03 Home Invasion by Ink Pots/Oversized Prop (Frye, Gwin, Phog)

Frye and his team wake up to new, unwelcome friends in their tent. Gwin will be fine!

Later, they all privately agreed that Frye was to blame, although they never mentioned in on the official report. Phog analyzed the sequence of events and had determined that Frye wasn't properly checking the corners of their temporary base on his guard rounds. Frye hadn't argued; in his long experience he knew he was to blame for any and all fuck-ups. Maybe he took a little pride in that fact. And Gwin? Gwin was just sore about the whole thing.

The morning sky had not begun to change from dark and flaming to grey and flaming. Small round creatures flew past, eyeless and harmless unless provoked. Phog was up early, or maybe hadn't gone to sleep at all, focused on huge sampling of varied crystals collected the day before. Frye had taken over guard duty at midnight and was contemplating how soon he could make coffee.

"AHHHHHHHHH! Get them off! Get them off!" Gwin nearly took the entire temporary tent with him in his haste to exit the shelter. The canvas bowed and stretched as he flailed his way through the door.

Frye, sketchy as his patrol path might be, was there before Gwin was fully free. "Don't shoot me!" yelled Gwin.

Frye lowered his weapon. "I wasn't going to," Frye said tightly. He switched to his long sword and poked at Gwin. His skill allowed him to catch a foreign lump on Gwin's armor even as the younger man danced and yelled. Something dark and inky squirted back at him. "Phog!" he called, calm but loud, "dial up the MMC. We got a medical thing going on."

"It's not medical," snapped Gwin, still hopping around. He left purple-black splatters on the ground as he went, as well as on the walls of the tent and the hem of Frye's pants. "I woke up and these things were swarming me." He pulled at one bulbous lump on his arm. It stretched and squirched, tiny fat tendrils popping free at the end, each dribbling more dark liquid. He finally pulled it free and threw it across the compound. It sank into the ground, leaving only an inky shadow. Then it popped up and started slithering towards Gwin again.

"Shoot it!" yelled Gwin, now tugging on a different blob.

Frye walked over to it and started to prod it with the toe of his boot. The thing rose up eagerly, going from blob to tentacle-tipped cylinder. Frye reconsidered and used his sword instead. The thing popped with a splatter of ink, coating Frye's blade half-way with its final fluids.

"They look like baby filiavents," Frye said cheerfully. "But they're inkpot sized, instead of big like BLADE tower. Wonder if they're poisonous. Venomous. Toxic."

"Oh god, get them off me," Gwin yelled with renewed vigor, flinging another tiny terror blob away from himself.

"I got you covered," Frye consoled him. "I have a stock of the best anti-poison augments, all ready to go. It's the good stuff, guaranteed not to cause a reaction. A guy can't be too careful."

Gwin tossed an inkpot directly at Frye, but Frye sliced it in two with a fresh splash of color.

This went on for a while, Gwin screaming and pulling himself free of his new pets while Frye played round after round of the devil's Fruit Ninja. Phog finally surfaced from the depths of his research and helped pull off exactly one blob.

"Filiavent," Phog confirmed. "Freshly developed from a larval state, still fairly mobile. They're probably seeking a good soft place to take root." Gwin wailed loudly, while Phog considered the tiny indigen. "It could be a good resource for medical imaging."

"Or finger painting," offered Frye. "You got a little something on your cheek." Frye's own face was splattered and the front of his hair had gone from ice white to crow wing black. Gwin really couldn't be described, although he was finally lump free.

"Ughhhh," Gwin said, sinking to his knees.

"Right, next on the agenda we have anti-poison augments for the crowd and a trip to the sulfur hot springs," declared Frye. "And maybe some coffee in between. But first, let me sign my work." He dragged the tip of his sword in the ground, cutting this way and that. The dark Cauldros soil shimmered even more deeply.

"'OSTRICH WUZ HERE'," he read. "Nice. The pen is mightier than the sword, but in this case the sword makes a mighty fine pen."

a/n: See the story Inktober 2019, chapters 16-28, for a less fun time when Frye wasn't as careful with augments and filiavent toxin.

Next up: Fursona/moonlight. I'm really enjoying how Cringetober and the fountain pen prompts interact.