#went to the hospital's cafe and it smelled so good so we bought pastries but i can't eat pastries and i had forgotten that for a second | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

one-of-us-must-be-crazy · 6 years

Text

stained.

So I doubt any store or fad will last this long into the future, but it was brought on by a tumblr post “cute date idea: go pick out a bathbomb with your S/O and use it together” and then a conversation I had about said horrible idea with OutreOtter (”how don’t they stain the bathtub?”), who said I needed to write it.

It didn’t snow on Luna. The artificial climate didn’t allow for it. More than that it was August, which was why it was so concerning to Christopher to see it outside of the shopping mall window: small white flakes falling from above.

“Amy, why are they making—“

“Snow? They do that sometimes, it’s a Christmas advertisement I think.”

“That’s months away.”

“I know,” she said, looking at a window display of colorful gift-boxes, “The godforsaken world of retail wants people to get excited for Christmas early, it’s bullshit. I try not to go near big shopping areas after July,” she said. Gods this place is turning into a theme park… When her mother was born, Luna was a mechanical station and a three-building campus for low-gravity research. When Amanda moved there for work, there was a major Colonial Marine base, complete with a hospital that served the entire lunar colony; military, corporate, and private docks at the ship yard, and dozens more research facilities. A small city building up around the number of full-time citizens that were needed to run both the base and the mechanics of preserving the crater fields on the front of the moon while maintaining a stable atmosphere. At first the place was a refuge from holidays and current events and current trends, but within months she noticed the change, noticed the city developing more into the kind of small city-town that she had lived in as a little girl: shopping and a library, cafes, and tourists. Gaudily dressed upper middle-class families and couples there to see the Earthrise. Hotels and bars (the latter she didn’t mind so much; if there were other people in the bar it didn’t count as drinking alone), more fucking shopping stores and then the mall. Holidays were the worst, but the screaming tourist children weren’t the reason.

Before moving to Luna Christmas was a miserable season of constant reminders. Advertisements of big, happy families mocked her openly wherever she went. The respite from it barely lasted two seasons. In the malls and departments stores it began early. Everywhere else it still began early, but not until October or so. Damn shame too, Halloween’s about the only holiday that doesn’t guilt you for not having anyone in your life. Though this upcoming Halloween had occurred to her, and in the process of wanting to give her lover as much experience in the human social world as she could, she planned on finding something for them to do. Maybe even hand out candy to the kids in their apartment building.

“What,” Samuels asked, looking over Ripley’s shoulder into the store, “are those?” An employee was dropping a soft-ball sized blue and green globe into a clear glass tank: it spun around in the water and began to froth.

“Bath-bombs. Expensive little soap balls that fizz and bubble when you drop them in water. Some of them have dumb prizes inside, or a fuck-ton of glitter.”

“I want to go in and see,”

“I’m not stopping you.”

“Can you come with me?” They had reached a point that they weren’t bothered by splitting up while out. For him to ask her to watch him wasn’t usual anymore; she had already been poised to cross the hallway into a Wallace computer store.

“Why?”

“Because most of the patrons inside are teenage girls.”

“Afraid one of them will try flirting with you?” it wasn’t likely; thus far the only women she ever noticed giving him more than a passing glance were usually older than her.

“No? I’d only feel out of place.”

“Alright,” she smiled, not wanting him to think that the request bothered her, and followed him in; she was immediately assaulted by a few hundred horrifically clashing scents of fruits and flowers. “What was so interesting about—“

“If I could get a closer sense of one of them, I could tell their chemical make-up,” he returned her smile, “I’m curious.”

“Epson salt, soap, and acid of some kind—I think.” She watched him pick up a few different ones, smell them and set them down. “Do you want one?” she asked picking up a small robot-shaped block.

“You aren’t funny, luv.”

“It’s called ‘ickle-baby-bot’, it’s adorable.”

“It’s insulting.”

“Ickle baby,” she laughed, pressing a slight, quick kiss on his cheek. “Still wish you could blush,”

“Ah, the only attribute of mine I am thankful for: that I can’t.” Though he was hardly recognized this far from the marine base and Weyalnd-Yutani’s Luna offices, he was more concerned that someone would notice that Amanda was kissing a synthetic. He was far from being embarrassed by her affections, though still a little flustered at the idea of getting drawing attention.

“I’ll buy one if you want,”

“Not really, I was curious, that was all.” A large purple one stood out, emitting a heady amount of lavender perfume; he picked it up, and handed it to her. “What do you think of this one?”

“I like it,” she smiled. “Let’s get a couple of them, we could use one tonight.”

“Should I leave?”

“Why?” she asked.

He lowered his voice to answer: “We’re an obvious couple looking at them together, and if we purchase them together…”

“We’re wearing wedding rings. Those girls by the front window are holding hands, they’re not separating to sneakily buy anything.”

“Alright, alright. Then at least let me buy them,”

“Whatever you want.”

An absurd amount of money later, they boarded the shuttle back to the old side of Luna. They lived closer to Tranquility Base, closer to the offices and austere military buildings, and the older laboratories—which meant that at least once a week he was recognized as a synthetic.

To those who recognized his make, the ring told them nothing: they never noticed and he might as well be invisible. Still, for Amanda’s sake (though she didn’t know about it) if going out on his own he put his ring in his pocket, or didn’t wear it out at all. True, he had a suspicion that the building manager and front desk attendants all knew what he was and that he and Ripley were together, but he didn’t want it becoming common knowledge for the sake of her reputation and dignity.

At least holding out a hand, and gently taking her forearm to help her off the shuttle could have also been read as an action of servitude rather than genuine care. Unlike her insistence on kissing him, even chastely while they’re in the city center, these were quiet and unnoticeable gestures that felt strangely freeing.

Touching her in general felt freeing.

Once to the front door of their building, Amanda held it open for him: her sense of courtesy rather than chivalry. If someone was behind you, you hold the door, even if that someone was actively insisting that he had it along with all the day’s shopping bags and her jacket over his arm. She showed her card at the front desk and used it to activate the lift. The design of the place was dated, half three-star-hotel like any nicer-than-garbage building she had ever seen, and half gimmicky-retro-space-station. She repaired a historical roller coaster in Florida once with a similar design after Weyland-Yutani bought the theme park. Walking the whole way around to the other side of the building after arriving on their floor was just the tip of the “bad layout” architecture, but that did mean that their corner apartment was in the price range of Weyland-Yutani’s payout. Didn’t matter, it was endlessly better than the dormitory-style place she had lived before.

Christopher set the bags down on the kitchen counter bar, and Amanda flopped onto the sofa across the flat.

“I’m too tired for all that we did,”

“You lasted through five stores though,” about where her limit was now. They’d taken a trip like this the first day in the flat—mere weeks (excluding cryo) since the disaster of Sevastapol—and she could hardly take the crowds, having to sit in corners, tug her partner aside, and eventually apologizing that she had to stop and go home. A lovely day shopping for ‘new home’ items and groceries had driven her to a breakdown. Now she was only crashed on the couch, only as worn out as anyone might be if they’d been up late the previous night.

Which she had been.

…Quite late.

“Do you still want to try one of the bath bombs tonight?” she asked.

“If you’re exhausted then no,” he was unpacking the day’s prizes: an odd looking blender that he thought he could use to make her fruit smoothies breakfast—pestering her to actually eat fruit might be easier if she didn’t have to sit down, seeing as she preferred to roll out of bed less than half an hour before she had to be at work. Really anything other than those toaster pastries and cold coffees. There were also other things, more foreign to him, more strange and surreal: a cake knife and server engraved in elegant script an intertwining AC. He had picked them out, chosen the script, gave the initials, and paid for them. Amanda didn’t care about material things, she didn’t even need the ring he bought her but they were all things that she would have if she had a real engagement, a real marriage. It’s been hardly eight months; if you were human you wouldn’t have bloody proposed to her yet, you overthinking, overdramatic, overexcited idiot.

“Earth to Christopher, where the fuck did you go? I asked you something.”

“Hmm? Sorry, I was thinking…” he played over the last moments of audio in his head, heard her question: “I’m fine as long as it’s just the bath, sounds relaxing. What about you?”

“Just relaxing sounds nice; you can run it as you see fit,” he walked over and handed her the bag of the bathbombs.

“If you’re good then I’ll get on that now, before I pass out.” she stood up and stretched, and then walked down the hall. A wayward glance at the bags on the counter and he followed her; he could put them away later.

Amanda gave another yawn, and stretched out as she pulled her shirt off. Despite seeing this often he wasn’t used to it yet, the look of her skin, the curves, lines, scars and freckles. Red, mean looking indents where her bra-straps had dug into the skin. She stepped out of her jeans too as the water in the bath rose.

“You can drop the thing in if you want,” Amanda said, slipping in the water contently. The soft vanity lights gave enough of a glow to see, but without the harsh light of the ceiling lamp, he’d have to keep an eye on her to be sure she didn’t fall asleep in the water. He undressed slowly, bordering on shyly, and followed her, reaching for the paperbag of the purple-hued balls and dropping one in the water between them. Amanda had rarely used any before—too expensive, too temporary—and watched with interest, though less interest than he took. Christopher was strangely fascinated by it. However, unlike Amanda the first time that she used one, he didn’t prod at it until it fell apart. The quiet fizzing and the scent of lavender lulled her even more and she stretched out her legs beside her lover’s, leaned back against the edge of the tub and shut her eyes.

Christopher smiled at the sight of her, up nearly to her neck in the water. They had taken to showering together somewhat often, and baths a little less. Some days still Amanda would need the company if not the contact and they’d sit like this until the water grew cold, her with her eyes shut and he usually reading on his waterproof-cased datapad. It wasn’t inherently sexual, but seemed all the more intimate for it.

The thin layer of foam dissipated quickly on the water’s surface was less exciting than he had hoped it would be, but the water was dyed a gentle purple.

“Amy?”

“Mm?”

“This won’t stain the bath will it?”

“Oh no, the color rinses away,” she sat up, the water now barely to her chest, and shivered at the contact of air on wet skin. “Fuck, I’m gonna pass out; sorry...I have to go to bed.” She climbed out of the bath but spoke up when he made motion to follow, “No, don’t. Relax and enjoy it,” she dried off and let her hair down.

“Are you sure?”

“Mmhmm,” Amanda knelt by the bath and leaned over to kiss him.

Of course she probably didn’t mean for it to be serious, she’s tired, she’s going to bed to sleep, she was just trying to kiss him good night. Still Christopher’s voice of reason was shut down by a flare of mischief and he reached up behind her with a hand on the back of her neck, soaking her hair and tilting her enough that she deepened the kiss with a deep sigh.

Ripley enjoyed the bit of an ornery streak he was having, between this and initiating the previous night’s activities, and didn’t pull back until he moaned softly, and let go of her hair. She drew back slowly, catching a second, nearly imperceptibly quiet hum of pleasure from him.

“Good night,” she whispered, her eyes still half shut.

“Good night, darling.”

The light was dim, but his arm was still resting on the side of the tub, not under water as before, and she could note something not right about—

“Um…?”

“Everything alright?”

Amanda turned the ceiling lamp on as well, and Christopher was in full, bright color. Bright purple, to be more specific.

“oh hell, Amy what am I supposed to—“ he try to rub a patch of the purple off his arm under the water, reached around for soap and tried that, and still, his skin was the same pale violet that the water was.

“Try to shower it off under hotter water?” Amanda didn’t seem as bothered as she did amused, and the more frantic he became, the funnier she found it.

“Are you laughing? God, this is—this is—I have to be at the office tomorrow.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It won’t come off.”

“Are you sure?”

“Amanda I’m periwinkle!”

She didn’t know which was funnier, the look of terror on his face or—

“PERIWINKLE? Why not say blue or purple or—“

“Oh does it matter?” he shook his head, trying to think of a solution, something as an excuse to not report to the office the next day. “Alright, I have to dry off, can you leave?”

“What, why?” she managed between bouts of laughter.

“Because, dear, I think it’s safe to assume that all of me is ‘blue or purple,’” he quoted her with a meticulous copy of her accent, “And I’m afraid that you won’t ever stop laughing then.”

“Ffff….S-Sorry, it’s just so—“

“I know, it’s my fault, I’m the one that wanted to see the damn thing—“

“You’ve sworn twice, you are upset.”

“You think so?” he turned his respirator fans on high, and then gradually slowed them until he was back to a workable internal temperature. “Please leave?”

“Alright,” she left her towel on the floor, nudging the door half-shut behind her as she retreated to the darkness of their room. Only after he heard her open a dresser drawer for a night shirt that he got out of the water.

A quick glance and the damage was surveyed: from the middle of his chest down, and on his arms from just under the elbows, he was stained purple. His lover wasn’t, their bath wasn’t.

“Wonderful…”

“I’m sorry I was laughing,” said the Ripley-shaped bundle of blankets on the right side of the bed.

“Apology accepted, please help me figure out what will take this off in the morning...”

“Can I see?”

“I’m not turning the lights on,”

She rolled over and reached out to him in the dark, purred softly when her hand made contact with bare skin; her hand drifting gently down until meeting the waistband of his pants. She withdrew in favor of leaving her hand over his core; about where a human’s heart would be. “How d’you think it happened? Your skin isn’t porous.”

“I am thoroughly convinced that the reason this happened is because you are the only stroke of luck I have had in eight years,” his hand covered hers, and he continued softly “And you are so amazing that to even it out, the rest of my life is going to continue to be a series of absurd misfortunes.”

“That’s very sweet. Still don’t think I can take you seriously until you don’t look like background ghoul in Beetlejuice.”

“When have you ever taken me seriously?”

“I did before.” The slight emphasis on the last word made it clear what she meant: their entire mission of Sevastapol. Unless it was the subject at hand, Ripley never mentioned the place, or anyone involved by name.

“I need an excuse not to go to the office tomorrow.”

“Use me as an excuse; or say you need servicing, it’s not like you’ve ever cost them a sick day before. We’ll go to the hardware store, find a solvent that might lift that stain out.”

“Could you go alone? I’d have to wear gloves to hide this and I would rather not attract the attention.”

“Understood,”

“God I hope something works,” he said in as close to a mumble as his audio system would allow. “I’ll bleach it if I have to.”

“Wouldn’t that take out the flesh tone too? You’d look like a ghoooooost,” she was quiet, tired but still sounded mirthful. “Better than the purple people eater.”

“The what?”

“It’s an old, old stupid Halloween song about a purple monster.”

“Please go to sleep before you come up with any more flattering remarks.”

“Then please stop sounding like you’re fucking dying.” Amanda tugged their duvet up to her shoulders, and shut her eyes.

“Dear.”

“Hm?”

“Was that a pun on dyeing as in to give color to something?”

“No, but let’s say that it was, make me sound more clever,” she shifted slightly, her arm over his torso hugged him tight for a moment and then relaxed. “‘Night…”

Earlier that year, he would wait until she was asleep to leave the room and sit awake in the center of the apartment, ever on guard, paranoia tearing him away from her side. Now he waits until she fell asleep before starting partial shut-down, a sleep of a kind. The last fully conscious act was a soft kiss on her temple, before the quiet exhale of his respiratory fans turning off.

#mine #once I clean it up i'll put it on ao3 probably #outreotter #ripuels

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