the Mews and Moos of Smthg

The beach stretched endlessly alongside them, a ribbon of dark stone pebbles and pale sand beneath the foggy, clouded sky that looked exactly like San Francisco's on a moody autumn afternoon. The resemblance was uncanny, deliberate, even. The Eridians had studied Earth's climates with meticulous care when designing the biodome, analyzing weather patterns and atmospheric conditions until they'd recreated the exact quality of light that filtered through the Bay Area's famous fog.

Even after years of living here on Erid, Bee still couldn't get over how beautiful it was. How much thought and detail the Eridians had put into every aspect of the biodome created for her and Ryland to feel at home. The temperature regulation, the moisture content in the air, even the particular shade of gray in the clouds, all of it carefully calibrated to match the climate data they'd gathered from Earth.

The ocean rolled lazily against the shoreline, waves glittering beneath the diffused light that managed to break through the cloud cover. Each wave caught the light differently, creating shifting patterns of silver and shadow across the water's surface. The air was cool enough to be comfortable, that perfect temperature where you needed a light jacket but didn't feel cold, where the breeze felt refreshing rather than biting. The kind of weather Bee had always loved back in California.

Though, predictably, Ryland had spent the entire walk complaining about it.

Bee smiled to herself as she listened to her husband and Rocky walking several feet ahead of her, their voices carrying back on the wind. She'd buried her hands deep in the pockets of her jeans, feeling the cool air prickle against her exposed forearms. The sand beneath her worn converse sneakers was a mixture of textures, smooth in some places, coarse with pebbles in others. Each step made a soft crunching sound that was oddly satisfying.

"Yesterday the water was boiling," Ryland was saying, shoving his hands into the pockets of his signature fox cardigan, the rust-colored one with the little embroidered fox on the chest that he wore all the time on Earth, and now Erid too. "Now it's freezing. Is there a middle ground?"

His tone was dripping with sarcasm, which Rocky and Adrian still didn't quite understand the concept of, but Rocky knew by now that this was just Ryland and his particular sense of humor. The way humans said things they didn't literally mean in order to express frustration or amusement or both simultaneously.

Rocky chirped quizzically, his carapace tilting slightly to the side in that particular gesture of confusion that Bee had learned to recognize. When he spoke, his voice came through the translator with its characteristic musical quality.

"How water freezing when water remain liquid, Question?"

"You know what I mean." Ryland rolled his eyes, and even from behind him Bee could see the way his shoulders moved with the gesture. He was pretending to be annoyed, but the little tilt in his smile gave him away. That tiny upward quirk at the corner of his mouth that meant he was actually enjoying himself.

"I do not," Rocky chimed in, his tone perfectly sincere.

"It was cold."

"Yesterday, Grace say water too hot."

"Because it was."

"Today water too cold."

"Yep."

Rocky paused mid-step, his carapace tilting in that particular way that meant he was processing something, running calculations or cross-referencing data or whatever it was that Rocky's brilliant mind did when confronted with human inconsistency.

"Is there temperature that does not cause human complaint, Question?"

Ryland sighed dramatically, throwing his head back like he was appealing to the cloudy sky itself for patience.

"No."

"Interesting," Rocky noted, though didn't quite understand how to fix the situation. 

"It really isn't."

"It is."

They walked in silence for approximately thirty seconds, Bee counted, amused at listening to both Rocky and Ryland bicker. She thought after all these years she would get used to it, she never did but it always did amuse her. Ryland spoke again, breaking the small amount of silence because he always had to fill the silence wirh something. She could practically see him building up to the next complaint, the way he did when he was on a roll.

"The wind is also terrible today."

"Wind speed identical to yesterday," Rocky replied immediately, probably because he'd actually measured it with some instrument built into his suit.

"Yesterday the wind was fine."

"Yesterday you complain wind too strong."

"That was different wind."

Rocky stopped walking entirely, his whole body going still in that way that meant he was genuinely baffled.

"How wind different, Question?"

"It just was."

"Wind is wind."

"Not all wind is created equal, Rocky."

"All wind created by atmospheric pressure differential."

Ryland threw his hands up in exasperation, his cardigan sleeves flapping slightly with the motion.

"You're impossible."

"I am possible. I standing here, Statement."

Bee had to bite her lip hard to keep from laughing out loud. She caught Ryland glancing back at her with an expression that clearly said 'are you hearing this?' His eyebrows were raised, his mouth slightly open in mock disbelief. She gave him her most innocent smile while she shrugged her shoulders, the universal gesture of 'don't look at me, you started this.'Even though the wind hadn't actually changed, Rocky was right about that, it somehow felt colder today than it did yesterday. Maybe it was the dampness in the air, or the way the breeze came in from a slightly different direction, carrying the salt-spray scent of the ocean more directly.

"Also," Ryland continued, apparently not done with his litany of complaints, "the sand is too soft here."

"Sand composition unchanged from previous walk."

"It feels different."

"Human perception unreliable."

"My perception is fine, thank you very much."

"Evidence suggest otherwise."

Ryland stopped walking and turned to face Rocky fully, gesturing at the beach around them.

"Okay, but yesterday the sand was firmer. Today it's all—" he stomped his foot slightly, demonstrating, "—squishy."

"Moisture content may vary based on tide schedule."

"See? So it IS different!"

"Sand still sand."

"But wetter sand!"

"Wet sand still sand. Same silicon dioxide composition."

Ryland made a frustrated noise and turned to continue walking.

"You're being deliberately obtuse."

"I being accurate."

"Same thing!"

"Not same thing."

Bee snorted quietly, unable to hold it in anymore. The sound made Ryland glance back again, and this time she couldn't hide her grin. He pointed at her accusingly.

"You're not helping."

She held up her hands in surrender, still smiling.

Some things never changed.

The fate of two planets had rested on their shoulders once. They were tasked with going to Tau Ceti E to figure out why the Astrophage wasn't diming that sun, that's when they met Rocky, who helped come up with plans for the mission. And now, here they were on Erid, living a new life away from Earth, but together. 

Now Ryland and Rocky spent most of their time arguing about weather patterns and sand consistency and whether clouds looked different on Tuesdays.

Bee wouldn't have it any other way.

Behind them, Adrian walked beside Bee at a leisurely pace, occasionally making soft clicking sounds that Bee had learned meant contentment. It was a different sound than Rocky's clicks, softer, more melodic, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. Adrian's carapace caught the diffused light in interesting ways, the natural patterns on their shell creating subtle shifts of color as they moved.

Unlike Rocky, Adrian's interests had never revolved around engineering or science. They enjoyed creation for creation's sake. Specifically sculpture, architecture, music, and the Eridian version of decorative carvings. Bee had watched Adrian carve carefully into a piece of zeonite that Rocky had synthesized for them, and she'd been fascinated by the process, the way Adrian's claws moved with such precision, the way they seemed to see the finished piece inside the raw material before they even began.

The first time Bee had visited Rocky and Adrian's home, her eyes had lit up like a little kid's eyes on Christmas morning. She'd actually gasped when she walked through the entrance, her hand flying to her mouth.

Every wall had been covered in intricate carvings, geometric patterns that flowed seamlessly into organic shapes, abstract representations of Eridian history, tiny detailed scenes of daily life all interconnected like a massive visual story that wrapped around the entire dwelling. There were depictions of the ocean, of the stars, of Eridians gathering in groups, of the moment of first contact with humans. The level of detail was staggering. You could spend hours looking at a single wall and still discover new elements you'd missed before.

Beautiful things made simply because someone wanted them to exist.

It reminded her of Earth.

It reminded her of home.

And right now, walking beside Adrian while her husband argued about meteorology with a literal alien scientist, Bee felt that familiar warmth of belonging spreading through her chest. Different planet, different sky, but the same comfortable absurdity of people she loved. The same gentle teasing, the same easy companionship, the same sense that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Ahead, a cluster of Eridians were gathered near the edge of the shoreline, their carapaces forming a loose semicircle around something Bee couldn't quite see yet.

Several enormous zeonite blocks had been arranged in a semicircle, each one taller than either of them, probably eight or nine feet high, their surfaces still rough and unfinished. The zeonite had a strange black color, almost deep slate color in some lights, with veins of lighter material running through it like marble. Tools were scattered around the base of the stones, carving implements, measuring devices, what looked like some kind of polishing equipment.

Bee's attention immediately shifted, her art-history-professor instincts activating like a homing beacon. She could feel it happening, that familiar pull, that magnetic draw toward anything that even remotely resembled artistic creation.

"Oh."

She slowed to a stop, her eyes widening as she took in the scene. Her fingers twitched in her pockets, already itching to take notes, to document, to analyze.

Adrian noticed immediately, their carapace shifting to look at her.

"You interested, Question?"

Bee tilted her head, already cataloging details with the practiced eye of someone who'd spent years studying art. The way the stones were positioned, not quite symmetrical, but deliberately arranged to create a sense of movement. The tools scattered nearby, different sizes, different purposes, suggesting multiple sculptors working on different aspects. The careful, deliberate movements of the sculptors themselves, the way they stepped back periodically to assess their work from different angles.

"What are they making?"

"Community sculpture."

Bee's eyes widened further, her pulse quickening.

"A public art project?"

"Yes. Represent historical event. Treaty of Seven Currents."

"That's—" Bee's brain was already spinning, making connections, drawing parallels to Earth's artistic traditions. "That's incredible. Collaborative public art, commemorative sculpture, community engagement—"

Immediately she was interested.

Interested was actually an understatement. Bee's pulse had quickened noticeably. Her fingers were already twitching like she wanted to take notes, to sketch, to document everything she was seeing. This was the kind of thing she would have spent an entire semester teaching back on Earth, public art as community expression, collaborative creation as social bonding, the intersection of history and artistic representation.

Ryland and Rocky continued walking ahead, now apparently debating whether clouds looked different on Tuesdays versus Thursdays, completely unaware that Bee had slowed to a complete stop several yards behind them.

Bee stepped closer, drawn like a moth to flame, her feet moving almost without conscious thought.

The sculpture wasn't finished yet, probably only about forty percent complete, if she had to guess, but she could already see the shape emerging from the stone. It was like watching something being born, the form slowly revealing itself as the sculptors carefully removed everything that wasn't part of the vision.

Flowing curves that suggested water, the way waves moved and curled.

Layered forms that built upon each other, creating depth and dimension.

An abstract representation of movement and unity, if she had to guess. Seven distinct elements that somehow formed a cohesive whole, probably representing the seven Eridian clans that had signed the treaty.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, and she meant it. The composition was already stunning even in its unfinished state.

Adrian's carapace shifted slightly with what Bee had learned was pride, a subtle change in posture, a particular angle of the head.

"You think so, Question?"

"Absolutely. The composition is stunning. And the way they're carving it, look at how they're working together, each one adding to the whole without overwhelming the other elements. It's like a visual conversation. Like they're all speaking the same language but with different dialects."

Adrian was quiet for a moment, watching Bee's face as she studied the sculpture. Bee was aware of being observed, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the emerging forms in the stone. The way the light hit the carved surfaces differently than the rough stone. The way you could see the individual tool marks, the evidence of hands, or claws, shaping the material.

Then Adrian chirped softly, a questioning sound.

"What Earth art like, Question?"

Bee froze.

The question hit every single part of her art-history-loving brain at once, like someone had just pressed every button on a control panel simultaneously.

It was like someone had just asked a sommelier to explain wine, or asked a musician to talk about their favorite song, or asked Ryland to explain microbiology. It was the kind of question that had no simple answer, that opened up into infinite branching paths of information and context and historical significance.

Adrian tilted their head, looking up at Bee as she froze, her eyes still not looking away from the various Eridians working hard to create the sculpture, their movements careful and deliberate.

"Question?"

Bee laughed, a slightly manic edge to it that she recognized as the sound she made when someone had just accidentally triggered a hyperfixation.

"That's... actually a really big question."

"I listening."

And that was all the encouragement she needed.

Bee took a breath, her hands already starting to gesture, pulling free from her pockets as if they had a mind of their own.

"Well, art on Earth goes back tens of thousands of years. Some of the earliest examples are cave paintings, people would paint animals and hunting scenes on cave walls using natural pigments. Ochre, charcoal, manganese oxide. They'd grind up rocks and minerals and mix them with animal fat or water to create paint."

Adrian immediately leaned forward, their whole body language shifting to indicate focused attention.

"Why?"

"Lots of theories. Some people think they were storytelling, like visual records of successful hunts. 'Hey, remember when we killed that mammoth? Let me paint it on this wall so we don't forget.' Some think they were spiritual or ritualistic, like asking the universe for good fortune before a hunt. Some think they were just... humans wanting to make marks, you know? To say 'I was here, I saw this, this mattered. I existed and I want to leave evidence of that existence.'"

Adrian made a thoughtful clicking noise, a sound Bee had learned meant they were processing something interesting.

"Interesting. Eridians also make marks in sacred caves."

"Really?" Bee's eyes lit up even more, practically glowing with excitement. "See, that's fascinating because it suggests a universal impulse toward, toward marking space as significant, toward using visual representation to communicate meaning across time. It's like—"

She caught herself, recognizing the familiar feeling of her thoughts spiraling outward into increasingly complex territory.

"Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself."

"Please continue," Adrian said, and their tone was genuinely encouraging.

And just like that, Bee was off.

"Okay, so then you have ancient Egypt. They made these incredible monuments and sculptures, pyramids, sphinxes, massive statues of pharaohs. Everything had symbolic meaning. The poses people stood in, the size of figures, even the colors they used. Like, if you were a pharaoh, you'd be depicted way bigger than everyone else. Not because you were actually giant, though imagine if they were, that would be terrifying, but because you were more important. Size equals significance."

One of the nearby Eridian sculptors had stopped working and was listening, their carving tool held motionless in their claw.

"Size indicate importance, Question?"

"Exactly! It's called hierarchical scale. It's like... okay, imagine if Rocky was drawn twice as tall as Ryland because Rocky is a better engineer."

"Rocky IS better engineer, Statement," Rocky chirped lowly from down the beach, just loud enough for his voice to carry back but quiet enough that Ryland wouldn't hear and start another argument.

Bee ignored him, staying focused on her explanation.

"The point is, it wasn't about realism. It wasn't about making things look exactly like they appeared in real life. It was about meaning. About communicating ideas and relationships and power structures through visual language."

Adrian's carapace rippled with what might have been understanding, a wave-like motion that traveled across their shell.

"Symbolic representation."

"Yes!" Bee was getting animated now, her hands moving more, gesturing to emphasize her points. "But then you've got Greece, and they went in a completely different direction. Like, completely opposite."

"What Greece?"

"Oh, a civilization from Earth. Ancient Greece. They were obsessed with anatomy and realism. They wanted sculptures to look exactly like people, every muscle, every tendon, perfect proportions. They studied the human body like it was a science project. They had these mathematical ratios for the ideal human form."

Adrian looked genuinely horrified, their carapace pulling back slightly.

"Exactly?"

Bee laughed at their reaction.

"Pretty close. They studied human bodies extensively. There's this concept called contrapposto where…Okay, imagine you're standing with all your weight on one leg."

She demonstrated, shifting her hip so her weight rested on her right leg, letting her left leg relax. Her whole body curved naturally with the shift.

"See how my body curves? One shoulder higher than the other? One hip jutting out? The Greeks figured out how to carve that into stone to make sculptures look alive and natural instead of stiff and rigid. Before that, most sculptures looked like they were standing at attention. But contrapposto makes them look like they're actually standing the way real people stand, with weight and balance and natural movement."

Two more Eridians had stopped working now, their attention drawn to the strange human explaining Earth art with increasingly animated gestures.

Adrian was completely focused, their eyes fixed on Bee.

"Why want look exactly like human. Question?"

"Because humans are weird and obsessed with ourselves?" Bee offered with a self-deprecating grin.

Adrian nodded seriously, as if this was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Acceptable explanation."

Bee grinned and kept going, her voice picking up speed as she warmed to her subject.

"So then you get to the Renaissance, that means 'rebirth' by the way, because they were trying to revive classical Greek and Roman ideals, and artists like Michelangelo are taking Greek realism and adding emotion and drama and religious significance. Michelangelo carved this sculpture called the Pietà, which is Mary holding Jesus after he died, and it's—"

She pressed her hand to her chest, right over her heart.

"—it's devastating. You can see the weight of grief in how she holds him. The fabric of her robes looks soft even though it's marble. He made stone look like fabric. Like, how do you even do that? How do you take something as hard and unyielding as marble and make it look like it would be soft to touch?"

Several minutes passed.

Bee had completely lost track of time, lost in the flow of information pouring out of her.

She was explaining Leonardo da Vinci now, talking about how he dissected corpses to understand anatomy better, actually cut open dead bodies to see how muscles and tendons connected, how bones fit together, which made several Eridians click with what might have been approval or horror. Bee wasn't entirely sure which, and she was too caught up in her explanation to stop and ask.

"And he invented sfumato, which is this technique where you blur the edges between colors so there's no harsh lines. It's like... okay, you know how when you look at something in fog, the edges get soft? Everything kind of blends together at the boundaries?"

Adrian nodded, probably thinking of the foggy sky above them right now.

"That's sfumato. It makes paintings look more realistic because that's how we actually see things. We don't see hard edges everywhere. Our vision is softer than that, more blended. The Mona Lisa uses it extensively, especially around her eyes and mouth, which is part of why her expression seems so mysterious."

"Mysterious how?"

"You can't tell if she's smiling or not! The soft edges make it ambiguous. Is she happy? Sad? Amused? Knowing? You can't quite tell, and that's intentional. Leonardo wanted that uncertainty."

"Why want ambiguous?"

"Because—" Bee gestured wildly, her hands cutting through the air. "—because art isn't always about answers! Sometimes it's about questions! Sometimes the point is to make you wonder, to make you think, to create space for interpretation!"

The crowd around her had grown to at least fifteen Eridians now. It kind of reminded her of her lectures back on Earth, many art majors crowded into a room, looking at projected images of paintings and sculptures while frantically taking notes as Bee talked animatedly, her voice echoing in the lecture hall.

Bee didn't notice the growing audience.

She was explaining perspective now, how Renaissance artists figured out mathematical systems to make flat paintings look three-dimensional, how they literally used geometry to trick the eye.

"It's all about vanishing points. Imagine you're standing on a long straight road. The sides of the road seem to get closer together the farther away they get, right? Even though the road is actually the same width the whole way. Artists figured out how to calculate that mathematically, how to use lines and angles to create the illusion of depth on a flat surface."

She grabbed a stick from the sand and started drawing, crouching down to sketch lines in the damp sand near the water's edge.

"See? All the lines converge here. This is the vanishing point. Everything in the painting follows these sight lines, so your brain interprets it as depth even though it's actually flat. It's literally a mathematical trick to hack human visual perception."

An Eridian sculptor clicked thoughtfully, leaning in to look at Bee's sand drawing.

"Trick brain, Question?"

"Exactly! It's an optical illusion based on how human vision works. Our brains are constantly interpreting visual information and making assumptions about depth and distance, and artists figured out how to exploit that."

"Clever."

"Right?" Bee was fully energized now, her voice getting louder, her gestures becoming more expansive. "And then Baroque artists took that and added drama and movement and intense lighting—"

She swept her arm dramatically, nearly hitting Adrian with the stick she was still holding.

"—like Caravaggio, who painted these intense religious scenes with stark shadows and bright highlights. It's called chiaroscuro, which literally means 'light-dark' in Italian. Everything is super dramatic. People are always in the middle of something intense happening. There's this painting called 'The Calling of Saint Matthew' where Jesus is pointing at Matthew, and there's this beam of light cutting through the darkness, and everyone's reacting with these huge dramatic gestures. It's like the visual equivalent of a dramatic movie scene with intense lighting."

At some point she had started pacing, walking back and forth in front of the sculpture.

At some point her hair had started falling out of its ponytail, loose strands whipping around her face in the wind.

At some point she had completely forgotten where Ryland was, forgotten that she'd been walking with anyone, forgotten everything except the flow of information and the attentive audience in front of her.

"And then you get Romanticism, which was all about emotion and nature and the sublime, that's the feeling of being overwhelmed by something vast and powerful. Like standing at the edge of a massive waterfall or in the middle of a storm. That feeling where you're awed and terrified at the same time."

She was gesturing with both hands now, the stick abandoned in the sand.

"Artists like Caspar David Friedrich painted these huge landscapes with tiny human figures to show how small we are compared to nature. It's about awe and terror and beauty all mixed together. There's this painting called 'Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog' where a man is standing on a mountain peak looking out over this sea of clouds, and he's so small compared to the vastness around him. It's about the human experience of confronting something bigger than yourself."

The crowd was at least twenty-five Eridians now, forming a loose semicircle around Bee.

Several were taking notes, with what, Bee wasn't exactly sure, but she was too caught up in her own rambling thoughts to ask. Some kind of recording device, probably, or maybe they were just memorizing everything. Did Eridians have eidetic memory? She should ask Rocky later.

"Then Impressionism!" Bee's voice had gone up half an octave, getting higher and faster as her excitement built. "Okay, so Impressionists were like 'what if we stopped trying to make everything look perfect and instead captured the impression of a moment?' They painted outside, quickly, with visible brushstrokes. You can see the individual marks of the brush. Claude Monet painted the same haystack like thirty times in different lighting conditions because he was obsessed with how light changes perception."

"Same haystack?" An Eridian asked, sounding genuinely baffled.

"Same haystack! Different times of day, different weather, different seasons. Because the light made it look completely different each time. Morning light versus afternoon light versus sunset. Sunny day versus cloudy day. Summer versus winter. It's not about the haystack, it's about the light! The haystack is just the excuse to study light!"

Adrian was utterly transfixed, their carapace completely still except for the slight movements that indicated breathing.

"And then Post-Impressionism, where artists like Van Gogh took Impressionism and made it even more emotional and expressive. Van Gogh painted with these thick, swirling brushstrokes, you can see the texture of the paint on the canvas. His paintings feel alive. They vibrate with energy. It's called impasto, when you apply paint so thickly that it has actual physical texture."

She was fully animated now, her whole body involved in the explanation, her hands tracing swirling patterns in the air.

"He painted sunflowers and starry nights and wheat fields, and everything feels intense and emotional because he wasn't just painting what he saw, he was painting what he felt. The world filtered through his emotional state. When he was manic, the paintings are bright and swirling and energetic. When he was depressed, they're darker and heavier."

-

Meanwhile...

Far ahead on the beach, Ryland had moved on to complaining about the angle of the sun, how it touched the water, casting the sky in a muted orange color. 

"It's too bright."

"Sun brightness unchanged," Rocky replied, probably because he'd measured it.

"It's in my eyes."

"Adjust position."

"I shouldn't have to adjust my position. The sun should adjust."

Rocky paused, his carapace tilting.

"That not how celestial mechanics work."

"Well it should be."

Rocky made a sound that might have been a sigh, a soft hiss of air, before he glanced back, noticing how Bee and Adrian were missing. 

"Where Bee, Question?"

Ryland frowned, looking around. He'd been so caught up in his complaints that he hadn't actually checked on his wife in... how long? Several minutes at least.

"She's right—"

He turned around, expecting to find Bee and Adrian a few yards behind them.

Instead, he found nothing. Empty beach. No Bee. No Adrian.

"—here?"

Rocky rotated slightly, his whole body turning to look back the way they'd come.

Both of them looked back down the beach.

Far behind them, much farther than Ryland had expected, Bee stood in front of a half-finished sculpture surrounded by Eridians. A crowd of them, actually. When had that happened?

She was waving her hands enthusiastically, her ponytail half-undone with strands of hair flying around her face, her voice carrying across the beach on the wind.

"—and then Van Gogh cut off part of his ear—"

Ryland blinked.

"Oh no."

Rocky chirped, tilting up at Ryland as he questioned what was happening.

"Bee making presentation, Question?"

"She's giving an art lecture." Ryland's voice was flat with recognition. He knew this pattern. He'd seen it before, many times where he would ask her some art related question, and hours later he still wouldn't get his answer and Bee was out of breath from talking so long.

Rocky paused, his carapace tilting as he observed the scene, probably running some kind of analysis.

"I count forty-three Eridians."

"What?"

"Audience. Forty-three individuals. Wait. Forty-four. Another approaching from north."

Ryland stared, his mouth slightly open in disbelief.

Sure enough, a small crowd had gathered around his wife. Some were sitting on the sand, their carapaces settled into comfortable positions. Several were taking notes with recording devices. One appeared to be sketching, actually drawing what Bee was describing, trying to visualize Earth art based on her explanations.

"How long has she been talking?"

Rocky checked something on his suit, probably accessing whatever internal chronometer he used.

"Forty-eight minutes, thirty-two seconds."

Ryland's voice went up, cracking slightly.

"You timed her?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Scientific curiosity. Wanted measure duration of human hyperfocus state."

"Of course you did." Ryland pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture of long-suffering patience. "Of course you're running experiments on my wife."

"Not experiment. Observation."

"That's the same thing!"

"It not. Experiment require controlled variables and hypothesis testing. This pure observation."

"Rocky—"

"Also taking notes on physical manifestations of hyperfocus. Hair dishevelment, increased gesture frequency, vocal pattern changes—"

Ryland started walking back quickly, his feet kicking up sand in the process.

Rocky followed behind, easily keeping pace as he was no longer in a ball like he was back on the Hail Mary with Ryland and Bee.

"How did we not notice she was gone for forty-eight minutes?"

"You complaining about sun."

"That doesn't—" Ryland gestured helplessly at the air. "We should have noticed! We should have realized she wasn't with us!"

"Bee very quiet normally. Easy to forget presence when not actively engaging."

"She's not quiet now!"

Indeed, as they got closer, Bee's voice became easier to hear. She'd moved on to the Arts and Crafts movement, her voice slightly hoarse but no less enthusiastic, no less energetic.

"—which eventually inspired the Arts and Crafts movement because many artists felt industrialization was removing the human element from creative work. William Morris believed craftsmanship had value beyond simple functionality, that beautiful things should be accessible to everyone, not just the wealthy! He wanted to democratize beauty!"

Ryland stopped beside her, slightly out of breath from the quick walk back.

She didn't even notice.

Her hair was definitely falling out of its ponytail now, the elastic barely holding on. She'd gestured so much that her jacket had slipped off one shoulder, hanging awkwardly. She looked slightly manic, her eyes bright and unfocused in that way that meant she was completely absorbed in her own thoughts.

Adrian immediately noticed Ryland's arrival, their carapace shifting to acknowledge him.

"Hello Ryland."

"Hi," Ryland said, slightly breathless.

Bee continued talking, completely oblivious to her husband's presence.

"—and Morris designed wallpapers and textiles with these intricate natural patterns. He wanted to bring beauty into everyday life. He said, 'Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful,' which I think is—"

"Bee."

Ryland spoke up, softly at first. She didn't respond, too caught up in her unprompted lecture.

"Bee."

He spoke a little more loudly, trying to get her attention... but that didn't work either. Ryland ran a hand through his slightly mussed blonde hair, sighing slightly in defeat. This was familiar territory. Once Bee got going on a topic she loved, it was like trying to stop a freight train.

"Bee."

She kept going, now explaining the philosophy behind handcrafted furniture, her hands tracing the shapes of imaginary chairs in the air.

Ryland looked at Adrian helplessly, his expression clearly asking 'how long has this been going on?'

Adrian seemed amused, their carapace moving with them as they did the familar gesture of excitement, similar to jazz hands. 

Rocky stepped forward and simply turned up the volume on his speaker to maximum.

"BEE."

The sound was loud enough to make several nearby Eridians startle.

Finally she turned towards him looked up, blinking like she'd just woken up from a deep sleep, her eyes taking a moment to focus.

"Oh!"

She smiled brightly, slightly breathless, her chest rising and falling from talking non-stop for nearly an hour.

"When did you get here?"

Ryland stared at her, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated.

"You've been lecturing an entire crowd for almost an hour."

Bee looked around, her head turning slowly as if seeing her surroundings for the first time.

Only then did she realize dozens of Eridians had gathered around them. Some were sitting on the sand, their carapaces settled into comfortable positions. Others were perched on the stone blocks of the unfinished sculpture. All of them were watching her with rapt attention, their eyes fixed on her face.

"Oh."

She paused, glancing around her, and her eyes went wider as the full scope of the situation registered.

"Oh."

Her hand went to her hair, discovering the disaster of her ponytail, the elastic barely hanging on, strands everywhere, probably looking like she'd been in a windstorm.

"Oh no."

Rocky stepped forward, his carapace tilting in that particular way that meant he was about to say something he found very logical and everyone else would find very awkward.

"Question."

Bee immediately looked at him, still trying to fix her hair, attempting to gather the loose strands and re-do her ponytail, which was easier said than done in the wind.

"What?"

Rocky's tone remained completely serious, clinical even.

"Is this human mating behavior?"

Silence.

Complete, absolute silence.

Even the wind seemed to pause.

Ryland blinked, his eyes widening slightly in shock at Rocky's sudden question. Ryland glanced over at Bee, whose eyes were also wide with shock, her hands frozen in her hair. Both of their faces were turning red from embarrassment, the color creeping up from their necks.

Several Eridians in the crowd clicked with interest, leaning forward slightly.

"What?" Bee's voice came out slightly strangled, higher than normal.

Rocky gestured toward her with one claw, his movement precise and deliberate.

"Bee displaying extensive knowledge in attempt impress mate. Classic mating display behavior observed in multiple Earth species. Peacock show feathers. Bower bird build elaborate nest. Human give lecture about dead artists."

Ryland made a sound like he was choking on air.

"ROCKY!"

"What?" Rocky's tone was genuinely confused.

"NO!"

Adrian tilted their head thoughtfully, considering Rocky's hypothesis.

"This not correct, Question?"

Bee's entire face turned red. Not just her cheeks, her whole face, up to her hairline, down her neck, probably down to her collarbones under her shirt.

"I wasn't trying to impress anybody!"

Her voice had gone up a full octave, nearly squeaking.

Rocky looked genuinely confused, his carapace tilting as he processed her denial.

"You talk for one hour, twelve minutes."

"That doesn't mean—"

"You become louder when Ryland arrive. Volume increased by approximately fifteen decibels."

"I did NOT—"

Bee made an absolutely horrified noise, somewhere between a squeak and a wheeze, her hands flying to cover her face.

Ryland was laughing so hard he had to bend over, hands on his knees, his shoulders shaking.

"Okay," he gasped between laughs, trying to catch his breath. "Maybe Rocky has a point."

"RYLAND!"

"You did get louder! And you definitely kept looking at me!"

"I was just…I was excited about the Arts and Crafts movement! You know I love that movement!"

Bee scrambled, trying to defend herself, her words tumbling over each other.

"Sure you were." Ryland couldn't help the small but amused smirk that began to form on his face at Bee's reaction, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I WAS!"

Rocky seemed pleased with himself, his carapace settling into a satisfied position.

"Hypothesis confirmed. Human mating display successful. Mate appears amused and affectionate."

"It is NOT confirmed!" Bee's voice cracked slightly, breaking on the last word.

Ryland was still laughing, now wiping tears of amusement from his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Rocky, buddy, I'm already married to her. She doesn't need to impress me with William Morris facts."

"Then why she do it?"

"Because she can't help herself!"

Bee covered her face with both hands, her voice muffled.

"I hate both of you."

"No you don't," Ryland said, still grinning, his voice warm with affection despite the teasing.

"I'm considering it!"

Adrian watched this entire exchange with what appeared to be fascination, their carapace shifting slightly as they observed the human interaction. Then they spoke, their voice thoughtful and perfectly innocent.

"Bee never explain artist named Van Gogh, Statement." Adrian interjected. 

Bee's hands slowly lowered from her face.

Ryland's laughter stopped abruptly, his smile fading.

"No."

Adrian continued, completely innocent, as if they had no idea what they were about to unleash.

"What happen after ear? You say he cut off ear, but then stop talking. Very unsatisfying ending."

Bee's eyes lit up, the embarrassment of the mating display accusation immediately forgotten.

The horror was replaced by the irresistible pull of an unfinished art history lecture, the need to complete the story, to provide context and closure.

"Oh! Well, Van Gogh was a Dutch Post-Impressionist painter who—"

Ryland pointed accusingly at Adrian, his finger jabbing the air.

"Don't encourage her."

He warned, glaring down at Adrian with mock severity.

"—struggled with mental illness his entire life—"

Adrian didn't stop Bee. Like Bee, Adrian was interested in knowledge of art, especially sculpture, and Adrian wanted to learn about art of Earth and what it was like. They settled in to listen, their carapace shifting into an attentive position.

"Adrian, I'm serious."

"—and the ear incident happened after an argument with Paul Gauguin—"

"She's going to talk for another hour!"

"—who was staying with him in Arles—"

Too late.

Bee had already turned back toward the sculpture, her hands gesturing again, her voice regaining its enthusiastic energy despite the hoarseness, despite having been talking for nearly an hour already.

"So Van Gogh and Gauguin were both Post-Impressionist painters, but they had very different styles and philosophies, and they were living together in this yellow house in southern France—"

Ryland sighed deeply, but he was smiling, his expression soft with affection.

Rocky clicked happily, a sound of satisfaction.

"Mating display continuing."

"Rocky, I swear—"

"Very persistent. Admirable trait in potential mate."

"We're already married!"

"Still admirable."

Adrian settled in to listen, their carapace shifting into a comfortable position.

The crowd of Eridians, which had started to disperse when Bee stopped talking, immediately gathered again, reforming their semicircle around her.

Bee was fully back in lecture mode now, explaining the complex relationship between Van Gogh and Gauguin, the artistic tensions, the personal conflicts, the famous yellow house, the ear incident, the aftermath, Van Gogh's time in the asylum at Saint-Rémy, the paintings he created there.

"—and even while he was in the asylum, he was painting these incredible works. The Starry Night, which is probably his most famous painting, was painted from his asylum window. Those swirling stars, that cypress tree reaching up like a flame—"

Her voice was definitely hoarse now, rough around the edges, but she didn't seem to notice or care. The words kept flowing, unstoppable.

Ryland sat down in the sand with a soft thump, accepting his fate.

Rocky sat beside him, his carapace settling into the sand.

"How long this time, Question?" Adrian asked, their tone genuinely curious.

Rocky checked his suit, running calculations.

"Estimating sixty to ninety minutes based on previous data and current speech patterns."

Ryland leaned back on his hands, looking up at the cloudy sky which was starting to dim as the sun began to dip below the horizon, the light taking on that particular quality of twlight.

"Might as well get comfortable."

And together they settled in for another hour, watching Bee gesture wildly while explaining the tragic beauty of Vincent van Gogh's final years, her voice carrying across the beach, her passion undimmed, her audience completely captivated.

Some things, Ryland thought with affection, would never change.

And honestly? He wouldn't want them to.