Humans are Weird - Stripping
Flume dragged his aching paws into the recreation room, sniffed the traces of human salt and the more familiar traces of his own species, contrasted the desirability of excessive mammalian warmth against the desirability of actually lying on a nice firm surface, and decided on the rock. He scrambled towards the lounging rock, a local stone that had been artfully shaped by a doctor with unusual craft skills, and heave his tired body up onto the surface. His paws began kneading the delightfully rough texture, pure luxury after writing around on grain piles all day, and his scutes wrapped around the warm rock with a delighted sigh.
From there direction of the human smells there came a series of quiet grunts that indicated that one of the giant mammals was restraining laughter and Flume felt his own jaw relax. It would be rather amusing to see a full adult writing around like a well fed hatchling. He felt a yawn coming and indulged it so intensely that it curled all the way down to his tail. He let the relaxation ferment into his bones for long enough to get a little bored and opened his eyes for the first time. Flume gave a happy little grunt. The amused human was Victor, the tech he had been working with that day, and, if Flume was reading the social cues correctly Victor was up to some nonsense.
“What is that thing on your face?” Flume cried in delight, flexing his paws over the rock to catch the texture on his smallest scales.
Victor shot a look at him and his fleshy face, what was visible of it under the fragment of black sacking, contorted through unease, amusement, and then settled on what Flume understood to be a look of deliberate, hatchling style innocence. Oh, this was going to be good! Flume decided with delight as he wriggled around to get a better look at Victor.
“What is what?” Victor asked, in his most innocent voice.
“If you are trying to achieve deception make sure that your fingers don’t twitch towards that...thing.” Victor advised him. “Those long spindly digits broadcast your every thought.”
Victor shot him a grateful grin before smoothing his face again and deliberately picking up a drawing stylus in one hand.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Victor said in tones of human perplexity.
“Why do you have a fragment of grain sack material, and used grain sack material wrapped around the upper half of your face,” Flume demanded, the intensity of his question rather undercut but the rumbles of amusement boiling out of his gut.
“Oh this?” Victor, the absolute picture of surprise, indicated the black sacking.
“Yes,” Flume pressed when Victor didn’t go on. “Tell me why you have sacking on your face.”
“I am simply practicing my-” Victor’s face contorted in frustration and he reached down to a notepad he had apparently been writing on, “socially indicated craft skills, necessary to participate in formalized recreational activities.”
Victor put the paper down and smiled hopefully at Flume. Flume angled his head to the side dramatically and then gave a negative cluck, which on second thought he transformed into slow swings of his head.
“It won’t grind,” he said in a rueful tone.
“Why not?” Victor asked his face drooping in disappointment. “I’ll have the notes memorized by then.”
“There is not one true grain of a chance that Second Sister is going to believe that you have such a clear, scientific understanding of your behavior ready to deploy at your tail tip,” Flume explained. “It’s far to erudite to be natural to your mouth.”
“Thanks a fermenting lot,” Victor muttered, dipping his head back over the notepad while Flume chuckeled.
After a moment of scribbling, and consulting other note pads Victor waved his spindly arm in the air like a tail for Flume’s attention.
“How’s this?” Victor asked, “this? This is just a party mask. I need to figure out how to wear them without one falling off my face.”
Flume mulled that over. “A little more explanation on the front end,” he suggested.
Victor scribbled some more and tried again.
“This?” his face was the picture of innocence. “Oh! I’d nearly forgot I had it on. We humans wear this kind of thing at parties. I am not good at keeping it on my face-”
“Who would be with a tiny nose like that?” Victor asked.
“-so I am practicing now.”
“That would convince Second Sister,” Flume said, he made an attempt to bob his head in a ‘nod’ but stopped that quickly enough when his neck twinged. “Can I get a rub Vic?” he asked.
Victor instantly rose from the desk he had been working at and came over to sit beside Flume on the rock. His wide hands gripped Flume’s neck where Flume indicated with his tail and those deceptively fragile looking fingers began kneading the tense muscle groups.
“Why exactly,” Flume asked, pausing with a grunt. “Are you actually wearing the mask?”
“Promise not to rat me out to Second Sister?” Victor asked.
“You keep working my neck like that and I’ll promise anything,” Flume agreed with a delighted rumble.
“So you know we ran out of the human rated personal air filters?” Victor asked.
“Yes, you said ours worked just as well for you,” Flume answered.
“They do!” Victor replied a little too quickly. “It’s just that the main unit adheres to the nose-”
“Halfway between the nostril tip and the eyes for best functioning,” Flume interjected and Victor nodded vigorously, displacing the ‘party mask’ a bit.
“Just so! But its a chemical adhesive you know,” Victor went on, “and it absolutely doesn’t react chemically with my skin, but…”
“But?” Flume pressed into the pause.
Victor paused his massage and swiveled his head around, his eyeballs twisting this way and that in their sockets. He then turned his full attention of Flume and frowned.
“You won’t tell Second Sister?” He asked.
“It won’t bubble out of me,” Flume agreed, now itching with curiosity.
Victor wrapped an arm behind his head and undid the tie that was holding the black sacking on his face. It fell off and Victor pointed to the spot on his nose where the main unit of the air filter adhered. Flume instantly saw the bright red patch of course but it took a little mental grinding to identify it and then he clicked in mild concern.
“You are missing some scales!” Flume stated, feeling that the words were wrong even as he said them.
“Don’t tell Second Sister,” Victor insisted as he began massaging Flume’s neck again.
“I have agreed not to,” Flume reminded him with a half-offended huff as he eyed the mark. “You don’t have scales of course. The adhesive is stripping off you outer layer of skin.”
“Only in little patches,” Victor assured him taking a moment to re-secure the improvised party mask, “and I’ve found a work around for the problem-my skin is healing just fine now-and reported it to the manufacturer so they can note it in the use specs. It’s just, you know how Shatar get about any membrane disruption!”
“They do get overly concerned if your scales start dropping,” Flume agreed. “How do you fleshy mammals say it? My lips are sealed, now finish up on my neck and I’ll walk on your lower back. The workday is done and we bony species have some joints that need resetting.”
From there direction of the human smells there came a series of quiet grunts that indicated that one of the giant mammals was restraining laughter and Flume felt his own jaw relax. It would be rather amusing to see a full adult writing around like a well fed hatchling. He felt a yawn coming and indulged it so intensely that it curled all the way down to his tail. He let the relaxation ferment into his bones for long enough to get a little bored and opened his eyes for the first time. Flume gave a happy little grunt. The amused human was Victor, the tech he had been working with that day, and, if Flume was reading the social cues correctly Victor was up to some nonsense.
“What is that thing on your face?” Flume cried in delight, flexing his paws over the rock to catch the texture on his smallest scales.
Victor shot a look at him and his fleshy face, what was visible of it under the fragment of black sacking, contorted through unease, amusement, and then settled on what Flume understood to be a look of deliberate, hatchling style innocence. Oh, this was going to be good! Flume decided with delight as he wriggled around to get a better look at Victor.
“What is what?” Victor asked, in his most innocent voice.
“If you are trying to achieve deception make sure that your fingers don’t twitch towards that...thing.” Victor advised him. “Those long spindly digits broadcast your every thought.”
Victor shot him a grateful grin before smoothing his face again and deliberately picking up a drawing stylus in one hand.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Victor said in tones of human perplexity.
“Why do you have a fragment of grain sack material, and used grain sack material wrapped around the upper half of your face,” Flume demanded, the intensity of his question rather undercut but the rumbles of amusement boiling out of his gut.
“Oh this?” Victor, the absolute picture of surprise, indicated the black sacking.
“Yes,” Flume pressed when Victor didn’t go on. “Tell me why you have sacking on your face.”
“I am simply practicing my-” Victor’s face contorted in frustration and he reached down to a notepad he had apparently been writing on, “socially indicated craft skills, necessary to participate in formalized recreational activities.”
Victor put the paper down and smiled hopefully at Flume. Flume angled his head to the side dramatically and then gave a negative cluck, which on second thought he transformed into slow swings of his head.
“It won’t grind,” he said in a rueful tone.
“Why not?” Victor asked his face drooping in disappointment. “I’ll have the notes memorized by then.”
“There is not one true grain of a chance that Second Sister is going to believe that you have such a clear, scientific understanding of your behavior ready to deploy at your tail tip,” Flume explained. “It’s far to erudite to be natural to your mouth.”
“Thanks a fermenting lot,” Victor muttered, dipping his head back over the notepad while Flume chuckeled.
After a moment of scribbling, and consulting other note pads Victor waved his spindly arm in the air like a tail for Flume’s attention.
“How’s this?” Victor asked, “this? This is just a party mask. I need to figure out how to wear them without one falling off my face.”
Flume mulled that over. “A little more explanation on the front end,” he suggested.
Victor scribbled some more and tried again.
“This?” his face was the picture of innocence. “Oh! I’d nearly forgot I had it on. We humans wear this kind of thing at parties. I am not good at keeping it on my face-”
“Who would be with a tiny nose like that?” Victor asked.
“-so I am practicing now.”
“That would convince Second Sister,” Flume said, he made an attempt to bob his head in a ‘nod’ but stopped that quickly enough when his neck twinged. “Can I get a rub Vic?” he asked.
Victor instantly rose from the desk he had been working at and came over to sit beside Flume on the rock. His wide hands gripped Flume’s neck where Flume indicated with his tail and those deceptively fragile looking fingers began kneading the tense muscle groups.
“Why exactly,” Flume asked, pausing with a grunt. “Are you actually wearing the mask?”
“Promise not to rat me out to Second Sister?” Victor asked.
“You keep working my neck like that and I’ll promise anything,” Flume agreed with a delighted rumble.
“So you know we ran out of the human rated personal air filters?” Victor asked.
“Yes, you said ours worked just as well for you,” Flume answered.
“They do!” Victor replied a little too quickly. “It’s just that the main unit adheres to the nose-”
“Halfway between the nostril tip and the eyes for best functioning,” Flume interjected and Victor nodded vigorously, displacing the ‘party mask’ a bit.
“Just so! But its a chemical adhesive you know,” Victor went on, “and it absolutely doesn’t react chemically with my skin, but…”
“But?” Flume pressed into the pause.
Victor paused his massage and swiveled his head around, his eyeballs twisting this way and that in their sockets. He then turned his full attention of Flume and frowned.
“You won’t tell Second Sister?” He asked.
“It won’t bubble out of me,” Flume agreed, now itching with curiosity.
Victor wrapped an arm behind his head and undid the tie that was holding the black sacking on his face. It fell off and Victor pointed to the spot on his nose where the main unit of the air filter adhered. Flume instantly saw the bright red patch of course but it took a little mental grinding to identify it and then he clicked in mild concern.
“You are missing some scales!” Flume stated, feeling that the words were wrong even as he said them.
“Don’t tell Second Sister,” Victor insisted as he began massaging Flume’s neck again.
“I have agreed not to,” Flume reminded him with a half-offended huff as he eyed the mark. “You don’t have scales of course. The adhesive is stripping off you outer layer of skin.”
“Only in little patches,” Victor assured him taking a moment to re-secure the improvised party mask, “and I’ve found a work around for the problem-my skin is healing just fine now-and reported it to the manufacturer so they can note it in the use specs. It’s just, you know how Shatar get about any membrane disruption!”
“They do get overly concerned if your scales start dropping,” Flume agreed. “How do you fleshy mammals say it? My lips are sealed, now finish up on my neck and I’ll walk on your lower back. The workday is done and we bony species have some joints that need resetting.”
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