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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

Note

mangata (n); the reflection of moon on water

Okay so I may or may not just have talked about my OCs here for far too long and I apologize.

This is part of my Villainsicle series. I’m unsure of how comprehensible it is without background knowledge of the series. In general, in this context, Villain is Whumpee, Henchman is Caretaker, and Trainer is Whumper. The rest of the series is linked on my pinned post.

This really is just self indulgent nonsense. Even the linguist came out in this one. But, regardless, I hope you guys enjoy!

CW//Trauma, difficulty speaking, muzzles, leashes, whumpee caring about whumper

As the two walked along the beach, moving at a plodding pace along the sand, Henchman couldn’t help but consider just how odd they must have looked.

On the surface, sure, it wasn’t odd at all. The oppressive summer heat that beat down throughout the day had ceased its sweltering, giving way to a mild warmth that made the ocean waters look horribly inviting. Behind the water’s horizon, the full moon dangled on a thread, filling the sky and creating a great mangata upon the ocean’s water.

None of that, of course, was odd. There was nothing especially strange about two people taking a late night walk along the abandoned shoreline.

The fact that both of them were fugitives from a secret Organization was perhaps a little more unusual, though, luckily, nothing about their appearances suggested that.

That wasn’t to say that the two of them looked entirely normal. Perhaps Henchman did, but Villain had never had the most normal sense of dress.

Henchman wasn’t one to judge the fashion sense of someone who had showed up on their doorstep wearing rags that had, perhaps, once been a hospital gown, at least not generally. But they couldn’t help but wish that their fellow fugitive would agree to stop wearing bulky mittens and a thick scarf wherever they went, regardless of the heat. They must have been burning up in that dress, but they didn’t seem bothered by it.

Then again, they didn’t ever seem bothered by much. At least, if they were, their facial expression hardly reflected it. Instead, they had an odd habit of tightly gritting their teeth, regardless of the situation, to the point that they feared one of them might crack at any moment.

“It’s pretty beautiful at this time of night, isn’t it?” Henchman spoke, putting on their best smile as they looked out over the shoreline as they continued to walk.

Villain nodded.

“Very pretty.”

They had been rather talkative all night. Not in an objective sense, really. To anyone else, they would seem awfully shy, speaking almost entirely in short phrases, never exceeding four or five words in length.

That alone was an amazing improvement, in and of itself. When Henchman had first met them, Villain didn’t speak for at least a month. Not a single word. They could communicate in other ways, pointing and writing and nodding or shaking their head, but they hadn’t spoken.

Ever since they’d finally opened their mouth, they’d had a very... odd way of speaking. Everything about their speech was abnormal, in one way or another. If they were a non-native English speaker, which was entirely possible, they had no accent to show for it. Instead, their voice was rather hard to describe. Every time they spoke a word, it seemed as though they were reading it for the first time, struggling with syllables and sounds. Their grammar was slightly better, though they had a tendency to forget words, leading them to furrow their brow and hum until they found a way to get their point across.

Still, every time they remembered a word they had formerly not known, Henchman couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride swell up in their chest. Slowly but surely, this practical stranger was recovering, and, in a small way, they were helping.

That was why they were taking this walk, in the first place. Henchman had discovered pretty quickly that public spaces were far too much for Villain. Even the peace of sparsely populated parks would quickly be shattered as soon as a stray dogwalker appeared on an adjacent side street.

So far, they’d had incredible luck with this specific stretch of beach. After a certain time, it got too cold to be any good for swimming or sunbathing, leaving the great expanse of sand free of the public.

On the surface, their little walks didn’t seem to do much of anything. Still, somewhere deeper, Henchman couldn’t help but feel that they helped. Even if just the slightest bit.

They looked out over the sand, seeing the dunes curl far off in the distance. At their side, the low tide lapped.

“Have you ever been to the ocean before?” Henchman asked, still keeping that warm tone, making sure they moved slow enough so that Villain could easily keep up.

“Um... Kind of.”

“Kind of?” They hummed inquisitively. “Did you live on the coast?”

“Boat.”

“A boat?”

“A boat.” Villain corrected themself.

“Like... a houseboat?”

“Um... No. Big, big boat. Really big.” Their brow furrowed, and they began to hum as they struggled to find a word. “Boat for planes.”

“An aircraft carrier?”

“Yes! Yes. An aircraft carrier.”

That brought up perhaps more questions than answers, but now wasn’t the time to quiz Villain about their past.

“You must have seen a lot of the ocean then... the moon is always so pretty, when it’s like this.”

Villain nodded, attention seeming to turn somewhere else as they looked out at the water.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Licks of water lapped up against the edge of the ship’s hull, rocking it ever so slightly that those leaning over its railing could not so much as pretend to feel the movement. The sprawling metal beast was simply too large to be swayed by the forces of the tides.

Trainer slipped the end of Villain’s leash off of their wrist, letting the leather strap dangle loosely from their muzzle. With the newfound freedom to lift their head, they did so, staring out over the expanse of black water, contrasted by the stark reflection of the moon upon its surface.

Villain couldn’t say that they understood, entirely, why they were here. They had returned from their last mission almost half an hour ago. By all accounts, Trainer should have followed their usual procedure; removing Villain’s mission gear, bringing them back to their kennel, and perhaps giving them something to eat if they were feeling particularly generous.

Tonight, however, none of that had happened. Instead, they had stayed on the ship’s deck for quite some time, with Trainer speaking to teammates and colleagues until all of them had retired to their quarters in the ship’s depths. Villain would have been lying if they said they hadn’t been getting antsy around that point, eager to get back to their own resting place for the night.

But that hadn’t happened. Trainer hadn’t followed their teammates to the lower decks. Instead, they had drifted over to the railing, looking over it as if there was something stunning beyond it.

Villain understood, somewhat.

What they didn’t understand was the fact that Trainer was still talking. The deck was deserted, and yet, still, they were talking.

As if they were talking to their own Asset.

Their voice had a wistful quality to it, carrying on a thoughtful conversation to nobody.

Of course, Villain had no idea what words were being spoken. Even after so many months, the tongue remained completely foreign to them. That didn’t eliminate, however, the whimsical tone of the noises.

An odd feeling swelled in their chest. It had been there, brewing, ever since they’d walked over here. It was... pleasant.

They were happy. They thought so, at least.

Even if they didn’t understand why Trainer was speaking to them as though they were anything but an Asset, they were happy.

It was hard to make much in the way of noise, with the muzzle forcing their teeth together, but in their throat, they did their best to approximate speech. It came out more as a soft humming. Almost a singing noise.

Trainer smiled, ruffling Villain’s hair with such affection that the latter choked back tears. They leaned into the touch, relishing it, even with how brief it was.

The next words spoken in that foreign tongue sounded almost like a question. Not a serious one, of course. No real answer was being prompted. Instead, it sounded hypothetical. Philosophical. Dreamlike.

They responded with another singing hum. They, too, smiled, looking out onto the endless water and the mangata upon it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Villain stopped walking.

Henchman stopped in turn, immediately more concerned about their friend than about the walk. They turned to them, not saying anything for a moment. Giving them time to think.

“We used to look at the moon sometimes.”

The surprise was nearly enough to make their jaw drop. That must have been the longest sentence Villain had ever strung together, even since Henchman had met them. And all of it, pronounced perfectly. With an overtone of sorrow, sure, but perfectly.

They tried not to smile, feeling that it wasn’t quite appropriate for the moment.

“We?” Henchman questioned as softly as they could manage. “Who did you look at it with?”

“Um...” They clenched and unclenched their fists. “They, um, person from Organization.”

“Oh. Were they your friend?”

“I... Um... I don’t know. They... um...”

Henchman waited, allowing Villain to collect their thoughts for as long as they needed.

“Trained me. Um.. thing on my face.” They gestured along with their words, tracing a line from the corner of their lips to just above their ear. “Mean sometimes. But, friend, um, yes. Friend. I think so. Sometimes.”

Henchman frowned. They didn’t know what to say to that. Of course, they knew that Villain had been from Organization, just as they themself had been. Whatever they were describing, it didn’t sound much like friendship, but they hated to debate them when they were trying to think.

“They were your friend sometimes?”

“Nice sometimes. Mean sometimes. Friend sometimes. Trainer always.”

“Oh. Do you... Villain, do you miss them?”

Henchman couldn’t help but think of the way their friend always held themself, teeth pressed so tightly together. As if held in place by something. ‘Thing on face.’

And the way they acted...

“Miss them...”

Villain raised their head, turning, and staring out over the water. Staring at the moon.

“Yes. I think so. Yes. I miss them.”

#whump #whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #villainsicle #hero villain whump #hero villain prompt #villain whumpee #whump prompt #uh oh (posts at 4 am)

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neuro-whump · 4 years

Text

Lost in Transit, Part 5

This is my entry to the Box Boy Extended Universe which was originally created by sweetwhumpandhellacomf and written by shameless-whumper and I’m using a lot of world-building which was done by @ashintheairlikesnow. Still somewhat vague on hospital procedure here and also despite my research, I may be misrepresenting acquired dyscalculia here, pubmed is not helping me out and neither is google scholar.

CN: Dehumanization, human trafficking, amnesia, mistaken identity, box boy universe, IVs, panic attack, hospitals

798591 was woken with a start the next morning by a dream he didn’t remember and didn’t know where he was.

He was lying in a bed, in a small white room with an IV in his arm, and his heart was fluttering with nerves and he felt sore and battered and didn’t know why. There was something about the room. Something he’d remembered — but he didn’t remember it now.

He was in his new home, with his new owner. He remembered that and it made his heart slow down. But a few more memories trickled back and made his heart speed up again, he’d got lost and he’d been sick and he thought he remembered being in trouble, already. But he was definitely in the right place now, his owner - the person who wanted him - had been there, he remembered her face and that made him feel better. He would just wait here, and she’d be back, it still seemed like it was early in the morning.

The first person who came in wasn’t Dr. de Courcy though, it was a rumpled man with ruffled hair. 798591 stared at him for a moment before he remembered that he’d seen him last night. He couldn’t remember his name though.

The rumpled man came and peered at him, “how are you feeling this morning?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” said 798591.

“Do you still have a headache?” asked the rumpled man.

798591 nodded.

“Can you tell me how bad the pain is, out of ten?” asked the rumpled man.

798591 thought about it, his head didn’t feel very bad, but he couldn’t figure out how to turn it into a number, and trying made the pain spike up behind his eyes. And not answering the question was making a sinking, anxious feeling low in his belly.

“Hey now,” said the rumpled man, “its okay, don’t answer if its too hard. Just relax now. Take some deep breaths.”

798591 took a few big gulps of air and the rumpled man nodded encouragingly.

“That’s good,” he said, “let’s try again. Can you tell me if your headache is better or worse than last night?”

“Its better?” whispered 798591, “I think?”

“Well that’s good,” said rumpled man, “and do you have any other pain at all?”

He did, but he wasn’t supposed to complain and the questions were making the fluttery, anxious feelings worse, so he shook his head.

“That’s good,” said rumpled man, and smiled at him, so it was probably good he hadn’t said anything, “are you still feeling nauseous at all?”

798591 shook his head, he didn’t even have to keep that to himself, his stomach wasn’t turning over in unhappy ways any more.

“Good,” said the rumpled man, “good. Can you sit up for me?”

798591 sat up and the rumpled man came over and pressed his stethoscope against his chest, and then his back, and then his belly. He had 798591 hold his hands out with his eyes shut so he could press down on them the way Dr. de Courcy had the day before, and then shone a light in his eyes. He still didn’t understand why. But when he was done, he stepped back and nodded to himself.

“Okay,” said the rumpled man, “do you know your name?”

“798591,” he said, which earned him a frown. But he knew he remembered it. He knew that number.

“And what’s the date?” asked the rumpled man.

“I don’t know,” said 798591.

“Do you know what month it is,” asked the rumpled man, “or the season?”

798591 shook his head.

“Do you know how long you’ve been in the hospital?”

“Since yesterday,” said 798591.

“Yeah,” said the rumbled man “that was a good effort. You’re doing fine. Someone will bring you breakfast in a couple of hours.”

He turned around as if to go.

798591 summoned up his courage and asked, “is Dr. de Courcy coming back?”

“Huh?” asked the rumpled man, “yeah at some point today, rounds are usually early, but everything’s still off this morning, from the accident.”

He hurried out before 798591 could work up the nerve to ask anything else. He huddled down into his blankets and tried not to be afraid. He didn’t know what was making him feel so scared, but he wanted it to stop. He wanted Dr. de Courcy to come back and take him somewhere else. He’s not supposed to want things, it sent a twinge of pain shooting through his head.

The next person to come in was a small woman with lots and lots of curly brown hair carrying food on a tray and more pills for him to take. She looked comfortingly familiar but it took him a while to come up with her name. Like his brain was going very slowly.

“Remember me?” she asked with a nice little smile.

“Kenna?” He asked, he still wasn’t totally sure.

“That’s right,” she beamed, “you remembered. That’s really good. I brought you some breakfast, sorry its late, there was a thing with the dietetics orders. And I’m supposed to stay with you and make sure you’re swallowing okay, alright?” She came over and put the food in front of him and asked, “can I sit here? I promise I won’t come and loom over you every time you eat.”

It took him a moment to figure out that Kenna was actually asking his permission, like he got a say in where people sat. He nodded and she perched on the edge of his bed.

“Do you feel like you can eat anything?” Kenna asked him, “or are you still feeling too sick?”

He wasn’t feeling sick, having food in front of him made him suddenly realize that he didn’t know when he’d last had any food and he was awfully hungry. He shook his head hard.

“Well that’s a good sign,” said Kenna. She gave him another nice little smile. “But I want you to eat this very slowly so we can make sure you’re not having any trouble with it okay? We normally have a speech path to do this, but everything is still sort of mad and we didn’t want to make you wait that long to have some food,” she added.

798591 didn’t really know what that meant, he was just happy to be fed, and to have Kenna there. He did as he was told and took small, slow mouthfuls Kenna encouraged him a bit while he ate, and patted his legs a few times through the blankets and it made it easier to eat slower, so she would stay and he wouldn’t be left alone again. He could only drag it out for so long before he didn’t have any food left.

“You did really well,” said Kenna, getting up and patting his shoulder, “I’ll be back at some point to take you to imaging, but I’ve got to run.”

And then she left, and 798591 was left alone for hours and hours.

A stranger came in at one point and brought him more food but they didn’t stay or talk to him and even after another meal he was still lingeringly hungry. It felt familiar, and that made him feel anxious and he just wanted it all to stop. Everything felt wrong and he didn’t know why.

He lost track of the time a little, but it was sometime after that that a group of people in white coats, including the rumpled man again filed into the room followed, at last, by Dr. de Courcy. 798591 immediately straightened up and tried to look alert and tidy. Dr. de Courcy’s eyes brushed over him briefly before she turned to face the rumpled man.

“Dr. McCormick?” she said, and then stared expectantly at him.

The rumpled man, who must be Dr. McCormick and who looked more rumpled than ever, picked up the pad of paper that hung off the edge of his bed and looked from it, to Dr. de Courcy.

“An unidentified and unclaimed male patient, admitted yesterday afternoon and believed to have been involved in the shipwreck. He was assessed by you and by Joey Mallory and presented with disorientation and - pure retrograde amnesia - and moderate dehydration and nausea, believed to be secondary to - ingesting salt water, treated with oral H2 inhibitors. The patient experienced more nausea and headache overnight and I administered oral acetominophen. As of this morning he reported reduced headache and no further nausea. And the RN noted no dysphagia or nausea with breakfast this morning. Initial labs taken during admission showed minor electrolyte imbalances but no other abnormalities, and follow-up labs taken during the early morning are entirely normal.”

He ended his long report by gasping in a big breath, like he’d just run.

“Where are we in the imaging queue?” Dr. de Courcy asked. 798591 still didn’t really understand what that meant.

“They’re hoping to get him in this evening,” said a woman who was standing behind Dr. McCormick.

“Are the labs in epic?”

“Yes,” said Dr. McCormick.

“I want them redone every day until I say otherwise,” said Dr. de Courcy, “maintain the H2 inhibitors for 48 hours to be on the safe side. What’s the obvious next step diagnostically?”

“We need brain imaging,” said one of the women.

“Does everyone agree with Dr. Yeo that imaging is going complete our clinical picture?”

The woman who was standing behind Dr. McCormick spoke up again, “we need to do a neurological exam.”

“Thank you Dr. Halabi,” said Dr. de Courcy, “yes, don’t ever neglect diagnostic exams just because you have, or expect to have imaging. And frankly, becoming over dependent on high tech imaging is a bad idea. You never know when you might suddenly not have it, as we’re currently experiencing. However, because this patient is showing some atypical symptoms I’m going to be doing his work up today and full neurological exam tomorrow, so you will all have to practice on our next patients.”

Dr. Yeo put her hand in the air.

“Yes,” said Dr. de Courcy.

“Shouldn’t we also do a psychological exam? I thought pure retrograde amnesia was usually psychiatric?”

“Yes,” said Dr. de Courcy, “that is correct, your reward will be contacting the psychiatry department and scheduling the exam. Do not conflict with my exam we can’t do both at once.”

“Yes Dr. de Courcy,” said Dr. Yeo.

Some of the other people scrambled for notebooks and scribbled notes.

“And what else?” Dr. de Courcy said.

The scribblers stopped scribbling.

“We have a completely unidentified patient,” said Dr. de Courcy, “we need the police. The world outside the hospital does continue to exist during your shifts. I realize you’re tired, but please attempt to retain object permanence.”

They scribbled some more.

798591 looked between the cluster of people as they talked and tried to figure out what was going on and why Dr. de Courcy wouldn’t look at him or speak to him. He didn’t feel sick anymore, and he didn’t know why Dr. McCormick had said he was unclaimed. He had been delivered. Someone wanted him, someone had to want him, or he would be sent back and refurbished and -

“Well,” Dr. de Courcy said suddenly, and everyone else looked as confused as he felt, “begin the neurological exams on our next set of patients.” she barked, “and go find me Kenna.”

“But -“ Dr. McCormick started.

“Now,” she snapped, and he ran away.

They were alone in the room but 798591 suddenly didn’t feel good about it.

Dr. de Courcy moved a bit closer and leaned over him.

“Take deep breaths,” she said to him.

798591 obediently sucked air deep into his lungs.

“Slowly now,” she said, “good. Try and stay calm, we’re nearly done. We’ll leave you alone soon.”

No, no, she couldn’t leave, he didn’t know what he was going to do, he didn’t want to be alone again.

“Please,” he whispered, “please, I’m better, I’ll be good, please don’t send me away,” he tried desperately not to cry again.

Dr. de Courcy frowned down at him, “what are you talking about? And stop biting your lip you’ll make it bleed.”

798591 opened his mouth like he’d been told, but then he couldn’t stop tears dripping out of his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to cry. She really wasn’t going to keep him if he couldn’t stop crying.

“Oh no, Fawn, what happened?” Kenna said, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, he didn’t know when she’d come in, “you were doing so good earlier. Are you hurting?”

“Fawn?” said Dr. de Courcy.

If Kenna said anything in response he didn’t hear her, but he felt a little better while she was stroking his shoulders, and he managed to blink away the rest of the tears.

“That’s better,” said Dr. de Courcy, “now, what are you crying about?”

798591 risked a glance up at her. She was frowning down at him with her arms crossed.

“Did you sleep much last night?” she asked.

“S-some,” he said, timidly, “I can do better - I’ll be better.”

“I may write you a prescription for a sleeping pill, just for the night,” she said, “there’s no point in spending an hour on a neurological exam that will just tell me you’re exhausted. Would that be easier?”

“Whatever you like ma’am,” said 798591.

“Kenna,” said Dr. de Courcy, “I’m hours behind as it is, when you’re finished here, I need you to go contact the hospital legal department, about contacting the police and about what we discussed yesterday. Hand off your other patients if you need to and blame me for it, I want this handled.”

798591 felt his breathing pick up again and he couldn’t stop it, even though he did try.

“Oh is that what got you all wound up,” said Dr. de Courcy, “you’re not about to be arrested, we always call the police when someone gets lost.”

“You’re okay,” said Kenna, “you’re safe here. You’re safe.”

798591 gasped in a very shaky breath, and then his stomach gurgled loudly, and he couldn’t stop it. He also couldn’t stop himself from blushing.

“Are we starving you?” said Dr. de Courcy.

“No,” said 798591, “no I’m alright.”

“Feed him before you talk to legal,” Dr. de Courcy said to Kenna.

“Will the kitchen -“ Kenna started.

Dr. de Courcy took a wallet out of one of her pockets and handed Kenna a folded bill, “the cafeteria will be faster. Hopefully he’ll be less panicky when he’s comfortable.”

She swept out of the room.

Kenna stood up and looked at him, which meant she wasn’t holding him any more, “what would you like?” she asked him.

“I don’t need anything,” 798591 whispered, “its okay.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Kenna, “ you need to eat if you’re hungry. And you’ve had a time of it, I’ll get you a treat, kay? I’ll be right back.”

And she dashed off, and he was alone again.

@haro-whumps @whatwasmyprevioususername @whump-it

#lost in transit #box boy extended universe #bbu #poor kiddo #i swear i will give him a name soon #hospitals

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artangel3993 · 4 years

Text

(i got really inspired by @shameless-whumper and @ashintheairlikesnow ‘s series and tried to write something in the box boy universe! credit for the world goes to @sweetwhumpandhellacomf!)

There was a person in a wooden crate in Safiya’s living room.

Violet had written to her (fucking Violet, of course she had done this, of course she had thought this was a solution, she had told her she would be fine alone, leave, no really) in her too-perfect cursive, telling her she was going to get her help. Because she felt so responsible for leaving her defenseless and didn’t want Saf to be all by herself. A quick note in an envelope with no return address.

If you felt so responsible, why didn’t you stay?

And of course she had heard about the company, it was all over the news, social media, the senate floor. She didn’t understand the appeal and beyond that, didn’t give it much mind. But when Joshua (he worked for the post office and had been delivering mail to her cottage for years, he had the keys to her place at this point and left her packages for her in the living room because he knew she wouldn’t be able to retrieve them from her porch) had brought it in this morning, the logo for the company plastered right on the side, her mind went straight to Violet. She had the money. Who fucking knows, at this point, Vi might’ve gotten one for herself, too, Saf wouldn’t put it past her. When she wrote help, she thought Vi might have meant a nurse to come check in on her, maybe more film to cover up her windows, or whatever the latest new miracle skin cancer-preventative supplement was, but never… this.

Hesitantly, she crept in quiet steps on the carpet from her old rocking chair to the crate, again. It had been an hour and she was still too nervous to open the top more than a crack, but that felt irresponsible of her. She laughed, breathy and just to herself, about how fucking ironic it was that Vi thought the perfect way to fix her ex and get leaving her off her consciousness was to put someone else in the care of her. Saf could barely take care of herself. Couldn’t she return the box, whoever was inside of it? She was going to, she decided in her head. She would look through all the paperwork that was attached to the crate and find out how to take all of this back, even if it meant getting an angry letter from Vi (maybe it would be nice, to hear from her again, even if it was just for wasting her money.) But for the meantime, until she figured all of this out, she couldn’t just leave whoever was in there for however long that process took, just lying there like that. Quietly, she slid the wooden lid off and placed it by her side on the floor.

There was a woman all curled up inside, a living, breathing girl, her chest albeit faintly moving in and out with her lungs. She looked as still as if she was in a deep sleep, eyes blindfolded, her long, yellow-blonde hair pooled about her in the packaging, it reaching down all the way to her waist in soft, dainty ringlets at the ends that were so stiff and perfect it made Saf recoil because it was so fucking unsettling, like it was the wig of a perfect marionette doll in the window of a toy store. Softly, with both hands to make sure she didn’t tug on her, she took her by the arms and propped her into a sitting position, and took off the blindfold.

Safiya watched the woman’s deep brown eyes adjust and dilate to the muddled dark she always kept her house in, focusing on her face. Her gaze hesitated on Saf’s skin for a couple of moments in curiosity, and then immediately darted down to look at the bottom of the packaging, twisting her fingers tight around the newspaper padding.

“It’s alright. You can look, if you want to.” It took Safiya a second to find her voice. “I’m not offended by it. Being able to perceive things people haven’t seen before makes it less strange, in their heads. Less other. It’s good to look.”

Hesitantly, the woman’s eyes found her again. She studied the marks running through Saf’s face, dripping down her neck, all of the little dots, the red and black scarring from the sun, those raised, swollen places that had gotten too irritated by UV rays. Safiya didn’t like to look in mirrors much anymore but she still knew where everything was, all her abnormalities, when she would run her fingers along her own skin. It was something she couldn’t forget. She’d had the freckles all over since she was really little, but most of the scarring had come from a few years ago, when she’d accidentally had UV’s on her skin for the first time in forever, when she wasn’t cautious enough with the lights she’d gotten for her new place and they’d been on all at once. It had felt like her skin was about to melt off. She’s lucky all that had gotten left was aesthetical damage.

Safiya spoke again. “I promise it’s not contagious, or anything. It’s from a genetic condition.”

Slowly, the woman nodded her head. “They told me, during training.” Her voice was so delicate, something only slightly above a whisper, like it was expecting to be broken. “Xeroderma pigmentosum.”

“Training?”

“Yes, you… the custom training order you put in when you got me.” Jesus christ, Vi. How much had she spent on all this? “I know how to help you with administering medication, handling seizures...”

How was she supposed to explain that that wasn’t her, who ordered all of that? Safiya sighed, ran a hand through her coarse brown hair, looking down for a minute to gather her thoughts. Her eyes rested on the woman’s side, where a long, healed scar slithered out from her black sports bra and down her willowy frame, to the small of her waist.

Her eyes were on Saf when she looked up. She must have noticed her staring. Safiya opened her mouth to apologize, but she shook her head. “You can look at it. Like you said... it’s better, to perceive. I just thought you knew… it’s on file. From my last placement. Before I got refurbished.” Then she added, after a moment: “I’m sorry if I’m disappointing.”

Safiya didn’t know what refurbished meant but she’s pretty certain it was the kind of thing she didn’t want to know about. “No, you’re not disappointing I just- what’s your name?”

The woman slowly unfurled her right arm and held it out to her, where a little black number was printed along her wrist. 075395.

“This is a number.”

Carefully, she brought her arm back to herself, curling it along her knees pulled tight to her chest. “You can name me, if you would like that better.”

“Listen-” Safiya couldn't attach herself to the situation like that, she was just going to wait with her for a couple of hours until she could go back, she didn’t mean to- how was she supposed to explain this? “This has all been a big mistake.”

The woman’s eyes widened with some unnameable dread from the pit of her heart, stricken into a deep, terrified stillness as fuzzy as a scratch on a record, before she looked down just slightly, and something switched and she went back to an unreadable, eerily serene expression. “Mistake?”

“Yes, I-” Safiya looked for the words to tell her she was going to return her, she really did, but it took too long, and then she remembered that look in her eyes, if even the smallest notion of something being wrong could push her down that thought process. Saf breathed out. “What would you want your name to be?”

She looked taken aback for a moment, then dissociated all deep in thought, before decisively shaking her head no.

So this had to be Safiya’s decision, then. She thought for a moment. “What’s your favorite season?”

The woman looked out the living room window through the deep grey UV light protectors resting on the pane, it made everything look dark and fuzzy outside but she could still make out the tree outside her porch rustling in the wind, its leaves moving this way and that. Quietly, she spoke again, her eyes still on the outside, an airy quality to her words. “Summer.”

“Why not Summer, then? Do you like that?” It suited her, Saf thought to herself. Everything about her was so bright, so warm when she let it be, her hair glowing like rays, her golden skin, her melty eyes.

She brought her gaze back to Safiya, but it didn’t look curious or shocked this time, her eyes rested easily on Saf’s scars (the same type of understanding she hadn’t seen on anyone since Vi). Summer smiled. “Yes. I’d like that a lot.”

#whump #woops #box boy #box girl? technically ?#i was thinking abt that universe and wrote this who knwos #my writing #char: summer #char: safiya

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