#mislaidlullaby

As it turns out, unlike what his native world thought, Hashim is neither Satan nor the Antichrist. Instead, it turns out he’s the lure of an anglerfish, and Glogoroth has played you all for fools.

You ease back into restricted amounts of food like you never stopped being rationed. It doesn’t really matter what they feed you, half the time - between the crystallaniths the ship is carrying and your inability to actually taste anything, all you need is a scent-strip and a smooth enough texture for the most part. It works out well enough, for you anyway.

The little luxuries like fancy clothes and weapons are the first things widgeted. Beth’s knack for changing the composition of objects finally comes in use, allowing you to earn a tidy little profit off a good chunk of your spare clothing - you don’t need more than two or three different outfits at a time, after all. You smile, work out how much grist that allows you to spend for the rest of the remaining time, and quietly hide Mr Rock and the axe away before anybody gets any ideas.

You cut your showers down to a monthly affair that only lasts as long as it needs to. That gives you enough each week to let the girls have a small treat. You smile and adapt.  Mr Rock and the axe stay an open secret.

You love it when you get to stop off in a bubble, the itch to get out and explore being eased for a short while. But when you have to leave again, the itch comes back, and you spend your time exploring the ship as thouroughly as you can.

You try not to sleep when you can. You widget some spare clothing - you can last on only two different shirts and one set of trousers after all - and use that to try and keep yourself up with coffee. It doesn’t work. On the plus side, it turns out that Rick provides you food from Prospit when you sleep. You take what you can and hug one of the others when you wake up to try and scrub out the dirty feeling you get under your skin for accepting anything from the Host. It lets you cut down on the grist cost, though, and the others can enjoy having a little more for it. You grit your teeth, put on a smile and try to work with it. It’ll be worth it by the end of the trip, you’re sure of it, you just need to keep yourself eating only what you can afford and it’ll all be okay.

One day, you get bored and start to dismantle some of the furniture in your room. It gives you enough to help gets the Wonderrails a wriggling day present. You’re not sure how you’ll afford something for Sindra but you’re sure you’ll work it out closer to the date.

You fall asleep longer than usual and more frequently closer to the date. You use your spare grist to help chip in and get her a cake. 

It’s only by pure coincidence that your birthday is missed. You smile and tell them it’s fine, you’ll wait it out to get your gifts next year. It’s not their fault that they only found out a month after the event, after all. Besides, you don’t want to get spoilt. You don’t deserve anything particularly fancy.

“Oh, mum,” Mandy says next time she sees you. “You gotta treat yourself better than this.” She looks like she’s about to cry.

Neither Maerya nor Rick really give you any details behind ‘Axebride’ beyond ‘The Voices’ and you know neither of them were bloody Rain when she picked that up, so you do what you do…Not the best, but you’re still good at it. You go digging.

A rumour here. A muttering there. Logs of what they did give you. You start writing down everything you can and organise your note. Eventually things start to come together and a trend forms. You peel things back and dive further.

It’s hard to get information out of people on the chat sometimes, not whilst keeping up pretences, but you talk with your Dio and he helps you fill in the blanks where he can. It’s not quite enough, but it helps. You peel things back and dive further.

The Dreaming Dead give you precisely jack shit to work with. You ignore them.

The picture you’ve built up by the end is pretty ramshackle but it ultimately works. You can’t claim to understand the Voices but you can see why they said what they did. You take a risk and send a message and wonder if the blind shot in the dark will actually hit. You’re not Fate, after all.

“you may now kiss the fuckin’ groom, axebride.”

Within ten minutes you’ve got flecks of wax all over your clothes and the room smells of burnt hair. Their plate is covered in gold stars and yours over-spiced to the point of being inedible. There is a karaoke machine sitting in the corner next to a mini-bar.

There’s about eleven of you who stay permanently there all in all, five total being different variations of you, but not one of you recognise the little one who just toddled into the warehouse-cathedral-mansion hybrid you’d all collectively settled on.

It’s one of the Ricks, dark haired and thin as a rake who steps forward and scoops her up, chattering away whilst the rest of you converge and mutter amidst yourselves.

“She’s looking for her mother!” he declares cheerfully after five minutes. “Who wants to help look?”

“Mama, you sure ‘bout this?” you ask, taking a step or two back to stare at the tower.

“Oh, yes! He’s just lovely and he says such sweet things and it’s just so wonderful, Maria, you really much come and meet Mornei!”

You claw your way out of the cocoon, throw your head back, laugh. You wash. The water that felt so cold before is wonderful and warm now and you- you just- it’s everything you could have ever dreamed of.

And then there’s a noise downstairs and you know that’s not your new lusus, because Scorpionmom is currently basking in the heat in your respiteblock. Somebody has broken into your Hive.

Your new ears flatten against your skull and you hiss, low and angry and better than any human ever could. You are going to kill them.