Tough Talk
01 Apr 2016Terra Sheer
Meatbrick wanders out, muttering about "recapitulated tempura kittens" ... or whatever abortion of enunciation sounds like "recapitulated" when it falls out of his mouth, given his clearly limited vocabulary. I'm left staring down Lizard, who perches on the edge of the workbench with his knees angling off to either side. He drinks out of a safety jar he clutches in front of him with both hands. More frog than lizard, maybe. It's a shame -- did I name him wrong? My first impressions of people are usually so much more accurate....He winks, licks. Okay. Maybe not so far off, after all. I notice his eyes are different colors.
With every wet smack of his lips on the jar's straw, tiny beads of liquid go tumbling away into the weightless hollows of the room. The light glints through them briefly before they lose themselves in shadow.
It reminds me how thirsty I am.
"Hey." My voice comes rough and dry, like there's a thousand years between now and the last time I spoke to anyone. I try to smile, but my face feels stiff. "Are you just drinking, or sharing?"
"Just drinkin'," Lizard says. He slurps, conspicuously.
There are a dozen things I think to say, ranging from the scathing to the venomous, but the only thing that makes it to my lips is, "Please?"
He eyes me for a long time. Finally, he gets up and comes toward me, holding the jar ahead of him. Wordlessly, he offers it. A big bead of his spit quivers on the end of the straw ... but through an initial quiver of revulsion storms a desperate animal craving.
My hands and feet are bound, and I can barely move anyway, zipped up to my neck in this sleepsack. But I lunge at it even so, straining against the rough seam of the sack even as it digs into my throat ... just to get those last few inches closer. I grab the straw with my teeth, suck the jar's fluid down like it's the very essence of life itself.
But it isn't water. Whatever hits my throat burns through my whole head. I cough. Gasp. Forget to turn my head, and I end up breathing in the weightless haze of droplets I've just spat out. They burn just as bad in my lungs as in my mouth. Actually ... maybe a little worse.
Lizard grins and cackles. "What's the matter, little fishy? Don't like moonshine? You ungrateful bitch! I even stilled it myself--"
He goes to take another pull from the straw, but someone slaps the jar out of his hand.
"...the hell is wrong with you, Jack?"
It must be Scar, come back to check on his investment. I can't make him out too well through the spots crawling in my vision as I huddle against the bulkhead, retching and straining for breath.
"Aw, come on, cap'n! Just havin' a little fun--"
"Have it on your own dime."
He grabs me by the hair, wrenches my head up, and sprays water down my throat. Oh, sweet water! Cool and pure! I only wish I could keep more of it down, but I can't stop coughing--
After a while, my lungs sort themselves out. My head is throbbing ... and I'm soaking wet. Scar hovers next to me, regarding me with vague disdain in his one blue eye. I can't really blame him. I'd probably be disgusted at me, too, right now.
"Thanks," I mumble.
"You know...." He lifts my head, and uses a hand-held vacuum to suck the moisture off my face and out of my hair. "You're going to have to learn to look after yourself better, where you're going."
"Oh!" My voice breaks. I cough one last time. "You're taking me to Achenar! That's so sweet! You know, my momma always said she was going to take me to Achenar someday ... as soon as I'd learned some damn manners!"
"Somebody is going to have fun breaking you," he says.
"And here I thought I was gonna be breaking them."
He grunts a laugh, shakes his head. Leaves me to ache and shiver in peace.
I smile at small victories. I know they say tough talk is cheap. But when it's all you have, it's better than nothing.
One little step at a time.
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