I don’t want to be here, in this reality. It pains me to wallow, to not do anything with my life because ultimately it doesn’t matter. Of course, then you have those who say, “Oh but it’s about the journey not the destination!” in some too jovial of a tone, a smile beaming on their face. I detest those people and those moments, perhaps ‘detest’ is too strong a word, but you get my drift.
Fantastical universes imagined by those same people trapped inside this world of ours, I relish them, love them. It’s hypocritical of me to criticise the existence of existence, while simultaneously enjoying the creations of individuals who no doubt share the same love for escapism as me, yet lack the sheer depression of a crushingly pointless outlook. Even now, writing is only a temporary reprieve from the abstract assault raging on in my mind but moments ago. I would use similes more often if it didn’t feel so poetic and make me seem overly self-important. Though I’m guessing that’s obvious considering the use of ‘I’ and ‘my’ s almost eclipses my use of commas.
In short, I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to die, but I don’t want to be here. Reality feels how I would imagine the male body feels to a female mind. Trapped and tormented for all my known time and beyond. The precious moments where I’m distracted from this usually end in my regretting having had them at all, for once the noise fades to quiet, the thoughts do come play, and play kindly they do not.
So…I’m going to try something, I’m going to try and build my own world. One that breaks all the conventions of traditional writing in that I don’t care about your suspension of disbelief at all. One where my motives are entirely obvious and I am unconcerned with constructing coherent ideas for an audience, and just sit down and subject previously non-existent entities to quite literally out-of-this-world scenarios.
We start with say, Greg, no, naming things always must have a meaning for me, so we’ll start with…
Shay, twenty-six years of age, recently heartbroken but has quietly accepted it for he well and truly saw it coming. The flashing lights of the docking port blinded his left eye, but he didn’t care, not really here at all.
“You comin’ man?” that’s his friend, Elise, fairly bland names for a universe outside of our own. Almost as if reality could just as likely be a construct of a higher mind’s imagination, one not too dissimilar to our own? It could be mere moments before we are all wiped from existence as said entity is pulled from their daydreaming trying to answer something mundane like “You comin’ man?” or something like that.
Now, Elise used to like, like Shay, what with those luscious brown locks of his tied up into some monstrosity between a Japanese ‘Samurai Top Knot’ (or so my research told me it’s called, couldn’t get a bit more creative with that one, hairdressers?) and lazy twin ponytails.
Fashion sense clearly taking a step back in this reality, but regardless, Elise didn’t know any better.
Shay turned, pointedly not quite staring back at Elise but enough for her to know she was in his peripheral, “Do we have to go now? We still have forty minutes until it starts.”
He seemed dispirited, ‘lovely’ Elise thought sarcastically. “I know that, but I can’t sit around for another minute with you ruining the mood, come on man, he was a bitch anyway, let’s get space taco’s and we can sit around someplace else while we wait, watch the ships docking.” She smirked, “you like that right?”, probably not very tactful of her to say, but they knew each other well enough that she had brownie points to blow off on a medium jab, maybe even an outright insult. We’ll see how her character develops.
“You’re fucking hilarious, funniest person to walk the station.” Shay clearly enjoyed the banter. He acquiesced, getting up to join Elise in her strut down corridor B13, one of thousands webbed throughout the massive super-structure they called home.
The corridors varied about as much as chalk on a sidewalk, meaning they were either pristine works of art, or just barely a safe excuse of a catwalk, threatening to plummet you to your doom with every step. B13 was somewhere in the upper middle end, our protagonists would be thankful if they knew I controlled literally everything that happens to them.
“Thank you.” Shay said, startling his friend at his sudden comment, not a word had been said for a while since they left.
She cocked a brow, “For?”, Elise had known almost every person Shay had picked up on the station, from Harper, to Amberly, Kim, Slater, and now, even though she had tried to tell him about it, Oscar had broken that little heart of his in two.
He looked confused for a second, double taking a glance at Elise, “For, what?”.
Elise was now stunned for a second time in ten seconds, “Huh? You said ‘thank you’, I asked ‘for what?’ You all good?”, a hint of agitation seeping though.
“Elise, I get humour heals all but its still a bit fresh okay-“ she had to cut him off there, she wasn’t going to get lectured by some crazy person pretending to be her friend.
“No! Shay you literally just said the words, ‘Thank You’, to me, I’ll even bring up the memory of it and show you.” Without even waiting for a response, she dived right into charades, flailing her fingers randomly in the air, “Here, look.” She threw her hand at him, clearly taking the opportunity to get some frustration out as she almost slapped him while doing so, the memory popping up in his field of view.
Now it was Shays turn to cock a brow, stepping back and crossing his arms, thumb cradling his chin, he quickly transitioned halfway between constipated and angry, “What the fuck, I don’t remember that at all.” He looked to her.
“You gonna say sorry, Psycho?” Elise knew she had to tone it down soon, but she wasn’t one to get spoken to like that when she knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, not even by her own friend.
“Yeah okay, sorry, really, I don’t remember that at all.” He grasped his head, “Do you think…”
She knew exactly where he was going with that, and felt a bit bad now that he looked a little too much like an abandoned puppy, “Not at all, it was what, last Hobarts Day you two got together? That’s only like a year.”
“Not like, Elise, exactly a year. You’re using his token remember.” Shay nearly tripped over an old rocking chair someone left outside their door as he began to walk again, “fucking- “he growled, but his anger slid away, trying to pretend nothing happened.
“All’s I’m saying is it’s for the better, it’s a good thing y’all broke up because good relationships never end in break up, so think of it as dodging a bullet.” Her arms came out placatingly, he shot her a stern look over his shoulder, “okay that was a bit… but you get what I’m saying right?”
Shay seemed to give up, shoulders dropping in defeat, “yeah I get it, that doesn’t stop it from hurting though, and dad doesn’t even know yet either, it’s just too much at the moment.” His gaze lingered outwards, the left-hand side of B13 opening into a small lounge, complete with a wall-to-wall window overlooking the shipping and receiving hub of the station, it’s long horse-shoe shaped bulk flanking any ships coming and going. Their section of the station occupied the outer quarter-most tip, having walked past a real window, one with a view of the inner sections at that, was a testament to the distance they’d travelled the last night, visiting Elise’s aunt.
The subject was waylaid as a cruiser cut the view outside the window in half. Its crescent belly shadowed in the overhang of the sharp, angular top half of the ship, a royal transport in every way. Silver on silver, and then some more silver, seemingly absorbing, and refracting light in a rainbow, the iridescent glow blanketing the more intricate engraving that overpowered every inch of the ship.
“God, it may as well be a flying statue at that point, aren’t they supposed to be Grenadier class?” Shay piped up, happy to change topics.
Elise sighed, the rich mindset never quite clicked with her as it did her aunt. Even though she was sure Shay felt the same, it never stopped him from nerding out on ships in his spare time, even if they weren’t ‘Optimally designed’. “Not sure, hey. That one looks pretty, though. I like the rainbow.”
He hummed in affirmative, “Yeah, pretty devastating, we could throw everything we had at that thing and still…”, the glimmer in his eyes dimmed a bit.
Elise gave her friend a nudge, “lets go, we’ll have to use a Ski now, or we’ll be late for space taco’s.” She skipped back up the stairs from the lounge, the two having naturally drawn closer to the view.
Further down the corridor, after having to dodge a procession of kids when they shot around the corner, awing at the ships flying in and out, was a small hub of hoverboards. Each board shaped almost like a butterfly, mounted on the wall with circlets attached directly to them.
Elise raced ahead, reaching the first board, throwing a palm up to its display. “Dibs on blue!” the board came away with a chime, it’s grey exterior immediately assuming Elise’s favourite colour.
“You say that every time, and yet,” Shay’s shifted blue as well, he smiled, shrugging his shoulders.
Elise acted confused with practiced huffs, “Sir, I have dibbed it, thus it is mine!”, her pointer finger shot in the air with all the pomp of a retired Vestman, “I shan’t suffer this reprehensible act of- “
Shay put a hand up, “Stop, you went off script, he said ‘irresponsible’, then went full senile and had a stroke or something.” he finished with a wave.
She laughed, a light airy kind of laugh that carried down the corridor, “It still doesn’t make sense, how could a colour be irresponsible? Crazy oldies.” They shared a look before clipping the circlets around the backs of their ears.
“Stay on B13 or go for 8?”, Elise’s green gold eyes arching with all too cheeky intentions.
Her friend shook his head, “You just went on about us being late for space taco’s, and now you want to perv on mohawk.”
Their boards skated down the wall, coming to a stop just in front of their feet before separating in two, one for each foot.
Elise stepped up into hers first, “It’s Ole-Gardum, and I’m not perving, I’m performing a civic duty, a local census, if you will.” She seemed proud at that, not finding the chance to sound official often enough.
“Mohawk. And yes, you are.” Shay tried to stifle his chuckle at her play, not wanting to fuel the proverbial inferno that is his friend’s ego.
She eyed him, “Yes I’m doing a census? Why thank you, Ole would be pleased to hear it. Well then- ”
“We are not going through 8, you loon.” Shay didn’t wait for a response before taking off, the soles of his shoes now glowing a soft blue, a hum intensifying as he built speed.
Belatedly Elise gave chase, the straight walkways and mechanical angles made for an easy trip. The pair didn’t have to put much effort into traversing the station, save for the few sections that deviated from the usual modular design. They would routinely pass hubs of activity, where those without a ticket to Hobarts Day would watch it play out on gigantic displays suspended in the air. From her aunts, they would have to pass through at least four different communities, each cleaner than the last. That isn’t to say her aunts was a shithole by any means, but the station grew outwards, and so architecture became less organised and more ‘optimally inefficient’, is what Shay would call it.
Fortunately, main thoroughfares for Ski’s and other forms of transport were well maintained, they only had to reach an entry point, which Elise anticipated was up ahead, she’d only been to the docks a handful of times despite her earlier confidence, so she was mostly trusting Shay’s judgment here.
B13 stretched all the way to the centre if you had the patience, but the two were in a hurry as they severely underestimated the distance.
“It’s right up ahead, just before Cleer Over. Should be -” Shay’s voice echoed through her circlet as she saw him swerve to avoid an errant camping chair laid out across the road, “what’s with all these fucking chairs, man.” he righted himself, “should be right here”.
Elise followed her friend’s silhouette leaning in the distance, seeming to fall into the wall ahead, to her right the corridor had opened out into a small courtyard, complete with turf and a view two thirds up above Cleer Over, the cityscape equal parts dazzling and horrifying in its density. Elise nearly crashed into a wall when an actual god honest tree stood erect in the courtyard, why Shay hadn’t noticed it she could only guess. Elise quenched her desire to take a detour, not forgetting she’d save that particular brownie point for Mohaw- no, Ole-Gardum when the time came.
It was at about this time I had gotten my coffee and set up shop in the local café that I happened upon an idea, which is okay because currently our lovely protagonists should be travelling on the lazily named Hobart Highway, take a guess where it leads. Now, outside of the stunning vistas of Cleer Over and its sister city, the scintillating Wenso - which you’ll come to learn is quite a brutal place, despite its proximity to the centre of the station – and quite literally, outside of the world as they knew it, drifted the HMAS Moment; its aforementioned rainbow iridescence only amplified in the void. The Royal Cruiser was currently preparing docking procedures, running slightly behind schedule as they had to refuel system side before making the trip to the station.
Stood on the bridge, was Captain Exo-Miridian, Captain Exo for short, and Miri for the bedroom. He was a man of considerable stature, hailing from the same planetary cluster as our friend Mohawk, in case you didn’t make that connection. He stood in pink fluffy slippers, obviously not his own as he was practically walking around barefoot; his heels falling out the backs, with a gown to match.
“Miri!” a hearty yell reverberated from beyond the bridge doors, massive things that were an offense to the very word ‘subtle’, which lent to an impressive set of lungs on the brunette beauty that proceeded to storm through them. “I knew it!” she looked to skewer the captain with her index finger as she approached. Unlike our respectable captain, she was a picture of Royal Excellence, white suit clean pressed, stitched insignias dappling a cloak falling down her left shoulder blade in a collage of colour. The silver breastplate she wore more than just decorative, despite military styles leaning more toward art pieces than the rigid fashion of old, the technology didn’t fall behind with it. Any experienced Vestman would bawk at the suggestion, for the breastplate housed similar shielding that cloaked their mobile fortress, if only more low profile and less… rainbow-y.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
The captain made to turn, stepping back before she really did skewer him, “Angela, what a sight for sore eyes!” genuine mirth made itself known in his smile, the span of his arms too overbearing for her to continue the assault as he went in for a hug.
“You’re one to talk, especially in my clothes!” pushing him away, Angela seemed to use every ounce of discipline to not sock him in the nuts right then and there. The man even having the indecency to wear her favourite pyjama pants, “take them off, right now!”.
He feigned a stab to the heart, “And here I’d thought you’d get a kick out of it…”
“There’ll be a kick somewhere if you don’t take, them, off, now.” She said pointedly.
He stepped back, “Give me a minute, suits not ready yet,” she stepped with him, “really it isn’t, why else would I be wearing these on the bridge, I don’t even want to sit in the bloody chair with them on,” he gestured toward the two metre tall throne sat in the centre of the bridge, which was probably the most technologically sophisticated work station within ten thousand lightyears, an exorbitant waste of funds he felt.
“I am choosing to ignore the implication that my linens aren’t worthy of the captain’s chair,” Angela watched his eyes light up in real time, a slither of hope she was all too happy to crush, “but, once you’re out of them, you have to be the one to get them cleaned, the proper way.” Just like that, she saw that spark extinguish, and it felt oh so good.
He deflated, “Fine, fine. The proper way, sure.” Just as the disappointment was setting in, the navigations officer broke their play, indicating that docking procedures were green, and they were ready to proceed with dutiful display.
Miri became Captain Exo-Miridian, his posture inflating to an impressive two heads above Angela, it was easy to forget the person she so openly toyed with commanded the Moment, the first Fortress-Class vessel to grace the Formid Sea.
“Bring’er in and send my suit to Angie’s quarters when it’s ready.” He winked at her, the implication obvious to everyone, though it was an open secret, it still didn’t feel any less awkward when he was direct about it in front of the crew. Angela left with a huff, off to run combat logistics - for all it was worth during a PR run.
That just took me an hour and a half to write, boy this universal creation stuff really takes it out of you. Eventually it will reach a point where the world is rich enough that simple terms or phrases will illustrate the gravity of what I am saying, but for now, I must introduce the players, the pieces, and the board. Together we can find out what happens to our perilously naïve protagonists, and their unwitting cooperation in my divine interventions; for all we know, I am merely reciting that which has already happened, if you prescribe to the theory of multiverses being a thing, that is.
The HMAS Moment glided along the star-ways, performing a perfect dock, floating precisely within the anchor hardpoints. To the crew, the hustle and bustle of the dockhands was soundless, large plumes of steam and flashing orange lights the only indication anything was happening portside. Like pin pricks in the distance, the workers moved methodically, dozens more ships eclipsed by the Moment while making their way in.
Stale winds buffeted Elise as she watched Hobart’s day unfold, the colossal royal cruiser landing, her speed picking up now they’d entered the main thoroughfare. Shay complained intermittently of the air quality in the tunnel, a kind of rotten banana stench had wafted in from some faraway place, no doubt the food waste that had become an increasing problem lately. Still, none of this managed to pull her from the view outside, Hobarts Highway was originally designed with grandeur in mind, its roads flanked by horizon views of the station. One side hugging the outside, while the other overlooked the communities within.
Wenso was for lack of a better word, fucking brilliant, she thought. Much like Cleer Over in that every building seemed to be an architect’s magnum opus, yet it held a quality she realised was esoteric, a kind of nostalgia only found on Earth. It made sense considering the station wasn’t self-sufficient until they finished building the place, she’d hoped they could live there one day, the memory of her parent’s old pod room rearing its head.
Wincing, Elise signalled Shay, “Surely we’re close right, I don’t even wanna see how much this thing is gonna charge us.” her friend had long since escaped his speed racer mindset, having fallen in next to her.
“Yeah, it’s just after Wenso, obviously. They have more exits here than we have people, so I’m taking a gamble on when we have to turn,” his teeth shone through a worried smirk, “ideally we could just ride this straight to Hobart, but y’know…”
She knew, “I get it, it’s fine. I’d rather be in the upper decks anyway, more food.” The rotten banana stench finally let go as their view disappeared behind them, bright yellow lights leading the way ahead. Elise locked arms with Shay, the boards at their feet linking to one driver. She felt him squirm as more and more people flooded the highway.
“Can you take over? I’ll just tell you where to go.” Shay’s cherry red jacket flapped in the wind; a lock of his hair having escaped the confines of his cheese and wine glass scrunchie.
Elise accepted, though not without teasing him a bit, her friend getting payback by taking just a second too long with whatever he considered navigation to be, throwing directions out like a loaded gun. “Excuse me, sorry!” she made sure to lock her arm extra tight around his as they jerked right, nearly colliding with another couple. Elise paused, deciding not to refer to people as ‘other couples’ while the two were together.
“You’re going to kill us at this point.” Shay’s giggle threatened to be the end of them both, as he clung to Elise, her intentions seeming to drive them straight into a pylon before swerving.
“Next time I’ll do it for real, I swear to god!” She joked, or so Shay hoped. Turning to follow Alfred St, the backends of Wenso giving way to functional walkways and engineering hubs. She pressed on, Shay looking out over the streets as they flew along. Elise could tell he wasn’t really looking, the light in his eyes distant, she figured if she just followed the growing sound of people and machinery she’d reach their destination, she figured right.
All pretence of a steady arrival were lost as she came upon a sprawling parkland, rife with life of all shapes and sizes, families dotted the park ahead, each with a blanket out, hands buried into picnic baskets, no wonder Shay hadn’t even considered the tree from before, she realised. Trios of tightly dressed groups in blue suits hovered around the congregations, ‘EEA’ embroidered in gold on small cloaks falling from their shoulders.
It was just after they returned the Ski’s, trying not to look at the price, that she spotted one of said groups approaching at a meandering pace, laughing to themselves, the man at their front waved a gauntleted hand.
“Oh god, are they coming to us?” her eyes grew wide, turning to Shay in hopes of an explanation.
Shay deadpanned, “No, they’re talking to the graphet walls behind us.” He choked back a laugh as he turned, the patrol being deceptively quick in reaching them, “Oh, hello sir,” he smiled, then nodded to the officer behind, “Ma’am,” and finally processed the outright robot just joining their impromptu board meeting, that one both Elise and Shay struggled with greeting, a fact that no one missed.
The first officer laughed at the duo’s stammering, “Seth, just call him Seth, and yes, we know.”
His colleague behind him laughed, “You’ve got to get a name badge or something man, that’s the third time this hour.” Patting Seth on the back, her eyes shifted back to the two, “We’re just checking your tokens.” Although it felt like she had more to say, she stopped there.
The man in front huffed, rolling his shoulders, his cloak having a second one hanging over top, a brilliant silver metallic material that Elise found hard to take her eyes off of. “Right, tokens please,” gone was the loose demeaner as he fished a small stylus out from his pocket, “tap here and we’ll escort you to your designated area.” extending the stylus out like he was about to cast a spell.
Shay similarly fished around his jacket, producing something approximating a stubby rectangular stick, “We’re on the top deck, near the loading area.” An awkward posture overcame him, tapping the stub.
His friend stepped up, “The anchor’s make him feel sick, we’re not part of… those types.” Her eyes squeezed out a telepathic ‘don’t ask’, which made the officer-turned-wizard suck in a breath.
” We believe you,” he looked over his shoulder, each officer doing the same, Seth rotating his head a full rotation, Elise could swear he enjoyed the attention, “and best not to refer to them as ‘those types’, they’ll outnumber you ten to one up there after all.” Shay tensed at that.
Elise chortled, “Thanks, sir.” She eyed Shay, his gaze meeting hers before offering a nod.
The officer made to lead them off before pausing, looking down at his stylus, his two colleagues stopping just ahead, scanning the crowd, “Oh, it says here you can go front deck if a spot is up.” The stylus illuminated a projection in the air, their tokens contract blinking yellow.
Shay made quick steps, grabbing the image out of the air, and examining it like some alien artefact. “What the heck,” he caught himself before swearing in front of company, “I didn’t even see that. Elise?” he grabbed his friend by the hand, assuaging her from the sights of the park, and Seth, who she’d decided she didn’t like.
“What, oh, what the heck?” She exclaimed.
“I said the same thing! Dad didn’t say anything about this.” Shay gained a skip in his step, an elated glint in his eye.
Elise stared at the blinking projection, “Well it’s not like anyone even reads the contracts, I doubt he even knows about it.” Elise stuffed her hands into the pockets of her autumn yellow jumper, fingers fidgeting beneath. “So, you wanna do it?” her gaze darted from the contract to her friend, then to the contract, then to Seth, and then the contract again.
Shay had to laugh inwardly; Elise had always been the obvious type. With a flourish he handed the contract back to the officer, “We’ll happily take the front deck.” His sharp brows raised, the trembling of his fingers only barely stifled.
It wasn’t lost on Elise what he had just accepted, the excuse of his ‘anchor sickness’ was bullshit, as often their excuses were, but the lie still served a purpose.
The female officer spoke to them without turning, “Speaking of those people,” gaze locked on a congregation of five…entities, just entering from the adjacent expressway.
The only way to describe them were rag-tagged and borderline socially suicidal – the garments that hanged from each of their forms served no discernible purpose, aside from a potential mating ritual practice, Elise mused. Those thoughts were quickly dismissed as she glimpsed a taloned hand of blindingly shiny metal, adorned in hexagonal, golden glyphs. A golden ray danced between the etchings as the figures pushed their way through onlookers, who were unaware of the moving fashion disasters behind them.
“Please, please deal with them, Miranda.” The lead officer visibly tired with every word he spoke.
Of course, he wouldn’t get off that easily, there is much character development ahead of this trio. With that, any words about to leave Miranda’s mouth stilled, she slowly turned to her superior officer, Xylexi, and stated, “No.” It was so strained, and so brief, that the rest of the group hardly processed the refusal at all.
Funnily enough, Elise was too enraptured in the alien boy band to notice, only being dispelled from her bewitchment when the taloned one’s head darted toward her group, more specifically, Miranda. Its attention was almost palpable, Elise’s gaze retreated like a snapped rope.
Confusion more than anger came over the Lead Officer, Xylexi, “Pardon, Miranda?” all consideration of the two friends gone. Noticing the strain evident in her veins increasing prominence atop her forehead, Xylexi approached his partner with a comforting hand, Seth offering a worried look, the blinking lights of his head display shown a magnifying glass, “Is everything okay, what’s wrong?”
Amidst the sudden tension, Shay nudged Elise in the elbow, signalling ahead. They both collectively took a step back as it was made apparent the walking wardrobes were skulking toward them with a measured pace. The taloned one’s eyes lit up, implants no doubt, and incredibly expensive to boot, as it got closer.
“I’m fine!” Miranda slapped her partners hand away, “I’m fine, I just, don’t want to.” Shaking her head as if disagreeing with herself, Miranda regained her previous sharp focus.
If Xylexi took offense to the assault, he didn’t show it, looking over her shoulder with surprise, “I’d hate to say too bad, but…” his attention seemed to lead the other two to follow suit, straightening up in defence of their uninvited guests. In the same moment, he pocketed the stylus cum wand, flattening out the crease in his uniform he made in the process. His gauntleted hand wound tight, stepping to the front of the group before those people broke their loose formation. “Masa Tenirai, O’nasi.” Xylexi, the Lead, bowed to the taloned one.
Even on her first time hearing the language in person, Elise could tell the Leads accent was horrid, his tongue not rolling even once.
It’s attention only breaking from Miranda in that moment, their features much clearer now, a porcelain imitation of a jester’s mask substituted their face. A silver veil wrapped around their head, accented by a string of glowing blue crystals connected by chains falling from the figures ear. The porcelain mask turned almost mechanically, settling on Xylexi, “It is O’nashita to you, biiruck.” It said, it’s digital voice dripping with venom.
Xylexi’s face became unmistakable from the porcelain mask in that moment, his features almost shading over.
Elise was pretty sure they just called him a dickhead, or some variation. She would’ve laughed too if the animosity wasn’t so palpable. Their guests, perhaps the most eccentric beings to walk the station, were called Wensago – and yes, the city Wenso played a roll in their naming, albeit unofficially – all individuals of which Elise and Shay both steered clear of; the same could be said for most people.
“Wensago or not, you don’t speak to an officer, especially a Lead, like that – biiruck” Miranda spat, the Porcelain masked Wensago looked to her, more perplexed than threatened, “now either show us your token or –“
“You have been touched,” it didn’t wait for her to finish, Miranda clearly lost in whatever sexual connotations surrounded that statement, “even now, it is fading, you must come with us.” It reached it’s taloned hand toward her.
Before it could grasp her, Xylexi swatted the monstrous hand away, like a whip, purple-blue energy emanated from the tip of another, decidedly much bigger stylus – no, baton, he had produced from beneath his coat. Elise questioned her understanding of spacial storage, the thought quickly being vetoed for the more pressing concern of the figures eyes now glowing brighter than the stations sun.
It stared into Xylexi, the previous blow having done nothing but force it’s hand back. “You do not know what you meddle with, there will be consequences to this inaction.”
Xylexi straightened up, depositing the baton back into his bottomless storage, “This matter will be reported to the Chain, and dealt with proceeding Hobart’s Day.” He motioned Miranda to move behind him, “and Officer Miranda Tullis will have our full support in the plea.”
The Wensago noticeably recoiled at the name, so too did Shay, Elise was none the wiser; distracted by the scent of citrus and mango that accompanied the batons strike, suffusing the air.
It turned, the drapes and jewellery adorning the wensago trailing behind it’s body like a curtain to wind, its head however, had stayed locked onto them, refusing to rotate with the rest of the body. It’s company seemed to refuse engaging at any point, standing menacingly behind the porcelain mask – staring at Miranda, Elise belatedly noticed.
“That was exceedingly interesting. Miranda, you are very good at drawing us undue attention, it seems.” For the first time since meeting, Seth spoke, “I do not regret enlisting with Lead Xylexi.” Its voice was, somewhat disappointingly Elise thought, not very robotic. A faint static hum behind the pause between words the only hint at it’s digital origins.
“Shut up, Seth” she said, before turning in tandem with the Lead towards the pair of friends. “Are you two alright?” The entire parties cheeks seemed flustered as they asked the question, Xylexi even hazarding a glance back at the wensago retinue, sighing in relief as they rounded the passage into the upper decks.
“A-okay, sirs, thank you very much, I’m even more glad we didn’t have to sit at the upper decks now.” Shay spoke first, his customer service voice cracking with nervous laughter. At that, Elise gave the floor to him, he was always better at dealing with awkward situations, despite her own fiery personality.
“Brilliant.” With that, they lead them towards the huge gates beyond the park, words were exchanged between the officers as they walked, though Elise struggled to hear them as they outpaced the two, clearly too distracted in whatever deliberations they were having – the situation a little more serious than was obvious.
Shay gave Elise a look, somewhere between exasperated and confused, she relayed an almost tangible ‘I know’ with her eyebrows.
The two followed behind the officers through the largest gates Elise had ever seen, their arch accentuated with a rusted, broken looking shard – The Hobart – she realised. A piece of it’s hull having been immortalised in memorials all around the station.
With one step over the gates threshold, Shay and Elise had officially begun their Hobart’s Day adventure.