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The rot was becoming painful, overbearing to the point of mental anguish. Subspace pulled himself along each day just to continue his work, occasionally going out to purchase materials and equipment for his projects. This was routine for years, before the affliction of his body’s putrefaction. Each day he set off outdoors, Biograft in tow, he’d run into a familiar face. Her name was Vinestaff. He found her quite intriguing. He wouldn’t dare admit to infatuation, though the thought of meeting her more frequently socially wasn’t something he’d push aside.
Her presence in his life had become a staple as time passed, so whenever he traveled, he somewhat looked forward to greeting her for the day. Dragging himself through Thieves’ Den for a specific item, his eye met her fuschia colored irises. He didn’t want to admit that his eye lit up to some degree, though it was obvious when he made a beeline to see her. She paused in her yard work, placing her gloves aside after gently brushing the soil from her fingertips. “Good morning, Subspace,” she purred with a smile, her curly tules of hair fitting the frame of her face perfectly, as they usually did. “You’re out here awful early. Have you grown accustomed to our conversations?” she’d tease, much to his dismay. Though the denial of his mind was laced with delight. “No, of course not! I just thought you’d like to see me a little longer, as great as I am!” he huffed, triumphantly planting his hands onto his hips. All she did in response was humor him, letting a chuckle seep past her lips.
The two of them hadn’t gotten along before, in truth. She was a flower, and he was nuclear. Her voice was delicate with a soft glimmer of amiability, whereas his tone was like that of nails on a chalkboard, mixing with a loving dose of cyanide and overconfidence. She catered to herself quite nicely, her appearance never falling short of diaphanous, which opposed Tripmine’s habitual look. The two of them found their bond in botany, Vine owning peonies in her garden — the scientist’s favorite. She’d caught his gaze locked upon her flora one faithful afternoon, which was why she decided to strike up a polite conversation. Since that moment weeks ago, they’d exchange brief greetings. Today was much different, as were the several days prior. He’d begun to blossom in her companionship, conversing for longer periods of time before retiring on a long trek back to his faction.
“It’s a bit warm today, isn’t it?” she inquired, moving over a tad so the other could sit. Subspace gave her a hum of agreement, taking up the unspoken offer to seat himself beside her. “You’re always outdoors, what gives?” Tripmine chittered, rocking back and forth as he sat. “Well, I own a garden. I check upon it hourly, you just so happened to stop by sooner than you typically do.”
Their casual banter continued for what felt like hours, though it was only a mere twenty minutes.
He despised the deferential flutter in his chest at the sound of her giggles, his eye straying from the smile plastered on her lips. His wishful boasting continued throughout their conversation, as an attempt to camouflage his sickeningly sweet passion for her time. He disliked the way his knees trembled around her, the way his palms stuck together when she asked about his well being, and everything in between. Each fleeting moment around her had the epitome of his existence oscillating with an unreasonable feeling of glee. Perhaps it was the lack of personal attention in his life that had him on cloud nine that morning. Maybe it wasn’t the fact that it was her words and not some automated voice from a lab experiment. The way Vine spoke to him was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. She was this way with everyone, wasn’t she? He wasn’t special. He wasn’t being treated any differently than she treated everyone else. Perhaps it was the stark contrast between Thieves’ Den and Blackrock’s typical demeanor. Her voice snapped him out of his daze. Out of his head. No one could really do that often. Maybe he did like her a little. It was unethical for someone as rotten as him to revel in the attention of her radiance. His time spent with her was a guilty pleasure.
“Subspace?”
His head swiveled a bit too quickly for his liking. He was like putty in her hands when she called his name. It felt too soon to like her. She seemed to notice his antsy expression, despite only being able to see his eye. “You seem a bit on edge. Would you like to come in for tea or something?” she asked, her hand reaching out to take his. She was offering her hand to him. It took Tripmine a moment before he realized that. “Ah .. sure! I suppose I could stay awhile!” he chirped in response, taking her hand as she pulled him to his feet. The moment was short, and the gesture had no intention of flattery, but the way her palm felt was magical. Her skin was soft, warm, and her hand molded against his skin like a pillow. He yearned for the feeling to stay longer — to linger a while before she pulled away. She shut the door behind them before guiding him to the kitchen, allowing him to take a seat at the island as she navigated with ease. She was preparing a kettle to boil water, he observed. He knew he couldn’t taste, but he’d do anything to be catered to at this point.
“I meant to ask a little sooner, but where’s your little friend? I noticed you’re here without them today,” Vine asked, curiosity lacing her tone. “Ah, you mean my creation? They’re currently at the library! I required a few pieces of literature, so I sent them off to find them for me,” Subspace replied, pausing before his next statement; “They’re quite great, you know! One of my greatest inventions yet!”
She hummed positively as she slid a few options towards him, gesturing for him to pick a flavor. He chose on random, her eyes seeming to light up as he did so. “You’re a chamomile person as well, I see!”
Thankfully he recalled what the particular flavor tasted like. Chamomile wasn’t uncommon in Blackrock, especially if you were feeling ill. “Not frequently, but I suppose you could say that,” he replied. “My tastebuds are a bit shot, so I don’t drink much of anything nowadays!”
“Oh my, I didn’t know that! Did you still want a cup?”
“Of course I do! It’s not everyday someone else is making something for me!”
“You must do a lot of independent work!”
“In fact I do! I am Blackrock’s greatest after all!”
Minutes turned to hours of conversation, leaving Subspace feeling as if he’d overstayed his welcome for a moment. She hadn’t made any moves that told him to leave, but then again, she was such a polite lady that she likely wouldn’t dream of kicking anyone out of her abode. They sat outside once more after their talk over tea had concluded. She even showed him her garden in more detail, as he’d shown interest in what she did in her spare time. He grew accustomed to her scent. He grew to adore her gaze, losing himself in the passion of her voice while she explained her flora. He must have looked so stupid beside her, his chin in his palm as she rambled on about flowers and their definitions in a bouquet. He was thankful for the mask he wore, otherwise she’d be able to see the idiotic smile on his face. There was a hint of pain in his iris as his rot began to tingle, the ill agitation crawling through his skin the longer he stayed. He pushed it aside for her attention. Sting after sting, every fiber in his body wanted to collapse as he typically did back in the lab, pining for him to repose for even a nanosecond. His body screamed at him to go home — wailing at him to shrivel up and decompose into the soil — yet he stayed listening and replying to her. He must have looked braindead.
Each time he sounded as if he was straining himself, Vine would insist that he rested. He refused, as giving into his needs would show weakness. She offered to provide him shelter if he decided to take a breather, though he turned down the offer. He had work to do, even though he dreaded the idea of departing now that the two of them were spending time together. He had to leave eventually. He peeled himself away from her company, and she gave him one of the sweetest farewells he’d heard in a long time. As he withdrew himself from her space, she told him that he was welcome to return anytime he wished. She was much too kind to him. Much too sweet — much too nurturing. Tripmine couldn’t get enough of her. Upon his torturous return to Blackrock, his mind wandered to possibilities of their relationship. Their relationship? Their bond? Her companionship? Her love? He couldn’t possibly pursue her romantically, yet she treated him with such respect. He liked that — No, he adored it. Part of him screamed at him to turn back and spend the rest of the day with her, yet he had assignments to complete. He always did.
His return was welcomed by his invention, the robot having retrieved the books required. Subspace had a peony in his hair, which Biograft noticed. The machine was not made to question their creator’s whereabouts, though they noted the accessory, as if it served any use to them. “YOU’VE GAINED A PIECE OF FLORA,” they commented, their head tilting at the sight. Tripmine had forgotten it was there, truthfully. “I .. Suppose I have!”
As the evening began to roll by, he worked and thought of Vinestaff. She was so rude, getting stuck in his mind like that. It was like she was all he could even think about. He was screwing up measurements, fumbling over written work — everything. He thought about how she looked at him. Her gaze wasn’t filled with disgust or anger, nor of hatred or fear. She looked at him as if he were normal. If he wasn’t so bad. At that moment, part of him wanted to run back to her. Part of him wanted to ask — wanted to scream; ‘How did you not know?’ As his body hit the tile below, seizing up in the pain of his rotting cadaver, his mind begged him to go back to her and shout;
‘How did you not realize that I was rotten?’