Come Sail Away IC Inbox

[crushed_pearls]

Erin's voice mail message is in a weary voice: "Erin Peters. If you called in the middle of the night and I didn't answer, I'm dying. If I pick up and someone on your end isn't dying, they will be shortly. Text otherwise."

Comments

[crushed_pearls]

"Or something," Erin echoes softly. "...Here lately I've found myself repeating something I got told, when I took help. Good people, bad people...people are just people. We don't get to be good or bad, that shit would be convenient and simple and the thing is few, if any, people are simple or straightforward."

An awfully convenient worldview for Erin specifically, which she'd told the Bishop who gave it to her. And the Bishop had laughed, and asked her what saint she knew that it wasn't convenient for.

[serialskiller]

"Erin, I'm a cyborg. It shouldn't be surprising that I gravitate towards binaries." But that's said with warm humor.

[crushed_pearls]

"...I can't make the gender joke here, I'm starving amidst plenty with how hard you walked right into one."

[serialskiller]

"Walked into a gender? Hardly." It flashes her a wry smile before diving back into pancakes.

[crushed_pearls]

"..." Erin busts up laughing. "I'm just - no you don't - like - I just - like, you bump into Skulduggery and then under the next full moon you just start grilling and building a deck -"

Is Dad a gender? It is for this sudden mental image.

[serialskiller]

"...like a deck of cards?" Erin. Erin, it lives in space. Its time on planets was in pneumatically sealed habitats for planetary surveys. It has never had a deck.

(or a dad)

[crushed_pearls]

"Nonono, god - oh no, I can't -" SecUnit she's dying. Erin holds the table to stop from falling over, realizing she fucked up her joke has somehow only taken her out harder. "It's - fuck - Peter or Ossie or S-Skullduggery could tell you it's - oh my god - gimmie a second -"

[serialskiller]

Murderbot pauses to stand, get Erin some water. And perhaps to take a moment away, because it's not sure if it's being mocked for the misunderstanding.

[crushed_pearls]

Erin takes the water gratefully, sips it gently to get herself back to steady. She wipes at her blindfold on old habit; not like she can actually cry laughing. "Okay. Okay so. That was my bad entirely but, a deck in this context is an outdoor extension to a house, usually made from wood, which is used as a social area and often contains a grill, seats, tables, and suchlike. On my world it is held, only like, thirty percent as a joke, that dads build them as part of ascending from ordinary maleness to dadhood - and given Skulduggery's like, intense Aura of Dad..."

[serialskiller]

"Aura of Dad? I'll take your word for it. I've never had one, remember? It's sort of like how Max was shocked no one's ever soothed me when I've been upset."

If it's rolling its eyes there, well, there might also be some hint of envy hidden in there somewhere.

[crushed_pearls]

"...I hope that's changed here." Erin remembers SecUnit's tears, not all that long ago. Who protects the protector?

[serialskiller]

It doesn't respond immediately, and when it does, it's a lateral conversation shift.

"Erin, if Helena ever dies, will you let me into your cabin, so I can be there when she wakes up?"

[crushed_pearls]

Erin's expression goes solemn. "Of course. I'd offer to take the floor so you can have my bed but I legitimately don't think my bed will survive you in its current state, but yes, of course."

[serialskiller]

“The exact logistics aren’t important. I just want to know I can be there for her.” It’s voice is quiet, and it’s almost preemptively ducking away from the next questions, perhaps waiting for teasing.

[crushed_pearls]

"You will be. And if you both go down at the same time catch me waiting up until six to open the door." Erin chews her lip for a moment, tilts her head. Decides to just say it. "Your friendship with her seems to have gotten quite deep quite quickly."

[serialskiller]

“Yes. It has.” It glances away. “She’s. Very nice.”

It doesn’t have the words.

[crushed_pearls]

"Relentlessly kind," Erin agrees. "That poor girl had to bloom in darkness, but oh how she does bloom. When we all get out of here she's gonna grow into something wild and unstoppable, I think."

[serialskiller]

"She might here, if no one stops her. Regardless, I will support her in any way she needs, for as long as she lets me."

It glances up, just a tiny peek, to see Erin's reaction to that.

[crushed_pearls]

That bird-like head tilt; it goes well with an expression of fond curiosity on Erin's face. She voices her thought aloud: "Many might take that kind of statement as something romantic."

[serialskiller]

"Ew." That's a response that comes without any thought at all. "Erin, you know I don't do romance."

[crushed_pearls]

Erin leans back in her chair, newly queen of the mostly-eaten breakfast. "What's romance, to you? Serious question."

[serialskiller]

"It's a human thing, pairing off to...interface. Pairing. Mouth stuff. It's all kind of gross."

Mouth Stuff, the next album coming out from Neil Cicierega.

"I mean, yes, I hold onto Helena, but I don't want...I mean. It's not like that."

[crushed_pearls]

Erin steeples her fingers. "I realize this is going to be rich coming from me of all people, but what if I told you that interfacing is not a required element, merely a culturally assumed one?"

[serialskiller]

The drone still in the air plays a clip of her voice. "Also the damaged elevator with the blood in is relatedddd..."

"You're right, it is very rich, coming from you.

[crushed_pearls]

"Hey! I know! I realize! I am horny as hell, I'm aware, and I don't intend to change that! But! -" Erin raises a finger. "There's many conceptions of love. A lot of humans are like, y'know, straight, romantic, and sexual, but those three things are like separate fucking setting sliders, is the thing. You can be romantic but not sexual; you can be sexual but not romantic, or, as many people do, be kinda sorta one of those things, or, hell, none of 'em. Love without a sexual element is often called Platonic love and don't ask me why it's called that because I will go on a tear about an old dead guy I hate whose one good idea was this one."