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Entry tags:
abc prompts; k+s: xeno
As she lingered at the docks, she felt her excitement grow. The outside monitors showed the first ship drawing near.
She wondered what the aliens would look like. Some of her classmates thought they'd be ugly — obese and slimy, with too many arms and too-large eyes. Others had said they hoped they were beautiful, whatever they looked like.
So far as she could tell, 'ugly' and 'beautiful' were a matter of perspective. She was sure that there would be those amongst the aliens who were considered attractive, and those who were considered unattractive. Maybe she wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
When the lights on the terminal turned orange, the crowd collectively held their breath, and she did, too. It seemed to take ages for the ship to dock properly, but when the lights turned blue, she cheered with everyone else.
Her father was at the forefront of the crowd, ready to greet the aliens as an ambassador. She joined him quickly, sticking close to his side with her eyes trained on the terminal gate.
All in all, when she set sight on the first of the new arrivals, she was somewhat disappointed.
She'd been expecting something fantastic, with blades or wings or teeth or too many heads. Instead, what she saw was — well... frail-looking.
The aliens stood on only two legs, not uncommon, but far from sturdy. They had only two arms, which put them at a distinct evolutionary disadvantage, and only (she paused to count) five fingers on each one. Their skin was soft-looking, unprotected, but it came in a range of attractive colors — the first one out was a pale pink-white; the next sort of bronzed, and the two that followed after were somewhere in between.
They had two eyes each, and their heads (only one head, she noted sadly) were covered in something that might have been fur or hair.
But they weren't unattractive, precisely. There was a sort of grace to them, a flow to the lines of their bodies that she liked. She admired them while her father's assistants bestowed them with babelfish.
There were sixteen of them in all, and most of them crowded in close enough that she couldn't see. The first two out seemed to be their leaders, and the other two (who stuck close, she noticed, like she did with her father) were somewhat smaller. Younger, maybe, though she wasn't sure how to tell.
One of them made a face as the babelfish invaded, and she watched the face shift as all the murmurs in the port began to make sense.
"Hi!" she said brightly, springing forward. "Welcome to New Vesta."
"Hi," the alien said slowly. It spoke in a sort of low timbre; it reminded her of her father.
"Are you — male?" she asked, realizing at the last second that it might be a rude question.
It looked at her like maybe it thought so, too. "Yeah," it said (he said, he was a he), and then opened his mouth and closed it again. His teeth were flat and squarish, like a herbivore.
"Do you eat plants?" This was less rude, she was sure.
"Uh — sort of? Yeah. Some plants. Are you — you're not actually talking, are you?"
She blinked once, twice, puzzled. "Of course I'm talking. You're answering me, aren't you?"
"Yeah, but your...." He trailed off, his eyes wandering slowly down her body. She followed his gaze to her mouth, veiled by a layer of semi-sheer fabric, and quickly shielded it with her hands.
"That's rude! Don't look at my mouth." She could feel her tendrils curl inward, embarrassed.
"Sorry," he said, looking away again. "It's not that rude on Earth."
"Well, yours is right in the middle of your face," she answered, sounding a little defensive. "It's hard not to look at it."
She couldn't decipher the expression he wore now. After a moment, he said, "You're not using your mouth to talk."
Oh. Was that his problem? She turned her head so he could see the vents on her throat. "We're vocal telepaths, like the Meehise. Have you never met one before?"
"No, I think the intergalactic tour guide skipped Meehi," he said, and his eyes rolled back into his head. She recoiled slightly.
There was a brief silence between them, uneasy. Finally, he said, "My name's Shane."
"Shane," she repeated. "I'm Kr'stynn."
He repeated her name, too, stretching out the 'Kr' with an extra vowel. She let it slide. Vestan didn't always translate well via babelfish.
"How old are you?" he asked. "I mean, I don't know how long a New Vestan year is or whatever, but are you... you know, a kid, or... ?"
"Vestan," she corrected. "We're Vestans; this is New Vesta, colonized by the people of Vesta Prime. And I'm four years old."
Judging by the way he looked at her, that wasn't translating well, either. She looked for another way to illustrate.
"I'm not an adult quite yet, but I'm old enough to have sex," she offered. A rush of color flooded his face, a dark pinkish-red. She raised a tendril away from her eyes for a better look. "Your face is turning pink. Is that normal?"
"My f— n— ... yes. Yeah. That's... normal."
Somehow, she doubted it. "Are you?" she asked, now curling her tendrils fully away from her face as she grew bolder. His eyes were drawn repeatedly to her frontal vent, which was odd, but she supposed it was fine.
"Am I what? Normal?"
"No, are you young or old or... ?"
He looked up to meet her eyes again, but seemed to have trouble deciding which pair to look at. "I'm not an adult yet, either," he said, and then, "Okay, this might be rude, too, but you've got like six pairs of eyes."
She raised her secondary hands and opened her palms and the eyes there. "Seven," he amended. "On Earth, we make eye contact when we talk to somebody."
"Of course you do. It's only polite." She lifted a primary hand to indicate the lowermost pair of eyes on her face. "Look here."
With that settled, he seemed more comfortable, and he met her eyes when she spoke again.
"So are you old enough to have sex?"
The color started creeping back into his face, less invasive than before.
"Uh, yeah."
She scrutinized him — first his face, then the rest of him, bit by bit. He was wearing enough clothing that she supposed it was possible he was hiding something, but she couldn't imagine it was very large, unless it was recessed or sheathed. Besides, there were no tentacles anywhere else on his body.
"My turn to be rude," she declared. "How do you have sex without any tentacles?"
"Kr'stynn," she heard her mother hiss from behind her. Kr'stynn turned an auxiliary eye back to look at her. They were in public, so she wouldn't make a scene. Kr'stynn could probably ignore her freely.
She closed her hand and turned her full attention back to Shane. "Well?" she asked. His face was still that deep shade of pink.
For a second, he didn't answer. Then, as if inspired, he asked, "How do you have sex with tentacles?" Her tendrils quickly curled down, half-hiding her face in mortification. Shane laughed. "Is that normal?"
She wondered what the aliens would look like. Some of her classmates thought they'd be ugly — obese and slimy, with too many arms and too-large eyes. Others had said they hoped they were beautiful, whatever they looked like.
So far as she could tell, 'ugly' and 'beautiful' were a matter of perspective. She was sure that there would be those amongst the aliens who were considered attractive, and those who were considered unattractive. Maybe she wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
When the lights on the terminal turned orange, the crowd collectively held their breath, and she did, too. It seemed to take ages for the ship to dock properly, but when the lights turned blue, she cheered with everyone else.
Her father was at the forefront of the crowd, ready to greet the aliens as an ambassador. She joined him quickly, sticking close to his side with her eyes trained on the terminal gate.
All in all, when she set sight on the first of the new arrivals, she was somewhat disappointed.
She'd been expecting something fantastic, with blades or wings or teeth or too many heads. Instead, what she saw was — well... frail-looking.
The aliens stood on only two legs, not uncommon, but far from sturdy. They had only two arms, which put them at a distinct evolutionary disadvantage, and only (she paused to count) five fingers on each one. Their skin was soft-looking, unprotected, but it came in a range of attractive colors — the first one out was a pale pink-white; the next sort of bronzed, and the two that followed after were somewhere in between.
They had two eyes each, and their heads (only one head, she noted sadly) were covered in something that might have been fur or hair.
But they weren't unattractive, precisely. There was a sort of grace to them, a flow to the lines of their bodies that she liked. She admired them while her father's assistants bestowed them with babelfish.
There were sixteen of them in all, and most of them crowded in close enough that she couldn't see. The first two out seemed to be their leaders, and the other two (who stuck close, she noticed, like she did with her father) were somewhat smaller. Younger, maybe, though she wasn't sure how to tell.
One of them made a face as the babelfish invaded, and she watched the face shift as all the murmurs in the port began to make sense.
"Hi!" she said brightly, springing forward. "Welcome to New Vesta."
"Hi," the alien said slowly. It spoke in a sort of low timbre; it reminded her of her father.
"Are you — male?" she asked, realizing at the last second that it might be a rude question.
It looked at her like maybe it thought so, too. "Yeah," it said (he said, he was a he), and then opened his mouth and closed it again. His teeth were flat and squarish, like a herbivore.
"Do you eat plants?" This was less rude, she was sure.
"Uh — sort of? Yeah. Some plants. Are you — you're not actually talking, are you?"
She blinked once, twice, puzzled. "Of course I'm talking. You're answering me, aren't you?"
"Yeah, but your...." He trailed off, his eyes wandering slowly down her body. She followed his gaze to her mouth, veiled by a layer of semi-sheer fabric, and quickly shielded it with her hands.
"That's rude! Don't look at my mouth." She could feel her tendrils curl inward, embarrassed.
"Sorry," he said, looking away again. "It's not that rude on Earth."
"Well, yours is right in the middle of your face," she answered, sounding a little defensive. "It's hard not to look at it."
She couldn't decipher the expression he wore now. After a moment, he said, "You're not using your mouth to talk."
Oh. Was that his problem? She turned her head so he could see the vents on her throat. "We're vocal telepaths, like the Meehise. Have you never met one before?"
"No, I think the intergalactic tour guide skipped Meehi," he said, and his eyes rolled back into his head. She recoiled slightly.
There was a brief silence between them, uneasy. Finally, he said, "My name's Shane."
"Shane," she repeated. "I'm Kr'stynn."
He repeated her name, too, stretching out the 'Kr' with an extra vowel. She let it slide. Vestan didn't always translate well via babelfish.
"How old are you?" he asked. "I mean, I don't know how long a New Vestan year is or whatever, but are you... you know, a kid, or... ?"
"Vestan," she corrected. "We're Vestans; this is New Vesta, colonized by the people of Vesta Prime. And I'm four years old."
Judging by the way he looked at her, that wasn't translating well, either. She looked for another way to illustrate.
"I'm not an adult quite yet, but I'm old enough to have sex," she offered. A rush of color flooded his face, a dark pinkish-red. She raised a tendril away from her eyes for a better look. "Your face is turning pink. Is that normal?"
"My f— n— ... yes. Yeah. That's... normal."
Somehow, she doubted it. "Are you?" she asked, now curling her tendrils fully away from her face as she grew bolder. His eyes were drawn repeatedly to her frontal vent, which was odd, but she supposed it was fine.
"Am I what? Normal?"
"No, are you young or old or... ?"
He looked up to meet her eyes again, but seemed to have trouble deciding which pair to look at. "I'm not an adult yet, either," he said, and then, "Okay, this might be rude, too, but you've got like six pairs of eyes."
She raised her secondary hands and opened her palms and the eyes there. "Seven," he amended. "On Earth, we make eye contact when we talk to somebody."
"Of course you do. It's only polite." She lifted a primary hand to indicate the lowermost pair of eyes on her face. "Look here."
With that settled, he seemed more comfortable, and he met her eyes when she spoke again.
"So are you old enough to have sex?"
The color started creeping back into his face, less invasive than before.
"Uh, yeah."
She scrutinized him — first his face, then the rest of him, bit by bit. He was wearing enough clothing that she supposed it was possible he was hiding something, but she couldn't imagine it was very large, unless it was recessed or sheathed. Besides, there were no tentacles anywhere else on his body.
"My turn to be rude," she declared. "How do you have sex without any tentacles?"
"Kr'stynn," she heard her mother hiss from behind her. Kr'stynn turned an auxiliary eye back to look at her. They were in public, so she wouldn't make a scene. Kr'stynn could probably ignore her freely.
She closed her hand and turned her full attention back to Shane. "Well?" she asked. His face was still that deep shade of pink.
For a second, he didn't answer. Then, as if inspired, he asked, "How do you have sex with tentacles?" Her tendrils quickly curled down, half-hiding her face in mortification. Shane laughed. "Is that normal?"