Chapter Text
A wonderful laugh that Taranza had grown to love so much rang through the Lor Starcutter. Joronia smiled warmly at a joke that her beloved como had made. “That’s sweet, Ranza.”
Taranza felt his face grow hot at the nickname, covering his face embarrassedly with six floating hands. Joronia seemed to be more comfortable as of late, despite their… situation.
As the Lor drifted through a cold, empty galaxy, the stolen ship was filled to the brim with warm laughter. A cozy feeling fell over the room, and it felt peaceful for the first time in weeks.
Joronia glanced at the clock. The Lor’s system was in a language neither of them had seen before, strange symbols making Taranza’s head spin with confusion. Eventually the two found what seemed to be an intergalactic shop of sorts, and they managed to buy a clock with Floralia’s timezone.
How the shopkeeper knew what time they needed, the comos would never know.
It felt wrong to change the Starcutter in any way, even if it was as simple as putting down a clock. The ship was littered with books of magic, posters of ancient artifacts, and oddly enough, beach balls. Taranza couldn’t help but feel bad for what they had done. He felt like a ghost in a house that wasn’t his.
Joronia hadn’t shared the same sentiment, glaring at the childish toys and mystical spells with disdain. Taranza wondered why she hadn’t cleared out the rooms yet, she had all the right to be mad after what they had done. But he was grateful all the same.
“It’s getting late, isn’t it…” Joronia sighed, folding her hands over each other, the warm mittens resting against stolen fabric. The gears on her cloak made Taranza’s stomach churn.
“Oh, I suppose you’re right… Shall we lock up the ship for now?”
“I think I can handle it, Taranza.” Joronia opened the door and looked back with a smile, and Taranza felt his heart flutter. “Just focus on getting some rest for now, okay?”
The door was closed before he could respond, and the como felt the warmness in the room leave with her. The room suddenly felt very empty.
With a shuddering sigh, Taranza departed to his ‘own’ quarters. The thought felt bitter in his mind as he crawled into bed.
The dark room was just as futuristic and lonely as the rest of the ship, but beach balls and playing cards were strewn across the floor, and a faded jester hat lay still on the edge of the bed frame.
A layer of dust settled on a desk. A desk covered in crayons and paper with a worrying amount of bite marks on them. Taranza looked away from the sight, uncomfortable. From the little time he had seen that horrible jester, that half-eaten paper seemed rather in character.
The two had barged into Floralia uninvited, buttering up the citizens with lies and complements so fake it made Taranza feel sick. How he had been so easily fooled, he would never know, and he would live to regret it.
Taranza closed his pale eyes as he listened to the mechanical whine of the Lor, hoping sleep would claim him once more.