Shimmer, Glimmer, & Gleam - A Quest of Loss & Gain

[Morrowlark]

Good fuckin' morning world! It's a great day to swear a lot more in your head than you do out loud! You caught cursing off Peepaw like a cold and it never quite left ya, but a lady keeps a civil tongue. If city girls think it's cute, well...

Well nothing, actually, your last serious relationship was like two years ago. You'd think the lacrosse team woulda helped with the whole 'dating' thing but for reasons unknown to you a remarkable number of straight women also have a deep, needy well of violent rage inside them. Who woulda guessed?

First on the agenda this morning, go get breakfa -

"Orchid why on the gods' beautiful world are you bleeding from the eyes?" you demand, too tired to be properly mad but boy, mad is sure comin'. Orchid gestures vaguely at, oh, that's, that's a new greenhouse, okay, and then its hand keeps moving and alright, those are potatoes and carrots and - oh. "...Please tell me you talked to the doctors."

"Yep," Orchid says with a weak, red-toothed little smile. It then pulls extremely stale pre-packaged cookies out of its many pockets and starts eating like it's gonna die, which, in fairness, yeah, sure. "Mornin' Jill."

You open your mouth to say 'mornin'' back, but Kayleigh comes shambling up behind Orchid also looking like the living dead, though you're more familiar with this version. Your friend-slash-massive-crush seems to have the caffeine tolerance of a living god; Kayleigh, on the other hand, looks like she will absolutely kill again if the small paper cup in her hands gets dropped, and honestly you'd probably help her. So you wave to Kayleigh and you get the traditional reply of the living dead, that being a low grunting moan followed by the noisy slurping of coffee.

"Gonna be one of those mornings huh," you comment.

"Yeah," Orchid admits, between bites of cookie. Well. 'Bites'. Orchid does everything short of unhinging its jaw to swallow the damn thing whole. "I gotta talk to the assault team after I wash up, and then I had another idea for Diamond and her girls so I gotta catch them before they leave tomorrow, an' Heller needed something, got a thing with the kids later..."

"We still on for this evening?" you press.

"Yeah," Orchid says vaguely. "Yeah, definitely. You might have to chase me down but um. I dunno, have Wheelwright yell at me, she's good at yelling. If you gotta."

Ah, your little flower. In almost anyone else that would be a deadly insult, a deep sign of inconsideration, but in Orchid? Orchid of all people? That's Orchid saying 'if I can't, make me', and that's just...

Mmm.

"What's your day looking like?" Orchid asks. "I've given up on keeping track of the rotas, there's so damn many, someone'll tell me if I need to change something."

"Flower," you say patiently. "Your job isn't to keep personal track of the rotas. We've got people for that. I am people for that. Which, speakin' of..."

First I gotta...
[ ] Teach somea my fellow jocks other useful skills
[ ] Cover for that stunt you pulled with the kids
[ ] Solve a dispute about some of the entertainment

...And then...
[ ] A shift in the gardens
[ ] Some time in the pickets
[ ] I weaseled my way into fishing duty

& of course our evening...
[ ] Going over somea your notes
[ ] Trying out that new (well, for you) game
[ ] Explaining about...well, about Dad, downtown...

 

[Morrowlark]

First up: your beautiful flower has made a bunch of people very upset. You managed to run at least some interference, but it ended in you having to agree to a community meeting about it, which Orchid is vaguely aware of but. Well. It doesn't need all the details, it'll just get confused an' upset and double down and shit. So you'll handle it. You just gotta walk into the common area and -

- Oh that's a lot more than just the parents.

"Ooookaayyyy," you greet the larger crowd of people, which seems to be, yep, there's the parents, an' there's somea the divinity students and one of the profs, alright, an' a few of the jocks, okay, coupla old people, fuck. Andrea's here, but she claps you on the shoulder and stands next to you with her best Intimidating Meemaw Look, which is a pretty good one but there's some counter-granny fire from the other side here so at best you're breakin' even. "Someone gonna tell me why we've got hangers-on whose business this decidedly ain't?"

You punctuate this with your best raised eyebrow. It's a pretty good raised eyebrow, because all of a sudden there's a great looking-around-at, while these people attempt to figure out who their representative is. So you press on: "Look, I'm sorry Orchid kept the kids kinda long, but they were with Orchid. Safest place they coulda been. What's the fuss?"

Oh. That was the wrong thing to say, evidently. One of the parents - hold up, you know this, this is Mrs. Holbrook - steps forward. "The problem is that now our children are flouting the laws of the gods. Like pagans! My daughter asked why I'm a woman! Can you imagine?"

"Yeah," you answer without thinking. "I had to fill out paperwork about it? Why - oh you didn't know did you."

Mrs. Holbrook, bless her heart, coughs and looks away. "But you're not...that is, Ms. Jill, you're a proper lady, you did everything right. Orchid has them thinking they don't need to have the dream, don't need to be their new gender. That's unacceptable, and an insult to people like you who did the work."

Oh.

Hrm.

Hrmmmm that's.

Oh that's a series of emotions isn't it. That's. Okay. Alright. "Orchid's expressing its understanding of the world like anyone else," you say slowly. "That shouldn't be a big deal."

"Orchid...will have the dream eventually," Holbrook says with a sniff. "And enter the divine fold."

Andrea clicks her tongue. "Tread lightly, girl. We live in a new world."

"We live in the world of the gods -" Holbrook begins, and stops, because you clap your hands very, very loudly. Very loudly. People cover their ears.

And you tilt your head to the heavens, feeling the ache in your shins because your new limbs may be glass flesh but they still don't fit quite right, quite comfortably, and you call out: "Merciful Mara, do you have an opinion?"

Choose 1
[ ] Spend 1 Communal Effort (current: 6)
[ ] Do not

 

[Morrowlark]

Spoiler: Losses

Turns out someone here has studied something relevant. And it's about to be a whole affair.

Current Communal Effort: 5

Silence. You go to raise your eyebrows assertively when one of the divinity students coughs and goes, "That's not how you do it, ma'am."

"...Did you just 'ma'am' me when we're the same age?" you ask. "Wait, no, leave it, what do you mean that's not how you 'do it'? She's a god, she hears and sees us. Our Mother is attentive, it's kinda her thing."

You and just about everyone else take a moment to sign the Spear down your torsos in reverence, but then the student - gods, they all blend together, this's, this isssssss Gary, right, the dude where you were like 'oh baby no one is gonna respect a priest named fucking Gary' in your head - he continues. "Of course, ma - uh, Miss Jill, but if you're formally asking her to settle this dispute there's a rite for that, ensured by ancient promises from before the Empire was...well, the Empire!"

Holbrook clears her throat. "I'm certain we don't need to -"

"Fund it," you interrupt. "I am formally requesting the blessed eyes of Our Mother, defender and protector of the living and the damned, glory to her name."

You've gone and done it now, but, honestly. You're feeling upset about this whole thing and you're not sure why, so maybe, just a little, this is the time to do things how Orchid might do them: double down and never stop doubling.

* * * *

So, bad news and weird news and they're the same news. Your ideas about 'ancient rites', being mostly influenced by film, involve a lot of blood sacrifice. The bad news is you're not actually wrong here, but the weird news is that it's like, one drop each from the parents, one drop from you, and a single crow whose heart is placed at the center of the sacred sigil. Necessity has moved this activity outdoors, and word of mouth has brought the old-timers, the spiders, Orchid (DAMN IT), lookie-loos and also the kids, but you can't let 'em see you sweat so you sit there with your arms folded, a bandage on your finger, while the divinity students consult their notes from class and their professors and, in one case, an elaborate shorthand cheatsheet a lass had hidden in the label of a water bottle she's had since the world ended.

"Is there a reason this doesn't get used in courts of law?" you murmur to Andrea next to you.

"Used to be, in ancient times," Andrea answers serenely. "Mara told us all to knock it off; the last use of this rite in a legal sense was Her giving Her stamp of approval to the first court system of the Empire. Gods are busy people."

And that's all you have time for, because you're getting the nod from the ritualists. You step forward and present a glass lance; Mrs. Holbrook crosses her own against yours, just above the bloody heart of the crow. All around the sacred sigil of Mara, drawn in ashes and dabbed with the drops of blood, the ritualists drop into a trance state, dreaming while awake...

You don't speak the language the rite is in, but the old professor sure does, belting out musical syllables at the top of his lungs. For an old guy he's got some fucking pipes, and as his prayer continues you see the ground of the sigil burst, concrete and asphalt transmuting to soil that then sprouts wheat. Before your very eyes it ripens until it is ready for harvest, waving gold in the morning sun...

The call is made, and as promised, I answer. My children, what is your dispute?
​

As agreed, Mrs. Holbrook speaks first; she tells of her daughter's behavior, and that of the children, the 'dangerous ideas' that Orchid has put in their heads. You will give her this: she's not out here talking about faggots and degenerates, at least, instead making a lot of the same arguments you yourself had to make when you wanted to Switch - men and women are different, they have different things to do in society, and must understand and embrace their roles. But as she cites chapter and verse, your heart wrings. Something here feels wrong...why's it feel so fuckin' wrong?

Cease.
​

Uh. That's not how this goes. But you close your mouth instead of taking your turn to talk. What's...going on...

The reflection is not bound by ancient law; it is a new child of our world. You have no standing to accuse it before me.
​

"Lady Mara," you begin, "we're sorry to have bothered you, it's just...we're lost, a little. Is all. So many of us have changed and we're trying to figure out how to be people in your new world."

"We are not lost," Holbrook disagrees. "Holy writ does not change -"

Oh. You're one of those. Alright. Fine. Let me drop the Mother-of-Empresses act for a minute here - holy writ changes all the time. Do you have the faintest idea how many people have made entire religious movements out of misunderstanding some shit I failed to communicate? Drop it.
​

"Mother -" Holbrook begins, very much not dropping it, and before you can tell her to shut the fuck up for her own safety, it happens. A crow-like talon, whose scales ripple and turn to glass even as it enters the world from the center of the sigil, snatches Holbrook from her place and drags her into nothing, where she vanishes, screaming. The ritualists bleed gently from their noses as the increasingly panicked professor continues his prayer, and for a long, horrible moment you're pretty sure you just saw the Holy Mother kill someone for being annoying.

Then a man is spat back out, tall and strapping and young, dressed in simple grey robes, and his eyes and hair are the same color as Holbrook's.

If you're not going to listen, you can think. Enjoy figuring your gender out, and the next person I catch citing those verses at me dies.

And, reflection? Welcome to the new world.
​

The ritualists keel over unconscious and are quickly caught by the people standing by them just in case of exactly this; the presence of the divine vanishes, and everyone starts scrambling.

Choose one
[ ] Try to offer an olive branch to Mrs. Holbrook
[ ] Go to Orchid
[ ] Walk off with your dignity and freak out in private

 

[Morrowlark]

Maybe it's the being torn that does it. It takes you a solid few fuckin' seconds, trying to figure out if you need to walk off or walk forward, and when 'walk forward' wins Holbrook is already halfway to her feet and vaguely lashing out at no one and everyone, swinging her newly muscular arms. Merciful Mara seems to have decided that Holbrook's male body hits the fucking gym, by the gods.

Well. By one god at least.

"Back off!" Holbrook hisses. "Don't touch me!"

You hold your hands up in the universal 'look at all this not touching you' gesture. "I ain't here to start more shit or ta crow, ma'am -"

Oh that was the wrong move. "Sir," Holbrook growls, standing up slowly to his (evidently) feet. "The goddess has decreed that I -" He looks over at someone else and that has gotta be Mister Holbrook, he's wearing one of those like, matching heart pendants, and he's rushing over, helping to steady his spouse. "- James..."

"Are you hurt?" James asks, gently. He's not quite what you'd mentally been expecting, has a whole mien about him that screams 'middle management', but he's in a hi-vis vest and smells like the ethanol of the forklifts. Guess the gods just make some people to look like weedy little bastards no matter what they're really like; the world truly is beautiful. "Honey, did she hurt you?"

"I ain't done a thing!" you protest.

"Mara, Ms. Hatter," James clarifies, almost apologetically. "...I'd like time with my wife. Please."

Holbrook starts to say 'husband', and then he breaks down into an ugly sob. So you turn, and you start to scatter the crowd, loudly ordering everyone back to their posts or their entertainments or their anywhere but here. The sigil can be cleaned up later, when y'all do...something...with this wheat. You're not sure what the right thing to do is with divine wheat. Bread? Maybe? You know what, let's just push that off your plate and if people wanna throw hands about it they can just throw hands, that is an existential crisis you don't need.

You pass Orchid on your way back to getting ready for your garden shift, and just kinda clap it on the shoulder, and then keep walking on your glass feet.

* * * *

Okay. Gardens. Water the plants, 'fertilize' them (y'all need to be able to make more glass soon...), harvest some of today's crops. It's the harvest that's the weirdest part. Plants are not supposed to grow this fast. Y'all are getting potatoes on a three-day rotation, that shit is fucking unreal. You are drowning in potatoes. You don't mess with some of the more recreational plants, that is not your business; the smokers can handle the smoker shit, the doctors can handle the weed and the medicinal herbs and what have you. Nice easy crops, you say, as if the farm you grew up on grew more than hay, which it didn't. Your grandpa always said cash crops were a fucking disease. Guess he was right.

And you, you're...

Thinking. Usually this is when you do a lot of talking, a lot of chatting, but mainly you're thinking. Partly you just don't wanna talk about what happened earlier, and by the gods, people seem to get the message. But you're thinking.

Alas, you are not to be thinking for long.

Lose 1
[ ] Your chill
[ ] Your ability to compartmentalize some romantic feelings
[ ] Your dignity

Spoiler: OOC

Would it be me if I didn't return in the middle of the night for no god damn reason?

 

[Morrowlark]

So here's the thing. The thing. It's a perfectly normal thing. So normal. Absolutely normal. There is nothing wrong with you. It's just that if Orchid enters your eyeline or earshot you pay a lot of attention to it. Definitely normal, right? You're not obsessed, you've just got a tiny bit of a crush and also Orchid is an important community leader and kinda doesn't completely know how to take care of itself and it also tends to bounce around a lot but you don't wanna stare so if it doesn't catch you looking it's fine right?

Normal things.

So Orchid's walking past and it catches Sasha, and the two of them stop to talk, so you sorta stoop over and attend to your planting reaaaaaaaal slooooooowlike.

Absolutely normal behavior.

"Hey, if I ask a question will you tell me if it's gonna be a three-hour kinda explanation?" Orchid asks. Presumably Sasha nods or something here, because it continues. "I'm a little hazy on people having two names."

"This a good time to tell you I've got like four? Sasha Gertrude Michelle Miller." You risk a glance upwards and see Sasha tweak Orchid's nose; your friend blushes, but instead of breaking away it turns its head sharply and nips Sasha's hand with a grin. Sasha hisses in surprise, but she blushes rather more fiercely than Orchid does. "Okay, shitter," Sasha teases, ruffling Orchid's hair. "The full explanation is like, a fuckin' undergrad degree or some shit, but the real short version is that one of 'em is a family name."

There's a long kinda 'ohhhh' sound from Orchid. "And since I wasn't...born...into a family and everyone here has different family names I just don't have one. I think I get it. But if I want one how do I get one?"

Sasha shrugs. "Make one up? You could always ask someone for theirs - actually." Oh gods your stomach is doing flip-flops, you look down at your planting quickly. "Uh. That's gonna sound like a cutesy marriage proposal unless you phrase it real carefully, so um. I dunno, be awkward as hell or just wait for 'em to misunderstand, pick your poison."

"Noted," Orchid says sagely. "...Thanks, Sasha. I'll let you finish getting ready."

Sasha goes to walk off and then pauses, half-turning. "Hey," she says kinda Too Casually while you sit there Utterly Fucking Paralyzed. "If I said I might want some...one second I gotta calibrate this for your levels of fuckin' autism and amnesia..."

"Sasha!"

"You point to your brain scan and show me where the lie is! Anyway, uh. You wanna fuck before I leave tomorrow?"

Mentally, and physically, you take a deep breath.

Solely mentally, you scream extremely loudly.

"I've got plans with Jill," Orchid says, and you overanalyze the tone. It's not apologetic exactly, and it's not smug, it's more like, fuck, it's a, 'sorry to let down my friend' kinda tone? "And you get to eat your words about getting proper sleep, so I'm not staying up extra late. Alright?"

Don't punch the air. Don't cheer. You just gotta step over to the next row and -

- slip in the dirt, your blade turning on the soft earth, and only do not faceplant in the mixture of soil and glass because Orchid is freakishly, concerningly, sexily fast. "Jill! You okay?"

"Yep. Mmhm. I'm fine," you lie, and then you keep lying, "just wasn't paying attention, thanks for...you gonna...pick me up?" Sasha snorts a laugh. "Not now Sasha!"

"Grow a spine and just fuck it nasty style," Sasha sings out, as she walks away. "Nasty styyyyyllleeeeee!"

Orchid helps haul you up and offers a shoulder to escort you off the soil for now. You take a heavy seat on a half-unpacked crate and bury your head in your hands with a long-suffering groan. Orchid, for its part, punches you in the shoulder.

Wait fucking what -

"What in the gods' jockstraps was that for?" you demand, rubbing your arm.

"You're being confusing," Orchid says. "Why're you embarrassed? Explain."

"I can't -"

"You can. You might be the smartest person here. You can." You open your mouth to protest, and see its eyes, staring at your face. And you don't know what that expression is, on Orchid. If it was on that Captain Young you would say contempt, or amusement, or maybe a sorta hot but very evil vaguely predatory sexual interest, but none of those fit your friend. So you swallow hard, and you think.

And...

"...It's...childish, to nurse this, this crush on my rescuer," you admit in a small voice. "Like I'm some damsel in distress. People even call you by a knightly title, how'm I supposed ta...I mean. I'm an adult, damnit! I pay taxes!"

"No one pays taxes."

"I'm an adult, I no longer pay taxes! So it's. Kid stuff, I'm supposed to be a grownup."

It is at this juncture that Orchid punches your shoulder again and gods does it fucking sting, the arm on this void of gender. "I haven't told anyone that I rescued you from anything," Orchid whispers, its voice hot and offended and raspy here at the bottom of its volume. "As far as they're concerned you're my partner here! Which is what I want you to be! My friend! And if I've just been your knight in shining armor this whole time I think I'm mad about it. And confused. You just summoned a fuckin' god to tell everyone that I get to be what I want. Why do you get to pick what I am?"

"Orchid -"

"I'll see you tonight, Jill."

Lose 1
[ ] Your appointment this evening
[ ] Some pride
[ ] Your hat in the ring of courtship
[ ] Your sobriety

 

[Morrowlark]

You finish out your shift, and take a shower, and try to work your way through some feelings. You don't quite succeed, but you do try. You change, and you meet Orchid up in one of the conference rooms that hasn't been repurposed. It too has showered and changed, and you are distracted by how low-cut that op is until it sets its notebook down and opens it up.

"So uh, what are we going over?" you ask, as you sit down next to Orchid, who has also? Put on perfume?? The scent of lavender is distracting you a lot more than the top was. "If we um. If we don't need to...talk about earlier.."

It tilts its head back and sighs. "...Jill. If I talk are you gonna listen?"

"Yeah, flower," you agree, softly, and Orchid closes its notebook. "Can I apologize first?" It folds its hands on the table and kinda gives you a look, and you take that as a yes. "I'm sorry for...puttin' that on ya. For kinda. Havin' it both ways? I've been thinkin' and the thing is that I kinda. Switch which hat you're wearing on my head to whatever's convenient for me. You're this innocent when I gotta protect ya, and this, this...amazing person whenever I'm mooning or I need you to do somethin', and that's not fair to you. And I'm sorry."

Orchid sucks a deep breath between its teeth, and quietly says: "...I'm still mad."

"Yeah, apologies are like that," you admit, glumly. You hang your head a bit and sigh. "...Maybe I shoulda just skipped out, let you have a fun night with Sash - ow!"

It has bit you. Not like, crazy-person biting, you're not bleeding, but it sure fuckin' bit your forearm.

Orchid sets your arm back down, and leans back in its chair, and then it goes digging in its jacket's inner pockets. It flops out that romance book, The Failed Dragonslayers, that one with the fantasy polycule, and points at it. "I think that's me."

"...Which one?"

"Yes." Orchid blinks. "Erm. I think. I think. Maybe, that I'm just. That I don't do the whole...if you went out and slept with someone else I'd be happy for you and I don't understand why you think it'd be a problem for you and me. Like that."

Oh fucking gods. You pinch the bridge of your nose, and you open your mouth to say something, and -

- And then you don't. Mrs. Holbrook flashes through your head, and Mara's words about the Empire being dead, and...

Mm.

"I've been taking some notes, talking to the married couples," Orchid continues, quietly. "The ones we have, anyway. Clara wasn't very helpful but she basically described marriage as 'bullshit' and made some points about it. Nettleson was a bit more helpful. But. I'm gonna tell you right now, Jill. We're building a home and I want you in it. I don't need an answer now or soon or even a yes but I need you to be able to explain to me why it's such a dealbreaker for you if I want other people too. Okay?"

"Okay," you murmur, and then Orchid turns back to the notebook and opens it up. "...So what're we doing?"

"Setting some priorities," Orchid answers, a little absently. "Here, look."

Spoiler: Orchid's Proposals

Gardening
- Maybe try to refine my plant thing?
--Pros: PLANTS, possibly cool plant powers, maybe weird plant tentacle sex??? Ask the engineers about that
---Cons: Every possibility that I do get better powers but I just fucking sweat blood
- Dedicated gardening spaces
- Seaweed farming?? Found a cool magazine article about it but it needs space and also things live in the water
--Consult with Clara

Routing
- We need roads cleared between these facilities and Harrow Park
- We need to figure out what the fuck to do with the roads the asphalt is dying fast
- Vehicles????
--We have so many bicycles now
---SO MANY BIKES
- Long-term shipping is gonna be a problem
--Boats? River? I can't even begin imagining what a naval campaign looks like on the river

Technology
- Bullets don't make themselves
--Neither do other weapons but there are so many cars to salvage for non-bullet things if we can get the skills
- Tidal generators?
- Salt works. Get one. Love it. Worship it.
--SALT SALT SALT SALT
- Weather prediction??
--Andrea is working on this by 'whacking the old-timers'
---Please tell me pre-satellite weather prediction doesn't require human sacrifice
- Gotta talk to Nattie, this is her whole remit

Spider Marriage
- 3 way relationship minimum to reproduce
--NO idea what kind of kids come out here but a lot of them really want to try and I have to assume the new ones will too
- TALK TO JILL TALK TO JILL TALK TO JILL THE GENDER THING MEANS I GOTTA TALK TO JILL WHAT EVEN IS A MARRIAGE
- Is this even its own priority?

Morale
- Rec areas suck
- Spare tires to help make something for the kids?
--Get the engineers on this
- Media preservation?
- Holidays? Religion?
--WHAT the FUCK is a Cathar
- Memorial/day of mourning? People can't avoid this forever
- That cathedral in the city might be important

Medicine
- Doctors want to hit the hospital for specialized tools before we can't use them any more
- Plants, plants, plants
- No refractions that can heal directly just yet
--Except Jill?
---Ask Jill about that
- Many doctors are also Old People except they're not Old People for some reason. They're anxious to pass along their knowledge but most of them feel like they're bad teachers
--Hate to say this but where are we gonna get the spare bodies?

[Here you turn the page and find a new header]

Sex Ed
- Andrea's been -

You close the notebook at that point and look away, a blush high on your cheeks. You clear your throat and...

Prioritize
[ ] TOP PRIORITY: write-in
[ ] SECOND PRIORITY: write-in
[ ] TERTIARY PRIORITY: write-in

This decided on, Orchid its head back against the office chair and lets out a long sigh. You feel a bit better.

"I'm gonna go have a cigarette," Orchid says, tiredly. "It's been a long day. Hey...Sasha said to be direct about things. Andrea did too. So um. If I get back in from my cigarette and you're still in here I think I might just go 'fuck it' and suck your dick. If you're not into it just say bye when you go back to your room, yeah?"

"This isn't one of the sex rooms," you protest by way of avoiding the subject.

"Sure isn't," Orchid says, and then it gets up and walks towards the door, lighting up on its way out.

Lose 1
[ ] Your defensive distance from this topic
[ ] This opportunity
[ ] Your temper

 

[Morrowlark]

Spoiler: OOC READ THIS FIRST

So first things first, I'm gonna do a brief perspective switch after this while I figure out how to solve this vote situation that I summoned upon myself. Your advice and insight on that is appreciated.

Second, there is gonna be an explicit scene in this update. For courtesy and in the spirit of sticking to site rules as cooperatively as possible I am going to put it in a spoiler block but do not confuse this for it being optional. There's gonna be character work in there, there's gonna be Stuff, if I wanna write smut with no plot I've got an Ao3 I can use for that. I do not wanna hear anyone going, "wait, what's happening?" later because they skipped the porn. Alright? Alright.

You chew your lip and try to come to a decision. Orchid isn't usually a fast smoker but sometimes it is, and, fuck, what're you even...

For the love of the gods this is not the time to be getting an erection. Congratulations to your nethers for being excited but that blood is being used to think gods fucking take it -

You look out the window of the second-floor warehouse office you're using and see Orchid just there, smoking languidly. It turns its head and sees you looking at it; automatically, you stand up, feeling weird guilt and more than a little shame, and you catch Orchid's eyes flick down, then up, before it raises its auburn eyebrows at you. So you shut the blinds.

Absolutely normal behavior.

"Get it together," you mutter to yourself, as you pace the room. Sure wish you could say you were pacing it in the manner you were once accustomed to but these days you kinda bounce as one of those intrinsic parts of all leg motion, so uh, yeah. You run your hands through your hair and try not to think: why? Why this, why now, why you - no, wait, no, you did that last one in therapy, 'why you' is a bad question - but -

Hold up. Two can play this game. You bite your lip and look at the chair you were sitting in, and you make a couple fast decisions. This is gonna need a few steps.

Step one: sit in the chair. Easy.

Step two: rapidly and surreptitiously remove your comfy yet now high-key embarrassing granny panties. Slightly harder and there is a sound of tearing cloth you do NOT wanna think about so you huck that shit directly into the room's trash can without looking.

Step three: cross your legs all lady-like.

Step four: rapidly smooth your skirt over.

Okay, Ms. Hatter, it's time for your debut. Play your cards right and you might just have a fun time that doesn't involve two toys and a hand.

When Orchid comes back in, that lingering scent of tobacco mixed into its perfume, you are cool as a cucumber and intend on staying that way. It gives you a happy little smile, not the triumphant smirk you were expecting from such a bold move, and you marvel, again, at your friend who says what it means but doesn't understand what people hear. It shuts and locks the door behind it before dropping the blinds in the door's window, and clomps on over in its heavy boots. It leans in, and you're not sure if it's to talk or to kiss or even just to kneel, but you stop it with a hand on its chest and it blinks at you with those beautiful eyes.

"Lemme be direct back," you tell Orchid. "What's the deal here? What's got you lookin' to do all this to your poor knees in this shitty office?"

Orchid's turn to blush a bit; its gaze flicks away. "...See if I explain it's gonna sound all weird and transactional and it's not transactional. Might be weird? Maybe? But it's not...ugh, you know!"

"Orchid," you say seriously. "I promise to hear ya out in the spirit of your intent but either you explain or no dick for you."

It lets out a surprised half-laugh, looking right at you, and with childish glee it tells you: "Say that again!"

"...No dick for you?"

"Gods above you sound - oh my gods - you sound -" Orchid tries to breathe. "You sound like someone scolding the crows -"

Now you're laughing too, it's infectious. You pull Orchid closer by its top, making it hold itself up on the arms of the shitty office chair, and you put your lips to its ear. "Orchid," you scold, in your Most Serious Voice, "you tell me right now what this is about or -" you touch your lips to its ear, making it shiver, "no dick for you!"

The resulting Several Minutes of both of you dying laughing is entirely worth it. Orchid ends up on the floor, flat on its ass, tears welling in its eyes from laughing so hard. Your own vision is a bit blurry from the same. You both wipe at your eyes with the backs of your hands as you remember the ancient and forbidden art of breathing, and Orchid shakes its head with a stupid grin. "Alright," it says in that pleasant rasp you could listen to for hours. "Alright, you win. I wanted to do somethin' nice for you, y'know? You've...been here, for me. This whole time. Even when it's been weird for you, or hard for you, and you're out here breaking your back every day carrying the load alongside me and...I figured, if you could hook me up with Andrea and that went amazing, why shouldn't I get you something? I can't, y'know, give you the world, so...blowjob."

"There's gotta be some levels between 'empress of all Domus' and 'suck her dick'," you tease.

"Got any enemies you want gone?" Orchid teases right back. You laugh, and sit back in the chair, and decide, y'know...a present between friends can't hurt. It's a new world. Who's to say what a proper lady is any more?

"You're gonna want that top off," you tell Orchid. "...For that matter, so'm I."

Spoiler: A Present From A Friend (Oral, Mild Failsex)

Your flower blushes, it really does, but it shrugs out of its tank top and oh you were looking entirely too respectfully earlier that doll ain't wearin' a bra. You swallow, hard, and it looks up almost expectantly at you, or at least it seems expectant by the time you manage to wrench your eyes in an upwards kinda direction to its scarred, perfect face. You spread your legs some, and pull your skirt up.

Orchid doesn't even try to keep eye contact here.

It scoots closer, resting its warm cheek against your thigh, and stares between your legs. So you reach out, and touch its soft hair, and it makes a little cooing sound low in its scarred throat. "I knew I liked these from the porn," Orchid murmurs, "but yours is so much friendlier in person. It'd actually like...fit...in another human body. Look at it..." Its hand touches your cock and you feel a jolt through your spine that hits a little button in your psyche. You are well familiar with this little button, the lasses you've dated or fooled around with have all found it eventually, it's a big, giant, red button labeled Make Jill Moan Like A Whore and boy does it embody truth in advertising. Orchid's eyes flick up at the sound, and it smiles playfully before giving the tip of your rapidly hardening cock a little kiss.

"Damnit flower," you manage, between ragged breaths. "People are gonna hear -"

"They're gonna hear how lucky I am to be down here?" Orchid teases.

"They're gonna hear us fucking in the conference room and kick our asses," you correct, a note of panic in your voice that is absolutely not enough to overpower the arousal. Orchid is not helping matters; it seems very confident and very amused and Merciful Mara protect you, confident and slightly evil lasses - dolls??? - are kinda your tyyyyyyyyy-

- Oh. It's. It's been practicing. You can't even get a proper moan out because you stop breathing entirely when it takes half your length into its mouth with a pleased little sound vibrating up from its throat. Your fingers scrabble at the cheap plastic of the office chair's arms, and your nails leave faint grooves as Orchid -

"- W-wait," you beg, "you d-don't wanna g-go too deep -" Orchid ignores you, swallowing more down, and then it gags, pulling itself off your cock and coughing in surprise. You laugh weakly and stroke its hair. "I warned you flower," you pant. "You can't just go whole hog on your first time. Why're you so eager?"

"You taste good," Orchid mutters, hiding its face against your thigh and peppering you with little kisses. "...And you're so...expressive. Am I doing good?"

Orchid, honey...it almost sounds like it's pleading, the way it gets when it's feeling bad and comes to you for comfort...

"Tell you what," you tell it, as you card your fingers through its hair, petting its head. It coos and nuzzles harder into your thigh. "You take it nice and slow, and I'll tell you what's good, alright?"

It nods against your thigh, kisses its way closer, wringing little gasps from high in your throat. When it takes your tip into its mouth again you sink forward on the chair, glass blades singing against the shitty floor, hands tight against Orchid's head. You stroke its hair, wordlessly guide it for a moment while you try to remember what words are.

Found the words: "That's it," you breathe, as it bobs up and down, tongue lathering your shaft. "That's my flower, you're - hahhh - that's it...fuck I wanna return the favor..."

It pops off of your cock, gives you a little kiss, and grins up at you. "Nope," is all the answer you get before it swallows you again. Fuck. Its hair feels so right between your fingers, the scent of tobacco and lavender and sweat and - fuck -

- gods take it you're gonna pop early like a damn teenager again -

"Orchid, w-wait, you d-don't want me to cum in your mouth," you try to warn, which is when you lose control of the situation if you ever had it to begin with. It goes faster, daring deeper, playing chicken with its gag reflex while it grips your thighs. Your head rolls back and you try to repeat your warning, but all you really manage is to clutch at its hair, egging it on, you're so close, so close, it's, it's -

You barely manage to clap a hand over your own mouth before you cum, and just as you tried to warn Orchid about, it was not ready. It pulls back in surprise, spitting and sputtering, and ends up getting more on its breasts as you ride out the best orgasm you've had in three gods-damned years from what you will, with later reflection, accept was kinda a mid blowjob. Your vision goes black at the edges until you force yourself to breathe...

"Hey," Orchid scolds, standing slowly. It puts a knee on the chair between your thighs so it can put its splattered chest in your face. "I am not cleaning this up..."

* * * *

"Holy fucking gods," you pant from the table, where you are flat on your back. By the time you were done cleaning up Orchid spotted an opportunity for round two. You just have to pray it's satisfied or you're going to desiccate and fuckin' die. "...How long have you been wanting to do that?"

"First romance novel," Orchid admits, from right next to you. It flops its arm blindly, finds your tit, squeezes your tit, and then keeps flopping until it can find your hand while you're all weak from getting your tit squeezed like that. It laces its fingers into yours, and sighs in satisfaction. "...I think I liked that," your friend says. "And I think I wanna do it again."

"Flower, if you don't let me help you next time I'm gonna die when my granny rises from her grave to kill me for bein' an ungrateful lover."

"Let her, I'll fuck her too."

 

[Morrowlark]

You are Captain Isoldt Young, and currently the only thing fucking you is your life. Two days of shelling with incendiaries and you've gained maybe a mile into these damn suburbs. Satellite imagery has suggested no one has a working fucking army at the moment, which sure changed the math on these artillery pieces; chalk one up for Dad's weirdly cynical optimism. You hadn't needed to stockpile so many for an enemy, but destroying any part of this manifestation enough to make it drop back into a...more solid reality...has been irksome, and annoying, and slow. And you're in the field so taking Hannah aside for a 'cavity search' is a fucking no-go. In a related story, you are smoking up a fucking storm.

You turn your head to the walkie-talkie clipped to your chest and turn it on. "Perimeter check."

"North side clear."

"South side clear."

"West side, we've got movement."

"Define movement," you bark, immediately. East side is your side; nothing is coming out of these suburbs. "Hostiles?"

"Hard to say," your boy returns. "Armed, definitely, humanoid, about thirty, forty of 'em? No sign of items from the shoot-on-sight list...no kids either."

Everlasting Lady take you now. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

Lose 2
[ ] This position
[ ] The safety of your men
[ ] Your own safety
[ ] Precious time
[ ] Ammunition

 

[Morrowlark]

"Pack it in, scatter!" You bark, and then you repeat the order over all channels. "Gimmie a Crybaby, Jenkins. Perimeter team, ETA on the bandits?"

"Fifteen minutes, Captain."

"You heard the man, move like I'm still paying you!"

There is a lot of shouting orders and directing people that immediately follows; the mortars need packing up and everyone needs to take up concealed positions. Jenkins and his team split off, intending on drawing attention away, and you do what you can to keep the outward appearance of...

Well, not calm. You are not a calm person. But the outward appearance that this is no more bothersome to you than any of the ten million other things that bother you on a daily basis, most of which are infamously petty, almost all of which are basically a performance. Do you actually hate boba tea? No. Is it deeply funny to pretend that boba tea is your personal enemy? Yes, yes it is. And it means that when you get actually upset, none of your men comment on it. That's just Isoldt being salty, nothing to worry about.

The first cracks of gunfire are preceded by Jenkins warning you that it's him. You raise binoculars to your eyes; your troops and yourself are concealed in a parking garage that you'd pre-swept just for this purpose, and the roof has a pretty commanding view. Where's the bandits...there they are. You lower the binoculars and set them on the concrete safety barrier so you can zoom them in, then raise them to your eyes again. Hrm.

This might be 'bandits' as in 'unknown forces' and not 'bandits' as in 'vermin'. A bit rag-tag, a lot of patched-up suits and houndstooth jackets and such, buncha glasses and half-done-up hairstyles but nothing that screams experienced warriors. The one in the front is pretty cute in a 'step on me teacher' sorta way, but something about her gun is bothering you. What the hell kinda antique clunker is...

"...Hannah," you say slowly, "take these. Look at the leader, there, tell me if I'm seein' her gun right."

Hannah takes the binoculars and takes a look, nice and obediently. One of her more attractive traits. She clicks her tongue, and then frowns. "Captain, is that a revolver chamber?"

"Sure fucking is," you mutter. "Not many of those got made, and none have ever been fired in anger. Care to guess why?"

"You're the gun nut, Cap."

She's not wrong, but you roll your eye at her anyway. "The gun works just fine. The trouble is, on a right-handed shooter the blast from the powder burns your hand; on a left-handed shooter, it burns out your eye. That's why so few were made, the issue wasn't solvable, lever-action was just more practical for a repeating rifle. And that gun, unless some wild shit happened just before the end of the world, is out of the history museum. I think we found some eggheads."

You take the binoculars back and chew your lip while Jenkins keeps up his distraction. The bandits stop and seem to confer amongst themselves. Nice and easy, the civvies will move away from the sound of gunfire and stop being your prob-

Oh. These brainless goatfuckers are heading towards the gunfire and your position. You bark an order to ready up, following it up with a nice firm, "WARNING SHOTS ONLY, YOU KILL SOMEONE AND YOU'RE NEXT!" The eggheads approach in a loose formation, most of them with their weapons ready. Lots of small arms, a few people armed with historical melee weapons. Priceless artifacts, the exact kind of shit your dad wanted you to preserve and these morons are just...

"I swear to the gods the next time the world ends I'm attacking the museums first," you mutter. "Fire!" The first volley scatters the eggheads, who scream, cry, and seek cover behind cars that, you gotta note, will not provide effective cover. You stick two fingers in your mouth and whistle sharply, stepping forward so you can be seen easily from the ground. Several seconds pass, and nobody shoots further. Good. The civvies aren't a total loss. "Y'all down there pick the least annoying bitch among you to negotiate, yeah?"

The woman with the revolver-rifle steps forward. Wrong choice, that gun is annoying and it's more annoying than she is attractive, but whatever. "We're just trying to get out of the city," she calls up. "We don't have to fight."

"You're not worth the bullets," you drawl back down at her. "They're getting expensive. But...alright, here's the fuckin' deal..."

Choose 1
[ ] Escort them out of the city with you in exchange for the artifacts they looted and intel on the museum's security
[ ] Press them into your society; can't lose this skilled labor
[ ] Suggest that they attempt to flee over the water; Nattie and the skank might pick them up

They will be warned about the suburbs regardless of your decision here​

 

[Morrowlark]

"Deal goes like this. You throw down arms, right now. That's non-negotiable, you people are gonna hurt yourselves with those antiques and worse, you'll hurt the antiques."

The woman with the revolver-rifle scoffs, almost amused in spite of herself. "You and your...organization...are all heart, huh?"

"They are. I'm not. However, my father did raise me with standards, and y'know? They tend to work out better for people around me than feelings do." You jerk your head in the direction of the suburbs. "You almost went to your fuckin' deaths. The whole of suburbia's a damn manifestation, maybe one that's been frozen into place, maybe being maintained by some kind of survivor. 's what all the shelling is about, we're disrupting the dreamscape, but set foot on anything that isn't ashes and odds are you'll starve to death. Now, what you do with that information is up to you, you're fuckin' adults. But. I do have an offer on the table when you throw down your arms."

She looks at you. Looks at the survivors she's with. Looks at your gaggle of corporate goons playing at soldiering like the dipshits they are. And she lays down her rifle before stepping back. Her followers, taking the hint, do likewise. "Let's hear this offer, Ms...?"

"Captain," you correct. "Captain Isoldt Young, Threshold Ltd. Civilian Rescue. You might have heard our broadcasts, no hard feelings if you assumed it was a trap."

"We did."

"I would have too. My ad reads could be better." You dig out a cigarette and light up, in no particular hurry; after a deep drag you toss the pack below, where a mousy little twink jumps a good four feet straight up to catch it. Damn. Wish you could do that. "We're willing to escort you out of here. You'll be fed, you'll be protected as best we can, and most importantly you won't die in a cookie-cutter hellscape. But I've got a job to do, so when you see the other side of this city and we turn you over to your new home out in the farmlands, I want every detail you can give me on every museum still in this city, so we can grab and preserve the artifacts and information. Sound fair?"

"...Why? Why is that what you want to spend your time on in this situation, it's - there's higher priorities for survival, isn't there?"

You take another long drag.

Trickle smoke out your nose. "Bold of you to assume that I care if anyone lives or dies. That's the deal, and I don't owe you an explanation. Yes, or no?"

"...Fine. Yes."

You call for your men to collect the arms the new people stole, and to re-establish the perimeter. It's gonna be a long godsdamned walk and it's gonna be so painfully fucking celibate.

Ah well. Back to it.

You will shortly be Jackie, the Kitten Whisperer. Pick 2 that have caught her curiosity about this community.
[ ] The defenses
[ ] The birds
[ ] The old people
[ ] Wherever those spiders are going
[ ] The fuckin' nerds
[ ] Write-in? [subject to veto or edit]