Biogarden
- "Change is good, is very good! Sometimes, often, yeah!" said Giovenith, her speech more jumpy than usual. She ran around in a few circles around Bran, before skidding to a stop and snapping her head around again. Her sight caught Marcus. "LO!" she announced to Bran, putting an arm around his shoulder tightly and gesturing exaggeratedly towards Marcus. "A young man cometh!"..."My, is that little Marcus?" she crossed her arms and widened her eyes. "You're not little anymore! You were as teeny as Rachelle last time I saw you."
The boy had the good sense to blush as conversation turned to varying topics. Yet she brought him back to the reality of his return with just a few words.
"So you're all grown up now, or at least close then, huh? Well I'm not quite sure what to do with that... seems like someday you're going to get along just fine without all us, and then you must, leave the nest..." She made bird-motions with her hands emotionally, despite Giovenith herself being in no real position to speak as if she was still a wiser senior to Marcus.
"How old are you?" Marcus asked. "I always thought you were sixteen or seventeen. I've just turned fifteen."
"I am sixteen," confirmed Giovenith. "Born in nineteen-ninety-six, on a horribly bleak, cold, despairingly hopeless winter night in the middle of a distant, unreachable pocket dimension where no whisper has the patience to lurk! Or so I was told when I asked where babies come from."
"I can't believe that. No way. You're too cheerful to born like that," Marcus stated. "Maybe the universe didn't have cheer before you were born, perhaps? Maybe you were It."
"It does make me a Sagittarius, though," she pointed out, as if this weighed out all the other points. "Lots of energy, and a natural urge to make life worth it, and also, three is a lucky number! I like three. What number do you like? Wait..."
She looked over her shoulder, checking the sun.
"Actually we may need to head back to the ship pretty soon. Let's go." She pulled him along.
Thaddeus' expression further softened as he recalled the memory. Someday the boy would be an old man, though the old cyborg doubted he would get along fine without the godling and others impacting his life in so many positive ways.
"Nothing is ever set in stone, Miss Giovenith," Adrastus accepted a cup from Ocho before easing back in his chair. "He's still a teen, but he's completed his training. He's an adult in our eyes, a full brother in our order - a Rassophore."
"He's socially stunted because of it," Thaddeus grunted though there was some humor in his eyes. "His entire life spent sequestered from everything, his brain in a fog. Didn't know if he was coming or going, and bemoaning the stupidest things."
"Don't talk to me about his bemoaning," the abbot wagged a finger. "Do you know he returned to the order after that nightmare on Gliese, crushed mind you, determined to never speak to a girl as long as he breathed? Months on end of moping."
"A week," Thaddeus corrected, then added for Giovenith's benefit, "Because he didn't have the nerve to ask you for a dance. It was The End of the World."
"A week? Try a year, Thad. A year of kicking himself. Oh, if I don't go back soon, she'll outgrow me," Adrastus chuckled. "Please, may I go back?! I thought he'd grow wings and fly right through space and time when he heard about our relocation to Bielefeld. The first thing he did when we arrived is run back to the Building-"
"And pestered Ogoti, yes, I know," the old cyborg snorted, "I got an earful from him."
"-Only to experience his first genderbending," Adrastus continued. "Oh, he bemoaned that for weeks, too."
Ocho's ear perked. "Genderbending?"
"Don't ask," the cyborgs quipped in unison.
"Please don't shed any more tears over such things," the abbot fished a clean tissue from his robe and handed it to Giovenith. "The situation changed over time, and thanks to Naomi and Thaddeus. Charumati can no longer use him as a tool. She can't sway him, either. He's free to be his own person."
Thaddeus set his cup down. Free, yes, but still tainted by his past. "He also has obligations. Once he's back on his feet, he'll need to report to Septimus Itum."
Adrastus furrowed his brow. "Deus Mechanicus, man! Have you no relenting spirit? The boy practically died while mucking about with alien tech. A death, I'll mention, that would have been the fault of you and Ocho. He deserves some time off. I plan to grant him a few months to recouper-"
"It's important for him to work with Itum," Thaddeus folded his arms, "for reasons I won't go into now."
The old abbot's frown intensified. Preposterous! Enough was enough. "I think he should spend time with his girlfriend. Live a little, and let her comfort his heart. He nearly lost it all, Thaddeus. Besides, if the gossip is true, Itum's going to grieve the loss of that lizard. He won't have time for teleporter experiments."
Thaddeus' head turned enough for him to glimpse a spot across the garden. Another loose end. Another thing that should be settled. The world as he'd defined it was once again threatening to crumble, and he was the only one with all the answers. He considered remaining silent. It would save everyone further grief - especially him.
No, some things deserve to be righted. A father's curse shouldn't be revisited upon his son.
"Ocho, perhaps you should pay a call on Brother Itum? He should be here. For her," Thaddeus uncrossed his arms and retrieved his cup. He waited until the thade begrudgingly shambled off before turning his attention back to the godling. "You mentioned plans? Would you mind sharing them?"
___
Woodland - a collab
A snowflake landed on the ratel's nose. He didn't mind. Winter was expected. Welcomed, in fact, by the fat honey badger. He sat in the den's doorway, relaxed enough for his flab to fill the lower portion of the hole, and watched the fennec drag a bright orange box down the woodland trail. She was a determined creature, though not nearly as stubborn as he, and he might have gotten off his ass to help her but for the fact that nearly every one of her Bright Ideas resulted in major inconveniences for him. Surely this box would prove to be the same!
The Little Squeak pushed the box right up to his nose. Her fluffy tail wagged expectantly. Did she expect him to come explore her find? No. Her reasons became apparent a moment later, and in the form of rapid nips to his paws.
The cheek! You want me to move? Fine! I'll concede - this time!
He didn't have much choice. The orange box bumped into his nose. She pushed, he relented and backed down the hole. The box kept coming, small and repeated taps nudging it forward inch by inch as she put her shoulder into it. They reached the main chamber and he stepped aside to allow her and her prize to pass.
Surely this is food, he thought to himself as he waddled forward to investigate. But no. The bright orange box opened to reveal bright orange packets. His eyes roamed over the strange markings and, being an uncharacteristically educated ratel, he could clearly make out the words "Hot Hands Hand Warmers". The image on the front told him that the packet contents might contain a treat. After all, the rectangular object nestled in a human palm. Food.
The fennec sunk her teeth into a packet and retreated to the corner. He lifted an ear. What, not going to share? He rose with the full intention of stealing away her morsel, but quickly backed away as she began to ferociously shake her head. Up the packet went, then down, then side to side and up again - whack flap whack slap whack! There had to be a mouse inside! Yes, this was how one killed little rodents. Perhaps two mice, judging by the packet's size and the amount of effort put into it. She settled into her corner once more and began to worry the packet's top. His stunted ears lifted away from his skull, and he sniffed. No blood?
A rectangular Thing slipped from inside the pouch. This wasn't any mouse at all. The fennec kicked the outer packaging aside and then circled the Thing a few times before flopping down on top of it. Her tiny eyes pinched closed in pleasure. She sighed. The den began to warm.
And warm.
And warm.
The fuck?
Desert foxes crave their heat. Fat ratel had little use for it. The den quickly grew uncomfortably (for him) too warm. He got off his ass and waddled up to her.
Now see here, he slapped her snout into the ground, We aren't going to have any of this high heat in this house. If you're cold, put on some fat.
The fennec had always been a jovial creature, prone to silly antics. She was silly period. Playful. Butterfly-chasing. Rolling in blankets. Sweet. Yes, he would have no trouble enforcing the Law of the Den upon the tiny animal, and then they'd-
OW OW THE FUCK OW! Pain blossomed through his nose as she sunk her teeth into the rubbery tissue.
She growled and bit him again, this time on the tip. Teensy canine teeth pricked right thought his tough lip. He backed away at the challenge, then snarled and swatted at her again.
OW FUCK! FUCK! SHIT FUCK! A lightening fast snap met his swat. Her teeth slipped between his tender pads, rendering his claws useless while in her jaw's grasp. She didn't let go, either. The ratel had never encountered such ferocity from one not of his species. His heavily muscled shoulders hauled the paw back, drawing the fennec from her heat pack, but this only seemed to piss her off more.
MINE! BASTARD! MINE! She wasn't fooling around. Odd growls and hisses poured from her mouth, and she released his paw.
He hopped away, then used his forelegs to lift himself higher, haunches flattening in preparation for a burst attack. She responded by pressing herself into the den's soft earth, ears laying back as she flashed angry teeth at him. The noise coming from her would rival any ratel's bluster.
I am a HONEY BADGER! Accept my DOMINANCE! This is MY den! I made it! He rocketed forward with the intention of plowing her over (which he did) in order to snap up the heat pack (which he did) to throw it outside the den (bad idea) but found himself in a new world of pain (of course) as her tiny head shot forward to latch onto his thick tail. It's hard to be a badass when a puffball has you by your triumphant flag.
Round and round they went. Her teeth clung to him, unyielding, as he spun and flung her. The noise emitted by both was ungodly fierce. Dust flew and pebbles struck the den's walls as they scrabbled over control of the environment. Every heavy swing was met by nimbly timed snaps. The ratel's customary tactic had always been to plow into the enemy, but this one didn't quake at his charges. Oh no. She simply flattened and darted under him to snap at the tender skin of his arm pits. He had just decided to take things to the next level and use his own teeth when...
There are no words to describe the pain one feels when tiny fox teeth latch onto your balls. None. It hurt. A lot. The ratel howled and jumped straight up into the air. He struck the den's ceiling, dislodging more debris, and landed hard. Four legs pumped furiously. He did the only sensible thing: bolted.
If you're too warm, cool off outside. The battered fennec splayed her legs and yipped at the den's exit hole. And don't you dare come back here and challenge ME over heat again. MINE. Satisfied that the ratel now understood his place regarding the matter, she shook the dust from her fur and picked up the hand warmer. She retreated to her corner, circled the Thing three times, and flopped on top of it once more.
The ratel squatted outside the den, the king of all he surveyed with his half-closed eyes. As far as any of the other animals were concerned, he had magnanimously granted her permission to keep the den warm. Yes. That was his story, and he was sticking to it.
RACHE AND WILLOW
Cloud Duster's response didn't alleviate any of Rache's suspicions. Granted, it was entirely possible the unicorns were behind the whole thing. The story Willow told was based off actual history, but historical accountings were prone to romanticism. Willow's story claimed emotionally-driven windigos were behind the weather. Rache had yet to ask where the windigos actually came from. After all, Daemons didn't pop out of nowhere. They had to be brought to the Materium. It was entirely possible that the unicorns, in their quest to get the upper hand on things, had inadvertently opened a gateway for them.
It was also entirely possible that they had done more than go back in time. They might have slipped into an alternate timeline where unicorns really did fuck with weather.
Rache withheld his input regarding weather outside the pony's immediate domain. He wasn't versed enough in pony lore or limitations to expand upon it. "We shouldn't be too hasty to judge," he said instead, putting off Hurricane gossip a moment. "If they really wanted to exert their control, they'd hold everypony hostage by calling a halt to the celestial dance. No sun means no crops, and everypony would suffer until they bowed to the unicorns. That's a much easier method than trying to usurp our control of the weather. Control us, control the seasons, control everything."
He shrugged. If the unicorns messed with Time and Space, they held the best chances for getting back home. It was perhaps time to pay them a visit. Later. "But what were you saying about Commander Hurricane? If there's one pony I trust to make the best of a bad option, it's him." He flashed a conspirator's smile at his companions. "Do tell!"
