Shades Of Forever

After we finish the jug of Bumsnirphle's, I poke MacWillie with an elbow.

"Sooooo, your MacWillieness, are there parts left for Box to make our new stuffs?"

She waves a hand expansively over the remaining salvage from the starfly, Huckens snoring lightly against her broad shoulder. The three Builders stare enviously from their posts around the forge site.

"Of course, young Sky. I'm not so cruel as to send you on a salvage trip solely to whet me own thirst. If your Box is a true combat variant, it's no doubt calculated an optimal redistribution of yon wealth."

"Box does like to make numbers go up," I giggle. "Shoulda been a, a, calculator, or an abacus thing. Beads go click clack up."

The only reason I am allowing these alterations to your neurological function is because I cannot wait for you to wake up tomorrow morning. And yes, I have some recommended specifications.

"Box's got ideas! Do the ideas, Box!"

Do you want to warn your fellow villagers about the upcoming limb manifestations?

"Hey! Butterfly! You guys! Turn your backs! We're gonna do weird shit!"

Butterfly swears under his breath and quickly turns around, but the other two keep their vigil. I laugh, then hiccough, then laugh again.

"Don't say I didn't waaaaaarn yooooou."

I let Box take control of my limbs. They dance an intricate waltz, tapping the input panel on the side of the molecular forge while picking out the chromatic optimizers and the gravitic floaters and the unwound dust and the-

...huh. The other two Builders are throwing up and screaming. I just showed them my... limbs...

I turn back to the molecular forge, trying to cool the burning heat in my cheeks. So stupid!

I did tell you to warn them.

"'n I did. Said watch out. Butterfly turned around."

Well, at least they've stopped shrieking. Would you like to know what it is we're making?

"Hey, MacWillie. What. What are we. Nmaking?"

MacWillie helps me to the ground, leaning me against a cool surface. It's metlacic. Meltallic. Metlic.

I tilt my head back against the soothing chill. 'm so tired. What if I jus' went to slepp?

"Don't rightly know. It's your integrator running the show, Sky. Say, have you ever drank befo-"

"Box," I command, waving a hand in the air. "Things. Do the things. So I can slep."

The metal I'm resting against warms, then starts vibrating, sharp edges melting and softening. I almost die.

"Box... ngghhhh... the thing... ohhhhh... my shoulders..."

"Not supposed to lean against a forge under heavy usage, Sky," MacWillie says, shrugging off Huckens and rolling over to an adjacent side of the metallic base. She settles against it with a shuddering sigh, Huckens still snoring on the dirt. "reality flux vibrations can turn you inside out if you're not careful. Keep trying to tell the lad that, but he'll nae listen. Oooooooooo..."

If you two are quite done, the first upgrade is complete.

A hatch hisses open next to my cheek, and I slap at it. Ow. Who hit my ear?

You did. Moving on. This is a Wutan-Weylan 9800 Memetic Shotgun. Capable of launching an entire non-causal suite of various close range expressions in single, burst, and fully automatic fire while offering its operator a-

I try to throw the box into the ground, but it just sits there annoying me with its stupid words. An inky paw swats at it from one of the shadows around us, but the accursed object reorients itself in front of me again. A second opening along the base assaults my eardrums.

...fine. This is a Hypertron mk. 9 base CQC-model mass-accelerator with eight separate non-causal ammunition settings, any one of which can be activated by your-

I smack the box, and it flies towards a tree. Pete steps out of the trunk's shadow and bats it back. Heh. This is fun.

...if I could have your attention, please.

A third hatch opens. I think? So tired.

This is a Jinseki Deconstructor-class mono-blade. Rated against fifteen centimeters of trans-dimensional battlesteel and able to-

"Let's go to bed, Box," I yawn, pushing my way from the now hard metal at my back. "'m tired."

...not until you attune the new weapons I made.

"Can attune 'em in the morning. C'mon."

The limbs supporting me vanish, and I stagger towards a tree. Gravity is doing weird. My head bounces off its trunk and I sprawl to the ground.

"...ow. Fine."

I roll over, trying to focus on the three strange shapes in the forge's open hatches, and not the burgeoning headache throbbing behind my eyes.

"You can... have 'em. Things."

My limbs deposit my trusty pistol, Dirt's rifle, and the kukri into my non-causal storage, then grab the new weapons, making them disappear.

NothingPersonnel.exe removed

360NoScope.exe removed

HipDraw.exe removed

Attunement completed. AllOuttaGum1.0.exe available

Attunement completed. MyLittleFriend1.0.exe available

Attunement completed. TheBride1.0.exe available

"So...many stupid... boxes... We making... anymore?"

Not tonight. I would have liked to procure some armor, but that was the bulk of our scavenged materials.

"...good."

I manage to get myself on my feet. Brush and Light Builder are staring at me, pale-faced, wiping their hands across their mouths. I ignore them. Not my fault if they can't hold my liquor. Next to me, MacWillie is hoisting the still-sleeping Huckens across her back.

"Well? Seeing as how the Bumsnirphle's gone and the forge is quiet, are we ready to seek our beds, young Sky?" She bends down and leers at me conspiratorially, eyes twinkling, Huckens snoring over her shoulder. "Or are we breaking the town in half by drinking what they've left and bedding those still standing?"

"I think," I snort out a gust of air, "I think it's bedtime for me. Sorry, Chief MacEngineer. Willie. I have to get the icongito... incong... the hidey parts tomorrow."

She laughs, a great bellow of sound.

"Don't be sorry to me, young Sky. I can't be faulting your responsible nature. Let's get the three of us back to our bunks."

MacWillie offers me an arm to lean on, which I gratefully take. I don't think the Builders would appreciate seeing more of my limbs, judging by their muttered conversation as they trail behind.

"MacWillie. You know what would be good?"

She looks down at me, the broad expanse of the village square stretching around us, Huckens hanging over her shoulder.

"Another bottle of Bumsnirphle's and a Sagittarian pleasure troupe?"

"No, silly. A Glowbeast sandwich, with, with, shimmerfruit as the bread. Yeah. And, and then you cover it with... crabroach sauce! The stinky kind, that takes half a year to make. We should see if the Bakeries are open!"

She turns her head, glancing over at the obviously closed Bakeries, doors shut and windows dark, and quirks her lips.

"Aye, we'll do that tomorrow, young Sky. For now, let's get you and young master Huckens tucked away."

"...if you say so, MacHuckens. Chiefwillie."

The endless trek continues, and then Broom greets us at the door to Great Grandpa's house, raising an eyebrow at our bedraggled state. Huckens snores at her from MacWillie's broad back.

"It's late. Everything going well?"

I grin at her, trying to focus on her face. It keeps spinning for some reason.

"'s going great, your Broomness. Got... new stuff. Numbers going up!"

A wave of hiccoughs assault my throat and I try desperately to stifle them. If this keeps up I'm going to barf, and that would be embarrassing. Broom fixes MacWillie with an inscrutable look, the two older women trading information faster than I can think. "And this was useful for us all?" she finally asks.

I stagger away from MacWillie's solid arm and bend over, my stomach spasming. In the instant before I begin expelling its contents, silky black hair cradles my hunched arms and cheeks. My nausea fades beneath a soft blanket of gently vibrating muscle and fur.

naptime. for you

I manage to rouse myself from Pete's comforting bulk enough to look up and glare at Broom.

"Built a molomonecluar forge. Thing. Bumsnirphle's. Leave MacWillie alone."

My eyes droop, lulled by the stolid warmth of my cat's flank. MacWillie's voice echoes from a vast distance.

"Was it useful? Aye, twas worth it, on my name as a MacWillie. Yer bairn has nae felt the true weight of this reality, despite the losses so far. Yon shades are steeped in centuries of pain, and they'll be coming for us all in time."

I giggle, holding Pete tight so I don't fall.

"You're talking funny. MacSnirphle."

Midnight hairs extend into my open mouth and nose, extending down my throat, absorbing the churning mass of vomit before I can spew it forth. It should feel weird? It doesn't. Pete is helping me, just like I would help it. Throwing up isn't fun. The hairs retreat and I let my cat pull me towards the open door, my body weight draped over its lithely muscular spine.

"That's because even a Chief Engineer doesn't down half a bottle of Bumsnirphle's without consequences, young Sky," MacWillie responds. "It's a wonder you're still upright." Her eyes narrow. "Is your Box messing with things again?"

Just enough so you can remember this in the morning. Oooh, I can't wait for you to wake up.

"Box says 'hello.'"

"And ye can tell it to piss off a cliff and follow the rain. Bloody integrator that thinks for itself. Sod off, ye sheepbuggering goatfuck, and let the little one pass out."

Broom interrupts my response, picking me up from my half-leaning position against Pete. She helps me through the familiar front door as the cat slips back into my shadow.

"Keep it down you two. Axe and the new outsider are sleeping." I make an exaggerated 'shushing' motion at MacWillie and we both start giggling. Broom shakes her head. "Come on, let's get you to your rooms."

"Need any help, Broom?"

The voice comes from a lanky man with dark hair reclined on the sofa, his hazel eyes peering over the top of a book. Two pistols lay within easy reach on the floor next to him.

"It's fine, Jasper." The man returns to his reading and I look at Broom in confusion. "He's here to keep an eye on the outsider," she responds to my unasked question as we shuffle through the kitchen. "Torch and Dirt need more rest. Apparently," her tone grows amused, "it's 'exhausting' trying to keep up with you."

"...'s not my fault."

"Don't worry about it. Dirt's had this coming for a long time. Near drove me and Torch crazy with his disappearing act when he first started with the Idiots."

"...wha' about..."

She hushes me as we move down the dark hallway leading to the sleeping areas of Great Grandpa's house. That's right. He needs his sleep. Like in the Memory Shrine. So sleepy.

A door swings open in front of me. A room. My room. Bed.

Sleep.

Time to wake up, Sky! Rise and shine!

Bleargh. My eyelids refuse to open, crusted together with sleepgunk. I rub a hand across them, then try to blink some moisture into existence. My inner eyelid feels like sandpaper scraping across my cornea.

"Wha... mmmph... time... ooooh my head..."

A thousand hammers are pounding the inside of my skull. The early morning light coming through the bedroom window stabs at my eyes like photonic needles. I didn't even know light could cause pain like that.

"Box... why does everything hurt so bad... fix it please..."

I could, but that would require biomass that would be more effectively used in combat scenarios, and you made it abundantly clear last night that I am the only one concerned with such matters. Maybe next time don't drink so much distilled engine coolant?

"You're... the worst..."

I groggily rise and stumble to the bathroom. My mouth tastes like rotten Glowbeast, even after I rinse it out with water multiple times. I splash my face, trying to soothe the throbbing headache, but it doesn't do much to help.

Food. Maybe food will work.

I stagger down the hallway towards the kitchen, still rubbing my eyes.

"Good morning."

The voice startles me and I nearly manifest my limbs. Who... oh. It's the Idiot from last night.

"Morning, Jasper. Gonna make breakfast. Want some?"

He doesn't look up from the book he's reading, seated in one of the chairs by the small table against the wall.

"I would appreciate that, Sky Idiot. Thank you."

I check the cool box to see what I can make. There's me, Jasper, MacWillie, Huckens, Violet, and Great Grandpa to feed. Hmmm. Not enough shimmerfruit for stove circles, but we have pricklethrush eggs and a side of roast Glowbeast... use the last of the potatoes... an onion... some crabroach cheese on top...

"Okay. Breakfast scramble it is."

I pull out the ingredients and assemble them near the chopping board. That's a lot of chopping.

"Jasper. Don't look away from your book, okay?"

"...okay?"

I grab four knives and manifest my limbs. Metal blurs above the cutting board, rapidly disassembling the potatoes and meat into neat cubes, the onion into small squares, then shredding the block of white cheese into thin strips. I hear whimpering from behind me as I crack the eggs nonstop into a bowl, trying to ignore the stinging in my eyes from cutting up the onion.

"Told you not to look."

Prep work completed, I make my limbs disappear and get out the big iron skillet, cleaning a light layer of dust off. It's meant for large meals, and with just me and Great Grandpa in the house, it hardly ever sees use these days.

I put the skillet on the stove and set it to high heat, placing a hefty chunk of crabroach butter to melt on the warming surface. While I wait for the iron to get hot enough, I scramble the eggs in their bowl, adding a pinch of salt and some crabroach milk to make them fluffier.

"What... was that?"

Jasper's face is ashen behind his book, fingers trembling against the cover.

"Non-causal limbs. If I say 'don't look,' you'll really want to pay attention. Didn't Broom tell you?"

"She... knows?"

"Yeah. She almost peed herself when I showed her."

"...I see."

The butter is sizzling in the skillet, which means it's time to add the potatoes. I sprinkle some dried herbs over them and wait for them to brown.

"What are you reading?" I ask Jasper to pass the time.

"'Surviving Outsiders.'"

"Huh. What's it about?"

He looks up from the pages and regards me curiously.

"Don't you have a copy? It's required reading for Idiots. We get tested on it every year. Book wrote the original."

"Oh. Uhm, no, I haven't been an Idiot very long, and things have been kind of busy." I use a spatula to shift the potatoes around and add the chopped onion and Glowbeast meat. "I'm sure Broom will get around to telling me what I'm supposed to do once we finish making the village safe."

"I'm sure she will."

I drop the heat to medium and give the egg mixture one last stir, then pour it into the skillet, shifting it around as it starts setting. The browned potatoes and onions and meat form little islands in the scramble, and drool starts gathering in my mouth. When the eggs look almost done, I sprinkle the shredded crabroach cheese on top of the entire thing and then turn the stove off, the cheese already melting from the residual warmth.

"That smells really good. Are you sure you're not a Baker?"

I smile at Jasper.

"One of my best friends, Rifle, her dad is a Baker. He taught me some breakfast recipes I could use. Some mornings it's hard for Great Grandpa to make it over to the Bakeries." I take out a stack of plates and fill one up. "Go ahead and serve yourself. I'm going to go wake up the others. There's crabroach milk in the fridge, or water from the sink."

"Thank you."

I leave the room, forking in bites of breakfast scramble as I go. My stomach still doesn't feel great, but the food is definitely helping. I push open the door to my parent's room, revealing MacWillie sprawled out on the bed, Huckens curled up on a blanket on the floor.

"Time to wake up!"

My voice is perhaps a little louder than it should be, but I refuse to be the only one suffering this morning. MacWillie groans, then rubs her face.

"Piss off," she croaks, rolling over to show her back. Huckens continues snoring down below. I take another bite of the scramble.

"Your breakfast is going to get cold."

"Unless there's coffee, piss. Off."

I don't know what 'coffee' is, so I shrug and turn back to the hallway. If they want a cold breakfast, that's their choice. I knock on the door to the spare room.

"Violet? Are you awake?"

The door cracks open a sliver and two suspicious eyes greet me, one ringed by fur, the other by the type of puffiness that only comes from extended bouts of crying. I hold up my half-eaten plate.

"Breakfast is ready."

The door clicks shut. Oh well. When she gets hungry the food will still be there. Cold. But there. I cross over to Great Grandpa's door, finishing the last bits of my meal.

"Great Grandpa? I made breakfast. It's a scramble, one of your favorites."

I wait a moment, but he doesn't answer, so I gently let myself in. His room is filled with bookshelves lining the walls, various mementos in front of the books overflowing each shelf - reminders of the little ones he's taught, some art projects I made long ago, trinkets my mother and father enjoyed. His bed takes up the far wall, slightly curved to match the bole of the tree our house is built around, his wheeled chair next to the tall chest of drawers at its foot. A mound of blankets cover his unmoving form.

"Great Grandpa, come on, it's time to wake up."

I walk over to the bed. It's unlike him to sleep this long. My entire life he's been up at the break of dawn, ready to approach the oncoming day and work with the little ones. I reach out a hand and carefully jostle his shoulder.

"Great Grandpa?"

He doesn't move, and I try it again. This time, it's enough to roll him off his side and onto his back, head almost swallowed beneath the mass of blankets and pillows. His eyes are closed and there's the barest smile fixed on his face. I wait for him to open his eyes and greet me.

The seconds pass, then seem to stretch and hang in the air. My headache unexpectedly vanishes, along with the pain in my stomach, but it's replaced by something else.

Sky-

The blankets aren't moving at all. No up and down of air drawing in and out.

"Great Grandpa!"

He doesn't stir at my shout, lying in that still peacefulness.

My plate hits the floor with a dull crack.