eviler and eviler

[self_composed]

[Hey,] says Stella to all three mints. [I wanna talk to all of you. You busy?]

Comments

[lookingforwardtoit]

[You're welcome!]

[self_composed]

[Just the one?]

[lookingforwardtoit]

[Gearing up for a repeat as soon as I catch my breath!]

[self_composed]

[I shall claim you as a point of pride in my portfolio the next time a bunch of Bells all get together and compare empires.]

[lookingforwardtoit]

[Ooh, you're makin' me blush.]

[self_composed]

[I'm actually surprised we haven't started explicitly holding contests yet. I guess that wouldn't be fair to the ones who are just starting out.]

[lookingforwardtoit]

[You're kind of great, you know that?]

[self_composed]

[I do know that! I am glad that it is clear.]

[lookingforwardtoit]

She laughs.

[Okay, round two!]

[self_composed]

[Enjoy!]

And that's the end of that conversation. [You gonna try one, Alice?]

[edgeofyourseat]

[Mmm, remind me later,] he says. [Busy with Anna now.]

[self_composed]

[Okay.]

Stella finishes her tour of Amalthea and goes to hang out on Mars and catch up with email.

[edgeofyourseat]

A while later, Alice teleports to her and - assuming she is not doing anything that absolutely can't be interrupted - scoops her into a hug.

[self_composed]

Oooh, hugs! She's quite interruptable. Email is an asynchronous form of communication. "Hey, you!"

[edgeofyourseat]

"Anna made three before she decided to take an actual nap," he says. "She's cuddling Sandy, it's adorable. You wanna make arrows off me now?"

[self_composed]

"That could be arranged. You want me to stomp on your off-switch out of nowhere or ramp up from someplace?"

[edgeofyourseat]

"Mm, ramp up," he decides.

[self_composed]

"From...? Shell Bell started at minimum evil and spent three minutes getting to minimum - 'arrow', why arrow? - will that work for you?"

[edgeofyourseat]

"They look like three arrowheads cuddling," he explains. "Kinda, anyway. Sure, go for it."

[self_composed]

Aaaaand evil.

One hundred thousand.

And up, up, up.

[edgeofyourseat]

He kisses her cheek, which turns into aimless nuzzling, which turns into forgetting how to move.

[self_composed]

She peers at his thoughts, ready to abort if necessary.

[edgeofyourseat]

Nope. Loving it.

[self_composed]

Oh, good.

Lord, he makes such faces.

And on up. Five thousand triangles a second.

[edgeofyourseat]

He does, he does make faces!

There is not a lot of leftover room in his head, but with what there is, he loves her intensely.