Cohost writing prompt: @Making-up-Mech-Pilots — Mech Pilot who has just been promoted to Abiotic Officer, First Grade
"If I hold your hand," Two Marks murmurs, "will that be scandalous?"
There are few occasions for which the mech company stands overly on ceremony, but promotions are worth noting. Everyone knew that Pilot Hosch-Twelve and Pilot indwelt-crab Conjunct of Circumstance were marked for it; their joint oversight of a long-running contract operation sealed matters.
The company's officers are gathered on a raised stage at the end of one the ship's many inscrutable chambers, and welcome up in turn Hosch-Twelve, wide, tattooed, and blushing, with a marked working-class accent from the Peninsular Stars; and then the torso-sized bevelled puck of a standard crab servo, with its ten long, spindly, many-jointed legs, which currently raise it to human chest height.
"Oh, so scandalous," Nene murmurs back. "Pilots, so easily shocked by your sophisticate wiles! If you soil my honour enough, somebody may buy me pity drinks next portfall."
"Don't laugh at me, Nene, lovely," Two Marks says, and leans into her with a sad little pout, which turns into a warm beam once it's elicited its intended kiss; and then Nene twines their fingers and pulls her along to greet the newly ranking mechself.
Ah, Accountant! the mechself chirps them. So glad. I foresee working together in future, as Logistics Officer.
"I look forward to it," Two Marks says, and hesitates just a little. "Forgive me— Officer...Conjunct of Circumstance? Would that be—?" she turns a little, unconsciously, to defer to Nene.
That is perfectly acceptable! As is Officer Conjunct, or simply Conjunct. Or Circ, to friends, which we're sure to be — Redbat has excellent taste, mostly.
"Ah, please, no slights to my wife to my face," Two Marks says sweetly, and Nene chokes back a laugh and squeezes her hand.
You haven't worked closely alongside any mechself before? Conjunct says, sparking a simultaneous subline of fading mojigrams, a glittering sardonic appreciation for Two Marks's good humour and refusal to leap to the deepnavigator's defence. Questions are acceptable!
"I think mine would probably be — rude and uneducated," Two Marks says apologetically.
You have such lovely manners, Conjunct says. Two Marks, I work with mech pilots.
"Officer Conjunct doesn't mind your questions, or they wouldn't have offered," Nene says. "I should leave you to discuss, since you'll be working in such conjunction—"
Redbat, I swear, you only came over to make that pun, Conjunct interrupts. Go. Go on. Shoo. Go congratulate Hosch-Twelve, she already fears nobody will like her now she's crossed the river. Keep this one, will you? I like her.
Nene untangles her hand, and presses a kiss to the accountant's hair. "I'll see you in a little while," she says; and, quietly, "Officer Conjunct, any question of keeping is not for me to pose," and she slides away like a fish through weeds.
Conjunct of Circumstance gently rearranges their limbs to catch Two Marks's sleeve with some spare grippers as she inadvertently makes to dart after the departing pilot. Leave it, they say, sublining gentleness. Leave it. Redbat is...touchy, but she's honest. If she has things to say, she'll get to them.
"Oh, but. Oh." Two Marks shades her mouth with the back of her hand. "I didn't know she's not happy—" and collects herself. "I'm sorry. I'm being rude."
You are not, Conjunct says. I love drama.