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Cellulose & Steel	By : Not-Taylor Category: Misc Books > FemmeSlash Views: 1028 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own HDG or its characters and I don't make money from this work.

Chapter List
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The grim bane of affinikind is blasted by a solar flare, overloading its EM detectors. Warning sirens go off across its decks as directives are sent to the bridge crew along with navigation data. They need to get out of here! It rolls away, hoping to minimize the damage to any area of its hull. The lower decks hit the side of an asteroid field.
Its sensors return to proper function and it wakes up lying on its stomach in a bed. “What bed is this? How did I get here,” it wonders. The smell of the sheets and the direction of the light are familiar enough that it doesn’t have to roll onto its back to remember. This is a veterinary hospital on Ruby Trunk and it’s morning. The light smell of alcohol in the bedding confirms those memories. It was kind of hoping that had been a dream.
Hangover? No. Still got it, it smirks to itself. Nobody’s watching, so it couldn’t really be smirking at anyone else, it reminds itself. Not being watched feels fantastic for a change. Roommates are the worst. It flinches as it remembers Ginger, its last roommate.
It groans and rights itself, being gentle of the sore area it had just antagonized. Its alleged mistress is sprawled over most of the floor, vines making it so there’s nowhere to step in half the room. She looks asleep until her charge sits up, when she slowly gathers herself into her usual tidy yet nebulous shape.
“Good morning, darling,” she says in a much too chipper voice for somebody who was that asleep less than a minute ago.
“Hm.” It wants to say it’s too early for that sort of mood, but it doesn’t look too early, going by how bright it is through the window.
“Wait, how did you open the curtains from over there?”
“I had it on a timer, in case you didn’t wake up on time.”
“What about you?”
“I like to untangle myself sometimes. I didn’t scare you I hope?”
It rolls its eyes at that attempt at humor. How does it know that was a joke?
“The reason I set the timer for then is that breakfast will be delivered soon and I thought you would like a chance to neaten yourself before that handsome floret came by. Then again, I didn’t want to wake you too early because this is the first night in a while you’ve gotten normal proper sleep. Did you sleep well, pet?”
“I’m not your pet,” it replies automatically. “And ‘handsome?’ He’s a xeno!”
“That he is. Is there something wrong with that?”
“Of course there is, he’s a xeno.”
“You’ll need to explain that a little better, and quickly if you’d like to change and wash your face before breakfast.”
It frowns and pulls off the covers it doesn’t remember tucking itself into, heading toward the bathroom. Once it’s inside with the door closed it stretches, being careful to only look in the mirror after that. Stars, that’s not a good look. It does the best it can without a comb or soap and changes into the outfit Verda has so considerately laid out while it was asleep.
The mirror’s a lot nicer after all that. Between an emerald short sleeved shirt and white pants and socks, and hair that doesn’t look like a bunch of birds just woke up in it, Song looks all right. Verda must be getting better at choosing clothes with how well today’s outfit fits compared to the first things she’d made it wear. It gives itself a double thumbs up and goes out to greet its next meal.
It seems Verda’s been taking care of herself too. She looks a whole lot more put together, even if she occasionally shivers for no evident reason. Her prisoner thinks she’s going a good job of pretending everything’s fine. If the progression in Terrans applies to affini too, she’ll hit peak sensory withdrawal in a couple of days.
Neither of them has much to offer in terms of conversation, but they don’t have to wait long before a very cheerful and awake hedgehog enters the room. The quills on his head are slicked back into something resembling an imitation of terran hair… and he’s dressed like a pirate. It’s a low intensity pirate without the hook or the parrot, and he doesn’t seem to have a flintlock pistol, but the striped trousers, puffy shirt, and loose leather vest sell the look. The Terran in the room is finding it very hard not to laugh.
“..., good morning, Song.”
That’s enough to startle it out of its observations enough to notice it had been staring at him more than is socially acceptable. He’d said good morning before, but he had been standing in the doorway not coming in. It wonders if that means he’d been staring too. Xenos are so weird.
“Good morning, Evlen. What’s for breakfast,” it forces out before it can be accused of awkward staring twice in a row.
“Good morning,” Verda adds. She’s smiling in a way it instantly recognizes as something other than pleasantry.
“Eggs Benedict and mixed fruit?” What?
“That sounds really good. Aren’t those a lot of work?”
“Yeah, but this is my hobby. It’s fun.”
Evlen quickly uncovers the top container on his cart, revealing a pair of english muffin halves topped with perfectly smooth poached eggs. If Song didn’t know better, it would think the shell had been dematerialized or decompiled from around the interior. It looks like a picture. There’s ham poking out from under the eggs, not really visible from a distance. The lone plate finds its way into Evlen’s hands as he carefully drizzles a sauce onto it.
His smile is huge as he hands Song a tray carrying the plate, a little bowl of various fruit, and a glass of orange juice. It thanks him and takes it, excited about the meal.
“I’ve never actually had this, so it’s going to be the best Benedict I’ve ever had. Fork, please?”
“Right, sorry. Here.”
He hands it the fork and it immediately starts cutting open one of the eggs. The yolk drips out languidly. It looks like it’s still in the right temperature range before it seizes up and becomes unappetizing. It tastes good too. Admittedly, it tastes like ham and eggs, but that’s because that’s what it is. The Terran tries to convey a compliment with its mouth and hands full but fails. It waits until it’s done chewing to try again.
“It’s good!”
“Ah, thanks! I wanted to try something out there today. I’m glad it came out well.”
He pauses for a moment, lost in thought. Song uses that time to spear a couple of blueberries. They’ve clearly been created by a machine, though realistically, that’s all there’s going to be in space, especially so far from Terra…
“How are you today?”
“Oh.” It wasn’t expecting to be addressed. He hasn’t left yet? “Bored.”
“Oh. That’s not fun.”
“No.”
“Would you like a tour of the building? After I’m done making the rounds, I mean.”
Of course it would. Being kept cooped up in a little room for all of yesterday really got on its nerves. It doesn’t know if it could last another full day, plus however long tomorrow the floret mechanic needs to say it’s free to leave. Time away from Verda is at a premium, too. It looks at her to see if she’s going to let it go, causing Evlen to visibly start.
“You’re allowed to go, if you promise not to get yourself into trouble. Come back the instant you feel unstable. There’s no point in staying here longer than we have to because you can’t restrain yourself in your enthusiasm. And you,” she adds, turning to the hedgehog boy. “Will give me your contact information, and you’ll take care of my floret, to ensure no harm is done. Don’t be afraid to message me if you need help, of course.”
Looking a little intimidated, he nods for a moment, and backs out with his cart of covered boxes. Song would say his face was pale if that weren’t so hard to know under the fur or quills.
“Goodbye. I’ll see you in a bit, I guess.”
Song waves as he closes the door behind him with the button on the outside. As soon as he’s out of range, Verda snickers. Her vines flit in place as her fingers drum on what would be her lap if she had one.
“You pretend nothing is happening, and then do that? My floret, you’re adorable.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You should finish your breakfast.” That’s true. “Your little friend didn’t acknowledge me until I addressed him directly. I’m not certain he noticed I was in the room, even when I was sitting right next to him. That’s inappropriate for a floret. Are you really unaware or are you pretending, pet?”
“I’m not pretending not to be your pet.”
“You certainly are, darling. I was asking about Evlen, though.”
“What about him?”
“Do you know what’s going on?”
“What’s going on how?”
They’re interrupted by a loud knock, preceding the entry of It’heela Oras, who apparently has time to visit right now. Song waves limply with its left hand while holding its fork and chewing. It wonders why there’s a checkup during breakfast. It wants to ask somebody what time it is, but it’s still chewing and it has to be a civilized representative of Terra among the xenos. That includes pirate hedgehogs whose fashion choices are actually kind of adorable. Not that any of those are here, since xenos all have no fashion sense.
“Good morning Verda and…” Song is surprised she took the name discussion seriously before.
“Anyway, how is the patient feeling? She directs that question to the affini, not the patient.
“My floret slept well last night. There were no issues, thanks in part to your prescription I’m sure.”
“How are you doing?” She finally speaks to the person who’s supposed to be sick, not that she’d offer treatment for the reason it’s actually sick.
“I’m all right. I’m eating breakfast.”
It’heela pulls a few instruments from the back wall of the room into her hands and starts waving them around. When granted permission, she taps and prods Song in several places, interrupting its meal. It’s almost done so it’s not that annoyed, but it would rather she’d waited just a bit.
“Your readings are much more stable today. I have a couple of questions, which hopefully won’t be difficult. Who am I and who are you?”
“You’re It’heela, who apparently isn’t actually a mechanic. I’m…” Olivia Donnoly, pilot second class, Cosmic Navy. The Song of Destruction. Just a floret. The computational system of the Ides of November. A stupid barge. The god in the machine. Somebody sitting alone in a room with a Chinese dictionary. None of those answers feel right. No, there’s one that does.
“I’m a Free Terran, who stands on the side of liberty and self determination for all peoples.”
It can feel Verda rolling her eyes without even looking. It remembers that plants don’t need to roll their eyes so it’s a fully performative gesture. It’heela’s look screams “one of these?”
“That’s lovely. Do you have a name?”
“My legal name is Olivia Donnoly.”
That’s a factually correct statement, so it bypasses the weird feelings it’s been having about calling itself by its actual name. It really doesn’t want to think about any of this. Why is the weed torturing it? Aren’t they supposed to care about people’s comfort?
“No it isn’t,” interrupts Verda. “Your legal name, pet, is Olivia Edok, second floret. You should remember that moving forward. Should you want a different name, that isn’t an issue, but for now I feel you should be made aware in order to prevent inaccuracies.”
The evidence of withdrawal in Verda’s cadence distracts Song from how obnoxious the weeds are in stealing people’s surnames, breaking their slaves’ identities one piece at a time, methodically shattering everything about who and what they believe themselves to be. That must be why so many florets in their broadcasts talked about being groomed into transition by the weeds, in other words, obviously. A full new name and new pronouns are just how they’d want to eradicate Terran culture, while stealing pieces for themselves. Damn these xenos.
“Then I guess my name is that.”
“I’ll ask something slightly different, in that case. Legally speaking, who is your owner.”
“I’m listed as the property of Verda Edok, fourth bloom.”
“Where did we first meet?”
“In the hall when Verda and I were walking around.”
“How did you feel then?”
“I was confused why you thought you knew me. You both claimed I was missing part of my memory. I haven’t confirmed that assertion.”
“And now, how many fingers am I holding up right now?” The xeno holds up all ten of its floral fingers.
“Ten.”
“Very good. When you’re done eating, would you mind standing up so I can check your sense of balance?”
Song slowly and deliberately finishes its meal, ending with a long drink to finish off its juice. The xeno should have to suffer for interrupting, it decides. Setting the breakfast tray off to the side and standing up from the foot of the bed, it repeats yesterday’s routine. It’s a lot more stable this time.
As Song rises from touching its toes, its vision shifts as though somebody were swapping between camera filters. Colored blotches pass between quadrants with dizzying effect. It breathes very carefully to calm itself and not to let the weeds know what’s happening. It’s sure this is going to get worse. Verda will understand, but it doesn’t want her to stop it from finally having time away from her.
“You’re doing well, little one.” It’heela startles it from its thoughts by patting its head with a vine. “I’m going to keep you here until tomorrow, and if you’re still feeling better, you can leave in the morning. I realize you’re wanting to go home, but it’s important that you not take big risks, especially with all you’ve been through.”
She turns to Verda. “Here’s a list of xenodrugs I believe would be effective in treating your floret. Since you’ve taken such an interest in the minutia of human neurochemistry, I’m sure you’d rather look at these for yourself and make a decision. I wouldn’t recommend your previous attempt at treatment, given its consequences.”
“Thank you for your input, It’heela. Is that all, or has the examination concluded?”
“We’re done. Have a pleasant day, both of you.”
The affini vet takes out a tablet and swipes the screen at Verda’s, which beeps happily in response. She then smiles at the room and leaves much more gracefully than Evlen did a few minutes earlier. Even though their conversation sounded passive aggressive, Song can tell that it wasn’t. It was just extremely civil, conveying that… It doesn’t know how affini think, so it can’t speculate on that.
By now, Verda’s started reading through the xenodrugs on the list, typing and frowning as she looks up what they do. Or Song imagines that’s what her sporadic typing is about. The room feels much less cramped with only one affini in it. The Terran stretches out on the bed to wait for something to happen. It isn’t in control right now. That’s not a good feeling, but it’s how things are. Lying down feels nice right now, so that’s something.
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Cellulose & Steel