Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Chance Williams stood perpetually at the precipice between life & death. Or, that is to say, Chance Williams seriously struggled with not killing herself. She found herself staring blankly into the void if she had nothing to do, and eagerly counting down the days to her estimated death when she was busy. If she had a few tasks during the day she’d feel absolutely nothing, until her tenth day of ‘a few tasks’, wherein she’d begin to passively fantasize about what shapes her body might adopt on the concrete after falling down thirteen stories, or idly imagining the facial expressions on the passerby who’d find her body floating in the river- would it make it that far? Would something ingest her remains? She hoped, but she doubted it. Unless she were to end her life at sea. How would that look? The river plan was a simple jump (with a few little hidden ‘back-ups’ she had in mind, just in case life chose to get cheeky and bring her back on through), but the ocean? Another story altogether! How’d she get there? Was this mode of transport permissible for a means of demise as well? A billion other questions that she’d never go through with. And this is how Chance would spend her every day at the cash register, waiting for customers. She’d spend a few hours, unsure of what she was doing at work, before driving home on autopilot: a route she’d driven dozens of times prior.

Out by the Walgreens.

Left down the road, at the stoplight that never turned green.

Straight, before getting to her city’s pathetic excuse for a downtown, and either going along the interstate or through main street, depending on traffic.

Taking Main street for three blocks and turning right, then left again to avoid the construction of the new convention center, and down four additional blocks, or going from the interstate directly to the road before the river.

Straight down the road, before merging right.

Across the bridge over the river.

Cross the bridge over the river.

Gaze at the lights on the cars at the bridge down the canal.

Try to catch a glimpse at the few tiny freighters below.

Ignore the iridescent rainbow lights of the cords holding the bridge.

Merge left.

Take the rightmost exit..

Straight for thirteen minutes.

Pull into the dull, ever-expanding apartment complex, while avoiding the unnecessary construction.

Try to find parking.

Fail.

Park three apartment buildings down, within the complex, and remind yourself to complain about the lack of assigned spaces to the landlord.

Forget to write to the landlord.

Climb up the four flights of stairs, and walk across the unnervingly creaky wooden deck-like floor to the apartment, in the far back.

Push past the trash that never gets picked up.

Open the door.

Enter.

Close the door.

Slide down against the closed door, and crawl into bed like a small animal.

Wait for the inevitable.

Wake up.

That was Chance’s routine. And it rarely changed. For instance, last night, a Sunday, she was scheduled to finally go on a date with someone. She hadn’t been on a date in a while, but she felt confident. She’d been talking to this woman for two months online, with a few video calls to reassure their legitimacy, and they finally had the time to see each other. They were finally going to see one another. Except that they wouldn’t, because Chance’s date blocked her before she could double-check the venue for the evening. This was something she was okay with, however. She did not need to be in a relationship to be whole. She didn’t need to be in a relationship at all. She’d worked a long time on that, but she was confident she was there. And so, instead, she followed her usual day-off routine: sleeping until she couldn’t, and then taking melatonin gummies, until she was asleep again, with short periods of looking at her phone for hope, before being reminded by said phone that hope was no longer something that the world at large seemed interested in doling out.

Twenty minutes to closing, Chance got a message from her friends’ group chat: their plans for this weekend would need to be postponed, because Beatrice had gotten a cold. That sucked, and Chance so began typing out her well-wishes. Except, as she wrote, the message from Bea was deleted. And then, after looking through the messages, she realized there were no plans this weekend, or rather, none she was involved in. As she began deleting her own draft, she got another notification:

It was safe to say she was being left out of something. But this was hardly the first time that that’d happened, and she could hardly blame her friends: she was kind’ve a downer to be around some nights, and while it hurt right now, she knew her friends would never do something like this without a good reason. Probably. She would be asleep soon, anyway. That’s all she needed: some sleep. She’d go home, she’d get some rest, and she’d. be. fine. Happened every other night. Why not this one? Maybe she’d grab a shake or even a burger on her way home. Treat herself? She had a few extra bucks on her card, this would be good. And she’d watch Fionna and Cat or Hilda or something when she got home. She wasn’t broken yet! Only fifte-

“Damien?“ Her boss was waving in front of her face. “Earth to Damien…”

“Eh? Eh! S-sorry, s-sir. Sorry. I… erm. I d-d-did-didn’t get a lot of s-sleep l-last night.” This was a lie. She slept from the moment she got home to the moment she had to leave. Had she eaten? No. Had she showered? No. But she sure-as-hell slept.

“Christ, Damien. Fuck’s the matter with ya? Look. We’re good for the night. Few ‘nuff customers that you can daze off like that ‘n’s few ‘nuff that you can head out for the night. You catch some proper Zs tonight, boy, you hear me? I can count down your till for you this once.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Witzwurth, sorry. Eh. Erm. You have a good night.”

“You too, twinkletoes. ‘N next time I see you, you ain’t gonna be sleepin’ at work, yeah?”
“Ah- I- yes… my apologies, again.” Chance stumbled over to the time clock and put in her slip. She’d finally caught a break. Finally. Was she gonna be getting less on her paycheck? Sure. Was she already making barely enough? Yes. But! She could leave. And so she did. She made her way over to her car, and pulled into the front seat., and triple-checked her phone for updates. Julie had deleted her messages… she hadn’t matched with anyone new… and she got an email back from that law firm that was looking for a receptionist!

Fuck. No. Fuck. NO. Fuck. Fuck… fuck. no… no… She needed this. She needed this so badly. She- she’d done everything right. So why was everything always going so wrong? She woke up, every day, and every day she tried to hope for the best, and every day she was punished for that.

She turned the car on.

Maybe she didn’t need to be punished anymore?

She made sure there were no cars by the intersection, and before the light could turn green, she turned left.

Maybe she needed to stop hoping.

She drove down onto the interstate.

Maybe she kept waiting for an out.

She bobbed and weaved between the cars, driving as fast as she could handle.

Maybe she needed to make one.

She stopped at the park by the end of the bridge, and parked.

The bridge was gorgeous at night.

She checked the gate to see if it was locked.

It didn’t really matter, regardless.

She climbed the gate. She strode along the side, imperceptible to the passing traffic. She gazed down upon the boats below her. She could finally admire them in peace. She leant over the edge. She wanted to be closer. God, she wanted to be so much closer. She wondered to herself. Would she be covered in the grime and filth of the river when she was found? Was there plant-life? Maybe she’d be covered in kelp like some sort of Scooby-Doo villain. Maybe she’d be covered in shit, like she deserved. Maybe she’d suffocate under the weight of the water, after plunging in, and her death would be quick. Maybe she’d barely submerge, before treading ice-cold water and drowning. Maybe she’d simply suffer injuries and drown because she couldn’t tread. Maybe she’d even just die on impact! If she had someone nearby, she’d have placed a bet. Her money would be death on impact, but she hoped to be crushed by the weight of the water. “Ha”, she laughed once, to herself. Look at where hope got her. The laughter devolved into something more manic. More desperate. More uncanny and unhinged. She sounded unwell, she thought. Which was even odder, given she finally felt okay. She finally felt okay. But she was attracting attention- unnecessary, unwanted attention: a car slowed down to look at her. She needed to act fast. She needed this to stick. She needed a break. The fence was a bit higher, for some stupid reason. That was honestly fine by her- more room between her and everyone else. One foot in-between the bars that lead up, unfortunately nothing so sweet as a horizontal bar, but she made do, and eventually, she sat atop the edge.

As a man got out of a car, and began jogging to the side where she was climbing, dozens more drove past him. Two more stopped. Countless drove by. Two people stood by the bottom of the fence. She wasn’t really going to put up with this. She placed her feet each against a bar, and gazed down to the river flow below. She wanted to swim.

“Sir, please! You have so much to live for!”

She pushed off.

The wind swept through her hair. The smell of the water below hit her nose. She could barely make out a passing ship, completely unaware of her. She smiled. This was living.

Aversi Maculosis was the only sane Affini. Her cottage sat far from society, but that rarely bothered her anymore. Whenever she spoke to one of her peers, she’d be reminded that this was a necessary remoteness.

She rested in a large leather chair on a Friday evening, thumbing through a paper on horses published by the Affini two months ago by one of her handlers. It made no reference to any of her research on the subject, as though these youngblooms were disregarding her comprehensive outlines of the history of equines just to spite her.

When Linona dropped by last year, she’d shown her the evidence! Horses were quadrupedal land mammals, largely used as transportation. Certainly, representations in film and media were fictionalized but if it only took Aversi, the Affini most isolated from all of civilization 38 minutes to put together that “pony” was a term for a horse, then why was she presently reading a paper arguing that the fictionalized representations of ponies marketed at young Terrans in “My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic” were indicative of both a new sophont species heretofore unseen or, potentially, a religion ?!? Her leaves bristled at the thought. It took three months, but accessing even a single episode of a Terran veterinary program made the category of Horse and Not horse quite clear.

In a move not at all new to the aged woman, she put down her reading material, and strode over to her compiler, to see if she could conjure up something more intense than mineral water with nutrient shavings. “Hab unit. One glass of a beverage laced with durataxin, tinted red and served in a Martini glass.”
“Right away Miss Maculosis.” The compiler started whirring as the cheerful little twit affirmed the order he’d no doubt fail. “One glass of mineral water, dyed red in a martini glass, Miss.”
“Hab, I know I say it every day, and I know that that must wear away at the meaning of it. But I need you to know that, deep down, in the bottom of my heart, I hate you.”

“Miss, you and I both know that your banishment precludes your access to inebriating substances. However, I think you’ll find the water I’ve given you quite zesty in flavor.” This cheeky fucking computer.

“I’m sure it is, Hab. I’m sure it is… Deactivate for the night. I’ll turn you on if I need something.” A brief dinging tune meant privacy. Something she was already in abundance of, but when the alternative was Hab, she favored it. She let out a tired sigh and gazed out the window, at her tiny little asteroid. Normally, she’d go to bed right about now, so she gathered herself together and went outside.

From what she’d been told, the asteroid was terraformed to be reminiscent of traditional Terran landscapes- why? She had no idea. She was not from the Terran system, nor was she invested in Terrans- outside of the Zoological efforts her fellow Affini so frequently boggled. Her handlers had continued to try and incite some manner of interest in the creepy hairless fucks, but as the old Terran proverb ought to go: you can introduce an Affini to a well-documented proverb used countless times throughout the centuries in thousands of written, visual, and auditory media, but you can’t make it think.

When she’d asked Lanatus, another handler three blooms back, about it, they were introducing her to the media and cultures of the subjects of current domestication campaigns to quote “not so thoroughly deprive her of the cuties, even if [she] couldn’t see them [her]self”.

She liked it more when it was just a rock. But granted, the current forest-grove style had been growing on her the last few years- it was an opportunity to take up gardening after all, and the koi holograms she’d finally gotten installed were surprisingly serene to watch.

Sure: she couldn’t get drunk, all of her film and written content had been scrubbed of violence, and she wasn’t allowed contact with a non-Affini sophont, but the Aversi Cluster was shaping up to be her own slice of paradise. Hell, she’d even been given a tablet capable of messaging Ananassa after “four blooms of improving behavior”. Not good behavior, but as her captors were so quick to point out, “this isn’t a prison”. She’d yet to figure out what it was but that could wait. She had yet to do a lot of things. She’d yet to message Ananassa for one. But much like everything else on her ever-expanding list of things she’d by no means do within the next century: that could wait!

She had nothing but time really. Mind you- her first bloom in the Cluster she’d spent demanding her release, sending threats to handlers, but she wasn’t so certain of that plan’s efficacy anymore. Her four blooms spent in peace, minding her own business granted her a myriad of luxuries she hadn’t had prior: weekly drops of any literature, film, or other similar media she requested, updates regarding the general affairs of the Compact, and even a few times, she’d been allowed to send messages to her friends on the outside. Only Ananassa ever responded but that was fine! Because that was someone other than her miserable handlers, and Hab . And she knew that what she did would drive them away, and if even only Ananassa was still there for her, that was one more friend than she expected! This was a victory! One day, maybe even this bloom, they might let Ananassa come see her! That was everything to her. She knew that she was different from the Affini, and not in the sort of way that was usual. And she knew that she’d probably never rejoin the Compact the way she had once been. As time had gone by, she doubted she ever wanted to rejoin them. But if she could just have Affini visitors- not one of her handlers once a week or the “counselor” once a bloom, but her friends, whenever they wanted. That would be everything.

She strode over to Bulbinia Lake, and placed her feet in. One day, she would sit here with Ananassa, and she would hold her hand, and she would apologize for doing what she’d done. Not because she regretted it- but for letting it take her away from her. And they would talk about what they’d done in the centuries since. She would tell her about horses, and Ananassa would laugh, and roll her eyes. She’d show her her paintings, and her garden. Ananassa would probably show off some bug-eyed floret, but she’d put up with it for her. She’d nod along and comment on the clothes- Ananassa had such taste in fashion, it was something other than the pet they could discuss- and she’d lean against her shoulder and it would all be okay. It was always those florets… She picked up a small stone from the beach, and threw it out into the lake, and let her eyes gaze upward toward the asteroid belt surrounding her. Dozens of small Affini towers were in place, centered around her little rock. Always someone watching her. Probably ten someones. Nobody got in, and nobody got out. Each watchtower was designed to be mistaken for an asteroid. And each one always was. There was a weekly rotation of guards, but some would stay, she wagered. She wasn’t totally certain about the lengths of their stationings but it maxed out around two months. Some would return. Many would not. She only knew Linona cuz it’d been her fourth term. She’d probably leave by the end of this or the next. The longest was… fifty, she thinks. Lanatus. That one was so intent on reform. As if she could ever come around to those… things. She’d given up eventually. Thank the Everbloom. It took her long enough. She’d come, and she’d go. Breaks between terms were exceptionally uncommon from what Aversi could tell. But from what Aversi could tell, she genuinely cared for her. She wanted to be friends with her prisoner. Fuckin’ weirdo.

She’d tried once. She’d really fucking tried. She kept it, she tended to it. She tried to love it. And it didn’t work out. She had an album of all the times she’d tried to dress it up all cute, to try and love it the way the others did. To try and make it someone- some thing she could feel anything other than disgust for. It was long past its expiration date however. The consensus from other Affini was that she never loved it. But she’d held onto the album. And she’d erected an invisible monument to it. One nobody ever saw. Things shifted after her first passed. She’d grown harsher. More cold. She learned that non-Affini sophonts simply weren’t worth the investment. And as she did, she grew to understand them as less and less than what her peers claimed they were. And eventually, the incongruity led her to the rock. Or at least, that’s what she held to be true.

“{Fuck!}”

What was that?

“{jkhwr asd fuck mj r?}”

She looked out into the shallows of the lake… and a small figure stood up, drenched in lakewater and some sort of black bile… Was that…a Terran? She knew maybe… fifty words in the language on her own. She didn’t need to know it… She never needed to know it.

“{erjh asd- erjh iuj jhg?}”

No. Absolutely not.

“{iuj jhg rh Affini?}”

Those… things weren’t allowed on her rock. They couldn’t be here. This could not be happening. And it was… smiling at her. She looked to the guard towers. Someone must see this, surely? They- sure, nothing had happened in the five blooms she’d been here prior, but why was six any different? Had her guards given up? They needed to protect these parasites! They needed to protect her ! Why did it always have to be those fucking florets?!?