#dirkhic

So, disintegrating "I failed" Dirk from Game Over doesn't die or actually disintegrate, that would be too easy. Instead he gets pulled between multiverses and goes through a hole punched into reality by the Psiioniic who is going through a "rough patch" of space. (Because weird shit and I half stole this concept from roachpatrol.)

So he's in real, actual space and you cannot actually breath in real actual space even if you're a god. Dirk might have ended up a seagull slamming into the ports of HIC's flagship but HIC is curious enough she has Psiioniic pull him on board before he can like, die.

This particular iteration of HIC is curious about the strange creature that appeared and has him sent to the infirmary so they can figure out this new alien psiioniic. Dirk is unconscious and doesn't have much say in the situation. When he wakes up he still doesn't have much say in the situation, but it too depressed to care or even pull out the various tubes and IV-equivalents.

In a bid to commit suicide.

After a week of Dirk being semi-catatonic, HIC decides to check on Dirk herself.

This...doesn't go well. Dirk rouses out of his stupor and promptly attacks HIC. HIC defends herself, but does not actually want to kill her new pet so she has Psiioniic restrain him. Dirk tries to pull the soul stealing thing, and gets his ass knocked out and then drugged.

HIC is advised to put the psiioniic down, it's obviously some kind of assassin/trick/what have you. HIC does not agree. She also makes a habit of repurposing weapons used against her. As you do.

She has Dirk moved to her quarters, which actually take up a sizable chunk of the ships space. She takes care of him more or less by herself, with some assistance from Psii. Dirk is either non-responsive or tries to attack her, and she doesn't know why because she a) does not speak English b) Dirk doesn't do a lot of talking while he's attacking.

So, Operation Strange Alien Taming begins.

So, Dirk has been pretty much hunger striking since he woke up. He is not aware at first this is a different reality/universe's HIC, though the fact that this universe has trolls should have clued him in. He can understand what she's saying ("sugar grub, you don't want to have that tube worm made permanent do you? C'mon sprat, point at the picture and tell me what it is...") But she can't understand him, so he has that.

So he has a food tube and something like an IV for hydration.  There is also a catheter involved. He has made a few attempts to remove one or the other of the tubes, which are literally some variety of bioengineered worms because why not include some body horror.  Dirk basically ends up restrained because he keeps trying to pull them. Imagine a big gel filled bean bag chair that's too big to be moved or shifted and is possibly also alive. The restraints are bright fuchsia straps over his legs, arms and chest and hips.  The gell filled possibly also alive bean bag shifts and moves every so often, so he doesn't get bedsores or something.

HIC does not get bored or very annoyed in the face of Dirk's obstinance. She's very interested in the way he pretty much seems to understand her, and even recognize her. (In a weirdly personal way. Like she was something personal to him, part of a revenge cycle or something, which pointed in the direction of him being and assassin of some kind, but there's no species matching his description in the databanks yet, so what the hell?)

Dirk is kind of confused. And also angry. But mostly confused. He would have expected offhand culling or maybe torture, not this weird persistent demi-kindness.

He is also aware that there are other trolls here? He comes up with random theories he could probably solve by asking questions but he doesn't bother asking questions. Because he is also depressed.

He is more depressed than goddamn Shinji and there is no one to tell him to get in the mech.  He is more depressed (but less of an asshole) that Thomas Covenant. He is more depressed that someone walking through the Doldrums.

He thinks he might actually be in a dream bubble somehow.

Dirk talks, eventually. Staying quiet when you have oh, a decade or so brave speeches for when Confronting Fish Hitler At Last is pretty much impossible. And maybe he also wants to push, to figure out what the fuck is actually going on, because he's finally figured out HIC, this HIC doesn't speak English, and is apparently trying to teach him Alternian.

So there's a point where he declares that she won't wear him down with this. He'll defy her to the end in the name of the millions she drowned and tortured and in the name of his ancestor who defied her to his last breath and so on and so forth. It's a really good speech and doesn't sound at all like something he practiced in front of a mirror when he was oh, twelve or so.

HIC listens to  the Brave Speech, spoken in more or less good Alternian and is completely dumbfounded. "Guppy, water you e-fin talking a-boat?" she asks. "I've never met your species or been to your planet." On the other hand, he knows Alternian, and definitely has some kind of beef with her, so she's a little confused, and even more curious.

Dirk...is pretty sure that's genuine confusion in her voice. He's also pretty sure that HIC would have no reason to play at being confused, or like she didn't know who he was. He's pretty sure she doesn't actually know him at all, which makes him think in terms of  again, dream bubble, and she's dead-dreaming much earlier in her career.

The question is, does he want to remind her she's dead? The answer is: no, probably not. (Dirk also goes on a slight tangent on whether or not he's still alive, and kind of distracts himself and falls silent, pretty much ignoring HIC.)

HIC, who is actually alive, and likely to stay that way trying to think her way through various possibilities. "Maybe it's like that story where there's a time traveler trying to kill some fish before he can make a military mistake or some-fin."

"If so, who ever it was had lousy aim," Psii says.

"Whale, see if any explorers have found a planet with mammalian trolloid lifeforms."

(They haven't.)

What she's going to do once she finds the planet, she's not sure. Maybe keep them from developing time travel technology because she can't really sea that going whale. (Especially if you get dumped out in the middle of space.) Maybe this grub popping up is what directs her to find the planet.

She brings this up with the alien, who gives her the strangest look. He doesn't say anything, and she can tell he doesn't want to. "Whale, how about you introduce yourself, since you're talkin now?" She asks, and pets his hair. The alien turns his face away and doesn't answer. "Rude," HIC says. "I'm--"

"Your Imperious Condescension," Dirk says.

"Whale yeah, boat I like you," HIC says, still petting Dirk's hair. "And you're a pitiful little ship, so you can call me by my hatch name, with is Meenah Peixes, when it's just us."

Dirk starts into his "you won't break me" speech. Meenah is not actually impressed. Amused and a little baffled, maybe, but not impressed. She covers his mouth with one hand, and shooshes him. "You're all ready a broke up wreck, sugar grub, either trying to krill me or yourself, maybe both I don't even fucking know, I'mma more curious about how to put you together."

Dirk starts into his "you won't break me" speech. Meenah is not actually impressed. Amused and a little baffled, maybe, but not impressed. She covers his mouth with one hand, and shooshes him. "You're all ready a broke up wreck, sugar grub, either trying to krill me or yourself, maybe both I don't even fucking know, I'mma more curious about how to put you together."

This is where Dirk gets scared. She has, as far as he can tell, called his bluff. (He did not in fact have a bluff.) He also gets an inkling now that this is not an HIC he knows. This is not Betty Crocker, but she no less dangerous, and he has no fucking clue about what to do. Nothing is going according to script. He just kind of stares up at her.

Meenah can see that he's scared. Which would make sense if he's some kind of rebel of a planet she hasn't found yet, whose gone back in time to defeat her. ("'Tuna, why is my life suddenly a really bad sf movie?" she asks. "It was bound to happen sooner or later, Empress.") "You're already talking to me, sprat, you might has well tell me your name, before I make one up."

Dirk does not want to be called "Fluffy" or the Alternian equivalent. This is a feel that emerges from the bleak gray sea he's been floating in. "Dirk Strider," he says. Meenah pretends a shocked gasp. "The notorious rebel, Dirk Strider who I never even fucking heard of," she says. "What an honor! Except not, because you were mostly a flitterbug on Tuna's windshield."

She tries to get him to talk some more, but Dirk is not a great conversationalist at this point. She eventually heads off to do Empress Things, but leaves Dirk with an entertainment unit and a remote control. ("Tuna see how well he can read the menus and shit." )

Dirk does end up watching movies! Someone of the medical persuasion comes in to check on him. Dirk does not actually try to fight them. He's offered food, which he refuses. Medical person sighs fills up the UV worm, the food tube worm, and cleans up the colostomy bag worm. (Dirk is both grossed out and fascinated by the biotech.)

Meenah works up a steady campaign of bringing food, little snack foods and drinks with her when she visits Dirk. She asks him questions related to the time travel theory she has concerning his presence. (Dirk lies a lot. Meenah is pretty sure he's lying. Sometimes he tells the truth and she's still pretty sure he's lying.)

HIC typically offers food or drink, then tries to get Dirk to talk. Sometimes she can get him to eat. Occasionally Psii comments. "This is weirdly pale Your Imperious Condescension."

"Sometimes a beach is just weirdly pale, 'Tuna," Meenah says. She pets Dirk's hair, which is starting to grow out. She also strokes his cheek, which makes him shiver. "Lying around all day ain't good for you. Want to get up and move around?"

Dirk has not idea what to do about this, or about this weirdly honest sounding question. "If you're going to bribe me into betraying my family, why don't you do it with questionable sugar coated rosewater candies?"

"Wouldn't know where to get that. Want a deep fried water beetle?" Meenah pops one in her mouth and chews. "So, family, you're ancestor who I don't know but apparently cacked and...?"

Dirk talks a little about his Bro, but he's hesitant. Part of him really does think talking about Bro is a betrayal, like he's giving away details. He's pretty sure by now he can't do that, that he's somehow in a completely different universe, but it's still in the back of his head despite jokes about betrayal. "Your ancestor and his--moirail I'd guess--sound like they'd be bitchtits opponents," Meenah says. She finishes off her deepfried water beetle and offers him one. "Haven't found your world yet, but I guess we can find out?"

The idea of HIC going to Earth, invading Earth even an alternate Earth to find out what kind of opponent his Bro was makes Dirk's stomach flip. It cracks whatever reserve he's been able to maintain. (Not much of one.) "Please no," he says, even though he knows on a certain level it should be (hopefully) impossible. Alternia's universe created the Beta universe, after all.

"Sugargrub, from my end, I got attacked first," Meenah points out reasonably. "A beach has to snap back or no one'll respect her." The look of sheer horror on Dirk's face is at once hilarious as fuck and pitiful as all hell. Meenah almost laughs, but it looks like Dirk might throw up, which wouldn't be funny at all. "Aw, sprat, no," she says and goes for the nearest trash receptical.

She almost doesn't catch it in time. Also, the position is pretty awkward given how he's strapped down. The poor grub turns almost gray-white and heaves up a bunch of bile and nutrient solution. "Shoosh, Dirk," she says. "Fuck, you're a wreck, I'm almost sorry for doing that, you don't blink at half the shit I say sprat. Is that actually what happens?"

"No," Dirk gasps, voice hoarse and raw. "No." And in a voice like he doesn't even know that he's saying, it. "I don't want anything else to be my fault.

Meenah spends some time shooshing Dirk though most of what she's doing either only works for trolls or would only work for humans who are not Dirk. She does eventually get him settled down, making no promises of course that she won't conquer his planet if she happens to find it. "I had a little surprise planned for you on the recreation deck, maybe let you exercise some, but you look like carp, so maybe not," she says. "I have something that might calm you down though" She pushes a needle into the UV worm and presses a plunger.

"It's drugs," Dirk says.

"Just something to keep you calm," Meenah says. "We can go another day."

Dirk tries hard not to have his interest piqued. He's not all that successful. He's been watching the entertainment screen, mostly and he's at the point where he'd be wanting to build something, or take it apart and put it back together. "Really?"

"You'd be restrained because I don't trust you not to attack me or run around like an untrained barkbeast, but yeah."

"It's a dog park isn't. You were going to take me to a dog park," Dirk says. Meenah stays with him till he goes to sleep, feeling weirdly hopeful at the prospect of being able to walk around, even if hobbled. It's another couple of days, but Meenah makes good on her offer of an outing. She dresses him in a black uniform with orange trim. He tries to dress himself, but she smacks his hands. she cuffs his hands and ankles, and links them with a chain. The final item is a choke chain collar and a fuchsia leash. She grins like a shark as she puts the collar around his neck. "If you're good, I won't have to hobble you in the future," she says.

"I notice you don't say 'won't put me on a leash'," Dirk says.

"Whale, parading rebels around on leashes is just how it's done."

So, Dirk gets walked. Meenah occasionally stops to talk with courtiers. Courtiers stare at him and delicately question the uniform, which turns out to be a standard dress Threshecutioner uniform. Meenah does not answer questions about the uniform or about why an alien that tried to kill her is wearing a Threshecutioner uniform.

The entertainment deck has restaurants, theaters, gyms, pools and a large parklike area. Meenah walks through the park, eventually finding who she's looking for: Her Chief Threshy. Said Chief Threshy takes one look at Dirk as asks in a pained voice, "Empress, why is an alien assassin wearing a Threshecutioner uniform with tabs for my goddamn flaysquad?"

Dirk stares back and tries not to react. The troll is not especially tall, but he's broad, with short hair that just barely long enough to curl, and short rounded horns. The uniform's trim is bright red, and so are the troll's eyes. He's pretty sure he's seen this troll before.

"I ain't so shore he's an alien assassin Carpkat," Meenah says. "Water you got for me?" She asks.

What he has is a picnic lunch. A cold roast bird, fried beetles, a tray full of rolls of meat and cubes of cheeses and something that might be potato salad if it wasn't blue. There's also bottles of some kind of beverage. "Carpkat" makes a plate for the Empress.

"Are you mute or something, asshole?" the troll asks Dirk.

"He's just shy," Meenah says. "He don't talk much aboat anyfin unless I make him." She pokes Dirk. "Say somefin."

So here’s what the “rough space” is: bright veils of color kicked up in an interaction between it and active psionics. Bright shining white cracks like pottery glued together with an adhesive with silver dust mixed in. Psychics got odd echoes and visions. Sometimes you’d find actual physical shit. Something like a busted up wreck of a sailing ship, maybe, or a completely intact house or a huge coddamned dead animal of some kind.

Every so often she takes a school of her courtiers and advisers and scienterrorists out to see the rough patches. (The scienterrorists have their own little expeditions out to the rough spaces, but they’re usually pleased to come on what are pretty much sightseeing tours, in hopes of getting Imperial Grants or sponsorship.) They marvel and some of them even listen to the scienterrorists who have the raw deal of dumbing shit down for guppies who don’t really have the appre-sea-ation for the wonders of deep space and are just there to tell everyone they were invited and went. (The scienterrorists reely earn their grants and sponsorships.)

A few days into the most recent trip into rough space, Tuna goes, “Holy shit. There’s someone out there.”

“A body?” Meenah asks. A troll (or more likely alien) corpse might interest the Junior Legal Counselator and her flock of raptorial protégés. (The sprats were adorable little goblins who had wanted to explore the gutted cruiser the ship had passed a few days back, never mind they only had minimal training in null gee so far.)

“No, it’s alive, but probably not for long.”

“Whale, reel it in,” Meenah says, curiosity piqued.

The alien wasn’t nearly as frozen as it should have been, floating out in space. (Well, flailing uselessly due to a lack of air til they passed out according to Tuna’s cameras) Unconscious, but a little guess work got its blood pusher pumping and aeration sponges working. The bioterminators were eager to examine the alien, who is eerily trolloid in appearance, except for the parts where it ain’t. Meenah okays limited examinations, mostly so the medicullers know what they’re dealing with.

The alien wakes up and…nothing. Well, it wakes up and according the medicullers there was something that might have been recognition in its eyes. They are pretty sure that somehow this unknown alien knows what trolls are, that for a moment it panicked, but then went completely submissive, lying there and letting itself be examined, but not making any effort to communicate.

It also won’t eat, and won’t drink. Within a few days of it not eating they decide to install worm tubes for hydration and food and waste removal. It barely reacts to stimulus, won’t attempt to communicate, just lets itself be examined and tested. It may or may not be dying because of some nutrient that they’re putting or not putting in its food.

 Meenah is curious, and low-key concerned. She wants to get a look at it herself, maybe sea if there’s something she can do to wake it up, or keep it from dying. Meenah goes to the room in the infirmary where they’re keeping the alien and gets the surprise of her life when the alien takes one look at her, seems to recognize her in a very personal way, and launches itself off the recuperapallet and at her throat.

Meenah lands flat on her bass with the alien on top of her. The alien is sparking vivid fuchsia lightning that hurts like fuck. (Briefly she sees herself from a weird third person angle.) She knees the alien hard and throws him off her, and the lightning flickers out. The alien rolls and comes at her again, screaming all kinds of accusations in Alternian--which is a fucking surprise all by itself; as far as she knew it hadn’t shown any sign of knowing or speaking Alternian. Then the room is full of Threshies who don’t give the alien a chance to continue its attack. They have it down in seconds and one of them gets ready to put it down.

“No,” Meenah says. “Restrain it, send it to my suite.”

“Your Imperious Condescension, it just tried to kill you,” the Threshy protests.      

“Don’t care,” Meenah says. She gives the Threshy a look that would have made most trolls flinch and cower a bit, but this little basshole is under the direct command of her Chief Threshy, so he just respectfully lowers his eyes and doesn’t move an inch. She can almost hear Nubs say; sometimes loyalty is letting them know their orders are fucking stupid. “Restrain it, make it safe however the fuck you want, send it to my suite.”

Of course, Your Imperious Condescension,” the Threshy says. Then he bows and starts issuing orders while some medicullers decide to start fussing, wanting to examine her and make sure she’s all right.

Next on the list of sprats who should mind their own coddamned business is the Junior Legal Counselator. She wants to question the alien. “The fucking good is that going to do?” Meenah asks.

The look on the sprat’s face is pretty fucking funny. “Ah. Get to the bottom of whatever conspiracy the alien is a part of, Empress?”

“Okay so, a completely unknown alien,” Meenah says patiently. “From a completely unknown world. Who randomly appears through a fucking temporal-space anomaly that mostly throws out pretty lights and weird as fuck shit.”

“From the security feeds, he seemed to have a personal grief against you. It seems like you’d want to get to the bottom of that, Empress,” the Counselator says.

“Tuna, why are you showin’ people security feeds?”

“The Counselator requested them as part of the ongoing investigation concerning the extremely dangerous alien who tried to krill you,” Tuna points out reasonably.

“There anchovy going to be an investigation, not by you, anyway, sprat,” Meenah says to the Counselator. “I can find out my own self what the shell’s going on.”  

“Yes, Empress,” the Counselator says, not sounding at all pleased about it.

“Anywave it’s a one of a kind item, and I’m itching to find out water its deal is. If there’s anyfin I need from you, I’ll tell you.”

The Counselator bows and absconds. Several more advisers express concern about the alien, but Meenah deals with them as they present their concerns. Some with more courtesy, and some with much less.

Meenah’s “suite” takes up most of a deck. There is plenty of room for private entertainment, guest rooms, kitchens, servant quarters, an art gallery, a performance theater and a movie theater. There’s also a library, her office, and salt water pool.

Her staff is quiet, efficient and very well paid. The instant she’s through the hatch, someone’s helping her out of her sandals, removing the more uncomfortable jewelry, taking her hair down, escorting her to the parlor. There’s always a little something a little something to take the edge off before dinner, and the head of her service staff is there to tell her about whatever projects have been done or need doing. She drinks wine and has a small snack of raw slices of fish set on tiny cakes of sticky grain.    

“We weren’t…quite sure whether you wanted the alien in a ‘guest room’…or a guest room, Empress,” the head of her service staff says. “So we erred on the side of caution and put him in a ‘guest room.’”

“You can say holding cell,” Meenah says, amused. “Even if they are about as nice as the actual guest rooms.” The holding cells were for enemies she wanted to keep a close eye on, hostages, the occasional pitch fling.  It’s been decades since she’d had anyone in one though, well before this cobalt cutie’s time. He’s a little young for the job, but he has the management skills, and his moirail oversaw the aquariums and gardens.

She finds out which holding cell, and after her snack she decides to check on the alien. It’s naked and drugged to the gills, restrained to a soft sack chair. The chair’s big and heavy, and moves a bit under its own power, trying to make the person sitting (or restrained) more comfortable. There’s nothing else in the room by way of furniture.

The restraints are over its chest, arms, wrists, thighs and ankles, thick fuchsia straps holding it in place in the sack chair. There’s an inhibitor collar around its neck. There’s some swollen redness around the mouths of the worm tubes, a sure sign that they were jostled and they bit down or someone tried to remove them. It also looks pretty beaten up, either because it fought or because the Threshies wanted to get their frustration out.

It’s staring at her with terrified loathing. “Is that inhibitor collar going to work against whatever the hell that lightning was?” Meenah asks.

“It works,” Tuna says. “Once they put it on, he stopped sparking.”

“Good,” Meenah says, and steps closer to the alien. “So, you speak Alternian?”

The alien doesn’t say anything, deliberately looking away.

“You weren’t giving me the silent treatment a little while ago,” Meenah says. She settles down by the sack chair, grasps the alien’s chin and turns his face toward her. “Hey, you sure you want to ignore me?” she asks.

“I have nothing to say to you, Batterwitch,” the alien says. “Except go to hell.”

“Batterwitch, huh?” Meenah asks. “How’d word of my baking reach your undoubtedly backwater little dirtball?”

 There’s a moment of surprise (Meenah thinks it’s probably surprise) and confusion (it looks pretty much like confusion) on the alien’s face. “Because you drowned it and wiped out my entire species,” the alien says. “You enslaved and murdered millions. You fucked up the Game and took Jane over somehow and everyone’s fucking dead. You killed everyone just so you could take the Game away from us and fuck everyone over.” The alien, worked up over this speech, strains against the restraints.

Meenah’s confused, but not about to be driven out of the room by angry, drugged accusations. She sits and watches the alien wear itself down into an exhausted stupor. “Tuna, we ever encounter aliens like this?”

“Nothing like them is in the database,” Tuna says.

“How’d I go about destroying a species we ain’t encountered yet?”

“Anything I can think of involves B-Grade science fiction movie plots, Empress,” Tuna says.

“What’d I do to end up in a B-Grade movie, Tuna?” Meenah asks. “I’m A-List all the way, bayb.”

“I’m…curious about this mention of a ‘game’ of some kind,” Tuna says. “And your actions within it.”

“Yeah, that shit sounds weird as fuck.” She looks at the sleeping alien, curious and interested. She reaches out and pets the alien’s pale hair. “Be interesting to find out.” She stands up and leaves the room, locking the hatch behind her. She has dinner, watches movies and eventually goes to bed.

The next evening is full of social gatherings and scientific presentations. There is a lot of political wheeling and dealing going on, and Meenah does her best to stay on top of it. There’s also a formal dinner with all the courses and a coddamn huge sculptural pastry that had been a bitch to assemble: a child reclining against the side of a deercat lusus. (A small surprise for one of the scienterrorists she was sponsoring, their lusus had been a deercat. Meenah wanted to make it reel clear the work they were doing in biomedical research was noted and appreciated.) There are some questions about the alien that are immediately withdrawn when she gives the questioner a certain look.

When she gets back to her suite, she checks on the alien, who has been making some effort to free himself. She settles down beside the sack chair with some of the pastry and a bottle of dessert wine. (Light, very sweet and while she could drink bottles of the stuff, it’d probably knock a rustblood flat.) “So, the theory is that I am in the movie where they go back in time to krill the evil overlord before he became an evil overlord,” she says. “Did they just chuck you through the anomaly and hope?”

Something changes about the alien’s expression. Some of it seems like confusion, more of it wariness and complete distrust.  “So, tell me about this world I drowned,” Meenah says, and drinks from the bottle.

The alien doesn’t answer. (She hadn’t expected it to.) She offers it some pastry, a dense sweetbread dotted with candied fruits and nuts. It turns its face away. “C’mon now, getting food from a tube with teeth can’t be fun,” she says.  

Still nothing.

Meenah reaches over, and ruffles the alien’s hair. “The more I think of it, the texture feels more like hair product of some kind, than what your actual hair might feel like,” she says. “Also, you stink like dried sweat and infirmary. Why don’t we take care of that?”

The alien looks uneasy, and also confused, though it’s trying hard to keep an indifferent expression on its face. She sends for rags, towels, soap, a comb, shampoo and conditioner. The first cleaning agents don’t pass the skin test, so she sends for something milder. After a few more tries, she gets something she can actually use on the alien.

Meenah adjusts the restraints, tying each wrist to the chest harness, and connecting the restraints on his thighs and ankles together. The alien attempts to struggle, but can’t break free. From there she adjusts the worm tubes so they won’t get in the way or flop around. Then she marches it into the ablution block, puts him in the trap, securing it to a bar before turning on the water.

She strips out of her clothes and coils her hair in a long knot before getting in after it. The alien doesn’t know what to do about that, looking everywhere but at her. She rinses it with the detachable showerhead, and then bathes it and washes its hair. When it struggles or tries to move away, she just moves it back into position, saying things like “it’s just a shower, you’re fine,” or “don’t be a wiggler.”

It’s all lean muscle and bones she can see under the skin. She has an immediate sense that the alien has been on short rations for most, if not all of its life. There are scars, burns on the hands and arms, long knife or maybe sword cuts. There are scars that might be from claws across his back and his legs. (She wants to find out where they’re from.) Rubbing at the crude tattoo on one shoulder gets a furious reaction, all glares and fury. It’s gone back to the silent treatment.

This kind of thing was always hilarious to her. Playing pale (or being pale) and pitch at the same time. Her particular pitch enemies never expected to be cherished like they were her moirails, like they were possessions she already owned. It confused the hell out of them, pissed them off and made the later pailing more fun for her. (She learned the hard way to appreciate what’s hers. You lose what could have been your kismesis proper, what could have been a quadrant because you krilled them, and if you have half a functioning pan, you don’t forget the coddamn lesson.)

The alien was pitch, maybe, and claimed that she’d destroyed its world (which she hadn’t done) and that made her want to fuck with it, take it apart, tame it, figure it out. It’s trembling under her hands, all anger, fear and confusion, and that’s something she likes too. She guides it out of the ablution trap and dries it off, then takes it back to the sack chair. “I’d take off the restraints, but I don’t quite trust you yet,” she says as she straps him back in place. Once that’s done, she leans against the sack chair, and runs her fingers through the alien’s hair. It’s much softer now, and very fine. “You have a good day, bayb,” Meenah says, and absconds.