Invisibility (Patreon)

@ArcadeDragon requested a scene where Sarsuk and Pokokuro meet in a friendly way. Okay, that sounds fun.

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“You what?” shouted Pokokuro into her communicator. “Why would you…? So, get a new one!”

When she could no longer stand listening to the peeping and chirping, she disconnected the call and threw the device down on her table. It bounced off the fake wood, landed on the floor, and slid underneath the next table over.

The dull-yellow krakun sitting at that table made no motion to grab it for her. His eyes glanced up at her, down at the communicator, then he sighed and focused back on the front of the shop where a cheerful young krakun was wiping down the sales counter.

Pokokuro wasn’t sure what to do. Had he worked for her, she would have snapped at him for not fetching it. Had there been a slave present—anyone’s slave, honestly—she would have ordered them to take care of it. But the store was nearly empty—just her, the yellow guy, and the worker who hadn’t even noticed her tantrum.

She looked over to the krakun at the next table to see if he would offer to grab it without her asking—she certainly wasn’t going to crawl around beneath his table—but he just continued to rest his chin on his forearms, his paper cup in front of his snout, arms crossed and palms resting atop his table.

She opened her mouth to say something, but instead, he said, “Shitty day, huh?”

She closed her muzzle. He didn’t look like someone she’d talk to. He looked poor. He smelled even poorer, like a slave or an unemployed krakun. If anything, she would normally dial one of her fantastically wealthy friends and vent loudly to them, but she couldn’t even do that without getting her communicator back first.

She huffed, then surprised herself by agreeing, “Yeah, you could say that.”

He didn’t say anything, but he glanced her way for a moment, so she explained, “My slave took the car to get it washed.”

“Inconsiderate little shits,” he grumbled.

She sighed. “Actually, I told him to. Some … bird,”—she wrinkled her muzzle in disgust, trying not to think about feather-covered creatures and the vermin that surely infested them—“shit right on the hood. So, I had him let me off here. I didn’t want anyone seeing me driving around in a car with bird shit on it.”

The yellow krakun nodded in a disinterested way, but he did actually reply. “And now you’re stuck drinking Solar Bark javea.”

She sipped at her frothy beverage and made a face. “Dreadful.”

“Yeah, it really is,” he agreed. “Well, there’s a car wash only a block away. I’m sure your slave will be back in a minute.”

“No, he won’t,” she said, gesturing helplessly at her communicator. “Someone ran into the car. It’s utterly destroyed.”

The yellow krakun looked at her once more, a little longer this time. “You don’t look like the sort who is inconvenienced by a car wreck,” he offered. “More like it would be the opportunity to upgrade to the latest model. I’d think they could get a new one to you even quicker than they could have washed the old one.”

“I suppose,” said Pokokuro, “but my driver like … died or something. The dealership only has coosa drivers, and I don’t speak Coosa. I refuse to have a driver that I can’t understand.”

He nodded once more, saying nothing.

“And now I have to wait here an hour—maybe longer—while they look for a driver who speaks any of the dozen languages that I do know.”

“Guess it’s your lucky day,” he said.

She pulled back her head, not sure how to respond. Was he mocking her? Being sarcastic? “Because now I have to drink a bad cup of javea?”

“Because you got out of the car just before it got wrecked,” he explained. “You could have gotten hurt.”

“Oh,” she said, deflating slightly. “I hadn’t even thought about that.” She’d focused so on the inconvenience, that she hadn’t even imagined being in the car during the accident.

Pokokuro drank some of the beverage without really even noticing the flavor. She licked cream from her lips and waited while the silence turned awkward. “Bad day for you too?”

He nodded. “In half an hour or so, I’ll have to leave,” he said. “Head out to a job I hate.”

“Half an hour?” she said. “Couldn’t sleep? Got up early?”

He shook his head.

“Well, you were sitting here when I first came in, before I even ordered,” she said. “Did you intentionally reserve so much of your day to savor bad javea?”

“Pretty much,” he said. “I always leave lots of time … just in case.”

“You’re the worrier sort,” she offered, “always thinking there will be some sort of disaster or something that will delay you?”

He shook his head. “Not really, no.”

She squeezed her lips together into a little button. “You’re … the conscientious sort, always early for every appointment.”

He snorted.

“Okay…”

“I’m … the invisible sort, I guess,” he sighed. “I suppose I leave time in my schedule because … well, maybe one day I won’t be invisible, and with my luck, that would be the day I’m running late and wouldn’t even get to enjoy it.”

She rested her elbow on her table and the side of her face against her palm. “You don’t look invisible to me.”

He managed a fraction of a smile for a fraction of a moment. “Thanks.”

Then, glancing at his cup, she suppressed a chuckle. “Your name … isn’t really Star Sucks, is it?”

He closed his eyes a moment. “No, it’s not.”

Then, the pieces in her mind fell into place. “You come here every day, don’t you?”

Not-Star-Sucks nodded without looking her way.

Pokokuro followed his eyes to the front of the shop where the barista was taking a customer’s order. She leaned in a little closer. There wasn’t much need since no one else was listening to them, but she lowered her voice anyhow, “And you’d think after all this time, he’d remember what your name really was.”

He glanced at her, his lips a thin line. He closed his eyes and sat in silence a long while before finally whispering back. “Just getting it right once would be refreshing.”

She sat back and studied the barista. He was young and unimpressive—from his scales to his job—but despite all that, the yellow krakun obviously saw something in him that she didn’t. She imagined him with a makeover—polished scales, painted tips and horns, a good job, probably some classes thrown in so he could learn how to hold himself and take charge.

Her muzzle wrinkled, and she shook her head. She doubted that even all that could turn him into a “catch”. But still, the yellow krakun continued to stare.

“Go talk to him,” she urged.

He pulled his head away from her in disgust. “Don’t be gross,” he snapped quietly at her. “I’m… And he’s…”

She shrugged. “He’s an adult. I’m sure he’s capable of saying that you’re too old for his tastes if that’s the case.”

The yellow krakun rested his chin on his arms once more. “Pass.”

“Pass?” she asked, giving his shoulder a little shove.

“I know I’m too old. I’m not stupid,” he said. “I don’t need him to remind me of that.”

“But—”

He picked up his cup and rolled it around in his palms, his eyes fixed on the name written across the side. “But it sure would be nice … someday … to not be so invisible.”

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Reviewer's link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1gOFtLakaFaNFDYMynF2TVe-9mwetsY-_9fXupvzli98/edit?usp=sharing

Thoughts?