Spots: Getting to Know You

A Web Serial by M.C.A. Hogarth

59. I See What You Did There.	61. Alien Porn, Alien Humor.

60. Getting to Know You

Several days later, Barracks. Spots and Claws are sitting on their bunks, wearing physical training uniforms and their practice gloves.

Spots. "So, I'm not prepared to say this isn't working..."

Claws. "But it's sure as hell limitin', yeah, I know, I know."

Spots. "Can I make a suggestion, O sensei?"

Claws, eyeing her. "Yeah, mom, spit it out."

Spots. "If you don't want to use the gym still, there is another place."

Claws. "And that would be... what, outside the compound?"

Spots. "The test facility."

Claws. "..."

Spots. "It's big. It's empty all the time. And we'd have ready access to Samuel-Colt if something strange happens." Claws is staring at nothing while listening to this. "If you want, I could ask him if we could use it for practice?"

Claws, rousing himself. "No. No, I'll ask him. Peer to peer. Sorta."

Spots glances at the unused bottle on his table. Then looks at him and nods. "All right. Tell me if he says yes."

"Will do."

###

Claws heads through the Door, looking for the alien, and is directed to his room. He hesitates, then hits the door-announce.

"Samuel-Colt? It's me. Uh, the Mother's Escort."

"Enter."

Claws steps inside, finding Samuel-Colt sitting on the low-platform bed, upper hands resting on his knees and lower claw-hands spread.

"****, am I interruptin' your... uh, meditation or somethin'?"

Samuel-Colt, low, amused note. "No, it's fine. Where is the mother?"

Claws. "I left her home when she suggested she do something for me to make things easier on me."

Samuel-Colt, another amused ripple. "The maternal tendency to over-nurture is cross-species, then."

Claws. "Say that again."

Samuel-Colt. "So then. What was she attempting to make easier for you?"

Claws. "We're lookin' for a place to practice with these test gloves you made us, and she suggested your facility. So I came to ask if we could use it."

Samuel-Colt. "Of course. Make free."

Claws. "That's it? Just like that?"

Samuel-Colt, long quizzical tone. "Should I make it more difficult?"

Claws. "Well, I haven't exactly been the nicest to you. You know, what with the not paintin' your arm thing."

Samuel-Colt. "And why have you not done this thing, Claws-Mother's-Escort?"

Claws, uncomfortable. "The arm-paintin'? ****, I don't even know what I'd put on you. We don't have a ****in' relationship yet for me to be makin' ink on your arm. Maybe if I was some pro tattoo artist or somethin', but this isn't about you payin' for a service, it's supposed to be personal, yeah?"

Samuel-Colt, studying him. "Yes."

Claws. "Well... there you go. I'm admittin' it. I don't feel it."

Samuel-Colt. "And that is precisely why I am content."

Claws. "Come again?"

Samuel-Colt. "I would not want a thoughtless souvenir. If you paint my arm, it will have meaning to us both, worth the chitin." His expression remains fixed, but he suddenly bows a leaping, sprightly arpeggio. "To use a better metaphor, we will just say I am not into casual sex."

Claws. "****!" And then he starts laughing, embarrassed. "Um, ****, don't say stuff like that around Spots, she'll fluster somethin' awful."

Samuel-Colt, satisfied. "I thought you would understand."

Claws. "I ain't gonna have sex with you, Sam. Just so you know. Ever."

Samuel-Colt. "I had no doubt, Claws. The testing facility is yours."

Claws bows. "Thanks."

Samuel-Colt, amused note. "Don't mention it."

59. I See What You Did There.	61. Alien Porn, Alien Humor.