Turns out the contraption Garriz was trying to build was an exercise in hitting moving targets AND dodging said targets by staying continuously in motion. This dome of multitasking terrorized the werewolf night after night, despite the moon’s phases growing further out. Each morning, her human body was greeted with agonizing soreness needing to be mitigated with pitiful protein powder shakes and climbing stairs while dealing with her daily life outside of the barrier. She doesn’t stick around in the mornings for good reason- she’s still a teenager! School starts at the crack of dawn with hours upon hours of homework dumped on her, expecting the student to finish it all in a timely manner. Being a teen was hard enough. Harder that she has to fight with her humanity each night AND manage to find the time for sleep. The only reason she’s not a zombie of a person walking among the living is because of the hope the moonstones have revived in her heart. Inside beats a human desperate to live out a normal life. No more sneaking around at night away from home, no slashing at training dummies to find the stones. Just her, a schedule, and chasing her dreams.
But alas, night breaks through the dusk once more, and her body contorts to shapeshift into a snarling werewolf once more. Her whole body aches from the transformation. Each night, the phases strain her muscles, leaving her more prone to spasms and aching joints. Even as she works through training and scouting, the bones inside cry out for some form of relief, pleading for the nightmare to end. The werewolf’s body feels as if it’s a pierced pouch, unable to patch the hole causing all of this energy drain. It’s hellish. But she’s expected to push on through- she still has a mission to do.
That is until Vortex enters what she likes to call the “bleeding moon”.
Garriz does not dare to chastise or correct the werewolf during this time. In fact, he gives her that week off to rest. He doesn’t want to be part of the problem. The last thing he wants is to dismiss her pain because he can’t see it. He can’t see anything, he remarks to himself, but that’s not the point. “Priestess let me out early for the evening,” Nebula says to the blind minotaur, approaching his forge. “Where’s Vortex? Isn’t she supposed to be here by now?”
“Vortex is back at the cabin getting some rest,” Garriz says, closing the fiery hot forge. He hangs up his apron in the appropriate hook.“She’s bleeding pretty bad tonight so it’s a no go from here-”
“She’s bleeding?!” Nebula shouts out in surprise. “Why are you so calm about this?! I gotta go help!”
“Nebby wait-!” Garriz tries to stop her, but all he hears is Nebula zooming off in a full sprint back to the cabin. He scratches the back of his head, maneuvering through his locs. “... do alien mermaids know about periods?”
Nebula books it for the cabin, opening the front door with a slam. “VORTEX!” She cries out. Scanning the living room, she doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary- a couch, coffee table, bookshelves. She spots Axle at the corner close to the potted plants. Then, a mass writhes from the side of the couch where all of the pillows reside. She pulls one back to see the werewolf trying to meld with the fabric. “There you are! Garriz told me you’re bleeding- where’s the blood? Who did this? I know you don’t like me healing you but please take it this time!” She concentrates her necklace’s power to light her hands up with a summer green hue. “Grrrrgh,” Vortex rumbles out. “Nebula, turn that off.” She shoves her short snout inside the safety of the cushions.
“But-!” Nebula protests, trying to heal her before hearing the front door open. Priestess enters the home with a handwoven basket. A mass of gray sits inside. “I came as soon as I could. Apologies for the wait, little one,” Priestess says, kneeling beside the couch. “Did you bring him?” Vortex mumbles from her pillow pile. “In the basket and everything,” she tells the young werewolf. Said werewolf brings herself up to a seated position, revealing that she’s wearing her cloak of illusions to hide her form AND a big baggy pair of sweatpants. The elder elk lady scoops the gray mass out of the basket and gently places it on Vortex’s lap. Nebula is taken aback and shocked when she sees it move to show life. That gray blob that was always perched on the table next to the shack door was in fact a creature?!
“Hey there little guy,” Vortex coos, using a massive index finger to rub his chin back and forth. He starts his engine, purring like mad. “It’s nice to see you too,” she chuckles out, petting the top of his head.
“Priestess,” Nebula says, decasting her spell and turning to look at her. “What is that?”
“He’s my cat,” Priestess answers.
“A… cat?”
“Yes,” Priestess says. “They are small predators that humanity domesticated over hundreds of thousands of years. Popular theories dictate that cats domesticated themselves more than humans did them.” Nebula nods, watching the cat carefully. “What’s his name?” she asks. “Pebble,” Priestess says, beginning to pet his backside. “He was quite small when I first met him. He resembled a pebble, so I found it fitting to name him that.”
“I like to call him Boulder,” Vortex chimes in. “He’s so hefty like one!” She moves her index finger to scratch the back of his ear with a blunt nail. His purring revs up louder, causing Vortex to sigh out in relief. “He sounds like he’s roorroing,” the siren comments. “Roo…row?” Priestess questions.
“It’s something Chelonians do when we feel sick. My soayo (so-aye-yo) did it a lot to me when I was a smallfry,” she explains. “I think Terrania calls them mothers. But roorroing is like… healing waves? It’s supposed to mimic the water waves on our planet.”
“How odd,” Priestess says. “Pebble is doing something similar to your roorroing. Down here, we call it a ‘purr’. It self-heals a cat, but because of the domestication process, they also do it for people they like. My little Pebble loves Vortex.”
“And I love the little goober too!” Vortex rubs the side of her snout against Pebble’s cheeks. He reciprocates the gesture, slow blinking at the werewolf. “Pebble helps me feel better when I have my period. The bleeding becomes much more manageable.” Nebula’s frilly ears zip up when she catches the word ‘bleeding’. “Why are you acting normal about bleeding? That’s a bad thing!”
“... Chelonia doesn’t know about periods?” Vortex asks. “I guess that makes sense. People on Earth barely care about it too.”
“Should I explain it to her, or would you like to do it?” Priestess asks Vortex. “Best if she hears it from me,” Vortex reasons. “Nebula, humans- or I guess mammals in general- experience something called a ‘menstrual cycle’ that can last between three to ten days. It happens every twenty eight to thirty two days, which on the Gregorian calendar averages to a month. Or a quarter of… what was it called again? Hek’suth?”
“It’s heksuth’db,” Nebula clarifies for the she-wolf.
“That,” Vortex says. “The blood is stored up in our bodies through an organ called a uterus. It’s to prepare for a baby, which is created from an egg stored in our ovaries. It has to travel through something we call ‘fallopian tubes’. If the egg reaches the uterus without being… fertilized? Is the right word fertilized-” Vortex flicks her eyes to Priestess.
“Insemination is the medical term,” Priestess states.
“Gross,” Vortex remarks. “Anyways, if it doesn’t get the other half from ‘sperm’, the egg latches onto the blood- which I forgot to add is called ‘endometrium lining’- and cracks in half or tiny pieces. Without an ‘inseminated’ egg to make a baby, the uterus flushes out the lining by shedding it through the vaginal canal.” Nebula is stunned into silence, trying to take in all of this new information. Vortex squints her eyes, unsure if she should continue. “And… uh. When that happens, I need to wear protection that soaks up the blood to properly throw it out. It’s why I’m wearing sweatpants and a sanitary napkin,” she says, gesturing with her other hand to the comically large black pair she is wearing.
Nebula stays quiet, processing all of the words thrown at her. Then, she pipes up with a small, “does it hurt?”
“Oh it hurts,” Vortex confirms. “I can’t do anything to stop it. A menstrual cycle is a completely involuntary body movement. It has to come out of a small pin sized hole called the cervix.”
“Well,” Nebula squeaks out. “I don’t think I’ll be complaining about passing a clutch any time soon.”
“A clutch?” Vortex asks, cocking her thick black eyebrows upwards.
“I don’t wanna talk about that right now,” Nebula says, covering her face with her webbed hands. “So this happens every month for you?”
“Yeah.”
“Until death??”
“No, not until death. I’ve only got a set amount I’m born with. Usually people run out when they’re in their fifties.”
“Priestess, are you out of eggs?” Nebula asks, redirecting her attention to the elk elder while moving her hands away. Priestess and Vortex share a look, with the werewolf slightly scrunching her snout in uncertainty.
“No more eggs for me,” she answers. Nebula nods slowly, still attempting to process everything she was told. “I’m sixty years old. Too old for that nonsense. I wouldn’t want a baby either way. It’s easier if I help other friends that have children.”
“Arrrgh,” Vortex cries out, clutching tightly at her abdomen with a free hand. “That hurt. Did you bring any food?”
“Cranberry juice,” Priestess says, pulling it out from the basket and setting it on the coffee table. Vortex whines out pathetically, folding her ears down. “Noooooooooo-” she complains. “Yes, cranberry juice. It’s good for you and you’re going to drink it. No excuses,” Priestess scolds. “Miss Nebby, make sure Vortex takes her medicine like a good girl. I need to return to my home now. I am quite tired,” she says, gathering her things and leaning her head down, making sure her antlers don’t get caught on the door. “Pebble, you’re on care duty. Please be a good cat while you’re away from your mother.” With that, Priestess sets back off to her shack, ready for a good night’s rest.
Vortex plops down on the couch with a groan, her tail flicking about. “I’m not drinking that. I don’t care if it’ll help.” Nebula picks up the cranberry juice jug and inspects it. “Cran…berry? Is it a medicinal tea?” She asks. “No. It’s cranberries mixed with water and sugar,” Vortex says, melting further onto the cushions. “I don’t like it at all. It’s bitter.” Curiosity gets the best of Nebula and she unscrews the top off, taking a small sip. She pauses for a moment, licking her lips. “This…isn’t that bad, actually. I’m almost tempted to drink it myself. But you need it more than I do!”
“Go ahead and drink. I’m not having it,” the werewolf murmurs.
“Priestess said you need this though,” Nebula insists. Vortex thwaps the bottle away, crossing her arms similar to that of a child. “Nyo. Don’t wanna.” Pebble smacks Vortex’s snout, letting out a loud meow. “Ow!” The gray cat then headbutts the young lycan’s belly, causing her to crunch over. Nebula stares at the scene, unsure what to do.
“Pebble, I’m about to eject you if you keep that up,” Vortex scolds. “I’m not taking the damn juice and you can’t make me!” Pebble growls in displeasure, squinting at her. He greatly disapproves. Nebula doesn’t know how Vortex can be ready to start a shouting match with a…sharp land otter. She does know she needs to defuse the tension. If she doesn’t want to take something that helps her, are there other ways to help Vortex during this period? “What else can help with period cramps?”
“... chocolate would be nice right now,” Vortex mutters out. Nebula’s frills shiver on end. “Absolutely not! I know chocolate kills canines, and you being half wolf can still half kill you!” The werewolf groans. So much for trying to sneak that past her. “Fine. Bring me three oranges from the fruit basket on the table please.” Nebula does so, but stops at the basket. She doesn't know what an orange is supposed to look like. Vortex realizes this and clarifies, “the big round fruit that has a slight bumpy surface.” Nebula correctly grabs the three citruses and passes them off to the werewolf. She begins peeling the rind off, taking great care to not break the soft bits of the orange itself.
Once all three are open, she starts nibbling away at the sweet, familiar tang. She lets out a pleased growl, enjoying the way her teeth grind the orange into pulp. She makes quick work of the first and second one. Vortex reaches over for the last one before her brain reminds her, “share your fruit”. She gazes down at the last one in her hand, then passes it to Nebula. “Here. It’s good for you too.” The siren takes the citrus, observing its otherworldly flesh and details. The white stringiness encompassing the whole of the fruit was rather alien-like to her; it reminded her of the veins she would see on the trees of Chelonia. She pops it open from the middle, aweing at the vibrant hue. She bites into it whole, savoring the acidity glazing her tongue. She crunches into a few hard pieces and promptly spits it out. Vortex looks at her in distress through the hood, her eyes reduced to the same all-white appearance she dons while in Axle’s armor.
“These are delicious. You call them oranges?” Nebula asks. Vortex affirms, “we do. They’re tropical, so they only grow in regions close to the equator. I have them a lot as a snack when I can’t eat chocolate in this form. They’re quite yummy.”
“I was wondering if there were any other fruits you snack on than the honey dew,” the siren notes. The she-wolf responds, “That’s different. The honey dew that grows in and around the Beastial Barrier has magical powers to heal any physical ailments, like cuts, open wounds, and bleeding. I’ve heard some of the older monsters in the town whisper about an orange honey dew that can ease mental pain such as grief. Buuuut an orange honeydew is a cantaloupe.” Vortex watches the siren nip away at the citrus ball. Her ears begin to flicker about in the hood, picking up the sound of strong buzzing outside. Magical yellow mist with sunny hues seeps in from the front cabin window cracks, tightening into a curled up orb. The mist brightens to reveal an illusory image of Priestess.
“Vortex, Nebula, this is important. I’m back home, but I have some grave news.” The duo attentively lean in.
“I delved into my books to see if I could make sense of Nebby’s stories of Chelonian settlers. You remember- the ones you told me while I was patching you up. The only theory I have for these connections is their settlements on the shores throughout China. Nebby, do you know if these mermaids were capable of weeping pearl tears?”
Nebula jerks her head back in confusion. “No, not unless they were sick. I’ve only heard tears become pearls if explorers had returned from missions that had strained their bodies.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Priestess grimly says. “You may not know this, Nebby, but before I was… an elkfolk, I was a scientist. An aerospace physiologist, specifically. A person that studies both space and the human body. I was in charge of gathering data on how astronauts and their forms may be altered if they were to live on other planets such as Mars.” Vortex and Nebula are both taken aback. “Where does that come in?” Vortex asks. “Here’s the thing about space travel: bodies naturally adapt to the environment around them. But when humans are up in space, the bones adapt, becoming more brittle and fragile. Our atmosphere also influences the way we are built. If we’re away for too long… we can’t go back to Earth.” One of Nebula’s hearts sinks to her stomach. “The same is for aliens trying to stay too long on our surface.”
“Nebula… I’m afraid that, if you and Vortex fail, you will be trapped here, unable to ever return home.”
Nebula is unresponsive. The young teen werewolf does not hear the siren breathe. Her eyes are glazed over. “No…” Nebula quietly slips. “No. No. No, no, no no no no no-” her star shaped pupils shrink, and tears swell over and break through, rushing down her cheeks. Vortex is frozen in place. What can she say here? She needs to redirect the focus into something constructive than in doom. What do they know right now?
One: Chelonia will only be observing the moon for eight months. They’ve already burned through one, so they have seven months left.
Two: the moonstones have navigational and signal properties to the gliding space turtle itself. How many will it take? Ask.
“Do you know how many moonstones we need to collect to call Chelonia?” Vortex presses.
“The power of these moonstones are great, but I don’t have a set number. My best inference is that, due to the moon gates being activated by certain cycles, you’ll need at least eight stones to get Nebula back home.”
“One stone per month,” Vortex calculates. “So we need to retrieve the next one soon.”
“Don’t forget the first and second stones you gathered were close together in time, so you’re ahead of schedule. Do you know the next phase?” Vortex nods. “Waning half moon.” Priestess hums from her projection. “That gives you some time. You said the power was emanating from the soul of the Great Achilles, an old train that used to service rural villages like the one near us. If you can get on the train before it flies off, the third one will be yours.” The werewolf grunts in affirmation.
“Got it. Is that all you needed to let us know?”
“I noticed a depletion of power from one of the moonstones. The green one. What happened?”
“Ah,” Axle telepathically says to Vortex. “That’s when I needed to bring you back from going primal.” The werewolf shrinks her head into her shoulders. Riiight. She could have been a mounted trophy head had it not been for the shovel-axe’s quick thinking. “Axle says it was an emergency use,” Vortex explains. Priestess ‘hmns’ in skepticism. “Don’t have any more emergencies. The moonstones may be powerful, but there’s a limited quantity in them. It will take every ounce in it to signal such a large, moving planet. After your period passes, you need to get back to hunting down that train.”
The werewolf turns to stare at Nebula, who is sobbing in her hands, trying desperately to will herself back home. She may never be able to fully understand the drive to rush back- after all, keeping the curse a secret is what keeps her away from her own home. However, Nebula is wholly alone. None of her friends, family, classmates. People she wants to see again, all threatened by an atmospheric pressure weighing down on her body.
“No,” Vortex says. “I’m going back to Garriz now. There isn’t a moment to lose.”
Before either of them can react, Vortex leaps for the door and dashes for Garriz’s forge. Pebble yowls out from the unexpected ejection, landing on his feet with his fur frazzled up. Priestess’ misty globe dissipates from the sheer wind the werewolf had kicked up. Not long afterwards, Vortex zips in on the training grounds, banging at Garriz’s house door.
“Who is paying for my damn door!?” the bull man yells, swinging his door open and sniffing the air. “Vortex? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be resting up??” he asks.
“There’s no time. Priestess told us that if we don’t get Nebula back home in the next seven months, the planet will have irreversibly damaged her body and she can’t make a re-entry!”
“H-huh?!” He blabbers out. “Our atmospheric pressure is too much for her? Why didn’t you say that in the first place?!”
“I DIDN’T KNOW!!” Vortex shouts back. “I’m gonna complain a lot, but train me tonight! We still have time until the next waning half moon!”
“Aren’t we currently in a waxing half moon? Your strength capacity is barely fifty percent,” Garriz questions. Vortex disregards that with a huffy snort. “We can’t be picky. Either I train now or keep waiting for small chances to get better.” Garriz processes her words, and a large smile grows on his face. “Now that’s more like it. I'll set up the training course- you go get ready for it.”
“Ready? I’m already set!”
“Really?” He asks, his blindfold tilting up with one of his eyebrows. “Then where’s Axle and Nebby?”
“... oh no-” Vortex slips out. “I rushed here so fast that I forgot!”
“And with no electridash to boot. Amazing what the werewolf body can do,” Garriz offhandedly remarks, stepping aside the werewolf and heading over to the training grounds.
“Wha- electridash? No!! It’s called Breakneck Bolt!”
“Mmmn, too wordy. Sticking with electridash,” he dismisses, kneeling down to activate the contraption.
“Rrrgh,” the lycanthrope growls out. “You suck sometimes, you know that?”
“Yes yes. I, your trainer, suck. It’s our job to make your life ‘suck sometimes’.”
“Heeeey!” Vortex hears Nebula’s voice carry out through the trees. She swiftly readjusts her cloak’s hoodie to cover her face in shadows. “Don’t- haah- don’t leave without us! Axle is so heavy to carryyyyy,” she whines. True to the siren’s word, the weapons’ sharp blades are being dragged through the damp dirt ground. The cosmic mermaid has made an honest attempt at getting them over towards the she-wolf, but it’s evident her veins(?) are ready to burst.
“Lo siento!” Vortex says, taking the weapon off of her hands, the rush of magical armor settling onto her form. Her hood flies off from the helmet. “Let’s get to work.”
“Right. I’ve been chipping away at this monster of a course, so let’s see what your curse can do,” Garriz shouts. With a swift, resounding smack on the metal contraption’s side, the cogs and gears creak and hiss. It assembles before everyone’s eyes, bearing witness to a ferris wheel of scrapyard danger. Various metal platforms wobble precariously as it swings through the air. Clumps of mechanical waste act as rock climbing spots. The beam poles supporting all of the contraptions wheeze as if hacking up a haunting musical tune. The whole training course appears barren, but it creaks far too much for the trio’s liking.
Vortex’s tail lowers, then shivers at the tip of her paintbrush fur. She whimpers underneath her breath, but charges forward to the base of the mechanism.
With that, everyone pours themselves all in on training. Vortex is constantly set back by cramps and bloating, but her determination pushes her through the gut attacks. Each hit from the mechanical training dummies, each miss she makes on her moves, burns her heart further to hit harder. She is repeatedly launched off the platforms with various spring traps, surprise dummies, and her own clumsiness. In the heated daze of the practice battle, Vortex’s brain snaps to an idea of using her lightning rod ability granted by the second moonstone to latch on to the protruding scrap garbage welded on the ferris wheel of chaos.
Many nights pass as Vortex combats her cramps, clumps, and overall misery. On the seventh day of her period, as the moon creeps towards a full moon, peeking out from the clouds, her wariness drops while training. A stray dummy knocks the werewolf clean off of the ferris wheel’s platforms and straight into the ground. She lies there unresponsive, ears ringing and vision blurry. She feels herself get lifted up and warm cloth covers her body.
Priestess rushes over to answer the medical emergency, checking Vortex’s vitals. She pricks a bit of blood off of the werewolf’s finger tip, encasing it in a magical bubble. The bubble’s sheen turns to a metallic gray film.
“She’s low on iron,” Priestess says. “She needs red meat now.”
“Wh-what?!” Garriz blurts.
“The little one has been starving herself of any red meats to curb her desire for it. She’s pushed the call away for too long. Her body’s not metabolizing enough iron. She needs more.”
The minotaur groans, rubbing the palm of his wide hand on the back of his neck. “I’m not… entirely on board with getting the meat-”
“Then Nebby will have to do it,” Priestess says. She steps out of his small home to see Nebula pacing at the front.
“Little Nebby,” she starts, catching the siren’s attention. “Go to the market and find someone who cooks red meat. Bring them here swiftly to bring the meal straight to her.” Nebula nods, breaking into a swimming sprint to find someone at the Boiling Pot that would be able to help her. Once she arrives, the sheer scale of bustling vendors and buyers alike makes her body freeze up. Where does she start to look? Who can she trust to not harm the werewolf? Would anyone be willing to help her in the first place?!
She has to try. Vortex needs her help!
The flow of foot traffic forces her to follow the current, trying her best to ask for aid from those who are in the food district. So far, all of them either turn her down, ignore her pleas, or outright dismiss her after she tells them she has no money. Her hands clam up, building mucus from her anxiety. This shouldn’t be so difficult to do! She has to keep trying! More vendors reject her cry for help, and the siren begins to feel her breath become erratic. Her shoulders tense up, her fin paralyzed in place. She has to find someone. Even if she’s on the brink of giving up and rushing back to Garriz’s.
“Oy!” a stranger shouts at her. She turns her head up at the source of it. She sees a tall ogre waving her over. “You are Wolfie’s friend, no?”
“Y-yes!” Nebula shouts. She speeds over to the vendor’s stall. “She needs help- r- red! Ret meat! Can you come with me and make her a meal?”
“Oh no, Wolfie is hungry?!” Samir says. “Alright, the stall is closed for midnight dinner. Be back soon!” He shutters his stall and dampens the charcoal with water. The two rush back with Nebula leading the ogre chef to the house. They barrel in- Samir skids on the tile floor from overshooting his dash.
“Who are you?!” Garriz yells.
“It’s okay, he’s friendly!” Nebula says. “He fed Vortex the other night when we went out to eat.” She points to Vortex lying still on the tiny couch. “She’s iron deficient… Can you cook her a big meaty meal?”
“Little mermaid, you’ve come to the right chef,” Samir says. He swings his messenger bag to the ground, lifting out inconceivably gigantic equipment out of it. Charcoal bags, a personal grill, slabs of wrapped hangar cut cow meat. “I take this outside- come with me! I need to know what your friend here likes.” Nebula diligently follows suit, swimming outside. He prepares his materials, pulling out spice bottles, sauces, and various fresh herbs.
“What does your friend typically eat?” the chef presses. “Ehm… I’m not quite sure. She really liked what you made for her the last time we were there.”
“Steak gyros, sure, I can make that again,” Samir says. “But Wolfie needs more than that! She needs something that reminds her of home- something that will give her the strength to get back up!”
“Home…” Nebula repeats, her volume low. Home means silky waters. Vibrant kelp to munch on for breakfast. Her family sharing a laugh while out on their daily swims. Coral cooked to a sweet finish. Everything that Terrania has no sign of. The water is slimy, Vortex barely talks to her outside of moonstones, and corals are thousands of gulleys away. Samir notices that Nebula goes quiet and is curling a hand to her heart. He wonders if he might have said something wrong and made the siren sad.
“Vortex comes from the islands,” Priestess says, coming out of Garriz’s house. “Her main diet consists of rice, beans, and meat. Lots of rice.” She opens up a cooking book. “I grabbed this from inside.” Samir takes the pages and sifts through the bookmarked ones, noting the annotations. “Hmmn, mmn- ah! Here’s one!” He points to a page titled “churrasco”. “Wolfie’s favorite steak… I can do something with this. Any way she particularly likes to eat it?”
“Anything that is in a sandwich,” Priestess states.
“Ah-hah. I think I’ve got an idea. Time to get cooking!”
Samir begins to go into a flurry of slicing, glazing, grilling, and assembling the dish. Nebula is unable to understand anything he’s taking out of his magical bag, and keeps pacing back and forth while looking occasionally at what he’s doing. Priestess gets the siren to back up, setting her down on the rocking long chair out front. “Let him do his thing. I’m going to go have a talk with him.” Priestess approaches the ogre and begins a lengthy conversation. Nebula pancakes her webbing together awkwardly. She’s always being told to step aside or let someone else take care of something. How is she going to prove to them that she’s capable of more? Nebula peers through the window behind her to check on the werewolf. Garriz is shuffling to place a warm cloth on her face, holding on to one of her hands.
Half an hour later, Vortex comes to. “Easy there tiger,” Garriz says, steadying her with a hand on her chest. “Slowly.” The werewolf follows his pace, guiding her to a sitting position.
“Rrrgh… what happened?” She asks.
“You passed out,” the minotaur says. “You don’t have enough meat in you to keep doing this.”
“Meat?” She questions. “I thought I was shaping up okay.” Vortex flexes her left bicep, poking at it. It’s nothing impressive, sure, but there is improvement. It’s a few shades firmer.
“You know that’s not the kind of meat I mean,” Garriz responds. “I’m sorry, Vortex, but you need to eat red meat.”
“Wha-what?” she whispers. “No, I’ll be fine!” She tries to reason.
“This doesn’t look fine-” he counters, gesturing to her form, “-and I’m blind but even I can see it.” She remains silent. What can she say? He’s right, and she hates that fact.
“Food’s almost done!” Vortex hears a familiar voice announce from outside of the house. Priestess opens the door, and kneels beside the werewolf’s resting spot. “How are you feeling, little one?”
“Flaming hot garbage,” she replies.
“I’ve been there,” Priestess reassures. She gracefully glides over to Garriz’s sink to fill a nearby clean cup with water. “Here,” she says, sliding back over to the minotaur and werewolf. “Drink up. But slowly now. There’s no rush.” The teenage she-wolf obliges, taking the glass in her hands to sip at the clear liquid. Her dry, aching head relaxes as she rehydrates her whole body with each gulp. The cup finishes, and she places it gingerly on the table in front of her. “Thank you, Priestess.”
“Always, little one,” she says. “You’ll be having food soon. I’m not sure what he is cooking up, but it smells good.” Vortex sniffs the air and catches the scent of grilled meat. She begins to drool and salivate unconsciously. “Whatever that is, it definitely smells delicious.”
“Finished!” she recognizes Samir's voice hollering. “Come and get it, little wolfie!”
“Please bring it to her instead,” Priestess requests. “She shouldn’t be moving too fast right now.”
“Of course, miss,” Samir corrects himself. “I’ll need a big big plate for the meal!”
“On it,” Garriz says, weaving through his small kitchen to grab the aforementioned plates. He brings them outside to assist the ogre in transferring the surprise dish to the fine china.
“Ba-ba-paaa! I call this one ‘Churrasco Cheesesteak Sandwich’!”
Atop the plate is a hollowed out soft bread, reminiscent of that of a French baguette. Inside of the golden baked bread lies sizzling hot meat cut from the cow’s diaphragm. The flesh is charred, yet the stark contrast of angry red shown with angular cuts to it display a medium-rare finish. Leafy green herbs are mixed into a white, slightly watery sauce, slathered both on the protein and on the holed out loaf. Any excess of it is absorbing into the cracks and crevices of the yeasty goodness. A healthy dollop of white, cheesy goop rests on the roof of this beastly meal. Small shreds of crispy, double fried papitas hug onto the sides of the bread. The artery clogging promise is cut through with the alluring aroma of fresh, earthy, plump beefsteak tomatoes sliced to a sublime thickness. Grilled, crunchy dark forest green peppers are cut lengthwise, enticing Vortex further in taking a hulking bite. She picks up the scent of hidden spice, sniffing out a few spicier pieces of peppers nestled in between and a strong telltale vinegar of pickled red onions.
Vortex pulls her cloak’s mask away from her snout. The werewolf stretches her mouth agape to chomp down on this loaded dish. She’s caught off guard momentarily when she detects sour cream stuffed in the middle layers, but everything else places her in a hazy, blissful state. The meat juices drip off of her chin, and she chews with great, exaggerated gusto. For her current form, perhaps it was far too great of a bite; she is enjoying herself, but it’s become a bit of an exercise to keep it all inside. She works her way through each chew and is able to swallow all she tore off bit by bit. Once her mouth is clear, she lets out a guttural, satisfied sigh.
“Samir,” she says. “I don’t know what you did, but this is one of the best meals I’ve ever had in my life.”
“High compliment!” he says, showing a beaming smile. “Protein makes you grow big and strong.”
“What do we owe you?” Priestess asks. Garriz has already escorted himself out of the house as soon as the plate hit the table, but he pokes his bovine snout back in. “Oh, right. Sorry about that. I don’t have much right now, but I can offer a service trade if you’d like.”
“What good timing,” Samir notes. “I need my table fixed. My child smacked their horn into the legs and it broke. Sound like a good trade?”
“It’s alright with me,” Garriz accepts. “It’ll be a quick and easy fix.”
“Ah, only easy because you worked all these years to fix things,” the ogre says. “I cannot do it, but you can. You cannot cook cow meat- understandable- but I can. We are men of skill! Never forget that.”
“... alright then,” Garriz says, unsure on how to feel. “That’ll do.”
Meanwhile, Vortex chomps away at the sandwich, greedily gulping the meter long dish. “Imf haf filanchro in if (it has cilantro in it)?!” Vortex shouts while chewing, swallowing before saying, “this makes it ten times better!”
“It looks really good,” Nebula says, staring in awe at Vortex’s revitalized ferocity. “Could I… try some?”
“Mnhgh- shmre!” Vortex says, pulling off the butt end to give to Nebula. Priestess gasps, staring at Vortex incredulously. “You’ve never shared your food with anyone before,” she points out. “Has little Nebby finally gotten through to you?”
“Hmn?!” Vortex chokes out, coughing at a piece momentarily stuck in her gullet. She gulps down the rest of her water, clearing her throat. “She asked nicely! What am I gonna say, no? That’s rude!”
“When it comes to meat, yes,” Garriz dryly says. “You’d growl or protect your food if your weird pirate buddy asked for some.”
“I- wh- argh!” Vortex groans out, opting to stuff her mouth with half of the remaining sandwich. Can’t answer questions if you’re too busy chewing.
Nebula blushes at the exchange unfolding. Vortex sharing her meal to mean this much that the two elders highlight it? She hompfs on the given butt end, trying to gauge whether or not the meal is to her liking.
It's hot and flavorful- it takes Nebula a moment to really absorb the flavors together. But it makes her feel warm and cozy inside when she swallows. No wonder Vortex had been so quick to eat her sandwich at the night market! The meat was so perfectly tender, not once lodging in between the sharp edges of her teeth. Nebula was so used to shellfish and other seafood that she didn't realize other meat would taste just as good.
Vortex wraps up the last of the sandwich, licking her fingers clean. She releases a loud sigh, patting her tummy. “That really hit the spot,” she says. Her hand smacks against her waist satchel, and she unclips a clasp to reveal a small honeydew. She munches on that, going, “and an after meal dessert.” “Wolfie likes melons after a meal?” Samir asks, raising his well-kept eyebrows up. “I wish my children ate fruit after a meal! All they want are sweets.”
“These are special melons,” Vortex says. “They heal physical wounds, and I got hit pretty hard on the noggin’.” Priestess snaps back into action, pulling the werewolf up to her hind legs. She conducts a medical test to see if she had sustained a concussion from the blow. Thankfully, Vortex is able to correctly answer all of the medic’s questions. “She appears to be rebounding from the impact just fine,” the elder elk lady concludes. “Still, I believe that’s enough for tonight. Go back to the cabin and rest up.” Vortex is ready to put up a fight about continuing her training until she feels a small pair of hands wrap around her left arm. She turns to face Nebula, who pleads, “if you try again, you could get more hurt. We can spare one night.”
Vortex stares at the siren, then groans out in defeat. “Fine. I need to brush my hair out anyway.”
Nebula tilts her head, furrowing her brows and squinting her eyes. Isn’t all of her hair?
“Give Vortex a hand with that task, little siren,” Priestess requests. “Grump and I need to… talk.”
Vortex and Nebula exit the house, as well as Samir parting ways. The two make their way back to the cabin. Once there, Vortex goes into one of the bathrooms to retrieve her comically gargantuan hairbrush. She takes a hold of a decorative mask resembling a mannequin, pushing the hood down to reveal her thick jet black locks. Thanks to the current moon phase, it covers her face. Her short snout does little to impede the hidden side.
“Why are you hiding your face?” Nebula asks Vortex. “It’s just you and me.”
“I don’t like looking at myself in the mirror when I’m like this,” Vortex immediately answers. “The whole world gets distorted and I get angry.” Nebula does not respond, glancing away to look meekly at the wooden floor. The werewolf sits herself down in front of a full body mirror, brushing the tangles out of her hair.
“I never knew your hair was black,” Nebula says, looking back at the werewolf. “Isn’t it blue?”
“It’s a teal when I’m wielding Axle,” Vortex replies, working the thistles through the volume. “But lately, I’ve been seeing some teal strands pop up like weeds on me.” She takes a small cluster of teal hair to highlight the contrast between it and her regular color. “I asked Axle, and they said it might be because the shared power of the moonstone could be bleeding into my body.”
‘That is still a theory,’ Axle corrects telepathically from the other side of the living room. ‘I am not certain if that is truly the case.’
“Which is why I said ‘might’,” Vortex clarifies, flicking her gaze to the weapon resting beside the front door entrance. “Human hair is made up of dead blood cells and keratin. If it were in my body like Axle says, excess power could travel to the dead cells and affect the eumelanin.”
"My hair- if you can call it that-'' Nebula muses as she starts to brush Vortex's lion mane, "-is solidified dark matter, stretched into thin tendrils. If I'm in danger, it can protrude little barbs, nearly invisible to the naked eye. It makes my hair a liiittle bit fluffier…it's also why I leave a little bit of stardust when I shake my head just so." She pauses, then remembers where the conversation originally was. "Uh, but not the point- what I meant is that because of that, I don't really know a lot about Terranian hair care- whatever I do know applies mostly to humans."
Vortex blinks incredulously behind the mask, wondering when the heck Nebula managed to finesse the hairbrush out of her claws. The gentle ministrations from the brushing coerces her to let it slide, leaning into the touch. “That sounds like an animal we have on Earth called a ‘porcupine’. They have spikes on their backsides to protect them from predators.” She places a fingertip to where her lip is in relation to the mask. “Or perhaps more like a pufferfish… those puff out when they feel threatened and they’re incredibly spiky.”
“I digress,” Vortex says, shifting her weight to sit cross-legged on the floor. “Hair care varies from Terranian to Terranian. Some have straight hair, others wavy, and some so curly they’re tightly knit between each other. The type of hair a Terranian has greatly affects their care routine.”
“How so?” Nebula inquires.
“Well, my hair routine involves a considerable amount of shampoo, more conditioner, and hair detangling sprays. I prefer to shower when I’m not in this form so I don’t burn through an entire bottle of cucumber scented wash.” Nebula hits a particularly nasty knot spot and the werewolf winces. “Ow. Others have to wear a cloth called ‘durags’ at night to protect their hair from getting damaged. Mekra would most likely be able to tell us more about kinky curls like hers.”
“How would you describe your hairstyle?” the siren asks.
“Hmmn… thick, ocean waves, and a pain in the asp to deal with,” Vortex answers.
“What a weird, strange species Terranians are,” Nebula concludes.
“We get even stranger,” Vortex jokes. “Trust me, you haven’t scratched the surface of what humans are like.”
The two spend the rest of the evening in relative silence. Nebula underestimated how long it would take to completely brush out Vortex’s ridiculously long hair. At one point, she has to pull back with all of her might to undo a gnarly knot. The knot gives, but all of the follicles connected to it are pulled out as well. Vortex unleashes an intense, pained vibrating howl-scream, whimpering all the way through the aftermath. Nebula tries to soothe the area with her hands- some of the extra oils from her webbing ‘plug’ the wound. With a bit of work, Vortex is able to hide the somewhat bleeding bald spot. When it comes time for her to leave, she grabs her backpack and bids Nebula a farewell. The siren sees her off, then returns inside the abode to get comfortable in her room. The planet’s revolutions mess with Nebula’s sleeping schedule. Adapting to a nocturnal sleep style is not ideal. As she drifts off into a deep slumber, her dreams plague her mind with being back in Chelonia.