trans_9 | (no subject)

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Once they'd defeated the Vajra -- no, once they'd defeated Galaxy -- everyone was supposed to live a long, happy life on that blue new world, with the grass and the sky and the sea stretching further than the eye could see. Instead, she was back on an ugly colony ship, with dim ceilings where there should have been a sun and stairways where there should have been clouds. She hated it, even more than she'd hated Galaxy as a child. She’d been spoiled by the Frontier fleet, and then by the rolling plains of the Vajra homeworld. She longed for blue above her and for the fresh smells of a biosphere, for a warm breeze and a boy tossing planes into the wind. Galaxy had ceased to be her home – when? When Grace had tossed her onto the street? When she’d enrolled in flight training? On that first sunny day with Alto…?

And Alto hadn't woken up at her side.

He was in those pods, she was sure of it. She wouldn't believe it any other way. She'd fought for him before, and for Frontier before, and nothing in a million, trillion dimensions could stop her from fighting for them again.

She put one hand to her stomach and one to her left earlobe and took a long, deep breath. There was no way she could sit around and mope. She was Sheryl. She'd learn, she'd work, she'd struggle, and she'd see Alto one more time.

And right now that meant not dying from starvation before she had a chance to save her home. She picked up the fork and started to peel back the wrapping of the refugee rations the ship was handing out.

Her mood switched from stoic determination to disgusted at macrosspeed. "What -- what's this supposed to be?"

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"It's, y'know, slop." Ron said, his own tray filled with chicken and mashed potatoes.

"Trade," she said authoritatively.

"Nuhuh. I spent hours cooking this. Go make your own." Ron replied.

Time to switch tactics. "But I have such a delicate appetite," she said, eyes shining and voice quivering. "I don't know if I can survive on something like this."

"If you really have a delicate appetite then you won't be able to eat this. What with the hot sauce I put on it and all."

"Oh my. Is that a bet?"

"No, that's not a bet. There's capsaicin extract in it. Even guys like me who basically live off of extremely spicy foods can't eat this without tearing up." Ron answered.

"Try me." She'd grown up scavenging from dumpsters, and later developed an enduring love of chili dogs. To be perfectly honest, she was fairly certain there wasn't anything she couldn't eat if she held her nose and pretended it was applesauce -- but she hadn't done that in years! And right now she wasn't in the mood for gel!

"It registers a million on the Scoville heat scale. That's around Ghost Pepper levels of hot. This is not a good idea." Ron said, forking over a piece of the chicken anyways.

"On that what?" she asked off-handedly, spearing it with a fork.

"...it's how they measure how hot a pepper or a hot sauce is. If you dno't know about it, I swear this is gonna end very, very badly."

"Badly? Who the hell do you think I am?"

"Someone who doesn't know what they're getting into?" Ron said honestly.

"Wrong! I'm Sheryl Nome, and no stupid piece of chicken will defeat me!" She bit down on it. For a moment, it was good, but that was the moment before her tastebuds registered that it was ragingly hot. She swallowed quickly, then gulped in air as her cheeks went scarlet -- what the hell had this guy been thinking, subjecting her to a monstrosity like that? She'd ruin his life as soon as -- as soon as she got that taste out of her mouth! Still red-faced, she searched around for something to wash the heat away and, of course, the only thing available was that goo. It was a true sign of her desperation that she could stop thinking of it as "the slime that grows when carrots start rotting" and even consider putting it in her mouth, but she did, shoveling the mess in and savoring every flavorless bite of non-spicy mush.

"Tried to warn ya. That hot sauce is only for people who've trained up to it." Ron said, before biting into his own.

And immediately started tearing up, and quickly began shoveling down his mashed potatoes.

"...Might've used a tad too much." he squeaked out painfully.

Still gasping, she pointed the fork at the boy accusatory. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"It's not THAT hot. And I warned you it was really spicy. It's not my fault you didn't listen."

"You're the absolute worst kind of guy!"