tbos 2.2

A good twenty miles or so, in the heart of the empty eternity, Smarmadine had been spared the indignity of findin' himself decked in Old West-style accessories, probably due to his lack of any clothin' to start out with.  At one point, as if someone petulant and done determined had been simply hell bent on finding somethin' for him, he had noticed a big black and white feather on top of his head.  He shook it off, wrinklin' his muzzle.

Flume, meanwhile, was not so unchanged.
The one-piece space suit that had been like a second skin to her for so many years was gone, replaced by all manner of uncivilized attire, and she did hope she would get it back.  In the meantime it seemed to have become several pieces of primitive clothing, crafted of tanned animal skins, composing of a beaded skirt, feathered moccasins, arm bands beaded and feathered, and a thin band 'round her head with a number o' plumes to decorate it.  Her poor helmet had been rendered completely unrecognizable, molded into a strange decorative affair with round, black eyes and a spouted mouth, punctuated by horns and feathers all over the place.
What a great heap of ostentatious tomfoolery.

Flume, of course, had no ruttin' idea o' what a kachina dancer was, but that's just as well, because even though she sort of looked like one, she sure as heck wouldn't have danced.

"Mirasis was talking about sentience and motives," Flume said, cranin' her head back to look at the endless sky.  "So why would it throw us out in the middle of nothings, if it wanted us to do something meaningful?"  She kicked a tumbleweed, halfheartedly.  "It is not at all sensible.  Gods are not supposed to behave like this."

Smarmadine scowled.  "Gods behave like this all the time, he said coldly.

"Yeah…" she admitted, a touch reluctantly.  She scratched the back of her head with the butt of the scalpel she'd taken when she became Cutting Monster.  "At least last time it sent me a Fetch."

"Last time you cheated and ruined everything," Smarmadine snapped, his voice dry against the heat.  "You don't get another Fetch."

She looked down at him, surprised by the level of venom in his words.  Flume wondered if he was actually passionate 'bout it or just lived in a constant state of loathing flux.  Probably the latter.  Shadow-loathing weren't particularly complicated.

Maybe he had a point, though.  "You think the Book's mad because I didn't go play out the story it had set up?"  
"I don't care."
"I know you don't care," she said.  "But whatever gets us home faster, right?"
Smarmadine gave a dismissive gesture.
"It's not fair," Flume said.  "If it wanted everything to go right, it shouldn't have picked someone who doesn't know any of these stories."  She spread her arms.  "And it shouldn't dump us in an abandoned plain, if it's done with us, it should let us go home!"  Flume glanced over her shoulder, just in case her implication had fallen on the right ears and a space station just happened to have manifested behind them.
No joy.

"Guess that means we're walking," she said.


It was turnin' out that the cowboy aliens were very nice people, even if they all looked completely lost when Terri asked them 'bout anythin' deeper than a generic cattle question for the most part.  While the little 'uns scurried about keeping the herd together Terri and their mother rode in the covered wagon.  They were eating little gelatin cubes that seemed terribly out of place, but then again, they were aliens.
Aliens explain everythin'.

"It takes a brave ol' soul to come 'round these parts," the widow was telling Terri.  "It used to be the loneliness and the regular dangers; stampedes, highwaymen, the like… but no one comes here no more; they all ascared."
"What are they ascared off?"  She asked.
"What are they teaching you kids these days?" She lamented.  "Why, the 'Vests, o' course!"
"Vests?"  
"Oh yes.  The come down on poor, honest families and steal every livin' soul.  All the animals, all the livelihood.  And the chilluns, too."
"They take your children?" Terri was right alarmed by this.  She had been quite charmed just by the ones she had talked to since coming across the drovers.  "Why?"
"They're savages," she answered, eyes wide.  "Tain't a kind bone in their bodies; powerful wicked folk.  Don't see why they gotta come botherin' us now, all we're doin' is crossin' the land, but they'll attack anything they see.  So nobody come this way no more."
"Aren't you scared?"  Terri asked.  She was darn impressed by the family's mettle, if they were truly in danger just bein' here.
"We don't have a choice," she shrugged.  "This is how I keep my chillun fed."  She cradled the long-barreled range weapon in her arms; Terri had deduced it was some sort of rifle.  "We haven't seen hide nor hair of the vests on this trip; not since they took my little 'un's father three years ago."
"That's terrible," Terri said sympathetically.
"They don't come at us in the open country.  Too many places to run, too much space to cover."  She raised a gnarled hand and pointed; squinting Terri could make out a distant rock formation.  "It's when you go through the Copperhead Pass that they come from the sky."

"Could you… go a different way?"

"Nah.  An' let's keep lookin' up; God willing' they ain't showin' at all."


That night they camped around a merry little fire, eatin' strips of dried karakak meat and biscuits.  Terri listened to the family swappin' tall tales of aliens and natives.  She was really becomin' endeared to the funny li'l creatures.

"Get to sleep, y'all," their mother finally said, clappin' her hands.  "Tomorrow we cross the pass.  It'll be a big day getting those lugheaded beasts through it."