“…I really wish you would have joined me planetside. It’s been ages since I saw such a lovely composition of clouds! Not even put together by vine. And the local star setting was just, wham, breaking up like crystal colors in the atmosphere. There were even mountains, all jagged and pointy, like they could reach up and pull the stars apart. They would have been perfect for you!”

The two affini had been milling about the snow-dusted garden engaged in what Bryidreanea considered amicable conversation for a respectable length of time. Evidently it had been too respectful, and Bryidreanea’s conversation partner grinned smugly as thon narrowed three pairs of eyes at her and reclined into a trellis. It was fortunate that the conversation had only just turned to the matter of the recent excursion thon passed up, but it was inevitable. Their rhythms clashed, dancing and dueling against each other as they had time and time again.

“Picturesque. But then, your prose is so very lucid and masterful. I’ll surely have experienced it secondhand in such fidelity that it will be as if I saw it myself. Do go on, Lucerne.”

Lucerne Virgate, Sixth Bloom, sighed and slumped to press her cheek into her hand. Her flesh even gave and squished in approximation of a human’s. Her bright, temperate foliage might be dissonant among the her subdued surroundings had she not arranged it into a wholly cosmetic imitation of a peacoat. Such infuriating attention to detail, except for the pout she couldn’t feign long enough to last a sentence without grinning again.

Guh.

“D’aww, you spoiled the mood. I was gonna give you a whole souvenir. Sounds like I’d better not, though. Honestly, Bri, how else can I help you find a second hobby to pursue on the ground? You keep half a dozen interests in check on ship. One of these trips, you’ll accidentally enjoy something that isn’t a rock.”

Bryidreanea took a long sip as thon replied, “Shame. Utterly tragic. Perhaps I should take up another hobby to indulge on my planetary expeditions, after all. Yes, I know! Let me return to my entomological studies! I can thus ensure I won’t have any reason to look at anything above the ground, and you can stop fretting over my enrichment as I fixate on the dirt. Now, out with the present.”

“You’re such a wet towel, Bri. Bet you won’t even like it. Won’t you try to enjoy anything besides rocks and nettling?”

“Of course. I enjoy your presents, because you’re so thoughtful and lovely and sickeningly gregarious. Now, give me the rock.”

Lucerne raised an eyebrow. “How would you know it’s a rock?”

Bri rotated thons faceplate along its radial symmetry, coming to rest at an inscrutable angle. “Because you always bring them when you go to a new planet without me? Because you love me? Because you’re so very thoughtful, and you know how much I enjoy rocks?”

“You’re incorrigible, but it can’t be helped. Didn’t you brush me off last time? I brought you a gift, and you were all, ‘Oh, my collection is for samples from the planets I visit.’ Changing your stance?” She drew an arm along her chest, gracefully palming a fist-sized object from within her foliage.

“Not at all. My favored collection is that of the samples I have retrieved myself. I do, however, curate a smaller gallery of those tendered to my care by others.”

Lucerne leaned back against the trellis opposite thon, unraveling just enough biomass to maintain her humanoid form while lifting it up. Her arms stretched along it and her legs folded, feigning the pose of one reclining on a couch in spite of gravity. Guh. Would she not pass up a single human dramatism to let her body rest?

“Sure, sure. Just look at what I found, though! Can’t wait to take it back home and identify it, can ya?” She tilted her hand forward, at last showing off the sample retrieved from her last planetary vacation.

Copper ore in faded stone. Heavily oxidized with much of its surface covered by striking blue, a mesh of fine crystals. Azurite or connellite, likely the former. Projected geological studies of the planet suggested these materials were not uncommon in it, but neither were they a representative example of its composition. Spectacle, rather than an exemplary or curious item. There was little mystery to it for Bryidreanea, or any experienced and prepared exogeologist.

“…I simply can’t wait. Thank you, Lucerne. I do appreciate the help growing my ancillary collection when I cannot tend to my personal one. As it stands, I do not enjoy surface excursions when I am at a dearth for company.”

“Like my company’s no good? I know you’re picky, but dozens went on this trip, and I know you like at least a few of the others. Woad? The Alates?”

“Lovely folks. Lovely company. …but all of you, and nearly each other who went, was entertaining.” Thon sighed with thons entire body. Having danced enough, thon reached a cluster of vines through the flurries that drifted across the air towards her.

“Right, because you’re more afraid of florets than flames.” Lucerne passed the stone into eagerly extended vines which quickly delivered it to the more precise of Bryidreanea’s false arms to be turned over in examination.

“Afraid that I’m not a fan of consorting with affini too busy managing their pets in an uncontrolled environment to talk about anything else. I have little interest in occupying myself solely with observation or sample acquisition, regardless of how many of my hobbies I bring with me, should I need to withdraw. Say, how is that devilish little blade you’ve preoccupied yourself with dulling holding up? Made it through the excursion without too many nicks and bruises?”

Lucerne’s irritated expression gave way to a sharp grin. “Only the ones she wanted me to give. You know, we were considering on splitting up next stop. I could tempt you to join me, if I can get her put up here~!”

The stone was fascinating. It was basic, certainly. Perhaps a bit inconsistently shaped, having been found naturally shed and not extracted by a professional. A common trifle on an interstellar scale. Much more fascinating to look at than Lucerne’s expression, still.

“I could. Time will tell. I shall need to look into the roster to make sure there aren’t too many pets for you to distract yourself with. If the stars align, I may let you drag me along.”

Lucerne dropped from her perch, shaking loose the snowfall that had been accumulating on her shoulders and hair. “Ha! If my darling is still interested in some private time, I’ll start moving stars into place. I do still want to get out and about with you, Bri, for more than old times’ sake.”

“You wouldn’t be able to draw me from my schedule, and I wouldn’t be able to drag you into a garden with so much as a chill in the air, if either of us wanted to merely reminisce about blooms past. I want to take your company, too. You’re some of the best agonizing company I’ve got.”

Lucerne walked up and elbowed thon in the abdomen at a height where human ribs might be before wrapping arms around in a hug. Thon was unmoving, except for a few loose vines squirming from thons back.

“And you’re just the sweetest. How could anyone else handle you?”

“Few have such refined taste.”

Bryidreanea Armeria’s first Bloom was gilded with the whimsical delight of admiring the tapestry of sophont species the Affini Compact drew under its eaves. One could spend a lifetime learning the basic data on file for each, or immersed in the works and culture of just one. For as many lifetimes as an affini could ask for, the Compact’s ever-expanding roots encompassed new sophonts at a rate which approached infinity far faster than the study of one soul, no matter how passionate. Perhaps, thon surmised, that is why so many took a personal investment, filling lifetime after lifetime, bloom after bloom, sharing the lives of mere individual florets.

Bryidreanea Armeria’s second Bloom was overshadowed by a ceaseless search. If it was the way of things, and it was, thon wanted to be a very good owner for a sophont thon never seemed to find. Thon searched for a good kind of creature, a good way to foster them, even a good way to search. It came and went.

Bryidreanea Armeria’s third Bloom was insightful. Thon had a very particular social palate. Florets rarely clicked, nor did their owners when they were all wrapped up in wrapping them up. Turned out, thon had no interest in lascivious intimacy or relationships. It merely took an entire bloom being told and saying thon “just needed to find the right floret” to shed all pretenses of patience.

Bryidreanea Armeria, Fourth Bloom, suffered no rot and left nothing thon needed unspoken.

Thon took plenty of time to enjoy the garden, snow and ice and all, after bright and temperate Lucerne hurried away. There was plenty of time to enjoy it, thon decided, clearing the next block of a densely packed schedule.

There was a learning curve to keeping one’s life fulfilling when they weren’t suited to the kinds of companionship that most cultivated their hours around. It took a bloom or two to work out a system, and now thon kept days filled with studies and hobbies that could be picked up or dropped on a whim. Always something to do which could simply be reserved and bear its fruits later. If a chance opportunity arose to meet a friend, join one of the Lucida Segunda’s incessant excursions, or chase another whim, it was ripe for enjoying.

So, thon stretched out on the trellis to watch the flurries for a while. If thon wasn’t mistaken, the garden was due for a storm soon, and it would be dozens of cycles to freeze, thaw, and return to such a handsome state. Already it was becoming too inhospitable for many sophonts to stay long, which made it the perfect time to linger.

Bryidreanea drifted across field, forest, and frozen lake gathering a coat of powder and frost that flattered thons deep green countenance much the same as it dressed the hardy evergreens and lichens that there abound. The hem of thons bell-shaped body never left as much as a print in the gathering dust.

That was all good and done with time to spare, so thon went for a drink.

Bee’s Knees Teas and Treats was not thons preferred source for refreshment, which was a polite way of expressing it was not among thons 14 most preferred sources on board. Thon disliked playing favorites, though, and chancing stagnation even less. Having paid only two visits so far, it was still possible thon could be surprised to find something special on the menu. …something special for those who didn’t care about getting pet treats on fancy dishes to hold over their playthings.

While thon was seen in by a floret, thon knew its owner lead her pets in taking and serving orders. Interfacing with a needy floret, trying to avoid making it feel rejected or melt its brain with unneeded praise, was an exhausting affair, and the less time doing so, the better.

Almost as soon as thon selected a seat- a bench perched above the din of the teahouse’s main room- the establishment’s owner was upon thon. Laurel Seilan, Third Bloom, at least had the sense to move like an affini rather than let her human façade constrict her mobility as she vaulted up to the second level.

“Welcome in, hun! Now, I know I’ve seen you before, let me place it. Br… Armeria, was it?”

“Bryidreanea Armeria, Mrs. Seilan.”

“Bryidreanea, of course! Feel free to just call me Laurel, hun. What, and who, can I fetch for ya?”

Guh.

“Just looking for a nice nutrient blend. Something to warm me after a spell in the Boreal Garden at 270°. I believe I previously tried what you claimed to be the most popular affini nutritional solution, as well as the ‘house blend,’ here. I’d like to try something different, so I cede to your recommendation. …and please, don’t trouble your florets if you could bring it to me.”

Her rhythm lilted and betrayed her thoughts far clearer than a face that was only used to animating nuance in positivity. “Well, my lil Bennie’s the one to make the call on mixing drinks. Why don’t I see what they can whip up?”

“I would prefer to rely on your expertise. My sensory suite is far from tuned for Terran cuisine.”

“Alllllright, hun. I’ll see what I can do for ya. Be just a few minutes.”

Bryidreanea’s idea of unstructured, casual recreation was suspiciously similar to thons long-running and serious engagement to the joys of historical xenoveterinary literature.

Thon was insistent that such casual reading as one might do from a datapad in a café was worlds apart from analyzing documents in a controlled environment. Those works without primary sources to template or that were otherwise irreproducible deserved at least a compiled folio to leaf through when engaging in proper study. Perhaps annotate. Mark up. Tear down.

Contrary to thons lack of background in Terran potables, thons taste for their literature was developing swimmingly. Thons rough method for maintaining thons reading list included cutting in any newly catalogued sophont culture’s works. These would be alternated in a fifty-fifty mix for both study and leisure, before being pared down to an average distribution shaped by thons preferences. So far, Terran media had promise, particularly for one equally invested in consuming good works as the right kind of very, very dubious works.

There was just the matter of picking apart the chaff. The corporate stranglehold on the Terran Accord’s culture made for a horrific barrier to access, once. Historic information, archives of works both culturally influential and highly personal, were not profitable to propagate but were now being rescued from their dormancy all the time. Branded media tended to make itself known, and procedurally generated items were little harder to procedurally isolate.

There would be a steady influx of centuries of content making its way to the overnet for years. Better still, the Lucida Segunda had a robust collection belied by its wide proximity to domesticated Sol. A choice trove had been hand-delivered to the ship by an independent human several hundred cycles ago. His prudence was one of precious few things to raise Bryidreanea’s estimation of that species; there were precious few that came aboard as independents who would demonstrate anything besides being annoyingly precious pets.

A chime from on high drew thon from that train of thought. Bryidreanea had been pleasantly distracted, vine circling the rim of an unremarkable drink, eyes unseeing the preemptive <Prepare for Ship-wide Announcement!> message superimposed over the casual reading material on thons datapad.

“Heyyy, citizens and sweet little cuties, and beepers, and pets, and-”

Right. …guh.

Rhipsalis, honey-dipped and terribly informal, was the active co-captain. Both captains were just too painfully sweet to take without a drink of water, thon swore. The nutrient solution at branch would have to do.

The ship’s helical habitation decks had been due for a reprieve from their gravity-simulating spin about half a day from now. A change in the forecast, just announced, dictated it would be coming any moment now instead.

Bryidreanea wanted to be huffy about the change of schedule on principal. Problem was, thons detour fit in so cleanly with it that it was hard to stay upset. Tucked away above the Bee’s Knees as its patrons hurriedly made their egress, thon had a good show of low-risk but utterly frantic fretting that really helped set the mood. With the teahouse emptying out, it might be even more worth dallying in than usual.

Thon extended over the railing somewhat, bending round the corner to grab the hostess’s attention.

“Laurel. Would you mind if I stayed overlong? If it’s no undue impedance, I’d like to remain here for the passing microgravity.”

Laurel’s body was already disentangled and stretched across the walls of the restaurant, handling no fewer than four separate tasks already, none of which slowed as she replied. “Sure thing, hun! Settle in, and I’ll come by in a lil while.”

Thon was already rather settled. The bench, table, and railing would be easy to brace against, and thon had plenty of drink and casual reading left. Managing the vessel would be a slight pain if thon didn’t finish it by the time acceleration began, except that Laurel appeared and produced a freshly compiled lid. She brought it down on the mug’s lip with such speed and force that thon might have lost the tip of a vine or two if thon hadn’t seen her coming, before returning to her whirl of motion.

After the place had all but cleared out, thon thought they heard the door open again, followed by distant conversation thon failed to parse.

Curious.

Then, continually curious was the sound of something coming upstairs the hard way. Without even needing to peek, thon saw a Terran approach the bannister with purpose, turn right towards thon, and look suddenly and hopelessly confused.

They wore a cloak, deeply colored and lined with lace. Its cut and stitching seemed amateur, a token wrought of passion rather than selected from a professional. More a statement of fashion than function in the balmy station, if not for the rest of their garb’s eclectic clash impelling the word fashion far from thons mind. Their heavy black boots clasped over tall socks that just barely failed to match any other hue they wore, and which reached up to just below the hem of a simple, boilerplate dress. Their hair was maintained but utterly unstyled, wavy and dyed in a fading blue ombré; what did that make, 5 colors? They bore a loudly patterned bag thon hoped was chosen at random, for it being paired with the rest on purpose would be cause for despair. Lastly, so obvious that thon only noted it after snagging on all other details, their other arm was obscured from elbow to wrist by interlocking panels, synthetic technology that played at elegance in a way that couldn’t hold a candle to the most rudimentary biotech.

Bryidreanea really didn’t want to think about what disaster of an affini could own this patchwork specimen. It almost made thons moss crawl.

The Terran stared back, gears slowly spinning in its head. Thon kept looking, having little reason not to, until they smiled weakly, awkwardly waved, and turned heel. Snappy but inefficient movements, halting but present thoughts, clear eyes…was this one sober?

Thinking or not, they walked with stage confidence to the opposite table adjacent to the overlook and took up a seat that was comically large in comparison to their frame. They seemed to tense a bit, straining not to look over again, mild regret playing across their face in such an obvious display that even Bryidreanea could place it.

Thon hadn’t the faintest idea what circumstances gave rise to this display.

Laurel Seilan gave rise to herself, springing her mass directly up from the lower floor. She launched herself over the Terran and thon sharply turned away. The matter had become terribly uninteresting, all of a sudden. Thon wanted no part in whatever Laurel may wreak.

As inattentive as thon vied to become, thon noticed as Laurel stilled suddenly after a few moments of motion. The Terran was cut off from view, but thon couldn’t help but overhear.

“T-thank you. Laurel.”

“Certainly, pumpkin. Let me know if you need any help making adjustments, or have a snack, or anything at all.” Her rhythm fluttered like a ringing drum.

Several long beats of tense quiet and stillness swelled before Laurel retreated. The Terran was frazzled, freshly agitated, and otherwise no worse for wear. Thon sensed but couldn’t place the faint signal from their cuff. More obviously, it was accompanied by a swirl of color glowing in the seams between its panels; calming green bled out into bright, resolute blues before slowly returning as they collected themselves over the coming minutes. The device endeavored beauty in some way, even if thon was yet unsure of its function.

As Laurel went about other last-minute preparations and deceleration loomed, Bryidreanea found neither strange hostess or eclectic guest had noticed a glaring flaw with the arrangement. Laurel had secured the Terran to the chair with enough gusto to brace them for a crash, let alone controlled deceleration, but failed to secure the chair to anything else save the Terran’s open-topped bag.

Bryidreanea wove a triad of manipulator vines under thons table, along the railing at the overlook’s edge, and finally to the back of the chair to steady it. Thons lacking interest in coddling other sophonts didn’t equate to a desire to watch them eat dirt, even if it would be comical. Seeing Laurel squirm over her mistake was an enticing thought, but thon felt it would be better to spare thonself and this Terran her further intrusion. They didn’t seem to enjoy her presence much either.

And if thon wanted to watch a bit of struggle in return for the favor, this was the better way to do it.

Dirt, rot, root and fire.

Why would someone possibly get worked up about that?

Why didn’t thon know enough to see that coming, stop it earlier, and avoid this?

Were all Terrans really so easy, or was thons luck just that stilted?

Thon had excused thonself to take a moment’s reprieve. That is, Bryidreanea had run cold, slunk away after inadvertently flustering the Terran, and was now hiding in a far-off cranny of the Bee’s Knees and sulking.

“Everything alright, hun?”

Ashes, why did this have to be within Laurel’s ever-faulty, ever-wide net of perception?

The hostess distorted her scaled-up human form to fit through the room’s entrance, an aperture the average human would be forced to crawl through. Why she took the form again inside boggled Bryidreanea. Thon did not bother to face her.

“Perhaps. The one upstairs needs their seat tethered. It was unsecured, and I kept it by branch before, but I’ll soon be taking my leave.”

“Aw, beans. Knew I forgot somethin’. She’s stubborn, though, should be fine for a shake or two. Those ones are just like that right? But no, hun, I wanna know what I can do to help you be alright, too.”

Bryidreanea didn’t adjust physically and more significantly didn’t bother trying to mask the tells of thons biorhythm falling off-kilter. Though it tended to be off-tempo and hard to harmonize with, it would be obvious enough to sense it shift from this close.

“I did not intend to elicit the reaction that my actions did from…her.”

“Press her muttons too hard? That Marfisa’s prickly for such a soft thing. She’s firm, turns everyone down as far as I’ve seen.”

Muttons?

“Doesn’t one press buttons? Regardless, I did not want to press any part of her. I expressly avoid trying to provoke such a response from any sophont, and don’t know how my pesterous prank caused her to become…heated.”

“Oh, Terrans don’t go into heat. Without upgrades, anyways. I’m impressed if you got that far, though! She normally cuts things off fast. Real uppity about ‘boundaries’, darling thing.”

“I don’t want to get any distance in that regard, Laurel. Let alone should be discomfort be mutual. If it brings clarity, know my aim in leaving is to remedy my overstep to alleviate her condition as well as to remove myself from it.”

The resonance of Laurel’s essence pulsed as she mulled over a thought, human façade displaying only the wise, cocky sort of thoughtfulness she ever practiced to show.

“Actually, hun, I’m gonna give you a serving of unsolicited advice. If you’re alright after taking a bit of space, I think that you’ll find yourself pleased with how very little she wants you to push her, and she would do just grand with a bit more of your company. I’m gonna run off and print some anchors for the chair, and I’m gonna send you up. ’Sides,” she paused, emphasizing as a cluster of her own foliage pushed into the room through a miniature concealed door, to press two hot mugs towards Bryidreanea, “Bennie went to all the trouble of making y’all both some tea.”

“Actually. Hey, do you know Acre?” Marfisa Cam asked.

Bryidreanea wasn’t much for emoting physically, but thon leaned up in recognition.

“Yes, I believe so. The independent Terran who came aboard about 300 cycles ago, who moonlights for the Office of Transitional Neoxenoveterinary Archeobureaucracy?”

The Office’s name gave Marfisa pause, much as Bryidreanea’s own name had, but she caught up quickly enough.

“Yep! That’d be my Acre. If there’s even any other Acres on board. We came here together, we stuck together since before that.”

“Just how did you guess that I knew him?”

She smiled, shifting in her seat, looking away, drawing her arms close and touching the side of her face. Thon did not know how much Terrans tended to emote, nor how to read it in any but the broadest strokes, but felt that this one was hiding very little or else not hiding it well.

“She mentioned you by ‘thon’. I’ve met plenty of affini that use uncommon pronouns, but never that. It’s old, right?”

“I suppose so, if your conception of ‘uncommon’ and ‘old’ are as hyperbolic as I take Terran standards to be.”

“Next to Compact standards, yeah. Still, um, working on those.”

She hesitated. She had been looking away, only meeting thons eyes for emphasis or when putting on a bold face. She seemed to be more comfortable talking while looking away, yet, she forced herself to look at thon after that statement. Even to an untrained eye, Marfisa’s smile read clearly as nervous. It felt to Bryidreanea as if she was anticipating some dismissal or correction after revealing a social flaw.

Perhaps thon was projecting that feeling.

Thon would rather move on either way.

“I suppose that Acre helped me choose these pronouns. The archive materials she supplied, and some crude but encouraging advice, lead to my taking them up. I was not particularly invested in any, before that.”

To thons contentment, the woman seemed to slowly relax her guard.

“That’s cool to hear. I took my name from something I read in his family’s archive. That’s a couple things we’ve got in common so far! I think I’d better try this tea, though. Laurel might get drastic with me if I don’t while it’s hot.”

“No. Not just you. I suppose we also have this in common.”

Bryidreanea slid a vine past thons reluctance and into thons cup, tentatively tuning in to the appendage’s sensory range. The familiar and nourishing nutrient blend was joined by an undoubtedly numerous mix of junk chemicals. This black tea was earthy, malty, and nearly too sweet. Thons palate was far from acclimated to it, but despite the unpleasant dissonance, it was interesting to experience. Interesting enough to hazard a bit more, every now and then, as conversation carried on.

Marfisa made a face upon trying hers, but praised it and insisted on drinking more of it.

Bryidreanea was, all in all, pleasantly surprised by what a good use of unscheduled time today was.

By the end, they traded contact info and the temptation of meeting up for more.