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Honey wakes up in the dust with her heart in her mouth, feeling like someone's jaw is around her neck. Her eyes fly open-- and then she relaxes. It's not her neck, after all, but Cidro's. And it's only Amaranta's jaw.
The leopard daemon has draped herself across a low branch in the tree that Honey and Cidro had been sleeping under. She carries Cidro carefully and places him between her front paws like he's her kitten (even though he's a fox right now, as usual). Her soft spotted tail twitches back and forth, tickling Honey's bloody knees.
Party Poison is, of course, right beside her, although he's leaning on the tree instead of sitting in it. When he see's Honey blinking up at him he lifts his mask away from his eyes in that fucking delicate way he has and raises an eyebrow. “You're late,” he says.
“Yeah, well.” Honey pulls herself up and shakes some dust out of her hair. She turns around to face the killjoy, wincing just a little at the humming pain in her kneecaps. Then she shrugs. “We got held up.”
“You're four miles from the meet-up point and you were both sleeping. And the swap was yesterday. Ain't your time-keep working?” Poison crosses his arms at her.
Honey hates when he does that.
From the tree Cidro pipes up in their defence. “We got held up, at blaster-point.” He shakes his way out of Amaranta's embrace and leaps nimbly onto Honey's shoulders, curling his tail around her neck. “It isn't like it was a joyride.”
Thanks, Honey thinks at him. Cidro sends love and indignation back over their thought-radio, a silent encouragement. It's enough of a feel-boost for Honey to lift her chin and match Poison's steady stare. “Runners who know stick around swap points for at least another day to catch real juicy stuff that strains in, everyone knows that,” she tells him. “And I have juice. Ain't a problem.” She pulls out a thin silver card from her jacket pocket and waves it back and forth in the air.
“You say that like I didn't teach you it.” Poison takes the flexible card, turning it over and over again-- checking for scratches. From the tree, Ama sighs.
Honey grinds her teeth. It's not fair that neither of them are saying anything. She had done well, she knew it. “I know what I was doing,” she insists.“And what I'm doing, too. It's not broken. We got the job done.”
Ama sighs again, sending a small blast of warm air over Honey's shoulder.
Annoyed now, Honey turns toward the leopard; Cidro bristles on her shoulders and may or may not growl a bit in his throat.
But before either of them can even say a word, Amaranta leans out of the tree paws-first and drops to the ground heavily. When she straightens up her fierce eyes focus on Honey. “It's not the job," she says, her voice rumbling like always. "Or the tech. You were late, we were worried; that's why we came out to meet you. And you were on the ground, bleeding.” Are we getting crystal? She doesn't say, but it comes clear across anyway.
Honey blinks. On her shoulders, Cidro unbristles. “Oh.”
Amaranta makes a sound in her throat that could have translated to laughter. “What are we going to do with you,” she says.
But in a fond way, Honey thinks. Like Ama didn't really expect to have to do anything.
To their left, Poison huffs. His arms are crossed again, the silver card tucked somewhere safe and out of sight on his person. “If we could scurry this along,” he drawls, “I, at least, have a place to be.”
“Yeah,” Honey agrees quickly, looking away from Ama toward the horizon of the desert, which thankfully is clear of both clouds and cars that would mean danger today. “Let's go.”
The four of them make a triangle-formation across the sand: Honey and Poison walking side-by-side, Cidro swaying safely on Honey's shoulders, Amaranta padding up ahead. Poison and Ama walk like they're doing a favour to the sand. Honey and Cidro are quick and light-footed.
After walking for a while, Honey feels pretty okay. The buzzing in her knees isn't too bad if she just doesn't think about it. She's glad to have familiar people (other than Cidro, of course) around her again. Honey had missed Ama and Poison on the road.
She wasn't sure if Poison had missed her too or not, at first. He'd been busy taking the bulky hand-radio off of his belt and calling in their about-time to whoever was waiting for them up ahead. But then he stretches his arm out and hugs her to his side, being careful to avoid brushing Cidro's tail with his fingerless-gloved-fingers. “You did good, roadgoblin,” he says quietly, as if saying it louder would embarrass him.
Cidro lets out a little bark of agreement. Honey smiles.
/
