[META PRP] Mistakes Were Made [Deimos & Nictor]

[Taki-di]

Back at base in the mess hall, after The Spiteful Disapproval of the Empress.
Some explanations and revelations

 

[Taki-di]

Being back on the military base after the ships was so surreal. At first, returning to ground barely settled his nerves. The stress had mounted and mounted and each ship piled more and more onto his poor abused nerves until this. Until this nothing. It was like he'd over clocked on the anxiety and panic until it just looped back to zero. He was still horrified, that hadn't stopped, but it was like his brain stopped being able to process. He'd hit the upper limit, his maximum threshold, but it went further and kept climbing and he just didn't know what to do with that.

The pressure was still there, the crawling on his skin, the uncomfortable ever present strain of warmth in his chest, a constant tremble to his everything. But his brain just didn't have the energy to keep up. A deep exhaustion was taking root and it made him wander around the base, lost and somewhat empty, strangely bereft without the constant boil of worries spilling over in his brain. Except it was like all the water had evaporated now, there was nothing left to boil so the pan was just burning up and eventually would catch fire and he couldn't do anything but wait and watch for it to happen. And boy did it threaten to happen often. If he sat still, if he let himself alone somewhere, if he idled just a little too long, the recent vivid memories might come crawling in and trigger this building something his mind was trying desperately to delay.

He literally could not deal with it right now.

So it led to him doing something truly, completely, absolutely, unquestionably absurd.

He kept putting himself around trolls.

He'd never thought it would be something he'd seek out willing, the crowded spaces, the hubbub, the noise and bodies. But it helped in a way, helped keep the door closed on that incessant and increasing knocking, demanding attention in a low but clear voice. It was a distraction, something to focus on, just enough to make that pressure reluctant to break and spill.

It was the strangest experience. Tired, strung out, he could not pull himself together to maintain his usual worried fervor. It felt like he was half asleep watching himself stumble around, space out thinking of nothing.

He stood there in the mess hall, hands tensing and untensing, holding a tray of something. He wasn't really sure what the food was. He wasn't really paying attention. so he kept standing there and kept staring at the food, trying to make himself register what it was, he knew what these things on his tray were but the words weren't conjuring up right. So he just, stood there. swaying ever so slightly with an empty, faraway look, as though he would find something in the mashed potatoes if he looked long enough.

nepsah

 

[nepsah]

That last ship had been a near disaster, really. He wasn't entirely sure how much sleep he'd gotten since the missions started, but clearly it wasn't enough. It felt like this period of time had been stretching on forever, endlessly extending and yet at the same time it felt like he'd only just started going into space, conquering ships, then returning to the planet. He didn't want it to end- every waking moment was to be treasured and locked away in his memory to revisit later.

Except for a few of them. Harsh words thrown at other trolls he didn't even know due to the sheer exhaustion he was feeling. His limbs felt like lead, heavy and dragging him down but still he forced them to move. He needed to eat- and then he needed to find Forera. She would help him. He could probably try to find Cerpin too, but something told him that Cerpin was more likely to be occupied than Forera would be. Unless her fighting experience made her too valuable to let her sit for very long between missions... He was getting sidetracked, letting his mind wander to any topic it could latch onto if only to get some sort of respite from what happened if he didn't let himself think too hard.

They'd appeared in more tangible form on the ship- at least, they looked tangible. The shadowy figures that always cropped up in his vision when he'd gone too long without rest. That coupled with the constant feeling of being watched was really setting him on edge and it had shown itself quite clearly after he'd wheeled around and hit another team member with his mace- he hadn't even seen the yellowblood standing there.

Speaking of... His eyes caught on a familiar figure- Nictor. Just... standing in the middle of the cafeteria staring at his tray. He blinked, feeling like it took all the effort in the world to open his eyes again. Now that he wasn't distracted by keeping an ear open for the sounds of approaching danger, he could actually pay attention to the other troll. He sighed, forcing his legs to move again as he made his way through the crowd to stand in front of the taller boy. "Hey. You're blockin' traffic." Wait- that- that wasn't what he'd meant to say. It was too late now. "Come sit over here." That-... was better. He nodded at a table that was still blessedly empty and close by.


 

[Taki-di]

He had definitely seen this food before. it was bright, multiple arm colors, cut in chunks with some orange liquid. Sweet. It. He knew what this was why did it feel like he had never seen fruit before in his life? It was there, he knew it, but his mind was drawing a pure blank.

Nictor could have stood there, spaced out attempting to piece together words he most certainly knew for a while. It was inevitably going to be interrupted when someone wandered too close to him though.

Nictor was sill as jumpy as ever and he may have been exhausted but his senses still strained with residual unease, unwilling to totally let go. It kept his brain from rebooting all the way, which, was sort of a good and bad thing. Better than a breakdown. Better than the worries and emotions breaking through the floodgates and drowning and crushing him. Better. Yes.

That bit of constant burn, the part of him that was still active, the part his conscious mind didn't get a say in, kept fizzling even after it was worn down to the end of the wick. Couldn't turn itself off. His nerves had been frayed and flayed and strung out of the floor but they just kept firing off when anything happened. It was why being around trolls right now was good. It wasn't a distraction the way it usually was, but a distraction that made his nerves keep chugging, not letting his brain go to full rest yet. Keep it moving, moving, moving because if it stops then the problems catch up.

He was probably going to regret it later.

Still, it gave him a small warning, was tapping on his shoulder, telling him footsteps approach, getting closer, closer, hey can you hear me but he met this information with the same blank confusion he met his food with. His shoulders were tensing, his hands gripping harder, his breath picking up just slightly but he really really wanted to know what those fruity smelling chunks on his tray were.

Wait.

Fruity?

Was that what- there were feet off to the side of his tray. Standing nearby. Did they know what the rest of the tray was, no, wait. why are there feet? Feet mean something right?

A voice, more clear than the low roar of the room, cut into the fog and Nictor half startled, head snapping up so fast something cracked, hands jerking and oh there went some of the fruit as he yanked the tray closer and some spilled off, some got in the green beans and mashed potatoes and Nictor froze. a cup clattered to the ground and slowly rolled in a circle and hit his shoe.

So his entire right arm was sort of soaked.

Caught between processing the words and taking note of the spreading dampness on his arm and side, he blinked owlishly at Deimos. Yes, right the tealblood that uh bludgeoned Nictor in the stomach a few hours ago. Yes, okay, right, he also kept appearing out of nowhere it felt like. So. Yeah. Nictor really wasn't sure what to feel about him other than a solid apprehension. They had done two ships together and the hit seemed like a random freak incident but he couldn't help but worry, even if it was far more muted than usual. He, was pretty sure he could remember Deimos saying something that may have been a sorry too he just hadn't really been able to parse it in the moment. So it was probably fine?

The train of thought distracted Nictor for a second before he really picked up what had been said. It was like waking up slow and groggy, being pulled out of a semi dream like state. He was in the cafeteria staring at his tray because he forgot what food was. What?

"Oh, uh, s-sorry," Nictor mumbled, glancing around, seeming to regain a little of that anxious edge, though still a far cry more sedate than how he was on the ships. He grimaced and looked back to Deimos, unsure of that was all he wanted to do, let him know he needed to move? Which, was a good thing, better he move on his own than get bumped and likely freak out over nothing. He freaked out of this and it was more nothing and that wet stain really wasn't pleasant why did he always spill stuff. Should he thank Deimos? Maybe? Uh. Actually, looking at Deimos for a second longer, a small pull of sympathy distracted Nictor. He looked, tired. Nictor wasn't sure how else to phrase that but he could feel that fatigue, just looking at Deimos was reminding him of it. Was he okay?

The awkward pause where Nictor should have thanked Deimos for the heads up became an awkward pause that Nictor realized he should have filled only when Deimos piped up again.

"Oh! Uh, o-okay. Th---anks," Nictor said haltingly, shuffling after the tealblood as he went to take a seat. So, this was happening then. Nictor pressed his lips together and set his tray down, glancing at Deimos unsurely. What did the other want? Normally he might concoct a plethora of possibilites, most nerve wracking, but all his brain provided was a great big tired shrug. It was certainly different and left nictor feeling off balance. Thankfully the table was clear of other trolls, leaving just them. Or, should that be concerning?

Nictor blinked hard a few times. There should ave been something in his brain right there but he was drawing a blank.

Settling into his seat and glancing at his mess of a tray he was abruptly reminded that oh yes his jacket got soaked. Nictor's shoulders wilted a little at that and glanced guiltily back to where they'd been standing. He left the cup too, whoops, but it looked like that had already been kicked and was lost to the floor now. He had been enjoying a small amount of comfort from the familiar patched together hoodie, soft fabric covering him that smelled like home. The chill of the wetness was unpleasant though.

He sighed again and scooted back from the table a little, wincing as his chair made a rather terrible screech on the floor. Good, great, how pleasant. Nictor huffed just a little at himself. He raised one arm up and pulled the jacket off his dry side, then peeled the wet sleeve off of his other, frowning and sticking out his tongue just a little at the dampness on his skin. Nictor half turned in his seat and set the garment over the back of his chair to dry. There. He just hoped no one spilled food on it or him as they passed by. Left in his a thin close fit shirt, Nictor couldn't help but hold his arms to his chest as he turned back around, trying not to bite the inside of his mouth and unmindful of the dull ache from wounds. It was kind of a constant for now. He preferred his layers in public, it made him feel, safe. Sure he'd, uh, he sorta became a spectacle at bloodfest for a while and boy that was weird, but given his current mental state he just. Really wished he could have kept the jacket on. Except the tightly wound bandages that now had liquid staining them. Uh. Right okay that's not great. It was just water so not the worst but still euuuagh he could feel the wet that had already seeped through the bandages did he let them dry or take them off? They were a fresh change too and medical had only given him so much salve to rub on the gouges and he didn't want to waste it or ask for more. So. Lightly patting away some of the moisture it was.  

[nepsah]

He blinked again- slowly, eyes screaming to remained closed but it wasn't like anything would come of it even if he did give in to their desires. Sleep just wouldn't come. He could feel it was going to be another 'no sleep' day. Well, maybe he'd get a couple hours in if he was lucky. If. He was lucky. If. Thus, the need for assistance was very, very high. He didn't want to ground himself, but getting put on another mission in his current state was a true threat not only to himself but to others, apparently. Speaking of others.. Nictor jerked almost violently as if he'd screamed at him suddenly. His mind was processing it slowly - was the yellowblood just that unaware of his surroundings or that easy to scare?

What the hell was he doing on military missions (even though they were only volunteers) if he was this jumpy?

He almost felt bad for him... Almost. "S'fine." He stepped back to avoid getting juice all over his shoes - that... would be a mess for someone else to handle. Nope. He adjusted his grip on his tray to allow one hand freedom to stifle a yawn - a jaw cracking yawn - eyes blurring with moisture from the effort. Normally he might have reacted more to Nictor's sudden movement and obvious panic, but... he was too tired for that. Senses far too dulled.

He shuffled over to the table, setting his tray down before dragging the chair back enough to take a seat. The sound was grating, earning a wince and a head tilt as if he were trying to angle his ears away from the assaulting sound, but he just couldn't manage a softer pull. Not when moving felt like pushing through something vaguely solid, anyway. Nictor was dripping, still soaked from the juice he'd spilled. The yellowblood hadn't even picked up his cup. Blinking again, he watched as he awkwardly peeled his jacket off- oh.

Well.

If he'd had any doubts about whether or not Nictor was physically qualified to be on the ships, they were now decidedly quelled. Oblivious to the fact that he was quite openly staring, Dei felt around the table for his own drink, then picked it up and brought it to his mouth to sip at. Mmhm... the yellowblood was definitely jumpy, but... physically fit for the job. But how.

"...Why are you here?" He blurted the question before really thinking it through, as he was prone to do in such a state he was in. Nictor was looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. The cogs in his mind were slow to turn, but when they did his gaze slid from the other boy to the jacket... then back again. Momentarily he considered, 'oh, i have one of those,' but then brushed that thought aside. While he preferred his jackets to be at least a size larger than he needed, a) he didn't know nictor well enough to let him use it even temporarily, and b) he wasn't sure if it was big enough to fit Nictor anyway. The guy definitely had muscle mass that Deimos was lacking.

"I mean... why sign up. For the ships 'n stuff. Seems... not suited, for you." It was hard to think of ways to piece sentences together that didn't sound offensive. Harder than it had any right to be. His tone wasn't really any help either- when he got to be as tired as he was he tended to just slide into monotone. Decidedly hard to read, especially with the thousand yard stare he seemed to bear at all times. God, his eyes burned. He set his drink down, then rubbed at his face with a sigh. "Are you tryin' to learn or somethin...? 'Bout fightin'?"

Taki-di

 

[Taki-di]

Trying to relax would be pointless, trolls naturally gave him stress and that was part of the reason he was hanging around crowded spaces right now. He could attempt to not be so wound up as to jump at every little thing. He would, in all likelihood, inevitably zone out just enough to get startled if something got too close.

Nictor contemplated his tray with a resigned grimace. Everything was all mixed together and had cooled significantly. How long had he stood there staring at his tray? His head was still empty and maybe a lot distracted, but he felt more there than he had a second ago. Talking to someone kinda forced him back into awareness.

Wait. He was talking to someone.

Nictor jolted just a little, pulling up to look at Deimos who was staring at him. How in the span of less than five seconds ad he forgotten that he was there? Absolutely ridiculous, focus, focus! Or, well, try. Be better. Oh man, okay, Deimos was staring at him, uh, did he miss something, had he asked something? Nictor's brows creased in concern and went to gnaw on his lip once more before, again, encountering the sting of too raw skin. Seriously, stop. Nictor blinked a few time, unsure how to proceed. Deimos was just staring. It wasn't that expectant look he normally got when someone was waiting on a reply, just this unbroken mild stare. Maybe he just looked like that? Nictor had met a couple of trolls that maintained that sort of expression. That didn't really stop it from being worrisome though. He didn't know that that stare wanted. Maybe that was an I'm waiting for an answer look because that was just Deimos's face? What did he say now they'd been silent and looking at each other for too long now, did he ask Deimos to repeat himself, uh-

The mounting tension was derailed when Deimos spoke up.

What? Uh, what did that mean? Or well, what did Deimos mean by it. Nictor had heard that phrase some choice occasions before and usually were not in friendly contexts. But he hadn't even done anything this time so it probably wasn't that didn't Deimos say it was fine that he has been standing around? Not that it was fine fine but he meant he wasn't bothered by it, he thought. So why was he asking? Nictor flapped his mouth for a moment, trying to parse what to respond to that with.

"G-ge---ting dinner?" Nictor offered, looking a mix between taken aback and flummoxed. Was that something he wasn't supposed to do?

But then Deimos clarified and oh that made a lot more sense. Nictor slumped a little, the bubbling anxiety that had tried to muster itself up to the social challenge already spent when he was released form the train of thought. All that was left was the a deep exasperated and regretful resignation. Nictor had really screwed this on up no doubt and it was obvious. It was almost a relief to have someone say it. On the ships, when he'd been dressed down, he felt awful for being a burden and causing trouble and to have it pointed out, but he agreed wholeheartedly and hearing it here, away from the fear and danger was strangely much more agreeable.

No, the things happening on the ships were not things Nictor was suited for and had no desire to be suited for and his brain very adamantly did not offer him what those things were because that was on the list of not thinking about it stuff.

"N-n----ah, no!" Nictor sputtered, looking incredibly alarmed at the notion. He did not want to learn about fighting at all is that what it seemed like? The vague comfort at being out of place among the space faring bundled into a vague sinking feeling at the idea. There had already been one disastrous attempt to teach him to fight and he would up with a broken nose and a big old scar across the face for the trouble. He didn’t want to learn about fighting then and still didn’t. “No, I. I m-mean, if I-I g-got t---o l-learn about s-space, m-m-maybe but. N-not uh, n-not l---ike this.”

Continuing on that may have built the pressure more, but Nictor was already backpedaling to the first question and that was a mess all its own.

Nictor sighed deep and gave a strangled set upon whine, slumping like the strings holding up has been cut. The motion managed to make pain flare up from most of his wounds but honestly, he could barely care or mind it. Nictor rested his elbow on the table and tugged at his bangs, while pulling his tray towards him with the other hand. Just thinking about that interaction made him miserable it was awful.

“I d-didn’t m---ean to,” he said, sounding just as put out as he looked. He was staring into his tray again, mouth pulled into a grimace and nose scrunched. It was such a disaster. The purpleblood at the sign up table had been so stressed, it had stressed Nictor out more, making his stutter worse which made the purpleblood stressed and demand he speak clearly he’s wasting time there was too much to get done and he was holding them up. Both of them had been frantic by the end and Nictor just went with the first thing the purpleblood handed him and ran. He really should have gone with Kolako to sign up, this entire disaster could have been avoided. Instead he’d had a highblood screaming sort of at him and sort of at his job but it resulted in Nictor freaking out and completely forgetting he wanted something specific and just signing off on the first thing that came up. Which was space. He didn’t even want to consider if he’d accidentally signed up for the military. “It w-was an a-acc---ident. I w-w-wanted to s----ign up f-for the, uh, g-g-ground crew. B-but, ah. I. Th-the, uh, I th---ink I w-went to the w-wr---ong desk. A-and th-the, uh, th-the p---urpleb-blood w-was r-really s-stressed a-a-and, uh, a-and…”

Nictor’s voice had the tone of a whine to it and he kept threading his fingers through his hair and pulling, the other fiddling with his spork as he spoke until finally he trailed off, feeling exhaustion and vague residual anxiety well up. He dropped the plastic ware with a hum of distress and went to scrub his face with both hands, mostly using his fingers to avoid messing with the bandages on his palms.

Sighing and putting his hands down he realized he’d sort of ruined his braid because hair that should have been tightly packed at the base of the french braid was floating around his face and some strands clung to his hands. Oh. Whoops. With a helpless little huff, he went to start taking the braid out completely, wincing a little at the burny ache that caused in his arms from all the motion, but there was nothing for it. He ran his fingers through each plait until it came out and moving onto the next until he was working up and around the back of his head, arms tensing and flexing with each small motion as his usually contained fluffly mane was made free.


[quote="nepsah]  

[nepsah]

Deimos glanced down at his own food. It was "free" but terribly unappetizing. Honestly, he'd considered leaving the area a few times just to get something more suited to his tastebuds but didn't want to miss out on anything happening at the tower. So.. crappy cafeteria food it was. He spooned some mashed potatoes into his mouth and immediately made a face. Bland. And the texture was awful. He forced himself to swallow it anyway. There'd be no point to trying to get sleep on an empty stomach.

Nictor jumping yet again earned a sideways look from the tealblood as he forced another spoonful of potatoes into his mouth. Seriously, the yellowblood seemed like he was on the verge of having his bloodpusher pop, yet also seemed too defeated by whatever was freaking himself out to possibly freak out any more. Dei couldn't say that he knew the feeling entirely, but he did know the jumpiness and combined exhaustion at least a little bit... albeit for different reasons. He was about to correct himself again- just in case Nictor hadn't heard him, when the yellowblood spoke up again.

He... hadn't meant to sign up for space crew.

Deimos blinked again, long and slow, as if moving in slow motion. He... didn't mean to sign up for space crew... but got flustered and now was going on missions he had no business going on, endangering himself and others (he pointedly refused to think about how he was sort of doing the same thing) and hadn't tried to remedy it. Surely as volunteers he should be free to resign. "Y'know..." He started, then trailed off as Nictor began to undo his braid and then redo it.

That... was very distracting. Specifically the movement of his arms- he'd thought Forera's were distracting too, though in a different sense. With her it was admiration, with this... He cleared his throat. "Since we're just volunteers you can prolly just... resign. If you want." He shrugged limply, eyes still watching what Nictor was doing. "M'not really one t'talk but y'look totally ********. Like. Tired, I mean." He really wasn't one to talk. Literally had no business talking on the matter of being exhausted. Or, maybe he did, but not in this way.

"How'd you even get that way if y'don't fight or anythin'?" Another malfunction of his pan-to-mouth filter and he felt his face warm with teal. 'Like that' was of course in reference to how muscular Nictor was. Seriously. He was way more ripped than Deimos would have expected of a troll that froze up and panicked at the slightest hint of danger. Was he trying to look intimidating or something? (He didn't look intimidating at all.)

Taki-di

 

[Taki-di]

Whereas Nictor was usually the first to fumble and mess things up, his fingers were surprisingly deft at working through his hair. It was a familiar motion embedded in his muscle memory, making the movements smooth. It was even, vaguely calming. It was mundane, normal, something he knew very well how to handle. Once his hair was free from the braid, he fluffed it out a bit, running his fingers the whole length to get it back to normal volume before starting to separate pieces out and try braiding again.

Nic was working through a small tangle when Deimos seemed like was going to speak up but then didn't continue. Nictor looked up as he was brushing the man of hair behind his head so he could set to work fixing it and noticed Deimos’s stare again. Nictor’s hands slowed their motions a little as he watched Demos watch him and it was kind of unnerving should he be worried by this? Nervously, he started the french braid off, with a slight falter in the motions. Of course, when Deimos finally spoke up, Nictor’s face curled in distress and his motions lost their ease.

It wasn’t a surprise that he looked bad. He felt bad. It was just something that was a fact right now. Was tired the right word for it? Tired felt like it was a part of it at least.

He had of course immediately wanted to quit or ask to get the error fixed but he hadn’t really considered it a real option at the time. Like, he could try but it wouldn’t lead anywhere. He’d signed up for the space crew, like it or not, and he was almost immediately resigned to what was happening. The gross anxiety and dread had also told him he’d get in heaps of trouble if he tried for wasting the military’s time and get shunted into space anyway.

“I t-tried. I-I, a-after the f----irst ship, I-I-I t----ried b-but...,” Nictor said softly, somehow looking worse about that than he did before. After the first ship though, after knowing what this was, what he had to do, he’d been in a not great state. And he’d tried. He really did, he found an office and he tried to ask if he could get reassigned, to spare the details of how frayed he was, how long it took to get himself in there and make himself ask. He’d been half incoherent and the troll had been absurdly patient in listening but also unnerving. When he’d finally made his request, the troll asked to see his volunteer card. They’d looked him up in the system then, in a very pleasant voice, informed him that to request a switch or resignation, he had to not be scheduled for another ship or two have received a poor report from his commanding officer. As it was, he was already scheduled for a new mission! Nictor had tried to ask about that past the sinking consuming panic, and was informed that all trolls upon returning from a mission are immediately scheduled for a new mission or are put in for a new mission and their status as a volunteer or officer is pending and your status must be open for a switch to be made. He had been rather boggled and lost and went along limply.

He’d been a little hyped up on anxiety at the time but later with a horrible twist of dread he’d realized he was trapped. That had been a bad feeling. It was still a bad feeling.

His hands had been haltingly working and he had to stop and rub at his face again, letting his hair start to undo itself while he pressed into his cheeks and eyes while he shook his head. He took a deep shaky breath and took his hands away, shaking his head again.

“Th-they w----ouldn’t let me,” he admitted helplessly. He wasn’t sure what else to say. Deimos said they should probably be able to resign but Nictor had been turned away and after the first ship, he didn’t have it in him to deal with it again, he was too strung out.

“Wh-wha?” Nictor started, sounding rather lost. The pressure pulled back once more with the offered distraction of Deimos’s next question and Nictor blinked away the watery feeling in his eyes, shaking his head one last time to clear it back to the dull empty state. Which abruptly reminded him his hair was still all over the place. His hands immediately started threading through the braid base, opting to just pull it back into a ponytail. As he gathered up his hair, he considered the inquiry. Get what way without fighting? What was he that was something that seemed off? It took a few seconds, and he felt like he knew this one but it was slow to come but when it did he nearly dropped his hair to shrink into himself. “O-oh. Uh.”

Deimos meant his everything. Yes. Right. That.

“I-I, ah, uhhm,” Nictor bit his lip, heedless of the sting or perhaps using it to keep himself focused. Okay this was awkward and vaguely awful and he avoided eye contact as he finished pulling his hair through the hairband and drew his arms in front of him to hug himself. Which. Without a jacket didn’t do anything to detract from the thing he was currently self conscious about. In fact, it pointed it out more. Not that he really realized that but. Point.

“P-puberty?” He offered, finally looking back to Deimos and sounding rather concerned about his own answer. He’d been doing better about feeling weirdly ashamed and self conscious about his body, but, given where he was at mentally, it was unsurprising he felt like this. And maybe just a degree of the staring was making him extra self conscious so those two combined...yeah. Despite reservation on the topic, he scrambled for an answer that wasn’t just filler noises. “I-Iunno, I-I uh, I g-get around a l---ot, I g-guess?”

Nictor hadn’t really ever thought serious on the how, he’d always been busy bemoaning it and trying not to think about it but he did do a lot of physical activity, even if his poor coordination would have probably made a smarter troll stop. Instead he liked to explore and see sights when nothing was out to kill him. He liked nature a lot and seeing it for himself, even if it did manage to scare him half the time. Maybe it was that?

Maybe it also had to do with lots of lifting and moving of equipment, mixing and working with honey. It was really involved and to make more honey, Bee needed assistance. The normal process didn’t work quite the same with him since there was only one of him, not a whole hiveful. He really hadn’t actually thought about it that much before but the scraped together answers sounded like they made sense? That was weird. He blinked, reaching up to rub at his cheek in thought.

“M-m-making honey t-too, p-probably,” He mumbled.

nepsah

 

[nepsah]

He managed to pry his eyes away from watching Nictors arms hands long enough to sip at his water and take a bite of... what even was this? Whatever it was, it was awful and he had to fight the urge to gag. Gross. He'd just... not eat that thing, even if the potatoes weren't much better. He looked back to the yellowblood, catching the last traces of his pained look and... almost felt bad. He hadn't meant to hurt feelings or anything, it was a legitimate question as far as he was concerned. But at the same time, if asking him why he hadn't resigned was going to hurt him he really needed to toughen up.

"Oh." He blinked. He hadn't even considered that they wouldn't be allowed to resign. That... that didn't make sense. A frown crept across his features as the cogs in his brain whirled into life. If he'd tried to resign, would they have let him? It wasn't really a secret that lowbloods were primarily used for manual labor like this- a tealblood such as himself had more ability to avoid doing things he didn't want to do. Maybe it was because Nictor was yellow- or maybe they really just weren't allowing volunteers to back down. What would happen if Nictor just didn't show up for a mission? Would he be penalized...? Would anyone be penalized?

Ah- he was working at his hair again. Once more Dei's eyes snapped to follow the motion of his arms- the way the muscle moved with each shift of position and- no no. What the hell kind of thought process was that. He leaned back to scrub at his eyes with the heels of both of his hands. No. When he looked back, Nictor was practically hugging himself, which did nothing to hide anything at all and in fact just made things all the more pronounced. Was it envy he was feeling? Or... something else? It was true, he did desire a stronger body himself but...

No it was definitely something else. He cleared his throat, looking away as Nictor finally began to answer. "Oh. Uh..." Get around? Get around where and in what way? He covered his mouth with a hand as he yawned, wide enough to cause his body to shake and make his jaw ache. God, he was so tired... What he'd give for a nice 'coon to curl up in. Or hell, he'd even deal with the daymares if he could find a good pile to crash land on. Preferably like the blanket-pillow piles he had lining his own hive.

He was getting distracted again. At some point his eyes had wandered back to staring though mentally he wasn't fully there. Too busy thinking about the sweet relief of sleep and maybe what it would feel like if he just reached out and - no. Nope. He scooted himself away from Nictor just a tad. He had no filter when he was tired, he didn't even want to think about what his impulse control was going to be doing. The last thing he needed was to just randomly reach out and touch a troll he didn't even really know, even if it would probably just be a touch to the arm.

"Don't... bees make honey? Not trolls?" He looked confused, expression scrunching up as he tried to parse that together. Trolls didn't have honey producing capabilities as far as he knew...

Taki-di

 

[Taki-di]

Well, at least it seemed like Nictor answered Deimos’s questions well enough. He didn’t go asking further, so at least he was satisfied. Or just tired. Nictor blinked a few times at the jaw cracking yawn Deimos made. The tealblood really did look worn out. Deep blood hued bags under his eyes and a slump to his shoulders that spoke of a deep exhaustion. Was Deimos sleeping at all? Was something keeping him up?

How would he even bring that up?

“Y-you, ah, s---eem r-really tired,” Nictor commented without really consulting with himself for a full explanation of what that was supposed to accomplish. Not that he was likely to have gotten anything useful right now but point, even if he was reacting a bit more like himself. Not so dazed outwardly, at least for now. Inwardly he was drawing a big old blank on what to say after that and couldn’t even feel the anticipation that tried to kick up a fuss very well. Somehow he didn’t feel like it was improving this interaction any. He was pretty sure he was sort of concerned over the drop on you feet tired Deimos was carrying around. He just wasn’t sure what to do with that.

Nictor was saved from trying to salvage whatever was trying to get at by Deimos suddenly shoving his chair back a notch. And by saved of course, that means temporarily derailed. What was that about? Nictor’s brow creased and he couldn’t help but tense and glance behind him. Nothing. Nictor looked back to Deimos, feeling a bit lost.

And then the temporary derailment got derailed again. Nictor rubbed at his cheek in what was obviously a nervous tic (he had oodles of them). He hadn’t really realized he said that outloud, but questions on honey were at least something he knew answers to.

“I, uh, y-yeah, bees d-do. My, ah, l-lusus, uhm, Beehemoth, h-he m---akes honey. I h-help th----ough. U-usually, b---ees have c-colonies, s-s---o they’re a-all there h-helping. B-but t-there’s jsut o-one of Bee,” Nictor tried to explain. He wasn’t really sure how many details Deimos wanted. He could explain the whole process, but he really wasn’t sure that that was what he wanted? “S-so, uh, I help.”

Nictor was pretty sure he was forgetting something. He wasn't sure what and he was waiting to see if his eating companion would ask anything further. He rubbed his face a bit harder until he flinched at the vague stinging in his palm. Right, his face may be healed now, but his palm had gained gouges. Healing gouges, mostly healed? Sort of mostly healed gouges. He’d gotten them a few ships back now and they would have healed up with some proper rest, but it wasn’t debilitating injury so he was sent back out to space. Except then in the mess of trying to ward off daywalkers and having to ram down doors and his general inability to keep upright on his own two feet, they kinda kept getting irritated and ripped back open. which, wasn’t great and would likely make what would have been fading scrapes into some rather obvious scarring. If the ointment he had from med bay did it’s job though, it shouldn’t be the worst?

But what was he forgetting? Given the state of his brain, he wasn’t surprised he was having trouble. Even if interacting was pulling him out of that feeling of vague sideways existence to a degree, he wasn’t all put together still. Sighing quietly, he let his hand drop.

Into his mashed potatoes.

Nictor remained still for a second before his eyes closed and expression pinched. His food. He had forgotten his food.

He blew out a small sigh, opening his eyes to see the small spatters of the white mash spread further over his food. Well. It all went to the same place anyway. A few spots wound up on that table but he didn’t think any got on Deimos or his tray.

“S-sorry,” He uttered, sounding absolutely defeated. This was all the food he was going to get. He sat up a bit, licking some of the larger spots from his fingers while fumbling with some napkins to clean up the rest, making a face as he tried to get all of the little smears from his hand. Probably time to actually eat this cold sad cafeteria food then before he started playing with it more.

nepsah

 

[nepsah]

"No kidding." The response came out before he'd really thought about it, and the only real indication that he felt bad about the sudden blunt reply was a slight grimace. "Haven't slept, pan's foggy." He waved a hand dismissively as if that was supposed to be taken as both an apology and an explanation for his appearance. Thankfully the conversation was back on bees again. He didn't know much about them, honestly. His lusus wasn't a bug, and none of his interests had ever strayed into insects over the sweeps so why would he?

"Oh... sounds like a lot a work. M'lusus isn't anythin' that needs maintenance like that." He shifted to lean an elbow on the table, then nestled his cheek into the palm of his hand. Head positioned, he just... stared blandly at Nictor. Or was he staring through him? Hard to tell with the glassy eyed expression on his face. Where ever his mind was, it definitely wasn't on Alternia. He didn't even react much when Nictor managed to drop his hands right into his mashed potatoes. The splattering food normally would have earned a snappish remark or a withering look, but instead all it earned was a bland blink as his eyes followed Nictor's attempts to clean himself up.

Ah, he missed a spot. "Missed one." He wasn't even paying attention to what he was doing. He leaned forward, wiping a bit of potato off of Nictor's arm with his thumb. In that moment his brain seemed to only register that there was food on his hand. Food belonged in mouths, right? Right. Robotically, he stuck the potato-laden thumb into his mouth and cleaned it off with his tongue. It was then that the gears in his pan came to an abrupt stop.

All sedated body language about him seemed to slowly harden into mortification as his limbs went stiff, eyes slowly widening, cheeks tinting deeply with teal from the sudden embarrassment that arose. It practically slammed the panic button in his head. Without moving his body an inch, his eyes swiveled to stare at Nictor's face for a moment, then down at the thumb still in his mouth- back to Nictor, then off to the side to the nearest exit.

Perfect. An escape route. He could evacuate the situation and pretend it never happened.
He'd never be able to forget this moment, that was a false hope and he ******** knew it.

Without so much as an apology for the strange behavior, Deimos abruptly shoved himself up from the table. He stumbled, prosthetic foot engaging in one of its classing gear grinds as it protested the sudden movement, but forced himself to move anyway. In fact, despite the extreme exhaustion plaguing his system, he moved faster toward the exit than he had in the last two nights. He just had to get away- there was absolutely no explanation for what he'd just done. Absolutely none.

Taki-di

 

[Taki-di]

They were both tired and worn for different reasons and different effects, but a similar enough affliction.

Nictor belatedly frowed a little at the mention of maintenance. Bee didn’t need maintenance exactly, he was perfectly able to make the honey by himself if he had to, it just made it easier if Nictor helped. This was of course an idle and belated note that was quickly lost as soon as it surfaced, overshadowed by the worries of food and mess. Nictor’s expression twisted in further distaste at the texture of the potatoes slightly smearing across skin as he tried to wipe off what he could. It was just really unpleasant and the exhaustion and vaguely distress of memories brought up made it easy to lose track of what he was doing for a few seconds, easy to lose track of what needed cleaning beyond the texture on his hand and the fact he needed a new napkin.

So Nictor jerked his head a little when he was addressed, looking up to Deimos and blinking in uncomprehendingly for a few seconds. Missed what now? Missed one of the kinds of food on his tray to spread everywhere? Nictor went tense when Deimos leaned in, pulling his own body away as Deimos’s moved forward, eyebrows creasing and eyes starting to dart. What was he doing now? He looked far too tired for it to be something nefarious, though that could be a ruse? Either way, all Nictor could do was watch cautiously as Deimos reach out, swiped a thumb on his arm, and was back in his seat. Okay hang on now, what just happened.

Nictor blinked belatedly, pouting slightly as he tried to decipher what had just occurred. The hand Deimos had reached out with was out of his space now and had potatoes on it? Oh wait, those were his potatoes. Nictor blinked again as Deimos ate them, wondering distantly if he should feel something about his dinner being eaten by someone else. Not like Nictor was doing a good job of it, so why not.

“O-oh, uh, th-thanks?” Nictor said. Deimos did sort of help? Nictor was picking up another napkin to try and get the last bits off his skin when he glanced back to Deimos and saw the tense posture, the widening eyes, the darting gaze.

Maybe Nictor still didn’t know what to think about Deimos. He was a troll that signed up to go to space and seemed kinda tired but didn’t appear to have the conflict Nictor did, as few of the trolls he’d met and been on a team with did. Deimos has struck Nictor in the stomach when he was caught in fog and panic and was trying to retreat from panic and danger it left him feeling off balance and unsure because he’d thought his teammates he was somewhat safe with. Rather foolishly. So again, maybe Nictor wasn’t sure how to feel about Deimos other than tentative and cautious.

Those feelings weren’t enough to fight the fact that Deimos had been his teammate, that despite that mishap, he was someone that offered a level of security in a situation with danger pressing in, that even if consciously, Nictor wasn’t sure he trusted Deimos as a troll, he subconsciously trusted his instincts. On the ships, Nictor started reacting more to the warnings of danger, trying to follow his teammates’ lead,a nd for better or for worse, Deimos had been one of those trolls.

So when Deimos grew ramrod straight and started looking for exits, Nictor’s thinkpan reacted accordingly and flushed any vague sense of ease or calm down the drain. Nictor’s breathing stuttered, his heart pounding loudly in his ears with the cacophony that was no longer a welcome distraction but terrifying, making it harder to identify what the threat was, or if the threat was everything. Something was behind him, that’s where Deimos was looking, how close was it, he didn’t have his bo staff with him, how close how close-

Nictor started when Deimos did, body trying to seize and start at the same time, trying to throw into motion unexpectedly at the perceived signal to run to help to get away anything. His knees hit painfully off the bottom of the table, his elbow smacked the top, his chair screeched under him as he jolted upright in a flurry of panicked energy and whipped his head around to see

nothing.

It was a second before Nictor halted his mad scramble, eyes raking furiously over his immediate vicinity then farther and farther into the room for a threat and found nothing. Well, he found lots of things, like a few trolls eyeing him anxiously or with distaste, lots of trolls just chatting or carrying their trays but it was just that. Just. Trolls. Imagine that, him thinking “just trolls” and it being a good thing. But, it was better than the daywalkers he was expecting, there were no enclosed dark spaces lit by headlamps or rotting uncanny faces gaping at him as they approached or the stench of old meat in stale chilled aire. No oozing slimy lusii, no packs of gerbils, no stark shadows passing over his vision in the unforgiving void of space on a dead vessel.

There was no more threat than a cafeteria full of trolls.

Nictor’s breathing continued to stutter in his chest, hand clutching the edges of the table for support, left blinking rapidly to try and clear the vague swimming to his vision. Nothing out of place or singling Nictor out or coming towards them. What? Nictor turned his head to see if Deimos was alright, to maybe get a clue of what was going on but he found empty space where Deimos had once been.

Nictor stared, already starting to wilt, his body and min unwilling to upkeep the high tension without a solid reason. Clumsily, he bend on unsteady legs and righted his chair before dropping heavily into it. Fingers curled convulsively, hands twitchy and he tried to steady his breathing.

What had that been about?

As Nictor worked to calm his racing heart and leaned heavily on the table, confused and unsure, he could only speculate as to what that had been. Was it something to do with how tired he’d been? Did he see something Nictor hadn’t, did the troll looking to engage quit before they made it? Why was Deimos blushing, was he upset? Too bad Nictor could barely string the thoughts together to think about them beyond posing a useless question. Staring at his tray idly, he reminded himself he should probably eat.

He looked across the table.

Deimos had left his tray.

Oh. Was, uh, should he clean that up too?

nepsah

AND THAT'S A WRAP