Chapter 11
"She and I are two unhappy ones who keep together and carry our burdens together, and in this way unhappiness is changed to joy, and the unbearable becomes bearable."
― Vincent van Gogh
Ellowyn O'Maille marched through the front doors of the Terog like she owned the place. She was tall, silver-haired and regal, the type that commands attention.
Her ebony heels clicked along the marble floor of the lobby with only a small black leather purse in her hand. And she'd brought a friend; a robot, a little over six feet in height, Its body square-shaped, with a round clear head that resembled a plasma ball, situated with two black specks for eyes.
It followed close behind her, lugging a small brown suitcase in its hands. The droid occasionally paused to observe the onlookers, coupled with 'beep' sounds. The guests were all smiling and pointing at the droid as it followed Ellowyn, who would periodically stop to direct the bot forward. There were whispers as she walked in, as this was the famed roboticist, renowned for her groundbreaking work which had earned her tremendous respect for her innovation. The strange bot clearly one of her creations.
Behind her came in another woman in green. Getting lost among the people clamoring about the lobby entrance.
"Any sign of chiama Swain?" Teora asks Tomah, keeping her green eyes pinned to the older woman approaching the front desk. Tomah shook his head as he knuckled his eyes. He'd not gotten much sleep. "No, she hasn't turned up yet."
He folded his arms as he pondered. He remembers another woman who he thought had checked out named Veronica Dell. Her room was now occupied by the mysterious Gray. She'd presumably had left a day or two earlier. Guests were not required to sign anything just to leave, they merely packed up and left. A confusing system with definite flaws. One that made it hard to keep track of everyone.
But still, he hadn't seen her actually leave. And she made it clear she'd be there a while at least. But she'd up and just vanished. Women in their line of work often disappear, so concern was certainly warranted.
Teora gawked the bot as the older woman reached the front desk. She nudged Tomah, who was staring off.
I don't know. It doesn't look so special to me. She spoke telepathically to her co-worker, not wanting to risk being heard. Tomah doesn't offer any response, only an uninterested shrug.
The design seems so simple. Thycenians don't believe in creating A.I. Cybernetic limbs, sure, that was different. But a full false being, it went against nature. There was a robot convention nearby where humans and other species were putting their work on display, so this lady was probably one of the loons who will be there.
"Buna diwas." Teora perks up, giving the new guest a bright smile. The woman shoots her a steely look, her blue-gray eyes narrowing. Teora feels a sliver of ice trickle through her veins.
"O'Maille," the roboticist tersely says, gaze still on Teora. "And this is Richie." she nods to the droid who beeps in response.
Kikara checks her in, leading the way to the room. The woman says nothing more as she brushes past, ascending the stairs behind Kikara. Her robotic servant followed, still clasping the suitcase, pausing on a step briefly to glance out over at the lobby and the crowd as they continue to point and laugh.
"Man, this place is great!" one man exclaims as he passes by a white-bearded older man in a green suit.
Teora and Tomah watch as Ellowyn and Kikara disappear with the bot in pursuit beyond the balcony.
"Well…she's not very friendly. Not that we aren't used to that." Teora grimaced, as she pictured the woman's beady eyes boring through her, a small shudder accompanied the feeling. That woman and that droid were both strange.
"She's probably got a lot on her mind. Those creative types you know." Tomah says, nonchalant about the woman's laconic demeanor.
Teora shakes her head. "They come to our planet. Treat us like animals. Act above us, and you try to justify it."
Tomah waved her comment aside. "I'm not trying to justify anything. We are animals to them. We're not human Tee, and to them we're something alien-just like they're aliens to us. It will take some getting used to for them-as well as us."
"Crousa," Teora mutters as he walks away saying nothing more, but she continued. "We deserve to be treated with respect. Why are we lesser than? What makes them so superior? We shouldn't have to wear a false human skin to be accepted." Being treated like creatures on display in a menagerie was insulting. They were a race of warriors, they shouldn't tolerate this nonsense.
Radaha's raspy voice can be heard, coming around the main stairwell, almost bumping into Tomah as she appears around the railing.
"Did I miss her? Did I?" she asks, wide-eyed, almost like a child with a new toy. "Tell me I didn't."
"...Who?" Teora lifts an eyebrow ridge.
"The roboticist!" Radaha exclaims. "Is she here? I heard she was going to be here at the Terog, because of the convention. And I was waiting for her to arrive, but kutta! Seems I missed her," she pauses for a second, surveying the area around her. "The only human I'd actually want to interact with."
"Wait-that awful woman with the robot?" Teora asks, gesturing upstairs.
Radaha stares her down, her hands dropping to her sides. "What is it?"
"Nothing," Teora shuffles past her. "Just...don't get too excited." she says as she makes her way to the desk to check in the woman in the bright green dress.
Such an outfit for this weather.
"Melissa Cartier," the woman says as drops a small round suitcase with pale blue floral print beside her legs sheathed in white knee-high boots. "Do you know a woman named Candy?"
Teora, peering down at the guestbook, sharply lifts her head up. "Candice Swain?"
"Yes, is she here?"
"No. We are unable to find her. Her clothes are still here though, and some of her things, if you want to collect them for her." Teora replies, trying to adopt a positive tinge to her voice. Something she struggled with when she felt things were looking grim.
"Come," Teora gestures for Melissa to follow her. "I'll take you to her room."
"So, here chiama O'Maille." Kikara spreads an arm towards the large bed, with it's red and gold-tasseled trim. "We hope you find everything to your satisfaction."
Ellowyn gave a polite smile as Kikara gives a little jump as the bot moves past her, promptly situating itself at the side of its owner, dropping the suitcase at the tip of its feet with a clunk.
"Not really used to that." Kikara murmurs, gaze still on the droid. It's black tiny eyes almost seemed to match those of it's creator. Unsettling.
"Richie...takes getting used to." the woman offers, turning to her metal companion, who 'beeps' in response, it's clear dome head containing quivering pulses of blue static. It's blank stare then returns it's focus to Kikara. She shifts her feet, kneading her hands.
"I'm sure I will enjoy my stay." Ellowyn says. "Thank you."
"My friend is a quarter robot in a way. She's got a pros-" Kikara begins as the roboticist gives a small flap of her hand. Kikara heeds the gesture.
"If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Buna." She swiftly makes her way out the room's door, which is promptly shut just as she exits, almost catching her skirt.
Kikara starts down the hall. She stops and changes her route, gazing down the corridor for a moment before walking the other way until she reaches Mirasal's room. She stands in front of it, examining the room's number, lifting her shaky right hand to softly tap, her left one in a fist with the thumb rubbing the index finger. Her hand weakened with each movement, her stomach knotted, tightening as she continued.
No answer. No sounds in the room. No voices. Nothing.
Letting out an audible sigh, she brings her hand up to grip the knob. With a gingerly pause, she turns it. Sticking her head in, there is no sign of her friend. The room is quiet. The clenching in her stomach unraveling as she opens the door further and enters.
A gasp escapes her as her eyes immediately spot something gold and familiar on the floor near the dresser. She rushes over and dives down, grabbing it up. Just as she does, a piece of the broken lens drops to the floor. She grips it to her chest, wiping her nose as a sniffle comes on.
Bam!
She bolts up, spinning around in the direction of the windows.
What was that?
She approaches where the sound came from. Near the desk is a black scanner. She recognized it as Mirasal's military one. It was now on it's side on the floor, near the desk's chair, static emitting from it's small speaker. She charily walked towards it, trying to hear the voice forming among the crackling and popping. Her ears perking up as she makes out the words as they reach her.
'Ba-ad F-f-frie-ENd, BA-aa-d FrI-EN-d'
"What..." she whispers, kneeling down closer. "Who-"
'You're a bad friend! You're a BAD FRIEND! YOU'RE A BAD FRIEND!' The voice hollers. A raspy, deep crackling voice embedded with malice.
She falls backward, letting out a small cut-off shriek, her heirloom rolling out of her palm. She scoops it up as she stumbled to the door, throwing one last glance back as she slams it shut.
Outside the room she tries to catch her breath as she stares at the door. She hears a click behind her.
"You okay ma'am?" A kind-faced human male asks, peeking out through the crack of his door. She acknowledges his query, turning to face him.
"Yes. I'm fine. Grazach."
She almost stumbles down the hall, her heirloom in her grasp, the sounds of her rapid breaths trailing behind her.
"What does your name mean again?" Robert asks.
"To admire." Mirasal replies.
"That's fitting." he grins as he gazes at her, noticing she's staring at something.
"What are you looking at?"
She points. "There. The river is just below. Fasare used to take us fishing there. He worked as a fisherman for a while. We'd help him."
"Fisherman, huh?"
"It didn't really suit him-that life."
"Um, your father, what is he like? What's he do now?" His question is met with an indifferent look, eyes pointedly on the pages of the book open on her lap.
"You don't want to talk about him."
"No, I don't really." Does he really need her too? It's not like he can't find out on his own.
"Alright, have it your way," he puts his hands on his knees. "Let's take a little break. We've been going for a while now."
His long legs straighten in front of them, wrinkling the dark blue quilt they sat on near the edge of the waterfront, under a canopy of trees. The spot gave them a good view of the surrounding landscape. The texture of the grass was nice and dry and occasionally thin streams of sunlight sliced through the clouds to touch down on them.
"I thought you promised to be a good student?" she pretend-huffs, holding up the book of Terthach language. They had brought two out with them; the language one and another about Thycenian mythology.
"I am," he pouts. "Am I not being good? I just want a little bit of a break," he starts to finger her ears. "Come on. Let's relax a little." He then plucks the book out of her hands as she frowns.
"You're being obnoxious right now." she smirks as she takes the book back in her palms. He'd been whining a little throughout the lesson, fidgeting. She tries to suppress a smile as he wraps his arms around her, feeling his scowl focused on her face.
"You haven't seen obnoxious. If I wanted to be obnoxious, I'd do this," She yelps as he tackles her, pushing her back onto the blanket, causing her to drop the book as she brought her arms up to block his hands. He lowered his head to her belly to deliver a raspberry against the thin material covering her midriff.
She laughs as he starts to tickle her, fighting him off playfully. His eyes then spot a large, majestic-looking flower, its supple outer petals a bold red, with a white center and a marigold stigma sprouting from the middle.
'What is it?" she touches her bottom lip with a metal finger as she follows his gaze.
"That," he crawls towards the blossom, reaching for it's long stem, the thorns pricking his index finger, drawing droplets of blood which begin to trickle skyward. "Aw, fuck." he mutters under his breath, ducking his wound behind his back as Mirasal sits up crawling towards him, the weight of her body against her palms as she tries to peek at his wound.
"You hurt yourself-" she reaches out, gesturing for him to show her.
"No!" he continues to conceal his hand. "No, just I-the thorns." Its touch had caused the flower to start to wilt and brown, but to her, it still looks alive.
"What were you doing?" she asks, her voice tinted with concern. "You shouldn't just touch any plant or flower. There are some that are deadly. Venomous. You need to be careful. Those ones are not poisonous, you are fortunate."
"I just wanted to pick one for you." he nods at it, injured hand still tucked behind him.
"Why would I want a flower though?" she looks at him, blinking.
"You know as a gift. Don't you do that here? You know flowers are supposed to be romantic, right?"
"No, in our culture they symbolize spirits. Picking them is disrespectful. It's why they have thorns- to protect. Or venom," she sits up on her knees. "The ancient ones used to think the venom from the deadliest could bring the dead back to life," She'd seen a human couple exchanging them before, but giving them as a romantic gesture seems so strange. "These ones are called 'gama' it means 'strong' because they are able to withstand even the fiercest storm and still survive."
"Really?" Robert stares down the flower's swirl of red outer depths.
The white lilies sit in a plain lavender vase on a small stand, Alison snatches them up with her diminutive hands. "You fucking asshole! You worthless piece of shit! How dare you do this to me!" She practically screeches the last word as she chucks the vase in the direction of the clown that stood near the only window.
"Fuck you! They want me for all of it!" Her fists are clenched, brown eyes now rimmed in a watery pink. The bars over the window outside are casting shadows along the entity's bored-looking face as he stands, back rested against the wall.
"You just ruined the lovely flowers your mother brought you, tsk, tsk." He gives her a sly smile as she cries out, storming at him, his enormous gloved hand cutting off her voice as he grabs her throat and growls.
"I have always encountered ones like you. Ones who were convinced they were somehow special. Could tame the 'monster.' But I am no mere monster. I am the Eater Of Worlds," He tightens his grip, her tongue starting from her mouth. She gags as she smells the rancid blood on his breath as he brings his pale face closer. "And you my dear, did some stupid shit." He boops her nose with his free hand as she struggles to loosen his grasp.
"You made it so easy. The desperation, I saw it in your puny little mind." He throws her to the ground, she lands with a thud on her back, propping herself up on her elbows to give him a weepy grimace. He stares down at her, his eyes now a yellow blaze.
"Desperate and pathetic parasite. Humans serve few purposes for me. But now, you will serve another," he kneels down, getting in her face again. "And when they pulled those kids out of the water, along with the wreckage, they knew who to blame. You were after all, the driver."
Alison screams. "You made me do it!"
Pennywise grins, straightening up to sneer down at her. "I made you do nothing. I didn't even have to influence you. You did it of your own free will."
Alison continues her wailing, as two orderlies stand just outside, peeking in through the thick glass of the diminutive window of the heavy iron door, seeing nothing but the petite brunette shrieking her head off again. Her arms flailing wildly at the air around her. She'd been screaming constantly about a clown hiding in the sewers.
"Is that her?" one asks. Her co-worker nods, scratching at the stubble along his chin. "Yeah, that's the crazy bitch who drove the school bus off the cliff. She survived because she jumped out before it went off. They should really screen the drivers. The loonies really fall through the cracks."
They immediately run inside the room as Alison picks up a shard from the busted vase and slashes her calf open, using the blood to paint her lips and connect them in lines to her forehead.
"He looks like this." she says as the orderlies wrestle the glass from her hands.
"You alright?" Mirasal's voice snaps him back to the present.
"Yes," he smiles. "Are you sure you don't want a flower?" he slips his fingers into the inside of his vest, slowly presenting a massive long-stemmed bud, still closed up tightly. Before her eyes, the pink outer petals unfurled, revealing deep ruby inner petals and a radiating yellow center, like a tiny sun was placed within it.
"Oh," she breathes, her fingertip gingerly reaches for it, unable to take her eyes off the burning ball in the middle, softly flickering. "Another trick? How did you do that? Has it been there the whole time?"
"Can't reveal remember? Now, this is called a 'rose.' These ones are unique. Listen." He gently cups his hand around her neck, maneuvering her ear to the bloom. The faint, soft singing inside touches her eardrum.
"Is that?" she cradles it in her palms, pulling it closer, her ears pricked at the unexpected sounds. "Singing? I can hear singing." Beautiful, silky feminine voices like bells chiming, almost hypnotizing.
"They're the singing roses," Robert replies. "Some believe they can also heal. They are symbols of a goddess called Bessa. Praying to her brings you good fortune."
"I could use some of that. Where do they come from though? Where do they grow?" she manages to pry herself away from the enchanting siren song.
"A different world than this. There's a whole field of them as far as the eye can see. Their thorns can tear your skin off, but once you get them out of the dirt, they're safe." he places it in her hands.
"I'd love to see this field." she twirls the stem in her fingers, the color of the petals blurring together.
"Maybe I'll take you one day." he pulls her to his side as she places the rose carefully on the blanket.
"Would you?" she playfully pushes him onto his back, tickling him.
It begins to giggle, but stops Itself. No, don't laugh. Robert's face contorts slightly, she stopped and gripped his torso.
"Susa, did I hurt you?" she retracted her metal hand quickly. "That usually happens...I try to be careful-"
"No no," It pinched the bridge between Its brows. "No. It's just I'm not," It looks up at her worried face. "Nothing. It's nothing." Before It could finish Its thought, she stood up, her attention now elsewhere.
"No, don't get up..."
"Oh, look," She starts walking towards a large tree, towering, its thick arms stretching endlessly to the sky. Almost as if the clouds could touch the delicate leaves on its branches. This one dwarfed the others in comparison.
"This," she touches it. "This is The Weeping Tree." She cranes her neck to gaze upwards at it as Robert joins her by her side.
"What's that?' he asks, his eyes following hers to the top.
"It's a legend about how the grotto and trees formed here," she says. "It used to be pretty bare in this area, just the mountain and the grass, and a few plants here and there. Dhesda and her mate lived here. She was a Thycenian woman who couldn't have children, even though they wanted them badly." She tries to remember the tale as her mother told it.
"So, one day, they planted a seed outside their home and it began to sprout. Over the next few years it grew into a tiny tree. And they cared for it, loved it like a child. It never got very big. Then one day, her mate went off to fight in a war and was killed."
This part of the story hit too close to home for her, but she continued. "She was so distraught she wept for days. She sat by the little tree and her tears fell onto the soil around it."
Robert's eyes grew bigger with anticipation. "Then what happened?" he asks.
"When she woke up the next day, the tree was huge. It had grown overnight into this," she points up. "Her tears had made it grow much larger. She continued to cry and the tears that flowed formed the grotto and all the plant life around it. So, out of death and sadness came life."
As she finished, Robert smiled. "Do you believe that?"
She replies with a slight shrug. Such tales were entertaining, but not to be taken as fact.
Robert rested his palm against the bark. "I have a story that's sort of similar in a way, just in terms of a woman wanting a child so badly she'd do anything."
"Let's hear it."
"A woman named Mia, she is a succubus, you know what that is?"
"Yes, I am aware of them. Demons, no?"
Robert nods and continues. "So, she is of the Prim-"
"The Prim?" Mirasal queried with a head tilt.
"It's like...an essence. Where various creatures exist, the dark ones, and light ones. Different ones," he explains. "Now, she spent her time seducing men and killing them. But one day, when she came across a family raising a small boy, she desperately wanted a baby of her own. A man named Walter O' Dim promised her a child if she became mortal, to which she agreed. He uses a special machine to turn her mortal and says she'll have seven years with her child."
"Does she get her baby?"
"Just wait. Now, she needs a mortal woman to carry the child. She takes on the form of a male to impregnate a woman named Susannah with sperm she took from a man named Roland."
Mirasal's brows furrow at this. She'd heard odd tales, but this…was strange.
Robert smirked at her reaction before he carried on. "So she then possesses Susannah's body so she can carry the baby and birth it. Then when the time comes to deliver, she and Susannah are separated and Mia gives birth to a baby boy named Mordred. Upon birth his hunger is so great however, he devours her."
Mirasal's mouth dropped open. "Wait-what?"
"The baby devoured her after she gave birth." he replied.
"It ate her?" her mouth was still agape.
"Yes, it had been so hungry…" he trails off.
Mirasal stood looking down, before finally,"That's a horrible story! I don't like it at all," she brushed past him, walking back to the blanket, throwing a look back at him. "And how is that the same?"
Robert hurried after her. As he removed his palm from the tree bark, it left a large brown spot, it's edges inching outwards. "It's about a woman who wanted a child, and her death brought life. Her body was it's sustenance. Her flesh gave it life," he explains as he catches up to where she's standing. "It is the same, but different. Just like Dhesda's tears brought life. Mia gave life to Mordred. She created him."
She narrows her eyes as she gnaws her bottom lip. "I suppose so. But...still." Her culture had myths and tales that centered around death and dying, but nothing involving a woman being eaten by her young.
She glanced up at the branches of the smaller tree they were near with the tagro fruit. She picked two plump ones off the branch, giving them a slight squeeze. "Here, try." She holds one out to him, which is met with a resistant look.
He sniffs at it as he took it from her hand. "Oh, yes, I saw you with these before."
"What?"
"I mean I've heard of these before."
"Oh, well, they're famous." she says as she bites into hers. She enjoyed the sour taste when they are fresh off the branch. Many found it too intense, but she preferred them this way. She never liked them baked, drained of the bitter taste. Sour and crunchy foods were always her favorite. She pauses her chewing as she observes him turning it in his hands under his nostrils, sniffing it loudly.
She swallows, sitting back down on the quilt. "You can eat it. It's fine." He gives her a quick glance before reluctantly biting into it, pausing as he did so. The bite quickly met the ground.
"Ugh!" his face twists in a grimace as he runs to the water's edge to splash his tongue. He stood up to face her. "How the Hell do you eat this?" He continued spitting, twisting his lips to either side.
She didn't think it was that bad. "It's not for everyone." she says dryly, chewing languidly, keeping her gaze on him as he continues to spit furiously. Bringing his fingers up to frantically attempt to wipe away the sourness from his taste buds.
She gawks at this gesture. "I like it though. I would think you'd be able to handle it. But maybe you'd prefer them in a pie? It's not as strong." she suggests as Robert shoots her a disgruntled look before wiping his mouth off with his sleeve. He gave a little sniffle before he responded.
"Don't think so. I like..more saltier food. Meat." Mirasal acknowledged this comment with a slow nod of her head as she chewed. He lowered his lanky form to sit by her on the quilt.
"So," his arms supports him as he leaned back, running his fingers under his nose as he sniffled again. "So, getting back to your father."
She paused her eating, peering at him out of the corner of her eyes, keeping her head still. She swallowed her remaining bit of fruit with a small soft cough. "You need me to tell you? You can't just read my mind? Surely you know." she replied, giving her chest a pat. She hadn't felt the head throbbing, she assumed he wasn't digging around in her memories. She preferred it if he did, whatever kept her from having to explain things out loud. Talking about her problems wasn't something she excelled at.
"I do. But...I thought you didn't mind?"
"I don't really. It's just I don't understand why you ask me things you already know the answer to. You're aware I'm sure." she says as she swats a tiny stunebug off her skirt.
"I'm just making conversation, that's all. I just feel you are worrying about him."
"Yes, I told you the life of a fisherman didn't really suit him…" she petered out, pondering how to explain it. "So he went back to doing...more unsavory things."
At one point he'd been in the military, at a very young age, but the details of why that ended have never been revealed to her or her sisters. Of course they'd heard rumors...
"He's involved in...criminal activity?" Robert scooted closer, putting the weight of his chest against her shoulder. She kept her gaze fixed ahead.
"Yes, he is. He'd quit that life for a while, though. At least during the early part of my childhood. But masare never hid it from us. What he did. Or what she did…at least when we got old enough to understand. But we figured that out on our own, really."
"That she's a prostitute?"
Mirasal scoffed softly. "Usually there's a different word being used." And she'd had it thrown at her and her mother often enough. Kikara's snide comment comes to mind. She had not used the word directly, but the implication was there.
"Your real father though…" Robert quirked an eyebrow at her, clearly wanting her to elaborate more.
"I know who he is-or was. He's no longer alive." her voice stays flat.
"Did you know him?"
"I have very vivid memories of meeting him, when I was very little. Neseret doesn't remember, but I do." She recalls her true father's striking azure eyes, not unlike her own, the scar down his right cheekbone. Her eyes fleck to the silver of Robert's rings.
"How are the little ones?" Cyate kneels down by the twin girls, his armor making 'clink' sounds as he does. He hands them each a small piece of dark purple quartz from his last raid on the planet Drava. His smile displaying the silver caps on two of his front teeth.
"They're good," Arnamina replies. "Her arm though, and she's still not talking." She gestures at Mirasal's stump. The girl, examining her new treasure glances up and beams.
"Eh, at least you can tell them apart." Cyate shrugs, flinching as Arnamina harshly swats his shoulder.
"Are you making jokes about this?" She scowls at him.
"What?! She'll be fine! So she'll have to struggle more than anyone else. So what? It will toughen her! It's like the story of the lame thyacosma. The wounded one has to be the strongest, and the most resourceful! She'll be fine. Just look at me," Arnamina shoots him a skeptical look as he pats Mirasal on the head and pulls Neseret onto his knee. "Both of them will do fine."
"Do you see the man you call father often? I mean he did leave you…" Robert's touch makes her flinch slightly as her mind focuses again.
"He keeps his distance. Masare didn't really want him around," she sighs. "When I had my children, he left care baskets at the door for them. I don't think he can come around without putting us in danger. Growing up, there were always strange men coming to the house looking for him."
She stops, remembering what Robert had told her about his children. She wanted to ask him about it. How many did her have, how old were they, what were their names. But, she figured, it could be painful for him. Such a loss was great for somebody who seemed so young. At least he looked young. She didn't know his age, or about his family, or really anything at all.
"Tell me about your family. Brothers? Sisters?" she deftly changes the subject.
He takes some time to ponder. "Brother," he finally replies. "Brother, father, mother, that's all."
It's clear no further details will be given. She traced her fingers along her prosthetic, pulling her lips in. "That's all, huh?"
"Um...yes," he continues. "Not much left of my kind. My race is dying out. My planet dying, left it long ago," he explained. "Not many left. Nothing to tell."
A grave mien rests on his features as he stares blankly at a tiny red bird as it teeters on a thin branch of a nearby shrub.
"Oh." she turns her half-eaten tagro around in her fingers. He's not the first one she'd met whose planet had been destroyed either by the self-sabotage of the people or other means.
Maybe it's best not to ask him about it. If he didn't want to talk about those things, she wouldn't force him. It's just it only seemed fair given how he insisted she tell him about herself. Already knew so much about her from reading her memories.
"What?" he notices her eyes on him.
"Nothing," she replies. "I just wish I could read your mind, that's all."
She wants to know about It. It had carelessly mentioned Its offspring to her, but already that was too much. Keeping any background about itself ambiguous. The story of a dying planet and people were false. Such fabrications are needed. Nothing to be revealed. Revealing too much, saying too much would be dangerous. It must keep a low profile, so as to not draw attention to Itself. It wasn't sure, but It felt as if another could be here. It could sense a presence. Another watching. It thought of Its offspring again and the image of Ben Hanscom stomping the life from them comes on, causing a blossom of pain in Its being.
It twitched, Its eyes drifting lopsided. To Its horror, she notices this movement.
"Are you alright?" she asks as It turns away from her. It shakes Its head, Its eyes settling back as It turns to face her.
"I'm fine."
