by DC Bastien
[Sianor: I tried to, but this was just pulling me back too much.]
[Ashroe: Shall we hang fire on writing the next chapter so you can write your report?]
[Sianor: Might be wise. Are you going to write any?]
[Ashroe: Uh... no?]
[Sianor: But I want to see what you write!]
[Ashroe: You were right there with me during all of it. Why do you want to read it from me?]
[Sianor: To see it from your perspective. Also because then I can look back at it later as a memory. And because your writing makes me laugh.]
[Ashroe: But... augh! Okay, fine. You write yours, I'll write mine.]
[Sianor: Wheeeee.]
[Ashroe: But if it sucks you are not allowed to hate me.]
[Sianor: It won't suck.]
[Sianor: Also... this is going to be finished, soon.]
[Ashroe: Yeah, I think so. Unless they throw out some weird new plot twist.]
[Sianor: I'm kind of sad again, but not. I mean, this is the third fic. And I'm sure we'll write lots of fic together.]
[Ashroe: Oh damn skippy we will.]
[Sianor: And if we never feel like continuing this one, we can always go back to another canon-analogue type thing, or even do prequel stuff. We have the Academy and Baudeline and I would love to write that.]
[Ashroe: Not sure anyone would read Ithon/Baudeline, but I don't give a shit. It's sick and wrong and fucked up and I love it and it's my baby and no one can take it from me.]
[Sianor: I can't believe tomorrow is the last day of the con.]
[Ashroe: I know :( But it's been awesome.]
[Sianor: I keep forgetting you're here for a full week after though.]
[Ashroe: Oh yes. We need time to chill after it. Have to fight the post-con blues.]
[Sianor: What?]
[Ashroe: You know, the period after a great holiday or event when you've been so excited or wound up or whatever that coming back to normalcy is like a kick to the teeth. Why you need a second holiday to recover from the first.]
[Sianor: Oh! So you booked it so we could gradually ease back into the real world?]
[Ashroe: Plus I wanted some more time with you, and if it's after then we can do some just us-bonding and not... uh. I mean. I know you love me not just because of the fandom and writing and conventions and stuff. I do. But then we can just be like we are online, but together. Even for a little while.]
[Sianor: You are the sweetest little fluffmuffin I ever met.]
[Ashroe: I am evil! Sin and darkness! Terror incarnate! The lurking bad! The one who knocks and then BITES!]
[Sianor: You are the squishiest little pile of cotton candy and rainbows and moonbeams and snark I ever met.]
[Ashroe: Come over here and say that to my boobs.]
[Sianor: Don't you mean 'face'?]
[Ashroe: The boobs are a bigger target. Plus, they listen more than my face does.]
[Sianor: Yes, ma'am!]
***
Chapter Thirty-One – Mission: Photographic Identification
Ashroe's Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Con Report
First things first: I am writing this under duress. I normally only write on things that don't actually involve me, but Si does this little nose-wrinkle thing that should be illegal in every single state, okay? I'm weak. So you can deal with my terrible account of things.
Uhm. She does lists, right? I can do lists.
Number of people who have smiled way too widely at me today and therefore are likely to be serial killers like seriously this amount of happy can't be genuine: Too high to count.
Number of inappropriate sexual thoughts due to proximity to icecream or frogurt sellers: Similarly astronomical.
Times I have been convinced we just saw someone famous but it was actually someone in a really convincing costume and I realised the best way to go unnoticed would really be to do an Andrew Garfield and dress up as your character so you just get the occasional photograph request: Innumerable.
Times I have been punched in the arm for inappropriately respectful terms for other people's groin-offshoots: I'm going to need that robot arm faster than I thought I would.
Right. So. I'm only going to talk about the actual photoshoot bit as that's really all I have any opinion on that isn't simply: SQUEE. Yes, even a battle-hardened old witch like me can squee.
We first went in to see Davey, and I think I forgot how the English language works. We'd come up with this little pose where me dressed as Ithon did a little pose back to back with the toy guns. He didn't get why Si (dressed as Kip) would stand back and look frustrated, so he insisted on going back to back with me, then have her mirror his pose. Which I think worked really well. The photo looks like we're all into it, and that's just perfect. (No, I don't want to post it. Sorry, Si.)
Then he really went to town admiring our cosplay and he said something to me about what happens in the Academy stays in the Academy and I may have finger-gunned and winked at him on the way out. Maybe.
I guess my inner Ithon took over.
Next was Henry, and this time when we told him what we wanted and why he jumped and clapped his hands and said we were adorable. He actually asked us if we ship the ship and my girl had to go and say: "We have eyes! And taste!"
I couldn't have been more proud. Honestly. He laughed and said it was perfect and he got really interested in the little Mes Si!Daddy made and he said how much he appreciated the love and dedication of fans.
Henry then asked Si if it was good for her or not and she played it cool and said not bad, and he said he was losing his edge and then we had to go.
Calli said we made an adorable couple and she wanted to take us home. She's really far too bubbly and cheery. Actually, she's up there on the list of people who must be secretly serial killers because no one is that positive. I swear. She is so very tall that there was only really the option of one of us on either side. I was going to go for a Charlie's Angel type thing, but we both drew our guns and she had an arm around each of us and she was just so fluffy and sweet that it really worked.
I couldn't manage to get individual ops with everyone, but I did have a secret planned and I got the ensemble photo after the first three. I'm fairly sure Si was borderline nervous breakdown with excitement by that point. They had their marks to stand on for that one, so we just slotted in the front like an action couple. We got to have a few more hugs and words, but we couldn't linger too long there.
After that... well. I don't remember much of the rest of the day.
We only have one more day left of the convention and I am... I think that's okay. I mean, you want to treat 'em mean and keep 'em keen, right? If it went on too long then it would just... be wrong. Instead, I'll probably try to come back next year if I can afford it. Though the biggest expenses have been the flight and the extended hotel stay.
Speaking of, this hotel has been awesome. I'm also not sure quite why England hasn't adapted to owning waffle-irons. We have toasted sandwich makers we never use, but we don't have waffle-irons? Shame. SHAME on you, motherland. Shame on you and your black and white cows.
Tomorrow we'll get our autographs and there's apparently a Mission-specific announcement due out so we'll see what that is. It has to be a good announcement, or they wouldn't pre-announce it, would they? Although why people bother with pre-announcements of announcements is beyond me.
It's like meetings. Pre-meeting meeting. Meeting. Post-meeting meeting. Why so many meetings? Is it to maximise the biscuit interface potential? Is it to prevent any real work from being done? Is it because no one actually knows what their job is, so they attend these meetings to hopefully work out what all these terms on their job spec mean? Did everyone get dropped on their head from a great height at birth? Is there some secret happiness found only in meetings, but only when you attend enough of them to attain a zen-like oneness with the universe? Do we do it to make use of that expensive conference-equipped boardroom to justify the amount we spent on the very nice modul
ar table?
I don't know. I bet there is a training course on How To Get The Most From Your Meeting. But I bet there isn't one called Why We Have Meetings In The First Place. Or even Alternatives To Meetings.
My alternative to meetings is actually getting the bloody thing done, but there you go.
I've digressed, but I was waiting for Si to stop typing intently away. She gets very in the zone when she's writing, I've noticed. It's particularly cute. So here you go: ramblings in the key of Ash.
Peace out.
***
Chapter Thirty-One – Mission: Asphyxiation
Baudeline's nostrils flared in a very unattractive way. Did everyone's, when you cut off most of their air-flow? Did everyone's lips part as they wheezed to get oxygen flowing into their lungs? His eyes were dark and lightly unfocussed. Could Ithon choke the life right out of him, or would some sensor on his vitals alert crew? Would Pax detect the attempt and shock him until he let go? Would they allow their commander to fall, knowing they could resuscitate him?
It would be so very, very simple. The Human body could only survive so long without ample airflow. He could press harder, bruise his trachea anyway. That way, if he survived, it would hurt to breathe. Could even try to grab his jaw and twist his head so fiercely that his spinal column snapped. Lots of ways to kill him. Lots of ways. Maybe they'd shoot him, then. Even for attempting it. Maybe they'd put him out of his encyclopaedia and AI-game fuelled nightmare? Maybe they'd end his misery, or he'd kill him and somehow... escape? Somehow. They'd all realise he was deadly and without a puppetmaster all the little puppets would fall to the floor in a tangle of strings.
He'd fantasised about killing him. Only since he'd been captured. He rarely had to deal with intrusive thoughts of bloody murder as a rule, just the occasional desire to bust someone's nose open or maybe shoot them once in the thigh. That was normal, right? Normal people thought about it, but didn't do it. It was the doing it bit that was crazy... wasn't it?
That's why they sent you for regular psychological evaluations in the Ur. That's why they were forever picking apart his actions and his responses. And if they looked at him right now? If he hadn't already been stripped of rank and title?
Ithon stood back, letting Baudeline breathe.
The other man gasped noisily, bending over slightly.
Did he like that? Did it turn him on? Ithon couldn't bring himself to stare at his crotch, not wanting to know. He wondered if Baudeline had seen something, some potential for darkness and corruption in him. Was that why he'd seduced him, all those years ago? Hoping for a pet Enforcer to act like a lapdog? Kept fat on crumbs of affection and bribes, knowing that if he ever tried to turn on his master that he'd be taken down right alongside him?
"Ithon..."
"I don't love you," he said, though it was only partially true. Maybe it wasn't love any more. Maybe it was a lingering memory of physical intimacy coloured by the hopeful feelings of youth. He'd wanted to love him back then. Wanted it so badly that he'd broken his oath, gone against the one thing that he really believed in.
"You did, once."
Fingers brushed against the inside of a wrist, turning it away from his hip. The touch was warm and electric, and it shot like a lightning bolt right to his core.
"I thought I did."
"I loved you. I still love you."
"No." He shook his head in flat denial. "If you did, you'd never have tried to turn me. Never have tried to change me."
"I wanted you by my side, Ithon."
"You wanted a vision of me, one inside your own head. Not the real me. And that's what I fell in love with... the mask you presented to the world. I thought it was the real you."
And that was the rub of it. He didn't love the actual man, not the one he'd revealed himself to be. Ithon had brought forth something dark and dangerous to share, only to find that it was Baudeline. He'd bent and compromised his ethics, believing that a minor transgression was worth the greater prize, but even that had been wrong.
"I'm not the villain you think I am."
"Perhaps not, but you're not the hero I hoped you'd be, either." This was just... awful. It was like having all those old feelings exhumed to find them rotting away to mulch. "We're not compatible, Baud. We're from two different worlds."
He felt hands slide against his, fingers knotting between his own. Warm, warm palms. Eyes jammed shut, he felt a press of forehead against his own. He couldn't hate him, even with how much his broken love hurt. All he could do was mourn the man he'd never been, and hate his own blindness.
"What can I do to change your mind? To be the hero you want?"
He shook his head, eyes still closed. "Even if you gave it all away: the power, the money, the ships, the influence. Even if you set your whole life to charity work, or tried to make amends... how can it undo the lives you've already ruined, or taken?"
"War means deaths."
"There was no war, none but your own invention."
"There is always a war."
And he always had an answer for everything, didn't he? Back when they first met, Ithon had thought it meant he was smart. Opinionated. Knowledgeable. He'd thought his way with words meant there was a man of substance, below. One who could always rise to the occasion. Now? Now he thought that they sounded more like excuses, a politician's stream of bullet-dodging nonsense.
"You couldn't even give it up, could you? If I asked you to. If I asked you to burn it all for the sake of some poor, backwater planet? You'd be weaselling your way into their local politics, setting yourself up as God of some fresh Cargo Cult."
"I do good work, Ithon."
"Good for whom?"
"For many people."
"Name... name one thing! Tell me one thing you did that furthered the lives of everyone, and did no harm?" He pulled his head back, now, glaring dolefully at him.
"There's no action that doesn't have an equal and oppos—"
He shoved him bodily, then, shoved him and stood back. "You can't even tell me one thing you know I'd be proud of. We're done, Baud. We're done. Even if you can sleep at night, thinking your scales of justice are balanced... I can't. I can't. And I won't. Maybe that's short-sighted of me, but it's... it's my decision."
The broader man nodded, letting go of his hands. He reached up to cup his cheek in one hand, then stroked with his thumb. "If you insist. I thought some time seeing how I operate would help. Thought if you watched how I make my decisions, that they would make more sense to you."
"It's not that complicated."
"It is." The other leaned in, brushing lips across his mouth in a gentle stroke of skin to skin. "It really is."
Ithon had to will his knees not to give, right there and then.
***
[Sianor: I do not ship it I do not ship it I do not ship it I—]
[Ashroe: You ship it, and it's okay.]
[Sianor: No it is NOT. I have an OTP. One. True. Pairing.]
[Ashroe: A term which has become increasingly mutated from the original sense.]
[Sianor: Yeah, but I mean a real OTP. Like, I really, really love Vavery.]
[Ashroe: But you also love Aveline.]
[Sianor: Don't give it a cute pairing name. DO. NOT.]
[Ashroe: Winding you up like this is my new aesthetic.]
[Sianor: It's so fucked up. And how does our fucked up ex have an even more fucked up ex? I mean, seriously. Seriously. Why did we think to make the backstory even more angsty?]
[Ashroe: Because we're delicious little evil muffins of pain, sin and darkness.]
[Sianor: At some point, we're doing a oneshot.]
[Ashroe: PWP?]
[Sianor: There will be NO plot. It will be PPPPPWP.]
[Ashroe: That's an awful lot of porn for no plotline.]
[Sianor: It will have so many Xs it will basically wipe out your keyboard.]
[Ashroe: Someone's... feeling... ahem?]
[Sianor: Yes, damnit. I am feeling ahem. I am feeling very a
hem. And if you do not feel my ahem soon, I will feel it for myself.]
[Ashroe: Coming, m'lady.]
[Sianor: You will be.]
***
The Captain slung his thumbs into his belt, taking a breath before his announcement: "Okay. So, we're a go on the Baudeline front. We've got pretty much everything needed to take him down for a long stretch, plus dismantle his fronts," the Captain said, waving the data disc between finger and thumb.
"So why do you not look pleased?" Loap asked.
"'Cause they don't know where Ithon is."
"But if we shut down all of Baudeline's network, won't he get pushed out into the open?" Kre's tail swayed to no real breeze as she fretted.
Kip couldn't help but be secretly pleased with how his crew seemed to care for Ithon. Even if they'd had differences in the past, they all pulled together now for him. It made his stomach hurt.
"Not... necessarily. If we start this witch hunt, chances are strong he'll take some slush fund set aside for untraceable access and go completely. And I mean completely. This guy has been so absent for the last ten years that he could probably have been declared legally dead, yet he's got his fingers in more pies than I've eaten in my lifetime. And I eat a lot of pies," Kip said. "If he does that, he might take Ithon with him. And if he don't... well. Ithon might wind up dead."
