WARNING:
The following fanfic contains certain spoilers for future character plotlines of BZPB. If you do not want these spoiled for you, do not read. Rated T.
Thank you.
The following fanfic contains certain spoilers for future character plotlines of BZPB. If you do not want these spoiled for you, do not read. Rated T.
Thank you.
~ ~ ~
Chap. 1: Wake
You are 'Hot Ice' Hilda, and you're much too tired for the bullshit you're about to encounter. However, let's not get ahead of ourselves. At the moment, you're fighting to drag yourself out of bed. It would help if there was some light, so you grope around with your left hand until the contour of a raised panel is met on the dresser. Swiping your palm across to activate the light strip around the ceiling, you stifle a yawn, using your left hand once again, and get up. You were lucky to be born ambidextrous; losing most of your right arm would have caused great complications if that one had been favored over the other too much.
Speaking of, you proceed to carefully kneel down beside another table and begin working on attaching your prosthetic to its neural hook-up at mid-bicep - Right where your arm had been sliced off by that ******* Ron MacDougall. You distract yourself with the trying task so that you don't brood over the wily backstabber whose fault it is that you have to undertake the process in the first place. Luckily, you've risen above the vice of vengeful thoughts by the time you've finished the last connection. Giving your arm a few test-flexes, you proceed to put on your clothes; careful to not stress any joints by reaching or bending too far. Underwear and sweatpants should do; not like you're having a date today. The last thing to do is to - Yes. A pat of your opposite hand assures you that your eyepatch is still firmly in place. It's almost sad how much of your sanity is retained by nothing more than routines like this.
Out the door and down the hall to the kitchen, you find that the light has been left on and a warm cup of coffee sat at your favorite chair. You don't know why exactly it's your favorite - It's exactly the same as the other metal, bolted-down furnishings in the room, but it comforts you nonetheless. Sitting down, you raise the cup and take a deep breath, followed by a short sip of the liquid inside. It looks like whoever woke up first knows you all too well - You won't accept any coffee except for this bitter black sludge, with its faintest hint of a chocolate taste. In no particular rush, you savor your morning joe and gaze to the doorway. It will only be a matter of time before chaos prances on in.
"Mrowww~ I'm hungry!!" Speak of the devil. Dressed in her underwear and a long nightshirt, Aisha storms in and snatches a knife haphazardly out of the kitchen drawer. She nearly rips the refrigerator door off its hinges in her rush to snatch out some vegetables and fish. She's just about to go to town on the ingredients with her knife, before you put a hand on her shoulder to stop her short of that task. She makes a tired noise of complaint, but you carefully lift her hand up for her to see. Aisha's eyes narrow as she sees that she is holding the knife by its blade. With a grumble about the usual nonsense to do with her Ctarl-Ctarl heritage, she hands the knife off to you and crumples into a chair. A long-suffering sigh breaks out of you as you begin preparing some breakfast. You're not particularly hungry, Erica and Francesca will probably be asleep until something big wakes them up, Bubi and Bebe like to handle all of their meals themselves, Pammie'll probably still be watching the interplanetary stock market before she has one of her bizarre sardine dishes, and Amy will always cook for herself and Ember. However, it would be best not to trust Aisha to cook for herself this morning, judging on that little achievement in ignorance just now.
Peeling, dicing, chopping...The whole ambidextrous thing comes in surprisingly handy when it comes to cooking. It doesn't take too long before you've gotten the communal wok to simmering. Thankfully, Aisha remains in snooze-mode long enough for you to finish the meal. You gaze down at the wok contemplatively, taking in the savory fragrance of the peppers and the celery and the onions and the fish simmering in their red sauce. Without further ado, you plop the whole thing down in front of Aisha and shove the ladle into her hand. Sitting back down to finish your coffee, you watch bemused as Aisha's head lifts up, almost as if drawn physically by her twitching nose. Realizing that she has a utsensil in hand, Aisha proceeds to ravenously dig into the wok of stew.
You take another sip of your coffee. "You know," you say quietly, "A little thanks would be much appreciated. So far, the only parts of the ship you've been to are the kitchen and your room. And this very day makes a full week you've been here." She just keeps eating and eating and eating like it's going out of style. You're beginning to wonder what in the Universe possessed you to take Aisha Clanclan in after her newest ship was hijacked. Another sip of your coffee, and you're just about ready to give up on her. "Alright," you breathe. "Just show up to the bridge when you're done eating, or whenever." She gives a snorting noise to show she's heard you. How considerate of her.
Soon finished with your coffee, you rinse the mug, dry it with an old cloth, and head down the hall to the bridge. Passing by a huge cylinder of transparent, green-blue liquid, supported by countless rows of curving metal strips, you gaze at the dark-haired girl within; clad in nothing at all. "How's the ship doing, Melfina?" She gives no sign of having heard you, but you're used to this. What you're not used to is the lack of even hearing her computerized voice in reply. However, you do hear a mechanical male voice clear his throat. "Good morning, Gilliam," you say, looking up. "What's up with Melfina?"
Nothing is wrong with her, the ship's A.I. states plainly. We're conserving power for the inevitable battle with the pirates who stole Ms. Clanclan's ship. Oh, right. That's still a thing that's going to be happening soon. Damn. Thus, Gilliam continued, Melfina is using a text system to communicate. We've spent the better part of the morning devising systems that can be cut to save power for her biocircuitry interface. Indeed, you realize that your captain's chair console has been blinking. On the screen, Melfina's been talking for a while in text.
Taking your seat, still half-dressed, you begin typing in a reply. The two of you have a nice, friendly conversation, the kind that you don't get to have very often these days. Then, you hear that mewling yawn from the bridge's entrance. "Huh? What have we here?" Aisha peeks around to look inside Melfina's interface tank. "Hmmm? Your ship needs a naked girl to run? Kinda kinky! Nyeheheheheheh!" She nearly jumps up to the ceiling when Gilliam gives an offended huff over his personal comm.
Nonsense! You internally sigh. Leave it to Aisha to set Gilliam off on one of his spiels. Melfina is a bio-android designed as a wetware-to-software interface for the purpose of navigating and maintaining the Desperado! Which, I will have you know, is the fastest, most advanced grappler ship in the galaxy! By the time his brief tirade has cantered to a stop, Aisha's ears are twitching with curiosity. She begins to lean on your chair, and before you can stop her, she's perched up in front of you, waggling her backside on your face, and trying to grab at the small, circular screen that contains Gilliam's comm.
Your hand flies up and back, but you catch yourself just as you realize what that impulse would have you doing. Rather, you proceed to prop your hands up into the backs of her knees, and hurl her off of your chair and into the floor. She yowls angrily, about to go after you, but you pinch your mechanical arm's thumb and forefinger down on the tip of her ear. She makes an odd keening noise and flops like a fish on a line. Letting her go, you proceed to flick your mechanical pinky against her forehead. She keels over like she's been shot.
She's lucky she wasn't shot, but you didn't have a gun on hand, and it's just unsightly to kill anyone while you're wearing a bra and sweatpants. You always try to at least save some dignity for yourself if you can't give the same to someone you're killing. Maybe as just a show of courtesy and respect, whether they deserve it or not. As Aisha slinks over to sit in a chair, nursing her flinching ear, you turn your gaze out to the stars. No one says anything for a while.
It takes everyone, Gilliam included, an embarrassingly long time to realize that you've all long since passed into Fon Pirate territory. And there isn't a single sign of enemy ships. No one wants to say a word up until arriving at the next space station. "We have arrived at Danken Space Station," Melfina awkwardly says to break the silence. "Pammie has made payments on a docking area for us while we're looking for Aisha's ship."
You get up, hop out of your chair, and head back for your room. Aisha leans out of her chair, scowling angrily at you. "Hey!! Where are you going meow!?" She leaps clear across the bridge and follows you out into the hall.
She finds a pair of sweatpants hurled into her face, and flails in distress at the perceived attack.
"I'm putting on some working clothes. I'd advise you get dressed, too."
Aisha's frown deepens, but still, she follows.
Last edited by Diabolus Zev on Mon Apr 09, 2012 11:21 pm; edited 1 time in total