tasty-poptard: Art from the talented @goattrain.Resistance, DinnerFor the second time in a row,
tasty-poptard: Art from the talented @goattrain. Resistance, Dinner For the second time in a row, the setting sun only gave Natasatch worry. It had been months since Natasatch watched a human settlement commence its nightly rituals, and certainly in a better context this time. The marketplace folded itself neatly into the trailers it sprung forth from, and the permanent hanging holiday lights gave the compact streets a completely different atmosphere. There were a few humans milling about, most of them militia guards, but a few were those who missed out on satisfying their curiosity of the local alien earlier in the day. None gave her anything resembling trouble, however, and she took the time to peruse the amenities until she grew bored. Inevitably, her mind turned to her friend Malcolm, who had passed through the marketplace fourteen times on his aimless walking. She counted. Natasatch knew he needed help. How to achieve that was one of her greatest challenges yet. Ultimately, she decided to copy her friend’s strategy, applied to the very same friend. Experience showed Malcolm was happiest when sharing “human culture.” The formerly-upbeat human had a list of memorabilia or events he insisted she must experience eventually, one that she had trouble remembering at the moment. Near the end of the day, the sight of one such promised experience on the edge of the marketplace jogged Natasatch’s memory, and fortunately, Aida’s blanket discount applied. The reserve that Safari Outpost eventually became already possessed a restaurant, and little had changed in the fifteen years since it officially closed, or so she was told. Busts of dead animals and pictures of humans with firearms lined the walls, all cast in a soft yellow from the few hanging lights that still worked. The wooden-floored center of the rectangular building was empty. It was late, and Natasatch surmised the restaurant must’ve already served its regular patrons. Only a waiter and a bartender remained, but both seemed to be quietly working once their orders were placed. The two looked nearly as antique as their restaurant, and they weren’t going to let any alien interrupt their routine.Malcolm sat opposite her in the corner table for two. Natasatch still found human chairs difficult, and opted to rest upright on her own coils where her seat would be. In the background, a wooden jukebox delivered music consisting of simple guitar strings, but their focus was elsewhere. An electric imitation of a candle added an orange glow to their faces: one hopeful, one sullen. Malcolm cut off a slice from the “steak,” which was an ADVENT burger patty in a different shape with some minced plants and sauce on top. He took a bite and said, “You know what? You’re doing your best, and I’m proud of you, actually.” Natasatch, who was debating between awkwardly imitating the human food custom or simply snatching the identical meal in one bite, looked up at her companion. “What do you mean?“Trying to cheer me up. The food, the small talk, and the sort. Getting my mind off our shitty vacation.” He had a bit of his confidence back, but a sense of resignation offset whatever gain she witnessed. “Is it working?” Natasatch asked.“Not really.” Keep reading -- source link