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Ros’ calculations are interrupted by something falling over his face with a soft whump .
“Dunno if I should say congrats, or ask how the hell y’ever managed to do it, but figured you ought to have this regardless.”
The voice registers a nanosecond before he can remove and identify the object. Prudence. And… another bandana, much like the one she carries with her at seemingly all times, but a faint, baby blue.
“The disposal chute is that way.”
The fabric falls to the floor with no further consideration. He has better things to do than clean up after her and her whims.
Pru snorts, and even without turning, he can see her approach in his peripherals. She picks up the fallen bandana and waggles it in the air at him.
“Ain’t trash, domehead. ‘s a gift .”
“Same thing.” He returns to the datasheet.
But… she remains. Standing. Staring. Wiggling. And the longer she waves it at him, the clearer it becomes that she does not intend to leave him be without some further acknowledgment.
Ros relents. “And… why would I want this?”
“For yer upcoming nuptials, o’course. Slim pickings, on the move as we are. Figured a charitable donation wouldn’t go amiss.”
“Ah.” He stills momentarily. So she’s also off her rocker. As if one wasn’t bad enough.
“Y’ don’t seem too enthused, Ros. Thought you’d be thrilled to check something off your to do list, thorough as you are. Y’know, ‘something blue?’ For tradition’s sake?” She pauses. “And ‘something old,’ too, if you’re willin’ to cut corners. Either way, I dug it out just for yer sake.”
“That wasn’t necessary,” he says. Then, for good measure, he adds, “there are no nuptials. Upcoming or otherwise.”
“No?” Pru pulls back at that, finally removing her waggling hand. “Preach was talkin’ up a storm earlier, right before she went topside. Goin’ on and on about it, the two of you bein’ sworn to each other. Spendin’ the rest’a yer days together, an’ all that. Had a real sparkle in her eye.” She invades his space once more, leaning in to peer at him. “But yer tellin’ me there ain’t weddin’ bells in yer future?”
“If there are,” he says with a sigh he doesn’t bother to conceal, “I’m not aware of them.” As is so often the case with Preach and her… ideas.
“Shit, I’ll hold on to this, then. Hard to find decent fabric out here.” Prudence begins to shove it into her back pocket, then stops. “Unless yer plannin’ on changin’ that now with a proposal–?”
“No.” The word comes out sharper than he’d meant. It isn’t worth losing focus over. It never is. When he next speak, his voice is steadier. “I have no plans to propose and that isn’t going to change, no matter what she says. We are not… sworn to each other. At least, I’m not.” Who knows what Preach gets up to in private, or what she’s saying to that god of hers. He shudders to think of it.
“Now, hold on,” Pru says. “The way you talk… well, you make it sound like – like –”
“Like she’s made up elaborate fantasies focused on me and some grand romance and she spends all day, every day, talking about them to anyone who’ll listen?” Or thinks is listening – after all, she does spend much of her time cooing over these delusions to him, regardless of how he tunes them out. “Because she has. Thanks for noticing.”
“That’s – huh. …Ros, clarify some things for me.” It’s not phrased like a question. “You two ain’t datin’, or any other manner of seein’ each other in a romantic fashion.”
“No.”
“And you’ve never dated? Not ever?”
“Nope.”
“And forgive my asking–” He probably won’t, but she carries on regardless. “–but you ain’t harborin’ any sort of romantical feelings towards her? Not even a hint or a little harmless flirtation here or there?”
“Is there a point to this?” But Prudence just stares at him, silent and expectant. “ No . Not even a hint .” And flirtations? Ugh .
There’s a long, quiet moment where he can practically hear the cogs turning in her head. “She’s been sayin’ for weeks–”
“For weeks, for months, for years – but who’s counting?” He is. It’s been going on the better part of the last half-decade, almost the instant she laid eyes on him, and it’s made some of the centuries he spent stuck on Earth feel like paradise.
“Shhhhhh it . Well… why in the hell is she doin’ that ?”
“You’re asking me ?”
Pru shrugs, splaying her hands to either side. “S’ppose I could be askin’ Preach, but somehow, I get the feelin’ I wouldn’t get a straight answer out of her. But… shit , Ros, anybody ever try’n… I dunno, shake her loose of this… flight of fancy?”
Ros turns away from his calculations at last, and… stares. “I have not been encouraging her.”
Now she raises her hands defensively. “Ain’t sayin’ you were!”
Another sigh. “Nothing’s stopped her yet. But if you want to try, be my guest.”
“Think I’ve got to,” she mutters. “Ain’t right, goin’ all moony over nothin’.” And then she frowns, meeting his gaze head on. “And it ain’t right, plannin’ a man’s future like he ain’t got no say in it. Ain’t right at all.”
“Doubt it’ll make a difference.” He hasn’t yet discovered anything that deters Preach. An unstoppable force, that one.
“ Somethin’s gotta be done. I’ll.. suss out what with time. Anyways…” She sighs. “I’ll be honest, my plans for the evening are in shambles. Was plannin’ on teasin’ you ‘bout this newfound romantic side–”
“Didn’t you say you came here to be charitable?”
She waves him off. “It can be both. I’m a woman of many facets.”
Apparently so.
“ Anyway , since that ain’t the case, and I’m missin’ something to occupy me – y’wanna run those numbers from the last battle by me?”
Ros blinks. “You want to go over the data?”
“We-e-ell… not really, no,” she admits. “But–” And she rolls her shoulders, stretching her arms out with a yawn that reveals those terrible glistening teeth – and the needle-sharp appendage within – before letting her arms drop and snapping her mouth closed with an audible click, grinning those sharp, sharp teeth at him. “–I like survivin’. So, go on, I know you’re just bursting to tell me all the ways I fucked up ‘n nearly got us all killed ‘n should be doin’ better. I’m ready to hear it.”
“Oh, gladly . Where to begin ?” It takes only a swipe to bring up the relevant data from earlier. “How about – that false start near the snowbanks? The delay with the cranker? Falling when you should have been climbing ? Giving away your position almost more times than I could keep track of? You’ve decided the odds so far, but it’s beyond me how you’ve managed to make it this far without more serious injuries.”
A pause. He regards her with narrowed eyes.
“But you have… potential.”
Marginally more than anticipated.
Marginally.