Topios Writes

A short introduction to the key cast of most of my assorted bits of writings.

Noir: Coffee addicted, fairly snarky ordinary guy who's prone to getting into trouble. He's hard to get close to, but underneath his bad attitude and even worse similes Noir wants people he cares about to be safe and happy. Letting himself care is the hard part. He's got a talent for finding and organizing info digitally. Noir mostly makes a meager life selling said skills, but it lands him in hot water about as often as it earns him a not so legal paycheck.

Main variants: Urban fantasy Human (Modern Magic AU) who'd like people to stop kidnapping him and also these headaches to stop being an issue. Is a magic void and tends to weaken magic used near him. Robot version who used to work at a museum but ran off rather than be scrapped. Masking as human and doing a good job of it. If only he wasn't so incredibly bad at self repair.

Character tag: Noir Needs Friends

BB: Big, Unnerving, and has a thing with messing with people's memories unless they like you... and BB doesn't like a whole lot of people. To BB others are mostly inconsequential, sometimes they're toys, rarely they're worth much respect or even interaction. But they sure have taken a keen interest in Noir and whatever he's getting up to.

Main variants: Urban fantasy Fey (Modern Magic AU) If you ask other fey, BB is their version of a dumb blonde... only BB has some eerie memory altering skills and some deep devotions on top of the figurative Barbie package.They might not get or care for the usual fey trickery, but they can and will keep their promises and if you get in the way of somebody they care about, well... you probably won't remember when they're done with you. Even if you survive the encounter. Robot version is a very dubiously legal angled monstrosity in matte black that works for a totally not mob style corporation doing... something.... better not ask. Doesn't see any issues in on the fly altering other bots' memories for their own use and amusement. Being very new and shiny tech and very badly socialized makes for a distressing combo for most others who get near them.

Character tag: BB is Bad

Zellus: Mushroom infused existential nightmare who'd like everybody to see past the mushroom part. Also they'd like you to shut up with the zombie jokes, they're very much alive.

Main variants: Urban fantasy Fey (Modern Magic AU) when you're semi-stuck in the same area you make do. And Zellus' making do is picking up stray people with weird semi-magical issues and cooking up homegrown mushroom treatments. They trade in gossip mostly to starve off the loneliness. It's not easy having a social life when most people react like you're infections when they figure out what you are. Robot Zellus has settled down, spending most of their time with assorted mushroom infected animal bots. Their whole organic and robot mix creeps out robots and humans alike, so they don't get a whole lot of visitors, but they appreciate whoever stops by for a (nice) chat.

Character tag: Zellus Grows On You

It’s never a fun experience, switching online to a small sea of alerts, and especially not when it comes with the unfortunately too familiar haptic data of somebody being arm deep in your wiring without permission. Noir can’t see it. His optics are turned towards the ceiling which isn’t telling him much besides ‘dim’ and ‘far away’, so clearly he has to do something about this. Sooner rather than later preferably, before his threat assessment overloads and tries to self terminate him. Like he even has any secrets or components worth stealing at this point. 

He means to lift his arm and shove at whoever it is that’s kneading his innards, but nothing happens. Noir checks his power level and it’s… actually rising slow and steady, so it isn’t that. 

A shadow shifts in from the side but stays just off frame. “Oh, hey, you’re back. That’s gonna  make things a lot easier,” a cheerful mechanical voice calls out. He knows that voice. And not just cause it’s the latest one he personally flagged with ‘keep the fuck away from’. Right, that jerk.

Something shifts and Noir feels a tug then the release of something and a clatter as it hits a tray and he’s seething cause yeah, all his extremities are definitely put into lockdown and he cannot seem to get past it, which is infuriating. He tries to say how rude that is, but he doesn’t even get static.

“Sh, gimme a moment, you’re all over the place. Might mess up here and I don’t know if I can find a replacement. Some of these are ancient...” the tone is friendly but Noir catches that hint of threat well enough. He doesn’t get more than a second to panic before an access link is shoved at him. He pokes at it, but it doesn’t seem like it contains anything malicious and honestly not like he can do anything about it like this. Noir curses himself and accepts it grudgingly.

“Ah, there you are, that’s a relief. I was starting to think you’d glitched out on me,” he’s greeted at the same moment he gets a high definition view of his own half peeled chassis. Noir is pretty sure he has some idea what being ill must feel like. A steady hand he has no control of moves in the field of view and Noir would swear he can feel the ghost of the jolt when it plucks out the sparking wire he’d had trouble with earlier and just tears it out like it’s nothing. There’s a tidy overview to the side. Annotated schematics he hasn’t looked at in years, with new notes popping up in a steady flow. Production numbers, model types, performance reliability. Noir couldn’t run half of this on himself, much less another bot without getting a headache and quite possibly shorting out, and that’s just the data he’s getting immediate access to.  

“You wanna keep this shell,” the stranger asks, shifting their attention to his exposed core, and Noir nearly blanks out in cold terror he didn’t even know he had the ability to feel. Today is full of surprises.

“What,” he responds, half panicking. He knows he’s just piggybacking, he couldn’t actually stop it if whoever this is decides to just reach out and destroy him. A front seat show of your own pointless existence being snuffed out. 

“Caleb,” the stranger responds cheerfully, “I’m Caleb. And I am not going to damage your core”

Noir’s thought process freezes.

“Had to take out your audio to get some power into you, the access port was a mess. You’re temporarily hooked directly up to my local network. You have a curious thought pattern. Self grown AI?”

He doesn’t actually try to make a sound at that, but his host still dips their head in acknowledgement. 

It’s strange to experience it from the inside. The ghost of whatever feeling they’re expressing bleeding over.

“So, Noir huh? Gonna keep working on your shell. Still, offer’s open, it would be a lot less work to just switch you over.”

The room the thieving weirdo has taken him to is cluttered, filled with a mix of trinkets and tools Noir isn’t sure he wants to identify, assuming he can even get into any kind of network here. 

They shift him from their tight grip and get their stupid long and elegant fingers locked on his arms hard enough Noir thinks he can hear the metal under his clothes creak. 

This bot is ridiculously strong. 

Noir holds still, his threat assessment flagging him with increasingly more desperate warnings about how he’s absolutely probably gonna get scrapped here. He can see their face better, it’s smooth, gently curved and so very clean. Like a milky mirror. Noir wants to put his grubby gloved hand on it and leave smudges. 

The surface flickers, light shifting subtly like they’re scanning something, displaying a ? quickly followed by an honest to scrap-gods freaking hand drawn smiley. Deliberately unsteady, the sheer unnecessary processing to do that is pissing him off. 

“Let’s get you fixed up,” they have the audacity to say, like that’s completely normal.

Noir tilts his head to fix his good optic on that stupid smiley grin, the scuffed tip of his mask pointed left and he knows he’s probably betrayed himself doing that.

“Let’s not,” he says, feet dangling off the ground. There’s drops falling to the floor from his threadbare boots, he can pick up the ghost of the soft plip plip plip under the whirring of his own fans.

The stranger laughs and puts him down on the ground. Noir wishes it’d been elegant, but his stupid leg folds under the sudden pressure and he falls, slamming his faceplate into the edges of the mask and the small flood of system alerts zaps out enough energy to take him offline.  

There’s a long moment’s silence, the stranger running whatever quiet scans, tools and trinkets in the background telling Noir absolutely nothing about how much shit he’s in. For all he knows this is some human’s collection. “No,” he says stubbornly, pulling his sprawled leg closer.

“Too bad,” the other bot says cheerfully and reaches out towards his chest.

“Wait, wait, hang on,” Noir says, stopping his pacing and looking over the kid he dragged home on a hunch. “You’re telling me that somebody actually stole a kid so they could have, what, a plaything?” 

There’s a second of silence, then the kid in question clears his throat. “By my math, I’m technically somewhere around 42,” he says quietly. “Give or take half a decade”

Noir’s arms drop, and even Zellus seems to be looking. “Not that it really matters much. I’m told I was 15 or thereabout when I… joined the house…”

Noir grits his teeth and counts to seven in his head. “Excuse me for a second,” he says and doesn’t wait to see BB nod.

The bathroom isn’t soundproof at all, but at least it keeps the others from looking at him as he screams curses at whoever let this be a thing that happens.

BB’s moved to the kitchen, talking drink options and Zellus is picking off stragglers from their arm as Noir returns. He can see the kid looking him over but he doesn’t comment.

Rules of hospitality. Right. Probably isn’t very good guest behavior to make a big deal of your host’s screaming fit. Noir sags into a chair and doesn’t even get to open his mouth before BB props a cup of steaming hot coffee into his hand. They brush a wing against his shoulder in passing but keep it at that. 

Noir takes a sip, hums and finally looks up. “Right. So. I assume Zellus covered the whole 

‘you’re a guest here’ part…”

“I did,” Zellus agrees from the corner. “We’re good.”

“Thank fuck,” Noir says. “Cause I cannot for the life of me remember the words, and I am trying my best not to give anybody a conniption here.” he waves a hand. “Ki… sorry, what did you go by again I don’t think I caught that.”

The deceptively young looking guy tips his head and answers, voice calm and steady and weirdly blank. “4.”

“Uh,” Noir says, and quickly drains half the remaining coffee to stop himself from saying anything else. Cause that ain’t right, but there’s not really any polite way to say somebody’s name sucks, is there.

“We’ll do what we can to make your stay comfortable, 4” BB says and puts a cup of tea at the table next to him. “I’m sure we can find a spare bed, and we have plenty of food for one more plate.”

Noir narrows his eyes, then snorts. “Oh, you clever bitch,” he says and throws a pillow at BB.

Zellus rolls their eyes at the scene. 4 looks startled for a second and Noir has to take pity on that. “BB has the biggest bedroom,” Noir explains. “To free up a bed - which we will do, don't even try to make excuses. You look like you need a solid night’s sleep pretty desperately - they know I gotta take the couch or spend the night with them. And that couch is a backbreaker.”

“I do not wish to cause anybody discomfort,” 4 says, cradling his cup of tea, looking rather alarmed.

Zellus stretches an arm and shakes their head. “We aren’t conforming to the usual unwritten rules - BB and I are, hm, wild raised. The directness isn’t a sign of hostility and I hope you’ll excuse us for the bluntness. Likewise do not feel pressured to shield your wishes and don’t worry about us twisting your words.”

“Oh,” 4 says, stirring his tea, then taking a sip and visibly loosening up. “You’re telling the truth.”

He’s smiling when he looks up. It’s a little distorted, small scars littering part of his face, but there’s a life there that eases Noir’s mind. “That explains a lot,” he says.

“Also, Noir loves a good cuddle,” BB adds and ruffles his hair. “He just grumbles when it wasn’t his idea.”

4 smiles as he huffs “Shut up,” at all of them, but Noir can hardly be mad about it, 4 looks a little guilty about hearing all this for one thing, and it isn’t like BB is wrong.

“Noir,” BB says, wings wrapped tightly around him as they’ve settled in for the night.

“Mmh,” he answers, twisting a bit to get comfortable in the soft fronds.

“Do you think 4 knows,” they ask, nuzzling his head with their chin.

“Knows what,” Noir mumbles, barely half awake.

“That his memory’s been tampered with,” BB answers, moving a wing a tiny bit which makes the hollow just right.

Noir closes his eyes hard and thinks this isn’t the kinda idea he needed in his head right now. 

“Dunno,” he answers. “Let’s not think about this right now, kay?”

“Don’t worry,” BB says softly. “He isn’t dangerous.”

“You definitely need some help,” Noir says, pinching his nose. The kid in the alley withdraws into the shadows, grubby clothes hanging off them, and Noir gets the distinct feeling the only reason they’re not hissing at him is the fact they’re too scared.

The gold chain collar is so thin it’s barely visible, well hidden underneath the clothes and dirt, but he saw, and that’s really messed up if it means what he thinks it means.

It’s gonna be a cold night, and the kid looks half starved, even if it wasn’t for all the other reasons Noir has to do something about that.

“Chill,” he says, holding his hands up. “I’m human.” he adds.

The kid blinks. Then straightens up. “Oh thank the hillkings I thought I smelled…”the kid moves forward  a bit then narrows their eyes. “I do, you’re somebody’s Pet aren’t you…  They let you roam?”

“Hoboy,” Noir says and pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is gonna be a fun chat. Mind if we don’t have it out here?”

The kid shrugs, steps forward once more out of the half cover that hid most of them from view, and Noir thinks he needs a medal for not even flinching.

“Short version is no, I’m nobody’s pet.” Noir says and grits his teeth as he looks at the marks on the kid’s skin, faintly glowing and intricate. Also dotted with steel nails where they start at their hands.

It really really shouldn’t be physically possible to not fuck up a limb doing that, but magic nudges a lot of very bad things into the realm of possibility.

Somebody clearly went through a lotta effort to do this, and all Noir can think is why?.

“Hm,” the kid says and Noir bites down a scream at how stupid and unfair this is.

“I’m… Oh shit I don’t know how to explain this in a way that makes sense without getting into real questionable territory if you’re the age you look,” Noir grumbles.

“I’m not,” the kid says and tilts their head looking at his face. Noir makes a questioning grimace and the tone softens. “I take it you haven’t spent a lotta time in the other lands. I’m…” they scratch at their chin, the movement makes the metal nails cast dots of light against the office wall. “About mid 30 in human years. I think.”

It’s Noir’s turn to make a hm sound but he shrugs cause close enough. “Right, so… I’m not anybody’s property, I’m in a relationship with a couple of fey--” Noir can see that raised eyebrow and he scowls. “--Not like that!” he bites off the inevitable question.

“I was not going to suggest anything,” the not-kid says, but Noir is pretty sure he sees a small smile.

“I’d really rather you didn’t think it either,” Noir admits and gestures with a hand. “Had an incident or two cause rumors, but I’m not fucking anybody and especially not for power and glory.”

“Touchy subject,” the young person says and nods solemnly. 

Noir makes an agreeing sound and gets up, rummaging through the battered furniture until he finds one of the stashes of muesli bars Zellus insisted he keep.

They are not, thankfully, homemade. He’s gotten used to the mushroom flavor, but he’s pretty sure subjecting strangers to that might be some sort of war crime.

“Here,” he says and throws it. “I go by Noir by the way,” he adds and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Let’s get inside, then we can figure things out, ok?”

Noir swears and pulls back as the badly patched wire in his hands sparks, and he’s thanking whatever scrap god is watching over him that the derelict bus stop he’s sheltering in takes the worst of the rain. Large patches of the cracked asphalt are already turning into ankle deep puddles. There’s no way he’s gonna risk traversing that before his leg is less of an electrocution hazard, but by the look of things that’s a bigger fix than he’d hoped. Noir mumbles another swear, muffled by his mask, and resists the desire to just tear out the whole mess of taped up cables. Something in here is misfiring, but it’s not like he’s packing any replacements, and even if he did this isn’t exactly the optimal place for impromptu off license repair work. He leans back against the actual honest to gods not even totally broken bench, too tired to deal with any of this right now. His energy reserves are dipping dangerously close to the red end of orange. He can’t bother to care. Not like anybody’s gonna be out here at a time like this.

“You know, bothunters like to patrol this place around noon,” a smooth, cheerful voice says, fairly close, close enough a proximity alert really ought to have pinged him.

“Good thing I’m not a bot then,” Noir answers casually, swearing he can feel his nonexistent heart stop cold. Feelings are overrated he thinks, not for the first time. 

“Well, then I guess you don’t mind me testing this new EMP...”

Noir registers the teasing tone the same split second he flinches away from the stranger, halfway off the bench, his bad leg twisting uncomfortably. Now it’s definitely showing off an uncomfortable amount of his beaten up frame that’s just barely holding his leg wiring in place. If he could actually feel pain he’d most definitely be wincing. Well, if he’d had an actual face under his mask. Noir isn’t sure if he should be happy he more or less turned his pain sensors off four months ago. Not like they did him much good, probably.  “Fuck,” he says, because it’s just that kind of day.

The stranger is looming over him. Tall and sleek and, Noir hates thinking it, gentle as they hold out their stupid water resistant state of the art hands in a nonthreatening manner. That really shouldn’t feel as calming as it does, when he knows how fast they can probably move. 

“Looks bad,” they say and Noir would like to be impressed they can tell just by looking or, worse, that they managed to scan him without him noticing. But it really does look pretty bad, a human could probably pick up on this being not good.

“I can handle it,” Noir says stubbornly, his damn voice module throwing in some static he can’t manage to scrub out this time. He pretends the glitching is a growl, that makes it feel a bit better.

“Zellus,” the voice they once knew so well calls out, sharp and prickly now, and they’re tempted to not even acknowledge it, because how dare BB just show up like that after all this time.

“Come to apologize,” Zellus calls out belladonna sweetly instead, without turning. They wanted to say ‘it better be good’ but--

“Zellus. Now,” BB’s saying, and you can hear the frustration. That tugs at those deep buried rules of courtesy both of them still have ingrained to the core.

Zellus turns, facing their old sweetheart, to let them know they absolutely cannot get away with that kinda insolence here, after the way they parted ways last and…

Oh.

“Fix him,” BB says insistently, almost like it’s an order, holding out the limp body of their favorite regular draped over BB’s shaking arms and dripping blood down their side. Too much blood.

“Fuck,” Zellus says, and snatches up the human before BB has a chance to topple over. They never were that strong in an emergency, and who knows how far they’ve run. 

“What the hell happened,” they hear themself asking as they shift Noir, finding the wound and trying to ignore their instincts as it squelches when pressure is applied. The blood smells sweet and feels rich and savory between their fingers.

BB isn’t answering, just staring. “Damn it, BB, why’s he not at a hospital,”

“You have to fix him,” BB repeats and steps closer, the tone isn’t quite as insistent as before, cracking at the edges. Desperate. Pleading.

“I was closest, wasn’t I,” Zellus says.

BB nods, rubbing the palm of a hand against their eye, leaving a trail of blood on the fine fuzz of their face. It looks different like this. Grim.

Zellus sighs, the frustration slipping through. “I can’t do much, I’m not a healer, but I can maybe stabilize him. It is not gonna be pretty though.”

“Please,” BB says, as Zellus grimly chews on a couple of improvised coagulant enhancers. The taste isn’t good, but not like they ever had to use these before, it was just a silly experiment.

“You could’ve started with that, not being all demanding you know. I like him too,” Zellus says after spitting out the mush and applying it. It’s gonna be a hot mess to get off, but sap and mushroom bits are gonna be the least of Noir’s worries right now.

It’s better than saliva at least. Slightly less risk of infection. Probably.

“I’m sorry,” BB says quietly, and Zellus can’t help twisting their head just enough to see the dejected face. “Just. Save him, I’ll owe you, I’ll do an-”

“Shut up,” Zellus hisses, pretending there aren't tears forming. This is not what they… or, it is what they wanted, the thought corrects itself. But it isn’t how they wanted it. “I have a customer to patch back together. Stay silent and out of the way unless I call you.”

BB nods, and Zellus pretends the hurt isn’t there. This isn’t the time and they need all their focus to bluff their way through this mess of a rescue.

It better work.

It has to.

“I want to go back,” Noir says as BB gently runs their fingers over his cracked arm, mapping those new damages by touch. He hasn’t had time to tape it up yet, so the fresh white stands out against the scuffy and beaten surface of his frame. Artificial raw bone against skin.

“You can ride along when I visit,” BB says softly, pressing the edge of their screen against Noir’s head. “I’ll go where you want, I’ll be your eyes, you’ll get high quality images and stay safe. That’s not a bad way to do it.”

Noir squirms in their arms, freeing a hand and shoving at BB’s face with enough force to actually push it back a little. “No,” he says, loud and annoyed. “I want to go back for real. I want to be present in the actual rooms.”

“You can’t,” BB says and draws their loose hold in, pulling Noir closer. 

He makes a nrgh-sound and BB silently marvels at what he’s managed with his voice coding yet again, because it’s gorgeous what he can do with it. He isn’t just playing back other’s sounds, he’s making them from scratch. That was never something his model supported to this extent. 

“I know,” Noir says with that tired tone he uses to express mild annoyance rather than an actual low battery. Another language trick BB finds interesting. He leans into the hold though, instead of struggling, which is good. BB doesn’t want to test what kind of damage he can withstand at this point if he really tried to get free. “I know I can’t, but I want to.”

“Stay here,” BB says, “watch something with me.”

“Like what,” Noir asks.

“Anything,” they say and send him the access link.

“Okay,” Noir answers, already settling in. The presence is familiar and unmistakable. “There was that new series...” he’s saying even though text would be easier, but that’s fine, that’s just how he is.

“You misunderstand,” Ciber says with a sticky sweet voice and enough conviction to make even a god hesitate. Noir is not a god, he definitely stalls. “They’re not simple bots, they are me,” the mushroom-covered robot says.

Noir’s hand stops. The little equally fungus-clad vaguely animal shaped bot he’s been scritching under the chin blinks lazily at him, but doesn’t otherwise move or show any kind of reaction to what’s happening. 

They always acted like, well, animals. He never picked up any sign of much independent thought from them. He’d assumed...

“I grew beyond this one form a long long time ago. So now I am more. We are more.”

Noir looks from the smaller bot to Ciber and draws back his hand like he’s been jolted. Ciber laughs, and the echo every time they speak suddenly makes a lot more sense. 

“You wanted to touch, but wouldn’t let yourself if you knew we’re one. So we did not tell you. It’s fine, we don’t mind, it’s pleasant. And you need the haptic feedback.”

“Oh gods,” Noir says, focusing on his hand.

> You are restless, BB pings him out of the blue and Noir stifles a scoff and makes another couple of rushed folds. They turn out uneven, but not enough to scrap this project. He’d never get anywhere if he started over every time something turned out a little wonky. He’d never get anything done if he tried for perfection. 

> I’m fine, he sends back.

> You should not be fine, you should be good.

> Yeah, well… fine is fine.

The elephant he’s working on is turning out lopsided enough it could almost pass off as an attempt at a mammoth. Noir stares at it and its unfinished trunk, ghostly off white against the scuffed table. He shifts his arm and makes those last couple of folds, setting it aside facing away so he doesn’t have to look at that accusing eyeless face. 

> May I join you? BB writes. Noir tabs a finger against the table.

> You don’t usually ask permission before showing up, Noir answers slowly. BB’s matte black shape is starting to be a familiar sight at the less than polished areas he finds himself visiting with depressing frequency. Just quick impressions, standing at nearby corners, it could be somebody else, but that triangle decor is pretty distinct.

> Not physically: BB writes.

Noir can’t stop the small huh from escaping his speakers, but the scarf eats most of the sound. He tilts his head back. 

It’s not like it’d be the first time he’s had BB in his head, it’s just that until now it’s always been... well if he’s gonna be kind, he’d say strenuous circumstances. If he’s gonna be honest, really big fuckups. 

> I dunno he writes and gently tugs at the fingers of his right hand, stretching them out in the hope of getting the delicate wiring to sort itself out. It’s at best a short fix, a moment's short relief, but better than nothing as long as he’s careful. 

>  Ok. BB sends back immediately, and Noir waits for them to ask why, or argue how it’s a good choice, but they don’t. No begging or pushing or anything.

Huh.

He picks at the next misprinted scrap of paper from the small pile he’s liberated from the trash cans, folding it edge to edge so he can bend over the extra bit and tear it to get that square he needs. It’s not perfect, but it works. Like most things in his life at this point.

> Still there? he sends, because his curiosity keeps circling back to that.

> Yes. BB answers. Noir makes a small humming sound at nothing in particular. Nobody reacts. Nobody wants to acknowledge him but that’s ok, libraries aren't really a talking to strangers kind of place.

> If I said yes, what would you do with that access?

> Watch. And be present.

> That’s it? Just watch?

> Is there anything else you’d want me to do? If there is, then you can ask and I’ll do my best. Otherwise that’s all I want. To watch.

> Hm Noir writes and stalls for a bit before he sends a new message.

> That doesn’t seem so bad.

The stack of as-good-as-it’s-gonna-get paper squares is growing as he chats. He ought to pick something to fold, but he can’t seem to get his mind on track for that task. 

> Do you think I intend to harm you? I do not. I’ve never meant to make you feel threatened. I am sorry.

The library suddenly seems too quiet, every noise grating on his audio sensors, even though Noir knows he’s being ridiculous. Nobody’s paying attention to the way he’s frozen as his fans struggle to keep him from overheating as the whole assessment catalog chews on that info. He hasn’t made it easy, keeping cool, the layers of clothes might soften up his form and make him read human for the inattentive, but it does nothing for his temperature management.

>I… what? he sends before he can think it through, and he can see the ‘typing’ indicator so there isn’t any chance to delete and pretend he never said anything.

>You expressed that you run on a base assumption that my suggestions will have a negative effect on you. That was not my intention, I am apologizing. I will let you have space.

> No, Noir sends and scratches at his mask’s lens. 

> It’s ok. Stay. I…

He hmms at himself softly, wondering if he should write this at all, but now that he’s realized he doesn’t really have an excuse not to.

> Having you here is nice. Just… talking.

There’s a break, long enough it seems unlikely BB stuck around, they always answer very quickly in Noir’s experience. Then a new notification finally pops up to his surprise.

> Then I will stay, like this, for as long as you’ll have me.

“Listening in on people is considered rude you know,” BB says and sets down the thermos they’d been sipping from as Zellus and Noir wandered off, bickering about what they were going to watch when they get home.

The faded late autumn leaves a couple of trees back rustles, and there’s a crunchy sound of steps, but no yelp of surprise or greeting even when BB’s straining to hear. 

The young man who shows up seems a little misplaced here. He’s bundled up in dark clothes, but his short orange-red hair isn’t covered, even though there’s a chill in the air Zellus has been complaining about the last couple of days. His hands are covered in fingerless gloves at least and he waves, but doesn’t say anything. There’s a hint of condensation, but BB can’t hear him breathe. 

BB hums, considering this guy. He’s got a weird presence, but he doesn’t immediately appear threatening. And they didn’t exactly talk about anything secret he could’ve overheard. 

“Not gonna introduce yourself?” BB asks, knowing a number of reasons somebody might not want to. Out here they aren’t really covering up their non-human status that well, so the stranger has to be at least a little weary even if he might not know exactly what they are. Unsurprisingly the stranger just shrugs.

“Do I need to threaten you not to mess with my significant others, or are we clear on that?”

BB catches the small smile and thumbs up before the young man folds his hands into his pockets, looking pleased about the situation despite the turn the conversation just took.

“Good,” BB says and stretches a couple of wings. They can’t quite hear Noir and Zellus anymore but they’ll be back. “So, I take it you aren’t after Noir or Zellus since you stuck around.” It isn’t exactly a statement but not quite a question either.

He makes a so-so tilt of the hand before it’s stuffed back into a pocket. BB picks the thermos back up, clicks the lid and takes a sip. The stranger is following his moves with apparent interest.

“You want to ask questions, but something is stopping you,” BB says. “That’s why you haven’t given me something to call you by.”

The stranger looks away, hand clenching before he points to his throat, his expression tense before it mellows into annoyance.

BB digs around, finally pulling out their battered phone and hands it to the young man after putting in the code fast enough even Noir would’ve had trouble following it if he didn’t know it by heart already. “Sign language wasn’t really made to account for my features, so that’s the best I can do at the moment.”

There’s a long moment where BB only half watches the red haired human fiddle with a set of phones, then a message ticks in.

> Thank you. This should work fine.

BB nods and holds out a hand, their phone is gently placed into it with no fuss. They consider the options for a second then write back.

> It is a little easier this way. Plus Noir knows not to mess with my phone and Zellus is just gonna assume.

>  Assume what, that I am a secret lover?

> Lover yes probably, but not secret at all no.

BB can see the shift in expression, thoughtful then breaking into a voiceless chuckle. He stops shortly when he notices them watching, and if BB had to make a guess they’d say he’s embarrassed.

> Apologies, I know it’s often considered unsettling to see me laugh. Your direct approach caught me off guard I must admit. My translator is indisposed so this is all a little improvised.

> Not a lot of people take their translators out stalking.

> I might have had a hand in the indisposition. Curiosity killed the cat and all. But to answer your previous request, I’m known as Shade.

BB hums at the message, looking up. “You know not to answer that directly.” they say. They watch Shade half smile and hold a finger to his lips.

“I see,” BB says and twists an antenna. “Noir and Zellus’re on their way back.”

Shade nods, bows and manages to slip into the surroundings before BB can make any further remarks. A message rolls in shortly after 

> It was nice meeting you BB

There’s a small chance Shade picked it up while listening in, but BB has a feeling that’s not the reason they know their moniker.

Never mind, plenty of time to suss out this weird guy.

Noir clutches the cup Zellus has handed him, half full to make sure nothing is spilled by unsteady hands, and he sniffs at it. The smell is rich, rich enough even his stuffy nose can pick up on it.

“‘Tis you?” he asks, his voice scratchy. It hurts a little and he hates feeling like this

“I made the soup, if that’s what you’re asking” Zellus says and Noir can tell they’re watching as he takes a sip. It’s creamy and warm and soothing.

“Nn, I mean. Am I eating you?”

Zellus is quiet for a long moment. “Yes,” they finally say quietly. 

“Kinky,” Noir answers with a broken snicker. He can’t quite focus on them from his nest on the couch, but he’s pretty sure Zellus is running a hand against their face, even though they must’ve known he’d make that joke.

There’s a lot of types of pain Noir has realized by now.

There’s physical pain of course, as much as he can feel that with his jury rigged sensors. Dull steady pings and sharp stabs of code going “this is bad”, the sudden terrifying blankness of a forced shutdown, that cascading rush of errors of an overload that sometimes is so much he can’t keep up and the readout occasionally ends up as much pleasure as pain. Those and their many variations are all familiar, all serve a purpose, and as bad as they feel when they’re happening, they make sense.

Then there’s the non-physical pain. The way his system will stutter and catch just because he thinks something. Subroutines taking over and running stupid what-if scenarios even though he never wanted them to, detailing all the many many ways something is going wrong, can go wrong, might possibly go wrong. It’s not exactly pain in the sense he can pin down a specific segment of code and go ‘this is the bit that feels bad’, but it does feel bad though. So he considers it a kind of pain. He considers a lot of things pain.

Emotions though, those are the worst of the lot. It should be easy to categorize you’d think, all clearly defined and labeled as they are, but they run together in stupid contradictory ways. He’s not sure how humans, who are ever so much worse at handling complex data, ever manage. Perhaps they don’t, perhaps they just say they know what they feel because otherwise they have to face the same unease he has about it all.

Noir tries, he always does his best to categorize these things, but he doesn’t know what this feeling is exactly. It has that same ‘bad’ effect but it doesn’t match anything he knows that should feel bad. It’s a bit like hope and a bit like longing and those ought to be good. It isn’t though. He’s overheating underneath his layers of disguise, but that’s not the cause, it’s an effect, because all he needs to do is turn around and walk away and it’ll get better. Clear up some of those errors and warnings and programs straining. Stop that unnerving feeling of something being wrong when nothing is.

He could just walk away.

Noir clenches his hand, and he feels that open joint on his missing finger send a familiar error. Sending hard, physical pain, something he understands.

He doesn’t walk away. Noir rests his mask against the fence, as close as he dares going to the museum, which still feels like home no matter how much he tells himself it isn’t. 

Maybe some other day he’ll dare to actually go inside, but not today, when just being near makes him feel this something he can’t pin down as anything other than weird soft pain.

He’s been coming here a lot lately, standing outside like this.

Just to see if it’s still hurting.

“Aah, my favorite little kin, and her honored host!” the ever so slightly echoing voice calls out from a side Noir would’ve sworn had nothing but slightly shattered glass and old gnarled wood a moment ago.

He sighs and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Hi Cibar,” Noir says and twists his head towards them. They’ve appeared nearby, close enough Noir can make out the fine details in their favored lizard eye display. The rich yellow matches their full bloom of chanterelles nicely. “Good season?”

“We are bountiful and strong,” they answer and pluck a small straggler from their elbow joint, offering it to Noir in a fluid movement that really should’ve sent a cascade of mushrooms raining to the dirt floor, but somehow doesn’t. He has no idea how they do it.

“And they say you can’t cultivate chanterelles, clearly they haven’t met you,” he says and shakes his head a little for effect.

“Indeed.” Cibar answers, as always, and Noir won’t ask if that was the original intent or if their shifting levels of mushroom body coverings is an unintended side effect of what they’ve turned into. He wouldn’t like the answer, whatever it is, and asking about people’s past is rude anyway. 

“And you,” they ask warmly, shaking him out of those old thoughts. “Are you keeping well?”

“I’m alright,” he answers and it isn’t exactly the truth but not exactly a lie either. A compromise. “She’s fine, don’t worry.”

Cibar makes a sound Noir thinks is a laugh, only softer and many voiced and it still rattles his wiring hearing even though he knows Cibar means no harm. The whole infection thing is just a little hard to get over even though Noir is pretty sure it’s not an infection that can spread. Unlike his own.

“Wanna talk to her,” he asks, unnecessarily, because he knows the answer.

“Yes please,” Cibar says, as expected.

“Lemme sit down, you know how hard this is on me.”

“I do. I could make it better for you.”

“Yeah, thank you for the consideration. I appreciate your concern, but I’m not letting you put mycelia in my body. I'm pretty sure that doesn’t even work.”

“You would look lovely with Polyozellus,” Cibar says and strikes a head-in-hand thinking pose. “Or Picacea”

“No mushrooms,” Noir says and rolls his head. Old familiar joke, they suggest new ones every time he’s pretty sure. He hasn’t checked his logs.

“Some day you’ll accept,” Cibar says and winks with a couple of the joint eyes.

“Perhaps, but not today. Let’s get me settled down so you two can chat.” he answers, as always.

“Can I,” BB starts hesitantly, brushing away a sticky tear with a thumb. Zellus’ pale cheek feels smooth, papery. They don’t want to assume they can make everything alright, but BB saw that flicker of memory before it was packed away hard and fast. BB isn’t sure entirely what they’re asking other than maybe ‘can I make this better’. The sting of seeing somebody falter, hesitate, turn away when you thought you were doing well. That you were getting along. 

The loneliness when others leave without trying to understand. Even though BB hasn’t experienced that the same way, the feeling is as much a part of Zellus' memory as what was said and done.

They don’t get to finish the question, Zellus grabs BB’s face and draws it downwards. Their brown eyes, with those bright flecks of gold showing up like amber this close, staring into BB’s face with a wounded openness they wish wasn’t there. 

“Am I,” Zellus asks thickly. BB knows what they mean. Know the shadow of wondering if you’re somehow wrong. But if they answer, then Zellus will know they saw. It’s an impossible question.

“You’re more than them,” BB answers, staying still with those white fingers framing their face, hoping Zellus understands.

The way their eyes narrow, it wasn’t the right way to say it.

“More what,” Zellus asks sharply.

BB doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t question the words they pick. “Magnificent,” they say, staring back. There’s a hurt hunger in Zellus' eyes. But also a bit of mistrust.

“The good kind?”

“All the kinds,” BB says, and makes a decision. They did ask after all, and they didn’t get a no.

BB leans in, slow enough Zellus can pull away if they want, and finally tries for that kiss they’ve wanted for months now.

It isn’t like they imagined it, not so much sweet and savory as confused and awkward, but any questions if Zellus minded evaporates when they pull BB back after a long second’s breathless break. Hungry and eager and no trace of doubt left. A silent but very clear permission.

Noir isn’t sure where he is. Or rather, he has a location but no memory of getting here. He checks his logs to see if it’s just a particularly bad glitch. Sometimes he’ll lose half an hour or so, enough to make some choices that can’t be recalled but not so much that it's any real trouble. This isn’t half an hour missing though, it’s not even half a day. It’s a lot more. He sits up, and rubs at the side of his head, which makes him stall again. 

No face. No gloves either.

There’s a residue on his hands, reddish-brown and flaky at the edges. He doesn’t really need to run an analysis to make an educated guess, but it’s right there at his sensors and he gets the result he expected.

water, 

Various salts, 

Lipids

hormones

hemoglobin 

Yeah, it’s definitely not ketchup.

“You’re back online,” a familiar neutral voice says. and Noir considers sighing but decides not to. He already scanned the area, checking for threats, so he knew. But he’d kinda hoped to ignore the sharp edged black-and-blue elephant in the room a little longer.

“Hello BB,” he says coldly.

“You’re annoyed. Why?” they ask, their tone as close to curious as it’s gonna get.

“I don’t know, but considering the fact you’re here, there’s traces of blood on my hands, and I don’t have any files on the last-” he checks again and would’ve frowned if he’d had the ability. Instead he has to settle on making a small annoyed sound. “39 hours,” he continues, just barely keeping the frustration from his tone of voice. “which is, I believe, a new record. Then I do believe being a teensy bit ‘annoyed’ is probably justified just on principle.”

“I am glad you are recovering well,” BB says, doing that stupid pixel smile with cutesy cheerful closed eyes.

“Recovering from what?” 

“Data removal,” BB just says like that explains everything. Noir wants to scream. They’ve got to know how frustrating those non-answers are.

“Why was one and a half day’s data removed from my memory,” Noir tries. Sometimes it’s all about asking the right question.

“Because you asked.”

“I’d never ask for that,” Noir says and folds his arms. At least he’s still got the inner layer of clothes on to lessen the risk of anything snagging at the movement, though his shoes are missing too.