Movie Night (Patreon)
Content
This is a very stupid little scene, but I think it's important to tie up one of the Tori threads.
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Daskatoma scowled at the television, but it wasn’t capturing his attention, and he had no idea what he’d been watching. He was so distracted that he didn’t even notice the little suited slave climbing up beside him.
“Bad day?” asked Sutzir.
The krakun glanced over, then back at the television. He dabbed at his eye with the back of his wrist. “The worst.”
“The worst?” asked his slave, resting his gloved paw on the back of Daskatoma’s arm. “Your uncle just died a couple days ago. Even worse than that?”
The krakun nodded, staring at the screen for many long seconds before finally turning his attention back to his best friend. “My friend Thojy died,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Well, I presume he’s dead. Tori caught him.”
Sutzir hung his head. “Ah,” he said, drawing out the sound, then rubbed his paws gently against the scales on his owner’s arm. Eventually, he added, “Well, you said she was a good investigator … better than Thojy was a criminal, I guess.”
“I guess,” Daskatoma said, wiping his eyes once more. “I feel so awful. It’s my fault. He’d still be alive if I hadn’t … well, if he hadn’t… Damn it. His mate and cub made it out. I promised Thojy I’d take care of them, so at least I can do that, but it’s not making me feel the least bit better.”
“I’m sorry about your friend, Dask,” said the ringel as he climbed atop the krakun’s arm. “I didn’t like him and how he kept expecting you to grant him more years, but I know he was important to you.”
“Thanks,” he whispered back. That wasn’t much comfort, but it was ringel nature to be blunt and honest. The infuriating little fuzz-balls refused to sugar-coat anything they said. They’d rather hurt someone’s feelings with their openness and then make it up to them physically rather than spare them the truth. “Though I guess the irony is that now that my uncle is gone, they’re liable to give me his job. I might become a commissioner instead of just a deputy commissioner.”
Sutzir stared at him, cocking his head and trying to analyze the logic that seemed obvious to krakun thinking. “That’s ironic?”
Daskatoma got a far-off look in his eye, and he managed a weak smile. “Well, that was the excuse I always used. ‘Only a full commissioner can grant additional years,’” he explained. Then he gently stroked his best friend’s back. “In essence, I was promising him I would give him more if I ever got a commissioner job. But now that I might get the job, I won’t actually be able to actually use this made-up power for him.”
“Ah. Yeah, that’s kinda ironic,” Sutzir sighed. He sat down cross-legged and looked back up at his boss. “Perhaps his spirit is watching you now, laughing and shaking his head.”
“Perhaps,” said the krakun with a shrug. “I suppose the geroo believe in reincarnation though, not so much disembodied spirits that—”
The ringel stood suddenly, interrupting. “You know what you need?”
“What?”
Sutzir pointed two finger guns at his best friend’s face, and Daskatoma knew that inside the ringel’s helmet, his ears were grinning. “A movie night!”
The krakun smiled and shook his head. “Oh, no.”
“No, I’m serious!” Sutzir said. “We haven’t done one in ages, and I know they always help cheer you up.”
Daskatoma patted the suited slave once more. “Really, it’s not necessary.”
“It is, and I insist!” He hopped off of the krakun’s arm and scrambled up on a pillow before pulling his communicator from a pocket in his suit. “You get comfy and pick out a film. I’ll call the crew.”
And so, Daskatoma finally dimmed the lights and tapped his tablet to start the movie playing. The big screen lit, bathing them and the darkened apartment with the bold krakun text of a title screen. He didn’t even recognize the movie. He’d just flipped over to the comedy listing and selected one at random.
The krakun was stretched out as flat as he could manage, his head propped up on a pillow, with drinks and snacks arrayed within easy reach. Across every square meter of his chest and belly, dozens of suited slaves snuggled together—some curled up with others, some resting their heads on the scraps of foam padding they used as pillows.
A sea of tiny voices rose up to meet him. “Thanks for the movie, Dask!” some called. “Thank you!” said others.
Daskatoma couldn’t help but grin. “Thank you, guys, for hanging out with me,” he whispered as the opening credits faded, but several suited individuals hushed him.
“Shh, Dask! Movie’s starting!”
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Reviewer's link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1g7PhK6dUlm1ATMKH_lDipaqkU_j71ielWVfKj-lEuG8/edit?usp=sharing
Thoughts?