#conversation meme

Send me a (🗣️) + two muses on my blog, and I’ll make them have a conversation whether they know each other or not!

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Since he’d been placed on Mantle’s crew, Retcon has made it a point to not be on the ship for longer than needed, especially if there was not a memory wipe on the itinerary. Because why would he? It’s weird to him how much like a family the commander and the rest of his core re-education crew act. He’d even seen some of the other non-core psions drift in and out of the ship just to say hello or hang out.

It’s so strange to think of a leader in the Alternian military that didn’t just turn into a dictator the second they got their own crew. Stranger still that despite all of this, Retcon sits across from the man himself, watching him finish his turn in the game of Mancala that he brought upon himself.

When the violet blood ends his turn, dropping a stone into an empty store on his side, opposite to one housing seven or eight stones, Retcon scoffs.

“You’re not going to go easy on me?”

“Hm?” Is the simple response Mantle gives as he slots the stolen points into the cache on his side. “Easy?”

“I told you I haven’t played in a while. You only just retaught me the rules.”

“And?”

“I thought you’d go easy on me,” as he speaks, the disgruntled purple blood makes his move. By the way Mantle’s brows shift, he can tell that the move he makes is a bad one to make. “Because, y’know, it’s been a while.”

“What you said when you came over,” the commander starts, voice steady as he moves a single stone from his store into another empty one yet again sitting across from a full one. “Was ‘Hey, Smallfry, I wanna play Mancala.’ Play being the operative word.”

“Yeah?”

“If you’d said win, I would have gone about it differently.” He deposits the stones into his cache. “Are we done playing, then?”

“No, damn it! Not until I beat your ass!”

Main Characters: Odarem Mortis (His POV) & Seifer Sanaca Side Characters/Mentioned Characters: Vrikoh Havlok (Odarem's official fleet general) & Seifer's Fleet Captain (Armand Buleis) Setting: Seifers' Newest Fleet Ship, some 2 or so sweeps back CW(s): Mentions of Blood and allusions to a murder

----- Google Docs Link -----

You step off of the small transport vessel that had ferried you to your new assignment, the scent of blood hitting your nose immediately, causing you to raise your face mask into place. Well, you’re actually catching two distinct blood trails coming from different directions, but one is a lot fresher… You can’t help but find this curious, as the murder you’re meant to be investigating happened two days ago. Despite your curiosities, your outward demeanor does nothing to show that as you approach to meet with the captain of the ship.

“Doctor Mortis… good to see you’ve finally arrived. I’m sure I don’t need to waste my time briefing you on the situation at hand, do I?” The seadweller raises a harsh brow, tapping his cane to the floor in obvious impatience.

“Not at all, Sir. I read the report on the way, with permission from General Havlok to take as long as required.”

He studies you, perhaps bothered that he can’t see most of your face to scrutinize your expression for not being respectful enough, given the eyepatch and mask you wear. “I give you free rein of the main floor to investigate and find the culprit as you must. If, for whatever reason, you require access to another floor, my Lieutenant will see to you and handle it from there. I expect this dealt with in the next two hours or less, cusp-blood.”

“Just for you, Captain, I’ll have it done in one.” He may not know you’ve got a smarmy little smirk on your face, or that you would’ve winked there as you give your ‘to attention’ salute, but you know, and that’s what really matters here.

After getting that asshole off your back, you don’t waste a second before you’re turning toward the fresh scent of blood, slipping your mask down as your nose twitches and you head towards it. You’re careful to listen for any footsteps or other noises following after you, but hear nothing besides your own boots hitting the floor.

Maul: “A crossguard lightsaber.”

Kylo: “Yeah.”

“….”

“….”

“I can see you made it yourself.”

“Yeah? I want to see you try and replicate a design that’s thousands of years old, asshole.”

“Mine is an original design, so I wouldn’t know. Is the faulty kyber crystal your design, too?”

“Not everyone has pretty little crystals just lying around, Maul.”

“And not everyone has the patience or talent to craft synthetic ones, I suppose.”

[Kylo audibly grinds his teeth]

“I will say, Ren..”

“What?” 

“I do like the way the blade ripples. It adds flair–no, what is that word you younglings are fond of? Aesthetic?”

"can I get a pancake"

IHOP: I don't know, can you?

*sigh* "may I get a pancake?"

Call it self preservation, call it paranoia, or even call it agoraphobia, whatever anyone wants to call it, the fact is a simple one; Reid makes an effort to stay where he is safe and sound in Koteus’s hive.

In the five years since he found himself stuck on Alternia, he can count on just his two hands the amount of times he’s left the safety of the secluded territory. Even then, most of that was moving from the safety of one hive to the next. Which is why his current existence at the farmer’s market just outside of the House of Restoration is such a marvel.

The trolls shuffling around him don’t even know they’re dealing with a tried and true homebody.

He stands awkwardly near a stand that claims to sell some sort of berry from some distant colony planet, cultivated here on Alternian soil.

An alien fruit, the only thing he has anything in common with aside from Alli, the person who got him all disguised up and dragged him out here in the first place.

they disappeared into the crowd ages ago, in his effort to find them he found himself here with this alien fruit.

Reid stares at the berries blankly, wondering what the chances of him being allergic to these orange raspberry shaped fruits might be. He isn’t allergic to regular berries, but alien, Alternian raised berries might prove to explode human heads or something.

Suddenly the edges of his vision start to blur and it feels like his heart is about to pound its way out of his chest.

The world starts spinning.

He needs to find Alli.

He turns on his heels and starts to go in the direction he last saw them go in.

Slam!

He walks directly into the chest of a stranger that must’ve been standing too close. Or maybe he took too big a stride.

Send me a (🗣️) + two muses (one has to be mine!), and I’ll make them have a conversation whether they know each other or not! -- Colmea never considered himself the type to have friends, not any that were particularly close at any rate, and because of that, he always finds it jarring when the people that consider him a close friend find excuses to come visit him.

He stands in the doorway, chewing on that thought, eyeing the pair of sharply dressed twins that summoned him from his research with their intrusion.

The blue eyed twin speaks first while the red eyed one looks around to see what’s new, deciding very quickly to duck under Colmea’s arm and enter his home without asking.

Naturally. What else was he expecting?

“We need your help.” Castor says, following closely behind his brother into the hive. “It’s not really that important, but we need you to weigh in.” Pollux finishes the sentence.

Colmea sighs, he wonders if they realize how annoying their manner of speaking can be, but he also knows better than to assume that they’ve ever cared about being a nuisance to the people that they are surrounded by.

 “Come on in.” The sarcasm slips from his lips before he can catch it, though he hardly tries.

“Thank you.” They say in unison.

“Mm.” He closes the door and turns to face them. “What is it that you need from me, exactly?”

“We want you to try the recipe.”

“You want to cook for me.”

“We want to cook, yes.” Castor corrects, the pair already setting up camp in his kitchen. He didn’t even notice that they were carrying their own knives and ingredients for whatever they wanted to do in his space. “In your kitchen.”

“I got that. Why my kitchen?”

“If we cook it in our kitchen,” Pollux starts. “It will be cold by the time we bring it to your kitchen.” Castor finishes.

Colmea runs through all the reasons why it might be, that they desperately need to have him try whatever it is that they’re making. It isn’t as though they are particularly close. Sure they share notes and sometimes they would watch Myriad for him when she was younger. Neverminding, even, that he was in attendance at their graduation, he is certain they are not that close.

Close enough to spring a new recipe on him?

“You seem confused, Doctor.” Castor observes, Pollux pulls up the necessary seasonings in the meantime.

“I am confused. Why are you so adamant about bringing food here at all?” He feels the furrow in his brow deepen.

Send me a (🗣️) + two muses (one has to be mine!), and I’ll make them have a conversation whether they know each other or not! --

For what it’s worth, Demuye has been able to go a considerable amount of time with Persep’s actions existing on the periphery of his life. Bigger fish and all that. That’s why he can’t be too mad having to help pick up the slack at the Bait and Hook while the rest of the staff juggled taking care of Aelium and Areios in the aftermath of all of that nonsense.

Days at the bar have been getting longer and longer as he started to assume more roles; Barback, bartender, he even spent one exhausting morning taking Lopard’s place in the kitchen. Those were some seriously big shoes to fill. As tiring as all of that was, he has to admit it has been nice to take some stress off the backs of his friends. Loathe as he is to even admit that verbally.

The walk back to Antare’s place is a lonesome and cold one, so of course his mind continues to wander and toil over his place in the life of his friends. His family? Antare’d once called them his family and his reaction was to cackle at the thought. But now, ah, well he can see where he might have gotten that idea. By the time he makes it to the hive, the sun is already settling into the horizon, replaced by the two easier-on-the-eyes moons slowly approaching their crest.

Demuye pushes into the apartment, making use of the key that he thought was kind of silly when it was gifted to him. Though Antare insisted it was in the event that his pets needed attention while he was out, he thinks it might be something a mite more than that. It’s still quiet, strange to see of a hive with so many occupants and usually bustling with activity. He pushes on until he gets to his kismesis’s room and lets himself in.

The bed is taken over by a mass of blankets that the overtired rainbow drinker struggles to wrap his head around the logistics of adding a third body to. It is not unexpected, though, with the way the cold takes out the seadweller hidden somewhere in the mess.

Speaking of, he doesn’t get to worry about those logistics for too long, because suddenly the violet blood that was swallowed up by all of those covers pops her head up out of them. Her hair sticks out in messy frizzes that highlights her lethargy. She blinks her eyes a few times to get them to cooperate with her.

“Demuye?” She says around a yawn. “Is that you?”

“You sure aren’t concerned enough that there’s a possibility of a strange jadeblood standing in front of you.”

Contra stifles a giggle into the comforter that is being turned into her cape, and Demuye has to quickly come to terms with the fact that he missed that laugh since his life had gotten so busy.

Fuck. Something to unpack later.

“Well, since you’re up, how about I get you some breakfast before you fall back into that coma, hm, Sleeping Beauty?”

The seadweller stares at him for a little bit, studying his features with eyes still bleary from her sleep. Concern creases her brow, but that is interrupted by another yawn.

“Breakfast?”

“Yeah, like, food.”

“Aren’t you tired?” She sits up fully, pulling the blanket around her shoulders up with her. “You look tired, Dem.”

”I could always eat. C’mon, Princess.”

Contra doesn’t protest, instead she continues climbing up out of the bed and dragging the comforter along for the ride, with that layer out of the question, she reveals the sleeping form of Antare curled up underneath. “If you’re sure,” she mumbles, finding her footing in the slippers she immediately puts her feet into.

Demuye leads the way out of the room and out to the kitchen. “Speed up, I’m making french toast.”