#ziminder

20. Café

Whumptober

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

The sound of fall on Alderaan usually made Blakk think of warmth.  The smooth heat of a mug beneath his fingertips, the way it steamed swirls into the air, the way the same heat filled his stomach and radiated into his limbs with the first few sips.  Its mulled, sweet spice; the orange and red glow of the fireplace.  Gold and crimson lanterns going up for the season, the thick sweaters (and hats and scarves and gloves) keeping the crisping air at bay.  Zim’s breath against his cheek, against his lips.  His tight, secure embrace.

All the colors of the world bled warmth into every experience, every sight, every thought - the spectrums between brown and red, their vibrancy like life’s last dream before winter’s slumber.

But the sounds resonated differently now, bled with an unholy red into his vision.  

He thought of the odd blackness of the thing that bit his hand on the hike two days ago, the color of a gourd rotting on the vine.  But the rakghoul plague had cleaned up three months ago, and the creature had been small, like a tree mouse - it couldn’t have spawned from the plague … could it?

He could still hear its rattling shriek in his mind, like a sting across the back of his neck, like the sting that crawled up his hand into his forearm, beneath the gloves keeping the black marks hidden.

No, it was different from the plague.  The plague didn’t flicker in his vision with jarring red things at the corners of his eyes, it didn’t whisper this odd certainty that something else was among the trees as they walked.  He could feel it, almost see it, if only he could catch it before it hid again.

It made him grit his teeth, almost as irritating as the red pulse he could see from Zim hiking ahead of him.  A red like burning brands, like electric-lightning shocks he could all but feel in the glimpse of skin above the scarf, between Zim’s coat sleeves and gloves.  

His hands curled and he grit his teeth, and the bite throbbed all the way into his shoulder, and he wanted to make that red go away.  It was annoying, that red, that pulsing, those figments and afterimages.  They stung.

He hated it.

But he was fine.  It wasn’t the plague.  

If you had asked a few days ago, he would have said that he's doing fine. Everything's fine. He's just collected a fat bounty and that means he's actually not broke at the moment. Just had some repairs on his ship done. Actually thought about coming round to Nar Shaddaa and doing a few jobs for Tal, just to see Anne and Gida again.

Unfortunately you are asking today and...

Ahuska the Gentle, High Queen of Fort Peopletonia, gave herself a moment’s breathing space under the heavily blanket covered table in the Neutral Grounds. She wondered if it was strange that this wasn’t actually the first pillow fight she’d been to that had taken a violent turn. And she laughed when she saw who else had taken brief shelter in the same spot. “So... we should probably try and de-escalate things before someone actually gets stabbed, right?” Lord Ziminder, once-ruler of the now demolished Fort of Love, glanced her way, his hair a little mussed, but every one of his damn teeth as perfect as ever in that smile of his. “Depends who gets stabbed, don’t you think?” Ahuska mainly said it to see the look on Zim’s face. At least 60% to see the look on his face. And she wasn’t disappointed. “Oh shhh, I know, yeah, you’re right. We need to distract them-- hey.” Her face suddenly brightened, ears pinging up. “Do you own any swords?”

“Yeah, there’s a couple just in the chest over-- wait. Why?”

Ahuska grinned mischievously, and re-adjusted her makeshift bedsheet crafted royal robes. “Remember that scene in that holodrama you did a few years back? That like... period drama or something, and they’ve got the sword right up...”

Zim snorted, remembering easily. “Aha. Yes. And your plan is....?”

“To re-enact it of course. I guarantee. Guarantee that it’ll distract everyone enough to prevent a genuine murder. Make sure you take off your shirt.”

And so that’s how, moments later, Zim found himself being backed into a corner in a room full of billowing down and barely repressed tension, while Ahuska menaced him with a blade which after a few fancy flourishes she had tucked neatly up against his throat.

He was quietly impressed and secretly grateful that she seemed to actually know how to wield the blade.

But he had absolutely no idea what a precarious position he put himself in when he flashed her that toothy grin, right off the silver holonet screen. Ahuska had always been weak for smiles like that, after all.

It’s MerMay!

And @kaosstar‘s Ziminder invites you to come celebrate, even if Derrick isn’t overly impressed with the idea. Thank you so much for letting me turn your beautiful boys into mermen! (MerDer is a dolphin because even though they’re all pretty and smart and popular they can be real jerks too, shhhh Ahuska told me to do it.)

OC Kiss Week 2020 - Roundup

SEVEN SINDAY MEMES

“Hey.”

Blakk startled slightly at the touch to his arm, but relaxedjust as quickly, lowering his knives and sinking back behind the foliage.  He turned his attention from the pirates toZim.

“I think I have another way. Come on.”

Another way?

Blakk glanced back at the pirates, at the cargo they wereloading onto Zim’s ship.  His hands tightened.  There wasno other way.  Blakk had his stealth unitand the element of surprise.  Zim was agood sniper.  They made a good team.  They could take out all the pirates.

“Blakk.”  Zim’s firmtone and the hand coming down to rest upon his head stilled him once more.  “Look at me. You don’t need to keep sacrificing yourself for everything that needs toget done.”

The words struck something inside Blakk and left himmomentarily speechless.  A small tremorran through him.  “I … what?  I don’t …”

“I only just got you back. I’d rather you stayed in one piece for a while.”  The hand drifted down to gently cup his cheek,drawing his eyes to Zim’s and his soft expression and all the emotions hiddenbehind his gaze.  “Let’s try things myway, this time.  Okay?”

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The grand patio was tiled in green and gold, like summer, with the kind of smooth finish that let you gaze at the stars.  It was easily at least half the size of the ballroom it circled, long and wide, fit for summer parties or maybe just good enough for springtime poetry readings - however it was Alderaanian nobles liked to use their space.  The marble and gold banisters led to a shallow flight of stairs to the lawn.  It was to these that Blakk was headed after skirting the evening celebration indoors … at least until Ziminder stopped him.

He’d humored Zim, dressing in the Alderaanian attire he’d been presented.  Blakk didn’t know where it had come from - maybe it was even Zim’s once upon a time, when he’d been younger.  He’d arranged it as best he could, given the bandages around his torso and his arm still in its sling.  But the jacket still hung open, draped over one shoulder, and Blakk had wrestled with coming down to the celebration at all.

When he finally did, he’d assumed Zim had given up on waiting.  He had guests to entertain.

But here he was, in the open doorway, the orchestra behind him spilling its melody into the night.  Blakk wondered how it was that Zim, of everyone there, had been the one to notice him.

He should go, but Ziminder was done up in such regal splendor that it was hard to look away.

Dance with me.

Blakk finally freed his gaze in favor of the emptiness of the patio.  Dance?  Who would want to dance with an invalid?  Blakk wasn’t sure he could dance right now, not well, not fit for the graces of Alderaanian nobility and all the guests inside.  And wouldn’t they be looking for Zim soon enough?

But Ziminder took his hand, with the kind of firm gentleness Blakk imagined could get wild deer to follow him.  The white gloves turned to pearl in the moonlight, and Blakk’s stomach flip-flopped.  He didn’t know how he could have ever taken this man for anything other than a prince.  Mindful of his “good” arm’s still-healing injury, and the brace hidden inside the jacket sleeve, Ziminder drew him back to the center of the patio and settled his arm around Blakk’s waist.  With the music drifting out to them, Ziminder swept him into a dance.

It was slow, but majestic, Blakk’s half-crippled awkwardness not seeming to faze either Zim or the rhythm as they spun slowly across the patio.  If anyone finally came out to watch, Blakk didn’t notice; it was enough to gaze upon the window light moving across Zim’s features, and the way his warm eyes sparkled when they turned to Blakk.  

Blakk didn’t know how long they were out there.  He’d lost track of time at some point.  He was flushed when they finished, from the exertion, Blakk told himself.  He expected Zim to leave, finally, find another dance partner, someone he hadn’t seen for a while, while he’d been off chasing bounties.