Chapter Text
Space is filled to the brink with thriving life. The ones blessed with endless coin, free to travel to the ends of the void and further, whilst the ones cursed with little too null coin, forever trapped on their birth planets. The star spattered inky cosmos stuffed with ships that vary in size and quality, planets either made from natural causes, or by the hands of experienced travelers. Many metallic planets scattered the vast emptiness, marketplaces and trade centers, medical bays and rescue stations, an endless void of possibility.
The aforementioned coin is a cross-terrestrial currency that every alien that touched the outside of their world used. Coin can buy a beings dream, or be the end of their reign when conquered. Coin isn’t truly a physical thing, even though it could be; instead, it’s a digital interface currency, transferred via portable tablets called transmitters. Reaching eight inches in width, and sixteen inches in length, the portable transmitter can shrink into the size of a pen, depending on the model. More advanced, expensive models have a larger interface, and a smaller compaction size. And, like any currency, coin can be stolen, by hacking or pirates, or blackmail, no matter which dark path taken, there is always a benefit of coin.
Despite outer space being near endless, there are specific rules set in place, most held by the rule of honor. Laws protect against pirating, or blackmail, or things like that, yet there are no severe consequences except for if any of these situations occur, the owner of said stolen coin can defend their belongings as they please. If an alien were to choose a coward to illegally obtain coin from, then they would be off Scott free. The most illegal, yet most providing job, is the slave trade.
The slave trade includes sentient beings, no matter which species, trained into submission to be used as the owner pleases. Illegal, on many levels, yet despite the democratic laws in place, the most profitable profession in the entirety of space. Most slave trades take place in black markets; small handmade metal planets hosted by shady vendors and dealers. The most illegal things, sold in the most illegal ways, can be found on the metal planets that civilian aliens dubbed ‘Shrouded Outposts’. A backhanded way of calling said market places shady, an accurate representation.
Pogtopia, one of the most popular Shrouded Outposts, was nestled in the blank space between the convergence of five different galaxies. Despite its smaller size, it’s crammed full of endless booths, defensive creatures, and the best deals known too any. As Pogtopias’ usual bustle traverses onwards, a small and rundown ship entered the docking area, a place crowded from panel to panel with unauthorized ships. The little ship docks at a small outlet, powering down and connecting to the haphazard airlock of the metallic planet. Planets such as the Shrouded Outposts have manufactured atmospheres, designed for whichever species created them, meaning each one had the potential of having a different air composition. Most visitors to these types of planets had filtered masks strapped tight against their faces, and make their trips quick as to not risk damage to their own systems from the foreign air.
The little ship seemed to be of Transit Ship origin, built for speed and maneuverability, yet had the outward additions of something similar to an explorer ship. Whilst a transit ship was usually run by a small family, and was adapted per species, an explorer ship was meant to handle a crew of about fifteen too twenty. Explorer ships had added radars and photography add-ons to the more protected panels of the ship, and more evenly distributed thrusters, instead of the single directional ones to be found on a quick Transit Ship, the distribution making it easier to hover in the endless void of space.
The owner of the rundown ship finally stepped out, the ships bay door closing behind them with a sort of finality, as though promising a life changing occurrence by the time the owner returned. Speaking of the owner, the alien towered a good four meters tall, body hidden in the folds of a thick, dull brown cloak. What could be seen was half covered by a mask, it’s face a grayish blue color, with speckles of silver, and green eyes that reflected a light glow if light hit them just right. Their head was draped in cobalt and forest green feathers, it’s ears little nubs of cartilage marked by straight and grey feathers. The mask was an ugly thing, black and heavy, filters popping out from both the left and right sides of the creatures muzzle, yet it did its job, transferring the thin air into a much richer version, suitable for the aliens lungs.
They were quick to shuffle away from their ship, trying to hide in their cloak as much as possible, tipping their muzzle downwards, and giving off a much smaller appearance then their true size. Despite the creatures towering height, they weaved though the crowds of mis-matched aliens, some even taller then the feathered-head one. It doesn't take long for the blue tinged alien to reach the marketplace, an array of dull colored covers pulled over the heads of many vendors, and dreary products. Somehow, the multitude of shades that made up the customers around the stands were brighter then the stands themselves, but that's not saying much as each individual market stand seems to have been there for a long time.
A dark purple covered stand seems to have caught the masked aliens attention, as they weave expertly through the crowd to reach it. The stand was nothing special, trays full of wool and clothing spread out under the awning, but it wasn't the items that caught the creatures attention, but the vendor themselves. The vendor was a vex, a small flying sprite that was less then half a meter in height, with nearly transparent grayscale wings that fluttered occasionally, sprinkling the same shade of grey dust to the ground beneath them.
"Ah, Wilbur! How is you, young one?" The vendor waved at the newly dubbed Wilbur, who appeared to have smiled, of the drinking around their eyes gave any indication.
"Hello Felix! And, it's how are you, not how is you. But the answer to that question is that I am well, what about yourself?" Wilbur's voice is light, and quiet, nearly unintelligible over the buzz of the marketplace. Even with that, Felix grins a sharp smile, wings flipping faster, as the vendor glides up to draw eye to eye with the taller.
"Always with the language fixing, huh? But I am surviving, pulling some yarn to still make it." The vex chitters, and the blue fellows eyes crinkle in the image of a smile once more, choosing not to correct the smaller again. "Speaking of yarn, would you like anything from me?" The sprite spins, motioning to the span of clothing and thread.
"Yes, actually. I need some gold and crimson thread, if you have any, as well as some new sewing needles. Oh, and some green yarn and a new pair of knitting needles to go with it." Wilbur lists off, bouncing up and down, reminiscent of a child excited for a toy. The vendor just grins again, and begins sorting through their stock to find the tallest requests.
"You out to throw money?" The vex asks, as crates are opened, Wilbur's eyes crinkling once more at the others slaughtered common tongue. Common tongue was also as widespread as the concept of coin, if you had touched space, you knew of it. Even then, common was invented in space, and was not the first language to any alien, unless they were born upon a ship. The blue creature seemed well versed in the language, having to hold back from teasing the older being once more.
"Yeah, I've decided to treat myself a bit, it being my birthday and all." Wilbur tilted their head upwards, scanning the nearly out of view stars, their feathery head rustling as they moved. At those words, the vendor whirls around, arms full of Wilbur's order, and jaw dropped.
"It's your day of birth? Why didn't you tell me young one?!" The vex nearly shouts, and that brings a bubbling chuckle from deep in Wilbur's chest, and rumbles though the air. "Well, then this is on the roof!" The vex says, shoving the items towards the larger alien. Wilbur struggles to react fast enough, trying to decipher what the smaller had meant, until their brain rebooted.
"Oh, wait no Felix, I can't take this for free!" The blue tinged alien tried to deny, but still extended their arms out of their cloak to ensure that none of the items hit the dusty and dirty ground. The vex seemed to take that as enough of an acceptance, and Wilbur tried to protest as the vendor starts shooing them away. "Felix!" They release a quiet strangled yelp as they nearly fall backwards, tripping over their own cloak as they take a step back.
Wilbur's arm was a starker shade of blue then his face, and appeared to have a cross between scales and leathery skin littering it. The longer, sharper fingers connected to thin palms that flickered with small feathers on the back. The tall aliens free gifts nearly tumbled out of said arm, and they quickly try to readjust, by which point they were already in a swarm of other aliens, pushed into he walkway and away from the Vexs' stand. With a fond shake of their head, Wilbur was off again.
It's not long before the aliens new possessions disappear into the brown cloak, as they slip through the abundance of people, less outgoing in the strangers presence. Not that many others were mingling, as stated before, creatures of all kinds that weren't used to the same atmosphere try to make their trips as quick as possible; not everyone was as lucky as Felix the Vex, who didn't have to wear a mask in such thin air. Some aliens showed signs of staying in the harmful atmosphere too long already, skin taking on a greyer and unhealthy look, even if they were a solid red color usually.
The blue alien hadn't been in the atmosphere nearly long enough for that to occur to them, and from the way they moved, they were adept with the Shrouded Outposts atmosphere, and most likely knew their own time constraints. Even if the crowd was usually loud, something even louder rang out, something along the lines of cheering. Wilbur tried to ignore it, but it seemed as though everyone was gravitating towards the noise, even vendors themselves, so with a heavy sigh, the masked alien followed suit.
Being taller then most of the others, not all of them mind you, gave him the advantage of seeing what was happening from a distance. It seemed like a full out brawl between two different aliens, and they were wrecking the nearby stands as they threw each other around like ragdolls. The blue aliens brow furrowed in distaste, as the crowd cheered both parties on, demanding violence. And violence they recieved, as one party grabbed the others head, and slammed it into the ground, repeatedly. A clear victor was standing, and everyone went about their business, leaving the injured alien on the ground, even going as far as to step over them.
Wilbur truly had no intent on reaching the prone alien, but somehow stumbles upon them as the crowd, and looks over the bruised being. With a soft sigh, the tell alien reached down, and offered his hands to the defeated other, his prize from earlier stashed somewhere in his cloak. The fallen alien is quick to reach up and grasp onto the tallers hands, and Wilbur reluctantly helped them to their feet. They looked to be of cattle origin, with bull horns nestled on their head, and long, floppy ears drooping beside their head. Fur creeped along the edges of their face, their snout bleeding and a black eye forming.
They grin maliciously at the taller alien, and Wilbur can't help but quickly retract their hands as if burned. "Ah, thanks for the hand up! Man, some aliens get their genes in a twist about my work." The cattle spoke, chuffing in irritation, as coldness seeped into their tone. Their eyes are calculating, as they scan over the blue alien. "Say, what are you? Don't think I've seen one of you around here before." Something about their voice makes the feathered alien straighten to their full height, nearly double the size of the injured cattle. The cattles' look shifts from calculating to well masked fear, as they tense.
"I'm a customer, that's all you need to know." It seems as though Wilbur's words didn't have the affect they desired, as the cattle nearly lights up at that, their ears launching upwards. "Er, well- not-" the tallers mistake had already been made, as they curl in on themselves again, but the shorter had already gotten an idea locked in their head of what the other had meant.
"Is that right? Well come on then, let me show you my stock." The cattle grabs for Wilbur's clock, and tugs on it, leading the taller alien out of the flow of movement that had become of the walkway. The cattle practically dragged the hesitant, yet much larger alien to an even shadier part of the market, despite that seeming nearly impossible. They walked down a flight of stairs, leading into a dimly lit hallway, with an abundance of doors. The taller didn't want to know what was behind them.
"Look, I'm not quite sure-" Wilbur starts, only to be cut off as the duo enter a much larger room, the hallway abruptly ending, and the lighting in some way worse. The walls were lined with crates and cages. It seemed as though Wilbur had stumbled upon the slave trade. Suddenly, he wished he had been the one to punch the smug cattle, as they motioned widely at their 'stock'. A low rumble sounds, deep in Wilbur's chest, and echoes through the room, causing the cattles' ear to twitch, and for any stirring in the cages to silence. The sound of an angry predator was always easy to distinguish, especially if one was unable to escape their grasp.
Wilbur brushes past the short cattle, and strides towards the cages, their green eyes piercing through the terrible lighting to peer at the contents of each cage. Most captured creatures showed signs of suffering from the thin atmosphere, none of them wearing any masks. All of them wore collars, some even wore chains, and the underground room smelled of copper blood, and misery. With a soft chortle, Wilbur reaches through one of the cages bars, a tips the head of an injured axolotl, the poor thing dried and bleeding, out of its depth in the open atmosphere, being an aquatic alien and all. Full grown axolotls could grow to Wilbur's size, but this one seemed young, not fully matured. If the blue alien had any sort of amphibian addon to their ship, they would have purchased the poor kid then and there, but sadly there was no such thing added to the small ship.
The axolotl flinched back, it's tails wrapping closer to itself, and Wilbur moves along, the sound of the cattle trotting along behind him. "I'm Schlatt, by the way. He/Him. Run the biggest underground trade round these parts." Wilbur casts a glance back at Schlatt, their brow furrowing once more. After a moment of silence, the taller decides there was no harm in humouring introductions.
"Wilbur. He/Him." He says curtly, before refocusing on the caged creatures. One of the larger crates caught his eyes, as the taller alien strides across the metallic floor over to it. Green eyes flashed through the darkness, spotting three huddled figures pressed as far away from the front of the cage as possible. Wilbur snorts softly, wrapping his palms around the bars, and slowly dragging the crate into view.
As the huddled figures came into as much view as they could in the dim light, the feathered alien shifts in anger, locking eyes with sentient Terra-Walkers. Erm. Humans. His head whips to the side, and he glares at Schlatt.
"How did you get these three? Terra-Walkers haven't made it this far in space yet." Wilbur could feel his eyes narrow, and Schlatt shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, as if caught with his hand in the metaphorical cookie jar. "You know, beings that haven't touched space yet are off-limits. So how do you have them?" The cloak on his shoulders shift near the bottom, as what appears to be a tail swings across the floor, before curling back underneath the cloak, hidden away once more.
"Well, you see, I'm not the one to retrieve them, so..." Schlatt tapers off, and grins once again. "They are rare, you know that? Off limits means not on market, but here they are. You want to buy these three?" Schlatts common was pretty advanced, and Wilbur taps a clawed finger against a metal bar, glancing back at the Terra-Walkers.
One of them had waist long brown hair, tied in a loose and filthy braid, with rich brown eyes and broken glasses. Another had shoulder length, filthy blonde hair, with sharp blue eyes, arms wrapped around the smallest Terra-Walker, who was also blonde with blue eyes. Perhaps part of the same flock, then. That would explain the protective hold the larger had on the other. Under his mask, Wilbur's muzzle twisted in anger and disgust at the state of their clothing and slightly ashy skin. This atmosphere wasn't meant for them, either. And none of them wore masks, yet the progression of the long term version of asphyxiation hadn't gotten too severe yet, so they probably hadn't been exposed to the air for too long.
"How much for all three." His tone is cold, a barren wasteland that surprised even him, yet he showed no aspect of it, as he glanced over at Schlatt, hands still curled around the bars of the cage the humans curled in. The cage itself was up to Wilbur's chest in height, and looked like a cube. The humans inside we're about half of the tall aliens height, roughly two meters tall, giving them plenty of space to stand fully, but not much wiggle room. It could be a lot smaller, and disgruntlement slid further across the blue creatures face.
"Ah, of course! I'd say, five thousand coin each?" Schlatt had a hopeful look on his face, and Wilbur tried to hide his wince. He wasn't made of coin, not like others were. Plus, he had really been hoping on spoiling himself on his birthday, but no way would he prioritize his happiness if there were lives on the line, of which there were. Despite that, the feathered alien would have to dip into his savings if he were to... purchase... All three of them. His muzzle wrinkled beneath the mask that clamped around his lower face at the thought of purchasing a being, but the trio needed out of this harmful air. And new clothes, matched with showers, but that could come later.
For now, Wilbur retracted one of his hands, his other still clasped around the cage as though to make sure it wouldn't disappear. The clawed fingers disappear into his cloak, reappearing with a stick the size of a pen, that quickly extended into a small tablet. The three in the cage stir, as the two older humans start speaking in their mother tongue, the language that came from their homeworld. Wilbur didn't miss the glare Schlatt sent to the humans, but decided to ignore it, in favor of extending his transmitter forwards. The cattle beamed, and held out his own transmitter, the two tablets tapping perpendicular to each other, before Schlatt nodded.
"Pleasure doing business with you! Need any help getting them back to your ship?" The snarky alien asked, and the larger one shook his head dutifully. "Alright, then have a swell evening. Day. Morning? Ah fuck it, goodbye." The cattle alien was gone, just like that, the putter of his footsteps sounding across the lengthy hallway that they had come from. There was no way that Schlatt was just going to leave him here without supervision, and Wilbur would be correct, as Schlatts footsteps never quite left the underground bunker.
Wilbur sighs in irritation, and disappointment, as he turns to look at the cage, only to yelp and nearly drop it at the sight of all three humans much closer to his hand then they had been previously. At the sudden noise he made, all three had jumped backwards, though, and the blue creature felt guilty. With his empty hand, he made a placating gesture, and churred softly in apologies, hoping it would calm the humans down.
It seemed to work, as the older blonde edged forward again, and Wilbur nearly drooped with relief, his ear feathers twitching at the sound of footsteps approaching once more. This causes everyone to freeze, as Schlatt pokes his head back in. "Hurry it up, 'bur. Got other customers on their way." Wilbur tenses, and bit down a snarl at the way the other spoke to him, but swept up his dignity once more.
"Do you have a cart? Trolly? Anything like that?" Wilbur grumbled out, the growl he had withheld leaking into his words subsequently. The tall alien recieved a nod from the cattle, as Schlatt motions to a trolly near the entryway of the hallway, and nudges one over towards the blue alien. The earlier spotted tail made an appearance from under the larger cloak, reminiscent of a lizards tail, yet much longer and more controllable as it slid across the ground to meet the rolling wheels of the trolly, dragging it the rest of the way to Wilbur. Schlatt watches in wonder, studying the deep blue speckled with grey scales as the tail disappears back under the cloak.
With slight difficulty, the cloaked alien lifts the cage up, struggling to keep it as level as possible as he steadily lowers it onto the trolly. The humans seemed to be… scared? Wilbur wasn’t that well versed in Terra-Behavior, but if their trembling and darting eyes went to say anything, it was to support the idea of fear. The blue creature churred softly again, trying to calm the poor Terra-Walkers down, but it didn’t seem to work as well as before.
”They can speak common, by the way. Most of the sentient stock can, they were trained in it!” The cattle said suddenly, startling Wilbur at the sudden reminder of Schlatts presence. “Not all of them are fluent though, but the big blonde is, they can translate if need be.” The taller only responded with a noncommittal grunt, muzzle wrinkling under his mask at the mention of training the humans. But that was besides the point, the humans needed out of the harmful atmosphere to breath rich air filled with oxygen, something Wilbur was beginning to miss as well.
”Good to know.” The feathered alien shuffled forwards, clawed fingers wrapping around the trolly handle, starting to push the cage down the hallway. Schlatt pattered away as Wilbur made his way down the hall, only to materialize at the base of the stairs, tossing a large blanket over the top of the cage, struggling to get the fabric over the whole crate, as it was bigger then the cattle himself. The taller alien trilled softly to the humans in the crate, locking eyes with them, before tugging the end of the cloth over, fully shutting them off from his view.
”You’re gonna wanna wheel them this way, there’s a ramp that gives more of a straight shot to the docks here, and you don’t have to try and haul that thing up the stairs.” The cattle wore an amused smile, despite the grey that was tinging his lips.
“You may want to grab a mask, Schlatt. You’re greying.” The larger alien states, and the cattle nearly jumps at the realization, before darting away once more. Speaking of greying… Wilbur hurriedly starts towards the ramp, wheeling the weighed down trolly with new found vigor.
He reaches the surface of the Shrouded Outpost once more, the bustle significantly lessened due to him being on the outskirts of the market. The blue creature receives a few glares from vendors near the exit, that probably were aware of what the other had done, and Wilbur couldn’t blame them. Stirring in the cage below the fabric drew the largers’ attention back to the situation at hand, and he scurries towards his docked ship, opening the bay door with a handprint unlock.
As soon as the alien had made it into the ship, the bay door slid closed, and Wilbur removed the cover on the cage, peering down at the humans, who looked up at him. The smaller blonde had been wrapped in a protective hold once more, this time by the long brown haired one. The bigger blonde was standing, and approached the edge of the cage, scanning over the creature that had purchased them. The creature that was currently removing their cloak, hanging it up on a hook by the bay door as the ship pressurized with the correct amount of oxygen for the blue alien.
With the dusty brown cloak removed, Wilbur was easier to see fully, with delicately crafted clothes, mixing oranges and yellows, with random embroidery scattered across the fabrics. A pair of compacted wings that were nestled against his back extending and flexing, a mix between bony skeletal structure, leathery skin stretching, and the small spattering of feathers at the joints and flight feathers at the ends of each respective wings. A long and swishing tail came fully into view, with clawed feet that tapped against the flooring of the ship. The winged alien reached up and unclasped his mask, the filters giving way to air that actually filled his lungs, and exposing layers of frills trailing from the aliens neck to his jaw bones on each side.
Wilbur runs his hands over his muzzle as he took deep breaths, he drew his wings back to their resting position before facing the crate of humans. The trio seemed to be losing the minimal shade of grey that had creeped upon their lips, and looked to be exchanging words in their mother tongue. Reaching up to ruffle his feathered head, the alien strides across the ship towards a shelf of books, searching for the correct one. His clawed fingers latch on the spine of a leather bound journal with no title, and no author. He flipped through the book for a moment, before grinning wildly upon finding what he had been searching for.
Paying no mind to the Terra-Walkers as they spoke to each other, he heads towards the control panels of the ship, which weren’t that far from the living area and bay door. Still in view of the humans, and vice versa, Wilbur kneels down and starts to fiddle with the air composition control system, allowing for a slightly higher percentage of oxygen to enter his personal created air. Whirling back around, the tall alien shuffles back over to the humans, who stopped talking as he approached them. The older humans both stood protectively in front of the smaller one, and the bigger trilled at the sight, the frills on the sides of his neck flaring minutely.
”Uh, well, he said you could speak common…” Wilbur trailed off, his tail drawing up and wrapping around his own leg. “But uh- the air should be better for you now?” The bigger creature seemed nervous at the aspect of speaking to the humans, but still attempts to. A couple of words are exchanged between the humans once more, before the older blonde turned to him and spoke common, nearly startling Wilbur out of his own skin.
”Yes, the air is better. What is your plan with us, hm? Gonna keep us locked in here forever?” The humans tone is thick with anger, and the alien is quick to respond with viciously shaking his head in denial.
”No, no no, that wasn’t my plan! Actually, I didn’t have one, I just kind of… winged it?” Wilbur responds, and a short crackling sound filled his feathered ears as the smaller kneeled down. The smaller blonde seemed to be making that noise, and the bigger being panicked, his frills flaring. “Oh no, are they okay? Please don’t tell me they are dying, I thought this air was good-“ his response seems to worsen the crackling noise, and the older blonde started making it as well. “Oh stars, I’ve poisoned you! Oh no, I’ll fix it I promise!” He floundered, turning to go back to the panel when the brown haired human just sighed.
”Not dying, laughter.” The human corrected in broken common. Wilbur pauses, and tilts his head, listening to the two humans as they… laughed. With a rushed current of air, the frills flutter back to their original position, and the alien himself letting a low rumble of a chuckle echo through his chest.
”Well that’s embarrassing. And no, I wasn’t planning on keeping you locked in here, I… actually have no clue how to get you out.” The alien confesses, as he approaches the crate, searching for a padlock of some sort. Spotting an odd block on the top of the crate, Wilbur examines it, noticing a keyhole. Anger makes his muzzle curl, sharp teeth showing, and the humans beneath him stagger at the sudden change in the aliens behavior. The winged alien gasps in realization, his frills trembling apologetically. “Ah, no, I’m sorry, don’t be scared, I wasn’t trying to- it’s just- that stupid cow didn’t give me the key. I didn’t mean to scare you…” A soft rumbling noise fills the silence after he speaks, and he sighs, lifting his tail up.
With expert control, the thin, whip like end of the tail slid into the keyhole, and presses against the locking mechanism until a soft click could be heard. His wings flutter in excitement at the aspect of freeing the Terra-Walkers free. Clawed fingers wrapped around the top of the cage, and pull at the metal bars, creating a creaking Lise as the top of the cage slowly lifts up like a chest would. Churring in excitement, Wilbur let the heavy top fold all the way back, leaving the top of the crate open. He reaches in, and offers a hand to the beings that were a little under half his size.
No one moved for a moment, before the brown haired one grabbed onto the clawed hand, and is helped up the side of the barred crate. Wilbur assists the human onto the edge of the chest level box, and comes face to face with the Terra-Walker, caught in an unsuspecting staring contest. Perhaps the brown haired human was trying to be threatening, but the aliens head just tilts, it’s frills fluttering in confusion. Silence stretches, before the human sighs. “Techno, He/They.” The human abruptly says, and the creatures eyes light up.
”Wilbur, He/Him! Pleasure to meet you, wish it was under better circumstances…” Wilbur continues to assist Techno to the ground, before reaching back into the cage to offer his help to the other two. After a bit of discussion in their mother language, the smaller blonde reaches for the aliens hand, and clambers over the side of the cage with support from the towering alien. Stopping at the top, similar to Techno, the blonde introduces themself.
”It’s Tommy, innit, ya bitch!” The younger nearly shouted in the creatures face, making his feathered ears tilt backwards, but a smile ghost his muzzle. The shouts of Tommy’s name alongside other words come from both of the other humans, almost sounding scolding. “Oh, yeah, He/Him too, fucker!” And promptly tries to jump off the cage on his own. More frightened yelling of Tommy’s name followed the blonde, and Techno readied their self to catch the rambunctious blonde, only for Wilbur to catch the young one before he dropped even a foot.
”Careful, little one. You could break a bone, and I don’t actually know how to treat Terra-Walker injuries…” The savior admitted, tail curling partially as he sets the younger down next to Techno. Tommy is quick to whirl around and kick Wilburs shin, drawing a yelp from the alien, more out of surprise then anything.
”I’m not little, you fuck!” It seems that the younger blonde was more fluent in common then the brunette. Definitely in the cursing aspect. Techno dragged Tommy away from Wilbur, Terra-Language spilling from his lips as they put himself between the alien and the blonde. In response, Wilbur just shakes his muzzle from side to side, rolling his eyes, throaty chuckles resonating from his chest. The winged alien turns back to the cage, and offers his hand to the other human, who practically throws themself up the side of the cage.
”Phil, He/Him. And uh, thanks for not murdering the child.” The older blonde says, much to the screeching of the other human.
”Of course! Uh, you guys are… free to wander I guess? I do have to take off from Pogtopia, so you three can explore as you wish. Please don’t break anything.” Wilbur suggests, motioning towards the rest of his ship. He was no fool, the Terra-Walkers could be dangerous, and they most definitely saw him as a threat. It would be better if they got accustomed to their environment, before anything else be further discussed.
The trio seem a bit lost, as they mutter in their other language, before nodding to him and huddling together as they walk around. Techno made sure to keep an eye on the winged alien, and Wilbur would be lying if he were to say he wasn’t doing the same thing as he heads to the control panels. With a few clicks, the engines whir loudly, announcing their activation.
Accompanied by a few muttered words to himself, the tall alien navigates through the crowded docking station of the Shrouded Outpost, and into the empty darkness of outer space.
Somewhere far away, on a very colorful planet with near lavender waters, and fluffy trees, groups of aliens fly together, tails entertained with lovers, shouting directions to children, and not a single one flew alone.
Well, one did.