He stopped in front of Blindy and Zeros,
tilting his head slightly—
not in respect,
but as if assessing whether they met his expectations…
and already finding them lacking.
“Ah. There you are.
I must confess, your arrival is… tolerably punctual,
especially considering the catastrophic ineptitude
of the local customs authority.Do be so kind as to proceed to the cargo bay
and familiarise yourselves with the manifest—
with some degree of urgency, if you please.”
Blindy scratched his face,
leaving a black streak.
Vaellenis flinched—
like an entire poor population had just sneezed in front of him.
Blindy muttered.
“…Zeros. Humanish, please.”
Zeros straightened.
“He says: ‘We’re late. Stop wasting time. Let’s check the cargo.'”
Blindy frowned.
“Why the hell didn’t this turkey just say that?!”
Vaellenis clicked his heels—
his boots lifting just a little too high,
as if they had a built-in function:
elevate above the peasantry.
“I find it vastly preferable
to maintain a semblance of civility,
rather than bellowing like an intoxicated bovine
confined to agricultural housing.”
Blindy squinted.
“What the fuck did he say?”
Zeros, flat:
“He says you sound like a drunk fool.”
Blindy snapped:
“Yeah, okay—but say it NORMAL, damn it!”
Vaellenis exhaled slowly—
like a man reviewing tax reports filed by animals.
“I shall endeavour to employ a more…
accessible vocabulary,
should that alleviate your apparent difficulties.”
Blindy:
“Huh?”
Zeros:
“He’ll talk simpler
so your dumb ass can keep up.”
Vaellenis closed his eyes briefly—
as if requesting divine intervention
or sudden cardiac failure.
Then, with visible restraint:
“We go to box.
We open box.
We observe contents.
We are satisfied. Yes?”
Blindy burst out laughing:
“Still sounds weird.”
They moved to the cargo, signed the paperwork.
Machines immediately began loading everything into Z-P-N-E-S™.
Vaellenis raised a gloved finger—
not hurriedly, but with the quiet certainty
of a man accustomed to being obeyed.
“There remains… one additional matter,
which I trust has not escaped your attention.”
His gaze passed over them—
not quite looking, more… assessing.
“You are to transport a passenger.
An individual of… particular significance.”
A faint pause.
“To me.”
Vaellenis looked at them
like someone being quoted the price of economy class.
“Shall we proceed?
Time is an exceedingly valuable commodity—
though I appreciate this may be a foreign concept to you.”
Blindy:
“Zeros… is that an insult?”
Zeros:
“Yeah. Says you’re wasting his precious time.”
Blindy puffed his cheeks,
hands on hips:
“That’s it. I’m speakin’ HIS language now.”
Vaellenis raised a brow:
“…I beg your—”
Blindy threw his chin up, going full nonsense aristocrat:
“Ooooh, milord! Might ye fancy a spot o’ tea, eh?
We be most terribly posh today—
gonna wobble our royal biscuits in the queen’s finest trousers!
Cheers! Pip pip! Bloody—uh—whatever!”
Vaellenis froze.
He genuinely could not determine
what he was looking at:
a man,
a fungus,
a primate,
or a catastrophic administrative error.
“…What precisely was that?”
Zeros snorted.
This amused him approximately 2.8%:
“He says you have just managed to insult
both the language… and your entire bloodline.”
Blindy:
“Why?!”
Zeros, deadpan:
“Because this ‘royal biscuits’ individual is blue-blood aristocracy…
distant relative to the Crown,
one-hundred-forty-eighth in line to some throne…and you’re trash.”
Blindy bent forward,
bowed dramatically,
and doubled down:
“Ooooh, forgive me, milord of the spotless trousers!
Forgive this filthy bastard
fo’ offendin’ yo’ shiny lil’ haircut!”
Vaellenis inhaled. Turned. And walked away—
offended down to the molecular level.