Rimechapel
Duke
Inner Sanctum Nobility
♔ Champion ♔
- Local time
- Today 2:08 PM
- Messages
- 736
- Pronouns
- he/his
"I'M HELPING!" the diminutive amphibian humanoid squeak-squawked, in a small but surprisingly loud voice. It was just shy of three feet tall, taupe with mauve spots and an underbelly the color of water lilies. Its two very busy, fastidious hands were grabbing things up and putting them where they almost certainly did not belong.
"Greg, he ain't helping, he's constantly in the way," a beleaguered brunette, perhaps just in her forties, said over the cheerful squawking. Her tone might have been taken for whining if she hadn't such a stentorious - if exhausted - alto.
"Ah, whatever, Lizzy," Greg said, waving his hand, and with it an acrid cloud from the vape he was enjoying. Greg was an old man, but just how old was a bit of a mystery; years of unclean living had been extremely cruel to his pudgy body and wrinkled face, but he still had a full head of gray hair and had been around for as long as anyone on the station could remember. "Just keep Bibbers over there happy until that ol' fatso comes back and picks him up. All good."
"All ain't good, Greg!" Lizzy shouted at him as the critter - one 'Bibbers,' apparently - knocked over a rack of assorted batteries and immediately ran around the resulting mess three times while waving its arms excitedly. One little hand held an EVA suit patch for some reason, and the other was as full of greased ball bearings as it could possibly get. "I've hadda clean up after this lil shit five times today alone and it ain't even time for me to take a lunch!"
"Lizzy, it's five thousand scrip and a favor. Each," Greg huffed, raising two bushy eyebrows. "A favor from that guy? Psh. Who cares about the money! Look, I'll be back in an hour. We'll switch out. Kay? Kay." Without waiting for Lizzy to finish shouting "Get back here you fucking jackass or I'll string you up by your toes," Greg beat a hasty retreat through a labyrinth of shelves laden with various and sundry parts and pieces of equipment until he emerged from the warehouse into the Promenade. Taking a deep breath of the peculiar aroma of that part of the Promenade, he made the trek to the tram, intent on getting food and as many vapes, alcoholic beverages, and dubious sources as caffeine as he could find.
"Greg... it's been a week... wh... when is that guy gonna come back?" Lizzy was hugging her knees, sitting in a dark corner.
"He'll be back, Lizzy," Greg grunted frantically, chasing after Bibbers, who was wielding in both hands a butterfly net full of what was probably not ethically sourced sushi. It was too late to undo the command the little scamp had managed to punch into the hazardous materials control console.
"I'M HELPING!" Bibbers squeak-squawked, its little webbed feet padpadpadpadpadding rapidly towards a vat of clear acid that was slowly emerging from a reinforced alcove on the warehouse wall.
"My system... m-my precious... organization system," Lizzy sobbed, laying in a fetal position, surrounded by a crater of empty ice cream cartons. "Six years of my life...."
"I'M HELPING!" Bibbers cried, not quite squeaking, nor quite squawking, as it padpadpadpadpadded from the far corner of the warehouse waving a badly bent spanner, and a laser pistol that was beeping dangerously and looked like it recently was struck several times by a spanner.
"It... It's only been ten days, Lizzy," Greg said, dabbing Lizzy's forehead with a damp towel.
"G... Greg...." Lizzy said weakly. "I... I'm not gonna make it....."
Greg could hear Lizzy, but try as he might, he couldn't respond to her. He was laid out on a cot, hands folded over his chest, all but comatose.
"That... that disease the last freighter brought in," Lizzy started, before she lapsed into a fit of productive coughing. When she finally wheezed to a sobbing lull, she spat into the waste basket by her own cot. She knew the official station orders were to quarantine. She didn't care anymore. She was scared, and neither of them were going to make it out of this alive. The station wasn't going to lift the barricades around the Promenade anytime soon - if ever. She didn't want to die alone.
"I thought... that strain had gone extinct," she whispered tearfully. "Back on the Old World? Thousands of fucking years ago?" She carefully measured her breath, trying to keep her lungs from wracking her with coughing again. "Spread by rats... and now... now, here it is... all over again... just... so much worse...."
Bibbers appeared at the door, holding a big plastic cup in both hands and padpadpadpadding towards Lizzy.
"Y-You....!" Lizzy hissed, her chest shivering as she fought the urge to cough, glaring daggers at Bibbers. If she had the strength to throw something as the pest, who seemed to be completely unaffected by the malady over the last week... she would have. Instead, all she could do was seethe, and try not to die.
Bibbers jumped up onto her bed and stood on her lap, shoving the cup into her face with all of the dignity of a grubby potbellied pig. "I'M HELPING!"
Lizzy coughed, and coughed, and coughed until she was coughing up blood, overcome with frustration and anger. But, once she finally caught ahold of herself she looked in the cup to find a half dozen syringes, each labeled "HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPHELP" hand written in red marker, almost making it look like something out of a horror movie. There was also a cracked data slate - one of those Faber-Castle models that was designed to fit in even the pockets of women's clothing - which, as Lizzy soon discovered, contained quite a lot of information on her health, that of Greg, and a serum that had been devised to fight their respective maladies.
"... A... Are you fucking serious right now!?" Lizzy sobbed, tears and snot streaming from any number of orifices on her body. Shakily, she administered one syringe to Greg, then another to herself. Bibbers, who she did not realize had left, returned with another cup of similar size to the first, but this one was filled with steaming hot coffee that smelled like it had been brewed with vodka.
"I'M HELPING!" the little guy squeak-squawked, offering it to Lizzy.
"Yeah... yeah. You are, you beautiful little dipshit," Lizzy hissed, taking the beverage from him.
"Greg, he ain't helping, he's constantly in the way," a beleaguered brunette, perhaps just in her forties, said over the cheerful squawking. Her tone might have been taken for whining if she hadn't such a stentorious - if exhausted - alto.
"Ah, whatever, Lizzy," Greg said, waving his hand, and with it an acrid cloud from the vape he was enjoying. Greg was an old man, but just how old was a bit of a mystery; years of unclean living had been extremely cruel to his pudgy body and wrinkled face, but he still had a full head of gray hair and had been around for as long as anyone on the station could remember. "Just keep Bibbers over there happy until that ol' fatso comes back and picks him up. All good."
"All ain't good, Greg!" Lizzy shouted at him as the critter - one 'Bibbers,' apparently - knocked over a rack of assorted batteries and immediately ran around the resulting mess three times while waving its arms excitedly. One little hand held an EVA suit patch for some reason, and the other was as full of greased ball bearings as it could possibly get. "I've hadda clean up after this lil shit five times today alone and it ain't even time for me to take a lunch!"
"Lizzy, it's five thousand scrip and a favor. Each," Greg huffed, raising two bushy eyebrows. "A favor from that guy? Psh. Who cares about the money! Look, I'll be back in an hour. We'll switch out. Kay? Kay." Without waiting for Lizzy to finish shouting "Get back here you fucking jackass or I'll string you up by your toes," Greg beat a hasty retreat through a labyrinth of shelves laden with various and sundry parts and pieces of equipment until he emerged from the warehouse into the Promenade. Taking a deep breath of the peculiar aroma of that part of the Promenade, he made the trek to the tram, intent on getting food and as many vapes, alcoholic beverages, and dubious sources as caffeine as he could find.
"Greg... it's been a week... wh... when is that guy gonna come back?" Lizzy was hugging her knees, sitting in a dark corner.
"He'll be back, Lizzy," Greg grunted frantically, chasing after Bibbers, who was wielding in both hands a butterfly net full of what was probably not ethically sourced sushi. It was too late to undo the command the little scamp had managed to punch into the hazardous materials control console.
"I'M HELPING!" Bibbers squeak-squawked, its little webbed feet padpadpadpadpadding rapidly towards a vat of clear acid that was slowly emerging from a reinforced alcove on the warehouse wall.
"My system... m-my precious... organization system," Lizzy sobbed, laying in a fetal position, surrounded by a crater of empty ice cream cartons. "Six years of my life...."
"I'M HELPING!" Bibbers cried, not quite squeaking, nor quite squawking, as it padpadpadpadpadded from the far corner of the warehouse waving a badly bent spanner, and a laser pistol that was beeping dangerously and looked like it recently was struck several times by a spanner.
"It... It's only been ten days, Lizzy," Greg said, dabbing Lizzy's forehead with a damp towel.
"G... Greg...." Lizzy said weakly. "I... I'm not gonna make it....."
Greg could hear Lizzy, but try as he might, he couldn't respond to her. He was laid out on a cot, hands folded over his chest, all but comatose.
"That... that disease the last freighter brought in," Lizzy started, before she lapsed into a fit of productive coughing. When she finally wheezed to a sobbing lull, she spat into the waste basket by her own cot. She knew the official station orders were to quarantine. She didn't care anymore. She was scared, and neither of them were going to make it out of this alive. The station wasn't going to lift the barricades around the Promenade anytime soon - if ever. She didn't want to die alone.
"I thought... that strain had gone extinct," she whispered tearfully. "Back on the Old World? Thousands of fucking years ago?" She carefully measured her breath, trying to keep her lungs from wracking her with coughing again. "Spread by rats... and now... now, here it is... all over again... just... so much worse...."
Bibbers appeared at the door, holding a big plastic cup in both hands and padpadpadpadding towards Lizzy.
"Y-You....!" Lizzy hissed, her chest shivering as she fought the urge to cough, glaring daggers at Bibbers. If she had the strength to throw something as the pest, who seemed to be completely unaffected by the malady over the last week... she would have. Instead, all she could do was seethe, and try not to die.
Bibbers jumped up onto her bed and stood on her lap, shoving the cup into her face with all of the dignity of a grubby potbellied pig. "I'M HELPING!"
Lizzy coughed, and coughed, and coughed until she was coughing up blood, overcome with frustration and anger. But, once she finally caught ahold of herself she looked in the cup to find a half dozen syringes, each labeled "HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPHELP" hand written in red marker, almost making it look like something out of a horror movie. There was also a cracked data slate - one of those Faber-Castle models that was designed to fit in even the pockets of women's clothing - which, as Lizzy soon discovered, contained quite a lot of information on her health, that of Greg, and a serum that had been devised to fight their respective maladies.
"... A... Are you fucking serious right now!?" Lizzy sobbed, tears and snot streaming from any number of orifices on her body. Shakily, she administered one syringe to Greg, then another to herself. Bibbers, who she did not realize had left, returned with another cup of similar size to the first, but this one was filled with steaming hot coffee that smelled like it had been brewed with vodka.
"I'M HELPING!" the little guy squeak-squawked, offering it to Lizzy.
"Yeah... yeah. You are, you beautiful little dipshit," Lizzy hissed, taking the beverage from him.
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