Marmorea Aurum - Tender Heart [-5-]
A time spend to amend; to converse of aching dread
Hands slick with warm water and soap suds divide against tissue and hard plates.
Fingers massage up beneath the unfurl of the stern formations that rise from the chimera’s back, kneading in the warmth to the muscles of bared spinal juts. Limp within the grip, the motions coax a gentle sigh from the chimera, their head buried against arms, form buffered from the wooden stool by a laid towel. It bares their weight as legs are laid aside, back turned out to their shared bathroom as steam lingers from the open shower stall. Whereas back muscles are massaged they chatter in pleasure as a sigh exhales, rubbed down and in between the gaps as they open for the gentle touch.
Beneath them, water continues to pool as they sit hip-to-hip. The doorway closed; a towel stuffed up beneath to seal them into the makeshift sauna.
With furred legs cast to one side, Warren’s own rest in the opposite direction as a long tail flickers against his hip – sat just as nude as the comforting contact between them continues. Leaning up against the chimera, putting gentle pressure against open gaps, breathing in the gentle wisps of steam as hands once again roam beneath the expressing flick of plates. The steam is barely noticed aside from the air condition fed gusts that tingle against the bare skin of his back and sides – his own fibrous tail flickers. It remains merely as background to the steaming mists that continues to seep from the drizzling shower; his head resting against lent shoulder.
It all eases the chimera’s nerves ever further – their exhale already made full body from the resting split of their teeth and up through their quadrant features lax with an open divide. Amberous tone features flex as golden fold muscles undulate with each gentle breath, features nuzzling down into their forearms with a hovering groan. A trace of fatigue; “have any ideas for later, hun?” Malaphin breathes, barely lifting their head as their body rolls into the massaging hands – their smooth armor scales arching open as the hands move upwards once more.
Warren sighs, letting his hands slide over the topmost crest of the stone-firm muscles made slick with soap and the sensational moss moisture just beneath.
“All I got is to check on the local node,” his temple grazes over their shoulder as his hands roam over the slicked back plates. “The titan fragment in the park has the markers of distress in the alchemia streams, so there might be some congested trauma somewhere in an underground node.” His hands come to rest against the chimera’s hips, barely tracing as his hair drapes around shoulders from a messy bun. “Think that’s enough for your back? You’re saturating,” he chuckles, fingers spreading over the sensational moss slime.
“Yeah,” Malaphin breathes, slowly easing a roll of shoulders forth against the stool before pausing; hands dance over their sides towards the split of flesh along their stomach, wet palms gliding themselves towards an open muscular flex. Features still split and relaxed, the divides falter as the hands move forward. “I may not need a cavity clean out… but…” they hum as their horned head leans back against their crossed arms, reveling in the gentle touch.
A smile creeps, pressing against the chimera’s neck. “I know you like it,” whispers. Hands plead Malaphin’s chest region in a gentle request, fingertips tracing, pressing along the flesh dividing over the ribcage formation.
Breathing in, out; a softened groan sighs between fingers as they make the advancement, sliding within as a full form shiver breathes beneath the touches. A hum rolls, belying a sigh from Malaphin as the hands touch between the folds of maladaptive tissue, embracing from within as their head leans forward against forearm and splaying palms over shifting skin. Wet divides of the chimera’s torso latch against Warren’s arms and wrist, housing them close as the palms find to cradle beneath warm stone pulsations inside the chimera’s chest.
“You’re so warm in there,” Warren whispers as air seeps between his fingers, the chimera breathing around his arms as the alchemist stone is cupped, cradled, pressed against the muscular plush sigh that cushions the chimera’s central spine. Shifting the hold as he leans forth, Warren kisses along a glowing node that lines the side of Malaphin’s throat.
Moisture-laden hands lock fingers over the stone organ; pulsations warm under the ossisgari’s grasp as their breathing turns to sync in the unassuming calm of sharing indulgence; where the motion of their emotional coil wavers between them in the steam-soaked silence. Temple pressing at shoulder, Warren pulls them together with a leveled sigh. Cuddling against the chimera even as stone plates press at his chest.
Thoughts turn sober as his fingers graze over the firm warmth, touching over a stress fracture that lines along the surface of Malaphin’s heart… He makes a double check in the silence – not a part of the usual form.
After taking pause, Warren keeps his thoughts to himself as he pulls his head away, turning upwards towards his partner’s neck. Pressing a soft kiss, his hands retract back from the embracing folds to pull around Malaphin’s stomach, hugging around with a sigh. “Want to make another pass in the shower?” His suggestion is light; to stand, to both join in the shower nude and bare and together beneath the pleasant downpour.
A clawed palm places over hugging limbs, a sigh rolling through the chimera as their features resettle to seal their heart away in complete. “Of course,” purrs as teeth meet Warren’s cheek, pressing back with a rolling rumble, “best to rid my scales and fur of the suds before we go out.” A chuckle hangs light, the kiss transferring from cheek to lips as they turn, where the snarl of teeth is replaced with lips and a smile. Pulling a hand up through Warren’s hair, their mouths meet once more – gently as a tendril tongue only traces against the smile with a saliva lace.
Warren chuckles, returning them together with a smile. “Yeah, hard to stay low with wet pants.” A tease.
Hands drifting touches, helping the other to stand, they wander back into the standing shower stall. Palms press and grasp over skin and scale as the glass door remains open to their side – already fully granted in the serenity of peace as they chase each other with gentle kisses. Hands roam towards hips as they sway beneath the gentle downpour, golden irises locking with gentle blue.
A short laugh traces as Warren’s back rests against the slick tile, as kisses trace down his throat – vents furl in the intimate indulgences, sighing as he rests into the grip. A return makes with mouth met smiles as the fibrous white tail flickers water away as the space between them constricts, filled with the whispering adoration as temples lie pressed.
Beyond visual attention, the chimera’s broad tail flickers as water saturates the rustic red undercut by lunar white, asway as hands move over the liquid traces that descend their bodies. Claws roam over rifts in skin, pulling upwards against the sigh of vents before one comes to catch against the scar that breaks Warren’s left cheek.
As they hold there, palms pull up beneath the simmer of plated scales, coming to rest over shoulders before welcoming close for a kiss.
Claws curl into Warren’s hair, returning to the scar with the sigh of a bonespur. “I’ll be more careful, Divi,” Malaphin breathes, pulling Warren into an embrace.
After a moment, a careful consideration as blue searches gold – Warren rests his temple against Malaphin’s with a sigh. His hands occupy themselves in cleaning his partner’s scales. “No, it’s my fault for what happened; you did just what you had to, Mal, to save me.” Hands pull back over features, a hand resting upon his once torn cheek… it's warm as he rests his head into it; healed but still torn. “Leave it,” he breathes, “I want this one to stay.”
“You sure…?”
“Yeah,” Warren’s hands roam back to the chimera’s stomach, pressing gentle to give them breathing space. “Now, let’s get that soap of you,” he smiles, “then we can check the titan.”
Tilting down the phone strung with a rhythmic tone, Warren glances over towards the entrance of the garden walkway.
Despite the headphones resting over his visage ears he listens in to the pedestrian conversations further down the path; several meters further than intended as his attention drifts. A pair talks about their weekend as they linger beneath the archway; a father with his son at the resting edge, checking the wheel well of the rig; a woman jogs past them as well as him, and his sight follows her trying to place the song that blares past the cupped headset’s seal. Something he might’ve heard in passing before, he’s not sure as his sight turns back to his phone, flipping through the programs as he awaits the chimera’s return.
From where he sits hunched beneath a sheltering tree, the ossisgari tries his best to keep his attention diverted even as the tethers that line his spine press against his shirt and jacket. A hand pulls against his hemline as he resorts himself away from reaching out amongst the alchemia streams as he pulls his senses to ground. Overwhelming, he sighs, browsing through the digital connections of the Mira community – too much to think about, too much to worry about he should just let go.
However, it’s still difficult as he glazes over the articles, opinion pieces, and comments that decorate the digital landscape; it’s part of his job to keep up with the social climate, sure, but it does little to ease the tension stuck within his nerves.
Ushering it into standby he sets down the device, taking pause before pulling fingers through his hair.
As he leans against forearm and into palm, Warren looks past the architecture that sits outside the bounds of the communal garden; its where his sight follows as a tram whispers past on an electric line, gazing beyond the etchings of the transparent panels that make the ribbed roof structure dusted with Martian sands and past the smooth diversion of towers that cleave the external surface winds. Farther his mind continues to wander through the unabated skies, far from the city-state’s super structures well buried into the surface and towards the soft tone of the distant sun, and the dot just beyond.
The alchemia choked earth… a part of him wishes to return.
‘Divi,’ his mind pings in the chimera’s direction, sight turned towards the other side of the clearing for but a moment beneath his sunglasses. ‘The shaft to the Cretae nodes is clear.’
‘Is there still that breach on the southern perimeter?’ Warren shuffles and reclines against the bench backing as his sight draws to close, relaxing. He keeps his eyes off his partner as they approach to dissuade potential suspicion; uncertain if others may be paying the barest of attention.
‘Yeah,’ Malaphin calls back through their tether, sinking down to sit beside Warren.
Picking into the bag at his side, Warren hands Malaphin their share of lunch in a take-out container. “It’s still warm,” he offers, having already finished his own while waiting for the chimera.
“Thanks,” Malaphin pulls a leg up against the side rest of the bench, kicking out to recline as Warren leans onto their shoulder. One hand tends to their meal, the other pulls around to the ossisgari’s back beneath his jacket.
‘You’d figure if it was a priority point they’d check on it more than once a year,’ Warren expresses through their connection as he cuddles himself against Malaphin’s side, pulling an arm around Malaphin as he shoves his phone into his opposing pocket. ‘Any trace of sensors?’
‘No,’ converses as Malaphin bites down into his meal, ‘looked through all sense spectrums; just as abandoned as the last time we’ve been there.’
‘Figures,’ Warren externally sighs, feeling an arm snake from his side to back, fingers pulling through hair. ‘Think we’ll need to charm once we get below?’
‘Don’t know, best to keep it on hand for later if we need it.’
Warren nods. Peeling himself from his partner’s side he steals a couple fruit wedges. “We’ve still got a while before the showing,” he pulls out his phone again, scrolling through a local theatre’s listings. “When you’re done, we can just walk it.” To which, Malaphin nods… and picks some of the wedges back from Warren.
Meal complete, the pair take their turns to stand before discarding the degradable packaging.
Walking hand in hand they move past where the titan remnants sit sullen and buried within the reconstituted soil, bordered by stone carvings that pay tribute to those that brought its life to the planet’s surface. Silently, Warren reaches out through his neural tethers to take stock of the underlying Cretae system that delivers the local flora with the vital nutrients for life; in search of a dead spot, for the presence of trauma that underlies the sector’s surface. It takes only a minute as he glances towards the skeleton that lies turned upwards, adverting himself before the tethers begin to pull from his spine.
‘North-east-east region,’ he relays.
It leads them down a dirt trail – one of several that curl around the edges of the centralized garden’s primary path, where even though it meanders towards a distant edge far from the titan’s skeletal slumber a canopy envelopes them overhead, shading them from the muted sunshine. A structural pillar is one of the few breakages in the vegetation growth that flourish around the trail and beneath their feet as they break away – wading through the implanted vegetation, facilitated by means not wholly native to the Martian surface save for those bolstered by the titan’s remains and the subterranean systems. Where even though it breathes green around them, grown on their own, the gaze of the overhead ozone shielding still bares the surrounding hostile environment beyond.
Warren guides Malaphin through the undergrowth, letting part of his appearance fade as the vents that line his throat breathe as he follows the energetic guidance of the titanic neural network only sensed in slight – his bonespurs flex. ‘Might be some root stress, as we’re coming along the edge.’
Through a gap in the trees they wade over the restrictive fencing, following a turret tower that gleans overhead in the ease of the low light conditions. ‘Would make sense, we’re close to the North End Hospital.’ Overgrowth tickles against their ankles – statements of their shifted boot steps as they duck through the hole Warren had long ago carved into the perimeter fencing. The easiest access to their destination.
‘Wasn’t there a recent collapse in a settlement dome not too far from here,’ Warren glances back, ‘would explain the stress in the Cretae node, if that’s it.’ Both stop outside the bounds of the small structure’s clearing.
‘Likely,’ the chimera answers back, sight turned blind with restricted senses as they make another pass in their temperature reading. Aware of the whispers of electricity that still ebbs overhead, ‘We’re clear.’
It is with ease that Warren undoes the padlock with one of his arm-bound tethers, taking but a moment to crack the combination. Part expertise, part bolstered by the compounding security failings that allow them even close in to the maintenance shaft; nonetheless, there’s been the prolonged chance to change the damn lock. ‘Think it’s even worth relocking,’ Warren smirks.
‘Nah.’
Door open, Warren hooks the lock into its ringed holster.
They welcome themselves onto the upper landing, where the filtered light tints the small room with an amber hue, granted in by the slotted windows that line the wall’s upper edges. A numeral spray marks at the entrance of the spiral staircase that descends deep below, Well-59-v – marked with all the locational data and scan lines needed in case of an emergency operation.
Warren palms over the information, ‘hope we don’t get caught,’ he smiles, well aware of how barren the subsystems tend to be – his auditory tethers able to hear for miles in the echoing corridors far below even as he just begins to descend. ‘If we have a hard time seeing down there, I got two fresh charges,’ his hand rests on his bag, attention turned downwards as the reverb of the metal stairs drift down to the shaft below.
‘Well if needed you can just light the way,’ the chimera jokes a few steps behind, tuned to make a preliminary sweep of the space before them.
Warren chuckles, ‘only if it gets hot enough, I can’t always be a walking candle,’ he calls back through their connection with a smirk, his sight adjusting to the low lights.
He’s careful as he follows the railing downwards as the well begins to open around them, where the stair steps are traced with the dim lighting that marks the meter descents along the stone carved walls. It remains just as luminated as they find their way through the maintenance shaft held at the base, where they divert towards the subterranean caverns that connect from an elbow end; where beyond the ambient glow of the Cretae root structure bathes them in a gentle hue.
The white fibers beam with a brilliant glow around them as they make their way to a solitary outcropping within the waterlogged space, saturating their shadows into blurs as their visages fade. Placing a hand against the damp stone, Warren moves slowly as he takes stock of the pulsations buried within the still shape stone – no cracks, no fissures, almost untouched by the planetary root that consumes the Martian stone. Well borrowed, but still restless as he can feel the hum of tremors that shift beneath.
Pulling off his jacket, pulling shirt over his head, Warren’s spinal tethers reach out as he breathes in search of connecting with the cretae sensory systems. He hands them over to Malaphin, and after a moment of hesitation, kneels before an open sag of the enigmatic roots. “Watch out for me.”
The proximity draws through his body as his open palms hold towards the alchemical white; his sclera begins to cloud into a deep terrestrial black as his pupils are overtaken by ghostly white, his bonespurs flaring open in preparation to vent the outpour.
Neurals to neural, Warren slowly begins to piece himself into the cretae’s vast ageless consciousness, easing himself to sit gentle and relaxed as tension begins to leave his body – until the ancient flora finally adheres, siphoning through him as lines cast around his hands.
Images tear through his internal sight, tastes scorching past his tongue as the traumatic tension draws through from a distant node – his nerves make reactive jerks as saturating pain threatens to transfer to his stable form – only held in place by learned reaction as he sits ready to take the brunt. Where, ever so gently, he approaches the root with a forward lean.
He cups the soft tethers of the ancient root as the lines around his wrist turn themselves threatening and sharp – fear. He holds himself there even as his vision presses taut, flinching ever so as the bark turns coarse, barbs reaching against his skin, yanking at the coils that become adrift from his forearms.
Emotional waves crash through him – a siphon made of pain and misery, anger and terror collected by countless souls and the buildup of time as it tears through him, remaining still even as his muscles draw themselves tight. Concentrating on relieving the enigmatic flora even as his sight begins to sting – he chokes, vents brought to huff and wheeze in the emotive crash before he swallows it down. Restraining the threat of a breakdown as he waits out the turmoil; he holds himself still as it gradually continues to settle.
It leaves the cretae cold beneath his palms as he remains still – the lines freeing him as the aftershocks still crest through his chest. Swallowing down, he keeps himself composed from the siphoned-out anger as liquid stains his sight.
It’s his responsibility – to keep the network in check, keep it from lashing out.
Kneeling at the ossisgari’s side, Malaphin pulls an arm around his back. Hand rubbing over shoulder, his body leans against the other. “You good…?” His voice is soft, velveted with a kiss that crests against temple.
“As best as I can be,” Warren slowly retracts his hands, shaking himself free of the last lazy lines.
His hands bleed white from the mark of the sharp bristles that reached from the enigmatic flora, scratches that leave blood across his face as he knuckles against his sight, brushing aside empathetic tears. As he remains held with a gentle grip, head leaning back as he slowly works himself to a deep calm. Hitches in his breathing resounds as his eyes sit baked with an alchemical charge, sat in fog.
Malaphin takes a hand from him, and holds it – healing it from the vicious rend
Vision lid downturned, Warren eases himself to relax against the chimera. Eyes pressed shut with the occasional pained flinch, he bathes beneath the gentle glow around them. “Thanks, Mal,” his head turns, left in the caring hands of his partner.
“It’s the least I can do,” Malaphin rests their head upon Warren’s, still holding grip of a lacerated palm. “Think you’re still up to run errands after the film…?” breathes a sigh within Warren’s hair.
“Should be,” Warren leans into them, looking down at his hands as one sits healed. The other taken by gentle palms. “Shouldn’t take too long to get what we need for the plants anyway. And boosts for the standbys, but we’ll see.” He reaches around to the chimera, easing himself over towards the side as his hand is still held within the warm ebbs of energy. “Could go for another sandwich first, want to run by for another?”
It doesn’t take much longer for Malaphin to return the palm fully healed; offering his clothing back. “Where’s it at?”
Taking them with a smile, Warren pecks a kiss. “I’ll show you, it’s not far from the gardens.”
Claws grip firmly against skin - his breathing is poised into huffs through the rolling motions. Grasping, reaching, trembling… he submits. Submits to the teeth grazing at his throat and vents, to the palms pressing him down to yield as warmth pressures inside. Traces whisper at the rifts that line his thighs as breaths meet, measures to the draws of quivers and purrs.
Through a haze of exhaustion, Warren paws for his phone.
A joyless chime beats within his cranium for the third time in a row is all he can figure, an unsavory rhythm that draws his ire as he peers over the ruffled blanket that lies on their bed between him and the device’s annoying bleating. From where he lies half covered on his back, he can’t see it, and peels himself upwards into an elbow lean. Claws clutch against his stomach, teeth press against his side and hip; Malaphin, he glances.
Once more he picks over for the resounding annoyance within the half open drawer, holding himself steady as the sleeping hands drift and pull him back, reaching towards his chest.
He drops back into the reach, “fuck,” is all he grumbles as his attention remains in a daze. A hand holds his phone back against the pillow; the other massages the nips and welts that line over his throat - his vents still well tender. Warren takes a moment to pause, and both hands pull through his hair with a hitched breath, trying to remember exactly why his entire torso still aches. “What time is it,” clouds his mind in response, picking back for his phone with a mild squint.
The time sits unfathomable for his sluggish thoughts. It takes him a moment.
Claws pull around his stomach once more, pulling him against the dozing chimera.
11.59.c.MTC3 - Yilruth is calling him.
Shifting himself to better rest within Malaphin’s grip and to comfortably curl himself to one side, he answers.
“What’s it, Yil.” he clutches the pillow at the other side of his head. His voice feels choked.
“You sound like Malaphin put you through the ringer,” answers back, “guessing that’s why you haven’t called about lunch.”
Warren’s mouth draws a line - that’s what he was forgetting. “Yeah… we kinda forgot.” Was the plan for 12 or earlier…? Warren tries to puzzle as his fingers press against his temple, phone pressing against the sigh of a bonespur.
“Yeah, figured. I can’t make it with that plan. You took care of the Cretae node, right?”
“Yesterday,” Warren sighs, “took a load out of me. How’s the recovery doing?” He rubs his throat, feeling over the tender furl of his vents that sit minorly bruised by their activities the night before.
“It’s still bad, but they’ve managed to get all the workers out before it collapsed even further.” Warren can hear in the background the radio chatter - still onsite.
“How bad is it?”
“Sealing broke in an entry route, collapsed only two adjacent dome struts but it looks to be stable now. They want to keep me here for another day to be sure the new sealing stays. They estimate around 20 injured, no casualties so far.”
Warren pulls a hand through his hair; it didn’t feel like that when he was relieving the node. “Good; think you’re able to meet for dinner tomorrow then?”
“Yeah, same diner as before?”
“Yep, subsurface diner. Me and Mal will see you then, Yil. Be safe.”
Before hanging up, the serpentine grimoire grants a laugh, “Don’t let Mal leave you hoarse. Take care.”
Warren squints at his phone before chucking it back into the drawer.
With a heaving sigh he pulls his hands through his hair, rolling himself to lie within the chimera’s grip as he tries to reconvene his senses. Taking stock of how he lies nude with Malaphin asleep at his side, his clawed digits curl against the bedding beneath the sheets, barely flinching as the fabric bundles against his hips as his legs are drawn close. He palms against his eyes to clear the vision fog as his shoulders stretch, breathing through the vents that line his ribs as the stretch coils his back and drifts through his arms. Stretching out, fingers folding into another they reach back to the wall through a deep sigh before falling back over himself - over the chimera’s nape for a moment… then tries to reach for a resounding numbness that weighs in his back.
Teeth press at the breath of his rib vent, nuzzling against his skin. “Who called…?” Their voice is a drone of many, still drowsed as claws pull Warren against the chimera.
“Yil; he’s stuck at the dome collapse. Forgot we were going to have lunch,” Warren pulls a hand through his hair again, shifting into the chimera’s grip. “But he’s open for dinner tomorrow.”
“Ah,” Malaphin breathes into the ossisgari’s hip, pulling up into a lean with a kiss against one shoulder. “Cute little wings,” they chuckle while pulling back.
Looking back, Warren reaches around himself towards the region of his shoulder blades - and pokes up the clawed end of the small projections of his wings. They remain numb as he pinches the membrane between the joints, trying to have them hold against his shoulder with a sigh. “Was wondering…” drifts off with a minor squint, but nonetheless accepts it, too tired to direct his appearance, just glad they projected small instead of to full size.
But he doesn’t expect the kiss pressed between them, nor the pleasant ease back he makes as the chimera purrs. “They’re adorable, Divi.” Malaphin pulls him close, shifting so their bodies lie side to side.
Warren eases himself in the chimera’s grip, pulling an arm around to cup behind the copper-toned horns and the spike jut. “Gee, thanks,” smirks as he tries to turn, maneuvering himself in Malaphin’s grip as he eases them to lie near face to face, his legs resting upon the chimera’s hips. “Well, since lunch is cleared up… got any ideas?”
Malaphin pulls to rest beneath Warren’s chin, an arm still pulled around the ossisgari’s center. “We could visit another dome-cluster, see what they’ve got going on there,” and kisses the furl of a throat vent, saliva easing the mild bruise sting.
With an arm pulled around his center and Malaphin tending to the impassioned marks, Warren lies half twisted, head tilted towards the ceiling. “Could visit Dome 6, since it's coming to be festival season there.” He reclines, sight drawn shut as the warmth of tendril tongues kiss upon his skin. “Might be some public performances as well, that’s always nice to hang around.”
"Sounds good," the chimera rumbles against Warren's skin, knuckling up for a moment in a sideways lean before dropping to the bed with a settling huff.
Pulling a hand through his hair, Warren's attention shifts to the doorway. “Since I’m already up, I’ll tend to the plants. Make sure they’re taking the supplements well. Some of them are in bad need for a trim.”
“Mhm,” is all the chimera grunts.
Warren begins to start peeling himself from beneath the sheets, pulling them up and over to rest on the chimera as claws hesitantly pull themselves from his body. Part exhaustion, part comfort, the grip traces as he moves to sit at the edge of the bed, tail flickering until at last he pulls his body up to his feet. A moment is taken to stretch out as he leans against the wall, sight browsing for the location of his prior pants. Once found, he leans up against the doorway as he pulls them firm, stuffing his fluorescent tail beneath the band before he fully starts out.
A drape of trim fabric decorates the hem of the hallway joint to the main condo space, where the visage of plants lines the wall edges as he makes his way towards the kitchen. Delivery cases sit half open upon the counter abandoned from the night before. Categorized, itemized, the only thing used being the empty nutrition booster he's already given to some of the plants.
Setting aside the fuel for the alchemical charges to the opposing countertop, he clusters them into categorical use before the decorative of miscellaneous jars labeled and half-filled. Minerals, chemical concoctions, they sit across from the less well used short stack collection of spices more well used by their long-term stays. Items are carefully stowed above and below: the grind of bonedust set aside the shipments of soil stock at the corner closest to the enclosed atrium. Warren takes a moment to lean against the island tile surface, rolling himself into a stretch once everything’s distributed - the shipment containers all that’s left to put away.
Tomorrow he hopes they’ll be able to top off their cretae implants, concerned by the guttural drain it has taken upon them within the alchemical hotspots of Nuqtat Mari. It’s no wonder there was so much aberrant activity drawn to that space… he mumbled to himself as he begins folding away the shipment containers, setting them beside the door for later removal.
But for now, he begins to check on their myriad of plants that use the space more they’ve been able to as of late.
Starting in the condo’s main chamber the ossisgari individually tends to each of them; from the broad flowering plants that overgrow their reach in need of a trim, to those that need to be rearranged on shelving space to have the essential room to grow. Warren gives them each a special moment to assess how those with the supplement booster are reacting; only some of them, for the others require more specific care in either mixture or a trim. Especially the once manicured shrubs and bonsais that cluster near the corners, granted their daily worth of photosynthetic energy by the currently settled projection within the ceiling - usually a soft studio lighting if it was not daylight outside.
Beneath the granted view from an external source, he discards clipped stems into a mulch bin, collecting them to deliver later for a small exchange of credits.
Warren is careful in the tending as he eyes just how far he should cut off the damaged leaves, where he should prevent the unnecessary new shoots just as diligently as he measures out what mixture of material is needed to boost each flora’s alchemical value. Some buds are left intact, either to be left to flower for visual appearance, or to be harvested later as pigment or for usage in charms and medicinal surface values. There are some that sit still as young saplings at one end of the space, at the edge of the stone structured alcove, specialty in their cultivation just for the implants embedded to their spine.
Done for now, he takes a moment to rest as he sits upon a floor cushion as he looks out into the dome that holds their complex, staring off to the distant towers that sit separate from the residential space.
Claws pull around his stomach to hug him from behind. A chin rests upon his shoulder, “how’re they doing?”
“Looks like they’re handling it well,” Warren sighs, leaning back into the hold as he looks over the saplings, “in two months they’ll be able to harvest, until then we’ll need to use the alternative combination. We’ve gotten everything for it, but I rather not sit around for two hours just to put it all together right now.” His mouth presses to a line; made jagged by the scar that bares his molars and dark gums.
Malaphin kisses his nape, upon the scar that marks the cretae implant. “I could help, you know.”
“Yeah,” Warren holds a hand over the chimera’s features, looking back to the plants before him, “just, I want to figure it out on my own. So, I’ll be confident I can sustain it myself.”
“Gotcha,” Malaphin moves to kneel beside their partner, looking over the plant himself before fully shifting into a humanoid visual.
In silence the chimera watches as Warren continues to tend to the remaining plants, sitting back upon their couch with a transparent tablet in hand. Regional data pops up along the side as he sits beneath a regional shadow cast by the ceiling’s alchemical projection, shaded as he looks over the habitat conditions and the external weather of Mars. There are the gentle broadcasts of the interconnected transports that move between the city-state regions and out towards the sub-stations situated between Mars and Earth - glossed over as their planning banter continues as Warren moves between the rooms.
No plans for public performances in the neighboring dome habs today; but there is always the subterranean avenue they can just as easily browse through. A theatre, public and private, sits at one end; they could go there, but Warren remains unconvinced as he measures mixtures for ailing plants and those in general need for an alchemical boost. Cafes, restaurants, digital tours and physical museums, they go over their possible options.
Packing everything together, Warren ties up the bag of clippings, depositing at the door beside the packaging panels. “Can you take these down for me, Mal?” he asks as he leans over the chimera, a hand pressing chin into an upward tilt.
“Certainly, my star,” Malaphin purrs, kissing Warren’s temple beneath the untamed curls.
“I’ll get dressed, then we can go,” Warren kisses back at temple, still in his briefs as Malaphin’s already dressed; the usual coat and slacks combo ended with heavy boots.
It doesn’t take long for Malaphin to take the recyclables down to their designated drop off points; delivery containers to be reused by someone else, the plant clippings to be turned into mulch.
They return to the condo as Warren waits outside the door - already locked, dressed in his usual style of loose clothing beneath a cozy jacket. The ossisgari is enthusiastic as he scrolls through the destination listings, pulled against the chimera as they continue conversing as they make their way back to the elevator that will take them to the lower levels of the dome’s residential structure. From there, they walk the length it takes them to board the subsurface rail, blending amongst the crowd as their features are obscured by the implant.
An open avenue lies crowded beneath the overhanging surface structure shadows, reinforcement pillars beholden beneath hung flora as people gather and flow at the subsurface level.
Places of luxury and entertainment sat beneath the surface residentials as the unyielding light hums within panes and holograph frames, a flutter with activity within the evening light as far above the sun finally begins to settle a set over the surface and dome reflection. A text banner runs the length of the architectural gash, advertising the most popular of occasions as it sprints from one end to the other in a steady crawl; today, a marathon of a series not common to the Martian cultural domain. Recently shipped over from the Earth-bound regions.
Stepping aside from the crowd leaving the departure end of the rail station, he eases himself beneath the overhang of a subsurface structure - an alcove to step away from the noise and the crowd as he leans towards his reflection. Hair slicked back - a few strands pushed aside - the grimoire tilts his glasses down to test the strength of the obscuring prescription; and eyes just as bright as the trim within his suit jacket stares back, gilded yellow in the trace hushed beneath the sunglass gaze. Briefing a step back, the serpentine grimoire strengthens his loose jacket by making a quick snap forth; the only thing that stands out aside from business attire at nightlife hours.
Making a double check, he checks his phone for the name of the meeting spot; not one to often come down to the lower sections of this particular dome hab.
Quick in his strides, the serpentine grimoire easily maneuvers through the crowds towards the designated diner; warmly lit, wood paneled, settled with the trim of moss and potted plants. Of course, a place well chosen by the pair as he easily spots them on the lower floor at the far end of the rim - waved over by a single raised hand and tired eyes.
“You look exhausted,” the grimoire drops down on the opposite end of the port booth of the pair, picking at the menu display sat off to the side.
Rolling shoulders forth, Warren levels a sigh as he sits himself up straight. “What gave you that idea,” grunts, fisting his chin upon his knuckle. “Got the implants recharged,” he gestures towards his neck, hidden beneath his jacket and fluffed hair. “Zapped the shit out of me, don’t want to do that again if I can help it.”
Yilruth, done with placing his order as the screen eases dark, looks back to them both; “how’d the job go? Ava told me how many you two wrangled out of the sub-base levels.”
The ossisgari huffs with a smile, “yeah, lots of dynams mostly. How’s your thing going, everything sealed up tight?”
Sitting back, arms crossed, the grimoire masks a frown. “Yeah, it's all sealed, but it’ll be awhile before the dome will be stabilized enough to pressurize. A couple weeks, maybe, because of the damage to the brim. City put a lot of trust that the upgrade would hold after what happened, now it’s all back to square one.”
“Ah,” Warren leans his head on his palm, inhaling firm as he still sits somewhat fatigued. Somewhat still intent on finishing his meal that still sits half-finished, a headache pounding within his skull dissuades his hunger. "Any news on if they caught who done it…?" It's been well over a year; a quiet remark.
"Not that I'm aware of, no," Yilruth glances towards the chimera, looking over the visage presentation. "New body's looking good, Malik. You've gotten quick with the self-replication."
From seed, to slug, to chrysalis - one couldn't tell he's had the body for less than five months. The chimera remains at Warren's side as he eases into a recline, an arm kept at the ossisgari’s center. "Only took 400 some years," he sighs - ages passed, spent shelled, only few left aware.
"Considering the three it could takes to regrow a limb, it's well worth it," the proceeding sentence is cut by a chime, a reminder of food ready at the diner counter. Departing, then returning with food in tow, the grimoire makes a glance towards the window sat above looking into the avenue, upwards from the corner edge to the depths of a Martian sky. "Wonder how long it'll take to get an atmosphere."
"Think they think in the next ten, at best guesses if there was no dome pollution," Warren grunts.
There's a pause as Yilruth chews his meal; contemplating.
"What was it like… out there on the surface like that."
Claws dug into saffron sand. Scratching at dark surface rubble as the atmospheric chill crackles over his heaving snarls - struggling to breathe, lungs faltering as heat and cold burns through his throat.
Warren doesn’t look up from his plate, somewhat still picking at it with a fork. “Was damn cold,” his words are firm, struggling to restrain his recollection. “Only my heat staved off cell death.”
A silent pause pervades as Yilruth picks at his meal, discarding roasted leafy greens and tomatoes to the side. "I… only saw what happened after," a slight look is made to the chimera; utensil aimed at confused sight, "but I'm… surprised you came back from tha-"
"Yil," Warren snarls, "please, refrain from talking about it anymore." The echo of Mal's weight bared in his arms, the terror blazen through his heart as the last of the chimera's energy was spent on him; even as their bones sat ill, exposed. "Please don't bring it up." Mal's last breath against his neck, body sullen, scorched by a panicking heat.
The grimoire pauses, sight adverting to his idle forking instead of the irritated ossisgari. "Apologies, I'll stop."
Space lies tense as only the ceramic clicks make conversation. Malaphin rubs at Warren's back beneath his jacket as heat fumes from the spinal rifts, easing the tethers back into gentle place as Warren's focus turns back to nursing his headache. "Has there been any other node fluctuations we should know about? Or was the only problem node within the network close to the collapse."
Picking the slice of formed steak into mouth, the serpentine grimoire leans back into thought, swallowing the chunk without a second bite. "The ones under the domes are being monitored, but the south end has been having some temperate fluxes but seems to correlate with the stock shipments. I know they've been in talks of moving that node handler to another city cluster, but not sure for how long."
"So, I'd be the only one handling this cretae, then?" Warren looks up through his hair; it takes an hour to get to the south end.
Yilruth glances, "They're training their replacement, and they've been talking about letting you have extended leave again - you'd only be for emergencies, back up."
Warren pauses, picking at his food before pushing his hair from his face. "Took them long enough," he grunts. "I'll wait to be excited about it when I actually hear it from dispatch. All I know is on break then got an assignment coming up."
Yilruth nods. "I'm only relaying what I've heard." Another moment is taken with a pause, forcing himself forth to fish into an inner pocket. "Here, got this for you two," and lies two tickets on the counter, sliding them over between the pair. "Concert tomorrow in Low, figured you two would be interested in something like this."
Knuckle against cheek Warren glances at the piece of paper; it's just two domes over, open seating beneath the overseer display - it's been a while since he's been there.
He places it face down; a soft smile turned. "Thanks, Yil, I appreciate it."
Arm tangled to arm, Warren rests against Malaphin’s shoulder beneath the overhanging gaze of the overseer display – still a while before the concert, outside on the steps as they wait out the time in the afternoon chill. Above them clouds play before the hologram display, filtering out the encompassing darkness beyond the atmosphere dome. Distant towers linger dimmed out amongst the surface; light pollution sat minimal as the brightest point hails above them. He tips a bottle against his lip for a sip, watching the minor gathering of others waiting just as them.
“What they say?” The chimera pulls an arm around the ossisgari’s waist, pulling close before resting chin against head.
“They need us for a month on the south-end; handler there is going to be moving off surface.” Warren snuggles himself against Malaphin for comfort, bundled already within his jacket. “Why’d they make it so chilly here,” he complains.
“Any idea where?”
“Something about manned mission to one of Jupiter’s moons,” Warren shrugs, “it’s not my problem. But, Yil was right in that they wanted to give us an extended leave. Got hours totaled up from the past year of work keeping ferus in check, so should be about three months of down time aside from any emergency calls.” He takes another long slow take of his drink, intoxication nullified as it bites at his tongue.
Hand curled against Warren’s side, Malaphin raises his hand to press against the gentle draw of spinal tethers. “Don’t drink too much,” chuckles, pressing a kiss to temple.
Warren smiles back, setting the glass bottle aside and pulling away for a mere moment; fingers tilt Malaphin’s chin towards him, sights met. “Don’t worry about it, I got a handle on my temperament. I’m letting myself enjoy being tipsy for once, you know how resilient I am to it.”
Cheek against cheek, features nuzzle into a gentle kiss. “I’m aware.”
Sentiments share in the silence of their neural interlay; caution, concern, tethers reaching out for sentimental comfort as the dance of past events evoke in the edge of their attention. A calm night together, and they rest back into a lean against one another, hands entwining beneath their coat and jacket.
Malaphin’s lips part, a glance over. ‘Could I… say something about before,’ quiets through thoughts.
‘About what…?’ Warren doesn’t hazard a glance; anxiety playing through the background of his mind. He knows what, but fears speaking of it anymore.
A reassurance kiss presses against temple, ‘it wasn’t your fault for that death, Divi. It hurt, but it was better than doing nothing.’
Warren sits sullen, picking idly for the bottle before giving it a swig. “I know, but it still hurt to see you like that… and I was able to do nothing.”
“You’re slipping out,” Malaphin whispers, glancing back towards the gates to the open stadium and the gaze of the overseer display. A few more minutes until the gates open. ‘Might want to finish that one and leave it as that, don’t want to ruin the night slipping in and out of shape.’
Breathing a sigh, the ossisgari hands the bottle over to Malaphin. “You have it then; I know how much of a lightweight you are.” Restraining to say, ‘that body’. Warren rests himself back against the stone aggregate steps, rustic red and conglomerate by red binding. He kicks his boots out as he stares up at the sky above, shoulders bent as he breathes. To his side, Malaphin finishes the rest of the bottle, heaving to stand up and discard it for recycling.
Alone on the steps Warren stares up at the dome roof that houses the holographic display; the unique feature of the hab aside from the slightly chilled temperature made by the below-ground regulations. The distant voices of strangers make the backdrop of his thoughts as memories pull backwards – to being outside the safety of the atmospheric domes, where the icy chill of Mars’ shadow bit against his skin, cut into his organs through the struggle to keep his temperature alight. An anchor cut through his mouth – his hand drifts to where the scar is uncloaked by his implant – rectifying it as soon as he takes notice.
Struggling to force limbs to move as needed, nerves interfered by the sudden drop in temperature as safety sat just out of his draconic reach… until the chimera’s frostbitten scales brought him in, startling his haptic senses into a panicking overload as his body reached an upwards 100 C. It was only after his consciousness was brought to did he feel the roasted arms wrapped around him … barely comfort as he realized the damage he’s done.
Malaphin crouches above him, hands pushing beneath shoulders. “It’s okay, Divi,” whispers into a kiss. “I’m here,” their arms wrap around his chest, down against stomach as the kiss to temple moves to the tear welt sight. “I’ll always be here for you,” rumbles in a flux of their innate appearance, shadowed by their meeting hoods.
“I know, Mal. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.” He doesn’t want to recount how many times he’s gone through the turmoil of emotions, of being alone in such a way.
Once more, Malaphin kisses Warren’s tear struck sight. “Come on… the gates are opening soon, put all this behind us, and just live for us.”
A hand pulls up into the formation of quadrant seals, and Warren tilts back to kiss the graze of exposed teeth. “Alright, but let's go eat somewhere afterwards.” He meets into a smile, nuzzling against the chimera’s features as they turn back to visage.
"How about that Mediterranean bar just off from the condo?" Malaphin suggests, returning the notion as they take Warren's hands, pulling him up to stand chest to chest in an adamant romantic display. The ossisgari snorts, a smile creasing lips in the low lights.
"Perhaps," sighs as hands hold the chimera tight, "but, leave that decision for after the show."
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