I wish I had something witty to say.
Also, I wish I could remember my password for onapalehelix. Sadly I cannot. I'll reset it later when it's not one in the morning.
Given I can't access it right now, I've dug out a three-year-old unfinished thing to post up. It's part of the A Child's Book of Names series. I am not particularly happy with it, but posting it is mostly a goad to myself to work on something constructive with that series at some point.
---
It's molting season outside, or so Rachel told me this morning right as she stepped out of the clean room. "Molting season, Josh!" she said, blonde hair flying everywhere as she pulled off her mask. She was creating terms again and I told her so.
"Did you make that up, silly goose?" I asked her as I cycled the lock. The panel reported viral titer in the catch-basin was up, but the radiation count was down. That was a promising sign for the morning already. I jotted it in the logbook as the lock finished cycling.
Rachel smiled at me through the curtain as she hung her mask up and started wriggling out of the cover-alls. A muffled "Nuh-uh!" emerged from the denim bundle once she'd gotten it up over her head. No matter how many times I'd told her I couldn't hear that well and she shouldn't talk with her mouth full or covered, she still did it. At least she'd taken to talking louder now, for my sake.
I stepped back as she finally got the clothing off and left it in a heap on the floor, stretching out her bare legs. I suppose I'd need to pick it up later and see it got delivered to the laundry. At least she'd hung up the mask. "It's really molting season! All the birds are losing their feathers!"
There were still birds alive out there? That was another promising sign. "Birds?" I held aside the curtain for her to parade through, bedecked in an old tanktop and a pair of briefs. The old priest in me covered his eyes and looked away. I just breathed an internal sigh. Physical modesty had been stripped from us; stripped by the war and by Proteus.
God surely would have wanted us to die covered instead of live half-naked, like animals. God also hadn't deigned to answer my prayers for a very long time. "Come here, silly goose, and tell me about the birds." I reached out to her, but wouldn't you know it, the sprite squirted away like a squeezed watermelon seed.
"Nuh-uh! Not if your hands are still cold!" Laughing, she ran for the kitchen; I followed dutifully.
By the time I made it to the kitchen, Rachel was perched on the only chair, inspecting our meager cupboards for something to eat. "All right, gosling. Since our lord God hasn't decided to fix my bad circulation yet, why don't you do the exam."
She looked back at me, a foil-wrapped packet in her teeth. "Mmf," she said, then dropped it on the counter. "Really?"
The old pain of bursitis twinged through my hip again. It was good she was so eager; I don't think I could have stood up long enough to do it myself. I leaned up against the counter and mustered a smile just for her. "Really. You remember what to do?"
"Uh-huh!"
If there's one thing I dislike about my dear Rachel, it's how little body shyness she has.
---
I'm thinking about doing the "comment and I'll write something for you" meme again to jump-start my muse.
--Murky
Given I can't access it right now, I've dug out a three-year-old unfinished thing to post up. It's part of the A Child's Book of Names series. I am not particularly happy with it, but posting it is mostly a goad to myself to work on something constructive with that series at some point.
---
It's molting season outside, or so Rachel told me this morning right as she stepped out of the clean room. "Molting season, Josh!" she said, blonde hair flying everywhere as she pulled off her mask. She was creating terms again and I told her so.
"Did you make that up, silly goose?" I asked her as I cycled the lock. The panel reported viral titer in the catch-basin was up, but the radiation count was down. That was a promising sign for the morning already. I jotted it in the logbook as the lock finished cycling.
Rachel smiled at me through the curtain as she hung her mask up and started wriggling out of the cover-alls. A muffled "Nuh-uh!" emerged from the denim bundle once she'd gotten it up over her head. No matter how many times I'd told her I couldn't hear that well and she shouldn't talk with her mouth full or covered, she still did it. At least she'd taken to talking louder now, for my sake.
I stepped back as she finally got the clothing off and left it in a heap on the floor, stretching out her bare legs. I suppose I'd need to pick it up later and see it got delivered to the laundry. At least she'd hung up the mask. "It's really molting season! All the birds are losing their feathers!"
There were still birds alive out there? That was another promising sign. "Birds?" I held aside the curtain for her to parade through, bedecked in an old tanktop and a pair of briefs. The old priest in me covered his eyes and looked away. I just breathed an internal sigh. Physical modesty had been stripped from us; stripped by the war and by Proteus.
God surely would have wanted us to die covered instead of live half-naked, like animals. God also hadn't deigned to answer my prayers for a very long time. "Come here, silly goose, and tell me about the birds." I reached out to her, but wouldn't you know it, the sprite squirted away like a squeezed watermelon seed.
"Nuh-uh! Not if your hands are still cold!" Laughing, she ran for the kitchen; I followed dutifully.
By the time I made it to the kitchen, Rachel was perched on the only chair, inspecting our meager cupboards for something to eat. "All right, gosling. Since our lord God hasn't decided to fix my bad circulation yet, why don't you do the exam."
She looked back at me, a foil-wrapped packet in her teeth. "Mmf," she said, then dropped it on the counter. "Really?"
The old pain of bursitis twinged through my hip again. It was good she was so eager; I don't think I could have stood up long enough to do it myself. I leaned up against the counter and mustered a smile just for her. "Really. You remember what to do?"
"Uh-huh!"
If there's one thing I dislike about my dear Rachel, it's how little body shyness she has.
---
I'm thinking about doing the "comment and I'll write something for you" meme again to jump-start my muse.
--Murky