Close Encounters 02: of the Fifth Kind

All in all, you could say I am conflicted about the whole situation.

So I do the only thing that makes any sense right now. I grab one of the jars of lotion I had lined up on the bathtub rim, the heaviest one, and throw it at his face.

I throw like a girl -- meaning that I throw it angrily and with great accuracy. Aroldis Chapman has nothing on me right now.

Bane ducks away but the jar still clips him on his horned head and then smashes against the wall tiles behind him. Jar and tiles shatter with a crash and rain down onto the floor in bits and pieces. Satisfying, yet not nearly enough to calm the fire in my belly.

So I send the next jar flying, with a barbaric yawp this time. He catches this one in his hand, his reflexes lightning-fast, and drops it to be able to catch the next one as well.

Next, I throw a bottle of lotion.

"You!"

Pumice stone.

"Fucking!"

Back scrubber with a long handle.

"Asshole!"

The scrubber, whooshing through the humid air like a wonky boomerang, finally forces Bane to sidestep quite a bit into the bathroom. My way to the door is free and I don't hesitate another second. I need to get out of here and away from this guy lest I try to choke him with my bare hands (and fail again miserably like I did last time) or, worse, break out in tears.

I barely even feel the colder air in the main room. Barefooted and mostly naked, I power-walk through the place, pick up my garment on my way and hold it to my body like a towel -- it immediately starts to grab at my skin a little, trying weakly to wrap me up and re-knit itself -- and then stomp out the main door, which Bane left wide open as he came in.

When I look over my shoulder, I see that he's not coming after me.

I guess I should be glad about that -- chances are he might be angry at me right back, and not in the fun way.

I should be glad. Instead, I'm fuming.

What a goddamn asshole! Can't even be bothered to come after me. Fuck this dude!

I am so damn borderline-irrationally angry, I'm not even sure where I want to go, but since the corridor is unidirectional and all the doors lining it are closed and barred -- no doubt my lovely colleagues are celebrating somewhere behind them -- I inevitably end up in the guest area of the bar.

Which is empty and looks like a hurricane went through the place.

Ceiling lamps are dangling low and crooked, their cables half ripped out, some of them shooting sparks. Chairs and tables are partially overturned, wonky from having had some of their legs broken, cups of courtesy drinks, debris of bits and bobs are scattered on the floor -- and is that a dead body back there by the pillar?? The bar itself -- the counter, I mean, which was made of some wood-like compound -- seems to be missing a piece, like a giant had taken a bite out of it at the side, causing the whole thing to slant a bit. The windows and doors are wide open, some of them broken, letting in a breeze that coolly licks my wet skin, pebbling it with gooseflesh. My garment starts feeling like a clammy, clingy shower curtain. I shiver.

Ah, fuck. Seems my warnings fell onto deaf ears. Great. If there was anyone left on this planet who didn't (undeservedly!!) hate me for what happened nine days ago, they've probably changed their minds after whatever the hell exactly happened here just now. They probably all went home to grab their pitchforks.

I half-turn and jump half a foot. The bar isn't entirely deserted, after all.

There's a Dryth sitting at the small two-person table right next to the corridor all by himself, with a dark flask of something in one hand and his other wrapped around the hilt of a wicked-looking, silver-tipped seven-foot-long spear, his legs spread in a relaxed fashion, looking for all the planet like he's on his couch watching TV on a mellow Sunday morning (and just happens to be casually armed). He's as massive as all the Dryth I have met so far and I cannot believe I just walked by him without noticing, even if he's as animated as a gargoyle by day.

Seriously, he doesn't even seem to breathe. (Do Dryth even have lungs?) I resist the urge to wave my hand in front of his face to see if he blinks.

Just like Bane, he is in full Dryth get-up, with armored plates and metallic-looking scales covering his torso and limbs. His gray skin has a dark brown tinge, his eyes are a warm, dark orange, reminding me of a ripe pumpkin or an autumn sunset back on Earth, and they are fixed upon me.

I notice that, unlike Bane, he has ears. They're generally shaped like mine, although they seem a bit smaller and spikier, and... well, on him, they look sort of... cute?

Immediately, my hopelessly overclocked brain incorporates this unsuspecting, adorably eared dude into the survival strategy I mapped out all of two seconds ago.

That strategy so far:

1. Get away from Bane (so he doesn't return my less-than-friendly welcome-back and break me in the process).

2. Get away from this bar (because I'm so fed up with this place).

2.1. Get away from the manager (if he's still alive) and my co-workers (so I don't throttle the bitches myself).

2.2. Ideally, get away from this entire planet (before the lynch mobs start).

Girl's gotta do what girl's gotta do, I figure, so I smile at him, hoping there's no globs of slug blood still clinging to my face to ruin the effect (then again, maybe Dryth are into that sort of thing? I've had weirder customers), and channel my inner Victoria's Secret model as I cock my hip and push out my tits (or I try to. It's not as sexy when you're holding a garment/towel to your naked body and wearing a (soaked) diaper instead of glitter lotion, Louboutins and angel wings).

"Hello, sugar. I am Valerie. Do you speak English, perchance?" I ask him. I figure Bane can't be the only Dryth versed in Earth languages.

If he's surprised or offended to be addressed this nonchalantly, he doesn't show it, which in turn doesn't surprise me. Not very expressive people, these Dryth.

He eyes me up and down slowly. My garment is struggling to get back onto my body but it isn't fast enough, or big enough, or intelligent enough to cover all significant portions of me -- particularly my thighs, hips and waist are all hanging out there for his perusal. Oh well. Since he's keeping his hands to himself and isn't exactly looking at me like he's literally going to eat me, this entire exchange so far has been the best I've had with another sentient being all day. In fact, I'm starting to like this guy.

"I do not speak your tongue," he answers eventually, speaking something that sounds like slightly accented Standard Galactic. His voice is quiet, deep and smooth. Nice. "But I have a translator. I understand your words, human Va'l-ree."

My smile turns a little more genuine. Seems like the Dryth will conquer the entire universe before they conquer my first name.

"I have a translator, too. And... 'Ree', please. Just 'Ree' is enough," I tell him. "Would you do me the honor of telling me your name?"

Again with the long pause. I bite my tongue and keep smiling. No use trying to hurry these guys along.

I use the moment to have a closer look at him. He has a line of rust-colored hair-like growth on his head, almost like a Mohawk, that's nestled in between the horned ridges. The ears are relatively small, compared to his head, and fit tightly to his skull. Black earrings rim the outer shell of the left one. He has a wide, craggy-looking scar running across the bridge of his nose and his cheek all the way down to his jawline, and his mouth looks full and soft for a male's I can't help but notice.

His pupils constrict and dilate in fascinating ways as they watch me watching him.

Apparently, after a long period of consideration, he comes to the conclusion that there's no risk in giving me his name. Thank the gods. I'm getting just a tad impatient. There's no trace of Bane in the corridor yet, but I know it won't be much longer. Just thinking about Bane makes my heart leap into my throat and also causes his spike to pulse inside of me (because of nerves, certainly!). I press my thighs together surreptitiously.

"I am called Kryzedoalburune," he utters from between his white fangs, and my translator chip just softly beeps at me in capitulation at the last word(s?).

"'Rune' it is, if you don't mind." I lift a finger to tap my full lower lip. "My human mouth cannot handle your full name, I'm afraid."

His eyes turn a little brighter, like honey, and fix on my mouth.

See? That I can work with.

I walk up do him slowly, very slowly, making sure to walk like I'm Jessica Rabbit and there's a sexy saxophone playing in the background, and not like my knees are knocking, I'm half-naked in the worst of ways and my bare soles are painfully catching on whatever that stuff is on the floor.

I can physically feel it when come within the range of his spear, and then within the range of his arm if he got up and extended his body, and then within easy grabbing distance while staying seated. My entire body seems to hum disapprovingly at me -- danger. ... ... Valerie, danger!... ... ... Valerie Magdalena Greene! There's DANGER, dammit! -- but I push through it. I'm on a mission, and the mission is survival.

"So, Rune," I say sweetly, "you don't happen to have a spaceship with which one could leave this planet, do you?"

I figure my time is quickly running out and it's wise to skip the foreplay and get straight to the point with a guy who's bound to take a full minute or two to answer any question.

"Because, you see... I would really like to leave this place. Right now. With you."

On second thought, maybe I should stop the whole 'implicit questions' thing and just ask him properly.

And because subtlety doesn't get quick results, I sit my mostly naked ass down on the slab of pure muscle that is his left thigh. The action pushes the spike up into me an inch and squishes my diaper. I cringe, pray I won't leave a stain on his pants, and keep my face all business.

"Will you take me away from here, Rune?" I touch his shoulder but don't dare to sling my arm around his thick neck. Not yet. "You won't regret it. I promise. I make a fantastic fellow traveler."

I mean, I think I would. At this point, I'd certainly do almost everything and everyone if it made him happy enough to get me away from here.

Our faces just a couple hands widths apart, we lock eyes. I've got the squirmy feeling that he can somehow read my thoughts through my eyes, or that he knows exactly what's happening in my abdomen, and in my ribcage. My heart is positively hammering against my sternum, like it knows as well as I that this is my best and only shot off this rock.

And then his eyes slide to the side and fix on something behind me, and even before I turn my head I know that Bane is standing there. Lord knows exactly how he sneaked past me without me noticing.

For the next few moments -- which stretch into minutes -- there's a strange stand-off happening between the two males, with me stuck in the middle, balancing on Rune's thigh which is definitely... well, there's something moving underneath my ass and I'm not certain whether it's his cock or just his muscles getting ready to spring into action. The fabric of his soldier's pants is too thick to tell.

(Personally, I think it's his cock.)

(Yeah, it probably is.)

So. Seems like I'm quite literally caught between a rock and a hard place, with Bane being the rock -- the coloring fits, too! - and Rune being the (increasingly) hard place. I press my lips together before I go full Ralph Wiggum - 'Haha, I'm in danger!' -- and then likely break out into hysterical tears, just before Bane snaps me in half on the spot.

What's a girl to do?

Pull a dick move (cunt maneuver?) and try to play them against each other, of course.

"So, Rune. This is Bane. Eh, you probably know him," I begin and finally slide my arm all the way around his neck, bringing our faces closer and recapturing the Dryth's attention. "He has... uh... staked me a couple of days ago and he seems to think that that gives him some sort of prerogative."

Rune's pupils dilate and constrict and dilate again. I really wonder what that means, if it means anything at all. The rest of his face remains entirely impassive though.

"Now, I don't know exactly what happens on your planet, when two Dryth meet one sexy A'Draht..."

Just to be clear, I'm suggesting they should fight over me. Not to the death or anything, just to first blood or until someone taps out like it's the WWE or something. Loser stays here and drinks all the leftovers at the bar, winner gets the glory and... well, me.

Once the words have left my mouth, however, I am suddenly very aware of the fact that Dryth mating customs may very well dictate the two guys should share the chick instead.

And boy, am I not ready for that.

(I'm not.)

(Like, at all.)

I swallow nervously and look from one Dryth to the next.

Silence reigns. The wind howls through the depopulated bar. All that is missing is a tumbleweed and some eerie harmonica tunes, or some dramatic 70s synth keyboard and Russel Mael's falsetto voice going "This town ain't big enough for the both of us!".

When about five full minutes have passed by and exactly nothing happened, I'm starting to fold under the strain.

"Alrighty, then. Uhm, this is awkward," I mumble to myself and start to get up off Rune's lap.

He puts down the black flask on the table and clasps my waist with his now-free hand. Hard. His grip locks me in place where I sit.

Oh boy.

His skin is warm and tough against my gooseflesh, his fingers long and his palm wide enough to cover a significant portion of my body -- and I'm not waif-like, mind you. What's more is that he grabs me with the same sort of unapologetic assuredness with which Bane touched my tits -- and then my everything else -- the other day.

Damn. That's my kryptonite. I swallow again.

"I will take you away from here, Ree," Rune says, transferring his gaze from Bane to my face, and the next moment, everything is suddenly topsy-turvy.

"Wha-hey!" I yell as I find myself dangling over Rune's shoulder like a sack of potatoes, scrambling for purchase with my hands on his armored back in fear of falling face-first --it's a long ass way down because the dude has stood up and he is tall as fuck and I'm quite sure my neck wouldn't like the impact.

"Silence," Rune admonishes, and something in his tone makes my whole body go 'zing!', then go still, then slack, half in defeat, half because it's seriously not easy on my circulation and my breathing to dangle around like that. It sucks all energy out of you and makes your head throb with blood. I groan and consider myself lucky for having (involuntarily) skipped the midday meal.

Rune's arm is like a thick bar of steel across my ass and the back of my thighs, holding on tightly to me as he carries me toward the main door.

Before we're outside, I put in the effort lift my head and look up one last time and see Bane standing there, looking after us with his eyes dark and dangerous enough to give me a full-body chill that doesn't have anything to do with the temperature.

At the same time, something squeezes painfully inside my chest.

And also, I'm filled with pure glee. Asshole. That's what you get for treating an Earth woman like that. I barely resist the urge to give him my middle finger, reasoning that the gesture will probably not hold any meaning to the Dryth. Insults are decidedly less fun if the receiving party doesn't understand them.

Then we're through the doorway and outside of the building, on the streets. I'm not outside terribly often, what with my workload and my manager and the rain that melts rocks, but it looks as deserted to me as the bar did, almost like the hurricane from the bar has come through here, too, and most people have taken shelter. There are several other establishments like my workplace (former workplace) scattered here and there, between all sorts of shops, markets, the odd domicile, and parking spaces for Vurn X'lora 15's strange scooter-like vehicles, but not a living being in sight.

After a couple of minutes, in which I lift up to look around whenever I can muster the energy to do so, I realize that we're walking toward the space port in whose shadow the whole Vurn X'lora 15 settlement lies, kinda like a farmhouse would lie in the shadow of huge silos. Makes sense that we're going there, really -- there's nowhere else to go on this planet. There's one "city" (random collection of buildings, really, not much bigger than maybe two hundred residents plus a couple hundred transients each day) with that one port - that's basically it, that's all there is to it. The rest of this little rock floating around this galaxy's central sun is covered with forest, stinky swamp, forests growing in stinky swamps, and a big angry ocean whose waves are tossed about by the two-and-a-half moons in the sky and by the teeming monsters inhabiting it.

Still, the prospect of actually getting into a space ship with Rune and leaving this planet is...crazy. Almost unthinkable. Wonderful and frightening. Makes my mouth dry and my heart speed up. I want to leave more than I ever wanted anything in my life, but also not. I'm scared shitless of it happening that way, and also of misunderstanding the whole situation and it not happening.

"Hey, uhm. Could you put me down? I can... I can walk by myself," I call to my (technically, I guess) abductor (it's an actual, personal abduction this time! Uh, yay?), twisting my upper body into the general direction of his face and ears to make myself heard.

I figure I might have a chance to change my mind if I had the option to run.

We pass two streets before he deigns to answer.

"Your feet are bare," he says.

He's got a point there. Vurn X'lora 15 hasn't heard of asphalt -- to be fair, it would probably melt in the rain. The ground is made of the natural soil, hard-packed but rough and edgy, something that reminds me of coral. It would be hell on my already slightly scuffed soles.

Just as I want to suggest he might carry me piggyback instead, he adds, "And I like carrying you like this." The arm that's cinched around my upper legs pushes against the swells of my buttocks and his cheek nudges against the side of my butt, like he's a cat wiping his scent on me.

"Oh. Uhm. 'kay," I mumble. Stupidly, my cheeks fill with heat. Even if it was more implicit than anything, it's always nice to have one's butt appreciated -- take note, ladies and fellas.

But also, that might be the low-key nicest thing anyone has said to me in... years.

Man, today must be National Sad Realization Day or something.

My common sense warns me to not romanticize a Dryth because that's something only morons would do, like anthropomorphizing and trying to befriend a polar bear. My common sense is an insufferable spoilsport.

By the time we arrive at what might be the terminal of the space port -- I've never been there before, except when I came here, which was in a literal crate with air holes in it -- I have taken ample note of the state of Vurn X'lora 15's footpaths (good, I suppose), and of Rune's legs and buttocks (both well-hidden from sight by thick fabric, but a girl's got imagination, so... good) and his tail (also good, for a tail).

Unlike Bane's, Rune's tail ends in a fray, like an old hemp rope. Seeing that my Dryth expertise pretty much begins and ends with rudimentary knowledge of their mating habits, I can't say if this is natural or might be another war wound, like the one on his face.