Author: TPH

They are Smol – Boxes, Badguys and Boops, Chapter 5: The best laid plans of mice and men

Post author By TPH
Post date December 23, 2020
2 Comments on They are Smol – Boxes, Badguys and Boops, Chapter 5: The best laid plans of mice and men

The problem once you got the ball rolling – whatever that ball ended up being was not important – was the fact that the ball was now rolling. An object in motion tended to stay in motion, etc., etc., and it gets exponentially harder to stop things or adjust course once you go underway. It’s why the old adage “measure twice cut once” is such good advice, and really should be heeded more often by people of all ages.

Like, for instance, Nate. Especially Nate.

He was a good 15 minutes into what he had hoped would be a generously-alloted 10 minute window to get a single question answered: ‘What is the name of the ship he came in on?’ Nate’s the only human so he figured it shouldn’t be that hard to figure out-

“[And this here’s the condenser coils! Have you ever seen these before?]” The kindly older Jornissian said, leaning down a bit in an incredibly patronizing way. Nate sighed internally and feigned rapt interest, turning over the pringles-sized dehumidifier coil in his hands as he ‘studied’ the device. When Rrsn’sspri took him to a maintenance bay Nate was initially hopeful – getting access to the maintenance areas with an all-access pass chaperon would probably also mean access to the station operations network, and to his ultimate prize.

Nate couldn’t leave well enough alone, however, and had to over-act; a slip of the tongue and an innocent question about waste storage bins turned into 20 questions, and then 200. What had originally started as a “let’s get you the name of your ship” had turned into “let’s quiz you on everyday objects because you might be losing your mind and maybe this will bring your memories back I saw it in a holovid once!” And this new game was eating up his precious time.

But he couldn’t drop the facade… he was further along in this plan than he had ever been in any of his others, and he was so very close. Again. Ball. Rolling. No stopping.

“Y-yeah! I remember this, it’s one of those things that takes the water out of the air!” Nate said, doing his best to keep the lie going as he smiled wide at the kindly old maintenance worker. Rrsn’sspri rumbled happily to himself, placing his hands on one of his lower coils and leaning forward.

“[That’s right, lad! Well done! Now let’s move onto my 2,700 piece ratchet set-]”

‘Oh God no’ Nate thought, a shiver of dread shaking his frame as visions of wardrobe-sized maintenance sets swam through his memories.

“Um! But my friends!”

“[Hm? Oh! Oh right, terribly sorry about that, hah!” Rrsn’sspri laughed a bit, reaching forward to gently place his hand on the human’s back. “[I got carried away, new friend – sorry again. Let’s go check the ship logs, shall we? Then I’ll radio to your captain – remember what a captain does?]”

“Drive the space boat!” Nate said, smiling as he very obviously pocketed the condenser coil.

“[That’s right! And then your Captain will come here and bring back all your friends and then you can go home again.]”

“I like home!” Nate cheered, bouncing forward with all the youthful enthusiasm that someone who audited a community college drama course could fake. “But where is home?”

“[Mmm, right. This way-]” Rrsn’sspri recovered, helping direct his diminutive charge over to his office. With a thought his implant opened up the door, and Nate stepped fearlessly though the threshold.

It was… well. A union foreman’s office. There were a couple of trophies for some regional company sport team buried behind mountains of paperwork and binders full of unknown crap, various boxes and odds and ends stacked in that “I swear this is temporary but will probably finally be cleaned out once I retire” kind of way. Rrsn’sspri gently moved past Nate, across a slightly discolored and well-worn groove in the metal flooring in-between stacks of not-to-be-touched odds and ends; Nate mused silently about how the office would be different if it was carpeted, and then quickly realized that nothing much would’ve changed except the amount of dust in the air. Speaking of, the office had a bit of an old-book smell, the kind that comes with consistent use and aging paperwork; it wasn’t an unwelcome fragrance, and Nate subconsciously looked up to count the drop-ceiling tiles that weren’t there. The Jornissian eventually coiled in on himself behind his crescent-shaped desk, a centuries-old terminal beeping dutifully to life. The scene was comforting to Nate in a way he couldn’t place, and for a brief moment he was overwhelmed with a homesickness for his father’s office, for playing trucks in a suspiciously clean square of carpeting next to towering mountains of paper, for a youth that passed by him so quickly he didn’t know it was precious until it was gone.

“[… Nate, friend? Are you ok?]”

Nate looked around a moment before nodding. “Yeah I… sorry.” He mumbled, an unplaced emotion thick in his voice.

“[It’s getting worse, isn’t it?]” Rrsn’sspri murmured sadly. “[Maybe we need to take you to medical instead of-]”

“No!” Nate raised his hands in a calming, pleading gesture. “No, no. I just was reminded of some place back home – not, ah, ship home. I mean, Mars home.” There was a pause, and Nate sighed. “Your office reminds me of my Dad’s, I guess.”

“[Oh?]”

Nate kicked himself again. What the hell was he doing? Time was of the essence, and he was literally at the finish line, so… Why did he feel so damn guilty?! Sure, he was lying to this Jornissian’s face, and the entire time Nate knew this maintenance worker he was rushing to get his own objectives completed, when all Rrsn’sspri wanted to do was spend time with him and share parts of his lif-

Oh.

“[Are you sure you’re alright, Nate?]”

“Honestly, now I don’t know. Uh.” Nate drifted over to the nearest pedestal-seat and unceremoniously dumped himself into it, the much larger bowl accommodating his smaller frame and all the additional paperwork that had been carefully and semipermanently filed on it’s surface. “I guess I just realized that my dad was super busy, so he’d take me with him to some work sites to spend time with me and I just remember playing around in his office when he was doing some actual real work, but… Maybe I didn’t make the best use of those hours? That time? Ah.”

Rrsn’sspri folded his arms over his stomach, tilting his body slightly in a fatherly way. “[Mourning the lost years?]”

Nate kicked his legs slightly. “Yeah, I guess. Damn, I didn’t… I just thought about carpet in your office and it brought back everything-]”

“[The shoulds and coulds of life will kill you just as surely as any blade or blast – but just slower and more painfully.]” Rrsn’sspri said, picking at a loose scale on his arm. “[Don’t hurt yourself with that… and for what it’s worth, for having hatchlings of my own here in this office, making a mess of things, trust me: Your father was happy that you were happy. I guarantee it.]”

“. . .” Nate sighed. “I miss him. I miss a lot of the little things about him – we live short lives, so… you don’t notice normal things until they stop being, and then there’s a gap in your perception – like, a missing space in life. He’s retired, and old, and… here I am halfway across the galaxy.”

Rrsn’sspri chuckled, drawing Nate’s attention away from himself. “[You’ve got time – more time than you realize, but less time than you want, which is a problem everyone has. Memory is funny like that… But we’ve got some good news at least! You thinkin’ about your past means our little quiz worked.]” The Jornissian smiled, tapping one of his heat-sensing glands with his fingers. “[Just like I knew it would! You’re getting your memory back as we speak!]”

Nate couldn’t help but smile. “You’re right – thank you, Renny. For everything.”

“[Awh, it’s alright new friend! It’s the least I could do.]” Rrsn’sspri hiss-rumbled to himself, waking his terminal from sleep mode once more.

“When we do figure out my ship and… call my captain, can we hang out some more?” Nate said, suddenly honestly earnest. “I’d… like to see how things are done here, compare notes, yanno?”

Rrsn’sspri smiled internally as he pulled up traffic manifests. “[Sure thing. We’ll spend the rest of the day together! And I’ll make sure to take you to all the spots we’re not supposed to go, alright?]”

Nate, for the first time, truly beamed as he smiled at the elderly maintenance worker.

“That’d be lovely.”

Then Rrsn’sspri’s office door exploded.

~10 minutes ago

Toko shifted from foot to foot. It wasn’t that standing for long periods of time was a pain to him, quite the contrary – the best kind of duty was “stand there and look intimidating” duty, because half the time you kept your implants off silent mode so you basically got paid to surf the net and look angry. He shifted from foot to foot to give the illusion that he was antsy and paying attention to the entire crowd, ready to make a leap at a moment’s notice.

In reality, he was just counting down the seconds until his latrine duty was over. There was a ping on his peripheral vision, and without any visible motion he reviewed it.

== SECURE CHAT REQUEST ==

+) [VAPOR SET: 32j-**238]

+) [VOIP ONLY]

+) [REQUEST: BIG_SISTER]

+) [DEMAND GEN: Y/N] ___

Toko blinked, accepting the request from his little sister.

[ENCRYPT KEY 32j-**238]

[VOIP ONLY]

[BIG_SISTER]: |You need to pick him up now.|

Toko sighed internally as he responded, years of clandestine conversation experience giving him the ability to talk without seeming to move.

[SELF]: |No. He’s a big boy, he can handle it himself – and if he can’t, there are cleaning drones for that.|

[BIG_SISTER]: |Stop being stupid, it’s been 20 minutes.|

[SELF]: |I’m giving him 30.|

[BIG_SISTER]: |When was the last time a long silence with our little-needs-protecting was a good thing?|

Toko paused – more, hesitated – for a moment.

[SELF]: |I should go check on-|

[BIG_SISTER]: |Yeah you do that.|

Toko composed himself and turned, opening the door slightly. He didn’t want to surprise Nate – that never ended well – so the goal was to just see if he was doing alright, possibly give him more or less time depending on the outcome, and move along with the day. Sliding his head into the gap, he saw a loose boot, a glove…

…and a vacant suit, with an advertising panel resting on top of it.

[SELF]: |So.|

[BIG_SISTER]: |Is he stuck in the stall again?|

[SELF]: |Wandering Prophet.|

[BIG_SISTER]: |Time to be blacklisted from another system, I guess.|

Toko silently slid into the restroom, dropping a metal wedge and kicking it with his heel to jam the door shut behind him. Given the increase in privacy he became a little more bold with his broadcasting, moving forward to unearth clues while pinging the rest of the crew. When it came to emergencies – involving little-needs-protectings or not – it was always best to take any time you could to get your facts straight. Toko inspected the back of the panel for any form of sabotage and found none; this means the human decided to rip the panel off on his own and escape. A pen light shone on the ground of the drone maintenance corridor tracked a trail of kicked-up dust and debris; there was no sign of a fight, no blood, or indication of a struggle.

So his little-needs-protecting decided to be an escape artist. But why? The human would not have been able to wander off far – ships didn’t get “emergency dock clearance” without an actual verified emergency – and it’s not like his species was hard to miss, so he wouldn’t be blending in with the rest of the population. This would mean either (1) He has a goal to accomplish and needs to ditch his minders, or (2) He might be under duress and any indication thereof would end badly.

Toko frowned as the Captain overrode his implant, forcing him into a continuous chat room/war room. The information flooded his eyes and mind, and for a brief moment it felt like he was schizophrenic as a cascade of conversation, information and requests poured into his implants. It was nothing he couldn’t handle, but the initial sensation was always a bit jarring.

== SECURE CHAT OVERRIDE ==

+) [VAPOR SET: ############]

+) [PREDETERMINATION: OK]

+) [ENCRYPTED CHATROOM 63.8%%3.hj334 FORCE JOINED]

+) [ENCRYPTED CHATROOM 63.8%%3.hj334 FORCE LOCKED]

+) [BIOMETRIC PASSKEY CHECK: OK]

+) [PASSKEY ACCEPTED]

+) [ADMIN FORCE METADATA: OK]

+) [ADMIN FORCE PING: OK]

+) [ADMIN FORCE ARCHIVE: OK]

+) [ADMIN FORCE OVERRIDE: OK]

The rambling of his systems connecting with, then ceding control to his Ship’s mainframe continued, and Toko ignored the scrolling. It looked like the Captain had separated the entire ship crew into multiple groups – probably with independent and mutually beneficial goals for each one. It didn’t matter; he was still in the general lobby and needed to catch everyone up.

+)[USER ACTIVITY]

—— [THIS_LITTLE_SHID][FORCE PING][PING HISTORY](PING @ 3ms OK)

++ [DOC_MEDIC][FORCE ACTIVE]

++ [BIG_SISTER][FORCE ACTIVE]

++ [BIG_BROTHER][FORCE ACTIVE]

++ [SHIP_COMMS][FORCE ACTIVE]

++ [ADMIN_CAPTAIN][FORCE ACTIVE]

++ [ENG_HEAD][FORCE ACTIVE]

++ [ENG_VICE][FORCE ACTIVE]

++ [LIAISON][FORCE ACTIVE]

++ [GATE_01][FORCE ACTIVE]

++ [GATE_03][FORCE ACTIVE]

[ADMIN_CAPTAIN]: “[Tell me what we’re working with.]”

[BIG_BROTHER]: “|Looks like an escape attempt. He pried off the advertising panel in the restroom and escaped through a maintenance drone access shaft. No signs of a fight or duress – he didn’t even cut himself from the attempt.|” Toko responded, without missing a beat.

[ADMIN_CAPTAIN]: “[Anything passed to him, any change in mood or temperament?]”

[BIG_SISTER]: “[No, and scans showed nothing out of the ordinary save for a slightly accelerated heart rate, but that would make sense given he was gambling. Nothing was passed to him either, we made sure of that.]”

[ADMIN_CAPTAIN]: “[Comms, anything?]”

[SHIP_COMMS]: “[No, nothing. No out of place EM transmissions, his accounts are all flat save for a disturbing amount of singlefans donations.]”

[ADMIN_CAPTAIN]: “[Can you run a backdate for our last few stops? I want to know if this was a long time running.]”

Toko began screwing the suit back together, connecting empty boots to limp legs.

[SHIP_COMMS]: “[Well, this probably isn’t military, whatever’s happening. Pinging his tracker still works, and from what I’ve skimmed we’ve got him in maintenance according to the cams I’ve been able to access. Alive and well, and all under his own power – but he does have a guide.]”

[BIG_SISTER]: “|Leave retrieval to me – I’m already making my way over to his last known location. Can you send me an omni?|”

[ADMIN_CAPTAIN]: “[Nonlethal preferred, Big Sister. This could still be a voluntary departure, and I’d rather turn over witnesses than corpses if things turn coldly. We’ve got a diversion planned?]”

[BIG_BROTHER]: “|Yeah, I was planning on pulling a straw flock.|” Toko murmured into his communicator, attaching vacant arms to an empty torso.

[ENG_HEAD]: “[Just pointing this out, but doing that’ll destroy the suit.]”

Toko paused as he finished assembling the empty human-suit. Reaching into his vest he pulled out a small, palm-sized deterrent device.

[BIG_BROTHER]: “|Certainly, but do you have a better idea? I’d rather do the paperwork over lost property than lost personnel.|”

[ADMIN_CAPTAIN]: “[… The suits are expensive, but it’s expected we’ll go through a couple of them. The diversion does what we need to do and draws the eye of the crowd. Do it, but come directly here – I’m going to send out for groceries.]”

[BIG_SISTER]: “|What’s our rendezvous point?|”

Toko ground the device in his hand, the deterrent heating up rapidly. He dunked it into the neck-hole of the semi-completed suit and screwed the helmet on tight. There was a fwoomph, and the entire suit bulged outward as it was rapidly filled with a rapidly-congealing foam.

[ADMIN_CAPTAIN]: “[You are the point. Secure the package, we’ll come to you.]”

[BIG_SISTER]: “[Affirmative.]”

Toko pulled down the solar visor over his foam companion, the suit flopping about in a somewhat believable way. I mean, from a distance, you’d definitely think there could be something with bones in that suit.

…Toko sighed as his little-foam-protecting sagged at the waist. He picked up the fake human in a bridal carry, tucking the flopping hands into the safety suit pockets. He took a few moments to compose himself, and then with a talon’d foot pulled the wedge out from underneath the door. Unbidden, the portal swung open, a dozen curious faces turned to shock as their eavesdropping was exposed.

“[Is he-]” “[How is-]”

“[What happ-]” “[Can I just-]”

“[I wanna hold his han-]”

Toko trilled a shrill, short tone before tilting his head towards his smaller charge. “|Quiet! You know they sleep like chicks!]” Toko looked down at his foam companion, a fatherly expression blooming across his face. “|Poor thing got tired halfway through putting on his suit, and is fast asleep.|”

The assembled mob seemed to melt at the chastisement, various forms of cooing and no-longer-clandestine cameras going off.

“|Now, let me take him back to the ship – you can follow, but don’t wake him up. He’s going to be terribly cranky if you do!|”

Tiki was not amused.

Pulling the little-needs-protecting’s tablet before her, she began to fiddle with the settings, doing her best to broadcast an aura of “I am important and have somewhere to be; leave me alone.” Human technology, while not the greatest even when copying wholesale that of their neighbors was still very versatile – and her hope was that she could mess with the tablet’s broadcast setting enough to…

Her software finished downloading to the tablet, immediately resetting and bricking the device. Well, bricking was a bit of a misnomer; the human’s tablet was now a single-purpose piece of hardware. As Tiki weaved between workers and civilians on the station, the innocuous tablet did only two things: harvest new ID codes, and vomit them back out on a repeating loop. Nate’s tablet was now nothing more or less than a skeleton key if Tiki was able to steal a copy of the right key to the right lock.

As she made her way towards the directional indicator – the only thing that could discreetly show her where Wigglenap was without broadcasting something to any listening ears, she glanced at the tablet. 400 IDs and counting so far…

…hopefully it would do.

With purpose she strode up to a maintenance access door and pressed the tablet against the entry panel.

Nothing.

A few moments passed, and nothing continued to happen.

+)[USER ACTIVITY]

[BIG_SISTER]: “|Property damage is fine, right?|”

[ADMIN_CAPTAIN]: “|Small, yes. Let’s not make a big to-do until we know what we’re dealing with.|”

Tiki smiled as she reached into a pocket, slipping on what looked like an ordinary – if expensive and well made – glove. Pressing her palm to the door mechanism, she gave a mental command. There was a ripple of light on the glove, a small electrical whine, and a light hiss of smoke as the door circuitry was forcefully connected and disconnected, the glove’s AI cycling through hundreds of possible “open” states.

The door didn’t open, but when Tiki dug her claws into the material and pulled to her side, it slid open on lazy and disconnected hydraulics. She entered the corridor and spun on her heel, sliding the door shut.

Sure, it definitely caused a maintenance request, but to everyone involved it would look like an unfortunate short circuit and nothing more, which is exactly the kind of property damage you want to cause when you’re trying to do clandestine operations. The only downside is that the glove takes some time to recharge, so…

Tiki made her way down the corridor, the ping from LNP-Wigglenap’s tracker dropping from 3ms to 1ms as she rounded the corner into what looked like a maintenance hanger. Almost too late she noticed the office at the far end – with windows pointed out to the floor – and sprinted to the blind spot from the Jornissian’s viewpoint. Tiki skidded to a halt, tensed for battle, breath slow and steady. When nothing happened, she moved her way up to the office.

+)[USER ACTIVITY]

[BIG_SISTER]: “|I’m right outside the office door. Package is here; one handler. Verified terminal, but no weaponry I can see.|”

[SHIP_COMMS]: “[I’ve got you right now… give me a few seconds. Do you have a repeater?]”

[BIG_SISTER]: “|Use my implants, I don’t have anything that wouldn’t give me away that you could re-purpose.|”

[ADMIN_CAPTAIN: “[Any complaints from our little-needs-protecting?]”

[BIG_SISTER]: “|Not that I can see. I can hear conversation, but nothing else.|”

[SHIP_COMMS]: “[Don’t blame me for the headache. Brace yourself. 3… 2… 1.]”

There was a ringing in Tiki’s everything as her vision went white. Gritting her teeth she counted to 10, trying to focus on anything other than the discomfort of her wetware implants broadcasting so loud as to attempt an override on local systems. She was on 5 before the pulse stopped, and it took her until 15 to catch her breath again.

[BIG_SISTER]: “|Can-|”

[DOC_MEDIC]: “[Preparing a table for you right now. We’ll knock you out for a few days-]”

[BIG_SISTER]: “|Sounds lovely.|”

[SHIP_COMMS]: “[I got the terminal. Sliding in… he’s looking up ship manifests and departure times.]”

[LIAISON]: “[We can’t let that INTEL get away -]”

[ADMIN_CAPTAIN]: “[Go for hot breach BIG_SISTER. Grocery run is still 5 minutes out from your position.]”

The entire conversation had only taken a few seconds – thoughts and words scrambled together, but coherent enough to give direction. Tiki pulled out yet another palm-sized device and, after pulling it from it’s protective packaging and giving it a good squeeze, began to draw on the door – rapid, quick marks, the chalk-like substance rubbing apart freely. She pressed the leftover half of the malleable thing to the center of the door and stepped to the side, counting.

8…7…6…

She pulled out a stiletto. It looked like the Jornissian was a middleman, and the goal was not to kill.

…5…4…3…

So a pointed dagger in the gut wouldn’t kill, but it’d be just terrifying enough to preoccupy him until backup arrived. There was a scent of burning plastic as the thermobaric charge heated up, the sheer amount of condensed mass in the leftover lump enough to make the charge go critical.

…2…1…1…1…come on already-

There was a loud bang, and Tiki swiftly moved in, stiletto held high to throw at the poor bastard in front of her.

“[MY HEART-]”

“[DAD NO NOT AGAIN-]”

“|What.|” Tiki deadpanned, standing in the middle of a blown-out doorway with her knife-fisted hand raised like a jackass while an older Jornissian apparently had a heart attack and her little-needs-protecting began to cry and cradle the much larger man’s head.

“[DAD DON’T DIE HERE NOT LIKE THIS WE’LL GO TO THE LAKE AGAIN I PROMISE-]”

The smoke started to clear, and Tiki… well.

“|…What.|”

Tiki was not amused.

Stories They are Smol

They are Smol – BBB, Chapter 4: Xanatos Gambit

Post author By TPH
Post date December 8, 2020
2 Comments on They are Smol – BBB, Chapter 4: Xanatos Gambit

Local systems, especially mixed systems, usually developed somewhat unique habits after a couple hundred years of running things. After a few thousand, those habits and past-times became cherished culture and unbreakable customs – much to the enjoyment of those who came to visit, and those who hoped to export their culture to the stars at large.

“I’m going to bet on Blue.”

There were, of course, constants: People needed to eat, to sleep, to practice good hygiene, to make more people – the basics. These things were as certain as stars being hot and black holes being as thicc as your mom, and nothing was more certain than when a person with bad judgment had money to burn they’d find incredibly silly ways to burn it.

Tiki looked over his choice, tilting her head from side to side. “[So why Blue?]”

“Cause it’s totally gonna smash.” Nate said, looking up at his crewmate with the certainty born out of using someone else’s money to place random bets on the in-system internet. Sure, this system had it’s sports carried over from the galactic common – and those bookies had already taken Nate’s money. Other companies allowed betting on local and regional racing, and they’d also reaped a surprise windfall from the little human. Currently, he was on one of the more esoteric betting sites and was gambling on – of all things – a flower.

Sweetwater had a local flower – as almost all planets with ecosystems do – colloquially called ‘The mad painter’s flower’, or ‘popflower’, and it was as special and unique as the trillions and trillions of other types of flowers that existed to the knowledge of science at large. This one was a thick-stemmed girl with steamed-bun looking buds, pale and doughy. As they “ripened” the buds split and cracked at the top, blooming into interlocking petals, the thick slices of porous plant material dripping a pollen and nectar analogue for the main planet’s pollinators to get a free lunch with as the sudden shift in weight seemed to bow the flower down. ‘The Mad Painter’s Flower’ carried no horrific disease, was not made to create the ambrosia of the gods, had no particularly fascinating scent to write home about, was not used in any form of medicine – there was nothing particularly special about this plant existed save for a single, almost incurable quirk of it’s genetic makeup:

Every single bud bloomed a different, and random, color.

There was no correlation between any of the colors. One could be a bright, emerald green – and it’s neighbor on the same twig could be a dull and trashy brown. You’d have scarlet reds and bright tumeric oranges one year, and the next year those same buds would be replaced with royal purples and concrete gray. Each plant bloomed uniquely, and from a host of totally random colors, and every year the entire thing changed – which was no doubt evolution’s bid to keep the pollinators coming back year after year, for millions of years.

And if you’re a casino looking for cheap ways to part idiots with their money… what better thing to use than what nature already provides?

“[Gonna smash, huh?]” Tiki smiled, gently tapping a down arrow to lower the bet by a few thousand credits. “[You sure about that?]”

“Smash that motherfuckin’ like button and ring the bell.” Nate said, wiggling as he placed a bet on a slowly rotating flower plant that had 7 of 18 buds bloomed, dozens of cameras at different angles to give the gamblers some sort of “edge” to their totally scientific wild-ass guessing. “This one is totally going to get our money back, 100%.”

“[Mmmmm.]” Tiki said, nonplussed, as she tilted her head back to stare flatly at their booth-neighbors who had gotten a bit too curious about the Human, trying to lean over the dividing wall to be included in the conversation. Tiki locked eyes with a Jornissian, who for her part at least looked bashful for a few seconds before slowly trying to extend her head over to catch more information about their diminutive crew mate.

Dweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee~

Toko, in-between bites of his 5th free “Pentuple-Decker Calorie-Killer(tm)” sandwich monstrosity, thumbed off the safety of his highly-illegal table-pistol, the internal workings of the hypersonic plasma pellet gun screaming to life. He didn’t even look up from his tablet, but the message was clear and received, the civilian ducking back behind the safety of her booth.

Tiki turned her flat gaze to her brother, who clicked the safety back on with a slight shrug without looking up. “[So what now, Nate? You’ve spent… how much?]” Tiki said, pressing her chin into the crook of his neck playfully.

“Ah. I think something like 20 million-”

The two Karnakians at the table seemed to visibly flinch, Tiki subconsciously pulling the Human against her slightly before relaxing. “[That… I keep forgetting how much this run is netting us-]”

“Yeah.” Nate said, his sigh fogging up his visor slightly before it was cleared away. “But I think this is a good start. Maybe we do another 5 Million – I can’t believe I’m being so casual about that number, hah – and uh.” Nate struggled a bit against his chaperone’s arm, rolling it off of his shoulders before continuing. “Maybe lose another couple million at the next station?”

“[Why do you want to spread it out?]” Toko said around a mouthful of something that was probably a whole animal at some point. “[Wouldn’t it be better to bleed it all here, now?]”

“Well, I don’t know. You might want to ask Sassafras what she thinks, but my idea was to make it look like I have a gambling problem.” Nate said, closing his tablet for a moment as he looked up in thought. “Losing over a couple of stations would tack well with that kind of condition, and it increases the plausible deniability of the rest of the crew – it also means we could bleed future over-earnings as necessary, and if we’re ever audited only my sticky fingers are on the card and tied to the account spend.”

“[You’ve put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?]” Tiki said warmly, giving the human a bit of an affectionate shake.

“I did fuck everything up-”

“[Don’t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.]” Toko said, surprisingly soft.

“[A single pebble does not make the avalanche.]” Tiki said, motherly and warm.

Nate rolled his eyes at the platitudes, clapping his hands once. “Yeah, well… oh speaking of an avalanche, I gotta go.”

“[We’re not going anywhere but back to the ship-]”

“No, Toko, I mean, I have to go. You know-” Nate began making some hand gestures, and the male responded with a soft “ah”.

“[Alright. Tiki, slide out of the booth-]” Toko said, grunting as he himself poured out of his side of the booth, the multiple servings of food finally hitting him all at once. “[Ooohg. I feel like I ate a boulder.]”

“[You nearly did! You depopulated an entire farm, I bet.]” Tiki chided, sliding out and turning around to help Nate get down from the non-human friendly seating and onto the floor. “[You’re going to be doing PT for a week to fit back into your exosuit.]”

Toko shrugged and hummed, following the human to the back of the bar – and to the restrooms. “[Mmm, if I have gained that much size I’ll just borrow yours – they’ll hang loose-AAWH.]” Toko writhed as his sister dug two claws right into his wingpit. With a sore look that was returned by his sibling, he ushered Nate back to the restrooms. As they stopped before the restroom door, the two of them shared a look.

Nate put his hands on his hips. “You are not–”

Toko raised his hands, lowering his body in deflection. “[I know, I know. Let me just go in to check, alright? Then you’re good to go.]”

“Hah! Good pun.”

“[I don’t… whatever.]” Toko murmured, shaking his head as he opened the large door. The interior was pretty standard for a station bar – a couple of advert panels, drains on the floor, vents – far too small for his companion or anyone else to get through – on the ceiling, wash stations and privacy stalls on the other side. He checked each stall for occupants and found none, and with a couple quick sweeps of a scanner found no obvious bugs or anything hazardous. It was a bog-standard bathroom for a bog-standard station, and Toko slid his tongue between his teeth to pick out a morsel he missed before mentally deeming the room “safe for use”.

“[Alright, you’re good to go.]” Toko said, opening the door and letting Nate walk past him. He bowed in the overly-exaggerated manner of his religious caste and Nate did something called a ‘curtsy’ before Toko walked outside. “[5 minutes?]”

“Five minutes will mean I have my suit off, Toko.” Nate said, keeping the door open with his foot. “Look, just hang out here and wait… 30 minutes at most, I’d say? 5 to de-suit, 5 to re-suit, 10 to think about the life choices I’ve made, 10 to just not be in this fuckin’ suit.”

“[Sounds like a plan.]” Toko said, turning around to face the patrons at the bar. There were a few people who looked like they were going to try to use the facilities, but a very concerned look from Toko made the few patrons stupid enough to entertain those thoughts realize how bad it would look that they’re trying to force themselves into a room with a Human who is trying to relive themselves.

…yeah. No way to spin that PR machine in a positive light.

The door swung shut, and Toko began his vigil.

‘These fucking panels are always a pain in the ass.’ Nate thought as he massaged his hands, trying to work out the sudden cramp that had hit him in the middle of his work. His plan, for the most part, had been going off without a hitch – well. That would be too generous; it had been proceeding with acceptable variance. His plan – Operation Xanatos Gambit, as he decided to call it – had taken weeks to formulate, and it could all still go tits up at any point… but he was close. So close he could taste it.

Sure, it was one plan in a string of failed plans, but he had learned from each previous one, and this… this was almost as foolproof as it could be. He just needed to make sure to work within the 30 – 50 minute timeframe he had given himself-

Nate frowned. ‘30 minutes, for fuck’s sake. I could’ve gotten away with an hour if I tried.’ He stared at tilted advertising panel, the advert for self-adhesing tape or something still cycling happily with local resort ads and some new sports drink from the center of the Dorarizin empire. His colleagues had apparently gone through a, for lack of a better term “human-proofing” course, and so they’d check all the obvious ways for entering or exiting a room before deeming it clear – not only to protect him from being kidnapped, but also ‘for his safety’, I.e. to stop him from escaping if necessary. It was what it was, and Nate didn’t hold it against his trained and protective crew – he was a space panda, for fuck’s sake. However, training always left gaps.

Like the gap between walls behind an advertising panel, for example.

With a grunt he gripped the sides of the poster-sized panel, wiggling it forward and backwards, side-to-side. The goal was not to rip it off so much as to pry it off, keeping all the electronics intact. The last thing he wanted was station maintenance to get a repair code and raise some eyebrows.

With a satisfying pop the LCD panel came free, a nest of wiring and power cabling slowly roping out of the 24in x 36in hole in the wall. He gently lowered the (probably incredibly sturdy) screen to the floor and peeked over the waist-high opening, looking around the maintenance gap to see what he was working with.

“Well.” Nate said, grinning, as he hefted himself up into the gap properly. “I’ve squeezed through tighter spots.”

With a light tamp of his booted feet he landed in the maintenance space – a purposefully built gap between the bar bathroom wall and the general station corridor wall. Places like this existed almost everywhere, little places that people who never dealt with them never thought of and probably didn’t know existed. Nate’s father had been an electrician, and so in his youth (and to the ignorance of OSHA) he had followed his dad into places just like this. Places and spaces between the walls, where people and robots sometimes have to go to fix and wire and weld and mend without disturbing the people on either side.

Spaces like this always had multiple entrances and exits; it was just a matter of picking a direction. And since going to the right meant going into a dead-end wall…

Nate began to shuffle his way to the left, moving dusty cabling out of his way.

‘10 minutes, at most.’ He thought to himself, as he began to move with purpose.

Rrsn’sspri was content. The older Jornissian mechanic had finished the first half of his shift, with the only real problem being a couple of hydroponic pumps getting overheated with some loose algae clogging the fans, and the rest of his ticket queue looked completely clear. Union rules stated that all non-emergency tickets had to be logged at least 17 hours in advance, and he only had 10 more hours to go in his shift – any actual emergencies, unless they required a Master mechanic, would be handled by the junior crew, so that meant…

…well, it meant that Rrsn’sspri just needed to look busy. Wander the halls, hum attentively at some flickering signs, chat up a few of the local business owners and agree about how the station was falling into utter disrepair and should really be abandoned by now, and generally kill time.

Yes, Rrsn’sspri was content for all of 30 seconds before a loud pap got his attention. Frowning, he looked down a side-corridor, noticing that one of his maintenance drone tunnel access panels had somehow fallen out.

“<. . . I knew we shouldn’t have used magnetic seals on those things.>” Rrsn’sspri mumbled to himself, slowly making his way over to the problem panel. “<I said they’d fall off, I did. The magnets are too weak, all it needs is the station shifting and we’d have them popping off all over the place! But no, don’t listen to old Rrsn’sspri, he’s just basking until he bakes->” With a grunt that belied his age he leaned down, gripping the panel – before two tiny feet jumped down on top of it.

Rrsn’sspri was by no means trained in combat, or in fighting, but to his credit he retreated like a champion.

The fear-scream was also totally a battle cry, and he’d go down to his grave saying so.

“<WHAT TH- WHO?>” Rrsn’sspri lowered his body, glaring at the robot who… no…

“[S-sorry! I’m so sorry-]”

“<I uh… wait.>” The Jornissian blinked, slowly, as he realized he was speaking to the only Human in the sector. “<Oh! Howww….? What?>” Rrsn’sspri’s questions lingered in the air, as fear turned to curiosity.

“[I don’t know!]” The warm-cuddle said, looking around with a – frown? That was a frown, he remembered that indicator from that movie he saw-

-Oh. Rrsn’sspri looked down slightly as he gave himself a sad. “<Hey, it’s going to be ok, It’s ok.>”

“[N-no it’s not!]” The warm-cuddle protested, looking up at the older maintenance worker with sad eyes. “[I don’t know where I am!]”

‘<NNNNNNNNGH.>’ Went Rrsn’sspri’s internal dialogue, as he doubled over slightly while clutching his chest. “<S-ssh. Look, you’re, you’re on section 343 of Transport Installation 04 for the Star system Sweetwater.>”

“[Oh.]” The warm-cuddle stood there in thought, looking down at his wobbly little feet, before making eye contact with Rrsn’sspri. “[Then… what ship did I come from?]”

‘<OH NO.>’ screamed Rrsn’sspri’s thoughts, as he adopted his most fatherly attitude. “<You forgot?>”

“[Y-yeah, I guess. I don’t… I don’t remember. I think it was a cargo ship, but I don’t know the name.]” The warm-cuddle seemed to hug itself, and Rrsn’sspri sighed, reaching out his hands.

“<Come on, come here. We’ll go to a maintenance terminal, figure out if any of the ship names look familiar to you, OK?>”

“[Oh boy, thank you! I can’t wait to figure it out!]” With a bright, wide smile – a smile that was weeks in the making – Nate leapt forward and grabbed the much larger hands of his newest, bestest friend.

Stories They are Smol Oneshot

They are Smol – and Mysterious! 2 YEAR ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL

Post author By TPH
Post date December 6, 2020
1 Comment on They are Smol – and Mysterious! 2 YEAR ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL

You know, 2020 just is… well, it’s a year and that’s about all we can say about it. The year’s been full of drama, and we’re all exhausted and frazzled and just plain tired of this bullshit – and we’ve still got 4 months to go. If you’re like me and have lost your job, then every day is Saturday – a never ending, blend of the days and weeks and months. I fell asleep on a May afternoon and woke up in an August morning.

This is how the second ever Smolniversary kind of… snuck up on me. No games this year, no prizes, no shenanigans – other than a very comfy discord with a good community, some rooms for self-improvement, some friends to play games with and some dank fuckin’ memes lmao. We’d love to have you over, so come check out the link in the Author notes… the thing you’re reading right now, nerd.

And speaking of nerds, staying inside, and questionable ethics/friendship, we could all take a lesson from our friends on Zephyr Station 8.

Lord knows morality tales don’t seem to stick.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“[Ok. So we’re all clear on this, right?]” Tr’Grakz said, uncharacteristically calm and focused as he reviewed the station layout with his associates. It was an open secret that, especially with the uplifting of this primitive but noble species that ne’er do wells would attempt infiltration to cash in, and cash in hard – which is why almost every single xenos on every single Zephyr station was one form of special operations soldier or another. Cleared to work with humanity due to their stellar records, commendations, recommendations and ethical scores; the humans who were blessed enough to work on a Zephyr station were, in all likelihood, some of the most protected and safe members of their species.

This is why there were only an average of three workplace accidents per month per station.

“[Yes.]” Rgrezneh-of-Hrzgaren said, checking her notes while having a silent communication through her implant simultaneously. “[It seems every Wednesday night around 21:00 a repeating, but somehow random set of [Humans] meet in one of the quarantined or otherwise cordoned off parts of the station’s lower levels. I have it on good word that they might be meeting with a radical group from planetside – unfortunately, their motives are as of now unknown.]”

“<How long have the warm-cuddles been doing this?>” Shpressnrek asked, tilting the hologram of Zephyr Station 8’s subsection up to get a better look at it, idly peeling away the ceiling to check the floor layouts.

“[Best guess? 8 Dirt months. Possibly a year.]” Tr’Grakz stated, dropping indicators throughout the lower level. “[They move rooms each time, which is smart, but subsequent sweeps don’t find anything-]”

“<Sweeps by who?>”

“[You name it.]” Rgrezneh said, shrugging. “[Mixed construction crews, cleaning drone herders, senate bug teams, warehouse operators, tour guides – each time there’s a room that’s under construction or renovation they’re there, for about 6 to 8 uninterrupted hours.]”

“<Do they bring anything in?>”

“[Most definitely.]” Tr’Grakz responded, pulling up pictures of trash, detritus, and various human bric-a-brac. “[We’re unable to figure out what they’re actually bringing in, but this is most definitely used to cover the trail.]”

Shpressnrek thought to herself; although she had grown close to her friends and to the warm-cuddles on the station, she was still loyal to the Senate and the Seven Star Federation first. Usually whomever discovered an aberration would escalate it through proper channels to have a neutral team come in and check things out. To be meeting in an off-record side-room with something as serious as possible terrorist activity…

…this either meant that (1), something was about to happen immediately and it needed to be taken out off the record, or (2)……

“<How did we figure this out?>”

“[About four months ago, one of our surveillance agents poked their head into one of these rooms after hearing what he thought was a cry for help.]” Rgrezneh said, pulling up a blurry image. “[He was almost shouted out of the room, but while he was dodging projectiles his optical implant took a photo of this.]”

Shpressnrek sighed and rubbed the inside of her hood in a self-soothing gesture as she processed what she was seeing on screen. “<Robes. Why do these secret societies always wear robes?>”

Tr’Grakz smiled sheepishly. “[I mean, you have to admit, it does give you freedom of movement-]”

There was an annoyed grunt from across the table, and Tr’Grakz sighed. “[Ah well, everyone’s a critic. Anyway, we were able to… leverage one of our network’s private relationships into getting an idea as to what’s going on, or who’s authorizing this group movement, as the auth codes to open these doors always works – we think that one of the group members has to be in Station Administration.]”

“<We thinking warm-cuddle-floppy-nap?>”

Rgrezneh sighed. “[No, not him, I would know. Trust me, I would know – everything [Mike] touches is ‘password12345’.]”

Shpressnrek tilted her head from side to side in thought. “<So this could either be another lieutenant, or even go up to warm-cuddles-Astral-projecting-out-of-his-body-because-he’s-done-with-everything.>”

“[Possibly. Which is why we’ve gotten you an in. My network’s figured out that they’re meeting tonight here-]” At the word here Tr’Grakz isolated a surprisingly large observatory room, one off to the side that’s currently undergoing floor repairs. “[-a place that gives us a window in through some drone footage, potentially – but we need talons in the dirt, so to speak.]”

“<So how do you get me in?>” Shpressnrek said, rolling her body to limber up. “<I don’t really have a handler here, so what’s our rules of engagement?>”

Rgrezneh frowned. “[Best Judgment. Preferably we figure out what they’re doing, pull some evidence from a previously-used room and then submit that up the chain of command. Worst case, whatever it is can’t wait, and you do what needs to be done.]” The hologram zoomed in to a “real time” simulation, playing it slowly for the group to see. “[Tr’Grakz and I will be monitoring the situation through your onboard cameras as well as a degrading drone swarm my people are going to ‘accidentally’ space through an airlock. My job is gathering the narrative, his is to punch the panic button, and yours is to, well.]”

“<Do what needs to be done.>”

“[Basically. Rgrezneh couldn’t go because she’s involved with staff, and I can’t go because I’m too well known.]” Tr’Grakz said, preening slightly. “[You’re also, ah. Qualified, if I remember our conversation during last year’s Black Friday weekend.]”

Shpressnrek stared blankly into the hologram as it continued to narrate the playbook, not speaking or responding – just watching. According to this – to Rgrezneh and Tr’Grakz – she was to slide in and find a perch a couple hours ahead of the cult’s earliest recorded meeting time. Then, wait. Observe, and if necessary, act.

“<I’m assuming you’ve got a suit for me.>”

“[A league ahead of you.]” Rgrezneh stated, loping over to the side of the room. She pulled out a suit – yes, technically – but it was… to say it was custom would be an understatement. It looked shabby, like a lumpy black tarp with dust, bricks, cans and everything else piled on top of and under it. Tilting the mess of mass further up revealed a traditional suit entryway. “[Since we don’t have access to the good stuff and a lot of the fabricators are monitored, we came up with this. It’ll be enough to hide you-]”

“<Analog camouflage? We really are going back to basics with this.>”

“[-Yep. You’ll be a pile of construction debris with a bunch of shiny university degrees.]”

Shpressnrek sighed, slapping her chest lightly. “<Ah, alright. I always knew this was a garbage assignment. When do we start?>”

“[Get in.]” Rgrezneh said, grinning.

=-=-=-=-=-=

Shpressnrek rolled her jaw in unhappy concentration as she slowly, imperceptibly, arced her entire upper body to the right.

The main issues with analogue stealth suits are manifold; there’s a lot that automated processes would allow you to get away with – such as checking with your team, scratching that itch between your shoulderblades, or even having a light snack – you can’t do in an analogue suit. If you move too fast, you’re made. If you move too much, you’re made. If the movement you do make is too loud, you’re made. Depending on how close you are to your target these things have some variation built in them, but with Shpressnrek being in the same room as the target, there was no room for error.

So she sat there, half-coiled in a way that made her muscles ache with the slow burn of being tensed up for hours, but that made her look like a very convincing pile of lumpy garbage.

Her parents would be proud.

She had positioned herself to “look” – I.e., point the majority of the cameras towards – the middle of the room. Thought process was that whatever nefarious thing that the warm-cuddle cultists were doing would be probably large enough that by positioning herself in the middle, she could see what was going on.

Of course no plan survives contact with the enemy, and these were warm-cuddles she was talking about. Within 20 minutes of the expected start time the first few cultists came in and crossed her field of vision. Some carried bags, some carried cases – a couple hefted a fold-out table and some chairs between themselves. A few she could identify – for instance, lugging the cooler there was her coworker, Eagle-screm. Others, she did not know but captured as much data as she could. She was under a comms blackout because no one knew what they were doing or using – so if her EM signature registered as “just another security camera” it could be overlooked. What couldn’t be overlooked was the fact that the group, instead of meeting and doing whatever it was they were going to do in the middle of the room, or near any of the walls she was facing, decided to take the most remote corner near the observatory glass.

This was, of course, directly behind her.

She moved another few centimeters to the right and stopped, counting to 100. Her side burned with a row of hot coals, and she willed the soreness away with promises of rest and relaxation and even a trip to the spa – tomorrow. Today was business.

She moved another few centimeters to the side and stopped, counting to 100.

“[~~to ~egin.]” One of the robed members said, as Shpressnrek moved another few centimeters to the side, counting to 80 this time. Her directional microphones were starting to boost the ambient noise, and hopefully she could start getting some useful intel from this.

She moved another few centimeters to the side, her back muscles starting to fight her orders, a muscle tensing unbidden and relaxing due to fatigue. She counted to 50, then moved once more.

“[-sure. ~~iskey. Sour cream potato chips? Salt and Vinegar are patrician tastes-]”

Almost. Maybe she could get away with counting to 30?

So focused was Shpressnrek on turning to get the group in perfectly, on rushing near the finish line, that she didn’t pay attention to the main door opening behind her, or the muffled and hushed conversation rapidly approaching her from behind.

“[-nor to have you running these things. I can’t tell you how many times-]”

She moved another few centimeters, and all conversation stopped.

“[Did… did that trash pile move?]”

Shpressnrek froze perfectly still in that way that a pure shot of adrenaline can make you suddenly freeze. Her body, once on fire, now doused with the coldest ice as she held her breath – not daring to even blink.

“[I think it did, Master.]” One of the robed figures said, moving towards the pile. He stopped just a few feet away, intently looking at Shpressnrek – almost staring right into her face, before removing his robe’s hood-

“<warm-cuddles-Astral-projecting-out-of-his-body-because-he’s-done-with-everything?!>” Shpressnrek murmured, the shock of seeing the Human Station Administrator in cultist robes wiping away any facade of training she still kept.

Glenn Abramson frowned, putting his hands on his hips. “[Hey. Are you that plus-one that Jimshmael was talking about?]”

“<Uh. Y-yes.>” Shpressnrek said, uncoiling slowly within her analogue trash-stealth suit, deliberately scanning the room to see where everyone was, what they were doing, and if any weapons were currently being brandished.

“[Who are you.]”

Shpressnrek turned to see the one that was called “Master”; a squat, hunched-over figure that could barely be called human shaped. Nothing peeked out from underneath the robes – maybe a trace whisker or hair here or there, but to call the thing that menaced before her friend would be a stretch.

“[I ask again: Who are you.]” The entity droned in what was now obviously a non-organic voice, less asking a question and more demanding an answer.

“<I… am… Hassan.>” Shpressnrek lied, and immediately the energy in the room changed. The other humans seemed to almost shout with joy, babbling happily over how “authentic” Shpressnrek’s robes looked and how she even got the “fez on the turban” right. Shpressnrek had no idea what was going on but decided to lean into it, nodding in the manner of humans and generally being as agreeable as a spy who has just been made by a cult and given a case of mistaken identity could be.

“[Prepare her for the table.]” The thing said, and then – to Shpressnrek’s eyes – seemed to float towards the table. She opened her hood and inhaled slowly, trying to sense any form of heat or radiation pouring off of the thing.

Nothing. There was no anti-gravity at work here, so how did it glide without moving-

Shpressnrek’s hand was grabbed by two smaller ones – warm-cuddle-Eagle-Screm looked up at her with bright eyes and a smiling face. “[Come on! We’ll get your sheet worked out and you can join us! It’s not session zero, but we’ll make sure to take good care of you.]”

“<Th-thank you.>” Shpressnrek stuttered, noting with wry luck that her friend had decided to ‘initiate’ her into this cult, apparently. As she was led to the table her higher vantage point allowed her to see what the setup looked like; from what she could tell there were maps, tokens, dice, esoteric little baubles – possibly something to do with soothsaying?

‘<Robes and magic.>’ Shpressnrek deadpanned internally as she tuned out Eagle-screm’s happy babble. ‘<Why can’t there be a cult that’s just a union with gumption?>’

The entity came to a smooth stop behind a wooden wall, carved with esoteric sigils. “[You. Shrink.]” It commanded yet again.

“<I’m sorry, what->”

“[The Dungeon Master means you have to, yanno, lower yourself.]” Jessica said, patting Shpressnrek’s hand. “[It’s illegal to look beyond the DM – Dungeon Master’s screen. That’s where he rolls his dice and does spooky things!]”

“<I see. And… what spooky things are we going to do tonight?>”

“[Like zoinks, skoob!]” One of the humans said, obviously mimicking something of cultural significance. “[If the suicide hotline is for prevention then why does the Clinton foundation keep making regular, equal donations?]”

“[God Damn it Carl.]” Glenn said, half-laughing as he sat down directly opposite of the warm-cuddle who just talked. “[That’s such an old reference-]”

“[Still checks out though.]” The warm-cuddle now known as Carl said, sitting down and rummaging through one of the bags beside him. “[So I don’t know what you can have, so I’m going to just give you a choice. Choose… wisely.]”

Shpressnrek tensed up – apparenly Jessica could feel it, and she gently squeezed her hand.

“[CHEE-Z-YEE POOFS, oooorrrrr the-actually-best-flavor SOUR CREAM AND ONION CHIPS-]” Carl boomed out, holding two incredibly large bags of terrible snack food.

“<Wh-what.>”

“[The answer is the cheese poofs because sour cream and onion is a shit flavor-]” Warm-cuddle-Eagle-screm hissed, and was subsequently met with a sassing hiss in return.

“[You’re just jealous because your tongue doesn’t work.]” Carl sneered, shaking the bags again. “[Come on, newbie. If you make it to the next session we’ll pick up some Jornissian-friendly junk food, but you got to pick now before they all disappear.]”

“<Um. The cheese.>”

Shpressnrek still had no idea what she was getting herself into, but Jessica’s happy little wiggle-bounce made it all the worth while.

=-=-=-=-=-=

Shpressnrek smiled to herself as she came to a conclusion halfway through making out her ‘character sheet’; It was #2 after all – #2, being, “some silly warm-cuddle slow-motion disaster possibly not needing too much oversight” because, apparently, much to her chagrin, grown-up warm-cuddles would dress in robes and meet in hushed basements and corner rooms to play pretend.

THEY WERE PLAYING PRETEND. AS ADULTS. Not a self-insert into a game or simulation or anything else, just sitting in a room playing pretend with little figurines and lines on a sheet of paper.

Shpressnrek was beside herself almost the entire night. There was the introduction at the tavern (because that’s the rules!) and then an ambush (how terrifying!) and one of the warm-cuddles got hurt (but they were green and large so it’s ok!). She – her character, Crazy Hassan – was a ‘camel merchant’, being a person who sold beasts of burden, and had decided to join the adventuring team in order to sell all her camels for a high profit. This wasn’t her idea, but a totally written-for-her backstory that she had no say in (that’s what you get for being named Hassan, she was told.)

All in all, she was estatic that the night had turned into a big empty carved-den. Everything was going great, and the hours were melting by, and she knew in her heart of hearts that Rgrezneh and especially Tr’Grakz were probably belly-up with envy! Everything was just perfect…

…until they stopped in to the next town.

“[They are too strong for you.]” The DM intoned, matter-of-factly from behind his wooden wall.

“<Listen. My camels are going into battle.>” ‘Hassan’ said, pointing a finger accusingly at the creature behind this all. “<We need your strongest elixirs.>”

“[Your camels are not meant for my elixirs, Gently-used-camel-merchant. Find someone else.]”

“<No, Listen. To. Me. These camels, they can…>” Shpressnrek/Hassan looked around the room for encouragement and found varying degrees of interest – some of the warm-cuddles were eating, some were drinking and going over their own sheet, but all were listening with a smile on their faces. “<…kick through stone walls?>” Shpressnrek ended on a question, looking down at Jessica – who was comfily using the Jornissian as a seat to be efficient at table-space, “<-that’s a thing they can do, yes?>”

Jessica shrugged. “[You’re the used-camel merchant here, you tell us.]”

“<They can. But they must be able to kick through ceramite composite armor!>” Shpressnrek rallied, nodding to herself. She ignored the round of giggles and pointed at the creature again. “<So you will give me your strongest potions!>”

“[No. Your camels are too weak-]”

“<WEAK?!>” Shpressnrek roared, possibly a bit too loudly as multiple warm-cuddles jumped at the volume. But Shpressnrek had lost herself now in the role of “Hassan” – at some point the relief that there was nothing nefarious going on, the adorableness of playing pretend, and the pure natural inclusion of the game wrapped her up and made her forget her old self.

She was Hassan. She was the best damn gently-used camel merchant in this plane of existence and all others. And she was going to get those elixirs.

“<You son of a shepherd – how dare you call my camels weak!>” Shpressnrek yelled, and with a swift lunge forward she reached over the DM screen, knocking it down – and grabbed the hooded cloak of the Dungeon master. With one tug she lifted the robe up and off of the thing – and suddenly remembered upon viewing what was underneath that she was not an arabian warm-cuddle, that this was not an ancient shop in a fantasy world, and that she could not use a real life strength check to intimidate a nonexistent shopkeep.

“[WHAT THE FUCK-]”

“[-HOW DID YOU SURVIVE-]”

“<By the cold void – what in Sotek’s name->”

“[YOU!]” Glenn roared, jumping to his feet. “[YOU’RE THE LEGENDARY EX-TERRORIST ANTI-TERRORIST EL DIABLO!]”

“[ZK CLASS SCENARIO IMMINENT. ABORTING ALL THINGS.]” The cyborg pony looked in all directions with it’s halo of laser eyes. Thimble – or what was Thimble, once, vibrated with a seemingly archaic energy, purity seals and random engravings of what looked like blood-etched madness scarring it’s hide. There was a sudden rumbling, and the group as one looked “up” to the interstellar void.

Hanging up there, somehow, was a 1970’s Vietnam era Huey.

“[YOU STUPID BASTARD!]” Glenn screamed, shaking his fist at Cyborg-Thimble, who began to hover with incredibly illegal cybernetic implants. “[SELF-INSERTS KILL FRANCHISES. LOOK AT WHAT HAPPENED TO NAUGHTY DOG.]”

“[]” Thimble seemed to speak, as his tower of skateboards he was standing on for extra height wobbled under the lift from his antigravity jets. He took the top skateboard and began to kickflip continuously as he gained air, levitating to the Huey that was still, somehow, making sound in the perfect vacuum of space. Somewhere in the back of her mind Shpressnrek knew that a security team had entered the room, but honestly nothing mattered right now.

“<Sotek damn it why is it always #2?>” She deadpanned as the small horse broke containment through the plastiglass ceiling. Instantly klaxons and alarms went off, the oxygen rushing out of the room as automated processes began to slam windows shut with hermetic steel shutters.

“[That’s so fuckin rad-]” Jessica cooed as the rush of oxygen began to lift her out of Shpressnrek’s lap – with a slow but measured lift of her arm Shpressnrek wrapped the appendage around Jessica’s waist and pulled her back down to earth.

“<Is D&D always this ‘rad’?>” Shpressnrek mused, as the security team began to leap after some of the warm-cuddles that gained more air than Jessica.

Eagle-screm smiled, and giggled, looking up at the nonplussed Jornissian. “[Yeah.]”

“[Well.]” An enviro-suited Tr’Grakz said, breaking the rapidly-expanding-due-to-loss-of-atmosphere silence, fitting an oxygen mask on the smaller human’s face. “[This is… one hell of an intel-gathering mission.]”

“<Tell me about it.>” Shpressnrek said, accepting a Jornissian-fitted mask for herself. “<I don’t know what good it did after all, other than more property damage.>”

Tr’Grakz shrugged as the ancient earth flying machine arc’d away, headed towards Dirt. “[Maybe the real intel was the friends we made along the way.]”

They are Smol Oneshot Stories

They are Smol – and breaking Reddit’s rules!

Post author By TPH
Post date December 6, 2020
No Comments on They are Smol – and breaking Reddit’s rules!

Ok so absolutely no lie – the #SEELE council# my writers and I have combed over the rules of this subreddit and have figured out a glaring loophole in it’s rules, and so that’s what this post is. This post is the MOST NSFW POST EVER MADE ON THIS SUBREDDIT – and we don’t have to mark it as NSFW.

You think I’m kidding? I’m not. I couldn’t even put what type of … tryst this is in the heading or else my account would be flagged.

If you’re the kind of person who likes this kind of smut, make sure to join our Discord – but more importantly, subscribe to our Patreon. Super-secret R&D is going to go on once we reach a certain $ threshold, and you’ll want to be there once the patents roll out.

I’m not kidding.

——————————————————————————————————————————

It was a foolish, stupid dare.

It was a foolish, stupid dare and Tom was stupid for taking it.

Te’Piak’Yc had no idea how stupid Tom was, however, and was ruffling her feathers in the closest human equivalent of ‘twiddling her thumbs’. Tom practically leapt up from the hallway couch once she passed by, and had been standing in her way for the past 5 minutes; since she was a courteous Karnakian, she was willing to wait and hear him out – no matter how long that would take.

Every few moments he would summon up some courage, look at her with a determined gaze, and then immediately lose heart and look away. With anyone else it would’ve been infuriating after the third or fourth time, but Te’Piak’Yc just found it downright adorable.

‘|Oh, you got it this time!|’ she thought as Tom balled his hands into fists, a new mask of fierce determination firmly pressed into his features.

“[Hey Te’Piak’Yc!]”

“|Yes?|”

The human raised his hand in a greeting. “[Up high!]”

The human kept his hand raised in a greeting, and Te’Piak’Yc, not wanting to commit a social faux pas, mimicked the gesture.

Tom whined a little as he leaned forward, hopping up to rapidly hit his hand agai-

“|Oh! It’s a [high-five]!|” Te’Piak’Yc suddenly realized, the joy in being included in this human ritual rapidly spreading through her body.

“[D-do all of you fluff up like that when you get a high-five?]”

“|Wha? Oh! Uh-n, no, sorry-|”

“[It’s ok. Again? Up High!]” Tom said, smiling as he raised his hand up a little above his head. Te’Piak’Yc, with happy little chirps, leaned forward and gently tapped her hand against his, the resounding smack echoing through the hall.

“[Ayy, well done! Down low!]”

Tom lowered his hand and Te’Piak’Yc squatted a little, moving her hand forward to tap his once more. She didn’t know how long this ritual would last, but she was enjoying every moment of it regardless; nothing could dim her smil-

Tom moved his hand out of the way at the last moment, an Te’Piak’Yc pawed at the empty air.

“[T…Too, too slow.]” He said, quite possibly realizing for the first time that a grinning dinosaur was inches away from his head. Te’Piak’Yc just looked at Tom, feathers tamped down in sadness. “|Have….have I failed you, friend-[Tom]?|”

In that moment Tom felt something he hadn’t felt since he played little league soccer – a flood of unfiltered shame

“[N-no! It was… it was just a prank! With our hands, that’s all – a joke, of a kind. I uh, I didn’t-]”

“|You play jokes with your hands? May I see them?|”

“[The jokes or my hands-]”

Te’Piak’Yc brought an arm across her chest, offering her hand to her small charge with a gentle smile – gentle, that is, for a massive scaled, feathered alien. He looked at her, glancing quickly between his hand and hers before his eyes met hers again and he extended his own arm accordingly. The soft, pink flesh of Tom’s palm slid across her leathery fingers, the subtle oils that coated his skin tingling at the sensation of her relatively rough, dry flesh. Her thick, powerful talon-tipped fingers wrapped around his comparably fragile, miniature hand, wrapping it in cool, rough flesh as his slender fingers struggled to even reach far enough to wrap around the side of her own palm. A frantic, hot pulse filled her hand as Tom’s heart fluttered in his chest.

Te’Piak’Yc brought her closer arm to wrap around the diminutive, featherless male, a cloak of feathers surrounding him as her talons tenderly traced thin lines across his abdomen. He opened his mouth to speak, but was met with a soft, two-toned sigh as the massive, feathered reptilian backed up against the wall and settled herself on the human-sized couch. Wordlessly, gently, she began pulling him into her lap. Te’Piak’Yc nuzzled into his short, black hair, catching a hint of citrus as her thick skin dragged across his scalp.

Wrapped in her massive, feather-wreathed arms was a strange sensation for Tom, for several reasons. First matter to contend with was her size – he felt like a child again against her massive frame. Next, the paradox of her cold blood, and warm feathers. Her flesh was cool against the exposed parts of his body, though her feathers trapped in the heat around where they covered, creating spots of warmth in other areas that made the embrace more akin to being wrapped in a warm, colorful blanket. He pressed himself up against her broad chest, sighing softly as he began to relax. Sharp, dark claws gently caressed his sides, Te’Piak’Yc careful not to press too hard against his body. They both well knew she could eviscerate him in an instant, and perhaps that only added to strange rush of simply sitting there in her arms.

“|You are very warm.|” she muttered from above him, pulling him ever so slightly closer to her body. “[You are . . . not]” he replied softly, uncertain how else to phrase it.

Te’Piak’Yc trilled a chuckle as she reached down, taking his petite hand in her own again. Wrapping her thick fingers around his pale flesh, she made an attempt to push her fingers between the gaps of his own. Between the size difference of both her hand to his and likewise with the gaps between her fingers, the best she could manage was to tuck the tips of his fingers between the knuckles of her own. She could still feel his pulse through his slick, warm palm. She took a deep breath, whistling softly as she exhaled before tucking her muzzle back against his head, this time bringing it down against his shoulder.

With her rough, scaled cheek pressed against his Tom could feel his breath hitch in his throat, and he leaned back into her massive frame as he relaxed. It was strangely exhilarating, being so totally surrounded by her thick, muscular frame. There was nothing he could do, and that was totally okay. The sensation of complete security filled him with a strange warmth that seemed to radiate outward, causing her to pull him in even tighter. It was like being tucked into a warm bed with a cool pillow, and before long Tom could not help but feel like closing his eyes.

“|This is a good joke, friend-[Tom].|” Te’Piak’Yc murmured, rubbing his soft, warm hands in her larger palm.

“[I-I, I uh, I don’t get, um-]” Tom babbled, craning his neck to look back at his new impromptu cuddle-buddy. “[What?]”

“|This. This joke.|” Te’Piak’Yc said, holding one of their intertwined hands up to let him look at it.

“[I don’t… get it. We’re just holding hands – I mean, it’s in public, but, I don’t get it.]”

“|It’s ok. This joke is for the other [Humans] – the ones watching this.|” Te’Piak’Yc said, smiling, as she waited for the notification of new comments and positive karma to start flooding in.

Stories They are Smol Oneshot

They are Smol – and Resolute! New Years 2020 Oneshot!

Post author By TPH
Post date December 6, 2020
No Comments on They are Smol – and Resolute! New Years 2020 Oneshot!

Shpressnrek hummed to herself as she strolled along the mostly-empty corridor, which really meant she sounded like an overenthusiastic didgeridoo impression by an idling V8 engine traveling towards you at a (relative) dead sprint. The New Years party proper was most definitely in the top 3 in her mind, and a pleasant soreness that extended throughout most of her body was testament to that – the fact that there were so many warm-cuddles that were double-jointed was… nothing short of incredible-

“[Oh!]” Shpressnrek murmured as she rounded the corner almost into Tr’Grakz, the Karnakian humming along himself with a slight bounce in his step – the same bounce that almost made them smack into each other.

“[Ah! Good morning, [Shpressnrek]! Pleasure to see you …again.]” Tr’Grakz said, giving a little bow of his head. With a sarcastic flourish Shpressnrek copied him, and met his gaze… and promptly burst out in laughter.

“[Oh my goodness really? Like the Red King?]” Shpressnrek said, grinning knowingly.

“[Ah, you caught that part of the play? Lost Carcosa was very well done, but the jello-monster wrestling pit-]”

“[That didn’t need to be done nude, did it-]”

“[That didn’t need you to join in, did it?]” Tr’Grakz chuckled, eyeing his friend knowingly. “[Though, I think you absolutely added to the performance, if I do say so myself.]”

Shpressnrek hummed softly in thought before shrugging. “[Well. It was an amateur performance, but I’m impressed you were even able to see anything since you were, yanno. Preoccupied.]”

“[Ah.]” Tr’Grakz said, fluffing his chest crest slightly. “[Well, being suspended from the ceiling was an issue, but if you just squeeze your thighs together when-]”

The door catty-corner to the conversation slid open, immediately halting the conversation of the (arguably #2 best) New Years party that was so incredible, it’ll never be written down – just kept in the hearts, minds, and video recordings of everyone who was there. Out poured a – if Shpressnrek was counting correctly – an entire concern of warm-cuddles, dressed in… interesting clothing.

The two aliens shared a look with each other, and began their approach.

= = = = =

“And so I’m like, Yeah, I might be doing that thing with my tongue but this is the New Years Party and that doesn’t mean I want to be the alpha of an entire pack of fema-”

“[Greetings, [Jessica]!]” Shpressnrek said, cheerfully hiding as much of her concern as she could while approaching the entire concern of humans. “[What’s… this?]”

“Oh! Hey Starburst!” Jessica said, bouncing slightly in place as she flailed her arms infront of her in a co-ordinated w-

Oh. Punches. Those were punches.

“What’s up?” Jessica beamed, smiling wide. “You coming to join us at the Gym?”

“[The Gym? You have to move boxes out of storage in that?]” Tr’Grakz said, tilting his head in confusion at the skin-tight color-coordinated clothing the warm-cuddles were sporting.

“What? No. The Gym is where you go to, yanno, work out?” Jessica said, playfully tapping the Karnakian with a taped-up hand.

“[No… no. That’s not what the translator is saying – we are talking about the same place, right? The one with all the storage boxes-]”

“Those were temporary!”

“[They’ve been there for years, though.]” Shpressnrek murmured, checking her own implant for a hot-fix updated translation but finding none. “[Are you sure we’re talking about the storage unit at-]”

“Ugh.” Jessica sighed, placing her hands on her hips. “Ok, look, yeah, it was a bit of a … multi-purpose room, but that’s different now! Me and the girls-” At this the rest of the concern of female warm-cuddles stopped their conversation amongst themselves and waved – and a few of them gave Tr’Grakz a very pointed look – “-were going to go to the gym to start our Resolutions.”

“[Your. I’m sorry, your determination? What?]” Tr’Grakz said, tapping his temple in the decidedly human mannerism of percussive maintenance. “[I don’t think I understand-]”

Jessica waved along her friends, the concern of warm-cuddles dwindling down to just the one. When they were outside of earshot Jessica explained.

“Look, every year around New Years we – I mean, people in general – make New Years Resolutions to be better people, reach for goals, the like – so, some of us want to lose a few pounds, some want to eat better, others to pick up a new skill they’ve been meaning to. There’s no rhyme or reason or set method to it, it’s just everyone trying to be better at stuff!”

“[So precious]” Tr’Grakz whispered, earning a light jab from Shpressnrek’s elbow. “[Well, that sounds wonderful! Self-improvement is an extremely important thing to work on, and I’m glad that you as a species have adopted it as a holiday tradition in and of itself!]” Shpressnrek beamed, leaning down slightly to get on eye level with Jessica. “[Would it be appropriate for us to follow you and observe?]”

“Sure! But we might ask you to help!” Jessica said, playfully punching Shpressnrek’s arm. “Cause everyone’s gotta pray at the iron church!”

Tr’Grakz perked up immediately. “[Oh! It’s a new Relig-]”

“NO.”

= = = = =

Shpressnrek hummed to herself, again, but not as loudly as before – the warm-cuddles were concentrating, after all, and it’s important not to distract them from their tasks. Distractions lead to accidents, or …incidents, and both of those are bad things to have when on a space station.

Didn’t stop any of them from happening, mind you, but still. A good mental practice to have.

But, regardless, Storage Room A-45 had been cleared of all the emergency flares, capsules and hugboxes, and the machinery inside had been, for the lack of a better word, excavated from their cardboard tombs. Said equipment seemed to be exercise and physical training machinery that ranged from metal bars hanging from the ceiling (which the warm-cuddles spent time jumping at, grabbing, and immediately falling from), metal bars that they lifted up and down (with additional plates that weren’t yet used), metal bars that were attached by cords to machines (which may or may not have been appropriately connected to begin with), smaller metal bars that they waved around in a free-range area before putting them back (in the wrong place, apparently, as every warm-cuddle put them back in a different configuration) and, because their species did nothing without water, a big ol’ pool for water that had been filled up which they were happily bobbing up and down in.

At what point this was supposed to be directed “exercise” was not clear to Shpressnrek; there were personal trainers, sure, but they weren’t directing classes, setting up machinery, or even really helping anyone who didn’t approach their desk that didn’t flirt with them shamelessly. The warm-cuddles did their… thing, and once they were red-faced, sweating and absolutely radiating heat, they’d stop, proud of what they accomplished.

And then they would swing by the juice bar on their way out for a congratulatory health-shake.

“[I don’t get this at all.]” Shpressnrek murmured, taking copious mental notes.

“What – haah – don’t you – hoo – get?” Jessica panted, working on a machine that seemed to be nothing more than an endless staircase, her legs forcing her up – but her body mainly held up by her shaking arms.

“[None… none of you did this at all last year-]”

“Cause it’s NEW YEARS RESOLUTION BABY-” Jessica crowed, getting a response hoot from a stranger across the gym, an “air high five” occurring between them. “And – hnnnhgh, fuck, I’m too thicc – we gotta git gud! Uuugh-” Jessica continued, dying on the inside and the outside as she tried to talk and conquer the stairmaster at the same time over the rhythmic clapping of what Shpressnrek assumed was an un-oiled and non-maintained machine. With a final gasp of effort she climed her last stair, letting the momentum of the machine deposit her back on the floor. Shpressnrek gave Jessica a few moments of panting, swearing and just generally being warm enough to pleasantly heat the air around her before she spoke again.

“[So… now what?]”

“Well! I’ve been at that for long enough-”

“[It’s been 5 of your minutes-]”

“Right! And it’s important not to overdo it on your first day back in the gym.” Jessica nodded sagely, taking her sweat towel and resting it on her shoulders. “So we should take a break – a juice break!” she beamed, and Shpressnrek nodded.

“[S-sure.]” After all, who was she to judge? Maybe their bodies just needed that little exercise to accomplish physical fitness – again, alien physiologies and whatnot. Shpressnrek pondered these mysteries as she carefully followed Jessica over to the juice bar, lost in thought. Would this explain why they never used the Gym for the entire year… or the year before, or the one before that – they only needed just a few minutes of physical activity to-

“One Quintenta-sized Triple-Green Apple Smoothie, Extra Protein, Extra Power Cleanse, TriBerry Shot, EnergyBean Shot and an extra scoop of powdered honey.”

Shpressnrek blinked – which is impressive for a species not really known for the action – and slowly turned to face Eagle-screm, who was happily bouncing in place as the Smoothie Bar worker picked up what looked like a cleaning bucket and began to fill it with-

“[Forgive me, [Jessica], but, I thought the goal of working out was to burn more calories than you took in, building muscle to increase your base metabolic rate and thereby losing weight.]” ‘Yanno, like everyone else in the universe’ Shpressnrek mentally added.

“Oh! Yeah, that’s correct!”

“[But this looks to be… 50 or more ounces of smoothie.]”

“Yah! Worked up a big sweat, gotta have a big cleanse after!”

Shpressnrek thought, again, super hard.

“[But this… has to be at least 8,000 calories.]”

“No!” Jessica said, spinning on her heel and away from the accurate calorie count. “It doesn’t count!”

“[Calories… don’t count.]”

“Nuh! Cause it’s got protein in it. And protein slows down the calories.”

“[But.]” Shpressnrek said, slowly, trying to follow the logic of a human on a new diet fad. “[Aren’t you… still consuming them, even if they’re slow?]”

“But it’s a cleanse.” The Smoothieguy helpfully said as he held the bucket under a syrup pump and began to piston the sugary concoction into the tub. “It’s totally filled with phytonutrients and beta-tocotrenols and sucrose solids and antioxidants and-”

Shpressnrek leaned over the counter to better study everything that was happening, The Smoothieguy not missing a beat as he ducked under the inquisitive snake. “[But. But none of those words mean anything-]”

Jessica scrunched up her nose. “Look, you just don’t understand nutrition, ok? This – this stuff works, trust me.”

“[Trust- I mean, fine, fine.]” Shpressnrek leaned back, slowly coiling into herself to shrink her height. “[It’s just. You’ve never done this before-]”

“I read a comment chain on Twitumblook that totally explained all of this.”

“[So, they were doctors having a debate?]”

“I mean. Maybe, I don’t know, you’re not a doctor either shutup-” Jessica huffed, crossing her arms as the sound of an industrial blender broke the awkward conversation, turning away from the far-too-inquisitive Jornissian. Said Jornissian looked away as well – best to break eye contact and let things calm down for a bit – and surveyed the post-workout juice bar. Various warm-cuddles were excitedly talking with one another, flexing in… some attempt to do something, and were trading what looked like jars of powders, cosmetics, and in a few cases shaped quartz crystals.

Then there was the table Tr’Grakz was at.

At what point he slipped away Shpressnrek couldn’t say, but there he was, full-body bobbing up and down and chanting in time with the rest of the male warm-cuddles as one of them upturned a bucket and drank heavily – and continuously – from it, in an attempt to drink it’s contents down in a single go.

Shpressnrek felt the wiggling tendrils of concern grow up the back of her mind, and frowned.

= = = = =

This was, as Eagle-screm-from-a-year-ago would say, ‘bullshit.’ Shpressnrek thought as she worked at her station. Her clean, uncluttered workstation. Her clean, uncluttered, professional and scientifically-backed workstation. She glanced over at her colleague, Eagle-Screm, who was currently adding in another few drops of ‘get hype’ to a water evaporator, which she assured Shpressnrek would “increase her vitality, concentration and energy flow” throughout the work day.

The evaporator made an annoying, droning sound as it kicked on, a bitter-smelling cool mist beginning to disperse into the shared room.

“[Are you sure that’s going to work?]” Shpressnrek said, frowning.

“Eyup! This, combined with my standing chi-focus mat and the harmonic resonance crystals will absolutely make a difference!” Jessica beamed proudly, the bumped and textured mat that she now stood on squeaking in protest.

“[…so all this will help you file those spectrographic reports?]”

“Mmhmm.” Jessica said, reaching for her handy bottle of neem oil, applying a dab on each side of her head. “Gotta cleanse out all the toxins to clear the mind!”

“[I just want to point out – and don’t take this the wrong way – but, you could have finished your workload for the day in the time it took you to setup your new… interesting workstation.]” Shpressnrek said, attempting to choose her words carefully as the bitter-smelling (and now rancid-tasting) mist permeated the workspace.

“Yeah, but this sets me up for future success! Besides, once I work on the energy chi lines in the office, we’ll both be more productive!”

Shpressnrek calmed her inner self for a moment at the news, before responding carefully and evenly. “[The… entire office.]”

“Mmhmm! I’ve got some supplies being fabbed right now – we’re gonna fix the energy of everything-”

Shpressnrek rolled her jaw in thought and locked her station. “[I’m… going to take a quick break.]”

“Oh, good idea! Getting a walk in absolutely gets the lymph nodes flowing-”

“[Y-yeah. Yeah. I’ll be back.]” Shpressnrek half-answered, sliding under her bench and wordlessly making her way out of the room.

There was a warm-cuddle she needed to see.

= = = = =

Glenn “Sir Not Appearing in This Film” Abramson was doing just that up until this paragraph. The knowledge of this made him frown, but not as hard as he was when he was awoken in the middle of his staggered sleep cycle by the incessant dinging of his door chime. After attempting to wait out the noise for a good 15 minutes he eventually got up, racked his shotgun, and made his way to the door. He did this because

(1) It’s an intern that needs to learn a lesson

(2) It’s a xenos that needs to learn a lesson

(3) It’s that troupe of busty-thicc barely-legal ventriloquist Jornissians from the New Year’s Eve party trying to get him out of his “cave”, again, and for all intents and purposes he was still severely dehydrated from helping out in their last “act”.

Either way, CASTLE LAW.

“What do you want.” Glenn growled through the door, re-racking his shotgun for intimidation factor. “Because I gave at the office, and I’m all out of holiday cheer.”

“[Stationmaster Glenn.]” Growl-clicked the Dorarizin on the other side. “[We need your help.]”

“Th’fuck do you mean, we?” Glenn said, reaching up to tap a button on his door. The frame infront of him became transparent, micro-cameras on the outside blinking on to show him what was on the other side of his door. By his count, it was at least…

…at least a third of the station’s xenos population.

“Goddamnit.” Glenn said, opening the door, greeting his work colleagues in week-old boxers, a half-opened bathrobe and a disheveled aura of a man who lost a rug that tied his whole life together.

“[Greetings, Stationmaster.]” Said Dorarizin – Dave, was it? – said, bowing slightly. Glenn held his shotgun in his hands, still not entirely sure the problem before him couldn’t be solved by just blastin’. “[We need help.]”

“I charge group rates for psychotherapy, but you have to bring your own shrooms.”

“[N-no, not that.]” a Karnakian female said, smoothing out her crest as she approached. “[It’s the rest of the [Humans].]”

“What? Are they dead?”

“[No.]”

“Dying?”

“[No.]”

“So this isn’t my problem.” Glenn said, taking a pointed step back and resting his hand on the door-close mechanism. “Now if you’ll excuse me-”

All at once a chorus of voices began to bubble forth, a dozen hundred issues raised together.

“[[Susan] Won’t stop playing bass-boosted binaural beats-]”

“[I keep trying to clean the rec area but there are so many standing mats-]”

“[-1500 Mineral Crystals shaped like orbs-]”

“[-teen minutes tries to lead us all into a stretch that he can’t even do. We don’t have legs, [Glenn]. I can’t-]”

“[-not working because the ‘energy of the room is black ichor’ and that doesn’t even mean anything-]”

“[-won’t stop tweaking his nipples to power up-]”

Glenn let the screeching barnyard of nightmare horror voices wash over him, his commbead temporarily shutting down due to just the sheer volume of complaints. Usually such suffering would sustain him for quite some time, especially if he was smart about rationing it, but this. This was different.

This was suffering he wasn’t responsible for, and as such, he couldn’t enjoy any of it.

With a helpful beep his beads came back online, and he raised a hand to calm down the mob. “Alright. Start from the beginning. You.”

Glenn pointed at random into the mob, and Shpressnrek came forward.

“What.”

And so she told her story.

= = = = =

“[Stationmaster, I do not think this is going to work.]”

“Just watch.”

“[But we’re going to be seen.]”

“Just watch.”

Glenn “I’m too Robust for this shit” Abramson had listened to a few of the Xenos’ stories before he realized what was going on, and ended a few more enthusiastic storytellers’ tales short with a beanbag shot to the torso. Eventually running out of ammo forced him to think about how best to calm down his murderbeast coworkers, and after a few seconds of deliberation he figured a hands-on visual demo would be enough to calm the tide.

This is why he was crouched down behind a TruFeel Plastic Plant pot in the breakroom. Well. Him and roughly 50 other xenos who would not accept his word for it and demanded proof.

“[We’re not even behind this fake plant, Stationmaster. Some of us are just… here.]”

Glenn turned and ferally hissed at the Karnakian, turning back around to peer through the fake palm leaves. “Trust me. No one even looks over here; plastic plants are invisible to the human eye.”

“[I. That doesn’t sound corre-]”

The karnakian was interrupted by another animalistic hiss from Glenn as the door to the breakroom slid open, a thigh-high legwarmer wearing Mike running in place. Well. “Running”. It was more swaying back and forth vigorously, which honestly counted for something in this perpetual hellhole of the space backrooms.

Rgrezneh-of-Hrzgaren began to full-body shake, murmuring something about “Couples Jazzercize classes” – Glenn reached up and clamped his hands around her muzzle, pulling her down. “Look.”

The xenos crouched, doing their best to hide behind the plant – or behind each other – as they watched the wobbling Mike make his way over to the Vending machine. It had been recently restocked, filled with new and healthy options such as Sunbutt Chips, Luna Crunches, Horsereference Fries and a bunch of other “calorie smart” selections. Of course, as this was still a vending machine manned by human beings, the items that hadn’t sold yet remained, a tempting if outdated choice.

And that was key.

“The human male Michaeus Slobbicus Horribilus scans his larder, making the first meal decision for the day.” Glenn began to narrate in an extraordinarily british voice. “As he is useless in almost every facet of life-”

“[H-hey!]” Rgrezneh-of-Hrzgaren said, her interjection popping her muzzle free from Glenn’s grip.

“-He must get his food like all other pests; by scavenging.” Glenn continued, unabated as he creeped through the singular bush. “Now, the Michaeus Horribilus, commonly known as the ‘Fucking wake up’ or ‘jackass’, has a peculiar evolutionary trait; he has a fixed amount of willpower daily.”

At this, every xeno stopped their murmuring and began to listen to Glenn “David Attenborough” Abramson.

“This can be increased through training, but the common jackass would do no such thing over the course of his life. No, spurts like these almost always die out sooner rather than later.”

Mike stopped his wobbling back and forth and studied the choices, eyes glazing over the healthier, fresher options.

“And so now we watch nature take it’s course.”

Mike’s head scanned row after row, hot food, cold food, drinks of all sorts and sizes, all healthy, all tasteless. But a bright orange bag caught his eye, and steadying himself against the machine he crouched down, face breaking out into a soft grin. For there, alone, a single row of a forgotten era; Dodino’s brand DUST LUST, now with 33% more lard.

Mike looked to his left, then to his right, scanning over the potted plant. No one was here to witness him…

Good.

Mike pressed his selection into the vending machine, the DUST LUST dropping down to the collection bin. With another quick look around he grabbed the bag and ripped it open.

“The common jackass is influenced by the thots around him; he won’t show his true nature unless it’s the popular opinion, since he’s of the Basic Bitch genus-”

“[Ok I think this is getting a bit too harsh, Stationmaster.]” Rgrezneh-of-Hrzgaren said, furrowing her brow. “[He’s not that bad-]”

“MMNNOOFFFF~” The group watched in silence as Mike moaned through the bag of Dodinos dust that he upturned into his mouth, his body shaking with the ecstasy of 500% of his daily sodium intake, 4g of pure MSG and all those delicious, delicious parabens hitting his bloodstream at once.

“[It’s… Stationmaster [Glenn], what does it mean?]”

The door slid open again, a red-faced Jessica wandering into the breakroom. The two looked at each other for a moment, before-

“Oh fuck yeah, there’s still DUST LUST in here?” Jessica chirped, wandering over to the vending machine.

“It means there is a Santa Claus, Virginia.” Glenn said, nodding and smiling to himself over the soft sobbing relief of the aliens behind him.

Truly, it was the one last Holidaysmas Miracle for the year.

Cause, let’s face it. It’s not like you’re keeping your resolutions, right?

….Right?