Chapter Text
==> Be The Sea Dweller.
Your name is Daveyy Joanes, and after nearly 3 sweeps of traveling you have finally found your first planet. Your crew is small, consisting of the only two people you trust. Your kismesis, Owean, a 7 sweep lime blood stow away and your moirail, Chainy, who convinced you not to cull the fucker as soon as you discovered him.
Your mission is simple: Observe, and report. Nothing more. What could possibly go wrong?
“Oi, faggot boy, strap in, we're landin'” Owean shouts from his position at the controls. You grumble, but comply, seating yourself in the captain's chair. You discovered Owean about half a sweep into your journey. Apparently, he had slipped onto your ship while fleeing from culling drones; his lusus had died and the open loading docs of your moderately sized vessel provided a convenient escape route. How he managed to go undetected for so long, you'll never know, but in the past 2 and a half sweeps his navigation skills have proved invaluable, making you glad you left him alive.
“We should be on the planet within the hour,” Chainy speaks up from his side of the cabin.
“Can you get me any information on this planet's inhabitants?” you ask.
“Yeah just a sec,” Chainy fiddles with his display for a second before continuing, “Huh. Weird.”
“What?”
“Well, it's just that the local language of some areas appears to be vaguely Alternian. I mean, the accent’s a bit low class, but otherwise it sounds pretty similar.”
No way. You're pretty sure her Imperial Condescension hasn't made it out this far yet. But why else would natives be speaking your language? That was just some weird plot device used in shitty movies with names too long and complicated to bother remembering. “No fucking way.”
“No, really. Here, I'll send you a video.” You look at the display in front of you, and a blue flashing alerts you to an incoming link from Chainy on your Trollian. You tap it and it leads you to a website. You can't tell what site it's supposed to be though; the script's impossible to read. You have no idea what you're supposed to be looking at. Chainy, sensing your confusion, tells you to click the triangle in the middle of the screen, and the video starts to play.
A young male stands in the center of the screen. He looks almost like a troll, except his skin is tan, his hair brown, and he has no horns. “Weird,” you mutter.
The not-a-troll looks at the camera and says, “Are you sure you won't post this online?”
A voice off-camera replies, “Hell no, PJ, this is going straight to youtube.” You wonder what a youtube is.
The not-a-troll whines, “But Micah...”
The off-camera voice interrupts him, “No. We had a bet. You lost. You owe me now.”
With a sigh, the not-a-troll mutters, “Fine,” before taking a step back and singing some strange foreign song about “single ladies.” It's catchy though, and is a refreshing break from Owean serenading you with all the ways he hopes to horribly maim you while you're sleeping. But that doesn't make it any less surreal. The alien was speaking Alternian, no doubt. Maybe it was just the one...? But there was that off-camera voice too. So maybe there were two of them..? You weren't sure.
“Chainy, can you get a lock on this kid?”
“Sure, why?”
“We're here to observe and report, right?” God, your moirail could be so slow sometimes. “May as well observe someone who speaks our language.”
Chainy smiles slightly, “Right, right,” he says, before turning towards Owean and shouting, “Plot a course for 'Sovereign City.' We'll be setting up base there.”
You're excited to finally be approaching land. And the planet below looks so blue. You hope that there's a proper ocean or lake you can swim in, but you'll be glad to just be out of this tin can. You're nervous and excited at the same time, but you do your best not to show it.
==> Daveyy: Be the Not-A-Troll
You are now Parker Jones. Tonight is the third anniversary of your brother's death and you have decided to sneak out to visit him alone. You came earlier with your parents, but sometimes brothers just needed time alone and that was something Mom and Dad didn't quite understand. They became very over protective of you after your brother's accident, so you try not to worry them, but sometimes you just have to get away from it all for a bit.
You brought him his favorite sweatshirt today, which you smuggled out of the attic without your parents knowing. You know he hated- hates- flowers, and you figured this would be more important to him. You place the bright red fabric neatly on the grave, next to the flowers and cards from earlier this morning and imagine him smiling at you, proud that you brought him something he could actually enjoy for once. You sit on his grave and lean against the tombstone, the red sweatshirt right next to you. If you close your eyes, you can pretend he's still right there and alive again, but you don't bother doing that.
You gave up pretending a while ago. You were only 12 when he died, and shortly after that you started to imagine that the city had been attacked by zombies, and that your brother, Davey, came back as a zombie that could think, and he would rush in and save you when you were cornered by the living dead. You know he's not coming back though. You stopped kidding yourself. But that doesn't make missing him hurt any less.
The night air is cool and a gentle breeze tangles your hair. It reminds you of how he used to steal your hat and rough up your hair, so you take this as an invitation to say what's on your mind. “I miss you, Davey,” your eyes start to water a bit, so you close them and tilt your head back against the marble stone, letting the moon light dance on your eyelids. You laugh a little for no reason in particular. “You know, I had this dream last night that you came back... It's funny... I used to have dreams like that every night, but this one felt so real,” the tears start to come freely now, but you keep your eyes closed just the same. “You were different though. You were all grey and purple and sharp, and you had fins, and you weren't even you, not really, just someone who looked a lot like you, and acted a lot like you, but wasn't you.” It was just a stupid dream, you know that, but all the same you felt like it was something to tell him about.
You open your eyes and look at the night sky. “You remember we used to watch stars like this?” A sad smile comes to your lips. “The cemetery was the only place really dark enough to enjoy the night. We used to come here all the time together, you know?” You sniffle a little, and feel stupid for talking to no one, but it helps with the grief a little, so you continue anyway. “Who would've thought that even when you're dead we'd still be able to sit together like this? It's not the same, but it's similar enough.” You place a hand on the sleeve of the red sweatshirt, feeling its familiar softness. “I'm so sorry, Davey.”
You notice a shooting star way up in the sky. “Look at that,” you point for the benefit of no one. “I wish you could be here to see this with me. I don't care if you're a zombie or a ghost, or a freaky fish guy I just wish I could see you again.” You pick up the red fabric and hold it to your face, sobbing quietly.
You rub your eyes and look up at the sky again. Suddenly you have to squint, because is it just you or is that shooting star getting brighter? And bigger... No... Closer. It's getting closer. It suddenly occurs to you that it wasn't a star at all. What if it was a plane? You begin to panic. You can hear the loud muffled crash of the star/plane thing landing not too far off. Maybe three miles? You rode your bike to the cemetery, so you could make it there pretty quick.
Without even thinking you run to your bike, still clinging to your brother's sweatshirt, and speed off to investigate the fallen air craft.
==> Owean: Land Already
You cannot land already because you do not know how.
No one on this ship does, not really. It's like her imperial condescension was just trying to kill off the high blooded prick you have the “honor” of calling captain. Who sends a barely adult high blood out on a recon mission with only one crew member? Nobody, that's who. These fuckers were lucky you stowed away when you did. When you were finally discovered they were hopelessly lost and had no clue how to steer a ship like this properly. Countless hours of flarping as the elite star-ship pilot Maneuver had prepared you for anything. You single-handedly saved their asses while navigating an asteroid field 3 weeks ago and the ship never moved as smoothly as it did with you behind the controls.
You were the best pilot. The best. Unfortunately, landing was never something you got to practice. Atmosphere re-entry was easy enough, as was going towards the co-ordinates Chainy had sent to you, but when it finally comes time to touch the ground, you freak.
In the ensuing chaos, everything is a blur. You hear Daveyy's threats “gouge your fucking sight orbs out of your goddamn skull” mixed in with Chainy's annoying “Shooshing” sounds as he tries to pacify the irate troll, but you do your best to ignore them. You're coming in fast and you need to regain your cool so you don't die on this shit hole of a planet. The last thing you want to do is die on some backwoods nowhere planet before you get the chance to even fuck shit up a little.
“HOLD YOUR TITS, LADIES, WE'RE GOIN' DOWN,” you manage to shout above Daveyy and Chainy's bickering as you begin ease the ship upwards again just before you impact the ground beneath you. You manage to soften the blow, but you still skirt along the ground before plowing to a stop, leaving a pretty decent crater in your wake. The ship's probably ruined but fuck if you care. You're alive, and that's all that really matters.
You close your eyes and allow yourself some rest.
==> PJ: Investigate
Before you even pull up to the crash site you can hear two voices shouting.
“O? O, are you alright? Fuck, O, wake up,” shouts the first voice.
The second voice, a little quieter, but still loud enough to hear, cuts in, “He was at the front of the ship when it went down, he's lost a lot of blood and-”
“Shut up!” the first voice interrupts. “Help me pull him out of here.”
You speed up, and as you slow to a stop you see two figures working to pull a third one out of the rubble. They carry him out of the crater and you freeze as they step into the moonlight.
The creatures before you are grey, just like Davey was in your dream. Except only one of them has fins. They have bright horns on top of their heads, and the shorter one being carried between the two is covered in green liquid. The air smells heavily of blood, but there's not a drop of red in sight.
The aliens spot you before you can turn to run, and the fishy one just stares and says, “Oh fuck.”
You freeze. Aliens. These are aliens. And they're speaking English? That was something that only happened in bad sci-fi films with names too stupid to bother remembering. Movement returns to your feet though as it dawns on you that the green one might be hurt. Forgetting all fear, you walk up to the sticky green covered alien. “Is he okay?” You ask the fishy one. He looks so much like Davey, but you push that thought out of your head because you're trained in first aid, and if this guy is hurt you want to help him, and you can't let stuff like that distract you right now.
The fishy alien gapes at you and the one behind you, the really tall one, answers. “He's hurt bad, but if we can stop the bleeding he'll be fine.”
You look at the sweatshirt in your hand, realizing for the first time that you never put it down, and mutters “Sorry, Davey,” before you begin to rip it into makeshift bandages. It's harder than it looks, but you manage. You step towards the bleeding alien, and start to take off his shirt. It has a green smiley face on it, which you find strange. The fishy alien starts to say something, but the tall one cuts him off, and tells him to set Owen down. That must be the name of the green alien, you decide. His torso is oozing the sticky green which you assume is his blood, so you wrap it up tight with strips of red, and after a quick once over, he appears to be alright everywhere else.
After about 10 minutes you finally say, “I think he'll be okay.”
The fishy alien grabs Owen and holds him close, and says to him, “If you die on me I will bring your lime blooded ass back to life and fucking kill you, you hear me?”
The tall one puts his hands in his pockets and mutters, “So much for observing undetected.”
You really wish you knew what had just happened.