Bagels
Orion liked bagels. They were the perfect on-the-go food - a pre-made sandwich without any of the messy ingredients that might fall out in her lap while she skidded through the streets in her raggedy old 6-legged truck, one hand white-knuckling the steering handle. Plus, they were actually good, a quite impressive feat in the fat-dripping annals of breakfast cuisine in the third desert. Not that fatty was bad, certainly Orion would be lying if she said she'd never woken up wanting nothing more than to eat something oily enough to re-grease a mech, but trying to steer with hands slipperier than a live eel wasn't exactly an experience she was trying to have more than once. Bagels went down pleasingly dry, and if bites were big enough (and they certainly were) you didn't even have to deal with fillings gooshing out the other side and ruining your work shirts. They were portable, respectable, tasty, and not overly messy. Yeah, bagels were great. Nearly great enough to make up for the fact that she was currently hurtling at top speed directly up the side of one of the rich-hoity-toity-bullshit 'skyscrapers' some asshole'd installed a few years back, the worn old claws of her car barely catching purchase as it launched her further past slick glass and advertisement boards. Orion clenched the remaining bagel-y remnant of a nice morning in her teeth and returned belligerent attention to the escape at hand. God, she hated her job.
NOTES
the paragraph that started it all..... this was for a writing prompt about bagels, and was where the entire world and story came from. god knows why i got 'meat cars' from bagels, but i'm not complaining.
Wreck
Its a nasty wreck. Two car pile-up, legs tangled and metal shells crumpled, one car crushed into the alleyway's brick wall, the other dragged behind, leaving a long blood-and-oil smear on the concrete. Everything smells of iron and diesel. Orion is grim as she digs through the debris, silently passing salvageable parts to Nala. Nala refuses to take her eyes off of Orion's broad back, queasily trying to scrub from her mind ther image of the still human figure in the driver's seat of the more intact car. She winces every time Orion shifts a car leg aside, making a horrible bone-grinding noise followed by a meaty thud. She takes the parts handed to her and arranges them in the trunk of Orion's own sedan, Curbstomp. Curbstomp nearly looks like another crash, worn plastic and rusted metal covered in hasty patch jobs, scarred and gangly arms tucked underneath. If it weren't for her experience riding in the vehicle, she would have assumed it was bound for a scrapyard.
NOTES
trying to convey some of Orion and Nala's life outside of Story story. Orion feels like she has to keep Nala with her to keep her safe (and cause she likes her company), which means Nala runs face first into a lot of pretty gross aspects of Orions day-to-day.
Scar (never finished)
Orion hums as she works, voice barely there from lack of use and coming out more as a wheeze than a melody. Not that she minds, she knows the tune well enough to fill in for her failing vocal skills, but the tiny woman next to her looks pained at every missed note. She continues to slice up their meal, muscle memory more than conscious control guiding the knife through fresh greens, and Orion takes the opportunity to look sidelong at Nala. she is leaning on the counter watching Orion work, surprisingly calloused fingers fiddling with the hem of her sleeves as she stares somewhat blankly at Orion's hands moving.
She has a small, moderately stocky build, made more evident by the hunch of her shoulders, like she's trying to make herself disappear. Her face, too, is tense, sandy brown eyes peering from under knitted brows, slightly pursed lips and flared nostrils highlighting a hawkish nose. Quite a lot of her is reminiscent of a small anxious bird, actually. She certainly wears the colours for it, ridiculous pastel tones contrasting against her dark skin like a parrot, where they haven't both been coated grey with dust.
Glancing over her more fully, Orion's eyes catch on one patch of what little skin can be seen. A gnarled, celluloid scar is just barely visible on Nala's wrist, starting on the back of her slender hand and continuing up under her sleeve. Hm. the scar seems old, but still remains several shades lighter than the surrounding skin, and draws Orion's eye. She notes that her guest's hands have stilled in their fidgeting, and looks up to find Nala staring up at her, clearly uncomfortable.
"Where's that from?" Orion keeps her tone and expression mild, but Nala grimaces. She breaks Orion's gaze.
"Where's what from."
Her tone is sullen, and Nala pulls her hands into her lap, managing to curl her already hunched shoulders even further in on themselves. Sore topic, apparently. Orion puts her hands up placatingly, but only manages to wave the knife at her guest, who leans back slightly with a tight expression.
"Hey, woah! Just curious." No use prying, Orion knows. She'd hate being bugged if it was her, so she won't bug, even if she's curious. She returns to her chopping.
Even so, she continues to roll it over in her mind. Such a large scar, raised surface indicating how deep the wound must have been. Nala had said she was a barista, hadn't she? What kind of coffee accident makes scars like that? Then again, what kind of coffee job sends you halfway across the territory smuggling a box you can't even open?
Orion scrapes the thoroughly mangled greens into her 'done' bowl, and dumps mushrooms onto the cleared cutting board, noting smugly that she's managed to heckle the seller into giving her a non-synthesized batch. Not that she herself is a stranger to shady jobs. Oh, there's a thought.
"Y'know, I wasn't always a smuggler." Nala's defensive scrunch doesn't untangle, but she looks at Orion with less hostility.
"Used to be a janitor, actually. Down at the university in town? I don't think I've ever listened to that many podcasts in my life. Pretty nice place!" She sets the knife aside, opting to lean on the sink behind her while speaking.
"You wouldn't be-lieve how many damn folks I caught noodling in supply closets n' shit. It's like they think nobody uses 'em! Ugh..."
As she talks, Orion looks sidelong at Nala, who snickers at her complaints about the trials of a college janitor, and her scatterbrain regalings of particularly horrid incidents. Her posture is a little less defensive, now. Good. The mechanic rolls her head, fixing her audience with a mock-glare.
"Seriously! This is no laughin' matter, cleaning is a dangerous job! Got more beat up mopping halls than I ev'r did runnin' contraband, tell y'what."
"Wh-really? Mopping?"
"Well, not exactly jus' mopping, no, but it's true! Never a dull day at the university, as they say."
Making a mental note to re-wash her hands before coooking again, Orion hikes up one side of her wifebeater, revealing a splatter-shot of burns across her side and upper hip. Nala's eyes go wide.
"See this ol' thing? No 'corporate gang' gave me that one, that's fer sure. Damn boiler went screwy on me. Really! That's it!" she drops the shirt, chuckling.
"Where you a mechanic, too, then?"
"Hah! Not on yer life. I used to take my breaks down there to use the tools. Serves me right, I guess."
NOTES
this one is more of what i aim for Orion to be like - i imagine she's very friendly and chatty, but frequently more straightforward than people would like. this is also the ONLY physical description of Nala, and one that i have had no fucking end of trouble making real. and the godawful writing of Orion's accent (yeesh!) the plan for the scene was to follow Orion and Nala learning about each other over the course of Orion making them dinner, presumably early on in their time together.
Wake (never finished)
Orion comes awake slowly, as she always does. Curbstomp's trunk is warm, rust-red morning light turning its steel interior to gold. The floor has been padded with her travel mattress, ratty and old but softer than a dream, and her body is wonderfully insulated from the morning chill under her old quilt. Her breath plumes mist as she sighs, appreciating the warmth emanating from the small body next to her.
Ah, that's right. Nala is tucked next to her, close enough for sharing heat, but carefully no closer than that. She is still, but the ever-present tension in her shoulders belies that she is only pretending. Orion stretches languidly, hands and feet pressing against metal as her height makes even the car's gutted interior feel small.
NOTES
sleeping next to eachother YAHOO!! Orion is, shall we say, not really picking up on Nala's feelings towards her, and is regardless a pretty touchy person. combined with her comfort sleeping almost literally inside the engine of her car, it makes for an entertaining idea. iirc i wanted to have Nala's "woah we met like last week cuddling her would be Weird i shouldn't even think about it" contrasting with Orion's "cool we are friends now and friends cuddle if they need to is all #chill" because that dynamic is funny to me. you'll see more of it.
Yeowch! (never finished)
"I remember my first night out here."
Nala's voice is low as she speaks, gaze ever so slightly unfocused from a point somewhere among the tangled internals of their hiding-spot-turned-sleeping-quarters. Orion glances at her face, pausing in her attempts to snuff the halt of blood dribbling onto the ground. She doesn't say anything, but her expression of confused concern conveys her thoughts regardless: oh shit, is she delirious already?
"In the city, I mean. With you. I thought it was the worst night of my life, stuck in some criminal's house with her jacked-up car trying to sleep on a metal floor. No offense." Her head lolls, eyes seeming almost to slide towards Orion.
"And now here I am. Leg gone to shit half a mile deep into whatever fucked up security building... I don't even remember why we came in here! I'm supposed to be serving coffee right now, not getting blood all over my nice pants."
Orion does not comment that 'nice' may be a generous term for said pants, opting instead for a simple pat on her uninjured leg.
"Why am I here?"
"Uh. You got shot?"
"No, I mean... why did you take me here, the complex. I'm no smuggler, I should be asleep at home, not…" Nala trails off.
Orion shifts slightly. Honestly, she hadn't really thought about it that way. It was Nala's weird mystery box, so it was Nala's right to come see what was up. Not to mention - and she certainly wouldn't mention, Nala would take it very poorly just now - she liked having the little woman around.
NOTES
this is well along into the story, i think. Orion runs into the reality of situations where she is no longer the only one at risk. Orion would never in a million years hurt anybody, but she's used to being in danger herself. Nala though has neither. did she shoot someone before this scene? maybe. teehee.
