Halvsies
kreska ido & nolan seward
cylinder station 12
"Is it true what they say about green women?"
"We reproduce asexually," Kreska said flatly instead of answering, and the human furrowed his brow, squinted at her in confusion. "I got thorns an' all my fluids're like menthol, I'll give ya poison ivy rashes - it's all true."
That wasn't what they said about green women, but it was what Kreska wanted them to say. If she'd been full Jobari, it might have been true. She tilted back her bottle, bright blue glass filled with a soda that - in a fortunate turn of events - was mildly intoxicating to the Jobari. Even less intoxicating for a half-Jobari, but she'd take what she could get. Until she turned twenty, at least, until she could get as far away from this station as a ship would carry her.
"You don't have to be such a bitch about it," he said, a blonde not much older than she was, and she snorted in disdain. Always the blondes who said shit like that, not that brunettes were much better.
Kreska had a vague hope that it was unique to this station, this particular strain of human male douchebaggery. She'd seen enough movies to know that it probably wasn't, but it was good to dream. Had he really grown up here, the man they called her father? How could he possibly have tolerated it?
Or maybe he'd been one of those men. Maybe he'd gotten better when he left. Maybe he only pretended to be better for the cameras.
Kreska leaned back on the stoop where she had settled herself, looked up at the clouds and the sprawl of buildings past them. Spiraling streets and identical rooftops, suburbs hovering above her head. If she didn't get on the hopper, soon, her guardians would start to wonder where she was.
"I like that," came a voice from the sidewalk, and Kreska furrowed her brow suspiciously at the source. He looked almost the usual teenage sack of hormones, except that his skin was a mottled purple, tusks sticking upward out of his mouth and an extra thumb on the wrong side of each hand. His species was easy enough to determine, which meant he probably got even more shit than she did. "D'you know what they say 'bout purple men?"
She'd never actually heard anything about purple men, not in the way that they said things about green women. Slowly, she shook her head.
"Purple feet," he said, with a sage nod.
It took her a minute.
She snorted a laugh despite herself, hiding her grin behind the back of her hand.
"Ya don't live 'round here, do ya? I'd recognize ya if ya did." He hitched all four thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, and she wondered if his jacket was real leather.
She was wary, but she almost-smiled at him anyway, scratched the side of her head. "Naw," she admitted, pointing above them with the hand that was against her head, fingers forming an 'L' shape as she did it. "I live straight up."
He whistled as he looked above them, yellow eyes and rectangular pupils. "Your family must be loaded."
"They're not my family," she corrected too quickly, before looking down at her bottle again. "But, I mean - yeah. Ain't poor. Rather live here, tho."
"I'd rather ya lived here, too," he said, with a waggle of thick eyebrows, and she snorted again. "So what's your good half?"
She grinned at the way he asked it. "Jobari," she admitted, and he whistled.
"Didn't know they made 'em in halvsies," he said, which was not quite the response she'd expected. "I won't try t' kill ya if ya won't try t' kill me," he added, which was much more in line with her expectations.
"Didn't know they made N'sazz in halvsies, either," she observed, trying to sound casual.
"'S m'mom's the N'sazz," he said, hasty but not abrupt, "'fore ya go gettin' ideas 'bout the nature o' their relationship."
"Can ya do anythin' cool?" Kreska asked, changing the subject, because she'd heard stories about the things N'sazz could do. Everyone had.
"Shred like hell onna ghee-tar," he answered, wiggling the fingers not inside his pockets. He stepped closer, then sat down next to her on the stoop, mimicking her posture. "You?"
"Durin' Phys Ed I smell like a pack o' gum."
"What about th' thorns an' th' rashes?" he teased, nudging her in the side with his elbow.
"Anybody asks, I gotta rosebush 'tween m' legs," she warned, nudging him back much harder. She took a swig of her soda, and he held out a hand; without needing to ask, she handed him the bottle.
"Th' hell ya think we're gonna be doin'," he wondered, "folk're gonna be askin' me 'boutcher legs an' what's between 'em?" He took a sip of her drink, then handed it back to her. "I swear humans're th'only ones can drink that ish an' not have it mess 'em up. Y'ain't gotta tell people I gotta monster dick, errybody already knows that."
"What the hell," she said, but she was laughing as she said it, and he gave her a tusky grin.
"How long 'til ya gotta hop?" he asked.
She thought about it for just a bit too long. "Fuck it," she decided finally, "they call an' I'll tell 'em I'm stayin' for a midcycle movie. Ain't like they'll think t'check. Thinkin' o' anythin' in particular?"
"Refinery not far from here," he said, indicating the direction with a jerk of his head. "Ain't got shit for security. Get on one o' th' towers an' it's a nice view o' th' preserve. I gotta interstellar receiver, picks up signals from basically the whole sector. There's a numbers station playin' out from a dead rock not far from th' station, creepy as balls."
"Shee-it, yanno just how t' show a girl a good time," she said, and she meant it. "Y'ain't asked, but I'm Kreska."
"Fuck me, did I forget about names again? You can just call me 'monster dick'."
"Hell no."
"Hot stuff?"
"Nope."
"Captain Tightpants."
"Does this literally ever work?"
"Okay, fine - it's Nolan."
"Holy shit, wow, yeah, that's awful."
"Fuck you," he said, shoving her shoulder as he stood. "Some of us got named by humans."
"No worries," she said reassuringly as she followed suit, "I'll come up with somethin' better t' call ya."
"We reproduce asexually," Kreska said flatly instead of answering, and the human furrowed his brow, squinted at her in confusion. "I got thorns an' all my fluids're like menthol, I'll give ya poison ivy rashes - it's all true."
That wasn't what they said about green women, but it was what Kreska wanted them to say. If she'd been full Jobari, it might have been true. She tilted back her bottle, bright blue glass filled with a soda that - in a fortunate turn of events - was mildly intoxicating to the Jobari. Even less intoxicating for a half-Jobari, but she'd take what she could get. Until she turned twenty, at least, until she could get as far away from this station as a ship would carry her.
"You don't have to be such a bitch about it," he said, a blonde not much older than she was, and she snorted in disdain. Always the blondes who said shit like that, not that brunettes were much better.
Kreska had a vague hope that it was unique to this station, this particular strain of human male douchebaggery. She'd seen enough movies to know that it probably wasn't, but it was good to dream. Had he really grown up here, the man they called her father? How could he possibly have tolerated it?
Or maybe he'd been one of those men. Maybe he'd gotten better when he left. Maybe he only pretended to be better for the cameras.
Kreska leaned back on the stoop where she had settled herself, looked up at the clouds and the sprawl of buildings past them. Spiraling streets and identical rooftops, suburbs hovering above her head. If she didn't get on the hopper, soon, her guardians would start to wonder where she was.
"I like that," came a voice from the sidewalk, and Kreska furrowed her brow suspiciously at the source. He looked almost the usual teenage sack of hormones, except that his skin was a mottled purple, tusks sticking upward out of his mouth and an extra thumb on the wrong side of each hand. His species was easy enough to determine, which meant he probably got even more shit than she did. "D'you know what they say 'bout purple men?"
She'd never actually heard anything about purple men, not in the way that they said things about green women. Slowly, she shook her head.
"Purple feet," he said, with a sage nod.
It took her a minute.
She snorted a laugh despite herself, hiding her grin behind the back of her hand.
"Ya don't live 'round here, do ya? I'd recognize ya if ya did." He hitched all four thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, and she wondered if his jacket was real leather.
She was wary, but she almost-smiled at him anyway, scratched the side of her head. "Naw," she admitted, pointing above them with the hand that was against her head, fingers forming an 'L' shape as she did it. "I live straight up."
He whistled as he looked above them, yellow eyes and rectangular pupils. "Your family must be loaded."
"They're not my family," she corrected too quickly, before looking down at her bottle again. "But, I mean - yeah. Ain't poor. Rather live here, tho."
"I'd rather ya lived here, too," he said, with a waggle of thick eyebrows, and she snorted again. "So what's your good half?"
She grinned at the way he asked it. "Jobari," she admitted, and he whistled.
"Didn't know they made 'em in halvsies," he said, which was not quite the response she'd expected. "I won't try t' kill ya if ya won't try t' kill me," he added, which was much more in line with her expectations.
"Didn't know they made N'sazz in halvsies, either," she observed, trying to sound casual.
"'S m'mom's the N'sazz," he said, hasty but not abrupt, "'fore ya go gettin' ideas 'bout the nature o' their relationship."
"Can ya do anythin' cool?" Kreska asked, changing the subject, because she'd heard stories about the things N'sazz could do. Everyone had.
"Shred like hell onna ghee-tar," he answered, wiggling the fingers not inside his pockets. He stepped closer, then sat down next to her on the stoop, mimicking her posture. "You?"
"Durin' Phys Ed I smell like a pack o' gum."
"What about th' thorns an' th' rashes?" he teased, nudging her in the side with his elbow.
"Anybody asks, I gotta rosebush 'tween m' legs," she warned, nudging him back much harder. She took a swig of her soda, and he held out a hand; without needing to ask, she handed him the bottle.
"Th' hell ya think we're gonna be doin'," he wondered, "folk're gonna be askin' me 'boutcher legs an' what's between 'em?" He took a sip of her drink, then handed it back to her. "I swear humans're th'only ones can drink that ish an' not have it mess 'em up. Y'ain't gotta tell people I gotta monster dick, errybody already knows that."
"What the hell," she said, but she was laughing as she said it, and he gave her a tusky grin.
"How long 'til ya gotta hop?" he asked.
She thought about it for just a bit too long. "Fuck it," she decided finally, "they call an' I'll tell 'em I'm stayin' for a midcycle movie. Ain't like they'll think t'check. Thinkin' o' anythin' in particular?"
"Refinery not far from here," he said, indicating the direction with a jerk of his head. "Ain't got shit for security. Get on one o' th' towers an' it's a nice view o' th' preserve. I gotta interstellar receiver, picks up signals from basically the whole sector. There's a numbers station playin' out from a dead rock not far from th' station, creepy as balls."
"Shee-it, yanno just how t' show a girl a good time," she said, and she meant it. "Y'ain't asked, but I'm Kreska."
"Fuck me, did I forget about names again? You can just call me 'monster dick'."
"Hell no."
"Hot stuff?"
"Nope."
"Captain Tightpants."
"Does this literally ever work?"
"Okay, fine - it's Nolan."
"Holy shit, wow, yeah, that's awful."
"Fuck you," he said, shoving her shoulder as he stood. "Some of us got named by humans."
"No worries," she said reassuringly as she followed suit, "I'll come up with somethin' better t' call ya."
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