#pendlesprompts

Day in and day out, he would see them coming in, dressed in their off-brown suits, making notes on their clipboards... staring. He wished he could hear what they were saying through the orange goop he floated in, what remarks they were making about his person. He couldn’t tell if they were sharing compliments or disparaging comments, their expressions remaining placid throughout their conversations. They would give him one long look before moving on to the next one, where they’d start the process over again. That gave him time to think, to plan. He wanted out of this place. He wanted out of this nutritional syrup they kept him in. He wanted to see what he was truly made for. It was heaven the day they finally took him out of that tank, when he took his first breath of real air. He vomited up the contents of his lungs and stomach, more of that orange crap, and the cool rush of fresh oxygen made him regret not breaking out sooner. To feel the air on his skin, to hear real sounds for the first time, unmuffled by the contents of his vat... It was almost too much to take in, abrasive against his senses to the point of covering his ears and shutting his eyes to prevent an overload. One at a time, slowly, he weaned himself into their world. There would be so much to explore! At least, those were his plans. They had others in store for him, others that came quite naturally once they slapped a gun into his hands. He remembered it all, all the training they’d pumped into his brain: details, missions, events that he’d never personally experienced. It seemed fun at first... then it became quickly monotonous. They wanted to see how much of it stuck. How much of a good little soldier he could be. It was enough at first, playing along to make them happy, watching as they checkmarked every box as he passed test after test. But he quickly found that none of that made him happy. Their approval wasn’t what he sought, not what he wanted to live for. He wanted so much more than all of this. He didn’t know how to cope with the disappointment that filled his breast or how to even put it into words. All of his “brothers” seemed fine with their circumstances, content to keep toeing the line. Was there something wrong with him? And it was that doubt that brought the first dreams. Or nightmares, more accurately. The first of many, he would have considered it a boon given his lack of such in his vat days. A boon that would have given him something to speak about with his peers, to question whether they had them too, had the imagery not been so terrifying. A curse of the mind, a dredging up and manifesting of his innermost thoughts, playing out behind his eyes where he couldn’t escape. A glass case. Darkness. He could hear the beating of his heart in his chest. A steady thumping that he’d listened to for days and months and years until his emergence day. The thumping grew louder, gathered speed, surrounded him until he discovered that the sound wasn’t his heart at all. Disembodied white hands slapped against the sides of his glass case all around him, dragging down the surfaces in long, agonizing squeals. More and more hands appeared, covering every inch. So many hands. Why wouldn’t they go away? What did they want? He shrunk within himself and covered his ears, hoping that they would go away on their own. Hoping that if he wished it hard enough and long enough, someone would listen to his pleas and make it all stop. But it only grew louder, reverberated within his chest, rattled his ribs and shook his teeth in their very gums. The sound pounded in his head until there was nothing left but the noise, until it felt like the sound was going to crumble him apart. The glass splintered and broke; he was no longer safe. The hands grabbed for every inch of him, every limb, and pulled and groped and yanked until every nerve ached for release. This was the world they were throwing him into, a world that needed him more than he needed it. A world that would use him and tear him apart... and simply replace him with another when he was mere sinew on the ground. Whiskey sat up in a cold sweat, the thin sheets sticking to his skin and increasing his discomfort. His breathing was ragged and the ache of the nightmare still dwelled in his chest. The others were sound asleep - bless them - all on their backs, lying in their prescriptive rows of cots. Not a single one different from the other, a copy of a copy of a copy... Was this what his life was supposed to be like? He shivered as he recalled the sensation of those hands all over his body, touching his skin, pulling at every fibre of his being. It made him sick to his stomach. He threw off the sheets and hurried to the communal showers, turning the water to the coldest setting. Anything to be rid of the memory of those... I can’t live like this... Claws scraped down the tiles as he allowed the shivers to take over his body, allowed it to wash the images from his mind. He felt his heart slow, goose flesh pricking his skin, his mind clearing... A hand touched his shoulder. He whirled around and grabbed the nightmare by the throat. Golden yellow eyes, widened in fear and staring back at him, blinked slowly. Whiskey had his neck pinned to the back of the stall, his claws threatening to tear his throat out. It was his bunkmate, a “brother” whose cot was next to his. “You should be asleep,” he croaked, his hands wrapping around Whiskey’s wrist to encourage the loosening of his grip. “This is beyond protocol.” “... fuck the protocol,” he blurted out, surprised by his exclamation. “Wh-... what?” “You heard me.” He looked around the rest of the room to see if anyone else is listening in. “We’re not living like this anymore.”

Her heart raced a million times a second, her breath hitched in her throat, waiting for the inevitable sting of bullets to puncture her skin. Another shot, another wave of pressure passing much to close to her skin to be safe. She could go no higher in the trees, the thinner limbs unable to carry her weight. She would have to look for something else to help her wage her war against the Thrall trespassing on her lands. A limb gave way beneath her with an audible crack, a sign to her pursuers that she no longer had the upper hand in this chase. Shades of green zoomed past her in her fall until she managed to hook her bow around a jutting branch to stop her fall. The muscles in her shoulder screamed in agony at the sudden jolt, a pain she couldn’t afford any attention. Thorn dropped the ten or so feet left to the ground before she was sprinting off again. She couldn’t give them any chances to gain ground or else that would spell her doom. An earthy smell was kicked up from beneath her feet, one that smelled... familiar. The archer tried to recall where she’d smelled it before, where where where, until-! A smile grew on her face as she took a sharp turn to the right, towards a set of dens she knew all too well. The hidden homes were easy to spot since she knew what she was looking for, and a click and a whistle from her lips roused the creatures within. Scalewolves. An entire extended family of them. Their ears pricked and a few curious pups poked their heads out before their mothers drew them back inside, afraid this was the trick of some predator to take their young. A few bared teeth, others growled from the sanctuary of their dens. Either way, Thorn wasn’t interested in domesticating any of them. Using her bow as a pole, she vaulted over them to the short cliff face behind them, a dead end for any chance prey who wondered in this direction. So too would it be for the archer’s pursuers. She stood tall when the Thrall finally found her, drool dripping from the smaller ones’ gaping maws. Jagged teeth protruding in every which way, they snarled and scratched at the ground in anticipation of the given order. None would come when their growls were returned. These people were no Eldrid, knew nothing about respect for the scalewolves’ territory. The smell of the Thrall alone was enough to rouse them to anger, and the scales along their backs scraped against each other in the raising of their hackles. “They are faster, stronger and far smarter than you. They are also starving,” she whispered in her thick accent. It was the last warning the Thrall received before there was the flash of tooth and claw and scale.

Being the leader of the Rogues had given Reyna certain expectations for the day... mostly that she shouldn’t have them at all. Her ragtag group came from all walks of life with varying personalities that somehow managed to work together. It was the chaos that had become the norm, which not only helped her win many a scuffle against Jennerit forces but also forced her to keep an open mind on a daily basis. Which was why she was taken aback on her way to meeting Kleese aboard Nova. “What the f**k is that?!” She would have leaped up into the rafters if her short stature would have allowed her. Parading across the table was a cat... or something that she guessed was a cat, which she was terrified of on her own. Its skeleton was completely visible through its skin, which was glowing with twinkling starlight. The eyes were great moon-like orbs with no visible pupils to speak of. It was unnerving to watch, yet Kleese sat there in that big, stupid battlethrone of his, making notes like he was writing about the weather. “Huh...?” He looked up from his datapad, wrinkling his nose at the Valkyrie’s sudden interruption and state of alarm. “Oh, it’s just an experiment. We don’t really have a name for it yet. Don’t worry, it’s friendly.” Then he went back to his notes like nothing was amiss. “That doesn’t really tell me what it is, Kleese!” She knew the old man wasn’t obtuse, and that’s what made him more annoying than anything. “Does it matter? Now sit down. Ghalt is going to show up here any minute.” “I’m not sitting down with that thing! What if it’s radioactive?! Or has laser vision or some s**t!?” “You think I’d be sitting here so calmly if it did?” “You’re a lunatic so I can’t really take your word for it, Kleese!” He had made ISIC after all, though personality “traits” extended from entirely different, external sources. She didn’t want to take that chance. The LLC were always pulling some strange shit like this. “I’m appalled. Appalled and offended that you think I wouldn’t take any precautions to keep anyone aboard this ship safe.” He looked perturbed, but Reyna knew better than to apologize. “You wouldn’t. Because you don’t care about anyone else but yourself.” “Well, you’re not wrong. But look at the thing. What could it possibly do to harm anyone?” The “cat” sat and stared at the two - at least, Reyna thought that’s what it was doing - before it started to clean itself with its tongue. A harsh buzzing sound, like a scrub brush against bricks, filled the air as it continued its cleaning ritual. It put Reyna’s teeth on edge. “What is with that infernal noise!?” The hologram bust of Nova appeared, fading in and out more than usual. The feline creature didn’t seem to take too well to her appearance as it turned and raised its hackles. It spat in her direction, minute sparks of light spraying and fading into the air. The sound reminded Reyna of radio static, turned up to twelve. “Nova, calm down. It’s just a... like I said, we don’t have a name for it yet.” “Well get rid of it, it’s giving me a headache!” “Magnas don’t get headaches,” he reminded her dully. But the angrier the “cat” seemed to get, the more she flickered in and out of existence. “Uhh... I think it might be a good idea to get the thing out of here, Kleese...” Reyna suggested. Nova was the ship, and the last thing the Valkyrie wanted was to be stuck in a vessel that was out of control. “You’re all just overreacting!” Just like that, the lights all went out, leaving the little experiment and the battlethrone as the only sources of light in the room. With its “enemy” gone, it returned to cleaning itself. “... okay... how are we going to explain this to Ghalt...?” “The same way we always do,” she sighed. “We tell him it’s your fault.”

Write a drabble about an awkward interaction between two characters that wouldn’t get paired up normally.

Interpret this as you please

As Siali stumbled back aboard his ship, the beginnings of a headache starting to creep behind his eyes, he couldn’t help but glance at the familiar tin he kept on his person. You should stop smoking that stuff before it kills you. Her words echoed through his mind. Empty words that did nothing for his future. It was that stuff that kept had them alive on that darkened planet, had showed him what he needed to see before the worst happened. It was what- A loud chorus of screams and ringing sounded his mind and sent him sprawling to his knees, his teeth on edge against each other. This was no symptom of withdrawal, but something else entirely. And he didn’t know what it was. He tried to get to his knees, tried to claw his way across the floor towards... where was he going? Right. Medical kit. Or was it the mess? He was torn between painkillers or a healthy dose of alcohol to get rid of whatever was plaguing him. you thought you could e  s  c  a  p  e us It felt like his scalp was being peeled away from his skull, from the back of his neck all the way to his forehead. Probing fingers sought and found the skin still intact, his touch still dry. Then what- Another cacophony of noise, one that made him want to puke his guts out, doubled him over onto the floor. He clawed at his clothing and felt the itching trickle of something warm from his nose. He tasted the blood on his lips and spat it onto the floor. you thought our r  e  a  c  h was small ThinK aGaaaaIN deVoUrrreerrrrRR “Shut up...” He couldn’t hear himself over the voices, but he was sure he sounded pretty pathetic. you opened the d  o  o  r CanN’tT CLosE blindtoseetheblind you kill for self YOUDIEFORH- “Shut up, you don’t know anything about me!” we’veseenyourtransgressions we’veseenyourregrets we’veseenyoursuicide Before him bloomed a vision, a vision he thought he’d left behind on that infernal planet. That pulsing brain-like flower, the unfurling of inky tendrils, the images it had dragged from the back of his mind. thanks to you We FOLLOWed the rotting of your mind A wagGoon fOR our SEED Panic struck him, as did guilt and regret. That only made the screams louder, drew out the laughter from the void slowly growing inside his mind. They sought to plague him, even as far away as here. His use of the drug had left him open for their influences and they had no desire to leave. “... what do you want...” he relented. Anything to make it feel like his eyeballs were no longer melting out of his head.

She’d been so beautifully wrapped in gold. He’d believed himself free of her, that wonderfully rich colour out of his damned eyes. With her gone, with his departure, he thought his eyes would never fall upon its gleam ever again. Until he’d come to face with another, a woman just as daring, just as manipulative as the one he’d left behind. That gold glow to her eyepatch, that honey-coloured eye that peered back at him from across the bar... They shook him down to his very core and it took all that he had not to book it out of there. His panic only grew as she took notice and got up from her stool. A cigar dangled from the corner of her lip and she rolled it to the other side in contemplation - of what he didn’t know, he just wanted to be out of here - before coming to lean over his table. Why hadn’t he gotten before then? Why had he allowed her to get so close, what about her had paralyzed him with...? You can’t be afraid. She’s dead. She’s not going to- “Don’t I know you?” “Should I know you?” he retorted as he propped his boots up on the table. ... this wasn’t fear. This was some hopeless desperation for a do-over... “Heh.” Thick cigar smoke poured out of her nostrils as she invited herself to sit. She propped her arms up across the back of the chair, giving him the usual up-and-down. “Like what you see?” he asked as he undid a single button and allowed his jacket to fall open. “Dunno. What am I looking at, here?” She didn’t disappoint with her snide remark, which was exactly what he was expecting. “Depends on who’s asking.” “And you’re boring me already.” “Shame. I’d heard the rumours you weren’t easily amused. Guess those were wrong.” A flare of gold winked out in that moment, as her smile grew, that eye narrowed, scrutinizing him even further. Was that the same look she used to get? He never knew; he’d rarely gotten the chance to look at her face. “And what pleasure’ve I got for meeting such a cocky bastard as yourself?” She extended a gloved hand towards him; everything screamed at him to ignore it, but a quick glance around the room told him that everyone else was watching. Now wasn’t the time to piss everyone off. “Pleasure’s all yours. Looking to make it out here with transport services. You need it, I got the fastest ship what can get it to you.” He was proud of his little ship and the efforts he’d put into building it. He would take the secrets of its engines to his grave and back. “You wouldn’t be the first guy trying to make it out here with that kind of business.” “You’re probably right. First one to ever get to those darkened planets and back alive, though.” He casually winked, took a sip of his beer, and reveled in the fading of her smile. The cigar threatened to fall from her bottom lip as her facade diminished. He knew he had her hook, line, and sinker. It was his turn to start tugging on someone else’s strings.

She’d taken it from right under his nose, the very thing he’d been fighting for for years, and she’d swooped in and snatched it as if her name had been written on it all along. What made it worse was that she had the support of the people behind her, chanting her name as if it was an anthem for the centuries. Glorifying her as if she were a god herself. All while he sat on his ship, his hands empty and his efforts for nothing. He watched in bitter hatred as she turned the Detritus Ring around, transformed it into some kind of haven for those with no home.  A complete waste of time and money, he considered. There was no profit to be had here, and the universe was getting gobbled up anyway. She was fighting a losing war and giving them false hope. While he... while he sat here on his ship with his fingers proverbially up his own ass. He sneered as she gathered her little troupe of Rogues, turned them into more than what they were. Fruitless. Pointless. They would leave or die when this was all over.  She was making friends instead of running a business. A fake family to make up for the one she’d lost. He could use that against her. In time, he could turn them against her too. And then he would have everything he deserved and more.