a muffled noise of protest when you try to stand up. It's pathetic, and you'd almost be tempted to let him stay, except for the fact he is completely fucking drunk, and that, combined with the way he's clinging, is starting to seriously weird you out.

Thank god for the jade. She trots over, rattling off some creed on water bottles and dehydration, and you take the opportunity to shrug off Pheres, and push him - none too gently - towards her. "Go cling to the trainee," you order. "Come on, we're walking."

There's someone tapping on your shoulder.

Your eyes have shut sometime in the last few minutes, and your purring stutters to a stop as you crack them open. It's still bright outside, even with your glasses, and Marduk is standing in front of you, holding out a bottle of water.

Riccin shrugs you off, and the world goes floppy for a moment: you're too tired to really have much in the way of balance, the heat having left you limp-limbed and sluggish, but luckily there's a big hand in the center of your spine, shoving you roughly towards Marduk.

"Oh," you say, blinking rapidly. Latching onto Marduk's arm as soon as she gets close enough is a matter of self-preservation: you don't want to fall! (You can't feel the ground beneath you with anything other than your feet, and that's bizarre.) But she still tenses like it's unexpected, and you twist your mouth into a lopsided smile. "Sorry," you offer, laughing a little as you lean on her.

This is ridiculous. By the point that the alcohol starts burning off and disorientation sets in, you're usually already asleep. If this is what it feels to be drunk - really, really drunk - you're never going to touch a drink ever again. "Haah. I take it we're walking now..?"

Pheres is only a few inches shorter than you, but he's featherbeast light: even when he leans on you, the only inconvenience is the way that your earring tangles in his hair. He's apologising muzzily, even as he latches onto your arm, but you can't blame him. He's unsteady as a particularly top heavy wriggler.

"Um," you says, frowning at Riccin, because why did they just shove him on you? The way he's clinging is making your skin crawl, and it has nothing to do with the heat. "it's alright."

Riccin claims that they're an Imperial Trainee as well, but manners are an important part of every course, and respecting your betters is the main focus. You're not sure if you really believe in the hemosystem, but you know better than to flout it.

Apparently, Riccin doesn't. There might only be two castes between you, but the fact remains: jade is past the limegap, and yellow is not. You would think that'd warrant a little respect, and tossing Pheres onto you without so much as a by-your-leave and referring to you as a trainee.. well, you'd never do that to Sappho.

(Mostly because she'd cull you. But also because you aren't rude.)

Trying not to let your frown deepen, you push the water bottle into Pheres's hands. "Do try to drink that, please."

You push out your bottom lip, pouting. You want to say something else - like tell them how much they suck, they're such a jerk, it's awful - but Riccin is looking at you, so you pinch your fingers and zip your lips shut instead.

As soon as they turn their back, you stick out your tongue. They're so mean!

Riccin shoves Pheres off on Marduk, and you watch approvingly as she catches him easily. Her other arm is free, and maybe you'll grab it in a minute, so the three of you are all in cahoots, and Riccin is left all alone. That'll show them.

Maybe they'll cry! You hope they'll cry. Jerk.

The rest of them are walking ahead, and that's cool: you'll just play catch up, once Castor turns back up. You linger back, giving the leash a mental tug, and wait for the blueblood to appear.

Pheres stumbles as you push him, giving you a look over his shoulder like he really doesn't understand what's going on. He's walking like a puppet with its strings cut, and when he reaches Marduk, he immediately latches onto an arm, twisting just enough so that he's facing the right direction. The look that Marduk gives you is flat-out mean, but she doesn't say a word, just flicks her ears like she's chasing away flies.

She's smarting over the trainee comment, probably, but tough shit: you're Mirthful and she's not, and the Book is real clear on where that places each of you, spectrum or not. You smile at her, but it's hard to keep up the smuggery when Pheres's leaning against her, close enough that he'd be cheek-to-cheek if it weren't for those stupid horns. His eyes are pleased slits, and he's laughing about something under his breath, his lips too slow for you to read and his voice too low to hear.

Good to see the purring shit wasn't personal: apparently, cuddling with strangers is just what he does, because now that he's hanging on the jade, he seems happy as a clambeast.

(Well, what did you expect, when you shoved him off like that? Should've just dealt with the mugginess -)

Ugh, what the fuck ever.

You start walking, and sure enough, the other two fall in step behind you. It takes you a few feet to realise the thump of feet behind you is off, though, and when you look back, yeah - you're missing one of your little number.

The maroon kid is hanging back, peering off into the distance like they're waiting for someone, which is bullshit: no one's awake this time of day save for your lot, and you aren't up for dawdling right now. Long legs mean a long stride, and without having to wait up for the other short-asses, heading back to the kid only takes a minute.

"Come on," you snap, and you snatch them up by the back of their cape. Carrying them or dragging them, it doesn't really matter: either way, Hinnom's coming with them.

If you're playing shitblood corraller, might as well do it right.

You're snatched up by the scruff of your cape like a baby meowbeast, and for a moment, you're too startled to move, and then too scared, because Riccin's hauled you all the way up into the air. Falling from up here would be awful, and Riccin's exactly that sort of a jerk.

You jerk on the leash again instead, soft one time and then a split second later, you yank it harder. Where is Castor? You didn't bring Runnin, or Goutof, or Namese for a reason, and that's because out of all of them, Castor's the only one who really gets that it's his job to protect you.

But he's not here, and you can't use your telekinesis without him.

Fear has you pulling as hard as you can manage. When it comes down to it, the leash is a chain, and you wrap it tight, turning your cry from a request to a demand until finally, there's an answering vibration.

Castor emerges over the horizon a few seconds later, approaching at a run.

Castor can't look pale. There's no blood in his veins, no flesh to drain, but maybe he's feeling especially corporeal today, because when he gets close enough to see, his face is drawn, his body is tense, and he's as pale as.. well, a ghost.

"Drones," he says, his voice like he wants to tear something to shreds. He always gets angry when he's scared, angry and a little wondering, like the emotion's new. "We need to go."

When Riccin turns back, you peer over your shoulder to see why.. and immediately, your pumpbiscuit sinks. Oh. Oh no. You completely forgot about Hinnom.

But the yellowblood has grabbed zim, and Riccin is hauling zim like a package of goods back to the group. Hinnom dangles by zir cape, and even from here, you can see the way ze's holding zimself stiff and solid, like they're frozen from fear.

You don't like it. The way they're being held can't be comfortable! But Hinnom is the smallest of you all, and there's no way ze'll be able to keep up otherwise, so you swallow your complaint. Unless..

You step to Riccin's other side, pulling Pheres gently with you until you're next to Hinnom. Good thing ze isn't thrashing, or ze'd kick you in the face. "Hinnom," you say carefully, "do you think you could use your psionics to keep up?"

Marduk says something, but you don't hear. Castor's close enough to grab you now, now, and he's eyeing Riccin like he wants to haul off and pop them.

But that'd be wasting energy, and if there's drones - your mouth is dry and your pan feels like it's trying to churn in a hundred different directions at once, but god, if there's drone, you've got to amscray. Drones are super-duper, hellaciously bad, the one thing that both your lusus and Castor have both bitched you out about avoiding, and if they're close enough to freak Castor out...

Marduk's next to you, but you don't care: you start thrashing around, kicking and flailing with all four limbs. Riccin's arms are covered in cloth, and your claws aren't doing jack shit to the fabric but sliding off, so you start pummelling the arm with your fists instead. "Let me down," you demand, your voice raising to a shriek. "There's drones back there, I gotta go, let me down!"

The kid is starting to whine, but you do not give a single fuck what sort of raucous noise they want to rattle up: it's not like they can do shit. The sun is up, the air is hot, and your apartment is a thirty minute fucking walk, so fuck anyone that thinks you're about to start dawdling.

You change your mind when the kid starts yowling about drones. The first high pitch noise goes straight into one audiosponge and deep into your the fleshiest part of your pan, and you hiss, your ears immediately pinning back defensively. You'd cover them up, but your hand is currently occupied by the thrashing bag of cloth and bones you're holding up.

Not for long. The kid is fucking hitting you, little paws clenched into fists that're pummelling away at your side and your arm and anything in reach, and the first time one strikes a port and sends shockwaves of sparks crawling up your arm, you're fucking through. You shake them, hard, and then drop them on the ground for good measure.

The only warning you get is the way that Hinnom tenses, head tilting like ze's listening to someone talk, and then goes still. Combat training is what makes you duck, and you're grateful for it when the booted foot goes over your head and straight into Pheres's instead.

Grateful, and appalled.

"Hinnom!" you hiss, flushing. "Pheres - are you alright?"

You only realise you've fallen asleep again when Hinnom starts yowling. Your head snaps up from where it was resting on Marduk's shoulder and thank heavens you're still wearing the glasses, because it feels like the day has only gotten brighter over the past hour. Even through the tinted shades, your vision is crowded with white spots.

And then, seconds later, more appear when a booted foot kicks you directly in the horn. The momentum is too weak for it to really hurt, but the impact of the metal sole is enough to set your horn to ringing, and suddenly you're not tired at all.

You have no idea what's going on. But you do know -

"Drones?" Your mouth feels like it's full of cotton, but you're holding a water bottle for some reason, and you rip off the keratin lid with a claw and take a grateful gulp. The rest of the water, you dump on your head: the suncloak you're wearing is sunproof but not waterproof, and the liquid soaks rapidly through the cloth and onto your skin. It doesn't get rid of the way your head feels like it's full of cotton, but it helps, and besides, it is hot as hell out here.

"What - why are there drones?"

Riccin drops you, and you hit the ground with a bounce that leaves you staggering. But that's okay, because you're on your feet and already spinning, trying to find the best route to escape.

Where did you leave the sewer grate?

The others are talking, but right now, you don't care. Castor's circling your little posse, peering at each in turn, and the information he's rattling off is what you've got to pay attention to. The drones are still a few blocks over, clearing out the last of the communal hivestems. The neighborhood back there is completely locked down, and you've probably only got a minute or two before the groundsmen start moving over here to start rounding up the kids in the street.

Kids like you.

"These two will be fine." He's been looking over Marduk and Riccin, and yeah, you weren't worried about Mardie: she's like, working for the fishheads, so the drones'll probably just pat her on the horns and call her honeygrub. And Riccin's practically the size of a drone by themselves, so they can't be worried.

But Castor's looking at Pheres now, leaning in close enough that the bighorn shifts. Flatscans can't see ghosts as much than specks, but sometimes they can feel their auras. "But this one's cullbait," Castor announces. "Bring him along."

You puff out their cheeks, but there's no time to protest, and while Pheres might look old as fuck, he isn't big: anywhere you can squeeze, he should be able to fit, too, so you dart over and grab his free hand.

"They're doing a culling sweep," you say, and give his arm a yank. If only you were bigger, then you could just scruff him and haul Riccin did. "Come on come on come on! We've gotta go!"

And how the fuck does the kid know that?

But the daytime is quiet. A little too quiet, maybe, and you frown, looking around. Sure enough, there's kids at the windows of a lot of the nearby hivestem, their curtains open and outlines blurred behind the tinted glass. They're not looking down at them, though.

Their faces are angled up, towards the next block over.

"Hold it," you say, irritable. The kid is acting like this is a fucking emergency, but none of you are really cullbait: the kid and Pheres aren't about to be culled just for looking skinny as fuck, you've got the Shepherd's symbol emblazoned bold on the back of your cloak, and Marduk seems like the sort of dumbass that could rattle off her imperial signature in her sleep. "It's a culling sweep. So what?"

Oh. A culling sweep.

You've been through those before, both times on those rare occasions when you slept off-grounds for a night. Drones came into the hivestem and collected all the residents straight in a line, and did a health inspection for blood abnormalities, any incurable communicative diseases.. anything that might warrant a culling so their apartment block could be freed for a new, healthier child.

At the time, it was terrifying. The air had been thick with fear pheromones, and the sound of children weeping: you had watched one child culled right in the middle of the line, and then cried when her moirail demanded the same.

(The drone had done it, under code five hundred and eighty two. You had looked it up, afterwards, and all of the rest of the culling qualifications, just in case, and you hadn't slept for the rest of the day.)

But now...

You're all healthy. No blood aberrations, no disease: you might wonder about Hinnom's health with the way that ze live in the sewer, but ze spends too much time with you. You'd have noticed if ze was sick, or sported any unusual mutations.

"Culling sweeps are a perfectly normal and routine part of the day," you say now, trying to sound soothing. Ze's practically vibrating with anxiety, and the way fear pheromones that are coming off of zim in waves is making your horns ache. "I've been in several, and come out fine. There's nothing to be worried about."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject