Futuristic * una commedia –– (**boopie & stringie)

[starboob]

[AN IMAGE WILL APPEAR EVENTUALLY]

UNA COMMEDIA

a quarter-life crisis with your weird artist roommate
...who happens to also be that girl from your lit classes...
...and the barista at your favorite café...
...and your parents' friends' pretentious daughter...
who takes you across the galaxy to save your girlfriend
who has been abducted by aliens???

a concept featuring space and references to Dante's Inferno

penned by sof & ely ( heartstringss )
perceived by you​

 

[starboob]

❛ THE LITERATURE STUDENT.✎​

Camping should be simple enough. Virgil, after all, is not only world traveled but several worlds traveled––including many a moons and an armful of asteroids. However, camping? Entirely new concept to the alien. (An alien concept? Yes! One hundred percent and not a single percent more, because that would be mathematically impossible.) She stands in the middle of her disastrous room (which she would claim organized chaos since she knows where everything is and that is what is most important) with her fist under her chin as she stares at the items she has laid out in preparation for the trip. For the most part, she has everything that she could possibly need––from a sleeping bag (which she thinks resembles a large sock), to a tent (surprising humans have not discovered transportable yurts), to quadruple the amount of underwear anyone would need (you never know if you are going to shit your pants sixteen different times while away––anxiety can be such a rude mistress), and even several packages of Graham's crackers (do you know how hard it is to find someone named Graham who also happens to have crackers? Ugh, why did Dante's friends have to assign her Graham's crackers to bring? ...Probably because it was so difficult locate. Understandable). She doesn't believe she is missing anything––she's even made several lists and checked them thrice––but there is still that lingering fear she is forgetting something of significant importance.

She strokes an invisible goatee to stimulate the thinking process and shortly after the lightbulb above her head goes off and she runs to her closet. She pulls out several gizmos and doodads before she strikes gold and retrieves a sled. Weather on Earth is highly unpredictable––the meteorologists occasionally get it right and so she thinks it won't hurt to come over-prepared. She would hate to miss an opportunity to go sledding! It might not be like how it is on Pluto, but it's as close as she can get.

Several hours later, after she has packed everything away into a single duffle bag with an expanded interior, she slings it over her shoulder and leaves the apartment saying a quick and polite goodbye to Dante before she leaves; saying something about how she hopes she enjoys her camping trip this weekend. Which, obviously, she will be on too but, again, not as her roommate. She will be going as Dante's literature major friend, Osian. So she pretends to leave on a quick errand while she is really heading off to the campsite.

.............​

So driving and following directions and knowing how the local highways work still confuse the alien and thus, despite leaving early, she still arrives late. Quite typical for Virgil/Osian though. Just before she arrives at the campsite, while sitting in her vehicle, she tinkers with her watch––which is large and looks something like technological cuff than a watch (at least while she is Virgil; with her other avatars it appears more as a Fitbit). She cycles through her faces and selects the one belonging to the literature student. With a few twists and a click, the watch needles into her skin and she begins to morph––her visage ripples and bubble as she adopts a new skin. In some short instantaneous seconds, she becomes someone else. Except not at all––just a rose by a different name smelling just the same. She checks herself in the review mirror, not in some vain way (humans are kind of ugly in her humble onion), but to make sure she has the face she needs; she even double checks with her memories to make sure it had been the literature student who agreed to the camping trip and not the barista. 'Yes, correct as per usual, Virgil.'

With her bag over her shoulder, she tumbles out of her car and trots up to the campsite, with a cheery smile on her face. At her arrival, the group of college students are in various states of setting up. There's a pair, also from their classes, putting together a tent, and a butch she's never seen starting the campfire. She sets her duffle on one of the picnic tables and begins pulling out supplies. To no one in particular she announces, "So, Graham's crackers were almost impossible to find. I had to drive all the way out to Seventh Circle to find one. This one only had Cheez-Its and saltines. Well, Triscuits too... But I guessed salty-Wheaties weren't everyone's thing and decided to leave those behind." Thankfully, Osian has established herself as a resident weirdo so this is not exactly an out of the ordinary thing for her to say. (Once, someone in their friend group had called her an actual Amelia Bedelia.) Another perk about her status as a resident weirdo and overall walking enigma energy, is that she can get away with saying quite a bit of truth while people just think she is being weird and will create an alternate narrative themselves. Honestly, living amongst humans and hiding in plain sight is quite easy––they'll believe anything they want. They see the world through a lens of their own reality, hardly ever the truth, she has come to discover.

Once the crackers are set out on the supplies table she goes to locate her subject, who is obviously with that vile creature she calls 'girlfriend.' "Beatrice," she says curtly, by way of a greeting. She isn't fond of the woman to be honest. It is possible that had she not been assigned Dante as her subject, she might have liked Beatrice a little more––after all, as a person she isn't entirely awful. But the way she treats her roommate/classmate/favorite customer/family acquaintance? Deplorable. She does try to play nice since, for whatever reason, Dante seems to like her. 'Love must really be a sickness,' she thinks. She then turns to Dante, eyes wider though her features are still a bit stiff. Something about her energy, maybe the fact that she also leans in shows that she is eager and excited to hang out with her subject. "Dante, how are you? Is your roommate still bizarre? Did you see that accident on the I-5? What are your opinions on tabby cats? I think the one in Garfield is quite obnoxious."

 

[heartstringss]

“Hey, uh, Dante--” an ink-stained hand waves itself back and forth across her vision, an annoyed voice buzzing from beside her ear. “Earth to Dante. Do you read me, Dante?”

She blinks, refocusing her eyes to hone in on the new stimuli of Beatrice stood before her, one hip cocked to the side as she taps her foot impatiently on the floor. Judging by the look on her face, she must’ve been trying to get her attention for a while. “...Hm?” Dante tugs a hand back through her hair and rolls her shoulders to break up the tension of sitting hunched over for so long. “I’m here. What’s up, Bea?”

“We’re ready to go. Are you even packed yet?”

… ‘We’? It takes a moment for her to recognize the butch standing across their kitchen. Not that she hadn’t noticed them immediately (because uh, well, how could you not?), just that she had somehow managed to tune them out entirely. (Beatrice and the butch, in fact -- she had tuned them both out, hadn’t she? A funny, funny thing. Huh, wonder why was that? ...honestly, it probably had something to do with the way the two kept looking at each other.)

Dante blinks hard, dark eyes flickering between the two's faces. She inhales sharply, struggling to not dissociate a second time when Beatrice throws a glance over her shoulder at the butch and smirks, her heart immediately starting to hurt inside her chest again. She curls her hands into fists, crumpling the pages of the book held in her lap.

In fact, she has been packed and ready all morning. It was Beatrice’s wanting to wait around for her friend why Dante had buried her nose into a book a little over an hour ago waiting for the two to finish getting ready themselves ever since. (Of course, Beatrice being Beatrice, she hardly paid attention to the finer details like Dante’s duffle bag being packed and parked beside the front door since last night; the fact she was already dressed to leave, even down to the fact she was already wearing shoes, unlike Beatrice herself; the fact the map for the campsite was already printed and lay upon the counter, along with her keys and wallet, just waiting for the word ‘go’. ...Dante was invisible, wasn’t she? Like, she could disappear into the wind and the other might not even notice. Sad, considering they’d been dating for just over a year now, and her feelings towards Beatrice herself were very much the opposite.)

Worry needles at the back of her mind, a suspicion blooming that she just can’t seem to shake. Dante stares at Beatrice’s face, her eyebrows furrowed with a thought. “...Are you high?” she asks carefully. Almost as if she were afraid to bridge the conversation in the first place. “Bea, weren’t you supposed to drive us there?”

Where Dante herself would feel embarrassment at such an accusation, Beatrice only flares with pride. Indignant, she tosses her hands into the air as if to say ‘so what’ (or perhaps to say ‘shit happens’, which is a little more common excuse for the bleach-bottle blonde) and hardly bothers to explain herself at all. “You can drive instead; you know, you’re perfectly capable.”

...most times, the fights just weren't worth the trouble they would cause. Beatrice doesn’t wait around for her response anyway -- instead, she grabs the keys and Dante’s wallet from the counter, tosses them onto the couch beside her, and waves her friend over to the door. “Let’s go, we still need to stop at the store if we want to try and get there before everybody else.”

* * *​

The reason they have to stop at the store is for supplies -- after all, it was a group trip and they would need to bring their own food if they were camping. They had delegated some supplies to others, like the plates, cups, and utensils to the couple invited from their Gen-Ed classes; the drugs and drinks to Beatrice’s friend. To Osian, they had only instructed her to bring the graham crackers needed for their s’mores (because the less you expected out of Osian the better, and because Beatrice thought it would be funny to see what she would turn up with on short notice).

Even at the store, Beatrice and the butch wander off to troll the aisles by themselves. Used to her girlfriend’s flightiness by now, Dante takes the shopping list and basket to grab the hot dog supplies (vegetarian and non-vegetarian, on Beatrice’s demand recommendation), skewers, chocolate, marshmallows, and back-up graham crackers in case Osian really did get confused. By the time she wanders to the check-out, Beatrice and the butch are already waiting by the door. Her gaze skirts away from observing the others’ closeness, how casually they touch when deep in conversation, how close they stand when they clearly think they are alone or no one else is watching. She lines her items up along the belt with careful precision, focusing on the simplicity of the task before her rather than on the worry that continues to buzz in the back of her mind no matter how hard she tries to shake it off. (What even is their name? Dante knows that Beatrice or the butch themselves likely would have mentioned it, but, for some reason, she can’t remember now. Something weird sticks in the back of her mind. ...Cal? ...Tamsin? God, fuck if I know.)

There are a lot of reasons to suspect that something might be going on between the two, but just as many to suspect she might be only acting paranoid. After all, Beatrice had always been a bit extra flirty, hadn’t she? Wasn’t that how they themselves had ended up together -- with flirting that had started casual, intimacy that had been far too easy to misjudge? It’s not like Beatrice was any more distant in the bedroom than she had been in the past, not like she had moved this girl into their apartment yet, or displaced her from their lives entirely. She had always been that odd combination of flirty and distant at the same time. Dante, too, was prone to that. (‘Look but never touch’ -- they’d discussed the importance of that rule in the past a time or two, hadn’t they? Maybe it was time Dante reminded Beatrice of the conversation, but uh… well. She might have to stop being in denial first to do that.)

Either way, she spends a lot of time back and forth between two different consciousnesses -- the one that’s here in the present and the one that’s somewhere else entirely. Niagra Falls, perhaps, or the Grand Canyon. Las Vegas. New York. Somewhere, anywhere she’s never been before. A world of possibility lies in wanderlust, and by God, does Dante sure have a lot of that.

Dante hardly notices that she’s white-knuckling the steering wheel as she drives them to the campsite. She tries to ignore how Beatrice spends most of the drive turned backward in her seat, talking nonsense to the third wheel that she’s brought along without much of Dante’s approval in the first place. (...or was Dante the third wheel now? It’s hard to tell, really.)

“You good, babe?” A hand touches her bicep, fingers gentle and soothing as they trail up and down her arm. It’s easy enough for Dante to forget her worries with the motion, easy enough to pretend that they were never there, just like Cal or Tamsin or whatever-the-fuck’s their name. (Except that she can still see them in the rearview mirror-- unlike her worries, she can’t disappear a person near as smoothly.)

“I’m good.” She wants to shrug her hand off but at the same time doesn’t. “Just a little on-edge after that accident. Anyway, we’re almost there. Will you turn the radio back on?”

* * *​

When they pull up to the campsite (at the same time that the other couple does), all of Dante’s worry dissipate in the flurry of action that follows suit. Unloading the supplies, helping the other duo unpack the tents, gathering wood for the fire, and cement blocks to sit around the firepit. No one is surprised that Osian is late (of course, she always is), and when she does finally show up, already talking something about Graham’s crackers and how hard they were to get ahold of, hell, no one’s really all that surprised she misunderstood the direction, either. Dante smiles, shaking her head at her favorite literature student as she watches her pull out Cheez-It’s and Saltines. (She wonders vaguely if she will even make a connection when they grab the graham crackers for the s’mores later on, though her own amusement is not near as unfriendly as Beatrice’s reaction is by comparison.)

(‘You owe me five bucks!’ Beatrice yells from beside Dante’s shoulder to one half of the couple by the tents. Dante shakes her head to that, too. Without context, it might not make much sense, but of course, knowing Beatrice, it was no surprise the two had bet on how outlandish Osian’s inaccuracy would be. There were always bets, some that even Dante had contributed to when the situation was appropriate.)

‘I like Cheez-It’s,’ someone remarks from the edge of her hearing, to which Beatrice snorts. Dante smiles awkwardly, already ignoring everyone in favor of Osian, especially when the girl approaches her with wide eyes and starts up... well, perhaps it would be an odd line of conversation if, perhaps, every line of conversation with Osian didn’t go this way.

“Hey,” Dante returns, glancing sideways when Beatrice wanders off and leaves the two alone without a single word of parting. ‘How are you’ is too intimate a question for the insecurity of her feelings at the moment, so instead she latches onto the more light-hearted questions instead. “Virgil is always bizarre, but of course, that’s just Virgil,” she answers, giving a small shrug. She likes Virgil, even if she's weird. (At least she didn’t pry.)

The lit student filters through different topics so fast, she can barely settle on a single emotion to attach to the conversation. Instead, she flits back and forth with her anxiety, one hand running up and down her arm (the physical contact helps distract her mind, which is what she needs the most). “That accident was bad, yeah -- glad you got around it safe, at least. And um… tabby cats?” It’s so random that it forces her to smile -- a genuine smile, one that transforms her face with a hint of mischief as she quips back, “I think obnoxious is right for Garfield. He’s so lazy and entitled, isn't he? Hey, have you ever seen a munchkin kitty?” It’s easy enough to lose herself in Osian’s energy, so, pulling her phone out of her pocket, she quickly turns to Google. Except then, before she can pull up a single picture, a realization dawns on her, “Shit, I forgot there’s no cell service out here. Anyway, munchkin kitties are way cuter than tabbies. I’ll have to show you sometime.”

”...Are you guys really talking about cats right now?” Beatrice remarks crudely, giving a low hiss along with a scratch of her nails through the air. “Fuckin’ weirdos. Alright, so… everyone ready to get this show on the road?”

 

[starboob]

❛ THE LITERATURE STUDENT.✎

"Yeah," she says in acknowledgement more than agreement, rocking on her heels. "I went to her art show last week," an entirely true statement, "And it was pretty interesting." Of course, being the artist as well she doesn't mind speaking highly or lowly of whatever work she had presented at the exhibit. The art stuff is mostly a hobby and one she had not intended to get seriously into until someone, maybe one of Dante's friends, had asked her if she were going to be presenting any of her pieces at any shows. Obviously, at the time, she had been calling her random science equipment art without thought but the idea seemed interesting enough that she pursued it whenever she wasn't trying to understand her subject. So usually that happened while Dante sleeps. Anyway, it turns out that creating art is quite stimulating and humans don't seem to care about what art is or isn't. "It involved screaming in an empty room. Very, hmm," she thinks for a minute, the word lost in the oasis of her scattered mind, "Cathartic? Do you ever feel the need to just scream, Dante? I do." She says this very earnestly as she decides to plop right down on the ground in front of Dante. Yes, she should be working on setting up her own tent and such, but she'll do that later. It won't take long. 'Poor humans and their manual tents.'

She sighs and stretches her arms up before dramatically throwing them behind herself as something to prop up on. "Yes, the police scanners said someone flew out the windshield." It doesn't occur to Virgil to spare details or that some might not want to hear about the report. "I've never even flown in a plane," on Earth. They are much too dangerous and the pilots seem incompetent. Besides, even when she would need to travel for work her watch can take care of terrestrial travels, via teleporting, once its syncs with the magnetic fields of the planet.

As Dante pulls her phone out of her pocket she leans forward, completely fixed on whatever her subject might show her. Only interested in it because of research, certainly not because of any other nefarious intention (and any intention outside of research, is nefarious. Illegal even. She shudders to think what might happen to her should anyone know how many rules she has already broken and cannot really walk back on. Not without starting over completely and she doesn't want to do that. It would mean abandoning Dante and, well... No, she cannot think about the odd attachment. It's just her scientific investment, is all). Vague disappoint does streak across her features when Dante announces they don't have cell service, wondering when she will have the chance to learn what a munchkin cat is and worried she won't remember to look it up when she gets home. But when Beatrice addresses them she shoots her a less than friendly look––or one she thinks is unfriendly because it is fake (a grin).

"Beatrice, do not make me speak ill of your cat. I know every disease she will ever develop and let me tell you if you do not get her out of the house she will go into cardiac arrest. Idiot." Her sweet tone does something to veil her distaste. If only because sweetness is most of Osian's personality and whatever she says can be taken as a blunt and sweet truth. The same of course goes for the other faces too as Virgil is not really good at acting. No, she has been raised in the research track since her selection day. Acting would be useless to a research (though... She does have moments where she thinks it could be useful––too bad she'd get too much pushback on why acting is needed when studying a subject. Sigh. At least she is not in charge of observing trees or giant mushrooms. A blue whale might have been cool or visiting that ancient and hidden civilization under the sea, but she had really wanted to study humans most of all).

With a sigh, she rises from her seated position and gathers with the rest of the group. The show that is meant to go on the road, as Virgil understands it, has something to do psychedelics. She's done her research on the drug, of course, and knows exactly what to expect. That doesn't mean she isn't nervous––she's never done human drugs before! Many other drugs, sure, she has dabbled, but for some reason the one thing humans did right is drugs and that makes them quite expensive. There is a huge intergalactic trade for shrooms in particular. Something about the planet's atmosphere made it ideal for such potent and organic things. (This also may be why their technology is so primitive––or maybe its all the infighting amongst their own kind? She cannot be certain, but that is also not her area of study.)

Once they are gathered around one half of the couple, she believes their names are something like Kai and Quincy, they begin to go over the ground rules for the trip. "First of all, has everyone eaten?" the one she thinks is named Kai asks, "Because you're probably not going to want to eat during the trip. Now the most important thing is mindset..." blah, blah, blah, Virgil already knows this because she read it online. She yawns, noticeably, and waits for the drug to be administered. When Kai/Quincy finishes their speech and hand out everyone's share, shriveled looking gray mushroom caps sit in her palm like a holy offering. She pinches her nose, remembering these are supposed to taste awful, and opens her mouth.

Yes, they do taste disgusting, she supposes. Quincy nearly chokes on hers and the butch who seems friendly with Beatrice also gags, but Virgil? The look on her face suggests she is trying to savor the taste and memorize it entirely. It's not everyday you get to have real shrooms! While she waits for the drug to hit, she settles back over to Dante. Not realizing, not caring, whether or not she is being annoying or pestering. Osian, at least, has always preferred Dante's company to others in group settings and at parties; somehow always drifting to her side and checking in on her subject. "Did you know that bananas used to have seeds? But they have been so thoroughly genetically modified that they no longer have seeds and have such low diversity that anything could really wipe out bananas from the face of Earth? How does that fact make you feel, Dante? Also are you high yet? What would you like to talk about?"

 

[heartstringss]

D A N T E , ​

Hearing about Virgil's most recent art show, Dante can't help but smile as she shakes her head. “You know, she might be a little odd sometimes, but Virgil’s also got a lot of guts. I mean-- I sort of envy her, to be honest…” Not that she would ever tell that to Virgil herself, of course. (Because, like, what an odd thing to say to someone, right? …hey, might as well ask for an autograph while you’re at it too!) When Osian continues, asking whether or not she’s ever felt the need to scream, Dante at first just shrugs, looking awkwardly away. Without meaning to, her gaze wanders across the campsite, eventually landing on Beatrice where she stands by the fire-pit with Tamsin, Kai, and Quincy. Her attention falls to her girlfriend’s arm resting on the butch’s shoulder, fingers playing through their short hair as the four of them talk, laughing and joking around together.

Her answer comes as a surprise, certainly not anything she’d planned on admitting: “…yeah, I guess sometimes.”

She reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her attention turning back to Osian when the lit student plops down on the ground in front of her. A small smile stretches itself across her lips with the other's theatrics, further helping to distract her worried mind. Equally unconcerned about setting up her tent as Osian seems to be, Dante crouches down to sit on the ground as well. She crosses her legs out in front of her, bare calves brushing against the long, tickly blades of grass. Her hands reach out to tangle through the plush summer growth, lungs drawing in a deep, calming breath of the warm, fragrant air. She feels relaxed for what might be all of two seconds-- until Osian completely ruins the mood being overly descriptive with the police scanner report about the car accident.

As the other talks about someone flying through the windshield in the accident, uneasiness flits across Dante’s features. That same uneasiness morphs into shock, however, when Osian makes the comment about never having flown in an airplane before. ...sure, maybe Osian was only joking (which, even then, it would have been in poor taste if she was), yet something told her she was being completely serious. "That's not--" Dante cuts herself short, unsure how to phrase this particular worry. She forces a small, awkward smile. "Very much not the same thing… But that’s enough of that talk for now, okay?" Good enough.

When their conversation is interrupted by Beatrice, Dante stiffens with discomfort. (Yes, discomfort towards her own girlfriend… how sad, right? But it wasn’t necessarily Beatrice's presence that bothered her—more so it was the cynicism that she carried around with her everywhere she went. How she sometimes treated Osian like she thought the girl was somehow beneath her, and how, in turn, that spread to her sometimes treating Dante like she thought she was somehow beneath her, too.)

Entirely non-confrontational, Dante was willing to let the meanness of her girlfriend’s comments slide—for now. Maybe that could have even been the end of it, too-- if not for Osian's involvement.

The snort of laughter that escapes her comes as a surprise, thin lips pursing shortly after to contain her amusement from escaping any further. The ‘idiot’ tapped on at the end was quiet enough she thinks Beatrice likely hadn’t heard it, but Dante surely had. She shakes her head with Osian’s bluntness, dark eyes flickering up to the blonde to see what she will do next. Knowing very well that Beatrice treated Furball like her own child, and that any slight against the cat, phrased sweetly or not, was often taken as a declaration of war.

Well, Beatrice must have still been high enough from her earlier escapades with Tamsin to let the comment slide for her, too. Aside from a roll of her eyes, she simply waves an annoyed hand through the air and walks away, ready to start the ‘show’.

Dante has never tried shrooms herself before (or anything stronger than weed and alcohol, for that matter). She knows that Beatrice has, or at least she knows that Beatrice says she has-- sometimes it was difficult to tell which of her stories were true and which ones weren’t. She’s more than just a little nervous, listening to Kai talk about the importance of eating beforehand and having a good mindset, knowing that her own mindset at the moment was teetering right on the edge of dangerous fragility. Dante rubs her forearm, watching as the shares are handed out around the circle and everyone prepares to take their own. Her gaze flits across the others’ reactions, watching how Quincy nearly chokes, how Tamsin gags (getting a small bit of satisfaction out of that, as well), and how Kai and Beatrice seem the most relaxed about it, whereas Osian seems… well, that strange attentiveness was nothing new for Osian, really.

Following Osian’s example, Dante pinches her nose before she tosses the shroom into the back of her mouth. She swallows fast and whole (without chewing) to minimize the lingering of taste as much as possible. Even so, the flavor sticks to the back of her tongue and lingers, and, just like the butch, she gags, her fast screwing up with an expression that mirrors a little bit of discomfort and a whole lot of disgust. Beatrice, who had apparently been watching her closely the entire time, laughs loudly with her reaction (which is, sadly, more visibly repulsed than even Tamsin’s was) and quickly devolves into hysterics. Dante, surprised with the outburst, frowns and shakes her head before turning away to go back where she and Osian had been sitting just before.

As she lowers herself onto the ground, she smoothes her hand down the front of her long t-shirt and adjusts the bottom hem of her denim shorts. When Osian joins her a moment later, she offers a small smile (slightly forced) as she lays back into the grass. With one arm folded behind her head while the other rests beside her, fingers splayed across her ribcage measuring the pacing of her own breath, she tunes her ears to Osian’s voice and listens to the other ramble about bananas at one point having seeds, or some such nonsense.

The more she listened to Osian’s ramble, the more her prior mood of angst began to drift away, and Dante slowly cracks a smile. Turning her head to the side, she looks at her friend and quirks her brow playfully. “Do you just absorb everything you read in books and on the internet, no matter how useless the information is?” she asks, blunt but not unfriendly. “...Not that that’s a bad thing, of course. I bet you could write books about this kind of stuff if you wanted to. I mean, I think it’s interesting, anyway.” Being told that bananas at one point used to have seeds isn’t really life-altering, but the way Osian asks for her thoughts is touching. She shrugs, staring at the lit student for a long moment while she thinks, not about the bananas, but rather taking in her features as if she might’ve never noticed certain details or perhaps ever been this close before. “Your eyelashes are really pretty,” she says quietly, then, just as quietly, shifts her attention to the sky above instead.

Her senses were already buzzing, the finer details sharpening as all the rest of the world softened and swayed a moment all around her. ...was she high yet? Well, she certainly hoped so, otherwise, there might’ve been more a cause for worry. The way the stars twinkled brighter as if shining just for her; how the moon jumped right out from behind the clouds and pushed the sun away to make room for itself. It wasn’t full nighttime, yet, but a few stars already shone above, bright beacons of light that brought some comfort to the world-weary poet, for they provided an escape from all the much harsher, less desirable realities of day-to-day life.

As her eyes travel across the sky, Dante’s gaze catches on the brightest one directly overhead, hovering mere inches from the edge of the horizon (or so it seemed). Was it the North Star? --Sirius? --A stray satellite, perhaps? She sweeps her eyes across the sky, searching out Orion or the Big Dipper. It takes a moment for her to find the three points that make up the collection of Orion’s belt, then his torso, and the bow and arrow that he carries. She relaxes, then, turning her gaze first back to Sirius and then, slowly, back to Osian on her other side.

“Do you think the stars watch over us like we watch over them?” she asks, resting her cheek on her bicep as she lets the calm wash over her. She drags her hand up the center of her chest to rest her palm atop her heart, the steady thump, thump, thump of which lulls her worries fast to sleep. “Do you think they know how much we love them? Do you think they love us too?”

“Do you think the first star counts all our wishes on her light like collecting coins from the bottom of a wishing well? Do you think she writes them down in the backmost pages of her diary, same as we do shopping lists and new year’s resolutions… Do you think she has trouble picking favorites, and maybe that’s why so few come true?”

Her eyes must’ve fluttered shut at some point because, when she blinks them open next, it feels a lot like waking up after a very long nap. She looks to Osian, smiles, and pulls her cheek off her bicep to turn her gaze back to the sky. She’s no longer reciting poetry when she asks her next question, “Do you like the stars, Os?”

 

[starboob]

❛ THE LITERATURE STUDENT.✎​

Sitting with her legs criss-crossed like a pretzel (well, some Earth locals say applesauce, but she has never understood that particular comparison), she leans forward to help her absorb every bit of information that Dante bestows upon her. In the moment, she is not thinking about her irritation with Beatrice and the way she completely disregards her girlfriend or how, just last week, Beatrice threw away all of Virgil's Bed, Bath, & Beyond coupons because they had "expired." None of that even exists while she listens to her subject, hoping to gain more insight and clarity on who she is studying. Obviously, her interest in Dante does not go deeper than that! And while she would never say this to the other subjects she has finished researching, Dante is undoubtably her favorite. She doesn't make it that difficult with all the smiles she has and the way she speaks (maybe it is the 'shrooms talking, but Virgil believes there is truth even when a subject is under the influence. There is so much to learn when the mind is free of its chains!).

"Well, it's hard to tell what is going to be important and what is irrelevant," she admits, apparently not picking up on the potential slight––and even if it had been obvious and intentional, Virgil likely would not have cared. (Caring about such things is not the responsibility of the researcher. She must remain as objective as possible and the idea that she could be hurt by her subject could result in more... subjective observations.) Besides, she also does not think it is bad thing to have all this knowledge stored up inside of her head. It makes for easy conversation starters––it's how she initially got started with her extra diligence and dedication to this research project when she accidentally made a comment about the production of coffee beans while working as the barista. "And what is more important than knowing what you eat? I mean other than housing, clothing, breathing, money to buy the food, a stove, and a television..." It's a good thing the alien has gotten somewhat better at stopping herself from rambling for far too long. Maybe taking some of Beatrice's remarks that nobody cares a little too close to home. (No, these are not hurt feelings, obviously. This is taking in feedback and adjusting.) "Oh, I could never be a writer," she replies, not even catching the irony of being a literature student who can never be a writer. Mostly because, Virgil isn't actually a literature student and had never been tracked for writing––at least nothing beyond the scientific form which lacks personality. She does wish she could write the way she has seen in books and stolen glances at Dante's poetry (when left on display in their shared living spaces). But no, that is not her life; it is not what she has been assigned so she doesn't spend much time on the vague longing.

(Humans certainly are lucky with all of their choices and freedom. Well, at least that is what she has gathered; many of them do seem to have this freedom that is not granted in her homeland. And yet, she also understands the tyranny of choice and is thankful that choice had been abolished long ago and reserved only for those selected to be choice-makers. So no, Virgil has never really made a choice for herself––at least not one that effects the grand scheme of things. She has only really made small choices like what to eat for breakfast, what to wear, and other mundane things. The rest of her life has been neatly organized and charted out before her.)

Those thoughts are not really on Virgil's mind, but they are floating around somewhere. Most of her thoughts are on her observations of Dante and the effect of the drug––which she believes is starting to take place. As the drug slowly goes to work on her she notices her state of mind becoming altered. Not in the way it seems to effect humans––where they all seem to be able to create distance from reality to embrace the true Self, Virgil's mind reacts different. Instead, she becomes more attune with her surroundings and is able to notice even the smallest details in front of her. Her vision seems enhanced, noticing that she can see nearly twice as far; her thoughts seem to race faster, though they are not incoherent and nonsensical like Dante's seem to be. Virgil takes pleasure in her thoughts nonetheless.

"Dante, the stars have no eyes. They are made up of hydrogen and helium and they produce almost every element found on this planet. So, no. I think we do more watching. Or you do. I don't really look at the stars," she says, just as she leans back onto the palms of her hands to look at the stars. She wonders what Dante sees in them. Her head tilts to the side. As faraway as they look from down on the planet, she does feel like she can reach out and touch one if she tries hard enough. She scans the twilight expanse and locates the area where her planet is––though its star is not bright enough to travel all the way to Earth. "Also, you watch under them. How can you watch over something if you are not above it? Maybe if you looked down and had a really good x-ray, you could see some of the southern hemisphere stars, but no. Just no, you watch under them." Virgil can come off as a real know-it-all and not everyone likes that about the alien but it's not some way to flex her intelligence or to belittle anyone. She simply cares for the objective facts and when she notices something wrong she must make it known. It would be like letting someone walk around with foliage stuck in their teeth. (At least Virgil thinks so.)

Dante's questions and musings become more and more confusing to the alien. They make no sense! No sense at all and she does not bother trying to figure out what Dante is saying, because that seems like a pointless endeavor. She shakes her head and smiles at her silly little subject. To be as simple as a human––she sometimes wishes that could be her life too. "Wishing stars are just," she is about to explain how they are not stars at all, but decides against it. Why shatter her subject's sense of wonder? She's written tomes of notes on that trait and decides it is something to be preserved. "Um, maybe unbiased?" Virgil doesn't like the idea of filling Dante's head with lies, but will this one really hurt her? Hope is an important concept to humans, she has learned, and isn't Hope an extension of wonder? Is Hope not the mother for all passions and dreamers? Ah, she will not shatter that. There is no use when the planet is full of wishers anyway. "I don't think a wishing star would be that good if they just picked and choosed... Choose? Chose. Pick and chose their favorites. That would not be fair."

When Dante smiles at her she tries to figure out what type of smile it is––this subject has a lot of different ones and she has categorized them thoroughly, because she quickly learned that they are not all the same. Each one has its own secret meanings and sends a different message; that took months and months of back and forth for her to figure out. She spends so much time staring and deciphering that she almost misses the question. "Well, I think they are useful," and that's the honest truth! They are, in their own ways, the creators of the universe! They are, after all and at the very least, essential to the production of life. "I appreciate them," she nods, tucking a misplaced twist back behind her ear. "If I think too long about how many there are, I get overwhelmed. I tried to count them all once, but lost my place at 5,723 and I may have quadruple counted some." Ugh, that failure still haunts her.

"Anyway, space is very big you know––and did you know the Universe itself is both endless and expanding? What a conundrum. It's a wonder why humans have dedicated so much time to its mysteries rather than making contact with Atlantis. The Atlanteans are at least right here. Oh, and those Twinkies that were launched into space were not even that good. Much better when you get them from the source," and speaking of sweets another thought pops into Virgil's active mind and she gives the brunette and intense stare. "Dante, can you––no, will you teach me how to make a some more? I am curious how Graham's crackers factor into this."

 

[heartstringss]

D A N T E , ​

It was a good thing Dante had such an open mind and such a patient heart, or else who knows how well Osian would've been received by the poet otherwise. (Beatrice was always telling her that she could never understand how she was able to tolerate Osian's 'nonsense,' all that 'useless rambling' and 'uppity bullshit' she was 'constantly spouting off', as the blonde so eloquently put it. "She just sees things differently," Dante would argue back, always quick to jump to Osian's defense (much to Beatrice's annoyance). "She's not a snob—you just don't listen." And it was the truth—she really didn't. Not even Beatrice could argue that as, more often than not, she tuned out the sound of Osian’s voice the very instant she began talking.)

Even with some of the stranger qualities of Osian's deep attentiveness, Dante didn’t mind too much—like how close she sat at times like these; how much she stared; how well she listened. It did make her feel a touch too vulnerable, especially knowing she was being watched, but it was a bit endearing knowing the other cared that much what she had to say, too. (It made her feel important in a way that not even Beatrice could—important enough she felt she could easier let her guard down from time to time, which was otherwise so rare it was practically unheard of (well, in every way save for her poetry, that is.))

When Osian begins to go off on a tangent about how hard it was to determine what information was important and what was irrelevant, Dante stifles the urge to sigh or laugh or even smile-- instead, she keeps her expression neutral as she rests her cheek on her bicep and simply listens. Once Osian has finished, she gives a small shrug as she comments simply, ”I’m not sure having a television is really that much more important than knowing what you eat. Or important at all, really.” If Beatrice had anything to say on the matter, Dante knows that she would strongly disagree-- but Beatrice wasn’t a part of their conversation, and fortunately, she wasn’t even within earshot. An eyebrow quirks at Osian’s next comment, that flat-out refusal striking a chord as Dante feels herself strongly disagreeing. ”I think you could-- I mean, all you really need is passion, right?” Although, whether or not Osian even had any interest in writing to begin with, Dante had no idea.

She loses track of time somewhere between reciting a brief poem about the stars and asking Osian her opinion of them. When she opens her eyes again, all the world is broken up into a million colors-- prisms scatter across her field of vision, all the tiny particles of dust within the air, too. (‘Float-ems’ is what her dad used to call them-- she remembers that from childhood, a time when she had asked what the tiny things floating in the sunlight were. ‘Are they alive?’ she had once asked, wide-eyed and full of wonder, ‘...are they lost?’) These things distract her briefly, mind wandering just before Osian’s voice draws her back down to earth. She blinks slowly, listening as the lit student speaks what seems to be a mile-a-minute and more or less completely derails the entire purpose of her poem. A slow smile creeps across her features with the other’s seriousness, not the least bit offended as she dissolves into a fit of uncontrollable giggling and, seemingly surprised by the very sounds escaping her own body, reaches up to cover her mouth.

“You’re so linear, it’s--” ...amazing… ridiculous... adorable… (but of course she doesn’t say any of that.) “Does your brain even have an off-switch, or does it just keep running all the time?” (‘--just like your mouth,’ Beatrice would have likely added if she were privy to this conversation, too.)

She doesn’t bother dissecting her poetry any more than Osian has already tried with her own efforts-- after all, it was Dante’s opinion that the words lost their strength if you dissected them too literally, and so, as a rule, she preferred to leave her poetry as much open to interpretation as she could. “Maybe you should look at the stars more often then, but don’t think about it so much. I normally use it as a chance to meditate, too,” she shrugs, finally lowering her hand as the laughter has subsided. Still smiling, she shakes her head and reaches out towards the heavens, grasping nothing but thin air though she pretends that it is starlight (and maybe, in a way, it is).

Dante doesn’t pay much attention to Osian’s staring, though she is intimately aware that it is happening. In fact, her skin crawls with the sensation of the other’s eyes practically boring holes into her face. From her peripheries, she can see Osian watching her, but she doesn’t interrupt her thoughts-- doesn’t even so much as turn her head to acknowledge her until the next moment that she talks herself. When she reveals that she has even tried to count the stars before, Dante thinks that strikes her as exactly something Osian might do, nearly to the point that she can picture it in her mind’s eye clearly.

Dante loves talking about space, but before she can launch off into a proper speech about all the different mysteries and curiosities that she has, Osian derails her train of thought with the mention of Atlantis. The brunette snorts and quirks an eyebrow at the comment about Twinkies, and is nearly about to respond when Osian suddenly leans forward and fixes her with an intense stare that cuts her off instead. Seeming to sense that her readiness might be needed, she pulls herself up off the ground and sits a moment, legs crossed, to collect her bearings first.

(The very last thing she’d expected to receive such urgency from Osian, though, is the s’mores.) She pinches her brow at the mention of Graham’s crackers. It takes a moment for her to place the memory, having gotten lost among the millions and billions and trillions of other thoughts running rampant inside her head. Once it clicks, she begins grinning before she even knows why. A second later, she nods, rises fully to her feet, and helps Osian up before trekking over to the snack table to teach the other how to make what they’ve aptly named, for this adventure, a “some more.”

Except she does it wrong. A hint of mischief in her smile, Dante doesn’t show Osian how to make a proper s’more-- first, she teaches her how to make a s’more using what her friend thinks are graham(‘s) crackers, picking the cheez-its and Saltines off the table, then the marshmallows, chocolate, and spears. She takes these supplies over to the fire, balancing a couple of the different crackers on her knee while she shows her friend how to spear and roast a marshmallow just right. “It might take a couple tries to get the perfect golden-brown outer crispiness, but you don’t want to totally torch it, or else it’s gonna taste like ash,” she says while showing how to pull the marshmallow off without touching it, using the saltines as a wall to pinch the fluff between.

To be fair, she makes two of these improper sandwiches-- one for Osian, and one for herself. Only once they’ve both taken a bite out of the first (and she’s practically gagging on the dryness of the Saltines mixed with the sweetness of the marshmallow and chocolate) does Dante finally backtrack and apologize, tossing the rest of her first sandwich straight into the fire.

“Okay, that was just me messing with you. Anyway, it’s not a ‘some-more’, it’s a s’more, like how we say… c’mon, or uh, c’mere, you know?” she gives a little shrug, already reaching for the box of graham crackers off the table as she continues on, “Also, I don’t know if you really tracked down a bunch of guys named Graham just to steal their crackers, but-- that’s dedication,” she pulls a few new crackers out, showing Osian before she begins to make an all-new sandwich.

While Osian cooks the marshmallows for the next sandwiches, Dante leans her chin on her palm to watch, her gaze wandering idly around the campsite as she does. She’s managed to tune out all other sounds and stimuli this long, but now she notices that it’s oddly quiet. A long look around the campsite reveals Kai and Quincy curled up together near one of the tents, but Beatrice and Tamsin… are nowhere to be seen.

Worry needles at the back of her brain. It takes a few minutes of chewing her lip (waiting to see if they’d maybe wandered off someplace to use the bathroom and might already be on their way back) before she puts a name to those particular worries, though.

“Hey…” she says to Osian a little while later, her new s’more in hand but already going cold as it remains untouched. “Have you seen Bea recently?”

 

[starboob]

❛ THE LITERATURE STUDENT.✎
​

"Preposterous. There is a television in almost every American home that I have visited for Thank You, Here You Go. Wait, no––that is incorrect... Ah, Thanksgiving. Therefore, it must be important," it is extremely hard to decipher whether Virgil is serious or not. She sounds so utterly sincere that she nearly sounds innocent. You know, were she not actually researching Earth forms and figuring out ways to exploit their weaknesses so that their planet may be terraformed and repurposed into an enormous colosseum for the intergalactic combat battles, that is. But, potato.. tomato. Anyway, Virgil is earnest when she stresses the importance of the television. She likes them; they are great sources of information. (Though apparently one must careful as you cannot believe everything that you see on T.V.––as several useless Sham-Wow and Oxi-Clean products, purchased during late night infomercial marathons, have proven. Much to the alien's dismay.)

Anyway, she sits down next to the fire, at first much too close for comfort and only when she feels her skin start to bubble does she realize her error and backs away by a full leg length. "Thank you, Dante. I appreciate learning about some mores," she is digging her heels in on this one. For reasons unknown. Perhaps, she hates to be wrong? Either way, she takes the treat and inspects the sandwich carefully, admiring the evenness of the toasting and the molten hot sugary inside––it's perfect––the wonderful combination of salt and sweet! The delightfully delicious balance kisses the chocolate and she could nearly cry if she had been engineered for such features. "Wow, Dante, this is delightful and understated," she says, quoting some movie she had watched approximately 458 days ago. Give or take.

Oh, her subject had pranked her? She isn't offended. In fact, she feels honored that Dante feels so comfortable with her to pull a jest such as this one. At the same time, it does feel hollow, because Virgil recognizes that it is not she who is being pranked, but Osian. Some made up character who's face she uses to get a better sense of what her subject is like. She tries not to dwell on that for too long and instead takes a spear, loaded with two marshmallows, and hovers it over the flames. Thankfully, lab work seems to translate to perfect marshmallow toasting capabilities and they come out just as golden as Dante's (part of her wonders if she will get praise for the her handiwork... silly as that sentiment is, she does value her subjects opinion of her no matter the face she is wearing). "I did locate a few different Grahams, actually. It's not a popular name and I almost had to venture to Canada to just find one. Luckily, there was one only a few miles around. It really was just a quick jaunt."

When she has finished assembling the second batch of some more sandwiches, she hands one to her companion and she bites into hers; her reaction is immediate as her face contorts in disgust and she spits out the masticated disappointment. "That is too sweet. Yucky. Disgusting. And this is supposed to be the correct Graham's cracker? Why? You already have marshmallow, comprised of sugar and egg, and the chocolate, why add honey? This is overwhelming, Dante. And you people enjoy this? This feels like torture on my tastebuds!" she complains, with all the dramatics of a theater major and hands her subject the reject sandwich and carefully eyes Dante's half-eaten saltine one that burns in the fire. She looks as if she is yearning for it. So she decides to make another of the first version. The better version.

Roasting marshmallows is fun, Virgil decides. She also decides to experiment with setting one on fire, to see if it will really taste like ash as her subject had warned. A nice char isn't the worst flavor in the world––not like the hellaciously sweet some more she had just sampled. The mallow is aflame and she watches it curiously for a short second before blowing out the fire with all her might. She assembles the perfect version of the sandwich and scarfs it down like Dante might try and steal it out from under her; as she licks her fingers, she raises a brow at her... her friend's inquiry and looks around the campsite. With her senses somewhat enhanced, thanks to the drug, she can see and hear much better than she would be able otherwise. "Hmm, I haven't seen her since we ate the mushrooms––which were quite earthy, in my opinion," she almost asks for her companion's opinion on the subject before she realizes she is about to get lost in another tangent and, well, Dante seems concerned. So she pauses that train and, once again, looks around the campsite, squinting through the limited light as if that might enhance her vision (it does). "Hm, I think Beatrice and another person are by the lake."

Without further adieu, the alien shoots up off the ground, steadies her balance, and then offers her hand to Dante to help her up. "Buddy system, I'll go with you." The walk to the lake is actually quite a ways away, in fact it's about a half mile away from their campsite. And the closer they get, the more certain Virgil is that the pair, one of them undoubtably Beatrice, are by the lake. She can hear their giggles and other funny noises. Slurpy sounds? Wet sounds? It sounds gross, whatever they're doing, but Virgil says nothing of it––not until she's certain that Dante is actually within earshot too. "What is that noise? It's so... squelchy. Is someone being hurt?"

 

[heartstringss]

D A N T E , ​

If Virgil liked Dante’s various smiles so much, it was probably fortunate for her that she happened to be the cause of most of them. (See, Dante wasn’t particularly well-known for her keen social prowess, or her bright, bubbly personality—as a bit of an introvert, she rather preferred to keep to herself in groups any larger than three or four. And while she was a generally cheerful person, as of late, she'd become a lot more frequently sad and withdrawn, too. (She was also a bit of a space cadet—as in, she zoned out frequently. Getting lost inside her thoughts was commonplace, as was getting distracted by all the beauty of the world around her. One could easily assume she connected far better with animals and nature than she did people, and if one bothered to get to know her, they would find that such assumptions were entirely true.))

…Osian, though? See, Osian was different. (Dante had never met anyone quite like her before—she hardly never met anyone else who talked or thought like she did; no one else whose curiosity struck her quite so genuine; no one else whose personality was so… well, she was just weird, alright? But weird in a good way, because it also made her unique, and it never felt fake. There was a strange sort of innocence about her too, like someone who had not yet learned the mechanics of the world around them. That, most of all, is what fascinated Dante about the other girl.) Overall, there were very few other people who could pull her focus so readily to the present, and very few others who could genuinely hold it, too. (Not that she didn’t try to connect with other people, but it wasn’t easy when one had already been coined an outcast—for those whom others had decided thought “too independently”, didn’t fit the mold, or instead pushed back against all manner of expectations, the world was a glass cage and they were on the inside of it. Dante, too, was an outcast, just like Osian—maybe not quite the same breed, but still the same species nonetheless. They just got each other, and even when they didn't… well, at least they tried.)

...but when Osian complimented the fake s'more as something delightful and understated and the regular one as disgustingly sweet? Even poets could be overly critical from time to time. In that moment, one could easily see how Dante might have been judging her friend a bit more openly, then. With her expression mirroring horrified confusion, all she can do is stare gape-mouthed and shake her head—any reaction beyond that is lost in the sheer overwhelm of her surprise. (What do you even say in a moment like that? There were, of course, a few different options she could try, but all of them felt too close to things she imagined Bea might say or do, too. In the end, she settled for the simplicity of a smile, but this one, unfortunately, was a little more forced. Already, the strangeness of Tamsin and Beatrice's mutual disappearance had sunk into her subconscious and was thus bleeding her dry of all other thoughtfulness she could have lended to her friend instead.)

(From the corner of her eye, she does briefly observe Osian's (purposeful?) scorching of a new marshmallow, as well as her second venture and consumption of the saltine-flavored s'more. A ghost of a smile dances across her lips with the others' antics, another brief shake of her head as she watches her scarf it down like she's afraid she will be scolded for it.) For the most part, Dante's attention remains inward. When Osian confirms her suspicions that Beatrice has gone strangely incognito, her worry becomes more outwardly present then, and when the other pauses a moment to look around the campsite, then squints off into the distance and claims that she can see Beatrice along with another person far out by the lake? The thought does cross her mind to ask Osian how she knows, how she can even see that far in the first place, but she doesn't say anything. (Her thoughts are too loud, her heart hammering violently inside her chest. When Osian stands and offers her hand to help her up, at first, she looks to her friend and simply stares, not so much looking at her as she is looking through her.)

She's grateful, though, that at least she doesn't have to go alone. (But why? Why is even scared in the first place? 'Don't act like an idiot!' a voice screams unkindly in her head. 'You know exactly what they're doing out there!') After a bit of hesitation, Dante takes Osian's hand and pulls herself up. She brushes the grass off her legs, pauses a moment to let the world settle, then takes a deep breath and follows Osian's lead out into the forest.

(The farther they walk, the closer they get and the closer they get, the worse her anxiety ramps up over time. Before long, she's no longer denying that she knows exactly what she's going to find out there. But does that make it any easier, knowing what is waiting for her? No, of course not.)

She freezes as soon as she hears the sound of Beatrice's voice and laughter that she thinks belongs to Tamsin. Her heart thuds in her ears, not quite loud enough to drown out the sound of Osian's voice, but close. "Um--" she starts, before being cut off by the strength of her own panic. 'No, no, don't walk closer, you idiot!' ...but it's already too late. Her feet drag onward, not the least bit sneaky or delicate with their path. When the pair comes into sight, her heart wrenches with the sight of her girlfriend wrapped so intimately around the other girl, Tamsin's hands sneaking into Beatrice's hair while Beatrice's hands sneak under the other's shirt.

Dante stumbles, loses her balance, and reaches for Osian's arm to steady herself. With the tumble, the pair down by the lake goes quiet, both looking over. Although a sheet of hair falls across her face, obscuring her vision, Dante can feel Beatrice's gaze locked on her. She can hear whispers as the two pull apart, rustling as they scramble to their feet. Dante looks up just in time to watch Tamsin run their hands down the front of their torso, straightening out their t-shirt before they turn to Beatrice and ask, "...I thought you said she knew about us?"

Dante, before then still hiding slightly behind Osian, now turns sharply away. She sucks in a breath, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. She restrains the scream inside her body, unaware of her own trembling, all despite the deep ache in her chest that begs to let it go. Just as she begins to release her exhale, she remembers Osian is still with her, and gropes blindly for the other girl's support. "We should go," she says quietly, practically begging.

"Dante, wait--"

 

[starboob]

❛ THE LITERATURE STUDENT.✎
​

As the pair get closer and closer to the couple by the lake, Virgil is curious what they'll find. Especially since Dante does not answer her question regarding the possibility that someone is being hurt––so she assumes that her companion must not be concerned with that outcome and thus everything must be fine! (Though were the scientist to look closer, like the supposed observer that she is, she would find that someone is being hurt. And her name is Dante! Oh, bother.)

However, as Virgil gets caught up in watching a satellite shoot across the sky, she doesn't notice as her subject walks ahead of her, stumbling through the bushes with all the grace of a hippopotamus, really. When her attention snaps back to her companion, her eyes narrow as she looks past Dante's shoulder, tilting her head to get a better view of what is going on by the lake. 'Oh, that's. Hmm.' Virgil spots the pair before Dante, but is so startled by what she has seen––those two bodies tangled together like wired earbuds—that she freezes. Only when it’s too late does it occur to the literature student to warn her friend that she is about to walk into something awful. But Dante has already seen Beatrice and that unfamiliar fellow in the midst of their tryst. Now, Virgil may not know everything about human culture––let alone the culture of "Americans"––but she does know what cheating is. She has watched enough "chick flicks" to know what this is and that it is the most foul thing one can do to their mate! Virgil has known that Beatrice is a poor excuse for a human since the first time Dante had introduced them at their apartment; her second introduction as the barista also left her wishing for better on Dante's behalf; and when Virgil finally got partnered on a group assignment with Beatrice she personally got on the alien's nerve––she never once responded to Virgil's Google Calendar invites!

This, obviously, takes the cake for most horrendously disgusting thing about Beatrice's character. Her lips form a thin line while her hands roll into fists, a sudden flare of rage overpowering all logic; naturally, Virgil reaches for her watch, hitting a few buttons on the side to activate the miniature laser blaster––seriously considering zapping Dante's should-be-ex-girlfriend. (Hey! Don't get the wrong idea about the alien––the laser wouldn't permanently damage Beatrice. It would just sting her and leave a three-inch wide disgusting rash on her person for up to six months. Nothing a little anti-itch cream can't handle.) Though something tells the scientist to resist interfering. This reaction is entirely inappropriate! She should not be so invested in the affairs of her subject (or rather the affairs of her subject's so called girlfriend). Virgil figures that her sudden overwhelm can be attributed to the mushrooms rushing through her veins and she should have been more careful. That could have ended disastrously! That could have ruined her entire experiment and then she'd have to deal with the HR overlords and the whole shebang and she really would rather not.

Unfortunately Virgil's resolve crumbles when she watches her subject turn back towards her with her eyes shut tightly, body shaking like her bones want to rattle out of this existence. 'Oh this does not look good. Not at all.' Her blood boils once more and despite that, the alien nods, shooting lasers only with her eyes at Beatrice. "Yes, Dante. We should. You go ahead, I want to..." her eyes darken as she keeps her focus on the offender. "I want to collect some lake stones. I don't have any from this lake for my collection." Without waiting for Dante's response, she walks forward and approaches the startled couple.

“You two are reprehensible.” The alien, first, stares at Tamsin, scrutinizing them for several minutes as if she were King Minos. Her face appears absent of any emotion, in fact, if anything, the scientist seems calm as she examines this specimen. Though it’s the kind of calm that causes one to wonder about the storm to come. Tamsin must be too befuddled to do anything other than stare back at the alien; perhaps fear does make an appearance in her eyes but Virgil pays that no mind. She has little care for how her process may startle others with the intensity that burns in her observant eyes. Ultimately, whatever she has been deliberating, she decides Tamsin is not a guilty party and will not be punished. So finally, the alien nods her head back towards the camp, "Make sure Dante gets back safe. It's the least you can do. I have approximately 26 words for Beatrice and then I will be right behind you." (Curious that Virgil only mentions that she will be returning.)

Tamsin, too caught up in the odd moment, only nods, without anything else to say, and dashes behind the Virgil through the bushes leaving only the alien and the devil herself. With her piercing gaze pinning the other into place, she circles around her and before she can make any of her snide little remarks, Virgil speaks, "Beatrice, I believe you have a higher purpose. Allow me to help you meet that destiny." Then, still as calm as water, she once more tinkers with her watch. "You are a nuisance on this planet. A cockroach, really." She taps a few buttons, spins a dial around and then places her hands into her pockets. Then ever so casually, as if she has not just broken protocol and vaguely threatened a human, she walks past Beatrice, shoulder checking her, and she approaches the lake. There she begins searching for some rocks for her lake stone collection (not to be confused with her river rock collection). A few seconds later a whirring noise sounds overhead, but if Beatrice were to look up she would see nothing. Nothing except for a single speck of light that shines brighter than the backdrop of the stars above; it even looks a little greener. Or maybe it's more aquamarine? Teal? No, it's turquoise! Anyway, with the color of the light sorted, the circle of turquoise begins to widen to the size of a manhole, a beam then shoots down over Beatrice and immediately freezes her in place. Rather than that corny alien tractor beam from popular culture, Beatrice, the beam, the turquoise glow all disappear in a flash like they had never even been there in the first place. After that the whirring noise moves further and further away until it is no longer a concern and Virgil has found the perfect rock for her collection! It's oblong, a little purple, and has a nice little white stripe down the middle.

Pocketing her new treasure, she turns around to head back to camp and is immediately faced with none other than Dante. The alien's eyes widen. "Dante? You're supposed to be..." her voice trails off as she realizes everything her subject may have seen. Though the scientist thinks quickly and once more goes to her multi-functional watch. She holds the watch face in front of Dante and flashes an orange beam at her companion's head. The effect? Oh, it should erase anything that has happened in the last five minutes and having your memories erased is quite exhausting so Virgil catches her subject just before she collapses to the ground. "I guess I should take you home..."

.............

❛ THE ARTISTIC ROOMMATE. ༄​

"Hmm, hmm, hmm~" the alien hums, while bristling through the apartment. Shortly after realizing that Dante had witnessed the entire event with Beatrice being taken elsewhere, Virgil made the executive decision to take her roommate/subject/classmate/friend/favorite customer/parents' friends' daughter home. For some reason that seemed a better solution than returning to the campsite without Beatrice and most likely spending the rest of the trip fruitlessly searching for her. So, instead of that, on their way out they had told Kai, Quincy, and Tamsin that Dante wasn't feeling so well and she agreed to leave early and take her friend home. To cover Beatrice's whereabouts, Virgil said... Well, Virgil doesn't remember the excuse she had made up, but she's almost positive that it made sense. Besides, everyone was so busy staring at the pretty colors coming out of the fire that the scientist assumes she could have said Beatrice developed a rare case of lobster ears and had to be immediately quarantined and the group would have bought it.

In any case, she arrived back at the apartment maybe a half-hour ago. It's well into the early morning hours, but the alien doesn't want to leave her subject alone, hence why she set Dante on the couch instead of her room. It would be weird to watch her roommate sleep in her room, even the scientist knows that. Placing her in the living room it felt more appropriate dur to it being a shared space and all. So the alien occupies herself with some chores that were hers to do and once finished, she starts the electric kettle for some tea. Just as the device clicks to signify that she's finished her boiling task, Virgil prepares her beverage and notices that Dante is beginning to stir. "Would you like some tea, Dante? I am told it has relaxing properties. Though, if I'm being honest, it tastes more like a hot boiled salad water to me. How was camping? Osian said you... fell. Oh and did you listen to that noise art I sent you? It should make you feel on edge, but I’m just not sure. Anyway, what’s up? Did I ask you about camping already?" (Nervous? The scientist? Never!! This is arguably how she usually is... just ignore the jitter in her tone.)

 

[heartstringss]

D A N T E , ​

The world is spinning. Though Dante tries to close her eyes and block it out, even standing still as she is, it feels like her entire world has been ripped out from underneath her. She can barely stand up straight, barely even hold her head up on her shoulders. More than anything else, she wants to (scream) sit down a moment and rest, but instead she forces herself to remain (quiet) standing. (Ah, that first sudden overwhelming shock of heartache—wasn't it a bitch? Of course, hopelessly devoted as she was, anyone could see the poet was in love, her being entirely blind to damn-near every single one of her girlfriend’s many fatal flaws and all. Why else would it feel like her entire world had been ripped out from underneath her, if not because it has? No matter how she wants to, she simply can't deny the obvious affair that has been caught happening right in front of her. She could try to fight it, but something told her there was no point—most definitely, that was a fight she knew she'd lose.)

Closing her eyes doesn’t help, either. If anything, it actually makes it worse, stomach twisting and turning with nauseousness though there's hardly anything in her belly. Regardless, the scream buried in her chest creates a hollow, empty space, almost like a void, and that void seemed to be slowly filling up with bile. It took everything in her to open her mouth and speak, but not give in to either one of her other urges too. Fortunately, despite her mounting paranoia, Dante does at least trust and know her brain well enough to speak its needs, so she doesn’t hesitate with those. Although she wants company on the walk back to camp (she desperately does not want to be alone), she doesn't argue when Osian tells her to go on first. She gives a small nod, releasing Osian's shoulder just as she makes to move away.

But even while Osian moves on easily without her (and, ironically, so does Beatrice), Dante hesitates. She tries to force her feet to move, but they won't cooperate. Her shoulders stiffen as she stands in place, watching (quite mortified, honestly) as Osian approached Beatrice and Tamsin rather than the lake, as she had said. Though everyone is too far away to hear what is being said, Dante doesn't dwell in any certain insecurity—rather, she thinks instead perhaps that is for the best. However, the blank stare she watches everything with turns to raw panic the moment Tamsin scrambles to their feet and begins to jog her way—whatever Osian has done for her in sending them her way, she honestly wishes that she hadn't.

The butch slows down as they come closer, suddenly more nervous than she thinks she's ever seen them in the past. A hand moves around to the back of their neck, avoiding eye contact as they greet her. "Hey…" they struggle for a moment, clearly uncertain, but when the words finally do spill out, they come out in a croak. "Dante, I'm so sorry. I-- I didn't know, I swear. Bea said that you-- she said that you knew. I never would have done this if you didn't."

(Fuck. No no no, this is not a conversation that she wants to be having.) Before she can think better of it, Dante asks, "How long?"

Tamsin sputters, dark eyes fixing on each other as they stare. "...how-- how long what?"

Her voice slowly shifts from hurt to anger. "How long has she been lying-- to you, to me, to everyone. How long have you-- you-- dammit, no." She steels herself with a breath, hand falling back to her stomach in order to hold herself together. "Don't answer that. I don't want to know." She turns away, begins to walk off by herself.

Tamsin stands still for a moment, shocked speechless, then follows behind at a slightly slower pace. When Dante catches on they're walking with her, she whips around, stopping so suddenly they nearly slam right into each other. She has words, but they die inside her chest the moment her eyes slip past the tall brunette and land on Beatrice and Osian still talking down by the lake. Rather than turn back and head to camp, this time, she takes one last look at Tamsin and breezes past them, heading back down to the lake instead. She stares ahead, not even sure herself why exactly she has chosen this path… watching, transfixed, as Osian seems to-- shoulder-check her girlfriend? on her way down to the shore. Even from the cover of the forest, Dante hears that strange whirring noise as something flies over-- but when she sweeps her gaze up to the sky, she can see nothing but the trees overhead. She doesn't think much of it, until...

She breaks through the forest just as a beam of turquoise-colored light comes down over Beatrice, momentarily freezing her in place. Before she can even process what exactly she is seeing, her girlfriend is blinked out of existence right before her very eyes, all within a matter of mere seconds.

How does she react to that? Uh. Well--

It's not anger or sadness, not even technically worry, as she loses all train of thought, all manner of comprehension. "What the fu--" but before she can spiral too far down whatever emotion that is, Osian stuns her further by holding her watch up to her face. She blinks at the orange light, but just as she opens her mouth to question it, her mind goes entirely blank and she forgets that, too. The last thing she remembers? Walking into the forest. ...but now they're at the lake. How did they get down to the lake? (Where's Beatrice--)

A searing migraine shoots behind her eyes, hands flying to her temple. She stumbles, loses her balance-- landing against something soft rather than the cold, hard ground. She's unconscious before she even knows that it's Osian.

[ x x x ]​

She doesn't dream, not exactly-- though she lies peaceful on the couch and images do flit throughout her mind, they're more an incoherent flash of memory than they are anything solid by comparison. A tiny wrinkle pinches at the space between her eyebrows, body curled on her side, her hands tucked safely underneath her head. She comes to, slowly, with the sounds of shuffling in the kitchen-- without even opening her eyes, she can already recognize the familiar, welcome scent and feel of home.

Dante barely has time to sit up and adjust to her new whereabouts, let alone process what she feels, before Virgil begins rambling off a storm of words, more jittery than she thinks she's ever seen her the entire time they've been-- er? Okay, perhaps friends wasn't exactly what they were... She stares blankly at her roommate, confused, holding the left side of her head where it still hurts a little. Virgil, at least, fills in some of the gaps.

"...slow down," she says quietly, not the least bit meanly-- just too many words are being flown her way at once, too many different directions Virgil has taken the conversation before she's even fully woken up. She rubs her temple, nodding softly, first going back to the offer of tea. "Yes please," she answers, standing slowly to join the other in the kitchen. Once the mug has been set before her, she goes about preparing the beverage her own way-- adding honey, a single lemon wedge. She holds the mug in her hands, letting the steam waft over her face and warm her cheeks. She's quiet for a moment before she goes back to the rest of what the other's said. "I think it was good… my mind's a little fuzzy, to be honest. Osian said I fell?" She somewhat remembers walking in the forest, ending up somehow at the lake-- waking up a little while later in the car, Osian (or was it Virgil? Er, that part's a little fuzzy) behind the steering wheel of their car.

Her odd dreams, the flashes of memory that linger. Making s'mores (and some mores) with Osian. Kai and Quincy being cute, as always. Beatrice and Tamsin… being Beatrice and Tamsin. Forever making her uncomfortable with their growing closeness and complete lack of boundaries--

Wait.

Beatrice. Shit.

She furrows her brow, thoroughly confused by this particular gap in her memory. "Wait... Virgil, where's Bea? Did she not come back with me?"

 

[starboob]

❛ THE ARTISTIC ROOMMATE. ༄
​

While Virgil observes her subject, she resists the urge to grab her pencil and notepad to jot down her wonderings at this very moment; such as, 'What is it like to wake-up after having your memory wiped?' 'How effective was the five minute dosage?' 'What are the long-term effects of such a errant procedure?' and, lastly, 'How mad is she going to be when she finds out...' Though that last thought is more of an afterthought. Something for a later Virgil to worry about, because as of right now Dante only knows that she woke up in her apartment. It is up to the scientist to fill in some blanks for her.

She is about to approach the human, but then Dante tells her to slow down so she stops entirely in her place and stares down at the mug of tea she has been holding. Alright. Well, now what does she do? She spins around in place to at least be facing the other, because she knows that humans value eye contact. (She has a working hypothesis that humans are very insecure and that by demanding eye contact out of each other they can assert their dominance; what complete baboons. What second order way to think, really. Everyone knows that eye contact is used to threaten people only; humans are the only species she has ever come across that actually requires this to feel heard. Ugh.) Anyway, she watches her subject prepare her beverage and decides to mimic her preparation––she's never thought to season her leaf water before. 'Perhaps this will make it more desirable.' "Oh, yeah. She dropped you off at approximately 23:53and told me you might be concussed," because Virgil remembers something about humans getting concussed when they hit their fragile little domes. Unfortunately, she completely forgets that you're not, in that case, supposed to let a concussed person fall asleep! (Oh, well. Minor details!)

"We had a really nice conversation," she might as well make it seem like they interacted right? Humans are social creatures so this makes sense as well. "She told me about Smears,"––s'mores,–– "and mushrooms. Then she said she was very worried that you might think stars grant wishes." Everyone knows that's what dolphins do. "Anyway, sounds like fun. So glad that you are back. The apartment gets very cold when you are not around," she doesn't know how to work the heater. (All that brain power and there's only so much knowledge she can fit up there.)

Virgil stares at her subject intently, expectantly almost. She also stops breathing for a full minute––much too fascinated with the way Dante looks after she's roused from being knocked out. This is the closest she may ever be to witnessing Dante wake up and observing what this delirious variation of her personality is like. 'Fascinating. She is almost exactly the very same as before. Marvelous.' In the quiet, Virgil sips on the seasoned tea and relishes in its both tart and sweet notes. (The honey is not bad, she decides. Not like that disgust smear that Dante had fed to her earlier. That had been so yucky.) Though as the silence continues, extending its reach into the territory of awkwardness, Virgil tries to think of more topics to review––as she very much does want to keep talking to Dante! (This is a rare moment where the artistic roommate is actually talking to her subject––after all, human culture generally dictates that interactions between roommates should be limited mostly to eye contact, getting chores done, and asking if a guest can come over. Anything outside of that can be dangerous, dangerous territory and yet Virgil... Virgil doesn't think this is bad so far. And it wasn't awful the last time or the other 63 times they have spoken as roommates. 'Wait, what does the roommate know...? Oh, geeze, I forgot to review my notes.)

However, when Dante decides to bring up that awful woman she calls a girlfriend, Virgil has to hold back a sneer. She sets her mug down, albeit harshly, and then hops onto the counter to sit down. She swings her legs over the side and stares at her subject––for a moment it looks as if rage passes over her features, but it's gone in an instant; almost like the flicker of a light––blink and you might have missed it. Her expression returns to its usual, and possibly unsettling, neutral. "Osian didn't say anything about her." There isn't more to say than that, but the alien guesses that that might not be a satisfactory answer––especially since this human seems to be oh so tragically attached to that... garbage abomination. "Well, wait... No, she did. She did. She said that Beatrice had to... go somewhere for three days without any means of communication. I think a vegan retreat of some sorts. Anyway, she will be back." (No she will not. She's safe, but very far away. Cryogenically frozen and buried in a moon of some planet to be used as food for when the arachnids hatch. Okay, so she's not safe but she is also not in any immediate danger! The arachnids will not be hatching for another 50 years.)

"I'm just kidding!" the alien blurts after a pause, changing her face into something she thinks is a grin but reads as a show of teeth more than anything else. "She went home too. I guess some drama happened." (Hopefully, this behavior is not too suspicious, but even Virgil realizes she is acting weird.)

 

[heartstringss]

D A N T E , ​

‘—might be concussed.’

…wait, did Virgil say ‘concussed’?! Oh, great.

Dante sighs, clearly a bit frustrated with this revelation. Lifting one hand off her mug, she touches the tender spot on her left temple once again, as if she believes touching the sore spot might, in fact, make it go away. (She’s never had a concussion herself, but Beatrice has, many times, so she knows a little bit how to care for one and exactly how annoying they could be. For example, keeping Beatrice awake those first few hours after a head injury when all she wanted to do was sleep-- er, well, let's just say had led to some pretty unprecedented fights.)

Massaging her temple with her fingertips a moment longer, Dante sighs defeatedly. Eventually dropping her hand -- and her gaze -- back to her mug, she listens to Osian (wait, that's not—) Virgil talk while sipping more of her tea.

A small smile flits across her features at the mention of 'smears' (clearly another morphing of the name for s'mores that she'd had to correct Osian about a time or two). She remembers the poem now, too, and feels a vague hint of embarrassment for her spontaneous overshare, but when it doesn't seem like Virgil herself knows anything beyond what little Osian might've told her about the wishing star-- well, at least that comes as a relief. When the blonde mentions the temperature of the apartment next, she gives a small awkward laugh and momentarily sets her mug aside to go adjust the thermostat a couple degrees.

(How many times have they shown Virgil how to adjust the thermostat herself? Too many times to count, really... although Dante's reaction itself is far less annoyed to how Beatrice's tends to be. Hell, there were times Dante remembered coming home to the thermostat purposely being set lower, just because the cold didn't bother Beatrice herself and she liked to pick on Virgil. (It was almost endearing, actually, being told that the apartment was that much warmer when she, specifically, was home… even if she knows it's only because she's far less cruel than their mysteriously missing third occupant. She just didn't have it in her to be a jerk about these things, not like Bea did.))

Moving back into the kitchen, Dante is still fighting off the brain-fog when she finally puts two-and-two together that Beatrice hadn't come home with them, and just how truly odd that was. When she asks Virgil about it and the other reacts remarkably annoyed-- well, she's not entirely sure how to feel about that, other than confused, overwhelmed as she is by her own concern already. She doesn't understand the brief flicker of rage she catches in the blonde's eyes either, though she keeps quiet and doesn't say a single word. (Quick as it's gone, she almost suspects it might have been imagined, too. What could Virgil possibly have to be mad at her about anyway?)

The answer she gives, however, is indeed quite unsatisfactory. (In fact, it does nothing at all to ease her worries, and, for a brief moment, even seems to make them worse instead. Should she text Beatrice, then? Call her? What if they'd gotten into a fight? What if—) Before her thoughts can spiral too far down the drain, Virgil interrupts with more information-- but this, too, unfortunately doesn't seem to help. A vegan retreat? What?? Hell, Beatrice hardly went anywhere without her phone, let alone for three days--

'--I'm just kidding!'

Oh… a joke. Yet no "ha-ha" leaves her lips. Her expression sours a bit, actually. Visibly uncomfortable, Dante forces a small smile (which she can tell herself falls a little short, and promptly covers by taking another long sip of tea). Her gaze flickers away from Virgil, locking on Furball, the cat, asleep in a chair across the room. Her mind is racing as she absorbs the nugget of information Virgil has given, that Beatrice has gone home because of some unexplained drama. This, too, doesn't make much sense. After all, for Beatrice, home was out of state, and not entirely welcomed territory. Something really bad must have happened for her to go home without her parents having to come collect her first. For her to leave without dragging Dante with her, or, at the very least, complaining.

"She didn't come home with us, to make sure I was okay before she--?" ...before she just left. With no note, no call, no word of warning, no consideration for her feelings. (It wasn't the first time she had done that, was it?) "She didn't, um-- she hasn't… called?" Why were her eyes burning all of a sudden? ("God, why are you always such a baby?") Worrying a hole into her bottom lip already, Dante swings away and walks over to the kitchen table. She sits down, ducks her head, and turns her attention to her phone to check for notifications-- which, there are none. No note, no call, no word of warning, no consideration for her feelings.

Perhaps she sets the phone down just a bit too roughly, eyes darkening as a surprise feeling of anger swirls through her chest. When the phone lands, bouncing off the edge of the table before falling straight to the floor, Furball hisses in the chair beside her. Spooked, he swats a paw through the air and snags a claw on the right index knuckle of her outstretched hand as she tries (and fails) to catch the phone. Before she can react, the cat shoots out of the chair and darts away. Dante yelps with surprise, shooting out of her own chair to grab a napkin from the counter beside Virgil, which she promptly presses into the small cut. "Stupid cat," she mumbles underneath her breath, pressing the napkin harder into the cut, without thinking, then wincing when this makes it ache a little deeper. Despite all of these distractions, her worry and attention still returns, ever faithfully, to Beatrice.

"I don't get it-- Virgil, did Osian not say how I fell? It's just that I don't-- I don't remember falling, I don't-- I just remember… the lake. That's the last thing I remember. Just walking with Osian to the lake, and it was dark, and I-- I don't know, just this feeling? I don't even remember--" Beatrice. Had they found Beatrice there, like they'd hoped to after she and Tamsin had first gone missing themselves? Nothing-- quite literally, there was nothing. No memory of Beatrice and Tamsin cheating; no memory of Tamsin's apology; no memory of Beatrice and Osian's brief interaction, either. She remembers nothing, nothing other than Beatrice wrapped up in Tamsin all the hours before they'd walked out to the lake, sitting with Osian at the campsite, and then-- the car, and later waking up at home. How did that make any sense? ...and Virgil's explanation? That, too, was a little odd. (Beatrice had always said Virgil wasn't a very good liar, and even though Dante herself wasn't near as good at reading peoples' tells, she couldn't deny something indeed felt off. Maybe not necessarily with Virgil, but certainly at least the situation itself.)

"Virgil, do you mind if I go call Osian? I just-- I'm kind of freaking out here, I don't really, um--" I don't know what to do. She wasn't comfortable enough with Virgil; she hadn't ever cried around her before, not quite like she had Osian or [the barista]. She felt too raw, too vulnerable, too exposed. Trapped like a fly in a spider's web inside the gaze of Virgil's intensely rapt attention, and those eyes, so blue you could drown in them, just like the sea.

 

[starboob]

❛ THE ARTISTIC ROOMMATE. ༄​

​

The alien waits, with baited breath (because she ate fish sticks earlier), for Dante to process the news that Beatrice is not at a vegan getaway but has returned home. Few things typically bother the alien. Mostly because she has little to be bothered by. Her existence demands a certain structure and thus there is no reason to be bothered if you follow the formula. However, as she swings her legs and stares into her seasoned salad water, she starts to become nervous. Wondering if perhaps she should not have sent Beatrice away and wondering if she should have told Dante the truth about that. Lying doesn't bother the scientist, it's part of her job––literally in the job description––because to live among humans and to live with your subject, that requires a certain degree of lying! After all, how can you be honest about being an alien with nefarious intentions for the planet? (Mind you, Virgil doesn't think their intentions are nefarious at all! Humans are just as bad as any other species she has ever met so repurposing the planet seems deserved. And then regarding the Beatrice situation... Well, she thinks she is doing Dante a favor and yet Dante does not seem relieved at all. She seems more keyed up than she usually use. Sigh.)

"You know how she is," the alien replies, her tone flat and unamused that the human has still not picked up on the fact that her girlfriend is the personification of that Texas-sized plastic island drifting somewhere in the Pacific. "It's lucky that Osian was there to help, though. Since Beatrice had to runaway. Or something." Her jaw tightens as she glowers into the mug. She takes another sip, then a gulp, and then she chugs the rest of the tea and then places mug in the sink. She starts a timer on her phone to remind her that she must clean her dish within 24 hours (a rule Beatrice never follows, might she add).

When Virgil lifts her head and turns her attention back on Dante, she watches as the feline creature swats her subject. The yelp causes her to start, which she tries to cover by jumping off of the countertop. "I wonder if cats take on the personality of their owners. Or is that just with dogs and the way they always have matching hairstyles with their owners?" she muses, not even trying to hide the jab at Beatrice. She eyes the cat suspiciously. To be honest, she's never really like Furball. She always messes with her equipment and she smells. On a number of occasions Virgil has purposefully left doors and windows open in hopes the cat will runaway, but that scheme has yet to work. Much to her dismay. (Now she regrets not tossing the cat onto the fire escape while Dante was sleeping. That would have helped corroborate her story, she's almost certain. At the very least, it would have gotten rid of Furball.)

(Speaking of that affront to humans, perhaps Virgil should have paid closer attention to their subject's disgusting lobster of a person, because that would have made lying about her whereabouts much easier. But then they just think that this is honestly an Osian problem and not a Virgil problem so they really have––)

Oh.

Okay. She wants to speak with Osian. Not Virgil. For some reason that wounds the alien, because she had been thinking that she was starting to make progress being herself around her subject. She tries to not be too hard on herself about it, after all it does make sense that Dante would speak to someone she is closer with than her artist roommate, who she doesn't know that much about. (Mostly because Virgil tends to keep quiet outside of their approved roommate interactions.) "Y-yeah," she says, her voice cracking a bit, for unknown reasons. Virgil clears her throat and then continues, "If you have the cell phone minutes, I think you can call her. I just remembered that I need some staples. B-r-b."

Before much else can happen, the alien dashes into her room and grabs a few things and then jets out of the apartment without so much as a goodbye. She fumbles with her watch as she skirts down the hallway towards the stairs. Once in the stairwell, the alien hits a button on her watch and shifts her features into that of Osian––she accidentally broke the voice modifier feature a few weeks back and hasn't been able to schedule an appointment with a watch mechanic. Anyway, that means she has to do the full shift instead of just the voice disguiser.

She rushes up three flights of stairs, emerges on the roof, and waits patiently for Dante's call while trying and failing to catch her breath. "Da-nte," she pants, when her subject calls. "Hi, hello. How are you? Did you make it home?" 'Curses! Osian, you, took her home!' "I mean, duh, you did. I took you there. I meant, uh, did you make it to what makes your home home? Like your bed or something. How is Virgil? I can't stop thinking about stars. Would you like to see one up close someday?"

 

[heartstringss]

D A N T E , ​

'You know how she is.'

The words sting. They sting worse than being told that Beatrice had left without checking on her first, without even telling her herself where she was going. Dante sighs, shifting uncomfortably on the spot. Although she knows Virgil is right and therefore doesn't argue, that doesn't change the fact it still upsets her anyway. This sort of bluntness she is used to from her girlfriend—and a different flavor of it from Osian, one might say—but not from Virgil. She doesn't know quite what to say, let alone what to think or feel. Was Virgil annoyed with her…? It sure seems like it, the way she glares into her mug, how her words become so strained, like she was tired of the conversation and wanted to move on.

It makes Dante panic further, the poet burying herself into her phone as she digs for answers, something—anything—she could latch onto to convince herself Beatrice was any less inconsiderate than Virgil had implied. Of course, when her search turns up empty, she takes her frustration out on her phone, and then the cat when they surprise her with a swipe of claws across her hand. As she walks to the counter to grab a napkin, she looks to Virgil with an unspoken apology in her eyes. This fades when the blonde speaks up, shifting into a small smile which she tries to bite back at the other's (playful?) jab. It sounds like something Osian would say, Dante thinks, and almost thinks to voice out loud except, in the end, she doesn't. "Cats have two personalities," she responds instead, halfway between one thought and another. "Jerk or sweetheart: there is no in-between. Especially with Furball."

(Did that mean, by Virgil's logic, there were only two personalities for Beatrice, then, too? Hell, it certainly fit the bill, the theater major being almost too intense a person for any degree of subtlety, let alone neutrality... Beatrice, a slowly ticking time bomb, all the while Dante played the switch or the diffuser. (Ah, such a comforting analogy, was it not? Yes, how it paints a certain picture—one that spoke of responsibility just as much as it did faith, be it blind or not. Almost begs the question: just who had covered Dante's eyes, after all?))

Dante hadn't meant to hurt Virgil's feelings when she'd asked for privacy to call Osian. (Really, truly, she hadn't even thought Virgil would mind. After all, why would she, when the two were hardly friends and barely even saw each other? Not that Dante didn't like Virgil, of course—she just didn't know her very well.) So, when she hears the crack in her roommate's voice as she agrees, Dante furrows her brow, concerned. Accidentally pressing the napkin too hard into the cut a second time, she bites back another sting of pain and entirely misses the moment Virgil excuses herself to her room. She replays the conversation in her head to catch what she had missed, however, still doesn't get a chance to react any way significant before the blonde is already darting out the door.

Dante stares after the door, listening to the sound of footsteps echo in the hall as Virgil races off. ...what the hell just happened? Pinching her brow, she shakes her head to clear it and turns over to the sink without another word. First running cold water over the cut, then lathering up some soap, she focuses instead on this, having to work up the nerve to actually call Osian. It's not like she was scared what she would say, or how she would react—she'd called Osian for distractions in the past, but never before had she needed one near as bad as this. She paces a while too, finally plopping herself onto the couch before she reaches for her phone and draws a breath to calm her nerves. What does she even want to say? (Could Osian even give her answers, any more than Virgil had already tried?)

She need not worry, of course, because when Osian finally picks up, she's the one who starts the conversation first.

'Da-nte.' A smile tugs at her lips, involuntarily, where her chin rests atop her knees drawn to her chest. Same as always (and yet, somehow, she had forgotten), Osian rambles on before she even gets a chance to speak herself. Like a train pulling out of station, she carries the conversation off in seven different directions, and nearly every single one of them distracts Dante's mind exactly how she needs it. She can hardly keep up, merely laughing with her friend's misstep when she forgets she herself had brought her home. Typical Osian, really.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she answers vaguely (though, in all truth, that was a lie). "And um, I-- I guess so? I mean, I made it to the couch at least." She didn't know how to speak for Virgil, though, because unfortunately she hadn't asked. Worrying a hole into her lip, Dante remained silent for a long moment while she thought over her roommate's hurried exit and the way her voice had cracked. She sniffs into the phone, giving a shrug of her shoulders though she knows the other cannot see it.

Fortunately, she doesn't have to worry long because then Osian takes the conversation in yet another new direction. This one, thankfully, is far more lighthearted than all the rest.

"Stars?" she echoes, a smile wrapped around her words. "How could I possibly see a star up close? I mean, I'm not exactly an astronaut, Osian."

As if drawn by some invisible thread, at the mention of the stars, Dante stands, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch, and walks back to the kitchen. She scoots Furball's bed off to the side of a large windowsill, works the blanket around her shoulders, then unlocks the window and climbs out onto the fire escape. With the phone still pressed against her ear, she settles down upon the rickety metal steps and leans back to look up at the sky. Burrowed into her blanket, she can almost forget her worries, here, like this. No matter that the air is cold, it's well past midnight, and she is all alone. The stars above lend her comfort, just the same as her friend's voice inside her ear.

"Is my poem still confusing you?" she asks Osian, distractedly, as she scans the night sky for Orion and his trusty belt. "Virgil said you mentioned it to her, too. What's going on inside your mind? C'mon, spill it. I'm all ears."

 

[starboob]

❛ THE LITERATURE STUDENT.✎​

​

As the alien catches her breath and waits for her subject to answer, she walks towards the ledge of the building and stares off at the city lights. If Virgil were to squint her eyes, which she is currently doing, she can almost see how the city itself looks like a mirror image of the what the night sky should look like were it not so polluted. And if she concentrates super hard, she can even make up constellations out of the office lights. Though as amusing as the activity is, her attention belongs wholly to Dante once she starts speaking again. Her eyes widen too and she nods along with everything the other is saying, even if Dante cannot see her. Though when she claims that she is okay the alien has reason to believe otherwise. Not because of her tone, which registers as regular enough but because of their earlier interaction where the human had not seemed fine at all. She raises a skeptical brow, but at least for now decides against saying anything about her friend lying. It hurts that she doesn't trust Osian enough with this information, but the alien has done some research on human interactions and she recalls that sometimes humans lie like this out of habit. So then she decides to not take it so personally and deems this is just the structure of a conversation. (Though why humans ask questions like how are you with the only expectation that the other participant will say merely fine, okay, or good is truly beyond the alien. It seems so silly. If anyone asked Virgil that she would immediately tell them how she is doing.)

"The couch is good," she decides to at least affirm that. "When you let me sleep there for an entire week because my house got stolen," robbed, the story is that her home had been robbed, "the couch was so wonderful. I found three quarters, a nickel, some popcorn kernels, and Bea––" the alien purses her lips and smacks her forehead. "Bee carcasses. From one of Virgil's, uh, arts." (Also, the reason Osian needed to stay on their couch for an entire week is obviously not because she had been robbed, but because the shifter on her watch broke! Anyway, it sure was neat living with her subject for an entire week without being her roommate.) "Sounds really comfy. Do you think you'll sleep there tonight? It is pretty late."

Virgil has no idea where she is trying to drive this conversation, but she rarely has end goals when it comes to these things. It's very possible she just likes the sound of her subject talking so she'll say just about anything to keep the conversation going for as long as possible. After all, this is how you get to know someone. So she shouldn't feel bad that this informal nature of their interaction is entirely against protocol, because technically protocol also says that her primary focus should be on information gathering. Which she is doing! Guilt and crisis averted. Huzzah!

When her subject asks about being able to see the stars, it takes everything in the scientist's power to not blurt out that if she comes up to the roof right now they can hop into her spacecraft and see one in approximately 30 minutes. However, despite her excitement, she holds it in and shrugs. Then she taps her chin with a, "Hmm, you are right. You are not an astronaut and have not taken any astrophysics classes. I am told you have to know a lot about numbers to be allowed to fly," the same is true for her planet too, she supposes. But humans seem to be far stricter with their regulations about who does and does not get to go into space. A shame really. (Perhaps that is why she wants to show Dante the stars?) "If, um, you could though––astrosnot aside––would you? They are really really big," and they always make Virgil wonder how something can be so large and yet... Do so little. And yet so much too! How interesting. (Were she a poet, she might wonder if stars look at her and think how can something so small do so much! And yet nothing at all, too.)

Finally, Virgil turns her back against the city skyline and cranes her neck upwards. There are not too many stars that she can make out. Even with the moon gone, the streetlights and whatnot make it difficult to grasp onto anything meaningful. She sighs audibly into the phone. "Oh... Yes, I think about a lot of the things you share with me," she admits, without a hint of bashfulness. As if this were a standard thing to do when someone imparts some knowledge on you. (And it very well should be.) "Inside my mind?" she repeats, her heart quickening for some reason while her hands get all clammy. (She takes a moment to secure the wrist strap attached to her phone to her wrist to prevent herself from dropping it to the ground. Beatrice may have teased her for this phone accessory before, but she wasn't laughing so much when Osian proceeded to slap her phone out of her hand in retaliation.) "Thoughts, mostly. I think that's really all that exists in the mind. Thoughts and maybe feelings, if you have them. I think if you could taste thoughts they would taste like cotton candy––which is gross, as far as sugary things are concerned. I mean, why do people enjoy the texture of cotton in their treats? And do people know that it is just sugar air? Yucky. Anyway, cotton candy just seems like it could be thought flavored." Nervously, the alien chews on the corner of her thumb, not sure if this is what the human had meant when she asked Virgil to spill. "Also you are more than just your ears, you know. You have eyes and such." Ordinarily, she would have listed off all the things that humans are made of, but she decides to herself tonight. Perhaps exhausted from the day or perhaps getting shy all of a sudden now that the spotlight of the conversation is on herself.

 

[heartstringss]

D A N T E , ​

It’s not that Dante doesn’t trust Osian with the truth of her real feelings… In fact, if she were pushed, she certainly wouldn’t lie a second time, but this very moment? ...well, still struggling with the hurt as much as she is now, she simply doesn’t feel like talking about it yet. Now that she indeed has her on the phone, Dante leans into the comfort of Osian’s voice inside her ear. She listens to her talk about how comfortable the couch is from her own experiences, laughing when she talks about the items she had found hidden in the couch cushions the time she’d stayed a week after her own home had been ‘stolen.’ The drop of Bea’s name is a little sore, but she shakes it off easily enough. (Or so she thinks.)

When Osian asks her where she’ll sleep tonight, Dante pauses a moment, unsure how to answer because, in all truth, she’d kind of expected she would sleep in her own bed. Now that she actually thought about it, though, sleeping in her own bed (without Beatrice) might be pretty lonely. “I might,” she answers softly, though her decision is not for any reason having to do with how late it is or isn’t. Her own bed would remain exactly where it was regardless of the time of day. “It is pretty comfy, like you said.”

There’s too much light pollution from the city to find Orion. Giving a sigh in resignation, Dante sets her chin upon her knees and looks out to the city lights instead. She tucks her phone between her shoulder and her ear, wraps her arms around her waist, and focuses on the brightest light pretending that might be a star instead. “Astrosnot,” Dante echoes quietly, giving a soft snort through the phone’s speaker which she doesn’t even try to hide. “You’re such a dork. But yeah, I mean… yeah, of course, I’d love to see a star someday if I could. You gonna buy me a telescope or something for my birthday, Os?” Birthday gifts were so very, very awkward, but something like that she might actually enjoy.

When Osian sighs into the phone, Dante tilts her head, wondering briefly what her friend is doing... Before she can travel too far down that train of thought, then Osian surprises her with a very blunt admission and, well, let’s just say her train derails completely. She feels her face grow warm too, stomach twisting into knots taking all her words along with it. She isn’t quite sure how to respond to such thoughtful consideration… One might think she should be used to it by now, coming from Osian, but somehow she isn’t. So, in the end, the only reaction she can muster is a smile.

This smile only grows when Osian begins to spill the contents of her brain in the next moment. She sits up a little straighter too, the same way she would if they were talking face-to-face to show Osian that she had her undivided attention. That she takes the question so very literal is a bit surprising, and yet at the same time, er-- not? Well, it's not exactly what she'd meant, but it'll do. “Do you think your thoughts are blue cotton-candy flavored, or are they pink or purple instead? Does it depend on the person and what they’re feeling, sort of like a mood ring, or are we all the same?” Her tone is almost teasing, though not the least bit meanly.

Before Dante can ask her anything further about her thoughts, Osian goes on to correct her about her ears and she is stumped once again by how very, very literal her friend is in her speech. Naturally, she laughs. “I know,” she says, tutting softly with her tongue. “But I can't see you right now, so my eyes are kind of useless in this conversation. Hence, I'm all ears.”

“...so this cotton-candy thoughts thing. Going back to that, that's, um-- well. How very Willy Wonka of you, Os. Like, you should capitalize on that, you know. Get yourself a Golden Ticket. All the flavors of your favorite candy that you could ever want.” (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory had been a very big part of her childhood, alright? Sue her if you must.) “That doesn’t really answer what you’re thinking, though. I mean, unless that’s really all you’ve got going on inside your brain right now… which I kind of doubt.” Chewing her lip, trying to think of something a bit more specific... a certain worry nagged at her all of a sudden, and for once, she listened rather than avoiding. "For example, what're your thoughts on-- um-- this whole... Beatrice going home thing? Virgil told me about it. It's weird that she just left without talking to me... r-right?"

 

[starboob]

❛ THE LITERATURE STUDENT.✎
​

There's something in the air that's making Virgil feel a bit on the woozy side, if she's being honest. If she hadn't already sat herself down a few seconds ago, surely by now she would have crashed to the roof (floor). Her knees feel far too tingly to be reliable and she wonders if perhaps the mushrooms are still having an effect on her. Though, she tries not to get too tangled up in chasing her own thoughts, because she doesn't want to miss a single droplet of whatever it is that Dante has to share. Truly, the scientist could not have been luckier to have a subject this interesting.

"Oh, wow––you really think I am?" she asks, extremely excited by the prospect of having earned enough points in Dante's eyes to be called a dork. It can be read as a term of endearment among friends and she is almost certain that Dante is friend and that she is not using the phrase in any demeaning way. (Had Beatrice said it, on the other hand... well, just look what happened to Beatrice after one too many lines crossed.) "Would you like that? I can probably do you one better than a telescope. Would you be mad if I gave you your birthday present early?" She isn't thinking of doing anything just this moment, but slowly an idea is forming in the alien's mind. She'll have to plan this out and create an itinerary, because something of this scale must be done with precision and care. Something like this, if it being done for the betterment of her subject, must be done to perfection.

Now, with Dante's next line of queries, she has to think for a long moment. This is a very complex set of questions and while she knows she started it, she almost regrets it. Just how can she keep up with the galaxies that must exist of Dante's brain? “Um, oh... I hadn’t thought about them being distinguished flavors, I suppose. A thought probably eats like a feeling and so maybe, yes, they do have some other flavors?” she asks, sheepishly. Foolish! She should have said something far more profound than that. Now Dante really is going to suspect that something is wrong with her if she cannot hold a simple conversation anymore. (Ordinarily, the alien would not worry about what she is saying or how she is coming off––in that regard she comes off as awkwardly confident or confidently awkward, but under these circumstances... Well, she is worried about coming off as suspicious and she just does not know exactly what suspicious might look like.) The alien scratches the side of her face as she tilts her head up to look at the blank sky once more. She cannot see her own planet from here, but she does know its general direction so she stares off towards where it might be as she tries to settle her nerves. “Say... What’s a mood ring? Is it like a Ring Pop, but mood flavored?” Her head tilts to the side, not that her companion can actually see this.

Though in the next instant, Virgil seems to have forgotten her inquiry as her face bursts into another signature smile as Dante explains the figure of speech. "Oh, Dante! That's genius! Of course, I really did not think of it like that. You really are just an ear to me! A mouth, too, as well, but an ear––that is just so, so perfect," she exclaims, her smile can probably be heard beaming through the phone. Truly, she must come off as though she really does believe that Dante is a genius as it's very possible she has never heard this phrase before.

"You are very smart, you know. So I am surprised to know that you would condone capitalism. Yucky, Dante. And how does a business like that even work? Am I just... Am I just flavoring people's thoughts? I am feeding people their own thoughts? Is that cannibalism? That sounds awful. Horrendous!" the alien says, with her eyes wide with utter horror. The thought is absolutely revolting to her that someone would try and capitalize off of serving people their own thoughts! Mostly because the implications are so unknown––such as, what if her customers lose the ability to think anything at all because they have eaten all of their thoughts? Thoughts are precious, precious things, Virgil knows because they are integral to many species. "Whoever this William Wonka is, I would like to meet him because I think his business practices are unethical."

'Oh... I am not escaping that one am I?' she muses when the conversation eventually returns to that human. With a sigh, Virgil rubs the back of her neck and then scratches behind her ear as she tries to think of something that will satisfy her subject. Perhaps something that will get her off the whole topic of Beatrice entirely. "Mmm, is it that weird, Dante?" she asks, deciding her question may unearth some of Beatrice's faulty characteristics––such as, you know, basic human decency and consideration for others. Virgil is an alien and even she understands this stuff. (Sort of.) "I guess I'm not surprised she left. Who even knows if she really went home. I mean, Beatrice is... Beatrice, you know," she decides to keep this as vague as possible. Human minds are good at filling in the blanks, and often incorrectly. "She is sort of like... a plastic bag drifting through the wind, you know?" (Is she intending to quote the last pop song she listened to? Probably not.)

 

[heartstringss]

D A N T E , ​

Hearing Osian's excitement at being called a dork, Dante lets out another laugh, "Yes, and I'm glad you understand that is a good thing." There were some people who would have gotten offended being called a dork, but if you knew Dante, well, then you knew she wasn't the type to throw insults around so carelessly. (She was best known for her compassion, was she not? The thought of hurting others... honestly, it was hardly even in her nature to be that careless. Even those who had stepped on her trust time and time again, she forgave each time as easily as if it hardly even mattered in the end. Osian, at least, had never put her in that position-- therefore, it was fairly easy for her to say she had nothing but respect for this one of her friends.) At the more serious mention of her birthday, Dante shifts a moment on the stairs while she considers, "You can do whatever you want, I don't mind it early. You really don't have to get me anything though, I was just kidding..." Not that she didn't enjoy birthday presents, of course; it was just awkward to figure out what to say when someone else revealed their plans in front of her.

The fact Osian sounds a little uncertain with the thought-flavor question surprises Dante, not expecting her friend to run out of words so easily. "Oh, a thought certainly eats like a feeling, I think. Haven't you ever felt your brain being swallowed up inside your thoughts? Feels a bit like drowning, to me." Ah, but that was a bit dark for the conversation, was it not? Fortunately, Osian's next question was lighthearted enough to turn things back a notch or two. "A mood ring is a bit like a Ring Pop, yeah, but it doesn't have any sort of flavor because it's not something that you eat. You just wear it and it changes color with the temperature of your skin. Each color represents a different mood, but it's sort of, um-- it's sort of a gimmick. I doubt there's any real science behind it; it's just something people market to kids, you know?"

This hardly matters, though, as Osian moves through conversation topics so fast, again, Dante can hardly keep up herself. When she explains the 'all ears' logic and the other reacts with such enthusiasm she can practically hear her grin straight through the phone, Dante can't help but smile too. She laughs, shaking her head as she sits up to stretch a moment, "Technically, you are too." Then she shakes her head, trying to ignore the way her cheeks heat up when Osian calls her idea genius and then, in the next breath, calls Dante herself 'very smart.' She hardly expects to be called out for shilling capitalism, though, and so can't help but crack up laughing when her friend begins to criticize her that not only is that wrong, but also that it sounds horrendous. "No, no, it's just-- it's just a movie reference. God, could you imagine though?" If you could really taste a person's thoughts, Dante imagined that her own would probably taste like candy lemon (more sweet than tart), or be tea-flavored. (Beatrice's, comparatively, she thought would be quite bitter, and Osian... well, hers would probably be the mystery flavor in the bag.)

"William Wonka, pffft. Oh, I'll introduce you two alright. Would certainly love to hear more of your thoughts." (The original film though, not the 2005 remake with Johnny Depp.) For example, what would Osian think of Violet Beauregarde tasting a candy that makes her turn into a blueberry and swell up to three-times her original size? Would she be rooting for the children or the chocolatier?

Dante settles into a long silence then, letting all the previous conversation topics slip away like sand between her fingers. Turning the subject to her girlfriend's disappearance now instead, she fixes her gaze once more on the horizon while she waits for Osian's answer. She tries to ignore the sense of panic she feels needling at the back of her mind, but once Osian turns her question right back at her, she practically falls to pieces. Her shoulders hunch forward, the blanket dropping as her forehead falls down to her knees. She isn't mad, but with the truth so goddamn unbearable her heart is all she can stand to guard right now. When she finally speaks again, not even laughing with the Katy Perry reference (though it does tilt her lips the slightest bit into a smile, briefly, before that too disappears like wind), her words feel just as heavy as her chest. Breath catching as she struggles to push them out, "Do you-- do you think she'll not come back, then?" She sniffs into the phone, then presses her forehead tighter to her knees. "I just-- I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Virgil said she might not have her phone. What if... what if something's wrong?"

 

[starboob]

❛ THE LITERATURE STUDENT.✎​

​

"But, Dante, birthdays are important!" the alien cries out, surprised that her friend would even consider not allowing Virgil to grant her gift. Okay, well that's not exactly what Dante had said, but the alien interprets it just the same. To her, birthdays are special and sacred days––they are not something celebrated on every planet, after all. In fact, Virgil had never celebrated her own birthday until she came to Earth! She had been so enthusiastic when she learned of this sun rotation commemoration that she picked a birthday for herself. "Did you know that in some cultures they will not even celebrate a child's birthday in earnest until they are about two years old because of infant mortality rates? You have made it past two and so I think you deserve to be celebrated for that great, great accomplishment! Another milestone around the Giant Star. I already have the perfect gift in mind, but I shan't tell you because that would ruin the surprise." Virgil will not be responsible for Dante having an unsatisfactory birthday––especially now that she feels as though it is her responsibility to ensure that her friend (!!!) has a good day. (Of course, she would try to make all of Dante's days good if it did not go against the Code of Ethics. Bad days are just as important to study as the good ones, because they are an important part of balance. Or something. Virgil doesn't understand the rules, she just follows them.)

Dante then brings Virgil back to the present moment, as she always does, and she is grateful to not be thinking of all the rules. So, rather happily, she occupies herself with her friend's vivid words. It takes the alien a minute to decide if she knows what Dante is talking about or not; she's never thought of this before, but she supposes she does know the feeling. Except that feeling, rather than letting herself drown in it, must have been what inspired her art exhibit with the empty room that encouraged people to scream as loud as they could. "Yes, and it's really good for you to belch up all that water when you drown so maybe all you need to do in those moments is scream? They say that in space you cannot be heard screaming," she says, holding the phone between her shoulder and cheek as she adjusts her position and curls her coat around her tighter. "But that doesn't seem as fun to me. When I scream, I want to be heard. I want someone to ask, 'Hey, V––Osian, why are you screaming? What makes you scream?'" Clearly, the alien has no issue with leaning into the morose. (Also, ignore the almost slip up. It happens from time to time. See, she wants to be able to be herself around Dante, but at this point she is just in too deep. It would also ruin her Life Plan, too, and she cannot afford to lose that. The Overlords would not hesitate to execute her for insubordination. She shudders to think of how they'll do it.)

Virgil gets up from the ground and begins pacing on the roof, noticing the frost of her breath in front of her. She opens her mouth wide and lets out a big breath of air, pretending in her mind that she is a dragon and completely forgetting that she is on the phone with Osian––er, Dante. Oops, okay. "That sounds like a fever ring to me, Dante," the scientist says matter of factly. If a mood ring is based on temperature then it will almost always be one color! So it must be a great indicator for fevers. "Ring Pops sound better to me, because I can eat them. I already have another device for temperature taking––my watch does it. I digress, the best rings are peach rings. It is like eating a cloud."

Happily, she thinks of those delicious rings––which she doesn't find too obnoxiously sugary in small doses––and debates on whether or not she should walk down to the bodega to grab some before coming back inside. Though the thought is interrupted as she remembers that there still is the matter of Beatrice to address. (A topic she would like to avoid, but that just seems impossible given her ear-company.)

"Well," she starts, unsure of what to say. On the one hand, she wants to be as honest as possible with Dante and on the other hand, she is not sure that Dante can handle the truth. So maybe she should stick with some vague half-truth. "Beatrice is unpredictable. She is predictably unpredictable. So, um, I just don't know. Sorry, Dante. But I don't think she is gone forever." Because technically what is gone? If Virgil knows exactly where Beatrice is then is she really Gone? Virgil doesn't think so and with this augmentation she will be able to sleep peacefully tonight.

However, when she hears the sniff that she interprets as a sniffle she knows that it can only mean one of two things: Dante is sick (she already knows she isn't as her vitals are fine) or she is sad. Since the former has already been ruled out, she asks, "Ar-are you sad?" The alien doesn't want her sad... and alone! Oh, wow, she is alone and sad! "Okay, look. Here's the thing, we just do not know a lot about this situation. Who knows, maybe she is trying to pull some romantic stunt like in Say Anything since she is such a jerk to you," wow, she had not meant to say that last part but she cannot take it back now. (She hardly likes or agrees with the first part, but she doesn't want her friend feeling sad while she is alone.) "And wants to say sorry or whatever. Anyway, if you want to search for her, we can," she relents, thinking this is a terrible idea and yet she cannot stop her mouth from moving and her tongue from pushing out words! "Just give it the weekend, maybe she'll turn up with a large sound device to woo you."