'I,' says Gwen, low and threateningly, within the gloom of Kevin's favourite garage. 'Am going to talk with Grandpa.'

Kevin, brow twitching at the tone in his girlfriend's voice, gives Ben a warning glare.

Ben naturally pays no heed.

'He just needs time,' he says, projecting more certainty than he feels. 'That's all.'

Kevin sighs and grumpily sticks his head back under the bonnet of his car, the black hump of his shoulders, having briefly fallen into shadows, now seeming to rise of their own volition into a shrug. Your funeral, the motion seems to spell out.

'I,' repeats Gwen, her glower no less intense. 'Am going to talk. With Grandpa.'

Ben throws up his palms in a classic backing-off gesture. 'Well, good luck finding him! Because ever since I had it out with him, he's made himself scarce.'

'Yes,' Rook murmurs, eyes tracking the grey dent that has just opened up under his fingers within the bulk of the Proto-Tool. 'I have attempted to track him down multiple times this last week, but Magister Patelliday always stalls me with some long-winded fishing anecdote. Or else tells me he is busy on some far-off mission. Which is ridiculous because the security logs would account for such a thing and last time I checked them, they stated that he is still on Earth.'

Ben throws him a grin. 'You think Patelliday's stories are long-winded?'

Rook, his eyes still firmly attached to his Proto-Tool, frowns. 'Only in this instance. Because they are designed to distract, rather than entertain.'

'Oy, oy.' Kevin lifts his head from his car, looking more entertained than he should. 'You think Patelliday actually means to entertain anyone with his tall tales? You're living in a dream-world, buddy.'

'I am not,' Rook says stiffly, actually lifting his eyes from his weapon to address Kevin and despite himself, Ben feels a little snubbed. 'I am simply not a world-weary pessimist like you, who readily ascribes under-handed motives to everyone around him.'

'Trust me, there's no universe out there large enough to contain your boundless naivety and faith in-' Kevin starts, a definite tick of annoyance to his voice, before Gwen taps her foot and gives him a look.

'Boys! Enough!'

'Yeah,' Ben mutters. 'You're about to describe your girlfriend, Kevin.'

It's worth it, just to see the pleased grin Rook flashes his way, although it does nothing to stop Gwen boring holes into his face. So Ben rolls his shoulder, tries not to tense in expectation of a mana-whip, and mouths 'Charmcaster' at her.

She groans. 'You're not gonna let that go, are you?'

'Nope,' he says cheerfully. 'Hey, how is the evil sorceress, anyway?'

'Binge watching Wynonna Earp,' Kevin informs him, looking vaguely disturbed as he does so. 'I swear, she hasn't left the couch in days.'

'Not the point,' Gwen remarks testily. 'In fact, nowhere remotely near the point. Grandpa is being weird and insensitive and a lot more close-minded than I ever expected of him and I need, no, we need to fix this.'

Kevin raises an eyebrow and steps away from his car, pausing to wipe grease on the lining of Ben's shirt. Ignoring the stifled 'hey,' he reaches out to clamp one heavy hand over Gwen's shoulder.

'Hey, I know, it sucks,' he says, sounding as gentle as he can ever be. 'Family members being jerks when previously they were kinda decent, or I guess looked decent... I get it. Your image of him got a little broken. It happens. But he isn't broken. You can't glue him back together like a snapped toy.'

Rook snorts. 'I find it hard to believe any toy nowadays could be fixed with a little 'glue.' If they could, Ben would not have a meltdown any time he clumsily knocked one of his action figures from a shelf.'

Ben opens his mouth, indignant, ready to object, but Kevin gets there first.

'Look Mr Literal, not to point fingers or anything, but what's your family situation like? Aside from Ben's Grandpa drama, we know his folks are okay with it. But what about yours? Do they even know?'

Rook freezes, the Proto-Tool caught between an archery bow shape and a long, lean rocket launcher and Gwen narrows her eyes at him, now looking a little wary.

'Rook?' she asks, a firm bite to her voice despite the slight questioning to her tone. 'Your parents do know, right?'

Ben steps in, literally steps in, right in front of her gaze which is quickly turning rather judgemental as Rook fails to answer. Especially since Rook is refusing to meet her own, his eyes staring resolutely down at his distorted Proto-Tool.

'Rook's folks are kind of traditional. And strict, really, really strict. Think of...you know really religious-and-conservative-family-strict?'

'Ohhhh.' Kevin makes a noise of dawning understanding, snapping his fingers suddenly. 'So they're a bunch of homophobes!'

Rook turns his eyes to Kevin without a word and narrows them into a tight, angry glare.

'No,' he says coldly. 'They will have more of a problem with Ben's species than of any other matter arising.'

Kevin raises his eyebrows and lets a lazy grin slip onto his face. 'That isn't exactly much better. Especially considering the fact that you're speaking with three fellow Homo sapiens at the moment.'

Gwen sniffs and shoves her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. 'Speak for yourself.'

Indeed Rook is giving Kevin a rather shrewd, analysing look. 'Technically speaking, you are an Osmosian; human in origin, yes, but still, at the genetic level, an offshoot, which would make you-'

'Argh!' Ben shouts, very nearly stomping his foot in frustration. 'Nobody cares who belongs to which genus, okay! And nobody's going to 'out' Rook to his family orrrr,' he trails off, deliberately waggling a finger in front of Gwen's face as patronisingly as he can. ''Make Rook 'out' himself to them.'

Gwen stares at him in exasperation. 'I'm not trying to –argh- that's not what I'm going for here, Ben! I just...your parents know-'

'Mum knows,' Ben interrupts with a mumble, scuffling his shoe against the ground. 'Which I guess means Dad knows, because she tells him everything.'

'Right, and Grandpa knows which isn't something you wanted, but hey, it's out there. And it's just like, Rook's family doesn't know. And maybe there's a good reason for that, but I just want to make sure you don't get hidden away like a secret. Because that'll be really unfair to you.'

Ben stares at her, at her cross frown which he always privately thinks makes her look like she's constipated. But despite that, her voice is earnest and bright, not quite pleading because Gwen never begs, not to him anyway, but it still carries an element of wheedling within it.

Either way, it's enough to make Rook actually gaze across the garage at them, his hands still tightly clamped over the frozen Proto-Tool as his eyes flicker between the two of them, guilt still stuck in their depths.

'I-' he starts, and then breaks off and swallows. 'I cannot perceive Shar reacting in a negative fashion. She has always been fairly broad-minded. As to the rest of my family...my siblings may suffer a little confusion. My Mother has always been reserved when expressing her true thoughts so I can only guess as to her reaction. But it is my Father who is the true 'wild card.''

'Yeah,' Ben mutters. 'A regular explosion waiting to happen there.'

Rook grimaces. 'Indeed.' Then he steels himself, his expression settling into that determined I'm-about-to-suit-up-and-embark-on-a-mission look. 'I will tell Shar then. And no one else. Not yet.'

Ben tries to picture it, thinks of Shar who sent him flowers even if she didn't know him that well, who has, unlike a lot of eager Plumber cadets, never nagged and niggled at him for re-tellings of his adventures, never jostled and overcrowded him with her exuberance. She's always been laser-focused on herself and he can't really see her being too bothered about her brother's love-life.

But the other Rooks...for a moment, Ben has a terrifying image of Rook Ben furiously ripping the posters of that lame actor version of himself down from the walls, covering the bedroom Blonko used to decorate with a confetti of blues and greens. They'd be odd white strips on the ceilings as a testament to his rage, from where he couldn't accurately grip hold of the sides properly in his haste, leaving chunks and half-corners behind in a mockery of graffiti. And while it hurts to think of this kid that idealises him reacting in such a way, Ben isn't stupid enough to believe that Rook Da is the only one in the family with a monopoly on anger.

'It's your choice,' he tells Rook, eyes not quite on his boyfriend as he considers the other people in his life, the two sisters and the mother that he's never really had a proper conversation with. Would their faces twist with rage? Would they start crying? Or would those two younger kids be like some of those slash fangirls and, err-no. Bad thoughts, there. Ben deals with enough of that on the internet.

'My choice.' Rook speaks up gravely, echoing him, fingers running over the Proto-Tool again as though it's a testy animal that needs it's touch. 'Yes. I hope I can be as brave as you have been.'

Ben starts at that. Then stops to take a proper look at Rook, at his slouch and the untidy way he's seated himself on a crate, legs open and spilling over the side as his hands rest between them, body too low to pull them back. That can't be good for his posture.

Ben frowns. Then saunters over, quietly stepping into Rook's space and leaning down, close enough to catch the other's eyes. 'Hey. We're not ganging up on you here. And, well, yes, I am brave, but that's not the reason my family knows. They just sort of stumbled into us at the wrong moments.'

Rook's brow dips, his face falling into an unpleasant scowl. 'Your mother did not walk in on us, it was your grandfather who-'

'My mother recognises a hickey when she sees one,' Ben cuts in determinedly, not wanting to hear the end of the sentence and choosing to ignore Kevin's wrenching sounds in the background. 'Not all of us have fur to cover up...you know...' His hand reaches up to paste itself against the side of his neck self-consciously, before he recognises the faint shine of recognition in Rook's eyes as they alight upon the area it's covering and he drops it immediately. The air rushes in to bate at the skin there, still a faint shimmer of pink from where Rook's teeth have nipped and his tongue has cajoled, all that makes him shiver.

I hate you, he wants to say jokingly, but he presses it down, finds it easy to do so when a huge smile blooms on Rook's face.

'You have mussed up my fur enough to know that you can leave as obvious a mark on me as I can on you,' he lectures Ben, though his tone lacks any real heat. Though there may be a hint of fang there, as his smile curls, turns smug when Kevin groans and pours a complaint into Gwen's ear.

'Is this sex-talk? Are they talking about sex stuff? Because it sounds like-'

'Inter-species hanky-panky?' Gwen cuts in with a raised eyebrow, her tone completely deadpan. 'Maybe. I wouldn't have you pegged as such a prude, Kevin.' But her tone turns gentle at the end, a little teasing; enough to force Kevin to smirk back.

'Nah, you know me, I just prefer my-'

It's at that point that Ben successfully tunes him out. 'It's still not fair!' he argues with Rook, leaning over to get more in his face and somehow, his hand finds itself on his boyfriend's chin, to give him a quick swipe there, soft enough to turn gentle and drift through the fur. 'Everything you do shows up like paint on me! And it takes you, what, two seconds to smooth over your fur with a finger! There's no way you can compare the two!'

'Mmmm,' Rook, in more of a pacifying hum than a sound of agreement, which gets Ben's hackles right up. 'You have a point.' His voice drops. 'But then, you are not a biter, and I am.' He bears his teeth at Ben in a grin and Ben sighs and flicks a finger back at them, the wet knock of skin against enamel serving as enough encouragement for Rook to draw them back and hide them away inside his mouth again.

'You are so not getting any,' Ben informs him snidely, his arms betraying him by sliding up around Rook's neck and nursing that blue head with his drifting palms, allowing his fingers to rise, to force the fur to fly out from the cheeks into a set of tufted spikes.

'Your actions do not match your words,' Rook informs him, smiling all the while, though it's puckered, distorted by the waves Ben's fingers are striking out above.

'If you think I've messed up your fur before, you've seen nothing yet,' Ben promises, feeling triumphant as a familiar clatter plays out upon the crate, Rook's Proto-Tool sliding into his vision as he feels the hand that held it reach round to cup his waist.

Rook doesn't croon out any strange words. He simply stretches, lets his spine rise a little bit as his head presses forward, near enough to slide against Ben's shirt. And he breathes out.

Ben feels the thump of his heart, sheltered by a sweaty black t-shirt and now pressing out, reverberating at the warmth of Rook's forehead. He wonders if Blonko can hear it.

He half-turns his head, but Kevin and Gwen have drifted over to the doorway talking animatedly about something that's too far away for him to care about and Rook's here, leaning against him and burying his head against his chest like an animal and Ben can't say no to that, not for anything. So his fingers soften, stop tracing out crazy patterns and start to dab, to pull, to push the fur back into its usual positions.

'Ahh,' says Rook and the smile bleeds through his voice. 'It seems I will not need a mirror to undo the damage you promised, after all.'

Ben raises his eyebrows. 'Dude, do you want me to stop stroking?'

Rook doesn't answer. Simply presses his head in tighter, a second hand rising to join the first and smoothing over the untouched bone of Ben's hip.

So Ben swallows and does something few other aliens have managed to get him to do. He obeys, and listens to the unspoken 'keep going.'

Ben comes home to find his house in a mess, cupboard doors swinging open and suitcases launched out from out their crevices to litter the floor. He makes a face as he sees the familiar beige slip of his mother's swimsuit hanging over the upturned lid of one like a waterfall sprung loose, and sighs as a distinct crack snaps out from under his foot. He lifts it to see the handle of a tennis racket his Dad hasn't touched in years now displaying a hefty line of jagged black.

'Oh hey, sport, I was looking for that.' His father grins, ruffles his hair and bends down to retrieve it from its ill-placed spot. 'Revonnahganders are pretty athletic right? Rook was telling me a game they played. Figured I could use a tennis racket as a substitute for those tall sticks they use.'

Ben blinks. 'What?'

'Well,' says his Dad, now experimentally swiping through the air with said racket and Ben doesn't have the heart to tell him that he looks like his wrist is stuttering a little short each time his arm flies out. 'It'll be like being a foreign exchange student all over again.'

'Mmm,' his mother says and Ben jumps as her head suddenly appear from out of the wardrobe, a few flighty summer dresses flying out of the darkness to land perfectly inside a purple suitcase. 'I was an au-pair on a farm in France once, did I ever tell you? I got to feed the chickens for a whole week! Do they have chickens on Revonnah?'

'No,' says Ben. 'They have giant man-eating rodents instead. Look, are you saying what I think you're saying?'

His mom beams and the effect is odd, given that her body is still perfectly concealed within the shadows. All he can still see of her is her head and part of her dusty turquoise sweater, turned grey by the lack of light lodged inside the cupboard. It's like she's an animal head on the wall or one of Khyber's prized trophies.

'We've both got some time off and we figured why not go and make ourselves comfortable with the culture of our son's significant other? It's important not to dismiss or trivialize these things and we want Rook and his family to feel as ease around us and the best way to do that is...'

'To throw ourselves forward into their world!' Carl finishes for her, beaming wildly. 'That way we can learn first-hand what not to do...'

Ben can already think of one thing. Like turning up uninvited on Rook Da's doorstep, for instance.

'...and push ourselves out of our comfort zone.'

Well done, guys, Ben thinks, heart falling to his shoes. You've certainly managed to push me out of mine.

Instead he shoves a grin onto his face.

'Great! When are you leaving?'

'They've leaving tomorrow! Tomorrow!' he rants down at Rook through the phone. He's holed up in his room, back to the door in case his Mom suddenly bursts through. His eyes find the floor, where he's pushed down his own suitcase, a strange brown thing that feels too heavy for his hands whenever he runs his fingers round them. He hasn't used a suitcase when traveling to another world in...ever. Well. Maybe for that one road trip.

'And they want me to suddenly come with them! You know, as if I don't have a job I can't afford to leave behind or anything!'

Rook is suspiciously quiet. When his voice comes through after a few seconds it sounds odd, as though he's trying to smother down a laugh. 'Can you simply not tell them that the Plumbers have no vehicles to spare?'

'They've hired Rad upfront,' Ben replies thickly. He slides down to the floor, his toes shoving into the carpet in long thick streaks that leave his skin feeling rough and sore. 'Urgh. Why are they doing this to me? To us!'

'They mean well,' Rook says gently. 'Even if they are being rather...forceful about the whole thing. If I bring the Proto-truck, they can sleep in there, provided my family is not willing to play the benevolent host.'

Ben's mouth drops open. 'Dude! You can not seriously be going along with this! We've gotta shut this whole mess down!'

'No,' says Rook, and oh God, he's sounding thoughtful now, like he's stumbled upon an intriguing new textbook. 'This might be good for us. For my family too. I said once that I did not want to cause them any distress over our relationship and that is still true. But that does not mean I should not give them a gentle nudge, now and then.'

Ben narrows his eyes. 'This won't just be giving them a nudge,' he warns. 'You've met my parents. They get really into things. Deep into things.'

'And I am into you,' Rook says and now he just sounds tired. 'As my sister puts it. And she has advised me to 'come clean' as soon as possible with my Father. I think, if he is preoccupied with your parents and sees how accepting they are of our romantic involvement, it will force him to repress his initial anger and give him some time to think instead of simply react.'

'Oooooh,I get it,' says Ben, feeling...not angry exactly. But a mix of both disappointed and gleeful. 'The great diversion tactic. And a little bit of 'lead by example.' But honestly, my parents are great and all, but I don't think they're going to be this wonderful beacon of acceptance. I think they're just gonna make your Dad dig his heels in even more.' He pauses. Then: 'Your sister knows? You told her?'

Rook sighs.

'How did it go?' Ben asks, realising that he's actually craned forward, like he's excited to hear it, expecting Rook's face to pop out of view somewhere. Annoyed with himself, he leans back into a stretch.

'She was surprised,' Rook murmurs. 'But not greatly so. Apparently she has been digesting some homoerotic literature from Earth-'

Ben makes a face.

'- and thinks we could be good for each other, so long as we do not model ourselves after the whole 'seme' and 'uke' mentality.'

Ben lets out a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh. 'Did she even explain what that means?'

'She did not need to,' Rook answers swiftly. 'I am aware of the Earth Internet, Ben. And even if I did not, there are still people in the universe on the Xtranet who 'ship' us. The terminology of 'seme ' and 'uke', 'dominate' and 'submissive' are not primarily Earthen things.'

Ben's half-laugh cuts off with a choking wheeze. 'What!'

'You are a celebrity,' Rook points out. 'And we do hang out together a great deal. It is easy to see why some people would think-'

'No, no, no! Dude, stop! I'm begging you!'

'Alright,' says Rook and this time there is a definite hint of laughter colouring his voice.

Ben pauses. 'Wait a minute...'he says slowly. 'If people ship us then they probably are pushing us into the whole 'dom/sub' thing, right? So who do they say is the, I guess the 'seme' and who do they think is the...' he trails off, his face falling a mile a second as a very telling silence presses out of the phone and into the room around him.

'It is idle speculation, Ben,' Rook finally says cautiously. 'Where we are caricatures of ourselves. You should not read anything into it.'

'But, but, the universe paints me as this macho, butch dude! I've seen the posters in your room. Guys like that never get written as the sub!' Ben protests, hating how his voice cracks on the last word.

'You do not look like that,' Rook points out dryly. 'And I am not even on that show. The only people who ship us are the ones who have seen us together. Besides after your appearance at the Celestialsapian court and that gameshow, the majority of the population in the universe now know what you look like.'

Ben thumps his head back against the door, loud enough for Rook to call up 'do not hurt yourself!' to him from the phone's tiny speaker and slides down, far enough for his elbow to lock against the floor. The door feels cool on the side of his neck, a harsh, stable support.

'Don't worry,' he finds himself muttering down to Rook, his sight made brown and blurry by the hair he's managed to shove into his eyes. 'I'm sure the next few days will provide enough hurting for the both of us.'

'Ow!'

Ben sighs and rolls his eyes up towards the sky. He's not at the top of the ramp yet, so there's still a piece of Undertown's crusty brown ceiling for him to fix his gaze upon, one last remnant of the familiar to hold his nerves steady.

'Are you sure you don't need help with that?' he calls over his shoulder.

His Dad winces and re-hoists the high-tech blaster over his shoulder. 'Nope! I got it!' he takes another step and promptly drops it on his shoe. 'Ow! Son of-'

Rook meanwhile, is standing at the bottom of the ramp, arms crossed and looking a little wide-eyed. Sandra brushes past him, dragging what looks to be a giant stuffed purple anaconda after her, a slight hiss of what sounds to be a deflating airbag accosting Ben's ears as she starts hauling it up the ramp.

'I do not believe Rad allows livestock to be transported on his ship anymore,' Rook offers gamely, his fingers twitching as though they want to reach for his scanner. The twitching quickly travels, becomes a wince of his shoulder as Pixi blares out a garble of outraged chatter from the loudspeaker system Rad's hooked up to the entrance.

'It's her sleeping bag,' Ben reassures them both, eyeing the little angry face icon Pixi casts on the panel above the loudspeaker system, the brows furrowed into firm zig-zags.

His mom however, looks enchanted. 'It's one hundred percent organic,' she says eagerly, sounding very proud of herself as she stretches some of the material up from out of its caterpillar crouch on the ramp and offers it out to Pixi's icon face, which has, by this stage, starting opening and shutting its fanged mouth and letting little pink pixelated flames escape.

'Hate to break it to you, Mom, but I don't think Pixi cares,' Ben says reaching out to tug the material from between her fingers and patting it back into place. 'She just wants you on the ship, it looks like.'

'Oh honestly, Ben, you don't know that!' his Mom protests as he attempts to guide her up the ramp by placing his palm on the back of her shoulder and pushing gently. 'Just because she's a computer program, doesn't mean she doesn't care about all the toxic chemicals you find littering everyday items!'

Pixi lets out a noise which sounds suspiciously like a loud raspberry.

'Nope, I'm pretty sure I do know that,' Ben says cheerfully, giving her one final pat on the back for good measure. He then runs back down the ramp to help his Dad lift the weapon off the end of his foot for the third time in a row. 'Why exactly, are you even taking this thing!'

His Dad grunts, looking a little sore as Ben refuses to let go of the other end. He doesn't protest too much though as his son starts walking backwards with it firmly in hand, though he does frown a little as Ben drops him a wink and takes his flesh and blood one away entirely, leaving the prosthetic one below to take the full strain.

'You were the one who said Revonnah had man-eating rodents!'

Ben feels the cocky smile wiped firmly off his face and rather hesitantly casts his eyes over to Rook. Who is standing there, lifting up a querying eyebrow in return. Well, at least he doesn't look too mad.

'Hey, would you rather I lie about it?' he shoots back. 'Those things may not have eaten human before, but believe me, based on past experience, I wouldn't put it past them to try!'

'They can be a nuisance, yes,' Rook agrees readily. 'But I do not think them licking Amber Ogia juice off your body consists of a...ah, tasting session.'

Ben sighs, mostly at the fact that it's now his Dad's turn to raise a querying eyebrow. 'Just...get in the ship, Dad,' he manages. 'And try not to make Rad mad too much. He's not above dumping people out of the airlock.'

His Dad's look turns rather worried and he hastily helps Ben place the weapon down on the floor of the ship with a rushed clunk before he rushes up to Sandra's side – who has, by this stage, found Rad and is asking him about what Pixi's rights are and how much vacation time she's entitled too. Rad isn't waving a blaster at her yet, so Ben counts that as a good sign.

...though it probably also helps that his parents have paid upfront.

He sighs and rolls his shoulder stiffly as he walks back down the ramp to Rook, taking pleasure in the way his boyfriend's eyes travel up his chest at the movement.

'Sure you don't want a lift?' he asks, hesitating to take the final two steps that will drop him firmly below Rook's line of sight again. He doesn't particularly mind the height difference – the majority of the universe seems to be taller than him after all – but it's nice sometimes, not to have to crane his neck to look up into that familiar blue-furred face.

Rook's look turns soft. 'That is very kind of you. But I do not believe your parents will take kindly to having to 'shell out' for another ticket.'

'Nah,' says Ben, flipping his wrist dismissively. 'They're the pinnacle of chill, my folks. Besides,-' he lowers his voice into a hushed whisper, metal hand carving out a curved shell round his mouth. '-I think they're so anxious to prove how 'progressive' and 'tolerant' they are of, you know, us, that they're willing to be extra generous.'

'Which you intend to milk for as long as possible,' Rook says dryly, arms crossed. The next second these drop down to circle Ben's shoulders, with enough ease that Ben realises that perhaps a two-step difference between them isn't really enough. Sure enough, as though to mock this thought, Rook leans in without taking a single step forward, just close enough for these noses to brush. Then he grins, wide and long.

'Perhaps I shall find some milking of my own to do. Either way, I imagine I will see you later.'

Ben sighs, thumps his forehead a little more firmly against the lean bridge of Rook's snout and fees the curve of his boyfriend's alien head through his hair.

'I sure hope so. I don't feel like taking on your Dad's temper alone.'

'Not to worry,' Rook says, a queer note in his voice. 'I will endeavour to protect the great Ben Tennyson from any harsh words my Father may utter.'

Ben laughs and pulls back. 'Okay, now I know you're lying. No one tells your Dad what to do.'

Something pensive crosses Rook's face. 'No. But I can certainly advise him.'

Ben cocks his head and the question is on the tip of his tongue, just begging to be asked. But before he can offer it out to the air, Rook's head swoops back and the question is kissed away, pushed out of his thoughts entirely by a soft, sweet swipe of tongue and teeth.

'I will see you later,' Rook repeats firmly, as much to himself as to Ben, before his hands fall away and he turns, striding confidently out into the streets of Undertown.

Ben watches him go, feeling a little lost. Like he's missed something.

'Sweetie?' His Mom's voice drifts out behind him, gentle but entirely too loud for the denizens of Undertown to hear. Already Ben can see two members of Hobble's species hunched over in the doorway of a small pub nearby, snorting into their hands. He's pretty sure it's the 'sweetie' that's the final death knoll; according to Rook homosexuality isn't a huge social taboo down here, but given that the majority of the species Ben's seen here still seem to be divided by the two genders of male and female, he's willing to bet that heterosexuality is probably still the norm.

'Coming!' he calls back, all too willing to escape the snorts and muffled giggles behind him.

Notes: Well, Rook Da is certainly going to have a nice, stress-free time, isn't he?