Morning After
ixaaliot & kreska ido
osiris lunar colony
By the time Ix woke up, Kreska had already broken into his freezer, eating straight out of a pint container of caramel gelato. He'd have been able to tell she hadn't showered even if he had his glasses on; aside from glowing like a firefly to his ultraviolet vision, his whole kitchen smelled like mint. He had spare clothes in the guest room, but she seemed to have passed out in her jeans and leather jacket.
"You realize if you'd waited until I woke up, you could have had swana cakes."
"Bullshit, 'coulda'," the half-Jobari said around a mouthful of gelato. "This shit ain't an ingredient, just fuckin' make some anyway." Holding a spoon in her mouth, she pressed the lid back on to the container, much to Ix's disgust.
"Prata nena, Ido, don't just put it away, that's disgusting," he said, opening the fridge to retrieve the things he needed for breakfast. He was already dressed, had already numbed his cephalic tentacles to prepare for the day, and he was eager to eat something to distract him from the taste of artificial citric acid.
"What?" she said around the spoon, before pulling it out and tossing it across the kitchen into the sink. "Iun wannit anymore, th' fuck'm I s'posed t' do, jus' leave it out t' melt?"
Having barely ducked out of the way of the projectile utensil, Ix rolled his eyes as he grabbed a magnetic marker, tossing much more gently toward Kreska. "Fine. But label it, and take it with you when you go home. And use a bowl, next time."
"Couldn't figger out where ya kept 'em," she said as she caught the marker.
"… it's clearly labeled," he pointed out, as Kreska wrote a giant letter 'K' on the lid and he set a pan out on the stove.
"It is?" She squinted at the cupboards, grinning and snorting a laugh as she saw that it was. "Holy shit, you're such a fuckin' nerd. If I labeled my cupboards I'd hafta kick my own ass."
Ix rolled his eyes again, though his back was to her while he whisked. "It is supposed to stop this sort of thing from happening. Aren't your bones made out of toothpicks?"
"Fuck you, bird bones. Did a hooker actually vomit on ya yesterday?"
He did not miss the sudden change of subject, but he politely chose to ignore it. "How did you even hear about that?"
"How'dja think? Grilka is a gossipy bitch is how, obvi. Xotll giva ya pity booze?"
"No, I decided to go somewhere new." He said it very casually, but Kreska was not fooled, standing to put the gelato back in the freezer and elbowing him on the way.
"Ya hate new shit," she pointed out, as if he did not already know.
"I don't see how that's relevant to the conversation."
"Y'were gone all night."
"I had a difficult day. I was vomited on." He tried to ignore Kreska's shit-eating grin, though it was harder to ignore when she jabbed him in the side with a finger. How could anyone so small be so annoying?
"Y'met a giiiiiirl," she said instead of asking, pulling herself up on the counter to sit on it despite his repeated exhortations that she not do so. "She gotta mean pimp?"
"I don't see how it follows that she's a sex worker," he said loftily, dropping batter into hot oil.
"Cuz it's always a hooker, an' she's always gotta mean pimp, or else she's got a drug habit, or she's runnin' a long con on ya, an' then ya end up witcher arms broke ain't learned shit. Toss me a soda, wouldja?"
"You know I can kick you out, right?" he asked, even as an arm not occupied with cooking reached into the fridge to grab her one. "I don't have to let you stay here."
"Naw," she said, catching the bottle. "I'm all fucked up'n sad lookin' today, trips all your damsel triggers cuz you're a dumbass. Gimme the deets on your new crush." Despite being small and elfin and a fetching shade of green, Kreska Ido was as much a damsel in distress as a tarantula.
"I had one conversation with a woman who seemed very happy and not at all in need of rescuing, thank you very much," he said, dropping finished cakes into a bowl of crystallized honey. "Don't think I don't know you're going to be telling Grilka about this."
"Pfft," she scoffed, cracking the bottle open on the edge of the counter she was sitting on. "Would I do that t'a friend? What's her name?"
"None of your business," he said, answering the second question first. "You'd do that to your own mother."
"Yeh," she agreed, "but m'mom's a bitch, that don' count. You're not tellin' me cuz she's gotta stripper name."
"She was a bartender, and I don't want Grilka pestering her. She was very nice, and fully dressed." He was pretty sure it wasn't a stripper name. He was not, despite his experience in the field, entirely sure of what constituted a 'stripper name'. Somehow he thought that any name he gave would be accused of such.
"Didjer neck do th'thing? Didja do that thing where ya tip a hundred percent?" He didn't know when they'd become so familiar, when they didn't even like each other.
"My neck is none of your business, and I did not tip a percentage," he said, pulling another package out of the fridge and tossing its contents into a different skillet.
"Oooooh shit. Didja give her onna th' reserved chits?" He did not answer, did not even turn to look at her, but apparently she was capable of divining a response from his back. "Fuck's sake, ya totally did! Motherfucker's all high an' mighty not payin' for sex an' ya gave some rando three hundred credits so she might call ya. Dumbass. That bacon?"
"This is Jobari bacon, which you are not getting because you're a disgusting person," he said, getting himself a soda as he watched the bio-engineered protein strips curl in the pan.
"What! What! Fuck you, since when can ya get Jobari bacon on this fuckin' colony, what th' fuck." For the first time, she sounded legitimately annoyed.
"You never asked. Get off the counter. You know you can use my shower, right? This whole apartment smells like a pack of gum, now."
"Stayin' witcha ain't worth half th' trouble, swear t' fuck," she muttered, though she did slide off the counter to sit on a stool instead.
"Maybe you should think of that next time before you cheat at cards. Then you can stay at your house, like a civilized person." Despite his claims to contrary, the plate he set before her was piled high with cakes and bacon, and she didn't even bother using the fork he'd placed beside it.
"I don' cheat," she said around a mouthful of swana, "'m just so great it's unbelievable."
His own plate was much more modest, and unlike Kreska, he was willing to put forth the effort required for utensils. "Well, just explain that to the people waiting at your building to murder you. I'm sure that will end wonderfully. Did you at least get enough in plats to make it worth it?"
"No. Fuckers stole all m' shit 'cept th' one, now'm worse in th'hole'n before."
"Planning to ask Grilka to bail you out?"
"Naw, ey's all mad at me an' shit, ain't in th' mood for em t' be all smug about it. I'll figger somethin' out, Iunno. Tell me more 'boutcher chick. Does she like ya?"
"… she said I was cute. And a tease." Ix chewed his cake and looked impassive while Kreska cackled.
"An' you said…?" she prompted, when her snickering had ceased.
"… I said she had horrible taste." Kreska closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her face in a display of horror. "I think I explained the legal distinction between possession and parenthood." She tried, and failed, to restrain a snort of laughter. "I might have said I was emotionally invested in what she put in her mouth." She gave in to her desire to laugh, cackling as she pushed her plate out of the way, hitting her head dramatically against the counter.
"Lio. Lio. You're a fuckin' wreck."
"I don't think someone with your love life is in any place to judge. I'm pretty sure the last time you got laid was with–"
"Ssshhhh. Sh. No. We don' ever talk 'bout that."
Ix collected both their plates, cleaning the kitchen with as much speed as one might expect from a man with four arms. "Go take a shower," he repeated. "I need to check back on some of Grilka's friends today, I'll mention that you're having trouble. I'm sure someone will be willing to do you a favor without expecting too much. Okay? Feel free to not be in my house later."
"You're a real prince charmin', man."
"Yes. Observe, as I ride my golden catfish down the moonfall to impress my destined mates."
"… fuckin' Siladen fairy tales're weird as shit, dude."
"You realize if you'd waited until I woke up, you could have had swana cakes."
"Bullshit, 'coulda'," the half-Jobari said around a mouthful of gelato. "This shit ain't an ingredient, just fuckin' make some anyway." Holding a spoon in her mouth, she pressed the lid back on to the container, much to Ix's disgust.
"Prata nena, Ido, don't just put it away, that's disgusting," he said, opening the fridge to retrieve the things he needed for breakfast. He was already dressed, had already numbed his cephalic tentacles to prepare for the day, and he was eager to eat something to distract him from the taste of artificial citric acid.
"What?" she said around the spoon, before pulling it out and tossing it across the kitchen into the sink. "Iun wannit anymore, th' fuck'm I s'posed t' do, jus' leave it out t' melt?"
Having barely ducked out of the way of the projectile utensil, Ix rolled his eyes as he grabbed a magnetic marker, tossing much more gently toward Kreska. "Fine. But label it, and take it with you when you go home. And use a bowl, next time."
"Couldn't figger out where ya kept 'em," she said as she caught the marker.
"… it's clearly labeled," he pointed out, as Kreska wrote a giant letter 'K' on the lid and he set a pan out on the stove.
"It is?" She squinted at the cupboards, grinning and snorting a laugh as she saw that it was. "Holy shit, you're such a fuckin' nerd. If I labeled my cupboards I'd hafta kick my own ass."
Ix rolled his eyes again, though his back was to her while he whisked. "It is supposed to stop this sort of thing from happening. Aren't your bones made out of toothpicks?"
"Fuck you, bird bones. Did a hooker actually vomit on ya yesterday?"
He did not miss the sudden change of subject, but he politely chose to ignore it. "How did you even hear about that?"
"How'dja think? Grilka is a gossipy bitch is how, obvi. Xotll giva ya pity booze?"
"No, I decided to go somewhere new." He said it very casually, but Kreska was not fooled, standing to put the gelato back in the freezer and elbowing him on the way.
"Ya hate new shit," she pointed out, as if he did not already know.
"I don't see how that's relevant to the conversation."
"Y'were gone all night."
"I had a difficult day. I was vomited on." He tried to ignore Kreska's shit-eating grin, though it was harder to ignore when she jabbed him in the side with a finger. How could anyone so small be so annoying?
"Y'met a giiiiiirl," she said instead of asking, pulling herself up on the counter to sit on it despite his repeated exhortations that she not do so. "She gotta mean pimp?"
"I don't see how it follows that she's a sex worker," he said loftily, dropping batter into hot oil.
"Cuz it's always a hooker, an' she's always gotta mean pimp, or else she's got a drug habit, or she's runnin' a long con on ya, an' then ya end up witcher arms broke ain't learned shit. Toss me a soda, wouldja?"
"You know I can kick you out, right?" he asked, even as an arm not occupied with cooking reached into the fridge to grab her one. "I don't have to let you stay here."
"Naw," she said, catching the bottle. "I'm all fucked up'n sad lookin' today, trips all your damsel triggers cuz you're a dumbass. Gimme the deets on your new crush." Despite being small and elfin and a fetching shade of green, Kreska Ido was as much a damsel in distress as a tarantula.
"I had one conversation with a woman who seemed very happy and not at all in need of rescuing, thank you very much," he said, dropping finished cakes into a bowl of crystallized honey. "Don't think I don't know you're going to be telling Grilka about this."
"Pfft," she scoffed, cracking the bottle open on the edge of the counter she was sitting on. "Would I do that t'a friend? What's her name?"
"None of your business," he said, answering the second question first. "You'd do that to your own mother."
"Yeh," she agreed, "but m'mom's a bitch, that don' count. You're not tellin' me cuz she's gotta stripper name."
"She was a bartender, and I don't want Grilka pestering her. She was very nice, and fully dressed." He was pretty sure it wasn't a stripper name. He was not, despite his experience in the field, entirely sure of what constituted a 'stripper name'. Somehow he thought that any name he gave would be accused of such.
"Didjer neck do th'thing? Didja do that thing where ya tip a hundred percent?" He didn't know when they'd become so familiar, when they didn't even like each other.
"My neck is none of your business, and I did not tip a percentage," he said, pulling another package out of the fridge and tossing its contents into a different skillet.
"Oooooh shit. Didja give her onna th' reserved chits?" He did not answer, did not even turn to look at her, but apparently she was capable of divining a response from his back. "Fuck's sake, ya totally did! Motherfucker's all high an' mighty not payin' for sex an' ya gave some rando three hundred credits so she might call ya. Dumbass. That bacon?"
"This is Jobari bacon, which you are not getting because you're a disgusting person," he said, getting himself a soda as he watched the bio-engineered protein strips curl in the pan.
"What! What! Fuck you, since when can ya get Jobari bacon on this fuckin' colony, what th' fuck." For the first time, she sounded legitimately annoyed.
"You never asked. Get off the counter. You know you can use my shower, right? This whole apartment smells like a pack of gum, now."
"Stayin' witcha ain't worth half th' trouble, swear t' fuck," she muttered, though she did slide off the counter to sit on a stool instead.
"Maybe you should think of that next time before you cheat at cards. Then you can stay at your house, like a civilized person." Despite his claims to contrary, the plate he set before her was piled high with cakes and bacon, and she didn't even bother using the fork he'd placed beside it.
"I don' cheat," she said around a mouthful of swana, "'m just so great it's unbelievable."
His own plate was much more modest, and unlike Kreska, he was willing to put forth the effort required for utensils. "Well, just explain that to the people waiting at your building to murder you. I'm sure that will end wonderfully. Did you at least get enough in plats to make it worth it?"
"No. Fuckers stole all m' shit 'cept th' one, now'm worse in th'hole'n before."
"Planning to ask Grilka to bail you out?"
"Naw, ey's all mad at me an' shit, ain't in th' mood for em t' be all smug about it. I'll figger somethin' out, Iunno. Tell me more 'boutcher chick. Does she like ya?"
"… she said I was cute. And a tease." Ix chewed his cake and looked impassive while Kreska cackled.
"An' you said…?" she prompted, when her snickering had ceased.
"… I said she had horrible taste." Kreska closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her face in a display of horror. "I think I explained the legal distinction between possession and parenthood." She tried, and failed, to restrain a snort of laughter. "I might have said I was emotionally invested in what she put in her mouth." She gave in to her desire to laugh, cackling as she pushed her plate out of the way, hitting her head dramatically against the counter.
"Lio. Lio. You're a fuckin' wreck."
"I don't think someone with your love life is in any place to judge. I'm pretty sure the last time you got laid was with–"
"Ssshhhh. Sh. No. We don' ever talk 'bout that."
Ix collected both their plates, cleaning the kitchen with as much speed as one might expect from a man with four arms. "Go take a shower," he repeated. "I need to check back on some of Grilka's friends today, I'll mention that you're having trouble. I'm sure someone will be willing to do you a favor without expecting too much. Okay? Feel free to not be in my house later."
"You're a real prince charmin', man."
"Yes. Observe, as I ride my golden catfish down the moonfall to impress my destined mates."
"… fuckin' Siladen fairy tales're weird as shit, dude."
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