fleetlogs | => PHERES: Abscond.

=> PHERES: Abscond.

=> 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

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Pheres looks different tonight than he did when you left. For one, he's wearing glasses, and it looks like he's actually got normal eyes behind them, all yellow along the edges and pink-gray in the center.

Maybe he got drunk and died, and now he's alive again? You've never heard about that happening, but you don't know shit about drinking, 'cept you know folks are always saying it makes you sleep like the dead.

You always thought it was a joke! But maybe they meant it literally.

"Thanks!" You bounce over. Telekinesis is off-limits, with Castor in his snit, but Pheres isn't that much bigger than you: four, five inches, maybe, which is hilarious, 'cause he looks old as fuck, white eyes or no. You do a quick horn bump, chattering away all the while: "I dug up all this shit myself!"

"Well," you amend, "not all of it. Like, hauling bones would take foreeeever. And if you move bones, then you gotta apoltergheist to their spirits, and that's boring. Super boring! Super duper boring."

"You ever try to make sorry with a ghost? 'cause, like, it sucks!"

You didn't realise, earlier, exactly how large this kid was.

(They're small enough to fit under your chin, so only six inches or so smaller than you. But six inches is still a lot, when you're nine and they're six at the oldest.)

They bounce straight up into your personal space, and you back up until the recuperacoon is against your back. They don't seem to notice, though, and once they're in close, they duck their chin, tapping each of their horns against yours: one tap to the left, one to the right, while they chatter away all the while.

You forgot that's what lowbloods do to greet each other in this city. You'd prefer a handshake, but awkwardly, you return the gesture, and Hinnom seems satisfied. They've been rattling away this entire time, and you have to struggle to remember what they were saying.

They're talking about ghosts.

"I can't say I have," you say, laughing a little. A lot of lowbloods believe in ghosts, but you're not one of them. The idea of living after your body has died is far too depressing. "But, ah.. I'll take your word for it."

They didn't move the bones here. That's good, you suppose, and a little less unsettling. People die all the time, and there's no point in getting upset over it, but the idea of people handling the bodies afterwards leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

The skin mask is probably something they just grabbed, then. You're almost tempted to ask - but, no, this is where Hinnom was assigned to live, and there's no point in potentially upsetting them by bringing it up. "You found all of the rest, though? If you don't mind me asking.. where?"

Pheres has so many questions.

He asks you about the tapestries on the walls, mostly. You can't answer even half of them! They're just things you've ganked over the sweeps, the sort of cloth that's too pretty to just let molder on a corpse. You don't know the age of them, or the dates they were used, and you definitely don't know anything about how they were made.

"I can show you where I got 'em, though," you offer, and he blanches, stammers out a quick refusal. "You sure? 'cause, like, I got books 'n shit to keep track.."

No, he doesn't want to go into the catacombs. He's got the same issue as Castor, you guess: the ghouls and revenants and walkers don't bother you none, but Pheres seems antsy at the mere mention of the real dead filling up the crypts. He'd probs shit his pants if you mentioned the fact they kept getting up.

(Especially in the areas he's so curious about. Once you get far enough in the tomb, you start hitting the flooded areas, and there isn't a single thing down in those levels that isn't infected by fungus, alive or dead. Sometimes you overdose on antifungals and head down there, on account of the fact you've found some of the best shit, but even the squeakbeasts'll try to infect you down there.)

Once he establishes you don't know jack about the tapestries, and no, you're not going to sell them, the hell would you do that for - he moves onto everything else. The weapons on your wall, the few books above your coon, the masks and clothes and prosthetic horns you've got piled all around...

Half of it, he doesn't want to buy. (Not that you'd let him. What use do you have for caegars, when you've got water and food galore down here?) He just wants to talk about it, and it's baffling, but you roll with it. You never get to talk to people aside from Marduk, though you've been trying to play nice and make friends on Fleetbound. Conversation of any sort is new and exciting.

Eventually, your digestion sack starts to rumble, and you have to get up to eat. There's a box of jerky that you stole last time you were on your route, and you start chewing on strips. Your pan is saying it's time to go to bed, so you'll be awake right and proper for the deliveries today.. but you don't want to sleep!

Any moment now, Pheres is going to realise it's about time he turned tail, and leave. You don't want to waste the time he's here sleeping, so. You won't.

Eating makes for a lull in the conversation. You put out a strip of jerky for your mom, who scrambles down your arm and onto the ground to devour it, and then you offer one to Pheres.

"No, thank you," you say politely. The jerky looks old as hell, and Hinnom's hands are dirty, streaked with blue that you hope is just dust and dirt from the tombs. You're liable to catch something just from being near them while they eat: you'd probably just die if you actually ate it yourself.

Hinnom shrugs, and shoves the entire strip in their mouth instead.

Living down here must be lonely, because they seem desperate for conversation. Half of the questions you asked, it was clear they had no idea what you were talking about, but they tried to answer them anyway, in any manner that they could.

("I dunno the age," they said, wrinkling their nose at you, "but, like, we could go down there and check!")

It's a shame you're going to have to leave soon. Usually, you don't interact with wrigglers, apart from selling to them, and occasionally buying: while they have to survive as much as anyone else, and there's a large number of them in the AHRC, their immaturity tends to grate on you.

Especially with the higherblooded ones, who wouldn't know manners if it bit them on the knee, and have yet to realise that treating a vendor disrespectfully is an excellent way to get sold faulty goods.

Hinnom has the same frantic immaturity as the rest, but the fact they saved your life, and they seem so happy to have your attention, makes it a little more tolerable. And if they realise that they're two castes above you, well. They're not showing it. They're treating you with what amounts, with lowbloods, to respect.

Maybe you'll check in on them, next time you're in Capitol City. It's not like you can ever have too many contacts.

The conversation lulls into a comfortable silence. You're going to have to leave, in a moment, but for right now, you'll let them eat.

Or, at least, you were going to.

"What's that noise?" There's a rat-tatatat coming from below, but there's no downstairs: you checked.

Edited 2014-12-08 15:19 (UTC)

You stop chewing, and oh, you can hear it. Someone's knocking at the door.

Wait, what?

"Um," you say, and then again: "Um! Castor?"

He's still dematerialised, but you can get a sense of his emotions: grumpy, tired. Do ghosts sleep? It strikes you that you've never asked, and you make a note to see, later today. Maybe they do, because although he stirs at your words, the materialisation process is slow and hazy, like he's trying to wake up fully.

Whatever. You don't have time to wait!

"That's someone at the door," you tell Pheres, and scrambling to your feet, you hurtle down the hall. You can hear the pounding of footsteps behind you that you take to mean Pheres is following, and you race to the end of the hallway, turn and duck.

There's only four feet or so of clearance under the deck, and with your latest hornspurt, slipping under to get to the staircase below has turned into something of a hassle. You have to practically bend in half to get under, but after that, the stairs are easy to get down, as long as you keep your head down.

You hear a thump behind you, and glance over your shoulder. Pheres followed you under, but he tried to straighten up, and the way he's cursing, hitting his horns on the wood must've hurt. You titter but don't stop, and race down to the far door.

Castor's behind you, still a hazy outline in the corner of your vision. "I'll go check," he says, words stretched by a definite yawn, and he slides into the crack between the wall and the door like smoke.

A moment later, he pops back in, looking surprised, but not alarmed.

"It's Mardu-"

You slam the button. It flickers, and then the door slides up just as you unhook the chain from the ground. Marduk stumbles in, ducking under the plank of wood across the front, and a small rustblood, tiny and covered in scars, follows.

The rustblood doesn't even notice you: all of her attention is on Pheres, who has perked up at the sight of her.

Edited 2014-12-08 15:26 (UTC)

Hinnom's having a conversation with the air. If you focus, you can almost imagine you can hear something responding - but that's silly. The little grub's crazy, and it's probably starting to rub off.

None-the-less, the conversation must have served its purpose, because after a moment, they jam the heat-recognition button, and the door snaps open to reveal Sipara and Marduk.

"Pheres, you fetid little fishhead," Sipara snaps, as soon as she sees you, and she steps in close like she's going to grab you. Instead, she cracks you across the face with the back of her hand. It's a hard hit, knuckles crooked to bruise, hard enough to make you stumble and the room spin.

It tastes like there's blood in your mouth, and you touch it gingerly - or maybe that's just the sour tang of shame, because Sipara looks like she's ready to burst from exhaustion and fury and the sheer relief of seeing you alive.

"Are you feral? Do you think this is just, like, what people do - get wasted as a fucking bubbleblower and take off into the day? Because it's not! I'm going to break both your walkstubs and tie you to your stupid motorcart, if you ever, ever do this again --"

"Um," Marduk says. She's staring at the ceiling like she's praying it'll descend and rescue her from witnessing this torrid pale spat, and right now, you can't blame her.

You gingerly touch your face, but there's no blood on the skin or on your lips, thank heavens. If you have a bruise later, you'll throttle her. "Shoosh!" You pap her on the head, and then, on second thought, you grab her hands, claws digging in to keep her from pulling away. "Shoosh, you big baby," you tell her sternly. "I'm not dead! I'm perfectly fine, and if you do that again, I'll bite off your hand."

It's a hollow threat, but the way Pheres is staring at you, eyebrows down and disapproving like you're a barkbeast that just shit the bed forces you to calm down. That, and the way he's holding your hands hurts. Your clawtips are basically nubs, constantly worn or broken off through frequent use, but his are long, pointy strips of polished lacquer that he keeps filed sharp, and they're digging right into your flesh, tip-first.

You huff through your nose, trying to pull away, but his grasp is firm. "Sorry," you acquiesce. Marduk's lusus pushes past you, and you shift, but pay it no mind. "No hitting. I'm a stupid bulgemunch. Sorry."

He does look fine, and that's a relief. Riccin wasn't lying: there's no bruises on his face, save for the slight darkness where your hand struck, and his clothes are sopor-green and damp, like he slept in them, but it doesn't look like he was rough-handled at all.

The ball of tension in your chest unwinds, a little.

"I'm still going to tie you to the fucking truck if you ever do this again, though." Pheres is alright, and now that you know that - you can see it - exhaustion is starting to set in. You are so tired. You drove all through the day, and you fought a fucking zombie, and all you want to do is go to bed.

Edited 2014-12-08 15:27 (UTC)

Marduk's lusus is adorable and you love it and you want ten of them. It shoved past the rustblood and went straight to you, eyes on the jerky in your hand.

"Mrph," it tells you, fixing you with its big, sad eyes as it licks its lips, and how are you supposed to say no to that? The grateful way the little scaled meowbeast scarfs down the meat and licks your hand afterwards is worth it.

You love it so much.

"I think he loves me the best," you tell Marduk and Castor, but they're both ignoring you in favor of gawking at the palespat over in the corner. Castor's smirking, but Marduk just looks incredibly awkward: her eyes keep drifting up towards the ceiling whenever she thinks anyone is looking, but she's watching just as much as Castor. Weird. It's not that funny.

"You do love me the best, don't you?" Marduk's lusus purrs at you and butts its head aganist your hand, and oh, you have got to find more food in here.

What do lusii eat? Your isopod colony is just about ready to harvest...

Edited 2014-12-08 15:29 (UTC)

Sipara and Pheres are apparently through with their little spat, much to your relief. You've never seen a moirail slap their palepartner before: on the telly, they're always kind to each other, often to the point of being simpering. Is this sort of behaviour normal?

(You hope it's normal, because you have no idea what you're supposed to do, if it's not.)

The leash tugs in your fronds, and you turn to find Hinnom is kneeling on the ground, feeding a piece of jerky to your lusus. Maybe it is normal, if ze didn't even notice. "Hinnom," you say politely, "this is Sipara. ActivatingAggro on the forums? She's Pheres's moirail."

"Yeah, remember, the one you called lame as fu-"

Pheres's claws dig into your palm, and you pout. It's true: helped him or not, you haven't forgotten the fact they jumped you when you warned them away from OA. Inappropriately pale, what a fucking load of shit. Little blighter.

Whatever. They're - no, wait, shit, ze's over there chilling with Marduk's lusus, trying to feed it tidbits from zir hand, and they didn't even hear your little spiel. You clear your throat until they look up, and then you smile, toothily, and try again. "Nice to meet you, kiddo. You got any wake-up beans down here?"

You want to sleep, but you can't, not until you get back to the surface. You hope that ze has coffee: if he doesn't, you might sleep on zir floor instead.

Oh. Sipara's asking you something.

"Nope!" You're not even sure what wake-up beans are, to be honest. "Sorry, boo. You can crash here, though!"

You say it casually, but the idea is exciting. Trolls sleeping over is a thing that people do: you've seen it, when you watch the telly with Marduk, although she's always refused to stay over at your hive before. It seems fun!

(Real, living people in your hive at all has been fun. AA is still a downer, but if she's here, then that means Pheres'll be here, and maybe Marduk, too, and that's worth it.)

"If you want," you add, peering at them hopefully. "Like, I got feed and sopor and all sorts of stuff down here. It's cool."

You are not especially keen on staying down here. You've already been here for.. what, six, seven hours, sleeping in the stale sopor dreamlessly, and you've already occidentally fondled enough artifacts of the dead to last you a lifetime.

But you can see the way Sipara's swaying on her feet, and even if your face is still stinging, you're not in a quadrant where the idea of her driving off the side of the road is appealing. She could use the rest.

So you answer for her. "That would be excellent," you say, beaming at Hinnom, and the grub grins back, clearly pleased. "I need to make some apologies.. and Sipara could use the sleep."

You loosen your grip on her hands, and start tugging her towards the stairwell, ducking your horns pre-emptively. You're not about to make that mistake again. "It'll do wonders for your temperment," you tell her, and you're not joking. If she's wound up enough to actually hit you, then that means she needs to sleep, stale sopor or not.

Oh. Wait. You have no issues making decisions for Sipara - she's always doing it for you, after all. But Marduk is another matter. You hesitate, peering back over your shoulder. "Ah.. unless - Marduk, do you need to get back somewhere? I can escort you, if you want."

Edited 2014-12-08 15:38 (UTC)

It looks like everyone is getting ready to settle in for the night.

Sappho said she'd cover for you, didn't she? Although you don't believe this was the situation she was anticipating. (In fact - it strikes you she had entirely different beliefs about you and Sipara. Well. That's a thoroughly unappealing thought, and one you'll have to clear up as soon as you get hive.)

(It's the dry period, though, and your instructors always get tired this time of year, when the humidity is low and the sun is hot. All of your classes are scheduled late in the night, to give them the most time to sleep submerged, and it's early yet.)

"I'll stay," you decide. "I will go up when the two of you do. A larger group should make for a safer journey, should it not?"

"And besides..." You remove your husktop from your sylladex, and move to follow them up the stairs. "I have some apologies of my own to put forth."

Edited 2014-12-08 15:41 (UTC)

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=> PHERES: Abscond.

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[pheres "this kid was a racist brat to me so i sold him faulty armor so he'll DIE" dysseu]

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[FIIIIIIIIN \o/]