Familiarity
ixaaliot & kreska ido
osiris lunar colony
ixaaliot & kreska ido
osiris lunar colony
"I can't believe you wore that," said Ixaaliot.
"I can't believe ya brought me t'some fancy shmancy shit," said Kreska, who was wearing her least-fucked-up pair of jeans and a relatively new t-shirt.
"Next time," he said, "I will be sure to check that the establishment has the requisite number of battered signage on the walls before bringing you. Would it make you feel better if I asked the waiter for a booster seat?"
"Oh, shit," Kreska said, eyes widening in feigned surprise as she looked down at the salad she had ordered. "I think they mixed up our orders." She held up the bowl to demonstrate. "I didn't order th' go fuck yourself. Did you order th' go fuck yourself? I'm pretty sure this is your go fuck yourself."
Raising one eyebrow, Ix checked out the corner of his eye that their waiter would not be returning any time soon. Between bites of his own meal, he murmured, "No, no. I'm pretty sure that's shit. You can go ahead and eat that."
Kreska's grin was wolfish, barely restrained delight. "Wow," she said, as if she had not coaxed him into saying far worse. "That kinda talk must getcha all th' boys. Must be beatin' 'em off with two hands'n all."
Ix had heard Kreska's unattractive behaviors bemoaned as such often enough to get the thrust of the joke. "It's very strange," he said, eyes still on his meal rather than his companion, "because it sounds as if you are making some kind of joke about mutual masturbation, but the way you are making it suggests that I would need fewer than four hands for myself."
Kreska snorted the beginnings of a laugh, then stifled it, fighting not to dissolve into giggles in the middle of the restaurant. She ended up pushing her food away, burying her face in her arms on the table. "Asshole," she muttered, muffled and giggling.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Ix said, in a tone suggesting that this was completely untrue, "is that where we're drawing the line? Big dick jokes are the line? That's good, I'm glad we've manage to clarify that." He had managed to remain deadpan, though the corner of his mouth had a twitch to it.
"Swear t'fuck," she said finally, pointing at him as she came up from the table, "one o' these days'm gonna find a species where dudes brag about how l'il their dicks are. One o' these fuckin' days."
Ix considered this. And then he waited for her to take a sip of her drink – insofar as what Kreska did could be called a sip. "When you do," he said, as her glass tilted back, "please feel free to introduce me to some of their women."
Kreska choked. She very nearly spit her drink on him. She grabbed an elaborately folded napkin, and fought with it briefly before surrendering, holding a linen swan against her mouth in a desperate attempt not to make a disgusting mess. One hand pressing an origami animal to her face, she used the other to flip him off.
Ix, unable to help himself, also found himself putting a hand over his mouth to try and bury a grin.
"Excuse me," said the waiter, who appeared apparently out of nowhere, "but is everything all right over here?"
This, Ix knew, was code for you are not being at all dignified enough for our establishment.
"Actually," Ix said, recovering smoothly as Kreska continued to look on the brink of collapsing in a fit, "I was hoping I could see the liberation paperwork for the Toielle you have working in the kitchen."
☠» so have you asked her yet
⚖» Asked who what?
☠» lmao don't play dumb
☠» you've been dating that jennifer chick for like 2 months
☠» she's thinking about moving in
☠» you're totally happy together
☠» which means ur gonna ask her if she's happy on osiris
☠» and she's gonna say no
☠» and you're gonna send her away because ur a dumbass
⚖» I will do no such thing.
⚖» We have a good life here.
⚖» If she wasn't planning to stay, she'd have told me by now.
⚖» You're the last person to be giving out relationship advice.
☠» lmao whatevs bruh
"Who are you messaging?" Jennifer asked. They were sitting on the couch, watching some movie or another than might have been about talking marine mammals. 'Sitting' was not terribly accurate, because he was sprawled across the couch, and she was sprawled across him. He'd been absentmindedly stroking her blonde curls with one hand, while two others conversed on his terminal.
"Just checking on a few things," he said dismissively.
He tried not to think about it.
He tried really hard not to think about it.
"Are you happy here?" he asked suddenly, during a commercial.
"Hm?" she said, looking up from the television. He preferred to wear his glasses when she was over; without them, he still found her eyes unsettling, the lightless void that humans always seemed to have. "Happy where?"
"On Osiris."
Jennifer giggled. "No one is happy on Osiris," she said, as if he'd asked whether she liked air pollution. "But it's not like we can afford to leave, so." She reached up to pat his cheek affectionately. "I'm the happiest girl on Osiris, anyway," she assured him, "as long as I'm here with you."
He should have stopped there. He really, absolutely should have. "If you could live anywhere," he said, tracing a thumb over her lower lip, "anywhere in mapped space – where would you go?"
"Cylinder Station 5," she said, so quickly that it was obvious she'd thought about it. "It has the second-lowest crime rate next to 12, it's designed to resemble island biomes, and they're always looking for more people to work with the cetacean population." She looked sheepish, then, as if embarrassed to have accidentally revealed a capacity to dream. "And a lawyer with a history of working for the civil rights of Terran cetaceans," she added, "would almost certainly be welcome."
Nena ala.
He shouldn't have asked.
"Soooo," asked Kreska, a month later, "how's Jennifer?"
She already knew what he was going to say. He could tell that she knew. "According to the ship's manifest, she arrived safely on Five yesterday."
"Has she messaged you yet?"
Ix grit his teeth. "No. She has not."
Kreska grinned, slapping him on the back with a lift of her eyebrows that perfectly expressed the fact that she had told him so. "You're a fuckin' dumbass."
"What th'fuck're ya doin'?" Kreska asked, and Ixaaliot stopped struggling long enough to let out an exasperated whoosh of breath.
"I am trying," he said, as if it should have been obvious, "to loosen these ropes."
On the other side of their bound chairs, out of his sight, she snorted. "Didja not flex when they were tyin' us up?" she asked.
"What?"
"Ya gotta flex when they're doin' th'ropes," she said, as if explaining something obvious, "so ya can relax later an' get some slack. Always do 'em too tight, otherwise."
"If you've been able to get loose this entire time," Ix said slowly, "I am going to be very annoyed."
Kreska laughed. "Fuckin' chill, you're gonna hurtcher damn self. We ain't gettin' more'n one chance an' I ain't wastin' it cuz you're antsy. Let 'em kick our asses a coupla times, first, if they think we're all broken'r whatevs they ain't gonna pay's much attention."
"… do I want to know how you know this?"
"Naw," she said, jabbing backward with her elbow in what was presumably an affectionate way. "You'd prolly cry or some shit, ya big baby."
"Great," he sighed. "So we just have to sit here."
"Here, let's play a game," she said. "Pretend ya got some pink-skinned motherfucker gettin' way too antsy t'get in your pants."
"You're going to be better at this game than I am."
"That's literally always true. Anyway, th' game's t'try an' come up with th'grossest way t'fuck that still sounds plausible, to get 'em t'fuck off."
Ixaaliot took a moment to think. "So the point of this game," he said slowly, "is to say something like: Siladen males have eight prehensile penises that rotate from a single joint located on the pelvis. Is that right?"
Kreska laughed, and she seemed to be doing that entirely too much for someone currently tied to a chair in a warehouse. "Naw, but see, ya'd lose wi'that one, cuz somebody out there's gotta fetish for that shit. S'gotta be more like: Jobari breasts actually house the secondary mouths, used to process animal proteins."
"Ugh. That's horrifying. Okay, how about this: Siladen actually only have one sex. The gender distinction occurs during mating, when one partner rips the external genitalia off of the other to access to internal genitalia. Gender is determined by the winner."
"That is so fucked up," Kreska cackled. "What th'fuck, since when's that th' kinda shitcher brain goes to?"
"Does that mean I won?"
"Oh, hell no, we're just startin'. Okay, uh. Fuck. Errybody knows Jobari only have th'one sex, but most people dunno that we got both setsa junk. Half our bodyweight's actually dick. Like, all up in th'abdomen. When we're ready t'fuck, they come outta what most people confuse for vaginas, an' grow to twice our size. Just. Huge fuckin' dicks."
"Doesn't work," Ix said. "Someone has a fetish for that."
"What? No fuckin'– okay, yeah, you're prolly right. Your turn, then."
"I still think I should have won with my last one, but okay. Top this one: Siladen do not actually have accessible genitalia in the traditional sense. We have a pouch below the sternum that holds our genetic material, and when it is time to mate, we vomit this slurry into the mouths of our partners."
"What th' fuck," Kreska cackled, and he felt their chairs move with the force of her laughter. "Fuckin' A, have ya played this before?"
"So now do I win?" he asked.
"No way," she said, still catching her breath. "I gotta trump card."
"You can try," Ix said, "but I don't think you're going to top either ripping off dicks or vomiting ejaculate."
"Firstly," she said, and he realized she was affecting a Kotii accent, "the trick is to sound very scientific about it."
"That does sound very scientific," he agreed, because a Kotii accent had the side-effect of making whoever used it sound smarter and more trustworthy.
"Jobari," she began, sounding like a biology professor, "do not actually reproduce in the traditional sense. Rather, they utilize a form of self-cloning known as budding, wherein smaller versions of themselves emerge from beneath the skin, in the manner of boils."
"That's disgusting, but I don't see–"
"Not finished dumbass," she said, exasperated, reverting briefly back to station scum before switching again to the more sophisticated tone. "Jobari do, however, have a peculiar method of acquiring animal proteins necessary for the creation of these clones. An evolutionary quirk known as the mock vagina means that many a human male has been fooled into thinking that they are biologically compatible. What these orifices actually contain is a sheathed succession of thorns, which activate moments after contact. These thorns inject urushiol oil into the victim, so that even if they manage to extricate themselves, it is unlikely that what remains will be identifiable as any kind of functional organ."
"… you win." Kreska's laugh almost resembled a giggle. "That is awful. That is unspeakably awful. You are an awful person, and that is an awful thing to have made me imagine."
"Ya gotta bring your A-game if ya wanna beat Kreska Ido at Unfuckable, man."
"That is a horrible name for a game, and we should only play it when we are being held hostage."
"Plannin' on gettin' taken hostage a lot?"
"No, I am planning on never playing that game again."
"I can't believe ya brought me t'some fancy shmancy shit," said Kreska, who was wearing her least-fucked-up pair of jeans and a relatively new t-shirt.
"Next time," he said, "I will be sure to check that the establishment has the requisite number of battered signage on the walls before bringing you. Would it make you feel better if I asked the waiter for a booster seat?"
"Oh, shit," Kreska said, eyes widening in feigned surprise as she looked down at the salad she had ordered. "I think they mixed up our orders." She held up the bowl to demonstrate. "I didn't order th' go fuck yourself. Did you order th' go fuck yourself? I'm pretty sure this is your go fuck yourself."
Raising one eyebrow, Ix checked out the corner of his eye that their waiter would not be returning any time soon. Between bites of his own meal, he murmured, "No, no. I'm pretty sure that's shit. You can go ahead and eat that."
Kreska's grin was wolfish, barely restrained delight. "Wow," she said, as if she had not coaxed him into saying far worse. "That kinda talk must getcha all th' boys. Must be beatin' 'em off with two hands'n all."
Ix had heard Kreska's unattractive behaviors bemoaned as such often enough to get the thrust of the joke. "It's very strange," he said, eyes still on his meal rather than his companion, "because it sounds as if you are making some kind of joke about mutual masturbation, but the way you are making it suggests that I would need fewer than four hands for myself."
Kreska snorted the beginnings of a laugh, then stifled it, fighting not to dissolve into giggles in the middle of the restaurant. She ended up pushing her food away, burying her face in her arms on the table. "Asshole," she muttered, muffled and giggling.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Ix said, in a tone suggesting that this was completely untrue, "is that where we're drawing the line? Big dick jokes are the line? That's good, I'm glad we've manage to clarify that." He had managed to remain deadpan, though the corner of his mouth had a twitch to it.
"Swear t'fuck," she said finally, pointing at him as she came up from the table, "one o' these days'm gonna find a species where dudes brag about how l'il their dicks are. One o' these fuckin' days."
Ix considered this. And then he waited for her to take a sip of her drink – insofar as what Kreska did could be called a sip. "When you do," he said, as her glass tilted back, "please feel free to introduce me to some of their women."
Kreska choked. She very nearly spit her drink on him. She grabbed an elaborately folded napkin, and fought with it briefly before surrendering, holding a linen swan against her mouth in a desperate attempt not to make a disgusting mess. One hand pressing an origami animal to her face, she used the other to flip him off.
Ix, unable to help himself, also found himself putting a hand over his mouth to try and bury a grin.
"Excuse me," said the waiter, who appeared apparently out of nowhere, "but is everything all right over here?"
This, Ix knew, was code for you are not being at all dignified enough for our establishment.
"Actually," Ix said, recovering smoothly as Kreska continued to look on the brink of collapsing in a fit, "I was hoping I could see the liberation paperwork for the Toielle you have working in the kitchen."
☠» so have you asked her yet
⚖» Asked who what?
☠» lmao don't play dumb
☠» you've been dating that jennifer chick for like 2 months
☠» she's thinking about moving in
☠» you're totally happy together
☠» which means ur gonna ask her if she's happy on osiris
☠» and she's gonna say no
☠» and you're gonna send her away because ur a dumbass
⚖» I will do no such thing.
⚖» We have a good life here.
⚖» If she wasn't planning to stay, she'd have told me by now.
⚖» You're the last person to be giving out relationship advice.
☠» lmao whatevs bruh
"Who are you messaging?" Jennifer asked. They were sitting on the couch, watching some movie or another than might have been about talking marine mammals. 'Sitting' was not terribly accurate, because he was sprawled across the couch, and she was sprawled across him. He'd been absentmindedly stroking her blonde curls with one hand, while two others conversed on his terminal.
"Just checking on a few things," he said dismissively.
He tried not to think about it.
He tried really hard not to think about it.
"Are you happy here?" he asked suddenly, during a commercial.
"Hm?" she said, looking up from the television. He preferred to wear his glasses when she was over; without them, he still found her eyes unsettling, the lightless void that humans always seemed to have. "Happy where?"
"On Osiris."
Jennifer giggled. "No one is happy on Osiris," she said, as if he'd asked whether she liked air pollution. "But it's not like we can afford to leave, so." She reached up to pat his cheek affectionately. "I'm the happiest girl on Osiris, anyway," she assured him, "as long as I'm here with you."
He should have stopped there. He really, absolutely should have. "If you could live anywhere," he said, tracing a thumb over her lower lip, "anywhere in mapped space – where would you go?"
"Cylinder Station 5," she said, so quickly that it was obvious she'd thought about it. "It has the second-lowest crime rate next to 12, it's designed to resemble island biomes, and they're always looking for more people to work with the cetacean population." She looked sheepish, then, as if embarrassed to have accidentally revealed a capacity to dream. "And a lawyer with a history of working for the civil rights of Terran cetaceans," she added, "would almost certainly be welcome."
Nena ala.
He shouldn't have asked.
"Soooo," asked Kreska, a month later, "how's Jennifer?"
She already knew what he was going to say. He could tell that she knew. "According to the ship's manifest, she arrived safely on Five yesterday."
"Has she messaged you yet?"
Ix grit his teeth. "No. She has not."
Kreska grinned, slapping him on the back with a lift of her eyebrows that perfectly expressed the fact that she had told him so. "You're a fuckin' dumbass."
"What th'fuck're ya doin'?" Kreska asked, and Ixaaliot stopped struggling long enough to let out an exasperated whoosh of breath.
"I am trying," he said, as if it should have been obvious, "to loosen these ropes."
On the other side of their bound chairs, out of his sight, she snorted. "Didja not flex when they were tyin' us up?" she asked.
"What?"
"Ya gotta flex when they're doin' th'ropes," she said, as if explaining something obvious, "so ya can relax later an' get some slack. Always do 'em too tight, otherwise."
"If you've been able to get loose this entire time," Ix said slowly, "I am going to be very annoyed."
Kreska laughed. "Fuckin' chill, you're gonna hurtcher damn self. We ain't gettin' more'n one chance an' I ain't wastin' it cuz you're antsy. Let 'em kick our asses a coupla times, first, if they think we're all broken'r whatevs they ain't gonna pay's much attention."
"… do I want to know how you know this?"
"Naw," she said, jabbing backward with her elbow in what was presumably an affectionate way. "You'd prolly cry or some shit, ya big baby."
"Great," he sighed. "So we just have to sit here."
"Here, let's play a game," she said. "Pretend ya got some pink-skinned motherfucker gettin' way too antsy t'get in your pants."
"You're going to be better at this game than I am."
"That's literally always true. Anyway, th' game's t'try an' come up with th'grossest way t'fuck that still sounds plausible, to get 'em t'fuck off."
Ixaaliot took a moment to think. "So the point of this game," he said slowly, "is to say something like: Siladen males have eight prehensile penises that rotate from a single joint located on the pelvis. Is that right?"
Kreska laughed, and she seemed to be doing that entirely too much for someone currently tied to a chair in a warehouse. "Naw, but see, ya'd lose wi'that one, cuz somebody out there's gotta fetish for that shit. S'gotta be more like: Jobari breasts actually house the secondary mouths, used to process animal proteins."
"Ugh. That's horrifying. Okay, how about this: Siladen actually only have one sex. The gender distinction occurs during mating, when one partner rips the external genitalia off of the other to access to internal genitalia. Gender is determined by the winner."
"That is so fucked up," Kreska cackled. "What th'fuck, since when's that th' kinda shitcher brain goes to?"
"Does that mean I won?"
"Oh, hell no, we're just startin'. Okay, uh. Fuck. Errybody knows Jobari only have th'one sex, but most people dunno that we got both setsa junk. Half our bodyweight's actually dick. Like, all up in th'abdomen. When we're ready t'fuck, they come outta what most people confuse for vaginas, an' grow to twice our size. Just. Huge fuckin' dicks."
"Doesn't work," Ix said. "Someone has a fetish for that."
"What? No fuckin'– okay, yeah, you're prolly right. Your turn, then."
"I still think I should have won with my last one, but okay. Top this one: Siladen do not actually have accessible genitalia in the traditional sense. We have a pouch below the sternum that holds our genetic material, and when it is time to mate, we vomit this slurry into the mouths of our partners."
"What th' fuck," Kreska cackled, and he felt their chairs move with the force of her laughter. "Fuckin' A, have ya played this before?"
"So now do I win?" he asked.
"No way," she said, still catching her breath. "I gotta trump card."
"You can try," Ix said, "but I don't think you're going to top either ripping off dicks or vomiting ejaculate."
"Firstly," she said, and he realized she was affecting a Kotii accent, "the trick is to sound very scientific about it."
"That does sound very scientific," he agreed, because a Kotii accent had the side-effect of making whoever used it sound smarter and more trustworthy.
"Jobari," she began, sounding like a biology professor, "do not actually reproduce in the traditional sense. Rather, they utilize a form of self-cloning known as budding, wherein smaller versions of themselves emerge from beneath the skin, in the manner of boils."
"That's disgusting, but I don't see–"
"Not finished dumbass," she said, exasperated, reverting briefly back to station scum before switching again to the more sophisticated tone. "Jobari do, however, have a peculiar method of acquiring animal proteins necessary for the creation of these clones. An evolutionary quirk known as the mock vagina means that many a human male has been fooled into thinking that they are biologically compatible. What these orifices actually contain is a sheathed succession of thorns, which activate moments after contact. These thorns inject urushiol oil into the victim, so that even if they manage to extricate themselves, it is unlikely that what remains will be identifiable as any kind of functional organ."
"… you win." Kreska's laugh almost resembled a giggle. "That is awful. That is unspeakably awful. You are an awful person, and that is an awful thing to have made me imagine."
"Ya gotta bring your A-game if ya wanna beat Kreska Ido at Unfuckable, man."
"That is a horrible name for a game, and we should only play it when we are being held hostage."
"Plannin' on gettin' taken hostage a lot?"
"No, I am planning on never playing that game again."
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