To Shouta's defense, he had taken the time to inform Nemuri and Tensei, and he evaluated their situation before hopping into one of the remaining life shuttle. It had been the logical decision—time was of the essence, even more so when the Deathworlder had taunted him about eating Hizashi.
"Shouta, they're taller than Toshinori."
Maybe he shouldn't have warned them after all. He buries his face in his scarf to block the light coming from the console, but it barely helps fend off the imminent urge to blink. He can't afford to lose sight of the barely visible specks of crystallized fuel.
"The one that had Hizashi wasn't that big." His voice comes out firm, but Tensei has managed to cast a hint of worry he can't ignore. It was pretty dark, and they were hunched over Hizashi's body. He hisses softly in annoyance. He has to trust what he saw, or he'll fall into a pit of self doubt where he'll waste more energy than he can afford. His night vision might not be the best it should be, what with the tendency for lights to halo and take about a third more of their actual size, but it wasn't anything to scoff at. Still, he adds about half a s'phar to his mental image of the Deathworlder.
"Even if they aren't, they can rip you in two if they grab you. What were you thinking?" Shouta winces at the sudden rise of volume. He feels a twinge of guilt when he picks up the panic buried in Nemuri's frustrated tone. It's, however, not enough to make him stop his life shuttle. "Do you even have a plan?"
He doesn't. Information on Humans was sparse and wildly contradictory; ranging from their so-called cannibalistic tendencies, to someone swearing they witnessed a Human gnaw their own trapped limb off and then regrowing it in days. The only thing people seemed to collectively agree on was their violent nature and astonishing pain tolerance. He curses himself for believing he would never encounter a Human this far from their home galaxy and never taking the time to dig deeper into the subject. "Yes."
He is fairly certain he stands a chance against this one.They were barely standing on their feet when he found them, only escaping through pure chance and carrying themself in the same way people who were used to relying on brute force did.
"Shouta, wait for us. We're almost done with this." Tensei's tone is strained. They both know it'll take too long, they aren't done securing all the Feczoits, and they still have to take care of the victims while they wait for the Commission to arrive. They're just trying to stall him, and he knows they believe he'll have a better chance of surviving Hizashi's loss if he doesn't stumble onto a viridescent covered Human that already feasted on his partner. But he knows himself, has grown up with the untold-but-alluded-to stories of griefsick Eer'ahseers. Whether he walks in another bloodbath or he's being told the news won't change his biology.
"Hizashi is going to be okay, you don't need to rush in," Nemuri pleads. Her mic picks up the slow characteristic 'pshhhh' of her neurodepressor spray. "You said it yourself, the Deathworlder was carrying him in cloth."
Despite bringing the point up several times already, she doesn't sound convinced. Plenty of species wrapped their food. It didn't mean anything.
Blindly, he opens the panel under the monitor. Three unplugged cords and a bit of unrefined scratches on the mainframe later, the generator starts whining worryingly, the life shuttle not manufactured to withstand the high acceleration. The warning signals hit zero without triggering the disabled automatic safety shutdown, as he pushes the shuttle over its velocity limit. Estimated time, 2800 clicks.
He's not letting his partner slip away again.
His scales slink against the floor, back and forth, as he fiddles with the replicator. He's an error message away from giving up and settling with a dehydrated meal like Shinsou has. He'll just deal with the gastrointestinal problems this brand usually gives him.
They deemed it safer for Shinsou to choose from the revolution-worth of dehydrated meals rather than have Hizashi inaccurately guess the Human's charades and program something in the replicator that'll kill him; dehydrated meals were as bland as food could be, but it was produced to be healthy enough, or at least not toxic, to most mammals in the Universe. The labels thankfully had pictures and infographics Shinsou could try to decipher, unlike this damn pre-warp machine that must have been archaic even to Shouta's elders' elders.
His growing talons click irritatingly on the glass screen, not even giving him the satisfaction of getting scratched. The Human watching him isn't helping either.
Said Human is squirming in impatience, nose practically shoved in the bag as he inhales the mouth watering smell. His face is rosy from the warm steam, blunting the creepy edge that his harsh face structure gives him. He hasn't eaten yet, despite Hizashi's insistence for Shinsou to start without him. Another point to the human pack bond theory—eating together was an activity universally experienced in social species.
He whistles excitedly when the replicator finally starts whirring. He grabs his food as soon as it pops out with the cheery jingle, almost dropping the coloured grain all over himself in his rush. Shinsou claps his hands together, mutters something, and immediately shovels the stew in his mouth. His own meal is precariously propped on the improvised temporary cast they made with sticks and ez-quick dry bandages.
Flavors burst on his tongue, almost overwhelmingly so, despite the replicated nature of the dish. There's texture, and he's never going to take chewing for granted ever again. He tries to pace himself and Shinsou, occasionally having to bump the Human's hind limbs so he can slow down and take a breath.
It's over too soon. He resists the urge to lick his plate clean, but Shinsou shares none of his reluctance, turning the packet inside out to reach the leftover sauce.
It's mildly surprising. He had assumed Shinsou would leave the vegetable and grain aside, but he had eaten it all despite what his set of teeth suggested. Although, now that he's doing more than sneaking glimpses when the Human's eating, he can see that his back teeth are flat, made for grinding plant fiber. An omnivore. Got it.
He takes a swig of water to down the painkiller. Thankfully, the med kit was supplied with a brand he was personally acquainted with. The water doesn't help his distended stomach, adding to the uncomfortable pressure that threatens to come back up at any harsh movement. He didn't pace himself as well as he thought he did. Hizashi can't bring himself to regret it though, and he's certain he would salivate at the idea of their next meal if it weren't for the nausea.
Shinsou doesn't look so hot either, slouched against the wall with a hand over his abdomen.
"Do you feel weird? Any difficulty breathing?" Shinsou shows Hizashi a closed fist, all fingers tucked in the palm but for his thumb.
"Tell me if you think you're having an allergic reaction, yeah?" A bemused nod, and then they fall into comfortable silence.
He already sent out an improvised ping code with the built-in distress signals—he accidentally damaged the comms system when he disabled the mandatory tracker that sent out their location to the main Feczoit ship, and the escape pod was so old, it's mainframe couldn't support simple messages, let alone holocalls—and only had to wait for a response.
Hizashi rubs his face with his wing. It's prickly from his feathers regrowing, little patches where the golden tips had emerged from their germ spreading over his scapulars. He can't stop looking at them, urging the others to just grow already.
In the warmth of the shuttle, the hoodie isn't necessary for his continued survival, but he's reluctant to part away from it, even with the discomfort it comes with. It makes him feel less naked than he is. Less exposed. He tied the sleeves lower on his shoulders though, even if it was more annoying, constantly having to rearrange the garment when it slipped down; his neck was finally free from the collar, thanks to a thin screwdriver and some clippers stored in a toolbox, and he's not ready for anything else to come close to his irritated skin. He could barely support the patches he stuck on the puncture wounds where the metal strings poked out, still attached to the two metal disks.
"Do you want to do something?" Shinsou shakes his head in agreement and follows him, the opening of his water bottle left in his mouth. He's not drinking from it, just holding it there, but he doesn't seem to be in any distress so Hizashi doesn't bring it up.
With some help, Hizashi drags out what Nemuri likes to dubiously call the 'pleasure basket', taking out several things and putting them away under Shinsou's curious gaze. He's too tired for the more complicated strategy games, and his broken wing really puts a damper on agility-based ones. He also can't go the lazy way and hand Shinsou a book, for obvious reasons.
A narrow blue container in the bottom of the basket catches his eye. He pulls open the lid, half expecting to be greeted with dry brittle modeling compound only to be pleasantly surprised to find it soft and malleable. He hands a clump to Shinsou, breaking off a piece of his own. He can't do much with one wing out of commission, and he has to content himself with squishing the modeling compound, occasionally sinking his talons in it. Still, the soothing consistency calms his nerves.
He almost laughs when he sees that Shinsou is squinting at his clump in confusion. "You can make shapes with it, or just do whatever feels right. It's fun, try it out, listener!"
Shinsou doesn't look very convinced, squeezing his clump hesitantly. The way he keeps his left upper limb unnaturally quiet against his torso reaffirm Hizashi's suspicion that his friend hadn't been completely honest about his injuries. Trying to make him share the extent of his wounds earlier had been almost as frustrating as the first few illegal scuffles Shouta and he had gotten into, when his mate had stubbornly thought he shouldn't burden Hizashi with his troubles. He barely got Shinsou to admit he felt dizzy.
His modeling compound smooshes satisfyingly against the floor, spreading in between his talons and distracting him from the itchiness that's starting to overtake his body. Shouta's coming soon, and with him, actual medical supplies. The scanner will find most, if not all, of Shinsou's wounds. Until then, Hizashi has to monitor the Human's health for any sign of deterioration, when all he really wants is to collapse on a cot. Contrary to one might think, being unconscious is not restful at all.
At least Shinsou seems to be having a great time, despite his initial reluctance. If Hizashi hadn't witnessed Shouta carry on with his life as if he didn't have a huge hematoma covering his side, he would have been convinced his friend was in great health.
Shinsou's brow is all scrunched up in concentration, with a hint of tongue peeking out. He molded his modeling compound into a misshapen sphere, and he's in the process of pinching two triangles next to each other. Curiosity gets the better of Hizashi, and he waits for Shinsou to finish detailing his sphere before pushing one of his hind limbs to get his attention. "What are you making?"
Shinsou squirms a little bit, cheeks flushing a light pink, before signing stiltedly one handed. "It is a pet on Dirt. Very people have."
Hizashi doesn't ask if he has one, and Shinsou doesn't offer more information. From the way he cradles his modeling pet, Hizashi has the feeling it's a sore spot.
Shinsou finishes rolling a snake and sticking it at the base of his creation to give it a tail, before showing it to him in his cupped hand. It's an artistic rendition of the human animal—or at least, Hizashi's pretty sure it is, since it doesn't look like anything that could survive a Deathworld—with a nail drawn face and asymmetrical lines adorning its cheeks.
"It looks good, listener!" Shouta usually cuts Hizashi off when he uses his 'children educator' tone by dropping his scarf on his head. Despite his exasperated huffing, the amused curl of his bondmate's tail always betrays his amusement.
Shinsou doesn't pick up the insincere tone, the corner of his lips twisting up. Hizashi wants to laugh at how much Shinsou tries and fails to hide his beaming face by pretending to tweak his modeling pet with fumbling gestures. Humans must not use positive reinforcement if the teasing compliment was enough to fluster him.
It settled something in Hizashi's chest. Those hints that Shinsou is nothing like the Humans featuring every gorey crime compilation. That he can be gentle. Soft, in that almost-but-not-quite way he had been that time he had been asleep. Brief moments Hizashi can always fall back on when he's taken by hints of primal terror, when the lingering purple blood crusted under Shinsou's flat claws summons his prey mindset, and brought up half-remembered screams and faraway howls he overheard as he drifted in and out of consciousness on the way to the escape pod, now removed from their context and stitched together in a confused miasma only a pain-drugged brain could concoct.
He's pulled out of his musing when Shinsou's head snaps to the side with an alarmed look. Hizashi follows his gaze to the console, immediately scrambling toward it. He pulls out the logs, showed long scrolling lines of coords, with more still coming in. Disregarding the coords' information after realizing they're not changing, he turns to the time stamps to decipher their pattern.
DE NEM TEN. SHO OK, ETA 50K AND OFF COMM. QUR2? DEATHW DANGER? OV.
His ecstatic whistle catches Shinsou off guard. Hizashi sends him a sheepish apology for making him drop his modeling pet, quickly translating the message to him while he sends out a response, tastefully deciding to leave out the last part.
DE HIZ. QUR2 N. DEATHW ALLY. WILL INFORM OF SHO. ALERT IF SHO COMMS. XOXO. OV.
While he waits for the radio waves to travel, Shinsou has turned his attention to his modeling pet, attempting to fix the flat side. Now that it was apparent they weren't in any danger, Shinsou completely lost interest in the messages. Hizashi's about to send another message when the shuttle receives another flurry of coords.
DE NEM TEN. WILL ALERT. HAPPY HIZ OK. ESCAPING ISC TTYL. XOXO. OV.
Disappointment washes over him. He swallows it down, and turns toward Shinsou. The flat edge of his modeling pet disappeared, although one side of it is a lot more lopsided than the other. "Let's get more comfortable, yeah?"
There's a thick duvet folded in the corner of a storage cabinet, and with the Human's help, they unfasten the sides to spread it out. It'll be thinner protection from the ground, but it at least covered enough surface area so they could both rest on it. That, alongside the pillows that went past the sleeping quarter, would have been an automatic fail in his Category Nine Piloting lessons, but Hizashi can't bring himself to care about the tripping hazards and potentially lethal projectiles in the event of an accident. Getting his license revoked would be the least of his worries if the pod got accosted by an ISC patrol.
He's the first to lay down on the gloriously soft duvet, unwilling to wait for Shinsou to get over whatever's preventing him from crossing the invisible threshold of the sleeping quarter. Finally, his weary bones get to be cushioned by something other than hard ungiving metal and oh, he can't wait to sleep in his own bedding. He's at high risk of accidentally dozing off, but Shinsou seems fine enough at this point. Loosening up a smidge should be okay.
Hizashi pats the place next to him, his eyes blissfully closed as he lazily attempts to bury his tail under a stray pillow. It's too still for a moment, and he's about to call out for Shinsou—just feeling him stand around is making him tired and achy—when he senses muffled tremors and then shifting under him as the Human steps around to join him on the comfortable duvet. He restrains himself from grumbling when Shinsou keeps moving to find a better position.
He waits until the tension leaves the Human's shoulders, before clicking his tongue quietly. Shinsou doesn't react at first, not until he waves his wing lightly in his periphery. "Shouta's going to come get us soon."
Shinsou straightens, any signs of drowsiness completely evaporating. He drapes his tail over his friend's hind limbs, tapping them to be sure he has his complete focus. "He'll probably dock on the hatch. Do you think you're going to be alright with that, listener?"
Shinsou looks to the side, hand rising toward his neck before stopping in a stutter and letting it drop on his stomach awkwardly, his eyes flicking to him as if to see if Hizashi noticed the gesture. Hizashi keeps a neutral expression, although he doesn't think it's necessary; Humans seem to use facial grimaces more than anything, judging by Shinsou's insistence to constantly look at his face. He's proud to say that he's almost completely used to it. It helped that watching all of Shinsou's muscles pull at his features was fascinating, the lack of feathers and fur making it easier to see the distortions. Did Hizashi seem emotionless to him? Maybe Shinsou would have an easier time reading Shouta; his bondmate's ears and scarf were in the general proximity of where Shinsou's eyes always defaulted to.
"I do not fight your friends." His friend's hind limbs twist anxiously under his tail.
"Don't worry, yeah? Shouta is really nice! You'll get along well," he signs, hoping for it to be true. Hizashi scoots closer, offering his presence as comfort. "I'll be right there. Everything's going to be fine, you'll see!"
