[sylvanSpider]

Hey all,

So I decided to start a little section where I can throw up my writings. I don't really do poetry, like at all, so what you'll all be getting instead (provided you have the patience to stick around) will be whatever the heck I feel like writing including but not limited to added backstory to ocs present in some of the ongoing rps, writing prompt stuff, or just...journal-esque entries. Swear words and other unmentionables are also distinct possibilities, so I'm preemptively gonna slap an [M] in the title. So, uh, there you have it.

-sylvanSpider

[sylvanSpider]

[[Spacepunk Stills]]

“But Mamá,” Jorge whined looking up at his mother with shining gold eyes, “I didn't mean to fall, and I didn't mean to land on Tarak! She distracted me!” The small red-headed child's lip jut out for added effect, and he could see that he almost had her. Almost. The sun was beginning to set casting shades of reds, yellows, and oranges on the lush green leaves, the dark fertile earth, and the taller and smaller set of silhouettes, a picturesque moment between mother and son. The sickly, sweet smell of bayfruit ready for the picking wafted on the breeze, and it was this fruit that enticed the youngling to climb its branches. “Besides, she's the one that told me to climb the tree!”

“Jorge Emanuel Mendez...what am I going to do with you?” the woman's eyes softened as she knelt down onto one knee to make eye contact with the boy. The boy's red hair came from her own, which was now pulled back tight in a bun, not a single loose strand. The golden eyes, too, came from her and both pairs met as she reached to tuck his hair behind his ears. She was beautiful; youth had not yet forsaken her, looking as young as she did the day that the boy was born, “Did she really tell you to climb that tree? Tarak is a very responsible young lady...”

Jorge's eyes widened when he realized that she wasn't as tied around his finger as he hoped, and he stamped his foot, his lip jutting again. “She did,” he uttered with the utmost sincerity despite his unwillingness to make eye contact. A hand on his cheek guided his eyes back to the woman's and he could see that she was holding back a laugh.

“Oh, oh my. Did she? Well, I suppose that isn't very fair to you now is it, mijo? Why would she tell you to do such a thing if she knew that you could get hurt?” Her voice was gentle, if not a little doubtful of her little angel.

Jorge folded his arms, looking sideways again but keeping an eye on his mother, again assessing the situation before deflating, defiant, balled fists falling limply at his side, “She said she would play with me if I brought her a bayfruit, a big ripe juicy bayfruit. Everyone knows those are at the top, so I had to get to the top...”

“Well now you're all scuffed up,” his mother Josephine said, lifting his sleeve observing a dark bruise that seemed to get darker as the time went on. It would look worse in the days following too, before it got better. “You got Tarak's dress dirty, and might have given her a few bruises too. Is that okay with you, mijo?”

Jorge sighed, again drooping, expression fading from defiant to guilty, “No. No it isn't Mamá, but I really wanted to play with her. I like her, Mamá...” He raised his eyes to hers and bit his lip, “I might even love her.”
“Jorge...Amor de niño, agua en cestillo, remember that. Are you sure it's love, mijo?” Josephine asked, once again guiding his eyes to hers. “If it is, I am sure she'll come around. After all, a boy like you is hard to resist, no? I'll tell Abuela to have mercy on your soul.”
“Abuela? But why does she have to know?” Jorge asked, pouting once more. It was only then that he noticed the bag slung over his mother's shoulder. She was going out again. Jorge knew that she had an important job. She and his father both were fighting for freedom on Edensia so that one day they all could live there together, rather than just mamá. “You're going away again, aren't you?”
“I am,” Josephine murmured, her eyes welling up despite the smile she wore, “Papá and I will be gone one week. Only seven days, bueno? Seven days and then we'll be back.”
“But Mamá...”Jorge started before stopping himself and looking down, “I'll miss you.”
“I know, mijo, I'll miss you too. And so will Papá...We'll send holo-vids every single day, alright?”
Jorge nodded, dejected, but he reached out to take the woman's hand and be led inside to say their goodbyes. It had become something of a ritual every time they went out. Jorge felt selfish, as every time he hoped that something just bad enough would happen that they needed to go into hiding. They always hid out with their family. After all, the Edensians never suspected their political refuges to be hiding in Ascov. It was void of any and all civilization, unless you could count the company of a wandering Goim civilization. The Goim permit their presence so long as they gave back to nature whatever they took, and life on Ascov was peaceful. He never understood why they wanted to go to Edensia so badly, that land that wouldn't even let him know who his grandparents were on his mother's side, who forbade his mother from being with his father based on the sole fact that he was male. His father's being a human did not help their case. But things were happy on Ascov.
As usual, the farewells were tear-filled as Josephine knelt down to kiss the boy on his forehead, as Evan wrapped his son up in his arms. Jorge would watch the ship until it joined the ranks of the rest of the stars in the sky. They always left in the night.
=-=-=
That was the last time Jorge Mendez saw his parents alive. As promised, the holo-vids arrived at least once a day for the first two days. There was nothing the third, fourth, fifth...On the seventh day, his grandmother caught the news. Two of Edensia's most prominent terrorists were brought down, killed before a trial could take place. Rather than small arms reaching up to be taken in by the love that only mamas and papas could answer, he was met with the news that they weren't coming back. Jorge was old enough to know what death was. He'd seen it before. It was natural, a part of life, a part of all life. But all this time, he'd thought that those strong figures that were fighting for his freedom...they should have won. They should have lived. The good guys were always supposed to win, right?He'd learned that too, while watching the few illustrated holo-vids his grandmother let him watch. Somehow he knew that they would always come back, they'd always make new gains. He knew wrong, apparently.
Little Jorge spent the rest of five years on Ascov with his grandparents, his father's parents, of course. His mother's parents were unknown even to her, but that was an Edensian life. Test-tube babies and little documented sperm “donors” were part of every Edensian's tale these days. But, they, like his Papa, were human and short-lived. By ten, his grandparents were dead and he wound up stowing away on the first ship that stopped for a spell only to be disappointed by the lack of resources. By the time the pilot realized there was a stowaway, it was too late to expel him, so they put him to work.
He was a good worker, too, and he got by shifting from ship to ship doing all the jobs no one else would with no complaints and little pay. The boy grew to a man, a slim figure filling out to broadened shoulders and he even managed a bit of facial hair that was the source of his pride for little other reason than it was something he had that he could call his own.

At some point, his work ethic was noticed and he was offered a more permanent position with more pay. He would no longer be traveling daily, instead he'd be perched for security one on of the mining sites on Ariacan. The business was illegal, as Ariacan was deemed protected lands by the Universal Extraterrestrial Natural Lands Protection Act, but the resources planet-side were hard to ignore, especially given the fact that few would look to the wildlife when the cities of Ariacan were rich in intergalactic tourism. He was given a gun, taught how to use it, and “Jorge” was replaced with “Mendez” in one fell swoop.

[[To be continued maybe. We'll see what suits my fancy, but uh. This is Mendez from Spacepunk, bit of fleshing out here.]]

[sylvanSpider]

Spacepunk Stills: Magali

Magali woke up in complete, cold, darkness. For a moment, she wondered if her eyes were even open. Even nighttime on Jeupra never was this dark, there were always the stars, the moons. They were a guide for any who got lost, but what was one to do when they were lost and the stars and moon abandoned them? The movement of the felis's small form was restricted, and she found that she now had metal bracelets around her wrists, ankles, and neck. She'd been propped up in a sitting position, and she found her tail still had movement, but what was she to do with that?

Then she remembered. The females had all gone out on a hunt, the village males staying behind to look after the children. Magali could remember that she'd pouted at not being able to go out with the rest of her sisters, being the youngest and she'd sulked way over to one of the Elder's huts. The Elder, Nomika she was called, took a special liking to Magali and allowed her to linger with her while the others were out. She explained calmly that she would be able to go and hunt when she got older, when her arms were strong enough to draw back a bow. Nomika's words were comforting, as they always were, and Magali's spirits lifted some.

But that was when it ended. Their village was attacked, and all of the weapons were with the women. The target wasn't the adults, that became clear when Nokima took a position in front of the youngling only to get knocked out of the way. Magali saw only a weapon that looked like a giant straw before everything faded to darkness. She woke up, and the darkness was still there. Voices could be heard from somewhere, she thought maybe her right, but they sounded distanced, somewhat muffled, becoming clearer as they neared. Both, she recognized, belonged to males.

“Well, today was a success, wouldn't you say so?”

“We only managed three, sir.”

“Yes, but the girl is worth quite a lot. She's rare. You saw the shade of her hair, right? The color of her eyes? The type of fur on her tail and ears? The fetishists seem to like her kind best and are willing to part with millions of qanta just to be able to take one home – more if they are properly trained.”

“So what are you gonna do? Train her yourself, or sell her as is? She's still wild, you know.”

“Of course I know that. I bagged her myself. But no, I don't have time for that. I'll sell her as is and the buyer can decide what to do with her then.”

“Does she at least speak Common?”

“Haven't tried yet. I know of some tribes that do, but the ones inland, native to the rivers generally don't. That's more coastal. I'm not worried about it. She'll fetch a hefty sum tomorrow and that's all that really matters to me.”

The second voice grew quiet and Magali couldn't help but wonder what they were talking about. The language they used was completely foreign to her, and she knew immediately that these were those that attacked her village. She stayed quiet as a door that she didn't realize was there hissed open, light spilling into the room, burning her eyes.
The two speakers appeared as only silhouettes in the doorway before the lights whirred on. Looking around, she could see two of her brothers seeming to just wake up, shielding their eyes from harsh, cold light that stirred them from their slumber. One of the men squat down in front of her, reaching under her chin to lift her eyes up to his. She closed her eyes, attempting to look anywhere but the man and she tried to snap at him, half choking herself in the process by the metal necklace around her throat. He chuckled, “Yes definitely still wild. Tell me, child, do you understand me?”

Magali tried lunging at him again, only to find the same result and she found herself pressing against the wall as if she could just melt through it, to get away from this wicked man. He was close enough to her that she could feel his breath hot on her cheek, smell the spices he'd had with his dinner. “Alright then,” he said, pursing his lips. It was as he thought. She didn't speak the language, “We'll start this easy.”

He pointed to himself, “Jorza.” Then, he pointed to Magali who in turn clamped her jaw shut, lips pressed tightly together. Jorza then reached out, slapping Magali with a loud, echoing thwack. Magali looked at him with wide eyes, again she shrank against the wall, ears pressed flat against her head, every hair on her tail rising on end. Jorza tried again. “Jorza,” he said, pointing to himself, then pointing to Magali.

“M-magali,” the child felis stammered back. The man nodded in approval, grabbing her wrists and placing something in her palms.

“Eat.”

The other man had already deposited what looked like something resembling food with her brothers and was now reporting to the one called “Jorza.”

“The other two are Tizi and Taza, twins by the looks of it. We might be able to make some extra qanta if we sell them together,” he was quiet for a moment as he looked at Magali's face, reddened in the spot that Jorza's hand made contact. “

Do you ever feel guilty about all this? I mean, getting involved in the slave trade? They're just children... They can't be more than five, can they? Maybe six?”

“In galactic years, maybe, but Jeupra is the closest planet in their solar system to the sun. I'd put them anywhere between 16-20 in Jeupran years.”

The man grew quiet, not wanting to point out the logical fallacy in Jorza's words. They hadn't yet reached anywhere near adulthood and he looked back at the twins who were both smelling the meal replacement bar that he'd given them as if questioning whether or not it was edible. “Well, either way, we'll both be very rich men come tomorrow.”

[DreadedMartian]

I really enjoy your work! I hope you'll post more!