Pegasus’ fingers closed tentatively around the presented slip of paper. He frowned down at it, before returning his concerned gaze to the man before him. Wow. This was…this was some responsibility!

"I…it’s an honour that you’ve chosen me for this task," he said, words sprinting from his mouth, "but I’m not. Um. Well, I’m not sure…what if I accidentally give it away?"

He regretted his insecurity almost immediately. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. Maybe he shouldn’t be doubting himself so soon, before he’d even tried anything — and besides! It was just like Jefferson had said. You had to try things before you could possibly even begin to know whether you’d enjoy it or not. Well, this wasn’t so much a matter of enjoyment as it was potential failure, but hey. The thought was still there, right?

And he didn’t want his friend and ex-team leader to think he was incompetent. Because he wasn’t, he thought. He squared his shoulders and stood up a little straighter. 

Yeah. Yeah, he could do that. He could take that little piece of paper and look after it until it was time. He nodded himself into a half-smile. 

“No, you're not. You can't.”

Everything on this planet was colored in shades of orange and yellow and red, everything but the sky--a deep, emerald green. Only that sky was now pierced by a jagged trail of thick black smoke that ripped the horizon in two.

Dust had begun to collect on her boots and hands, and coat her visor in a fine grime. She raised a hand to wipe it away.

“Our ship is going down, Agent Cheyenne. I cannot do anything about it. Any attempt at restoring systems would result in failure.”

She shielded her eyes against the bright sun, listening to the crackle of static on the radio for a moment before forming a shaky response.

“Where's Concord? Transfer over to him, you still have time.”

“He... he's dead.”

She had never heard him hesitate to say anything except in this moment. “Then switch to me. Switch to someone, anyone! Get back on the ship if you have to!”

“You know I can't do that. The Equinox is out of range for such a transfer, and you--you lost your implant along with Tara.”

“No. No, there has to be some kind of way out. You can't just--”

"So," Pegasus sighed, "you’re completely sure you wish for me to do this?" His voice dipped at the end. It wasn’t exactly a question — more a statement. One that stems from a faint disbelief, a sense of insecurity.

Normally he’d relish this kind of an opportunity. He wondered what had gotten him so self-conscious lately! This uh, this wasn’t like him.

"Y-yes, go-go-go ahead, Mister. P-Pegasus," Indus replied. Pegasus huffed a little. There was always something a little funny about being called a ‘mister’. But he didn’t have the heart to tell him so he gave a half-frown and a shrug. Besides, it was kind of sweet. Endearing, even. 

"Alright, alright," was the response. Pegasus squinted a little, cocked his head. "But please do not be offended if it doesn’t quite, uh, if it doesn’t…work, Indus."

Well, here we go..

He didn’t actually listen to whatever his friend said next, because he was much too busy dragging his pen across the paper. Uh..line here, another there — no! Not there. Over this way a little. Aw shit.

He bit his lip. Held the picture away, an arm’s length. Rotated it left, right, 180º, 90. Stared at the image. Looked back at Indus.

Frowned a little. Frowned a lot. 

Laughed a lot, too, soon enough. Oh dear.

"Maybe it needs some colour, hey?"

You might've noticed a blog called promptpocalypse reblogging some of your regular prompts. Now, I'm using this blog to collect completed prompts as opposed to linking them on a page because effort. But with the sheer number of askbox prompts that've been happening, there's no way I'm gonna go through and reblog em all, that'd be bonkers.

So I'd greatly appreciate if you could, in reply to this post or in the submit to either oniocorn or promptpocalypse, post a link to:

a. your favourite of your ask prompts - just one please;

b. the tag you used for your ask prompts, if applicable.

For what? Punching your A.I. in the face?

She was inspecting her reflection in the darkened screen of her tablet when he heard it. Arms bent before her, the device held in light fingers. It stared blankly into her face and she stared back. AI Unit Libra blinked lazily and cleared her throat.

"You’re dead to me," she announced nonchalantly to the tablet. An air of carelessness lilted her buoyant voice, the words were delivered with an upward tilt of the head. She batted her eyelashes and observed her lips’ reflection as they cycled through that pretty little sentence.

Pegasus furrowed his eyebrows and paused. Took a few steps back and squinted through the cracked door. What? Was she telling herself that or-

"You’re dead to me!" A desperation, accompanied by a depressing of the mouth and an obvious hissing of panic and disgust. The sudden change of mood - it was like a switch had been flicked, like gears had been set into sleek, silvery motion, an intricate yet ever-so-simple mechanism designed to thrust open a new window of expression. He wasn’t sure if it was fascinating or frightening.

The phrase came again, and again, each instance coloured with a different hue of emotion. There was anger, there was sadness, there was the slicing touch of horror. There was the voice of someone who’d split into a million little pieces that all knew how to say the same words in completely unique ways.

And then there was the same phrase, once more. Only this time, it was dripping with an absolute, undeniable sweetness - it dropped like petals from a flower, drizzled like honey or squeezed like nectar from a fruit.

It occurred to Pegasus that she was rehearsing for something.