Cohost writing prompt: @slime-that — Slime that’s gonna trans your gender
“What exactly happened here?” Ménageriere Dupont says, hands on her hips in the entrance to the tent. Her scalding eyes move over the small, loud crowd of expedition guards, porters, wildlife-wranglers, medics, wizards, and indigenous advisors.
“It’s one of the soldiers, Mademoiselle,” Bernard — chief cartographer — says out of the side of his mouth, screwing his rings around his fingers, in much the apologetic, revolted way he might say Madamoiselle, I am afraid you have just stepped in the regrettable waste of a small dog—
“Saints behind us,” Dupont says, “don’t tell me he drank the water.”
“Ah…no,” Bernard says, making an ever more fastidiously upset face. “He has picked up a few words of the local language, and exchanged some trinkets for their liquor, and they told him their local tales of an ooze that lives in the cupped leaves of a certain pitcher plant in the trees.”
“And he went to collect a specimen on his own initiative?” Her eyebrows rise nearly to her hat.
“Not…exactly.”
“Ah.” Dupont rolls her eyes. “What fairytale did they spin him?”
“It’s more,” says Peretti the head medic, shouldering through the crowd, “that they told him something he didn’t quite catch the meaning of. You know soldiers, Madamoiselle; seems he went chasing after the idea that if he poked his — member — into one of these plants, the ooze would — excuse me, his own words — gobble it.”
“Well,” Dupont says, unimpressed, “there will be no injury pay for that.”
“Madamoiselle,” Peretti says, motioning to her, and shoves someone aside so she can see to the centre of the fuss.
One of expedition soldiers is seated on the edge of a camp bed, wide-eyed, clutching at the travel-stained uniform wrapped around them.
“That,” Dupont says, “is a woman.”
“Ah,” Peretti says, “that’s certainly the way it appears now, having, as the locals expressed it in literal translation, had his member eaten—”
“Fascinating,” Dupont says, after a charged silence. “Well, still no injury pay. Relieved of regular duties due to stupidity; have him assigned to me for naturalogical observation.” She waves a careless hand. “No more of this brute gawping! Transfer that soldier to my tent immediately, for an inspection with the due delicacy and respect afforded the feminine frame!”
Bernard and Peretti, well aware of Dupont’s reputation back at court — in which delicacy and respect toward the feminine form were not, precisely, renowned features — exchanged looks.
“And talk to the locals,” Dupont says cheerily, before sweeping out. “We’ll be taking some of those slimes back for the royal collection!”
