Foxiyo Week: Day 4 “Shatter”
300 words. Rated T. Most Unhappy. CW: Injuries.
(@foxiyoweek)
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“He — there was a fall — ” Thire tried to explain, finding the effort futile and beyond his abilities. He’d seen the SIR; maybe it’d be easier to parrot words already written.
Call it what he wanted, it was unnecessary. Detail wouldn’t help the pitiful creature he was trying to gather into his arms like some kind of gelatinous casualty, delicate and determined. She knew exactly what his coming here meant.
A bizarre, spindly housekeeping droid hovered about them, moaning about the pallor of her mistress, thrusting an ammoniac vial at him.
“Get gone, fucking droid!” Thire shouted, squeezing Senator — Minister Chuchi face first into his chest as he carried her into the salon and cleared a sofa of its surfeit of cushions. “Or get some wine, if you insist on being needed.” Fuck, was that best, in the circumstances? Really should’ve packed some weapons-grade catatonic downers. But his mind had been back at the base of that godsdamned Temple, the scene of so much shattered plastoid and one irreplaceable and irrevocably broken brother.
Riyo was sobbing herself into a sickly grey color. The droid might’ve been onto something. Zellies could die of broken hearts, what about Pantorans?
Hells, what about human men?
Thire clattered onto the floor beside Riyo’s awful wet face, feeling klicks out of his depth, seeing his own silent hurt splattered over someone else. Suffocating on it before he’d even hit bottom. Just like Fox.
Removing a glove to run his fingers through that satin hair, he caressed her like Fox might’ve done, with that once boundless love that had made him float into the control room, twirling his pistols with a little more joie de vivre than came standard.
And Thire gently told her lies.
