The air is getting slippery and it's not to my surprise My heart, it beats irregularly and the sweat it fills my eyes I do not mind what I excrete 'cause I'm here to make a buck And those that cannot take the heat can take a flying Forgive me if I hes-i-tate Primus - The Air Is Getting Slippery Sargasso's Wetlands, Just Off Main St., Roadside Motel 'Willow Inn' Outside of the beachside city's crowded metropolitan area, a quieter corner of Sargasso laid half-in and half-out of the ocean north-west, over the mountains and visible from the skyscrapers of North Shore. Watching the star of Aleph Null fall north-west from the balcony of an arcology, the snaked rivers and splintering delta of sandbars framed shimmering water in the dusk as the lights of the little town-stead strewn throughout the marsh twinkled from afar, obscured and surrounded by the mangrove forests. Getting closer, the air of the wetlands was gently distorted by the pervasive, balmy heat of the coastal moon-colony's long afternoons radiating from the grey roads, coupled with the rising smell of rotting vegetation, still water, and waste bubbling up from the swamps. When this place was cast by the Units, they made no mistake to create an ideal environment for slime breeding and natural discovery, a delicate balance tiptoed by the cultivators large and small who staked claims here. Just off of the northernmost main road which connected the major land masses together, a seedy drive-in-no-questions motel was home to two upon an extended assignment, a beat-up old aerotruck full of tools was parked around the back for their stay, emblazoned with 'Putty & Resty's Plumbing' in large letters. A hydrocarbon Crude watched droplets slip down the window, their body mirroring the colours of the flickering neon from the sign outside before shifting back to their natural matte ochre texture, smelling faintly of sun-bleached plastic. Their amorphous body was framed by a hollowed iron bell, primary maesus core within. Three salvaged extremities served as finer manipulation tools, while they glided along the floor on a membrane which left no trail. Their working partner, a quietly grumbling Belza suited within neoprene, steel, and hermetic seals patterned in gaudy, lightly bevelled triangles, tools stowed across their body and hip was laying the wrong way around on the bed. Their two eyes circled around within the glass bulb that made the head idly, hooked up to something scintillating from the Mon-Channels on the motel telly. "The sooner we're done getting this pumping and shipping station automated, the better, Resty." The crude grumbled in a low register, visible eye peeking through the back-facing hole in their clam-bell at their partner. Their middle hand stretching from upon what could be construed as a right shoulder threw up their two-thumbed gauntlet in disbelief. "The Sourcian who runs the front desk was eyeing me funny again." Restaurant's - an old 0th generation with many forks - swirling eye motes paused for a moment, lights within turning green. "Take it as a compliment Putty, like you smell nice, have good skin, or chemical composition," They spun a finger around idly looking for a word, coming up short and producing an annoyed click, "o-or whatever it is slicks and flans are made of." Putty's visible eye rolled inside their bell, something clanging inside of them. "Sorry, that came out wrong." Restaurant apologised. "Eh, the only piece of me she can have is my mind and our hotel budget," Putty let the Belza's awkwardness slip right off their exterior. "My only concern are the conditions here - all the smells and impurities I'm discovering are hampering the build process significantly - I had to oxy-clean pipe we've already laid to and from five and six twice now." "Don't fret, the seals I put on today should be keeping gunk out," the lights within the Belza's dome swirled differently, discussing job trouble outside the job bothered him, since they were missing the good parts of their favourite show about a bounty hunter. "I just hope this weather doesn't break them." The Belza heaved a sigh, a warm jet of exhaust from processes within rising out. "We'll do another pass in the morning and carry on, I suppose." The Crude flummoxed their exterior palette indifferently in a shrug. THE NEXT MORNING... After ingesting nutritious petroleum and helium with a dash of argon respectively, Putty and Restaurant got aboard their rig under a cloudy day and made back for the silos and piping on the Der Merwe Slime Merchants property, a stone's throw away from a modest bungalow and cultivation shed surrounded by grassy wetlands. Their particular blendage consisted of savoury and sweet strains which were popular with Sourcians from the diaspora upon Orbital Object: Null, and the cultivators found themselves expanding faster than they could handle. Powering down upon a parcel of solid land, the truck's two cabin doors opened, from the driver's side was the Belza, stepping out and dusting themselves off with a sashay. On the opposite side, the Crude slithered out halfway, extruding four spindly legs to walk upon over irregular terrain before stepping down the rest of the way and closing the door behind them. Stepping through the fence around their worksite, Putty and Restaurant could see the storm last night had thrown some of their materials into disarray. They spent a half hour to undo the damage before getting back to work on this accelerated silo connection, and getting it hooked into control. The six silos were each couple of metres in diameter and ten metres tall, built like boilers while their pipes sported semi-transparent sections for visual inspection. An mobile tapping machine sat dormant, waiting for its next opportunity to dispense with goods. The Crude and the Belza were adding silos Five and Six to the original four. The third silo was a done by a friend of the family, while silos one and two were the first built for Der Merwe. Silo four was done by another contractor unknown to the workers. As the day wore on without incident and cloud cover thinned to warm the swamp, the heat haze and moisture from the wetlands was rose up, that palpable feeling you couldn't escape from would creep through most mammals; The way the Crude was seeing it was that the environment outside was saturated with humid, moist warmth, something ideal for Sourcia. "People with an epidermis wouldn't like this, not one bit." The Crude commented from upon Silo Five, unfased by the conditions while they watched the treeline. The Belza meanwhile was at ground level feeling a minor temperature warning, reading approximately thirty eight degrees and high humidity. As pipes five and six were tested again with a tool gel, the Belza supervised the flow for leaks; Something swimming through the bush through the fences caught their attention. The bush - the distinct iridescent shimmer of fish scale was unmistakable against LIDAR - how was a fish swimming through the hedgerows? "Hey." They said out of habit as the trout wove through the grass and toward the build site - they were wary of the ocean's denizens. "Cut that out. Shoo." The fish was illiterate, had no understanding of language, and obeyed its urge to migrate through someone's wetland property in the balmiest of climes. The Belza's LIDAR found more reflections of iridescence emerging still - a silvery dart leapt through the air from one pool of water in the wetlands to another, flopping ungracefully as it plotted its next move. This was followed through by many imitators, splashing and leaping en masse. Intimidated by the alien life forms, the Belza looked up at the Crude, who seemed nonplussed. "Wh- What are these things?!" The gaseous tradie panicked a little as they watched the fish throw themselves against the fences of the dry worksite, then watched the unfolding spectacle of nature in perplexity. The crude wondered what the dramatic bother was. "Fish?" They radioed to their companion. "They're fish, Resty." They chuckled, shaking themselves in bemusement and returning to their task - to be interrupted by a fish entering their field of senses from high up where they were. Momentarily perplexed, a free tool arm of the Crude snatched a salmon from the air, eye gazing into it before it was examined it in further detail by enveloping it whole behind the bell. "Not bad eats, either." "We're being attacked by aliens..." The Belza complained from below, selectively blocking out the sound of flopping fish before trying to get on with their work, then looking up to be greeted by fish clearing the fence - practically swimming through the moist air. "Der Merwe told us nothing about being attacked by aliens, Putty!" As checks were clearing and the silos were sound, the Crude overheard the Belza's complaints, and they saw an opportunity. "Hey Resty, Think we can upsell him a flying fish fence or something in light of these recent events?" They proposed, as the automated tapping machine was activated for its test run and lined itself up. Observing the machinery in action, Restaurant thought there could be a buck to be made in that before sensing a snag. Humans didn't see common fish as aliens, they just saw any other old animal, plus... "That'd mean we stay around longer, I thought you wanted to run back to your drum as soon as this was finished?" The migration of fish was beginning to circle around the higher, dry land and stayed in the wetlands where the humidity rose purest - the combined olfactory assault of humidity and fish irked Putty. Oh, right. The Crude remembered, though his complaint was only with the tall pitcher of jelly who ran the motel, not with getting their appendages dirty on work. Test gel was pumping from silo to tapper, and into a test drum with minimal turbulence. It seemed like their task was close to wrapping up. "We'll leave the idea in his head. Next time we're here for work we'll find a different motel, too." The pair's job had a habit of travelling all around Sargasso, and Putty loved planting opportunities for more work out among his clientèle, because the Crude knew they spoke. "You can pick any motel in the wetlands, Putty," Restaurant sighed as a flying fish assaulted the tapping unit, and another hit their truck's windscreen. "I just don't want to be attacked by flying fish on the reg..."
Sargasso's Wetlands, Main St., One-Stop Sandwich Bar The alien tradies Putty and Resty had just finished paying the bill on the nutrient cubits for the Crude and a refill of helium gas for the Belza for dinner. The project on the De Merwe property was wrapped up, and they just had to confirm and sign off. "I told you, this latest side hustle won't amount to much." Resty had to keep explaining to the enterprising Putty as they walked back to their van. Putty had filled the mini-fridge inside with fish, sandwiched in ice which was leaking from the seam. "People won't buy fish from the back of a truck around here." Another question the Belza deigned not to ask was where the ice came from. "Then we sell them to a fish market once we're back in town, obviously. Some people like eating fresh wetland fish." The Crude replied, singular eye ensconced in framing bell rolling, as they clambered into the back of the truck and sealed the mini-fridge with a spray of adhesive foam, stopping the leakage. "There's no demand for it here, because its easy to get fish. Can't say that in the CBD." With that sorted, they got into the passenger's seat, while the Belza was back in the driver's. "Besides, you won't say no to a little extra money to spruce this thing up, yeah?" The irregularity of jobs for the pair was biting, extra money sounded good. "Fine, but next time we're spending the money on a chest-freezer if we're going to branch out like this again." It was Resty's intention to use the thing to store concentrate helium canisters before the Crude got any more get-rich-quick ideas and filled it with Units-knew-what. Ignition grumbling the aerotruck on, the tradies made for the motel for one last evening, waking up to check out and make their way to the De Merwe property, down the road off main street... Sargasso's Wetlands, De Merwe Slime Merchants, Residence The main residence of the De Merwe building was a wood-panelled bungalow, painted white and sporting insulated walls and double-paned glass to protect from the exterior conditions. Inside of an office at the front of the house which was once intended to be a living room. For slime farmers, they kept up appearances. "...I tested it out yesterday, and it's working fine." Katheryn De Merwe was pleased with what the two tradies had delivered. With more silos came more capacity to satisfy demand, and with that was more money. "Thank you two again. I'll wire the credits through immediately." Resty blinked. They hadn't yet fully decoupled their computing from the De Merwe network pending sign-off, and they noticed a manual override from the usual operations they'd grown accustomed to watching in the background. The silo drone was being commandeered without authorisation and making an extraction to an unaccounted-for vessel. "Beg your pardon, Mrs. De Merwe but I think someone else is on your property." The Belza was looking through a window, across the paddock and at their handiwork. They could make out three men on LIDAR pumping from De Merwe's tanks into a truck just outside the fence and on the road. Kath was looking out the window and cursing quietly before confirming the interloper's identities: "Oh hell, its those boys from Tølen again! They're always creeping around and siphoning my product!" Kath, a Greaseheart woman who'd kept this institution in the family for three generations just like her brothers and sisters before her did, was already reaching for a shotgun, clearly ready to drive the Tølen boys off her property with rock salt once more. Putty was now intrigued as they were rolling the world 'Tølen' over and over in their mind's mouth - he'd never thought too much about the particulars of slime merchants having grudges and muscling in on each other until now. Resty was already seeing the ideas stirring beneath Putty's plastic skin and didn't like it. "What's say we get in our truck and cut off those guys for our client?" Putty proposed. "I refuse to get involved in a farmer's spat," Resty told Putty, folding their arms across their chest. "We've done our job and-" "They're screwing with our handiwork, Resty!" Putty was already making for the driver's seat, willing to leave his partner behind. "Own your work, man!" The Crude had a way of playing the Belza's loyalty towards getting the job done right to spur them into action. Putty had already beaten them to the driver's seat, leaving Resty hop into the back as it hovered up and jetted for the opposite end of the paddock, over the waterlogged fields. They could hear gunshots outside and cursing as rock salt was whizzing through the air in the interloper's direction. Putty could see the Tølen goons spilling into their truck with the goods over the dashboard, getting ready to drive off with the goods. Without the benefit of clear communication in the hurry, Putty called for Resty to "Drop something on them!" The first thing Rusty could see of significant weight was the mini-fridge, and they pushed it out the back - the fridge landing onto the engine block of the Tølen truck and tipping the front forward - rocking and falling back onto its wheels as the back tank full of De Merwe's slime produce sloshed and the weight shifted. Kath had closed the distance and found the Tølen truck absolutely wasted from having a mini-fridge full of fish smash into it - windscreen glass was cracked and that engine was no longer stroking. Putty and Resty's truck came to a stop shortly up the road, parking sideways as Kath got the police on the horn. They showed up fifteen minutes later while Kath had the three interlopers lined up against the side of their wrecked truck. Security systems logs Resty was witness to came in handy to determine what crime had taken place, aside from the unlawful use of a fridge full of fish to bring a vehicle to a stop. Putty was explaining his relationship towards Katheryn De Merwe as contractors for their operations. "...so you dumped a fridge full of fish on enemies of your client out of a sense of obligation," a policewoman was taking Putty's statement. "and because they were using your worksite, is that correct?" The quietly seething Crude didn't specify not to dump their latest payday, but it was the only thing heavy enough aside from tools, which couldn't be replaced. "That's the heads and ends of it Officer. We felt obliged to, uh, be good citizens." They looked over their shoulder at the three arrested interlopers who Kathy was identifying with Resty's security logs - and they were getting the riot act as two of them were known quantities to the police. "Right. Well, we'll overlook laying charges. We'll keep you for more statements though..." The policewoman replied, nodding as she noted it down. The rest of the afternoon was filled getting statements in and pumping the slime back into the De Merwe property. Eventually Putty and Restaurant were off the hook and free to leave. The fridge and the wetland fish were a write-off, but as the duo were heading east, they noticed an additional deposit atop their pay from De Merwe, wired to them by Sargasso PD. A couple of the Tølen boys Kath had peppered with rock salt were wanted for causing mayhem back in town, and thus the tradies were eligible for collecting a cut of the bounty. A couple of days later, on the road... The Belza was in the driver's seat as Putty was resting on the rack space behind the driver's cabin. "See Putty? We still got a bit of money on the side, so what have you got to complain about?" Resty said, as their new combination chest fridge/freezer sat just in front of the thick curtains that separated the 'living' space of the truck from the workshop. The Belza had to get the mini-fridge replaced immediately for their travelling supply of concentrated helium. Putty didn't look so enthused as they laid on their side on the laminated cot. "I wanted to keep some of those fish for myself too, ya gasbag." The crude complained, sheens turning dull as their mood soured. "And I'm sure I could've sold the rest..." Resty had their just desserts though; No more fancying the idea of trafficking in 'aliens', while delighting in watching Putty - the ordinarily gooey and flexible one - acting all stiff because they didn't get their way.
Sargasso, Outerly Town, Wickworth Apartments The next couple of weeks for Putty and Resty - two alien tradies - had been smooth, relatively straightforward and uneventful: House calls for water plumbing where their skills transferred with little fuss, interspersed with little deals, overdue paychecks, and hustles coming in at the right times between the both of them; providing the extra luxuries like getting a helium service wired into the home the labourers shared together. To whit; A flat in a ten-storey tower, sporting an eastward view of the verdant mountain that separated the outer part of Sargasso from its suburban interior, serviced modestly. Looking out north was the distortions in the air wrought of hyperhumidity in the wetlands, gently warping the rising sun on an incoming weekend the two had set aside. The day was young, but at least one tenant was already full of ideas. "Heheh, I think I can see fish in the air from here." Putty remarked, looking out from the balcony, single eye magnifying and scanning the horizon, ostensibly to oogle the neighbours cheap kicks or interesting goings-on down at street level, but also to watch the wildlife - The Crude had grown a fascination with it all, taking pictures of the birds, the raccoons, and the other 'little aliens' Putty had grown interested in observing and interacting with. Resty dropped their datapad in their lap as their mechanical shell laid out on a couch, pausing their viewing as they turned around, crossing their arms below their head. The two orbs swirled in a purple hue about within Resty's headbowl with a conic eyeshade, the Belza approximation for puzzlement. "Is there something you're not telling me, like... do you want to buy an aquarium or something?" Maybe that'd be the tonic to put this idea to rest. "Nah, I was going to keep it in the bathtub." It wasn't as though it was seeing any use after they first moved in and Putty had nowhere to let their gelatinous form unravel and rest their joints, machineries and substrates. The Crude now had a purpose-made vessel for that essential need now. When a reply didn't come immediately and something could be heard going 'doink' behind the Crude's back, Putty turned around and wondered aloud; "That's a no, then?" Resty had let their head drop into the couch, rubbing their 'face' into the fabric. A grunt of white noise preceded their opening volley: "Well, first of all-" the Belza straightened up, turning a shade of red as they spelled out why the Crude's harebrained scheme couldn't go ahead, "the fish that's swimming in your head needs salt water and a diet of insects, vegetation, and other fish the like of which won't all fit in a bath tub." It wasn't even big enough for Putty's carbogelatinous ass! Putty pouted, sheen turning dull. "You of no imagination, y'know. I mean, you're a cloud piloting a suit and I'm a bundle of ambulant hydrocarbons." The Crude tried to fill their friend with some sense of wonder in the mundane, and the splendour of nature they'd gotten a taste for. "Why not let at least one animal in? Maybe we can learn something from it-" Putty's eye shifted, looking down at the spindly little legs they used to get around or anchor into position for a weld or seal. "-like better leggies." Resty's insight into their flatmate suddenly sprung in - Putty had a consistent form within their metal bell, but every now and again there'd be little changes to how they composed themselves, part of the growing process of a Crude. Early on in their work life, Putty used to get around on a bed of tentacles or an array slug's 'feet' before they kept complaining about picking up dirt and grime everywhere. "What you do with your form's none of my business," the Belza waved off their partner's angle again, "Just as long as you feel whole in it is all." Contemplating legs, like many of the other tangents their partner lead them through, Resty had an idea to steer the conversation back their way. "But what's this about legs? Walking about on four stilts not suiting you any more?" Crudes were always changing, cheating the structure of their evolutionary hand. "Did something catch your eye out there? If so..." They looked over to the flatscreen in their apartment, using a thought transformed to electronic pulse to turn it on. "We can see what legs look like, and maybe even some fish..." The images on screen caught Putty's attention, letting vivid summertime imagery stream through their monocle as Resty sold them the day's adventure: "At the beach!" ♫ Friendship (ft. Lee Ritenour) - Let's Not Talk About It ♫ That turned out to be the perfect compromise for an early morning idea - as it was less than half an hour later when Putty and Resty had cleared some space in the back of the van for some beachside accoutrements and paraphernelia. During the trip there, Putty was making changes to their physiology to keep the sand out of their medium, their exterior texture and sheen shifting to solidify. Resty's suit-body was making its own adjustments while they were behind the wheel of the aerotruck, mostly to prevent grit from getting in the exhaust and finer workings of the suit. Their truck was headed north-east, past a fenced-off swathe of preservation parkland which was claimed to be home to several species of exotic birds, so say the Units and the contingent of Maidenhand park rangers who upheld the animal's welfare, by and defended it by force from poachers. Driving further north-east and over the splintered river delta that lead into Sargasso, Resty took a right turn at the three-way, passing into the district of North Shore. The aerotruck followed the city river to keep languid pace with the colourful houseboats, all bathed in mid-morning light and reflections from the glass and steel towers on their left. Putty mimicked some of the colours they saw through the windows, positively stimulated and giddy for going to one of the most eventful beaches in town: Hightide Beach. Hightide always had patrons and sponsors going back to the establishment of the moon colony, ranging from grass-roots beach bums doing their bit to keep the sand clean and tidy while living close to it, all the way up to lofty corporate sponsorships and advertisements beamed off-world to bring people to the surf. Between these well-known actors and many others operating in layers atop the word of mouth and community at large, the beach and its legendary reputation was never short of goers and gawkers. Putty and Resty's truck spent another fifteen minutes finding a parking space, plonking down and disembarking with the Belza carrying the towels while the umbrella was dutifully carried by Putty - stuck within the Crude and half-open, casting a hard shadow around the blob and keeping the sandy breeze out. "What do people do at the beach all day, anyway?" Resty wondered as their towel unfurled, curious as their gaseous interior took in all the noise around them - dozens of people, mostly humans and humanoids were occupying the beach space. Most were laying down and catching rays - something the Crude likened to sunning lizards - while others had boards and toys for the waves. The umbrella was extended, driven into the sand, and extricated gently from Putty's medium. "Well, they do this thing called sun baking." The Crude replied, drawing from what they knew of human anatomy and behaviour - an admittedly shallow pool as they were gawking at the some of the ... pleasing external structures of some of the more attractive humans. "Because they need a sun to live on a planet, and it makes them change colours if they stay in it for a long time, but its very slow and is bad for them if they do it too much at once." They what? "And what happens if they don't get enough sun...?" The Belza queried, wondering as they sat down, curiously watching someone apply lotion to their skin. The only thing the sun did to the Belza when they stayed out for too long was wash the colours out of the edges of their body's material, and turn the plastics brittle. "Are you telling me humans are solar powered?" They felt like they'd gotten the raw deal for once. The Crude noticed their spindly feet were having trouble with the sand after trying to take further steps in earnest. Much like the umbrella's rod, the poles glided through the granules, causing Putty to lose their balance and overcompensate, shooting another rod into the sand from their form to become a tripod while they reconfigured. Resty chortled and bowed into their knees, content to stay and catch up on some broadcasts they had been meaning to listen in on. Click went the transistors to antennae in Resty's head onto Astro News Radio, the jingle begun trickling in as a broadcast detailing today's weather tapped on. The thirty degree heat and ongoing southerly breeze was forecast to continue for the rest of the day. Other news reports followed, headlines included the usual - police busting aggressive motorists, a gaggle of political scandals, and fallout bubbling over from SMU on Barrier Island. As the scant details of what happened a couple weeks back flowed in, something could be perceived scuttling towards the Belza. Something on multiple legs wearing a coconut husk, armed with an overgrown left pincer and examining the alien curiously was a crab, black bodied with speckles of blue throughout. "Shh-shoo!" Resty reacted quickly - they knew that these things had a habit of stealing unattended beach wares - and it showed little fear despite the Belza's protests. Why is it always sea creatures!? Putty meanwhile had managed to weave together a coherent pair of feet to traverse the beach sand from their hydrocarbon medium shaped with a sheet of fibreglass and strips of metal they kept on hand for quick formation. Traversing towards the beach awkwardly through a sandy corridor flanked by the colourful towels and umbrellas. A dip snaking through the beach lead to a rock-strewn lagoon that filled in during high tides, but they were midway through receding, leaving sprawling pools stretching ahead from the salt-smoothed igneous rock. The Crude lowered down and traipsed across spindly legs through the rock pools, eye tracing the path of moss, the blankets of kelp, tiny anemones and shellfish peppered across the rocks and sand. With a blink of an eye, they took photographs, marvelling at the ultraviolet colours the slugs and anemones were speckled and painted with - colours invisible to the humans who thought the range of visible spectrum available; their cones and rods offering more than enough to provoke that childlike wonder time and again. "Fascinating..." Putty was similarly entranced by what they were seeing unfold and swim before his field of view, snapping it all up. Backed into a corner of their own fears, Resty reached for a driftwood stick laying near their towel - hurling it with limited precision at the crab. Finally, it begun sidestepping away towards a copse of palm trees and swordgrass, looking for an easier and more consistent source of nutrition. "Phew..." They laid back down and heaved a long sigh, venting a puff of steam from under the collar-bevels. Allowing themselves to 'bake' in the sun for a little more and continue listening to the music that followed the news, Resty was approached by a lone beachgoer who set up a towel just by the Belza and Crude's. It was when she got the Belza's attention by lifting one leg over the other and rolling slowly to face Resty - riotous beach framing her feminine frame, did things begin spinning - curiosity now impossible to ignore for the Belza. "Hey sugar~" she introduced herself from behind round sunglasses and dark locks of hair, voice contralto and coy as she gave an unsubtle signal to proposition the alien - a shake of the torso travelling through the breasts behind her spotted bra, "is this spot taken~?" Resty was lost for words - and briefly forgot about all about Putty's quest for legs. The Belza wanted to keep these for himself!
Sargasso, Hightide Beach, A Spot a Stone's Throw from Rockpools Resty had inadvertently blundered into his friend's quest to discover proper 'legs': enchanted by all five foot nine of the ashen skinned and dark haired woman that'd taken up the spot just beside him and his mate's. Putty was completely oblivious still - traipsing through the rockpools that had caught their attention. It was difficult to tell which way Resty was looking as their LIDAR gaze darted between the outline of the lady beside them, or back at their leg-seeking beachcomber buddy. "I don't see many Belza come down here, you know" the woman said. For anything with a mechanical body, they sought to avoid the sand and salt water interfering with the machinery of being. The woman however seemed to know exactly why, spelling it out to try and butter the flustered Belza on their willingness to risk. She spotted another towel and other possessions laid near the Belza, pushing the initiative. "Is your friend as streamlined as you are, sugar?" Perhaps she could make this a double date. Said friend was still traipsing over the rock-strewn pools and lagoons, their digitally-augmented eye drinking the colours in. They had wandered closer to a stony shoreline where the waves broke into spray and foam - with enough violence from the ocean they breached that shore and flooded into these pools while monsoon season blanketed it all to be rediscovered with totally new life when the floods recede. A wave that came in diagonal to the outcropping spilled over with ease, bowling an unaware Putty face-first into a pool. "Madam, d'you realise-" Resty protested, raising an arm to block further advances from the human. Resty was always wary of humans who looked skin deep without considering "-that I'm highly biologically incompatible with your projections of love?" "You've got enough bevelled edges in the right places to make do~" The implication upon Resty being that she could add another, should the Belza's exterior not prove efficient for whatever ploy shet'd set her mind to. While partially submerged, the Crude felt a mild sting from some of their membrane regions being exposed to stinging salt so suddenly, while their vision was filled with bubbles and clouds of sand dancing through the roiling water. Retracting their spindly legs and reorienting upright before standing back up, Putty was more annoyed than harmed as they felt water billow out from between their exterior bell and plastic skin. The crude had taken about four hundred pictures to pore over at their own leisure anyway. Once away from the splash zone and draining most of the excess water away, Putty was clambering back upon synthetically and unwittingly structured legs that provided stability - ribbons of their plastic form had become as muscles, intertwining betwixt the four telescoping poles they used for locomotion. Lacking knees, Putty's telescoping 'bones' glided through their malleable medium to reproduce the right changes in balance to fall forward and catch oneself with the imposition of the other foot against the ground. People made it look so easy and Putty was only making heads and ends of it as they got back onto their laid-out towel. "Gotta say, man. People take a good locomotion for granted." They almost didn't notice that Resty was in the process of being hit on hard; positively bunny-boiled biological and logistic barriers be damned! "It's almost as though you need to have it thick in the right places-" They finally noticed the other arrival "-like hers are. Hi lady!" Resty was unsure whether the situation would spiral into his control or outward into anxious possibilities that Resty had no grip on. "Who's this, Resty?" The Crude asked, settling back onto their towel. The Belza was torn between answering with the truth or with a lie. "I dunno man, they kind of-" Said Resty before the woman cut him off. "I'm Tessa," she answered "and you are?" "Putty!" The crude answered, jiggling with excitement. "And I have legs now, good ones!" Their exterior shielding bell blossomed open, lifting to reveal their newly formed, steel-augmented pseudopod leg with a flexible ribbon bound against steel and medium to act as a foot. The crude had taken peripheral notice of how all the beach goers moved and bent, swam and ran as they explored the beach. Resisting and pushing against the currents and waves with such grace, and stability. Resty's disbelief at the sudden change in topics caused by their ever-shifting companion dispelled some of his doubts, as did the surprised reaction from Tessa, suddenly self-conscious as she realised - that Crude had nicer legs than she did. Her round sunglasses hid her jealous gaze. Damn Crudes! They can just grow the ass they want! Tessa had been disarmed by who they considered to be a new arrival. This Belza must get all of their buttons pushed! Nothing however, could be further from the truth, as Putty and Resty's relationship was platonic and professional. Seeing that their companion had gotten drenched in the time between zoning out to broadcasts and being assailed by Tessa - xenophile apparent - Resty steered the conversation his friend's way. "Did you have fun at the rock pools, Putty?" "Yeah! Lots of pretty pictures" said the crude, their exterior patterning glimmering in excitement. "Can't wait to go home and print 'em, plaster 'em all over my room!" "That's wonderful, dear," Resty practised their best parental/professional disinterest, looking aside to Tessa. "Sorry ma'am, looks like I'm already taken for. Go rattle on someone else's chassis." The belza was met with a scowl from the woman before she got up and took her bag and towel with her, staring daggers. "You aliens are all the same!" She blurted at them. Resty just waved her off as Putty watched her stride away, around a corner to regain her composure and to rattle someone else's cage. Some time into relaxation, Putty thought to ask the simple question: "She was hitting on you for your chassis, wasn't she?" "Yeah she was creeping. Thanks for your intervention." Resty replied, grateful for a sometimes inconsistent, but always welcome partner. A contented sigh rose from the Crude.
