In which the writer finally admits this was a (poorly made) rom-com all along!

Kr’Re’Ki was emotionally exhausted. As soon as she returned to her private quarters (a benefit of being a high-ranking individual) she let herself drop on her Karnakian-issued nestbed looking for some peace and quiet. It was a good thing the lights could be controlled from her comm-bead, because she did not want to get up for any reason whatsoever. Her team at the Bridge had bombarded her with questions and problems they already knew how to handle, but the recent crew-wide incident had left everyone double-checking themselves (including herself) and as their leader she had to provide them with morale support to ensure things got done, no matter the reason. The problem was (much like with her bestest friend Arykins) that she had nobody to support her.

…Or at least that’s how she felt at the moment.

She had lots of friends aboard Starbinder, even some blood relatives, and they all had cheered her up too, Arykins included. And yes, she did feel their support (things could be worse, after all). But, here’s the thing: Kr’Re’Ki (much like her besty) was still a bachelorette, and that void in her life had the particular skill of nagging at her whenever she got too stressed out, because a part of her would say “Yes, that affection is all good and dandy. But, what if it also came from a guy who loved you, and hugged you, and kissed you and…?”.

The sky-blue raptorgirl stared at nowhere in particular, annoyed at her own feelings. It was an incongruent part of life she didn’t like, since it also made her feel as though she was undermining everyone’s cheers because she was no longer happy. (But, that’s frustration, ya know?)

Without meaning to (or maybe she did?), Kr’Re’Ki focused on what laid in her line of sight.

Even in the darkness, she was so familiar with her room that she knew what she was looking at: her little workshop at the corner of her (admittedly utilitarian) habitat, where she kept all her crafts and doodads for crafting, like textiles, shiny accessories, glue, sharp tools, paint, paper, etc. etc.; the crafts themselves ranging from clothing like ponchos and scarves, to jewelry and plushies. A shrine of the soul for the soul, she believed.

She let out a deep sigh, relaxing her body as she felt the sweet embrance of sleep slowly creeping through her being. In her particular cultural upbringing, crafts were considered more valuable than precious gems or money, as they were an expression of the inner self and your individual view of life, and as such, they were also considered the best social exchange between individuals. If you wanted to make friends or just show general affection, you would craft something for someone; but if you wanted to show your love or other deeper affection, you would craft something with someone, since producing something together meant there was a deeper conexion between souls.

Quality varied, of course, but that could be improved with discipline and practice. The important factor in your craft was the part of “you” you exposed for the world to see, what you could offer. And in the case of Kr’Re’Ki, she had decided a long time ago she would offer her love for linguistics, imbuing her work with expressions and words she had learned from different languages as she traveled the stars. Case in point, her gifts for the Potatoes might be ponchos at first glance (which she just realized had been left on Arykins’ quarters, by the way), but the true gift where the names written on them amidst their colorful decoration, which she had painstakingly tried to write using protectionese*.

She smiled a warm and fuzzy smile, blinking slowly as she kept transitioning into the dream world. Just thinking of her work and its progress made her feel at ease and motivated, forgetting for a moment the frustrating feeling of being single. No, wait. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It made the feeling evolve into something else, something better, as she now focused her weary eyes on an object that stood out amidst her work like a star against the void. A funny thing, really, since the object itself was a humble piece of cardboard with two simple (albeit funny written) protectionese words: “ELLO ELLO”.

Kr’Re’Ki fell asleep, ready to replenish her soul with goodwill and love, as the image of that cardboard took her tired self to the land of milk and cookies. Ξ“[Ello ello~]”Ξ Echoed the memory, the voice, the smile of Paul Potato Feathers. And she felt giddy inside, all her feathers rustling in a wave of elation.

It had all been unintentional, she knew. Her interest in the Potatoes was like with the rest of the crew, mostly out of curiousity at their exotic behaviour and through the lenses of scientific discovery. And Kr’Re’Ki never felt like approaching them at first, since she liked to watch things from afar (which is why she was a Bridge Chick instead of a field agent), and having control over all digital feedback made her content with her lot in life at the time, since she could consume Potato media at her own leisure.

When she saw the “still-to-be-enlightened” Mr. [Feathers] for the first time, she agreed that he was good eye candy. It was fact. But, she didn’t particularly feel enthusiastic about his physical mannerisms like the other girls. No. Her interest laid entirely in his voice.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Paul Potato Feathers could talk protectionese, natural and familiar (as much as Karnakian vocal cords could, anyway), without a single trace of any Karnakian dialect whatsoever. “How? Why?” Her mind would question without getting answers, pursuing the elusive mystery every time she would hear him speak.

It was a purely intellectual obsession from her part, though, not strong enough to convince her to seek him out in person, since she felt it wouldn’t add much. Until one of her teammates conviced her to attend the cultural exchange class their priest was running to “enlighten” Paul, and she agreed to participate to figure if being in his presence was worth it or not.

One thing was for sure, though. That class was a mess.

Almost half the Karnakians in the crew were there, stuffed inside a creaking and screeching room build to little-needs-protecting standards. The cacophony of voices and enthusiastic gestures by her peers being above the norm, no doubt exaggerated in an effort to speed up their cultural assimilation of Mr. [Feathers], and she quickly understood why he was a shivering mass of anxiety who could only smile and stare in response. She was far from her ideal social environment as well, but, much to her frustration, the Karnakian legion had slowly moved her to the center of the group, so she couldn’t leave without making a fuss. She just zoned out instead, waiting for the class to end.

At some point, though, the priest decided to give her a respite by calling for the flock to do some quick crafting with the most basic of materials: cardboard and sharpies. “Show us your inner selves!” Had said the ol’ raptor, and everyone begun to scribble on their material. “Finally something I can do.” Thought Kr’Re’Ki at the time.

And she wrote the first thing that came to her mind:

“ELLO”

It was badly written protectionese, she knew, but she couldn’t help but smile with pride. Nobody else on the ship could do that.

OOF Another Karnakian suddenly bumped into her because of the crowded space. “|Hey!|” Said Kr’Re’Ki before noticing she had dropped her newest craft and it was now on a journey through the forest of raptor legs. “|No, no!|” She chased after it, bumping into others who quickly complained and glared. “|I’m sorry! Excuse me!|” She hastily tried to save face as her cardboard was pushed further away by their movements.

Finally, the elusive thing came to a stop after entering a (suspicious) open space in the group, and the sky-blue raptorgirl smiled in relief. Before freezing up when Paul Potato Feathers reached from his spot to pick it up. “[What’s this?]” Said the emerald raptor.

Kr’Re’Ki felt a sudden fear wash over her, as an instinctual anxiety brough to light one crucial detail: if anyone could judge her protectionese for what it was, it was him.

She pathetically reached out a claw, shaking. “|T-t-tha-|” She begun.

“[Ello Ello~]” Sang his voice, a smile leading out the words into the world as he delicately clutched the cardboard in his strong claws.

Kr’Re’Ki felt her world take a sudden spin into the abstract realm.

Then Paul proceeded to write “ELLO” on her craft. “[Ello Ello~]” Sang once more.

Was this real? Was she suddenly imagining things?

Did he just add his soul to her own???

“|M-m-mine…|” Kr’Re’Ki said clutching her claws together meekly, pleading. “|T-t-that…mine.|”

“[Oh?]” Paul finally noticed her presence, and then chuckled nervously. “[Sorry, this yours?]” He handed the cardboard to her, feeling awkward and guilty. “[Sorry for writing on it, it’s just, uh…]” He averted his gaze. “[It reminded me of home.]”

The Heavens parted, and a ray of light befell Kr’Re’Ki in her hour of need as she stood there in disbelief, picking her cardboard without cutting her gaze from him and clutching it to her heart. Ξ“It reminded me of home…”Ξ The words echoed in her mind, their cadence slipping in like the sweetest song.

It had not been a scowl of rejection or a wince of disgust what she saw, what she heard. This stranger, who for some reason had mastered protectionese against all odds, had said her efforts reminded him of home.

Her heart fired up and her soul smiled. And for the first time in her life, she could swear she was staring at a light brighter than a star.

“|T-thank you…|” Said Kr’Re’Ki before sheepishly turning around and escaping the overwhelming pressure of the moment (and everyone’s stares, for that matter), leaving the class altogether in a sudden rush for her private quarters, adrenaline gifting her feet the swiftness of wind itself.

Everything else from that day would become a blur as her mind reserved itself to that feeling-given-form in the shape of a humble cardboard with funny written protectionese. And what was originally purely intellectual interest would transform into infatuation after witnessing what awaited beyond the compelling voice.

Kr’Re’Ki clutched her bed in elation and hope, dreaming of words and crafts, of voices and songs.

Things had gone wrong, perhaps, and they were far from over. But in her soul she knew she had a reason to keep trying, to keep fighting. And that gave her power.