Aw, shit, an update.
Several things real quick:
1. A giant THANK YOU to everyone who read the first chapter, and doubleplus thanks to everyone who reviewed! As a first-time fanfic publisher, your interest means loads. I mean it.
2. LOOKING FOR A BETA. Inquire within, a.k.a. message me.
3. Disclaimer: I don't own 'Sym-bionic Titan', but dear gods do I miss this show. CN shouldn't have canceled this ish… but I guess if they didn't, I wouldn't be writing fanfic.
Cutting to the chase – here's chapter two.
/
- Episode 21.5 -
Ilana woke up and briefly forgot where she was – for a second, everything that had happened yesterday had seemed dreamlike, hazy, out-of-reach. And then her thoughts resolved and she remembered that she was back in Sherman, with Lance and Octus, and a sense of normalcy would soon return to the days and weeks of suburban life.
She was lying on top of the bed, still in yesterday's clothing; a pink and yellow shirt and blue shorts. Ilana rolled over onto her back, slowly, leaving behind warm patches of bed. The comforter was tantalizing cool on her bare skin and the room was full of pale light and colors.
Something had come to her, last night, while she was more asleep than awake… a hand? A hand offering words to her, small token sentiments, like the flowers children would offer her during parades on Galaluna… you'll go home someday… real home. Ilana frowned at the ceiling, plucking thoughtfully at her collar. She pushed them down, seeds buried deep in the loam of her mind and carefully covered. There was a tantalizing smell of waffles coming through the door, wafting in to the crackling, sizzling tune of Octus cooking bacon and eggs.
Ilana sat up and stretched. The clock on the wall read 10:23. Brunch, then. A lovely reunion brunch with Octus and Lance. It sounded delightful… maybe she could hold them off until she cut flowers for the table. She made a mental note that she would have to do something really special for Octus soon… his favorite ice sticks, maybe? A book on modern art? Mittens to match his fuzzy slippers? She smiled and crinkled her nose at the idea.
"Oh, you're awake," said Lance, pausing in the door, freshly showered and toweling his wet hair.
"Good morning," she said brightly, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. "Are you going down to breakfast?"
Lance frowned, mid-towel.
"Don't get excited… we have a guest," he muttered, rolling his eyes with displeasure; "Kimmy's here to see Newton."
Of course she was. Ilana rubbed her nose thoughtfully. How was Newton going to explain his… death, you could call it... to Kimmy? She wasn't sure there had ever been a plot like this on High School Heights - where someone broke up with their lover, who then mysteriously disappeared, and was actually a depowered robot. Actually, that seemed tame for High School Heights. The three of them would have to come up with a plausible story.
"So… can I get still food? Or is the kitchen off-limits to super un-cool people like me?"
"No. But, oh my gawd, you're, like, toootallygonna cut in on their alone time," said Lance sarcastically, and he made a face. Ilana giggled.
"You know, Lance," she said smugly, drawing herself up with mock regal imperiousness, "as a princess it's my duty to be diplomatic, and as my bodyguard and loyal subject you should be following my exa- hey!"
Lance threw the towel at her face, making contact with a fluffy thlump.
"Nope," he said.
Jerk.
/
So the attitude in the kitchen was a bit different than what Ilana thought it would be. Kimmy was sitting perched on the island's marble countertop, legs crossed and hands clasped around her knee. She leaned into her pose, looking like some luxurious, exotic, fire-feathered bird, completely silent. Newton had his apron on and was standing at the stove with his back turned to Kimmy, measuring milk with robotic precision into a steaming pan of scrambled eggs. Ilana poked her head hesitantly into the kitchen, feeling as though she had missed a musical cue somewhere in some absurd domestic dance number.
"…Morning, Newton… Kimmy," she said slowly, trying to ignore the conspicuous plate of waffles on the kitchen counter.
"Good morning, Ilana!" said Newton with exuberance, turning around, crossing the kitchen in three steps and lifting Ilana off the ground in an enormous bear hug. Kimmy was staring pointedly at the ceiling.
"Ooof! Any – chance – of – breakfast – aghyoucanputmedownnow," gasped Ilana, and Newton thrust a plate of food into her hands.
"Homemade waffles with strawberries, blueberries, and whipped cream. I made the whipped cream myself. It wasn't difficult once I figured out the correct rotation speed for beating the eggs. Your favorite," he said, and for a few seconds Ilana was speechless. She took the waffles, topped with delicately and precisely beaten spirals of whipped cream, feeling completely overwhelmed by Newton's expectant, happy smile.
"You're amazing!"
She stood on tip-toe and gave him a one-armed hug around the neck.
"Kimmy was just telling me what we missed in school," said Newton, returning to the stove and prodding the eggs with his spatula; Kimmy rolled her eyes.
"No, actually, Newton was just about to tell me where you guys have been for the past three weeks," she said fiercely.
Ilana plucked a strawberry from the cloud of whipped cream and popped it into her mouth.
"Oh, uh, we were in…" she started; in where?
"Let me guess. You all had to go to the bathroom," Kimmy growled at the back of Newton's head; uncrossing her legs and whipping her head around.
"No, honeymuffin, and if you would just listen, Ilana was just about to tell you," said Newton in a measured tone.
"Don't 'honeymuffin' me. Or 'sugarbear' me. Not until you explain why you all vanished into thin air."
Ilana had never seen Kimmy like this; her eyes glowing, her face lit with a sharp, determined look, her tone low and tranquilly furious. She didn't envy Newton's position. She also didn't really appreciate him foisting the 'explanation' onto her, quite obviously, too; but he did make her waffles, which were crunchy and sweet and perfectly airy on the inside – she was definitely being bribed.
Just then, Lance walked into the kitchen, and Ilana mentally started flipping through the pages of her history textbook, desperately trying to think of an Earth place that would convince Kimmy they were actually from this planet and Newton hadn't been stabbed by an energy-eating alien.
"Hey Newton, is the bacon ready?" he said, ignoring Kimmy and walking straight to the stove, where he gingerly picked out a clump of scrambled eggs with two fingers.
"Hi, Lance," said Kimmy, and he froze, egg dangling an inch over his mouth. And then he looked at Ilana, waiting for her to detach him from the spot where Kimmy's glare had nailed him down. Fine. Time to break out the crowbar of diplomacy.
"Well, we… had to go abroad," she said, and Kimmy frowned. Lance nervously consumed the egg and chewed hastily.
"Where? And why?"
"We were in… "
And all three Lunises chimed in at once -
"Indonesia," said Newton.
"Argentina," said Lance.
"California," said Ilana, and scowled at them.
"ARGH!" said Kimmy to the ceiling, tossing her head back, her voice finally rising above conversational level; "you guys are so impossible! Indonesia, Argentina, and California? Newton," she pleaded, "do you trust me at all? Do you have, like, any respect for me?"
Newton sighed "Of course I do, babycakes, but – "
"Don't call me that! Just be straight with me!"
Kimmy's voice had begun to crack. Her shoulders were drawn up and her hands, gripping the side of the countertop, were white and stiff. Ilana did not want that crack to widen. Ilana was trying to eat her breakfast in peace because she hadn't had a decent home-cooked breakfast in a long time and a frantic, angry Kimmy was impeding her enjoyment of said breakfast, and she wanted Newton to be happy because he had made her waffles and he was her family on this barbaric planet full of crazy redheads and weird people.
"Okay, look, Kimmy," she said, forcing her way into the silence, "I don't want to lie. We had a family crisis. A really bad, terrible family crisis. We didn't go abroad, we just had to leave town for a while to get it sorted out. You have to understand, we want to be private about this. I'm not going to tell you. Lance won't, either. If Newton wants to tell you the truth –" she fixed Newton with narrowed eyes, and he looked slightly sheepish in the way only a very atypical robot could – "he can."
Kimmy opened her mouth to speak but Ilana cut her off with a raised hand.
"Yes, this does have to do with his 'bathroom breaks'. No, we can't tell you why. And that's all I have to say," she finished, and realized that her fists had been clenched the whole time. Lance was leaning against the counter, one hand covering his mouth, inspecting her suspiciously. She unclenched them and met his gaze.
Kimmy slid off the countertop and stood in front of Ilana, towering over her, eyes wide and calm.
"Ilana," she said, carefully taking Ilana's hands; "thank you. For at least being honest that you can't tell me."
She gave a small smile and when Ilana smiled back, she grew radiant and for the second time in a day Ilana was pulled into an awkward, wrap-around hug.
"Awww, I've missed you, you crazy weirdo," said Kimmy, and released her. Ilana, again for the second time, was momentarily speechless. Lance shrugged in an 'I don't know what the fuck just happened' kind of way and, seeing that the threat had been defused, initiated his offensive against the refrigerator.
"Kimmy," said Newton, "I really like you. A lot. You make me happy in a very special way that… I've never felt before. Ever. There are some things I can't tell you. We all have those things. But it doesn't matter what those are, because I would never do anything to hurt you."
Kimmy scrunched her mouth into a thoughtful moue, tension still on her like a color.
"Kimmy, please trust me that I trust you," he said, hopefully; Ilana saw Lance smirk with amusement as he chugged from a carton of milk. He had probably done this kind of thing before, hadn't he? Going on dates, courting girls, promising them things?
"Oh, Newton, you'll always be my nerd," she breathed, as the tension washed off her, and she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him gleefully on the cheek.
"And you'll always be my honeyboo," he said.
Lance choked on the milk, spluttering and coughing frantically. Kimmy gave him a funny look, still dangling from Newton's neck.
"C'mon, Lance, let's go eat on the patio, give them some alone time," said Ilana, noting sadly that her waffles had gone slightly cold, and that the whipped cream had deflated; it couldn't be helped.
"Yeah, okay," said Lance hurriedly, wiping milk from his face, and he took the pans of eggs and bacon from the stove and followed her through the kitchen's back door to their little patio.
"Thank god that's over," he muttered, and Ilana smacked him playfully on the head. Inside Kimmy had started jokingly asking Newton what their super-mysterious secret was. CIA agents? No. Superheroes? Uh-uh. On-the-run from the feds? Not even close…
"It was sweet. Besides, if Kimmy's happy, Newton's happy, and that's good enough for me."
As they settled down onto the patio chairs, Lance dual-wielding frying pans, Ilana picking out the berries to save for last, the day still, clear, and bright; Ilana heard one last question from Kimmy, one for which Ilana would have to give her credit for being much more astute and shrewd than she looked.
"Does it… have anything to with that Titan? Thing? Robot?"
"Now you're just being silly," said Newton flawlessly, feeding her a strawberry.
/
Several hundreds of millions of light-years away, a dangerous man strode across the charred, pitted landscape of a dangerous planet. Such was the fortuity of his circumstances that with each black-booted step, the planet quaked and trembled in fear of him, of his gloved fist, of his Eye. And such was the power given to him that he merely had to look upon even the most mindlessly cruel and atavistic specimen of scales and claws, and it would step back to make way for his passage.
Modula swept into the control room, followed by an abrupt, tight-lipped silence. None of the Mutradd engineers or scientists dared to speak. They spoke as little as possible, and averted their gaze from the great Eye on his head; the Eye, the enchanting, seductive green Eye, that trapped you in its sight like a squirming insect in a web.
Ah, the Eye… the eye…[ THE EYE SCREAMED, THE EYE SCREAMED FOR BLOOD AND SHATTERED BONES ]
Several Mutradd guards were attempting to load an enormous, towering Apessian scorpion onto the launch pad. It shrieked viciously and swung its head around, seeking the tips of their electric pikes. Such a glorious, magnificent creature…
[ IT WOULD KILL! IT WOULD KILL AND CUT THEM OPEN AND SPILL THEIR ENTRAILS ]
The Mutradd engineers in the control room watched the commanding officer bow his head towards Modula's feet. Modula seemed apathetic; almost unimpressed, despite the fact that the scorpion had sunk its barbed tail several inches deep into a guard, who then started to convulse uncontrollably as yellow froth bubbled out of his mouth.
[ AND THEIR EYES WILL ROLL INTO THEIR HEADS AND THEY WILL STRUGGLE CRUSHED AND BROKEN FOR A PEACE THAT WILL BE HELD FROM THEM ]
"Surely, sire, this creature meets your expectations?" asked the officer, trembling slightly, as the scorpion tore the guard's head from his body and ripped the carcass open with its shining red claws.
[ AND THE CHILD'S BLOOD WILL FLOW LIKE THE OCEANS ]
Modula stroked his beard, watching the scorpion devour the hapless guard. It did meet expectations. Its blood-thirst was admirable; its viciousness unlike any other creature sent before. And yet, they had all failed, all thrown across space to die at the hands of a juvenile, untrained whelp and a delinquent, pathetic excuse for a soldier. Maybe a subtler approach was needed [ NO! SET EVERY NERVE OF THEIR BODIES ON FIRE AND MAKE THEM SCREAM UNTIL THEIR THROATS BLEED ]
"Sire? Sire…?" asked the officer, tentatively; a drop of sweat rolled down his jawline and he resisted the temptation to wipe it off. He kept his hands firmly clasped, behind his back, staying calm, staying servile, staying…
The scorpion had been successfully coaxed onto the launch pad. But the megabeasts had been insufficient. There must be a smarter way… a stronger way, more sophisticated than brute force and power. Megabeasts were strong, but Galalunans were clever.
[ CRACK THEIR SKULLS ]
[ SMASH THEM ALL ]
"Hold the launch," said Modula, and the Mutradd officer blinked in surprise.
"Sire, is something wrong?"
[ RIP THEIR SPINES FROM
The Eye opened and began to glow, a relentless, brilliant green.
"Yes, I dare say there is," drawled Modula, and the officer burst into ash where he stood, incinerated by a jet of light.
…. ]
Modula swept his gaze across the control room. No one reacted to the death of their officer. No one moved or spoke.
"You," he thundered, pointing with a gloved hand to a gilled Mutradd officer; "send me three of the Galalunan soldiers at once and have a rocket prepared. Leave the creature on the launch pad."
"Of course, sire," said the officer immediately, and she scuttled out of the room. Modula swiftly claimed her chair and crossed his legs, watching the scorpion shiver restlessly on the launch pad.
[ Calm yourself, my pet… there shall be more prey soon enough… patience. ]
The Eye was calm. It was at peace. It had been satiated. The voice curled up like a wild animal, nestled in the back of Modula's mind, always watching, always waiting. Its thirst for violence was slaked, for now.
/
A/N:
That's a wrap for this chapter.
If you liked it, tell me; if you didn't, tell me. Constructive criticism is always welcome.
Again, soliciting ideas for "episodes," just let me know.
Chapter 3/Episode 22 – because of plot bunnies, ch. 3 is now a mystery to everyone, including yours truly. My bad. There is still a giant space scorpion.