rekindledtitan | Excerpt 003: Ship’s Cradle

Entry tags:

Excerpt 003: Ship’s Cradle

TYPE: Personal log

LOCATION: Orbit, Earth

PARTIES: Three [3]. One [1] Ghost-type, [1] Guardian-type, designate Blaze-37, Class Titan [

rekindledtitan], One [1] Unconfirmed, designate Hughes, Maes [

bestdadinamestris]

ASSOCIATIONS: Multiversal Nexus; Maes Hughes; Earth; Multiversal Phenomena; Blaze-37; Amestris; Dr. Hill; Deep Stone Crypt; [REDACTED]

Blaze should have figured the warning signs for what they were. When the senses slow and the body insists on sinking into the nearest furniture, it ought to be a clue. But she has no memory of fatigue, no sense of whether her body is just complaining or injured or seriously needs to rest. So it’s not until their meeting at the Harp sees her stuffed with food and forced to actually sit down for a while that the torpor kicks in.

She’d like to shake it off, but the more level (and more inorganic) heads around her are able to point out that that’s not how human biology works.

She’s yawning uncontrollably when they materialize aboard her one-room jumpship. It wakes up for them with a soft hum, lights revealing a cabin just big enough for both she and Hughes to move around. Every inch of the clean metal plating looks like it’s part of some compartment or pull-out section, and that includes the floor. To sharp Exo senses it might look a bit patchwork, too: different panels have subtly different finishes; signs of repair are everywhere. There’s little sign of home comforts: just one cushy pilot’s chair, Blaze’s helmet clipped alongside it.

“I’m… going to power up the life-support systems,” the Ghost says, swooping over to the controls.

Blaze tries to talk through her next yawn. “Oh… yyyeah. Good thinking. Uh.” She looks up at Hughes and waves a hand toward the star-speckled view up front. “Welcome to Earth orbit.”

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“You ought to be fine,” Blaze assures him. Tries to. “You already got jumped into my body, you shouldn’t lose anything if you’re resurrected. I’m pretty sure of it.” Her Ghost sighs quietly.

“She sounds like a great kid.” Blaze dares to look Hughes’ way, mouth quirking with the reflex of a smile. “Makes the fight all the more worthwhile, knowing who you’re doing it for.”

“And it’s another reason to get home safely,” the Ghost adds quietly. It almost sounds like a reminder.

Hughes nods along with Blaze's assurances. He certainly doesn't feel any better about the idea, but he won't say anything further about it.

The picture is tucked back into his wallet carefully before he hands said wallet back to Blaze for safekeeping. A lack of pockets means he's not about to hang onto it right now, despite a desire to do so. "Maybe we should try and figure this whole charade out, then? No time like the present and all that. Well, uh, maybe after some breakfast for you, of course." He nods to Blaze. Damn this is weird.

Blaze blinks, actually looking a bit dismayed as she replaces the wallet in the pocket where she found it. "I ate right before we came back here! I haven't even been active!"

"No, but it has been some time. I'm sure you'll be hungry soon." The Ghost isn't going to let her run herself into the ground so soon. It's with Hughes on this.

"...Fine. Give me a minute to wash my face. Skin's feeling kinda weird." There's a compartment along one wall that opens into a small cleaning unit - it looks like it's actually for equipment maintenance, but the important thing to Blaze is that there's running water and a clean cloth she uses to dry off delicate gear. She remembers to take the glasses off and set them aside gently, first.

The Ghost looks up at Hughes in the meantime. "Should we look for any type of food in particular? I've never had to account for human eating habits before."

"It's just a little sweat and oil. A quick rinse should be enough." Watching Blaze wash up makes Hughes think a bit more critically about his usual routine. His body looks like hell right now - the least it could use is a quick shower and a hot breakfast. Coffee would be nice, but unnecessary. And, of course, a bathroom break somewhere in there, despite all the awkwardness that presents.

"Something savory would probably be best," he says as he turns to Ghost. "Eggs, toast, some bacon or sausage... things like that. There's a few diners in the Nexus we can visit for that." He'll try to steer Blaze away from anything too sweet - too much sugar in the morning isn't good for anyone.

Blaze is very unsophisticated about washing. She’s just splashing cold water over her face and scrubbing vigorously until she has to suck in a breath-

-gasping involuntarily at the cold, blinking water away and brushing damp hair from her eyes. What she needs is a shot of coffee and an excuse, any excuse-

-she blinks again, and she’s just hunched over the compact workbench in her own ship, the familiar vibration coming up softly through the metal to where she’s gripping the edge with white fingers. She lets out a long, unsteady breath, trying to place herself while the others talk. Then she slaps the bench top hard enough to make her Ghost jump and leave her hand stinging.

“Blaze! Are you all right?” Her partner ventures closer, but she just waves it off and steps back over to the pilot’s seat, drying her face. She’ll need another minute of squinting before she remembers to go back for the glasses.

“Fine. You two figured out where we’re going yet? I want to get back to figuring this out. Still think Hughes ought to go for a test run. Can’t hurt to learn what you’re packing now, right?” Not like she hasn’t been pushing her temporary body.

Hughes hovers a bit more than is necessary when Blaze seems to lose her grip on reality. He's not pushing - yet - but the desire should be obvious, despite his lack of facial expressions.

"Yeah, we'll hit the Nexus for breakfast. We can figure everything else out after that." Hopefully after they get their bodies back. Sorry, Blaze, but there won't be any trying things out while Hughes has your body. He's ready to be back in his own already.

Blaze looks up at Hughes for a second. If she notices his concern, she’s dismissing it as readily as she does Ghost’s. Why get concerned about something that can’t be changed? That surely doesn’t matter in any case?

“Right.” Dried off, she replaces the glasses carefully and checks they’re straight. She takes a last look at the view, nodding toward it. “That’s something, you know. Seeing Earth the way our- hm, the way humans see it. Wouldn’t mind remembering that.”

The cloth is put away for later washing before she nods to Ghost. “All right. Make it somewhere we’ve already seen. No wandering about.”

She's going to try ribbing Hughes into some fun if she realizes he's backing out on that.

"The Harp it is, then." They've got plenty of savory things to eat there and the staff is always accommodating to his out-of-the-ordinary requests. No reason to think they'd do otherwise, given they saw him in Blaze's body yesterday. "Can you get us back to the Nexus?"

She can rib all she wants, but it's likely she's going to get frowning Dad face in response.

Blaze nods to the Ghost, who flashes and announces, “If everyone’s ready…”

Since everyone is, it transmats them to a point outside the main door of the Harp. Blaze leads the way in. She wants to get them a table well inside by a wall where she doesn’t have to keep looking up at strangers. Might mean less stimulation for Hughes to deal with, too. She’ll let her friend order, only butting in to veto any coffee (for some reason, she’s not in the mood for that) and to check if he wants another powerpack.

The guy could use something to lighten his mood, in her opinion.

Less people to deal with is probably a good idea right now. Being in a familiar place, but not sensing things as he normally would, puts him on edge. He order breakfast for Blaze quietly, passing on the powerpack for himself, and sighs once the satyr-waiter is out of earshot.

"I know food's off the table, but I don't suppose I can have a drink in your either, huh?" Not that it would do much for his nerves in his own body, but he needs something to fidget with right now.

She's been eyeing the table grimly, but now her head snaps up, looking startled at him.

"That's what the pack is for. You didn't realize?" She's been trying to get you buzzed this whole time, Hughes. "Guess it's not as close as I thought."

"I'm not sure we really stopped to explain everything clearly," the Ghost points out diplomatically. It's quite an understatement. Moreso considering the number of things Blaze has actively chosen not to stop and explain.

He blinks. Once. Twice. Then he shakes his head.

"Could've told me sooner. I could've used a drink yesterday to calm my nerves even a little bit." Take that as a 'yes I'll take one powerpack, please.'

"Anything else I should know while we're on the subject?"

"Uhhh. Nothing urgent, I think." She cocks her head at him speculatively. "Okay, here's something. Give me your arm, and hold it still."

Soon as he's got his hands on that powerpack, he's taking a nice long swig, because this seems like it's about to be one of 'those' kinds of conversations.

He holds out his arm, perfectly still despite his nervousness. "Now what?"

She grabs his arm with business-like briskness, finding the catches and the circuit overrides from memory. Lucky her armor isn't too fancy and secure yet, because this way she's able to detach the gauntlet and slide it off, giving Hughes his first look at his new hand.

For the heavy gauntlet and the weight behind it - for the steel-crushing strength it still bears - the Exo hand seems oddly slender, almost skeletal in its white plating. The sleeve of his innermost bodysuit extends over the wrist, black and soft, but Blaze rolls that back a bit so he can see the joint. There's a minimum of visible moving parts: his body looks armored even beneath the armor.

"All right. Mind the shift in weight," she warns, setting the gauntlet aside. The caution is reinforced by the heavy thunk: there's quite a bit of mass layered into the armor along with fancier ways of making her punches hit harder.

Blaze turns his palm over, and then runs her fingertips lightly over his hand. And it turns out that whatever the stereotypes about robots, an Exo's sense of touch is thousands of times more sensitive than a human's. Hughes will be able to feel his own fingerprints, the tiny scars on his skin, the precise friction and flex as human skin brushes against its machine counterpart.

Hughes watches with an immense fascination as Blaze removes the gauntlet. And then she's running her fingers - his fingers - along the exo hand and the sensations are exhilarating. He can feel his own finger prints, feel the dozens of tiny cuts along his fingers from his push knives, all the small things that make his hands so rough. It's amazing...

...for about three seconds until it becomes a little too much. He snatches his extended hand back rapidly, which brings about a whole new set of sensations. The mix of warm air currents with the cold, stale air creeping into the Harp. Tiny particles floating in the air bumping into his hand. The moisture of Blaze's breath against his skin as he pulls his hand past her face.

"Enough. Enough." The experiment was fun, but Hughes wasn't ready for so much at once, it seems.

Blaze is obviously startled when he jerks his hand away, glad she wasn't trying to hold on. She blinks at him for a minute, then picks up the gauntlet to offer it to him. Hovering between them, the Ghost looks a little wide-eyed, for a being with just one eye.

"You all right?" Blaze queries, low voiced and frowning quietly as she watches him.

"Yeah, fine." There's an audible sigh as flexes and stretches his fingers after the gauntlet is back on. Now he gets the need for the armor - feeling that all the time would be hell on the senses. "Just a little much, that's all."

Don't mind him if he finishes off the rest of that powerpack, though.

"Guess you're not calibrated for my senses either." She nods. "That's one reason Exos wear clothes, even those who've left combat duties. Cuts down the extra sensory input if you don't want distractions." Which isn't such a big deal for everyone, but... stimuli tend to trigger the memory, too.

Hell, even the tactile feed through the armor isn't far off a human's sensitivity, but it's much easier to handle.

She chuckles. "Course, mostly it's just habit and culture. Feels kinda vulnerable otherwise, you know?"

"Guess some things don't change no matter where or when you're from," he observes with a chuckle.

And then breakfast arrives. A plate full of eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and a fresh, warm strawberry scone. It may look daunting to Blaze, but Hughes is sad that he won't get to enjoy it. The food at the Harp is always amazing. "Don't have to eat all of it," he notes, "but at least half would be a good start."

As for himself? Hughes is getting another powerpack. The edge hasn't worn off yet and he could use a little more to push him in that direction.

"Humans." Blaze shrugs, but there's a kind of affection in her voice.

Faced with the full breakfast, she gives a grim nod (in complete contrast to the way her mouth waters and her stomach growls at that smell). She digs in with a steady determination most people reserve for digging trenches. Maybe she's actually trying not to enjoy it.

She's deliberately not thinking on her moment of confusion at the cleaning bench; she'd rather not think about any of her current sensations, but there's nothing here she's allowed to hit. Hard to do that and eat, anyway. Suddenly the risks of talking to Hughes seem much less. Blaze eyes him as he starts on the next pack. She knows her own capacity; at this rate, he'll start to get pleasantly buzzed pretty soon. Pretty chatty, too. It's worth venturing some conversation to see if she can get him started. She's planning to put away all the food she can, and it'll help if he supplies the noise.

Blaze, too, can be more calculating than she normally appears.

"Don't really get how you do it, you know." She's still getting to grips with the cutlery, eyes on the bacon she's cutting. Thank Light for Hughes' muscle memory. "I always figured that's why they chose us from the dead. No family ties left, even if you weren't Exo. Only the fight. Makes it easier."

No-one to miss you, or be missed in the field. Only your brothers and sisters in arms, and who would abandon them?

Hughes is quiet for a moment while he finishes the second powerpack. The buzz is... different from what he's used to, but not unpleasant. As much as he wants another, he's going to pass for now. Best to see how this settles out before diving in too deeply.

"If you have no family, what do you fight for? What makes it worth while? Is it your comrades-in-arms? Your friends? Pride for a job well done? There's any number of things to become attached to, all of which can cause ties that hurt when they're lost or severed."

Maybe not the kind of noise Blaze was hoping for, is it?

She was definitely hoping for more harmless family talk and less of this weird introspection stuff, that’s for sure. Maybe she’s not very good at harmless chatter right now.

“I fight for all of those. The Light. The City. Humanity. Fun. Still seems less- hm. Distracting, if you ask me. All those reasons come back to the battlefield. You lose them, it’s probably because you’ve lost everything. Nothing else to worry about.” She has another mouthful, swallows and shrugs. “It’s simple.”

Hughes nods along as Blaze explains. "It's the same way with family. If you lose that battle you're fighting, that war? You've likely lost your reason for fighting as well." He shrugs and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"It's all a matter of perspective. My family makes the fight worth while for me. I have every reason to give my all, because they're waiting for me. For some, the risk is too great. For me? It's exactly what I need."

Somewhere in that Exo body he's currently residing in, Hughes is smiling about that. He could say any number of things about the subject, but, really, it comes down to choosing your reasons for fighting. And for Hughes, it's his family. Always has been, always will be.

Blaze grunts in a way that says she still doesn’t get it. But also she’s taking the chance to shovel that hash brown into her mouth. Here’s hoping her next lesson isn’t ‘the joys of indigestion’.

“What about them? Doesn’t bother them when you’re off in the field? When you’re up against that risk?” Keep talking, Hughes. She has no idea about any of this stuff. “Besides, seems to me family’s a whole distraction on its own.” What's the jam supposed to be for? Doesn't go too well with the eggs, she's figured that out anyway.

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