Simone opens the bathroom door and a sweet aroma, like chruksh petals, wafts through the air. Crank steels himself against the sudden onslaught of memories. Memories of home.

Simone strides in his direction wearing a stern expression. Crank is taken aback by this and his posture grows rigid. Simone is only about a foot and a half shorter than him. Tall for an ooman female. When she reaches him, she clamps both sides of his face between her moist hands. Crank’s mind reels with the scent of her clean skin and hair.

For a moment, Crank believes she is going to caress him with her lips—the way he has seen oomans do before. However, instead of kissing him, Simone studies his face intently through narrowed eyes. Truth be told, she had considered kissing him, but thought better of it.

“You can’t walk around in a rain coat forever,” Simone calmly states. “That disguise will only work for so long. I’ve got an idea. But I’ll have to go out alone. We can’t risk anyone seeing you just yet. When I get done with you, you’ll look every bit as ooman as I do. Well, mostly…Maybe.”

Simone releases Crank’s face and disappointment floods his chest. He had hoped for even the smallest of lip caresses. So that he could drink further of her scent and bathe in the warmth of her soft body. Simone plops on the edge of the bed and quickly pulls on her boots. She zips them up as quickly as she dares, without jamming the zipper, and climbs to her feet. Crank moves to her side, in case he needs to steady her. Simone politely waves him off.

“I’m not drunk anymore,” Simone says with a chuckle. “You can stand down, hunter.”

Crank takes Simone by the elbow and she meets his gaze. The flutter in Crank's chest nearly matches the sudden racing of Simone's heart. He forces himself to say the words he had planned to say; swallowing down the lump developing in his throat.

“Why do you wear those pointed bottom shoes?” Crank questions—confusion in his voice. “I’ve seen other ooman females wear them as well. Do they serve as a complement to your armor? Are they a form of weapon? They appear quite uncomfortable. You can hardly stand in them. I don’t see any advantage to wearing such footwear.”

Simone stands up on tiptoe, pulling Crank down enough where she can kiss his cheek. She lingers there a moment, her scent causing the flutter in Crank's chest to turn into a steady hammering.

“Your concern is very touching,” she says between another soft laugh. “But you have a lot to learn about women, Crank! I guess you could say they are weapons, though. If they have to be. But mostly…No. They’re an accessory. An accessory I like very much. Many other…Ooman females…Do as well. Now, don’t go away. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Simone is out the front door before Crank can say much more than two words:

“Simone…Wait.”

She closes the door and he hears the clack-clack of her pointed-heels moving away. Crank plays over the last few moments in his mind. She had caressed him. On the cheek, true, but she had caressed him. Crank touches the spot where her lips touched his skin with a smile growing on his youthful face.

And he liked it.

-

-

Simone rushes into the room loaded down with bags. The side of one bag reads: Clint’s Bargain Distributors.

Dropping her treasures on the floor, Simone tears into the bags. In one bag, there is a giant plastic head and bundles of different colored hair. Has she been hunting? Why had she not wished him to join her? Was hunting a secret only reserved for ooman females? Not unlike the two ooman females in the tunnel—who had lured their victim into a room only to kill him and secure trophies? Is that why the texts speak of ooman females so sparsely? As if little is known about them? Crank had believed it was because ooman females served no purpose in mortal combat. Maybe there is another reason.

Next, Simone unloads small tubes of glue adhesive, scissors, some makeup pallets, and four ooman masks. Crank steps closer, but not too close, in order to inspect her other finds. He is unsure how any of this can be useful to them. However, he must trust that she knows what she is doing.

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Finished with her sorting, Simone lets out a whoop and claps her hands together in excitement. She senses Crank’s confusion and waves him closer.

“Don’t worry…I know what I’m doing. I studied theater in high school and college,” Simone fills him in. “Ummm….Theatre. It’s where people dress up in elaborate costumes…And pretend to be something or someone else. I was in charge of costume and set design. You can blame my eccentric wardrobe choices on that particular point in my life. I developed a flair for the uncommon. What I’m going to do…Is build you…A new face.”

Crank’s mandibles open and he chitters defensively. He unconsciously squares his shoulders, mentally preparing for battle. Simone, no matter her level as an ooman female hunter, is no match for him.

“I will not let you take off my face!” Crank nearly roars. He grows even more agitated when Simone bursts out laughing. “I do not see what is funny!”

Simone drops down onto her butt from her previous crouching position. She holds a hand to her chest, in an attempt to stop laughing, but to no avail. The laughing fit becomes so violent that she develops hiccups. Which only makes her laugh harder. Crank’s round eyes grow hard and he moves to where Simone sits on the floor. Kneeling beside her, he stares into her eyes. Simone continues to try to get both her laughing and hiccups under control. She reaches out and grips Crank’s forearm. She vigorously shakes her head and speaks between hiccups.

“I’m not talking—(hiccup)—about taking off your—(hiccup)–face. I’m—(hiccup)–going to build you—(hiccup)–another face—(hiccup)–on top of the—(hiccup)–face you already have.”

Simone waves a hand in the air, signaling she cannot breathe. Her face has turned a bright red, and her breathing is labored. Yet, she still manages to laugh.

“I need—(hiccup)–some water—(hiccup)–,”she gasps.

Crank reaches into his weapons belt and retrieves a small canister. Simone looks at it briefly, and then decides to take a chance. She opens the metal canister and takes a sip. What is inside is not quite water. Or rather, not like any water she has ever tasted. It is crisp and cool with after tones of something fruity. The hiccups are gone. Simone hands Crank back his container and touches the back of her hand to her mouth. Even the smell of the alien world water is sweet when wafted back to her nose.

“Thank you,” Simone utters gratefully.

Her tongue slides over her lips with satisfaction and slight embarrassment. Crank only nods and returns the canister to his implement belt. He continues to stare at Simone.

Before she knows it, his hand slides to the back of her head, resting at the base of her skull. Tilting Simone’s head back, as he has seen ooman’s do in holographic vids, real world encounters, ancient texts, and viewing screens; Crank lowers his face and briefly kisses her. Or performs his own fumbling awkward yautja version of an ooman kiss.

Simone eyes widen and she allows him to kiss her. So strange. But not unexpected. She has been wanting to do the same thing all day. Really since she had seen him without the rain slicker the previous evening. Strong rippling muscles, a banging physique, full-body fish-net stockings, about as different from her ex-husband as you could get, and totally from out of this world. What wasn’t there to love about Crank?

Crank finally releases Simone from his awkward embrace and regards her questioningly. Simone's expression tells him absolutely nothing. Is she angry? Is she disgusted? He wishes he were wearing his mask so that he can truly analyze her.

Simone doesn’t say a word or even acknowledge his kiss. She goes back to her work of sorting her worldly goods. Crank is afraid that he has offended her. What he cannot realize, without his mask, is that her heart is beating a-hundred miles a minute. She does not speak out of breathlessness—and fear of betraying her emotions. When she has steadied her breathing a little, Simone reaches into the final bag and pulls out an oversized hoodie. She hands it to Crank.

“You can wear this,” Simone explains. “That rain slicker is only good for wearing if it’s actually raining. I bought the hoodie a little big to cover that belt of yours and allow you to cinch the neck tighter so no one can actually see your features. Like I said, I’ll try to make you look as human as possible. But, we shouldn’t take any chances.”

Crank takes the offered hoodie. Simone sets to work opening makeup pallets, and prepping for the project ahead of her. She points to the table and chair.

“Sit there,” she says.

Crank does not move. Simone turns her head in his direction.

“Crank?” she asks. “Did you hear me? What’s the matter?”

Crank lowers his gaze and takes one of Simone’s soft ooman hands between both of his clawed hands. He gently squeezes her hand.

“Are you angry with me?” Crank chitters in a softer than usual voice.

“Angry with you about what?" Simone inquires. "Why would I be angry, Crank?"

“Because I caressed your lips,” Crank says sheepishly—not meeting her gaze.

Simone laughs again, but this time she cuts it short. So as not to repeat recent events. Placing her free hand on Crank’s cheek, she gently pulls her other hand free as well. Both hands cradling the sides of his face, Simone returns his awkward kiss.

“No, Crank—” she says after pulling away. “I’m not angry. And it’s not called a caress. It’s called a kiss. I’m just a little hungry, hungover, and we have a lot to do to get you ready for your Earthly debut.”

Crank smiles in a way that only a yautja mother—and maybe Simone—could find attractive. Simone does in fact find his smile attractive, and she returns it with one of her own.

“Now, let’s get to work,” she whispers.

Crank refuses to argue with that.