stuck on you like sticky glue!
Seren really, really hated the barracks when they first arrived. Everything was way too antiseptic white (and this, coming from Mira's number-one white-fabric enthusiast, even if they occasionally did swap out Redesigned Hoodie and Sakuraba Light Survival Boots for their usual Bargain Valor) and stiff, purpose-made for empty conversations about eating Tatsu and overhyped missions that, supposedly, only Elma's elite could handle.
Whatever. Not worth getting into a stew about (and cue another Tatsu joke...) when the point was that, now that Seren had installed a black lab named Cerberus and warmed down the lighting, it was cozy enough. Seren counted a key advantage that Lin would often fall asleep at her assigned workbench outside the restricted hangar and Elma would disappear to who-knows-where.
They much, much preferred L as a roommate - or bunkmate, or most often couchmate. Ci was certainly not squishy by any definition of the word, but Seren didn't mind, as the softness of their own clothing and the lightness of L's laughter buoyed them through many an off-day afternoon.
One of their favorite heavy-lidded debates, carried out via pointed index fingers in a spirited duel above their shared field of vision against the backdrop of the ceiling, was a discussion of the many indigenous inhabitants of Mira (besides L cirself, of course).
Seren had loved getting acquainted with the human ideal of a pet thus far, excitedly jogging Cerberus through the Commercial District and scouting the eateries for pup cups whenever possible, even though they'd been told many a time that this wasn't, in fact, necessary or even feasible. Their love for Saltats was famous among every drifter on the concourse, and a strain of nervousness had picked up when basic bounty and/or loot missions crossed the console by Eleonora.
But which indigen was it, Seren wanted to know, that L would look at and cry aloud, "Let us go to the dogs and call off!"? Should be a Theroid, right? Might be Grex, or equivalently - even better - Caro, owing to L's allegiance to Noctilum and its mysteries. Perhaps Monoceros, the horned ones? But then, Seren was biased, because those were found in Sylvalum and Cauldros. Ah, so Progen!
L hummed, peering up at Seren's unstably-held comm. "We have no particular affinity for these..."
Seren considered this, thinking of the similarities between Monoceros and Progen as related to angels and devils. What else fit this niche...
With a grin that L couldn't see, they scrolled through the index to an image Yelv had snapped (fuzzy, but aided by glare) of them crouched next to a Cervus drinking deeply in the Delusians. "How 'bout this one?"
L tried to take the comm to pull it closer to cir face, but Seren stubbornly held it away and made an unsubtly-concerted effort to correct the viewing angle instead. They could feel L's rarest and most minor measure of contempt in the way cir arm wrapped just the slightest bit tighter around their middle, giving reproach.
But anyway. Recognition flickered through L's mind, and ci scratched at the base of the devil horns Seren - lovingly - made cim wear with cir free hand. "Now these are familiar. But this is Sylvalum, yes?"
"That's Sylvalum, yes," Seren echoed, then flipped to their next target. L recognized the Aprica instantly, and Seren could feel a smile alight immediately.
"Ah, yes! What noble fellows. And it would appear they have no fear of headlights." If this was true, Seren couldn't really corroborate, since they usually avoided taking their primarily-vehicular Skell through the tangles surrounding the Elephant's Trunk at night. Nighttime was for being out in the open, gazing at the too-many moons.
As a final touch, Seren tapped open the index entry and waited for the simulated Aprica to straighten up and begin its lowing. So maybe it wasn't to be "dogy", but "horsie", for L. And for Seren? Since the pair both adored Saltats, they had to pick a secondary favorite...ah, right, the Cervus! All settled, then.
Seren dropped the comm unceremoniously and made a quarter turn to settle their cheek into the dip between L's chest and collarbone. One just-right-sized hand (part willow, part oak) shifted up to cradle the nape of their neck, and the other had the presence of mind to dim the lights. Pazzow...