The Trouble With
Part Two
kreska
osiris lunar colony
Part Two
kreska
osiris lunar colony
"So that's unlawful possession of a live game animal—"
"Game animal?"
"—at the very least, but I guarantee you this qualifies as criminally negligent homicide."
Kreska continued smoking her cigarette, unperturbed. The rocaburra was perched on her shoulder. It was probably the only reason Officer Liao hadn't cuffed her; he knew better than to risk a bite, much as he might have wanted to. He was the only one who ever bothered.
"Kept 'is hands to'mself an' he'd'a been fine," Kreska pointed out. "Self d'fense."
"It's not self defense if the one doing the defending is an illegally trafficked animal."
"Didn' traffic shit," she said. "Found it. Ain' illegal t'find a thing."
"It is if you take it and keep it knowing that it's illegal."
"I didn' know't was illegal. Figgered it was just a l'il rat thing. Rats're legal."
"Rats aren't extraordinary lethal."
"Ain' lethal t'me. Plentya shit'll kill me ain't illegal, only fair's I get a thing'r two."
Officer Liao rubbed his hands over his face, his skin reddening as he grew more frustrated with her, a familiar expression. "Put that thing into a fucking box," he said, "or I'm adding resisting arrest to the list of charges."
"Y'know if ya wanna talk t'Lio y'ain't gotta use me as a middleman, right? Y'can just call 'im."
"This has nothing to do with him," Liao snapped, turning redder. "And don't call him that."
"Th'fuck d'you care what I call 'im?"
"I don't. I don't give a fuck. About either of you. I shouldn't even be giving you the chance to defend yourself. I'm shooting that fucking thing and you're under arrest."
Kreska grinned, smoke billowing out between her teeth as she dropped her cigarette, her eyes looking past Liao to somewhere over his shoulder. "Yer timing's fuckin' perf," she said gleefully. "Go on an' shoot th' l'il fluffball right off m'shoulder, make it real violent an' all." She waved at the news drone hovering at the minimum allowed distance from the scene, trying to get its attention. Liao tried to grab her arms to stop her flailing, but the rocaburra hissed and he recoiled. His superior officer had noticed the minor commotion and was already on his way over, probably to pull Liao aside and talk to him about optics.
"You're a spoiled little shit, Robinson," he said with an accusatory finger, and she shrugged, looking away and pretending it didn't bother her when he called her that. "One of these days you're going to learn the hard way that you're not above the law. No matter who your parents are."
» So I did a little research because I knew you wouldn't.
☠» bc idgaf
» Thank you, Fate.
» You're welcome, Kreska.
☠» lol
» Aside from being definitely dangerous and also illegal
» rocaburra are born with red fur.
» Adults are orange.
» Your little buddy there is an old man.
» Or an old woman.
» Possibly both, there's a lot of confusion on that point.
» There hasn't been a whole lot of research.
» What with the deadly neurotoxin and all.
☠» k
» You could at least pretend to be interested.
» You're always so anticlimactic.
☠» you just haven't done anything climax worthy
» I think the bite is finally having an effect on you.
» That seemed suspiciously flirtatious.
» Should I send a medbot?
☠» not what i meant
» So I -have- been climax-worthy?
☠» bet if i tried i could fit this weird hamster in ur urethra
» Duly noted.
Kreska brought the rocaburra to the highest sector in the Southern Quadrant. Technically speaking, only authorized personnel were allowed to be up there. Unlike the other quadrants, the highest sector in Southern was strictly equipment, specialized machines that filtered all the byproducts of fuel creation back out into the vacuum of space. Junk from every quadrant ended up in Southern eventually. Interference could result in the whole station exploding. Or, more likely, a debris backup in Southern that would result in a quadrant-wide quarantine. It would also be extremely easy for someone to misstep and end up liquified or crushed or sucked out into the void.
Kreska went there a lot.
Aside from having a fantastic view of the actual gas giant Osiris, it got the best reception. She sat on a cozy nook of concrete and steel, and slowly turned the dial on her old interstellar radio. They weren't supposed to sell those to civilians anymore, but there was a thriving black market for people who wanted to eavesdrop. Eventually she found the station she'd been looking for, the gentle strumming of an acoustic guitar or something that sounded a lot like it.
As she pulled the rocaburra out of her pocket to set it in her lap, the music faded, and a mechanized voice began to recite numbers in a mismatched mess of old Terran languages.
"I useta know a guy," she told the ball of fluff, "who'd listen t'this shit all the time. We'd just sit around listenin' t'bullshit numbers. Different ones, back on th'station, but, like. Basically th'same shit." She stroked its fur, and while it did not try to sing along with the numbers, it also was not hostile to them. "He thought it was some fuckin'... spy conspiracy shit. I dunno. S'kinda nice, tho."
If the rocaburra was interested in this monologue, it did not say so.
For as often as she went up there, she didn't really share it. Hadn't ever brought Ixaaliot or Rocket along. Hadn't even mentioned it, really. Every now and again she might play a game with Fate, because she liked the privacy and the signal strength wasn't bad, but it wasn't like she ever mentioned her location. And she certainly didn't leave the radio on.
The rocaburra wasn't a person, though. It didn't even have a name. That didn't count.
"Feel like I'd know 'bout it'f he was dead, y'know?" she said, apropos of nothing. "His dad'd prolly ping me. He was always cool. Prolly just got, fuckin'... better shit t'do. Flyin' around an' shit."
The numbers stopped, and once again the radio began playing unfamiliar guitar chords. The rocaburra started to sing along. Eventually, so did Kreska. Not the same tune, but a sort of wordless scale that she thought would complement the sound.
The rocaburra's singing faded. The radio played on. Kreska lit up a cigarette.
» So how's the old man doing?
☠» dead
» I meant the rocaburra.
☠» yeh
» Oh.
» Well that didn't take long.
» Did you give him a viking funeral?
☠» nah
☠» flushed it
» I don't believe that for a second.
» Maybe for a second.
» But no longer.
» He was like your little sidekick.
» Tiny, adorable, and toxic.
» Much like a certain someone.
☠» is it you
☠» are you the someone
» Yes.
» Except I'm not tiny.
» I am monstrously huge.
☠» i thought you said adorable
» Adorably huge.
☠» that sounds like something a tiny person would say
» You'd know better than I would.
» Want me to get you a real hamster?
» They live longer.
☠» nah
» What about a virtual hamster?
☠» even more nah
» Don't want a little friend?
☠» don't need friends
» What about me?
☠» ?
☠» what about you
» … yeah.
"Oh lordy me, didn't I shake sugaree — everything I got is done and pawned."
"Game animal?"
"—at the very least, but I guarantee you this qualifies as criminally negligent homicide."
Kreska continued smoking her cigarette, unperturbed. The rocaburra was perched on her shoulder. It was probably the only reason Officer Liao hadn't cuffed her; he knew better than to risk a bite, much as he might have wanted to. He was the only one who ever bothered.
"Kept 'is hands to'mself an' he'd'a been fine," Kreska pointed out. "Self d'fense."
"It's not self defense if the one doing the defending is an illegally trafficked animal."
"Didn' traffic shit," she said. "Found it. Ain' illegal t'find a thing."
"It is if you take it and keep it knowing that it's illegal."
"I didn' know't was illegal. Figgered it was just a l'il rat thing. Rats're legal."
"Rats aren't extraordinary lethal."
"Ain' lethal t'me. Plentya shit'll kill me ain't illegal, only fair's I get a thing'r two."
Officer Liao rubbed his hands over his face, his skin reddening as he grew more frustrated with her, a familiar expression. "Put that thing into a fucking box," he said, "or I'm adding resisting arrest to the list of charges."
"Y'know if ya wanna talk t'Lio y'ain't gotta use me as a middleman, right? Y'can just call 'im."
"This has nothing to do with him," Liao snapped, turning redder. "And don't call him that."
"Th'fuck d'you care what I call 'im?"
"I don't. I don't give a fuck. About either of you. I shouldn't even be giving you the chance to defend yourself. I'm shooting that fucking thing and you're under arrest."
Kreska grinned, smoke billowing out between her teeth as she dropped her cigarette, her eyes looking past Liao to somewhere over his shoulder. "Yer timing's fuckin' perf," she said gleefully. "Go on an' shoot th' l'il fluffball right off m'shoulder, make it real violent an' all." She waved at the news drone hovering at the minimum allowed distance from the scene, trying to get its attention. Liao tried to grab her arms to stop her flailing, but the rocaburra hissed and he recoiled. His superior officer had noticed the minor commotion and was already on his way over, probably to pull Liao aside and talk to him about optics.
"You're a spoiled little shit, Robinson," he said with an accusatory finger, and she shrugged, looking away and pretending it didn't bother her when he called her that. "One of these days you're going to learn the hard way that you're not above the law. No matter who your parents are."
» So I did a little research because I knew you wouldn't.
☠» bc idgaf
» Thank you, Fate.
» You're welcome, Kreska.
☠» lol
» Aside from being definitely dangerous and also illegal
» rocaburra are born with red fur.
» Adults are orange.
» Your little buddy there is an old man.
» Or an old woman.
» Possibly both, there's a lot of confusion on that point.
» There hasn't been a whole lot of research.
» What with the deadly neurotoxin and all.
☠» k
» You could at least pretend to be interested.
» You're always so anticlimactic.
☠» you just haven't done anything climax worthy
» I think the bite is finally having an effect on you.
» That seemed suspiciously flirtatious.
» Should I send a medbot?
☠» not what i meant
» So I -have- been climax-worthy?
☠» bet if i tried i could fit this weird hamster in ur urethra
» Duly noted.
Kreska brought the rocaburra to the highest sector in the Southern Quadrant. Technically speaking, only authorized personnel were allowed to be up there. Unlike the other quadrants, the highest sector in Southern was strictly equipment, specialized machines that filtered all the byproducts of fuel creation back out into the vacuum of space. Junk from every quadrant ended up in Southern eventually. Interference could result in the whole station exploding. Or, more likely, a debris backup in Southern that would result in a quadrant-wide quarantine. It would also be extremely easy for someone to misstep and end up liquified or crushed or sucked out into the void.
Kreska went there a lot.
Aside from having a fantastic view of the actual gas giant Osiris, it got the best reception. She sat on a cozy nook of concrete and steel, and slowly turned the dial on her old interstellar radio. They weren't supposed to sell those to civilians anymore, but there was a thriving black market for people who wanted to eavesdrop. Eventually she found the station she'd been looking for, the gentle strumming of an acoustic guitar or something that sounded a lot like it.
As she pulled the rocaburra out of her pocket to set it in her lap, the music faded, and a mechanized voice began to recite numbers in a mismatched mess of old Terran languages.
"I useta know a guy," she told the ball of fluff, "who'd listen t'this shit all the time. We'd just sit around listenin' t'bullshit numbers. Different ones, back on th'station, but, like. Basically th'same shit." She stroked its fur, and while it did not try to sing along with the numbers, it also was not hostile to them. "He thought it was some fuckin'... spy conspiracy shit. I dunno. S'kinda nice, tho."
If the rocaburra was interested in this monologue, it did not say so.
For as often as she went up there, she didn't really share it. Hadn't ever brought Ixaaliot or Rocket along. Hadn't even mentioned it, really. Every now and again she might play a game with Fate, because she liked the privacy and the signal strength wasn't bad, but it wasn't like she ever mentioned her location. And she certainly didn't leave the radio on.
The rocaburra wasn't a person, though. It didn't even have a name. That didn't count.
"Feel like I'd know 'bout it'f he was dead, y'know?" she said, apropos of nothing. "His dad'd prolly ping me. He was always cool. Prolly just got, fuckin'... better shit t'do. Flyin' around an' shit."
The numbers stopped, and once again the radio began playing unfamiliar guitar chords. The rocaburra started to sing along. Eventually, so did Kreska. Not the same tune, but a sort of wordless scale that she thought would complement the sound.
The rocaburra's singing faded. The radio played on. Kreska lit up a cigarette.
» So how's the old man doing?
☠» dead
» I meant the rocaburra.
☠» yeh
» Oh.
» Well that didn't take long.
» Did you give him a viking funeral?
☠» nah
☠» flushed it
» I don't believe that for a second.
» Maybe for a second.
» But no longer.
» He was like your little sidekick.
» Tiny, adorable, and toxic.
» Much like a certain someone.
☠» is it you
☠» are you the someone
» Yes.
» Except I'm not tiny.
» I am monstrously huge.
☠» i thought you said adorable
» Adorably huge.
☠» that sounds like something a tiny person would say
» You'd know better than I would.
» Want me to get you a real hamster?
» They live longer.
☠» nah
» What about a virtual hamster?
☠» even more nah
» Don't want a little friend?
☠» don't need friends
» What about me?
☠» ?
☠» what about you
» … yeah.
"Oh lordy me, didn't I shake sugaree — everything I got is done and pawned."
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