Page 3 of Dealing With Drak
“Four more,” I brag, puffing up my chest. “They are coming here now.”
My snappy female with the weapon does not like this idea. My brain seems to short circuit as I register my own internal words. Have I just called her mine?
“Why?” She emerges slowly from the corner, keeping her hand-held weapon trained on me. Her hair is red like Marrec’s but darker and less bright. I like it.
“Because we are here—” Marrec starts to explain, only to be interrupted by me.
“Put your tiny blaster away, Mean One. It will not harm us,” I warn.
I am not threatened by it, but I do not wish for her to shoot at anyone else, and I can hear our fellow Aprixians coming closer to the dwelling. Her anger shall not be directed at another—I long to have it all for myself.
“Perhaps it makes the small hu-nims feel safer to hold onto their weapons,” Marrec says, still holding the fainting female while B’rook begins to gently rub her friend’s arm.
I scoff at his words. “This is a ridiculous notion. She cannot even pierce our skin with such a minuscule trinket.”
Dragging something silver from behind her back, the Mean One narrows her eyes on me. “I bet there are parts of you soft enough to cut off,” she hisses, flashing a tiny blade at me. It is a glorious sight—to see her threatening me in such a way.
I can not hide my laughter nor my delighted grin. “I should like to see you try. You may touch all of my parts in your search, Mean One.”
For a moment, it looks as if she is going to take me up on the challenge, stepping in my direction with great determination behind her eyes. But a crashing sound interrupts, stopping her stride.
“Frek,” L’ore growls. “Why must Urth dwellings be so small?” He enters the room, rubbing his big orange head. He smashed it into the doorway accidentally.
Rem booms with laughter behind him. “I like it. It’s interesting.” He pauses, giving a mischievous grin. “And it pains you.”
“Don’t start,” Terum instructs, coming to a halt as he takes in the room. “Care to explain, Marrec?”
“M-Marrec?”
My fellow Aprixian’s eyes snap down. Stee-vee is awake, and he is struck by her. Not physically, but struck all the same.
He cannot keep his gaze off of her as her eyelids open and shut with rapid blinks. She breathes out and flinches in unsettled shock.
“Hey, shhh,” B’rook coos at her, cupping her face. “Stay calm, all right? Everything is okay. You fainted and hit your head. How do you feel?”
“Oww,” Stee-vee whines, fingers reaching up for her wound. Marrec stops the hand in its tracks.
“You’ll hurt yourself, Stee-vee,” he says gently.
“Ohmygod,” she mutters.
B’rook sighs and grabs Stee-vee by her cheeks firmly. “Hey, you’re okay. He patched you up. I don’t think they’re dangerous… to us anyway. How’s your vision, hun?”
“G-good?”
“How many fingers?” B’rook asks, putting up her hand and wiggling some of her digits in the air.
“T-three.”
She drops two but adds another. “And now?”
“Two.”
This strange test seems to bring B’rook some relief as she says, “Good.”
“Can you stand?” another one of her friends asks.
Stee-vee looks at me, and then down to her bare feet. “Maybe?”