milliways_bar | (no subject)

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In and then Out of Milliways: Christine mentioned things dropped in a vent, and Spoon went to help. 'Cause that's what you do for friends. And that's why he's stumbling back into the bar with a really abashed looking Predator (insomuch as Predators can manage the expression) behind him making sure the door closes all the way. She's got most of a remarkably dead body with her.

Spoon is butt-ass naked and carting the head with him. He's also missing rather a lot of bones. Like the front third or so of his ribs, his entire lower jaw, and several fingers. All the soft flesh has grown back, at least?

...Face it, he looks like shite and Christine looks like a Predator, and the two of them are carrying a large, dead Xenomorph.

Anyone who can get past that might notice in a non-horrified and panicked and/or offended part of their brain that Spoon's got a reverse-acid-burn of scar-free flesh

((With, uh. Bonus fixed headlinkage.))

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"How else do humans communicate? Can you write? Sign gestures seem overbrief." The alien is rather sheepish. Spoon would be communicating fine if someone hadn't managed to get him surprised into a situation where he had to melt his larynx and ribs.

"We can write," Booth says. "That tapping was Morse code, I think, but I only got about half of it. Chris? I think? Missing a jaw would make it hard, and we can't write without fingers."

The coat definitely counts as actual clothing, though Booth is pretty sure Spoon should lie down or something.

T.I.N.E. Spoon helpfully taps out again. Christine. He nods, at the writing question. He can probably write.

". . . Cre'hktdi. But he calls me Christine when he has vocal cords. He can't pronounce the true name. We have another tongue and mandibles."

"'Course you do," Booth mutters, trying not to think too hard about how that might work. "Mind if I go with Christine, too? It's easier on my vocal chords."

Spoon totally agrees with Booth. Not that he can, uh. Say that right now. He holds up a finger (on the hand with all of them, ta) and heads Bar-wards for paper and pencil.

The predator watches him go with great curiosity. Then shrugs, sending a small amount of non-acidic alien ooze from the corpse splattering on the floor. "No. It is better than the tries. Some of them were most insulting."

"Fair enough," Booth says. "Christine it is. It's nice to meet you."

Spoon comes back with a pencil he can work with and scribbles, I went to help her, ran into an unexpected complication.

"Apparently," Booth says. "Well, if you don't need any help, I should probably let you guys, uh, take care of that." He gestures to the Xenomorph. "And, you know, clean up and stuff. Keep the jacket, I'll get it next time I'm in."

Spoon nods again, with an apologetic whine.

It's about all he can do right now, vocally.

Booth understands, and smiles as best he can. "Good work, though. Can't wait to hear the whole story. Maybe you should, like, go sleep or something. Speed the recovery."

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