[Fic] "Signs and Portents" -- original
Summary: Aujae and Laura regroup after a dangerous encounter with the Keeper's enemies, and build on their fragile trust. (1000 words)
Note: This story is a response to the Cotton Candy Bingo prompt markings, and to a suggestion from cherokee1 that I write "something in the poison sigils world hopper story," aka Utilitarian Virtue, which is a tiny original fiction snippet I wrote back in December 2011. That snippet acted as the opening paragraphs of an unwritten novel; this excerpt is set about two days further into the story.
You should go read the first ficlet for context or this one won't make much sense. :-)
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Signs and Portents
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"They're beautiful," Laura said, her fingers hovering just over the skin of Aujae's left shoulder. "I know you said they'll kill you, and half of them are weapons, but they're still the most-- well, maybe not the most gorgeous thing I've-- but, you know. Beautiful."
Aujae reached up with her uninjured arm and placed her fingers on Laura's wrist. "May I?"
"What? Oh, of course, whatever," Laura said. "I'm sorry, do you want your shirt? Or actually one of mine, since yours got all, um, thing." She waved her other hand in yet another strange, shapeless gesture. Aujae was fairly sure by now that none of them meant anything in particular; rather, they were an expression of Laura's frustration with the entire concept of verbal communication.
"Brief contact won't cause any damage to you," Aujae said. "Additionally, that mark is nonfunctional until the nanobots finish repairing the circuitry gaps and remove all trace contaminants from the bullet's passage. You may touch if you wish."
Laura's face danced through a series of complicated expressions too quickly for Aujae to pick out any of the component emotions. Then her brows drew down into the same fierce determination as when she'd picked up the discarded gun and aimed it, unwavering, at the counteragent's chest. "You'd better mean that," she said, and lowered her right hand until her whole palm cupped the joint of Aujae's shoulder, thumb trailing up to rest against her collarbone.
Despite herself, Aujae tensed, instinctively bracing against pain.
But Laura didn't say anything about dishonesty. She just waited, standing in the tiny kitchen of her equally tiny apartment as solid and immovable as Miurae with her spear at the gates of dawn, and kept that gentle press of skin on skin until the lack of pain or pointed words let Aujae breathe and bring her body into here and now instead of fights and interrogations past.
"I trust you," she said, and closed her eyes to back her words with truth.
Laura's hand was still cool against the bruised flesh of Aujae's shoulder. Slowly, she lifted her palm until only the tips of her first two fingers rested on the outer containment ring of the sigil. Aujae stopped herself from leaning into the lost contact. They were still touching, even if skin on metal felt nothing like skin on skin.
Laura traced the inlaid circuits: two fingers on the wider portions and the long, swooping lines; one only on the narrow, delicate inner curves. Now and then, her fingers tilted, drawing Aujae's attention to the varying height of the sigil: sometimes flush with her skin, sometimes a few hairs beneath the surface, sometimes a few hairs above. She almost thought she could feel the metal continuing its spirals and knots deep within her flesh and bone, a poisoned network that altered with her every breath and motion and yet retained its deadly, scintillating power.
Laura's fingers slowed as she approached the still-ragged edge of the exit wound.
"You look like the anatomical illustrations from my figure drawing classes," she said, a strange, dreamy tone in her voice. "Or a diagram for how to build a cyborg. I can see straight through your body, but there's no blood. Just tiny wires strung through the ruins, little glitter-razor spider webs. Your nanobots are fixing the machinery before they fix you."
"It's safer that way," Aujae said. "A sigil is more useful than an arm if I need to escape, and sometimes broken ones can self-activate with dangerous results."
"You walk around with-- with bombs in your body, every second."
"Yes."
"Mmm. Hold still." Laura shifted her hand back to cup Aujae's shoulder, and then something pulled, deep inside where her nerves had no referent for the sensation. Aujae opened her eyes and saw the first two fingers of Laura's left hand poking straight into the bloodless bullet wound, touching the fragile inner heart of the shattered sigil.
"Laura--"
"It's okay. I won't break them. Or bleed inside you. I just wanted to, I don't know. See."
Laura did something Aujae couldn't see, but she felt the sudden surge of destructive potential as the sigil bent out of shape. Aujae hissed at the crackle against her bare nerves.
"Oh, sorry, sorry," Laura said, and let the wires fall back into place. "Of course, that's completely out of balance, but what if I...?" This time the surge felt almost like pleasure, or painless liquid fire. "Hmm. Pretty. I wonder what it would do?"
"Not what it's designed for," Aujae managed to say through the wash of unfamiliar sensations. "Laura. Enough."
"Oh, right. Um. Thank you for letting me, you know," Laura said, and gently patted the top of Aujae's shoulder in lieu of finishing her sentence. "And I meant to tell you before. You can stay as long as you need. I don't care about your Keeper or those, whoever they were, with their guns and doorways and stuff. You didn't kill me, and you stopped the others from kidnapping me, and I think-- I think you need a friend. So. If you want. Stay."
She picked up a crumpled piece of black fabric from the counter beside the sink and shoved it into Aujae's hands before she walked away, evidently at her limit for words.
Aujae let gravity unfold the shirt and stared at the angular white marks that marched in three even lines across its front, the unfamiliar writing system finally resolving into intelligibility well past the point where it might have made a difference: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil; for I am death, and this is my valley."
She had the distinct feeling she was missing a cultural reference. Even so, there were worse mottos.
Aujae pulled the shirt over her head, ignoring her shoulder's protest with the tired ease of habit. Then she began to investigate Laura's kitchen.
If she stayed, the least she could do was make dinner.
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End of Story
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I do have a very rough narrative outline for the entirety of this story, should I ever decide to write it properly. I think some of the plot can be inferred from the two extant snippets, but there's a bunch of other stuff that hasn't come up on-page and which will, I think, remain unstated for now.
(I will tell you for free that it's a love story. And also a story about ethics and space opera magical gunfights, because hey, I am still me! But the heart of the thing is love.)
You can also read this entry on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)
Note: This story is a response to the Cotton Candy Bingo prompt markings, and to a suggestion from cherokee1 that I write "something in the poison sigils world hopper story," aka Utilitarian Virtue, which is a tiny original fiction snippet I wrote back in December 2011. That snippet acted as the opening paragraphs of an unwritten novel; this excerpt is set about two days further into the story.
You should go read the first ficlet for context or this one won't make much sense. :-)
---------------------------------------------
Signs and Portents
---------------------------------------------
"They're beautiful," Laura said, her fingers hovering just over the skin of Aujae's left shoulder. "I know you said they'll kill you, and half of them are weapons, but they're still the most-- well, maybe not the most gorgeous thing I've-- but, you know. Beautiful."
Aujae reached up with her uninjured arm and placed her fingers on Laura's wrist. "May I?"
"What? Oh, of course, whatever," Laura said. "I'm sorry, do you want your shirt? Or actually one of mine, since yours got all, um, thing." She waved her other hand in yet another strange, shapeless gesture. Aujae was fairly sure by now that none of them meant anything in particular; rather, they were an expression of Laura's frustration with the entire concept of verbal communication.
"Brief contact won't cause any damage to you," Aujae said. "Additionally, that mark is nonfunctional until the nanobots finish repairing the circuitry gaps and remove all trace contaminants from the bullet's passage. You may touch if you wish."
Laura's face danced through a series of complicated expressions too quickly for Aujae to pick out any of the component emotions. Then her brows drew down into the same fierce determination as when she'd picked up the discarded gun and aimed it, unwavering, at the counteragent's chest. "You'd better mean that," she said, and lowered her right hand until her whole palm cupped the joint of Aujae's shoulder, thumb trailing up to rest against her collarbone.
Despite herself, Aujae tensed, instinctively bracing against pain.
But Laura didn't say anything about dishonesty. She just waited, standing in the tiny kitchen of her equally tiny apartment as solid and immovable as Miurae with her spear at the gates of dawn, and kept that gentle press of skin on skin until the lack of pain or pointed words let Aujae breathe and bring her body into here and now instead of fights and interrogations past.
"I trust you," she said, and closed her eyes to back her words with truth.
Laura's hand was still cool against the bruised flesh of Aujae's shoulder. Slowly, she lifted her palm until only the tips of her first two fingers rested on the outer containment ring of the sigil. Aujae stopped herself from leaning into the lost contact. They were still touching, even if skin on metal felt nothing like skin on skin.
Laura traced the inlaid circuits: two fingers on the wider portions and the long, swooping lines; one only on the narrow, delicate inner curves. Now and then, her fingers tilted, drawing Aujae's attention to the varying height of the sigil: sometimes flush with her skin, sometimes a few hairs beneath the surface, sometimes a few hairs above. She almost thought she could feel the metal continuing its spirals and knots deep within her flesh and bone, a poisoned network that altered with her every breath and motion and yet retained its deadly, scintillating power.
Laura's fingers slowed as she approached the still-ragged edge of the exit wound.
"You look like the anatomical illustrations from my figure drawing classes," she said, a strange, dreamy tone in her voice. "Or a diagram for how to build a cyborg. I can see straight through your body, but there's no blood. Just tiny wires strung through the ruins, little glitter-razor spider webs. Your nanobots are fixing the machinery before they fix you."
"It's safer that way," Aujae said. "A sigil is more useful than an arm if I need to escape, and sometimes broken ones can self-activate with dangerous results."
"You walk around with-- with bombs in your body, every second."
"Yes."
"Mmm. Hold still." Laura shifted her hand back to cup Aujae's shoulder, and then something pulled, deep inside where her nerves had no referent for the sensation. Aujae opened her eyes and saw the first two fingers of Laura's left hand poking straight into the bloodless bullet wound, touching the fragile inner heart of the shattered sigil.
"Laura--"
"It's okay. I won't break them. Or bleed inside you. I just wanted to, I don't know. See."
Laura did something Aujae couldn't see, but she felt the sudden surge of destructive potential as the sigil bent out of shape. Aujae hissed at the crackle against her bare nerves.
"Oh, sorry, sorry," Laura said, and let the wires fall back into place. "Of course, that's completely out of balance, but what if I...?" This time the surge felt almost like pleasure, or painless liquid fire. "Hmm. Pretty. I wonder what it would do?"
"Not what it's designed for," Aujae managed to say through the wash of unfamiliar sensations. "Laura. Enough."
"Oh, right. Um. Thank you for letting me, you know," Laura said, and gently patted the top of Aujae's shoulder in lieu of finishing her sentence. "And I meant to tell you before. You can stay as long as you need. I don't care about your Keeper or those, whoever they were, with their guns and doorways and stuff. You didn't kill me, and you stopped the others from kidnapping me, and I think-- I think you need a friend. So. If you want. Stay."
She picked up a crumpled piece of black fabric from the counter beside the sink and shoved it into Aujae's hands before she walked away, evidently at her limit for words.
Aujae let gravity unfold the shirt and stared at the angular white marks that marched in three even lines across its front, the unfamiliar writing system finally resolving into intelligibility well past the point where it might have made a difference: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil; for I am death, and this is my valley."
She had the distinct feeling she was missing a cultural reference. Even so, there were worse mottos.
Aujae pulled the shirt over her head, ignoring her shoulder's protest with the tired ease of habit. Then she began to investigate Laura's kitchen.
If she stayed, the least she could do was make dinner.
---------------------------------------------
End of Story
---------------------------------------------
I do have a very rough narrative outline for the entirety of this story, should I ever decide to write it properly. I think some of the plot can be inferred from the two extant snippets, but there's a bunch of other stuff that hasn't come up on-page and which will, I think, remain unstated for now.
(I will tell you for free that it's a love story. And also a story about ethics and space opera magical gunfights, because hey, I am still me! But the heart of the thing is love.)
You can also read this entry on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)