Why not :)

--

“And that’s a wrap!” Dawn said cheerfully, and stepped through the portal, grinning. She’d been trying out CSI-show style one-liners recently, and was having a great time with them when they worked out.

Her grin immediately faded to make way for wide-eyed staring as she registered the state of her response center.

Couch overturned. Minis holding some kind of council, with the mini-Balrogs Kelaborn and Gladladriel, ordinarily on the calmer side, waving their little fiery whips in clear agitation. The golden fire lizard Gwilithiel had been sulking on the closest shelf to the council of minis; the moment she noticed Dawn’s return she took flight with an inelegant scrabble, landing seconds later on Dawn’s shoulders and demanding to be soothed with every bit of mental and physical ability she had to get the point across.

In the kitchen, a Chinese teenager with shoulder-length hair held up in a ponytail looked up from an entire counter full of mechanical wreckage and followed Gwilithiel’s flight path to meet Dawn’s stare. His eyes went even wider than hers.

“Uh,” he said. There was an immediate guilty undertone, quickly subsumed by a sunny smile. “Dawn-jie! Hi! You, uh, you’re back! How was the mission?”

Dawn, petting a clingy fire lizard and making distracted soothing noises at her, somehow still managed to look from the teenager to the wreckage of…what was that? What was missing? She was a little afraid to look around the kitchen.

At least he already sounded a little sheepish.

“It was kind of fun,” she said. The Council of Minis was still going, bar a quick turn and wave in her direction when her name had been said. “Not too annoying.” She took a tentative step forward, then gave herself a mental shake and detoured around the couch to head for the counter. “I see you’ve been doing some kind of project while I was out! Want to walk me through it, Zohar?”

Zohar winced, but stood his ground. “It looks bad, doesn’t it?”

Dawn took a closer look at the pieces.

Dawn took an even closer look at the pieces and turned one over.

Dawn recognized—oh sweet nibblets, that was her toaster oven. That was very much the door and two dials from her toaster oven. And next to it—definitely food processor pieces. She was afraid to figure out what else was there, but she had a feeling it was at least one more kitchen item.

Dawn looked up. Zohar looked back, apprehensive in a way that made Dawn think…well, several things.

First: he should be. That was her toaster oven! He’d taken apart her toaster oven! Could he put it back together? She used it almost every day!

Second: hadn’t he just about stopped looking at her like that? She used to catch him doing it at least once per hour.

Zohar was a badfic rescue who had been living with her, fostered by her, for nearly a year now. He was brilliantly clever, witty, and inventive. He was cuttingly hilarious and terrible at self-preservation. He was a sixteen-year-old former Wei Wuxian replacement with all the memories of the horrific events his older self had endured and the abuses he’d suffered in his home Legendary Badfic on top of them.

He'd taken apart her toaster oven. He seemed at least halfway at ease. Nine months ago he wouldn’t have dared to try the former without being confident he could put it back together before she got back. Only six months ago he was still occasionally looking at her in ways that made Dawn think very strongly (and sadly) that he was still waiting for some other shoe to drop.

Dawn looked down at the wreckage covering her counter and smoothed her fingers along Gwilithiel’s tail.

“I see the human gift for invention remains intact in you,” she said, pulling on the shred of amusement present in all her reactions until it came forward a little more. Like hell was she going to snap at him and prove whatever apprehensions her foster son still had about the truth of her character right. “Want to walk me through what you’re doing here?”

Something almost indiscernible in Zohar’s body language relaxed. “Dawn-jie, you’re too nice. Aren’t you mad?”

Dawn raised her eyebrows at him. “I mean, I definitely hope you have a plan for getting our kitchen appliances back in working order, but I’m the one who left you here to amuse yourself, right? So it’s partly my fault. Next time I’ll…I’ll tell you more clearly what I don’t want you to take apart in here, and maybe we can find some unused appliances that you can do whatever you like with.” She paused, and was immediately struck by an urgent thought. “Whatever you like that isn’t explosive. Or toxic. Those are lines. Okay?”

Zohar nodded quickly. “Yes, Dawn-jie. I’ll keep it in mind.”

The Council of Minis, gone quiet for this exchange, became audible again.

--

[very out of time, over in fact, so: Zohar is a bit sheepish and still wondering a little bit whether that’s really it but continuing to be more relaxed; the Council of Minis are excitedly debating [probably about whether or not those lines will actually hold]; Gwilithiel is slowly mollified by attention; Zohar really wanted to know how the toaster oven worked and then he wanted to make an improved version but needed more parts and then looked a bunch of stuff up but wasn’t quite sure yet how to make it all happen without explosions; Dawn is both impressed and dismayed; Zohar promises to put the appliances back together as they were and have someone [maybe from DoSAT?] check them over for safety purposes; Dawn might restrict him from tinkering with appliances for a couple weeks to a month after that’s done, and once that period lapses she gives him some unused/broken appliances gathered from other agents with a reminder to be careful about what he makes with them; and, lastly in this summary but early on chronologically…Dawn does find a way to heat up their next meal :P it just probably either takes longer or is less crispy, and might involve Zohar cheekily suggesting they could build a fire and then offering heating talismans. Whatever it is, another thread is added to the slowly spun yarn of trust.]

[set in the first quarter of 2022!]

--

Zohar’s previous appearances on the Board:

In a thread asking questions of a snow golem (using Dawn's account)

Off-screen, having made a cake for Muriel’s birthday party (written by Lily Winterwood)

write-off x

I'm sat welding a window back together and wondering what happened.

There's nothing on the outside. The aluminium compound crapped out at Flux 20.5, because the idiot piloting this tub was pushing the speed limit in a debris field. Deflector didn't pick it up because the shipwrights cheaped out, so a lump of mica the size of a walnut scraped the fuck out of the blast window. That blew outside and three people got blown out into space. No trace of them either.

All I've got is the welder and a plug plate. Nuclear bonding isn't great but it'll plug the leak at medium flux long enough for us to limp to a drive yard, assuming the stupid git at the helm panel doesn't drive like a teenager high on droid polish fumes again. Who trained him? Did they do it wrong for a bet?

Amazing that the prat even managed to kill three people on a garbage scow anyway. We're crew-light for a ship this big. Only, what, seven thousand? And that's including the droids, which you should, no matter what the Captaincy Board says. They're doing the bleeding jobs, they should get the bleeding rights, that's what I say. But oh no, Rear Admiral Twerpknuckle of the Corporate Whogivesatoss Merchant Navy thinks robot should still mean slave, so we're all stuck dealing with that. Ought to bloody strike over this. Probably only a matter of time before we do.

I'm a union member, me. United Federation of Spaceman Ranks, Astrotech Maintenance Personnel, and Allied Trades. I'll bring this up with the rep next time I'm in a drive yard, which won't be too far away assuming this daft lump of slop doesn't get me killed. Because it's not right, treating people like things. As long as there's an underclass there's no equality. Took me too long to realise that, for shame. Lots of droidist people about, and it's only getting worse. You've got to stamp that out. Otherwise you're next. No matter what the bilge rat at the top of the pile says, you can always be next.

One person can't do much. Twas ever thus. You've just got to do what you can to help. If we don't, the captains and shipmakers and rich slop buckets in charge of everything get to do whatever they want, and what they want to do is screw everyone else over in the name of a few grieving bob. You can't expect them to give you anything. You've got to take it.

They used to say the first thing to do to make things better was fixing broken windows, back when we were only screwing up the one planet. Taking a bit of pride in where you are makes it harder for the rich slops to use your own despair against you. The human gift for exploitation remains intact, even now, but so does the gift we all have - human, droid, whatever - for making things better for others.

So I'm patching up a second window over the broken one. Because we deserve to live.

The French Quarter was his favourite place in New Caledonia; he never tired of the sight of brick roads and intricate houses, flowering plants and resplendent shop displays. Alas, his enjoyment did not last: among the throng, he spotted a familiar man of mist blue hair and white robes. He tried to rush away, but the white-clad man blocked his path.

"Ah, if it isn't Munehisa," said the man in white, who could be no other than Usuasagi Arare. "I see the human gift for insolence remains intact. You spotted me, and yet you're not going to at least greet me?"

"I have one humble request that you would stop using my tea name," Kaguya replied. "If you will excuse me, I have business I must attend to promptly."

"And what shall you do if I continue to call you Munehisa?" Arare continued. "Are you going to hit me? Go ahead, kid, hit me if you will; I sorely want to be backhanded by you again."

Kaguya instantly slapped Arare with his palm; the smack drew the stare of all those nearby.