The reaver was parked in the hive’s bay, she could stride out completely naked, as usual, but she was shy now. Was it too much cleavage? She had no boobs
How many revolutions had it been? How many revolutions had it been…? Since that last time, all the way back on Phyros, with that Callethean boi? Boi…? So rare, they didn’t even need soldiers, he was just a, well, a pleasure drone, and to gao ye [勾嘢] – mess around, hook up – that was the whole point of him, him… and he did so demurely, pleasantly, and happily. Oh, he was happy all the time, so cheerful, and Vi loved to just hang out with him, but she could never book the time. He was popular. Introverted Vi was too shy and kept to herself too much, just doing her job of diving Quetzacoatl through anomalous clouds, huffing Phyroan gas, to ever get into any real cunnilingus trysts with her sisters, so the fact was, Vilithe Callethe had never been in a real romantic relationship before. Never been in a real romantic relationship before.
But still, the last time she booked the pleasure drone, what was his name again? Cloud Callethe? Probably more than twenty revolutions at this point. At least eighteen since she got enslaved, wasn’t it? Enslaved… And nothing more between then and now, other than that disgusting tease with, ick, Serun.
Oh Goddess, she was thirsty af. She was thirsty af.
Without much else left to do with the rest of it, she kept it to simple form fitting leggings. Can’t go wrong with that right? Leggings. A gurl’s best friend, best friend, so many ways to use them.
She had allowed some of her stomach spirit tattoos to show. These were inky black spirits, spirit…, that chilled out near the epidermis but could be told to hide when needed. They had been buried in her gut for too long. In cursive, calligraphical, oracle bone script-esque Jhiryese, and in any color she wanted at any time, even an animated evanescent rainbow flux of all the hexadecimal tones, all flowing together beautifully just like her, her…, and her, her, way of dancing through life even through the storms of danger, it said simply, on one side of her navel:
[7]
To form the singular character that represented Clan Callethe. It represented Queen Dannelle’s core belief, that only in bitter struggle, could the truest strength be found.
, meaning to tie or fasten up, to link, link, to connect, corner, nook, or recess, a net or mesh, meshed, in geometry it was the character for dimension. Or if paired, paired, with the character [纤] to make [纤维], it meant fiber, or string, or a long and thin object. Lithe. But void of context, it was just a sound, just like Vi. Voli- vo- v- no. But /v/ was a sound that was not spoken in Jhiryese, so it became /w/, Wi, or Wei
again just another sound, li, a common Jhiryese last name.
[苦力維利] Callethe, Vilithe.
Then on the other side, other side, of her navel,
, or mixed, blended, representing the many colors of the mythic serpent of which he, he?, was named.
[雜毛蛇] Quetzalcoatl. The blended feather serpent. A simple name for a simple dragon, it was just a gas huffer after all. A simple mouth and tail. Simple dragon for a simple worker. Worker…
Vilithe Callethe, rider of Quetzalcoatl. Vilithe Callethe-
The tattoos were to simplify psionic communication. The moment the elegant cursive ancient script could be seen, unmistakable in appearance, no thought was needed to communicate station and role. Station and role. It became a sort of glyph of pride. A signature. Signature. The more you saw the same symbols that gave you joy and comfort and companionship, companion, the more seeing that symbol triggered those same emotions. It became associated with the soul of the sister, and that’s how they became soul sisters, soul sisters, especially how easy it was to be friendly to each other in the abundance they had on Phyros, with no enemies or complicated intrigues at all to clutter the headspace. Headspace. And, in the end, they were just simple tattoos. But it gave her incredible strength and confidence just to have them shown. Stomach tattoos made sense for the sisters of Phyros, it was infernally hot there, and exposing midriff was classic gurl chic when it got hot. Hot.
She kept the stroke of the runes modest and thin, unassuming, so that from a distance you could barely tell that Vilithe had spirit-tattoos on her stomach, no more than a few thin traces of psychedelic clouds as the spirits snaked their way around her torso whichever way they pleased, and it really couldn’t represent her as an elvan more. An… elvan… anymore?
But Vilithe dared not show the glyphs that read her clan name Callethe.
Not here. Not here.
She had no makeup, but she hoped she could stop by Miz Dazey’s on the way to see Eidren, and splashed one last cold douse of water on her face to wake herself up and remind her that yes, this is really happening, and yes, you have gotten all of Binah’s sick off of yourself.
Meanwhile on the other side of the bay, Jhynie and Eidren were trying to get out of their reaver, but they were swarmed with Amallarkean fans all screaming “JHY - NIE! JHY - NIE! JHY - NIE!”
They all wanted to get a piece of the Holy Huntress who killed two of the dreaded Simulacra of the evil Lich Talisa.
“Let’s - go.” Jhynie kicked back and relaxed, still carrying Juulz, letting the crowd of adoration carry her by crowd surf to where the porgy was going to be, and where Jhynie was going to orgy porgy out hard. One could say she was gonna razza tang tang like a waghed out thirsty zug lookin’ for some dirty zug-zug. She wondered who her next scrumptious boi toy would be after Serun. With her inbound promotion, the realm was her oyster. She couldn’t wait to see what was just beyond the horizon.
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When Eidren could finally struggle out of the reaver, now alone in the bay, every other elvan had been whisked away by minders and spirits to attend the holy proceedings, he considered his gifts from his mother.
First was Muramasa. He noted the blade had grown as it cut through elvan flesh, that is, his flesh, absorbing gryphantene fibers and incorporating it into the body of the weapon. It was sheathed safely in its obsidian scabbard and hummed with the pure flux of gammavoltaic power, the source of power for the spirits to conduct psionics, and the hyper-magickal strength and stamina of the elvans. Eidren kept it in its scabbard, hoping that its devouring hunger for elvan blood and flesh would not need to be sated, so far only sated by him and Atell Boucher, if it lay dormant. He wished no other elvans would be forced to offer such payments. It shouldn’t be necessary unless it was drawn, he reasoned- which is why he didn’t want to draw it.
The thing seemed to emanate evil. Eidren didn’t want anything to do with it at all really. Yet he felt weirdly drawn to it, as if there were secrets buried in it about himself that he still needed to unlock. The feeling disturbed him and disgusted him. Still, it was his mother’s prized heirloom relic treasure, so he’d better hang on to it. He preferred not, but he might just need a powerful blade in a pinch.
As for the liquid carapace, well, wearing his mother’s clothes, it felt a little bit psychotic. While it gave protection, the other advantage was that it could be manipulated to cover up only what was needed, which was why the androus elvan was eager to gift it to Vilithe. What better gift to protect his love than wrap her up in a living suit of spirit armor? What better gift for himself than dressing her up in something skimpy?
His lower back hurt something bad. No one really seemed to care, but he had been exerting his body to the limit nonstop, with scarcely a bacta tank break in between. He was psionically damaged, frayed out of his mind. He just had to kill his own mom! In every sense of the word- Talisa was both his Queen Mother and Birthing Mother, she was one and the same, he had no Brood Mother. Where was the therapy? Where was the hazard pay? Now that he could comprehend all these things, he could also comprehend just how insanely unjust and unfair soldier oppression was in this damned elvan matriarchy.
“Ai-yah! Ai-yah, ai-yah,” Miz Dazey? And why did she feel the need to utter the syllable ‘yah’ so much? She ai-yah’ed Eidren like a harrowing Auntie, and shoved him rudely and roughly, to where she wanted him to go, afraid to puppeteer the psionic warrior.
“What- what- what is your deal, Auntie?” Eidren got the picture and started walking side by side with the briskly striding Miz Dazey, in cute corset and pleated skirt and that same punk rock corset bundling up her eight breasts, her hair in two buns as usual, and with the spirit pulled in dimples, and way too much fake freckles and straight up glitter all over her face. She was also rocking round frame shades.
“Aiyah, sui zai [衰仔]! You’re gonna make me late for my set, I’m going to spin. You better believe it will be fire, boi.”
Eidren scratched the back of his head as they broke into a jog. Music? They were going to listen to music. Wait, who is she again? What’s her name? She’s the deejay? What’s her deejay name?
Then back over in staging chamber E2391E, along the red arterial, Vi was being rudely and roughly bumped and shoved by a stream of excited workers, delirious beyond belief that finally the Administrator was going to throw a porgy! But Vilithe didn’t know this yet and neither did most of the workers around her, the thoughts were still bouncing around from mind to mind-
Amefrid’s done it! She killed Queen Talisa! We’re gonna rage so hard.
Has to be the first Queen she’s ever killed, isn’t it? Sidarael was Senjya’s first.
Wow, then it’s even right?
Senjya did it herself, with her own hands. I’d think Senjya’s accomplishment is more impressive.
Don’t let her highness catch you thinking that…
All this psionic chitter-chatter happened in total silence, but the excitement in the air was palpable, it was electric, it felt like every hair on the back of Vi’s neck was tingling with anticipation and static shock that finally she was going to touch Eidren, see Eidren, not just a hallucination of him. She had goosebumps. She was sweating. They were all sweating. She had to keep swallowing because her mouth kept filling up with saliva.
Though she was warm, she felt a chill, so she rubbed her bare arms to warm herself up, but she was already warm, so it just made her hot. Very hot. And bothered. She wiped some perspiration that had gathered between her cornrows and condensed on her dragonrider ports, wiping down her scalp like she was running her finger through loose hair.
Meanwhile over at the 0000FF chamber, a restricted blue passage meant for higher ranking psions only, where Dazey Amallark was practically dragging Eidren by the wrist because by the Goddess she was not going to be late for her set. They were running too fast for him to catch a breath and speak normally, so Eidren telepathed to her- hey, hey listen, uh, Miz, uh, Dazey? What is the rush here, I- “Ow,” I really could use a bit of a breather and a break, been a crazy fortrote.
Miz Dazey thought back, oh, soldier boi, if you think your body is going to get a break, you’re sorely mistaken. And I mean sore.
And that is when it finally clicked through Eidren’s thick, dumb skull that yes, this is it, this is going to be the moment that he actually finally sees Vilithe in real life, and meet her for real, and- wow, he dare not even think about what happens next, and so he broke into a triple time soldier sprint on hup two, “LET’S’, inhale, “GO!”, inhale, “MIZ!”, inhale, “DAZEY!” and now it was the poor ex-broodmother who had to shuffle and wheeze, and try to keep up.
Voli. A flicker.
Gurls. Or… boi? They haven’t fully synced yet.
He. Still struggling with the end of a story.
Ever. And accepting the beginning of a new one.
Stoked to get laid.
Queen Dannelle indeed shaped his features with spirit-surgery to look something approximating Cloud Strife.
And yes, that means that the meaning of the name of Callethe means ‘Bitter Strength’. But why? This is something that will have to wait for a later recording. Even Vilithe didn’t know. Most of Clan Callethe had forgotten why, the reason deleted from their minds by Queen Dannelle.
Recesses of the mind? What might be lurking there?
‘Willy’- Her given name sounded a lot less impressive in Lower Jhiryese, all things considered.
‘Willy’ was actually a very common nickname for Vilithe back in Phyros. She used to loathe it when her sisters called her that, she hated how masculine, masculine, how androus, androus, it sounded. Short for William! But these rotations, she missed being called that. Missed being called-
An ouroboros? A snake eating its own tail? Eating the self…
Let’s not Jinx her, she’s Vi.
While dragons could harness the power of split atoms from their massive fission hearts, this required a critical mass of isotopes. To recharge the fluidic superconductor lithium doped gryphantene slurry running through their blood that powered their spirits, elvans were born with gammavoltaic trickle chargers cells, grafted into their spines, sealing just enough uranium, and harnessing the gamma through gadolinium and lutetium doped gryphantene to trap the deadly radiation and convert it to usable power, to last for an average elvan lifetime. Muramasa consumed both the superconducting fluid, that is, ectoplasm, as well as the gammavoltaic cells embedded in elvan spines, to power himself. This meant that Muramasa grew permanently stronger, able to recharge more quickly, each time he ate the spine of an elvan.
This was why psionics had cooldowns- the spirits in the body needed recharge. It was the use of the fluidic superconductors that faster-than-neuron psionic phenomena, that is, perceived time dilation, could be made possible.
This was also how the psionic spell strength was possible- spirits would use artificial proton pumps to dump their own excess energy into the elvan’s biological energy system, their mitochondria.
Until it became necessary to do so, but that might not take place until much later in this recording. Patience is a virtue.
‘We all go a little mad sometimes.’
While he thought himself frayed, he was not psionically cognizant enough to realize that almost all of it had been repaired by his love for Vi, and her love for him.
Cantonese for ‘bad boi’, but in a scolding parental manner, not the sexy manner. Well, it could be, if that’s your kink. We don’t kinkshame. Curious that there was a little bit of Lower Jhiryan heritage in not just Clan Callethe, Clan Talauth, and the Thraxes household too, but also… Clan Amallark.
Poor vassal boi never got a chance to go to the pleasure chamber.
DJ Minni in the hive.
A classic symptom of dopaminergic surge.
He had yet to even lose his virginity, he couldn’t conceive of it.