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Boombox wakes up groggy, visor half skewed on her face, evidently forgotten the previous evening before sleeping. Her bed is warm and comfortable despite the complete mess of mismatched covers and pillows piled atop it, twisted around her limbs like a cocoon. It’s a little hot, but she’d rather the warmth than the cold. Something about it makes her feel safer.
Her friends were round the previous night, Skate and Coil, and maybe they’d partied a little too hard because she can’t remember anything further than a drunken, stumbling couple rounds of Just Dance before her gut churns uncomfortably, a reminder of the limits of her alcohol tolerance. She can only grumble and bury her face deeper into the soft greens of her pillow, wrenching a hand up to clumsily remove the visor from her head (which has surely left marks pressed into her cheek as a result of digging into it all night) and flings it across the bed, not even bothering to startle at the sound of it clattering to the floor.
She manages to wait all of 10 more seconds before she lazily reaches out for her phone, which she finds charging on her bedside table. It’s a bit of a bother to wrench it free from its cable, and even moreso when she finds herself uncomfortably blinded by just how bright the screen is before she promptly scrambles to turn it down again. There is, of course, a number of unread message notifications from her friends informing her of how they got back to Craterdust safely, and on top of that a couple more random social media alerts and news from an app she swore to delete months ago and yet always forgets to do so.
Something that really catches her eye, however, is a single message response from someone she rarely speaks to. Subspace and her weren’t exactly on particularly negative terms, but they certainly weren’t close enough to regularly message. There had been the odd occasion that Subspace, rather pompously, had demanded some gadget or item from Boombox because she could “make it 10 times better” (which, in all fairness, she usually did). But Subspace is also scary. And snappy. And yeah she’s hot as fuck but Boombox is pretty sure that if she looked at her the wrong way she’d find her insides turned to straight mush by whatever dangerous poisons the other could wrench out of that suspiciously bright pink tank she typically lugged around on her back, and while that would also be pretty hot, it’d nonetheless be really painful.
The only reason she had Subspace’s number in the first place was because Boombox had grown tired of being stalked by Biografts on message missions (who normally screwed her words up anyway, so what good were they?) and tiredly, and bravely, because fuck did Subspace have one mean glare, ask to “Just please give me your number, I beg.” Maybe Subspace liked Boombox, or maybe she liked Boombox’s begging, because it wasn’t long before a new contact was added to the musician’s phone with the simple nickname of a pink heart. Was setting Subspace’s contact as a heart somewhat parasocial if they hardly communicated outside of phights and equipment upgrades? Maybe. Boombox didn’t particularly give a fuck because in all honesty what were the chances anyone would ever find out? She laughed at the time. She’s not laughing now.
‘i rlly like uuuuuuu,’ a message from her reads, one she absolutely did not send, ‘lets go out sometime ;)’
She vaguely recalls leaving her phone on the side, it ending up in Coil’s hands somehow, silly photos posted to social media stories and maybe a few prank voice messages to Slingshot’s personal mobile. Skateboard hadn’t been interested in the slightest, much too preoccupied with really, really bad karaoke. Coil couldn’t have known that she was talking to Subspace, otherwise she would’ve received a lecture and maybe 2 billion more warnings about how fucked up she is and “you guys should really steer clear of that inphernal” and “I think she treats the Biografts like her family which is actually pretty sad”.
(Coil’s wrong about that by the way, because Boombox treats her gear like it’s an entire other inphernal sometimes and holds full conversations with it. Which is totally normal. Or maybe it’s pretty sad as well, but she’s not telling Coil either way.)
Regardless, the scariest part of this entire ordeal is the response she received from Subspace exactly 10 minutes after the original messages that traitorous friend of Boombox’s had sent. Worse still is that it’s one single word.
‘Ok.’
What in the Inpherno could ‘ok’ possibly mean on its own?! Not even ‘okay’, which Boombox gets positive vibes from! ‘Ok’ is the response you get when there’s negative energy coming from the other side of the screen, when you’ve majorly fucked up and all you can do is sit and wait with bated breath and abject horror as you’re graced with the driest, most ‘never speak to me again’ responses to have ever graced the entire Inphinity with its presence! Boombox is not freaking out, because that would imply that she’s in trouble. What Boombox is doing, however, is praying to Windforce for infinite protection and mental willpower. Subspace’s message feels like a threat.
Under curses of Coil’s name, Boombox lowers her phone and quietly mumbles further prayers, “Oh SFOTH… Windforce protect me…”
The next few days are spent anxiously wringing her hands, chewing at her lip, and sifting through so much clothing trying to find something that could at the very least lend her an air of dignity that by the end her apartment looks all the part of a hoarder’s paradise. Boombox tells absolutely no one about her sudden plans to meet up with Subspace (for obvious reasons of course), but keeping it all to herself makes her feel like she’s ready to explode at any second. Moreover, it certainly doesn’t help that Subspace had exchanged less than 10 words since agreeing to meet with her, many of which were simply confirming a location. Boombox can almost imagine her face on the other side of the screen, perhaps twisted in disgust, but all the more thrilled at the opportunity to humiliate her, or maybe morphed into a deep scowl, like she’s utterly offended that Boombox is wasting her time in the first place.
The restaurant they end up in is located somewhere in the second layer of Crossroads. It’s quiet, a little on the plain side, and cheap enough so that Boombox can scrape out extra bux from her savings if Subspace happens to want any of the ‘more expensive’ meals (expensive to Boombox. Subspace glances at the menu and scoffs). The table they're seated at is a booth, each side padded with cheap faux leather and sort of uncomfortable to sit on. The overhead lights are dim enough so that the atmosphere conjured is rather comfortable, or would be if not for the nerves wracking every atom of Boombox’s body.
The longer they sit there in silence, the more she begins to overthink every little detail about their… whatever this is. It’s a little hot in there, or is it too cold? Either way, she’s sweating which is sorta gross, and Boombox hopes to the deities above that the ludicrous amount of perfume she’d sprayed onto herself earlier is enough to cover the scent of BO. Then she remembers that Subspace can’t even taste, so why the fuck did she bring her to a restaurant?! Maybe Subspace will take it the wrong way and think that Boombox just wants to show off her superior and very much still working taste buds by gorging herself on food, which is surely of the utmost disrespect.
Subspace is eyeing her with a bored expression, leaning forwards against the table with her head in her hand. Despite the waiter having insisted that the surface was spotless, Subspace had taken her own initiative to produce cleaning products out of seemingly nowhere in order to clear the surface where she’s sitting. Boombox didn’t know whether to be impressed by her forwardness or to wrinkle her nose at the residual smell of strong cleaning products.
A few moments go by before Subspace irritatedly clears her throat. She’s donned in her regular Korblox uniform, albeit fitted with an additional lab coat over the top, rimmed with bright pink stitching with the Blackrock logo emblazoned where a chest pocket would be on the right side. Whether the coat was a conscious choice or not, it absolutely lends the air of someone distinguished and important, draping over her in such a way that gives her entire look the feel of someone powerful and Boombox doesn’t know why that gets her heart pumping so fast. Conversely, she herself had rocked up in what was close to her typical outfit, except wearing a plaid dark green skirt instead of pants. Her sneakers are new, but already scuffed to hell and back, and she dearly hopes that Subspace doesn’t comment on this fact because it’s already terrifying sitting across from her and she feels as though she’d actually melt into the floor if faced with any sort of judgement from the other.
She snaps back to the present when the waiter returns, lips downturned (no doubt due to the displeasure of serving someone as uptight as Subspace), and places a soda, empty glasses, and jug of water on the table before scurrying off.
“So uh…,” Boombox begins, voice catching for a brief moment before it straightens out again. She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous and she hates it, because she’s normally just fine interacting with inphernals who hate her guts! Not that Subspace does. Well, she’s not sure about that yet. Maybe she was right about the other wanting to humiliate her. Oh deities above, she hopes she’s not being played for right now. Subspace looks so good in that lab coat of hers and actually thinking about it a little more maybe she’d even like it if Subspace shot a glare at her and did scrutinise her just a bit. Is that weird? Surely not. She’ll consult her gear on the matter later.
“Don’t be so dull, Boombox. You’re the one who asked me here in the first place,” Subspace responds, voice crackling through the aids in her mask. Gamma is nowhere to be seen, and that somehow makes Boombox more anxious, even though she knows they’re probably close by. Subspace shifts in her seat before staring pointedly at the jug of water, Boombox jumping in place before rushing to pour her a glass. She doesn’t say ‘thank you’, not that Boombox expects any thanks in the first place. “You’re lucky I had some free time in my schedule."
She makes it seem as though it was a bother to come, but some small part of Boombox silently hopes that perhaps Subspace was just as eager to meet even if it was for nefarious reasons. The mumble of other patrons has settled to background noise, and Boombox is grateful that there’s something to scratch at her brain so she doesn’t fall into spiralling catastrophising again. Subspace lifts her mask from her face until Boombox can only just about sneak a peek at the bright pink rot that bites at her jaw as a gas of equal hues appears to rise in billows from her mouth, hidden not long after as she ducks her head to drink some water through a straw. The gas is viscous and thick and smells like what one can only describe as pure death itself. Boombox is having some pretty heavy internal conflicts towards just why this doesn’t put her off of Subspace perhaps as much as the other is hoping it does. Maybe she really is just into mean, fucked up scientists. Scientists with pink horns. Called Subspace.
“Why did you… say yes?” she asks carefully as Subspace draws her mask back over her face to respond.
“I said ‘ok’, not ‘yes’,” Subspace responds, curt, and Boombox can’t help but shrink back a little at the tone. Not in a bad way, but more embarrassingly because half her brain is currently screaming ‘can she keep talking to me like that?’ and the other half is adamantly calling herself an utter, irredeemable weirdo.
“You wish to court, no??” her voice is sharp and biting, laced with the air of someone who is already certain of the response they’ll receive. She’s not asking a question, not really. She just wants to toy with Boombox not unlike some predators play with their prey before feasting. Subspace enjoys control, and Boombox has always been more of a follower.
“I guess?” Boombox responds, almost pitiful.
She wants to shake herself until she comes back to her senses. She’s normally plenty confident in herself, and yet faced with this inphernal she feels weak in the knees! If Coil hadn’t sent that message in the first place then it’s very likely that they’d never have gotten to this point. She wants to go home and open her sad songs playlist and cry herself to sleep but that exact playlist is located directly above her hopeless yearning playlist and that’ll only make things worse.
Subspace picks at her nails, arms crossed, from across the table. They’re painted to match her horns, brilliantly sharp and resembling something similar to talons.
“It’s a simple question,” she shoots back, and Boombox straightens at her words. She wants to jump out of her seat and prostrate herself at Subspace’s feet because holy shit. There’s nothing else quite like being snapped at by a beautiful older inphernal. She’s so weird, and this is exactly why she hasn’t let anyone else find out about this awkward crush of hers.
“Then yes!” Boombox replies, sitting up as though to appear more alert. Her voice is loud and cuts through the dull thrum of conversation pattering about the restaurant, leaving it in silence for a pregnant moment until inphernals turn back to their chatter. She thinks she sees a glint of mirth in Subspace’s eye as her face heats because deities above she’s already making an utter fool of herself stuttering and stumbling over her words.
“Alright,” is all that Subspace responds with, though, then, “I have a PhD in engineering and robotics. Head of Korblox’s robotics division for 5 years. 3 times Korblox nominated scientist of the year, a title they made just for me I’ll have you know. Oh yes, and of course, I am the creator of the Biograft series and lead maintenance supervisor.”
It’s an opportunity to flaunt, and hell if Subspace isn’t going to take it. It’s like she’s laying out her resumé for a new job and not confirming her achievements for the purposes of courting. She flaunts her smarts and status like it’s second nature, a peacock with its tail feathers raised high and proud. She’s a natural show-off, essentially. And Boombox can’t even complain because it is impressive, excessively so. Subspace looks at her with an expectancy that startles her into fidgeting. She tries to think of what Skateboard would say to motivate her in this moment, but that’s pretty hard when the reality of the matter is that she’d probably say something like “What in the actual hell are you doing?” and not something useful.
“Well?? Impress me then,” Subspace prompts, leaning back and dragging her gaze over Boombox in such a way that it looks like she’s being sized up, and it feels like she’s being tasted. Subspace is chewing her up with her eye and silently calculating how fresh the meat is.
“I have some, uh… good tracks?” she answers, but it comes out more a meek question as though Subspace would have taken the time out of her immensely busy day to bother listening to some of her tunes. She isn’t exactly the most impressive inphernal, unless one counted her optional desertion of Splintered Skies for her best friend which surely implied some deep level of loyalty. Would Subspace be impressed by that? She honestly doesn’t really think that anyone can impress Subspace but Subspace herself.
“Is music all you do??” Subspace’s brow lowers like she’s disappointed, and so Boombox rushes to defend her own honour.
“I was a knight of Splintered Skies,” she blurts, fast, because it’s actually something she rarely talks about in the first place, “directly under Windforce…”
Something fast flitters across Subspace’s face, something which looks suspiciously like vague intrigue, but it’s gone almost as soon as Boombox catches it. She takes a sip of her soda, then has to try her hardest not to make a face because it’s diet instead of regular which is absolutely disgusting and an assault to her tastebuds. Her stomach flips as Subspace rests a hand on the table to clack her sharp nails against it, rhythm swift but regular. She fixes her shirt and skirt subconsciously before raising her own hand and fiddling with one of the rings on her horns which had become a rather common habit of late. Subspace hums in contemplation, gaze piercing.
“Interesting…,” she mutters lowly before her eye crinkles in an expression that can only be a wild smile, “But honestly, I don’t particularly care. I just wanted to watch you squirm!!”
She erupts into wheezing laughter as Boombox’s shoulders droop, muscles relaxing as Subspace holds herself in a rudimentary attempt to stop shaking so much from the force of her giggles (they sound quite painful… is she okay?). A flush covers Boombox’s face as multiple eyes land on their booth from around the room, all witnesses to her humiliation. She wants to grab her own horns and yank them off her head in disappointed frustration.
“Well that’s rude…,” she mumbles under the other’s chortling, adopting a rather forlorn expression and sinking in her seat while Subspace calms enough to wipe the tears from her eye.
She leans forward with an abruptness that startles her once more, looming over the table, towering over her. Their faces come close as Subspace seems to search for something beyond her visor. A hand comes up to cradle her chin, the other balancing herself on the table while she twists Boombox’s head this way and that as though studying a specimen, who bites her lip in silent submission.
“You’re a funny little thing, Boombox,” Subspace coos, the palm against her cheek cold where it caresses her, “And you’re bold. You’re lucky that’s something I like in an inphernal.”
Boombox’s brain is ready to blow out of the top of her skull, because there’s no way this is actually happening. She doesn’t even care about what the other patrons think of their weird little date at this point because holy shit Subspace’s fingers are on her face and her thumb is running over the blood pooling on her bitten bottom lip to gently drag down to her chin. Subspace is insane. Boombox wants her so bad.
“You’re really scary and I don’t know why I’m into that,” she eventually responds, and Subspace leans back into her seat, splaying herself casually across the booth.
“Order something to eat. I’ll pay,” Subspace states. Boombox swears she’s died and gone to heaven.