August24 03 Dark Academia

a/n: H.B. is required for a very mysterious alien mission.

H.B. usually met private clients in the Administrative District. It was faster for selecting the best teammates once he had the mission details. If he felt he could solo a mission (as was often the case), he would ask to meet near the Cathedral, with its ample skell parking. He was the one doing the client a favor, in his opinion, and they should meet him at his preferred location. It wasn't pride; it was efficiency and the intelligent choice.

Xenos were different. He understood their discomfort in the human military area, bursting with soldiers and weapons and mechanized exoskeletons. Even the residential area could be too open for them. H.B. was known for being as discrete as he was deadly, unlike many of his boorish colleagues, so NLA's alien allies would often contact him for dangerous but private matters.

With that in mind, H.B. went to an address on the outskirts of Melville Avenue in the Commercial District. It was a small shop, empty of customers or workers. He coughed politely to announce his presence, then coughed again, involuntarily, due to the dust. The store was untidily crammed with an assortment of decaying and useless objects: poorly labeled bottles of dark liquids, framed but faded prints, metal bowls tinged with rust. He was less disturbed by the cabinet of small animal skulls than by the stacks of analogue paper books, some reaching higher than his hips. Why would you risk such a fire hazard? And to display them so carelessly? The atmosphere of age and disuse made the bustle of NLA feel a world away.

Two aliens emerged from behind a velvet curtain. "On time! Friend shows excellent human qualities and matches our needs 99%, to quote the Orphe," greeted the first, a dusty brown Nopon. He was as plush as the curtain, and had a bright red fez perched on his head. Beside him, a Zaruboggan in full environmental suit hissed in agreement. "Yeshhhhhh, perfect for the vibes-sssss."

H.B. didn't waste time. "You asked specifically for me, but beyond that you left the details blank. Will this be a long mission?"

"Half day, local rate, easy credits," said the Nopon quickly. "Maybe 92% perfect. Friend dressed all wrong."

"An oversized sssss-sweater," suggested the Zaruboggan. "Or perhaps a jacket, the open weave one. The boots are fine hshhhhhhh."

"Excuse me," H.B. interrupted, pushing up his glasses to emphasize his pique. "My armor is pristine. Why should I change it?"

"This not combat. Plan is a photo shoot to advertise new venture. First antique mall in New Los Angeles," said the Nopon proudly.

"It is a perfect symbiosis," added the Zaruboggan. "My partner finds old and squalid junk hshhhhhh..."

"From dankest corners of caravans," said the Nopon. "And weekend yard sales."

"And I am allowed to devoltanize them into saleable items-ssssssh."

"But not too much! Must keep high value patina," explained the Nopon.

"It is an interesting challenge, both technically and philosophically, shhhhhhh," said the Zaruboggan. "I treasure the chance to explore both aspects-sssssssh."

"No worries," said his business partner. "If too clean, can toss into puddle and try again."

H.B. circled back to the actual mission. "Am I to understand you want me as a model?" he asked, infuriated and yet flattered.

"Friend has big following on Social Nav. Hashtag #SuperiorThing. We hope to to tap into that."

"I don't think ...," began H.B.

The Zaruboggan, clearly more thoughtful than his companion, hurriedly spoke. "You would be supporting cultural sharing initiatives as well a novel recycling model in New Los Angeles-sssssh. You would also bring delight to your fans, which would bring a much needed increase of morale."

"Promise only stylish and tasteful photos. Unless willing to be tasteless too."

The end result was a brilliant catalogue for the new store and a short-lived craze for antique decorations and styles. Many of the aficionados felt that H.B. captured the mystery and faint air of danger behind the aesthetic, although his expression in the photo shoot was actually the result of trying to keep his temper.

a/n: Again, I am fighting the urge to name and adopt more OCs. Good job, me.

Next up: Zombie apocalypse. I have an idea. Biahno will be mentioned.