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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
- 45
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- 47
As the first dimming of evening approaches, Verda ushers Song first through the door of her house. When they’ve made it inside she lifts an enormous chair and moves it close to the couch, where her captive has sat down. It doesn’t seem to give her much trouble, despite weighing too much for most terrans to lift at all. Her vines take a moment to settle while she sits thoughtfully. Song hadn’t noticed before, but everything here smells of Verda. It’s not sure why it noticed that only now, but the herbal odor is quite strong.
“Are you serious about learning a language? I’m happy to teach, provided you’re willing to put in the effort it requires.”
“What if I give up?” What will happen if the weed bullies it into stopping?
“Then I’ll be disappointed but you won’t be punished. I know that Affini can be frustrating if you aren’t accustomed to it.”
“I won’t give up. I’m serious about this.”
Even if Song weren’t looking for ways to protect itself from alien domination, learning the language of the place it was stuck living would be a good idea. The fact that Verda’s willing to teach it makes it more at ease. She wouldn’t do that for somebody she intended to use as forced labor and nothing more, would she?
“You’re sure?”
“Of course.” Verda’s vines start to shift a little faster in response.
“Then we’ll start with something easy. You need to get used to the sounds before attempting to replicate them. Just pay attention while I read slowly. Don’t worry about trying to figure out a translation.”
The next few minutes are occupied by the contents of Verda’s tablet, read slowly. She looks at her floret the entire time to make sure she’s being listened to. Song can’t make out any of the words, much less where the words start and end, but it can recognize what’s being said as language. The Affini usually speak it much more quickly than Verda’s speaking now.
“How was that?”
“I guess it was fine. How should it have been?”
“You didn’t recognize any of it?”
“No.”
“That’s very interesting, but normal. That rules out several hypotheses. Maybe…” She has hypotheses?
The talking topiary pushes a few buttons and music comes from the tablet. Several extremely out of tune woodwinds start to play, along with some stringed instruments Song doesn’t recognize. This must be xeno “music.” Song decides that Terran music is better in every respect. After about a minute, a deep affini voice joins in. It doesn’t quite fit the topic of a floret whose friend left for some reason. That’s a really weird concept for a song. It’s so far removed from anything Terran that Song isn’t sure what to feel about it. Verda seems to be listening appreciatively, which is an odd response to a melancholic bit of music.
“Well? What did you think, pet?”
“It’s weird. The instruments are weird and the singing was weird.”
“Anything else?”
“The topic. I- I understood that, kind of. But I don’t understand why-”
“What can you tell me about the topic of the song?”
“It was about a floret’s friend being gone.”
“Is that all you got from it?”
“What else was there?”
“The singer, one of my favorites, was using the concept of one’s floret losing his friend due to moving far away as a vehicle to discuss the fragility of the present and the coldness of even fond memories in the context of a volatile reality.”
“Is all weed music that esoteric?”
“If you’re so interested in learning the language, don’t you think you should learn the correct adjective?”
“...”
“Affini. You already know it. Just say that, unless you’re desperate to stand out as alien.”
“...”
“You’re the alien, asking to learn the Affini language. Do you not see how that is?”
“That’s… true.”
That makes Song realize that to them, it’s a xeno. The fact that their conquest must lead them to see Terrans as inferior and make them feel justified in keeping Terran pets doesn’t lead to a train of thought Song feels inclined to pursue. It never really thought about their perspective on the matter, back when it had time, it was too busy trying to avoid being caught.
“Then you’ll use the correct term in order to avoid working against your learning efforts.”
“Fine.”
“The time wasted will be yours, darling. Let’s try something a little different: a phrase you’ll find extremely useful, to help you practice some of the sounds in Affini that you’re not used to making. “Ua tehe.’ Repeat that for me, please.”
“Wa tehhteh.”
“Close. “Ua.’”
“Oo-”
“U.”
“Uh.”
“U.”
“U.”
“That’s it! Ua.”
“Ua.”
“You got it already. Now the rest.”
“Wait, what are you getting me to say?”
“I’d rather you be able to say it first, then we’ll talk about it. Try to keep your focus on one thing at a time.”
“Hm.’
“The pronunciation will get easier as you go. ‘Ua tehe.’”
It scowls and then repeats what Verda said.. “Ua tehheh.”
“The vowel should be a little less flat: E, not Eh. It… should be like a soft e crossed with a soft i, if that makes sense.”
“Ua tehe.”
“You did it! You’re going to make good progress.”
“So are you going to tell me what that means now?”
“Of course, pet. Roughly, it means ‘yes, Mistress.’”
“What? Why would you make me say that! You tricked me, you psychotic fucking clump of goat food!”
“I told you it was something important, didn’t I? There aren’t many phrases more useful than that.”
How could Verda do this to it? The betrayal is an abomination. It’s a humiliation! It’s completely expected. The words make Song’s mouth feel dirty. It spits. It wants to rip its tongue out. It’s ashamed of itself for not being more careful. The fact that Verda doesn’t understand the horrible thing she’s done makes it even worse. How can she expect it to trust her if she’s going to be so sneaky?
“Don’t sulk. Or does that mean you’re ready to give up after learning a single phrase?”
“...”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Which word of that is yes?”
Verda pauses thoughtfully. “Neither. The closest direct translation would be something like ‘I quiet my heart for your embrace.’”
“Poetic.” Pathetic.
“Isn’t it? Most common phrases are that way. Affini have a way of picking up idioms.”
“But what does rapchik mean? You used that term before.”
“That is the word which has unfortunately been translated as mistress or owner. The real meaning is something closer to caretaker or guardian.”
“So why not translate it as one of those?”
“Because they don’t have the connotation of being expected to follow instructions. The bond is more intimate than either of those terms as well. It’s…” She frowns, thinking.
“What about gardener?”
“That refers to something entirely different.”
“Oh. Then why not ‘yes, rapchik?’”
“Because that’s a more general term for an affini who has a floret. One wouldn’t address another in that way.” She stops suddenly. “I suppose humans do address one another by general titles. In that case… Maybe a comparison would be “Mom’ as opposed to ‘Mother.’ That isn’t perfect, but it will hopefully make sense. One simply would never address one’s owner as rapchik.”
“Oh. Then… Why do you call me your floret?”
“That’s more complicated.”
“Why is Affini so strange?”
“A large number of very old people who are extremely set in their ways while picking up memes far too easily tend to produce such things. On that topic… Should we take a break to discuss the excessive use of temperatures to describe things in a certain other language?”
“...”
”My point is that any language that sees use will have quirks that make learning it more difficult. There is no doubt in my mind that you’ll be able to handle this, pet. I believe in you.”
She smiles gently at Song, who isn’t sure this was such a good idea. The Affini who calls herself its rapchik seems determined to trick it into being a good submissive floret, in speech if nothing else. It should’ve known. That doesn’t mean it’s going to reject a chance at finding additional weaknesses in Affini defences. If most florets don’t even care to learn a few words, how much effort are the weeds likely to put into security?
“I thought I wasn’t your pet.”
“No, you are, little one. That’s the word we use. And as with pets kept by terrans, every time you try to run away I will be ready to bring you home. Hopefully you’ll come to prefer being with me to trying to go elsewhere.”
Verda smiles and runs a leafy hand across Song’s bow. She thinks she’s said something soothing, but she hasn’t. In reality, she’s only reminded it why rebellion is of vital importance. It’s ashamed of itself for backing down from its fight. It needs to find some explosives.
They spend some more time working on Affini vowels, Most of them are familiar, but a lot of strange and take a while to figure out. Some might not even be replicable by human physiology. Even though Song gets frustrated a few times, Verda remains calm and patiently repeats the sounds and offers advice when needed. Every success is met with praise and a smile. She looks much happier than she has since they boarded the Ides of November.
Is this what she’s wanted all along? The plant woman has been extremely willing to drop the intensity of how she speaks when Song replies calmly. Right now it doesn’t feel much like a pet. It’s being treated like a person, or close to it. That thought is unsettling. What if the Affini Compact just has idiots for translators, and florets are supposed to be something very different from what the word pet implies? If it doesn’t have to walk on a leash, it can use social media (that aren’t full of confrontational lunatics), and it can have all the nice food it wants, all without having to have an actual job, is playing dress up for the weird giantess that bad?
“I think that’s enough practice for today. We can work more on phonetics in the morning. For now, I think you’re in need of a bath.”
“>:(“
“¯_(ツ)_/¯ Come along, tdaiyn. You haven’t bathed properly since we were last in our home.”
“No. I already took a shower.”
“You need more than water to properly treat your hair and skin, darling. It’ll be quick, and I’m going to give you dinner as soon as you’re done.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want you to wash me. I can wash myself.”
“I know you can, but I’d like to make sure you’re clean for tomorrow. You’re going to be using public equipment.”
“... No. I don’t care.”
“I see…” Verda says thoughtfully. Her expression suddenly lights up. “Of course, you’d like a rubber duck!”
“What?”
The affini reaches out with a vine and activates the compiler, quickly bringing something yellow back. It’s a small rubber duck in a sailor’s cap.
“You don’t want to disappoint Mr. Quack, do you?”
“... Seriously?”
“I’m very serious, darling. Mr. Quack is looking forward to bathing with you, and being sparkly and nicely scented.” She squeaks the duck while looking expectantly at Song.
“I can bathe myself.”
“You mentioned that, tdaiyn, but tonight I’d rather wash you myself. That’s what’s going to happen. You’re also going to walk to the bathroom by yourself in preparation.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t the correct answer. The level of xenodrugs that will be in your system when we start the bath is entirely under your control. Would you like more right now, or will you be a good floret and obey?”
“...” Maybe the word mistress isn’t as wrong as Song was just told.
“?”
“>:[“
“...”
“:(“
A longer conversation wouldn’t achieve anything. Song already knows that it isn’t going to win that debate. Its desire to resist is checked by the set of thorny tendrils dangling not far from its head. Verda looks uncharacteristically eager to use them. She almost looks hungry. It does its best not to shudder at the thought, and instead takes a step toward the bathroom.
Instead of retracting, the vines move toward Song’s back, as though magnetically pushing it along. It can’t really stop them, so it keeps walking. It tries not to panic, remembering that it’s done this before. It knows that bath products aren’t going to kill it or do lasting damage, but it still doesn’t like how they make it feel. They make it feel so bare and vulnerable. They make it not mind being touched by a weed as much as it, as a Free Terran, should.
Just as before, Verda turns on the water from her tablet and gestures to Song to undress. It looks at the affini dejectedly, aware that protesting won’t help. Verda gives a sympathetic frown but doesn’t move. She’s waiting for her “floret” to obey. It doesn’t. When it continues to stand innocently, she moves forward, a useless action when her vines can touch every corner of the room at the same time. That’s enough to prompt Song to finally remove its floret costume.
By now, the bath is full and Verda’s squirted a few bottles into the water. She mixes and froths it with a vine until a healthy foam grows out of it. There’s nowhere near as much as there was when Song tried to use soap. The Terran winces.
Verda gets into the bath first, gently pulling Song in with her immediately after. This time, there’s no pretense that they’re going to be apart. She places Song directly in front of the foliage surrounding her core, vines tightly gripping its limbs to stop it from struggling. As the futility of the situation comes into clearer focus, it decides that it should’ve fought harder before now.
“It’s all right, darling. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.” She sounds like she’s trying to bribe a stray cat with milk. “You’ll be happier once you’re clean, and then we can have dinner. How does that sound?”
“I don’t want to be-” clean. Song decides against finishing that statement, for political reasons. “Don’t-” She’s going to, whether it likes that or not. “I don’t want-” She doesn’t care.
“I promise not to get shampoo in your eyes, if you’re willing to close them when the time comes. Can you do that for me, pet?”
The skin below Song’s ribcage is starting to prickle. It knows what this means. It doesn’t have much longer to fight for its people. It needs to say something full of pathos quickly.
“No matter how many times you knock us down, we will rise again.”
“Now that’s a positive outlook! Lift your arms for me.”
Song lifts its arms, allowing the affini behind it to wash underneath. The prickles are getting stronger and its feet are starting to hum. The vibration coming from Verda is suddenly much stronger. This is a new one. Tump thump ta-tump. No! It has to get away! But struggling only produces friction between the places where vines hold it in place and its skin, which is increasingly sensitive to their touch. When it jostles its breath comes out noisily in response to the feeling. It yelps at the strength of sensory data from its thigh as Verda sits quietly smiling, watching its reactions.
The faint floral scent of the bath products is getting stronger, opening Song’s sinuses. Tump thump ta-tump. Verda squeezes “Mr. Quack,” who floats within easy reach. The portion of Song that’s touched by suds is becoming almost numb, but also extremely sensitive. The occasional texture of Verda’s vines moving against it as she cleans is more soothing than Song expected. The more it struggles, the stronger those sensations get. That only makes the Terran fight harder against the constraints.
Eventually, Song loses the desire to keep trying to free itself. That can wait, and where it’s sitting right now is unexpectedly comfortable. Tump thump ta-tump. It decides to let Verda finish. That’s the quickest way to be done with the indignity, isn’t it? Song leans back and lets itself be bathed. Water laps against Song’s sides as the process continues. Verda’s efficient so it doesn’t take too long. After she stops, she lets go of her floret, who remains in the position it was placed in. Tump thump ta-tump.
“Can you repeat the phrase I taught you before your bath, tdaiyn?”
“Ua tehe.”
“Very good. Thank you darling.”
A small noise escapes Song’s mouth as Verda strokes its head. She gets out of the bath, taking it with her and quickly applying a towel. The drying process takes less than a minute and leads to it being dressed in understated grey floret clothing reminiscent of pajamas. Verda walks it to the kitchen with a vine on its still sensitive neck.
Dinner is some kind of broth with a grilled cheese sandwich. Song eats quietly while Verda watches, simultaneously scrolling on her portable computer without looking at it. That’s kind of creepy, but it doesn’t say anything because it’s too busy eating. Does she just not need to look at things? Is that an act to demonstrate that the affini have psychic powers? The food is good, and more filling than Song expected. It doesn’t take long to finish eating, after which it’s escorted to the other room to sit on the couch.
Its body continues to tingle wherever Verda touches it. The resistance to physical contact is gone and Song summons all its willpower not to lean against the weed or try to get her to touch it more. It doesn’t trust her. She must be up to something! She wouldn’t force it to be clean otherwise.
The slightly damp affini hands her captive the tablet from at the hospital. It has a new music folder, full of classical music. Most of the pieces seem to be from outside the usual surface level set.
“I thought you could use something nice and soothing to listen to before bed. Is this all right, or should I find you something else?”
“It’s fine.”
There’s enough from famous composers to know there’s going to be plenty that’s acceptable. Song puts on the earphones and starts listening to the movement order preserving shuffled setting. It sinks into the arm of the couch, enjoying the sound. Dinner wasn’t bad, and the bath could’ve been worse than it was. It makes sure to stay away from Verda, who’s occupying the other end of the couch.
Wait a minute… This happened before! Before it can formulate a response to the memory, Verda’s vines withdraw, summoning a faint whimper from the Terran. It feels ashamed of itself, even with how great a shock it was not to be touched by the affini any more. It has to be better about that. Verda isn’t paying attention to Song’s inner turmoil, seemingly content to listen from a meter away. Various styles of music fill Song’s mind as it tries to relax a bit.
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Cellulose & Steel