Artful Manipulation

by floof_likes_plants

Summary:

A Human Domestication Guide story focussing on hurt/comfort, drugplay, BDSM, petplay and medplay mixed in with a heaping helping of character exploration. Be ready for a decently slow burn, lots of character angst and explorations of heavy topics before we get to the real smut. Please mind the tags and notes at the beginnings of the chapters!

Notes:

Hi everyone! This story is going to focus a lot on non-consentual/dubiously consensual themes. Part of the Human Domestication Guide universe! 

Chapter 1: Avernus

Avernus

Travelling on one of the compact’s most luxurious ships should have been enough to keep Avernus occupied. Experts in Relaxation, Enjoyment, and Fun had spent centuries perfecting the absolute perfect intergalactic voyage for florets and their Affini alike. Every hour brought new music and dance performances from the vast cultures the Affini had domesticated over the years. That alone could fill a trip, but the expert minds in the REF department had more in store for its passengers. An ever-rotating cast of boutiques and restaurants adorned the ship, offering food, drink, clothing, knicknacks, trinkets, souvenirs ornaments… If a sophont were to want it, they would find it here, on Cornucopia. (Whoever’s floret came up with that must be real clever, Avernus thought to himself sarcastically.)

Failing all of that, the ship had some of the biggest sprawls of parks and forests in the fleet. If you wanted to simply run away from society, hide in the woods, and never be seen again, that was an option. Avernus could stretch his vines, maybe explore the botanical gardens and see what new creations they’d made since his last visit. Or he could simply admire the intricate mosaics of flowers that formed beautiful landscapes, letting himself get lost in their natural beauty, perhaps gaining a renewed sense of alignment and purpose in the universe. Avernus wasn’t interested in that. And he had never been especially interested in xenopharmacology, either. There were plenty of things Avernus should have been doing other than research his destination. He was not doing those things. 

Perhaps a more patient Affini, Avernus mused, would be able to enjoy the journey for all of its uniqueness and beauty. They would roam the fields and forest, speak to their shipmates, make friends and socialise with the adorable florets. See the sights at each stop and admire the natural beauty of the universe. Go back to pet the florets again because they’re simply so cute. Have revelations about life and love and nature and purpose. That was not why Avernus went on vacations. 

Avernus worked hard. He deserved a good vacation. Coming off an arduous century of research and development near the core worlds, Avernus wanted nothing more than to indulge himself in something pleasant. Give himself a well deserved break from hard work. Do something enjoyable, light. Refreshing, even! Avernus could use a refreshing. He had mused for at least a year near the end of his project on exactly what vacation to take. Of course he wanted it to be simpler, a way to relax. But it still had to be intellectually stimulating, or he’d go mad with boredom. He needed something like… studying the intricate beauty of a new, simple species of domesticated sophont. That would do nicely, he had decided. Take a year to peer deep into their physiology and uncover their secret inner workings. See what the cotyledon program had missed, or see for himself how effective it could be. Cut them wide open and put them back together piece by piece until he could…

Avernus felt the subtle shift of the ship's walls that indicated the ship had gone faster-than-light. “Good,” he thought to himself. “It should only be a matter of hours before I arrive.” Avernus wasn’t sure when he’d allowed his internal monologue to get so narrative. He was restrained with his language by nature, and preferred spending most of his time alone. Perhaps, in that time, he’d started to develop a flair for the dramatic. He’d have to investigate that further. He’d also have to brush up on his specificity. “A few hours” was a poor choice of words for a ship that could travel from point-to-point near instantaneously. What a more correct internal monologue would have said is “a few more hours of visiting plants punctuated by near-instantaneous jumps to the next locale, eventually ending up at my destination.” Avernus’ internal dramatist needed a physics lesson. 

Perhaps this vacation would be a good opportunity for him to reconnect with his fellow Affini, while honing some of his own interpersonal skills. That would be the secondary objective, he decided. Primary objective would be to unwind while studying a nice simple sophont species. Secondary objective?, Make at least one new discovery in that species’ biolo-

Avernus realised that socialisation would have to be moved to at least priority Three. No matter. Avernus liked his hobby. More than that, Avernus liked his profession. His passion for his work had led him far in his life, and garnered him quite a following of young xenobiologists. Avernus never much cared for the fame his findings had brought him. To him, his work was much more important for keeping him busy rather than advancing socially in any manner. But he had to admit, between his older age and his research, he had quite the reputation. Plenty of Affini (“a near uncountable amount” Avernus reminded his inner monologue) were at least as old as Avernus. One hundred and something blooms was mathematically, a very common average age for his species. Age being relative, of course. Still, Avernus’ longtime expertise in his field could be quite useful. 

A very long time ago, when Avernus was in only his third or fourth bloom, he’d studied xenobiology. He started to work with the local xenoveterinarian, an Affini who was his elder by at least fifty blooms. He had excelled quickly. The hardest part, Avernus quickly realised, was when the florets were awake. So many things could go wrong when the patient was awake. As soon as they weren’t, though, things became very simple. Biology was really just a set of patterns, Avernus thought. All beings were at least somewhat alike, and once you found the pattern you could fix almost anything. This thinking brought Avernus far. Before long, his mentor was recommending Avernus for frontline missions to distant galaxies, working on cotyledon programs and the like. While this challenge suited Avernus well, the untrained, easily frightened cotyledons did not. For all of Avernus’ strengths, he could not manage to master bedside manner. So, he pivoted his work to surgery and emergency xenoveterinary medicine. Things were much easier there. For one thing, he no longer had to talk to terrified sophonts, or talk to his patients at all. He could solve his little puzzles, stitch the patient back together, then move on to the next one.

With time, Avernus’ reputation brought him more important, but most importantly more difficult work. His knack for working with unknown biology became well-known, and he was often the first to publish comprehensive manuals on cotyledon biology. His longtime focus on medicine meant that he was well versed in the basics of about one hundred different species of sophont, needing only a quick refresher to perform the most difficult surgeries. After all, all he had to do was find the pattern and work from there. Easy. He didn’t even have to talk to the sophonts in question either, leaving that work to his more sociable coworkers. By the time he was in his fiftieth bloom, Avernus was a very busy Affini. 

Most recently, he had just finished the cotyledon program for a rather unique species of sophont. Much like the Affini, they were plant-based. Not especially anomalous, especially given the vast genetic diversity the Affini had already encountered. What put Avernus onto this project was a key difference in this species’ biology: where the Affini have long been able to graft new material onto themselves, the bodies of these sophonts violently rejected any kind of foreign material.

Their similar physiology also proved to be a challenge, as each cotyledon the compact had rescued was a different shape and was composed of different plant life native to their homeworld. Instead of audible communication, the cotyledons used a series of spores and pollens, which took a team of expert xenolinguists and grafting specialists several years to fully understand. Avernus usually liked to keep himself lean, with only several sharp implements and a few basic xenodrugs grafted to him at any point. He never had much need for anything else, and he found having multitudes of cosmetic and seldom-used grafts to be quite distracting. 

Avernus felt around his body for the grafts he’d been given for communication purposes. He had yet to remove them, as they were quite fickle. The only reason he’d gotten them at all was because one of the cotyledons happened to be a doctor. Despite his general distaste for talking to patients, Avernus found that cotyledon particularly impressive. Avernus remembered back to when he first figured out this bit of information. It was an important breakthrough. The cotyledon’s name, when translated from spores to Affini, was something like “Impressive Wise”. The xenolinguists hadn’t yet figured out the spore combination that referred to medicine. As soon as they did, though, Imp’s insistence on shooting spores at Avernus started to make sense. He was trying to share information! He recognized Avernus as a senior doctor and wanted to share. 

Imp, as the Affini started calling him, sped up Avernus’ pattern recognition process quite substantially. His help shaved at least ten years of work off of the project, so the slightly uncomfortable spore grafts were allowed to stay on Avernus’ otherwise plain body.

Avernus would eventually remove these grafts, he knew, but right now he was in no rush to do that. In the fifty years it took for Avernus to create a haustoric implant that wouldn’t be immediately rejected he’d grown quite adept at using their strings of spores and pollens. It then took another forty to refine the implant until it was ready for the general public. Ten years into a successful transition out of the cotyledon program and Avernus was finally ready for some time off. Pruning could come later, when he was properly situated. 

Avernus spread his many thin, root-like tendrils through his habitation unit. He had long ago stopped bothering to maintain the facsimile of a form when he was alone. It was much easier, he found, to spread out in a dizzying collection of limbs and go from here. Reach for something on one side of the room while grabbing something else on the other side. His habitation unit was very sparsely decorated for this reason. Avernus far preferred function over form, and this carried over to nearly every aspect of his life. 

If you were to look at Avernus’ habitation next to one of his Affini colleague’s, you’d immediately spot the difference. Where most Affini homes were lavishly and meticulously decorated, or at the very least very fully furnished, Avernus’ home looked more like an empty storage container than anything else. Soft dirt made a perfectly serviceable floor, and the room was without any furniture or decorations to speak of. There was no need for furniture when one could simply spread out onto the floor, after all. 

Besides, Avernus spent much more of his time in his office near the veterinary surgery centre. That was a room with much fancier fittings that may as well have been Avernus’ home, given how much time he spent there. It had a large desk, some shelves for storage, and even a few chairs. The heights of luxury, as far as Avernus cared. The office was, of course, also travelling with Avernus, as he found it much easier to simply transplant from one spot to another rather than try to uproot. Seeing as he rarely brought guests, much less non-Affini, to his home, Avernus considered this lifestyle to be very practical and well-suited to him. A life with minimal distractions gave him the freedom to truly indulge himself in his work. 

In the last thirty years or so, Avernus had been hearing more and more about a particular new species of sophont. Apparently, they had put up an adorable resistance to pacification and made excellent florets. Avernus never paid these stories much regard, chiefly because all sophonts tended to make excellent florets for one reason or another. When the first of the human florets had travelled as far as the Core Worlds, Avernus took an afternoon to go observe them. They didn’t seem special to Avernus at first: bipedal with average strength, fixed limbs, some redundant body systems, and a restriction to specific environments. Still, Avernus had the opportunity to watch a haustoric implant being placed, and he saw the appeal. Granted, it probably wasn’t the same way as most Affini saw the appeal of humans. What they saw were shy, empathetic creatures with adorable little habits like dyeing parts of themselves bright colours or collecting shiny objects. What Avernus saw was much more…physical. Humans made a prime candidate for study: simple, beautiful creatures Avernus could spend a few years studying before he moved on to something bigger and grander. 

The Terran Proctoreate was mostly centred around a yellow dwarf star in the Milky Way galaxy. Avernus had settled on one of the stations orbiting the star as his new temporary home. Its travels through the solar system brought in a diversity of sophonts that would make excellent candidates for study. He would deal with some difficult, exotic cases for a year then move on somewhere else. Avernus highly doubted it would take him more than a year to learn everything there was to know about this species. After all, compared to his last project, humans were dead simple. A simple circulatory system, immune systems that were easy to fool, and a relative ease of access, for lack of a better term.

Avernus leafed through a copy of the most recent medical reports regarding humans. This specific issue regarded the human respiratory system. It was… well, it was a very simple set of organs, really. Sufficient for its purpose, but frankly inelegant and wasteful in its design. Avernus could improve it easily in several hours, and given several weeks could overhaul the system entirely and make it at least twice as efficient. But that was hardly in the spirit of vacationing, now was it? Avernus would make do with the humans’ natural physiology, at least until he had an excuse to improve it. A soft pling! noise brought Avernus’ attention to his tablet: a short notification blinked on its screen, indicating that the jump to the Sol system was complete, and docking procedures with the Sol Living Station were underway. “Good,” Avernus thought to himself a low hum. He carefully closed his book while once again cursing himself for letting his internal monologue get so dramatic. Soon, Avernus could get to work.

Chapter 2: Mestra

Summary:

I hate descriptions. It's an HDG story focussing on hurt/comfort, rule-following BDSM, and noncon

Mestra

 

Black market dealers should really improve their communication skills. Given their abilities in acquiring illicit goods, Mestra would have assumed they knew how to answer their messages. Or, at the very least: set up an auto-reply. No such luck. 

 

What Mestra wanted was very simple: a xenodrug producing plant that didn’t walk, talk, or try to domesticate. That should have been simple enough given how much they were paying – or, well, trading, seeing as the bigger and far more dangerous xenodrug-producing plants had abolished all currency. Why did they want this plant? None of your business, not that you’d understand anyways.

 

Mestra fell back into thier bed, laptop still sitting on their thighs. They needed this deal to go through. Not just because they needed the drugs, but also because every passing day made it harder and harder to buy illegal goods. Every day more and more smugglers would be captured, domesticated, and rendered useless to Mestra’s plans. What was their plan? None of your business, dammit. 

 

Mestra groaned. Their supply of Terran sedatives was far too low for comfort. Those too had become harder and harder to get after the invasion. Why did everything have to be so difficult for them? The least these weeds could have done is make their drugs available for free so Mestra didn’t have to go to the trouble to synthesise their own. Affini xenodrugs seemed really cool, actually, and they were leagues ahead of any medicine Mestra had tried in their life. Of course, they came with one big catch: the Affini weren’t willing to give them away without getting something back in return. Of course, they would never say this, because they fancy themselves smarter than everyone else. But they wanted something. People always needed something in return. In the Affini’s case, that ‘something’ was people, or ‘florets’, if you wanted to use their overly flowery censorship language. Sure, they say that only Terrans who pose a risk to themselves or to others will be forced into domestication, but Mestra was too smart to believe that. They’d seen too many people fall into the Affini’s vines to believe that. 

 

Mestra groaned again. They needed water, probably, and a whole host of other vitamins and minerals. They knew this because of the pounding headache assaulting them, and also because they hadn’t eaten or drank since morning. They should refill their water jug, or better yet install one of those material-recompilation-magic-box things. Which they couldn’t do without an Affini coming to their house. Which was out of the question. So no water for them. Mestra wanted to cry. They really wanted to cry, but they knew better than to expect anything but dry sobs. Tears were for people whose emotions worked properly, and that was not a group to which Mestra had membership. At least they had painkillers, Mestra thought. Wait, painkillers that had to be taken with water. Which they don’t have because their water jug is empty and the stupid plants aren’t willing to give them a magic miracle box to install in their bedroom. Augh! Why did the world have to be stacked against them? 

 

Mestra had tried everything. Terran medicine was terrible, barely solved the problem, and cost a fortune. Then, it stopped existing! Frankly, Mestra was actually pretty happy to see the big pharmaceuticals go down, but that meant that even the really expensive drugs that made them almost-functional weren’t an option. Illicit drugs were certainly an option Mestra was open to exploring. Unfortunately, even when Mestra could get their hands on a consistent supply, they always, inevitably, wore off. No matter how much relief the drugs could give Mestra, they would always need more, and somewhere in the back of their head Mestra was uncomfortable with living like that. That left xenodrugs. Mestra had heard many testimonials to their effectiveness, though mostly from humans captured by the Affini and used as propaganda pieces. Eventually, through some very clever hacking, they managed to find some literature at a suitable reading level. It was… dumbed down, from what they would have liked, but much more reliable than the sickly sweet advertisements for indenturement that the Affini were pumping out to the masses. Mestra was actually rather impressed, if the claims were true.

 

Apparently, in the very limited time the plants had known that humans even existed, they had discovered a neurotransmitter previously hidden to humans. This neurotransmitter, among many other things Mestra didn’t have the knowledge to understand, was largely responsible for fear, anxiety, and dread responses. With very targeted formulations, these levels could be safely lowered, permanently, and with very few side effects. The Affini collectively referred to drugs of this type as class ‘E’ xenodrugs (apparently each drug type had a letter category, probably to make the propaganda work better). The particular strain didn’t seem to matter much, or at least as far as Mestra could tell. Many of the drugs seemed to be associated with particular flora as well. It seemed… odd, that so many drugs would have natural origins. Maybe the plants had conquered so many galaxies that they'd simply found a lot of duplicates. Mestra wasn’t sure.  

 

What they did manage to learn is that not only were these plants the primary ingredient of miracle drugs, they actually produced the stuff. In a process Mestra had absolutely no hope of understanding, the plant could be “grafted” onto an Affini body, then produce a steady amount of the drug to be injected into victims. 

 

It was almost too good to be true! A plant that produced infinite amounts of miracle cure drug with nearly no side effects. Of course, this knowledge sent Mestra into a many-weeks long endeavour to figure out how exactly to get their hands on this miracle plant. It seemed like all grafts that could create class-E drugs needed to be attached to an Affini body, which complicated matters. Mestra had two options, as they saw it: create a fake Affini body to house the graft, or ask the Affini for help. Mestra knew for certain which one they preferred. 

***

 

Life was very difficult for Mestra. “Certainly,” they often thought to themself, “no one with an easy life would be this desperate to heal themself.” They had been through… a lot, relatively speaking. By the age of fifteen Mestra was at some medical place or another almost once every two weeks. It became almost a point of pride for Mestra that things were so bad. Whenever a friend needed advice navigating the medical system, they were right there. After all, they’d been through worse, they knew what to do. Mestra often counted up the number of drugs that had tried and failed to make them better. They could recite the list by rote now, going into uncomfortable detail about the side effects and why the drug had totally failed to help. Mestra’s pride in their hardship was like some sick reward for surviving this long, they sometimes thought to themself. They had gotten this far, surely they deserved something for each other.  Through it all, Mestra was always alone. Always in the waiting room alone. Always fighting their insurance company for coverage alone. Always researching the next drug alone, because heaven forbid a doctor do their job and find Mestra a cure. 

 

For a time after the Affini arrived, Mestra convinced themself this would be the end of their suffering. That the plants would solve everything, leaving Mestra finally able to rest. Mestra even scheduled an appointment with an Affini ‘xenoveterinarian’ to discuss how their supposed super medical tech could finally help Mestra enjoy living again. Finally, someone who had a chance of helping. Mestra wouldn’t need to be alone in their fight any more. The appointment was… scary, but Mestra was used to the medical system by now. Years of painful, embarrassing, and downright exploitative medical appointments had prepared Mestra for twelve foot tall bushes from space. They could handle it. 

 

The appointment immediately went off the rails. Mestra was used to doctors. Mestra was an expert at doctors. Well, apparently only human doctors. Doctors fell into three categories, Mestra thought. First, the ones who are kind and sweet but very incompetent. They ultimately were a waste of Mestra’s time, and somewhat frustrating to deal with. They peddled whatever drug was in fashion that season and sent Mestra on their way. The second type were competent but egotistical. They could do their jobs quite well, but were almost impossible for Mestra to guide to the right conclusion. Once they thought they knew the problem, they would never be receptive to Mestra’s corrections. These were more frustrating to deal with. No matter how many times Mestra insisted a particular medication had already given them disastrous side effects, the doctor prescribed it anyway, threatening to stop treatment if Mestra refused. 

 

The last kind of doctors were the ones who were so open to suggestion Mestra may as well be directing their own care. These ones had to be in it for the money, Mestra thought, or perhaps were simply so apathetic they’d accept anything a patient told them. These were by far Mestra’s favourite. With the right words and coy details, Mestra could get them to prescribe almost anything. The Affini presented a fourth option, a very unexpected option. 

 

At first, they seemed receptive to Mestra’s concerns. Or at least that’s what Mestra gathered from the expressions on what would have been their face. This particular doctor had a long name Mestra had no chance of remembering and a face made of birch bark. Mestra had done some research on the Affini before going to this appointment, but nothing prepared them for the reality of talking to a massive plant with a fake face made out of tree bark. It was very disconcerting, Mestra thought. Any time the doctor tried to be sincere and disarming, it came across as vaguely threatening. The size was the worst part, by far, but the odd cadence in which they spoke also threw Mestra off. Still, the words coming out of this odd wooden face were endlessly supportive. 

 

When Mestra explained their lifelong depression, the Affini doctor didn’t challenge them and instead offered words of comfort. The doctor’s validation of Mestra’s issues was a good sign that they were either type 1 or type 3. Mestra explained that they sometimes had spells where they just couldn’t grasp the concept of an identity of self and would spiral for weeks trying to make sense of their place in the world, all while being too frozen with anxiety to even leave their bed. The Affini doctor seemed appropriately concerned and suggested immediate “treatment”, without being specific on the details. That might mean they were the first kind of doctor, ready to throw prescriptions at the problem. That was an acceptable outcome, in Mestra’s eyes. Trust the xenos enough to try their suggestion once, then evaluate.

 

And then, suddenly, the Affini reeled in the line. Mestra had taken the bait of a compassionate figure who wanted to help. The simple, easy solution to all of these problems, the doctor explained, was to become an adored pet of the Affini. Just give up your humanity and your political rights and they’d make all the pain go away. Easy as that, no question about it. The Affini started to pull out paperwork and Mestra had to spend two hours talking the plants down from an on-site domestication. They were fine, they insisted. They were exaggerating the problems, they hadn’t really had an episode that recently. Anything they needed to say to get out of there with their political rights intact. Finally, they got home, and broke down sobbing. Their last hope for salvation, gone. They wallowed for a few weeks before they had the strength to keep looking for an answer. It was a good thing delivery services were quickly reestablished after the takeover, or Mestra wouldn’t have eaten for a month. 

 

So, Mestra’s only option was to help themself. As usual, if they wanted to enjoy life, they’d have to work for it. Nothing had really changed. Nothing, except what one could find on the black market. Mestra screen lit up, displaying a new message.

 

It was time to pick up salvation.

 

Afterword:

Hope you liked these first two chapters!  = :D

Chapter 3: Desperation/Annoyance

Summary:

I hate descriptions. It's an HDG story focussing on hurt/comfort, rule-following BDSM, and noncon

Foreword:

Warning for a very desperate human making poor choices while their mental health spirals. 

Mestra

Salvation came in the form of a small green mass of plantlife, about the size and shape of a large grape. It was hastily wrapped in cloth and exchanged far from the city centre by a man Mestra knew better than to introduce themself to. A green, somewhat viscous substance seemed to be leaking from the plant, staining the cloth around it. The sap felt sticky on Mestra’s hands and they made a mental note to clean off as soon as they could, just in case the substance was toxic.

 

Immediately upon arriving home, Mestra made sure the graft would have enough water to sustain itself. Gently unwrapping it, Mestra took a minute to admire its complexity. It was small, yet seemed to contain an impossible number of layers of translucent green and purple leaves. Like a Terran plant Mestra had once eaten, a... Brussel Sprout. Small and tightly wound over itself many times, as if to protect something on the inside. A layer of the greenish sap covered the plant, seemingly protecting it from the elements. 

 

Mestra noted the two major areas of interest to them: the section of the plant that would have once been considered “roots”, where it was meant to interface with an Affini host, and the small vacuole of fluid Mestra assumed was stored xenodrug. The implant looked to be in good shape, Mestra noted. This didn’t make them feel any calmer. Affini grafts seemed… tricky: they really weren’t meant to survive without a host for much longer than a few days. Some water and nutrients lengthen the timeline, but not by much. From what they had read, it was possible to keep these things indefinitely with the right equipment, but correct equipment was lacking these days. A shallow pot and some water would have to suffice. Mestra would have to work quickly and finish fast before the thing started to rot.  

 

They had given nearly everything they had for this project. Valuable trading items were very quickly vanishing as Affini atomic compilers made scarcity a relic of the past. Mestra was now down to only a few essentials. A laptop, a tablet, some equipment, including kitchen utensils and some rudimentary scientific instruments, acquired illegally of course. And some strong pain and sedative medicines. Those had to be saved. If this plan was to work, Mestra was going to need all the artificial comfort they could find. Mestra dimly registered that a more well-situated person – that is to say, someone who had their fucking life together – might have lots more tools at their disposal. A garage full of, say woodworking, or better yet landscaping tools could have been a real boon to Mestra. But then again, they reminded themself – a person with their life together wouldn’t be hijacking an alien plant for miracle medicine. 

 

They set themselves down in front of their laptop, placing the graft in its dish within view. That would be motivation, they thought to themself. They opened up the leaked Affini documents pertaining to grafting, poorly translated by some previous hacker from Affini to English. This would be the starting point. How did the Affini take, maintain, and activate grafts? If Mestra could figure that out, they could make a pseudo-Affini host for the graft to accept, then harvest the xenodrug into syringes for injection. Syringes. They were going to need more syringes, and probably a long-term way to store the drug. Fuck. They hadn’t considered that. If this worked, Mestra supposed, maybe they could sell the drug and buy syringes that way. Hard to find something more valuable to trade for than salvation itself, after all. Mestra just had to make this work…

 

Avernus

If Avernus had to accept one more welcome gift, he was going to wrap himself into a ball and not come out until he rebloomed. The Affini were an excessively kind and caring species at the best of times. When they met someone with Avernus’ reputation, they practically fell over themselves with prolonged formal greetings. Avernus figured this might happen, and steeled himself appropriately. Once his habitation unit was safely transferred onto Sol Station, he quickly made his way to the veterinary wing. He just had to confirm that his office was safely added to the Surgical wing then he could return home. He would keep his head down and try to look busy. That often yielded success. As few distractions as possible. 

 

The biggest of the three veterinary centres, and the one Avernus would be vacationing at, was on the Mir module of Sol Station. Mir was one of the three habitation sections on the station, her sisters being Naima and Chandra. Each of the three oblong sections consisted of a few dozen habitable rings which spun to provide artificial gravity. The tips of the sections were connected at both ends in cap-like structures which housed station logistics among many other boring things. On the tops of each cap was a massive blooming flower which provided solar power as well as several fields of various magnetic and fifth-dimensional types to protect the station. It was probably an engineering marvel, but frankly that description applied to nearly all Affini vessels. Besides, Avernus never cared much for ship design.  

 

Each module apparently had its own unique charms and they were all must-visit locations according to the guidebook Avernus had skimmed. “You haven’t truly explored the Sol system until you’ve visited all three!”, said the flashy title page. Avernus had no plans to visit the other modules, as their veterinary centres were considerably less advanced and dealt with urgent and emergency care only. The exciting and difficult cases all went to the centre on Mir. 

 

The Mir Veterinary Centre dealt with tricky implant placements where risk factors were higher-than-average, very rare illnesses, and had the most advanced biomodding facilities on offer. Mir’s Veterinary Centre was also the first place a sophont needing advanced care would be sent in the event of an emergency. It was the first to be constructed, so perhaps this was a holdover from that time. It was a good choice, though, since Mir was the best equipped human xenoveterinary centre on the station. It regularly staffed some of the brightest minds in human xenomedicine, biomodding, and xenobiology. A perfect place for Avernus to relax. 

 

Or, it would have been, if every occupant on this station didn’t seem determined to welcome Avernus in the most polite and over-the-top way possible. 

 

It was a long standing tradition for Affini to share a flower with another as a formal greeting and gesture of kindness. Usually the flower represented something of great importance to the Affini, like their floret’s favourite flower or a the plant from which they’d been uplifted. Almost like a signature, although decidedly not admissible as a replacement for one as far as the bureaucrats were concerned. The recipient would then graft the gift onto themselves as a way to symbolise how every sophont one meets in life leaves an impact on the self. Or something like that. Far too sentimental for Avernus’ liking, but a tolerable ritual. 

 

At least, it was tolerable the first seven times. Between the hospital receptionist, three nurses, an Affini leaving with their newly implant floret who was apparently a big fan of Avernus’ writings, and several other assorted hospital goers, Avernus arrived at his office dotted with a smattering of bright colourful flowers. An entirely unprofessional look, he thought to himself while discreetly picking away as many as he could. 

 

One particular gift came from Terra’s “mint” family. Avernus didn’t know this initially, but once the plant was properly attached to him he learned a few things about it. Its basic composition, relationship to other plants. Intrinsic knowledge that an Affini could acquire from taking a graft. From there he could search the records for a more complete picture of this plant, should he want to. What Avernus didn’t initially realise was that it had started to propagate itself across his body without his knowledge or consent. Some grafted plants were known to do that, but it didn’t frustrate Avernus any less. He should have noticed that instead of getting wrapped up in – oh right, he got wrapped up searching the internet for the specific name of this plant to satisfy his curiosity. If this was what he got for trying new things, Avernus thought to himself, he was glad he was playing it safe with this vacation.

 

This was precisely why he limited how many grafts he took! Take too many and they start running rampant and disorganised. They clutter the mind and the body, or something poetic like that. After about ten minutes of plucking away small minty leaves, Avernus knew this was a losing battle. He’d deal with this later, when he didn’t have a full day of exciting vacation orientation to attend to. For now he had to stick to the plan. 

 

Mestra

Creating a fake Affini body was proving to be even more difficult than Mestra had thought. At a cellular level, any host created for this implant would have to be adaptable and dynamic. Or in other words, the cells had to be Affini. There seemed to be no way around it. The body had to take cues from the graft and provide it with the appropriate nutrients. Any small mistake and the sensitive graft would quickly die. Only an Affini could do that. 

 

It would have been a herculean task for a state-of-the-art Terran laboratory. Mestra was working with second-hand gear at best. It was like trying to make a jump drive out of spare parts you found in the woods. Technically possible, but absolutely out of reach for a single human on a timeline. Perhaps a supercomputer, or maybe a group of Affini could manage, but at the moment, creating a host for this graft was impossible. It just couldn’t be done, at least not now and not by Mestra.

 

And time was running out. The graft was starting to wilt and shrivel. Its healthy green and purple hues were starting to darken and its once firm shape was slowly going soft. The sap that had once lived in a thin layer was now starting to ooze out of the plant and into the surrounding pot. Mestra knew they’d have to act quickly. The threat of losing their salvation was enough to propel Mestra to work for days on end. They needed this to work. They wouldn’t know what they would do if this didn’t work. 

 

Well. That wasn’t entirely true. 

 

On two separate occasions, Mestra had considered going back to the Affini veterinarian. The first time, it was in the early hours of the morning. It was two days after Mestra had received the xenodrug-producing plant and they were no closer to creating a suitable host. On the sleep-deprived belief that they could win the verbal argument against the doctor, they had put on their cleanest clothes and prepared a speech that they believed would let them walk out of the office collar-free and with xenodrugs.

 

Thankfully, Mestra had the good sense to sleep before they acted on that impulse. Mestra was smart – very smart, in fact, – but Mestra wasn’t a match for the Affini. Their ruthless desire to trick humans into doing their bidding was too dangerous to take a chance on. Especially after Mestra had already made one narrow escape. 

 

The second time was a week later. Mestra was feeling even worse than normal. Their medication supply was running dangerously low, and the graft had begun to wilt. If they didn’t solve the problem, they may as well be dead. Or, perhaps the next best thing, turned over to be domesticated. Mestra got as far as looking up the address for the nearest domestication centre before breaking down in a fit of tears. They couldn’t do that. Not after how hard they’d fought. It wasn’t FAIR. Mestra would show the world that despite every unfair thing they’d fought through, they survived. They were stronger and better and would beat these damned weeds. 

 

Five hours after this, Mestra was sobbing into their pillow. Their head was pounding from lack of sleep and hydration. They were going to do it. They were going to walk into the domestication centre and end their life as they knew it. No more suffering. They would walk right into the thorny embrace of their captors and let them carve out everything that made Mestra alive. ‘We’ll take away your sadness,” they would say sweetly. Only, they’d be surprised to find that sadness was now all that Mestra was. To take away all the sadness would take Mestra along with it. No more identity, no more living. Mestra visualised a thorn carving their brain into pieces. Small vines carried away all the errant chunks of their brain, until there was barely any ‘Mestra’ left. 

 

The Affini would have to replace those parts, Mestra thought. Replace them with some sophisticated plant matter, maybe. Shore up the synaptic connections with replacement plant fibres and replace grey matter with green. Actually, Mestra was thinking about a few ways that might even be possible. Their research into hyper-advanced biology had taught them many things about human/plant interactions, and how plants could be used to simulate human tissue. It apparently initially researched as a low-cost way to provide medical care. Naturally, that didn’t last long, and the last Mestra could find of it was a handful of private megacompanies offering cosmetic surgeries to wealthy clients. 

 

Of course, these had all been experimental until the Affini took over, but now there was even precedent for such procedures. In their reading material, the Affini had boasted that they’d mastered human biology. That they could graft plant and man to create the stuff of dreams. It was all lies, probably. Still, it was interesting to think about. To consider, to take Mestra’s mind off of their wallowing. Off their impending doom. 

 

If plants could be used to create human tissue, Mestra mused, could human tissue be used to create plants. Could…?

 

Fuck.

 

Mestra bolted out of bed. That was the answer. Mestra didn’t need to create a host for the graft. Mestra needed to become the host. It was so simple. The graft needed flexible biology and input to function correctly. The human nervous system could, probably, provide that. The graft needed food and water, so to speak. While Mestra was far from well-fed, they could provide that also with their blood. It was genius! Mestra wouldn’t even have to inject themself with the Class-E. The graft could provide it directly to the circulatory system in metered doses. It was perfect. 

 

Mestra started shaking with anticipation. They were going to need to make a plan, and quickly. The plant was dying and there wasn’t much time. But they could do this. Probably. They could probably do this. Maybe. But it was the only option short of death, or domestication which may as well have been death. It was the only option. 

 

This would obviously have to be a self-surgery, so that ruled out surgical sites Mestra couldn’t reach. Between the arms, legs, and torso, Mestra decided the inner elbow would have the best access to their circulatory system. They had enough small knives and disinfectant to make the incisions, and just enough pain medication to tolerate it. This was going to work.

Afterword:

I hope you enjoyed! Don't worry, Mestra is going to get better (eventually), and Avernus will also (eventually) be free from his minty curse :3

Chapter 4: Salvation

Summary:

I hate descriptions. It's an HDG story focussing on hurt/comfort, rule-following BDSM, and noncon

Foreword:

hey, this chapter gets really gross and dark. There's heavy themes of depression/self harm and general gore. There's going to be a tl;dr next chapter and if you're squeamish I suggesting skipping this one! 

Mestra

 

Mestra had rigged up something resembling a clean operating table – a desk, a light, a sterile-ish tray of tools. They didn’t have time to get the professional stuff. They had to make do. A large kitchen knife was used to make the incision, which stung even with through the painkillers. That was bearable. Mestra used a potato peeler and some masking tape to hold the surgical site open while they prodded deeper. They were looking for two things: a vein and a nerve. The vein was the easiest to find, just look for the quivering tube just above the fold of the elbow.  They took their smaller knife – this part would get messy, they realised – and sliced through their vein. Immediately, bright red blood started to spurt out, causing Mestra to panic. That was more blood than they were expecting. But it was okay, they could do this. They had to do this. Attach one end of the severed vein to the nutrient input they’d rigged into the graft. Done. Their gloved hand was covered in blood now, making it even more difficult to manoeuvre. Pin the other end of their vein to the output of the graft. That was trickier. Their space was limited by the graft now. Mestra wasn’t certain they were feeling the effects of the blood loss yet, but they knew they soon would be. They had to get this under control. Carefully, they bonded the graft and the vein using electrical tape. Sterile electrical tape, they reminded themself. This would work. It was plastic. Maybe not medical grade, but it would hold. Hopefully. Mestra had no other choice. 

 

The alien plant started to look more vibrant. Or maybe that was Mestra’s imagination? No, it was more vibrant now. And… and quivering!! That was good! That was really good. That meant it had blood flow! Okay, the next step was to…

 

Mestra suddenly felt very sick to their stomach. “Oh” they whimpered. “Tha-that can’t be good.” They looked again at their new implant, or perhaps “outplant” as it were. There was no way it was going to fit in their arm. It had to stay outside, which would probably cause problems later. But Mestra didn’t have time to think about “later”. They needed this wound closed, now. The smell of it was starting to get to them. It smelled wrong, vial in a way Mestra supposed was to keep early humans away from dead bodies. They had to connect at least a few nerves – one or two would do the trick – to the signalling part of the implant. So it could be consciously triggered, or maybe even taught to release and regulate on command. Mestra didn’t really know. They didn’t have time to look up the details. They looked around in their exposed body. They were holding back the urge to gag, now. It was so wrong to see themself like this. Very wrong. They just needed to find a nerve. 

 

Where were all the nerves? Mestra knew they should be in there somewhere. They were meant to run all the way down their arm, at least that’s what they thought. They were there in all of the illustrations, all of the diagrams. They SHOULD be right there. Mestra poked around with their knife to see if they could spot it. OW. No, okay, that wouldn’t be happening. Okay, Mestra thought to themself. This was okay. This was alright, the nerve thing was an add-on anyways, they could probably get the implant to work without it. They just needed to-

 

Mestra turned away from their arm and vomited in their mouth. The harsh taste of acid burned their throat. It was time to clean up, as best as possible. Hastily, Mestra grabbed their set of safety pins. They had no access to stitches right now, and besides these were metal and clean and probably good enough. Mestra hoped. They carefully slid a pin through the graft and their skin. It was unnerving not to feel the pain of such a sharp object penetrating their skin. Alarming, but not unwelcome. They just had to keep this up. Just a few more. Then bandages, gauze, and then a damp cloth to clean up the blood. 

 

Mestra looked around at the mess they had created. Their entire left side, from the arm down, was covered in fresh blood. It had fallen to the floor, pooling and glistening in a way Mestra should not have been fascinated by. Despite this, the surgery was a success. It was bloody, much more so than Mestra had bargained for. They had probably lost a considerable amount of blood, but there was nothing they could do to address that at this very moment. The last of their local painkillers and a considerable amount of their stash was now gone. Mestra took a deep breath. This was it. If this next part didn’t work, it would have all been for nothing.

 

They pressed firmly on the top of the graft, which was quivering with their rapid heartbeat. They needed to express the stored xenodrug out of the graft and into their bloodstream, having had no luck connecting it to their nervous system. For a millisecond, Mestra feared it didn’t work, until suddenly, they felt ice flood their veins. Mestra shivered. They briefly panicked that something had gone wrong – they had ever imagined this to feel so cold. But their panic quickly faded. Like a bright flash retreating from one’s vision, leaving just an afterimage of feeling for but a brief moment. They’d done it. It had worked. The surgery worked. Mestra promptly passed out from exhaustion. They did it. They were going to be okay. 

 

…

 

Mestra woke to a throbbing feeling on the inside of their elbow. Their throat was parched and screaming at them. They must have been out for a while. They tried to stand, and their vision went dark. They collapsed back into their chair. 

 

Oh, this wasn’t good. 

 

The next time Mestra woke, they felt an overwhelming urge to go to the bathroom. Their cheeks felt flushed and feverish. They shivered, the air around them feeling cold. The light peering through their tiny window told Mestra it was daytime, now. Okay. So they hadn’t been out for that long. 

 

First order of business, stand up. Going slowly this time, Mestra managed to wobble to their feet. The limp green ball of plantlife attached to their arm screaming in protest as gravity pulled it away from their skin. Recoiling, Mestra quickly grabbed that arm to support it. It must still be healing, they thought. 

 

Carefully, they stumbled over to their kitchen sink. Turn on the faucet. Mestra’s hands shook as they grabbed the nearest glass. Reaching over the sink, their grip faltered and the glass fell to the bottom of the sink, shattering. Fuck.  They craned their neck into the stream of water, at this point just desperate to quench their thirst. The cold stream ran down the side of their face and into their waiting mouth. They greedily gulped down the water, stopping to catch their breath. That was better, Mestra thought. They were starting to feel lightheaded, but there was one more thing they had to do. Just one more, and then they could go back to resting. They shut off the faucet and stumbled over to the bathroom. Their vision was starting to darken now, threatening to send Mestra into unconsciousness at any moment. They just had to sit down, then they could rest.

 

The next time Mestra came to consciousness, they were sitting on the toilet. They no longer felt a pressure in their bladder, which was good. What was concerning was the smell. Something rotten was assaulting Mestra’s nose. It stung as they inhaled. All at once it smelled like compost, wet and rotten, and sharply acidic. Mestra felt very sick to their stomach. They reached into their pocket to check the time. How long had it been since they’d…

 

Their phone screen displayed 3:24am. That couldn’t be right, that was about the time they had their surge-

 

Oh. 

 

3:24am, 3 days after their procedure. That was, that couldn’t be good. Mestra stood up too quickly, again nearly falling over. They hunched over, catching their breath and waiting for their vision to return. They should… they should call someone, maybe. 

 

No! They couldn’t, they remembered. The Affini would get them, and then they’d die. They just had to…

 

They just had to…

 

Wait this out. Yes. Just get through this. Wait for the graft to heal. It would work.

 

Mestra stumbled over to their desk, falling back into their chair. How was the graft healing, anyways? They placed their arm on the table under the lamp, inspecting it. 

 

Oh no. 

 

The skin around the graft was turning dark green, nearly black. The area where Mestra had safety pinned- No, stitched, they reminded themself. The area where Mestra had stitched themself back together was a very angry shade of bright red. That probably meant… infection? Mestra didn’t have the tools to fix that. Their body could fight it off, right?

 

Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion overtook Mestra. Apparently they had over exerted again. This was bad, they knew. They should be afraid. Maybe it was the drugs taking hold, or maybe it was because they were dying, but they weren’t afraid. As they started to lose consciousness, they dimly registered a loud bang from their front door. Hm. What could that be? 

 

“We got a tip about someone searching for a domestication centre,” Mestra heard dimly. Who was that? Was there someone else here? That wouldn’t make sense, only Mestra lived here. 

 

“Cutie, we only want to help you dear. Come out from hiding, please?” Who were they calling for, Mestra wondered. None of their business right now, they decided. Sleep, and then they would worry. 

“We promise not to- Oh. Oh roots. Oh dirt and roots. Hello? Hello yes I need an emergency medical team to my location, immediately. There’s a sophont in… in…”

Mestra blacked out.

Chapter 5: Myrrha

Summary:

I hate descriptions. It's an HDG story focussing on hurt/comfort, rule-following BDSM, and noncon

Notes:

tl;dr from the last chapter: Mestra tried to graft the xenodrug plant to themself and it went pretty wrong. They were found by an Affini before they blacked out. This chapter has some yelling and screaming and anger in it. 

 

Avernus 

It took three days for Avernus to be given an interesting patient. As it turned out, humans were almost too simple to be interesting to him. It was work he might have enjoyed in his youth, many many blooms ago. For now he sat in his office, half wrapped around his own chair, trying to engross himself in literature.

 

There was a brief knock on the door, then a  nurse came bursting into his office. Her pink and purple vines were trailing behind her in a mess that Avernus considered rather unprofessional, or at least very rushed. “Sorry to bother you,” she said quickly as she entered. She tried and failed to pat down some of her stray vines. “But there’s a patient you’re probably going to be interested in.” Her rushed speech and dishevelled appearance told  Avernus that she considered this an urgent matter. “Do tell, Ms…” he prompted the nurse, meeting her panic and with a calm voice. “Ah, Myrrha Centauri, she/her,” said Myrrha, already turning towards the door. “It’s sort of urgent, I’m afraid, so I will have to ask that you come quickly.” 

 

Avernus unwound from his large chair and moved calmly towards the exit, seeing Myrrha already having run half way down the hallway. She was rather energetic, Avernus thought to himself. “Very well,” he said simply, catching up to the youngbloom with more leisurely and controlled steps. Passing a few corridors, Myrrha and Avernus made their way into the emergency medicine wing of the hospital. 

 

“Here we are,” Myrrha said as she turned the corner into one of the rooms. On the bed, layed down and hooked up to life support was a young Terran who was covered in dried blood. The entire left side of their body was stained from the torso down. They hadn’t even been changed into proper hospital attire yet, indicating to Avernus that this patient had just arrived. Three Affini stood in the room, each fumbling over instruments and machinery. 

 

“As you can see, Doctor,” said Myrrha, “this poor cutie has been bleeding profusely.” She gestured to the patient’s stains. “Based on the staining, they’ve been bleeding for at least three days, maybe longer.” One of the other Affini in the room handed her a tablet. Myrrha focussed two of her four eyes on the text while continuing the conversation. “The bleeding seems to originate from the left arm, which is also where you’ll see-”

 

“A xenodrug graft, yes,” Avernus interrupted. “Appearing to be in the ‘E’ Class.. Probably glas suaimhneas, if I were to guess. Dying, obviously.” Myrrha ignored Avernus’ somewhat dismissive tone. He was a much older bloom than she. He knew what he was doing.

 

 “That’s right.” she said. “According to the Affini who found them – thank the Everbloom by the way – they had collapsed at some sort of workstation in their home. The entire area was covered in blood and there were a few tools and medications still on the desk…” Myrrha trailed off, obviously upset by the report she was reading. Accident reports, as with all things in the Affini compact, were meticulously detailed. The report contained photographs along with intense descriptions. It was clearly upsetting to Myrrha to see a sophont be so hurt. 

 

“I’m guessing,” Avernus said, taking a few thin vines to prod the patient’s arm, “that this graft is what’s giving you trouble, otherwise you would not have called for me?” His vines, nearly white in colour, picked up some stain, which Avernus quickly cleaned. Human pathogens were no risk to the Affini, but he preferred to keep clean as a habit. 

 

“That’s right!” Myrrha said. “The graft has…”

 

“Started to grow into the patient’s arteries, threatening the blood flow to major organ systems as well as causing severe infection. Yes, I can see that.” Avernus finished. He felt around his body for the necessary tools. Some very thin cutting implements to snake up into the patient’s circulatory system. A larger thorn to sever the graft, and finally an assortment of delicate needles to stitch everything back together. 

 

Myrrha tried to stay as polite as she could, but she did not appreciate being cut off like this. “Yes, that’s correct. Can you fix it?” she asked. 

 

Avernus nodded and readied a cutting instrument. “I have only one more question. Does the report go into detail on the cause of this injury?”. Myrrha scrolled down to the relevant section of the report before fully processing the question. Avernus wasn’t known to ask about cause, or follow-up treatment for that matter. It seemed curious that he was interested, although perhaps the rumours were exaggerated. 

 

“As far as anyone can tell,” Myrrha said quietly. “It seems to have been self-inflicted.” Avernus didn’t openly react to this, instead signalling one of the Affini in the room to prep the patient for surgery. “I see,” he said plainly. The Affini nodded to Avernus, preparing several vials of xenodrugs necessary for limiting bleeding and preventing infection.

 

“Thank you, Myrrha,” Avernus said in a polite tone. “This should be interesting.”

 

 

Mestra

Mestra was having the strangest dream. They were… in a well lit room, surrounded by the jungle. Tall, luscious trees obstructed the view of what must have been a blindingly clear sky. Mestra could almost feel  the warm vines brushing past their skin as they walked deeper into the forest. This must be a dream, Mestra thought to themself. It was so silly, it had to be a dream.  

Their head also felt light and floaty, which meant this was almost definitely a dream. Everything was hazy and they could never hold on to an idea for longer than a few seconds. In the distance, they saw a bright orange flower. It looked to be at least as tall as Mestra. This was a weird dream, they noted. They didn’t often dream, and it was never this…colourful. Interesting. 

 

Suddenly Mestra felt their world tip backwards. They were looking at the sky now, bright and clear and dotted with ferns and leaves. There seemed to be… too many suns in the sky. Two, three, four, Mestra counted. Odd. Terra only had one sun, Mestra was quite sure. Perhaps there were more suns in dreams. Hmm… 

 

A wave of tiredness washed over Mestra. Did people get tired in their dreams? They must, Mestra supposed, because Mestra was feeling very tired now. Content to just stay in their place, Mestra relaxed their body while staring at the sky. The four…five? Suns had set now, leaving the sky quiet and dim. 

 

Myrrha

The little darling looked so small. So much smaller than Myrrha had expected, even though she was familiar with humans. Sod, she had her own floret and she had never seen a human look like this. The patient’s  light brown skin looked ashy with a nasty green undertone that signalled a troubling infection. Closer to the site of the wound, the patient’s skin started to take on almost a bluish tone, spreading out up the arm into green, yellow, and finally back to brown at the tip of their foot. Whatever this infection was, it had taken hold of their entire body. The cure would be simple enough, once the offending graft could be removed. But until then the xenodrug plant pushed more and more deadly waste into the poor human’s system. Myrrha wondered how this had happened. She had heard of independent Terrans having accidents with Affini technology before. It was somewhat common, even. But she had never seen something like this. This bore none of the marks of illegal scientific experimentation often showed up in the poor cuties. The darling had been found alone, in their own home, surrounded by bloody tools.

 

Their hair was… a mess, frankly, which signalled to Myrrha that this human had been in decline for some time. It was like a horse’s nest, to use a human expression. It looked like maybe it had once fallen in beautiful loose curls, but it had been abandoned. A thick layer of oil made the parts closest to the poor human’s scalp shine, while the ends were left to frizz widely, causing severe mats. All telltale signs of neglect. It hurt Myrrha’s core to think about what would cause a sophont to become this unkept.  

 

Blood stained nearly their entire left side, having dripped from the wound on their arm all the way down their side. The smell was… very unpleasant, but Myrrha managed. They had seen worse, but it was never pleasant to see a sophont in such a state. It wouldn’t do for this poor dear to look like this for much longer, Myrrha thought.. As soon as they were stable, she decided, they would be getting a proper cleaning. But first, to stabilise them.  

 

Although she was quickly tiring of Avernus’ demeanour, she had to admit he worked fast. Perhaps he was just in a bad mood from all the mint spreading around his body. It was so clearly out of place and yet so obviously untamable that it was comical. This elder Affini genius, thwarted by mint. Myrrha watched as Avernus quickly and efficiently pulled out the would-be graft in one long piece, carefully cutting it away from the arterial wall as he went along. The graft was placed in a machine for testing to determine its exact origin and composition then safely dispose of it.  Myrrha watched as Avernus skillfully repaired the tissue damage around the grafting site. There seemed to be some amateur attempt at sutures around the cutie’s inner elbow, but they were certainly infected and deeply bruised. That could be fixed. Infections and bruises would heal. Myrrha was more worried about what happened to this poor sophont. 

 

“That should be all,” said Avernus, cleaning his vines now that he was done with his work. He carefully rewound all of his tools back into his body, idly sharpening and inspecting them for damage. “That’s…it?” Myrrha asked. “I mean, you don’t want to see them through recovery, or wait until they wake up to ask them what happened?” Avernus started to leave the room, seemingly bored with the whole affair, or preoccupied with caring over his own vines. “Someone else will tend to that,” he said as he left the room. Soil and sod, this man really had the demeanour of a decomposing vegetable. Myrrha laughed to herself. Her floret would love hearing her swear using vegetables. She wasn’t sure why she was so put out by Avernus’ quick retreat. Maybe the rumours were true, he really wasn’t interested in anything other than solving the problem. But then why would he have asked about the cause of the wound? Perhaps it was a fleeting curiosity, Myrrha thought to herself. Or maybe he was just trying to be polite, in his own way.  

 

 

Mestra

Mestra tried to blink the fog out of their eyes. They were laying down on something soft – softer than their bed, and certainly more comfortable than the desk chair they were accustomed to sleeping in. On the ceiling were… swirls. Mestra’s vision was still blurry, but painted onto the off-white ceiling were light green swirls, swooping and swirling in on themselves. That was weird. Did they pass out and wake up in an art gallery?

 

Mestra tried to lift their head and found that they couldn’t find the strength. They panicked, instinctively feeling trapped. They quickly tried the rest of their limbs. Their toes wiggled appropriately, Mestra noted, feeling the soft sheets on their feet. Their fingers, too, seemed to work, although their left hand felt more muted than the right. That could be a residual effect from the implant, maybe? Either way it was moving, and that was good. Mestra idly wondered where in the world these sheets came from. They still weren’t sure where they were, exactly, but a six-star hotel was hardly on the shortlist. 

 

Mestra tried lifting their head again, more slowly this time. With some effort, they made it to a seated position. They noted a thick layer of yellow-stained bandages in the crease of their left arm, right where their implant had been. That was… odd. The implant itself was missing too. Did it fall off? Did someone take it off, bandage them up, then tuck them into a comfortable bed? None of these options made any sense in Mestra’s head. They’d just have to look around the room for clues, then.

 

Directly in front of them was a wall decorated in artwork. It took Mestra a few moments to realise it, but the green swirls on the ceiling were a continuation of the plant depicted on this wall. Its light green vines flowed from a central point on the wall, decorated with a bright orange flower. Small orange and yellow flowers dotted the vines, creating a cheery but decidedly fancy atmosphere. If this was a hotel room, someone went to great lengths to make it absolutely gorgeous. Mestra was no art aficionado, but they knew quality when they saw it.

 

They looked to their left and saw a very large door. A loading door, maybe? It looked big enough to drive a forklift in it for sure. Was this a factory? A warehouse of some kind? Maybe they sold hotel rooms.

 

Mestra looked to their right and saw several oversized carts with machines on them. The machines looked entirely Alien to Mestra. Like they were props for a movie or something. That would explain why they’re so big.

 

Outside the door, Mestra heard voices in a very distinctive foreign accent. They weren't certain, but they could have sworn they'd heard it before. It was quite unlike any accent Mestra remembered. It almost didn't sound… human. 

 

It was almost like there were three, maybe four people all speaking in unison. Powerful, and with a flow unlike any speech Mestra had heard before. Why couldn't they place where they had heard…

 

And affini walked in the room, pushing an oversized cart. 

 

Oh. The carts. The Machines. The Bed. 

 

This was an Affini hospital. 

 

Mestra briefly considered pretending to be asleep, but they were seated all the way upright. The aliens would catch them. Instead they tried to look unafraid, as much as they could. Their heart started to race, already betraying Mestra’s false bravery. Mestra’s breaths became more and more shallow as they tried to steady themself. This was not where they needed to be. This was bad. 

 

This was the worst possible outcome. This was what Mestra tried so hard to prevent. They failed. They were going to die they were going to die they were going to die they where-

“Good morning, Mestra,” said the alien who had first come into the room. The voice sounded calm and confident, masculine, if it had been a human’s. “My name is Dr. Campanu and I use he/him pronouns. I’m sure this is all very scary for you.”

 

Not daring to speak, Mestra slowly nodded in response. 

 

“I’m very sorry that’s the case dear,” said a different voice. Mestra looked to Dr. Campanu’s right and saw another alien, this time in bright purple. Pink flowers formed a sort of crown over its hair, and dotted several other parts of the plant as well. Its voice was higher pitched and more musical, almost like it was singing a song. “My name is Myrrha Centauri, she/her, and I’m your nurse.” 

 

"Meer-ah”, the name sounded like. That wasn’t a name Mestra had even heard of, and they didn’t want to even try to spell it. The two plants looked expectantly at Mestra, trying to gauge their reaction to the new information. “I’m… Mestra. You knew that already. I use um. They/Them pronouns.” The woman – the pink one with the interesting name – smiled widely. “I’m sure you’re wondering what you’re doing here,” said the doctor. His body… vines? His vines were dark green, wrapping around himself into a gradient of dark blue. 

 

“I want to talk to you about what happened, Mestra,” said the man. 

 

Oh.

 

Mestra had played this game before. They got caught, and now they had to try to mitigate the consequences. They started to think of the best way to approach the situation. 

 

“What you did was very dangerous, petal. You could have been seriously hurt,” said the man.  Mestra shrugged.

 

“I had to do it. I had no other choice. Why did you stop me, anyways?” Pieces of the puzzle were clicking together in Mestra’s heard. The implant dying, the voices at their front door. Those had been Affini, coming to abduct them. 

 

“And you felt this way because of your severe mental illness, yes?” the doctor pried. 

 

“Obviously.” Mestra said flatly. “You don’t see many healthy people get kidnapped to the hospital.”

 

It was the woman who spoke next, in her soft and flowing voice. “It wasn’t our intention to kidnap you, sweetie. You were dying, and we took you to the hospital. That’s all.”

 

‘That’s All’, except for what was coming next, Mestra thought to themself. “Even if I believed that you weren’t going to hurt me, which I don’t, why do you care why I did it? It’s all the same to you if you get a slave out of it, right?”

 

The woman with the pink and purple flowers –  Mee…something – visibly recoiled. 

 

“From your overnet traffic,” said the man, looking at a tablet. “you were already considering domestication. Why didn’t you-?”

“You spied on my fucking searches?” Mestra yelled. “How fucking evil are you weeds?”

“It’s standard practice for a ping to go off whenever a sophont searches for a domestication centre, dear. We weren’t spying on you”. It was the purple one who spoke this time. Her voice was gentle, but her tone wasn’t going to save her.

“But you were preying on me,” Mestra accused. “Preying on me in hopes that you’d find me at my weakest point so you could abduct me. Wonderful,” they snarked. “That’s so much better.”

 

“Petal we don’t prey-”

 

“Shut it, you fucking weed. I know how you operate.” Mestra was yelling now. Screaming with all of the pent up anger from the last few weeks. From the moment they realised the plants weren’t going to help them. From the moment they realised, for the hundredth time, that they are alone. 

 

“You wait for us humans to get so sad and unhealthy of our own accord, then when we’re at our lowest point, you abduct us and make us your slaves.” Mestra’s loud shouting hurt their throat but they continued to tear into their captors.

 

“I know how the fuck this works. And no, to answer what you’re going to say, I didn’t have options. What was I supposed to do? Reach out to my depressed friends? Go pay a fortune or a doctor who’s never even heard of what’s wrong with me? Go for a nice walk outside, like that will make the trauma go away? I had no other option but to help myself. It’s always been by myself. I’ve always had to go at it alone. So it was this, or turn myself over to you all to be killed.”

 

“Petal we don’t kill-”

 

“YOU WOULD KILL ME” Mestra screamed. The last word hung in the room as the Affini waited, silent. “You, you would have to kill me, you wouldn’t have a choice. I’m too broken.” Mestra’s voice started to break.

 

“Too broken and sad to become one of your happy slaves. The moment you start to unravel the sadness, it will explode outwards. Multiply. You can’t deal with this much sadness. No one can.” Mestra was fighting back tears now, their voice hitching as they started to sob. “No one has ever even gotten close, and you’re no different. You’ll have to cut out the sadness and work with whatever is left, which is nothing. I’m nothing but sadness anymore, and you can’t fix that without killing me.” 

 

Mestra cried proper tears that they hadn’t let out in a long time. It was over. They were going to die. This was the end. They had fought so hard, and for what?

 

 

Myrrha

Myrrha reached her large hand to gently stroke Mestra’s back. The poor thing was sobbing in violent heaves, their whole body shaking. Myrrha gently rubbed Mestra’s back up and and down, moving slowly to not raise alarms. So far, the human was accepting it. That was a good sign, Myrrha thought to herself.  Sometimes they could be skittish, and that made things much harder. She whispered in Affini to her coworker. He was the xenopsychiatrist assigned to this case, but it was clear to the both of them that his work couldn’t start tonight. The poor dear had a lot to unravel. And that was fine by Myrrha. 

 

She sat, gently stroking Mestra, for a long time. She started to idly hum a tune, one that her floret adored. Thinking about the girl warmed Myrrha’s core. Rose was so gorgeous, so lovely, so wonderful. It would only be a matter of hours before she saw her again. Picked her up in her vines, kissed her on her lovely forehead…

 

Slowly, Mestra’s breathing calmed down to normal, and then, a minute or two later, the deep and even breaths of sleep. “There there,” Myrrha said to the sleeping human, carefully laying them down into bed. “It’s going to be alright, little one. I promise.”

Notes:

Thank to my good friend suzynya for letting me borrow Myrrha. She's been very polite and I'm sure Mestra appreciates her support very much (even if they don't know it yet!)

Chapter 6: Shatterproof

Summary:

I hate descriptions. It's an HDG story focussing on hurt/comfort, rule-following BDSM, and noncon

Notes:

Thanks again to  suzynya for lending me Myrhha! Not only is she an adorable plant lady, but she also gives great hugs! 

 

Mestra

Mestra woke to the sound of a soft melody. The room smelled faintly of freshness, like the salt in the air next to the ocean. Mestra had been near the ocean, once. Some days, when the tide was low, the trash receded almost all the way out of view. Those were the days where the air felt the cleanest. 

 

Blinking sleep from their eyes, Mestra spotted a very large potted plant in the corner. It seemed like the melody was coming from behind it. Was there a speaker, or- 

 

Wait, this was an Affini hospital, Mestra remembered. That wasn’t a potted plant, it was their nurse – the one they had seen earlier before they…right. Before they lost it. The plant in the corner seemed to stir when Mestra woke up, carefully winding their form into their best approximation of a human. The tune faded out, leaving the room quiet. 

 

“Good morning Mestra,” Myrrha said softly. Although she wasn’t singing, Mestra still heard a hint of melody in her voice. Myrrha moved slowly so as not to startle the poor human. “When you’re ready, I would love to know if you’re feeling alright,” she said. 

 

Mestra groaned and sat up, carefully stretching. They took a few seconds to look over the alien nurse. They’d noticed it earlier, but she seemed to have two pairs of eyes, stacked one on top of the other. They glowed a bright pink, but didn’t seem to have any iris or pupils. 

 

Mestra ran a quick check of their body: their arm felt sore, but only mildly. Their legs felt heavy – probably from sleep. Their vision was blurry, but quickly clearing up. Overall they felt… cleaner than usual. Their hair felt light and gently tickled the back of their neck. Their clothes felt… extremely soft, actually. That was unusual.

 

“Did… did you give me a bath while I was out?” Mestra asked curiously. The expression on the nurse's face was somewhere between amusement and bashfulness. “Yes darling,” Myrrha said, slowly making their way over to Mestra’s bedside. The Terran didn’t seem to flinch, which Myrrha took as a good sign. “It wasn’t a proper bath, actually, wanting to respect your privacy and all,” she said quickly. “But I gave your hair a quick rinse and got rid of the big stains. It just wouldn’t do for you to be that dirty anymore. I hope you don’t mind.”

 

The nurse seemed genuinely concerned over Mestra’s wellbeing. The way they spoke about Mestra’s former state of grooming made them embarrassed. They had never cared much for being presentable, but they always put in a minimal effort. They hoped it wasn’t too terrible for the poor nurse to have to clean them,

 

“That was… nice of you,” Mestra said, watching the nurse’s face light up with pride. “I- I’m sorry for how I acted last night. Um, morning. Whenever it was.”

 

“Do not be sorry at all, dearest,” said Myrrha, slowly reforming herself while taking a few steps towards Mestra. “You are in crisis, petal, that much is clear to see. Outbursts like that are to be expected.”

 

Mestra felt embarrassed over the use of the word ‘outburst’, but it was a truly apt descriptor. They thought back to what they had said. How angry they had been. The memories alone made Mestra’s stomach churn with anger and- 

 

“Not to think about now, dear,” Myrrha interrupted, seeing the emotion on the human’s face. “There will be plenty of time for that later. Right now I want to know if you’re hungry, and if so what you’d like to eat.”

 

Mestra blinked quizzically a few times. “I get to eat?” they asked. Myrrha made a face like she ate something sour. Did plants taste sour foods? “Of course you get to eat,” she said jovially, her face returning to a kind smile. “Is there anything in particular you want? I recommend something easy on your system, because of what you’ve been through. Oh, maybe something sweet, that tends to help too.”

 

Mestra was still feeling groggy from the emotional outburst and the subsequent sleep. The nurse – Mee-something, Mestra remembered – was going so fast. “Um,” they said timidly. “I think it’s better if maybe you pick? If that’s okay with you?”

 

Myrrha smiled widely. She really was a ray of sunshine, huh? “Of course I can pick, dear! Our blood test revealed all of your allergies, but I want to know: do you have any particular aversion to toast?”

 

Toast? Mestra shook their head. “Um no, toast is fine, thank you.”

 

Myrrha reached to pat Mestra on the head for their brave decision-making but decided to hold back. They weren’t ready for that yet, she reminded herself. 

 

“Thank you dearest,” she said. “In the meantime, I’d like you to drink this water, if you’re up for it.”

 

Mestra nodded and was handed a large glass of water. Decorating the cup was an ornate engraving of a field of sunflowers. Mestra eyed the glass, noticing how heavy it was. Politely, they took a sip of water before asking their next question. 

 

“Miss, um, Miss Nurse?” Mestra asked timidly.

 

“Miss Myrrha, if you want,” Myrrha replied kindly. “What’s your question, petal?”

 

Mestra pondered the best way to phrase this that wouldn’t arouse suspicion. 

 

“Why…” they started. “Why am I allowed to hold a glass, after what I’ve done?” Seeing the confusion on Myrrha’s face, they quickly elaborated. “I mean, in Terran hospitals, when you do something like….” they glanced at their arm. “When you do something like that, the hospital makes sure you can’t hold anything sharp or breakable or dangerous in any way. N-not that I’m going to do anything bad with it I just mean to ask-”

 

Myrrha nodded with understanding. “I get it, petal. You’re not used to this much autonomy. Well,” she said, looking around the room for something. One of her two sets of eyes scanned one side of the room, while the other set looked in the opposite direction. It sort of uncanny, especially since the only indication of the plant's pupils was a faint glimmering. Myrrha held up a second glass with her other hand. It looked almost comically small, sitting in her massive hands like that. “I’m going to let you in on a secret, a secret you mustn't tell my coworkers I told you,” she said in a hushed voice. “These glasses are actually indestructible. At least for humans. Trade?” She offered the empty glass in her hand in exchange for the full glass in Mestra’s. 

 

“Are you sure about that, Miss Myrrha?” Mestra asked. Myrrha nodded. “Throw it as hard as you can – without hurting yourself of course – against that wall.” It dimly registered in their mind that this could be a trick. A plot to prove that Mestra was violent and needed to be sedated. But fuck it, they were going to die anyways. May as well find out if the glass really was indestructible. 

 

Mestra nodded and readied their good arm. “Here goes nothing” they said, launching the glass towards the wall at the foot of their bed. The glass sailed through the air, coming in contact with the wall at an awkward angle and…

 

The glass clattered to the floor, unharmed. 

 

“That… that’s crazy,” said Mestra. 

 

“Mmmmhmmm,” said Myrrha, retrieving the discarded glass and giving the full one back to Mestra. “We make sure that there’s no way you cuties could hurt yourself. But we never let that come at the cost of worse living conditions or anything terrible like that. We can provide luxury and safety. We’re multitaskers, that’s what all the vines are for.” She wiggles several of her stray vines in the air for effect. 

 

Mestra nodded, quite in awe of their nurse. Maybe this one wasn’t so bad, they thought to themself.

 

“Got any more questions, petal?” Myrhha asked with a smile. 

 

“Yes, actually,” said Myrrha. “What am I um… What am I wearing?” They carefully looked down to their own torso. Their shirt was a wide cut with short sleeves, presumably to keep clothing away from their wound. Printed in bright colours all over the black fabric were kittens and puppies, each with a bandage around their ears or head or tail. It was awfully cutesy, but far from the worst hospital attire Mestra had ever seen. 

 

The nurse seemed to beam with pride again. Mestra wasn’t sure if they imagined it, but the room seemed to fill with a slightly floral scent for a moment. Maybe it was this woman’s perfume.

 

“Oh, do you like it?” Myrrha asked, procuring some sort of tablet device from somewhere Mestra couldn’t see. “My floret makes them – she loves that sort of thing. Textiles, you know, and helping others. She’s an absolute sweetheart.”

 

Mestra took a moment to remember what those words mean. A floret was… right. A floret was this nurse’s slave, or at least permanently indentured pet. The way this woman talked about her though, she seemed… She seemed proud. That was odd. 

 

“Someone… someone made this?” Mestra inquired. “By hand?”

 

Myrrha nodded enthusiastically. “My floret, Rose. She’s a sweetheart and she loves this stuff. I’ll make sure to tell her you like it!” Myrrha seemed to tap a few times on her tablet, one of her two pairs of eyes momentarily pointed downwards. 

 

Mestra was stuck on the fact that someone had made this garment. “She… she made this? And you’re just letting me wear it? I mean, what if I bleed all over it, or make a mess, or…” Mestra trailed off, running out of bad things that could plausibly happen to their clothes. 

 

Myrrha giggled to herself, like Mestra was asking the silliest question in the world. “It’s a gift: for you,” she said simply. “Rose loves to design clothes, and then give them to patients at the hospital. Or anywhere, really. We don’t tend to stick around in one place for very long, but right now she’s got a particular fancy for medical wear. Did you know that-”

 

Myrrha cut off her own prideful ramblings about her floret. Those could come in time. “I’m glad you like it,” she said simply. “When you’re healthier, maybe you can meet her and thank her yourself.”

 

Mestra nodded slowly. So this plant had a slave – “floret”, apparently, who made clothes and gave them away. That in itself was weird. And then her owner, this… giant pink plant, was proud of her? And wanted Mestra to meet her? Interesting. 

 

“Oh, petal,” Myrrha said, remembering something. “There’s someone who wanted to see you once you woke up. Do you think you feel up to that?” Someone wanted to see Mestra? What for? To prosecute them for acquiring illicit goods? Surely by now the Affini had discovered their stash and figured out where they got it. 

 

“Am… am I in trouble?” Mestra asked sheepishly. 

 

“No! Not at all dear,” Myrrha quickly responded. “It’s one of the doctors who did your surgery. It seems… it seems that he wants to follow up on your care.” Mestra noted a change in the nurse’s tone of voice in that last sentence. That was curious. But seeing a doctor seemed harmless enough. 

 

“Okay, that’s fine,” said Mestra. “I’ll just wait here, I guess?” Myrrha nodded and retrieved a plastic cup of water. “Yes,” she said, “wait here, and while you’re at it, make sure to finish that water. It’s good for you, you know!” said Myrrha. Mestra took a performative sip of water, feeling its coolness against their hand. “Umm, thank you, by the way.”

 

Myrrha smiled. “You’re very welcome, Mestra dear. I’ll be back shortly, after your visitor. Is that all right?” Mestra nodded. “And if you need anything, call for ‘Myrrha’,” they added. ‘Myrrha’. The name still sounded foreign, but in a way Mestra could still pronounce. ‘Did the plants take names humans could pronounce on purpose?’ they idly wondered. 

 

“Bye now,” said Myrrha, starting to walk out of the room. “I’ll be back shortly, and remember to call if you need anything~”. 

 

Chapter 7: Creature

Notes:

Welcome to Ao3 everyone!

Mestra

Some time later, Mestra was fiddling and fumbling with the hem of their shirt. They still couldn’t believe it was hand made, by a person. Well, a floret, but that was a kind of person, probably. The fabric was dotted with cute depictions of small animals in various dressings. Mestra spotted a dog in a sling, a cat with a head wound, and something that looked like a bee with its antennae in bandages. 

Unbeknownst to them, a collection of brown and white tendrils slithered into the room. The facsimile of a torso and a head were about the most human-like features this thing had. Where legs should have been, a collection of vines twisted their way to the floor in two columns, half-sliding half-stepping across the floor. It reached the foot of Mestra’s bed, leaning over to get a better look at the human. 

Mestra noticed the light changing as someone walked towards them. Ah, maybe Myrrha was bac-

“HOLY FUCK WHAT THE HELL HOLY SHIT,” Mestra yelled as tried to scramble backwards in their bed. The sudden movement sent a shot of pain to their injured arm, which Mestra quickly cradled. “Who the HELL are you and WHAT are you and HOLY SHIT WHAT’S GOING ON?”

The monster at the foot of Mestra’s bed let out a deep growling noise. A primal, guttural sort of sound. Seven slits of bright red seemed to look right through Mestra. Were those that thing’s… eyes…? They sat oddly, each a slightly different size and none lining up to the other. It was deeply unsettling. The Thing’s body was made up of what looked like roots. Brown and black and white, jutting out sharply at odd angles. It looked almost burnt , but seemed to carry no trace of dust or ash. 

“Mm-Myrrha?” Mestra called out meekly. What if this was all a trick, Mestra realised. What if Myrrha was just softening them up and this Thing was going to step in to play Bad Cop? What if-?

“She’ll be back later,” said the Thing in a voice that rumbled like rocks falling down a mountain. “For now I have questions.”

This Thing talked??? Mestra looked the visitor up and down. In the more surface-level ways, it looked humanoid, composed of thin jagged brown and grey roots. Mestra spotted a too-pointed head resting on too-large shoulders and a broad chest covered by crossed arms that seemed too long and too thin.  Mestra traced a line down what must be the creature's face, and sure enough, where a mouth should be, lay a very thin facade of lips. 

“W-who are you, actually WHAT are you first,” Mestra asked, “and can you please stop leaning over my bed?”  The figure retreated slightly, its seven eyes blinking asynchronously.

“My name is Avernus, small one,” it said. Mestra watched as its mouth barely moved to form words. The Thing was eerily still, not even seeming to breathe. “I cut away the dying mass of plantlife you foolishly tried to attach to yourself,” it continued.  “You should thank me.”

Mestra ran this information through what they knew. Their attempted implant was gone, so it made sense that someone cut it out. If this Thing claimed to be a doctor, then that would make them…

“An Affini?” Mestra asked incredulously.  This Thing didn’t look like any Affini Mestra had ever seen.

“Obviously.” Avernus said gruffly. He began to reconsider whether this human was even worth his time. He expected a human who could get their hands on Affini medical technology to be much more astute than this. 

Mestra looked up and down the Thing again, this time noticing the small clues as to its origins. While most of its body looked barren, Mestra spotted a few green plants dotting the creature. Their tiny pointed leaves stood defiantly against the brown and grey monotony of the rest of its body. Looking again at what must have been the face, Mestra remarked four jagged growths of blackened roots protruding from the head. They looked like several bundles of roots twisted together, and bent in painful curves. At their tips, their charred black colour turned nearly pure white, like they had been dipped in ashes. If it was an Affini, it was one unlike Mestra had ever seen.

“Are you finished staring at me yet?” the Thing asked. Mestra quickly looked away. Whatever they did, they had a feeling they did not want to upset this particular Affini. 

“W-why did you save me?” Mestra asked, finding it the most pertinent question. This thing certainly didn’t seem to pretend to like them, not like Myrrha did anyways. Mestra couldn’t shake the feeling that something awful was about to happen to them. That this creature would tear into them, either literally or with his words. 

“I have much more important questions than that for you to answer, small one. But I’ll allow you this one.” 

Small one? Mestra supposed that this Thing, this Affini, was much bigger than them, but if anything that made Them big, not Mestra small. 

“I saved you because it’s my job, and your injury presented an interesting challenge. Now,” it said, clearly more interested in his own line of questioning. “I want to know why you did it.”

For a second, neither Mestra nor the Thing at the end of their bed blinked. Instead, they stared intensely at each other. Mestra was in shock: did this plant seriously, seriously just ask them that question…? The face staring back at Mestra seemed almost… impatient with the whole conversation. Its eyes blinked uncaringly, and nothing about its posture betrayed more than a mild curiosity. 

“Why the fuck would you ask me that, first of all,” said Mestra, putting as much venom into their words as they could manage. “You might be an alien doctor who looks like a rotting corpse, but surely you know why that’s a fucking STUPID question.” The Affini – if it really was an Affini, it was an Affini idiot – didn’t seem to visibly react to the insult. Instead its eyes blinked, and it seemed to almost sigh before it spoke again.

“I am not concerned with the opinion of a pet,” he stated flatly, his deep voice sounding threatening. “Answer the question or I’ll leave.”

Leaving would actually be an acceptable option, Mestra realised. But maybe they had an opportunity here. If this thing was really so naive, maybe Mestra could shock them. It was a decent spectacle to watch someone learn about the horrors of Mestra’s life. At least by explaining themself, Mestra had a chance to make this Affini feel absolutely stupid. 

“Why I did it is a stupid question. I had no other options, obviously,” said Mestra. “I’ve been suicidal and depressed for as long as I can remember. I’ve been using substances, legal or not, for the last ten years at least, and my body is a wreck. I hate existing.” This all was just the surface level of Mestra’s pain. A litmus test to see how the Affini would react. 

Avernus only blinked. 

“Once you fuckers came and conquered my planet, all of my drugs started to disappear. The only thing keeping me alive and functional, gone. And what did you do? You promised us all compassion, free food, free healthcare.” Mestra remembered the propaganda videos, for a time displayed on every publicly accessible web page. Mestra remembered the kind, alien eyes explaining how they weren’t going to hurt anyone. How it was all going to be okay.

“You promised you’d make it all better. And the moment I stepped into your goddamn hospital what did you do? You tried to sell me into FUCKING eternal servitude and keep me as your pet.” Mestra was yelling again. Frustratingly, the Thing at the end of the bed didn’t react. It just blinked, seven times in a ripple across its ugly face. Fine, so be it. 

“So, again, I had no choice. Your medicine was the only thing that could have helped me, but would you give it to me? No, of course you wouldn’t! So I had to get it myself, which was fucking HARD by the way. Do you know how hard it is to deal with the black market in a world without an economy?” Mestra shouted. Clearly, this thing did not, or was falling asleep with boredom. Goddammit. 

“So yes, I got myself that plant, but of course, even THAT wasn’t enough. No, I STILL hadn’t worked hard enough to deserve peace. The graft can’t stay alive without an Affini, so I had no choice but to make it believe I was the Affini. And then I did.” 

Mestra chest heaved. They were out of breath from all the yelling, and this thing was still perfectly still. Mestra waited, breathing to try and steady their voice. They couldn’t break, not in front of this Thing. 

“Did you make any modifications to the graft or the surgical site?” it asked. 

“I’m sorry what the FUCK” Mestra replied. “I just told you how I was so desperate that I literally cut myself open for relief and you want to know what MODIFICATIONS I MADE?” 

The Thing nodded. It fucking NODDED.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Mestra yelled. “I’m not fucking answering that you sick fuck!”

The Thing grumbled, perhaps in frustration or anger. Good, at least that was an emotion. 

“Like I said, pet,” it said quietly. “I am not concerned with your opinions. Answer the question or I’ll leave.”

“I’m not a pet,” Mestra said flatly. “But I’ll give you the answer you want. Since you seem to care more about satisfying your own curiosity than my wellbeing.” This man, this, Thing, which made Mestra uneasy just to look at was being so infuriating. “No, I didn’t change anything about it. I was an idiot, obviously. I basically cut myself open and shoved it in there. Happy?”

“That’s interesting,” said the Affini, betraying for the first time a sense of curiosity. “You know, you were very close to the procedure working. I took tissue samples.”

It what? Samples?

“If it weren’t for your incredibly poor surgical technique, your crude instruments, and your total lack of proper wound closure, the procedure would have worked with only a few… minor adjustments.”

 Was this Thing, doctor, Affini, whatever, seriously trying to correct Mestra’s technique?

“I’m sorry” said Mestra, their head spinning in confusion. “Are you trying to tell me how I could have been better at reckless self surgery?”

“Yes.”

“Yes? You’re supposed to say ‘no’! You’re supposed to try to talk me out of it, tell me why it was so stupid, make me promise I’ll never do it again. Not give me pointers! ”

“You will never again be given the opportunity to be so reckless. But perhaps in your new life as a pet you’ll find my advice useful.”

“I’m not going to be a fucking PET!” Mestra shouted. “You may as well just kill me now, I’d rather that than whatever hell it is to be your slave.”

“Your denial changes nothing.” Flat and expressionless. 

“Fucking hell are you always so annoying? I thought the Afiini were supposed to be nice, or at the very least pretend!”

Avernus didn’t reply.

“Do you have any more questions, you hellish weed, or are you going to leave me alone.”

The Thing at the end of the bed seemed to consider. Mestra breathed once, twice, three times before it spoke again.

“I do, if you’re going to be more polite.”

More polite? More fucking polite? Mestra couldn’t believe this. 

“I’ll be polite if you stop calling me a pet,” they spat. 

“Understood. You are aware that this graft needs nervous system input to properly function. What was your intended solution?”

This was weird. Very weird. The stranger was speaking to Mestra like one might ask a colleague how they fixed the printer. They moved right past Mestra’s demand not to be called a pet in pursuit of… whatever it was they wanted to know. It seemed entirely unconcerned that Mestra did this to themself in their own home, with no training. 

“Well I,” Mestra started, thinking back to their plan. In hindsight, it was stupid. They hadn’t thought it through, but they didn’t want to admit that right now. “I want to connect it to the nerves in my arms,” said Mestra.

“Interesting,” said Avernus. “But that obviously failed.”

“Obviously,” Mestra said, gesturing around them. “Or I wouldn’t be here.” 

“It’s interesting. Connecting human nerve tissue to Affini xenodrug grafts. Some doctors would say that it would be impossible without a haustoric implant. In my opinion, it is simply ill-advised.”

‘A haustoric implant?’, Mestra thought. That sounded ominous. Some kind of control device, maybe? Mestra had heard of such things. Implanted devices that made Affini slaves calm, docile, and entirely unable to rebel. 

“Without the implant your human nerves would never have been able to send the right signals. However…”

The Affini seemed to trail off in their own thoughts. This was very, very strange. Its eyes, save for one, closed. Mestra had met many doctors. Many doctors who’d come to them in the hospital to ask questions, even. But never once did any of them ask questions like this.

“Your insight has been entertaining, bunny,” it finally said. Its eyes opened again, and resumed their haphazard blinking. His form shifted for the first time, filling the room with the soft sound of rustling.

“Bunny?” Mestra said. “That’s not even close to my name.”

“You did not want to be called a pet, and your shirt is covered in rabbits. You’re lucky I’m not calling you a-”

The Affini said something in a language Mestra didn’t understand. Maybe an expletive?

“H-hold on,” Mestra said, noticing that the Affini was ready to leave. For some reason, Mestra didn’t want it to leave. Sure, it was terrifying, condescending, and a terrible conversationalist, but it was always intriguing. Why had this Affini come to ask Mestra about their surgical strategy? What was it thinking about? And, pertinently, was this a potential avenue of escape for Mestra?

“Why were you here, why were you asking me those things, and also who are you?” Mestra asked. That pretty much summarised what they wanted to know. 

“That’s not of your concern, bunny,” said the Thing as it turned to leave. On its back, more of the small green plants were sprouting. It really, for sure, was an Affini. An ill-mannered, rude, incompetent Affini. “I’ve told you everything you need to know already: my name is Avernus and I healed your wound. Goodbye.”

The Thing left, leaving the room empty.

Notes:

Woah look how fancy that heading was? Wasn't that cool?

Chapter 8: Human Anatomy/Peach Toast

Avernus

Avernus sat in his office, contemplating. His visit to the patient was… eventful, although not particularly enlightening. They were more combative and fearful than Avernus was used to, and that made it hard to get straight answers. After so long dealing with the same batch of cotyledons, Avernus realised he'd forgotten what it was like to have to make a good first impression. Oh well. The patient would be fine, and if they really needed to forget the experience Avernus was sure their new Owner could help. 

It was an interesting problem to consider: the fusion of plant and human biology. Humans seemed generally inflexible, difficult to mould – at least, compared to plant life. Certainly compared to an Affini, although that was hardly a fair comparison. But, perhaps there was indeed a way to merge the two: human and plant.

Avernus pulled out a few large sheets of paper and several writing instruments. He had always preferred doing this in a physical medium, and he kept premium supplies on hand in case a problem like this ever caught his attention. It was much more visceral and immediate this way, Avernus thought. He quickly sketched out a basic human form, drawing the musculature, the skeleton, and the basic nerve mappings each on a different sheet of the translucent paper.

The patient… they had a name, but it was escaping Avernus at the moment. ‘The Bunny’, the one who was so meek in form and yet brave enough to attempt this on their own, had tried to attach the graft to their arm. That was a sub-optimal placement for many reasons. Avernus quickly sketched out the inner workings of the graft, on a sheet of paper overlaying the nerve tree. His desk glowed, letting each layer of the paper shine through. 

Yes, drawing it made it much more clear that nerve clusters in the arm were suboptimal for this surgery. There were simply too few and they weren’t nearly varied enough. It was no wonder why The Bunny’s little experiment failed. Even if the graft had taken, nerve connection would never have been possible. But perhaps…

Avernus spent the next several hours sketching different potential locations for an optimal graft site. At each step, he considered the connection to the musculature, the nerves, and the skin. Each layer of paper was a potential grafting site. When he was finished, he put them all up on the wall to compare. Each site had their own advantages and disadvantages. The legs, for instance, could fully support a graft of glas suaimhneas. But there was a space issue to consider, and they couldn’t support anything more complex than the simple xenodrug-producing plant. 

Briefly, Avernus pondered what more complex grafts a sophont could even make use of. Admittedly, giving a non-Affini direct access to medication like this without a haustoric implant would be out of the question. It was simply too dangerous. Attaching it to the implant gave almost an infinite number more options, but also made the graft redundant. No sophont would need glas suaimhneas if their implant was already regulating their emotions. So what else could a human sophont support…

One of the optimal locations for grafting was obviously near the spine. Even without a haustoric implant, it was the second richest collection of nerves, and once the implant was added it was bumped up to the best. With no need for medicinal grafts, what else could be considered? 

Idly, Avernus sketched several vine clusters attached to a human’s back. Prehensile vines were relatively simple to attach to a nervous system, especially a human one. Following so many years of rejected grafts at his last cotyledon project, vines were practically easy for Avernus. Anything prehensile would need deep integration with the nervous system, which would necessitate a link to a haustoric implant. A human brain would likely be unable to support these new limbs, and certainly not to their fullest extent. If it was going to attach to an implant anyways, Avernus mused, what else could now be added to it?

Affini vines were much more than simple limbs, they were also used for drinking and often for photosynthesis. Without an implant, that would be impossible for a human, but with one, anything was technically possible. To allow nutrient absorption and photosynthesis in a human body would mean… 

Avernus continued to sketch, correcting himself and making revisions until he was satisfied. By then, his desk was properly covered in papers. It was very interesting, Avernus thought. A biomod for humans that could move, drink, photosynthesize, and even grow and accept its own grafts. That last addition took several hours for Avernus to figure out, and was the most complicated part of the setup by far. A set of biomods like this would require extremely specialised modifications to the haustoric implant, and would have a very steep learning curve for the sophont in question. The surgery would be… long, extensive, and most importantly, difficult. It was a proper challenge. 

Maybe humans still had something interesting for Avernus to explore. 

Mestra

Ten or fifteen minutes – or to Mestra: an eternity – passed after the rude Affini named Avernus left them. For all the time they had to think, Mestra still couldn’t make heads or tails of the conversation. Possibilities kept swimming through their head. It didn’t seem to be a test or a trick, but maybe it was some kind of covert psychological examination? If so, it was a very strange one. The Thing – Avernus – seemed almost… intrigued by Mestra’s story. Maybe he was a very good actor, Mestra thought. But that was doubtful. Wouldn’t a good actor be less… stiff? Unless that was part of the act?

Sitting in a hospital bed with nothing to do except stew in their thoughts was driving Mestra stir crazy. Mercifully, Myrrha soon returned with a large steaming tray that smelled… unfamiliar. 

“Hello again dear!” said Myrrha, setting the tray down on one of the room’s tables. “How was your visitor?” From under the table, Myrrha procured several plates, forks, spoons, and glasses. Did this hospital room come with a china cabinet? 

“It was very confusing,” Mestra admitted. “That man… he is a man?” Mestra asked. Myrrha nodded and Mestra continued. “He’s very confusing. He asked me about… what I tried to do to myself, but he seemed more interested in the details…? I’m not really sure.”

Myrrha turned to face the bed and tried to hide the concern in her voice. “Oh dear… I hope it wasn’t too stressful for you, petal,” she said.

Mestra shook their head. “Surprisingly,” they said, “after I got over his… pretty terrifying appearance, he was actually pretty interesting.” To talk to, and to look at, Mestra added internally, despite his horrifying appearance. It was like staring at the wreck of a spaceship. It was awful, mangled, and possibly still on fire, but it was fascinating. And it’s questions were… equally thought provoking.

Myrrha smiled, relieved that the human wasn’t too frightened by the experience. “Interesting” wasn’t what she’d expected Mestra to say, but it was certainly better than the human being petrified. 

“I’m happy to hear you’re alright,” said Myrrha. “Avernus can be very… off-putting, to speak to sometimes,” she continued as she carefully prepared a plate for Mestra. “Do you prefer strawberry or peach jam, dear?”

Momentarily confused, Mestra looked over to the table and was shocked by the variety of jars. There must have been five or ten of them, plus several slices of steaming toast, avocados, tomatoes, and various other fresh fruits Mestra had seldom seen before. 

“Um, peach please, if um, if that’s not too much to ask for,” Mestra replied. Where on Terra did all of this food come from? Myrrha shook her head to dismiss Mestra’s concern.

“Oh no dear, not to worry, it’s no extra time, money, or effort on my part to keep you well fed. You know that currency is abolished, yes?” Myrrha confirmed. She smiled as Mestra nodded, using one vine and a knife to apply a generous layer of peach jam on a slice of the toast. 

“Right”, Mestra thought to themself. They probably have that infinite atomic replication technology here. Still, it seemed like a lot of effort for one measly patient. 

Carefully cutting the toast into little triangles, Myrrha put the food on the plate and handed it to Mestra. “Here you are dear, one slice of toast with peach jam,” she said kindly. “Please do tell me if you want more, there’s plenty.”

Mestra thanked Myrhha and examined the meal. The bread was by far the freshest Mestra had ever seen. Even toasted, Mestra could smell its hearty smell, and they realised that was what they’d smelled earlier: freshly baked bread. Incredible! Mestra could barely remember the last time their bread hadn’t come to them frozen. 

The yellowish layer of jam was spread thick over the delicious looking toast. Mestra took one tentative bite, and immediately felt the sweet jam melt over their tongue. Oh, that was delicious. Mestra’s mouth started to water as they finished the first slice, quickly moving on to the other quarters. 

“This ish delishuoush,” they said, mouth still full. “Serioushly, this ish really good.”

Myrrha laughed softly to herself and topped up Mestra’s glass of water. 

“I’m very glad you like it,” she said, “but don’t forget to drink your water petal.”

Mestra nodded and downed half the glass in one gulp. Sighing, Myrrha remembered all the reasons she preferred to handle feeding herself. It was much better for the cuties to have someone to slow them down, and it was decidedly more fun. It was unlikely Mestra would give her that chance, but perhaps…

“May I have some more?” Mestra asked shyly. Myrrha quickly took Mestra’s plate and refilled it with another slice of peach jam on toast. So there really must be infinite food, Mestra thought to themself, because they’d never seen a hospital not make a fuss about getting a second portion. Especially once the war started, rations were tight, and frequent patients like Mestra were at the absolute bottom of the priority list. 

Before handing over the next slice, Myrrha reminded the cute human to eat slowly. “There’s plenty more, and I don’t want you getting a tummy ache,” she said. Mestra… tried to slow down, but they were very hungry. They supposed that it had been a while since their last proper meal. And plus, the food was just so good.

“So my dear,” Myrrha said, sitting down in one of the room’s large chairs. Her pink and purple foliage contrasted strongly with the pale green walls and its bright orange flower. It was by far the most colourful hospital room Mestra had ever seen, they remarked for what was probably the third time.

“You’ve got an appointment with the xenopsychiatist today.”

Mestra wolfed down the last of their toast, along with the rest of their water. So much for going slowly.

“I… see…” they said. They knew this part was inevitable. No matter how nice everyone was being, Mestra tried something extremely reckless. Now they had to face the consequences.

“Are you worried, petal?” Myrrha inquired. 

“Terrified, actually,” Mestra admitted. “Psychiatrists… I don’t like them.” Mestra wasn’t sure why they didn’t mind their nurse’s words of endearment. Perhaps it was part of her demeanour. Calling people dear, and ‘petal’, which must be an Affini thing, must just be part of this woman’s speech patterns. At any rate it was much better than when Avernus had called Mestra a ‘pet’. That forced Mestra to remember their inevitable fate. At least Avernus had switched to bunny, which actually made even less sense. He said something about Mestra’s shirt…

  “Ah, I see,” said Myrrha, snapping Mestra back to the present. “I presume you’ve had harrowing experiences with human doctors in the past.”

Mestra tried not to shudder as they remembered some of their more painful experiences. “That’s an understatement,” they said.

The thought hurt Myrrha’s core, or “broke her heart,” as her floret would call it. This poor human, so hurt by their own kind. It was evil, what human medicine had been allowed to become. Truly sickening. 

“Miss Myrhha?” Mestra inquired. “You said your um… your… flower made this shirt?”

“Floret,” Myrrha corrected sweetly. “And yes, why do you ask?”

“Does it have any rabbits on it?”

Myrrha stood up and walked closer to examine the garment. “I don’t believe so, why do you ask?” she said.

“Oh um, no reason,” Mestra said quickly. They knew it. Avernus had thought there was a bunny where there wasn’t one! Mestra got something right and he got it wrong! That proved he was fallible, which was a very appealing thought to Mestra. The Affini weren’t perfect after all. Unless it was all another test…

“Flower?” Myrrha said, watching Mestra sink back into their own thoughts. “Are you worrying about the psychiatrist?” 

Mestra once again snapped out of their thoughts just in time to process the question. “Oh, um…” they said. Better to play it off like they were worried, Mestra realised, then try to explain why they were so happy about Avernus making a blunder.

“Actually I am worried,” they said. Myrhha nodded sympathetically. “Is there anything I can do to help you, dear?” she asked.

Mestra thought about it. One thing did come to mind, but it was a long shot.  “Can you umm… can you come with me? I mean, is that allowed? I understand if it’s not but I just think that-”

“Of course that’s allowed!” Myrrha interrupted. “I’ll be happy to go with you, especially if it makes you more comfortable!”

Mestra felt a very unexpected blush rise to their cheeks. This nurse was just the absolute sweetest. Mestra couldn’t remember the last time they’d felt so properly cared for, least of all in a hospital. 

“Are you sure?” they inquired. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I mean…”

“I’m sure,” Myrrha confirmed. “Now let’s get you out of bed, hm? We wouldn’t want to be late!”

Notes:

Thank you all for reading!!!!!!!
Make sure you get to eat a tasty treat today! You can even cut it into little triangles if you want it to be extra special and fancy!

Chapter 9: Painless

Notes:

There's a decently heavy conversation with a psychiatrist here, be ready for that.

Mestra

The Affini hospital was huge. Mestra decided they felt well enough to walk on their own, a decision they made in large part to avoid being pushed around in a wheelchair. That was always one of the worst parts of hospitals for Mestra. Ignoring… all the rest of the unpleasantness of a hospital, the marked loss of autonomy Mestra felt being pushed around against their will was terrifying and demeaning. 

Even standing, Mestra didn’t reach halfway up the walls of the hallways. This place was clearly built for the much larger Affini that Mestra spotted in various areas. Thankfully, none of them tried to engage in conversation with Mestra, and kept a polite distance. Myrrha was tolerable: she was kind and a little overbearing, but that was probably just her personality. Especially in their current injured and vulnerable state though, Mestra did not want to be speaking to any more Affini than necessary. Not if they could help it. 

Myrrha

Myrrha led her cute patient down the hallway, making sure at every corner that they were still following. Carrying them would have been preferred, but Mestra made it very clear that they didn’t want that. The path to xenopsychiatry was very easy, at least: just follow the long trail of daisies painted on the floor, take a left at the oak branch, and then follow the rose vine until the end. Little Mestra looked rather starstruck by the size of the hospital, like many seedlings were when they first experienced Affini architecture. Myrrha desperately wanted to scoop the little human up into their arms and carry them, or at the very least hold their hand. But she had to respect their wishes. 

Myrrha reached the door to doctor Laeni’s office and gave it a crisp knock. She didn’t really need to knock, but it gave little Mestra time to catch their breath. “Come in!” said a voice from inside. 

“Are you ready dear?” Myrrha asked. Mestra responded with a small nod. The poor human was obviously apprehensive, but Myrrha was proud of how brave they were being. If they were Myrrha’s floret, she remarked, they’d be getting quite the treat after this. Come to think of it, perhaps one of the hospital’s famous lollipops was in order. Or some more of that toast the darling seemed to like so much.

Myrrha opened the door and greeted doctor Laeni. The most striking thing about him was certainly his flowing hair. Small green stalks sprouted from his back, growing in length and turning a beautiful golden colour by the time it reached the crown of his head. The long golden stemmed flowed luxuriously over his green shoulders, reminding Myrrha of an old Terran fable her floret had once told her about. His bright green eyes contrasted with the dark wooden tones of his face. He was, as florets might describe him, “a good looking plant.”

“Hello there,” he said, kneeling down to be at eye level with Mestra. “How are we doing today, flower?” He reached out a hand to pet Mestra, who quickly recoiled. “I’m fine,” they said curtly.

“I see,” the doctor replied, pulling back his hand. “My name is Dr. Laeni,” he said, standing back up and walking over to one of the room’s large chairs. “Please, take a seat.” 

Myrrha watched Mestra glance around the room to find any Terran-sized chairs. “Here, dear,” she said, pulling one from the corner. Mestra mumbled a quick thank-you and hopped up into it.

It was probably still larger than they were used to, but it was probably more comfortable for them than sitting in Myrrha’s lap. Unfortunately.

 Myrrha took a seat in one of the Affini-sized chairs in the corner, discreetly pulling out her tablet to send her dear Rose a few adoring messages. She didn’t mean to, but she managed to get quite absorbed in her messages. Apparently, her little rosebud was having a rather rough time, and that was something Myrrha would not ignore. She briefly considered going home right there and then to go comfort her sweet flower, but Rose insisted that she was fine for the time being. 

Once she finished giving her sweet floret as much comfort as she could fit into words, she tuned back into the conversation at hand. It had probably only been five or ten minutes, maybe fifteen if she was really distracted. 

“Your suicidal gestures alone make you a risk, as well as your struggles with heath, nutrition, and what sounds like rather complicated medical needs. Based on what I’m hearing, and your past actions, the only correct course of action is domestication.”

That was probably going to be quite a shock for poor Mestra. Myrrha looked over to the Terran and- 

The poor thing was visibly holding back tears. Oh sod. 

“Standard procedure here is to put you into a thirty day wardship while a proper owner is selected,” said the doctor. “However, given the fears you’ve expressed to me about losing control, and especially your fear of authority, I find it appropriate to allow you input into the choice of your ownership.”

Myrrha watched as the human’s expression morphed from fear to anger. “Oh how polite of you,” they snarked.  “I get a hand in my own demise. Wonderful.”

Doctor Laeni made a ‘hmph’ noise of acknowledgement. “If you wish,” he said, his tone becoming vaguely threatening. “I can take away that option from you.”

Myrrha watched as the fear returned to Mestra’s eyes. Oh poor thing! She just wanted to reach out and tell them it would be okay. Domestication was wonderful, Mestra would enjoy it so much, it would be so good for them…

“Fine,” Mestra said. “But If I’m going to be domesticated, I want you to promise that I won’t ever feel pain again.”

Mestra

“If I’m going to be domesticated, I want you to promise that I won’t ever feel pain again.” Mestra stared down the psychiatrist. It was obvious now that they weren’t going to escape servitude. They may as well try to get as much leverage as possible. Nothing Mestra had told the man, not their shocking stories of mistreatment, not their insistence that they knew themself best, was swaying him. He truly believed that Mestra was beyond saving. That “domestication” was the only answer. Mestra glanced at the nurse, who was sitting in the corner and awkwardly avoiding eye contact with either party. 

“Hmm,” said the doctor, Lae-something or other Mestra was too angry to learn. He was scratching what looked like the wheat plants that formed his beard. Right now Mestra wanted to rip those plants right off him, but that wouldn’t help Mestra’s case at all. “I can’t promise that,” he said. “But-”

“Then I won’t go willingly,” Mestra interrupted. “You take away all my pain, all of it, or take me by force. I won’t accept any other option.” This wasn’t the ultimatum Mestra wanted to give. They wanted to convince this psychiatrist, like the many others Mestra had convinced, that they were okay. That they deserved privacy and autonomy. Instead, they were bargaining for a hand in their own worst fear – being helpless.

“I wasn’t finished,” said the doctor. “I can’t promise you’ll never feel pain again, but I can promise you’ll never be in pain.” That was a pedantic distinction. 

“Not good enough,” said Mestra. “I never want to feel pain, ever again. And no emotional pain, either.” They could feel their leverage slipping. The Affini were almost impossible to bargain with, especially when their viney hands held all the cards. 

“I feel that it’s pertinent to explain to you the distinction I’m making. If you’ll allow me.”

Mestra nodded slowly. “Fine,” they spat. “Whatever. Say whatever you need to say to help you sleep at night, knowing you’re doing to me exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid for my entire life.”

“The Affini compact cannot promise that you will never feel pain,” said the doctor. “It’s inevitable. One day, eventually, every floret will stub their toe, or trip over a rock, or burn their tongue. And it will hurt. They may even shed a tear, bless their heart. But it will never hurt for long.”

Mestra could tell this was the beginning of a monologue, maybe even one this man had practised before. Still, they listened. Maybe there was something they could still exploit. 

“The Affini will always be there to soothe the floret. To pet them on the head, to help make it better. The floret won’t ever have to deal with their pain alone, ever again.”

This made some sense to Mestra, but did little to ease their concerns. Sensing this, the Affini continued:

“Despite our best efforts, our florets will, sometimes, hurt themselves. Sometimes a little, and sometimes a lot. There is nothing we can do to completely prevent this, nor would it be right to try. Instead, our job as Affini is to provide support. To pick them up when they fall, so to speak.”

“What does this have to do with-” Mestra asked, before being cut off. 

“You’ve been in pain nearly your entire life, Mestra,” said the doctor. “For you, I imagine it’s impossible to imagine a scenario where temporary pain doesn’t lead to long term suffering. We promise you’ll be free of that last one. In the Compact, you won’t have to suffer ever again. Every time you fall, there will always be an Affini waiting to pick you up. That’s what I can promise you.” 

From the corner where Myrrha was sitting, Mestra smelled a faint wafting of saltwater. Was she… crying? Mestra had to admit, it was emotional. It resonated with a part of them that was deeply buried. The promise of support, with no limits or strings attached, was appealing. But it was a lie. It had to be. It was always a lie.

“If I agree,” Mestra said carefully. “And I’m placed with a warden.” The doctor nodded, his yellow antennae swimming gently. “Will it be up to them to… provide this service?”

“Protecting florets is the duty of all Affini,” said the doctor. “But yes,” he amended. “During a wardship, the primary caretaking responsibility falls on the warden. That is, until a permanent owner is found.”

The words ‘permanent owner’ echoed in Mestra’s brain. That seemed like an impossibly important choice for one person to make in thirty days. But, was it worse than having an owner assigned here and now, on the spot without Mestra’s input?

“And if I agree to this wardship,” Mestra said, still carefully considering each word. “You’ll guarantee I’ll get to decide who that ‘permanent owner’ is?” 

“So long as that owner agrees, yes. There would also be the opportunity to extend the wardship, although I’ll warn you that’s not indefinite. Eventually, either you will make a choice, or we’ll make the choice for you. In either outcome, we guarantee your happiness and wellbeing.”

“But there’s no chance you let me walk away after those thirty days, completely free?” Please say no, Mestra prayed. Please let there be another way, one more chance, some alternative option. A part of Mestra’s brain registered that this was a foolish hope: they have wanted to be helped for so long. Why not accept the help being given to them right now? But an even louder part of their brain quickly reminded them: the Affini would exploit Mestra. The medical system always exploits people like Mestra. This wasn’t any different, even if they were aliens. 

“From what I see here, no.” The words made Mestra's stomach sink. The tears they’d been holding back finally welled up in their eyes, and their throat was so tight it was difficult to draw breath. 

“There’s no other way,” Mestra said, intending it to be a question but finding their intonation falling flat. 

“No, there isn’t,” said the doctor. This wasn’t fair. This was SO unfair. But, wasn’t it what Mestra deserved for failing? They had salvation in their hands and even then they were broken. Maybe it was time to give up. Let the Affini have their way with them, and pray that some of them made it out the other side. 

“Fine,” Mestra said. “Fine. I’ll do it, whatever.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” said the doctor, standing up. “You’ll be informed of your wardship placement shortly. Until then, I suggest that you continue to rest.”

Myrrha reached a vine comfortingly over Mestra's thigh. “It’s going to be alright, petal,” she said quietly. “Let’s go get you another slice of toast, hm?”

Chapter 10: Monarda

Notes:

This is the chapter where I finally remembered that this is supposed to be a sexy smut story and NOT just be plot. So enjoy a nice drug scene, with only a little bit of plot

Mestra

“You’re going to be placed with your warden this afternoon” Myrrha was explaining. It had been one restless night since Mestra’s fate had been sealed by a doctor whose name they couldn't even remember. All night, Mestra kept stirring in their bed: what if they had fought harder? What if there was another way? But there was no other way. Mestra couldn’t escape. This was the end. 

The bright spot was always the food Myrrha would bring. Although she apologised profusely for it being inadequate, Mestra hadn’t tasted anything so good in a very long time. The Affini must really be making use of their magic atomic compilation boxes if they had this much food to offer patients. Along with more toast, Mestra got a few simple soup dishes that Myrrha assured their body wouldn't take issue with. Normally, Mestra would never trust their extensive list of food problems to a hospital nurse, but Myrrha seemed to know what she was doing. 

Right now, Myrrha was looking at Mestra kindly with two of her four bright eyes. The other two were looking at some kind of clipboard, although Mestra strongly doubted it held any paper. Did the Affini use paper? Some of them looked tree-like, so surely they didn't…?

“Before you leave, I’ll make sure to send off any medicines you’ll need, as well as any care instructions. After that you’ll see your vet and they can take over your care from there. Does that sound okay, little one?” Mestra felt a little guilty. As much as they hated being called “little one’, this woman… plant? This plant woman was so kind to them. They weren’t sure if Affini nurses were as overworked and under-appreciated as Terran ones, but it felt wrong not to say anything in reply. “T-thank you,” Mestra stumbled. “I um, I appreciate knowing.” The nurse seemed to glow even brighter than usual, which Mestra took as a positive sign. 

“Now,” she said. “I can either give you directions and you can go alone, or I can walk with you. It’s not terribly far, but I think it’s still better for me to go with you.” She was showing Mestra such genuine compassion and it was making their head spin. Why did this nurse care so much? Certainly they had something better to attend to. “Surely you have better things to do than walk me to my new captor” Mestra said plainly while starting to roll out of bed. Two gentle vines collected their shoes and placed them perfectly in line with Mestra’s falling feet. 

“‘Warden’, dearest, and not at all~” said Myrrha. “It’s a rather quiet day today, and I’d love to get the privilege of sending you off.”

“But don’t you have like, work to do? Other patients to see? When does your shift end?”

Myrrha giggled in bubbly, exuberant tones. She tended to Mestra’s hospital bed, deftly rearranging the covers to look neat and proper. “That’s not quite how it works here cutie,” she said, “For the most part, we come and go as we please. All of the other patients are very well looked after, and I want to see you off, if you’ll allow me.”

Mestra had no argument for this sincere kind of generosity. “W-well, okay then,” they said sheepishly. “But I still, umm…” Mestra fumbled with their hands and stared down at the floor. They hated when they did that. It was such a sign of weakness and a betrayal of their discomfort. They tore their eyes from the floor and was surprised to see Myrrha’s large face, now at eye level. 

“Is something bothering you, petal?” she said sweetly. From this distance, Mestra noticed that her eyes had a metallic, almost hammered texture. They were so much bigger than Mestra thought, and they were very shiny, and-

“Petal~” Myrrha said in a sing-song tone. Mestra shook their head to snap out of whatever fugue had overtaken them. “Oh yeah, right, I” they stammered. “It’s sort of that I, that I uh… I don’t like being outside, and I’m scared about…everything.” Mestra cringed at their admission, but it felt good to say. "Scared" was putting it mildly. Deep in Mestra's brain, in the part they usually chose to ignore, they were terrified of what this meant for them. 

Myrrha smiled comfortingly. “I understand, dear. The outside world can be scary, especially in new places.” Mestra nodded slowly, once again staring directly at the floor. Dammit, they were supposed to be better than this. 

“If you want,” Myrrha said softly. “I have medicine that will make it easy for you.”

“You can knock me out?” Mestra asked. That seemed an irresponsible use of such heavy drugs, but in this moment Mestra would have accepted that in a heartbeat. 

“Not quite,” Myrrrha replied. “It’s a bit more like… well, you’re familiar with Class-E anxiolytics, I gather?” Mestra nodded. Class E, like the implant they’d tried to give themself. The drug that was supposed to be their miracle cure. The miracle cure that landed them here, in an alien hospital, who knows how far away from home.

“I have a mix of that and another drug that I find very useful for sophonts in scary situations. I’ll gladly give you some.”

Mestra contemplated this. On one hand, they really would take anything over going outside right now. On the other hand… Nope, no objection came to mind. What’s the worst that could happen? Domestication? That’s where Mestra was going anyway. They'd taken tons of sedatives before, they reasoned. This would be just like that, except maybe a little more effective. 

“Okay, I’ll take that,” said Mestra in a very small voice.

“Wonderful, just wonderful,” said Myrrha, readying two injectors buried in her forearms. “I’ll need to get a little close to you for this to work, okay dear?” she said. Mestra nodded and she reached her arm next to Mestra’s neck, expertly wrapping her hand to the other side to distract the human.

“Now petal, you’ll feel just a little pinch,” she said. “Take a deep breath for me…”

Waiting for Mestra to do as instructed, she gently stroked one side of Mestra’s neck while she sank two injectors into the other side. Mestra barely flinched as the two needles emptied their contents directly into their bloodstream.

“Shhh, there we are,” she cooed. “All done now.” She withdrew her hand, making sure not to graze the injection site as she did. The thin needles, now raised and extended slightly from her forearms, withdrew. Their reservoirs were already starting to replenish the injectors with fresh drugs, making their stem-like bodies quiver gently as they filled. 

“S-should I have asked what the drugs are going to d-,” Mestra started before letting out a soft whimper. In an instant, everything was warm. Their vision swam and their legs felt very, very heavy. A distinct tingle radiated from every part of their body, from the tips of their fingers to behind their eyes, where suddenly the light looked much more bright.  “Is this bad…” they mumbled, their eyelids feeling too weak to keep open. The feeling of their own voice in their throat made them want to burst out in fits of giggles.

“Everything that you’re feeling right now is perfectly normal dear, don’t fret at all,” Myrrha said. “Ehat you're feeling is just the drugs helping to keep you comfortable." She paused to make sure Mestra understood. "But I am afraid that in this condition I’m going to have to carry you. Not that I expect you’ll mind," she added. 

She reached out to scoop up Mestra in a bridal carry. The sudden contact felt electric against the skin of Mestra’s exposed arms and legs. “O-oh,” they whimpered. “Th-thats…woah.” Everything was pleasantly warm, like they were buried under just the right number of blankets. At the same time, the colours of the hospital room were suddenly much more vivid. Mestra had to close their eyes for a second just to catch up. There was so much going on at once, but there was none of the panic Mestra expected to feel. This wasn't like being overstimulated by loud noises and bright lights. This, the brighter lights and the heightened sensations of touch? It felt good. Was it supposed to do that? Was it really meant to feel this good, or was something wrong?

They opened their mouth to ask this to the nurse, but the only thing that came out was a bubbling fit of giggles. Mestra quickly closed their mouth and tried to suppress the noise. That wasn't right, why couldn't they control themself?

Myrrha smiled, making sure her patient was tucked securely in her vines before starting to walk. “Shh, I know dear,” she whispered. “I know it feels good. Just embrace it, okay? Everything is alright. Just let yourself feel good, and I’ll take care of the rest.” She felt the human nod gently, which had the unintended effect of rubbing their cheek against Myrrha's chest. She heard the human fail to stifle a pleasured moan.

“It won't do for you to try to hold back those cute noises dear, you might work yourself too hard,” she said in part to herself, and in part to the now very cuddly human in her vines. She felt around for a vine that was conveniently placed enough to scratch the human on the head. Ah, perfect. Mestra let let out a yelp, and then several other noises somewhere between giggling and moaning. "That's much better," Myrrha said. "You don't have to hide your happiness little petal, not from me." 

Mestra’s adorable little noises – which Myrrha continued to elicit with her gently petting and scratching –  were enough to have Myrrha happily singing all the way to their destination.  

Monarda

Monarda sat in her living room, eagerly awaiting the arrival of her brand new ward. This was always one of the best parts: meeting the cutie for the first time, showing them that they no longer need to be afraid, watching their eyes go wide as they experienced all the little joys of life in the compact. Being a warden had so many privileges.

It also allowed one to peer into Terran culture in a way most floret owners couldn’t. Monarda had seen a vast diversity of human sophonts in her time, from home worlds both near and far. Some had grown up in rich families in lavish houses on Terra, and could recount from years of schooling its history and inner workings. Others grew up on space stations, repairing everything that broke because anything new was too expensive. Each of her wards taught her something new about humans, and that was a gift. 

Of course, it wasn’t all easy. The hardest part was always, always giving the floret-to-be away to their new owner. Or in rare cases, to themselves as an independent, although Monarda had only seen that once, and the sophont in question wound up domesticated within the month anyways. It was always so bittersweet to see them go. Thirty days of warship was certainly long enough to get used to having a cute sophont around, and the emptiness of Monarda’s hab unit after they left always stung. The worst part was always, always cleaning their room. It was such a reminder of what used to be there. The messy sheets, the drawers still left ajar from quick packing, the lingering smell of human that never seemed to go away. It would have been easier to clean the room before saying goodbye, but she could never bring herself to do that.

Monarda usually gave herself at least a month between wards: long enough to properly grieve their absence, but not long enough to wallow. Of course, ‘grieve’ was a heavy word, but it still felt right. Her wards were still around of course, and some even came to visit with their new owners. It was incredibly fulfilling to see how they blossomed, especially those who’d been the most resistant. Monarda had been doing this for years now, and she’d made good friends with quite a few of her former ward’s new owners. Still, she felt a pang of jealousy every time she’d see one playing in the park, a very small throb to remind her of something she once had, but not anymore. But she usually buried those feelings. She was doing good, after all. Giving sophonts the best possible introduction to their new life. 

Monarda sighed, a habit she’d learned from her many wards. Lacking any actual need for air, she simply unwound, letting her form melt over the large chair in which she sat. The new ward could be here at any minute, and she couldn’t wait to see what new things she’d learn. 

Myrrha

Having a writhing human in her vines was making Myrrha desperate to hold her Rose again. Humans were just so naturally cuddly, and perfect to hold! Of course, she knew that under ordinary circumstances, Mestra would never agree to be held like this, and would probably turn beet red from the embarrassment of some of the noises they were making. The drugs flowing through their system cared not for this, obviously. They happily increased the cute human's sense of touch, making every rub and scratch feel positively excellent, while at the same time suppressing any fear or anxiety the little darling’s mind could try to conjure. All this made the trip to their new warden’s house much easier, and within ten minutes Myrrha had arrived. 

She stood in front of the house, whose exterior was off-white and seemed to be modelled after Terran homes. It was a two-storey, rather squat building in the shape of a hexagon, although from the front entrance only the large front wall was visible. It was an adorable little home which was clearly well-tended to, and had a very beautiful collection of potted flowers on the doorstep. 

Myrrha raised one vine to knock on the door while keeping her human patient securely fastened. She started to dial back the physical affection just a little bit, to give the darling some time to breathe. In all likelihood, they’d wake up in this new house with very little recollection of this journey, but that was okay. The happiness would linger, that much Myrrha knew from years of practice. 

The door hinged outward and Myrrha was greeted with a very pretty looking Affini. “Hello,” she said politely in the flowing words of her native language. “You’re Monarda Lamiaceae?” 

The Affini opposite her nodded. “Yes, that’s me,” she replied. “You must be bringing my new ward?”

“Yes, I’ve got your adorable little ball of cute soft precious humanness right here,” Myrrha said. Her language had many words to describe cute pets, and using so many descriptors flowed very naturally for her. It was actually more effort to choose words that didn’t have connotations of being cute and precious and downright adorable, and besides, all of those words applied to Mestra anyways. Monarda lifted the curtain of vines that was covering the human to show them off. “Here they are,” she said. 

Monarda made a sound that was somewhere between an “awww” and a quartet of violins playing a triad and reached her hand over to the human to gently pat them on the head. “They’re adorable,” she said, watching the human’s nose gently twitch as they were pet. “Oh stars, so precious…” she said. 

“Aren’t they just?” Myrrha agreed, gently rubbing Mestra’s tummy and admiring all the pretty sounds she was eliciting. “This is their first brush with Class-As, I think,” she said. “They were too nervous to leave the hospital, so I gave them a small dose. Clearly, it’s having quite the effect.”

Monarda’s laughter was just as musical as her coos of adoration. “Yes, I’m inclined to agree with you,” she said. “I’ve read the darling’s file that you sent over – so tragic.” Myrrha nodded. “Tragic” was a good word to describe this human’s story. Left to fend for themself for so many years, and then so afraid of domestication they nearly got themself killed to avoid it. 

“If it’s not too much to ask,” Myrrha mused, still mostly focussed on the human wiggling needily in her vines, “I’d love to know when they finally break.” 

“I’d be very happy to provide that,” said Monarda. “It’s always so cute to watch, isn’t it?”

Myrrha nodded emphatically. “Oh yes, absolutely. When my floret Rose finally broke, well, it was the happiest day of my blooms, I’ll tell you that.” Monarda reached a second hand towards Mestra and Myrrha quickly handed her patient over. The spot in her vines that had so recently held the human felt cold now, but Myrrha would fill that void soon enough. 

“Well, thank you for giving them safe transit,” said Monarda. She reached down to her waist and pulled free one of the orange flowers that formed her skirt. “I’m glad to have met you,” said Monarda, offering the flower as a gift. Myrrha accepted the flower gratefully, weaving it expertly into her hair. The flower drooped, but then quickly perked up, showing that it had been fully grafted onto Myrrha. A moment after that, Myrrha could feel the flower on her body, moving in time with the rest of her rhythm. She knew she’d had this flower on her before, at some point, but the memory of its name was escaping her at the moment. It reminded her of the way the Terran Chrysanthemum flower felt. “Felt” was an approximate word, of course. Her Rosebud had asked her once what it was like to graft flowers onto herself. The best analogy Myrrha had been able to come up with at the time was taste: some plants taste different than others, but it was almost impossible to quantify. At the time, that seemed to satisfy Rose, and Myrrha found her mind wandering back to that moment now. She really should be getting home soon, she remarked. 

From the spot where Monarda had taken the flower from her body, a new bud was already forming. Like most Affini “clothing”, it was really just some flowers bent into the approximate shape of Terran garments.  

“I’m glad to have met you also,” Myrrha said to Monarda, willing one of her favourite pink flowers to grow out of her wrist. She deftly plucked it and handed it to her new acquaintance. With Mestra now separated from her, Myrrha took a moment to look over the Affini standing in front of her. She had a face of green vines, not bark, which suited her very nicely. She had two orange eyes that Myrrha could see, although with Affini, one could never be certain there weren’t more hiding somewhere. Her chest was peppered with yellow flowers which blended seamlessly into an orange flowered skirt. Myrrha watched as Monarda carefully grafted her gift onto what a human might call her shoulder.

“I think I should get this cutie to bed, as much as I’d love to play with them,” said Monarda. “Thank you again for everything you’ve done for them, I’m sure they’re going to be very grateful soon.” Myrrha smiled and reached out a hand, letting her vines unravel just a bit. Monarda reached out a few vines in return, snaking them into Myrrha’s in a friendly gesture. "Best of luck to you both," Myrrha said, collecting her vines back into her hand. "I can't wait to hear all about what you two get up to together!" 

Monarda waved goodbye and Myrrha turned to leave. With Mestra now taken care of, she turned her attention to her favourite human, her dear Rose, and all of the fun things they would do together the second Myrrha got home.

Notes:

I have cursed myself, giving three major characters names that start with 'M'

Chapter 11: Ms. Lamiaceae

Mestra

Mestra woke up to the feeling of a bed that was, alarmingly, even softer than their hospital bed. They blinked sleep out of their eyes, wondering if they were ever going to stop waking up in unfamiliar places. The room was dim, bathed in golden light from an unseen source. Mestra wiggled their arms free from whatever collection of soft things was holding them down. The air felt cold, cold enough that Mestra almost wanted to retreat right back under the covers, back where everything was soft and warm. But they probably shouldn’t do that, they reasoned. They should probably be concerned that they were waking up in yet another new place. Memories of the previous day sauntered lazily into their head, as a person might walk unhurriedly down an interesting street. The hospital, Myrrha, Avernus, the psychiatrist, Myrrha again, and then. 

Oh, right. Mestra being sent away to their new owner. “Captor,” they quickly corrected themself out loud. “I may be stuck here, but I’m sure as hell not going to like it,” they mumbled under their breath. And that would mean that it probably wasn’t the next day. They’d been sent off some time in the morning, after breakfast. Unless they were asleep for nearly twenty four hours, it must be late afternoon or thereabouts. 

Mestra shuffled around, sitting up to get a better view of the room. This wasn’t their hospital room, that was for sure. The light seemed to be coming from what looked like a window with the blinds closed. Only a tiny bit of light seeped through, but it was enough to give the room a warm glow. It didn’t smell like the hospital either. The hospital didn’t smell , in particular, but this room had a particular scent. Like… those oils people would sometimes wear, Mestra noted. A little bit earthy and flowery, although they had no hope of identifying any plant by name.

“I wish it were brighter in here,” Mestra mumbled. They knew they’d need to get out of bed, wherever this bed may be. But light would really help cut down on the things Mestra didn’t know in the present moment. As if on cue, the lights in the room slowly turned on, bathing the room in even light. It wasn’t full daylight, but it was plenty to see. “What the… fuck…?” Mestra whispered. “Is someone listening to me…?”

Their question remained unanswered, but the thought of unseen onlookers lingered. With the new light, Mestra could learn more about their surroundings. First and foremost, the ungodly soft thing around Mestra was actually two things: a set of fluffy pyjamas and a very plush looking…blanket? “Oversized leaf” would have been Mestra’s first guess, and it was probably a more apt description. Mestra stroked the top of it with their strong hand. It felt soft, so soft it left their hand with a mild tingle after Mestra stopped. Hm. It was obviously some kind of blanket, although its shape was decidedly leaf-like, as was its rich green colour. It seemed to be stuffed with something, too, like a duvet cover but not quite as thick. Odd. Incredibly odd.  

Mestra looked down at both of their arms, which were presently covered in a fluffy white pyjama shirt. It wasn’t anything Mestra owned, and it certainly wasn’t their (admittedly still very comfortable) hospital scrubs. So they must have made it to their captor after all, and this was to be their… holding cell? That all made sense, but a question lingered in Mestra’s mind: why couldn’t they remember the trip from the hospital to here? They remembered being told today was the day, they remembered telling Myrrha that they didn’t want to go, and they remembered.

Getting drugged. That was why. 

Mestra couldn’t make out the fine details of the experience, but they remembered the broad strokes. Everything was bright, and happy. Incredibly detailed and overwhelming but somehow not upsetting or exhausting. And everything felt so incredible. The hair, their clothes, the feeling of soft vine on their skin, they way it felt so good when Myrrha scratched right behind their ear…

For the sake of their dignity Mestra hoped that last one was part of some drugged fever dream.

A knock – so soft it was almost imperceptible – came from the door at the end of the room. Was someone trying to come in? Surely if it was an Affini, they wouldn’t knock. It must be some other noise. Mestra doubted highly that prisoners of the Affini compact had knocking privileges. But, a few seconds later, there it was again. A soft knock on the door. 

“Um, come in?” said Mestra, in more of a questioning tone than a statement.

The door opened slowly and another plant alien walked through. This one was unfamiliar to Mestra. Their body was like a gradient from a green face down to an orange skirt tipped with red flowers. They only had two eyes, and they were bright orange, and matching the many orange flowers growing out of their otherwise green hair. 

“Hello petal! Please, stay where you are, if that’s comfortable for you,” she instructed. She took a few steps over until she was only a stride or two away from Mestra, keeping a respectful distance for the time being.  

“My name is Ms. Lamiaceae, but you can call me Ms. Lami if that’s easier for you. I expect you’ve got many questions for me.”

‘Many questions’ was putting it lightly, but what caught Mestra's attention first was the woman providing a simpler name for them right off the bat. Mestra didn’t need an easier version of her name, that was degrading. They They could pronounce lamiace- lamiacae, la-mee-ahh-chuh-aye-ee-

Okay, fine, Ms. Lami.   

“I’m going to be your warden for the next thirty days while we work on choosing a suitable owner for you,” she said. “I know you must be properly terrified right now, little one,” she added. “From what I’ve read of your file, you’ve had quite the rough experience these last few months. And if I’m understanding correctly, you just had your first encounter with recreational xenodrugs?” The last question was accompanied by a rising, almost melodic tone in Ms. Lami’s voice. The two flower-like antennae on her head sprung out of their semi curled state, as if to match the alien woman’s tone of voice. 

Mestra nodded. “I’ve been high before but… never like that,” they said. Ms. Lami nodded, and the antennae on her head went back to their half-curled position. “Our medicine is much more potent than you’re used to,” she said. “And, while the side effects are minimal, I still want to know how you’ve fared after your first experience.”

Mestra considered what to say. They felt… tired and sluggish. Like they’d just run a marathon, or more accurately, like they’d just done any moderate exercise, because marathons had never been in the question for Mestra. “I feel fine,” they said flatly, hoping that the lack of specifics would shut down further questioning. 

“Any headaches, thirst, muscle pains? Are noises or lights too loud?” It was like Mestra was suddenly back in the hospital, being grilled for side effects like this. It was irritating: why couldn’t this woman just leave them alone to go back to sleep?

“I always have a headache,” Mestra said, “and my muscles always hurt.” Ms. Lami’s antennae curled up just a bit tighter, and her face looked worried. “But that’s all normal,” Mestra said quickly. “I don’t feel any worse than I usually do.”

“Well that’s good to hear,” Ms. Lami said, in a voice that showed how this was clearly not an acceptable standard for living. Too bad, plant lady. This is what you signed up to deal with. ‘Maybe you’ll just have to kill every sad part of me sooner than you thought to spare yourself,’ Mestra thought to themself.  

“Well then, if that’ sorted, It’s going to be dinner time soon dear,” said Ms. Lami. “And I want to know what you want to eat. Don’t worry,” she added, “I’ll give you plenty of time to ask questions over our meal.” The number of questions was making Mestra’s already tired brain hurt. Couldn’t this wait?

“I don’t want anything,” they snapped. “Just leave me alone.”

‘And my head hurts and I’m scared, stop asking me questions,’ their inner monologue added. 

“Petal, you need to eat something, even if it’s only a little bit,” Mestra’s captor said gently. Despite her kind tone, Mestra could tell she was about to push back. 

“Mmnot hungry,” Mestra mumbled. “And I don’t want you drugging me again,” they added internally. The drugs Myrrha had given them at the hospital were powerful enough to do this to them. They didn’t want to repeat the experience of being that out of control if they had any say in it. Come to think of it, Myrrha’s toast at the hospital wasn’t drugged, but Mestra had no idea what the Affini would do to their food behind closed doors. Maybe hospital policy prohibited sneakily drugging captured humans until they were with their temporary owners. With how fucked up everything about this situation was, Mestra would hardly have doubted it. 

 At the worst possible moment, their stomach rumbled audibly, reminding Mestra that it had been quite some time since they’d last eaten. ‘Damn body,’ Mestra thought to thsemself. Hopefully the plant didn’t hear it. 

“I’m afraid this is non-negotiable petal,” said the plant. “If you tell me what you like, I can have it compiled right away. Or I can cook something for you, if choosing is too hard. But you’re going to eat either way.”

Mestra grumbled. As much as they didn’t want to admit it, they were hungry. The hospital must have been giving them IV nutrition in their sleep or something, but now, detached from that, their body craved food. “Fine,” they grumbled. “Can I just have plain rice and like, some salt?” Rice and salt was a plain meal by Mestra’s standards, but serviceable. In times where they couldn’t think to make anything else – and this very much qualified as one of those times – that was one of their safe foods to fall back on. Food was such a chore for Mestra for so many reasons, but rice was easy, and salt tasted good. 

“Hmm, no. No you may not,” said Ms. Lami. “But you can have your rice with something more substantial. Lots of sophonts like fried rice dishes, with rice and vegetables and beans for example. Would you like that?” 

Mestra groaned, wishing they could just go back to the hospital at this point. “Don’t bother trying to make me food,” they snarked, “I probably won’t be able to eat it. Plain rice is easier for my fucked up body.” 

The Affini’s antennae curled again, first at the same time, then unwinding and curling up one after the other. “Petal,” she said softly after a moment. Her antennae calmed down, going back to their semi-relaxed state. “The hospital told me all about your allergies. They even made me a list of-”

“The hospital got it wrong,” Mestra interrupted. “There’s no way they got everything on there. Plus it’s not only allergies, there’s a whole range of intolerances I have because my body is fucked up, and useless.” Mestra stared at their captor, expecting her to say something. This was usually the part where people gave Mestra a pitying look and gave some half assessed apology, or maybe an inane anecdote about their cousin who was intolerant to gluten, as if that was even remotely comparable to what Mestra had to deal with. 

The Affini woman didn’t say anything for a moment. Her antennae were still this time, though. She reached down to her hip and worked her hands under her skirt. After a few seconds, she pulled out a large glass object that looked something like the touchscreen computers Mestra was familiar with. Did she have…pockets under there? 

Noticing the curious looks the human was giving her, Monarda switched her tablet on and handed it to Mestra. “It’s a tablet, dear,” she said. “For communication, notes, research. Pretty much anything you want.”

Mestra took the tablet gingerly from the woman’s hand. It took two of their hands to hold it properly because it was so big. The letters on the screen weren’t familiar to Mestra. This must be the Affini language, they guessed. 

“I know what a tablet is,” Mestra said, “but why are you showing it to me?”

“Ah,” said Monarda. “If you’ll just let me…” she reached her hand out for the tablet back, which Mestra handed over. They noted how easily the large alien held it, compared to how cumbersome it felt in their hands. “Let me just…” Monarda said, tapping a few buttons. “Ah, there.” She handed the tablet back to Mestra, who took it with slightly more confidence this time. 

“This is the list of foods that cause adverse reactions in your system, according to the hospital,” Monarda said. Mestra looked down at the list, which was now written in familiar letters. It was a chart, Mestra realised. Split into a few columns. One was food, another seemed to be a quantity of the food, and a third seemed to have… a description of the effects on Mestra. A fourth column was full of scientific words Mestra didn’t quite understand, but they recognized words like “eosinophils” and “intestinal epithelial cells” from years of doing their own research on their conditions. It was a more nuanced description of what was happening in their body, they realised. A breakdown of exactly what reaction would occur if Mestra ate the specified quantity of food. 

“That’s all the data I was given from the hospital, petal,” said Monarda. She watched the human’s eyes scan over the lines of text, muttering to themself under their breath. Aww, how cute, she thought to herself. “If there’s anything missing or incorrect, I’ll happily show you how to update it,” she added. She waited a few seconds for Mestra to process all of this. When they finally looked up, she continued:
“Now, lots of these things are easily fixed by an Affini veterinarian – what you would have called a “doctor” – and I’ve got an appointment booked soon for you. In the meantime though, would you be comfortable if I made you some dinner, knowing that I have a list of what to avoid?” 

Mestra nodded slowly, still clutching the tablet. “Alright petal,” Monarda said. “I’m going to need my tablet back though, alright?” Mestra handed the device back, remarking again how easily the woman held it in her massive hands. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me, and I’ll call when dinner is ready. Until then, you’re free to stay here in your room, or explore the house.”  Monarda turned around and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her with a trailing vine. 

Mestra sat in shock for what must have been a full minute. They could have sworn they didn’t even breathe. 

What…

Just…

Happened…?

The plant lady la-mee-uh-ch-whatever had a list, a comprehensive list, of Mestra foods to avoid. And it was catalogued, by quantity, and more specific than even Mestra themself would have made it. The lights had seemed to listen when Mestra asked for them to be more bright, and they were laying under a giant plush leaf. 

Mestra scrambled out from the bed, landing on the floor a little harder than they’d meant to. First thing’s first, they decided, figure out what the hell is up with the lights in the room. That was the easiest to knock out. 

“Um…” they said out loud. The lights had responded to their voice the last time, so maybe it was some sort of AI system. “Is anyone there?” they said. They were acutely aware that their captor might be able to hear them. Hell, it could have been her that turned on the lights. Mestra waited for a few seconds. Nothing happened. 

“Is somebody listening to me?” they asked. It felt silly to talk to the room like this. Obviously there was no one there. Maybe the lights had been activated by motion? Or just the noise in general? That actually made way more sense than some voice activated AI. This was a prison after all, if a very weird one. “So I guess no one is listening to me,” Mestra said, “and the lights turning on was just a motion sensor or something.” Again, no response. Well that seemed to clear that up. The lights must be motion activated. 

Mestra turned their attention to the issue of dinner. Despite their mind’s protest, their body was hungry. And apparently, food would be ready soon. But food would probably mean leaving this room, which Mestra was reluctant to do, especially dressed like this. On the other hand, what choice did they have? This woman was keeping them in ‘wardship’ until a ‘suitable owner’ could be found. The way the psychiatrist had put it, Mestra had the opportunity to choose that ‘suitable owner’. But the psychiatrist also made it clear that that privilege could go away. 

It must be some sort of sick game to them, Mestra thought, to let Mestra choose their own demise. Ownership was losing, no matter who the owner was. And of course, this was all hinging on Mestra’s ‘good behaviour.’

So they were going to need to cooperate, they reasoned. Maybe, just maybe, there was an Affini out there who could make the domestication process tolerable. It was the process, Mestra realised, that they were afraid of. Not the result. Because they knew enough about the process to understand that once it was complete, they’d probably never have the brain power to be anything but a complacent pet. 

Mestra was brought out of their thinking by the sound of a soft mechanical chime. It was unobtrusive enough that it didn’t startle Mestra, but the reminder that they were in a foreign place was enough to put them on edge. A few seconds later, the chime sounded again. Mestra looked up at the ceiling to find the speaker. After three more chimes played, they still couldn’t find it. “This might be a warning,” they realised. An alarm bell to get Mestra moving, doing something. “Or it could be a countdown,” Mestra realised. Maybe the chimes were getting louder or more frequent, and when enough time had elapsed, Mestra would be in trouble-

Mestra heard another knock at the door. “Dinner’s ready!”

The chimes promptly stopped and Mestra realised their function. Remembering that they needed to pretend to ‘behave’, Mestra walked carefully to the door and opened it. Ms. Lami was standing there with her tablet in hand. “There you are, darling,” she said. “It’s dinner time.”

The smell of something cooking wafted into the room, mixing with its strange floral scent. “O-ok” Mestra stumbled. It looked like they were out of time to be alone, at least for now. Ms. Lami motioned for Mestra to follow her, and started walking out of the bedroom.

The rest of the…prison cell? House…? The rest of the Place was adorned with homely decorations and dark wooden floors. The rooms were evenly lit with warmish light that was neither too bright nor too dark. The walls were painted an uninteresting light brown colour, which might have looked ugly if not for the many paintings and photographs breaking up the monotony. Mestra followed their captor at what they deemed a safe distance as she walked past what looked like a massive living room. Mestra spotted a very ugly, very big couch along with some equally huge armchairs. Ms. Lami walked through a doorway that was so big she didn’t even have to duck, and then they were in the kitchen. There was a big round table off to one side, with two huge chairs to match. 

“Please, have a seat,” said Affini. She walked over to what looked like an extremely fancy oven and pulled something out. “I’ll have food for you in just a second.”

Mestra looked up at the large table and chair. There wasn’t an obvious way to climb into it, other than to just… climb. Tentatively, Mestra put their foot on the chair’s lowest support and hoisted themself up. They felt a sudden rush to their head from the exertion, and they paused for a second to make their vision stop spinning. They pulled themself up the rest of the way, landing their ass squarely in the middle of the huge chair. They reached their arms to rest them on the table. It was higher than any table Mestra had ever seen, and their hands were barely lower than the middle of Mestra’s rib cage. If this was some sort of intimidation tactic, Mestra thought, it was working. The thought that Mestra was a lesser being in this society was on full display heere: this was Affini furniture, for Affini, and not for lowly humans.

Mestra sat awkwardly at the large table, fidgeting in their seat to try to make it feel less embarrassing. They still had a seat at the table, they thought, and that was worth something. They looked around the open-plan house, back at the living room with the ugly couch, towards what looked like a small library, and then back at the door where they’d come from. Everything in the house was Affini-sized, they remarked. The ceiling height was tall enough for any Affini, the couch was big enough for one to lay on, and even the books looked big, although they were far enough away that Mestra didn’t really trust their eyesight. 

“So I know how new and scary this is for you, petal,” said the plant woman from the kitchen. She walked over to the table with a plate of steaming hot food. “And I understand if you want to eat quickly and then go back to your room. But you’re also free to ask me any question you have on your mind, if you want that.” She set the plate of food in front of Mestra. “Cutlery is coming,” she added, turning back around to the kitchen and rummaging in a drawer. 

Mestra looked at the plate of food in front of them: rice, baked carrots, and a small portion of fish, along with a large glass of water. This new Affini and Myrrha had that in common, Mestra remarked. They both gave Mestra the biggest glasses of water they’d ever seen. Mestra looked at the meal, which was fresh and steaming. 

“Here we are,” the Affini said, setting down a fork and knife for Mestra. The utensils were, as expected, slightly too large to be comfortable for Mestra. That had to be an intimidation tactic, Mestra thought. They took the fork they were provided with and prodded the fish. It looked very tasty, they remarked. It was seasoned with something Mestra didn’t recognize, but it smelled like lemon and some herbs. Considering Mestra usually subsisted off of canned, frozen, or dry foods exclusively, this was a luxurious meal. Still, something was off about it. 

“It’s safe to eat, dear. I made sure of that,” Monarda provided. “I promise I haven’t put anything sinister in there,” she added. 

Mestra considered that. On one hand, her word was worth next to nothing to Mestra. She could be lying, the food could be drugged, and Mestra would be absolutely powerless to stop her. On the other hand, they were hungry. Weighing the risk, they decided that it was probably safe to eat the food. Worst-case scenario, they thought grimly, they’d end up a lobotomized lap pet a day earlier. 

The Affini woman took the seat opposite to Mestra, placing down some kind of bowl in front of her. “So petal,” she said. “Questions?”

The terms of endearment were really starting to get on Mestra’s nerves. Or maybe it was the hunger. Or both. They took a forkful of rice and blew on it, holding it on their fork until they were certain it was cool enough to eat. 

“I have about a thousand questions,” Mestra said, “but I doubt you’ll like any of them.” They took a bite of their rice. It was fluffy and adequately salty, and admittedly exactly what Mestra wanted right now.

“You’re always free to ask anything on your mind, dear,” the Affini warden replied. Mestra quickly swallowed their rice and collected another bite. 

“Okay, then, stop calling me ‘dear’, and ‘petal’ and whatever,” Mestra said. “I know that’s not a question,” they added quietly. They forked another bite of rice into their mouth. 

“If that will make you more comfortable, I’ll stop,” the Affini said. “Shall I just use your name, then?” Mestra nodded. Their name was the one thing about them they could say brought them genuine pride. It was a good name, well chosen. 

Mestra prodded at the fish on their plate. It fell apart with the lightest of touches, and it looked surprisingly appetising. Mestra ate a lot of fish, but it was always frozen and chopped or canned. Fresh stuff was way, way too expensive. Fish in general was expensive, but it was one of the few reliable sources of protein Mestra’s body didn’t protest. 

“So who are you, what’s your…deal?” Mestra asked. They circled their fork over the fish and took a portion. “Why do you want to watch over doomed humans like me?” They deposited the fish in their mouth and looked up for a response. 

“Well, like I told you earlier, my name is Monarda Lamiaceae. You may call me Ms. Lamiaceae, or Ms. Lami if that’s easier for you,” said the Affini. “Actually I’ll be calling you Monarda,” Mestra said in their own head. “I’m a warden for… Terrans like you who haven’t found their ‘forever owner’ yet.” Mestra could hear the marked pause in Monarda’s words as she avoided using terms of endearment. 

“Why?” Mestra questioned. 

“It’s fulfilling,” Monarda replied. 

“It’s fulfilling to guard captured humans in their last days of life?” Mestra said, their tone betraying exactly how awful they thought that was. 

Monarda seemed to carefully consider this. Like before, the antennae on top of her head curled in and expanded one at time, alternating back and forth until Monarda had an answer. 

“It probably won’t satisfy you to hear me say that’s not how I see it,” she said. Mestra, with another bite of food in their mouth, gave a “no shit” in agreement. 

“There are lots of things I want to tell you about Affini philosophy, and why we do what we do,” Monarda said. “But I don’t think tonight is the right time for them. You’re tired. You should get some rest, and tomorrow, I can go over it in detail.”

That felt like a cop-out answer, but Mestra accepted it. They didn’t ask questions for several minutes as they ate the rest of the meal. The food was already making them start to feel better, but they weren’t about to let their guard down. Finally, after a long sip of water, they asked another question:

“So what happens now?”

Monarda didn’t need to pause and think about this one. “For now, I will help ease you into your new life,” she said. “I’ll prepare meals for you, and help you with anything you ask for. I’ll take care of your health needs too, which includes that vet visit I was talking about.”

Mestra hated that Affini called it a “vet”. It was just one more way their systemic influence over everything in Mestra’s life was inescapable, and embarrassing. 

“But other than that, you’re more or less free to choose your own path,” Monarda continued. “I won’t push you unless your health or safety is at risk. You’re obviously free to roam the house as you see fit, and when you’re ready, you’ll be allowed outside with only a few safety precautions.” 

Mestra took all this information in. Either it was a lie, which was probable, or Mestra had lucked out with the most lenient prison guard of all time. They decided to test Monarda’s claim.

“If I”m free to go anywhere,” they said, “I’m going to bed.” They swung their feet over the edge of the chair and jumped to the ground. The impact of landing hurt their weak knees, but they tried not to let the plant know that. Mestra started walking to their bedroom door, trying their best not to limp despite the rather acute pain in their legs from jumping. “God fucking dammit,” they muttered, “can’t my body ever work properly?”

“Okay Mestra,” Monarda said. Mestra heard the swift movement of vines behind them and nearly froze on the spot. Was she about to reach for them? Maybe she was lying, and she was going to grab Mestra and drag them back to the table, or torture them for disobedience, or…

Several long seconds passed and Mestra was still free. They stole a glance back towards the kitchen, where they saw their captor neatly putting away plates and cleaning up after dinner. They breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to their door. 

“Oh, and Mestra?” Monarda called. Mestra froze on the spot again. Fuck. They’d almost let themself believe they were free. Versions of what the plant could say next swam in Mestra head, and none of them were pleasant. 

“If you need to turn the lights off, just ask the room,” Monarda said. “It’s not a full artificial intelligence system, as in, it won’t reply to you, but it will turn the lights off if you ask.”

“Hold on,” Mestra said out loud. “So it was voice activated?”

Monarda giggled, a sound that reminded Mestra of one of their old tablet ringtones. It was of birds singing, the description had said. Mestra had never lived anywhere where there were enough birds to hear them singing over the constant drone of the city, but it was very nice to listen to, even if it was only through speakers. 

“Yes Mestra,” Monarda said. “If there’s something you want the house to do, like turn on the lights or show you the closet, you can just ask it. It will probably know how to help you.” Mestra considered this. So apparently it wasn’t AI, or at least not advanced enough for this plant to consider it AI. They wondered if it would…

“House, can you turn off the lights in this room?” Mestra said. The lights in the living room and kitchen faded smoothly into darkness. “Huh…” Mestra said.

The sound of birds singing filled the dark space, and suddenly Mestra realised they couldn’t see their captor anymore. That was probably a bad idea…

“Uh…lights on..” they said. As smoothly as they’d gone out, the light returned. 

“Impressed?” Monrada asked, still filling the room with her melodious laughter. 

Mestra mumbled something. They didn’t want to reveal to the plant how impressed they were. Not when they were still effectively a prisoner, no matter how fancy the cell. 

“Well then, if you have any more questions, I’ll be awake for a few more hours. And you’re always free to come and wake up for questions too,” she added. “Ask the house if you need help finding my room~”.

Mestra shuffled quickly into their room after that, not looking back at the giant space plant – that was holding them hostage – standing in the kitchen. 

Notes:

Woof! That was a long one! Drop a comment if you want to, I love reading what you have to say! Or, drop a comment with your favourite cold beverage and I will rate your opinion!!!

Chapter 12: Diary

Mestra

After the ordeal that was Dinner, Mestra was surprised to see they were left alone for the rest of the evening. Monarda had said that Mestra could roam the house freely, but Mestra still assumed there would be some interruption to spoil their time alone. Wasn’t it dangerous to leave prisoners alone for long periods of time, or something? 

Mestra sat on the giant bed, putting together the pieces of memories floating in their head. Myrrha told them about leaving the hospital in the late morning, that much they remembered. They must have arrived here around lunch, and apparently… slept the whole time, recovering from the drugs? Then they’d eaten ‘Dinner’, so it was presumably some time in the evening of the same day. Mestra’s internal clock was going haywire from all the schedule changes. Of course, they were no stranger to weird schedules and lack of sleep, but it was usually on their own terms. 

Their reaction to the Affini drugs was weighing on them. Terrifying them, actually. Whenever they’d been high before – and they’d been on some very heavy drugs before– they'd always maintained some amount of lucidity. It was something of a curse, really. No matter how high they were, their anxious thoughts seemed to find a way to come to the surface and keep Mestra from feeling truly relaxed. Even if Mestra was so high they could barely move, or they were so dizzy they'd rather not move, they tended to be mostly aware and remember what happened during the trip. 

The Affini drugs were not like that. Not at all. Mestra could very faintly recall being picked up by Myrrha, being scratched behind the ears, and being… overwhelmed. But that was it. Only fuzzy images that Mestra wasn’t even sure weren’t part of a dream. Things they hoped were a dream, actually. One thing Mestra remembered for sure was how incredibly sensitive to touch they were, and how the sensations were so extremely Mestra couldn’t help but whimper and-

Okay, so no more Affini drugs, at least not without copious research beforehand. For the sake of their pride, if nothing else.

Mestra holed themself up in their bedroom (“prison cell”, they reminded themself), examining the large bookshelf tucked into one corner. The room was almost obnoxiously spacious – it was bigger by far than Mestra’s bedroom, and it was nearly half the size of their entire apartment. 

What would become of that apartment, now, Mestra realised. Mestra didn’t have many belongings to which they were attached, but they would have liked their tech back. They worked hard for it, damn it. And these plants had no right to Mestra's belongings, not that they thought the Affini cared.

In the middle of this room was the massive bed, headboard against the wall. On one side, there was a door to a small bathroom, and on the other, the bookshelf tucked into the corner with and a pile of plush toys stacked in front of that. A mountain of plush toys, actually. There were so many brightly coloured animals and shapes and foods with little eyes that Mestra didn’t even bother to try to count them all. The bookshelf first, Mestra reasoned. Books first, and then maybe they could try to figure out what the deal with the giant stuffed eel wearing a christmas sweater was.

Mestra ran their finger across the spines of the  of the books. They had never seen so many all together in a collection like this. They knew such collections existed, in the private libraries of the world’s elite, but they’d never seen one, let alone be allowed to touch it. Each of the spines had a different texture: some were rough like canvas, others were bound in smooth leather. How many resources in excess must these plants have, Mestra thought for maybe the hundredth time, to be providing all of this to a prisoner? 

As they ran their finger across the shelf, one book was stuck slightly out of place. Not enough to see, and the book was hiding in the corner, so it didn’t disrupt the otherwise pristine appearance of the shelf. Mestra quickly pushed it back into place. There, that was better. 

…Actually 

Mestra reached over the top of the book and tilted it back. Gently removing it from its spot on the shelf, they examined the cover: 101 Botanical Love Languages: a Floret Romance Novel. Below the title was a smaller line of text: Book 39: Tangled in Her Vines. Mestra groaned. Even in space, they could spot sappy romance novels when they saw them. The stack of books to the left of where the book had been taken leaned awkwardly to fill its place. Mestra hastily tried to realign everything, cursing under their breath. They set the books back upright, only for them to fall frustratingly back down. Ugh. Whatever. 

The cover of Tangled in Her Vines was an oil paint illustration of an Affini holding a human’s hand, sitting on top of a hill at sunset. “Blegh,” Mestra thought. Not only was it a sappy romance, but it was a sappy romance written as a propaganda piece. 101 Botanical Love Languages sounded like an absolute waste of Mestra’s time. But it was still novel to be holding a hardcover, paper-printed book in real life. 

They’d held a handful of books in their lifetime, mostly during their schooling years, but none were as… frivolous as this. Or as well-kept, Mestra noted. This book looked almost new, which they supposed would make sense if it was meant to be propaganda. Idly thumbing through the book, Mestra flipped the book open to the synopsis. They actually went too far the first time, expecting to see the customary twenty-fives pages of copyright notices at the front of the book. This had none of that. The first few pages were a note from the author, and a page dedicated to chronicling all the different editions and versions of this book. “Strange,” Mestra thought. They flipped back several pages to what was actually the synopsis. It was about a human man who was the ruler of a small farming town. ‘But when the Affini arrived’, it said, ‘everything changed.’

Mestra scoffed. Yeah. You could say that again.

‘Now our hero has to contend with the new players in the galaxy, all while trying to work under the nose of the mysterious Ms. Pine, the Affini assigned to monitor him.’

“Art imitating life,” Mestra thought to themself. Below the synopsis was a note that read “Please see next page for notes for florets.”

Mestra turned the page, and sure enough there was a list with the heading “Notes for Florets.”

“Notes for Florets:

Don’t worry petal, this story has a happy ending! Even if it seems scary at first, the Affini will always be there to save the day, in literature and in life!”

Below that was a list of what looked to be story events. ‘Angst’ and ‘Pining’ were listed as single word entries in the list, but there were also longer ones like ‘Humans with sad backstories’ and ‘Humans learning to like hypnosis’.

The assertion that “the Affini will always be there” lingered in Mestra’s mind. It was… uncomfortable to think how totally and completely they’d taken over. To the point where, as far as Mestra could tell, the note at the beginning was meant to reassure humans that the Affini would always be in charge. So they’d never have to be independent again, or think, or make choices-

Mestra cut off that line of thinking before they started to spiral. Whatever, it was another propaganda piece. Mestra was about to put the book back and give up entirely when they noticed a handwritten note at the bottom of the page. It was written in loopy cursive, which was actually pretty hard for Mestra to read. “Chec-k, Check Chapr-Chapter! Check Chapter One.” The note was written in a dark ink, so dark that it bled through the page onto the other side. Whoever added this note was a former reader, it seemed. Flipping to the book’s first chapter, Mestra saw… nothing. Huh. Was this some kind of weird trick? Or was Mestra missing something?

They awkwardly thumbed through the chapter, trying their best not to read the sickly sweet words of fake romance that the pages held. At the very end of the chapter, where the text cut off and would have left blank space, was another note! 

This was getting exciting now. 

The note was… hmmm. The note wasn’t in the same handwriting at all. This was blocky and misaligned. Quite like Mestra’s own handwriting, actually, which was never any good owing to their chronically bad wrists. It was in all capital letters, and seemed to be a note. The ink was a little smudged, but Mestra could make out most of it:

“THIS IS SGT. [[[[[[[[]]]]]]]]]] OF THE CNS CHALLENGER.

I’VE BEEN COMPROMISED BY ENEMY FORCES.

I DON’T ANTICIPATE ESCAPE.

I’M LEAVING THIS JOURNAL IN THE HOPE THAT IT CAN BE RECOVERED AS VALUABLE INTEL. IT IS HIDDEN IN ENEMY PROPAGANDA TO AVOID DETECTION.

IF ANY LOYAL TO TERRA ARE READING THIS, IT IS IMPERATIVE THAT THIS ASSET BE TURNED OVER TO THE TERRAN COSMIC NAVY AT ONCE.

THE SPIRIT OF FREE TERRA WILL NEVER BE BROKEN! 

          SGT. [[[[[[[[]]]]]]]]]], CNS CHALLENGER, RG. 50128492”

 

The names were clearly blacked out after the fact by a thick marker. Who would have done that? Mestra read and reread over the message several times. The best they could come up with was that this Affini must have taken other humans as wards (“hostages,” Mestra’s brain helpfully corrected), including some Navy officer. 

Mestra had no love for the Terran military. Actually, when they first heard that they were losing the fight to an unknown alien race, Mestra felt a vindictive sort of happiness. It served them right for what they did to the Rinans. But if an officer was here, in this room, and wrote in this book, what did that mean? What sort of “intel” had they gathered? Mestra doubted it was anything that would be very helpful, but the allure of something secret was just as strong as the promise of escape. They quickly flipped through the rest of the pages. At the end of every chapter, and sometimes in the margins, were similar-looking notes. 101 Botanical Love Languages: Tangled in Her Vines was a shockingly long book, Mestra remarked. They flipped to the entry directly after the first one they’d read, located at the end of chapter two. It was written in mixed case this time, and looked decidedly less hurried than the first note:

“It’s been three days since I wrote my first message. The weeds haven’t broken me yet, but I also haven't gained any new intel. 

The prisoner-keeper – she keeps telling me to call her my ‘warden’ – is keeping me inside for now under the guise of ‘recovering’. Of course, I know the truth. She just doesn’t want me to leave this prison cell. 

I’ve noted the day and approximate time at the end of the message. My next step will be to acquire tactical information on the weed holding me hostage.

The Spirit of Free Terra will Never be Broken!!!!

          SGT. [[[[[[[[]]]]]]]]]], CNS Challenger, RG. 50128492”

 

Below the blocked out name was a date, written in the official and proper Terran date format. Doing some quick checks into civilian time, Mestra figured the entry was about two years ago. Dated two years ago, signed by a captured Terran military officer, talking about “the warden”. Could this really be a previous prisoner? One who’d left secret notes in one of the books for others to find?

 Mestra looked over to the small desk in the room. They walked over, opening the drawer. Sure enough pens and markers, along with several different colours of paper. So it could have been a previous prisoner, at least assuming the room hadn't changed in two years.

Mestra yawned. This information was interesting, but Mestra had noticed a decline in the speed of their reading since the second entry. They were getting overtired, they realised. It made sense, the drugs must have taken a toll on their body. As tempting as it was to read through the rest of the entries, Mestra’s body was screaming for rest. 

“Fine,” they mumbled to no one in particular. “I’ll do this tomorrow.” As much as they wanted to keep reading, they knew better than to try to fight being overtired. Mestra closed the book and turned back to the large bed. One one side was an end table with two drawers. Mestra opened the top drawer and found it empty. “That will do,” they muttered. Mestra put the book full of secrets into the drawer, then closed it. “Hm,” they said, thinking through the scenario a bit. “Actually…” Mestra opened the drawer back up and grabbed a second book from the shelf. Placing it on top, they were satisfied that the warden wouldn’t find anything suspicious. Mestra untucked the first layer of sheets, which was the giant plush leaf.

“So weird…” they mumbled as they climbed into the bed. They tucked themself under the giant leaf, finding it very warm and also heavy enough to press Mestra gently into the soft mattress. They rolled over onto their back, waiting for sleep to take them into another terrifying day.

Notes:

If you liked this chapter, why not leave me a comment with... hmm...
Leave me a comment with your favourite style of shirt (t shirt, long sleeve, dress, turtleneck, shirtless, etc) and I'll give you my opinion on it!

Oh, and thanks for reading!!!

Chapter 13: Night Terror

Notes:

Hey Everyone! This chapter features a horny horror dream sequence with lots of gore, body horror, and heavy medical and drugging themes

Like the last heavy chapter I wrote, this one is 100% skippable . Stay tuned for the next chapter if you want to skip this one.

Mestra

It took a long time for Mestra to fall asleep that night.

For Mestra, sleep never came easy. They’d often drift in and out of consciousness, seeing and hearing things they were never sure were real. 

Tonight was one of those nights.

Mestra was laying on the unfamiliar bed, feeling the unfamiliar sheets press down on their unfamiliar clothes. 

They stared up at the ceiling.

They could have sworn the small trickle of light that made its way through the windows was dancing, making shapes and faces in front of Mestra’s eyes.

The shapes moved and danced, becoming more vivid and three dimensional with every passing minute. Mestra’s eyes followed them lazily back and forth across the ceiling, idly admiring how they seemed to reach right out towards them.

They weren’t entirely sure if they were dreaming or if they were awake, but they were enjoying the experience, so it didn’t much matter. Happiness was in short supply.

A small pinpoint of shadow made itself known in the complex shapes Mestra was admiring. It grew bigger suddenly, as if all of the glowing shapes on the ceiling were recoiling from it. Soon, it dominated Mestra’s vision.

Annoyed, they look down to the source of the shadow. They must be awake now, since they could feel themself moving their head. Then again, they’d dreamt before of waking up, only to find that they were still surrounded by dreams.

At the foot of the bed, Mestra saw a man. He stood there, staring. His shadows seemed to suck all the light out of the room, making him like a spotlight for darkness. 

A bolt of panic crossed Mestra’s chest. This man shouldn’t be here. He didn’t belong. Mestra tried to sit up, but found themself glued to the bed. Trapped.

It was all a trick, they realised. The lights. A diversion. So the Affini could swoop in and-

The man standing there cleared his throat.

Mestra craned their neck forward, willing themself to sit up. Their body, frozen in fear, wouldn’t respond. It was like their bones were made of solid aerosteel and their joints were plasma welded together. Nothing would move.

“Hello Mestra,” the Man said. Mestra stared at the man. He looked human, but the proportions were all wrong. His legs were too long, his neck too slender, and his nose and brows seemed not to exist at all. He wore a tight suit jacket, perfectly fitted, with a tie that would be best called ‘blood red’. Mestra looked to the end of his sleeves where the man’s arms should be, but found two writhing bundles of vines instead. Thin, twisted looking things that were twisted together in a frayed bunch. And his face.

The man, he-

 

He had too, too many eyes. 

The man raised his arm and the bundle of limbs at the end of it, He coiled each thin vine around itself, until there was only one sticking further than the rest. 

It was a thorn, so sharp and polished that Mestra could see their own terrified face in the reflection. 

“This won’t hurt a bit,” he said. Mestra’s veins filled with ice. 

The man took slow, lumbering steps towards Mestra.

Mestra could feel their heart beating out of their chest. Using the strength of their whole body, they heaved to the side. Finally, they were able to move. They collected themself and trashed again, all the while watching as the Man was getting closer. 

“Now now, we can’t be having that,” the man chided. He reached towards the bed, and Mestra kept trashing. 

In an instant, growths of plantlife shot over Mestra’s body. Bands of vines covered their legs, their torso, their wrists, shoulders, and finally over their forehead. Mestra tried to fight against the tension of the restraints, but they wouldn’t budge. They threw themselves as hard as they could to one side, and then the other, and still the restraints kept them firmly in place. 

“Little Mestra-flower,” said the man, who was now standing next to Mestra’s head. “It’s going to be much easier for both of us if you don’t move a muscle for this next part, hm?”

“What- What the-” 

Mestra’s voice was shaking violently, along with their hands. They wanted to cry out for help, for someone to come save them.

But no one would come.

A lump welled in Mestra’s throat. No one would come. They were alone, and they were going to be alone for the very short rest of their life. The thought made Mestra want to sob.

“Now, there there,” the Man said in a tone that made a mockery of someone who cared. “This won’t hurt a bit…”

He walked behind Mestra, far enough that they couldn’t turn their eyes to see him.

Mestra felt the cold point of a blade press against their head.

They screamed. 

The point of the knife turned searing hot, tracing a line from the top of Mestra’s forehead down to the back of their neck. 

Suddenly, Mestra’s perspective shifted. They could still feel their body restrained down to the bed, but they were now looking at their own head from above.

 

It was cut open.

 

The hair and skin were pulled away, and the skull was cut away in a clean circle.

Instead of a brain, Mestra saw their own head, filled with roots and tangled shrubs. Dead branches and dried weeds. Dirt. Decay. 

“The results of everything you’ve lived through,” the man supplied. “But don’t worry. We’re going to make it all better.”

The man brought the knife down on Mestra, reaching into the tangled garden of their head. He expertly sliced away one of the roots, using his other hand to pull it out.

“See?” he said. “Wasn’t that easy?”
Mestra watched in horror as the man brought the knife back down. 

 

Slice.

 

Pull.

 

Slice.

 

Pull.

 

Clearing away the shrubs, slicing it with an ease Mestra thought impossible. Carving away all of the errants parts and pulling them away. Once by one the yellowed leaves were pulled out. 

 

Slice.

 

Pull.

 

Slice.

 

Pull.

 

And soon there was nothing left. The roots and dirt that formed Mestra’s brain were gone, leaving only a small healthy plant with rounded triangular leaves in its wake.

That was all that was left.

“Isn’t that better?” said the man

Mestra stared down into their own head, which was empty now. Everything was gone. They were gone.

“There” said the man.

“All done.”

He reached into his pocket and grabbed a clear plastic mask. One Mestra had seen many times, held by mean uncaring people doing mean and uncaring things. 

“Shhh,” he said, mocking Mestra’s discomfort. “Just take a deep breath in, and this will all be over. You’ll be happy. Forever.”

He reached the mask closer to Mestra’s face. 

No! Mestra tried to fight the restraints holding them to the bed. They trashed back and forth, desperately fighting for a chance to get free. But it was too late. The man put the mask on Mestra’s face, pushing down to form a tight seal. 

“Shhh,” he said again. “Just breathe, and this will all be over.”

Mestra felt themself take an involuntary breath. And then another. Their body was breathing in slowly and deeply, despite their protests. Mestra didn’t have the ability to fight anymore. It was taken away from them. 

The air tasted like fallen leaves, a smell Mestra remarked they’d never actually experienced, but their brain knew anyway. 

Their body felt so heavy.

 

So heavy…

so. heavy.

 

“Mestra…”

 

Someone was calling. From above.

“Mestra dear…” 

A woman’s voice.

 

“Mestra, it’s just a nightmare darling. You’re okay petal…”

Mestra’s eyes slowly opened, but everything was blurry. 

“Shh…” 

“It’s okay…”

“You’re safe now…”

 

Mestra felt the fog of their brain condense into something more solid. Flashes of emotions ignited like sparks in their brain. 

 

Fear. 

 

                    Anxiety.

 

                                           Confusion.

 

                                                                           Terror. 

Their vision started to clear. They saw the ceiling, now brightly lit, and something green and orange.

“It’s okay Mestra, you’re safe now,” the voice said. 

The images from Mestra’s dream started to fade. The darkness into light, the retrains back into the bedding. And finally the man, grinning wickedly as he vanished.

But not the mask.

Mestra screamed, feeling the warm plastic vibrate against their skin.

“Get off!” they shouted, willing their arms to come and defend their face. By some miracle, they worked. Mestra clawed desperately at the mask covering their mouth and nose.

“Shhhhhhhh” the woman whispered. “It’s okay Mestra. You had a nightmare, but it’s over now. The mask is to help you calm down, and relax. The air is laced with an anxiolytic, that means, something to help quell the fear. Something to help you be calm”

Be calm?

Mestra felt anything but calm right now. 

“Mmmnno!” they protested. “Get it off! ” The plastic mask muffled their voice, and despite Mestra’s efforts, stayed sealed to their face. 

“Shhhh….” said the woman again. “Just breathe for me little one, and it will feel better. Just breathe, Mestra.”

The air in the mask tasted different than in Mestra’s dream. Not at all like leaves anymore. This was much sweeter and more floral. While Mestra desperately wanted not to listen to this woman, their racing heart needed oxygen to supply to their body. They needed to breathe…

“That’s it,” the voice coaxed. “Just like that darling, you’re doing great… Shhhhhhh….” 

The Affini woman kept whispering soothing words to Mestra while they finally started to take deeper breaths. The air tasted much sweeter now, like a fresh apple or maybe a berry. Mestra could feel as the slightly heavier than air gas made its way into their lungs, leaving behind a distinct feeling of warmth. Their eyes focussed more, and they recognized the room where they’d fallen asleep.

Their prison cell. 

The woman holding the mask was Ms. Lami, and her expression betrayed a deep concern.

After what felt like ten minutes, but could have in reality been only five, Monarda slowly lifted the mask away from Mestra’s face. The skin around their mouth was wet from condensation, making the normal air felt cold against Mestra’s face.

“There we go, that should be better,” Monarda said reassuringly. “When you’re ready Mestra, I want you to sit up and have some water. The drugs I gave you should keep working for the next hour or so, and I can give you more if you need them.”

Mestra shook their head. No more drugs. The memory of the man in the dream pushing the mask against their face sat at the forefront of Mestra’s consciousness. 

“Only if you need them, Mestra,” Monarda countered. “I can’t leave you in such a state of panic without doing anything. But I promise to try everything I can think of first, okay?”

It was a weak promise. She could drug Mestra whenever she wanted, including now, when Mestra was weak from fighting and already sedated. But instead of reaching for a syringe or another mask, Ms. Lami held out a glass of water.

“Drink up, Mestra. You need it.”

Notes:

Was that hot? Sound off below in the comments, this is really my first time writing horny gore and medfet

Chapter 14: Soothing a Feral

Notes:

Wow, it sure has been a while, huh? Before I get going, I absolutely NEED to thank ThatOneKoalaNerd for all the help they've given me with editing. Go check them out RIGHT NOW, I DARE YOU >:)

I hope you like what's coming next, because we're getting close to The Good Stuff. And! Hopefully I won't be keeping you waiting for much longer!

 

Monarda

Mestra’s first twenty four hours were even rougher than Monarda expected. The first day was always – to use a human expression – dicey. Cute humans usually took about a day to start adapting to new and unfamiliar circumstances, and life in the Affini compact certainly qualified as ‘unfamiliar’. 

Monarda tended not to sleep for the first night or two when she had a new ward over. She didn’t require daily sleep, and she much preferred to keep her antennae sharp and listen for any trouble her new ward might be having. In this case, this turned out to be the right choice.  

Early in the morning, Monarda heard Mestra start to toss around in bed. Nightmares were common in new captures, especially ones like Mestra with a rough past. Monarda waited exactly five minutes before she quietly opened the door to Mestra’s bedroom and stood by the side of their bed. Sure, when the human woke up, they might consider it an invasion of their privacy, but the downside of staying awake at night was that Monarda could hear everything that happened in her house. And she wasn’t about to let this poor human wake up in an unfamiliar room and feel terrified – at least, not if she could do anything about it.  

The simplest way to quell bad dreams in humans was to simply give them some gentle physical affection – a tummy rub here, a soothing vine on the shoulder there, that sort of thing. Most of the time the cutie wouldn’t consciously register the touch, but their bodies were still wired to derive calm from physical affection. For less severe nightmares, or sophonts better acclimated to an Affini’s biorhythm, this would sometimes be enough to turn the nasty scary dream into something much more pleasant.  

Monarda used one hand and gently rubbed small circles on Mestra’s belly. Her goal was to be so gentle that Mestra didn’t wake up, because it would be quite unfortunate if they were to wake up and mistake Monarda’s intentions.  

“Hush darling, it’s okay,” Monarda whispered. Verbal affirmations were the second step to stopping a cute human’s nightmare. Again, while the human wouldn’t consciously register that someone was speaking to them, their body would still usually respond to a kind voice saying kind things and regulate accordingly. Monarda knew that if they were awake, Mestra would be rather offended by her use of ‘pet names’ in her soothing (‘pet names,” Monarda thought to herself, ‘are exactly what this human is going to be called shortly, but better to let them make that decision on their own’).  

“It’s alright love. It’s just a bad dream. You’re safe here. Shhhhhhhh.” 

Mestra tossed violently over to one side, then the other. Several more minutes passed, and nothing Monarda was doing seemed to be helping. “Sod…” Monarda muttered. There were a few other steps she could take, and would take if necessary. But they were all more… invasive, and generally not as well tolerated by new wards. 

She continued her attempts to soothe Mestra, helping rearrange the blankets so they could be warm, petting them on the head, then down the middle of the chest, then the belly again. Nothing was working. Mestra was murmuring things now, incoherent enough that Monarda had no idea what they were dreaming about. That was a bad sign. Monarda thought back to a book she’d once read about caring for cute humans during the night. There was a whole section about nightmares, and then one about night terrors. At the end of each section, the last option was always something to the effect of  

“If all other methods for soothing the cutie are unsuccessful, there are two options: you must either wake them up – which will end the nightmare but may cause panic – or you can administer an anxiolytic. The recommended methods of delivery are injection or gaseous, as the little darling won’t be able to swallow. Topical administration is possible, but will act more slowly than injected or gaseous delivery.” 

Naturally, Monarda had the necessary injectors and masks ready to go, and a host of anxiolytics on hand. Without a full veterinary report, she would be limited to drugs that were highly unlikely to cause an allergic reaction, but that didn’t matter. She had at least four of those to choose from.  

Monarda stood up and walked quickly into the kitchen, where her collections of medicines were stored in a temperature-controlled box. She debated with herself the benefits of injections or gaseous medications: injections would be more potent, but that might be a drawback. Mestra had seemed uncomfortable the last time they’d used injectable medication, and they would likely be upset if they woke up and found themself impaired. So, gaseous delivery and a shorter half-life would be best.  

Monarda reached into the chilled box and grabbed a light green plastic mask attached to a self-contained source of gaseous Class-E. On her way out of the kitchen, she filled a glass of cool water. That would be useful later. Monarda quickly made her way back to the human’s bedroom, where she saw Mestra had tossed so violently the sheets were falling off the bed. “Not to worry dear,” she said, striding over to the bed. “This is going to make everything better.”  

She used one hand to gently hold Mestra’s head still while she brought the mask down. She pressed until the mask made a seal, then activated the delivery system on top. 

“There we are darling, that should be better,” she whispered. “Just breathe for me, little one. Take nice deep breaths, and this will all be over”. She released her grip on Mestra’s head, still keeping one vine pressed firmly into the mask. With a collection of vines not currently in use, she grabbed the leaf blanket and arranged it more properly over Mestra. Warmth, she figured, would do the human good.  

She kept whispering kind words while she watched Mestra struggle to consciousness. 

“That’s it dear, I’m right here,” she said, “you’re safe now. It’s okay. There’s no need to worry.” 

Despite the anxiolytic being administered with every breath, Mestra’s eyes went wide when they saw Monarda holding a mask to their face. “I’m so sorry darling,” Monarda said. “This must be so scary for you.” 

Mestra screamed, the sound getting trapped in the mask. 

“Dirt and roots,” Monarda muttered. “It’s okay Mestra. You had a nightmare, but it’s over now. The mask is to help you calm down, and relax. The air is laced with an anxiolytic, that means, something to help quell the fear. Something to help you be calm.” 

It took another five minutes of thrashing and sobbing for Mestra’s breathing to calm down to acceptable levels. When they were ready, Monarda removed the mask and stored it out of sight, just in case the sight of it triggered another wave of fear in the human.  

“There we go, that should be better,” Monarda said reassuringly. “When you’re ready Mestra, I want you to sit up and have some water. The drugs I gave you should keep working for the next hour or so, and I can give you more if you need them.” 

Monarda took the glass of water and offered it to Mestra, who shook their head. ‘N-no more drugs,” they muttered.  

“Only if you need them, Mestra,” Monarda countered. “I can’t leave you in such a state of panic without doing anything. But I promise to try everything I can think of first, okay?” 

This seemed to satiate Mestra for the moment. 

“Drink up, Mestra. You need it,” Monarda said again. “Do you want help sitting up?” 

Mestra shook their head again, and then seemed to consider something. They obviously wanted help getting up, that much was clear. But they were far too embarrassed to ask for that. Which was alright, Monarda would get to that soon enough.  

Mestra sat up slowly, accepting the glass Monarda was holding and sipping it slowly. Despite the drugs, their hands were still shaking, Monarda remarked. She made a mental note to move up the human’s vet appointment to tomorrow morning. This one needed care right away. 

“L-leave me alone,” Mestra said, interrupting Monarda’s train of thought. “I want to be alone.”  

Monarda looked at Mestra, who’d stopped drinking now. The look in their eyes was exhausted but clear – ‘go away’.  

“Okay Mestra,” Monarda said. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready for food. I know you want to be alone for a while,” she added, “so if you like, I can deliver breakfast to your room and you can eat in here.” 

“Whatever,” Mestra said, clearly holding back tears. Alright, time to go. Monarda turned and walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind her. Once she was out of sight, she sat down on the couch and unwound herself in a giant heap. Legs and arms melted into formless tangles of plantlife, a much more natural state for the Affini. Monarda let out a noise that was something like a sigh. Despite having no lungs, she found it relaxing.  

That was quite the morning, she thought to herself. Mestra clearly was having a worse nightmare than she thought, and now the darling was on-edge. Monarda fished her tablet from somewhere underneath herself and held it loft with vines that probably belonged to her torso. She typed out a message to her veterinarian friend, the one she brought all of her wards to. A minute or so later, the vet responded, saying he’d be happy to see Mestra a day early. ‘Excellent,’ Monarda thought, and she once again collapsed her vines into a formless heap. ‘Actually,’ she thought, ‘it’s almost breakfast time’. 

Monarda rewound most of her body into a shape that more or less passed as ‘human’. Mestra wasn’t likely to come out anytime this morning, so she didn’t really feel like putting any more effort into her form than absolutely necessary. She turned on the stove and flipped through a printed book of recipes. ‘What to make for a terrified Terran…?’ she mused, settling on a recipe with hashed potatoes, waffles, and berries. She got to work in the kitchen making breakfast, all the while hoping Mestra wasn’t too terribly upset and wishing she could hold the darling in her arms and make it all better.  

*** 

Monarda delivered breakfast, and then later lunch, to Mestra’s room. Each time she knocked on the door and announced herself, then waited for the weak “come in” that allowed her entry. At breakfast, Mestra was still in bed, and asked for the tray to be set down on the dresser. Although Monarda tried to talk, Mestra clearly wasn’t in the mood for it. Monarda left them alone after that. 

At lunch, things were worse. Mestra had at least eaten most of the breakfast they’d been given, but the room, and Mestra themself, was a total mess. Again, Monarda tried to make conversation with Mestra as she delivered the meal, and again she was shut down. 

Presently, she stood in the living room, pacing. Mestra had obviously found the bathroom attached to their bedroom, and could stay in there indefinitely. But that was definitely not what was best for their development. But then again, Monarda never believed in doing things against the wishes of her wards unless absolutely necessary. She preferred it when the darlings had some small amount of control to cling to, and, eventually, relinquish to their new owner.  

Monarda paced, considering what she should do next. Pacing was a habit she’d picked up from one of her wards – a particularly stalwart little human who’d ended up just the sweetest little floret. It helped her think, she always said. Monarda didn’t understand it at first, but lately she found herself pacing more and and more often. Something about walking back and forth from her room, to the kitchen, and then the living room and back again always seemed to give her just the right inspiration for what to do.  

She walked in straight lines back and forth from her room to the kitchen to the living room and back. Back and forth and back and forth. She looked around at the furniture as she walked. She walked past her door frame into the kitchen, past the compiler and into the living room, and past the couch with Mestra’s present… 

Oh, Mestra’s present!  

Monarda once again thanked the power of pacing as she picked up the small rectangular cardboard box from the couch. She’d read in Mestra’s case file that they’d been found among computers and other relatively high-end gadgets in their otherwise sparse and bare apartment. That was incredibly sad to Monarda, of course, but right now it presented her with an opportunity. Mestra seemed to be at least passively interested in technology, especially if their reaction to Monarda’s tablet was anything to go by. Box in hand, Monarda walked over to Mestra’s door and gave it a crisp set of knocks.  

Mestra 

Mestra was really getting sick of this goddamn plant trying to get in their room. Delivering meals was one thing, but Mestra knew it wasn’t meal time. Lunch was delivered only an hour ago. Ms. Lamiaceae was clearly trying to get something from Mestra this time, and they didn’t like it.  

Still, they couldn’t exactly ignore the knocking at the door. It has already been demonstrated that this plant could enter the room at any time without Mestra’s blessing, and that was not a habit Mestra wanted this Affini forming.  

“Come in,” they sighed, and right on cue Ms. Lami walked in the room. This time, instead of carrying a tray of food, she held a simple flat cardboard box.  

“What do you want?” Mestras said tonelessly. “I really don’t want to be bothered right now.” 

“I understand completely,” Monarda said. “But I have something for you that I think you’re going to find interesting.” 

“Mhm,” Mestra said, not even watching as the tall woman approached them.  

“Here,” said Ms. Lami. “Open this, and then I’ll explain what it is.” She handed Mestra the package. 

Mestra’s horrible mood and deep distrust of this woman notwithstanding, they were absolutely intrigued by what this could be. What could an Affini captor possibly want to offer to their prisoner?  

The box was light and held together with what looked like packing tape. It was easy enough to slice open the tape with a sharp fingernail, something that Mestra knew their nails were too brittle for but did anyway. When all the tape was cut, they opened the two flaps of the box to reveal a thin leather folio inside.  

“Is this…leather?” they asked incredulously. Real leather was an incredible luxury only the uber-rich could afford, but this could have just as easily been synthetic and Mestra still would never have been able to afford it.  

“It’s compiled, which means it didn’t come from an animal, but it’s just as real if we’re speaking of its composition” Monarda supplied.  

Mestra ran their hands over the smooth surface, admiring the nuance in the texture and the way it felt soft and yet still very strong.  

“...Why…?” Mestra asked. “I mean,” they added, “why are you giving this to me?”  

“Ah, keep going,” Monarda said.  

Mestra inspected the edges of the thin folio, and sure enough there was a seam. A gentle pressure was all it took for the top cover to fold back, revealing a sleek piece of black glass about the size and shape of… 

“A tablet…?” Mestra questioned. Monarda nodded enthusiastically. “...Why…?” 

“Turn it on!” Monarda insisted.  

Mestra inspected the edge of the device for any sort of power button. Curiously, it seemed to be made of an almost wooden material. What was it with the Affini and making things out of wood, they wondered? Wasn’t that extremely weird for a species of plants…? 

“Is this made of wood?” Mestra asked. In truth, they were stalling for time. They didn’t want the Affini to notice that they couldn’t find the three biometric touch points that authenticated all electronic devices to the user’s Accord-wide identification number.  

“Yes!” Monarda said excitedly. “Why? Does that confuse you?”  

“It does confuse me,” Mestra said, still inspecting the edges of the device. They located an engraving of a flower on one small part of the device, and, failing to find any buttons, they held their finger against it. A second later, the device's screen flashed to life and played a pleasant startup tune. So that must be how it turned on. Huh. 

“Ah, there we go,” Monarda said as the screen came to life. “And don’t worry about the whole ‘wood’ thing,” she added. “Almost none of it comes from real trees, and I can promise you that barring some very extenuating circumstances, none of it comes from an Affini either.” 

Somehow, the promise that this wood usually didn’t contain Affini wasn’t very reassuring to Mestra. In front of them was just about the nicest screen Mestra had ever laid eyes on. They weren’t exactly an enthusiast of technology, but they could spot nice gear when they saw it. And this transcended ‘nice’ and went all the way to ‘how on Terra did you ever afford that?’ territory. Presently, the screen seemed to show some kind of ‘home’ menu. The wallpaper seemed to be an artistic painting of a hillside of green grass against a bright blue sky dotted with several fluffy white clouds. On the bottom of the device were a set of icons and an arrow, presumably indicating to Mestra that more icons would be revealed by swiping. 

“I can show you the basics of how this works,” Monarda offered. “Or I can just stick around and you can ask me questions.”  

“Mmhmm,” Mestra said, having already activated an application and watched it consume the user-interface. This seemed to be some kind of list of settings, as far as Mestra could figure. There were options for brightness and scaling and something called ‘access control’ which was the first thing Mestra clicked on. “Can this do networking?” they asked Monarda, who they observed was now standing next to where they were seated on the bed. 

“Indeed it can,” Monarda said. “By default, those options aren’t exposed to the user, because it’s all automatic and behind-the-scenes. Like magic.” 

Mestra scoffed. “Anytime a technology says it’s ‘like magic’, it’s a sign to run far, far away” they countered.  

Monarda laughed, and Mestra remarked that from up close, they could see the petals that formed her dress gently shake as she spoke. 

“Every tablet on the ship is connected to the ship-wide network, and connects automatically to any other Affini vessel in the compact. Beyond that, it can connect to any relay station anywhere in compact space automatically, and various other systems with only a bit of digging,” she said. “But if you really want, I can explain the intricacies of Affini networking, which will take me at least two hours for a basic rundown.” 

Mestra shook their head. They would happily trade two fewer hours with this Affini for their curiosity in knowing how it all worked. After only a few attempts, they figured out the gesture to return to the home screen and selected another app.  

“Basically everything about the tablet is customizable,” Monarda said, “and if it’s something your tablet can’t do, we can find you one that can do it.” The app Mestra opened seemed to be a messaging app of some sort, which Mestra quickly closed in favour of an app that seemed to be a map of the ship. Now that might be useful.  

“The two biggest things you’ll want to know about are your schedules, alarms and reminders and your access control,” Monarda said. Mestra was half-listening, but ‘Access Control’ caught their attention.  

“I recommend adding a schedule to your home screen, which I can show you how to,” Monarda said. “It helps you keep track of all the things coming up, which I find can be very helpful in lowering stress.” 

Mestra clicked on the icon that looked like a calendar and sure enough, it was a schedule. 

“There are also functions for setting alarms and timers, if that interests you,” Monarda said. It didn’t, really, so instead Mestra figured out how to add something called an “Agenda Viewer” to their home screen.  

“Oh, I can help show you-” Monarda started before realising Mestra already figured it out. 

“I’ve got it” Mestra said, with maybe just a bit too much pride in their voice.  

“Indeed you have,” Monarda said. “Now the other important function is access control, which means that only you and a select few Affini can access your device. I know your kind is fond of privacy, and we do our best to make that work.” 

“But you still need to have access to all of my stuff to spy on me, right?” Mestra remarked.  

“Not ‘spy’,” Monarda corrected. “Myself, and Affini added to your care team like your vet or therapist can open your tablet in urgent circumstances, but if we do it’s quite a bit of paperwork.” Mestra nodded and seemed somewhat satisfied with this answer. Monarda decided not to mention her species’ general affinity for long and complex paperwork, since that didn’t really help her make her point.  

“So if you want me to help you set that up, I can do that,” Monarda said. “But you’ve already proven that you’re capable enough of figuring it out yourself.” Indeed, Mestra was already halfway through the biometric authentication process for setting up access control. What a clever sophont they were, Monarda remarked.  

“So before I go, there’s one more thing I want to let you know of,” Monarda said. “And then I won’t bug you until dinnertime, although I want to reiterate that you’re always free to come talk to me in the living room, and I’d love your company at dinner if you’re feeling up to it.” 

Mestra nodded, only half listening anymore.  

“I’ve booked you in with the vet tomorrow.” Monarda said. “Now I know that might be scary,” she added, noting that Mestra actually didn’t seem to react at all, “but I promise you it’s going to be okay. Our medicine far outclasses yours, and a good number of the things that hurt you on a daily basis are easily solvable. Plus I know Dr. Folium and he’s incredibly nice” Monarda added. 

Mestra looked up from their screen and towards Monarda. “Okay,” they said in a surprisingly calm voice. “I can deal with that.”  

Monarda had to contain herself from squealing with joy, yet another human habit she’d learned from a ward. She settled on rapidly curling and uncurling her antennae and flapping her skirt petals up and down and hoped that was subtle enough.  

“Alright Mestra,” she said, standing up and walking to the door. “I’ll see you at dinner?” 

“Mhm,” Mestra said, not looking up.  

Monarda definitely would have squealed if the human wouldn’t have heard it. She made her way through the door, closing it on her way out, petals and vines all vibrating with the joy of her first properly positive interaction with the human.  

Mestra 

After Ms. Lamiaceae left the room, Mestra could properly focus on the new piece of miracle technology they’d just been gifted. They were upset about the earlier violation, no question, but this distraction was welcome. “There will be plenty of time to feel hurt later,” their subconscious unhelpfully provided.  

It was absolutely remarkable the things this device could do, even in its apparent “safe mode” that it was locked in (Mestra figured this was part of the whole ‘dangerous free-thinking prisoner’ thing). At the touch of a button, Mestra could pull up floor plans of the house, the deck, and apparently, the ship. Well, calling it a ‘ship’ was a little inaccurate. According to the map, Mestra was currently aboard something called the Sol Living Station, Mir Module. As the name implied, it was a massive space station that orbited Terra’s star in a hyper-elliptical orbit. It reached well out past the furthest planets, and according to the map, had an orbital period of approximately sixty-three days. The station had three main modules, the map said. Each once was at least the size of a Terran megacruiser, and held the equivalent of half a Terran continent of people.  

Once Mestra felt they had sufficiently committed the map to memory (they could also draw a copy somewhere later, they figured), they poked around at the rest of the tablet’s functions. There was a pair of apps that caught Mestra’s eye, sitting right beside each other in the app list and having very similar names. Mestra opened the one called “Find a Floret” first, and quickly realised it was a directory. They could input names into a search box and get back a message link and sometimes a home address. That seemed…insecure, for everyone to have, but then again Mestra doubted the Affini left their florets with enough brain power to capitalise on this information anyway. Mestra closed the ‘Find a Floret’ app and opened its companion, ‘Find a ‘Fiini’.  

‘Find a ‘Fiini’ was essentially the same as ‘Find a Floret’, with a simple search box bringing up pictures, names, and contact information. Now this seemed useful. If the Terran military could get their hands on this, Mestra thought, they could certainly-  

What? They could certainly do what? The Terran military was scattered to the wind a year ago, and the remaining factions didn’t stand a chance against a station like this, even if they had the Affini’s home address.  

Mestra sighed as they thumbed idly through the controls. Perhaps they’d look up… the warden. Sure. They tapped the search box and confidently entered ‘l-a-m-i-a-c-’ 

Godammit, what came next? 

‘L-a-m-i-a-c-a-e”? ‘L-a-m-i-a-c-e-a’? 

‘L-a-m-i-a-c-’ you know what, whatever. Mestra hit ‘search’ on ‘Lamiac’ and was answered by a banner telling them that this name matched with multiple Affini and to specify parameters. Options for ‘Where did you meet this Affini?’ and ‘What kind of colours did they have?’ were presented to Mestra. ‘What colour was the Affini’ seemed like a far too arbitrary set of parameters for a search engine, but Mestra figured they may as well try. Picking the most matching colours from a palette, Mestra was extremely surprised to see an entry populate the screen: 

“Monarda Lamiaceae, Third Bloom. 

Living at 432 Blooming Peony Avenue, Mir Module of the Sol Living Station. 

Current Warden for new Terran ferals.” 

Below was a short description that seemed to be written by Monarda herself: 

“Hey darling! If you need to get a hold of me, ping me any time! I love making new friends!” 

The message was surrounded by a few pictures of little plants with smiling faces and Affini eyes. Well that was… Odd, Mestra thought. But that proved that the system worked. It was the same Monarda, and that meant that this app really could find any Affini.  

But… who would Mestra want to find…? There was no chance they’d get this information out to anyone outside the Affini’s grasp, and even if they did they didn’t see a point. The only Affini Mestra knew by name other than Monarda was Myrrha, but it felt wrong to find your nurse on the station-wide search engine. Other than that, Mestra really couldn’t remember the details of any particular Affini except… 

Hmm… 

Mestra typed ‘A-v-e-r-n-u-s’ into the search bar. Again, the system asked for more information. Instead of colour, Mestra tried entering “the hospital” for ‘where did you meet this Affini?’. Surely that couldn’t work, since there would obviously be more than one hospi- 

Ho-ly Shit. One profile appeared onscreen. Mestra tapped it. There wasn’t a profile picture for this account, nor an address. The line under Avernus’ full name, Avernus Sernarum, simply read ‘surgeon’. Unlike Monarda’s profile, there was no personalised note here, or any extra information to speak of. So it was probably, almost certainly, the same grumpy douchebag Mestra had met in that hospital bed. Below the empty fields was a large button that read ‘Send Message’. 

…That was a bad idea, right? Mestra wasn’t certain that this tablet was tied to them directly, but it couldn’t be that hard to track, certainly. Mestra leaned back and mulled over their options. What would they even say? 

In fact, hold on, why did they even want to say anything to that creep? Was it just to tell him that Mestra’s scrubs did not, in fact, have bunnies on them? That seemed…petty, extremely so.  

Mestra had felt this feeling before. A spark inside them, like a wheel revolving around and around and around, egging them on to seek out some heated argument. It wasn’t a healthy urge, Mestra knew that much. Arguments, no matter how well Mestra defended themself, always left them feeling hollow. And yet, they kept seeking them. Maybe just to feel something, Mestra wondered.  

Maybe they just wanted to feel something.  

Notes:

I haven't done this in a while, but comments give me life. Soooooo, top 3 favourite kinds of cheese, down in the comments! Go go go!

Chapter 15: Instant Messaging Service

Notes:

Short one today but exciting stuff is ahead! I promise!

Mestra

Mestra held off on sending a message until the morning. They’d learned a long time ago that sending messages late at night wasn’t a very smart idea, and they almost never worded things as well as if they’d just waited until morning. Plus, Mestra figured that if they slept on it, they might change their mind on sending an unsolicited message to the Scary Alien they’d met exactly Once.  

They did not.   

First thing in the morning, feeling surprisingly more energised than they had these last few days, Mestra started typing. 

Then deleting, and then rewriting.  

Then deleting that , and rewriting .  

Mestra wondered again to themself why they were writing this message at all. Avernus, in all likelihood, didn’t remember even a second of their interaction together. He certainly didn’t seem the type to get to know his patients, and he’d seen Mestra for a grand total of maybe fifteen minutes before leaving.  

The question gnawed at Mestra while they wrote. Why did they want to talk to him again? What about his demeanour was so alluring, despite being so cold and condescending? 

It wouldn’t be the first time Mestra had inexplicably chosen to seek out condescension against their better judgement. It was unhealthy, that much they knew, and yet it seemed to keep happening. 

Finally, they settled on something short and impersonal: 

Mestra547382957 | > Hi. We met in the hospital. Do you remember me? 

It was…cryptic, but in Mestra’s defence, it was also anonymous enough that it might not immediately register to Avernus who was speaking. So maybe, Mestra thought to themself, he’ll just ignore it. They weren’t sure if that thought brought them hope or dread. 

Mestra spent the next half an hour refreshing their tablet, hoping a message would come. Not the most dignified actions, but it was in private, and Mestra had been through a lot. Speaking of dignity, Mestra was tired of wearing these ungodly fluffy pyjamas everywhere. It was comfortable enough, sure, but it was also a reminder that Mestra did not choose these clothes.  

So, setting their tablet aside for the time being, Mestra peeked into their room’s closet. Oddly – and in another shocking invasion of Mestra’s privacy – every single piece of clothing seemed to be just Mestra’s size. There was a shocking variety of things, as well sweaters and shirts in styles Mestra recognized, but also sundresses, skirts, suit jackets, and a handful of formal outfits including what looked like a ballgown.  

…Okay, that was weird. But probably not the weirdest thing that had happened this week.  Definitely not.  

Mestra grabbed a plain grey sweater with a faded graphic. It was probably meant to be oversized, considering how well everything else was tailored. It would cover them well enough, Mestra thought.  

Quickly swapping their pyjama shirt for the sweater, they were somewhat annoyed to realise that it was just as soft as what they’d previously been wearing.  

…Goddamn Affini. 

Mestra grabbed a pair of black sweatpants from a drawer, not being bothered with searching for undergarments. The sweatpants were thick enough they figured, and they’d long since given up on anything staining. That would be enough of an outfit for the day.  

---

Breakfast was gratefully quiet. Mestra had come out of their room for dinner last night, and was quick to inform Monarda that they weren’t in the mood for conversation. This morning, Monarda seemed to remember, and only kept her conversation to essentials only. Today was Mestra’s veterinary appointment. Mestra apparently had nothing to worry about, but they highly doubted that. Still, they knew better than to argue.  

Breakfast was a bowl of fruit this morning, and some yoghurt which Mestra didn’t touch. In what was starting to become normal to Mestra, all of the fruit was incredibly fresh and at the perfect ripeness. It was off putting how quickly Mestra was adjusting to the nice food. This isn’t forever, they reminded themself. Don’t get used to it.  

“It’s only a short walk to the vet,” Monarda said while Mestra ate. “But we can just as easily take the train if that’s better for you.” Mestra shook their head. Trains usually meant more people, usually all crowded into one tiny place; Walking would be preferable.  

Mestra wondered briefly what their Affini guardian ate, or if she ate at all. Whenever she would sit down at the table with Mestra, she had no food of her own. Perhaps the Affini didn’t really need sustenance, Mestra thought? Or maybe the rumours are true , Mestra thought, and she was waiting to swallow Mestra whole, drinking their blood as a side while she devoured their flesh.  

…That was probably just a rumour.  

Very shortly after breakfast, Monarda and Mestra left for the vet. It was a mild day outside, gratefully not too hot to be walking outside. They didn’t notice it at first, but as they walked something dawned on them: the air smelled clean.  

Avernus 

The day-to-day monotony of hospital work was making Avernus regret his decision. He came here to do less work, not to cease doing anything interesting entirely. His co-workers- They meant well, certainly; But Avernus had never been one for socialising. He had many close relationships during his last project: friends, even. But that took time, and Avernus had no plans to stay here. One redeeming factor of all this downtime was that Avernus could catch up on chores he’d neglected over the several decades he’d kept himself busy. It was mostly paperwork, documentation of his findings, cataloguing everything, making sure that final published versions were concise and free of errors. But there was one task that Avernus saved for a day that he was especially bored. Many blooms ago, he’d made a good friend, and it had been years since they’d last been able to sit down and properly talk. Work and distance had kept them away, but Avernus got word that his friend was going to be in the Sol system and arranged an afternoon for them to catch up.  

Gliding up to the establishment, it looked nothing special. An Affini café, done up in the style of a Terran coffeehouse. Presuming his friend was already inside, Avernus slid silently through the large doors and scanned the room. There were only a few Affini inside, mostly alone, or talking in small pods. A few had brought their florets, snoozing soundly in their laps or so clearly intoxicated that they were somewhere else entirely. Spotting the green and yellow petals that marked their friend, Avernus slid himself into one of the booths.  

“It is most wonderful to be with you again, Avernus Senarum, Fourty Ninth Bloom” said the Affini sitting opposite him. Xe spoke the old tongue, making the whole sentence feel formal, like the official proceedings of a particularly serious Affini courtroom drama.  

“Your formality is amusing, Corymbia,” Avernus replied in a more modern rendition of their language. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, but surely not long enough for you to have forgotten my disinterest in formality.” Avernus layered humour into his tone, picking the specific Affini words that fit his intention. He reached out a vine, intertwining it with his companion’s for a moment, then pulled it back into his body. 

Corymbia laughed, sending small tufts of fluffy plant matter falling from xer shoulders. “I was just playing with you,” xe said, switching to modern language. “You’re so uptight, you know that?” 

“I’m efficient, not uptight,” Avernus replied. 

“Mhm” 

---

The pair spent the next several hours recounting stories since their last meeting. Avernus and Corymbia had once worked together on a cotyledon program, Avernus as a medical specialist and Corymbia as a linguistics expert. Despite their different fields, there was much of interest for them to talk about. Corymbia seemed fascinated by Avernus’ new spore grafts, and the language of the last species he’d worked on.  

“I don’t plan to keep them forever,” Avernus said. “I just haven’t had the time to remove them, is all.” 

“Weren’t you just complaining about being bored with all your downtime?” Corymbia countered. Xe dipped a vine into the large bowl of mineral water the two were sharing. “Unless you’re planning to fill that time with something else…” Xe looked pointedly over to another booth, where two florets were snoring softly on their owner’s lap.  

“Oh no, you aren’t still trying to convince me of that, are you?” said Avernus. “I have no desire or need to take a floret. My work keeps me plenty busy, thank-you.” He switched dialects for the last two words, offering formal and long-winded words of gratitude. Corymbia laughed, more fluff falling off xer shoulders. Languages had always been of common interest, and over the years Avernus had started to experiment with humour, much to xer amusement.  

“You know, I’m really not sure what you’re afraid of,” Corymbia teased. “You’ve met my florets, and you survived. How bad could it be?” 
“I met your florets a very long time ago,” Avernus countered, “and they were fine because you trained them. I have no interest in taking and training a pet. I have plenty of work to do as it is.” 

More airborne fluff displayed exactly how Corymbia felt about that statement. “I hope your fluff isn’t contagious,” Avernus muttered, sending more fluff flying in the air. “It’s dandelions!” xe protested. “They’re adorable!” Avernus shook his head performatively, dipping a vine back into the bowl of water. “But really,” Corymbia said, more serious this time. “There’s no one, not a single sophont who catches your eyes?” 

“There is no one,” Avernus confirmed. Corymbia seemed to accept this, until a soft chime emanated from Avernus’ tablet, catching xer attention. “That must be important,” Corymbia noted. “In all the blooms I’ve known you, you were never one to leave your ringtone on.” 

“It’s probably just someone from the hospital,” Avernus complained. “I have yet to set automatic notification rules for that group. I’ll do it eventually.” Corymbia reached with a cluster of vines for Avernus’ tablet, snatching it before he had a chance to stop xem. “Pardon me,” Avernus said. “That’s mine, and you have no right to look through my message-” A single vine in the air silenced Avernus. Corymbia spun the tablet around ceremoniously, letting Avernus read the contents and sender of the message.  

“I thought,” xe said, holding back laughter. “That there wasn’t anyone.” 

“That’s not!” Avernus protested. “That is a patient. A former patient, actually,” Avernus said, his tone returning to full professionalism. “They probably just have an inane question, perhaps about their injury.” 

“Mhm…,” Corymbia said smugly. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind if I type out a response on your behalf, expressing my that you are ready and willing to answer any question that may arise, and that I am at your service, at any time, whenever you may need-” 

“Give me that,” Avernus interrupted. He reached out for the tablet with four or five vines, snatching a firm hold and taking it back. “I’ll reply in a manner that I see fit, thank you very much.” The pile of fluffy dandelion seeds was growing thick on Corymbia’s lap.  

“Why didn’t you mention this patient?” xe inquired. “I did,” Avernus responded. “They were the one who foolishly attempted to attach an Affini xenodrug graft to their own circulatory system. Bunny also tried to attach the graft to their nervous systems – they failed, of course, – but it got me thinking about how one might integrate a more advanced version of the haustoric implant, or rather, an addition to the implant itself, in service of a fully functioning system of-” 

“Bunny?” Corymbia asked incredulously.  

“A… nickname, I had given them in my head,” Avernus said. “It is nothing!” he argued, seeing the smile on his old friend’s face. “Their scrubs… had Terran animals on them. That’s all.” 

“Mhmm,” Corymbia said smugly. “Do they know about this little nickname?” 

“Unlikely” 

“I see,” Corymbia said, dipping a vine into xer drink. “You should reply. They’re probably waiting with bated breath to know what you’re going to say~” 

Avernus sighed, took a long sip of water, then typed out a response.  

 

Notes:

Uh oh, it's question time! I could be an english teacher and ask you something related to the chapter, but like, that's no fun, is it? Instead I want to know what your least favourite article of clothing is. What's the garment you have the most beef with?

Is this question important? I dunno, maybe it will be later. Who knows?

Chapter 16: The Vet

Notes:

Hey friends! This chapter is where the real dubcon vibes start, so please keep that in mind as you're reading. Also, an obligatory reminder that consent is extremely important when it comes to real-life kink. The only reason it's being forgone here is for the sake of checks notes horny plant smut.

Get ready for this chapter featuring Affini veterinary tech, some mild hypnosis, and a very friendly Dr. Blueberry :3

Mestra

The “short walk” Mestra was promised ended up being more than they’d expected. It was probably considered short by Affini standards, being three or four metres tall. For Mestra, a homebound human, though, it was quite a lot. Many times Mestra had to decline Ms. Lami’s offers to help through heavy panting and quite a bit more sweating than walking should have caused. Mestra wasn’t entirely sure what the warden would do to help them get to their destination, short of perhaps carrying them, but Mestra had enough insults to their dignity for one lifetime.  

Mestra took a second to prepare themself for what they were about to see. A doctor – or “veterinarian” rather – whom they’d never met. Presumably this was the Affini’s analogue to Terran “personal doctors”, the poorly named and even more poorly trained “first line of defence” for healthcare. Mestra had had a lot of awful personal doctors in their relatively short lifetime. Some were incompetent, some sickly sweet. Some just wanted to peddle the newest drug and others were downright nasty. Which kind was Mestra going to meet…? 

A warm reception room greeted them, and Mestra quickly took stock of their surroundings. You could glean a lot from a doctor by the state of their waiting room, and right now Mestra needed all the knowledge they could get. Mestra followed their warden to the reception counter, which was placed at human height. A human receptionist spoke a few words to Monarda that Mestra didn’t catch, and then Monarda turned to speak. 

“The doctor is down the hall to your right. I’m guessing you’ll want to go alone, but I’ll be here in case you change your mind.” Mestra nodded and expressed silent gratitude that Monarda didn’t make a fuss about following them back. If they were going to do this, they at least wanted to do this with some shred of dignity. They didn’t need anyone to hold their hand.  

Mestra turned and walked down the hallway, perhaps a little bit slower than necessary. The walls were painted in deep, colourful tones and lit at regular intervals by sconces. There were no pictures or paintings on these walls, Mestra remarked, so nothing they could glean about the doctor. Mestra reached the door to the exam room, finding it open. The very first thing that struck Mestra about the office was how alive it was. Doctor’s offices had always been drab sterile-looking affairs with off-white walls and harsh fluorescent lights. It was presumably, Mestra always believed, to project an image of ‘cleanliness’, but Mestra knew those offices were anything but clean.  

The walls seemed to be covered in creeping vines, each bearing small, colourful flowers. The floor looked almost like bark, but was still smooth like the rest of the floors in the building. It elicited an odd feeling inside Mestra, like they were peering into something ancient and foreign, and decidedly important. From the ceiling, long hanging vines reached down, bearing small yellow fruits that almost seemed to be glowing. Mestra looked up and down the room, and only on their third or fourth pass could they see what looked like medical equipment recessed into the walls. A rustle of motion caught Mestra’s eye, and they suddenly realised that the doctor had been blending into the walls this whole time.   

This Affini was blue and green, and Mestra was quickly starting to understand why that app on their tablet asked for an Affini’s colour. It was pretty much the easiest thing for Mestra to identify, since every Affini seemed to be infinitely complicated and had so many little flowers on them that you would need to be a botanical expert to identify just half of them. This one seemed to be largely green, but was covered in what looked like so many blueberries that they were definitely more ‘blue’ than ‘green’. He had what looked like a thick beard, from which yet more berries were hanging. 

He wasn’t wearing scrubs or a lab coat, or anything of the sort. Actually, as far as Mestra could tell, he wasn’t wearing anything, but a thick curtain of vines and berries covered anything scandalous.  

“Good afternoon, Mestra,” said the doctor. Mestra heard the rustling of leaves as the man wound his legs together and stood up.  

“Please, come in,” he said. Mestra realised they’d just been standing in the doorway to the office, and so they took a few steps inside.  

“You know my name, impressive,” Mestra said, trying to layer in a perceptible sarcastic edge. They weren’t about to start this encounter on the back foot, they knew how to play the game. This doctor was going to pretend to be all friendly and knowledgeable to earn Mestra’s trust, and then try to convince them of something against their best interests. Mestra wasn’t about to let that happen.  

“I presume that you’d rather skip the formalities, then, and get right to it?” the doctor asked.  

Mestra nodded. Best to get this over with quickly, they thought.  

“Well then,” said the Doctor. “My name is Doctor Vaccinium Angustifolium, Sixteenth Bloom”. Mestra silently groaned. Did every Affini have such long, fancy names? 

“You can call me Dr. Folium if you wish, or Dr. Angustifolium if you prefer to be formal,” the doctor continued. “Today, we need to take some new baseline readings now that your injury is healed.” Mestra nodded. Whatever they needed to do to get out of here in one piece.  

“Now I understand that you just recently got out of the hospital?” Dr. Folium inquired. Mestra nodded again. “Ah, very good,” he continued. “Well, if you have any questions surrounding your stay, or your recovery, or you wish to discuss the circumstances of your injury, I want you to know that I am fully qualified and willing to have those discussions with you,” Dr. Folium said.  

“You want me to talk about why I did it?” Mestra presumed. “You know I had another doctor ask me that too, while I was in the hospital. Are all Affini doctors so insensitive?” 

Dr. Folium seemed surprised  …  

“Now,” said the doctor, “-Most sophonts find this somewhat unpleasant, so I first want to ask you what I can do to make sure you’re comfortable.” 

Mestra scoffed. They’d been offered medical comfort before. It never amounted to more than some kind words and perhaps a towel over their eyes. Actual help was always “too expensive” or “too impractical” for anyone to bother.  

“You’re reminded of the insufficient care you’ve been provided in the past?” Dr. Folium correctly questioned.  

“How did you know that…?” Mestra asked incredulously.  

“I read your file,” the doctor replied with a smirk. Okay. They seem quite on top of things.. “I’ve read every time you’ve asked a doctor to note down for the record that you requested sedation. It’s quite impressive actually,” they continued.  

“Mhm,” Mestra mumbled, unmoved. 

“So, I’ve got a selection of sedatives here,” said the doctor, reaching with a vine to procure a box of small, futuristic-looking syringes. It was unsettling whenever Affini did that. Grabbing something without the use of either of their “hands”. It was a clear reminder in case Mestra ever forgot: these creatures were not like humans.  

“Although I suspect there’s something you’re about to tell me,” Dr. Folium finished, yielding space for Mestra to say something. For a split second, Mestra couldn’t think of anything. And then they looked more closely at the syringes, which were tinged shades of pink and green, and it came flooding back.  

“Those are Affini sedatives,” Mestra said, “not Terran ones.” The doctor nodded. Your previous nurse noted in your file that you had a rather strong reaction to these the first time you tried them,” he said. “And your current warden, Ms. Lamiaceae, noted in her report that you’re hesitant to try them again.” 

“You really do write down everything,” Mestra said. Their tone was a mix between being impressed and being horrified.  

“Indeed,” said Dr. Folium. “So I’m happy to give you a dose of one of these, or to offer you an alternative solution.” Mestra scoffed. Never, once, had an ‘alternative solution’ been helpful. Every doctor thought they had a silver bullet: ‘just breathe properly, it’s as good as pain medicine!’ some would say. ‘You have to meditate and become the master of your fears’, others would claim. It was always bullshit.   

“Save it, I don’t care,” Mestra said. “It’s not going to work. I’ll just suffer through whatever it is you have planned, it’s not like it’s going to matter soon anyways. Soon you’ll strip me away of any negative memory and I’ll only be a shell of a person so, who the fuck cares, right?” 

“And you’re certain it won’t work because it’s never worked before?” The doctor inquired, ignoring Mestra’s more charged statements for now. 

“Not for me, or for anyone else” Mestra replied. “The only thing that can make these procedures tolerable is sedation, but anything you’re about to offer me is going to make me essentially black out for the next few hours. No thank-you. So I’ll just have to tolerate it and deal with the consequences later.” 

“That’s an awfully hard way to live, little one, I’m sure we can fin-” 

“Yeah no shit it’s a hard way to live. Why do you think I do this all myself now?” Mestra snarked.  

“A fair point,” Dr. Folium conceded. He waited a moment before speaking, taking the time to expand his chest like he was taking a deep breath. Unconsciously, Mestra found themself taking in a big gulp of air, releasing it in a sigh. “Do you agree that you can’t avoid this appointment?”, the doctor finally asked.

“Seeing as you’re about four metres tall, I’m sure you can restrain me if I try to run away” 

“Close enough, I suppose,” said the doctor. “Do you object to me attempting to make this less unpleasant for you, even if you don’t think it will work?” 

Mestra sighed. “Fine,” they said in a tired voice.  

“Good,” said the doctor. They reached over to the wall and dimmed the lights until the brightest light in the room was the soft glow of the strange fruits on the wall. “I find that dimming the lights can quite help keep a sophont’s mind off of more troubling thoughts. If this frightens you, please do let me know and I will adjust.” 

“No way you can do this in the dark,” Mestra said. “I don’t know exactly what you’re doing but if it’s going to be unpleasant you probably have to see.” 

The doctor laughed in a friendly and disarming sort of way. “I’m a bit more advanced than the Terran doctors you’re used to,” he said simply. “Also, you’ll probably observe that my eyes are glowing.”  

His eyes were, in fact, glowing.  

“My eyes can see in the dark just as well as they can see in broad daylight. Actually…” he said while Mestra heard some shuffling. “I can see the important things a little bit better like this.” 

“Now dear,” said the doctor. Mestra ignored his condescending use of language for now. Best not to anger the man about to perform an unknown medical procedure in the dark. “Try to relax, if you’re able,” said Dr. Folium. “You have nothing to fear, despite what your past experiences indicate. I will treat you as gently as if you were my own floret.” 

“That’s hardly any consolation,” said Mestra. “I have no idea how gently you treat your floret. This could hurt like a bitch for all I know.” 

“We Affini treat our florets like the most delicate and beloved petals on a rare and fragile flower. I’m sure you’ll know that soon enough,” the doctor hummed. Mestra’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkened room, until they could make out the shape of the doctor pulling a wall off a machine. It stopped a safe distance away from Mestra, although they doubted that would be for long.  

“Now Mestra, I have one thing to ask of you,” said Dr. Folium. A new colour of light, a pale blue, sprung from an object in his hand. He held a spherical object, about the size of an orange, at Mestra’s eyeline. The light was bright, but not painful. “If you’re able, please follow the light as I move it across your vision,” the doctor said. On cue, he started to draw the object slowly to one side of Mestra’s vision.  

“Is this supposed to distract me…?” Mestra asked, hesitantly following the light as it changed directions.  

“In a sense,” the doctor replied. Mestra heard a ‘click!’ from the glowing ball and suddenly the lights started to spin in concentric circles, some clockwise, some anticlockwise, all at different speeds. It took Mestra a few seconds to notice that some of the lights were changing colours, too. Small little pinpricks, moving around and around and side to side, changing their pattern ever so slightly such that Mestra could never quite grasp it.  “You’re doing absolutely wonderfully, petal,” Mestra heard the doctor say. They let the pet name roll off them this time, after all, the procedure might already have started. “Now, you’re going to feel a very odd sensation in your head for the next few seconds,” he warned. He slowed the lateral movement of the ball, tightening it until it came to a rest in the centre of Mestra’s vision. “I’m going to leave this here, alright? All you have to do is keep looking at it. You’re doing very well.” 

Mestra remarked that it had been a long time since they’d met a physician this supportive. Perhaps they owed this doctor an apology. Suddenly, a flurry of feelings all at once: 

A sharp pinch at their neck. 

A deep ache spreading down into their shoulders.  

A haze coming over their thoughts as Mestra’s vision seemed to trip, tilting over forwards and going grey for a split second. 

Sensing their body slumping forward, Mestra quickly corrected, finding their eyes already drawn back to the swirling shapes of the mystery light. “Excellent,” came the doctor’s voice. “You did very well.”  

“C-can I go now?” Mestra asked, keeping their eyes forward for the time being. “Not quite yet,” the doctor replied, “but I have another task to ask of you.” The ball of light moved to the right in a continuous, flowing motion. Trying to turn their neck to follow, Mestra found themself unable. A jolt of panic shot through them, but was quickly interrupted by Dr. Folium’s kind voice: “Only with your eyes this time, dear. I know you can do it. Just keep your neck still… that’s it… much better.” Mestra followed the strange light – still without a clue of its purpose – in a steady line, back and forth…back… and forth.  

“Interesting…” the doctor’s voice mused. Mestra registered the sound of a few buttons being pressed, but it didn’t seem to concern them. In fact, none of this seemed concerning, even though Mestra was pretty sure it should have. It was almost like Mestra’s anxiety was there, floating in front of them. They could reach out at any time to feel it, but right now they felt no need. They weren’t inebriated, at least, they didn’t think so. Trying to do a few simple maths problems in their head they found that their mind was as clear as it ever was.  

“It appears,” the doctor hummed, “that you’re deficient in nearly every one of the essential vitamins and minerals required for a human to be healthy.” 

A very strange feeling overtook Mestra. It was warm, like the soft yellow glow that illuminated the room. It felt… Bubbly, almost. Mestra felt the strange feeling rise from their stomach into their throat, escaping in fits of giggles. Despite themself, they were laughing at the absurdity of it all.  

“Of course!” they exclaimed. “Of course that was the problem! Everything was the problem!” 

They continued in silent laughter for a few more seconds as they idly wondered if they’d finally snapped. Eventually though, the fits of laughter started to slowly drift away. Still within reach, Mestra thought. It manifested like a bright yellow energy, just out of the corner of their vision. Mestra’s throat and lungs ached in a pleasant sort of way. It was unfamiliar but: not unwelcome. 

“Yes dear, quite a few things were wrong…” Dr. Folium said softly. Mestra heard a few more beeps, then a cool rush of fluid into their neck. “You’re going to feel a bit strange for a few seconds, but not to worry,” he said.  

“Mhm… I’m not worried,” said Mestra, almost dreamily. “I don’t know why I’m not worried,” they said, realising that being relaxed right now made almost no sense. “But I don’t feel worried,” they concluded. The cool rush spreading up their neck made them realise something. “Do you have an IV in my neck?” Mestra asked without an ounce of concern as to why that might be happening. 

“Something quite similar,” said Dr. Folium. “It’s a device that temporarily redirects cranial blood flow so that we can get an accurate analysis of your blood chemistry, make rapid changes, and observe their effects. Does that scare you?” 

“It should,” Mestra admitted. “But something about, this…” they gestured with their healthier arm to the blue points of light that their eyes were still following, “...is making it easier.” Dr. Folium smiled, then turned back to the machine. “I’m very glad it’s helping,” he said. “I’m just about done adjusting your vitamins, now I’ve just got to do your hormones and neurotransmitters, alright…?” 

For the first time in several minutes, Mestra felt panic pierce them. “P-please don’t touch my hormones,” they said. “I um… I worked really hard on them.” Their voice sounded weak, amplifiyng their panic. Had they allowed themself to become vulnerable? An unexpected sound filled their ears. It sounded like a rustle of dry leaves in the wind, whooshing past Mestra’s ear with a sense of calm purpose.  

“Shhhhh….” Dr. Folium soothed. “It’s going to be quite alright. I promise not to alter the balance of sex hormones in your system. I’ll only touch the ones that won’t affect that, okay?”. The doctor’s soothing voice seemed to inspire Mestra to take a deep breath, to relax, to stare at the pretty lights, and to reset. They could feel more things flowing into their neck now, foreign, but not invasive. Their heart rate slowed, but its beating felt stronger. Mestra was breathing easily now, more easily than they’d remembered was possible. 

Bit by bit, Mestra noticed long-forgotten comfort return to them. Their muscles, never truly free from tension, relaxed. The near constant itching of the skin on their hands and feet finally ebbed. The wheel, always turning inside them, lopsided, always threatening to break away, slowed. After several minutes of this, Mestra felt a rapid swish, pull, click, and the machine detached itself from their neck. The ball of light at which they’d been so diligently staring faded, and the lights in the room came back on.  

“Well,” said the doctor, “that’s all the important things out of the way.” 

“That’s it?” Mestra asked, blinking the ghost of the blue light out of their eyes.  

“That’s all!” said Dr. Folium. “A lot of work was done as part of your hospital intake,” he explained, seeing the confusion on Mestra’s face. “So I can use that data for now while you settle in. No need for you to do more than necessary, I think.” 

“That’s so…thoughtful,” Mestra said, thinking to themself. “I’ve uh- I’ve never had…” 

“Never had that happen before, where records transfer seamlessly from one provider to the next?” Dr. Folium supplied. Mestra nodded. “It’s one of the many gifts of the compact,” said the doctor, his mouth wide in a smile. “We do love sharing our paperwork.” 

“How did you know?” Mestra blurted. “How did you know that it was sex hormones I was talking about, a minute ago?”  

“Well petal,” Dr. Folium said. The pet name brushed right off Mestra this time. They were extremely curious to hear this answer. “Hormones are the primary way by which your species expresses sex characteristics. They’re also some of the first things your species learned to control when it comes to adapting your bodies to your proper gender,” he explained. “I see many sophonts like you who’ve managed their sex hormones for a long time, making sure they’re just right for your unique experiences,” he said. “So I took a guess that that’s what you were worried about.” 

“I guess that makes sense…” Mestra said. They lifted their uninjured arm, inspecting it. For a few seconds, they seemed to get caught staring at all of the very faint freckles on their skin. They were barely any darker than the rest of their skin, but they were noticeable, now. Fine white hairs sat just above their brown skin, which felt smoother to the touch, now.  

“Is something the matter?” said the doctor.  

“N-no,” Mestra said, snapping out of the trance. “I just… I feel a lot better. It’s crazy I… I didn’t know that I could feel this healthy…” They trailed off, caught between amazement and anger that their wellbeing was so quickly improved.  

“It can be quite a shock, I know,” Dr. Folium said. “Now, I should tell you that the effects of this treatment are temporary – I restored your vitamins, minerals, hormones, neurotransmitters, and a few other things closer to a baseline level, but they’re eventually going to go back on their own.” Mestra felt disappointed, until the Affini continued: “Now of course, we can’t have that, so, I’m going to be sending a personalised prescription to the pharmacy for you.” 

Personalised prescription, pharmacy…right , right. Mestra’s thoughts were still slowly returning, but they did their best to keep up.  

“Now while this can be taken orally, it’s quite a hassle,” said the doctor. “Usually I would just give this to your warden in the form of an injection that she’ll give you once a day. Would that be alright with you?” 

Mestra nodded, slowly. Self-injections had always grossed them out. They supposed it wouldn’t be so bad if their warden was the one holding the needle. 

“Well then, I think that’s everything,” the doctor said jubilantly. With the lights now back on, Mestra noticed more details about his body: his legs looked solid, almost like tree trunks. Most of the Affini Mestra had legs that would best be described as “semi-formed”. Often when they walked, and especially when they ran, the clusters of little vines would come unwound, sometimes even turning into a big pile that simply propelled the Affini forward. This man looked like his legs were almost one solid piece of wood, covered in dark bark.  

“Would you like a berry, dear Mestra?” For a split second Mestra thought Dr. Folium was about to pull one of the big blue berries out of his beard, but instead the Affini turned to a drawer and pulled out what looked like a giant strawberry. “It’s fresh from a friend of mine, she specialises in Terran fruit.” He offered the fruit to Mestra from one of his massive hands.  

“Um, thanks,” said Mestra, taking the fruit. It was easily the biggest strawberry Mestra had ever seen in their life. “And uh, thank you for… for making this easier for me…” they said, their voice trailing off as they stared towards the ground. 

“Of course, Mestra,” Dr. Folium replied. “I hope you’ll find every new experience here in the compact as rewarding”.

Notes:

Man, I wish my vet would give me a berry after my appointment, smh.

On that note, what's your favourite berry? Sound off in the comments so I can get that sweet sweet dopamine.

Chapter 17: Bath

Mestra 

The walk back from the vet seemed much shorter than the first trip had been. Whatever that doctor had done, if it was really true that he’d levelled out Mestra’s neurotransmitters and the like, it seemed to be working. Mestra felt less on edge than they’d ever remembered being. The large berry was also a welcome distraction, and was shockingly sweet for such a large fruit. Mestra pretended to ignore the glances Monarda gave them as they ate. They could tolerate some gawking, for now. After all, they were in a rare good mood, and they weren’t about to spoil it.  

By the time Mestra reached Ms. Lamiaceae’s house, they were only just starting to sweat, but feeling a very pleasant warmth in the muscles in their legs. Mestra realised that they couldn’t remember that last time that being sore felt good.  

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Ms. Lami said as she opened the door. “I shudder to think about what it must have been like for your body to be missing all those essential components, and I’m grateful you trusted us enough to help you.” Mestra only sort of muttered a “no worries” as they stepped through the threshold and into the unfamiliar home.  

“Now, since you’re feeling well, I wanted to ask you if you’re ready to have a bath,” said Ms. Lami. Closing the door behind them, she made her way to the living room while Mestra fumbled with the pair of loaner sandals they’d taken from the bedroom. “A bath?” Mestra asked. They still felt like they were in a dream. Their head was just a little but fuzzy from whatever had happened with the doctor and they still weren’t entirely in control of their own thoughts. “Why would I need a bath?”  

“To my knowledge, you’ve only had a very brief cleaning since you arrived here,” Ms. Lami said. By the time Mestra walked to the living room, she was already somewhere else. “Given how well you’re feeling, I would love for you to get to be clean, pe-.” Monarda cut herself off, remembering this particular human’s discomfort with pet names.  

“Of course,” she added quickly. “You’ve already been plenty brave today, so I understand completely if you need some time.” 

“Do I have to?” Mestra asked, their voice surprisingly close to a whine. Stop that, they told themself. Don’t lose control.   

“I’m already mostly clean,” they said, their voice falling back to monotone so as not to betray any more of their feelings. Ms. Lamiaceae rounded the corner into the living room carrying a massive stack of towels under one enormous arm.  

“You need to wash up eventually,” she said. “So I’ll let you choose: either you do it yourself until I’m satisfied or you can make this easy and let me carry you to the bathroom.”  

“I’d rather join the Terran Navy than let this void-damned xeno carry me,” Mestra’s internal monologue said. For a moment, Mestra considered the reality of that statement, and felt an echo of fear as they remembered how close they’d come to being enlisted. No, they wouldn’t prefer that at all, would they? “ I would despise the navy,” Mestra shot back at their own subconscious. “ This probably won’t be so bad.” For the time being, the dark thoughts in their head seemed to recede.    

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Mestra said, sighing as they stepped to follow Monarda. “But then I’m going to my room to be alone. Got it?” They looked at Ms. Lami, who nodded in understanding. “Alright dear, after you get clean you’re allowed to mope alone for a while. But only until dinnertime.” Mestra found it somewhat ridiculous that such a thing as ‘moping’ could have a time limit. “Oh I can’t wait to see how pretty your hair looks when it’s properly tended for,” Monarda said excitedly. “I bet the curls are just so cute, oh it’s going to be wonderful.” She twirled around dramatically and started walking to the bathroom. 

“I am not dealing with my hair,” Mestra corrected as they hurried to follow the Affini. Damn, she could move fast, Mestra remarked. “It’s way too much work and I hate the feeling of letting it dry properly so I usually just-” Mestra’s voice caught in their throat as they walked into the bathroom.  

“If it’s too much of a challenge for you, I’ll do it myself,” said Monarda, tapping a few times on the edge of the bathtub to start the flow of water. “In fact, I would adore the opportunity.” 

“I…” Mestra mumbled as their brain caught up to what their eyes were seeing. This bathroom – if you could even call it that – was enormous. The room must have been the size of a small gymnasium, an impression helped by the massive Affini-sized ceilings. The bathtub was more like a pool, sloping down from the stairs to a depth that was well over Mestra’s head in some places. The whole thing was recessed into the ground, and shaped like a large bean. On either side stood what could have been massive shower heads, but they were so large they looked more like something one would find at an indoor waterpark.  

“This is your bathroom??” Mestra asked incredulously. Monarda’s antennae folded up as she shook in silent laughter. “Yes Mestra, this is my bathroom,” she said. “See,” she pointed over to a huge countertop with a large sink and a giant mirror, then to a toilet that looked comically small in the large room: “Bathroom!”
“I don’t… I can’t…” Mestra stuttered. “How is it so big? ” Monarda continued to giggle as she walked over to a shelf and picked out a handful of colourful bottles. Her voice was very close to sounding human, but it was slightly off. It was too… musical, almost like if someone was trying to sing the sound of laughter. 

Monarda set the towels down on a rack, then walked over to Mestra, kneeling to meet them at eye level. The water in the massive tub was starting to silently pool, like it was simply being willed into existence by some outside force.  

“Mestra, hun,” she started. “Sorry, not ‘hun’, you don’t like that.” She quickly corrected. 

“It’s alright,” Mestra mumbled. “I don’t mind that one that much.”  

“Oh, well alright,” said Monarda. “Well hun I wanted to tell you that you don’t need to be embarrassed about having help in the bath.  I’ve bathed plenty of humans before, you see. Us Affini don’t have the same cultural taboo around nakedness, you know.” Mestra felt heat rush to their cheeks. Somehow, that was the last thing they were worried about, but it did present an issue.  

“Actually it’s more that I…” said Mestra, looking squarely down at their feet. “Actually I sort of hate baths, and being wet in general really. Especially my hair. It’s sort of a lot and…” This was stupid. These plant aliens were here to violently remove any of Mestra’s negative tendencies and Mestra were worried about a little bit of water. They shuffled in place in discomfort.  

Monarda looked sympathetically down at the poor human. It made sense to her now why Mestra had been so shifty every time she’d brought up the idea of bathtime. The poor thing was used to baths being a miserable, uncomfortable experience. Of course they’d be resistant!  

“Sweet Mestra,” said Monarda, “I understand completely now why this was so frightening for you.” She reached out her hand and watched Mestra’s reaction closely. The cutie didn’t flinch, but they didn’t take her hand either. That was okay. There would be plenty more chances.  

“We Affini have a long list of different ways to make this more pleasant for you. Just tell me what you need and I’ll do my best, okay?” Mestra thought for a second. They’d never really thought about a way to make taking a bath better, only how to get it over with faster. “Um, well…” they said. “At the vet, he turned the lights down and I guess that helped…” they said. “But I probably shouldn’t take a bath in the dark, I mean, that sounds dangerous,” they added.  

Monarda smiled from ear to ear, or rather from where an ear might be to the corresponding spot on the other side of her plantlike face. “There’s no danger here, Mestra, I’ll be holding on to you the entire time,” she said. “I can happily get the lights, and…” she said as she quickly stood and walked to a panel on the wall. Hitting a few commands, the ceiling suddenly changed from an off-white colour to a photorealistic section of a night sky, shimmering. The new ceiling projection caused the light in the room to dim, until Mestra could just barely make out the shape of the Affini walking back towards them.  

“H-Hold on,” Mestra said. “You’re going to hold me?”  

Monarda nodded. “How else would I wash you, if I weren’t also holding on to you?” she asked. 

“I- I didn’t think that…” Mestra took a deep breath and collected themself. “Are you sure I can’t do it myself?” they asked. Monarda shook her head. “Not in these lighting conditions, I’m afraid. You said yourself it would be dangerous.” 

“I just didn’t think…” Mestra said. “I didn’t expect that, that’s all,” they said.  

“It’s going to be alright hun,” Monarda assured. “But I will need you to take those clothes off, unless you’d like help with that too?”
Mestra shook their head and quickly took to undressing. The darkness helped conceal their body, and Mestra was unfortunately accustomed to stripping for near-strangers who held power over them. As soon as they’d untangled their ankles from their pants, they felt a soft hand grip under their shoulder. They tried to conceal the hitch in their breath from the unexpected contact, but failed once the second, third, and fourth sets of vines took them under the other arm and near their hips.  

“I’m sorry hun, did I scare you?” Monarda asked apologetically. Mestra’s response got caught in their throat. “I can let you get into the bath yourself if that would be easier,” She offered.  

“Just…just do it” Mestra sighed. They were going to have to get used to this manhandling eventually, they figured. Surely the real Affini weren’t going to be as gentle as this warden, and definitely not as patient.   

“Okay hun,” Monarda said. Suddenly all four points of contact tightened and Mestra felt themself be lifted in the air. They flailed against the foreign movement, finding that Ms. Lami’s vines remained firm no matter what.  

“Oh sweetie,” Monarda cooed. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to help you calm down?” In the dim light, Mestra watched as Ms. Lami’s body rustled, vines shifting to form openings that were closed seconds later. “I have something right here, it’s much more mild than what you were given before, I promise-” 

“No,” Mestra said resolutely. “Just get this over with already.” 

“As you wish, dear,” Monarda said. As gently as she could manage, she lifted Mestra over the lip of the tub. Trying to keep the human upright for now, she slowly started to lower them, letting Mestra anticipate the warm water.  

Mestra looked down at their feet, which were only a few centimetres from touching the water. They hadn’t noticed before, but the bottom of the pool was glowing bright blue, casting light out and giving the water a nearly ethereal look. When taken with the projection of the night sky above, it was almost like the room was in another world. The stars above them were bright, and the simulated sky was so free of pollution that Mestra could even see purple clouds of space gas amongst them. Mestra had to admit, the room’s new look put them at ease. Maybe this wouldn’t be so-  

“Ack!” Mestra exclaimed, recoiling their feet from the water. 

“What is it dear?” Monarda asked hurriedly. “Is it too hot? Too cold?” She quickly pulled Mestra up and away from the water. 

“No…” Mestra mumbled.  

“Then what’s wrong, hun?” Monarda asked sweetly. “I would love for you to tell me, so I might be able to aid you.” 

“There’s nothing you can do about it,” Mestra said convincingly. 

“I’m not so sure,” Monarda countered. “We Affini have made many advancements in sophont comfort, I’m certain there’s something I can do.” 

Mestra sighed. A part of them really wished this beast would just stop trying to be nice and give in to its instincts. She couldn’t be doing Mestra any favours, pretending to be kind and caring just for that kindness to vanish the moment Mestra was made an official Floret.  

“I hate the way water feels, and it’s not like you can just delete that sensation from my head, and I don’t want to be high off my mind like I was when I came here. So there’s nothing you can do, let’s just please get this over with.” 

To Mestra’s frustration, Monarda didn’t try to put Mestra back in the water. Instead, she lifted them away from the tub and set them back on the tile floor, which was surprisingly warm to the touch. “One moment,” she said, turning and leaving the room faster than Mestra had yet seen her move. Only a few seconds later, she came rushing back through the door, momentarily letting in the full light of the rest of the house.  

“Here Mestra, I’ve got something for you.” She procured a human-sized syringe filled with clear liquid. It was an Affini-style syringe, more metal and wood than plastic, so Mestra assumed whatever it contained was some kind of Affini trickery. 

“This is what’s called a Sensory Editing xenodrug, or a Class-S,” said Monarda. “The way that this works is actually quite clever. You see, the way your body understands wetness is very similar to how it perceives temperature. In fact,” she said, pausing for dramatic effect, “They’re actually the exact same receptors.” Mestra nodded. They’d heard something like this before, something about how the body couldn’t really feel wetness save for its auxiliary effects on the body. 

“So what this is going to do is temporarily replace your sense of temperature with a constant neutral stimulus,” Monarda said. “It’ll make your body feel warm, and you’ll essentially not notice the water,” she concluded. “And, because of those pesky peripheral sensations of wet skin and pruney fingers…” Mestra cringed as a phantom sensation of wrinkled fingers washed over them. “...This vial also contains a general touch-sensitivity dampener, which should lower your body’s input of tactile stimuli without having any significant effect on your awareness or concentration beyond maybe a feeling of calmness.” 

“Is that safe?” Mestra asked. Monarda nodded. “Completely, verified in over ten thousand simulations before it ever entered a human bloodstream, and, I have the counteragent right here.” She produced a second syringe that was tinted the same shade as the first.  

“The effects will wear off in one to two hours,” Monarda explained, “which will probably be just long enough for a nice nap if that suits you.” 

Mestra nodded again. They didn’t trust this Xeno, not by a long shot, but this drug sounded promising. If it true that it could numb their sensory input…that could be life-changing. “ Or it could be a trick”, Mestra’s subconscious provided. “And you’ll be just as helpless as you were last time”.  

“I’ll risk it,” Mestra said aloud, eliciting a look of mild confusion from Ms. Lami.  

“Alright hun, stay still,” Monarda said. Mestra closed their eyes as Monarda approached, lining the needle up with Mestra’s shoulder. “Three, two one…” Monarda counted down, and Mestra felt the tiniest prick at their shoulder. A second later, the feeling of the needle exiting, and then it was over.
“That’s it?” Mestra asked. “I mean, that barely hurt, I’ve never had a needle like that before.” 

“It saddens me to hear that your previous injections have been painful, Mestra hun,” Monarda replied. “You should start to feel the sensory editing effects of the Class-S momentarily,” she said. “Remember, you’re going to feel warm and a little bit relaxed, that’s normal, alright?” 

Mestra nodded. They could feel their body temperature climbing already, like a blush covering their whole body. They brought their healthier hand to their cheek, expecting it to feel red hot. To their surprise, they felt almost nothing, except the sensation of their cheek being pushed in by fingers.  

Monarda giggled, the sound reverberating in the massive room. “I take it it's working?” she said. Mestra confirmed this as they let their arm drop. Their injured elbow still felt…sore, but the rest of their body was now in one constant state of being warm and just a little bit numb, although Mestra noted there was no sensation of pins and needles that they were expecting.  

“Alright, now, let’s get you in the bath.” This time, when Ms. Lami picked them up, Mestra didn’t flinch. They were lifted up over the short lip of the bean-shaped tub, and all in one motion, dunked into the water below. Mestra was as deep as their chin, nearly perfectly straight, and their feet weren’t touching the bottom. The warm feeling that was creeping up earlier was blossoming around them now, and Mestra realised that they couldn’t even tell that they were wet.  

“So hun, do you want to talk about your meeting with the vet?” Ms. Lami asked. A few quiet splashes and she was in the tub next to them, using a dizzying amount of vines to hold on to all the different bottles. She squeezed what must have been body wash into a few vines cupped together like a spoon, then used yet more of her limbs to rub that together in a rich lather.  

“It was surprisingly okay,” Mestra revealed. “I was expecting it to be scarier, honestly.” 

Ms. Lami lifted Mestra up out of the water to start scrubbing their back. Despite their anticipation, Mestra didn’t feel cold, and in fact felt exactly the same as when they were underwater. “That’s excellent,” Ms. Lami said as she worked to scrub in gentle circles.  

Bit by bit parts of Mestra were lifted out of the water, scrubbed, then dipped back. At one point Mestra was cradled on their back as Monarda cleaned their feet, which was a surprisingly relaxing experience. Now that they couldn’t feel the water, Mestra found the experience of being somewhat buoyant to be almost pleasant, and Ms. Lami was always careful to go slowly and ask Mestra for check-ins frequently.  

“He um, he said you’d need to give me daily medication,” Mestra said, their tone rising like a question. “Is that um…can you do that?” they asked.  

“Of course I can do that, Mestra,” Ms. Lami replied. “This is going to tickle,” she warned. Sure enough, Mestra squirmed gently as Monarda scrubbed the heel of their foot, between their toes, and pretty much everywhere else. She was nothing if not thorough, but she was shockingly gentle about the whole thing.  

“Umm, Miss,” Mestra asked. Monarda motioned for them to go on while continuing to scrub. “Why… Why are you being so nice to me? I mean,” they said, cutting Monarda off from answering while they elaborated. “The reason I’m here is because I tried to – is because I hurt myself. And now I’m trapped here because you caught me. But I don’t have a choice in being caught, I know that I can’t possibly escape so – why are you being so gentle? 

Monarda paused her scrubbing momentarily. “Mestra,” she said carefully. “I need you to understand that domestication is not a punishment. You were drowning with responsibility before, and it led you somewhere dangerous. All we want to do is make sure you’ll never have to feel that desperate again.” She didn’t continue scrubbing until Mestra spoke again: 

“But what if I don’t want that? Doesn’t that count for anything?” Mestra said. “You’re doing this against my will, so why are you being so nice about it?” 

“Our goal is to make you happy, Mestra. Why would we do anything that would go against that?” 

“I’m supposed to believe you?” Mestra countered. “Everything I’ve ever learned is telling me that this is a trick. A lie. That at some point, you’re going to pull the rug out from under me and it’s going to hurt. It always hurts.”  

Monarda frowned, curling her antennae tight like she was trying to restrain herself from cursing out the sophonts who made Mestra hurt. Her antennae unfurled and she dropped her shoulders in a sort of sigh.   

“It hurts me to know that you’ve been tricked like that, hun,” she said. “I know it’s hard to believe, but we genuinely want the best for you. At the end of your wardship, when you find an owner, their first and most important promise will be to keep you safe, no matter what. That can mean safety from others just as much as it can be safety from yourself. No matter your struggle, they’re going to make sure you come out the other side a happier, better sophont.  

Mestra frowned, which was slightly difficult to do while Monarda washed their neck and chin. “But what if that’s not what I want?” Mestra pushed. “What if I want to go back to my tiny apartment and live on my own, without being… owned.” The last word left a bad taste in their mouth, and they probably would have shivered if their body were able to feel cold at this moment.  

“If you found an animal on the street, that you knew you could care for,” Monarda said. “And not only that, but it’s your favourite animal, let’s say: a cute kitten. And you’ve cared for many kittens before, and you know you’d be able to give this kitten an incredible life, with all the food and toys and love it needs. Wouldn’t you want to take it, even if it tried to run away to the cold and dangerous streets?” 

Mestra thought about it for a moment. They didn’t like animals, so no, they wouldn’t take the kitten. But, that wasn’t really the point, was it?  

“You think you can do better for me than I can do myself?” they asked. 

“Precisely,” Monarda said.  

“But I’m not a street cat,” Mestra countered. “I have opinions on what should happen to me, and importantly, I’ve been living like this my whole life. Why would I trust my safety to you when I’m doing fine on my own? 

“The street cat also lived its whole life alone, and would probably continue to do so if we did not intervene,” Monarda argued. “But that does not mean its life could not be improved. As for why it should choose to trust us to give it a better life, well… Frankly it has no reason to.” 

Mestra opened their mouth to agree, to tell Monarda that’s exactly how they felt, but Monarda continued to speak.
“Nevertheless, the kitten will be happier in our care, whether or not they trust it at that moment. So, in a sense, there’s a leap of faith that their new owner is being honest when they say they only want the best for the little kitten . Of course, that doesn’t mean we don’t try to make the transition smoother. That’s my job as your warden. As much as I can, I am to make your transition to your new life comfortable and smooth. That’s why we’re taking things slowly, and I’m asking for your permission for many things an owner would not. I do it to make you feel comfortable, and to give you the space you need to adjust . Time for your hair.” 

A bucket of water was gently poured over Mestra’s head, which was an odd sensation when one could only feel the force of the water, and not its temperature. With their mouth closed to avoid drinking the bathwater, Mestra had a few moments where they could only mull over what Monarda had said. What she was saying made sense: it was better to ease Mestra into their new life as a captive rather than go all-in right away. 

That must be why she was holding off on medication so often. It was perhaps wrong to feel gratitude that their warden was easing them into their new life as a permanent captive, but Mestra felt it anyway. At least they still had some amount of autonomy, for now. Still, a thought nagged at them: 

“What if I’m too hard,” they said, wiping the excess water from their lips. “Assuming you’re telling the truth. What if I’m too much work for an Affini to fix me, to make me better? What happens to me then?” 

Individual vines lathered shampoo into Mestra’s hair, working slowly to untangle knots as they went. “Would you believe me if I told you that there’s no such thing as “too much work” for an Affini?” Monarda inquired.  

“No,” Mestra said flatly. The usual tugging and untangling of their hair wasn’t hurting as much as Mestra remembered, maybe because of the drugs. “There’s no way most Affini have the patience for me, so they’ll probably just dumb me down until I’m easier to handle.” 

Mestra’s black hair was covered in white lather now, and Monarda reminded Mestra to close their eyes as more water washed it away.  

“To “dumb down” a sophont, as you put it, isn’t our way.” Monarda said. “We take you as you are, and just as your needs are variated from sophont to sophont, so too are our abilities to care for you. In the end, our promise to you is your happiness and fulfilment. ” 

Large amounts of conditioner were the next thing to go into Mestra’s hair, although Mestra only knew this because they watched Monarda pour it out from the bottle. “ No offence but, I don’t believe you,” Mestra said. “I don’t believe there’s any way all humans can be fulfilled. There are too many of us, and some of us are too hurt to be saved. And besides, if the rumours of you living forever are really true, you’re going to be running out of plants sooner or later. Why spend time and effort on the bad ones?” 

“I don’t believe that,” Monarda countered. “There are more Affini than you can even comprehend, and our biological drive to protect life and promote happiness means there’s always an Affini in need of a new floret.” 

“If that’s true,” said Mestra, “then why don’t you have a floret?” 

There was a pause, almost imperceptible, before Monarda spoke again. “Each Affini is suited for a different facet of a floret’s life,” she said. “I have found a place taking in new sophonts and getting them ready for their forever lives with their new owners. And I’m happy here.”  

Without another word, more water was poured over Mestra. Once they were clean, Mestra was lifted out of the tub and dried off with a fluffy towel in short order. “Well, thanks-” Mestra said as they tried to take a step towards the door.  

“Nuh uh,” Monarda said, the expression not native to her but clearly practised. “There’s more work yet.  

Mestra groaned. “There’s more work?” they said. “I thought you said I would get to be alone after this!”
“You will,” Ms. Lami said. “After I put in this leave-in cream for your hair, this moisturiser for your skin, and this nail cream. None of it is drugged, although I’m afraid they still contain enough natural ingredients to make you feel relaxed and wonderful, Sorry hun.” 

Mestra sighed, but they knew there was no getting out of this. At least they didn’t feel cold, they thought. A few minutes of thorough application later, Mestra looked up to Monarda. “ Now are we done?” they asked.  

“Nope!” Monarda said. “Now I need to set and then dry your hair – don’t worry, '' they said, pulling out what could have been mistaken for an ultra-futuristic hair dryer. “This doesn’t actually blow any air, it’s actually decompiling the water molecules form your to to most effectively promote-” 

“Whatever” Mestra interrupted. Their good mood was waning, now, and they badly wanted to go lie down in bed. Monarda reached a dizzying number of vines – probably ten or fifteen – towards Mestra’s wet hair. Each of them picked a section and then carefully followed the pattern of the curls to find their natural ringlets. “There we go…” Monarda mumbled as she activated the hair dryer. The device hummed oddly, but Mestra supposed it would be natural for such an odd machine to make that noise. Only a few minutes later, a mirror was presented to Mestra.  

They had to admit, their hair looked healthier than it had in a long time. Gone were the matted sections at the back where Mestra could never bother to reach, replaced by tight fluffy curls that bounced as Mestra moved their head.  It was dim in here but, Mestra could swear their hair had a healthy reflective coating that had been absent for a long time. The rest of their face was a mess, though. Mestra’s skin looked ashy, although the cream Monarda had applied to it seemed to help somewhat. Mestra looked better than they had in months, but they were still a wreck. “Why is she bothering with all this?” Mestra wondered to themself. “I can’t be worth all this effort.”   

“Wow… I need a haircut,” Mestra commented, seeing that Ms. Lami was looking expectantly at them. “I mean – thank you,” they said, sensing just a tiny bit of disappointment from their warden. Ms. Lami had worked hard on this, the least Mestra could do was act grateful. “Don’t give her the satisfaction,” their subconscious prompted. Mestra grimaced. They wanted to go be alone, now. This was too much weird Affini interaction for the day.   

“I’m glad you like it, I think you look positively adorable, if I may say so.” Monarda handed Mestra a bathrobe which was, as expected, giant and fluffy. “And I know you can’t see it in this light, but your skin looks very good as well. It’s the most lovely shade, it reminds me of-” Monarda cut herself short, seeing the human’s impatience. “You’re free to go until dinnertime,” she said. “And,” she finished. “Thank you, Mestra. For trusting me today.”  

Notes:

This question is mostly an excuse for me to complain, but what's your least favourite thing about taking a bath? I have three: having wet hair, touching the bottom of the tub with my skin (ew), and my skin absorbing moisture. So basically what I'm trying to say is this chapter is shameless bathtime wish-fulfilment for me (I want that water hair decompiler SO badly you don't even know). Annnnyways, thanks for reading! :D

Chapter 18: Diary II

Notes:

Heads up, for the next few chapters we're going to be seeing a lot more dubcon/noncon elements, and some drugging, along with a lot of angst.

Mestra

As promised, the day after Mestra had taken the Class S, all of its effects had worn off. So too, seemingly, had the good mood Mestra was feeling after their surprisingly comfortable vet visit. Now, they wanted to be alone.  

One hidden silver lining of being captured was the time it afforded Mestra to read. It meant they could be alone, or at least as alone as one could be given the circumstances. Mestra felt as though Ms. Lami was always watching them in some capacity or another, but for the time being she’d been respectful of Mestra’s desire to be private.  

Mestra waited an entire day before continuing to read the journal they’d found. The day after their vet appointment, Monarda had been very eager to get Mestra out into the living room, and it afforded Mestra was keenly aware of the risks of reading a hidden journal written by a former navy officer, hidden in secret in their prison cell.  

It took until the next day when Mestra decided to give in to temptation. “Maybe Monarda already knows about this, and she wants me to read it,” Mestra considered. That kind of deception wasn’t above these weeds. Mestra took that as justification enough to start reading, although they were careful to hide the book whenever they heard Monarda approaching.  

Mestra opened the secret journal written in the margins of the romance novel. The entries had started appearing in lowercase now, and there seemed to be more care put into the lettering compared to the first haphazard pages: 

“SGT. [[[[[[[[]]]]]]]]]]’s Log, RG. 50128492. Stationed to the CNS Challenger. 

My prison-keeper’s name is Monarda Lamiaceae. She told me this willingly, so she must know that I have no hope of getting this information back to the Navy.” 

Mestra’s heart rate quickened as they read their warden’s name. This writer, whoever they were, had also been assigned to be Monarda’s prisoner. They continued reading, now feverishly invested: 

“It’s been nearly a week since I was captured. In that time, I’ve been subjected to a battery of invasive tests and a lengthy psychological evaluation. They called the doctor a ‘vet’. Must be to humiliate us. Damn weeds.” 

The… vet. There was no name provided, but Mestra wondered if it was the same plant.  

“They did things to me… I can’t even remember them.  I have no way of knowing if I’ve been compromised by the enemy. For now, though, I continue to resist.” 

Mestra set down the journal and stared at the wall, trying to process what they’d just read. A knock at the door distracted them. It was time for lunch. Mestra scrambled and hid the novel under the large leaf blanket before leaving the room.  

The whole meal, Mestra could only think of how eerie it was, how well some of the details matched Mestra’s own experience. Whoever had been in there before Mestra had visited the vet in a similar fashion to Mestra, although they noted they hadn’t had to complete a psychological evaluation. Mestra looked around the kitchen, and imagined it being occupied by an officer of the Terran Navy. It felt wrong. After the meal, Monarda wished Mestra a good afternoon, and reminded them of their upcoming injection.   

Monarda had explained the previous day that she was going to administer the shot every evening, and that it would form a predictable routine. She sounded proud of herself, but Mestra couldn’t care less. All it meant was that they could expect when to be bothered.  

The medicine was supposed to balance Mestra’s neurochemistry like the vet had done, although in a notably less invasive way. Mestra did notice some effect from their first shot, but by today’s lunch the effect was already wearing off. As soon as they were sure Monarda wasn’t going to come knocking, Mestra continued reading: 

“SGT. [[[[[[[[]]]]]]]]]] Log, RG. 50128492. Stationed to the CNS Challenger. 

Who am I kidding, they aren’t coming for me.  

It’s been two weeks since I’ve been captured and I’m close to giving up hope. The training couldn’t prepare us for what we were going to encounter. I was doomed from the start. We all were.  

Since my capture, I have been humiliated at every turn. The prison-keeper prepares my meals, cleans my cell, and even forces me to bathe with her assistance.  

These xenos have resources beyond our imagination. I am encouraged to take walks in the station, with the stipulation that whenever I leave this prison, I have to wear a tracking anklet. I’ve tested it and found that it’s able to administer sedatives as soon as I go outside of designated areas, and no amount of trickery seems to beat it. I’ve tried, and it wasn’t pretty. There’s no fighting these drugs.” 

Mestra couldn’t shake the dread they felt turning through the pages of the journal. It reminded them of the nights they’d spend researching different medicines and procedures and their effect on the body. There was something so… foreboding, reading about the effects of something Mestra couldn’t control. This was like that – completely out of Mestra’s control. They reached the next entry: 

"SGT. [[[[[[[[]]]]]]]]]] Log, RG. 50128492. Stationed to the CNS Challenger. These xenoscum also have telecommunications infrastructure beyond our imagination. I was given access to one of their personal computing devices – it contains more knowledge than I ever thought possible. I’ve included recreations of maps of key areas of this ship, in case this journal ever gets found and someone finds them useful:” 

Sure enough, sketched over the text of the next few pages were maps like the ones Mestra had seen on their tablet. An enormous space station, bigger than anything Mestra had ever seen. And marked clearly with a red ‘X’ was the same house Mestra now found themself in.  

Mestra traced their finger over the lines drawn on the page. Someone had been in their same situation before, in the very same house. The details matched Mestra’s experience almost one to one. The food, the vet… even the bath. Mestra looked around at the walls, which were clearly designed to look friendly but took on a menacing aura now. Whoever wrote this journal had been captured just like Mestra, and had been kind enough to write down their experience. 

The journal mentioned some sort of tracking anklet, but Mestra had no idea what that was. Everything up until this point had been accurate, but Monarda had made no mention of any tracking cuff, and hadn’t made Mestra wear one when they went to the vet. Was this going to come next? Mestra made a mental note to find out after they kept reading. They needed to know what else might be in store for them. Had Monarda told them the whole truth, or was there something she was still hiding? Mestra flipped to the next entry. 

“SGT. [[[[[[[[]]]]]]]]]] Log, RG. 50128492. Previously stationed on the CNS Challenger. 

The humiliation never ends. I had begun to trust Monarda – foolishly. She said she wanted to surprise me with something. I was expecting a meal, and instead I was violated.  

She took me to some sort of fucking, animal park, except instead of animals it was full of void-damned captured soldiers. All acting like animals.  

She injected me with something, and then… 

And then it was a blur. But I knew something was wrong. When I came to, I was on my void-damned hands and knees, covered in dirt. I only remember flashes but… 

She violated me. I will never give in to these void-damned weeds. Never.” 

Mestra shuddered. A memory of the sensation they’d felt back at the hospital – Myrrha injecting them with… The feeling of being completely helpless as the drugs overtook them. The last panicked breath they remembered taking before everything they remembered became a blur.  

Their stomach contorted into a terrible shape and sickness crept up their throat. “It’s all been a lie,” their subconscious whispered. “She’s going to take advantage of you, and this is proof.” Mestra shook their head, trying to dismiss the thought. It didn’t succeed. They turned to the next entry: 

“[[[[[[[[]]]]]]]]]]’s Journal: 

Wow, it’s been a while since I wrote in here, huh? I guess that makes sense. So much has happened these last few days, it’s almost been a blur. I was so angry at Ms. Lami, but I see now that she was only trying to help. I’ve been enjoying our talks. She’s so nice” 

This was wrong. Mestra flipped back and forth to make sure they hadn’t missed an entry. There was nothing in between this entry and the last. It made no sense, the writer was angry. What had Monarda done to them…? 

“I still haven’t picked myself a new name. It’s harder than I thought. Ms. Lami is telling me that, when I get an owner, I’m going to get their last name as well. So it’s hard to pick something without knowing what my new last name will be, y’know? 

This is all really scary, but Ms. Lami says it’s going to be okay. And ever since… well…  

Ever since that night, I trust her. She only wants the best for me, I see it now.” 

No. This was wrong, all wrong. The handwritten words floated off the page and into the tornado of worry in Mestra’s mind. “She only wants what’s best for me.” 

Mestra sat in shock, their mind reeling. In one entry, the author had gone from angry and betrayed to something… docile. Monarda had done something. There was no other explanation. That meant that Monarda was going to do something to Mestra, too. And Mestra was going to find out exactly what. They grabbed their tablet from the nightstand, stowing it under one arm and carrying the journal as they stood up.   

Mestra opened the door, walking through towards the living room. Their feet landed hard against the wooden floor, thumping loudly. They made it to the living room, with its oversized couch and carpeted floors. How many prisoners had walked these floors before them? How many had she lied to and taken advantage of, all in their name of their “safety”?  

Monarda was in the kitchen, vines outstretched as she put away cutlery. Five, ten, maybe twenty vines were all outstretched, putting away more cutlery than Mestra had actually seen in the house up until this point.  

“Mestra, I didn’t expect to see you!” she said. The vines holding plates and cutlery finished their task then promptly returned to reform the skirt around her waist. “How can I help you, hun?” 

“What happened to them?” Mestra asked icily. They didn’t manage to make eye contact with the tall Affini, instead staring at the orange flowers on her skirt.  

“Huh?” Monarda said, momentarily freezing. For a second, both Monarda and Mestra stood still, at opposite ends of the kitchen island. Monarda looked Mestra up and down. They looked more dishevelled than they had in the afternoon. Their eyes were red and puffy, like they were on the verge of tears. “Mestra hun I’m… I’m not sure what you mean,” Monarda fielded.  

“You know damn well. You must know.” Mestra threw the book up on the counter and opened it to the first entry. “You put this here, didn’t you?” they accused. Monarda looked down at the book, perplexed. With one massive hand, she held the book between two fingers, using her two identical thumbs to move back and forth between its pages. 

Mestra stared angrily as the Affini mouthed the words on the page. She looked shocked, but Mestra was beyond trusting her at this moment.  “I did not put this journal in your room, Mestra. In fact I’ve never seen it before today.” 

“But you know who wrote it,” Mestra said. Monarda continued to look down at the journal, reading it at a feverish pace. Her expression betrayed something Mestra struggled to read. A pang of guilt, maybe? Surely not.  

“I… knew this sophont,” she finally said, closing the book gingerly and setting it back down on the table.  

“Knew?” Mestra said, accusatory. “What happened to them?” 

“Mestra hun you must realise-” 

“What. Happened to them.” Mestra’s voice was cold. Their throat was starting to feel tight, and tears threatened their way into Mestra’s eyes. “Not now,” they thought, and the tears receded.   

“She was a former ward, several years ago,” Monarda said. Mestra was staring at her now, and it was her turn not to make eye contact. “Her name was Éclaire. She was… the first Terran that I took…”
“What did you do to her?” Mestra asked. All at once the flowers on Monarda’s dress drooped, like they’d suddenly been cut off and dried.  

“I-,” Monada said, choking on her words for a few seconds. Memories of a time gone by flooded her, and for a few seconds she found herself unable to speak. “She’s with a permanent owner now. I haven’t heard much from her since.” 

“What did you do to her?” Mestra repeated angrily. She was upset with you in one entry, and the next she was all… docile.” Mestra shuddered, haunted by their nightmare.  

“Mestra whatever you thought I did-” Monarda said, fumbling over her words. “It was Éclaire’s choice, it always was. I told you before that I take these things slowly, that I-” 

“You’re LYING!” Mestra shouted. “You didn’t take things slow with her! I read what you did, you drugged her, made her into some sort of… of ANIMAL!”. Tears were again welling in Mestra’s eyes, and this time they didn’t have the power to stop them.  

Monarda’s bright orange eyes dulled visibly, turning a muddy brown colour. “Mestra, I-” Her voice caught in an unnatural buzz. It was a noise unlike any human could make, but Mestra understood what it meant all the same.” 

“I can explain,” she said. “I made a mistake, and I-” 

“I don't. Want to hear. More lies,” Mestra growled. “Why should I trust anything you’re saying to me right now? How do I know you aren’t tricking me, like you tricked her, ”. Mestra's voice dripped with contempt, and they were surprised to find their words landed a blow with the Affini. Her form seemed to wither more, but this wasn’t a time for Mestra to feel guilty.  

Everything in the journal thus far had happened to Mestra. It stood to reason, then, that the betrayal Mestra read about was imminent in their future too. And then… Mestra shuddered. And then whatever happened to Éclaire that made them so… docile in the last entry. 

A terrible thought presented itself: “She’s keeping you docile, too”. Mestra tried to shake away the uncomfortable thought, but the memory of last night’s injection played on a loop in their mind. It had been several hours now, but they could still feel the drug’s effects. They could feel the artificial calm the drugs brought them. They had to get out of here.  

Mestra walked out of the kitchen and towards the front door. “I’m leaving,” they seethed. “I need to be alone.” Before they could reach for the handle, their wrist was caught by one of Monarda’s flower-tipped vines. Her grip was strong and unrelenting as it pulled Mestra to face her.   

“If you’re planning on escaping, understand that it won’t work,” Monarda said, her voice sounding tired for the first time since Mestra had met her.  

Mestra scoffed. “I know better than to try.” 

“Still. If you’re going anywhere I am required by Subsection 45c of the Human Domestication Treaty to ensure your safety as my ward. Pursuant to that…” Monarda held up a black cuff, as thick as three of Mestra’s fingers.   

“I need you to wear this, which will monitor your location, and alert me if you’re in danger.” 

Without waiting for permission, Monarda reached down and wrapped the cuff around Mestra’s ankle. The device locked around Mestra’s leg with a magnetic click and beeped twice, signalling that it was active.   

“You’re free to go now, and I expect to see you home by the time it gets dark, otherwise I will come looking for you. You should know, those cuffs are equipped with sedatives, which will be administered should you try to cause any trouble.” Monarda’s tone was curt and left no room for argument. 

It was all starting, now. Just like Mestra had read in the journal. A thick black band that would keep Mestra from trying to escape. And if what Mestra read was true, it could dose them at any moment and Mestra would be powerless to stop it. Just like the Affini wanted. Mestra turned without another word, pulled the door open, and sped outside, not bothering to close the door behind them.  

Notes:

Woah, the plot is moving!! Who made that happen??? Quick I have to think of a relevant question, ummmMMM-
Have YOU ever had a diary? I haven't. What's it like?

Chapter 19: Lies

Notes:

Similar warnings as before, Mestra is not having a good time.

Mestra

Mestra walked without any direction for several long minutes. They didn’t care where they were going as long as it was far away from where they’d been. “Besides,” they thought cynically to themself, “this cuff is going to knock me out if I go too far.” The black band had a single light that blinked steady green every few seconds but was otherwise nondescript. The band felt hot against Mestra’s leg, like a loaded bomb waiting to go off the moment Mestra stepped out of line.  

As they walked, memories of their nightmare creeped into the edge of their consciousness. A man with a scalpel, cutting away all the errant weeds of Mestra’s psyche – joined the seeds of doubt in Mestra’s mind, who all repeated the same things: “She tricked you,” they said. “You missed something, you overlooked something. And now they’re going to hurt you.” 

Sweat started to soak into Mestra’s borrowed clothes as the exertion and the anxiety caught up with Mestra’s body. They breathed heavily, stopping at a tree to sit down. This would be far enough away from her, they thought. Their heart felt like it was beating out their chest. “This is probably a panic attack,” some part of them dimly registered. “Or maybe my body is so broken that I can’t even walk without feeling like I’m dying.” 

At some point, Mestra had started clutching their tablet with their sweaty hands, holding on to it so tightly it was turning their knuckles white. Now seated, they wiped the sweat off of the glossy screen. The face staring back at them was covered in sweat with bags under their eyes and ashy skin. Their hair was unkept again, flying wildly off in all directions. “No wonder they’re taking you,” Mestra’s subconscious said. “You look pathetic.” 

Mestra sat, staring at their own reflection in the shade of the large tree. They tried to slow their breathing, taking deep breaths and holding them like they’d been told to do so many times before. Slowly, some of their anger faded. 

They were still mad. Mad at Monarda for lying to them. Mad at the Affini for taking them. Mad at the world for hurting them and mad at themself for allowing them to be hurt. But underneath the anger was another, stronger emotion: fear.  

Mestra was afraid. They had no idea what was going to happen to them after the few remaining weeks of their wardship was over. It seemed like this giant wall that they couldn’t see the other side of: there was definitely something on the other side, but Mestra couldn’t fathom what it was. Mestra recognized this feeling. It had been with them their whole life. There was always a wall in their future, something they knew was coming but couldn’t ever see past. Whether it was a surgery they’d been told they’d need “one day”, or a medicine they’d fought years to try. Their future had always been uncertain, but living with the unknown had never made it easier. Instead, Mestra’s fear of what they didn’t know only grew with each passing year, and with each wall that asserted itself in their future.  

Mestra craved answers, and for those answers bring them stability. But there was no way to get answers here, not while they were being held prisoner. And yet, t hey were holding this device, with incredible capability. It seemed to have access to all the knowledge Mestra could want, if they were to just look for it. But was it a lie too? It had been a gift from Monarda so, it was probably part of her plan.  and yet none of it mattered, because they kept getting tricked. No one would tell them the truth, and they had no one to turn to. Mestra had only met one Affini they’d considered to be honest, but he… 

Mestra opened their tablet, and was surprised to see a bright blue flower indicating a new message was waiting for them, dated several days ago. Avernus. At first when he hadn’t replied, Mestra thought he’d just ignored the message. The days after that, Mestra had been so occupied with other things that they hadn’t bothered to check a second time. Mestra silently kicked themself for their stupidity, but quickly opened the message to read its contents.  

Avernus | > I remember you. If there is an issue with your wound, you should consult your veterinarian.   

Mestra glanced down at their injured elbow before they really even realised what they were doing. It was healing well, they thought, especially considering… what they’d done to it.  The wound was now only bruised ugly shades of purple and bright green, and only hurt a marginal amount to move. The site where it had been sewn back together had changed from an angry red colour to a more docile pink, with edges that were slowly returning back to natural brown.  

It was probably healing at record pace, Mestra thought to themself. They felt no comfort in that realisation. Of course it was fixed so quickly, these plants are incredible doctors. The real question is why they even put in the effort? 

Without even really thinking, Mestra typed back a response: 

Mestra547382957 | > My arm is fine, thank you, not that I expect you to care.  

That might have been too rude, Mestra thought. But he deserved it for being callous when they’d first met. Still, Mestra needed something from this man, and they couldn’t push him away before they got those answers. This surgeon may have been callous, but he was also brutally honest when he’d met Mestra. He’d asked Mestra point blank about what they did to themself, and then he had the audacity to offer advice –  Pointers on how Mestra could have more effectively performed their foolish last ditch extreme self-surgery. If Mestra had even a chance of getting an honest answer, it would be here.  

 

Mestra547382957 | > I need to ask you something. You were honest with me when we met. Everyone I’ve met since has been lying to me. I need answers 

Mestra stared at the tablet for several minutes, waiting for a response. Then, just as Mestra set their tablet down, it pinged.  

Avernus | > The Affini do not lie, it is not our way.  

Avernus | > Nevertheless I can attempt to answer your questions, if you insist on forgoing contacting the proper channels 

Mestra scoffed. Of course he was still going to be condescending. They took a few attempts to get the next message right: 

Mestra547382957 | > What happens when they pick an owner for me? My warden says it’s going to be my choice, that they’ll take things slow and keep my best interest at heart. That’s a lie, isn’t it? They’re going to lobotomize me to make me docile. To keep me under control.  

Mestra had to go back several times to correct typos as the dark thoughts distracted them. The sinking feeling of dread sat firmly in their stomach, making Mestra feel ill from the weight of it all. It took several uncomfortable minutes before Avernus replied: 

Avernus | > You could not be more incorrect.  

Avernus | > We Affini do not “lobotomize,” that is an insult to our millenia of research in xenobiology. We do nothing less than fulfil the deepest desires of our florets. For some, unbelievable though it might be, that means total loss of autonomy. 

Mestra’s fear grew, and their anger rose again to defend them.  

Mestra547382957 | > Your lies won’t justify what you’re doing. Humans need autonomy to live.  

Avernus | > Demonstrably false.  

Anger rose in Mestra’s chest. Him too. Even he was part of this. Of course, of fucking COURSE he was, why did Mestra EVER expect anything different. Mestra was halfway to throwing the stupid tablet at the wall at full force when a soft chime signalled another message:  

Avernus | > Regardless, it is not the only path for a floret. I’m truly not sure why this is worrying you. According to your case file, you’re being given the option to choose any owner you see fit. That is an uncommon privilege for someone whose poor choices landed them in my operating room.   

Mestra547382957 | > Maybe you’re too far up your own prickly ass to see it, but there ARE no choices. No matter where I go, no matter what I do, you’re going to hurt me. You’re going to turn me into something I’m not because otherwise, you have no hope of controlling me.  

Avernus | > You misunderstand the nature of our control. Everything we do is to ensure the wellbeing of sophonts such as yourself, resistant though they might be to being helped. Perhaps your warden has explained this to you? 

Being helped? The notion was laughable. Mestra had been just fine in their apartment before the Affini showed up. Better, even, when they’d dissolved all corporations and Mestra no longer had to work. But all this had started when they’d tried to interfere. Mestra had this under control. They could deal with their health alone, they always had.  

Mestra547382957 | > That’s a lie and you know it, you fucking xenoscum.  

Mestra’s fingers trembled, missing keys and causing Mestra to have to frustratingly retype their insults.  

Avernus | > Ah, I see that she has not, nor has she addressed that tongue of yours. What a shame.  

They were wrong. Mestra thought that Avernus would have answers, but he was just like all the rest of them.  

Mestra547382957 | > You can drug me into oblivion, but then I won’t be me anymore. If you want to control me, you’ll have to kill any part of me that can think for myself.  

It was a hollow threat, because these plants would kill them. That was the whole plan. Make Mestra a braindead docile animal that would worship them blindly, just like Monarda did to Éclaire.  

Avernus | > Once again, you show your ignorance. We have methods to ensure your wellbeing. Perhaps you should ask your warden for proof, if you don’t believe me.  

Mestra547382957 | > FUCK NO. I don’t fucking trust that lying fucking weed. 

Avernus | > You desire to understand why we Affini take control. Your warden is more than capable of explaining how it is only in your best interest.  

Mestra547382957 | > Fucking HELL you pretentious fuck, just answer the goddamn question. What happens to me when I get taken as a floret? 

Avernus | > You have demonstrated very clearly that you aren’t receptive to hearing the answer to that question. 

A status indicator went dark, showing that Avernus was no longer online. Mestra threw their tablet against the grass in frustration. “Fucking DAMMIT” they growled. They recovered their tablet from the grass to express their anger.  

Mestra547382957 | > Oh that’s fucking rich, yeah I’m sure that’s it.  

Mestra547382957 | > You’re hiding something from me.  

The status indicator was still dark. Avernus wasn’t answering.  

Mestra547382957 | > Answer me.  

Mestra547382957 | > FUCINKJ  HELL ABSWER ME!!!!!!!! 

Mestra’s threw their hands in their air, fed up with correcting their typos. If their own fucking fingers didn’t work what the fuck was the fucking point. He wasn’t going to listen. A pair of tall Affini were approaching Mestra’s tree from the sidewalk. “They’re watching you,” Mestra thought to themself. “Get away before it’s too late”.  

Mestra stood up and walked briskly away from the path of the Affini, cursing under their breath. They cut through what looked like a public park, with gravel paths leading in many directions. They spotted a pair of humans in the distance cuddled up under a tree and they felt sick to their stomach. Their blissful expressions… Florets, they had to be. It didn’t look like they had any trace of humanity left behind those glassy eyes.  

This was wrong. All of this was wrong. They turned to face away from the brainwashed humans and found themself in back on a sidewalk in front of a different set of Affini houses.  

Mestra marched angrily down the pristine streets. Avernus still hadn’t replied. That fucking asshole. He owed it to Mestra for being so absolutely inconsiderate. Mestra realised they’d been walking without an end goal, and had found themself in an unfamiliar neighbourhood. They tried to retrace their steps, but quickly found that they hadn’t been paying any attention. Now, even if they wanted to return to Monarda, they were lost.  

“Great, just fucking, stellar,” they muttered. They looked down again at the band of black material that was attached to their ankle. It didn’t matter where they were, Monarda would find them sooner or later. There was no escaping this.  

It was starting to get dark out, and other than the two Mestra had seen, there weren’t many Affini out on the streets. “Thank fuck for that…” Mestra mumbled. The absolute last thing they needed right now was more Affini. 

But they should probably figure out how to get back. The weather was warm, but not warm enough to sleep outside, and at any rate Monarda would come looking. “Let her,” the voice in the back of their head seethed. “See if I care.”  

Mestra absent-midndedly fiddled with their tablet. Avernus still hadn’t said anything. That fucking prick. Mestra tapped a few buttons, staring at the empty “About Me” profile on the Find a ‘Ffini app. What was this guy’s deal? A cursory look showed other profiles full of information, personal notes, and some even elaborately decorated with images of flowers and leaves. But Avernus’ profile was default grey, empty except for the scarcest details: 

Name…Occupation… 

Place of Work.  

Mestra stared at the screen for a few seconds. Then it hit them. A terrible, awful idea that they should never act on. Mestra pressed the address of work, which triggered the map application and plotted a walking route to the hospital. It wasn’t that far. They could make it, and Monarda might not even notice. It could be done. Maybe.  

The tablet’s instructions guided Mestra to the hospital. As they walked, their anger grew. They probably weren’t thinking straight, they reasoned. But they didn’t care.  

One pleasant memory tried to work its way to the front of Mestra’s mind. The calm they’d felt, right after seeing the vet. “It’s not all bad,” it seemed to say. “You can go back now, it’ll be okay.” Mestra looked around at the scenery as they walked, cynically noting that it was the first time they’d been sober enough to take in the sights. Their stomach felt like it was full of rocks. It wasn’t okay. They needed to do this.  

---

The tablet’s directions lead Mestra to what looked like a commercial district. There were shops and restaurants of all kinds, clearly modelled after old Terran cities. Several streetlights illuminated the cobblestone streets as whatever artificial sun the Affini had devised started to set. The hospital was a large square building built in pristine white with many murals adorning its large flat surfaces. Mestra kept their head down as they passed several humans on the street. Thankfully, none of them tried to talk to them.  

They reached the entrance to the hospital and were immediately greeted by another human, holding a clipboard. “How can I help you?” they said cheerfully. They were wearing what looked like scrubs, but they were absolutely covered in printed sunflowers. They were wearing a pair of eyeglasses, which Mestra found peculiar. If this was a servant of the Affini, that would surely be something they would have fixed.  

“I’m looking for someone,” Mestra mumbled. They pointed to Avernus’ profile which was displayed on their tablet. 

“Oh wow, he doesn’t get many visitors,” the hospital worker said. They wrote a few things on their clipboard, which Mestra realised wasn’t a clipboard at all, but another tablet. “Do you have an appointment?” 

“Do I need one?” Mestra grumbled. They were far past caring that it wasn’t fair for them to be rude to this worker.  

“Not necessarily,” said the worker. “He usually stays quite late so, I’m sure he won’t mind seeing you.” Mestra could hear the hesitance in their voice. “Why umm… If I may ask. Why do you need to see him?” 

“Where do I need to go?” Mestra said, ignoring the question.  

“Fourth floor, office four-thirty-nine,” the worker replied. “If you follow the vine of red roses on the floor, that will bring you to the elevator, and then you can-” 

Mestra sped past the hospital worker and into the massive lobby. Hospitals were a place that never slept, and this seemed to hold true even in a backwards Affini society. There were many people milling about, and even more Affini. Mestra kept their gaze pointed directly at the floor. They didn’t want any obstacles. They found the lines on the floor that pointed to the elevator, and followed them. In their peripheral vision, they saw humans being carried by Affini. Mestra tried to ignore the dopey looks they caught glimpses of whenever they raised their head. It was disgusting, and it made them angry.  

They were joined in the elevator by two humans in work clothes. These ones, at least, seemed coherent. They seemed coordinated and alert, and were trading notes about some medical technology Mestra hadn’t heard of before. But Mestra didn’t trust any of that. They worked for the Affini, and so they couldn’t be trusted.  

The elevator chimed at the fourth floor and Mestra stepped out. In front of them was a dizzying amount of offices, examination rooms, and rooms for storage. They checked the wall for a directory, having completely forgotten which office Avernus would be in. After a quick scan, Mestra set off down the hall. There were fewer people here, but Mestra spotted three Affini at the end of a hallway coming their way. The office Mestra needed was between themself and the Affini. All they had to do was make it past them without arousing suspicion.  

Mestra walked, head down, until they were only metres away from the giant aliens. They kept walking, step after step, until the Affini passed them. They kept walking, hearing their heart beat so loudly in their ears that they couldn’t make out anything the Affini were saying. They made it. And in front of them was their prize: a nondescript door with a plaque that simply read “Rm. 439: Dr. Avernus Senarum.” The door was nondescript only in its decoration. Really, it would have been a very weird door if Mestra hadn’t already seen the size of an Affini hospital. The door was at least three metres tall, and had two handles: one at a normal height, and one very high handle for an Affini.   

Mestra took a deep breath to rally themself. They could still back down. They could go back to Monarda and behave. Maybe she would be merciful in her elimination of Mestra’s independence. But they couldn’t. Mestra had been angry for a long time, long before the Affini had shown up. And until now, they’d done nothing about it. Their protest efforts had fallen through. Their yelling matches with doctors never got them anywhere. They had one last chance to act before their anger was taken away, and this was it. Mestra collected all of the anger they’d felt over the last few hours. They were ready for this. A nagging thread of politeness asked if they should knock. Mestra tried the door handle and found that it was unlocked. No knocking, they decided. This was their last chance to fight before the Affini chemically removed Mestra’s ability to be disruptive. They were going to make the most of it.   

Notes:

Uh oh...

Chapter 20: Diary III

Notes:

Hey all, strap in for some more drugging, some exploration of gender, and angst (but also sweetness)

Monarda

The Terran sitting across from her had only grown more sullen and reclusive with every passing day, and Monarda was taking it hard. She had prepared what she thought was a perfect dinner: roast beef and gravy, fresh greens, mashed potatoes, something called “stuffing”, and sweet cranberry sauce. The human wasn’t touching any of it. Instead, they poked their fork lazily into the potatoes, occasionally swirling their fork or poking one of the other foods, but never taking a bite. Their tall glass of water sat untouched on the table, slowly beading moisture from the air down its sides. 

This was the first Terran Monarda had taken as a ward, and at first, everything seemed to be going smoothly. She’d been the temporary caretaker to many species before, and she’d learned a great deal of tricks to help bond with the cute florets-to-be. This particular human had been a soldier in the Terran Navy, among the first harvests of florets after the cotyledon program concluded. They were a fighter at first, but Monarda was ready for that. They weren’t ready for what happened when the fight left their little body.  

The human was gruff at first, the calluses on their hands reflective of many years of hard work. Those would soften with time, Monarda knew, but her concern lay beyond the cutie’s body. Behind his sunken eyes was a calloused spirit, hardened and bruised from a lifetime of stress and danger. Monarda wanted desperately to help break past that outer layer of hurt and to help nurture this adorable sophont’s passion.  

Once or twice, Monarda had seen glimpses of light behind his eyes when he spoke. Little moments of happiness as he recounted some factoid that sparked his interest. But it was always quickly extinguished, like being passionate had been trained out of him. Monarda’s core ached with desire to push him past that training. It was safe here, and she was certain that if he could just see that, things would get easier for him.  

Monarda remembered what had happened several days ago, at the park. It was an exceptionally pleasant day on the still-under-construction Mir Module. At night, the giant windows out to space showed the steady construction of the module and the equipment that would eventually be needed to create the full space station. Monarda had asked the Terran if he was feeling brave, and if he would be willing to go outside with her. She even offered to forgo his tracking anklet for this outing, which she knew he despised. She was so happy when he’d agreed, and they got to go to the park together.  

Many sophonts were out enjoying the weather. The station was comprised mostly of Terrans and their owners, although some owners had brought florets from all corners of the galaxy. The pair sat on a bench in the shade, both admiring the views. Monarda had a sneaking feeling that it had been a long time since this human had been this close to nature. Not far in the distance, two Terrans were playing. Their giggles carried on the warm breeze as they roughhoused, rolling around and around in the soft grass, stopping occasionally to kiss each other in fits of passion. Monarda was quite sure her ward’s eyesight wasn’t strong enough to see that last part, but a part of her ached to see that same joy on her ward’s face. It would be so easy, all she would need was a quick needle in his neck, a swift delivery of xenodrugs, and she could lift away the grey dread that surrounded this poor cutie. The inejectors in the tips of her hands ached underneath the green plantlife that formed her finger. It would be so easy to slip one of them into a vein, let the drugs do their work… 

Monarda stopped herself from continuing. She had promised this one not to use drugs unless it was for his safety. He trusted her, at least a little bit, and she didn’t want to break that trust. 

But. As she sat at the dinner table, remembering that afternoon, a sense of dread creeped up on her. But.   

He made an idle comment about how giggly the florets that he saw always were. He wanted to know if it was part of the implant, a topic on which he’d asked cautiously about several times.  

“It might be, petal,” Monarda said. “But looking at them, I’d say they’re almost certainly under the effects of at least one xenodrug. Perhaps two.” 

“Oh,” he said. “But how…” He trailed off, only resuming a minute later. “How are they not embarrassed? I’ve been drunk before, and I still know that people are watching me. It’s the same with…. With the cuffs. I still have my dignity, even if I’m drugged. So… Their dignity, does the implant get rid of that too?” 

Monarda tried to hold in her laughter. The flowers spread across her chest rustled even as the wind died down as she tried her hardest not to pick this human up and coddle them until the end of time. He was just so cute with all of his questions, his half-formed assertions that were so clearly wrong yet so utterly endearing. She had been warned in her Humans are Adorable, Parts 1 & 2 classes that this might happen, but nothing could prepare her for the sheer cuteness of this new species. She was enamoured.  

“The haustoric implant doesn’t generally affect a sophont’s sense of dignity, no,” she said. “However it’s capable of dosing the body with a plethora of tasty xenodrugs, which I suspect is what’s happened to our friends over there.” She tried not to stare at the human, whose cheeks were starting to slowly turn pink. He fidgeted in his seat, something Monarda had noticed he did when something was on his mind. 

“Do you want to see what it’s like?” she blurted out. She regretted it almost immediately, but it was too late to take it back now. “Stars darn it,” she thought to herself. “You had to go and say it, didn’t you?” 

She looked over to the Terran to apologise. To her surprise, he didn’t look angry. His brow was furrowed in concentration. Monarda waited for him to say something, but instead, she watched him nod his head slowly up and down. “Once,” he whispered. “I want you to try it, only-” he didn’t have time to finish his sentence before one of Monarda’s injectors was deep into his neck. He gasped at the sudden movement as the drugs worked quickly on his system. Monarda watched as the hairs on his arms stood on end and his pupils started to dilate. He shivered in the warm breeze, clearly feeling the effects of the drugs. Perhaps she had given him too high a dose, Monarda thought. But no matter, he was going to love it. Monarda was sure of it.   

The Terran reached down to the green grass, looking transfixed by its texture. Monarda laughed and helped the cutie to the ground, where he proceeded to flop over onto his back and wiggle around, laughing jubilantly as the soft grass tickled his arms and neck. His face flushed and he started panting happily. Monarda reached down with one massive hand and started to rub the man’s belly. A loud, uncontrolled moan escaped his lips. “That really must have been a bigger dose than I thought,” Monarda said to herself. Not that she was going to complain. The look in his eyes… the light that Monarda had caught glimpses of before… It was right there, on shining display, all over his joyful face.  

“You’re such a good boy,” Monarda cooed as she rubbed his tummy. She tried to remember the exact blend she’d given the man. It was full of Class As, certainly. And Class E, and a little bit of Class D, too, for that wonderful inhibition. The man seemed to hesitate, but more belly rubs quickly ushered away whatever thought was on his mind. Ten or more minutes of this passed, which Monarda introducing the drugged Terran to all the wonderful textures the park had to offer.  

It was getting close to dinner time now, she thought. Best to have him home and cleaned up before the drugs wore off. Monarda called the man’s name and beckoned him to her side. He froze, tilting his head adorably to one side. “Come here,” she called again, using his name. “Be a good boy for me.” Suddenly all the light drained from the Terran’s eyes, and he started to shake. Monarda walked over to him, concerned. She reached a hand to pet his head to offer comfort, but he recoiled. 

“It’s okay,” she cooed. The man’s eyes weren’t dilated anymore, and the light behind them was gone. In the end, he came back to Monarda’s house kicking and screaming, trying desperately to get away. Nothing Monarda could say or do seemed to help the problem.  

Now, Monarda was back at the dinner table. The pair hadn’t said much to each other since that afternoon. The Terran kept to themself in their room, at first refusing to leave even for meals. It took an entire week of this before they would leave their room, and now, here they sat.  

---

Monarda flipped through the pages of the diary, thinking back those few years to when it had been written. She had no idea that her ward had written any of this down… and least of all that they’d hidden it. This book must have sat on that shelf all those years… 

Monarda flipped back to the entry of that day in the park. About what the sophont had recounted. Her core felt heavy with guilt, just as it had for the many days after that incident. She had never meant to hurt them, but she’d clearly failed. She wanted only the best for that little cute human, but she’d messed it up, and it hurt. She could see that hurt every day on the darling’s face, and she saw it again every time she looked in a mirror.  

That incident had informed much of her care of future wards. Never again would she offer recreational xenodrugs in such a casual manner. She would make sure the darling asked for it, and knew exactly what they were getting into. It had clearly worked, because she’d had no such incidents since that day. Ever since that afternoon in the park, Monarda had held her wards’ consent in high regard. That was the best way to ensure they didn’t feel betrayed. And yet… 

Monarda looked towards their habitation unit’s door. And yet, one of her charges had just stormed out of the house with “betrayal” written all over their face. Monarda went back through the week’s events. Was it the bath? Was that too much? Oh, it was, it must have been. Monarda felt angry at herself for not giving Mestra more time to make the decision on their own. “It’s all my fault,” she kept repeating. Guilt weighed down every vine on her body, like the station had suddenly spun too fast and gravity was acting doubly on her. She needed to fix this, to apologise to Mestra. She flipped the pages of the journal again, to the entry that Mestra had angrily shown her. The name was crossed out, which meant that this entry was before Éclaire had chosen her name. Monarda remembered back to the evening she was sitting at the table. When things were about to change.  

---

“Monarda, I’m… I’m sorry,” the sophont said.  

“Darling… there is nothing for you to be sorry for. It is I who should be apoloigizing” 

“N-No, let me finish,” they said. “You’ve been kind to me, even when…even when I wasn’t kind to you. And so I’m sorry. I should have been better.” 

Monarda was taken aback by the apology. It was the last thing she’d expected to hear from this sophont.  

“Dear, you have done nothing wrong,” she said. “I did not respect your boundaries, and I hurt you. It is I who am sorry.” 

The human nodded.  

“If there is anything, anything, I can do to repay you, please. Tell me now.” 

The Terran’s brow furrowed. Again, they were lost in thought.  

“I’ve always felt like… like there was this dark looming emptiness around me, for as long as I can remember,” he said. Monarda leaned in, careful to pay attention to each word.  

“And no matter where I go or what I do, it doesn’t go away,” he said. Monarda nodded and the Terran swirled his fork in his potatoes.  

“But… Last week… in the park. When you drugged me.” The words pierced Monarda’s core with guilt.  

“For a second there, it was gone. Like, gone gone,” he said. “And that scared me…,” he took a deep breath. “And that scared me more than I think I’ve ever been scared in my whole life. And it’s taken me this long to realise it.” 

Monarda nodded, her antennae held perfectly still. What was her ward getting at?  

“Monarda, I want you to help me feel that way again,” he said, holding his breath and only letting it go at the end of his sentence. “Please. I need to know… I need to know if I can ever feel free from that feeling ever again in my life. Please.” 

Monarda stared at the human, studying every inch of his expression. He had clearly attempted to shave, but had missed several spots. He was in disarray, to put it kindly. And if he was asking for it… wouldn’t it be okay? 

Monarda momentarily panicked as she caught herself filling her injectors with Class D. No, not this time. This time she had to be sure.   

“I have a drug,” Monarda said carefully. “It is a disinhibition agent, similar to one of the drugs I gave you at the park. It will help you break down walls, internal and external, that you didn’t even know were there. And it won’t affect you otherwise. You’ll still be alert and your sense of touch won’t be affected. I can give it to you, and we can talk through this. But only if that’s what you want.” 

Monarda stared as the man contemplated. “I’ll do it,” he said, offering his arm for Monarda. “Give me the drug, and let’s get this over with.” 

“You must understand, petal,” Monarda cautioned. “This drug can be scary when it uncovers parts of yourself that you choose to hide. Are you sure you want to-” 

“Yes.” 

Monarda reached her hand across the table, sprouting her injector from her index finger. She watched her Terran ward’s face carefully as the injector neared their skin. The human nodded. Monarda sank the needle into his flesh, releasing the drugs into his system.  

It only took a few seconds for the drugs to take visible effect.  

The man’s eyes widened and his pulse quickened. He shivered, this time not from sensation, but from fear. His lower jaw trembled and his eyes were quickly welling with tears.  

“Let me give you the counteragent-” Monarda insisted. She loaded the medicine into her injector, readying herself to push it into his bloodstream. 

“N-No,” the man said. “Let me do this.” 

Monarda extended an arm to the man’s shoulder. “If you’re going to do this,” she said. “Let me help.” The man nodded.  

Monarda pushed her chair back and stood up, quickly coming closer to the shivering Terran. His knees shook, clearly with fear. There was something in his mind that he didn’t want to see, but now, thanks to the xenodrugs, he could no longer ignore it. 

Monarda reached a hand over to her ward’s shoulder, pausing to ask permission. The man gave a small nod, his jaw still trembling.  

“Shhh, it’s alright dear,” Monarda cooed. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. We can work through it together, okay?” 

“I-”, said the man, trying to stand. His knees gave out almost instantly and Monarda caught him before he smashed into the table.  

“Shh, none of that,” she said softly. She helped the man to the floor, unravelling most of her lower half so she could be closer to his level. She reached one hand to the Terran’s back, using her two thumbs to massage gentle circles.  

“Let’s stay down here until you work through the bulk of it, okay?” A tear threatened to fall from her ward’s eye, but he was clearly still trying to hold it back. 

“Petal, it’s okay if you need to cry,” Monarda said. “In fact I would be shocked if you didn’t. You’ve clearly been holding in these thoughts for a long time. It’s safe to let them out now. You can cry, it’s okay. I’m here.” 

The man whimpered in a final attempt to hold in his feelings, before the tears came streaming out. His body heaved as he sobbed harder than he’d ever remembered crying before. “Shhhhh,” Monarda soothed. “That’s it, let out. It’s alright, you’re safe here.” 

With a few vines, she delicately wiped the tears from her ward’s eyes as they fell. She continued to rub his back gently and wipe his tears for the next several minutes, offering whispered reassurances while the Terran worked through his feelings. The tears started to slow, and the human took a deep breath, ready to speak.  

“Can I… Void-dammit, I shouldn’t be asking this. Can I talk out loud? It’s getting really noisy in my head,” said the human. Monarda nodded, brushing a stray tear from his cheek. “I would love to hear what you’re thinking about, petal,” she said. The human opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, thinking the better of what he was about to say. But he quickly opened his mouth again, this time not stopping himself: 

“This all feels… wrong. I don’t deserve this. I mean, you’ve been… you’ve been nothing like they said you were. They said… they said a lot of things about you…” 

“I know they did, petal. You’ve been told many lies in your life,” Monarda said. 

“I don’t deserve it,” said the man. He stared straight ahead at a wall, dazed. His hands were clasped around each other, knuckles white with tension.  

“But we’re giving it to you anyways,” Monarda countered. “Whether you like it or not, your happiness is our problem now.” 

“I know so many people… who deserve this more than I do…,” he said.  

“And we will get to them too,” Monarda promised. “But let’s talk about you, petal. Why do you think you’re unworthy of happiness?” 

The man turned to look at Monarda in her two orange eyes.  

“I’m hideous,” he said. “There isn’t a single good thing about me. How can I deserve anything?” 

Monarda felt her core ache in protest at the man’s words. He was so wrong, if only she could make him see. But that’s what this process was all for, wasn’t it? To help the ferals see the value in their new life. So Monarda pressed on: 

“I think you look very handsome,” Monarda said tenderly. There, again, the light behind the Terran’s eyes dimmed, and he looked away.  

“I don’t want to be,” he mumbled before quickly covering his mouth with one hand in shock. “I’m sorry!” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean…,” his voice trailed off again. “I didn’t mean to say that…” 

Monarda frowned. “I’m seeing a pattern here, petal,” she said. 

“No you aren’t,” said the Terran. 

“Oh, but I am~,” Monarda said in a sort of sing-song tone. “Tell me dear, if you weren’t a man-” “I would be dead,” the Terran interrupted. Their tone was distraught and their face was pale. They were clearly remembering dark moments in their life.  

“I- I knew someone…,” they started. Their voice was shaking, but the xenodrugs pushed them to keep talking, to spill their secrets until there was nothing left to spill.  

“A man in our squad. He had to work so hard…” the Teran whimpered. “He had to fight so hard to keep his medication when he joined. He fought day and night just to be recognized…” 

Monarda’s core felt like it was going to split apart in two at that very moment. This must have been what was troubling her ward all this time. She wanted in that moment to storm up to whatever Terran had made her ward feel this way and domesticate them on the spot, without even such a courtesy as a “hi there cutie!”. 
“I bunked with him, near the end of the war,” said the human.  “He would stash supplies under his mattress when the medications ran out. I caught him once, when he was hiding supplies for the month. He looked so afraid.” The human took a deep breath, then looked again at Monarda. 

“I’m not… I’m not that strong. I don’t want to fight,” the Terran continued. Tears were falling freely from their eyes again. “I’m not strong enough to fight,” they said. Their shoulders heaved as more sobs overtook them. 

“Shhh,” Monarda whispered. “It’s going to be okay. Things are much easier here in the compact. We have medicine – much better medicine,” she said. “But we can take things slowly, okay petal? We’ll do this slowly and together, and it’s going to be okay. I promise.” 

---

“Oh petal, that’s a gorgeous name,” Monarda sang, her voice clear and smooth with just a hint of melody. The Terran girl blushed and hid her face in her oversized sweater. It had been several days since she’d first realised that her life could be different, and since then every day just kept getting better and better. 

“Little Éclaire~” Monarda said joyfully. “It’s a beautiful name for a very beautiful girl,” she said, prompting the girl to blush further. “I thought of something we might do today,” Monarda said, passing the human a bowl of hot oatmeal and a spoon. As she relayed her plan for the day, she could see the passionate light behind her ward’s eyes start to light up. She was seeing that more and more often recently and her core had never felt more full of love.  

“But don’t forget to eat your breakfast, cutie,” Monarda said. “Cute girls like you need their food. Unless of course, you want me to feed it to you?” 

---

Monarda read through passages of the journal one by one, stopping each time a memory presented itself. Éclaire had undergone such a beautiful transformation in her short time in Monarda’s life. A vine brushed passed a passage about the first time Éclaire had taken Class Gs, how frightened and nervous but also excited she was. Monarda remembered that day, and how honoured she’d felt when the girl had asked for her help taking the medicine. The stack of pages Monarda had yet to read grew smaller and smaller, until she was at the last entry. Her core skipped. She remembered this day, too.  

“Dear Diary, I guess: 

Today is the last day Ms. Lami and I will be living together. My “wardship” is over, and I’m going to meet this plant who’s supposed to be my “forever owner” in just a few hours. 

It doesn’t feel real, to be honest. Any of this. It’s like a dream. Everything had changed so much since I was on that god-awful ship. I’m… happier now, I think. I’m fatter too, but Ms. Lami says it looks good on me. My nipples ache a little, but I think it’ll be worth it.  

I’m more ready for this than I ever thought I would be when I first arrived. I owe Ms. Lami so much. I’m going to go tell her that right now, actually.” 

Monarda recalled that conversation, and the goodbye. She’d met Éclaire’s new owner, a Fifth Bloom named Venustae Opufolius. She didn’t remember the conversation she shared with the other Affini that day. All she could remember was repeating the name “Éclaire Opufolius” in her monologue, over and over and over again. It made her core uneasy, but goodbyes had always been the hardest part of the job. She and Éclaire shared a long hug, and then, just like that, it was over. 

It took Monarda an entire month before she was even able to go into Éclaire’s old room after that. It made sense that she’d been able to hide this diary for so long, then. Monarda wondered if any of her other wards had read it. She felt a pang of jealousy she wasn’t quickly able to identify.  

Monarda pushed down her feelings for the time being and continued to read: 

“I’m going to leave this diary here, I think. I’ll add a note at the front so other people can read it. I think… it might be helpful, one day. I hope so.” 

Monarda felt her core fill with pride. Her little ward was so thoughtful, of course she would want to help the others that came after her! She was so wonderful and thoughtful and… gone… 

Gone from Monarda’s life, but not gone from the world, she reminded herself. She had been able to meet Éclaire once, a few months after she’d been domesticated properly. She had developed so much in that time. She had a very nice sense of style, and a very pretty collar around her neck. Monarda tried not to let herself feel jealous that that collar belonged to another Affini. It was improper, she thought. She was only a warden, and Éclaire was happy with her new owner, who surely did a much better job of caring for Éclaire than Monarda ever could. The pair looked so wonderful together. Éclaire’s new darker wardrobe matched Venustae’s black flowers perfectly. They were a happy pair, and Monarda should be happy for them.  

Thoughts and feelings clouded in Monarda’s mind. All the memories that the journal had stirred up were occupying space at once, and it was quite distracting. She dragged her vine to the last paragraph of the journal:  

“I’m going to be sad when Ms. Lami isn’t around anymore, though. She’s an amazing cook, and I love hearing her mess up human idioms. Hopefully, when I’m adopted for real, we’ll still get to spend time together.” 

Monarda’s vine curled tight and her body shrivelled. Unlike the humans which she held so dear, she was not able to cry. But at this moment, she wished she could. She had always assumed that Écliare had been happy to leave. Excited to meet her new owner, and ready to say goodbye to Monarda forever. But Éclaire had cared for her too, it was clear. Monarda thought wistfully of all the months that had gone by since the pair had last spoken. She had wanted to reach out so many times, but she had always convinced herself that Éclaire didn’t want to hear from her, or that she was busy, or that she’d forgotten her… 

Monarda sat on the couch, curled up into a tight ball for several long minutes. Then, a persistent pinging noise from her tablet caught her attention. She grabbed the tablet with a single wobbly vine, bringing to her eyeline.  

Mestra.  

Their location tracker had pinged twenty-two times since they’d left. Monarda panicked. She’d been so absorbed in memories that she’d forgotten the sophont currently belonging to her caring vines. She stood up, unravelling herself and then forming a more proper-looking body.  

Mestra’s last known location was the hospital. That could not be good, whatever it meant. It was no medical emergency, Monarda was pretty sure, Mestra’s heart rate was high, but it wasn’t that high, and it certainly wasn’t too low. Something was going on, and Monarda was going to find out what.  

She’d messed things up with a ward before, badly. But she could recover things. Mestra deserved Monarda’s best attempt. She sped out the door to her hab and onto the nearest magtrain.  

She would not let anything more happen to that poor sophont. She was going to swoop in there and protect Mestra from doing something foolish. They still had the choice of picking their owner, but if they made the wrong mistake, that choice would be taken away. Monarda wasn’t going to let that happen. Mestra would stay with her until… Until it was time for them to leave. And then Mestra would leave. But not right now. Not today.  

Notes:

It wouldn't be HDG without some egg cracking, now would it! Don't worry, we'll get back to Mestra and their bad decisions real soon

Chapter 21: A Taste of Control

Notes:

Hi! This chapter comes with a content warning for heavy dubcon/noncon aspects, BDSM, some mild painplay (mostly whipping), body horror/invasion, and some medical themes

Mestra

Mestra cracked open the door and looked inside. A tall Affini covered in something white and fluffy turned to look towards the door. “Fuck,” Mestra swore to themself. “Fucking fuck is this the wrong office?”. Regret cascaded over Mestra. Of fucking course this wasn’t going to fucking work, how could they have thought this crazy fucking plan was ever going to-  

“You are interrupting,” said a voice. It was deep, unnaturally so. Each word was carefully enunciated, carrying a sense of authority, of finality. Mestra recognized it immediately. The unknown Affini shuffled to the side, and Mestra was face to face with Avernus’ menacing eyes. Mestra stood, momentarily frozen. They needed to do this, they reminded themself. This was their last chance, so they’d better bury their fear or live to regret it for the rest of their life, however short that may be.  

“Nonsense,” said the other Affini. This one could not have looked more different from Avernus. Where one was composed of brown and grey tendrils, things that looked more like dead roots than living plants, the other was adorned with white fluffy flowers that looked like the imitation cotton one might have stuffed a pillow with back on Terra. Their voice was bright and sybilant, still alien, but in a way that was entirely different from Avernus’. The brighter Affini made a string of noises that sounded like several bird calls mixed with hissing and singing and turned to face Avernus. His expression was impossible to read. Each of his eyes seemed to look in a different direction, even though he had no pupils that Mestra could see. Only a slight change in colour on the hammered metal surface of his eyes indicated direction. Avernus made a few noises in return, which was clearly in the same sort of language but sounded entirely different.  

“I’ll leave you two to it, then,” said the fluffy Affini, now speaking a language Mestra recognized, although with an intonation that was much more like singing than speaking. They approached the door, and Mestra quickly hopped out of the way. As they passed, Mestra could have sworn they saw something in their eyes, but the Affini left without another word and closed the door. Now Mestra was alone with this nightmare creature which they’d chosen to provoke, and which they were about to tear into with every last shred of their anger.  

They glanced around the office, which was massive. That was to be expected with Affini architecture. The floor was a dark wooden colour, and the walls seemed like they would have been a shade of brown or chestnut if they weren’t completely covered in paper. They were each tacked to the wall in a semi-organized fashion. Each of the large sheets displayed a technical drawing of some sort. The thick and thin lines were drawn with precision, but there were areas that were scratched out and arrows pointing to various parts of the drawing. Some of the drawings must have been too closely rendered for Mestra to decipher them, but others were clear: a human skeleton, back, and set of shoulders. Around these parts, drawn in a different thickness, was some sort of plantlife. Some of the drawings showed musculature, and the curious transition from human tissue to whatever the foreign limbs were made of. Others seemed to be diagrams of nerves, blood vessels, and others that Mestra didn’t understand. A set of drawings on one wall seemed to depict a small seed growing out of a human back to form a massive tree of some kind. Mestra quickly looked away, but the images lingered in their mind. Their anxious thoughts felt like acid in their stomach and they could feel their strength start to fail them. “Not fucking now,” they thought to themself. “I need to do this first”. 

Mestra took a few steps towards the enormous desk in front of them and quickly realised that the desk was too tall for them to see over even when they were standing.   

“There are Terran-sized chairs in the corner,” Avernus grumbled. “If you insist on disturbing me.” 

Mestra turned, and sure enough there was a very tall chair sitting off in one corner. It was at least as tall as Mestra was, but despite its height it was at least sized for a normal human. Mestra grabbed it, trying to lift it and quickly realising it was too heavy. This was already getting out of hand, Mestra thought to themself as they angrily dragged the chair across the floor. They tried to channel all the rage they felt over the last few hours to cover up how embarrassing it felt to have to scale the chair and take a seat, only to still be lower than Avernus’ eyeline.  

“Why are you here?” Avernus said. On his desk, Mestra saw more of the drawings they’d seen on the wall. Some of them were half finished, as if they were still in progress. What the hell kind of nasty project was this weed working on? 

“You know damn well why,” Mestra seethed. “Answer my question.” 

“I have many more important things to do than to memorise the conversations I have with future pets, bunny. What absurd and panicked thought has entered your mind that you found me uniquely qualified to answer?” Avernus asked with disinterest. 

“Don’t call me a fucking pet,” Mestra said, “and you know what I want to know. Tell me what they’re going to do to me when my wardship is over?”  

Avernus grunted, a sort of low noise that might have been meant to be a chuckle. His body seemed to stay completely still, and yet at the same time had a gentle sway from side to side that caught Mestra momentarily distracted.  

“I have already answered that question,” Avernus said with finality. “And if you’re asking me in an attempt to understand the things you will soon experience as a floret, I expect you already know what that will be like as well,” 

“Like hell I do,” Mestra shot back. “From what I’ve seen, florets are so drugged up they can’t remember their own names.” Mestra remembered the pair of florets they’d seen on the way to the hospital and the way their glazed-over expressions made Mestra’s skin crawl. “My prison keeper has at least had the compassion to keep my brain intact. So no. I don’t know what it’s like.” 

“What did you hope to accomplish by coming to me, bunny?” Avernus inquired. “I’m certain there were better options presented to you, including that tablet you’re clutching. Everything you want to know could have been found elsewhere, without disturbing me or my coworker.” 

Mestra glanced down at the tablet that was clutched tightly in their hands. “I… I could have… you wrote that stuff down?” Mestra asked. “You want me to believe that you would seriously write down all the horrible shit you’re about to do to me, and then just let me have free access to it?” 

Avernus made another low, scratchy sound, like a pile of leaves being swept away by the wind. “Did you take even a second to see what was made available to you?” Avernus asked with hints of annoyance seeping in at the edges of his question. 

Mestra bit their lip. No, they didn’t. “That doesn’t matter,” they spat. “It’s probably all just lies anyways.” They weren’t going to let this weed make them feel belittled.  

“Your lack of forethought is just one example of why you need an owner,” Avernus said. “As I’ve said, you fail to understand even the basics of this process. It would be better if you learned to trust what you have already been told.” 

“Trust?” Mestra shouted. “Do you have ANY idea-” Mestra stopped to take a breath. “No, of course you don’t. Of course a fucking weed like you wouldn’t have any clue why it’s asinine to think that I could ever trust someone like you.”  

Avernus stared blankly at Mestra. “Do I really need to explain to you why I don't trust the giant plant aliens who came and invaded my planet?” Mestra seethed. “The ones who kidnapped me and promised me that they would ‘look after my best interests?’. Do you know what it means when people tell you that? When they say they have your best interests at heart? You can’t be that stupid, you must know-” 

“I do not regularly concern myself with the affairs of pet species,” Avernus said. The edge in his voice was sharper now, like a warning for Mestra to retreat. “But yes, I am passingly aware of the failure of Terran medicine and how it relates to your…” he raised his hand and made a circling motion around Mestra, “persistent distrust”. Mestra’s eyes followed his hand as he set it down on the desk. It had five fingers but two thumbs, without any kind of nails to speak of but still sharp like talons. 

“It is still clear to me, however,” Avernus continued, “that you still value what I have to say, otherwise you would not have foolishly chased me and interrupted my meeting.” 

Mestra scoffed. “I don’t care what you have to say,” they said, but they waited for Avernus to continue. 

“Everything you think you have seen has a sensible explanation, if only you would listen to it,” he said.   

“Then explain it to me,” Mestra urged. “I read a journal, hidden in my bedroo- the room I’m being kept in,” Mestra said. “It was about a Terran navy officer, and how they’d been captured. They were fighting! They wanted to resist. Then, one entry, it stopped. They became docile. They wrote about how happy they were, and how grateful they were, and-” The words felt like acid as they left Mestra’s mouth. There was no explanation for this.  

“As you wish,” Avernus conceded. “However I will only offer you this courtesy once, so you ought to listen.” His words flowed in a strange pattern, like his inflections were landing on the wrong words. It made Mestra angry to listen to, the irrational sort of angry Mestra felt when someone cooed at an animal or whispered too loudly.  

“As I have said, I do not occupy myself with the affairs of pets beyond their healthcare. I therefore find it unlikely you are going to like the answers I have to offer.” Mestra nodded. Part of them wanted this man to stop talking, but another part needed to hear what he had to say.  

Avernus’ arm moved from his side to grab a large tablet. Mestra watched as his slender fingers grasped the device, turning the screen for him to read it. His hands were like Monarda’s, with three fingers in the middle and two thumbs on either side. Eerily close to human hands, but decidedly alien. Mestra didn’t remember seeing Avernus’ hands the first time they had met but they had seen the way Moanrda was able to unfurl her form at will. It was likely that Avernus – and all Affini for that matter – also had that habit.  

“The notes on your chart indicate that you were fed and well tended to in the time during your recovery,” Avernus stated. “Well tended to…”, that was probably an apt description of Mestra’s time with Myrrha. She had made them food and been astoundingly kind during their short hospital stay.  

“Does it satisfy you to know that the care you received is quite like the care a majority of florets receive?” Avernus inquired.   

“A majority of florets….?” No, that wasn’t right. Myrrha was just being nice, and besides that one time… She had never drugged them. “All she ever did was offer me food and water, how can that possibly-” 

“Do not interrupt,” Avernus interrupted. “I see that your warden has been lenient with your manners. Perhaps that is one thing you will find different about your life as a floret.” 

“Right, they’re going to make sure I’m well behaved, right? That I don’t have a single controversial thought in my head so that I’m easy to control.”  

“We Affini have plenty of means to control you regardless of what goes on in your thoughts,” Avernus countered. “Tools beyond your comprehension. If behaviour is an issue, your owner will rectify it, and they have many means to do so.” 

“You’re lying,” Mestra snarled. “All of you are lying. You can’t control us, so instead you fill us up with drugs. Keep us so high we can’t conceive of wanting to escape-” Mestra remembered the syringe of medicine they’d been given at night, and wondered if Monarda had already started to infect them.  

“You do not want me to prove you wrong,” Avernus warned. 

“Oh yeah?” Mestra said. “Fucking try me, you goddamn overgrown pile of fucking roots-” 

A tendril untangled itself from Avernus’ arm and shot at lightning speed towards Mestra. The thin grey vine stung as it whipped itself around Mestra's wrist , wrapping several times until it had a firm hold. 

“Your unexpected demeanour was amusing to me once,” Avernus intoned. Mestra felt their entire body tense. They’d done it, they’d gone too far this time. “However I will no longer tolerate such insults.” Avernus’ voice was flat with a deadly edge. All seven eyes were focussed on Mestra now. Mestra's stomach sank and they suddenly found they couldn't meet Avernus' icy glare.  

"Is it truly necessary to prove what I am saying, bunny? I thought you were smarter than this. Speak if you feel you need to be shown the truth, and I will show it to you.  Stay silent and I will release you." Mestra contemplated this for a moment. It was a show of dominance, almost certainly. Avernus wanted Mestra to back down.  

"There isn't something you can throw at me that I can't handle, you weed,” Mestra said with a venomous tone. “Your medicine doesn't work on me,” they seethed. They recalled their injections. They had seemed to work, but clearly they had failed, if Mestra could feel this angry. “I'm too broken for you to ever have a hope of fixi-" 

The pointed tip of the vine wrapped around Mestra's wrist quivered, then quickly plunged into their flesh. Mestra inhaled sharply. They felt the cold root start to slide up their arm. It was like a needle, Mestra thought. Like getting a needle in the wrist, but it kept going. Halfway to their elbow, and not stopping. Almost immediately, their arm was aching. Mestra took a deep breath to steady themself. They had done needles before. Hell, they performed self-surgery. They could tolerate whatever point this weed was trying to make. Still, being violated like this angered them. A quiet voice in the back of their head informed Mestra that they were scared, too. Mestra silenced that voice. Fear was not productive right now. Mestra looked up to Avernus. "Cut that out, weed" they tried to say, but Avernus spoke more quickly.  

"Now, I will show you what you wanted with such desperation to see. Proof that we Affini can control you in any manner we find appropriate. Proof that we are stronger than you”. Avernus’ voice rang in their ears as Mestra tried to fortify their mental walls. The fear was undeniable now, staring at the face of this many-eyed creature who had sunk one of his rootlike tendrils into Mestra’s flesh.  

“You have one opportunity to ask me to stop,” Avernus offered. “But I will not be so kind as to offer this choice again." What the hell was he playing at? Trying to use… a blood draw as a deterrent? Some kind of lesson? Every rational part of Mestra screamed that they didn’t want to find out. 

"I… wasn't expecting you to do… What are you doing, taking my blood?” Mestra asked angrily. “But I can take it. I've done much, much worse.” Mestra recalled all the times they had felt violated like this. Several stays at Terran hospitals flashed through their mind. The fear inside them cascaded again against the walls that held their mind together. Mestra quashed it again. Fear could be dealt with later. 

“Your tricks don't scare me." Mestra was obviously lying now. Their voice was shaking and their throat felt dangerously tight. They were on the edge of breaking down completely and still Avernus sat, unmoving and uncaring..  The needle – vine? The Thing was reaching Mestra’s elbow now. The ache was getting stronger, and Mestra fought the urge to close their eyes and try to hide from the pain.  

"Very well," Avernus said plainly. He seemed entirely unfazed by Mestra’s speech. "That was your last chance to back out." 

A second, third, fourth root shot forth and penetrated into Mestra's wrist. Mestra winced each time, squirming uncomfortably in their seat. The roots started to branch off and split, tracing the map of Mestra's veins. The aching intensified, spreading around Mestra's arm and up to their shoulder. Their wrist stung where the vines had entered. Mestra started in horror as the roots displaced their skin outwards in complex branching patterns. They whimpered quietly, trying to control the pain. They’d been through worse, they said to themself. It will be over soon. 

Pinpricks of electricity started to shoot into Mestra's arm. They oddly remarked that it felt similar to when their arm fell asleep, or when their implant started to die. Sparks of nerves firing at random, 

"You are surprisingly quiet" said Avernus while the ache increased. "I'm impressed by your self control. I've never seen a Terran take this so well without being sedated.” 

“Is that a fucking compliment? ” Mestra said through gritted teeth. 

“Perhaps,” Avernus said. “It is also an interesting opportunity. Tell me, small one. What does it feel like?" 

Tears were starting to form in Mestra's eyes, threatening to spill over. "It- it fucking aches" they whimpered. “A- a lot. But-” 

“Ineloquent as usual,” Avernus interrupted. “But adequate.” 

“So you’re going to torture me?” Mestra said as a tear rolled down their cheek. “Is that your plan?” 

“I have already told you what I am going to do,” Avernus said plainly. “I was surprised, when I saw you in my operating room,” he mused.  

“W-what does that have to do with this?” Mestra asked. They didn’t have time for this creature’s musings, not while their arm was bulging and their nerves screaming with pain.  

“I figured you clever to have gotten as far as you did,” Avernus said. “Far more clever than you’re acting now, although there’s time yet to change that.” 

Suddenly, the painful ache in Mestra’s arm disappeared like it was blown away by a gust of wind. The hot sting of entrance wounds was quickly quenched and replaced with a pleasant coolness, like Mestra had stepped out of the scorching sun and into the shade. The nerves in their arm no longer screamed at being displaced and their skin no longer felt hot.  

“What, was- was that a painkiller?” Mestra asked, feeling somewhat foolish. Of course it was a painkiller. The Affini had no heart for torture. Even this one, brooding and scary as he was, didn’t have the guts to follow through on his threats.  

“No bunny” said Avernus, carefully studying Mestra’s reaction. “It’s quite a bit more impressive than a painkiller. I have stopped your pain.” 

“That’s a painkiller then! You injected some sort of drug and then it-” 

“Quiet,” Avernus ordered. His tone left no room for argument. Mestra froze and suddenly felt very small. This plant- Affini- thing inside them was big. And inside them. It would be beyond stupid to go pissing it off.  

“As I said, it is much more impressive than a painkiller. Now, I am going to demonstrate something to you. Narrate to me what you’re feeling.” What Mestra was feeling, what was this, some sort of absurd therapeutic technique? 

“I don’t feel anythin-!,” Mestra said. “Oh. Oh that’s cold. That's so, so cold” Mestra shivered involuntarily. Their entire right arm felt like it went from the cool shade to an ice bath. Goosebumps quickly formed over their upper body and Mestra felt their jaw start to quiver. The cold was so intense it sent pinpricks of pain up and down their entire arm.  

“Correct,” Avernus said. “Continue.” 

Just as quickly as it came, the cold faded. Mestra looked down at their arm. Every hair was raised high, but nothing had outwardly changed. “What the HELL did you just do?” Mestra demanded. Their arm felt normal, or at least more normal again, except for a soft brushing sensation across their forearm. Mestra reached their free hand to try to scratch the phantom itch, but it was quickly caught by another lightning quick vine.  

“No, bunny. None of that,” Avernus chided. Mestra struggled against the restraint but found themself easily overpowered. 

“Stop calling me tha- OW!”  

Mestra yelped as a hot sting flared across the middle of their arm. They turned their head to see how bad the wound was. “What the hell did you…” Mestra trailed off. The veins on their arm were bulging nastily, but there wasn’t any blood. Where Mestra could feel the linger of hot pain, there was nothing. That shouldn’t be possible. 

“Small one, I’m growing tired of reminding you,” Avernus growled. “Tell me what you feel.” 

Another line of pain at a different angle seared into Mestra's arm and they whimpered. Avernus stood silently while Mestra’s pain slowly ebbed. “It hurts, dumbass- AUGH”
The next flash was harder than the rest, going down nearly the entire length of Mestra’s forearm. Mestra felt the heat of their arm start to slowly absorb the pain, turning it into more aching and redness. There was something familiar about this that Mestra recognized. The pain… it felt like the whip one of their ex’s had brought one day. Yes, that was right. 

Mestra remembered lying face down on their bed, knees to the mattress with their ass high in the air. They remembered the violent sting of the synthetic leather whip, the way the pain slowly faded into a hot ache that stayed with them for days afterwards. They remembered how submitting to their partner made them feel: at first it felt like dread, a sinking in their stomach. And then it was anticipation, where their entire body would shake, waiting for the next strike. Then came the pain, quick and stinging, and then finally warmth. Mestra remembered how their body would feel so sore, but also so good. In those moments Mestra’s mind was quiet. There was nothing except for the same rhythm: their stomach dropping, their legs shaking in anticipation. Their brain lighting with pain and then finally after that: tranquillity.  

Mestra whimpered and recoiled from the monster in front of them. Two of his ashy brown vines were held tight against their wrist, while the rest of them formed his humanoid body. Avernus’ grip around their wrists was so tight, like their ex’s hands had been every time she’d held Mestra down… So strong… so unrelenting…. It made Mestra feel safe in a way they knew they could never get enough of.  

But they could never have it forever. That relationship lasted two fiery and glorious years, but like everything else in Mestra’s life, it had all fallen apart. Mestra was left alone, again, but this time with a craving for safety that they would never be able to satisfy.   

“Mestra,” they could hear the monster say. Mestra’s throat felt so tight they could barely breathe. They were so lost in memories that they hadn’t noticed their entire body tensing up.  

Mestra was destined to be hurt, that’s just how it was. Any comfort they found would always be brief and always, always leave them.  Maybe it was for the best, then, that these aliens were going to kill their individuality. Mestra the individual had done nothing but be hurt, and they were tired. Maybe relief would come blissfully, they wondered. Mestra’s eyes were closed, but they felt their head getting lighter and lighter. “Maybe this was finally it,” they thought.  

“Bunny, come back to me,” said the voice in front of them. Mestra’s brain snapped to attention before they realised they were being spoken to. Their vision cleared as they blinked for a few seconds. The pain in their arm was gone, but their throat still felt tight and their face was flushed and wet with tears. 

“It would appear that I went too hard on you, bunny,” Avernus spoke. “Your blood pressure dropped rapidly. I have paused my lesson for now to allow you to recover.” 

“Wait you… you didn’t want that to happen?” Mestra stumbled. The thought of this alien being apologetic didn’t make sense to Mestra’s foggy brain.  

“My intention was to illustrate a point, bunny. It was never to hurt you.”
“But then why… why did you hurt me?” Mestra whispered.  

“I suspected that you would be more responsive to negative stimuli, as that is what you are likely most used to receiving,” Avernus said. He spoke more fluidly now, in a way that could almost pass for human if Mestra didn’t know better.  

“When you are ready, I want to show you something different,” he said. “Unless you want to stop-” 

“No,” Mestra said. Their thoughts were almost all back in order now, though they were disorganised across memory and time. “I want to know. I need to know what it’s going to be like,” they said.  

“Very well,” Avernus said. Mestra held their breath hesitantly while they waited for the next phantom sensation. Then each of their fingers twitched and suddenly clenched into a fist. Mestra felt their long fingernails dig into the sweaty skin of their palms. They felt their muscles strain to ball their fist as tight as they could manage. 

“What is this…?” they asked. Their muscles felt exhausted to the point of cramping now. 

“Wh-why can’t I?” Mestra asked, and suddenly their fist released. Mestra stared at their hand, which was now operating under someone else’ control. They tried to wiggle their fingers, but their efforts were met with nothing. “You’re… how…” they whispered. “How are you… controlling me? ” Mestra asked. 

“You have proven you’re smart enough to understand what I am doing,” Avernus replied. Mestra felt a tiny swell of pride in the compliment, demeaning as this whole situation was.  

Mestra took a few deep breaths to steady themself. Their hand made no more unexpected gestures, but the sensation of being controlled was undeniable. Mestra was acutely aware that no matter what they did, they weren’t going to beat this control. They ran the scenarios through their mind. Everything they felt was… real. No, it only felt real. Their arm hadn’t really been whipped, or dumped in ice. There would be marks, or their arm would still be wet with something other than their own sweat. They’d only felt those things.  

“So you’re… controlling my nerves,” Mestra said with hesitation. “...And making them feel things that aren’t there?” 

Avernus didn’t react, so after a few seconds Mestra spoke again:  

“And you can do that… manually… by sticking your vines into me…” An image from their nightmare, of a head filled with roots flashed past Mestra’s consciousness, making them shudder. “And you can go as far as to… control me,” Mestra said.  

The words made them feel very strange. Their panic and rage had now faded, and it left Mestra in a disoriented state of exhaustion. Their memories weren’t lining up. They knew they’d walked to this office after… they’d read a journal. And then they’d talked to Avernus, and then he… started… doing this. And just now, he had… whipped Mestra. No, that was wrong. He’d only made it feel that way, and Mestra’s brain had filled in the rest.  

Mestra recognized this feeling, perhaps because of the memories. It was the tired sort of satisfaction they felt after their ex had finished a particularly painful scene. Mestra felt a sense of… accomplishment, even as their body felt so tired it might fall over. Everything was warm now… 

“Now you see,” Avernus said as Mestra only half-listened. “That your physiology is trivial for us to manipulate. This is but one of the ways an owner may choose to train you, and you can not fight it. We are in control.” 

Mestra shivered and whimpered. “I understand…” they said blankly. Avernus could… control them. Avernus’ control over their body was stronger than their own. He… he could… 

Mestra felt the tendrils slither out of their arm. One by one they exited, leaving their arm looking just as it had before. No evidence of invasion. Mestra breathed a deep sigh. It was over. They should have felt relieved but… Instead they felt empty. Like the life had been drained out of them and they had no energy to go on. They felt like a blank slate. 

Mestra stared at Avernus’ large eyes. They didn’t elicit fear or disgust anymore. Mestra studied Avernus’ face for a few seconds. He was… nice , for a second there. He… maybe he really did care for Mestra… 

“You are free to leave now, bunny,” Avernus said. Mestra’s eyes narrowed. They should want to leave now. They should want to turn around and walk out the door and go on with their life, but something held them, glued to the floor.  

“...is that really what it’s like?” Mestra breathed. “To be a floret… do they really feel… controlled like that?”
The focus of Avernus’ eyes seemed to shift, or almost swirl. Mestra stared patiently, waiting for an answer.  

“My lesson was perhaps rather… literal,” Avernus said carefully. “But yes, florets exist under our constant control. We develop medical technology to ensure their bodies and minds never leave our reach. But even without that, we are in control” He seemed to hesitate, but Mestra was ready to wait for him to continue speaking.  

“I… Apologise, perhaps I went too far with you,” Avernus said. “I should… notify your warden. She is likely very concerned. You may… wait in the lobby for her,” he said. 

Mestra turned and took three steps towards the door before they’d finished processing what Avernus had said. 

“Wait,” Mestra said. “I asked you for this, and… I guess I sort of deserved to be treated harshly for barging into your office,” they said. 

“You do not ever deserve to be treated harshly,” Avernus said in his matter-of-fact tone. “It is a paramount tenet of the Affini Compact that pets deserve only the best and most careful treatment. That is why I should have been less… Well, nevermind. You’re free to wait in the lobby, now.” 

Mestra took three more steps and reached the door, opening it.  

“Goodbye, bunny,” Avernus said.  

A heavy feeling washed over Mestra as they stepped through the threshold and into the hallway. Their thoughts were coming more quickly now, and so were their feelings. They took one, two steps down the hallway. They didn’t remember the way to the elevator. They took two, three more steps away from Avernus. Why did they feel sad? Three, four more steps. What just happened was scary but Avernus clearly… he was clearly holding back… 

Four, five more steps. He apologised… He… Apologised. It didn’t make any sense. Wasn’t what happened exactly what he wanted? Wasn’t that what was going to happen to Mestra? Five, six more steps… 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, after all?  

Six, seven steps… The feelings were too much for Mestra right now, but they couldn’t stop them. “Pets deserve only the best and most careful treatment,” he’d said. If that were true…that sounded nice.  

Seven… eight steps from the office. There was a fork in the hallway coming up. Which way was Mestra going to go?  

Wait… “pet”. Mestra had just thought of themself as a pet. No, that was wrong, no, No! They weren’t a pet, they weren’t owned! They didn’t deserve careful treatment or love or care, they-! 

Why had Mestra gone along with that? They suddenly felt so afraid. They froze in place. 

“Pet.” 

No, no that was wrong. All wrong. 

Mestra fell to their knees in the hallway as their vision started to close. Their throat was tight and their head was pounding.  

Why did they so easily think of themself as a pet back there? Was it something Avernus did, or-  

No, no no no no.  

Mestra flailed against their thoughts. They weren’t in control anymore.  

“That didn’t bother you before” 

No No NO NO NO NO NO NO 

Mestra was trapped. The walls of the large hallway seemed to close in on them. The lights were so bright. They could hear footsteps behind them.  

“Maybe he’s coming back.” 

 

 

“I hope he is…” 

 

No no no NO no NO! 

Mestra would not… Mestra could not… they couldn’t- 

 

“Help,” they whispered into the carpet.

Notes:

Oh stars that chapter took a long time to come out. It was among the first things I ever wrote for this story when I started back last year, so it feels good to finally get it out there. It's nowhere NEAR then end though, so stay tuned for more plant goodness... whenever I find the extra stick of RAM my brain has been missing!

I have to give a HUGE thank-you to my beta readers for this chapter, and for the project as a whole. Chalandria and Birdlovely helped with this chapter specifically and are both fantastic authors with great stories in the Human Domestication Guide Setting.

I also need to give an Affini-sized shoutout to ThatOneKoalaNerd for Beta-reading on a bunch of the chapters that have come out recently. You are wonderful and fantastic and I appreciate your help very much!

Chapter 22: Rescue

Notes:

Hi sophonts! This chapter is set around a panic attack, so please keep that in mind before you read it!

Monarda

Monarda felt a terrible sense of dread mount as she sped towards the hospital. There was good news: Mestra’s tracker indicated that they were on the fourth floor, which was two floors away from either the emergency wing or the intensive care wing. The fourth floor was all offices, if Monarda’s memory was right, but this brought little comfort. Something bad was definitely happening to Mestra if they had gone to the hospital, and Monarda intended to find out what.  

Most Terrans had nasty superstitions about hospitals, in large part because a visit always spelled bad news. For the Affini, things were better, but Monarda admitted that she agreed with the bad feeling she got whenever she found herself rushing there.  

Monarda moved quickly, abandoning the form of her lower half and simply propelling herself on heaps of vines. It would have been faster to abandon form altogether, but that would have risked scaring the inhabitants of the area. This was another point Monarda concurred on with the Terrans: a formless mass of plantlife moving at top speed was a rather unsettling sight.  

By the time she reached the hospital, the artificial sun that was pumped through the sprawling simulation of the sky had set and hints of real stars started to shine through the translucent skybox. A helpful attendant stood at the door with an adorable little clipboard, and under ordinary circumstances Monarda would have happily stopped to give the fellow a pat on the head and to talk about their day. Instead she sped right through the automatic doors and into the lobby, where she had to slow down due to the large crowds of sophonts.  

Monarda knew the layout of this hospital quite well – it was often the first place she’d be meeting her new wards after their capture, especially in the early days of Terran pacification.  The main elevators were front and centre in the lobby and shuttled ten or twenty sophonts at once. What many didn’t know, though, was that there was a second set of more seldomly used elevators at the back of the lobby, which was on average 30% faster. Again, in ordinary times, Monarda would have happily waited and made pleasant smalltalk with the other occupants in her car, but presently she was tending to an urgent situation and needed to get to the fourth floor without delay.  

As Monarda reached the back of the lobby, the ornamented doors of the elevator were already beginning to close. “Hold that elevator, please-” Monarda called out loudly. She hated to raise her voice, but again, emergency. A smooth white vine slipped through the closing doors at the last second, causing them to immediately reopen. Monarda strode into the elevator next to a single occupant, a fellow Affini adorned with bright green leaves and dandelions over a tightly weaved set of white vines. “Thank you,” Monarda said. She pressed the appropriate button and the doors slid silently shut. 

“Most certainly ~” said the other Affini, still speaking the Terran tongue. Monarda twisted up the vines that belonged to her thighs, trying to get herself more in order, but in the process she tangled several of the long “ligaments” meant for her ankles, and she had to frantically start over.  

“In a hurry?” the other Affini asked.  

“Quite,” Monarda replied. She’d finally gotten her thighs to look right, but now she was having a horse of a time finding her shins.  

“Something I can help with?” the stranger asked. Monarda turned her attention away from her lower extremities for a second and saw that the stranger was offering them a vine. Monarda reached out with one of the flower-covered growths that formed her skirt and snaked it carefully around its smooth texture. Ordinarily Monarda might have taken the time to notice how well kept and subtly engraved the stranger’s limb was: Affini bodies were always works of art, and even in her panic Monarda could recognize beauty when she saw it.  

“Corymbia Loranthi, Forty-Second Bloom, Xe/Xer,” Corymbia offered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Monarda Lamiaceae, Third Bloom. She/Her,” Monarda said. “And I don’t think I need help, unless you can make this elevator move any quicker,” she said. They were only on the second floor now. Every second the elevator spent creeping towards their destination felt like it was taking hours, or perhaps even days if Monarda wanted to be dramatic.. 

“Well I can’t help with that,” Corymbia said, “but perhaps I can help ease your stress? You’re terribly tense darling, so something must really be the matter. Is it a floret?,” xey asked.  

Monarda remembered her time in the core worlds, where she’d met Affini many blooms older than her. They had a certain aura about them, especially to a youngbloom. This Affini held xerself the same way: with pride and dignity, but also a kind of softness and regality. Monarda wasn’t surprised in the slightest that the wiser Affini was offering to help, or that xey had guessed the nature of her issue more or less perfectly.  

“Just a ward,” Monarda corrected. “But yes. I gave them too much space, let them go too far, and now…” her tone fell off as a fresh wave of guilt rippled through her. 

“We build our forest such that each flower has an abundance of roots to support the earth upon which they blossom,” Corymbia said, citing a phrase Monarda had heard many times in her formative years. It was one of many tenets upon which the Affini compact was founded, and those particular words were ones that every Affini knew nearly instinctually. Monarda’s guilt faded and her determination doubled. Leave it to the older, wiser Affini to know just what to say to help Monarda be her best.  

“Do you have any idea what they might be doing in the office wing of a hospital?” Corymbia inquired.  

“None,” Monarda said. “When I saw that they were at the hospital I… well understandably I was terrified. But this level is all offices as far as I remember,” she said. 

Corymbia nodded. “If I may ask: is this ward of yours particularly flighty? Like a little bunny hopping frantically around, scared of their own shadow? Brown skin, dark curly hair…” Monarda’s expression was more than enough of an answer. She looked at Corymbia with bewilderment as the elevator doors chimed and opened.  

“Come, I’ll show you where I saw them last,” Corymbia said. Xe immediately took off down the hallway at an unexpectedly fast pace, leaving Monarda scrambling to keep up.   

Several sharp turns later, Monarda stopped. Corymbia was standing in the hallway, vines outstretched so as to block most of it.  

“I think we’ve found them,” xe said. Monarda snuck past the older Affini and saw Mestra curled up on the ground, sobbing in clear delirious panic. For a second, Monarda froze. Her instincts told her what she needed to do: ready a vial of sedative, get Mestra to a calm place, then work on fixing the damage. Her injectors were practically twitching with anticipation, ready to be sunk into flesh to deliver sweet relief. But Monarda hesitated. Mestra hated sedation, hated it when they were unaware. This was what they were afraid of in the first place: relinquishing control to the Affini’s sweet chemicals. For several moments, Monarda stood, frozen in place as her thoughts raced. 

“Go on then,” Corymbia encouraged. “They need you.” The reminder was all Monarda needed, and in three seconds she was kneeling on the ground in front of Mestra.   

"Shh, Mestra, look at me," Monarda said. Mestra kept rocking, trying desperately not to fall down further into their panic. It felt as if the walls of the large office were closing in, pressing the air uncomfortably tight to Mestra’s skin.  

"Seedling," Monarda coached. "You're having a panic attack. I can give you a sedative-" 

"NO" Mestra shouted. Their rocking got faster. They were slipping. "No drugs. Not again. Get AWAY!" They waved their arms wildly in panicked defensedefence and Monarda took a performative step backwards. She needed to get through to Mestra quickly, otherwise sedation would be the only option. But even then, in this state it would be difficult to get a clean stick into their neck without- 

Monarda was interrupted in her thoughts by the sound of  another Affini approaching. He was standing next to Corymbia, looking down at Mestra’s curled up body with an odd expression on his many-eyed face.  

“Your ward requires sedation,” he said in Affini. His voice dripped with the intricate layers of many millennia that was characteristic of elder Affini. He was at least as old as Corymbia, Monarda figured, and perhaps even older. There was something extremely unsettling about his presence that made the ground under Monarda’s vines feel unsteady. It was more than just his voice – as with all Affini, Monarda could feel his inner rhythm, the net sum of his body and his words, among many other things.  

Some elder Affini brought reassurance almost with their mere presence, and the knowledge that they had been witnessing and protecting for many millennia, if not longer. This newcomer brought something completely different: a sense of the unknown, of knowledge unfathomable to those who had not experienced it. His presence spoke to millennia of experiences that could only be understood as “alien”, even to his own kind.  

“Not without their permission,” Monarda shot back, switching momentarily from Standard English to speak to the elder Affini. Her voice wavered, but her resolve was strong. “I promised them I wouldn’t do that.”
Avernus made a noise of disapproval, but didn’t provide any more resistance. Monarda turned her attention to her ward, who’s eyes were now wildly unfocussed.  

"Okay hun," Monarda said softly, switching back to Standard English. "I need you to look at me." She knelt down to be closer to Mestra’s eye level. The Terran was curled up so small, rocking violently back and forth as they tried to contain their panic.  

Mestra made a feeble attempt to meet Monarda’s eyes but barely made it halfway. Monarda placed a delicate finger under Mestra’s chin, lifting it the rest of the way to her eyeline. 

"Imagine you're a seed, buried deep in the ground," Monarda instructed. "Feel the cool earth around you." 

"N-no," Mestra whimpered. They jolted their head to one side, recoiling from Monarda’s touch. "I-I can't, can't relax, I-" 

"Shhhh," said Monarda. She put on her sweetest tone, layering in a healthy amount of her natural biorhythm in an attempt to calm the human down. "Just let your roots gently push into the earth, feeling its calming presence. Take a deep breath with me, and feel the stability of your roots diggi-” 

"It's not working!" Mestra shouted. They grasped a palm full of hair with one hand, pulling hard to try to snap themself out of it. "I can't!" 

Avernus made another disapproving noise and walked off into an office. For a moment, Monarda felt just as scared and helpless as she had back on the core worlds when she’d first started learning how to care for sophonts. There was no real danger then, the floret volunteer was usually an eager Beeple with an affinity for acting, but the embarrassment was the same. The feeling of shame when Monarda slipped up or acted too slowly in helping her fake-believe floret had stuck with her for a long time. She was told it never truly went away, but that the best way to beat it was to always try to make it right.  

Monarda set aside her shame and focussed her entire energy on calming Mestra down.  

"Shhhh," Monarda said again. "You can do it, seedling,” she said, stressing every word. “Just breathe and try to ground yourself, and-" 

"NO," Mestra screamed. "It's not. it's not!". Their eyes were red with tears, and they were shaking violently. "I CAN'T RELAX" they shouted.  

"Mestra, I need you to lis-" 

"I WON'T LISTEN TO YOU, YOU'RE TRYING TO KILL ME,' Mestra screamed. They'd fallen all the way down into darkness, now consumed with terror and panic. Monarda watched as Mestra’s  shallow breaths barely supplied them with oxygen as the human continued to shake violently. Monarda reached instinctively for one of her xenodrug injectors. It was very close to the point of no return, but still she hesitated. Mestra would never learn to trust her if she continued drugging them against their wishes. She needed to find another way.  

But Mestra needed help, and if that meant they hated her, then… that would have to be what happened. A memory distracted Monarda as she filled her injector with sedatives, all collected from the various grafts on her body. She had to do this, even if it meant Mestra would never forgive her.  

Monarda studied Mestra's body, looking for the safest place to sink her injector into their flesh. She spotted an opening on their neck and raised their hand to meet it. She needed to do this, for Mestra’s own sake. It was the right thing to- 

“Bunny.” The low voice made both Mestra and Monarda freeze. The elder Affini, the one with all the eyes, was back. 

“Look at me,” his booming voice commanded.  

It was not uncommon for Affini voices to have commanding effects on Terrans. This was both an incidental characteristic as well as a skill individual Affini were able to hone. In every word they spoke, Affini carried with them their millenia of experience and complexity, layered in with the unique way each Affini decided to construct their voicebox.  Their speech was as much a product of themself as an individual, living and caring for thousands of years as it was the product of their physical composition, the way their vines flowed, the materials from which they constructed their bodies.  

When the Affini had first encountered Terrans, they were unsurprised that voices would often have a calming, or even hypnotic effect on the cute humans. For the most part, it wasn’t much of an issue – with only a small conscious effort, an Affini could more or less dampen the intensity of their voice. The Affini that was standing over Mestra had just done the opposite. In the four words he’d spoken, Monarda heard rhythms strong enough to break a feral within seconds. This was an ancient Affini, one who had been alive longer than some civilizations. If he so chose, Monarda had no doubt he could have any pet on their knees begging helplessly for a collar within minutes. 

Clearly, it was also enough to stall Mestra’s panic attack for several seconds. The human shuffled on the floor until they were facing the elder Affini, neck craned all the way to try to meet his eyes. “They look just like a pretty floret,” Monarda thought briefly before realising what was happening. A slender hand holding a sleek metal injector eased its way to Mestra’s neck.  

Mestra recoiled, recognizing what was happening enough to momentarily snap out of their trance.  

“Bunny,” the elder Affini said again. Again, Mestra froze, ensnared by the hypnotic voice that spoke authoritatively to them. The Affini reached his other arm and took Mestra’s chin in his fingers, holding it in place as if he was inspecting a prize. Monarda could vividly imagine the look in Mestra’s eyes: when faced with such an imposing presence, even the strongest-willed Terrans would be glassy-eyed and willing, staring up at the Affini with reverence. It was as if the Affini’s commands could override the body’s own feral panic, although Monarda could already see the effect start to wear off. Unless the Affini were to give constant, intense commands, the panic would eventually take hold of Mestra again.  

“Stay still,” the Affini commanded. This time, Mestra obeyed. The silver injector was pressed firmly to Mestra’s neck and hissed softly as it emptied its payload. Mestra’s posture softened as the heavy sedatives flowed into their system. Their violent trembling started to slow, and then finally stopped. The Affini in the hallway stood quietly in anticipation until Mestra finally let out a deep sigh. Monarda felt a rush of relief as Mestra’s breathing relaxed, but very quickly the relief was replaced with anger.  

“I had the situation under control- ” she seethed, quickly being silenced by a motion from the elder Affini, who still held Mestra’s chin between a thumb and forefinger.  

“It was abundantly clear that your approach was insufficient,” Avernus said. “The wishes of your ward not to be drugged are ultimately detrimental to their wellbeing, as is your apparent attempt to give them agency over their own domestication.” 

Monarda fumed. How dare this Affini comment on what her ward did or did not need.  

“The wishes of my ward are of utmost importance to me,” Monarda countered, “because I’m the one who has to establish trust with them. I cannot go around injecting every sophont I see with chemicals that would fulfil their wildest dreams.” She was speaking a bit too loudly, but she wanted to get her point across. “–Nor can I simply turn my gaze upon any sophont I wish and bend them to my will. It would be immoral of me! And regardless of how “insufficient” you think my approach is, it’s the right thing to do for both of us.”  

Monarda’s body had uncurled as she unloaded her words onto Avernus, into a form that would certainly be frightening for any human that happened to pass by. 

“I’m sorry…” she said quietly, turning her attention to rearranging her body to look less frightening. It was fortunate that Mestra was faced away and drugged into the stratosphere, she thought to herself. It wouldn’t have been good for them to witness that outburst. 

Monarda stood and waited for the elder Affini to retaliate. She mentally prepared herself to be scolded, or perhaps patronised. Instead, he simply stood there for a few moments. 

“As you can see, my method was effective,” he said plainly. “It would seem as though this sophont needs a firmer vine than you are willing to provide. Good day.”  

Without another word, Avernus turned and slithered away into an office, leaving Mestra’s chin to fall to their chest. Monarda rushed to envelope her ward in her vines before their limp body gave out on them. She enveloped each part of Mestra’s body and carefully picked them up, holding them bridal-style in her arms. She was still angry – furious, even, but what mattered was that Mestra was safe now. 

Monarda stood, holding Mestra’s limp body tight to her chest. She waited, listening to Mestra’s little heartbeat and watching their chest rise and fall. Eventually, she felt a vine on her shoulder.  

“Try not to let Avernus upset you,” Corymbia said. Monarda turned around to face the older Affini. “He’s a rather grumpy stump most of the time, and the words he chooses are often very… prickly.” 

Monarda nodded slowly. It was kind of Corymbia to try to make her feel better, even though this was all her fault.  

“May I?” Corymbia asked, reaching a hand towards Mestra's head. Monarda nodded. “I guess they won’t mind if they’re asleep,” she admitted. 

Corymbia smiled and started to gently pet Mestra behind the ears. “They’re terribly cute,” xe said as they ruffled Mestra’s messy hair. “They’re going to make a wonderful floret.” 

“I know…” Monarda said. She was really struggling to keep the emotion out of her voice. Mestra was going to be a good floret… but not because of her. She didn’t do anything to help. Mestra was going to be a good pet despite Monarda’s influence. 

“Hey,” Corymbia said softly. “You must be feeling quite turbulent,” xe said. Monarda nodded. The elder Affini worded it so politely, in a way that protected Monarda’s pride. That’s where xe was better than her, Monarda thought.  

“You’re doing an incredible service to the compact by helping these seeds take their first steps,” Corymbia said. Monarda sensed that there was a “but…” in that sentence. “But you aren’t good enough…”  

“I can sense that you are kind, and more than that you want to offer choice and comfort to the little darlings during this transition,” Corymbia continued. Okay, perhaps Monarda had been overreacting. She noticed that her antennae had been curled up tight for several hours now, and that they were beginning to ache.  

“What I would suggest,” Corymbia said, “is that some flowers need stronger vines in order to flourish. For many trees to bear their fruit, they must often be pruned so that their energy is spent on the right things. Does this make sense to you?" 

“I… think I understand,” Monarda said. “I… I think that when we get home… it will be time for some new rules for Mestra,” she said.  

Corymbia smiled. “I think that’s really going to help them,” xe said. “And,” they added, “should you ever require any assistance, I would be delighted to help this little darling sprout.” Xe booped Mestra’s nose gently and then started walking towards the office where Avernus had entered. 

 

Avernus 

Avernus retreated to his office as the warden carried the foolish bunny back to their home. Regrettably, Corymbia followed swiftly through the door and was immediately asking questions.  

“What was that all about,” xe asked, waving a large dandelion in lazy circles, sending fluffy seeds floating down to the floor. 

“Bunny- Mestra,” Avernus corrected, “came to visit me unexpectedly.” Corymbia gave a mock yawn, a false human expression to show xer boredom.  

“I already know that, ” xe said. “Tell me the interesting things, like, what they wanted to know” 

“Mestra is experiencing what all ferals experience at some point or another. And for some reason which I have yet to understand, they thought it wise to bother me for answers.” 

“Mhmmm,” Corymbia said. “And what did you say?~” 

Avernus hesitated, then turned to one of the walls to activate the atomic compiler. “I gave them a lesson about their new life as a floret,” he said. His voice was guarded. The atomic compiler beeped once, and Avernus retried the bowl of mineralized water it had created.  

“You know,” Corymbia said. “I’m quite surprised by all this.” Avernus set the bowl on his desk and took a seat. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you act so…” 

“What?” Avernus snarked. “I know I went too far with my lesson, there is no need to chide me.” 

“...So possessive, ” Corymbia finished. “You really have feelings for this one, don’t you?” xe teased. Avernus sighed.  

“My words seem lost on the tree that does not wish to grow: I am not interested in taking a pet,” Avernus said.  

“Mhm~,” Corymbia smirked. “And yet, I saw you out there, and I saw the way that pet responded to you. With unquestioning reverence. ” 

Avernus groaned. “It was a mistake,” he said. “I will not let it happen again, now let us move on from it.” 

“Oh, you’re going to tell me all about your “lesson”, you sappy oak,” Corymbia said. “I want to know exactly what you did to get that pet entrained in your biorhythm so quickly,” xe said. “I mean it must have really been something special for you two to take to each other so quickly.” 

Avernus groaned and dipped his vine into a bowl of mineral water. “I take it you aren’t going to let me out of this office until I give you all of the intimate personal details,” he sighed. Corymbia smiled. “You know me so well.” 

Notes:

Okay so this is an embarrassing question but my beta reader has been teasing me about Avernus being a character from pop culture and I SWEAR she's wrong but I need to know for sure. So, please tell me, does Avernus remind you of any fictional character?

Chapter 23: New Rules

Notes:

Hi!!! It's been a while! I'm afraid chapters are going to be slow for a little while longer yet...buuuuut...

We're almost done Act 2! Isn't that exciting!?

Mestra

Mestra woke up with one of the worst headaches of their life, and that was saying a lot. When they eventually managed to open their eyes, they were back in the room in Monarda’s house, tucked under the giant leaf blanket. Their body felt extremely heavy and at the same time, like it was turning to dust. The thirst hit them all at once. Their throat felt like sandpaper, and their joints felt like they would crack and break if Mestra dared move them too quickly. They let out a quiet groan. What the hell happened? 

Their memories felt distant and fragmented, but Mestra had plenty of time to lay there and put them together. They were at Avernus’ office to yell at him – that was stupid, did they expect to win? They were there because of what they read in that journal… 

Mestra tried to lift their head to survey their room but quickly found they didn’t have the strength. “Great,” they thought. “I’m helpless. Again.”  

A half-formed memory of being bed bound in a hospital whizzed through Mestra’s consciousness. Several hospitals, actually, because it had happened several times. Enough times that Mestra grew to know the feeling of being completely trapped inside their own body with horrifying clarity. 
Another, stranger memory floated through Mestra’s head. The one time they’d tried being restrained to a bed on purpose, when they had still been together with their ex. They didn’t know why this memory was coming up now – that was a totally different situation. When it was their own bed with someone they had trusted, the feeling of restraints on their wrists and ankles had been sort of… comforting. Mestra tried to shake the thought away. This was probably the worst time to reminisce on their BDSM exploits. 

The gentle woosh of the door made Mestra tense up and then immediately recoil in pain. Their body was still adamantly refusing to move despite their protests, it seemed.  

“Mestra, hun?” Monarda said softly. In a few steps she was knelt by their bedside. Mestra groaned. “Can’t you leave me alone,” they grumbled.  

“Sorry hun,” Monarda said. “But I can’t do that.” She reached her hand up to Mestra’s face to gently brush away a stray lock of hair from their eye. Her touch was gentle, and Mestra made a concerted effort not to flinch, as it would only hurt them more. 

“You’ve had quite a night, little one,” Monarda said.  

“Night?” Mestra asked. Last they’d remembered it was the evening, but maybe they were in Avernus’ office longer than they thought. Mestra tried to recall the details of the encounter, but it was all too fuzzy. The only thing they could remember was the sudden drop in their stomach when Avernus had exerted control over them, and then, the further realisation of how deeply that control went- 

“Sweetie,” Monarda said, now gently caressing Mestra’s cheek. “Stay with me, okay?” Mestra hadn’t even realised that their eyes had unfocussed as they’d been thinking about Avernus. There was a strange sort of haze around their memory of the whole affair. It was very odd, and something Mestra would have to rectify at some point.  

“Let’s get you sat up, hun,” Monarda said. She grabbed a few of the pillows next to Mestra’s head and slid one of her hands under Mestra’s shoulders and neck.  

“Noooo,” Mestra groaned, but it was already too late. Monarda carefully lifted them up despite their body’s protests and tucked the pillows behind their shoulders so Mestra was sat more upright.  

“That should be a little better, now, water,” Monarda said. She grabbed a large glass from the nightstand and brought it to Mestra’s lips. “Mmhpph,” Mestra protested, but as their lips parted to speak, Monarda was already pouring cool water down their throat. Only when she had finished could Mestra speak again: 

“Leave me alone,” they grumbled. “Or at least let me pour my own goddamn water.” 

“Mmmm, ‘No’ and ‘No’ I’m afraid,” Monarda replied. “We need to have a talk, and you’re going to do it now.  

Mestra groaned. They weren’t interested in whatever Monarda had to say to them right now. With all the strength they could muster, they tried to sit themself up and swing out of the begBefore they could go anywhere, two vines wrapped quickly around their wrist.  

“Sit.”  

Mestra contemplated fighting, but their entire body felt like it had been hit by a shuttlecraft.  

“First, I need to apologise to you,” Monarda said.  

“For lying?,” Mestra said. They tried to sound angry, but their voice only came out tired.  

“For being too lenient,” Monarda said. “I should not have let you leave, at least not without explaining what happened to Éclaire. I-” she hesitated. “It’s hard for me to talk about, but not for the reason you think.” 

Mestra studied Ms. Lami’s face, having nothing better to look at as turning their neck seemed like a herculean effort.  

“When I met Éclaire, she had a different name and a different body. She was also intensely scared of the Affini,” Monarda said. “This was right at the start of the Pacification Effort, you see, and Éclaire was stationed on a ship.” She paused to study Mestra’s reaction. “But of course you know all that.” 

“What you didn’t know is that we started to get along,” she continued. “Quite well, in fact. She was the first Terran I had ever taken as a ward.” 

Mestra nodded softly. They knew about this, or at least most of it, and it didn’t change their mind.  

“Well, one day I asked Éclaire if she wanted to know what it was like to be a floret – she had seen several sophonts playing happily in the park, and I offered her some recreational xenodrugs.” Monarda tried to keep her voice even despite the hard memories that were being stirred up.  

“She agreed. What I didn’t know then was that the drugs would bring out things she’d been hiding for a very long time,” Monarda said. “Revelations about herself that terrified her. Once she’d been removed from the stress of trying to survive, her brain turned to what she needed, to feel fulfilled. That’s why she freaked out after I dosed her.” 

“How do I know you aren’t lying?” Mestra asked.  

“Well for one thing, you never read the rest of the journal,” Monarda said. She gently grabbed the volume and opened it to one of the later entries.  

“Dear Diary, 

I’ve decided on my new name. I’m going to tell Ms. Lami soon, but first I want to apologise. Not to the book, that would be silly, but I’ve tried to apologise to Ms. Lami and she won’t let me. She keeps saying it’s not my fault, that I was only trying to protect myself. And she’s right, I was terrified. When I first touched those drugs, I was so scared of all the things I found inside myself that I’d been burying. But it’s okay now, I think. Or at least, it’s better.  

I can’t say I understand the Affini, not at all. But I know now they’re being sincere when they say they want to help. The recreational drugs are a little weird, I’ll admit, but they’re actually sort of fun once you get used to them.  

I don’t know where I was going with this. Like I said, Ms. Lami won’t accept me blaming myself for being angry with her. But I was so angry, and so terrible. She deserved better. So starting now, I’m going to start trying to be better.  

Anyways, it’s dinner time now. 

With regards,  

Éclaire (should I keep the ‘e’? I think it looks better. Maybe Ms. Lami will know).”  

Mestra thought through the implications of what was being read to them. Sure it could be a trick, but it was clearly the same journal Mestra had been reading from. The entire journal could have been a trick, but Mestra found that unlikely. Why would the Affini put negative experiences in something that was meant to sway a captive into wanting to be a pet?  

“So Éclaire… she really did want what happened to her?” Mestra asked shyly.  

“Yes, wholeheartedly,” Monarda said. “She was frightened, don’t get me wrong,” Monarda added, “But she knew that life in the Compact was better than anything she’d ever experienced. That she’d never have to suffer again, never have to worry about having her needs met. That she could be whoever she was meant to be without fear of what that meant for her.” 

Mestra nodded gently and reached for the glass of water.  

“Here, let me,” Monarda said. She held the glass up to Mestra’s lips and started to tip it over very carefully. Cool water streamed into Mestra’s mouth, filling it just to a point before it overflowed, then Monarda tipped the glass back and set it down. 

“I can do that myself, you know,” Mestra grumbled.  

“Mmm, perhaps,” Monarda said. “But that’s something that’s going to be changing around here. You will no longer be doing everything yourself, and you need to get accustomed to that.” 

“W-what do you mean?” Mestra asked.  

“Well…” Monarda started. “I realise that I was doing you no favours being so lenient with you, before. I thought…” she trailed off, but resumed quickly, “I thought it would be best for you to have space to process all of this newness, but I realise now that I gave you too much.” 

Mestra tried to follow what was being told to them. Monarda was saying she… made a mistake by letting Mestra have freedom? That was on-brand for the Affini, they thought sourly.  

“This is not a punishment, nor is it a reflection on your character,” Monarda continued. “This is simply what you need to start adapting to your new life.”  

“So what you’re saying is, you’re going to take my life away after all,” Mestra said sullenly. They didn’t have the energy to fight it anymore. If this was their fate, they had no choice but to accept it.  

“No,” Monarda said. She paused, thinking to herself. “How much of your encounter with Avernus do you remember?” she inquired.  

“M-most of it,” Mestra mumbled. The most vivid memory was still the phantom sensations he had caused, and how that had seemed to awaken something frustratingly persistent within Mestra’s stomach.  

“Mmhm,” Monarda said. “Do you remember how he pulled you out of your panic attack?” she asked.  

“He…” Mestra said as they tried to put the pieces together. They didn’t remember much, but… yes, they did remember he was there. He… spoke… No, he commanded Mestra to be still, they remembered that part. His voice was louder than the voices in Mestra’s head, and for a few seconds Mestra had remembered lucidity among the panic.  

“Yeah, I remember that…” Mestra said softly. Before continuing to speak, Monarda held the glass of water up to Mestra’s lips for another long sip.  

“I made a mistake by being too forward with Éclaire,” Monarda said. “And I have spent a very long time and a great deal of effort trying to avoid repeating it. However in doing so,” she said. “I have neglected what you need: a firm guiding vine and clear rules.” 

“R-rules?” Mestra said. “So it is like a prison-” 

“Shhh,” Monarda cooed. “It’s not a prison Mestra. You’ll come to see that shortly. And we’re going to start out simple for now with just one.” 

“Should I even ask what it is?” Mestra said flatly.  

“Yes, you should,” Monarda answered. “From now on, you are to be honest with me in all things,” she said.  

“What so, ‘don’t lie?’,” Mestra questioned. “That’s hardly enforceable,” they commented. 

“Actually Mestra, there are a good many xenodrugs that assist with honesty,” she said. “Now for the moment I do not want to use them, however-” she said. “Should I find you’ve been hiding things from me, I will not hesitate to use them.” 

Mestra nodded. “Fine, whatever,” they said. “I’ll try not to lie to you.” 

“Very good,” Monarda said. “So now I have to ask, hun: Why did you run away?” 

Mestra bit their lip. Monarda had been very clear, they didn’t have the option to lie, and they doubted misrepresentation would land them anywhere good either.  

“I…” they started. “It’s… it’s complicated…” they answered. That wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t an answer either. 

“Go on,” Monarda encouraged. 

“It’s…” Mestra mumbled. “I was just stupid alright?” they said. “Is that what you want to hear? I was angry and I wasn’t thinking straight and I thought I wanted answers so I- I left and I went walking and I started to text… Him, and then I got mad at him so then I made another fucking stupid choice and barged into his office,” they said.  

“I see,” Monarda said. “And did you find the answers you were looking for?”
Mestra thought back to the short period of lucidity in the office. How completely and utterly helpless they felt. “Y-yes,” they answered.  

“What did you learn?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“I can prepare the disinhibition agent, if you prefer,” 

“Fine, look,” Mestra said. “I learned that you’re right. That the Affini do always win. That I don’t stand a chance. There, are you happy now?” 

Monarda nodded thoughtfully. “I’m very proud of you for following your rules,” she said kindly. “But there’s something else I want to know,” she said. “Why did you think he would have the answer, out of anyone?” 

They weren’t sure, but Mestra thought they heard emotion break through Monarda’s calm exterior. That was weird, but maybe they were looking too much into it.  

“I-” Mestra said. They wanted to say they didn’t know. After all it didn’t make sense, it was something they did in the heat of emotion that was obviously stupid in hindsight. But Monarda wasn’t going to take “I don’t know” for an answer, so they thought about it longer.  

“When I was in the hospital, he came and checked my progress,” Mestra said. “He was… he was really rude, but he shot straight. He said things that doctors absolutely shouldn’t say, but that made him seem… honest, to me, I guess,” Mestra said.  

“One last question, and then I’ll give you a break while I prepare dinner,” Monarda said. Her tone switched to something much more serious than before. “There are drugs that affect memory, specifically they are useful for removing memories in the short term. Mestra followed, but they didn’t know why Monarda was being so serious. “I don’t know what happened in that Affini’s office, but I-” Mestra momentarily heard anger in Monarda’s voice but she quickly composed herself. “But if you want to forget it, Mestra. No questions asked, we don’t have to talk about it again. I can give you the medicine, it hasn’t been too long yet.” 

Mestra contemplated it. Monarda’s tone made it clear that she had thoughts about what Avernus had done, and now she was offering for Mestra to forget it all. Mestra trusted that the drugs were real, and that Monarda was being sincere. From everything she’d just been talking about, and the way her voice had changed, Mestra strongly doubted it was some sort of trick. But to offer it be taken away- had the experience been traumatic? Not particularly, Mestra thought. Still, she was very kind to offer it. Shockingly kind. 

“I don’t want to forget,” Mestra said. “It was… scary,” they said. “But I needed it. I needed to know that… that ummm…” Monarda gave them a moment to finish their thought.  

“I needed to know that you Affini weren’t lying when you said you were stronger than us,” Mestra said. “And you are. And I know that now.” 

“Okay Mestra,” Monarda said. “That’s very brave of you.”

Notes:

...wait...

...Act TWO???

There's going to be more?????

Why yes, there will indeed be more! Soon! Well...not too soon. But it is coming, I promise. In the meantime, why not leave me a comment? They give me life, and motivation to keep writing.

Chapter 24: Hummus-Crusted Chicken Breasts

Notes:

Howdy friends! It sure has been a while!

I've been doing a lot of work behind the scenes to finish up this act, but you're going to have to wait a bit longer to see how this one concludes -- sorry! In the meantime, why don't you check out the Human Domestication Guide Wiki! There's plenty of good plants stories to be found along with some super cool artwork! Check it out!

Mestra

When Monarda had said there were going to be new rules, Mestra could hardly have imagined this. It started out slow, with a single rule about honesty. That was not always easy to follow, but the passive threat of xenodrug truth serum was motivation enough. Now, Mestra was being asked to get out of bed, and they strongly considered finding out what the punishment for disobedience was. 

“Monarda, I’m exhausted,” they complained. “I’m sore and I’m not hungry, why do I have to go eat?” 

“It’s the rule, Mestra,” Monarda replied. Running away seemed to change something in Monarda’s prison-keeping style, which Mestra supposed made sense. She was being firmer in her requests now, even when her words came in the same kind voice as always.  

“What if I don’t?” Mestra said. “What will you do then?” 

“If you don’t want to get out of bed, I can always carry you,” Monarda said. “And if you don’t want to eat, I would be more than happy to feed you.” 

“F-feed me?” Mestra asked. “Like, force feed me? You seem a little too nice for that,” they remarked dryly.  

“Not force feed,” Monarda corrected. “Just feed. It would actually be a good lesson for you,” she mused. “Up, come on now.” She reached her hands to scoop Mestra out of bed but they darted out of the way and onto the floor.  

“I’ll walk to the table myself,” Mestra grumbled.  

Being forced to eat was bad enough, but it was worse when the food looked so good. When Mestra walked into the kitchen, they noticed how the fragrant smells made their stomach ache. “Goddammit, I hate that she’s right,” Mestra thought.  

Laid out on the kitchen table Mestra saw an impressive amount of food. In one bowl there were roasted potatoes, still steaming hot from the oven. Next to that was a platter of asparagus and slices of fresh zucchini, seasoned with lemon juices and herbs if Mestra’s nose was anything to go by. There was also a large bowl of brown rice, a platter of chicken, and a massive bowl of colourful salad. 

“Is this… you made all this?” Mestra asked incredulously. Monarda simply nodded, as if it was a silly question. 

“Where did you get the…” Mestra started. They wanted to say “money”, but apparently that didn’t exist in the Affini Compact. Then they wanted to say “ingredients”, but there was an atomic compiler affixed to the wall next to the fridge which explained that too.  

“Where did you get the time for all this?” Mestra asked. 

“Hmmm?” Monarda questioned. “This really didn’t take me very long hun,” she said. “And I do terribly enjoy cooking for humans, you have such interesting ingredients,” she continued. Mestra took a seat in front of one of the plates that was laid out on the table while Monarda grabbed a pair of serving tongs.  

“So,” she said, gesturing to the food on the table. “We’ve got roasted potatoes, greek salad, fresh roasted vegetables, rice, and hummus-crusted chicken breasts. Will you pass me your plate please?” 

“Monarda I… I’m allergic to hummus, I thought I told you that,” Mestra said.  

“Oh oh of course, how silly of me not to have told you,” Monarda replied. She reached out and grabbed Mestra’s plate herself and started to load it with potato.  

“Those shots you’ve been taking? The one I gave you earlier?” Mestra nodded. Against their wishes Monarda had given them another injection of something earlier. Despite their misgivings, whatever was in that syringe did make them feel better. But Mestra wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything now.  

“Well one of its functions is that it quells the overactive immune response your body throws to certain foods,” Monarda explained. “Meaning basically, you aren’t allergic to hummus anymore. Isn’t that wonderful?” 

“I…” Mestra stumbled. That sounded far too good to be true. Doctors had tried to sell Mestra on allergy cures before, and there was a reason Mestra learned quickly to stay away from them.  

“Are you sure?” they simply asked. “I mean I’ve researched this before, I know it’s theoretically possible but-” they stopped when they noticed the wide smile on Monarda’s face.  

“What?” they asked sourly.  

“Nothing,” Monarda twittered. “Your eyes were lighting up as you were explaining, that’s all.” 

“Hmph,” Mestra huffed. “Well in any case I doubt the shot works. No offence,” they said. “But I’ve been down this road before and I’d rather not end up in that hospital again.    “You won’t,” Monarda said as she loaded some vegetables onto Mestra’s plate. “Do you trust that I don’t want you to end up in the hospital, Mestra?” she asked. 

They thought about this for a moment. Mestra supposed it did reflect poorly on Monarda as a warden-keeper-guardian person if her cooking sent Mestra to the emergency room.  

“I… I guess I do,” they said. 

“Good!” Monarda replied. She lifted a chicken breast onto the plate and returned it to Mestra along with a tall glass of water. “Then here you go, hun. Bon appetit!”  

The meal honestly looked delicious, probably because Mestra didn’t quite remember the last time they’d eaten, and because they’d burned so much energy in their panicked rage. Despite their suspicions of this chicken being able to send them to the emergency room, Mestra wanted badly to dig in. It seemed, however, like Monarda had forgotten cutlery when she’d set the table.  

“That makes sense,” Mestra thought. They hadn’t seen the Affini eat in their time since being captured, but they had to assume they would simply use their vines instead of trying to fuss with cutlery.  

Mestra slid out of their chair and onto the ground. They walked towards the tall kitchen counters, looking for the correct drawer. 

“Where are you going hun?” Monarda asked. 

“You didn’t give me a fork,” Mestra mumbled. “So I’m getting one.” They opened one of the drawers which was nearly over their head and tried to peek inside. It was hard to see for sure, but Mestra didn’t see anything resembling cutlery in that drawer. “I mean, if I’m allowed to do that- ” they said sarcastically. 

“Oh, I’ve got your cutlery right here dear,” Monarda said. Mestra had to step out of the kitchen to see over the countertop, but sure enough she was holding a silver fork and knife. 

“Oh,” Mestra said. “Sorry.” They returned promptly to their seat and held out their hand, expecting Monarda to pass the cutlery. Instead, she reached across the table and sunk the fork into Mestra’s chicken breast, using the knife to gently cut the tender meat into a thin strip. 

“Uh, Monarda?” Mestra asked. “You don’t have to cut my food. I can do that myself.” Mestra felt suspicion start to creep into them. More and more things weren’t adding up.  

“Well my dear, I actually wanted to talk to you about that,” Monarda said. “You see…we Affini find it incredibly rewarding to cook food for our florets. There’s a special kind of joy we get in labouring over a meal and watching our darling petals enjoy it.” 

Mestra’s eyebrows furrowed. That tracked with what they knew about the Affini, but they weren’t sure what it had to do with them.  “But there is one more thing that is even more rewarding than that,” Monarda said. “That you will see quite often in the Compact. You see, it is one thing to create a meal for someone you love, and it is another thing entirely to get to feed it to them. ” 

“You are not going to spoon feed me,” Mestra said automatically. “No. No way. Absolutely not.” 

“On the contrary dear,” Monarda said. “I am going to use this meal as an opportunity for you to better understand what your new life as a floret is going to look like.” 

“No,” Mestra repeated. They shook their head vigorously but quickly stopped, clearly still not recovered from their lightheadedness. “A-absolutely not.” 

Monarda could hear the tremble in her ward’s voice. She hadn’t expected Mestra to be on board with the idea, but she also hadn’t anticipated such a negative reaction.  

“Alright hun, let’s just take a second to breathe please,” Monarda instructed. She held out her hand and mimed taking a deep breath. Mestra seemed reluctant, but they mimicked her. A few moments later Monarda flipped her palm downwards and exhaled, watching Mestra’s shoulders fall in turn. 

“Now, when you’re ready, I want you to talk to me about what you just felt.” 

Mestra furrowed their brow and frowned. The expression on their face clearly said they didn’t want to be having this conversation, but Mestra also clearly remembered that Monarda was no longer going to take ‘no’ for an answer in these matters. 

Mestra sighed. “Fine. We’re doing this,” they said. “Well first thing’s first, you’re trying to feed me something that I should be allergic to- ” Mestra said. “That’s nerve-wracking. Like, that’s scary shit, you know?”. 

Monarda nodded and waited for Mestra to continue. “-And now you’re telling me you want to feed it to me? Why? ” 

“It’s a good lesson, Mestra,” said the Affini. “It’s very common for owners to hand-feed their florets, and it’s very likely that whoever you end up with is going to want to do that-” 

Mestra grumbled at the reminder of their imminent betrothal to one of these aliens. 

“-So I want you to have experienced that at least once,” Monarda said. “It will be good for you to get used to it dear. And trust me, it’s actually quite relaxing once you get the hang of it.” 

Mestra wanted to feel furious. They wanted to be angry and scream at Monarda about how stupid of an idea that was. They wanted to feel that rush of adrenaline that came with an ill-advised snide comment. Instead their emotions still felt dry and numb, and the most they could manage was apathetic disinterest.  

“Whatever,” they groaned. “Just feed me quickly and get this over with already-” They didn’t have the energy to fight anymore, not after the show they’d put on last night.  

“Mmm, afraid not,” Monarda said. “You Terrans, always so preoccupied with getting as much food down your throat in the fastest time possible,” she teased.  

Mestra groaned again. They really, really wished they had an ounce of energy so they could be angry about this. About all of their situations. Objectively, they were much worse off now than they had been a few days ago. Monarda had started giving them rules, and now she was weaning Mestra on to some bizarre floret feeding ritual.  

“So, here’s how this works-” Monarda said. She took the fork in her hand and skewered one of the slices of zucchini. Carefully, she lifted the vegetable up to Mestra’s mouth, letting it hover at a safe distance from their lips. 

“I give you food, you open your mouth,” she said. “You chew, swallow, then I fetch you another bite. Does that sound good?” 

“I know how to eat, ” Mestra remkarked dryly.  

“Very good,” Monarda said. She moved the bite of food towards Mestra’s mouth. “Then, open up-” 

Mestra let their jaw hang open, leaving only the smallest opening for the Affini to push the food through. The roasted zucchini tasted zesty and salty. Mestra made a performative show of chewing and swallowing, then looked at Monarda. 

“I’m guessing you’re going to want me to do that again?” they asked sarcastically. Monarda made an affirmative noise, and suddenly there was a bite of chicken in front of Mestra’s lips.  

“Open up hun,” Monarda coaxed.  

“Are you absolutely sure it won’t kil-” Mestra was interrupted by a forkful of chicken entering their open mouth. They made a little yelping sound as Monarda retracted the fork.  

“Go on then, chew your food,” Monarda encouraged. Mestra could feel heat start to spread across their face. They had half a mind to spit the food out onto their plate, but they doubted Monarda would have liked that very much. Instead, they chewed, noting the curious flavour of the chicken.  

“Do not do that again,” Mestra said after swallowing.  Monarda lifted one of her bushy orange eyebrows in mock consideration. “Mmmm, I’m afraid I’m going to feed you this entire dinner hun. Then we’ll see where we land from there.” 

Mestra had half a mind – or maybe even more – to just get up and leave right now. Or grab the food with their hands and go to town. Or throw it at Monarda. But they did none of those things, and instead watched passively as Monarda sliced a roasted potato into bite-sized portions. 

“Are you one-hundred percent sure that hummus isn’t going to kill me?” Mestra asked again, finishing the question that Monarda had rudely interrupted. “It tasted kind of funny,” they added. 

“Probably because you’ve not had it in a long time,” Monarda mused. “And yes, you’ll be quite alright.” She paused for a few moments, then looked Mestra in the eyes.  

“Why do you figure you’re so averse to this, Mestra?” Monarda asked. Mestra opened their mouth to answer and was met with a forkful of potato. They groaned.  It would be nice if Monarda wasn’t asking questions and then piling more food into their mouth before they could answer.  

“I can’t answer with my mouth full,” Mestra complained after they hastily swallowed their bite.  

“Mmm, that’s on purpose hun,” Monarda said. “I want you to take your time in answering. Really give it some thought.” She lifted another forkful of food up to Mestra who begrudgingly opened their mouth again.  

It wasn’t just their imagination that Monarda had been more condescending since Mestra had come back from the hospital. “I guess she realised she was being too nice after all,’ Mestra reckoned. She still used the same sweet, patient tone of voice, but their earlier conversation made it very clear that she was going to be much more firm in what Mestra was and wasn’t going to be doing going forward.  

“I hate it when people feed me,” Mestra said when their mouth was empty again. “It makes me feel weak and stupid.” Monarda ‘hmm’d thoughtfully, scooped up a bite of rice, and held the fork to Mestra’s mouth.  

“Have you been fed before?” she asked kindly. Mestra knew that as soon as they opened their mouth to answer, Monarda was going to stick the fork in their mouth. “Better to get it over now,” they thought to themself.  

When they were finished chewing, they spoke again: 

“Yeah. It’s happened a few times when I… when I’ve been in hospitals.” 

“Ah, I see,” Monarda said. She pointed to Mestra’s water glass. “Would you like to get that one, or shall I do it?” she asked.  

“I’ll do it,” Mestra grumbled. They grabbed the glass and took a quick sip of water. “So-” they continued, “-I hate it when people try to feed me. Especially when they’re all weird about it. I can feed myself, dammit.” 

“If you were in the hospital, wasn’t there a reason you were being fed?” the Affini asked. She waited until Mestra had swallowed the bite of food she had put in their mouth to start sawing off another portion of chicken.  

“It’s because I was too weak-,” Mestra said. “Or they kept telling me I was too weak. I was fine. ” 

Monarda raised an eyebrow. “From what I know of Terran medicine, when they do manage to suggest care it’s often because you’re well past the point of needing it.” 

“Well I didn’t-” Mestra said quickly before a slice of meat was in their mouth. “I wash fhine-”
“Ah-ah, finish chewing first Mestra,” Monarda instructed. Mestra made a show of rolling their eyes but did as they were told.  

“I was fine, ” they insisted. “I mean sure I would have passed out from the effort afterwards, but that would have been far less humiliating-” 

“That does not sound like you were fine,” Monarda countered.  

“Oh I wasn't,” Mestra said. “I spent weeks in and out of hospitals trying to fix all the shit that’s wrong with my body. It was exhausting.”  

Monarda nodded sympathetically and held the fork just below Mestra’s chin. Perhaps she should let her ward continue with this line of thinking. Mestra, however, seemed to be waiting on her to make a move.  

“Here you are, love,” she said as she spooned the forkful of salad into Mestra’s mouth. Although it wasn’t quite the conventional way to feed a floret, Monarda had to admit she was enjoying this. Mestra probably hated it, but it was good for them, she reasoned. 

“But the worst part was always the way they made me feel weak and stupid,” Mestra said when their mouth was empty. They reached for their water and took a long sip. “They were always so… sickly sweet, you know? Like I know they don’t care, but the ones who pretended to care pretended hard. ” 

Monarda made a noise of understanding, even though she didn’t really understand. “Pretending to care” wasn’t a concept to her, but she supposed she could see how it would apply to the Terran medical system.  

“Anyways, some of them were cool. I liked them,” Mestra said. “But that was only like one in ten, at most,” they added. “The rest were either jerks who didn’t care if I lived or died as long as they got paid or so sickly sweet and hidden behind fake smiles they couldn’t understand what I was going through if they wanted to.” 

Monarda nodded thoughtfully to herself. This all made sense with what she observed about Mestra. They had clearly been hurt many, many times in their short life, and it made them extremely weary of anyone offering them kindness. She caught herself staring idly at the fork in her hand, which was hovering over one of the roasted potatoes.  

“Oh, sorry hun,” she said. “Just thinking for a second.” She impaled the potato swiftly and held it to Mestra’s mouth. Even without training, her little ward was picking up the rhythm of dinner time rather quickly, she thought proudly. Every ward was different, of course. Some needed lots of time to wean off feeding themselves, others took to it quickly. Some found the slower pace of Affini feeding to be maddening, but in the end they all took to it to some extent or another. Terrans were an absolutely wonderful species to feed, Monarda liked to think. They just had such cute little mouths, tiny little teeth, and they made the most precious little happy noises when a flavour agreed with them.  

Monarda caught herself thinking about the first human she had the pleasure to feed. Éclaire had been very hesitant about it, but for different reasons than Mestra. Mestra had clearly been fed before, several times at least. In hospitals and other such settings, where they were weak and in pain. As such, they developed a negative association towards it. On the other side of the stem there was Éclaire, for whom the concept of feeding was entirely foreign.  

Monarda remembered the way the girl had blushed when Monarda fed her that first bite. She was beyond embarrassed – mortified – Monarda thought the Terran word was, at the idea of an Affini feeding her. She resisted and resisted, and so Monarda waited. But slowly, it became clear that Éclaire’s reluctance had nothing to do with apprehension or fear, but excitement. She didn’t know it at the time because her little brain had been repressing so many of her desires, but careful regimens of Class-D had started to jostle loose her true feelings. In the end, Éclaire adored being fed. She’d taken very quickly to the gestures Monarda liked to use to train her – a tap on the cheek to open her mouth, under her chin to close, and a gentle tap of the side of her neck to swallow. The first time Monarda had taught her these gestures, she’d been red as a beetroot. But soon it came naturally to her to pause mid conversation, open her mouth for a bite of food, swallow, then pick back up right where she left off.  

“You’re doing it again,” Mestra commented, setting down their water glass.  

“Huhmm?” Monarda said, turning her attention back to the human in front of her. She’d gotten lost in thought again, a bad habit she really should be working on.   

“Staring off into space, and your antler things are all curly again,” Mestra noted. 

Monarda shook her head gently, letting her antennae unfurl and sway. Mestra was right, they’d curled right up as she’d been absorbed in memories. She made a conscious effort to loosen the foliage that made up her false hair, trying to encourage her form to stay loose and relaxed.  

“They’re antennae, actually,” Monarda said. “A bit similar to some of the insects found on Terra.” 

“Mhm, fascinating,” Mestra said sarcastically. “What were you thinking about?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Monarda said. “Not to worry. Here-” 

She hastily scooped a forkful of rice and held it to Mestra’s mouth. Instead of opening, Mestra made a disapproving noise and shook their head.  

“Mestra-” Monarda cautioned. The Terran glared at her. She sighed.  

“Fine, all right,” she said. She set the forkful of rice back on the plate. “I was thinking about Éclaire, and how I would used to feed her,” she admitted. She felt the vines forming her head and hair start to deflate again, but she hoped Mestra wouldn’t notice.  

“Now eat,” she insisted. Mestra shook their head again, lips pressed together. 

“Why do you sound so sad when you talk about her,” they asked. “-And don’t act like I’m not right, I notice the way your tone changes whenever you talk about her.” 

“I-,” Monarda started to say. Somewhere between the vines deep in her torso and the ones that formed the inner core of her neck, the words got lost.    “-I guess I just miss her, that’s all,” she said. She took a moment to collect herself and then fed Mestra a bite of salad.  

“Why don’t you go see her?” Mestra asked. “I mean, if she’s really alright and you weren’t lying earlier, she would probably want to see you?” 

The Affini sighed, trying not to let too much of her emotion sneak through into her words. It had been a long day and her guard was down, and she sensed that Mestra knew this and was taking the opportunity to capitalise.  

“It’s… well it’s a bit complicated hun,” she said. Mestra opened their mouth to ask another question, but Monarda silenced them with another bite of chicken. She couldn’t stall forever though, and soon Mestra had the opportunity to speak.  

“I think it’s only fair that you explain, seeing as you’ve made me be so honest today,” they commented.  

Monarda laughed softly. “That’s not really how it works here Mestra, but I see your point.” 

Another few forkfuls of food were deposited into Mestra’s mouth before she continued.  

“Éclaire has an owner now,” she explained. She watched Mestra’s expression carefully for any changes, but so far noticed none. “She doesn’t need me to… come and visit her.” Mestra’s brow twitched when Monarda stumbled over her words. Roots, she really wasn’t doing as well hiding this as she thought.  

“If what she said in those journals is true,” Mestra considered aloud, “then wouldn’t she really enjoy seeing you? I mean, she seemed to really like you. Why did she end up with a different owner at all? I thought all you Affini were supposed to be super eager on this “adopting humans” thing-”. They stopped when they noticed the fluffy antennae on the Affini head start to curl in.  

“I’m sorry, is that a hard topic?” they asked. It wasn’t meant to be sincere, but Mestra felt a surprising sense of sympathy towards the Affini for a moment.  

“Well it’s-” Monarda started. “-Difficult,” she said. “But I suppose it is worth discussing with you.” She ruminated for a moment on how best to explain the situation. It was difficult enough to explain her loneliness to an Affini, let alone to a floret-to-be, but she still felt Mestra deserved at least some kind of answer given all they’d been through.  

“I’m a warden,” Monarda explained. “I take care of charges in the interim time between their arrival in the Affini Compact and their eventual adoption. Wards, which I care for extremely deeply and find immense satisfaction in taking care of. But it is not right of me to… assert myself onto them,” she said carefully. Mestra nodded thoughtfully. For a moment, the last few scraps of food on their plate were ignored. 

“So you weren’t allowed to be her owner?” Mestra asked. “But you still miss her, but you don’t want to see her because it’s awkward if she’s someone else’s pet?” 

“That’s… surprisingly close,” Monarda admitted. “I did see her once, and it was… awkward, yes.” 

“It seems weird that you weren’t allowed to just adopt her,” Mestra commented. They realised how insane that statement sounded, and how absurd it would have sounded just a few days ago, but they set that aside for the moment.  

“It wasn’t strictly a matter of permission,” Monarda said. “It is simply… not right for me to put a claim on a ward.” 

“I see,” Mestra said. It had never actually occurred to them that there might be ethics around adopting humans, since well – the concept was so out there to begin with. But if Monarda was telling the truth, maybe there was more they needed to know about the Affini.  “Now I believe there’s one last piece of chicken waiting to be eaten,” Monarda commented, swiftly changing the subject. She skewered the meat and held it aloft with a small dramatic flourish. Mestra rolled their eyes and opened their mouth, closing it and chewing at the proper moment.  

“I will note,” Monarda said with mock dramatism. “That you are still perfectly healthy from eating that chicken that would have once hurt you,” she said. “I hope this helps you trust that the Compact is looking out for your best interests after all, and that I would never let harm befall you.” 

Mestra made a noise of halfhearted affirmation that was muffled by their mouthful of food. They didn’t believe all that nonsense in the slightest, but they had to admit they weren’t feeling even a hint of their throat starting to close on them, so at least Monarda had been right about that.  

Just then, a chime emanated from the walls of the house, making Mestra shoot upright and nearly sending their mouth down their windpipe. 

“Don’t worry hun, that’s just the doorbell,” Monarda said. She slid fluidly out of her large wooden chair and past Mestra towards the living room. “I’ll be but a moment, you stay right there,” she said. “But, since you’ve been so cooperative…” 

She set down the silverware next to Mestra’s plate. “Be right back hun,” she said. Mestra stared for a moment at the oversized cutlery. It didn’t look that big when Monarda was holding it, but that was probably on account of her large hands. They did wonder who was at the door, too. Monarda did tell them to stay put and probably wanted them to finish their food. Hmmm. 

Mestra scooped up the last remaining bites of their food and wolfed it down. Their stomach felt really full, more than they’d remembered it being in a long time. Still, Monarda would probably be less upset with them snooping around to see what was going on if their food was finished. Within about thirty seconds Mestra had cleared their plate and slid quietly out of their chair. They walked softly to where the kitchen walls ended, trying to listen in to the conversation at the door without being spotted. 

“I hope you two have been getting along well,” Mestra heard faintly. They didn’t recognize the voice other than it being Affini. Monarda seemed to say something back, but then the conversation got quieter: 

“Are you sure…pick an owner yet…?” 

“...Needs time…I’m sure it will happen soon enough.” 

“...Kind of running out of time aren’t they?” 

Mestra felt their full stomach churn into a knot. Monarda was talking about them and their imminent… ownership.  

They didn’t catch the next few words, but they understood the just of it. This Affini was coming to check if Mestra had picked an owner yet. From their hushed tones, Mestra could tell that they were running out of time.  

“If…haven’t found… one can be selected for them.” 

Mestra heard the door close and Monarda sigh. “One will be selected for them.” If Mestra didn’t find an owner to throw themself at soon, they were going to lose their chance.  

“Mestra?” Monarda called out. Mestra stepped within view of the entryway. She opened her mouth to speak, but Mestra was quicker:
“What was that about?” they questioned.  

“Nothing you need to worry about, just someone checking to see how you were,” Monarda replied. Her antennae were curled into two tight spirals, vibrating and jittering on the top of her head.  

“Don’t lie to me,” Mestra said. “I heard enough. They came to tell you that I’m out of time to pick an owner. That I’ve lost my choice.” 

Monarda sighed, consciously unweaving the tension she held in her body. “Not exactly Mestra,” she said. “You aren’t out of time yet. But yes, they came to see how you were progressing.” 

Mestra stood, staring at the tall Affini with knots upon knots in their stomach. Monarda spoke with so much certainty about Mestra’s “progress”. It reminded them of how inevitable this all was.  

“So what, I’m doomed then?” Mestra asked quietly. They still didn’t have the energy to fight. It was all too inevitable now.  

“You are far from doomed,” Monarda said. “All this means is that we need to make a conscious effort to get you visiting more Affini,” she said. “Meeting more of us is the only way you’re going to find your new owner, if that’s still what you want,” she said.  

“It’s better than the alternative,” Mestra said glumly.  

“At any rate,” Monarda said. “It is quite late, and you are tired. We can continue this conversation in the morning.” 

Mestra shook their head. “I’m not tired,” they argued. “I want you to explain how you expect me to ‘visit more Affini’. No more lying to me.” 

“That can come tomorrow,” Monarda insisted. She walked over to the large fridge, opening it to retrieve something. “Here,” she said, offering it from one hand to Mestra. It was a flower with three tall dark blue and purple flowers that curled slightly outwards at the top, maybe six or seven centimetres tall.  

“What is that?” Mestra asked suspiciously.  

“Dessert,” Monarda replied. She offered the flower to Mestra again but they shook their head.  

“Tell me what it is,” Mestra ordered. “Then I’ll think about eating your weird…flower thing.” 

Monarda sighed, too tired to argue the point further. “It’s Casia Traumblume . It has a mild calming effect and will help you get to sleep.” 

“So it’s drugs. You’re drugging me to stop me from asking questions,” Mestra accused.  

“Mestra…” Monarda said, silently pleading with them to understand. “It’s mild. If I wanted you asleep right now, there are xenodrugs that would do that. This takes at least half an hour to have any effect, which will be plenty of time for you to get yourself to bed. It will help you have a restful, dreamless sleep and you’ll wake up tomorrow feeling refreshed, nothing more. I promise.” 

“Do I have a choice?” Mestra asked. Monarda said nothing, still holding the flower in her hand.  

“Fine,” Mestra conceded. They snatched the flower from her hand and popped it into their mouth. It was crunchier in Mestra’s mouth than they expected, almost like a crunchy piece of lettuce. It was juicier than it looked too, filling Mestra’s mouth with a thick, subtly sweet taste.
“So what, am I going to pass out now?” Mestra asked. Monarda shook her head. 

“As I said, it takes up to a half hour to really have an effect,” she said. “So I recommend you head to your room and get yourself comfortable.” 

Mestra groaned. They didn’t feel immediately different, but they knew Affini drugs better than to think that meant it wasn’t working.  

“Sweet dreams Mestra,” Monarda said as they walked to their bedroom.

Notes:

MASSIVE thank-you to my beta reader ThatOneKoalaNerd! She's been super helpful getting these chapters out!

And a huge thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read my silly little story! Your interaction, and especially your comments, mean the world to me and have absolutely inspired me to keep writing. Y'all rock!!!!!

Hmm.... a question. Let's see....

"If you were taken by the Affini, what meal would you ask them to make you?"

Until next time!

Chapter 25: Bet and Breakfast

Notes:

Wow I CTRL+F'ed this page and... I use Mestra's name 100 times?? Wow!

Corymbia 

“I find it absurd that you continue bringing that up,” Avernus said. He was starting to regret allowing Corymbia to drag him outside for a walk under the guise of “needing some sunlight”. He knew from the start that this wasn’t the real reason xe had asked, of course. He and Corymbia could both survive in the well-lit rooms of the hospital indefinitely, if they ever wanted to. Avernus had spent years on end without tasting the light of the artificial sun once, and he’d just as soon do it again if an interesting enough problem presented itself. 

Eventually though, he capitulated, admitting that Mir’s artificial sunlight was at least pleasant enough to justify a brief break from his work, since he wasn’t working on anything terribly pressing. Now, though, he was faced with an onslaught of questions from his colleague, and he was growing tired of repeating himself.  

“It would be highly improper of me to take Mestra as a pet, you know that.” Avernus said.   

Corymbia laughed heartily, sending fluff flying into the air, catching the gentle breeze and floating several metres behind xer. “Highly improper, oh stars,” xe said, clearly finding the idea amusing. “You’re an Affini, aren’t you?”  

“Obviously,” Avernus replied.  

“And Mestra is a ward, set to be taken by an owner any day now,” xe continued.  

Avernus strided forward for a few steps before replying. “That is also true, yes,” he said.  

“So how is it improper!” Corymbia exclaimed. “Mestra is a pet and you’re an owner, there’s no reason at all why you shouldn’t go after them!” Xe had been at it for some time over the last few hours. Corymbia had always been one to tease Avernus for his somewhat reclusive lifestyle, but today xe were ramping the intensity up to eleven.  

“As I have previously stated: It would not be what they need,” Avernus said plainly. “I would be bad for them.” 

“Oh there’s that self-doubt again,” Corymbia chided. “You know, you’re a lot like the first blooms I teach on the Core Worlds. So full of anxiety about what you might do wrong and yet so full of yearning for someone to care for-”
“You misunderstand me,” Avernus said. “I am not concerned with my own abilities. I am concerned about Mestra’s… fortitude.”
“Go on,” Corymbia encouraged. Xe weren’t entirely sure what they wanted out of this conversation. In the many blooms in which xe’d known him Avernus had never once expressed an interest in having a floret. It was rather atypical, Corymbia always thought, although not altogether unheard of.  

At first xe had been quite careful around the topic: by the time one got to Avernus’ age, it wasn’t uncommon for an Affini to have had several florets, tens of them even. For Avernus not to have mentioned a single one strongly indicated some deep emotions tied to the idea of ever taking a floret again. Still, the longer Corymbia had to learn and study Avernus’ behaviour, the more xe’d felt comfortable pushing the subject. No one could hold it to themselves forever, and sooner or later Avernus was going to open up.  

“I am worried that…” Avernus said. He clenched and unclenched his vines together several times. He did not enjoy this feeling of vulnerability that seemed to grip him. He had not yet seriously asked Corymbia to stop xer inquiry, although he had suggested that xe cease many times over the last few hours. “I am worried that I will break them.” 

“Break them… Oh, Oh Avernus…” Corymbia reached xer hand to Avernus’ shoulder. “Is that what this has been about?” xe asked. Avernus tried to stay still, but subtle twitches along his vines betrayed that Corymbia was approaching the truth.  

“You know that’s something every Affini for all of time has worried about, you big goof?” Corymbia asked teasingly. “Like, every Affini, for all of time, ever,” xe continued.  

“Do not ridicule me,” Avernus replied. “There is a reason I stay away from these things.”
“Avernus,” Corymbia said. “Fear of hurting the ones we love is perhaps the most natural part of loving. Sooner or later we all need to find some way to address it. What worked for you in the past?” 

Avernus didn’t meet xer gaze, and stood silently for a few moments. Corymbia could see the conflict in him. He clearly wanted to say something, but he was holding himself back. Corymbia was surprised: this small show of vulnerability was the most open xe’d seen xer friend in a long while.  

“I do not need a pet,” Avernus affirmed. His posture remained elegant, but Corymbia could tell he was conflicted. Avernus had never been one to pride himself on his appearance, but his imitation of a Terran gait was so far off that it was practically backwards. Something was troubling him, and Corymbia was going to get to the bottom of it.  

“Oh but you don’t understand, it’s written all over you,” Corymbia pushed. “I saw how you changed, back in the hospital. When you were taking care of your bunny~,” . Xe put a singsong kind of emphasis on those last words, making Avernus groan again. 

“You seem intent on misinterpreting my actions,” Avernus commented. “Mestra needed attention, so I gave it to them. They are now returned to their warden, and that is the end of it.” 

“Y’think?” Corymbia said sarcastically. “Avernus please look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t think what you did is going to have an impact on Mestra.” 

“That’s a Terran custom, I’ve been looking at your eyes this entire time,” Avernus pointed out. He sighed, and stopped walking. The brown and grey roots that he held in the loose shape of legs untwisted themselves into a thick trunk planting him firmly against the ground. 

“I admit that I was heavy-handed, but I do not believe that is merit for me to further pursue this sophont,” Avernus said.  

Corymbia considered this for a few moments. On one hand, Mestra was a Terran like any other: their reaction to Avernus’ influence was fairly predictable, since after a certain point it was near impossible for an untrained human to fully resist an Affini’s influence. What was more notable was the fact that Avernus had decided to exert that influence. He could have, at any moment, dispensed an aerosolized blend of xenodrugs that would have sent Mestra into a deep, dreamless sleep.  

And then on the other hand, there was the lingering question of why Mestra had come to see Avernus at all. It certainly wasn’t for his bedside manner, Corymbia thought. Now in xer vines rested two pieces of a puzzle: a withdrawn Affini choosing to exert himself for the first time in Corymbia’s memory and the curious flighty floret who had been inexplicably drawn to him. Corymbia hummed for a moment, then continued to walk. Xe was joined a few moments later by Avernus, who had now abandoned his facsimile of Terran legs for a much more natural gliding motion. 

“Why don’t we say this,” Corymbia said. “I will go visit Mestra and make a professional assessment of their floret aptitude. I will report my findings to you. I will-” xe said, raising a vine to silence Avernus’ imminent rebuttal. “I will promise to be impartial in my assessment. In return- ,” xe said. “Should I deem, in my professional opinion, that you would be a compatible match for Mestra, you agree to meet with them at a location and time of my choosing.” 

“You wouldn’t have the proper data regarding my profile as an owner,” Avernus interjected. “It would hardly be a proper assessment.”
“ Avernus, ” Corymbia said playfully. “I’ve known you for how many blooms now? I think I’ve got a better sense of your character than any report would give me. Now, shall I put this in writing?” 

“No need,” Avernus groaned. “I will agree to your terms, only because I find it highly improbable you will deem us compatible. There are numerous indicators in their primary profile alone that should disqualify them as a pet for someone in my line of wor-” 

“Excellent, then it’s a deal,” Corymbia said. “I’ll arrange our meeting.” 

“How do you intend to explain this to Mestra?” Avernus asked. 

“Well about that- ,” Corymbia said bashfully. Xe procured xer tablet and allowed Avernus a moment to read the contents. Avernus quickly skimmed the text onscreen and let out a loud sigh.  

“I get the idea,” Avernus grumbled. “Go conduct your little research assessment, in the meantime I would enjoy a reprieve from distractions on my work.” 

“As you wish,” Corymbia said, giggling to xerself as the two Affini parted ways.  

Mestra

Mestra woke up to the smell of waffles cooking in the kitchen. They stretched, yawning and groaning as their body started to wake up. As promised, that flower they’d eaten last night had left them feeling refreshed, and for the first night in a long time Mestra didn’t remember dreaming. 

It made them uncomfortable to admit that Monarda’s drugs had worked. Usually, when drugs were forced on them, the mere hatred Mestra felt at losing control was enough for the drugs to lose their potency. It was almost a twisted point of pride, how many sedatives Mestra had been able to beat through sheer stubbornness. But Affini drugs seemed to be unbothered by Mestra’s wishes, and simply worked away until they had their intended effect. It was infuriating if Mestra thought about it too much, so they decided to set the thoughts aside for now.  

Mestra slid out of bed and made a half-hearted attempt to fix the covers before giving up. It didn’t matter; after all there was at least a fifty percent chance they would be drugged again the next night and then it wouldn’t matter how well their bed was made.  

They looked over at the tablet on their nightstand. It was only slightly after noon, which frankly constituted an early morning by Mestra’s standards. The locked wallpaper screen showed that Mestra had two new messages to read, and without even thinking Mestra unlocked the device and opened the appropriate app. 

That was a poor decision, they realised too late. They had no idea who had texted them or what they had to say. Their body felt remarkably good this morning, but one bad text message could ruin all of that. Especially if it was from… him. 

This time, Mestra got lucky. It was a new message from someone they didn’t recognize. Mestra skimmed through it quickly: 

MxsterOfFluff | > Good afternoon cutie! You may not remember me, but we met the other day when you visited Avernus at the hospital. I was hoping I would speak with you briefly? Don’t worry, you aren’t in trouble. 

The next message was a sort of winking face emoticon, except it had four total sets of eyes and the winking was being done by alternating eyes in each pair.  

An anxiety all too familiar crept its way into Mestra’s bones. Yup, as they thought, it was a bad idea to check their messages first thing in the morning. Mestra hastily typed out a response, still blinking sleep from their eyes. 

Mestra547382957 | > Who are you? 

Mestra had no idea who this person was or what they could possibly want to talk about, but they had a suspicion that if the Affini were involved they weren’t going to like the answer. Their stomach growled in an uncomfortable reminder that whatever was cooking in the kitchen smelled really good and that Mestra was somehow already hungry this early in the morning. 

For now there was no response to Mestra’s text, so they abandoned that line of thinking and focussed on breakfast. They briefly considered changing into more appropriate clothes but decided they couldn’t be bothered. It wasn’t anything worse than Monarda had already seen, after all. Instead they walked as quietly as they could towards the kitchen. They didn’t know if Monarda would be in there, so maybe they could sneak around and… 

And what? Steal something? Everything valuable was Affini-sized. Hack her tablet? Mestra had seen her procure it from inside her vines, so that probably wasn’t an option. Besides, it wouldn’t be any good. Mestra’s fate was sealed now, no matter how much dread that filled them with.  

Mestra made it as far as the threshold to the kitchen before being noticed. 

“Good morning hun!” Monarda said kindly. She was wearing what looked to be a giant apron and was standing in front of the stove. “I’ve made you breakfast, so you just grab a seat and I’ll be right with you. How was your sleep?” 

On the table was an assortment of breakfast food of all kinds. Several bowls of berries and fruits, a plate of bacon, a pitcher of orange juice, bottles of syrup and honey and chocolate sauce, a can of whipped cream, and set down from Monarda’s hands onto the table was a large stack of fluffy waffles.  

It all looked… overwhelming, to say the least. It looked like the kind of breakfasts Mestra saw in old movies. Everything looked fresh, and it was all set out on the tablet even though there was no possible way for Mestra to eat all of it.  

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to feed me all of that,” Mestra groaned.  

“Don’t worry, you only have to eat what you’re hungry for,” Monarda said. “Although yes, I’m going to feed it to you,” she added. “Oh and don’t worry, when I decide you’re full the rest doesn’t go to waste, I promise you. That’s what we have food stasis units for.” 

That made Mestra feel a little better. Food waste was something few could afford in the Accord, and this show of extravagance could have easily seemed like a negligent use of resources. Or perhaps, a cruel waste of them, seeing as the Affini seemed to have no trace of the food shortages that plagued the Accord. Still, it confirmed that Monarda did intend to feed it all to Mestra, again. And they weren’t sure they liked her tone when she was talking about deciding Mestra was full either.  

Mestra slid quietly in their chair and waited for Monarda to take her place at the opposite end of the table. One of the bowls was within grabbing distance, and if Mestra really wanted to they could probably have just eaten with their hands but it was just… easier, to wait for Monarda to carefully curate a plate of food and place it in front of them.  

“So,” Monarda started, hovering Mestra’s fork over one of the berries. “You probably have lots of questions about what you overheard last night?” 

Mestra opened their mouth to answer and was immediately met with a berry in their mouth. Great. It was going to be one of those conversations again. 

“Yeah,” Mestra admitted after they had swallowed.  

“What’s the most pressing question?” Monarda asked. “Other than,” she added, “‘Why?’” 

“Well I still don’t understand why you people insist on… doing what you do,” Mestra admitted. “I was fine on my own. I don’t care what that psychologist said, I could handle myself on my own-” 

A large bite of syrup-covered waffle interrupted Mestra.  

“Questions other than why, hun,” Monarda repeated. “Your domestication is inevitable and not up for debate.” 

“Alright,” Mestra replied. “Fine. Here’s a question. What do you eat?” 

Monarda blinked in confusion. Had she… always been able to do that? Mestra tried to remember if she was one of the Affini that had leaves for eyelids but they found that their memories were way too scattered for that. They did distinctly remember the way Avernus’ eyes blinked, all out of sync and menacingly, but that was hardly helpful right now.  

“Why do you want to know that?” Monarda asked quizzically.  

“I-in the propaganda,” Mestra started. “It always said you eat humans. I think that’s probably nonsense, since you haven’t eaten me yet,” they said. Monarda nodded as if to confirm that Mestra had not been eaten. “But, in all my time, I haven’t seen you eat anything. And you’re like, a plant right? Do plants even need to eat? I mean how does it even wor-” 

Again Mestra was cut off by bites of food being gently shoved into their mouth. It was annoying, but Mestra got the idea: “Stop talking so I can answer you.”  

“It’s interesting that you mention that Mestra,” Monarda said. Her next words could have been anything, up to and including “I’ve actually been fattening you up so I can feast on you later this week.” She seemed to muse to herself, leaving Mestra in suspense for a few moments.  

“I’ve got an activity for you today,” she finally said. “It will be a way for you to socialise with some new Affini in a more…neutral environment,” she said. 

“As if anything on this ship could possibly be ‘neutral’,” Mestra muttered. “As far as I can tell every Affini on this ship has a mandate to be as condescending and annoying as possible.” 

“Nevertheless,” Monarda said. “It will be good for you to get out of the house.” 

“H-hold on what does that have to do with you eating?” Mestra questioned.  

“Well, the place I’m sending you is a combination art gallery and café, and it holds regular socialisation events.” 

Mestra sighed. Art galleries and cafés were irritating at the best of times, and that was before Affini were involved. “That still doesn’t-” a spoonful of yoghurt interrupted Mestra’s protests. It tasted like peaches, very sweet and creamy and tasted better than half of the ice cream Mestra had eaten in their life.  

“If you’d let me finish, silly,” Monarda said. “This particular café has a wide selection of meals for Affini. Think of large bowls filled with nutrient water, and you’re close,” she explained.  

Large bowls… filled with…water? That made about as much sense as anything, Mestra figured. They swallowed yoghurt as Monarda continued to explain.  

“Most commonly Affini will dip a vine or three into their bowl and absorb their food that way, although there are quite a number of us who enjoy solid food for a variety of reasons.” 

Mestra nodded, although understanding still eluded them. “Why haven’t I seen you eat or drink, then?” Mestra questioned.  

“Well…” Monarda said somewhat bashfully. “Affini require fewer meals in a day than you humans do. I’ve been getting my meals in while you’ve been sleeping.” 

“I…see…” Mestra said. Monarda forked another bite of waffle into their mouth. Mestra’s stomach already felt plenty full from the few bites of food they’d been given, although they doubted Monarda would care to hear their protests.  

“So hold on, you’re going to take me to an Affini art gallery, and I’m going to… what, exactly?” Mestra questioned.  

“Meet new sophonts!” Monarda said.  

“Because I’m running out of time to pick an owner,” Mestra clarified.  

“Well…yes…” Monarda admitted. “There is the matter of your wardship ending.” 

“How long do I have?” 

“I think it’s better if you don’t worry about that hun,” Monarda said. Another spoonful of peach yoghurt was presented to Mestra, but they refused to open their mouth.  

“I need to know,” Mestra said, trying to keep their lips from parting far enough to invite entry from Monarda’s spoon.  

Monarda sighed. “Fine. You have nine days before you will be assigned an owner. Longer if we file an appeal, but for that to happen I need to prove that there's a good reason for that.” 

Mestra opened their mouth hesitantly, allowing Monarda to spoon in their bite of yoghurt. They took several seconds to swallow, preoccupied with about a thousand thoughts. In nine days they would be assigned an owner, and then what? That was of course unless Monarda found a “good reason” to file an appeal. So the message was pretty clear: “If you want your timeline extended, you’re going to have to put in some work.” 

“I’m guessing I don’t have much of a choice here?” Mestra asked.  

“There is always a choice,” Monarda replied. “You can, of course, choose not to go. To leave your fate in our exceedingly capable vines. We’ve placed millions of florets before you and we’ll place millions after you too. There really isn’t any need to worry.” 

“Yeah. No Thanks.” Mestra said. They knew better than to trust the rhetoric that they should trust “the system” to get them where they needed to be.  

“Well you can always pick another event!” Monarda offered. “There are many things to do in the compact. Sports, cooking classes, sightseeing, tabletop games-” 

Mestra zoned out as Monarda continued to rattle off the different activities on offer by the Affini. They felt a soft buzz from their lap, indicating a new message from their tablet. Mestra suppressed the urge to check it right now. They knew it was “rude” to not be paying attention, but it was definitely more rude not to pretend they were paying attention. Of course all this thinking was taking their attention away from Monarda and her rambling, which was suddenly a problem: now she was looking at them expectantly for an answer.
“Mnnwhatever I’ll just do the thing,” Mestra said, unsure if that was actually the answer Monarda was looking for anymore. “I’ll go to the art café water bowl thing.”  

“Excellent!” Monarda said cheerfully. “Well as you’ve seen there are plenty of options for your dress in the closet, and we can compile anything you don’t have before you go. Do you think you’ve had enough to eat?” 

Mestra gave a small nod. At this point they were starting to shut down from all the questions. 

“Good, well then you’re excused. We’ll leave in half an hour dear. You have until then to freshen up as you see fit.” 

Mestra mumbled a small “thank you” and trodded off to their room.  They let themself flop backwards onto the massive bed, trying to gather their strength. Monarda meant well, they could tell, but the number of New and Complicated Things Mestra had to deal with right now was really starting to get to them. Mestra laid on their bed for a few long minutes, trying to focus on their breathing and trying not to focus on their overwhelming urge to go back to sleep on this eerily comfortable bed.  

Eventually they pulled out their tablet, feeling more restless than anything:  

MxsterOfFluff | > Do you not remember? We met very briefly when you came to visit my dear friend and colleague? 

MxsterOfFluff | > No matter, it was quite the day for you 

Another emoticon followed that message, this time an odd picture of an onion with arms and legs covering their mouth with laughter. What…? 

MxsterOfFluff | > First of all, how are you sweetie? I trust that you’ve been resting up since I saw you last?  

The pieces finally slotted together in Mestra’s head. It was that other Affini they’d seen when they had gone to confront Avernus. The white and yellow one that was strangely fluffy.  

Mestra547382957 | > I remember you. What’s your name? 

Mestra547382957 | > And why are you texting me? 

Mestra didn’t need to wait long for an answer: 

MxsterOfFluff | > Corymbia Loranthi, Fourty-Second Bloom, Xe/Xer at your service. 

Mestra’s chat program automatically applied some sort of colour filter to the message, making Corymbia’s name glow and shimmer next to the rest of the messages. The little title bar at the top of the chat automatically updated with Corymbia’s name and pronouns, as well as a small profile picture. Sure enough, it looked to be the same Affini Mestra had very briefly met back in the office.  

Mestra547382957 | > Uh. Hi.  

MxsterOfFluff | > Hello petal! It’s wonderful to get to meet you properly. I trust that you’re feeling better now? 

Mestra547382957 | > yeah sure I guess 

MxsterOfFluff | > Most excellent! I was wondering if I could have a word with you, little one. Nothing urgent enough to take you away from what you’re doing, so please take your time.  

Mestra glanced up at the clock. They had already spent nearly fifteen of their thirty minutes lying in bed. They didn’t get the sense that there was much punishment for tardiness, but it was better safe than domesticated with the Affini. The threat of Ms. Lami dropping her pleasantries and getting right down to business was more than enough to peel themself out of bed and take a look at the closet. 

“Ugh,” they commented, realising again how colourful this wardrobe was. They rifled through what felt like endless outfits in all sorts of varieties, all hung carefully on some sort of fancy hanger thing. Socks, pants, skirts, jackets and underwear were all neatly folded onto a single hanger, such that Mestra only needed to pick one to have a cohesive and stylish outfit. None of the combinations were right, though. Most were patterned in some way, usually with loud colours and ornate flowers. That was not Mestra’s thing. It all felt far too…flowery for their taste. 

Mestra rifled further into the closest and spotted a pair of khaki pants with only minor ornamentation. “That will work,” they hummed, “...if I can just steal this…” 

They reached and grabbed a full tuxedo off a large fancy hanger. Discarding the pants and the jacket, they grabbed the black dress shirt underneath. Tossing the pants and the shirt onto their bed, Mestra quickly grabbed socks and some boxers, which were loud-printed but thankfully wouldn’t be seen. They rifled further through the sets of well-put-together outfits to find the least decorated T-Shirt, the most casual sneakers, and a bright green toque. It wasn’t exactly a subtle colour, but it was soft enough and could contain Mestra’s hair, and that was what really mattered. Mestra didn’t even bother trying to find a bra that wasn’t excessively padded or made out of lace and quickly changed into their outfit.  

It worked, mostly. The dress shirt wasn’t big enough for Mestra’s taste, and the pants showed off Mestra’s hips just a little too much. But it would work. Mestra glanced back at the clock. Three minutes left.  

Mestra547382957 | > Uhhh I have to go now but Ill talk soon 

MxsterOfFluff | > See you soon cutie~ 

Mestra stowed their tablet into one of their pant pockets – that at least was a convenient part of their wardrobe. It briefly occurred to them that they didn’t have to tell Corymbia they were coming back, or say anything at all. Talking to xer is a good option, they thought. Could lead to opportunities. Mestra knew this line of thinking was pointless, but at the very least they might have a distraction from whatever was about to happen to them next.  

Monarda sat on the living room couch waiting for them as they approached the front door.  

“Ready to go hun?” Monarda asked sweetly. Mestra nodded. “If I have to.” 

Notes:

Goodness, another chapter! It feels like forever since I've published one of those!

Thanks to all of you lovely sophont who have been leaving me comments, they are genuinely so motivating to me. I'm so excited to share the rest of this story with you, and I promise it will happen (although it will not happen soon).

Thanks as always to my wonderful beta reader ThatOneKoalaNerd whose stories you should totally read! Thanks also for the help from my dear friend suzyna, who is always there to listen to my ideas. Thanks also to Kanagen and annabool for helping me sort out some ethical scruples!

Oh! You're probably expecting a question, huh? Well alright, here goes: If you were trapped in a wardship by an Affini and had to choose an outfit that made you look the least like you needed domestication, what would it be? Sound off below and I'll see you next time!

Chapter 26: Mir’s Cosmic Latte Café and Art Gallery

Notes:

Happy 2024! My new year's resolution is to finally write some SMUT for my SMUTFIC, instead of being so caught up in the PLOT (the plot is cool but like. smut)

Mestra 

Monarda led Mestra down the residential streets of the neighbourhood, providing commentary and pointing out landmarks around them. She seemed to know an incredible amount about all of the different buildings around them, which was especially impressive given how different each of the buildings were. They shared some common features: most were shaped like a flat hexagon, three sides visible to the street with a mostly flat roof.  

Each building was decorated in a completely different style; Some were high rises, going ten or fifteen floors tall, others were squat single-story buildings that looked more like huts than anything that belonged on a spaceship. 

For the first time that they’d been outside, the sky was bright and clear. As Mestra walked, the enormity of the situation started to dawn on them. This was a space station, but not like the ones Mestra had seen pictures of. Actually, it had taken them so long to notice precisely because it was so similar to living planetside. TThey never stood a chance. 

There was a sky and a sun, there were clouds, and there was wind. The only clue that Mestra wasn’t currently living on one of the Accord’s many colony planets was the rather curious way the horizon seemed to curve upwards rather than down. That, and of course how clean the air was. Mestra had been to space on a handful of occasions and could practically describe the smell of the stale recycled air from memory. Here, the air smelled cleaner than Mestra had ever thought possible. 

Mestra had seen pictures of the Affini ships, and even learned about their basic functions from intercepted broadcasts at the start of the war, and then later from the occasional snippet of plant propaganda. It was actually the same simple concept that the Accord used to mitigate the damage of microgravity: create a large enough ring and rotate it fast enough such that the inhabitants experience what could be mistaken as the force of gravity. On larger navy ships, there was usually a single “habitation ring” for this purpose, although Mestra doubted they were big enough for all the soldiers it took to run a ship.  

Accord ships with widespread spin gravity were a rarity, and were reserved for the upper class exclusively. Although the living areas were supposedly rather lavish, the rest of the ship was dingy and highly prone to causing motion sickness. Mestra had known a few temporary workers on such ships, who spoke at length about the uncomfortable adaptation period coming on and off assignment. They always came out unbalanced, talking about the world spinning beneath them: apparently a side effect from having briefly adapted to the speed at which the rings would need to complete revolutions to achieve artificial gravity. 

It was rarely a problem for the inhabitants, who had access to enough medical care to ease the worst of the side effects. But the crew of the ships had no such luck, and were cycled on and off ship routinely to keep them from ever adjusting for too long (“it would hurt their upwards mobility not to be gravitationally agile” was the common excuse given for the practice). 

This station was nothing like that. Mestra wondered exactly how big it must have been for them to not even have noticed it was a station until they were walking around in broad daylight. They hadn’t felt a single effect of the spin gravity, although in their defence they were dizzy and uncoordinated at the best of times. Also, the few times they’d been outside, they had had other, much more pressing things on their mind.  

Monarda stopped at a small shelter off of the sidewalk, and a few moments later a sleek and futuristic train came sliding up to them.  “You have… trams on your ships?” Mestra asked. This was another level. All but the biggest Accord ships were small enough that you could walk anywhere you needed to go, although that didn’t stop the uber-mega rich from having personal vehicles on board anyways. But for a station to have its own transit system… How massive was this place? 

“Slightly fancier than that, but yes,” Monarda replied, sounding as nonchalant as someone describing the weather. A small ramp deployed that helped Mestra climb into the massive train. It was, like everything else on this godforsaken ship, scaled to Affini size.  

“Would you like help-?” Monarda started, but stopped quickly once she saw Mestra scaling the side of one of the seats.  

“I’ll do it myself-” Mestra said, plopping themself down in one of the giant seats and feeling their vision start to dim. Their blood pressure may have disagreed, but the exertion was far preferable to the humiliation of being lifted into their seat. 
Mestra and Monarda sat in relative silence for most of the trip. The tram was whisper-quiet save for the quiet conversation of the other passengers. Many of them were Terrans, but there were also Affini, conversing in sounds that Mestra supposed but have been language but could easily have been mistaken for wooden logs being slowly ripped apart. Mestra tried not to make eye contact with any of the Affini, Monarda included and instead looked around the inside of the tram. 

Mestra observed that there seemed to be no way to pay for the fares. They found it odd, but they figured Monarda knew what she was doing. After all it wasn’t like Mestra could be arrested for following their warden onto the street train without a ticket. What would they even do in that scenario? Put them in a different prison? Mestra found it unlikely.  

Their thoughts were interrupted by a gentle tap on the shoulder, signalling that it was time to disembark.  

“Now to be perfectly clear Mestra, I don’t want you pulling any stunts,” Monarda said. “The georestrictions on your anklets are set much tighter now, so if you take even a step out of the building I’m going to know about it and you’re going to be asleep faster than you can say ‘hold your horses’”. It was a terrifying threat, but Monarda said it so sweetly that Mestra barely even registered it.  

Instead, they were busy staring at the massive building in front of them. It was certainly an art gallery, they thought. Large concrete sections with sleek glass, all wrapped with blue and purple vines that looked like they could have been real for all Mestra knew.  

“Now, are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Monarda asked. “There’s no shame in needing a bit of extra help you know~” 

“Would a floret need extra help?” Mestra asked.  

“Most certainly yes, I would think,” Monarda replied.  

Mestra shook their head.  “Then no. I’m doing this alone.”
“As you wish” Monarda said, turning and leaving Mestra to enter through the set of glass double doors. “But please,” she added. “If you do change your mind, I’m just a message away on that little tablet of yours~” 

As promised, Monarda turned and left them on their own. Mestra had half a mind to turn around the second she was out of sight and make a break for it, but a single yellow light on their ankle cuffs reminded them that the boundary between “awake” and “drugged up to their teeth” was about five steps away from the art gallery doors.  

The building was a bright, inviting-looking space, with far more benches and chairs than Mestra had expected to see. Usually art galleries had scarce few places to sit and rest, if any. After all, it was much more appealing for a building to look good than for it to serve any purpose. Having seating could attract undesirables and tarnish the experience for the lavishly wealthy people Mestra imagined frequented art galleries. Mestra had never actually been to an art gallery of course, but that was their general impression of them.  

Hanging from the high, vaulted ceilings were works of art that looked like they were made in coloured glass. Long and wispy shapes accompanied bigger, rounder objects, each looking like they’d been blown somehow before having set. They must have been enormous, Mestra thought, for them to look so big when they were suspended so high on the ceiling. The glass objects shone in vibrant greens, blues, purples and reds, sending rays of coloured lights to dance up on the ceiling and floor. 

Mestra had no clue what they were meant to be, but they didn’t get long to figure it out. Almost immediately upon entering the building, Mestra was greeted by a blue-flowered Affini wearing a shiny gold name tag that appeared to be pinned directly to their bark-covered chest.  

“Hell-o there cutie! Welcome to Mir’s Cosmic Latte Café and Art Gallery! Are you here for the Forests Florals Fungus and Seeds Garden Mixer?”  

Mestra stared blankly and blinked a few times. “Uhhhm,” they stammered. “Sorry – what?”  

The Affini smiled widely, showing a disconcerting mouth full of bright grey river rocks where teeth should have been. “Ah of course. I thought I recognized that look~” The stranger had a strange melody in their voice, like they were taunting Mestra with some kind of secret.  

“W-Wait what look?” Mestra asked.   

“Not to worry, cute petal. Just follow me~” they said in the same singsong tone. They spun dramatically on the ball of their foot and started striding deeper into the lobby. “Come along now sprout, I’ll show you right to where you need to be~” 

“H-hold on,” Mestra said. “Where are you-” They took several quick steps to catch up to the Affini, who must work here or something. 

What looked like coattails swished behind the tall Affini as they continued to stride deeper into the gallery. Mestra had no choice but to come scampering after them, even though they had no idea where they were going and were quite sure they did not like the implications of this Affini’s tone.  

The guide ducked into a hallway that was noticeably darker than the bright lobby. “Here we are~” they said with a dramatic flourish. Mestra glanced into the room. It was more dimly lit, with lights highlighting paintings that hung from the walls. There were metal tables spaced between some of the works of art, where groups of Affini and a few humans were seated. Several small groups milled about the room, examining the artwork and sharing quiet conversation. 

Mestra’s head reeled. This room was, again, massive. By Affini standards it must have been rather average, but the ceiling was at least twenty-five feet high. Tall Affini stood side-by-side with Terrans, the difference in their size only highlighting the surrealness of the situation. Mestra realised that up until this point they hadn’t properly seen many Affini standing in groups. One or two in a room together was manageable. Sure they were huge, veritable greenhouses of vegetation standing and talking. But their imposing presence was manageable, at least mostly. Here it was a completely different story.  

Each Affini was larger than a rich man’s personal shuttlecraft and had foliage dense and detailed enough to be a work of art unto themself. And then there were what Mestra presumed were the florets, each wearing some sort of bright colour or pattern somewhere on their person and dressed in fancy, fitted clothes. Some were long and flowy, others short and extremely revealing, and others still looking like they belonged in a historical reenactment of Terra’s 23rd century. It was a lot to take in, and Mestra quickly found themself gravitating to the edge of the room.  

“Please, let me know if I can be of any assistance, little petal,” the guide said.  

“P-petal?” Mestra stammered, but the Affini had already walked away to greet another newcomer at the door. 

That was weird. This was all weird, and very overwhelming. Mestra suddenly wished they had brought some kind of headphone with them. It wasn’t that it was terribly loud in here, but headphones had always made them feel more comfortable.  

Out of habit, Mestra pulled out their tablet. They were supposed to be socialising, but they needed a minute or ten to get their brain in order and get used to this new space. They fiddled idly with some of the buttons for a minute, swiping back and forth several times on their home screen just to watch the icons slide.  

A faint shadow above them alerted Mestra to someone standing in front of them. They jerked their head up, taking a step back as they felt their heart start to race. “Fuck,” they thought. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.” 

“Uh, can I help you?” Mestra asked, noticing the curious expression on the Affini’s face.  

“Hello there petal,” said the Affini. “My name is Sagitta Peltate, Fifteenth Bloom, and I’m the curator of this exhibit-slash-meet-and-greet. Could I have your name?” 

“Uhh, Mestra.” Mestra held their tablet close to their chest. This Peltate… “person”, if they could even be called that, looked like someone had tried to construct a tree out of green and blue knife blades. The leaves that made up their body looked razor-sharp, as did the teeth that filled in the plastered-on smile on their wooden, mask-like face.  

“Splendid, glorious,” said Sagitta. “Can I presume that it’s your first time visiting us?”

“Obviously.” Mestra hoped that the Affini would pick up on the thick layers of “I don’t want to be here” that they layered into their voice, but was so far disappointed. They tried to take a slow step backwards, but Sagitta took a small shuffle forward in return.

“Well then allow me to explain a few things. Our exhibit uses a system of wristbands to denote the different levels of interaction you’re looking to gain from your fellow exhibit goers. When you’re meeting a new sophont, please take a moment to notice the colour of the wristband they are wearing.” 

The Affini gestured with one of their slender arms towards a group of Affini at a table, each with a vine dipped into a large bowl and each with a wristband in a different bright colour.   

“We have designed the system around different tiers: red means you are here to socialise but not to meet a new owner, unless it’s worn by an Affini in which case it means they’re not looking for a new pet. Blue is the wristband colour that denotes a sophont looking for a permanent partner. Shades of green are for levels of play you may be interested in, darkest being the most intense, although take care to note any patterns of foliage on the wristband, which is there to indicate that you should ask the sophont’s respective owner for guidance on how to best satisfy their needs-”  

Mestra could practically feel their head spinning. As they spoke the Sagitta made gestures to a set of coloured wristbands that were wrapped around one of their own vines, using a nimble thorn-tipped appendage to point at each band as they went.  

“-Pink is for sophonts who are interested in play or domestication but want to play hard to get about it, and likewise pink on an Affini denotes that they’re interested in a Hunt. Although not that kind of hunt, orange wristbands denote prey and primal kinks-” 

Mestra tried to take a few more steps back but found themself pushed awkwardly up against the wall. “Shit,” they thought to themself. “And they’re looking at me too.” 

“I ummm uhh,” Mestra stammered. “I thought this was an art gallery, not a kink…uh…meeting,” they said inelegantly. “I-I mean, I don’t want any of that, um, thank you.” 

The Affini giggled as Mestra stammered, reeling from the implication of what “prey and primal kinks” could even mean in this context.  

“Take this grey wristband,” the affini said, “to denote that you’re here for a casual visit and to take things slowly.” Sagitta produced a corresponding wristband with a flourish and tapped Mestra’s wrist expectantly. Mestra half expected the contact to leave them bleeding, but the pointed finger that tapped them did so with surprising softness.  

“Oh!” they said, realising that Mestra wasn’t catching on to whatever nonverbal cue this was supposed to be. “My apologies, of course you aren’t gesture trained yet. May I have your wrist?” 

“Gesture…trained?” Mestra asked. 

“Oh don’t worry your little head about that one snow pea. Just give me your wrist, please~” 

Mestra obliged, and in half a second the wristband was secured around their arm.  

“All done!” said Sagitta. “I hope that you enjoy your time at the exhibit little petal. Be sure to find me should you have any questions!” 

Mestra nodded and practically ran off deeper into the exhibit, hoping the overenthusiastic curator wouldn’t follow them. They felt their heart race and the tips of their fingers start to go cold. They were nauseous too, and were now deeply regretting ever agreeing to come here. The curator’s soft touch lingered against Mestra skin in a most unpleasant way, and they momentarily wondered if Affini could have lasting contact effects, like burning clovers or poison ivy. 

What did they mean, gesture trained? And what was with all the nicknames? And furthermore, what was with the Affini’s…. Tone? Mestra hadn’t picked up on it right away, but it was obvious now. The words they were using were condescending, but their tone was… sickly sweet, like someone talking to an infant or a particularly cute pet. Like Mestra was never expected to understand what they were talking about and they were dumbing everything down to their level.  

Mestra dodged past a few pairs of Terrans walking through the exhibit, trying not to notice the mild concern on the faces of those who seemed more sober. Finally they found refuge on a mostly isolated bench, where they promptly plopped themself down. As soon as they did they could feel their blood pressure complain, and the nausea and lightheadedness became much more annoying. But that was fine, they were at least sitting down now, and this would eventually pass, if Mestra could get their heart rate under control.  

They pulled out their tablet again, looking for any excuse to keep their eyes off of the other Terrans – and especially the Affini – in this exhibit.  

Mestra547382957 | > okay I’m free now. what do you want? 

A few moments later, a response: 

MxsterOfFluff | > Excellent! I wanted to ask if you were interested in sitting down for a conversation with me. Just something casual, nothing to worry about. But I have some questions that I’d like to ask you. 

Okay, that was… strange. But it was far from the weirdest thing in Mestra’s life right now. They hid their tablet screen as two Affini strode past them, doing their best to take up as little physical space as possible. When the sets of thorny legs had passed them, they typed out a response: 

Mestra547382957 | > Well I’m supposed to be at this mixer thing 

Mestra547382957 | > My warden lady said I’m supposed to be socialising 

Mestra547382957 | > I need to find an owner in the next nine days, or so I’m told 

Mestra looked around to make sure no one was sneaking up on them. From this bench, they could see large booth seats that housed several Affini, all with drugged-up Terrans on their lap. Some of them seemed to be sitting, others napping, and concerningly, some of them seemed to be cradled in the Affini’s arms, staring up with massive pupils. They had vines dipped into large wooden bowls, and were conversing in the hiss-click Affini language that Mestra vaguely recalled hearing on the tram ride here. They turned their attention back to their tablet as it chimed softly: 

MxsterOfFluff | > Oh how wonderful! Are you enjoying yourself? 

Mestra547382957 | > What do you think? 

Mestra547382957 | > No, obviously not. This place is terrifying.  

MxsterOfFluff | > Oh I’m terribly sorry to hear that darling! Perhaps you should notify your warden and tell her that you want to go home. I’m certain she’d be able to accommodate.  

Mestra panicked. That was absolutely not an option. They weren’t entirely sure where they stood with Ms. Lami at this point. On one hand, things had seemed like they were getting better since their conversation last night. On the other, Mestra was a terrible judge of these things, and the Affini had reason and precedent for keeping them out-of-the-loop.  

Mestra547382957 | > I’m pretty sure she said if I do that she’s going to pick an owner for me. which. no. 

Mestra looked up again, this time at the dazed faces of some of the other humans in the exhibit. They all looked so… docile. It was terrifying. Had each of them been where Mestra was now, teetering on the edge of their freedom, spending their last few days of independence desperately trying to find any way to stall the inevitable march of the Affini? Mestra tried not to linger on this thought as they watched the Terrans openly moan with delight when the Affini touched them. It was all just… too much. Too much to think about, too much to bear. They couldn’t do this. They buried their head in their tablet, watching the typing indicator scroll by as this unknown Affini typed out a message: 

MxsterOfFluff | > Well. Perhaps I can offer you an alternative solution? 

Mestra547382957 | > like what? 

Mestra had the message typed and sent in an instant. An alternative solution could mean a plan. A plan to delay their domestication for a few days, and then… 

… And then what, Mestra thought hopelessly. There was still no way they were going to escape. Not when this space station was big enough to have its own tram system and there were Affini on every corner. But it was better, better than giving in, and the only option Mestra had right now.  

MxsterOfFluff | > You leave the gallery and go somewhere with me. I promise it will be safe, there’s truly nothing you need to worry about. We’ll go somewhere quieter, I’m sure you’ll love it~ 

Mestra547382957 | > Is that allowed? ms. lami made it pretty clear that as soon as I leave this building i’m going to get drugged 

MxsterOfFluff | > Not to worry, I can arrange the specifics. I’ll talk to your warden and be there to pick you up shortly. If that's agreeable to you, of course? 

Again the Affini sent some sort of emote, this time of a bright red radish giggling. Mestra didn’t know if it was meant to be comforting or threatening. They sat there, reading over the last few messages. What the hell could this be about? Was it a trick? That hardly seemed likely. The Affini had no need to catch Mestra in a ‘Gotcha’ at this point. They could domesticate Mestra right now, if they wanted to. “So why are they waiting?” Mestra thought idly. Their tablet made another chiming noise, this time signalling a message from Monarda: 

MsLamiaceae3 | >   I hear that things aren’t going well for you at the mixer. I’m so sorry to hear that, hun.  

MsLamiaceae3 | >   Corymbia says xe has already been in contact with you about an alternative arrangement?  

Mestra547382957 | > Yes 

MsLamiaceae3 | >   Well then, if that is what you choose to do… you have my permission. I will update the georestrictions on your anklet. Be well, Mestra 

And just like that, Mestra was free. Again, they thought about fleeing. Again, they remembered that they were wearing a tracking anklet, one apparently so full of drugs it would make them weep with joy as they passed out into oblivion. Mestra stared across the room to an Affini who was holding a Terran in their arms. One vine was dipped into a large bowl of something, another was gesticulating to emphasise the story they were telling. Another still was gently rubbing the top of the Terran’s head, eliciting mewls and moans and other sorts of noises that made Mestra’s skin crawl. How high was that one, they wondered? What were they feeling? When was the last time they were sober enough to remember how afraid they should be of being captured and held captive by aliens so powerful they conquered their entire species in a matter of weeks? 

Mestra continued to steal glances at the pairs of Affini and Terrans, but the more they looked the more the anxiety in their stomach started to bubble over. Only a few of the humans seemed to be what Mestra would call “lucid”, and all of them were being talked to in that… terrible singsong voice…  

When Mestra thought about it, all of the Affini seemed to carry this disgustingly juvenile singsong tone. Some of them even crouched themselves down at the knees to listen to their florets speak, as if they were simply animals and the Affini were indulging them.  

“Maybe that’s what we are to them?” Mestra thought. There had only been one Affini, Mestra realised, that hadn’t spoken this way. Monarda did it, although she was merciful enough to make it subtle. Myrrha had done it, but Mestra assumed that’s just how she was. Avernus, though… he was completely different. Not necessarily a good kind of different, being an absolute asshole with no regard for Mestra’s mental wellbeing. And it wasn’t like he wasn’t condescending, because he was. But it was different. Where the Affini here had belittled Mestra down to the intelligence of an animal, speaking slowly and musically and making large gestures, Avernus had at least talked to Mestra like a person. Not a smart person, or a person he was being kind to. But that was at least better than… whatever this had been.  

Mestra was interrupted yet again in their thoughts as a graceful white and gold Affini strode into the exhibit. They were maybe thirteen feet tall with long, graceful legs and a sculpted face. Actually “sculpted” was an apt way to describe them, with the white and golden vines with the subtle green moss they looked like something out of a picture of a history book (or the many recreations billionaires had sitting in their lawns in their advertisements.) They carried themself with poise, but seemed to be looking for something.  

Mestra wondered idly what it was. They remarked that it was strange that you could tell when someone was looking for something just by their body language. They weren’t exactly skilled at reading people, but for some reason that was one skill they had mastered.  

The statuesque figure was getting closer now, and Mestra could see that their vines were ornately engraved in winding, weaving patterns. They wondered if this Affini had been born like that, or if it was more like a tattoo- 

“Hello Mestra,” said the figure, now standing right in front of them. “My name is Corymbia Loranthi, Fourty-Second Bloom. I use xe/xer pronouns when I’m interacting with Terrans, and I think your outfit looks lovely today. Are you ready to go walking with me?” 

Notes:

Special thanks as always to My Beta Reader, whose witty comments always bring me joy (even when she's blaspheming about the totally false similarities between Avernus and a certain holographic doctor.)

As I alluded to in the intro, smut IS coming!!! I promise!!! But I also hope that the plot has been fun to follow along with too!

I loved seeing all your responses to my last question!! Lots of great outfit choices, and some clever answers too! Let's keep it going with another "what would you do" question:

You roll up to an alien Art Gallery/Coffeeshop, walking past the three meter tall space plants to the counter. Barely reaching over it on your tiptoes, the birch tree serving you asks for your order.

What would you like to order?

Chapter 27: Haircut

Notes:

This chapter contains noncon hypnosis!

Mestra 

Mestra stopped on the bright concrete sidewalk, metaphorically digging their heels into the sand. “A haircut? Seriously?” 

In front of them was a long stretch of squat buildings attached together. Each of them had a colourful sign in several languages advertising various services. Directly ahead was a giant cutout of barber scissors trimming away at a hedge adorned with the words “Kamillae’s Chop Cut and Colour: Hair and Vine Trims for Every Occasion”  

“Okay honestly is every Affini I meet rude as hell or is it just you two?” 

“Mestra I mean no offence by this,” Corymbia said kindly. “You’re more than welcome to pick another activity. But I’ve noticed you picking at your hair since I first met you, and I’m also aware that personal grooming is one of the first things to go when a Terran slips into depression. Am I mistaken?”  

“...No,” Mestra admitted. “I guess you’re right.” They started to scratch their scalp out of habit, catching themself after a moment. “I guess my hair really has gone to shit, hasn’t it?” 

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” Corymbia said. “But the owner of this salon is a friend of mine and I know she’ll take good care of you. So-” xe said, flourishing a vine towards the door. “Shall we?” 

“...Fine, but it was still fucking rude not telling me you were going to insult my hair,” Mestra groaned. 

The inside of the salon was decorated with faux-rock pillars wrapped with green vines of all sorts. There were a handful of black leather swivel chairs on shiny gold posts which were much larger than any Terran barber chairs Mestra had ever seen. They each sat in front of a giant mirror, a high countertop and several draws of well-organised scissors, combs, and brushes.  

Corymbia fit right in here, Mestra thought to themself. Xer white and golden vines seemed to bear a striking resemblance to some of the marble pillars in the corners of the room. Adding to xer statuesque look was Corymbia’s four giant golden eyes, which looked like polished gemstones instead of anything organic.  

Mestra took several steps past the threshold as a soft ‘ding!’ announced their presence. Almost right away they were greeted by a short Affini covered entirely in purple and red flowers, wearing gold spectacles and with several stray twigs coming out of their head at odd angles.  

“Fuchsia Kamillae, Twentieth Bloom, at your service,” said the Affini. As she approached, Mestra noted that she was at least a head shorter than Corymbia, which still made her well over nine feet tall. She was adorned with pink and red flowers, which took Mestra several seconds to realise were probably what she was named after.  

…Was she named after the flowers, or did she just like them so much she changed her name to match that. Come to think of it, were the flowers part of her like clothing, or were they always there?  

“What can I do for you lovelies today?” Fuschia asked. 

“This one would like a haircut,” Corymbia said before Mestra had even opened their mouth. “And nothing me for me today, thank you.” 

“Oh how lovely~” said Fuschia. “Come right back here with me and take a seat~” 

Mestra watched the two Affini walk into the salon and stop at a chair, looking at them expectantly. “Y’know I could have answered her,” Mestra grumbled, walking over to the chair. As with almost every chair Mestra had seen in this godforsaken place, it was huge, and required Mestra to carefully scale it to take their seat. “You’re seriously being incredibly fucking rude,” they muttered. 

“Mm, I can walk you back to the art gallery,” Corymbia offered. Even xer singsong condescension made it obvious that this was a threat. “Whatever-” Mestra hissed, noticing that Fuschia was looking at them.  

“Now little petal, tell me what you’ve always wanted your hair to be,” Fuchsia said, “and I will make certain that it happens for you. Now come on, tell me what you want.” The stylist looked expectantly at Mestra, twirling a comb in her hand, waiting for an answer. 

“Uh…” Mestra stammered. “I mean I know what I don’t want,” they offered.  

The stylist nodded. “That will be a start.” 

“I don’t want braids, and I want it to be shorter than it is now. Easy too, it has to be easy.” 

“Mmmmm, still taking care of our own hair are we?” the stylist commented. “I didn’t know you were independent like that.” 

“For now,” Corymbia said, smiling. Mestra seethed in their chair, but had no time to think of something to say as a giant barber’s apron was placed from them.  

“But what I really want to know, pretty Mestra, is what you want,” Fuschia said. “Not what you don’t want. Not what’s going to be the least work, because that’s for us to worry about now. What do you want?” 

“Uhmm…” Mestra fidgetted uncomfortably in the large barbershop chair. They’d never really thought of this, especially not lately. They always had so many other things to be focussed on. Sure, there were styles that looked nice, but they were always required way more upkeep than Mestra could ever hope to afford.  

“In the spirit of little Mestra’s florethood,” Corymbia said, breaking Mestra’s concentration. “I think it would be wonderful if you would choose what should be done with their pretty hair.” 

Fuschia grinned widely. “A most wonderful idea!” she said. She reached her hands into Mestra’s hair, gently sculpting it and then letting the curls flop gently back down. Her vines were gentle, and only snagged the hair for a moment before they changed direction. “I will be right back little flower, and then we can get to work~” 

“What the hell was that?” Mestra whispered angrily after they were sure Fuschia was gone. “I had it under control!” 

“Quite the contrary, I could practically hear your heart beating out of your chest as you were trying to think of an answer,” said Corymbia. “This will be much easier. And, if you don’t like it, we have plenty of serums that will have your hair grown back sooner than you can look a gift horse in the mouth!” 

Mestra blinked, trying to parse Corymbia’s broken metaphor. “I-,” they stammered. “I was going to think of something… ” 

“I know you were, dear. But this is much easier, isn’t it? Much easier to let us do the thinking for a change?” 

“Oh. This is part of your whole ‘propaganda brainwashing’ thing. I get it now.” Mestra wasn’t sure if understanding Corymbia’s intentions made xer actions more or less infuriating. Still… they did need the haircut. And it wasn’t like a poor choice of style was going to be the most embarrassing thing going on right now.  

“Why didn’t you just let me deal with it?” Mestra grumbled. “I thought you at least pretended to care about my autonomy before you sign me away to be a floret for the rest of my life.” 

“Whoever gave you that idea was being rather generous,” Corymbia chastised. “Technically, we could make you a floret right now. All the paperwork is mostly a formality anyways. If I wanted to, I could make your decision to come here with me the last you ever make in your life.” 

“Are you threatening me?” 

“No, Mestra. I’m explaining to you how this works. Your warden Monarda is incredibly sympathetic, and I respect her decision to ease you into your new life. Nevertheless it is a new life, and sooner or later you’re going to have to get used to that.” 

“It’s not a life I want! ” Mestra said. “You’re forcing this on me!  

“Perhaps,” Corymbia said. “But think of it this way, petal: You’re familiar with cats?” 

“...The…animals…?” Mestra had never owned a cat, but they were aware of their existence. 

“Exactly sweetie, yes. If it’s not too painful, I want to imagine where you were living before we took you. Remember the dark, garbage-filled alleyways which are being revitalised as we speak.” 

“Wh-why?” Mestra questioned. They could picture the alleys fine enough, but they didn’t understand why they would want to think about that.  

“You’ll see,” Croymbia promised. “So. I want you to imagine that you come across a cat in an alleyway, clearly feral and without a home. He’s taken to nesting next to a garbage dumpster, one of those awful refuses where you Terrans seem to love throwing nasty chemicals. You can tell just by looking at her that she's malnourished, that she hasn’t had a bath in weeks, and that she's miserable. ” 

Mestra tried to picture what they were pretty sure a stray cat would look like, and cocked their head in confusion. 

“Now tell me: if you came across that cat in the alley, wouldn’t you want to help it?” Colombia asked. “Wouldn’t you want to do everything in your power to help that cat live their best life?” 

“Huh?” Mestra asked.   

“Imagine you walked up to that cat and it jumped, frightened of your unfamiliar presence. Would you walk away?” 

“Uh-” 

“No, of course you wouldn’t,” Corymbia said. “You would back it into a corner with as little fuss as possible and scoop it up nice and tight into your vines, because that’s what it needs. A cat can’t always understand what’s best for them, but that’s why you need to step in. The cat may want to keep living next to that awful dumpster, but that’s only because that’s the only life it can conceive of. With your help, with your guiding, nurturing hand, it can grow to be so much happier. There will be tribulations along the way, of course. It will take time for the little kitty to adapt. But eventually you will teach it and it will learn, and then it will be happy, in a brand new warm home with brand new food and a brand new leash on life.” 

“Is… is that supposed to be a metaphor?” Mestra asked. They rubbed their temples, trying to make sense of it all. They almost wished Fushcia would come back, if only so that they had a distraction from whatever this was.  

“Something like that, yes” Corymbia answered, giggling. Little bits of fluff seemed to be falling off xer body. Mestra wondered if that was on purpose.  

“But I-” Mestra reasoned, “am nothing like a stray cat. I can take care of myself.” For some reason the words felt hollow even before they left their mouth. They couldn’t help but remember all the night they’d cried themself to sleep because they couldn’t manage to get off the couch, they’d gone hungry because they’d forgotten to get groceries, or they’d have a panic attack at the doctor when things didn’t go to plan.  

“I am not doubting that you are capable in a great many ways,” said Corymbia. “The problem, dear, is that your mind conjures up more fears and anxieties in a second than you could ever hope to consciously handle. Combine that with your habit of ignoring your own needs, and you've developed quite a backlog of sadness and pain. It’s my job, and it will be your owner’s job shortly, to help you with that.”  

"I don't want your help," Mestra said sullenly.  

"Mm, I'm sure you don't, but there’s a reason we call it 'involuntary' domestication love." 

Mestra frowned. Corymbia was definitely more condescending than Monarda. Xe spoke with such certainty about Mestra’s inability to fend for themself, without even an attempt to pretend that there was any other option than Mestra ending up as one of the Affini’s doped-up pet creatures.  

“Mestra?” Corymbia called softly. “Look at me, please.” 

Mestra frowned and looked away. No. Whatever xe was trying, they weren’t going to fall for it.  

“I said look at me, petal.” Mestra's head turned before they realised what was happening. Corymbia’s large eyes shone in the same golden hue as always, but now with a definite tint of blue that wasn’t there before.  

“Wh..what…?” they stammered. It felt like their brain momentarily short circuited as it tried to process what it was seeing. What were they just thinking about? Corymbia…condescending. Right, that was right.  

Mestra stared for a moment, blinking rapidly to see if the tint was just a trick of the light. As their eyes fluttered open and shut, open and shut, Mestra started to notice flecks of deep navy start to appear in Corymbia’s eyes. At first they looked like little pockmarks in the hammered metal finish of Corymbias’s eyes but very soon they started to swirl, revealing more vibrant shades of blues and greens underneath. Mestra stopped blinking. Whatever this was wasn’t going away, and they felt the strangest compulsion to keep watching. It was like Corymbia’s eyes had suddenly revealed layers upon layers that were previously hidden, and now Mestra was seeing all of them at once. It was off-putting, but also mesmerising.  

“Shhhhhh… No need to worry about that,” Corymbia cooed. The flecks of blue and navy and green in xer eyes continued to drift, looking like they were swirling gently in two large whirlpools. The very centres of Corymbia’s eyes looked deep, deeper than what was at all possible, so incredibly deep as the little flecks continued to swirl around and around the dark blue centerpoints of xer eyes. .. 

“Just look at me and feel yourself start to sink- ” Corymbia said. Xer voice sounded richer and more full than it had just a moment ago. Mestra momentarily wondered why. 

“S-ink?” they stammered. 

Mestra felt something very strange in their head, something they couldn’t quite place. Their muscles started to relax in waves across their body, making Mestra feel like they’d just sat down after a long day on their feet. They felt warm… 

“That’s it, feel yourself start to go under for me~” 

Go…under? That’s certainly what it felt like. Like climbing into a warm bath and letting your troubles melt away. Just sitting there without a care in the world… Except for all the parts of your body that were touching the bottom of the tub. Those would ache and eventually start to hurt. And the top half of your body was still in the cold, cold air. And the water would soon turn from hot to warm, warm to cool, and then eventually back to cold. Nothing could ever be good for long… 

“W- what are you doing? ” Mestra closed their eyes and shook their head rapidly, trying to ignore the afterimage of Corymbia’s eyes. “S-stop that, w-whatever that was!!” 

“Oh no, no we can’t have that,” Corymbia said in a soothing voice. Xe took Mestra’s chin with xer forefinger and thumb, turning their head and giving them no choice but to face xer.  

“Just look into my eyes… Shhhhh… there you go…” 

Corymbia’s voice was soothing, inviting. Mestra tried to keep their eyes closed. They knew Corymbia had a hold of them. That xer eyes would be right there. They would just check, just to make sure they were right… 

“Thaaaat’s it petal,” Corymbia whispered. “Keep those eyes open for me. I know that deep down – somewhere in there…- that’s what you want. Isn’t it? ” 

Mestra whimpered, opening their eyes only enough to squint. “ Maybe that would be enough to trick them without falling”, they thought fleetingly. Without…without falling… 

Mestra could feel themself slipping, falling, sinking into something they didn’t understand but were powerless to fight. Their face fell slack and their eyes were opening wider, still staying unfocused and blurry. The ripples and waves in Corymbia’s eyes start to float and merge together. It only seemed to enhance their mystery, as the two pools of rippling water started to merge and form into one large cloud in Mestra’s vision.  

There must be a pattern, Mestra thought. A pattern to the way xer eyes swirled and swirled, around and around. Dancing across their vision, creating spirals and fractals and shapes Mestra certainly didn’t have the words to describe. But the longer they looked, the more the pattern seemed to grow. Just as Mestra would think they understood, it would morph again into something new. It was all too much to keep track of. Mestra didn’t have a hope of understanding it, but they felt compelled to keep trying. To keep watching, just to see what would happen. They needed to know, so they continued to watch, all the while feeling themself sink further and further, deeper and deeper… 

“There we are~ Isn’t this wonderful, Mestra?” 

“Mhmmm…” the words – although you could hardly call them that anymore – seemed to fall out of Mestra’s mouth. Somewhere, some part of them was vaguely aware that they were being manipulated. But that part of them was small and far away. What was much more important were the big swirling eyes sitting right in front of them.  

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. I want you to do something for me, little petal. It’s not very difficult, so I’m sure you’ll be up for the task. Isn’t that right, flower?” 

“Mmmmm.” Mestra nodded their head ever so gently in agreement. That was right. 

“From this moment forward, you are going to find that the words you want to say fall right out of your head and onto your tongue. Silly thoughts, just tumbling down, out of your head and gone from your awareness. You do not need to think about what you’re saying, or why you’re saying it. You aren’t even going to remember that you said it. Everything is just going to fall nicely into place, where it belongs.” 

Mestra nodded again. “Mmokay,” they mumbled. 

“ Good petal. That's very good. Hm?” Corymbia broke their eye contact for a moment, turning away to address something unseen. Even without being able to see into xer eyes, vivid images of their swirling shapes stayed front and centre in Mestra’s mind.  

“Oh! Shall I leave you two for a little while longer?” came the voice of the hairdresser. Mestra turned their gaze up and towards the mirror. Everything looked sort of soft and fuzzy, but there was definitely another Affini behind them now.  

“Oh no no, not to worry at all,” Corymbia said. Xer words sounded so much louder, or perhaps simply more clear. Mestra didn’t know, and didn’t have a particular desire to find out. “You’re going to be a good petal for us, aren’t you Mestra?” xe asked. Mestra shivered, momentarily stunned by rapid waves of tingly pleasure shooting through their body.  

“Good petal… yeah…” they said breathlessly.  

“Very good~” Corymbia cooed. “Now, my friend here is going to make your hair all nice and pretty for you while I ask you a few questions. Does that sound alright?”
“Mhm…” Mestra mumbled.  They usually hated going to the hairdresser, but for some reason this time was different. It didn’t really matter why, they thought. They let the thought tumble out of their mind, back where it belonged: far from thought.  

They could feel two large hands start to manipulate their hair, spreading it out and spraying in liberal amounts of what might have been water. It was all really hard to figure out, so Mestra resolved not to figure it out.  

They looked in the mirror and again saw Corymbia’s eyes, staring, waiting for Mestra’s attention so they could resume their fractal shapes and incomprehensible patterns. Mestra felt another small wave of relaxation watching the now-familiar eyes shift and morph, hardly even noticing the gentle swish click swish of the scissor above them. 

“Now little seedling, tell me honestly, because you know you want to speak honestly. ” Mestra agreed, they wanted to be honest with this strange Affini.  

“I want you to imagine something for me. Just let your mind waaaaaander, taking all the time you need to come up with an answer. I want you to imagine your owner, little seed. Your future owner. I want you to imagine what it would feel like to have a kind, nurturing , presence in your life. Let’s say those words again: Kind. Nurturing. ” 

“Kind…Nurturing…” Mestra nodded ever so slightly. Yes, they understood.  

“Imagine an Affini who is sweet and kind, overt and empathetic… The kind of sophont you could just collapse into after a difficult day… Good…” 

Mestra’s head nodded off somewhat to the side but was quickly held in place by the stylist. Little strands of black curls fell away in front of Mestra’s face, but they paid them no mind. They were imagining just as Corymbia had instructed: a kind, nurturing, empathetic figure standing over them, leash in hand. 

“ Goooood little flower, ” Corymbia praised. “Now that you have that image in your head, of someone kind and nurturing and oh so trustworthy, I want you to answer a few questions for me, alright sweet pea?” 

“They aren’t trustworthy,” Mestra mumbled. The words fell out without much thought, but they felt right. Corymbia frowned, tilted xer head, then resumed smiling: 

“Oh but you would little sprout. We would make sure you would trust them. You could trust them with your whole entire being. ” 

“I still wouldn’t trust them,” Mestra said, blank as ever. The stylist had retreated to grab a pair of electric clippers, but Mestra wasn’t paying nearly enough attention to know that.  

“Hm,” Corymbia muttered. “Perhaps I need to lay it on a little thicker…” 

“ Mestra , ” Corymbia said in xer most commanding voice. “You can trust people who are kind. You can trust people who are empathetic. You can trust people who are nurturing. You could choose an owner who would do all of those things. Who would tell you they love you every hour of every day, because it’s true. Someone who wants nothing more than to take away each and every one of your insecurities, layer by layer, until you’re your happiest, truest self. Don’t you want that?” 

Mestra thought for a moment. The hypnotic power of Corymbia’s eyes made it impossible to think. The thoughts assembled themselves free of Mestra’s will or control, bubbling up until they could form a coherent sentence: 

“No. I wouldn’t trust that.” 

Again, Corymbia’s brow furrowed into a frown. This was quite a curiosity, and certainly not what xe usually saw in this kind of session. Especially not with that much hypnotic pressure being applied. Whatever distrust of comfort this sophont had experienced, it was deeply-rooted, so much so that Corymbia doubted it was even conscious to Mestra. Xe noticed that Mestra was starting to float out of their trance, and turned their attention back to the drooling Terran: 

“Let me try something else,” Corymbia said. “I’m going to explain something, and all you need to tell me is if you relate to it. You can do that for me, right precious one?” Mestra nodded as much as they could despite the stylist’s vine’s holding them in place. With a click the clippers came to life, buzzing softly next to Mestra’s ear. It gave them something else to focus on, the soft buzzing and the dull sensation of the clippers against their skin, but only seemed to heighten their attention to the words that continued to flow out of Corymbia. 

“Tell me if this describes you Mestra: When you’re left alone, you collapse under your own weight. You need strict rules and a firm hand in order to blossom.” 

Mestra nodded their head slowly up, then down. It was more of an automatic response than anything. Their thoughts were very fuzzy from the fuzzy sound in their ear and the fuzzy feeling in their head. Everything felt far too fuzzy to think of examples or justifications, but somehow that felt right . Whatever Corymbia was saying – which had all but fallen out of Mestra’s head now – was right. Corymbia was right. Mestra wasn’t quite sure how long they stayed liek this. The gentle buzz of the clippers next to their ear was pleasant, and so were the shapes and swirls they saw in the mirror. They were content to just stay there, waiting for Corymbia to speak again: 

"So Mestra, tell me. Why did you go visit him that day?" Mestra’s bran helpfully filled in the rest of the context. There was really only one “him” xe could be talking about.  

"I was...angry," Mestra said. The words fell out of their mouth before they even had a real chance to figure out what they meant, but they didn’t mind. Out of their brain and into the world was where the thoughts belonged, after all.  

"At him?" Corymbia questioned. Mestra felt the gentle buzz of the clipper against the back of their neck. It was a pleasant, ticklish sort of sensation. They could probably just lean into that, just relax and not worry. But Corymbia had asked a question. Now, it was Mestra’s job to answer. Then they could relax into the pleasant feelings.  

"I was angry at everyone. At all the Affini.” Mestra said. Once their mouth was open the words fell out so easily. “They acted like my fate was so sure. They were so... condescending. I thought I stood a chance at fighting them. At staying free." 

"And...?" Corymbia encouraged.  

'And I don't. Just like every Affini tries to tell me. Just like the propaganda said." 

"Why did you believe him, if you didn’t believe any of the others?" Corymbia questioned.  

"He ... he was...strong. Forceful.” Mestra said. “I needed that. I needed someone to prove that the Affini are stronger than I am. Someone who doesn't treat me like I'm stupid and meek and helpless." 

“Why did you need that…?” Corymbia asked. Ordinarily Mestra might have noticed the trepidation in xer voice, but Mestra was way too relaxed to care about subtext right now.  

“I don’t know,” said Mestra. “I really, really don’t know. Maybe I’m broken. Maybe I’m fucked beyond repair from all the bad shit that’s happened to me and all I’m able to listen to is force.” 

“I see.” 

“But I’m glad I did it,” Mestra continued. Corymbia’s antennae perked up. “I’m glad I went to see him. He was terrifying and a dick, sure. But I. I want to go back. I’m not sure why. But it was almost kind of… it’s kind of like…” 

Mestra struggled against the thick fog in their mind. There was an idea in there, they just needed time to figure out how to explain it. Corymbia stood patiently, waiting without giving the suggestion that Mestra needed to rush.  

“Every comfort I’ve ever known has left me. I guess I just. I wanted to run to the one thing that really seemed permanent.” 

The words felt good as they left Mestra’s body. They realized that they should probably feel sad. The words they had just spoken were very sad, they thought. Maybe they were sad? They no longer knew. The thought wasn’t in their head anymore, and that was good. That’s where thoughts belong.  

“Aaaaand we’re all done!” came a voice from behind.  

Corymbia snapped xer fingers, and suddenly Mestra sprung back to focus. They were sitting in a hair salon in front of a massive and ornate mirror with a black and gold barber cape wrapped around their body. They blinked the fuzziness out of their eyes, trying and failing to make sense of the fragments of memories in their head. They had been at the art gallery, then they’d met Corymbia, then they came into the salon and were asked what they wanted… 

But they had no idea what they picked. Mestra frowned. They must have chosen, because their hair was now cut. Really nicely, actually. The sides of their head which was once covered in abused black curls was tapered and faded down, with lines that were so clean and sharp Mestra would have sworn they were drawn on. They reached their hand up to feel the side of their head just to make sure that it wasn’t drawn on. 

“Well dear, please, tell me how you like it,” said the stylist. Oh, right, Mestra remembered. They hadn’t taken notice of it yet, but two Affini were standing behind them in the mirror, looking expectantly for an answer.  

“It’s… it’s really good, actually,” Mestra commented. They ran their hand gently through the thick curls on the top of their head, which had obviously been lathered in copious amounts of products and looked unbelievably healthy.  

“I mean um…thank you,” they mumbled. The stylist seemed satisfied, and glided to the back of the room to grab a broom. Corymbia offered a vine as Mestra slid out of the tall chair, landing with a soft thunk on the wooden floor.  

“I guess… we go now?” Mestra asked. Their head still felt very fuzzy, and they had almost no recollection of their hair actually being cut, save for a memory of the clippers gently buzzing next to their ear. Mestra continued touching their hair in disbelief as Corymbia led them out of the salon and onto a waiting tram. Obviously they knew their hair was capable of looking like this, but personal grooming had never been one of Mestra’s priorities. Their ex had cut their hair short a few times, and Mestra had vague childhood memories of their hair being braided (to their mild to severe displeasure), but other than that Mestra had never really paid attention to their hair.  

The tram glided silently over the roads of the Affini ships, and Mestra remarked for the second time that day how big this ship must have been for it to merit its own tram system. Before they knew it, Corymbia took their hand and led them off through the sliding doors and back onto the street at the station nearest to where Monarda lived. All the while, Mestra tried to piece together their memories. Something had happened. Had they dissociated that hard the entire time? It certainly didn’t feel like it, their head didn’t feel nearly nasty enough for that. But they were definitely thirsty, and there was just a tiny amount of fog lingering around the peripheries of their brain.  

Mestra realized, too late, that they had never paid for their haircut. They timidly mentioned it to Corymbia, who laughed softly at them.  

“Little petal I thought you knew this already, there is no such thing as currency in the Affini Compact,” xe said. The condescending tone was back, and Mestra remembered that they didn’t care for this Affini one bit. Still, they felt better than they had this morning. Softer, maybe. Like they had gotten a good night’s sleep.  

It was a short walk from the tram stop to Monarda’s hab. Mestra didn’t stop to question how Corymbia knew the way to a house that wasn’t xers. If Mestra’s tablet had a map of this whole place, they assumed Corymbia’s would too. Eventually they reached the squat building with the small garden space near the entryway. It was stacked so close to the other houses that Mestra wouldn’t have recognized it, except that Monarda herself was standing on the walkway, tending to the flowers.  

Mestra walked up to Monarda just in time for her to spin around in surprise. On instinct, Mestra reached their arms wide and gave Monarda a big hug.  

“Well hello there Mestra,” Monarda said, the surprise evident in the tone of her voice. She reached her hands around Mestra’s back and held them gently for a moment, all the while eyeing Corymbia as if to say “what did you do to them?” Still, she wasn’t going to complain about getting to hug a cute Terran.  

“I’m tired, gonna go lay down,” Mestra mumbled. They broke off the hug and snuck past Monarda into her Hab unit, walking briskly to their bedroom. Monarda could hear them flop down onto their soft bed and let out a sigh of relief, which she quietly noted was a most precious sound. Still, she had many questions.  

“Before you say anything,” Corymbia explained in Affini. “I put them only as deep into trance as they needed to go for a routine assessment of their floret aptitude.” 

Monarda nodded. She had reservations about using hypnosis on wards, especially when it came to other Affini hypnotising her wards. But an assessment of Mestra’s aptitude for florethood was hardly inappropriate, in fact it was one of the first things that happened to new wards once they were medically stabilised after their rescue.  

“I was careful not to leave behind any suggestions save for a general sense of calmness and wellbeing,” Corymbia said. “Although it seems like Mestra clung quite strongly to that last part,” xe added, giggling.  

“I can see that,” Monarda replied. She tried to keep her tone even, but it was no use. Corymbia was far too wise not to notice the turmoil brewing within her. The two Affini stared at each other for a few moments, neither offering to speak first. There was enough being said in body language to fill in the next few pieces of the conversation.  

“Would you care to come in?” Monarda asked. Corymbia nodded. The two took a seat on Monarda’s massive couch. 

Monarda opened her mouth to speak, but found that she had no words. Her antennae curled up and shook from the tension she held in her body. She took a moment to collect all her tension, then let it out in a large sigh.  

“I’m sure you’re eager to hear my findings,” Corymbia said softly. “But I must first congratulate you on a very successful wardship.” Monarda cocked her head. “You have done very well by little Mestra,” said Corymbia. “You should be proud of yourself.” Monarda swallowed and nodded, a habit she had picked up from mimicking her human wards.  

“To make a long story brief, Mestra is unconventional,” Corymbia said. “They seem to outright reject the kindness and care that we freely offer, even when placed deep under hypnosis. I must say that it is quite unusual.” 

Monarda nodded. “I’ve noticed something similar, yes. This is, in fact, the very first time they have ever hugged me, willingly or otherwise.”
“Fascinating, and rather sad that they’ve missed out for so long,” Corymbia said.  

“Indeed…” Monarda said sadly. She tried to listen across the Hab into Mestra’s room, but she heard nothing. 

“Monarda…?” Corymbia said, gently laying a hand on the other Affini’s lap. “Are you quite alright?”
“I am… having difficulty letting go,” Monarda admitted. “I’ve always had trouble letting go. But tell me about Mestra’s aptitude. What did you learn? Have you put their updated entry into the system yet?”
“There’s no need,” Corymbia said. “I’m already quite certain who they’re going to end up with.” 

Monarda cocked her head. “You don’t mean…?” she asked.  

“Indeed,” Corymbia confirmed. “Although yes, this record will go into the system, I do believe Avernus to be the best suited owner for little Mestra.” 

Monarda rapped her six fingers across her thigh. “I don’t mean to speak ill of another,” she said, “but I truly do not think he is the right fit for little Mestra.” 

Corymbia nodded sympathetically. “Have you considered that perhaps your feelings on the matter are influencing this assessment? You have shown great restraint in your care of Mestra. It is clear that this is not the first Terran that has walked through your hab unit doors. Is it perhaps the case that you are holding on too tightly to them? Trying to spare them from something they don’t need to be spared from?” 

Monarda paused. Of course, of course Corymbia could tell. The older ones could always tell. Once you were around for long enough, you’d seen almost every problem there was to see, and very little surprised you.   

“There was a floret once…” Monarda started, “...that I should not have let go of. I did not want her to leave, but she was my first Terran, and I wanted to give her the best possible life, even if it meant I would never see her again.”

“And where is this floret now?”

“I don’t know. I never checked. It would be wrong of me to-”
“Monarda, it is not wrong of you to follow where your feelings want you to go,” Corymbia said.

“She has already been promised to an owner,” Monarda argued. “I could not possibly barge in there and replace that, not now.”

“There isn’t a need for you to replace your flame’s owner, youngbloom,” said Corymbia. “How well do you know this Affini?”

“I met them… once. When it was time to…give her away…” Monarda’s antennae drooped, and Corymbia intertwined some of xer vines into Monarda to offer solace.  

“I see. So you’ve not been properly introduced, and you’ve kept yourself away from her out of fear that you will be hurt again, because you feel inferior.” 

Monarda nodded. “That about… that about sums it up, yes,” she said. “Although I am still hesitant about Mestra being cared for by someone so…” she trailed off, not wanting to disrespect someone who was clearly important to Corymbia.  

“He’s very unconventional, I grant you,” said Corymbia. “But they are compatible, that I am sure of. At any rate,” xe said. “I understand the burden of having to say goodbye, I truly do.” Monarda nodded. “I think that when the opportunity next presents itself, you should go talk to this ‘first ward’ of yours. They clearly mean a lot to you, and you will struggle to grow without that closure.”  

Monarda nodded. “Perhaps…” she said. The reality of Mestra leaving was already setting in. They had a while longer, sure, but it now felt more immediate than ever. It was not a feeling Monarda enjoyed, not in the slightest.  

“Would you mind if I put on a pot of tea?” Corymbia asked. Xe unwound xerself from Monarda and stood up, walking towards the kitchen.  

“Yes, yes I think that would be lovely.” 

Notes:

Oh my gosh. FINALLY I get to some of the smut in my smut story! And this is a big chapter, too! Very happy to finally get this one out!!!

I guess the question this time around is easy: opinions on haircuts? What's your favourite style? What would be your favourite style if you had an all-powerful plant person to do all the daily upkeep?

Until next time!!!

💚💚💚

Chapter 28: Pépite!

Notes:

Another chapter at last! Thank you all for being patient!

Avernus 

Avernus crossed out the drawing with dark jagged lines before sighing and setting it aside. As of late he had found himself making careless mistakes in his work, and was quickly growing weary of such things. Avernus pulled a clean sheet of paper from the stack and began again, looking to the several other drawings strewn across his desk for guidance.  

He sketched out the skeleton first, then the nervous system. Then the circulatory system, then the connections to the haustoric implant’s new vasculature. Everything lined up properly until he got to the elbows. He would sketch the bone structure first, then the ligaments, then the blood vessels…
“Grrhhh-” Avernus growled as his pen formed errant lines around an errant separation of blood vessels. That was incorrect and he knew it. In a typical Terran, those vessels would be connected. It was only in Mestra’s arm that-  

Avernus scribbled through his drawing and threw it off the side of his table. The page fell unceremoniously onto the floor, where it joined a growing pile of failed drawings. Each was similar: it was nearly correct except for some small mistake where Avernus had let his focus wander. He was growing more frustrated now. He should not be making mistakes like these.  

Avernus sighed and steadied his forehead with the spindly grey tips of his fingers. At first he had thought it was his imitation of Terran arms that was the problem. So over the course of several hours he’d meticulously rearranged himself until he could reproduce a spitting image of a functioning Terran arm. That hadn’t helped the problem, so Avernus focussed on his hands. Several hours after that, although he could now hold a much more convincingly human shape, he was no closer to finishing his drawing.  

He reached for a new sheet of paper, ready to attempt his drawing again. He would complete it this time, he thought to himself. He was not going to let these distractions stop him from completing his project.  

Taking the pen deftly in one hand, Avernus sketched the skeletal structure, then the nervous system. The circulatory system came next, and Avernus was careful this time to stick to the standard Terran physiology. Next came the haustoric vasculature and its connections to the outer accessory limbs that sprouted from the back of the Terran host’s body. Good. It was all coming together. Ligaments were next, and Avernus was careful to re-align each of the major systems to accommodate the new connections at the implantation site. It was nearly done, except for the musculature.  

Avernus rifled through several stacks of paper to call up the appropriate reference diagrams. Terran muscles were soft, relatively speaking, but they weren’t by any means flexible. That meant careful routing and rerouting as new limbs were added to the host body. It was a puzzle to make it all fit into the same package, but through many sketches Avernus had figured it out. All he had to do now was finalise the positioning, and then he could move to more practical testing. A few quick strokes of his pen outlined the major muscle groups, and layer by layer Avernus put to paper the largest muscles, working his way down and out from the spine as the muscles got progressively smaller. Individual Terran muscles weren’t able to bend, but that did not make them inflexible. In the right combinations they could be used to achieve almost anything, including Avernus’ realisation of an advanced large-scale biological addition to the body. He was almost done, now.  

With a few more quick strokes, Avernus finalised the last of the smaller muscles. There was one more thing about Terran muscles that he found worthy of note. They were rather warm when interacted with up close. An inefficiency, no doubt, but not an altogether unpleasant one. Avernus remembered the sensation of thrusting his vines into Mestra’s arm, feeling the weak muscles give way easily to his stronger vines. They felt so hot then. Firing with all their might to resist his entry, tensing up whenever Avernus would provide them with even the smallest of electrical impulses. Avernus hadn’t realised it until after he had retreated from Mestra’s body. Terran bodies were warm.  

He looked down at his page, satisfied. Everything was correct, and everything was in its place. He could practically feel the musculature under his vines now, reacting to his movement, quivering ever so gently in anticipation of his next move. Everything was just as it was meant to me, perfectly in place for him to slid in a seize control-  

Avernus noticed a defect in the cartilage around the elbow, so small it might have gone unnoticed to someone less invested in perfection. The ligaments were such that the elbow could overextend, putting undue pressure on the muscles and creating a pinch point in the nerves. Avernus followed the errant ligament down to its origin, noticing the smallest of deviations in his penmanship. It was off-nominal by only a fraction of a degree, but it was incorrect all the same.  

Avernus contemplated this error for a moment. It was fractional. Far smaller a deviation than what would be encountered if this biomodification were ever to be installed into a Terran host. Avernus would have been quick to eliminate this error and start again, but something was nagging at his consciousness. This drawing had felt correct as it was being made. Avernus twirled his pen between his long fingers as he tried to reason out why he felt this way.  

This arrangement of muscle and tissue felt familiar. It felt right under his vines. He couldn’t quite figure out why… 

Mestra. Of course. It was the exact deviation he’d noticed in Mestra’s arm when they had barged into his office. The same one he had noticed when Mestra was on his operating table with a dying plant hastily attached to their arm.  

Avernus felt his frustration rising. Why was this Terran occupying so many of his thoughts? It was nonsense. Mestra was not the first or last Terran Avernus would operate on. They were frustrating, and decidedly out of line in the way they spoke. What about them was sticking out to Avernus as being worthy of note, so much so that it invaded his personal projects? 

Avernus groaned in a low, guttural sort of noise. He had come here for a vacation, to coast and to work through easier projects as a way to de-stress. What about this single Terran was noteworthy enough to derail them? 

Just then, there was a knock at the door. “Is this a bad time?” came a familiar voice. Corymbia.  

“A very bad time,” Avernus grouched. “But don’t let that stop you-” he added sarcastically, watching Corymbia’s form already flowing through the door. He really should keep this door locked, he thought for the twenty or thirtieth time.  

Avernus made a half-hearted attempt to shuffle the mess of papers on his desk into something that less clearly illustrated his frustration while Corymbia grabbed a chair and settled xerself into it. Xe was holding xerself differently today. A bit more still and a bit more controlled, and Avernus quickly noticed why.  

Nestled tightly into the vines of xer chest was the curled form of Corymbia’s newest fascination, a sweet little Rinan floret named Pépite. Her tiny fur-covered body was folded up into a little ball, and she held on loosely with her three-thumbed hands to several of Corymbia’s vines.  

“This is an inopportune time for you to have brought a floret here,” Avernus said in Affini, making no attempt to hide the frustration in his tone. 

“You’re wallowing,” Corymbia said, speaking gently but with obvious purpose. “I should have seen it coming, and I did, actually,” xe said, “which is why I’m here.” 

“I want to be alone,” Avernus grumbled. He twisted and untwisted pairs of his vines into tight tangles, trying to keep his frustration contained. 

“Well, too bad, I care about you too much to let that happen,” Corymbia stated. Xe stared resolutely into Avernus’ eyes, feeling the unmasked tension bubbling over in xer friend.  

“Here,” Corymbia said, unwinding the latticework of vines that held Pépite tight against xer chest. “I want you to hold her. Just for a minute-” xe tried to add, but Avernus was faster. 

“Absolutely not. How many times must I tell you that I do not-” 

Corymbia lifted xer floret gracefully over the desk and practically shoved her into Avernus’ arms.  

“Hold. Her.” Corymbia repeated. “It will make you feel better. Trust me.” 

“I do not want to hold your floret-” Avernus protested, but it was too late. Corymbia withdrew xer vines and Avernus now held the Rinan awkwardly in his arms. Pépite stirred, probably wondering where the warmth of her owner had gone. Avernus grumbled lowly and held the Rinan to his chest. He could feel her squirming in his vines, trying to adjust herself to find the most comfortable position to go back to her nap.  

“This is the opposite of comforting,” Avernus complained. “I have told you many times that I-” 

“Just give it a minute-” Corymbia interrupted. “Can you hear her little heartbeat? The way her breathing slows when she’s calm? Can you feel the way her whole little body buzzes with every passing second?” 

“I am painfully aware of that, yes,” Avernus replied. There was a Terran expression. “Through gritted teeth.” That about described how Avernus spoke.  

“Oh come now,” Corymbia chided. “She is Mine, and the rhythms I have imparted on her can’t possibly be so discordant to you that you’re unable to feel the joy of holding a floret in your arms. Is being around me really that terrible?” xe asked with a soft giggle.  

“Just take her back already,” Avernus grumbled. “I know you want to.”  

“I do, but you need her more right now,” Corymbia said. Xe paused, contemplating how best to phrase this next piece of information. “I met with Mestra this afternoon.” 

“Why do you think that interests me?” Avernus growled. Pépite yawned, stretching in his vines, clearly drugged happily oblivious to Avernus’ hostile tone.  

“It is of your interest because you are honourable, and we had an agreement,” said Corymbia. “I met with Mestra, and they confessed to me their imminent intention of requesting you as their owner.” 

Corymbia reached xer hands over the desk and took back xer floret, allowing time for Avernus to think. He shifted and rearranged himself, twisting and untwisting his form as he mulled over the thought in his head. He tapped his fingers idly on the desk, speeding up as his stress started to get the better of him.  

“Avernus,” Corymbia said, unwinding then intertwining her hand with Avernus’, forcing a momentary pause in his tapping. “Tell me honestly, as a friend. I have never seen you quite so anxious. What is troubling you?” 

Avernus froze, taking a long pause before he was ready to speak. “...I have found myself… of late… thinking about them..”
“Is that so?” Corymbia asked. “And is that such a bad thing? You have found your kitten in the alleyway, and now you get to scoop them up and take them home. Is that not wonderful?” 

Avernus groaned. “Mestra is not a stray kitten,” he grumbled.  

“Oh?” Corymbia questioned. 

“Mestra is lost and misguided, yes,” Avernus admitted. “But they are also strong, stronger than I would have expected from a floret.” 

“Mhmmm…” Corymbia prompted. “Continue.” 

“They have endured… needless errors in their previous medical care. That much was made abundantly clear to me when they first arrived here,” Avernus said. 

“And who better to correct those errors than you?” said Corymbia. 

Avernus groaned, then sighed. “As I said, you have caught me at an inopportune time. Perhaps we should go for a walk-” 

“Don’t try to change the subject” Corymbia chided. “You’re holding on to a thought in those vines, I can practically see it. Tell me what’s troubling you.” 

Avernus sighed, and looked inside himself. He felt the way each of his vines wound around each other in his new, more human form. Somewhere inside his chest cavity were his favourite surgical blades, permanently grafted to vines held in waiting until their services were required. He polished one of the blades idly, trying to reconcile the numerous feelings clouding his thoughts.  

I feel that I would be… an inadequate owner… for Mestra,” he said carefully. 

“Avernus,” Corymbia chided. “You are among the smartest I know, and I have known many in my blooms. I have seen you do things on your own that would take a team of others years to complete. This project,” xe said, gesturing at the unfinished drawings of a new adaptation of the Terran haustoric implant. “How long did it take you?”

“That’s not that poi-”

“How long, Avernus?”

Again, Avernus froze, his spindly fingers hovering above his desk. When he was ready, his tapping resumed, now more hesitant than before. “...Not since before I arrived here.” 

“Exactly. Avernus, this could be a bloom’s worth of work to another. And you did it before the station even had time to complete a single orbit-” 

“That’s not the point,” Avernus interrupted. 

“But that is the point,” Coyrmbia countered. “You can learn. You can adapt. At the very least this work proves that.” 

“But this work is unfinished, Corymbia. It is a failure. It is not complete because I have been unable to complete it. That is how I will fail. I will not be everything a floret needs.”
“Not right away, perhaps,” Corymbia said. “But you will finish this work, just as you will learn to improve the way you care for your floret.” 

“Florets need a strong, steadfast owner. It would not be right to subject them to my trepidation,” Avernus argued. He watched as Corymbia deftly manoeuvred xer Rinan to be sitting on xer knee, all the while not breaking concentration.
“Oh Avernus, xe said. “No, that is not the case at all. We are not obligated to be monoliths of perfection to our pets.” Corymbia gently bounced her knee up down, eliciting little squeals of joy from the small creature.  

“...In fact, I find that it is often my florets with whom I can be the most vulnerable. Think about it. You are their entire life, Avernus….” Xe scooped Pépite under the arms and held her so that she was face-to-face with her owner, supported from all sides by Corymbia’s soft vines.  

“When you take a sophont as a floret, you become the very literal centre of their orbit. They want to help you, in whatever way they are able, because you become a team. ” 

“You of anyone know that florets are not our equals,” Avernus scoffed. As if to illustrate the point, Pépite sneezed an adorable little sneeze and Corymbia helpfully supplied them with a tissue.  

“Not equals, no. But you are still stronger with your floret, just as your floret is stronger with you. You care for them, nurture them, make every decision for them and make sure they live their best life possible. And in return they give you companionship. Love. Company. Comfort. Companionship on your loneliness days, and joy in your sadness.”  

Avernus contemplated the sappy sweet sentiment for a moment before Cormybia continued:  

“And you and the handful of blooms you hold above me should know that there are many, many ways for us to shape our florets. They don’t all have to be as cute and pliable as this one-” xe spun her floret around in a twirl, letting her fall only as far as Corymbia’s lap before once again enveloping her in vines, “-to bring us joy and fulfilment. Maybe it’s time to try something different this time around.” 

Avernus opened his mouth to speak, stopped, then titled his head. For once, he was at a loss for words.  

Corymbia, for xer part, was also at a loss for what to say. Xe had seldom seen Avernus hold his tongue, let alone be at a loss for one. Xe wondered… Most Affini who didn’t want to talk about their former florets had one particular reason for doing so. It stirred up painful memories, memories they weren’t yet ready to fully process. But perhaps there was another reason. One much more uncommon, although unlikely to be completely unique. Corymbia wondered… 

“Avernus, have you never taken a…?” Corymbia asked softly. Xe left the rest of the question unspoken. Tension hung in the air, so palpable that even little Pépite could feel it. Corymbia doted on her some more to help ease both of their stresses. 

“No,” Avernus said after a moment. The tension in his voice was evident now. It may even have been present to a passerby, if Avernus wasn’t speaking in an Affini dialect so old it predated the existence of half the floret species on the ship.  

“So you’ve never had a…” Corymbia inquired.  

“No,” he said again. Most Affini would have never noticed it, but Corymbia could hear the palpable anxiety in his voice. It took xer a long time to learn to find it, but it was there just the same. No matter how much Avernus tried to hide them, he had emotions just like any Affini. 

“Oh you poor thing-” Corymbia teased. “In all of your blooms, and after having put hundreds of thousands of florets under your brief medical care… you’ve never actually taken one, have you? No wonder this is so hard for you…” xe said sweetly.   

Corymbia felt some relief: all this time xe had not been butting up about traumatic memories of the past, but a persistent anxiety for the future. It was somewhat surprising to learn that an Affini of Avernus’ age had never before taken on a floret, but it was a much more workable answer to the question.  

“I do not need to be consoled like one of your pets,” Avernus grumbled lowly. He continued to polish his tools, despite the fact that they were already clean. It was somewhere to focus his feelings, to keep them from overflowing. 

“Like one of your pets, soon,” Corymbia countered. “It’s clear as the night skies on Pluto, you two need each other.” Corymbia wondered how far xe could push this before Avernus shut xer out. It always happened sooner or later, but xe had already made a considerable amount of progress with xer reclusive friend.  

“Mestra is… misguided, and you’re going to set them on the right path. I know that you will,” Croymbia said.  “And it is as you said: They show surprising fortitude. That will serve you both well in your experimentation,” Corymbia noted, gesturing to the stacks of paper on his desk. “I think, my dear friend, that it is time you put your theory into practice.”  

Without another word, Corymbia lifted xerself out of xer chair and walked out of the room, leaving Avernus alone with his plans and his thoughts.  

 

Notes:

My perpetual thanks to my best beta reader ThatOneKoalaNerd for putting up with my schedule, and also for leaving the THIRSTIEST comments on my drafts (you're the best). Thanks also to the lovely sophonts of the Human Domestication Guide Community server, especially anna//bool and teaganthedoll for helping me sort through these 100% organic ethical Scruples.

A question for you all: Are you a pet person? That is to say, do you like to hold pets on your lap and pet them while you think? You may also answer "I am the pet," that is permitted. But I'm curious. Is this something people actually do with their pets or have I written a disney villain who strokes the cat on their lap while they recount their evil plan?

Chapter 29: Making Preparations

Mestra 

“So-” Monarda said. 

“So.” Mestra answered. They once again sat across from their warden at the breakfast table, separated only by a steaming pile of fresh food. 

“How was your trip to the art gallery?” Mestra could almost see the emotions bubbling under the surface of the plant. Was it anger? It was probably anger.  

“I’m sorry,” Mestra said immediately. “I know that you were just trying to help me, and I really did try to umm.. Try to meet new people, it’s just that-” 

“Shhh… you don’t have to explain anything to me, hun,” Monarda said. She lifted a bite of fluffy pancake into Mestra’s mouth, allowing them time to process. 

“It-it’s just that-” Mestra said, continuing to explain with a mouth still half full. “-Everyone in there was so… so… how do I put this?” 

“You got scared?” Monarda questioned. She ignored how quickly Mestra scarfed down their food, for now.  

“Kind of?” Mestra said. “”It was like. Everyone in there was so blasé about treating me like. Umm. Treating me like a pet.” 

“I am very sorry, hun. That must have been very difficult for you.” The tone of Monarda’s voice was measured and even, but the twitching flyaway vines in her ‘hair’ indicated a night of worrying.  

“I saw the florets, and I saw how they umm…” Mestra said.  “...The looks they had in their eyes… it was like they had no fight left in them. Like they were totally tricked into giving up their personhood and they were…happy about it.” 

“I understand completely why that terrified you,” said Monarda. “And then, you visited with a new friend of yours. Corymbia, is that right?”
“Xe… promised I could leave the gallery and go on a walk. It seemed like… a good idea,” Mestra said. “I’m sorry,” they added.  

“There is no need to apologise, dear. You have done nothing wrong.” Mestra nodded. It didn’t feel very reassuring. Monarda was clearly hiding something, and it probably spelled bad news for them. After all, they had effectively run away from where they were supposed to be with the first Affini who would let them.  

“What happened after that?” Monarda prompted. 

“I…I don’t really… I’m not really sure…” Mestra admitted. “I got my hair cut, I kind of remember that part. And Corymbia and I…talked” 

“What did you talk about?” 

“Ummm,” Mestra racked their brain. “I think we talked about me. About um. My future and… my owner. What I want…?” 

“And what is it you want, Mestra?” Monarda asked. 

“I… um…” Mestra couldn’t quite get the words and thoughts to line up long enough for them to speak. It felt like they had the answer on the tip of their tongue, but it refused to come to them no matter how hard they struggled. They weren’t sure why Monarda was suddenly asking so many questions. She definitely had some hidden motivation, but Mestra couldn’t make the details line up for long enough to make sense of it. They bounced their leg anxiously. 

“I don’t remember…” Mestra said. Why are you crying, said an unhelpful voice in their head. Mestra’s throat felt tight, but they weren’t yet crying.  

“Shhhhh… .Shhhhhh,” Monarda said. She got up out of her chair and knelt down in front of Mestra. “Darling, it’s okay, just take a big deep breath for me…”

“D-don’t call me that,” Mestra mumbled. Monada’s brow furrowed, as if she was contemplating something. 

“You know, as of yet I have not allowed myself to indulge in something like this. But I suppose, given what I know now, that I can allow myself this. So long as it’s helping you, of course.” 

“What are you talking about?” Mestra sniffled. Monarda didn’t answer, and instead held a large purple flower between her two hands. Mestra long ago stopped questioning where she stored these things, but this one looked to be particularly organic. Was it part of her? 

“What’s this?” Mestra asked. 

“Dessert,” Monarda replied oh-so-sweetly. Mestra cocked their head. 

“Dessert? But it’s breakfast-ohhhhh” A fine cloud of yellow pollen shot up from Monarda’s flower and into Mestra’s mouth and nose. Mestra felt the biggest urge to sneeze, but it died down as quickly as it came. They looked up, eyes still slightly watering. 

“W-what was t-that?” they asked.  

“Shhhh,” said Monarda. Her voice sounded…different now. More musical. Everything sounded more musical, Mestra realised. They smiled a big, dopey grin. 

“T-this feels j-just like what Corymbia did to me…” they commented. A familiar sense of peace washed over them. It really did feel like what had happened yesterday, only this time it was almost stronger. 

“Yes, dear, it’s very much similar. Does it feel familiar? Nod your head, that’s it…” 

Mestra nodded.  

Wait. Had she said that before, or after Mestra had started nodding.  

…It probably didn’t matter.  

“I can tell how light and floaty you feel, sitting there nicely for me. Isn’t that right, dear? Nod your head yes, good petal~” 

Mestra opened their mouth to protest, then closed it. They did feel good. So what if they couldn’t remember what happened thirty seconds before this? Something told them it wasn’t very important. 

“Now, little Mestra, I am going to leave you with one suggestion and one suggestion only, but it is oh so important that you listen to me. I’m going to give you one little seed of an idea that will stick to you, growing stronger and stronger as it takes root over your mind.” 

Mestra nodded yes. One idea, they could manage that. That made sense.  

“Mestra, above all else, you will seek the kind of comfort that you crave. You will no longer run from your desires or from that which you fear. You will feel compelled to investigate the nagging feelings that your life could be better, happier, and you will pursue them.” 

Mestra smiled. That sounded like a good idea.   

Monarda

Monarda tended to the seedling as they started to lift from their trance. It felt good to exert her influence like this. She had spent half an hour getting Mestra deeper and deeper into trance, noticing when the Terran would start to lift and swiftly putting them back under.  

Mestra deserved it, she rationalised. They had been through a lot, and they deserved this rest. Besides, it was hardly like she was doing anything she shouldn’t. A suggestion for a ward to follow their heart was absolutely within the realm of appropriate conduct for even the strictest of wardens.  

Still, she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. As Mestra started to gently stir, Monarda fussed over getting them tucked under their covers. At some point in their hypnotic adventures they had migrated to Mestra’s bedroom, and she figured it would do Mestra good to come out of trance in a familiar place. She wondered how much, if any, Mestra would recall what they were feeling. Part of her suggestion had been a memory block of the events of the trance, but given Mestra’s somewhat odd reactions to earlier hypnotic influence, Monarda wouldn’t be surprised if they remembered some of it.  

Monarda placed a gentle kiss on Mestra’s forehead, smelling the distinct Terran smell that lingered on the bedsheets. She had allowed herself this indulgence, but that was going to be all. Today or the day after, Mestra was going to sign a contract with that surgeon. Monarda still disagreed, strongly, that this was a good decision, but Corymbia presented rather airtight evidence, and Corymbia was many bloom’s Monarda’s elder. If xe said Mestra would be best with that… prickly surgeon Avernus, then it must be so.  

Mestra

Mestra wasn’t sure exactly where they should put it, but it felt right to put it back on the shelf. Éclaire’s diary had been a… memorable part of their stay with Monarda. It felt wrong not to put it back where they had found it.  

In all likelihood, Monarda would find and destroy the book. After all, several of the entries definitely contained what the compact would consider “feralism”. Still, it felt wrong not to put the journal back in its place. Maybe someone else will find it, and realise they need to escape, Mestra thought. And maybe they’ll do better at it than I did, they silently added.  

Mestra rifled through the pages of the book one last time. Again, they found themself thinking about Éclaire: was she still out there? 

It was probably a stupid question. At this point Mestra was mostly convinced that the Affini didn’t eat Terrans, given how many florets they had now seen first hand. But the state of their identity post-domestication was another matter. Would Éclaire remember writing this? Would she remember the time before the Affini had taken her, or was her head so full of xenodrugs that all unpleasant memories were impossible to access.  

Mestra supposed there was only one way to find out. They’ve had a lot of success with the station directory app so far, and they did have a considerable amount of details about this particular floret.  

Their first search for ‘Éclaire’ returned 4836 results on the station. They probably should have expected that. If the map was to be believed, this place was at least as big as three Terran continents, at least, before they went underwater.  

They grabbed their tablet and flipped to one of the pages they remembered containing personal information that might be identifiable .  

Over the next hour or so, Mestra whittled down the pool of candidates further and further, based on the apparently endless number of parameters that the “Find-A-Floret'' app offered to them. A few times, they stopped to wonder if it was strange of them to care so much. After all, they had never really met Éclaire, and in fact all they knew they had read from what seemed to be a pretty personal diary.  

Still, it felt right to reach out. They may get no response, but it was worth trying, or so Mestra kept telling themself. Finally, Mestra’s query showed only one result: 

Éclaire Opufolius, Fourth Floret. 

That must be it. 

Monarda 

It was time for Monarda to give her warden one last hug before they said goodbye.  

A small bag of personal belongings hung from Mestra’s shoulder, packed with personal belongings and snacks for the day. Monarda did her best to keep her emotions contained. Of course, she had let Mestra set the date and time that they left, but she and Mestra knew it wasn’t a truly free choice. This is where they were going to have to say goodbye. 

An extra stuffed animal had been snuck into Mestra’s satchel, in case they needed support. Monarda wondered if Mestra would reach for it. She hoped it would bring them comfort.  

Mestra released the tight hug they had been holding around Monarda’s waist. It felt so good to be close to them, Monarda remarked sadly. It was a good thing Affini could not cry, because Monarda would be crying right now, and that would not be very comforting to little Mestra.  

“Thanks for… everything,” Mestra said softly. Oh, oh bless this little Terran’s heart! Monarda thought to herself. She reached out and gave Mestra one more big hug. They complained, but only a little bit.  

“I’ll be back from the hospital tonight, but I don’t know how long this um… conversation is going to take,” Mestra said. Monarda nodded and tried to act like she didn’t know better. There would be no way Mestra would return for the night. If Avernus was truly as… interested in Mestra as Corymbia made it sound, Mestra was going to be taken right there on the spot. Either way, this was very likely the last time Mestra would ever set foot through these hab doors. The thought was deeply sad, but Monarda tried to push it away. Just until they’re gone, and then I can weep, Monarda thought to herself. She smiled despite her sadness, giving a polite wave as Mestra turned to walk down the sidewalk.  

“Bye hun!” she called out. “Be safe, take care… see you soon. ” She added hopefully under her breath. 

 

Notes:

Thank you all for being patient and sticking with me! I'd like to thank my beta readers as always, ThatOneKoalaNerd and Stimulacrum .

So, question for you. It's been nearly thirty chapters now. Do I retire asking questions at the end of each chapter? I admit, I find myself at a loss for new questions. Hmm....

Chapter 30: A Contract is a Promise

Notes:

This chapter features heavy noncon elements, loss of medical autonomy, and the emotional breakdown you would expect would ensue from that .

Mestra

Mestra steadied themself against the doorknob. They were going to do it. They had to. They took in the sight of the door, the detail in the grain of the wood, and the feeling of the ornate door knob under their fingers. For all they knew, they died today. They had no idea if florets remembered their lives before the Affini, or anything at all, for that matter. Mestra wondered how much of this moment, if anything, they were going to remember when this was all over.  

It was too late to walk away, now. Mestra’s domestication was inevitable, but at least this way they had a say in the matter. If they were going down, it was on their own terms. There was a bitter sense of pride in that thought.  

Pinned to the walls and tables were ornate technical renderings of a human body laced with some sort of plant life. They looked like someone was trying to plant a tree into a human’s back, with branching roots spreading out across the muscles and wrapping around the spinal cord. There were so many drawings that there was barely any space left on the walls, with several stray pieces having fallen to the floor. Some of the drawings were annotated in a script Mestra could recognize only as some sort of label, though not in any language that originated from Terra.   

In front of them, sitting at his massive wooden desk, was the monster. He looked just as ghastly as Mestra remembered, although this time more humanoid. His form was still wrong, he was too large, too slender, too angular in the shoulders and in the chest. But this time Avernus looked much more human, much more like some wicked doctor Mestra was going to have to contend with. They didn’t know if that made him more or less terrifying.  

He sat motionless, hands clasped together. It was as if he had been expecting them. For several long seconds, the doctor said nothing. Mestra approached his massive desk, and seated themself in the tall chair as gracefully as they could manage. They stared into the deep red eyes and gnarled brown vines that formed Avernus’ body, waiting for him to speak. 

“Why did you come here, Mestra?” 

Mestra opened their mouth, but was interrupted.  

“Do not try to deceive me. Tell me honestly, bunny. Why did you come back here?” 

“...I’m tired,” Mestra admitted. “I’m so… so tired. I’m tired of fighting. I just… I don’t want to fight anymore.” They said. That felt honest. Maybe more so than they had intended. 

“Then why not allow yourself to be taken by an owner?” Avernus asked. His posture stayed the same, hands clasped together. His body definitely looked more… sculpted, today. His shoulders were sleeker and more refined, there was definition in his arms, and Mestra could almost make out where a jawline should have been. It wasn’t any less offputting.

“Because I… I still don’t want to let go. It feels like a… it feels like I’m spitting in the face of everything I’ve suffered for my entire life,” Mestra said. Alright, so it was “spill your guts” time. This hasn’t been the plan, but somehow it felt appropriate.

“So then, I repeat myself: Why are you here?”

There was a tense silence between the two. Mestra stared for a long moment at the drawings pinned up behind Avernus’ head. For his part, Avernus seemed content to wait for Mestra to respond, so Mestra thought it over.  

“I came here, because…” Mestra said. They sighed, trembling slightly. “I came here because I hoped you would… get this over with…” 

They couldn’t meet Avernus’ gaze, but they could see that he was staring at them.  

“You came here to be domesticated?” Mestra shivered. Of course that’s what they were here for. It was obvious, but to actually hear the words was something else.  

“I…” they said. “Yes. I was hoping you would be. Indifferent enough about me to just do it on the spot.” 

“Indifference is not a quality that is shown to florets, Mestra.” This made them look up: that was the last thing they expected Avernus to say. Mestra tilted their head up slightly, finally meeting the Affini’s gaze.  

“If you wanted domestication, you would have asked your warden for it, and it would have been arranged for you.” Avernus thought for a moment. “Or, you would have walked into the domestication centre yourself, knowing your propensity for acting independently. You did not have to come here, to me.” 

Mestra frowned and furrowed their brow. This didn’t make any sense.  “You need to explain something to me,” they stated. Avernus said nothing, so they continued. 

“For the last two years, every Affini ever has been itching to get their vines on me. To kidnap me and make me theirs, to… domesticate me.” Avernus didn’t even nod in comprehension, but Mestra just assumed he was listening. “And then I get kidnapped by one of you fuckers and end up in prison wardship and then I’m told that no, all this time you’ve been told you’re going to be taken and transformed into something you’re not, but even worse, you have to be the one to decide who does that to you. ” 

“And then as if that’s not bad enough, I find the one Affini sharp enough to actually be honest with me about something, and he sticks me with his vines and sends me on my way. It’s humiliating. So here. I’m here now. If you want me, take me. I don’t care anymore” 

Avernus slowly raised his hand to his chin, contemplating. He closed his two biggest eyes as if he were deep in thought. “You should leave,” he said quietly.  

“What.”  

“I said: you should leave.” Avernus opened his eyes, staring down in all of their deep red power at Mestra.  

“Fuck no,” Mestra said. “I am not leaving.” 

“Mestra.” Avernus practically growled. “You need to leave. Now. ” 

“Why?” Mestra said. “Because you’re going to stick your vines in me again? Because you’re going to hurt me, going to make me suffer? Go ahead, do your fucking worst. Like I said, I don’t care anymore.”  

“You do not understand…” Avernus started. He was scowling. Mestra could see off-white thorns in his mouth where teeth might have been. “...What you are walking in to.”
“I thought that was the whole point,” Mestra said carefully. “That I don’t have a choice, that this what happens to me no matter what. That I’m going to be domesticated and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Your poor choices have destined you to be a floret, yes,” Avernus said. “But you are not yet destined to be my floret. Not yet.” 

Oh.  

“You should run, Mestra. You should run far away from here and far away from me.” Avernus stood up from his chair and took a few steps towards them. Mestra pushed their chair back, careful not to let him get behind them.

“And if I don’t?” 

Avernus laughed a deep, horrible kind of noise. His mouth spread out into a wicked grin, putting the blood-red stems of his needle-like mock teeth on full display. “I have thought extensively about how I would train my floret,” he said. “I’ve had a very long time to consider it.” 

Mestra didn’t make it through asking what he meant before he continued: 

“They will refer to me as ‘Master’ or ‘Sir’ exclusively, enforced by mental conditioning and reprogramming. My name will be a privilege they earn to speak in the event someone questions to whom they belong. They will be trained in proper manners and conduct, and disciplined when necessary.” 

He placed two fingers on Mestra’s head and one under their chin. Mestra tried tilting their head out of the way, but it was so use. Avernus stood behind them, clamping Mestra’s mouth firmly shut. They panicked momentarily, struggling against his strong grip. It was no use. Avernus’ fingers didn't even waver.  

Mestra felt a sudden urge to gnaw, to gnash, to bite and chew and attack this vile plant that was holding them restrained. But no matter what they tried, Avernus held their head still, indifferent to Mestra’s attempts to flee.  

“Their intelligence will exist in service to me, and in turn I will teach them to be efficient. They will be among the best-learned pets in the Compact, that will be certain. They will be a shining example of diligence, of good training and of florethood. They will also be the soil in which I nurture my most promising projects. Their body and mind will be a catalyst for the many projects I test. Their physical form will no longer be recognizable as anything other than my creation. They will be mine; With every slice through their body and every stitch of their skin, they will be mine.  

Avernus let Mestra go. Tears fell from their eyes. “y-You’re scaring me…” Mestra practically whimpered. Their thoughts were racing with the images Avernus had put them on.  

Of Mestra as a pet.  

Of Mestra being taken apart.  

Avernus simply stared. He didn’t look apologetic. Of fucking course he didn’t. He almost looked… satisfied? He took his place behind his desk, standing now, instead of sitting.  

“Is…?” Mestra asked quietly. “Is that what you wanted? Were you trying to scare me?”  

For only a fraction of a second, Mestra recognized emotion. Shock. Confusion. Pride.  

"You… were just saying that to get rid of me,” Mestra said tentatively. They nursed their sore jaw muscles. “You didn’t mean that. You wanted me to be afraid so I would leave. Because you're going to feel too bad when you have to obliterate my identity to make me happy. But you don’t want me to leave. Because unlike them, you seem to have a conscience." 

“You are, as usual, bunny: half correct,” Avernus said. There was a glimmer of pride in his voice. “I mean every word that I said. I was also trying to frighten you. But it is not because I have a conscience other Affini lack. It is perhaps quite the opposite, but that matters little now.”  

Mestra tried to parse all that information in their head. They could still feel that phantom sensation of vines holding their jaw closed. The feeling of being utterly helpless was still palpable, and it was taking all of Mestra’s concentration not to run out of the office screaming for dear life, or worse, to beg for whatever mind-numbing cocktail of drugs was coming their way to be administered already so they could get this over with.  

While Mestra was distracted, Avernus had procured a stack of enormous sheets of paper. Mestra struggled to focus on the ornate script with which the words were written. Most of the words definitely weren’t in any Terran languages, that was for sure. The paper looked fancy, thick, with natural variations in its colour. It reminded Mestra of pictures they had seen of the Accord’s founding documents, preserved in photographs taken a very long time ago. If Mestra didn’t know any better, this looked like some kind of extremely fancy, expensive… 

“This,” Avernus said. “Is your Domestication Contract. This specifies everything that gets signed to your owner, down to the last minutia. Your possessions, your name, your body and your spirit. Everything.” 

Mestra looked down at the stack of papers, which was shockingly thick even despite the luxurious quality of the paper. They started to read some of the points, which were indeed phrased as some kind of contract: 

Above all else, I, _____________________, will obey my Guardian,  

_______________________________ in all things. This is for my safety, wellbeing, and care.  

 

Then, below that, further points, written smaller but no less ornamented. Mestra skimmed them, until they reached the bottom of the document: 

As the property of your Guardian, ____________ may add, remove, or modify conditions of your wardship at any time for any reason within the limits established by the Human Domestication Treaty. 

“...My… rights,” Mestra summarised. “All of them…” They tried and failed to swallow the lump in their throat.  

“If you are to be simplistic about it, then yes. That is an accurate reduction,” Avernus said.  

“So I’m supposed to read this?” Mestra asked. “And what if I don’t like it?” 

“It is of very little importance whether or not you sign, or even are aware of the contents of this document. However, I thought that you might find it to be… illuminating” “Is this another threat?” Mestra asked. “Another way to try to make me go away? To get me out of your sight?” 

“Oh no, little bunny, this is nothing of the sort,” Avernus said. In his outstretched hand, he offered Mestra a pen. 

Mestra gulped. “Y-you want me to sign this,” they said. Avernus said nothing. Mestra took the pen in their hand, hovering it over the indicated line: 

Above all else, I, _____________________, will obey my Guardian,  

_______________________________ in all things. This is for my safety, wellbeing, and care.  

Mestra’s hand trembled as they lined up their first pen stroke. They tried taking a deep breath to steady themself. It will all be over soon, they thought to themself. Soon, I won’t even have to remember this. Soon it will all be over.  

Mestra pressed the nib of their pen downwards, ready to accept whatever was coming for them next. But the ink on their pen never made it to paper, no matter how hard they pressed. Mestra looked up. Avernus, hand outstretched, was blocking them.  

“You are shaking,” he noted.  

“I don’t care, just let me get this over with-” Mestra said through gritted teeth. They tried to press harder, but Avernus was too strong to overcome.  

“This is an auspicious moment, Mestra,” Avernus said. “Take your time.” 

“I don’t want to take my time, I want to get this over with- ” Mestra growled.  

“This is no longer your choice,” Avernus said. With two fingers, he twisted Mestra’s wrist until the nib of the pen pointed up to the ceiling. It was pointless to fight him, Mestra thought, but they wanted to. So badly they wanted to, but Avernus was stronger. He snatched the pen from their fingers, putting it back in his desk. “Give me your arm, Mestra.”  

Mestra turned their head. “Why?”  

Avernus simply tugged on Mestra’s wrist until it was extended towards him.  

“Okay okay, I get it,” Mestra said. “Now let go of me.” His hands felt weird . Cold, and slightly scratchy, like Mestra was being held by…well, roots. “What do you want my arm for?” 

From underneath his desk Avernus procured what looked to be some kind of  plant-syringe. A small clear vial held a pale purple fluid, wrapped around with brown and green tendrils. It almost looked like a fancy fountain pen, were it not for the wickedly sharp needle jutting from one end. On the other tip was some kind of bulb, and for half a second before Avernus took it between his two fingers Mestra swore they could see it pulsating.  

“H-hold on-” Mestra stammered, pulling their arm back. “You are not going to stick me with that until you tell me what it does. Absolutely not. ” 

Avernus grumbled, but capitulated. “You come here asking to be mine, and yet you recoil at the soonest hint your control is being eroded. Are you certain this is what you want?” Mestra pulled their wrist back, nursing it from the strange sensation of Avernus’ vines.  

“H-hold on, I never said that I want to be yours, ” Mestra said. Again with Avernus’ blank stare.  

“I gave you ample reason to run away, Mestra. You still have the chance. I will not stop you. If you leave this room right now, you will be gifted to an owner who will cherish you forever. That is what I can promise you.”  

“I-...” Mestra said. “Okay, seriously. You need to read a book about trauma, or something.” They stared until Avernus’ seven unblinking eyes. He did not seem to register the comment. Mestra sighed. “I may be about to give myself up to you, but until then I’m still human. You haven’t taken away my self-preservation instincts yet, and mine happen to take issue with random doctors putting random shit in my body.” 

Avernus blinked his eyes, all out of sync. That one was intentional, Mestra was pretty sure. “Very well,” Avernus said. “Give me your arm, and I will explain what I am going to do with you.” 

Hesitantly, Mestra returned their wrist to the top of Avernus’ desk, the bend of their elbow pointed upwards. Avernus maneuvered the injector deftly towards them, but paused before continuing.  

“This is a muscle relaxant,” Avernus said flatly. He pushed the needle forward until it broke skin, and with a satisfying hiss it deposited the contents of the purple vial. Just as quickly as it entered, it retreated, leaving not a single drop of blood.  

“h-What?” Mestra stammered. They almost wanted to laugh. They weren't sure why, it was all just so absurd. “Why, what, hold on-” 

“You will still be able to use your muscles, with concentration, but it will prevent you from shaking during what comes next.” 

Mestra titled their head. “What comes nex-” Avernus deposited the pen back in Mestra’s hand and guided it over top of the page. Oh.  

Whatever that drug was, it certainly was doing something. It took Mestra a few tries to properly grip the pen without it falling, and it took a few more tries to line their fingers up properly. It wasn’t impossible by any means. It felt like their fingers were heavy, like they were greasy bolts that needed to overcome the force of friction to be turned. Mestra set the nib of the pen to paper, writing their name as best they could manage:

Above all else, I, Mestra, will obey my Guardian,  

_______________________________ in all things. This is for my safety, wellbeing, and care.  

Once they were in motion, the strokes of their pen felt almost perfectly fluid. It was difficult to overcome the resistance of movement, but once in motion it was almost like Mestra was on rails, without a hint of tremor or trepidation in their script. 

“It’s just as well that you’ve elected to forgo your former family name,” Avernus remarked. “As you’ll very soon be given a new surname.” 

Mestra was too focussed on getting the pen down to the next line to acknowledge Avernus’ comment. Whatever, it wasn’t like their legal name was going to particularly matter at the end of all of this. And if they could get this over without explaining their whole Deal, then so much the better.  

Mestra hovered over the next line, ready to will their body back into motion. They sat, staring at it.  

Above all else, I, Mestra, will obey my Guardian,  

_______________________________ in all things. This is for my safety, wellbeing, and care.  

“I…” Mestra said, realising an imminent problem. “I have a problem,” they admitted. “I don’t… actually… know what to write-” 

“I do not think that will be an issue,” Avernus said. Mestra thought they heard a hint of a smile in his voice. He stood up measuredly from his chair, walking slowly around his desk until he stood directly behind them once again.  

“Wh-what?” Mestra stammered. They tried to turn their head to look backwards, but Avernus took a finger under their chin to stop them. His fingers itched on Mestra’s skin. They felt cold and unnatural, but were holding them with enough force that Mestra couldn’t break free.  

“What are you going to do to me…?” Mestra whimpered. Their brain helpfully replayed the memory of being helpless against Avernus’ tendrils, forced to hallucinate sensations that weren’t really there.  

“Oh, do not worry, little bunny…” Avernus said softly. “I will not hurt you.” He unwound his free hand into a mass of writhing vines that took positions on Mestra’s arm. They swallowed. Mestra knew better than to fight back, but they doubted they were going to like this. 

Each of the thin vines started to poke and prod at Mestra’s skin, gentle enough not to cut but forceful enough to be felt. Mestra desperately wanted to turn their head to look, to check to make sure everything was alright, but their head was kept straight ahead, staring down at the contract.  

“Oh little bunny, how you tremble…”  

Mestra hadn’t noticed until now that they were shaking, again. They were holding so much tension in their arm that their muscles were bulging. Avernus’ tendrils were wrapped carefully around them, not yet breaking skin. But they were pressing, pressing so hard, painfully hard into their arm.  

“That hurts, ” Mestra complained.  

“It hurts because you are trying to resist me,” Avernus countered. He spoke so softly, his mouth only a few feet above Mestra’s head. His breath smelled like dried herbs and rotten wood. It gave Mestra chills.  

“I-” they stammered. Mestra tried taking a deep breath to release the tension. Whatever Avernus was doing, it hurt when they tried to move their arm, so they tried to stay still. Avernus vines continued to push and poke and prod. Mestra took another deep breath, trying to relax. Trying to release the tension in their arm, trying not to think too much about the man holding their body like a puppeteer.  

Mestra’s breathing caught as their hand was suddenly compelled into action, bringing the pen down towards the paper. It felt almost like a muscle cramp, except that Mestra’s hand wasn’t cramping, it was being piloted. They had no control over their wrist as it flicked elegantly through the ‘u’ in ‘Avernus’, quickly moving on to a large ‘S’ and ending in a trailing ‘n’. They could feel Avernus’ tendrils pushing, moving, manipulating their muscles to do his bidding. Like Mestra was nothing to him. Like they were a machine. Then came an uppercase ‘F’, spelling out Fourty-Ninth, then finally the ornate ‘B’ of ‘Bloom’, coming to an end precisely at the end of the designated line.  

Above all else, I, Mestra, will obey my Guardian, Avernus Senarum, Fourty-Ninth Bloom in all things. This is for my safety, wellbeing, and care.  

The pen was deposited back next to the paper, then Mestra’s hand went limp. Avernus released the tension in their muscles, letting Mestra bring their arm closer to them to try to nurse it. His greenish-grey and brown vines were still wrapped tightly around their arm. Mestra wriggled their fingers, wondering whether it was them or Avernus in control. For now, they seemed to be back in charge of their motor functions, but they doubted that would last long. 

Mestra panted, staring at the elegant handwriting that now sat on top of the line. It wasn’t their handwriting, it was his. The thought made them feel… strange. It should have been repulsed, they thought. The way Avernus had so deftly taken control of them, like they were some mere tool… And to force them to sign this contract… it was sickening.  

…But Mestra was also fascinated. How had he done that? They had heard of acupressure, of sticking needles into muscles to stretch them out. But this was on another level, a level rivalled only by…  

…well, the other thing Avernus had done to them.   “Your handwriting is rather remarkable for something so small,” Avernus chided. “Is your mind still so decided that you want to be mine, or are you going to beg me to be released?” 

“I’m not going to beg you for anything, ” Mestra retorted. They could feel the way Avernus’ body tensed just slightly as they spoke. This close to his body, Mestra could smell faint traces of petrichor and rotted wood. They could see the individual vines that wove around their arm. They were just glad that they didn’t have to see this thing’s face.  

“Oh little bunny, you really should run away. I am going to make you regret that- ”. His words were biting, almost predatory, and Mestra knew he had the tools to follow through.  

“I’m not scared of you,” Mestra shot back. They were lying. Mestra knew it, and so did Avernus. He held out the pen, hovered over the second line of the contract:

“Well then, go on. ” 

Mestra snatched the pen and hovered it over the next blank line, ready to input Avernus’ name without even reading. It would be easier, they could just copy the last one, they thought.  

…If they were even allowed to get that far.  

“ You may want to read that more closely, bunny. ” 

Mestra breathing caught and the pen slipped on the page. They read past the dotted line, a pit forming in their stomach with each passing word: 

Your Guardian, _______________________________, has the exclusive and inalienable right to decisions regarding your care, health, physical body, mental state, conception of self, and day-to-day functioning. At their sole discretion, your body, mind, and/or spirit will be altered in any way they see fit, according to Subsection (3) of Section 16 of the Human Domestication Treaty, including any chemical and surgical procedures deemed necessary or fitting by your Guardian.

“Y-you can’t mean this, I-Mean,” Mestra stuttered. “This can’t be right. This can’t mean any medical procedure, that would be unethical at best-” 

It means exactly as it says, small one,” he said. Mestra could almost feel the vibrations in his chest when he spoke. “ Any medical procedure, at any time, for any reason I see fit. Do you have a problem with that?” 

“-You can’t… you can’t be serious…” Mestra said. “No, absolutely not. No way. I’m not doing that….that’s… How fucking dare you ” Mestra accused. 
“How dare you ask that of me. Do you have any fucking IDEA what you’re asking for? Huh? You weeds talk a big game, you talk about wanting to save us, wanting to protect us. But that’s not what you really want. You want to control us. You want to make us docile, make us placid, and you’ll do it by any means necessary-” 

“Well what gives you the right? Huh? What gives you the FUCKING right to make that choice?” 

Avernus made a noise that sounded like consideration. Mestra could feel the sweat dripping down their back. They were clammy now, shaking, dizzy and disoriented.  

“We Affini have the right to make these choices because we are more capable than you. It is as simple as that.”
“Oh fucking BULLSHIT-” Mestra exclaimed. “Stop it with the fucking ‘We’re trying to help you’ act, I’m not FUCKING buying it.” Avernus simply stared at them. Mestra could feel their anger bubbling over. It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fucking FAIR that he could sit there and stonewall them. 

“Fucking SAY SOMETHING!” Mestra shouted. Avernus remained still, his voice calm: 

“Look, Mestra, at what I have already been able to do. In a matter of minutes. Have you ever seen a terran doctor do that?” 

“That doesn’t FUCKING count,” Mestra yelled. “Your weird fucking puppeteering doesn’t count, not ONE bit!! I’m sick and fucking TIRED of you fucking WEEDS and your FUCKING GAMES. I want you to get this OVER WITH ALREADY. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR YOU FUCKING WEED? I KNOW YOU’RE GOING TO BETRAY ME! GET IT FUCKING OVER WITH ALREADY SO I DON’T HAVE TO SIT HERE AND FUCKING SUFFER!!!” 

Mestra panted, spittle stuck to their chin. Their throat was raw and searing. It felt good. It felt good to yell at him. 

“Are you done?” Avernus asked calmly. His voice was placid, like he was bored of the whole  situation. Mestra couldn’t find it in themself to be angry. They broke down, sobbing. 

“Clearly not,” Avernus commented. Mestra sniffed, looking backwards towards Avernus. Looking into his red uncaring eyes, cold as stone, unmoving. His vines still wrapped around Mestra’s arm, the rest of his body uncomfortably close. They sobbed heaving breaths, silently pleading with him to end their misery.  

“Little Mestra,” Avernus said softly. There was almost a hint of kindness in his voice, buried deep below the surface. Maybe Mestra was imagining it. “I know that you have had a particular… history, with veterinarians in your short life.” 

Mestra sniffed. “w-We call them doctors….” 

“Which is a disservice to the title and what it means, yes” Avernus said. “Your understanding of my role has been coloured by a life trying to survive a system designed centuries ago to generate profit above all else. It is not shocking that your knowledge is a pitiful and deeply flawed patchwork.” 

There it was again, that charming habit of his to insult and belittle. 

“But you must understand, Mestra, that the Affini are capable. More so than you can imagine. In the short weeks that I have known you, I have gathered more data on your physiological composition than Terran doctors could have gleaned in a lifetime.” 

After they'd been taken to the hospital… of course the doctors had looked at everything. Every scar, every miss-healed bone, every lump and lesion. They remembered how thorough Monarda’s account of their allergies had been. Mestra very much doubted that the Affini didn’t find even more wrong with them than they already knew about. 

“You have been hurt, Mestra,” Avernus whispered. “Even when you’ve been operated on by so-called “professionals”, they're left… imperfections. Sloppy mistakes. Errors. Some of these have been very painful, as I’m certain you know.” 

Mestra felt something click into place. “Y-you know about that?”  

Of course he knew about it, he seemed to know everything. Nevermind that Mestra had mentioned it to their doctors a thousand times, even going so far as watching them enter it into their chart. That information was dismissed outright and immediately as soon as any doctor laid eyes on their dense medical chart. But not this one, or so it seemed.  

“...Y-you can fix that?” Mestra asked shakily, a glimmer of hope in their voice. 

“In a matter of hours, yes,” Avernus responded. “Any Affini would do that, and will do that for you. But…” he said, trailing off.  

“But what?” Mestra asked shakily. They made no effort to hide the fear in their voice anymore. They were done being brave. If this plant wanted them, they were going to have to deal with all of them, breakdowns and all. 

“But what is more painful to you, I think, are the promises that have been broken. The lies you’ve been told. The trust that has been broken.” 

Mestra took a deep, shaky breath. Yes. Yes, that was it, exactly.   

Avernus leaned in until his face was right in close to Mestra’s. He tilted Mestra’s chin upwards, still not high enough to see his face but high enough to make them feel vulnerable.  

“The Affini…” he whispered, “will never break that trust. We will never betray you. This contract, little bunny, is a promise. A promise I am making to you that you will be fixed. Made better. Improved. ” Mestra’s brain felt like it was short-circuiting, like they could barely form a coherent thought, let alone an argument.  

“After you sign this contract,” Avernus said, –and you will sign this contract – I will open you up, piece by piece. Carefully, with great precision. I will cut you open and stitch you back together until I have corrected what has been done to you. I will make you perfect, and then I will make you greater than that. I will make you something you could never dream of. You will be my subject, my muse, and my canvas. You will lose parts of yourself you swear you could never live without, and then you will beg me never to put them back. You would be mine, and you would be joyful. This, I promise you”  

Mestra gulped as the words sank into them. Avernus wanted… to fix them? That… was almost comical. But the way he talked about… tearing them apart… That sounded extremely painful. But the promise of being fixed… 

He was probably manipulating them. He was probably lying, Mestra knew this. But they wanted so badly to believe him. To trust his words and his terrifying promise. More than that, Mestra wanted to rest. To give in. To stop fighting.  

“H-how do I know you aren’t lying to me?” Mestra asked.  

“You have no assurance of that,” Avernus admitted. “But perhaps consider it from my perspective: If I wanted to hurt you, would I not have done it already? I have had a myriad of opportunities to do so.” 

“You’ve already hurt me,” Mestra muttered under their breath. 

“Oh, bunny, no, ” Avernus said with an evil smile on his face. “That was nothing. That was incidental, meaningless really. If you so want, I could wipe that experience from your memory this instant.” 

“You…?” Mestra said. 

“As easily as I have taken control of the rest of your body, yes” Avernus said. “But the long and short of it is, little bunny, that this is going to happen to you one or or another. Still, it is not as though I blame you for being untrusting.” 

Mestra considered it. The weed was right. They didn’t have a choice, there was no getting out of this. But the way he talked about pain… Avernus was dangerous. Avernus could make them hurt. Promising themself to him was a bad idea.  

“f-Fine-” Mestra breathed. “Fine, I’ll sign it.” They pressed the nib of the pen into the paper, and then Avernus once again took control. It was less painful this time, now that Mestra knew what to expect. Still, it was uncanny watching their arm move without their control. Avernus pushed and pinched, maneuvering Mestra into doing his bidding. But it wasn’t painful. Before they knew it, it was over: 

Your Guardian, Avernus Senarum, has the exclusive and inalienable right to decisions regarding your care, health, physical body, mental state, conception of self, and day-to-day functioning. At their sole discretion, your body, mind, and/or spirit will be altered in any way they see fit, according to Subsection (3) of Section 16 of the Human Domestication Treaty, including any chemical and surgical procedures deemed necessary or fitting by your Guardian. 

Mestra carefully tested the control of their hand. Avernus’ vines yielded to their movements, allowing them to sign their name carefully in the designated location. “Shall we continue?” Avernus asked. Mestra nodded, a weak “yes” dying on their lips.  

As the property of your Guardian, Avernus Senarum may add, remove, or modify conditions of your wardship at any time for any reason within the limits established by the Human Domestication Treaty.  

Sign.

As the property of Avernus Senarum, you are disallowed to use language unbecoming of a floret, including swearing, cursing, cussing. You will speak in a manner deemed appropriate by your Guardian. You will refer to your Guardian with the proper titles at all times. 

Sign. 

You are disallowed from conduct unbecoming of a floret, as determined by your Guardian.  

Sign. 

Your Full Name is Mestra Senarum, First Floret from this moment forward. 

Mestra grip faltered for just a moment. Avernus tensed one of their muscles, restoring Mestra’s grip.  

“I-” Mestra said. “Is this the last one?” 

“This is the last clause, yes,” Avernus said.  

“I see why it goes last…” Mestra muttered. It felt very… final, seeing their name like this. Mestra Senarum, First Floret. Nevermind that they had no idea what “first floret” meant, it still felt… significant.  

Mestra hovered their pen over the line. Here goes nothing.  

Avernus 

Avernus gently unwrapped himself from around Mestra’s arm and took a seat back at his desk. He collected the paperwork into a neat stack, inspecting each page with care. Mestra was clearly impatient, wiggling endlessly back and forth in their seat. No matter, that would be corrected in time. At this moment it was more important to verify the completeness of this paperwork.  

There was only one section that had not been completed in full. The contract required a biometric from each of the parties. It would be simple enough for Avernus to get one of his, but he would have to think of the most… efficient way to collect one from Mestra. A fingerprint would hardly be descriptive enough for what Mestra was about to become, after all.  

With all the of the paperwork verified, Avernus tucked the contract into a neat brown folio, storing it away inside his chest. Its new shape was…unfamiliar, far too slim for his liking, really. There was still room for all of his implements of course, but he much preferred the looser, more freeform bodies he had grown accustomed to. Still, it was a worthwhile challenge to hold a new form. Mastery over one’s body was a path to harmony with oneself, and Avernus could be the matter of nothing if he could not first control himself.  

There was a very pesky snag in this plan in the form of several tiny mint shoots which had attached themself to him. These would have to be… dealt with. But at the moment, there was a very anxious Terran sitting in front of him waiting for direction. Avernus smiled.  

“Come,” he instructed. He stood from his chair and walked to the door, watching and listening for Mestra to follow. 

He cracked open the door, walking down the hallway and making sure that Mestra was still in their proper place behind him. 

Mestra 

“Where are we going?” Mestra asked. They had been walking down large medical corridors for several minutes now. From the wings of offices to more sterile looking halls, with white tile and white lights and pale blue walls. On occasion several Affini would push a gurney down the hallway, or an Affini would push a Terran in a wheelchair, or several Affini would simply carry their florets in their arms.  

Avernus continued to walk, pretending he hadn’t heard anything. Mestra took a few quick steps to catch up to him. They were accurately aware of the keen eyes of the many Affini they walked past.  

“Hey,” they said. “I asked you a question. Where are you taking me?” 

Avernus spun on the spot, reached out a hand, and loudly snapped his fingers next to Mestra’s ears.  

“Owww-” they complained. 

“Where are we going, sir ,” Avernus corrected. Mestra tried to push past him and met an extended arm. They looked up indignantly. They could feel the eyes of the Affini hospital staff on them. One of them was even chatting behind their hand to their coworker. Mestra blushed.  

“Oh my god. Fine. Where are we going, sir? ” they asked.  

“Better,” Avernus said. “But you will find out in time.” Mestra sighed and rolled their eyes.  They stuck close to the asshole plant as he walked through several sets of doors into even more populated areas of the hospital. Almost everyone here seemed to be a doctor or nurse of some kind, Mestra remarked. They were all so… big. Without any Terrans for scale, Mestra really felt like the odd one out being less than two meters tall. The looks, the stares and the chattering voices also increased in intensity. Avernus pretended not to notice, or maybe he really didn’t notice.  

As long as Mestra was by his side, they were pretty sure it was going to be okay. A few times they tried to walk out in front of him. With how much taller he was, Mestra only came barely past his waist. With his eyes straight ahead it was unlikely that he could see them from behind, and yet, each time Mestra insisted on walking up ahead they were stopped by one of his slender arms.  

Mestra noticed that as the rooms progressed, they got colder and colder. They wondered why that was. Finally, Avernus pushed through one more set of double doors into a large room. It was immediately colder here than it was anywhere else so far.  

Mestra first looked up at the giant lights on the ceiling, then around at the glass windows of the viewing gallery. They gulped. Their head continued to tilt downwards, feet now planted into the floor. Surgical carts. Arms. Tables of scapels. Imaging machines. And right in the middle of it all, a large surgical bed covered in a simple sheet of paper. 

“...Sir…?” Mestra asked. They were definitely shaking now, from the cold and in fear. “W-why did you take me here…?”
Avernus turned to face his terrified new patient. 

“We are here, bunny, because it is time for you to have a medical procedure.”

Notes:

WOOOO YEAH BABY THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR!!!!!!!!!! THIS IS WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT!!!!!!!!!!

 

No but for real, wow that took a long time. I can't even count the number of times I've written and rewritten this chapter. Seriously, I think it's gone through at least three different versions to get where it is right now. Massive thank-you to the following sophonts, in no particular order:

ThatOneKoalaNerd , my valiant and brave beta reader, who leaves the thirstiest comments in Google Docs.

anna//bool for helping me sort out a lot of ethical scruples.

Kanagen, for helping me sort out further ethical scruples.

PyxxieStyxx , Stimulacrum , and teagan_the_doll for their consistent delivery of the good good brainworms.

And the rest of the lovely sophonts in the HDG discord! You all rock!

Okay so, last chapter y'all voted overwhelmingly in favour of me continuing questions! But before we get to that, I just need to let you know to expect some downtime between chapters. This one was 6700 words, after all!!! It's going to be a while, but the project is still ongoing, and I have lots planned so stay tuned!

Okay, question time:

You're writing a contract that's going to commit a darling little pet to your care for the rest of their life. What kind of pen are you using? Are you even using a pen, or is this typed? Carved into a stone tablet? Let me know!!!

Chapter 31: Haustoric Implant

Notes:

BIG serious content warnings for the following:
- Graphic depiction of surgery
- Themes of Identity Death, Death, and Dying
- Sadism
- Painplay
- Drugplay/drugging

Mestra

The first thing Mestra noticed was how cold this room was. Tiny hairs on their arm stood on end as a familiar sense of dread washed over them. They didn’t recognize the function of the many banks of machines and carts pushed along the walls, but they had a good enough idea of this room’s purpose. 

There was a surgical gown laid out for them on a cart directly ahead, adorned with a simple pattern of green cartoon leaves. It looked impossibly luxurious for a hospital gown. Standing next to the cart was a familiar purple bundle of nearly-humanoid purple plantlife wearing nurse’s scrubs and carrying a tangle of what might have been ECG leads.  

“Oh it’s so good to see you again,” Nurse Myrrha said excitedly. She held out the surgical gown and gestured for Mestra to undress. “I’m so glad I was allowed to be here for your implantation!”  

“My implantation?” Mestra asked incredulously. They turned and looked at Avernus with a betrayed look on their face. “Look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but if you think I’m going to go along with this-” 

Avernus held up a hand, quickly silencing Mestra. “I do not think you will go along with this, I am certain of it. ” He said. Mestra frowned, opening their mouth to make a counterpoint and- 

shhrrrrrp! 

Myrrha held the pair of shears aloft with an apologetic expression. The entire back of Mestra’s shirt had been cut down the middle, exposing their back to the cold air of the operating room.  

“Sorry dear,” Myrrha said sweetly. “But Dr. Senarum doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Now, will you be a good patient for me and take the rest of your clothes off while the doctor scrubs in, or will I have to do it for you?” 

Mestra's cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, reeling for any excuse to delay… whatever was about to happen here. They looked at Myrrha and her kind smile, then again at the very large pair of scissors in one of her hands. 

…Maybe it was better to cooperate. At least he had left the room, although Mestra wasn’t sure how an alien made of twigs and roots could possibly become sterile-  

 

Myrrha assisted Mestra in unceremoniously stripping the rest of Mestra’s clothes, this time with Mestra’s deeply disgruntled cooperation.  

Mestra suddenly felt keenly aware of every scar they had, every incision that never quite felt right, every bruise and bump and blemish, recalling the way Avernushad talked about fixing them. They shivered again.   

Mercifully, the hospital gown covered their front half, but the garment had a large U-shaped cutout from the base of the neck to right above their butt. Without time to think about what could mean, Mestra was ushered to lay face up onto the table in the center of the room. 

This was not the first time Mestra had been strewn out on an operating table. Above them was an enormous articulated light with a plastic-covered handle. To their left and right were rows of trays and machines, all sterile white and silver. This was all familiar, although everything here was scaled up to an almost comical extent.  

The feeling of mounting dread mixed with unbelievable terror was familiar, too.  

Myrrha was standing over on the other side of the room, preparing several trays of instruments while making cheerful small talk.  

“You know I really am happy to see you here, I’m really excited for you to take this next step, you’re really going to love it, I just know it-” 

Mestra could barely pay attention to what she was saying. All they could think about was how this was it. This was the end. Everything they’d fought for, everything they’d wept and screamed and fought over, every time they tried to take a step to escape it… 

…it all led here. 

Myrrha started to stick leads onto various points on Mestra’s chest, continuing to offer a constant flow of reassuring words for Mestra to ignore.  

…It wasn’t like Mestra had never thought of dying. It had always been something in the back of their head, lurking just out of reach until Mestra was careless enough to let their guard down.  

This also wasn’t Mestra’s first brush with dangerous, experimental surgery. 

A familiar memory floated to the surface of Mestra’s mind. It was philosophical to the point of being almost meaningless, but it seemed to come up in some form or another every time they found themself under a knife: 

“If I’m about to die, would I even know it?” 

If this was really the last Mestra was going to know of freedom – and probably of consciousness – would they even be able to remember this moment, or would their existence cease to exist and retroactively make it impossible to have experienced this moment in the first place? 

“You’re doing so well Mestra, you’re being very very brave.” A very warm blanket was suddenly draped over Mestra’s body, momentarily freeing them from their philosophical spiral. “Would you like another?” Her smile was so full of warmth and kindness. 

And Lies. And Deceit.  

Mestra gently shook their head. “N-no, this is good. It’s actually k-kind of…nice…”. The heat stopped Mestra from shivering, which made their bubbling anxiety feel slightly more manageable. Maybe they’d like this, their body seemed to think. It was a trick of the warmth and the rest, Mestra knew. Their body was just so tired. If now was the time it was going to give up, so much the better- 

“I’m so happy to hear that,” Myrrha said. “Now, I want you to look very carefully at what I’m holding in front of you…”
She produced a small round object shining a brilliant purple colour. It was not unlike the one Mestra had seen at the vet’s office. It started in spin in a very familiar way, slow at first and then quicker and quicker. Mestra watched as the rings within rings of lights spun around and around, around and around, around and around- 

“There will be no need for that” Avernus, snapping Mestra out of their trance. He grabbed the light and shut it off, depositing it back on one of the surgical trays. “I want them awake Myrrha, not caught in trance. I will need their mind functioning properly so that my lesson will… sink in.” 

Myrrha seemed to argue this, switching to speaking in the flowing Affini language that sounded like winds rustling through trees. The two exchanged several terse words in Affini, and it quickly became clear that Myrrha was going to capitulate. 

“W-wait h-hold on, h-hold on stop wait-” Mestra bumbled. They tried to sit up, but the warm heavy blanket kept them fixed to their seat. “I-I never agreed to this, I thought- I thought this was surgery, I can’t be awake for that!! What the fuck are you thinking???”
“Were you awake when you were so foolish as to attempt to graft Affini technology to your own body?” Avernus asked rhetorically. Myrrha tightened a strap around both of Mestra’s wrists, and then up at their arms. 

“T-that was different!!!” Mestra said, panicking. Working quickly, Myrrha strapped another belt under the blanket and around their chest, securing them to the table. Swiftly followed that were Mestra’s legs and ankles, so tight that Mestra could barely struggle.  

“H-hold on this is moving way too fast, time out, please,” Mestra asked. They looked up desperately at Avernus. “P-please, please tell me what’s going on because I’m really freaking out and-” 

A delicate IV needle was threaded into the back of Mestra’s hand, distracting them with a sharp pinch. Mestra felt the tube slide up and into their veins. It reminded them of him. 

“Please-” Mestra begged. It suddenly felt like the world was closing in on them. You’re having a panic attack, Mestra’s brain diligently noted. Not that that was of any use to them now.  

“Be patient,” Avernus instructed coldly. “The anxiolytics will enter your bloodstream momentarily.” 

“I don’t… I can’t… Mestra breathed. They tried to rock forwards but were held back by the restraints. They felt clammy, pulse racing and throat tightening.  

“ Please-” they begged. Mestra squeezed their eyes shut. This was it. This was the end.  

… 

… 

… 

Mestra felt a rough hand take them gently under their chin, thumb pressed against their lower lip, forefinger tilting their head upwards.     

“ Mestra, ” Avernus said. “ Open your eyes.

Look at me.

“I can’t… I don’t want to…” 

"Look at me."

Mestra opened their eyes. He was standing off to the side of the surgical bed, all seven eyes bearing down into them.  

"Breathe."

Cool refreshing air flowed into Mestra’s lungs, casting away the heavy fog that loomed over their thoughts.  

“Wh-what…what’s going on…?” Mestra asked. Slowly, awareness of their surroundings returned to them. Avernus. The Hospital. The Surgery. Mestra braced themself for the rush of fear that was about to take them. They readied themself for the strangling feeling of dread, of inevitability, of the end. 

…And it didn’t come.  

They took a breath, and then another.  

They still recognized that this was scary. They knew they should be scared. Terrified, actually, would be more appropriate. And instead they just… weren’t.  

“What did you do to me???” Mestra demanded. Avernus cocked his head ever so slightly.  

“It is as I explained to you bunny: the anxiolytic was delivered via an intravenous line. Must I also explain that to you?” 

Mestra blinked a few times in rapid succession. “N-no, I know how… IVs work…” They shivered, remembering some of the more uncomfortable brushes with needles they’d had. Interesting… so they could still feel that, but not the imminent sense of panic that was warranted in this situation.  

“Good. There is much to teach, and we would be here for considerably longer if I had to explain the very fundamentals of medicine to you.” 

“W-wait… what? Teach? What are you talking abou-’ 

“Quiet,” Avernus instructed. “Right now you’re going to sit quietly and listen. You may ask questions when I am finished. Am I understood?” 

Avernus didn’t wait for Mestra’s confirmation. 

“You have clearly demonstrated a keen interest in Affini medicine, one that was abundantly clear the moment you set foot into my operating room” 

“I-” Mestra started, but they were cut off.
“This was further exemplified in your rather extensive research into xenopharmacology, which was retrieved from your personal computer upon your capture. You demonstrated a rather… unique interest in combining phytopharmacosynthesis with xenopharmacology. Your perspective was… well. It was laughably naive. ” 

Was he trying to… insult Mestra? No, there must be something more. Unless he just liked to listen to himself talk… 

“Nevertheless, your fundamental idea, to combine Affini grafting with Terran biology was… interesting, in an intellectual sense. It led me to further explorations deeper into the concept, of course with proficiency that is orders of magnitude greater than your own.” 

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Mestra asked.  

“Shush, bunny. I told you not to interrupt,” Avernus said. Mestra would have felt offended, but they were admittedly pretty curious.  

“Now, it is of course possible to combine various types of flora to xenosophonts of many kinds. You need only to look at the extensive collections of biomodifications that have already been documented for Terrans. But nothing has ever been done… quite to my specification.” 

Mestra wondered what the HELL kind of specification he could be talking about, but they bit their lip and held back, for now.  

“Thus I knew I would need to design something of my own, something that made use of my extensive xenomedical experience that could be… more to my liking. Still, this would not be an easy process. Typically, it would take many rounds of revisions, simulations, testing and retesting to ever be ready to be given to a xenosophont. Unless… there was a way to accelerate the testing process using a combined live biointeractive model. Which is where you come in.” 

“Do I?” Mestra snarked. Avernus ignored the comment, perhaps because his vines were full sorting and re-sorting a table full of surgical instruments.

“You, possessing an interest in both phytografting and Terran medicine, would be an excellent garden in which I can properly test my ideas, little bunny.” 

“So I’m going to be…” Mestra shivered again. “I’m going to be a test subject-” 

“No,” Avernus corrected. “You will not be some helpless creature drugged up to their gills on the finest xenopharmacological creations the Compact has to offer. That is a fate that is much beneath you, which I would explain if you would refrain from interrupting me-” 

Mestra nodded. Better not to make him mad. If it mattered at all. Probably.  

“I realised in my research, Mestra, that it is not simply a question of biology, to integrate Terran bodies with Affini grafts. It is a question of the mind. Of knowledge. Of discipline. These are qualities that cannot be grafted, they must be taught. Therefore, we will begin with a lesson today, where I will teach you about foundational aspects of Affini xenoveterinary medicine. Now. Do you have any questions?” 

Mestra pursed their lips. They didn’t get the feeling that there was much point arguing, despite the many, many things they wanted to argue about. Whatever they asked would have to sound smart, they realised. Maybe if it was smart enough, Avernus would… respect them? Take them seriously? Mestra wasn’t sure. They opened their mouth, considering their next words carefully: 

“All that… stuff… you said back in your office. About helping me. About making me whole. Was that a trick so I would follow you here?” 

Avernus took a moment to consider the question, then smiled. “Not in the slightest, bunny. Everything I have said to you is the truth, even if you do not yet have the capacity to make sense of it.”
“That can’t be true!” Mestra interjected. “You said you only want to help me. That the Affini only want to help us! Using me as a test subject against my will isn’t helping me!!!!”  

“I did not use those words specifically, but I grasp your sentiment,” Avernus said. “To be truthful, this is the kind of self indulgent project that I had every intention of keeping shelved. I had fully accepted that my vision was not feasible within an appropriate standard of conduct, until you came along and kept running back to me.” 

Oh. Oh no.  

“According to my colleague Corymbia, you have attached yourself rather strongly to me, even if you do not yet know it.” 

“Bullshi-” 

“Language, pet,” Avernus warned. “One hidden advantage to the rather… permissive way that you have been treated up until now is that it allowed you time to express your needs and desires, even if it was in ways that was unconscious to you. When you came here today, I wondered why you had come back. Now it is clear to me.” 

“If I’m a floret…” Mestra said, thinking up the rest of their question on the fly. “Then how am I going to be useful to you? How is a drugged up Terran of any value to your… research. ” Mestra shuddered thinking about that last part.  

“You are clearly still suffering from a gross misunderstanding of your role in the Compact, which is part of what I will need to rectify,” Avernus said. He was so fucking snarky, if Mestra wasn’t in the most compromising position of their life they might have said something about it.  

“I-” Mestra tried to argue. Avernus held up a single finger, chiding Mestra for speaking out of turn. “ Fuck you, ” Mestra wanted to say, but they held their tongue. 

“There is no position from which you can argue, Mestra,” Avernus insisted. “Your paperwork is signed, your role in our society codified. You are, and forever will be a floret. Until just a few moments ago it was not decided to whom you would be entrusted, but now that too is decided, and all involved can move forward assured of your place in the universe. 

Mestra looked up into Avernus’ harsh, unfeeling eyes. They caught bits and pieces of reflection in the crystal-like structure, of the sterile medical tools, the bright white lights, and of Myrrha, now exiting the operating theatre. For a moment Mestra wondered where she was going and if she would be back. Then Avernus held a  sharp curled thorn about the size of Mestra’s finger aloft in front of them.  

“Do you care to know what this is, bunny?” he asked carefully.  

Oh. That’s why she left. And Mestra doubted she would be coming back. Mestra gulped. The blade was only a few inches long, curled into a quarter-circle. At its base it looked grafted to one of Avernus’ vines, like it had grown there, almost like an overgrown spine on a cactus. But it was no natural thing, Mestra thought to themself. Nothing in nature glinted in the light like that. Nothing in nature would ever end up looking that sharp by accident.  

“This… was a gift from a mentor of mine,” Avernus said. He contemplated the blade, turning it from side to side in the harsh white light. “It was given to me many blooms ago, perhaps… ten thousand of your Terran years ago. I have been saving it for a special occasion, you see. Keeping it honed should the occasion for its use ever present itself…” 

He rested the back of the knife against Mestra’s abdomen, tracing up towards their ribcage. The first and only thing Mestra could think for some time was “holy shit.” It was obvious that the Affini were alien, but if he was being serious… He was seriously ancient. 

“M-myrrha-” Mestra called out weakly. Her smile was so kind. Mestra tried to focus on that kindness instead of the thousands-of-years-old plant monster currently trying to torture them. “P-please… please help-” 

“Oh… you silly pet…” Myrrha whispered. “I can see that you’re quite frightened by all of this.” Mestra could have sworn the glint in her eyes was a dirty look in Avernus’ direction, but he seemed unbothered.  

“Tssk, you really are a flighty one-” Avernus commented. He reached a hand to Mestra’s breastbone and they recoiled as much as they could.  

“Please-” Mestra whispered.  

Avernus grabbed the top of the blanket, folding it downwards. Soon Mestra was once again left at the mercy of the frigid, sterile air, now attached to the room’s machines by a table of tubes and wires. Avernus turned and handed the folded-up blanket to Myrrha, wearing for the first time what could be construed as a pleasant expression.  

“That will be all, Nurse Myrrha,” he said politely. Myrrha and Mestra opened their mouths to protest in unison, but Avernus interrupted them:  

“I am perfectly capable of performing the implantation of a haustoric implant without aid. You will find that I have submitted the appropriate paperwork and that my clearance is more than sufficient. Now, I would appreciate some time in private with my pet, if you please-”. 

Myrrha didn’t look like she was going to protest. Mestra wanted to scream, to cry for help. Being stuck in private with this monster was the last thing they wanted right now. 

Slowly and silently Mestra’s chair started to tilt upwards, as if it was trying to eject Mestra out of it.  

“PLEASE-” Mestra shouted in a panic. Myrrha was almost all the way out of the room, but she paused for a moment.  

“PLEASE HELP ME-” Mestra shouted.  

The tight restraints around their arms and legs held Mestra in place as the table continued to tilt, forwards until Mestra was nearly standing, and showing no signs of stopping.  

Myrrha took a few steps towards the table with the same kind, warm smile on her face: 

“Now, Mestra. It will be alright. Everything will be alright, I promise. Just trust that your owner has your best interest at heart.” With that she strode out of the room as Mestra continued to tilt forwards.  

“Now that that matter is resolved…” he mused, adding a few additional straps around Mestra’s torso as he went. Mestra was fully upright now, but the table showed no sign of stopping. Avernus reached at something on the rear side of the chair, and suddenly Mestra felt a rush of cold air on their back.  

This wasn’t a chair. This was more like a frame, just enough to hold Mestra and keep them still while they were flayed open and examined.  

Mestra’s table came to a stop as they were angled above the ground, their head slightly over their feet. The only thing that held them to the table were the pegs at their feet and the tight restraints across their body. They had a better view of the room, now. In front of them was a giant mirror covering almost the entire wall. It was placed there so Mestra would have to watch, they realised. Like this was a common occurrence, something you would build an entire room for.  

“Would you care to know…” Avernus hummed, his body visible behind Mestra’s in the mirror. “...How little pressure I would need to apply to this blade for it to sink right through the layers of skin and muscle that sit in its way?”  

Mestra’s eyes opened wide, searching desperately for any means of escape. They struggled against the restraints but found no purchase. 

“It is no use struggling and I do not recommend continuing,” Avernus commented.  

“Easy for you to say…” Mestra muttered. Mestra suddenly smelled something sweet and medicinal and felt a cold sponge start to scrub their exposed back. 

“The first lesson I wish to teach you is Preparation,” Avernus said. He was standing behind them, surgical sponge in hand, starting to methodically disinfect the whole of Mestra’s back.  

“When you attempted to perform your grafting, what tools did you choose to employ?” 

“I-” Mestra stammered. They were taken aback, that night was just about the last thing they wanted to talk about right now. “I hardly think it matters, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me they were “woefully inadequate”.”  

“Most certainly they were insufficient, yes, but my objective is not to ridicule you.” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

“Hmph. My point, little bunny, is the branch that winds its way through the selection of tools, the preparation of our surgical sites, the medications we elect to use, our methods… They are all chosen with thoughtfulness. Purpose. Intention. ”  

“So what-” 

“So your experiment failed before it began, little bunny. You were never going to succeed with the hasty, ill-informed preparations you had made. Not to mention the tools you selected, which were blunt, the medications you chose which impaired your judgement, your lack of planning which results in extraneous incisions and stitches, and your baffling lack of proper surgical site preparation-” 

“You try sterilising yourself when you have to pay for hexachlorophene by the millilitre- '' Mestra argued.   

“My point, Mestra, is that you were approaching the selection of your tools all wrong. You were hyper-focussed on infection, one of the only things your Terran medical system is actually moderately effective at preventing. In doing so, you neglected to consider the reduction in your own skill set that would come with the body-wde analgesics you elected to use when performing the surgery. Am I mistaken?” 

“...No,” Mestra admitted. “But I-”  

“There is no need to try and defend yourself, Mestra. You will never again be placed in such a position. Would you be interested to know what I am applying to you now?” 

It was an absurd question. Why should Mestra care at all what disinfectant this fucker was using…?  

…But it was something concrete, something Mestra could focus on other than the sight of their own exposed body hoisted up in this giant surgical theatre. So they nodded as much as their compromised position would allow.  

“This is an agent designed to heighten awareness in the area on which it is applied. It also serves as a powerful muscle relaxant, an antiseptic, and has a soothing effect on xenophonts.” 

Mestra did notice the way it made their back feel looser, and warmer too. They couldn’t very well say that it made them more calm, but they were also chemically incapable of very much fear, so it might have been a wash either way.  

“Hold on… heighten sensation? ” Mestra asked incredulously.   

“You heard me correctly,” Avernus said. 

“But-” 

“You had assumed that I meant to say it would dull sensation?” Avernus asked. He was through with Mestra’s lower back now, and started moving up to their shoulders and neck, paying special attention to Mestra’s hairline. “But then, how would you ever be aware of what was happening to you, if the sensation was to be dulled?” 

“I!” Mestra exclaimed. “I don’t want to feel it when I’m being cut open? Obviously??? ”. Avernus gave a simple tsk in response.  

“No?” Avernus asked. “That’s a pity, little bunny.” 

Mestra felt a single point of white hot pain pierce the back of their neck and they gasped. Slowly, the feeling dripped down between their shoulders as Avernus’ blade sliced effortlessly through them. Mestra panted and tears welled quickly in their eyes. All at once it felt like their body temperature had risen by five degrees, having gone from frigid to almost sweltering hot.  

“s-stop,” they pleaded, their words barely audible between gasps for air. “s-Stop. please-” 

Avernus hummed, withdrawing his blade. The open wound on Mestra’s back screamed as it was exposed to the cool air. Avernus stepped around to face his patient, now blood-covered blade extended proudly from one of the vines in his wrist. 

“There was one more section in your contract, dear bunny,” Avernus said. Sure enough, held in his hand was Mestra’s full domestication contract, signed with their name. “A document of this… magnitude requires a biometric print for it to be… certified. ” 

Mestra gritted their teeth. “Are you ever going to stop talking and get this over with, or is this the torture?” 

“Far from torture, little bunny,” Avernus said. He held his blade aloft, bright red blood illuminated by the ceiling overhead. Carefully, he held it over the contract, angling the blade such that a single drop of blood fell directly into the dotted box. “This is all simply part of the process. A dramatic part of the process, I grant you, but this is nevertheless quite routine for me.” 

“You-you’re a monster-” Mestra whimpered.  

“Now bunny,” Avernus said, taking several steps forward. He reached his scalpel up to Mestra’s chin, letting it just graze their skin. The wet blade rested just against their skin, so close that Mestra had to hold their breath.  

“Oh little bunny…” Avernus said lowly, “...there is so much for you to be taught. You misunderstand even the fundamentals of our relationship. But I suppose it is hardly surprising, given all that you Terrans have experienced in the last Millenia. Allow me to explain it to you: you are about to become one of the most prized possessions in the universe. From this point forward, your every need will be tended to. You will no longer know suffering. You will be fed, clothed, medicated, allowed to grow and made into the optimal version of yourself. It will happen whether or not you want it to, and you will be grateful for it. Never has a floret been allowed to regret their new life” 

Mestra snrked. “That isn't saying much.”  

“In our libraries we have written more words pertaining to the care of our pets than your entire civilization has ever put to paper. About how best to nourish you, to guide you, to fill you with the maximum possible amount of pleasure. From the moment you became known to us, the Affini have vowed to protect you to the ends of the universe and back. All of our vast resources now exist to service you.” 

“You’re still lying, ” Mestra seethed. “You said I would never suffer again, and yet here I am cut open in your fucking torture chamber ” Mestra complained.  

“No,” Avernus said simply. 

“No???” Mestra snarled. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘no’?” 

“I told you that you would never suffer again,” Avernus said plainly. “They are different.” 

“They don’t seem very different when you’re being CUT OPEN!” Mestra retorted.  

“First of all,” Avernus said with a chastising tone. “You are no longer in pain. Certainly you have noticed by now, unless you have been too preoccupied with trying to defend your losing argument.” 

Mestra took mental stock of their body. There was no way, no way what he was saying was true… 

“...how the fuck?” Mestra breathed. 

“-And secondly,” Avernus continued, “Do you really need me to explain… Ah, of course you do.” 

Mestra’s brain reeled from the realisation that their pain was gone. Just a moment ago it had felt like they were on fire, like they couldn’t stand a second more of the pain. Just a moment ago they were crying, sobbing, panting, and now it was gone. 

“I will never make you experience that which you are not capable of handling. You will experience a multitude of types of pain in all of their flavours, but it will never be more than you can tolerate. I will make certain that you never again spend your nights weeping for senseless, meaningless sorrow. I will make sure that when you hurt, you do so with a purpose.” 

‘...Why…?” 

“Oh little bunny…” he said. “Pain is quite possibly the sharpest and most immediate sensation that your little Terran physiology will ever experience. It would be almost negligent of me not to… what’s that word you Terrans are so fond of…? Ah: it would be wrong of me to not capitalize on  it for all its potential as I start to rewire your brain to process higher orders of feeling.”  

This didn’t make sense, none of this made sense. Through the mirror Mestra could see the glint of Avernus’ blade – once again cleaned by a now-stained surgical cloth.  

“Now, if you have no further delays, it is time for me to continue.” Avernus put a finger on either side of Mestra’s incision, gently splitting it further apart. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt much. Using a free finger, Avernus reached into the incision and started to press inwards. This drug must really be a miracle if- 

“OwwWW!” Mestra shouted. This time it felt like something much, much bigger had happened to them. There was a sudden wet snapping feeling, then several moments after that a deep ache that rolled across Mestra’s body.  

“What the hell- ” 

Avernus’ middle finger had untwisted itself to take hold of one of the muscles in Mestra’s neck, which had come away from under their spine in one clean sliced section. It revealed underneath it a long, thin membranous thing that ran the length of Mestra’s spine. Avernus reached for a surgical instrument that looked like a tiny metal stamp attached to a long hose.  

“Wh-what are you doing…?” Mestra shuddered. “What is that, what’s going on? Why am I hurting again?” 

“Have you not figured it out yet? Tsk, that is a pity. Perhaps I have come to expect too much from you.” 

Avernus pushed the tool against the sheath protecting Mestra’s spine. The pain had receded again, leaving Mestra feeling once again completely fine, in the physical sense.  

“W-wait hold on-” Mestra stammered. They didn’t want to give Avernus the impression that they weren’t smart enough to figure this out. They weren’t sure why, but they knew it felt like a bad idea.  

“It hurts… and then it stops hurting… is it timed?” Mestra asked. Avernus pressed down on the device, creating a sudden pshhhtk and a whoosh of air. Mestra gasped again, feeling a sharp jolt of electric pain down the length of their spine. 

“ If I’m right, this will go away… ” they thought to themself. “ If I’m right, this will stop hurting in a second. It will stop hurting. I just need to count. Count how long it takes, then I’ll know how long the pain lasts. One… two…” 

Tears fell from Mestra’s eyes. It was all too much. The pain, the restraints, the fact that they were helpless. “Three…four…” 

The machine made another psshhtk, a thunk followed by a distinct clink. Mestra braced themself for another wave of pain… 

…But it didn’t come. They still felt the aftereffects of the first pain, a dying, radiating sort of hotness that permeated their whole body. But not the second one. 

“...it…” Mestra whispered. “It only hurt… it only hurt the first time…?” 

“Ah, so you are paying attention,” Avernus noted. “Very good. Yes, the compound I administered to your back serves many functions. It serves to heighten awareness of the individual parts of your body, and it also serves as a sort of pain block. Once your brain registers a set of neural impulses as being painful, those impulses are subsequently ignored.” 

“So I have to feel everything you’re doing to me… but I don’t die of shock on your table…” 

“In essence, yes.” 

Avernus pressed his blade gently against the tight muscles strung across Mestra’s back, letting them snap back and away. One by one the muscles were cut, loosening instantly like a rope no longer held under tension.  

“...why…” Mestra croaked. “Why are you doing this to me?” 

“Your second mistake, and thus my second lesson, concerns your forethought,” Avernus said, pointedly ignoring Mestra’s pleas. “You wanted your anxiolytic to be administered automatically in times of distress, is that correct?” 

“How the HELL am I supposed to think of that when you’re tearing me apart?” Mestra demanded. They wanted to thrash, to fight, or even to scream, but they couldn’t find the strength.  

Avernus suddenly stopped, withdrawing his blade. He leaned down close, until his head was right behind Mestra’s ear. He had no breath, but his proximity was known all the same. “I will not have you making a mockery of my skills,” he seethed.  

Mestra closed their eyes, trying to recoil as the Affini’s rough voice sent shivers down their spine. “What are you doing to me…?” they asked meekly. 

“It is a very simple procedure,” Avernus nearly whispered. “One which all florets receive but few are privileged enough to ever experience being gifted. The grafting of a Hautoric Implant into your body. Specially modified, in this case, to my own design.” 

“Wh…?” Mestra stammered. “What.. what???” 

“All will become clear to you soon enough, if you choose to unbury your head from the mud and see the trees for their forest” Avernus said. With that he turned away, apparently satisfied with his work. Mestra took several long seconds to stare at their grotesque, exposed body. 

This didn’t feel real.  

“I’m probably in shock.”  

That would make sense.  

“It’s probably the drugs.” 

That would also make sense.  

Avernus returned, this time carrying a long glass tube, capped on both ends with ornately engraved steel. The container seemed to hold some kind of fluid, and at the very centre a small grey lump no bigger than the size of Mestra’s fist.  

“W-what is that thing? ” Mestra asked shakily.  

“This is… or rather this will be, a haustoric implant. It is currently at a very early stage of maturation, owing to your…eagerness to participate in this process,” Avernus explained.  

It looked alive, like some kind of small wet bug with eight tiny legs and no head, curled up as if in a cocoon.  

“I-is it…?” Mestra couldn’t finish their question without gagging.  

“It exists on the continuum of sentience, yes,” Avernus said. “Although in its current state it can do little more than react to pain and express a single overwhelming instinct: to locate and bond with you .” 

Mestra shivered. “H-how w-what hold on why, what is that thing? ” 

Avernus sighed as he set the container down on one of the carts. “I really do wish you exhibited more patience, it is tiresome to have to repeat myself.” He pressed several buttons on a console, and with a hiss of escaping air the top of the container slid open.  

“Wait.” Mestra said. “No. Nononono. You are NOT putting that thing anywhere near me!” 

“And what say do you have in that decision, hmm?” Avernus remarked. “Truly Mestra, you will be much happier when you learn to trust your betters. ” 

“Do you do this to e-every floret you t-take? I mean, threaten them w-with… whatever the hell that is?” Mestra asked shakily. 
“All florets receive a Haustoric Implant, yes,” Avernus said. “It enables the control of further biomodifications, as well as being a standard monitoring and biological mediator for all florets.” 

“Biological mediator… This is a mind control implant? ” Mestra asked incredulously. All this time, the Terran Cosmic Navy really was right. Mestra thought it was all just propaganda, the videos of “mind bugs” and the posters to “Stay Alert, The Plants Could have Taken Any One of Us!” 

Avernus simply stared, offering no immediate response.  

“All this time, I was right, the Affini really do-” 

“It is much more complex than a ‘mind control implant’, Mestra. I hoped you would be able to appreciate that.” 

“Oh yeah, I feel real appreciative of being cut open and having an alien slug shoved in my back-”  

Avernus made a low, growling sort of noise somewhere between clearing his throat and loudly voicing his frustration. 

“Right. Change topics.” 

“...How the hell does it work, anyways?” Mestra asked. It was a wildly, wildly inappropriate time to be asking questions, but it was preferable to listening to Mestra’s own body squelch under Avernus’ scalpel.  

“The haustorium interfaces with your brain,” Avernus answered gruffly.  

Mestra paused. They heard another gut-churning noise of blade slicing through flesh. Nope. Nope nope nope. Keep talking.  

“Okay but how?” Mestra asked. “I mean I get that you Affini are a few years ahead of us in your technology, but we've only started to map-” 

“We are many Millenia ahead of you” Avernus corrected.  

“B-but when we do this, when rich people get fancy prosthetics, it still takes days of I basics brain scans and like, years to fully adapt to-”  

“It is because you have failed to consider a neurochemical approach,” Avernus said shortly.  

Keep him talking. Mestra needed to keep him talking. The only thing worse than that was silence. “...And that means…?”  

Avernus sighed. “If you approach this problem purely from a physical standpoint, you are unlikely to correctly identify sub-regions of the brain with anything approaching precision. If you then also consider the electrical impulses in the brain and correlate that to physical topology, then you come closer to seeing the full picture. That, at least, your Terran scientists had the good sense to figure out.” 

“But…?” 

“But what you Terrans have failed to grasp is that your bodies are not electrical machines, they are flesh , cells , organelles . There is a chemical component to neural function that your scientists have relegated to a control mechanism for electrical impulses, but this is a naive and misguided approach.” 

“Hey, at least we’re consistent-” Mestra said under their breath.  

“This is why I need no images to perform this procedure: the haustoric is biologically coded to intertwine itself with your physiology. The moment it activates, it seeks out electrical impulses and binds itself to major areas of the brain. Then, with minor assistance it locates and binds itself to the major areas of the brain, following telltale chemical signatures.  

That is why this process is irrespective of your brain structure: the implant is wired to seek out the regions of your brain where it knows certain chemical impulses are taking place, and it learns where these regions are simply by virtue of being inside your body. 

It is drawn to connect with your tissue, and it has the ability to adapt to any obstacle in your way. This makes it impossible for any feral to fight, because for every novel way around their implant, their haustoric will learn, target, and assimilate that area of the brain and body under its guidance.” 

Avernus reached two slender vines into the container and pulled out the haustoric. Mestra quickly looked away, not able to stand the sight of its slightly slimy surface, nor the way it’s body looked like it was covered in compact insectoid eyes. 

“…If you even so much as touched it…” Avernus continued, “...it would secret a hormone that would make you hopelessly starved for its contact until you become literally inseparable. It is not the ideal fashion for a haustoric to be implanted, but it is designed to adapt such that it never fails to reach its goal.”  

“Which is …?” Mestra breathed.  

“To support your domestication. To enable further extensions of your physical form. To regulate, document, and adjust everything from your metabolism to your neurochemical balance. To make you Whole”.  

Mestra felt the cold, slimy lump of greyish green vines be set gently onto their exposed spinal cord. They felt an overwhelming urge to gag, but still they were restrained, and the powerful medication pumping into their bloodstream kept the urge just barely at bay. Avernus hummed quietly to himself as he splayed the limp wet tendrils of the creature across Mestra’s back, focussed and carefree as ever, willfully ignorant to Mestra’s terrified sobs. Six or eight small limbs reached out in a star pattern while the bulk of the…. Thing was still perched on some red mass inside Mestra’s back.  

“Now,” Avernus said. Mestra could have sworn there was a note of kindness in his voice that hadn’t been there a minute ago. “It’s nothing” they thought to themself. “He’s just trying to trick you.” 

“This is the part I am most eager to witness while you are conscious and while your body is properly on display.” Through the mirror Mestra could see the device he was holding. It was wide and flat, held together with surgical steel and containing seven or 10 vials of various colours. At the end of each of the vials was a long needle, each of which was quickly being landmarked by Avernus’ deft vines.  

“As you will come to understand, the haustorium will soon begin the process of integrating itself into your body. However, when left unattended this process has a tendency to provide…less than desirable results, especially when it is placed so prematurely. Therefore a pathway compound will be injected into your bloodstream, which each contain makers that attach to specific regions of your brain. Think of it like drilling pilot holes through the greymatter of your brain” 

“That’s incredibly mor-Aooghh-” Mestra gasped loudly, eyes squeezed shut. All at once the needles plunged themselves into Mestra’s mid-neck. For a split second they felt an electric wetness followed by a mounting pressure as the vials dumped their contents. Finally, mercifully, the needles snapped backwards, up out of Mestra’s neck and into their container. 
Avernus wore a contented smile on his face. “F-fuck off- ” Mestra complained. The ache in their neck was already starting to subside, which was becoming the only way Mestra was able to handle any of this. They snuck a peek in the mirror at the haustorium set inside their back and instantly regretted it. It was as still as ever, but it looked… foreign, like the mere sight of it was repulsing to Mestra’s brain.  

“Oh, curious little bunny,” Avernus taunted. “I thought you wanted to know how this worked. I thought you wanted to learn all about Affini medicine- ” 

“I-I wasn’t expecting,,,gghutthussss” Mestra’s mouth quickly went slack. Drool fell from their face, and no matter how hard they tried they couldn’t will their tongue to form a single other word. 

“There there…” Avernus soothed. He used a forefinger to gently wipe the drool from Mestra’s lips. If Mestra could have pouted, they absolutely would have.  

“That would be the first pathway marker binding itself to your brain stem. Your function will return momentarily, though I must warn you there are many areas still to navigate.” 

Slowly, Mestra felt control over their face return. “What on Terra’s green oceans is going on- ” they muttered. They tried to look at Avernus, but for a moment the picture froze. Then all of a sudden, like a camera lagging, their vision jerked up to Avernus’ face.  

“Ah, the second phase, the occipital lobes. You may experience some-”  

“Colours” Mestra interrupted. Their brow furrowed as they tried to understand it. Suddenly everything was… it was as if the colour had been removed and only half replaced, like Mestra knew where colour should have gone but suddenly there was nothing there except the colour, which wasn’t right because Mestra could have sworn something else went there just a moment ago. 

“Your thalamus will be next, although from the look on your face it has already begun.” 

Face? Mestra had one of those, they were pretty sure. They didn’t know where they were, or what they were seeing, but it was all so pretty. They were breathing…bubbles, they were pretty sure…? Pretty bubble colours that blended and merged to form a dark brown splotchy bit, but this was in paintbrushes, like oil pastels or maybe made of clay.  

Mestra couldn’t help but giggle, it all felt so absurd, this place – whatever it was – where they were. They had the vaguest sense that something wasn’t right, but they dismissed that as quickly as they dismissed the large floating horse head in front of them. That definitely wasn’t real.  

Their world suddenly spun violently around one way, then the other. All at once they were falling, spinning, being crushed and being torn apart. They could faintly hear Avernus’ voice say something about their cerebellum, but they were quickly distracted by the sensation of their body going entirely pins and needles. It was like TV static Mestra could see, because they could see it, they were lucid enough to know they were hallucinating. 

… 

Mestra had no idea how long it took them to come back to their senses. Somewhere in the process of marking out their prefrontal cortex Mestra’s sense of time had completely vanished along with their ability to form memory… All they were left with were hazy images, fleeting sensations and feeling like they had just been flying. 

…fuck. Where were they…? 

Mestra’s body tried to shoot an emergency wave of cortisol to induce a stress response and clear their head. It did nothing to help them, whatever drugs Avernus had them hopped up on clearly prevented such feelings.  

“The haustorium is as much a living creature as it is a piece of technology. That is, after it has been properly bonded with its host.”  

Oh, so he was still talking. Good, well, Mestra understood him now, so that must mean the worst of it had passed for now.  

“...It is functionally inert until it is paired with the right chemicals, in this case ones you Terrans produce for survival. In its unbonded state it could survive for many generations in stasis, but it will never truly grow until it has found a suitable host-” 

“...Me” Mestra breathed.  

“Yes,” Avernus said. “You are the host this implant has been specially created for. Until it bonds to you, it is not a complete life form. Until the process is complete, some philosophers argue, neither are you, although that’s hardly something I concern myself with. The only thing this piece of technology needs now, little bunny, is a kick start. A little something to start the cascading process of bonding to your nervous system. A little like rooting hormone for a propagating seedling, if you follow my analogy.” 

“C-cascading sounds very i-irreversible-” Mestra squeaked. They shut their eyes. This is it. It’ll all be over soon.  

Avernus dusted a bright white power over top of the inert mass of plantlife on Mestra spine. Instantly they felt the haustorium start to wiggle, uncurl and start to extend outwards. Mestra made a loud noise of protest, eyes bloodshot and wide in fear. “Irreversible” was the only word they could think of as the alien thing started to reach up their spine. Mestra felt every touch, every slither and shake like it was a thousand times more sensitive than their skin. They felt the haustorium press against their spinal column, making Mestra suddenly dizzy when it finally broke through. They opened their mouth to plead. To cry. To beg for anyone, anywhere, anything in the whole universe to help them.  

…But they made no sound.  

“The haustorium is programmed to extend along the path indicated by the compound until it reaches your brain stem, at which point it will start to initiate contact.” 

It was like Mestra was locked in their own body. For a moment, they could neither feel, hear, see, smell, taste and certainly not fight. It felt like they were in a dead body: no movement, no heat, no light, no sound, no pressure. Like they didn’t exist.  

The first thing to come back to them was their sight. They could see him. They couldn’t breathe, not anymore. Maybe their lungs were filling with oxygen, maybe they weren’t. Mestra didn’t feel the pain of suffocation, nor the relief of breath. All they could do was look. 

Slowly, some more of their senses came to them. Temperature. They were warm, the outside was cold. Touch, they could once again feel the haustorium wriggling around inside of them, this time even further up in their head than before. They could feel their muscles moving, though not voluntarily this time. Their mouth opened and closed, contorted, scrunched and spasmed before it settled into an erratic twitch.  

“You are doing well, Bunny.” 

His words felt like warm, like honey, like a hot tub or a space heater. Mestra felt each of these sensations so viscerally.  

Slowly, they started to feel emotion. Safety. Serenity. Joy.  

No.  

NO.

Enough of Mestra’s brain sparked back alive and suddenly the feeling of serenity was gone. They were in DANGER. Their body knew they were in danger of being taken over, of being controlled. It had to FIGHT. 

“nnMn I hate you-” Mestra managed to breathe. “Why are you doing this t-to me? Make it fucking STOP- ” 

“Are you angry, little bunny?” 

“Yes. I’m angry.” Mestra lost control over the tone of their voice and their words came out robotic, monotone.  

“Good,” Avernus simply said. “When I told you the haustoric implant is inert without my guidance, I was only telling you half of a truth.”  

Mestra wished their sense of humour wasn’t in the process of being chemically overtaken or they’d reply with something dry and witty.  

“In truth it is a collaboration between me, the pathways I choose, and with you. ” 

Mestra cocked their head. They felt a little more clear headed now, a little more themself. They tried to run this through the honey and molasses in their head, thoughts spinning in circles trying to understand.  

“Oh little Mestra, since you are having so much trouble…” Avernus said. He knelt down to be at eye level with his prize, savouring the way their body automatically went limp at the sound of his voice. 

“...I want you to know that this is all part of the plan. Your anger. Your fear. Your defiance. Each of these creates areas of high electrical activity in your cute little brain. Each spark of a connection is like a firework for your haustoric to track down each and every pattern your brain contains. Especially the ones that make you afraid. Soon you won’t be afraid anymore. The more you fight it, the more desperately your haustorium will try to locate that fight and subsume it. Your pitiful resistance is helpless, Mestra. You never stood a chance. You don’t stand a chance.”  

“I don’t…” Mestra repeated. Everything felt so pleasant now, like their whole body was dipped in something warm and tingly and electric. Every spark and shiver of fear was quickly replaced by the same warm, consistent golden glow that seemed to permeate their entire existence. “I… don’t stand a chance…” they whispered. 

“...And you never did,” Avernus continued. “The haustorium will beat you, just as the Affini have beaten you, just as I have beaten you.” 

Beaten me. I’m losing! I!!! I’M LOSING!!!!!!!! 

The voice in Mestra’s head was so tiny, now. A little black pile of sludge in a vast sea of honey yellow bliss.  

I WILL NOT! I WON’T I WILL! I!!!!!!!!!! I!!!!!!!!! 

Mestra winced, then smiled. They felt good. This felt good. They looked up at Avernus. He looked funny, so the hallucinations were definitely back, but Mestra swore he felt…warmer. So did the wound on their back, warm and hot and delectable, as if every suture Avernus tied was a spoonful of icing sugar directly to Mestra’s soul. 

I!!!  

FIGHT!!!!  

MUST!!! 

Mestra smiled. They didn’t even bother looking around for Avernus anymore. Somehow they had a sense of exactly where he was, whether it be right behind them, off to the side, or even in the next room. Somehow their body knew.  

I know. 

What? 

We know where He is. You are safe. You are His.  

No! NO! I WILL FIGHT! I WILL NOT- 

You will surrender… 

I will surrender… 

You will surrender to the bliss. 

I will let it shape me to be more than I am. 

I will give up.  

I will be remade. 

I am happy. 

Avernus started to close the wound with careful sutures from the bottom up, leaving the portion at the base of Mestra’s neck for last.  

no 

I am happy.  

I will fight… 

I will not fight.  

He seemed to take an extra long time around Mestra’s neck, but they couldn’t bring themself to care. He was Warm. He was Safe.  

I will behave. 

I will give in to pleasure.  

I will surrender. 

From the corner of their senses Mestra could feel Avernus smile. It felt… It felt like… 

I am safe.  

I am His.  

It felt like coming home to a memory of comfort long forgotten.  

I am safe.  

I am His.  

It felt like pure and simple joy. Like safety. Like serenity.  

I am safe.  

I am His.  

It felt like Him.  

I am safe.  

I am His.  

Notes:

Thank you SO much to all of the following lovely sophonts:

ThatOneKoalaNerd, my brave beta reader.

Leafstone and Teagan_the_Doll for beta reading.

Kanagen and annabool for consulting me about the many ethical scruples this story has involved.

And all the lovely folks on the HDG Community Server on Discord who've supported my story and also created fanart??? That's literally SO cool that means so much aaaaa <3

As usual, chapters are going to continue to be slow. After all this one was what, 9100 words? But I didn't have it in me to break it up into multiple chapters, so here we are!!!! (By the way I just checked and Acts I & II were a total of 113 THOUSAND words? My GOSH that's a lot).

I sincerely hoped you enjoyed it, and that you stick around for Act III!

Chapter 32: Mestra Senarum

Notes:

This chapter contains allusions to the surgery that happened last chapter, lots of being drugged while Mestra recovers, and lots of canon-typical noncon and ownership dynamics.

Also, welcome to Act Three!

Act III

Mestra 

Mestra was flying, soaring over the clouds which were just slightly too dense to make out the scenery below. They felt the air rushing under them, the strange dewy wetness of the clouds, the shiver of excitement as they passed the vast landscape below.  

And then they were underwater, but the dreamlike kind of water, the kind you could breathe with no more effort than it took to breathe on land. And they were flipping upside-down and rightside up, watching the light refract off the water’s surface and land on the seafloor below. 

At some point Mestra dreamed about a hospital bed, about being moved from comfortable sleep and transferred into a wheelchair, thinking the entire time that they wished to go back to sleep. Mestra wasn’t sure if any of that was more or less real than the flying. 

And now they were…somewhere. Definitely somewhere. And awake, they were pretty sure. Mestra tried to blink the grogginess out of their eyes. Their muscles felt stiff and sore and the skin on the back of their neck felt hot, tight and tender. They were definitely seated, although they couldn’t yet tell if the wheelchair was real or from their imagination. 

For a time all they could do was look straight ahead, and so that’s what they did. They seemed to be in a large room with plain grey-white walls and even illumination from a domed ceiling above. Very slowly, Mestra regained enough control of their head to look to one side, and then the other.  

The room was shockingly empty. For a little while it looked like the walls were moving, like every time Mestra would move their head they would jump backwards into their proper place. Slowly, as Mestra’s sense of reality returned, and the walls stopped moving along with them, and they were able to look down at their feet: 

The floor seemed to be made of dirt. Or maybe sand? It was a pale brown colour, and it looked flat and dry. Mestra tried to move their foot off of the wheelchair to see if it was as compacted as it looked, but they were quickly overwhelmed with dizziness.  

“Okay…” they thought. “That’s weird, why am I…” 

Slowly, their brain started to put the puzzle pieces together: They were in a wheelchair, a wheelchair from a hospital. The hospital, and then they remembered the operating theatre that looked like a torture dungeon, the mirrors, the way their flesh parted, that thing they really really hoped was part of their dream, and they remembered… Him. 

“I-I’m-” they stammered. A bit of spittle fell out of their mouth.  “I’m alive…?” they mumbled curiously. 

“Of course you’re alive,” came a sudden voice behind them.  Mestra’s entire body flashed a pins-and-needles sensation for the briefest of moments. It was like their body tried to panic, but something shut it off the reserves of fear. 

…That should have been frightening. 

…Were they afraid? 

Mestra tried to take mental stock of their body. Lots of things were still warm and numb, but one thing they didn’t feel was afraid. In fact if anything, this was still the calmest Mestra had ever remembered feeling, despite the fact that they should be panicking out of their mind right now.  

“What….what’s goinn on-” they stammered.  

And then He was standing in front of them. Mestra was still very high, because they didn’t register Avernus moving to stand in front of them, but he was visible now, and it was clear enough that he was trying to talk to them.  

“Your haustorium is still in the process of interfacing with your nervous system,” Avernus explained. “But you are healing well, as expected. You should regain control of your senses slowly over the course of the day.” 

“Regain….. Control…” Mestra murmured to themself. They clenched their hand into a weak fist, then released it. Despite their lack of strength, it felt good. 

“...Where…… are we…?” they asked. It seemed a pertinent question, after all the more Mestra could see the less any of it made sense. 

“Home,” Avernus said gruffly. He disappeared from Mestra’s vision in a flash, another sign that something was going on with Mestra’s head, even if they’d already forgotten exactly what. 

“This doesn’t… look like my house…” Mestra commented idly. They looked down at their wheelchair, and then at their hands. It took some doing, but they grabbed the rims and started to rock themself back and forth, testing their strength.  

“It is not your house,” Avernus answered. He was somewhere behind Mestra, somewhere just out of sight. Mestra spun in place, noticing the ease with which the rims moved under their hands. “Huh,” they said aloud, “I’m lighter than I thought…” 

“You’re used to inferior Terran technology,” Avernus corrected. “The push force on your chair is adjusted to your strength, which in this moment is significantly diminished.” 
“Oh,” Mestra said. That…made sense. Sort of.  

…Not really.  

“Why are you covered in wood?” Mestra asked clumsily.  

It wasn’t the best description of Avernus, but it was all they could manage in their inebriated state. Indeed, the Affini was holding several large pieces of stained lumber, staring down at some sort of tablet and holding a bag of fasteners.  

Avernus sighed, not looking up. “I am attempting to follow these instructions, however I was not informed they were created for florets .” He sounded upset, Mestra noticed. They also noticed he looked more… 

Well, he looked a lot more. Bigger, more… detailed, maybe? 

He definitely looked sharper, clearer than Mestra remembered. Mestra rolled up closer to him, noticing for the first time a handful of green sprouts on his otherwise sandy brown and grey  body. Strangely, it was as if Mestra could see pores on the leaf’s surface, like their vision had suddenly been magnified, or they were wearing their reading glasses… 

“I’m not wearing any glasses-” Mestra stated dumbly. Of course, they weren’t, their glasses had been left back home when the Affini had… Mestra was trying to think of a better word other than “rescued” them but nothing was coming to mind.  

Avernus seemed to pause, turning away from his work for a moment to examine Mestra. He took a hand under their chin and tilted it upwards. They offered no resistance, not that they would have been able to in the first place.  

“I see that the haustorium has absorbed your visual processing,” he commented. Up close like this Mestra could see texture in his face that they had never noticed before. Little indentations on the small roots that formed His cheekbones, areas where branches were wound together to form texture, a strange hammered-metal sort of glimmer on His eyes… 

“I expect your visual acuity to normalise within the hour, at which time your perception of motion should be restored.” 

…Oh, His eyes. His eyes looked… more saturated up close like this, like they were being rendered more faithfully. Mestra hadn’t noticed before, the way that His eyes were… deep. Like pools of deep red water or… what was red…? Stars? Maybe like stars, but up close stars, where you could see the plasma igniting and bubbling, flashing and mixing and burning everything in their path… 

---

Mestra shook the grogginess out of their eyes. They must have fallen asleep at some point between now and the last time they remember. Avernus was on the other side of the room, standing over the box-in-the-wall… thing. They took stock of their body:  

Arms… check. Legs… yes, they’ll move, but they’re about as useful for bearing weight as a synthcube. Eyes… working, still, and still rendering everything in ultra high definition. Did Avernus say they were better now, or was that a dream too? Mestra remembered looking into the bright plasma of a star, staring at its bubbling surface, recalling how it looked like… 
…Right! How it looked like Avernus’ eyes, up close. How His eyes looked like stars and how He had a few little sprouts of green that Mestra had never noticed before…  

---

There was a sound coming from in front of them. It sounded like branches snapping, like a lumberjack trudging through piles of leaves and whacking shrubbery away with his… lumberjack…knife. Whatever. It sounded like a forest, like a gurgling stream, like stones being poured from a bucket into a river, like fire crackling and leaves rustling.  

For a long time, Mestra sat with their eyes closed. It was nice to listen. They felt Good. They felt Safe.  

Slowly, they started to come to. They remembered where they were, the strange room Avernus had called ‘home’ but didn’t look like any home Mestra had ever known. They remembered that they could move, still slowly but now with more confidence. They wondered how long they had been there, although their body didn’t seem to be in any mood to hurry.  

They could remember more, now. They remembered Monarda’s house, with its warm wooden floors and comfortable furniture. They remembered when the Affini had come to their planet, when they had first announced their arrival and their intentions of taking over the government. Mestra remembered being taken by them, recovering in the hospital, speaking to the doctors and to Myrrha…  

Mestra opened their eyes to a familiar brown shrub standing menacingly over what looked to be an atomic compiler.  

He was speaking, though not in words Mestra knew. He was speaking in the sounds of rivers and trees and fire and leaves. At least, he seemed to be the source of the sound, Mestra had no way of knowing that he was making them, other than the unlikeliness that this room had suddenly developed a water system.  

“Uh, hello?” Mestra asked quietly. The atomic compiler hummed and emitted a faint lavender glow, allowing Avernus to take… whatever it was that he needed. He turned and started to walk to the other side of the room. Mestra adjusted their chair to watch him. 

“I see that you are awake again,” he said without making eye contact.  

“...How long have I been out?” Mestra asked.  

Avernus made a sort of dismissive grunt. He seemed preoccupied with whatever he was trying to assemble. It looked like a large wooden frame made of curved sections that interlocked together. It was half assembled and strewn across the floor.  

Mestra wheeled themself up to…whatever this was. “Where am I…?” they repeated.  

Avernus sighed, and for the first time since Mestra had been captured, they noticed that the Affini looked tired. “I have answered this question seven times already, bunny. You are home.”  

“This isn’t my house.” 

“You are in my home, which as of three days ago is now also your home.”  

Three days… had they really been out that long…? “H-Hold on… No, no that’s not right, I don’t live with you!” 

“Is there somewhere else you would expect a pet to live, other than with their owner?” Avernus asked. He held up an instruction pamphlet which unfolded into a comically long page of writing and drawings and groaned.  

“I-” Mestra said. Right. Domestication. Okay.  

“...You domesticated me…?” 

Avernus paused, although he might have just been considering how the two small pieces of joinery were meant to interlock together. “Yes, Mestra,” he said flatly.  

“But…Then… why am I still… you know…” Mestra whispered. 

Avernus gave another frustrated groan as the pieces failed to fit together. “I am already having enough difficulty trying to intuit the meaning of these instructions, I am not in the mood to try to complete your sentences for you-” he muttered.  

“Why am I still… alive? ” Mestra mumbled.  

“Mestra…” Avernus said carefully. He set aside the fasteners and pieces of wood for a moment, turning to face Mestra. “Domestication is not a fatal process. Most owners enjoy having a continuity of self post-implantation, although if that proves to be too troublesome it is also trivial to start from scratch.” 

Domestication…implantation…continuity… These were words Mestra knew, but none of it was making any sense right now Their head just felt too fuzzy to think through what all of that meant, so instead they thought about something else:  

“Okay so I still don’t really understand where I am, but apparently this is your house? You live here?” Mestra asked incredulously. It’s not that the idea was impossible, after all the Affini looked like plants, but this building was much more like an empty greenhouse than Avernus’ bookshelf-clad office. The only remarkable features were Avernus himself and an atomic compiler tucked into the wall. Other than that, the room seemed to just be one very large open space with a dirt floor and plenty of overhead light.  

“Your condescending tone is misplaced and inappropriate, and if I were not preoccupied I would take it from you-” Avernus muttered, having returned back to his task. “But to provide you with an answer to which you are not entitled, yes, this is my habitation unit. It travels with me whenever I make long journeys to new systems. However I most often find myself in my office, as it also travels with me, and up until this point I have found little need to dwell anywhere else… ah!” Avernus’ pieces slotted together with a satisfying click! He walked over to one of the larger beams and added the piece to the overall structure.  

Mestra tried to take a look at the instructions he had been reading from. To their surprise, they were written in English, and were accompanied with flowery illustrations of a Terran and an Affini following each of the steps.  

“...What on Saturn’s moons…?” they questioned.  

Avernus came and snatched up the instruction manual. “I take it your vision recovered to its new baseline?”  

Mestra tilted their head in confusion. Avernus let out another small sigh. “Are your eyes working as you expect them to?” Avernus clarified.  

“I… think so?” Mestra blinked a few times, focussing on various points around the room. “Other than: I can see much better than I ever could. Am I wearing contacts or something?” 

“Your haustorium now controls your visual processing, as with the rest of your senses,” Avernus explained. His voice was measured and patient but tired, like he was bored of answering this question. Mestra studied the instruction pamphlet. In each of the little illustrations there was a cartoon Terran in bright clothes assisting a large green Affini to build…something. It looked two two large connecting sections that came together to form some sort of canopy? 

“What about the rest of your senses, have they returned as well?” Avernus asked.  

“Now that you mention it…” Mestra mumbled. They wondered if it smelled strongly of earth in this room, or if they just hadn’t noticed until now. Maybe the Affini really did sleep in greenhouses… 

Wait, where would my senses have gone? 

“I would like you to attempt to stand. I need to ascertain whether your implant has begun to address the atrophy in your quadriceps”. 

Atrophy… Quadriceps… Implant…? 

“My… implant???” Mestra asked incredulously. “What did you put in my legs???” 

“Not in your legs, Mestra,” Avernus said.  

What if it wasn’t a dream, what he did in that operating room? That thing he placed on Mestra’s exposed spine… that thing he allowed to take root… 

“That… thing you put inside me…” Mestra stammered.  

“...Was my haustorium, yes.”  

“Oh god. Oh my god-” Mestra stammered. A tickle rippled across Mestra’s body, making them feel suddenly aware of the thing that had taken up residence on their spine. They swore they could feel its tendrils wrapped around their back, spreading out across their body with a thousand viney limbs, wriggling and pushing for further, more complete control… 

“Get it out…” Mestra whispered. “Get it out of me…”  

“My haustorium has already integrated itself with you, Mestra. It is far too late to remove it.” Suddenly it made sense. Their vision, the way Avernus described it. There was some kind of alien in Mestra’s body and it was slowly taking control-  

“...Please…” Mestra whispered, “I’m scared…” Despite the heavy chemical blanket, Mestra felt dread start to overwhelm them. 

“Interesting…” Avernus noted. He spoke with passive interest, like someone was telling him that a particularly uninteresting stock had fallen in the markets that day. 

“Avernus, please- ” Mestra begged. Tears quickly started forming in their eyes. “Please make it stop. Please make it go away, I don’t want to be a floret, I don’t want to be a floret please-” Their body started to go numb again, and Mestra had to fight for the words to make it past their lips.  

For a moment, Mestra thought they recognized concern on the Affini’s face. He leaned in close, close enough that even though tears Mestra could make out the fine details on each of the fibres of his brown and grey face. 
“You will address me as ‘Master’ or ‘Sir’ from this moment forward, do you understand that?” 

Mestra froze. For a moment, all they could feel was… shame, like a child who had been caught misbehaving. They couldn’t meet… His eyes. This was the monster that did this to them, who put that inside them, who… 

“Speak, pet.” His voice left no room for argument.  

“I-” Mestra stuttered. “I-”  

“ Yes, Sir-” Avernus prompted.  

“Yes Sir-” Mestra parroted. 

“Good.” Mestra felt a wave of calmness slowly settle into them. A placid, relaxed smile adorned their face. “I was angry…” they mumbled to themself. The feeling felt further and further away with each passing second. “How… how come I’m not angry anymore…?”  

“What need would a floret have to be angry with their owner?” Avernus asked. “What purpose would it serve either party for you to lash out against what was always your destiny: to belong to someone, to be owned?”  

Mestra couldn’t find it in them to argue, and so they smiled. They felt so calm, so content and relaxed. They closed their eyes. Master was right. That made sense.  

Master was right… 

---

The next time they awoke, they were in Avernus’ office.  

Mestra wasn’t in their wheelchair anymore, instead they were curled up on their side laying on some sort of soft round pillow. Their low eyeline suggested they were on the floor, with their face so close to the carpet they could make out each of the individual fibres.  

They had a vague recollection of coming here, of being pushed in their chair down corridors and through elevators.  

Avernus was in here with them. Mestra could tell that from the gentle rustling sounds above them, and the familiar rush of river water and click of stones that must have been the Affini dialect. Mestra stayed still for the moment, not wanting to alert Him that they had awoken.  

Okay, take stock. What is going on?  

Avernus took them. He took them…home.  

No. Not home. Not Mestra’s home, his home. And then He… He what? Mestra had a vague sense of Badness, of guilt and shame they couldn’t quite place, but it all seemed so…so far away, now.  

What has He done to me? 

It was like Mestra only existed for minutes at a time, like they were stuck underwater and could only occasionally come up for air.  

Why aren’t I angry?  

Every time they tried to think about… Him, about what He’d… done to them, Mestra felt an irresistible pull to think about how good and safe they felt. It was as if the feelings of anger and disgust themselves wanted nothing to do with Mestra, like they didn’t even get a say in what they got to think about.  

It makes sense. If this… “thing” inside me is supposed to be a mind control device, of course it would stop me from thinking about…  

Ohhhh, it felt good to relax. It felt incredible to just lay there, to stop thinking, to feel the softness of the bed underneath them and stare at the soft carpet and rub the soft blanket between their fingers…  

Av… He was still there, writing something with a pen and paper. Mestra could hear the swish and flick of the nib against the rough scratchy surface of the paper, they swore they could almost visualise the way the ink dried, pushing itself into the paper, sinking there and being held by the porous fibres of- 

Focus.  

He was at the desk, and Mestra’s bed was placed nearly right up in the back corner of the room, against one of the bookshelves. That meant that Mestra had to cross his line of sight to leave the room, which meant escape wasn’t going to happen.  

The books on the shelf looked heavy, maybe heavy enough to throw and do some damage. But from down here, Avernus’ towering form looked even more impassable. Even the worksurface of His desk was barely shorter than Mestra, He was so big and that there was absolutely no way a book would be an effective weapon, even if Mestra had the strength to throw it hard enough. 

“If you are finished thinking to yourself, I would like for you to see something,” Avernus said.  

Shit. He knew Mestra was awake.  

Slowly, Mestra pulled themself up into a seated position, looking curiously over at the desk they were helplessly too low to see. Avernus rose from his chair and knelt on the ground in front of them. He wasn’t at eye level, not even closer. Mestra had to crane their neck just to see his face, moving carefully so as not to aggravate their… wound.  

“Will you please tell me what is going on-” Mestra started. They tried not to pout. They tried not to betray any emotion, not to show weakness, but it was pointless.  

Avernus held something up with a vine. Two small round mirrors, each held with a single wrapping vine. They were like the kind you might use to check your makeup in the morning, with golden hardware engraved with a delicate floral pattern.  

“It is suggested by many researchers that seeing the mark of a haustoric implant decreases the time between implantation and full integration” Avernus said in his usual, clinical voice. He moved one mirror behind Mestra’s head, keeping the other in their eyeline.  

“It will be several more hours until my haustorium will be fully integrated, at which time I expect your sense of time to fully and properly return,” Avernus said. “However I am all for speeding up that process, which is why I want you to look into the mirror now, bunny .” 

Mestra was so scared they might see… it. See their flesh still-exposed, see whatever thing Avernus had put inside them. More than anything they wanted to squeeze their eyes as tight as they could and forget about it all, but they couldn’t do that right now. Mestra opened their eyes. 

It wasn’t nearly as bad as they thought. There was no gore, no blood, and no sign of any implant reaching out of their back like Mestra had feared. They were wearing a simple hospital scrub with an extra wide neck, which allowed the incision plenty of fresh air to breathe. 

Mestra stared at the two bright pink lines on either side of their spine which curled outwards towards their shoulder blades in an artistic spiral. It was hard to tell with the swelling, but each smooth line was ornamented with tiny flourishes, looking not unlike the engraved metal of Avernus’ mirror. The scars continued down their spine, wrapping around and converging on each other in an intricate, ornate pattern. “You…” Mestra breathed. “It’s…”  

“Beautiful, yes, I am aware,” Avernus remarked. He moved the mirror away from view, but Mestra reached up to his vine to keep it in place.  

“Wait-” they insisted. “... Please wait,” they amended, sensing an upcoming correction. Avernus capitulated, allowing Mestra to continue to study their incision.  

“Are they all… like this?” they asked incredulously. It looked more like a tattoo than a medical scar. Mestra had heard of surgeons being conscious of scar aesthetics, but they had never seen something like this- 

“If I am to compliment my own work,” Avernus said, “it is of excellent quality. But to answer your question: yes, it is common for implantation scars to remain visible after the procedure. It is considered a treasured art form in Affini culture. It represents the permanent bond between floret and implant, and the mastery of Affini xenoveterinary…”  

Mestra stopped listening several words ago, feeling too transfixed to focus on anything but the detailed, spiralling patterns. Even through little swelling remained, Mestra could make out fine details that should have been impossible. Then again, this whole thing should have been impossible. Mestra felt an itch where the two halves of the design met on the small of their back, then a slithering sensation that made them squirm and shiver in place. Two things were abundantly clear: 

It was inside of them, and It was there to stay, forever.  

Notes:

Goodness gracious I'm so excited to be back into this! I've been spending lots of time over in the HDG Community server getting some secret projects up and going, which has taken a lot of my free time lately.

Thank you to Leafstone and ThatOneKoalaNerd for beta reading, and of course to the wider community and the lorets for their constant inspiration.

And thank *you* for your patience! I know this story is particularly slow to update, but I hope it's been worth it.

Oh, and to ask a question: What do you think Avernus is building from Space Ikea?

Chapter 33: Half an Hour to Think

Avernus

The large round pet bed hardly matched the decor in Avernus’ office, but at this moment he was grateful that Corymbia had insisted on bringing it over. Mestra had been tossing and turning in their wheelchair the entire trip from Avernus’ hab to the hospital, and they only settled back into sleep once Avernus had gingerly placed them onto the bed. 

Finally, Avernus had a proper opportunity to sit down at his desk and think. Of course, he’d spent the last four days thinking – at first about all the paperwork he was going to have to complete, then about finishing his technical drawings, about the rearrangements to his habitation unit, and about…Them. His… Pet. 

At first, it was easy to pretend that Mestra was just another patient. They spent about a day in the hospital recovering from surgery, being tended to around the clock by the hospital’s dedicated nursing staff. It was easy to pop in every hour, double check a few more of Mestra’s measurements for his paperwork, then scurry back to his office. 

But once it was time to take Mestra home with him, that’s when it was impossible to ignore: Mestra was his responsibility now. This… fragile, flighty little thing lived in his home, now.  

Well, it wasn’t much of a home, not yet. Avernus had never needed much from his habitation unit beyond the little bit of storage that didn’t fit into his office, but that was all about to change.  

He had at least managed to build Mestra a bed: a giant, canopy-like structure made of Rinan oak and decorated with precious Aü'tkcha stones. It didn’t have a mattress yet, but details like that could come. Besides, Mestra was perfectly comfortable on the rather large pet bed Corymbia had brought into his office. 

Avernus heard the gentle click swish of his office door unlocking, looking up to see Cormybia standing with an armful of wooden boxes.  

“Shall I put these here, or bring them to your hab?” Cormybia asked, speaking just slightly too loud. Avernus shushed xer, glancing nervously over at Mestra.  

“Ah, my apologies,” Corymbia said more softly. “I didn’t realize your precious one was enjoying a nap-” 

“Have I forsaken my right for visitors to knock, along with most of the space in my hab?” Avernus said with dry humour. He motioned for Corymbia to take a seat in front of his desk, offering a bundle of vines for xer to intertwine with in a familiar greeting. 

“Oh, don’t they just look so precious? ” Corymbia cooed, settling xerself into a comfortable seated position. Xe left xer boxes in a neat pile on the floor for the moment, and Avernus made a mental note to make sure xe took them with xer when xe left. “Have you picked out a collar yet?” Corymbia asked. “You know my friend Chrysanthemum runs the loveliest parlour- ”  

“I have time before I need to select their proper collar, and in the meantime they will be given a standard training collar, adapted for Terran physiology,” Avernus replied.   

Corymbia made a show of furrowing xer brow, then laughed. “Of course you would be the traditionalist-” xe teased. “So when can I expect their First Collaring party?” 

“I did not intend to-”  

“ Ah ah ah~ I thought you were being traditional- ” Corymbia teased. “Traditional collaring means a First Collaring party, at the very least. Shall I expect an invitation in the coming days?” 

Avernus sighed. “So long as you do not expect me to host parties for the next several Terran calendar years, I suppose that a single, small celebration could be arranged-”  

“I look forward to it~” Corymbia said, smiling. “So. Tell me, Avernus. How have you been these past few days?”

“Well,” Avernus started, “there is of course the matter of paperwork, but I am promised that the clerk has everything in order. Of course before I could file down at the Bureau I had to complete my own paperwork, including finalized design specifications for the haustorium, and a complete timeline projection of-”  

“That’s what you’ve been doing,” Cormybia interrupted. “I asked how you’ve been doing.” 

“I-” Avernus said. He glanced sheepishly down at the sleeping Terran. “I feel that I am… out of my depth,” he admitted.  

“It always feels that way on your first time,” Corymbia said reassuringly. Avernus frowned. “Oh, right, sorry,” Corymbia said in mock apology, “I forgot that it’s supposed to be a secret that this is your first time- ”  

“Sometimes I wonder why I let your ideas into my head…” Avernus sighed. He dipped a vine in a bowl of mineral water, inviting Corymbia to do the same. “If I hadn’t been listening to you as you recounted your courtship of that Rinan, I might not have ventured into this star system at all.” 

“But what a blessing that you did,” Cormybia said, dipping xer vine next to Avernus’. “You really have a most precious floret-” Avernus tried to hide the way that those words made him flinch, but his old friend picked up his shift in demeanor immediately.  

“Hey-” Cormybia said gently, placing a hand on Avernus’ shoulder “It’s okay if you want to have them on your lap, you know! They’re your floret now, no one would blame you for being attached at the stem for the first few weeks~”  

“I-” Avernus said self-consciously.   “Just look at your darling pet,” Corymbia cooed, striding over to where Mestra was seated. Xe reached down with a hand and started to scritch behind Mestra’s ears, relishing in the soft noises of awoken confusion that elicited. “ You’re such a good pet, yes you are, yes you are~ ” Xe said in English for the floret’s benefit. Though they were barely awake, it still clearly made Mestra blush.  

“They do not need to be coddled,” Avernus objected, switching to speaking Terran now to match Cormybia. 

“Yeah I d-don’t need- Want! I don’t want any of this!!” Mestra said sleepily. They tried to shirk away from Corymbia’s touch, but the Affini’s grip was expert and xer vines too numerous to fend off.  

“Oh come now~” Corymbia cooed, dedoubling xer attention. “We don’t need sweet pets like you making those decisions now, do we? Ah shush-shush, no place for argument from a little bitty pet~” Xe placed a finger over Mestra’s lips to illustrate xer point.  

“Avernus,” xe said, more firmly this time. “Get over here. Enjoy your pet. They are clearly starving for your attention.”
“Mestra will get plenty of attention-” 

“Come. Here. Now.” 

Avernus sighed. Corymbia could be quite persuasive when xe wanted to be, and this seemed like one of those times, although what xe hoped to gain from dragging him away from his work Avernus still couldn’t figure.  

“Now,” Corymbia instructed. “Place a hand behind their ear, and give them a good scritching.” 

“I hardly think this is necesar-”  

“It is most certainly necessary,” Corymbia argued. “Hush, Mestra-” she added, noticing that the floret was once again trying to protest. “Like that, yes… a little bit lower… now relax into it Avernus, you aren’t trying to remove rocks from the soil, just be gentle, like-”  

Avernus groaned, pulling his hand away. “I am clearly not suited to this,” he complained, switching back to speaking Affini. He turned to return to his desk, but a firm vine around his arm prohibited him from leaving. 

“Avernus,” Corymbia said firmly. “You are far from the first trepidatious new owner I have counseled.” The matter-of-factness in xer voice was matched with a gentle but serious tone. “You will find I am quite skilled, if you would just trust me and trust the process-” 

Avernus took a long moment to himself, tensing then relaxing the vines of his torso all at once in a long sort of sigh. It was true that xenosophont care was much more of Corymbia's speciality than it was Avernus’. Maybe xe really did have some merit to xer constant… nagging. 

“I apologize, you are correct,” Avernus admitted. “Although I would be more... Comfortable to do this at my own pace, I do admit that your knowledge in this area far outmatches mine.”  

“Thank you, Avernus,” Corymbia said warmly. Xe let xer vines loosen from Avernus’ and turned xer attention again down towards Mestra.  

“Now darling, I want you to look right here-” Corymbia said, holding a flower aloft. Avernus moved to object but was quickly shushed. “Just look riiiiiight here for me, that’s it, very good, aannnnd ~” 

“OW!” Mestra exclaimed. Corymbia withdrew the needle from Mestra’s thigh, its payload now deposited safely in Mestra’s body. 
“I am truly sorry dear,” Corymbia said softly, “but it seems that someone has yet to teach you how to properly receive your injections. In the meantime, I hope that that wasn’t too terribly unpleasant.”  

“Compared to what I’ve been through?” Mestra remarked absently. “It was like a walk in the park-” 

“Good!” Corymbia said. “I am very happy to hear that.” Avernus wore a grumpy expression at this embarrassing ordeal. He had not had the time to train Mestra properly, it was not right of Corymbia to barge in and start to tell him how to train his pet.  

Corymbia produced a round, plump berry with pale reddish skin from one of xer grafts, holding it aloft with a flourish. It was the same kind Avernus had seen xer use to train xer own pets from time to time. “A little something for being such a good teaching tool for your Auntie Corymbia~ ”  

Xe held the berry just in front of Mestra’s lips, allowing them to take a careful, delicate bite. Mestra’s face was flushed with blood, no doubt from the embarrassing choice of title Cormybia selected for xerself.  

“Please tell me that is not going to stick…” Avernus muttered in Affini. Corymbia laughed a full, melodious laugh. “I don’t know~” Corymbia teased. “I think it just might~”  

Mestra made a soft mewling noise, failing to hide the effect of whatever drugs the fruit contained. They quickly took another bite, this time devouring the entire rest of the berry in one go, their posture further relaxing and softening into their pet bed.  

“Now Avernus,” Corymbia instructed, “if you would please place your fingers behind little Mestra’s ears?” 

Mestra opened their mouth like they were going to object, but Corymbia’s words left no room for negotiation. Avernus reached a hand gingerly towards Mestra, as if they were too delicate to touch or perhaps red hot with heat.  

“Now,” Corymbia instructed, weaving xer arm on top of Avernus’, splaying out six fingers to match each of his. “You’re going to want to start gently, like this-” 

“Mmmmnnnauughhhhhhhhhh~” Mestra moaned, their posture softening visibly at the contact. They panted for a few moments, trying to regain control of themself. Their cheeks were flushed red now, with an elevated heart rate and blood pressure to match.  

“Do you see the way your vines make them feel?” Comrmbia asked. “Can’t you feel the pleasure radiating through their body at this very second? Doesn’t it make you feel so close to them?” 

“It is…” Avernus said, stopping to think. Mestra took time to catch their breath and compose themself, closing their eyes and furrowing their brow in some sort of concentration.  

“ Don’t stop petting just to think, ‘Verny- ” Corymbia whispered playfully. Avernus wondered if it was he or Mestra who was feeling more humiliated at this moment, but he capitulated, migrating his hands to the sides of Mestra’s neck, eliciting fresh rounds of half-contained moans and giggles.The attempt at a frown on Mestra’s face vanished and their eyelids fluttered rapidly from open to closed, their pupils starting to roll ever so slightly upwards.   

Mestra’s body did feel hot like this, Avernus thought. Their core temperature must have increased by at least a degree in the last minute, not to mention the localised rushes of blood to several areas. Avernus remembered to take a mental note of the phenomenon for later. He could hardly stop now to fetch his notebook, so in the meantime he would have to commit the details of this experience to memory.  

Corymbia pulled xer vines back, letting Avernus have free rein over his Terran’s body. He migrated up Mestra’s hairline, using the point ends of his fingers to scrape their scalp, observing the way it made Mestra wiggle in place. A tiny drop of spittle was forming on their lips, just on the edge of falling as Avernus continued his attack. 

“Now~” Corymbia said, inviting Avernus to take a brief reprieve. “One thing that’s very important is to always vary the kinds of affection you’re giving out. Be it through type, texture, speed, frequency, force, et cetera, you should always be looking to change things up if you want to keep your cutie on their toes. But!” xe added, noting the look on Avernus’ face, “this is not an exact science, and first and foremost it is of critical importance that you let your pet guide you through the journey they want to take right now. Look at little Mestra now~” 

Mestra’s eyes were half closed, and they spoke with a drunken lilt characteristic of florets:

“I….I’m fiiiine…..I’m doin…..just fine here……”  

Corymbia giggled. “So,” xe said. “You’re going to take their face like this…” Xe demonstrated, and Avernus quickly followed, holding Mestra’s face between his two palms, fingers parted around Mestra’s ears, forethumbs placed under their chin. “And I just want you to start to apply a little bit of pressure, and watch their reaction closely.  

Avernus sighed, wondering if it would have been worth it to learn to roll his eyes like Terrans did. This seemed absurd. Hh knew how big Mestra was relative to his hands. What was he possibly watching for, anyways?  

Mestra’s eyes were closed and they looked… happy. Blissful. Avernus wasn’t sure how to feel about the expression. Clearly their mind was in the backseat to their desires for pleasure, which was common of a floret, and yet… 

Avernus’ thumb brushed under Mestra's chin, and suddenly his floret’s eyes fluttered back to awakenness. Mestra cocked their head, slowly because of the additional resistance. Avernus turned his head to follow. He didn’t quite understand what he had done to elicit this change. Was it the pressure? No, that did nothing. The gentle scritches near the base of their skull? That certainly did something, but not as much as… 

Avernus wiggled one of his forethumbs under Mestra’s chin, causing the floret to moan loudly and their breathing to hitch. “Oh…I see…” Avernus muttered. Using his other thumb he offered alternating strokes under Mestra’s chin, noticing the way Mestra’s eyes were migrating further and further upwards and backwards with each passing second. Their mouth had fallen open again and a long line of spittle fell from their lips down to the floor. Mestra probably had no awareness of any of this, they were too hopped up on whatever powerful Class A this was to be able to form a coherent thought.  

“Say, which strain did you give them,” Avernus asked softly. Corymbia smiled cheekily. “Corymbia, please inform me. I understand that you were correct, and that I needed to… spend more time with my pet. I will endeavor to do this again in the future, it is… perhaps not as unpleasant as I made it out to be,” Avernus admitted.  

“Darn right-” Corymbia said, still hiding xer giggles.  

“So are you going to tell me, or not?” Avernus complained.  

“It was a naught point three milliliter suspension of apocynai-β,”  

“That is…” 

“Practically nothing for their weight, precisely my point my dear Avernus. Little Mestra was crying for attention from their master, and all it took was the tiniest little bit of assistance to get them there. For crying out loud it’s practically a placebo at this dose, and yet look at their face~” 

Mestra did look more… relaxed. Half-asleep but not caught in dream, hair genty messed with just a tiny line of drool from the corner of their mouth down to their chin. Avernus wiped it clean with a small pocket cloth, propping Mestra’s half limp body up against the pillow rest. 

“Nn–naoooooooo” Mestra whined, reaching their arms forward in an attempt to move. “Come baaaaaaaack ” 

“...You failed to tell me how long this substance would remain in their system,” Avernus said, sighing.  

“Oh who knows with these things,” Corymbia said with an amused giggle. “Could be hours, days even…”

“I can go prepare a counteragent,” Avernus offered. Corymbia suddenly turned to him with fury in xer eyes. “Don’t. You. Dare.” 

Avernus took his seat at his desk, trying to ignore the stirring feeling inside that something was wrong. Mestra would be fine, their dose should wear off any minute now, and Corymbia…where had Corymbia gone…? 

Corymbia deposited a curled up Mestra onto Avernus’ lap. “They’re sleepy,” xe explained. “Exhausted from all the fun. You’re going to tend to them and make sure that they have the sweetest dreams in all of Triangulam. Okay?” 

Avernus groaned his ascent as Mestra wiggled in place on his lap. This, he was not used to.  

“Now if I come back and I hear that Mestra’s afternoon was anything sort of perfectly relaxing, I am going to come for you and your library, and I will let Pépite choose the sorting system this time-” 

Avernus grumbled a token resistance. He didn’t know if he would ever understand what Corymbia got out of tormenting him like this.  

“Oh,” Corymbia added. “Here, a gift-” Xe placed another pale red berry into Avernus’ hand. “Give it to them slowly, Avernus. Make them work for it, but not too hard~” 

With that Corymbia stood and collected xer boxes, humming to xerself. “Will I even recognize my hab when you’re done with it?” Avernus complained. Sure, it was sparsely decorated before, but it was functional. Corymbia giggled. “Probably not~” xe said, and before Avernus could ask any further questions Corymbia was already halfway out the door. 

Avernus sighed, turning the berry over in his hand, trying not to pay too much attention to all the noises Mestra was making.  

The sound of blood rushing through their body. The quickened pace of their breathing, the sound of their eyes slowly blinking… 

The feeling of their haustorium swimming deeply inside them, managing, regulating, controlling… 

Maybe it wasn’t all bad.  

Avernus held the berry aloft a few centimeters away from Mestra’s mouth. Mestra blinked lazily, noticing the prize in front of them. They tried to sit up to reach the fruit, but Avernus held them in place.  

“Ah-” Avernus warned. “Stay still, bunny.” He was pretty sure Mestra was sticking out their lower lip in a sort of pout. He didn’t think he had ever seen them make that face before.  

Slowly, Avernus held the berry closer and closer to Mestra’s waiting mouth, until its flesh was pressed right up against the skin of their lips. He could tell it was taking their pet effort not to bite right down into their treat. They were showing an uncharacteristic amount of restraint. It made Avernus feel almost… proud.  

Mestra whined in protest, drool falling from their open mouth down onto their lap. Avernus briefly wondered what exactly he should be conditioning Mestra to do. He knew well enough what these berries were for, they contained large amounts of dopamine and oxytocin-forming compounds that created positive associations. They were somewhat indelicate, but they were effective.  

“Give me your arm,” Avernus whispered into his pet’s ear. Mestra shivered, the little part of them that was still themself protesting at the idea. 
Avernus pulled the berry away a fraction of an inch. Mestra whined loudly. Clumsily, they turned their palm upwards, exposing their forearm.  

“Well done.” Avernus knew praise was part of the training process. He wasn’t sure exactly what to say, but the way Mestra shivered he knew he was probably on track.  

He reached a single vine to penetrate the skin on Mestra’s arm. He didn’t have any particular purpose, any drug to give, but he figured it would be an appropriate first habit for Mestra to develop. They were his, and before anything else they needed to stop recoiling when Avernus needed access to them.  

Mestra made a sort of whining noise as Avernus pushed a single vine to rest next to Mestra’s radial muscle, but they offered no more resistance. 

“Good,” Avernus repeated again. “Well done.” He pushed the fruit past Mestra’s waiting lips, finally giving them permission to bite down. He savoured the way Mestra’s pulse quickened, how their muscles tensed for a moment only to grow more relaxed.  

For a long moment afterwards, Avernus simply sat still, allowing Mestra to recover. At a loss for what exactly to do next, Avernus took a moment to observe Mestra’s behaviour in this moment: he counted the beats of their heart and the rate of their slowing respiration, along with the number of times Mestra cocked their head to the side to try to rub their cheek against Avernus’ chest. He reached surreptitiously towards his tablet to note these details down, heeding Cormybia’s warning about allowing Mestra to be disturbed. It was much more difficult to enter data efficiently while trying not to wake a rapidly sleeping floret, but he managed.  

 

Notes:

Merry Christmas 2024, everyone!

Thank you as always to everyone who's left comments, I really do appreciate them! Thank you as well to my beta readers, Leafstone and ThatOneKoalaNerd!

This chapter has been rotating in my brain for SO LONG at this point and I've just had NO TIME to work on this unfortunately, but I still wanted to give y'all a fun present!

Here's a question: are you #TeamAvernus or #TeamCorymbia?
(this is so monumentally silly oh no. before you ask, no I will not tell you what I mean, y'all get to interpret that however you see fit!)

Until next time!