Nobody's Servant 1.0

To Excess [Vore]

There are plenty of symbols used by the Dominion I was never really aware of beyond the omnipresent triangle, representing the mountain they trace their history back to. I'm a little surprised the currently presiding keepers of the name Nayre, with origins among the valley-dwelling Welkandic people, didn't contest that at all, but what do I know?

That hardly matters though, because today's important symbol is the bumblebee. Though rare on Paliputra, overshadowed by the firefly which thrives much better in the 15-hour twilight and 15-hour dead of night, their metaphorical significance stands. Tiny but mighty, industrious and beautiful, they may produce no honey but they provide an indispensable service to all ecosystems holding space for them.

With that in mind, hidden behind the concrete and boreal kudzu, the hive-like architecture spanning the interior of the tower makes a little more sense. The golden glow intended for this place is broken by the blackened, ruinous void in its side, left there by the bombs, but repairs are already underway. The dreamy purple of fading sunlight just barely illuminates the cataract-white of the tarp secured there, too dim to cast the shadow of the net below.

As we ascend ever closer to that gap, I grow increasingly thankful for the elevator as it takes Yhana and I to the 22nd floor, still quite a distance below it and not anywhere near halfway to the top.

"How many live here?" I ask, still staring up as if I could estimate on my own.

"Fewer than you'd think," Yhana replies, stepping out. "Lots of two-tiered units like mine, and they even got room for dragons and vex and other big folks on the lower levels. But still too many to know all your neighbors."

She guides me across the nearest bridge, connecting the central block to the units at the perimeter, on either side of the pavilion dead ahead. Little spaces to socialize; some are gardens, some are public-use kitchens, some are just there to have a place to sit. They go mostly unused tonight, and probably will as long as that reminder of war remains there to see.

Not that anyone is safer in their units. How many were injured when that part of the tower collapsed. How many died?

I pull myself out of it when I bump into Yhana, forgetting to mind where I'm going. She glances down at me across her shoulder, not in irritation, but that look says more than any playful jab ever could.

The door before us slides open, forming a tall sliver of warm light of a more natural color, broken by the gangly form of Leonov in a suitably long, knit tunic that reaches halfway down his fibrous thighs.
He bows his head in greeting, and the contour of his leather face causes the zigzag of his mouth to resemble a smile.

"Good evening Leonov, may we come in?" Yhana asks with a returned smile.

With his claws still gripping the top of the door frame, he swivels out of the way to let us pass.

"Took you long enough!" Jori calls from a room down the hall. Decorative tapestries adorn the narrow space wherever there are no hinged doors and even those have little charms and filigrees nailed into them. Only the exterior door slides.

"Are we late?" Yhana calls back. I follow her in as Leonov tails us.

"No, she said that to Sal too and he's been here almost 30 minutes." I can't place the voice at first, but rounding the corner I see a familiar hyena, Dahlia, and next to her, the black cat Sal, who gently pushes away her nudging elbow and waves to us.

"That sounds about right," Yhana says, rolling her eyes just in time to catch sight of Jori returning from another room.

The human puts an arm around my mid-back and reaches the other up to reach above Yhana's tail, leaning between the two of us. "Can't blame me for missing you all," she chirps. "I'm glad you could make it."

"Thank you for having me along!" I say with cheer to match, and it gets me a gentle thump between my metal shoulderblades.

"Please, you're just as welcome. If Yhana's chatter is to be believed, you need to take the edge off just as much as we do," Jori assures.
She steps between us; aside from her spiky hairpiece, she's dressed for comfort, a striped yellow-green dress evoking Faigan's gaseous sea.

"We'll just make ourselves at home then," Yhana agrees, beating Jori to the thinly-cushioned couch and draping herself across the whole of it.

Jori readies a finger and thumb to flick the jackal on the nose, but stops as Yhana conjures her peace offering, setting the two jugs one at a time on the squat table we gather around.
Flashing Yhana a satisfied, if smug smile, Jori finds a different spot, taking a leaping step toward Leonov, who catches her unprompted and takes up a different seat as she reclines across him.

"Here by yourself, Sal?" I ask, gesturing at the empty spot next to him.

He nods, patting the cushion. "Mom and Rohka are clearing furnace tunnels," he explains. "My expertise isn't going to be of much use down there, and I've had my fill of violence."

"Then get your mind off it," Dahlia urges, lifting Sal's glass and nudging it into his grip.

"I'm getting into whatever this is." As Jori says as much, pointing to one of the dark jugs, Leonov reaches out to turn a glass upright for her. The outer surface is beaded with moisture, remnants of frost from when it had been chilled.
"Oh, Merion and Yhana?" she prompts. Without waiting for our response, though we both nod, Leonov uprights two more, and fills all three halfway with the translucent pink fluid.

I reach for mine, lifting it to my nose to sniff. The color made me think of wine but the scent is much stronger. "Well... to our health I suppose?"

"Works for me!" Jori agrees. Raising her glass in return, she takes a large sip and almost seems to have to force it down. The staccato cheer she ejects signals her approval though, even if the potency was somewhat overwhelming. She hands it up to Leonov for his appraisal as well, and he takes a much more cautious sip, though his reaction is totally inscrutable as he hands it back to her and lifts them both out of the chair.

"Needs watering down, we'll be right back," she says, and Leonov carries her off into the other room.

Curiosity still gets the better of me though, and I lap at it, getting a quick tongueful. It aerosolizes on the way into my mouth, and I enjoy the notes of persimmon and herbs for a moment, though they're very quickly lost beneath a flavor profile I can only describe as flammable.

"What do you call this?" I ask, pointing a finger at it with a trepidatious curl.

"Toraanan moonshine," Yhana says with a grin. What was a considerable dose for Jori more resembles a double shot for her, which she takes half of in a single swig. "Picked it up from a lovely old trio on our last trip out along the southeastern coast."

"You're gonna ruin your eyes like that," Dahlia chastises. Nevertheless, the hyena pours herself just a small amount and sips it without flinching. "It was a nice area though, nice mild climate. If it weren't so close to the front I'd probably retire somewhere over there."

"Too close to the equator for me," Sal interjects. "Velhik runs right through it and those latitudes are almost completely undeveloped for good reason."

I almost speak up to suggest my nation has done just fine near the equator, but quickly realize I specifically am a pretty undeniable example to the contrary.

"Fine, but where would you go?" Dahlia prompts. "Hypothetically, if everyone was at peace and all."

"Right here's just fine with me," he answers, finishing the leftovers of his drink. He does not join her in trying Yhana's moonshine, instead opting for the little kettle among the assortment, pouring a small amount of pale medicinal tea.

"What did we miss?" Jori asks as Leonov conveys her back into the room. They each hold a glass bottle of mineral water, adding them to the table along with a decently sized bowl of rice crackers.

We chat a little bit more about it. Jori was born here on Paliputra like the rest of us, but dreams of moving to Foszarei in the south of Faigan someday. The outreach program both nations share would make it easier than most relocations offworld.

When the question comes to me, I'm actually not sure. I leave it at "anywhere but here" but I wonder where I'm bound for at the end of this. My family and I, I mean. I dream of Aenku, but I'm so far removed from it now I wonder if I'd even fit in. That and it's not very far from the Grym Prelature's homeworld. Lots to think about.

Yhana's answer is set up to be even shorter. "Doesn't matter," she says, filling her glass for the third time.

I'm not alone in letting it lie there, though, as Dahlia even beats me to the question. "Why doesn't it matter?"

Yhana sips again, taking almost half of it; there's no way she's not feeling it now. "I don't have enough time left to make plans anywhere but here."

"Wait, what?" I set down my glass, and along with everyone else, I fixate on her as that heavy feeling of concern starts to swell.

"Yeah, what do you mean?" Jori asks. Leonov attentively leans forward for her, and she swivels her body around to sit upright.

"Dad got sick young," she answers. "Just like his did. I've made peace with it though."

"Well... is there a chance it skips you?" I ask. "I'm sorry if I'm overstepping but is there a chance it only passes to sons?"

Yhana shakes her head. "Both of them could cast whatever they liked." She flexes her free hand. Little red arcs of something like electricity form webs between them. "So can I. Whatever they had, I've got."
They straighten out, as if pulled taut, and in their place, three-dimensional cuts in space, rendered in lightless black. When she closes her fist, it all folds up in her grip, and as she relaxes again, the energy floats out and upward as luminous blue motes.

"So that's what it is," Sal says. "All this time I thought you just got it from eating so many casters."

It earns him another, less friendly nudge from Dahlia for his insensitivity, and corrects, "Not how it works, they'd have to be on the same frequency." Her expression softens, but she can't hold her questions in either. "I didn't think frequency was hereditary, though?"

Again, Yhana shakes her head, downing the rest of her drink. "Who knows? Maybe it's just a lucky symptom... what do you call one of those? ...Anyway I'm making it work for me while I can, which is gonna be... I dunno, 15 years if I'm lucky, maybe like ten if I'm not."

"Yhana..." I let out, unable to temper the note of sincere pity.

"Could you aberrate?" Dahlia asks. I'm glad someone else did.

"Oh fuck no," Yhana declines. "Low success rate, tons of complications. Besides, my grandfather did and I'm told he just... stopped, one day." Her ears droop, and a melancholic silence fills the space.

Sal is the first to break it. "So wait... 15 years to go, how old are you?"

I can't help but find it a little tasteless to ask now but thankfully I'm not the arbiter of that and Yhana doesn't appear to mind. She shrugs and answers simply "26."

And that actually draws out a stronger reaction from me, to my surprise. "How are you younger than me??"

"Shuuuuut up, how are you older than me?" she asks right back, though her exaggerated incredulity cracks under the fullness of a tipsy grin.

Everyone laughs, thankfully salvaging the mood, though I can't help but hang onto the bad news even if I don't show it.

We go on like that for a little bit, enjoying each other's company and surrendering ourselves to the warm tingle of strong drink. At least, the others are. As my companions become increasingly languid, I become increasingly aware of how alert I still am.

As Sal regales us with a story about his mother Neien, I grow even more determined to resolve my clearheadedness and join them. From a clay jug, I fill my cup; the spirits within are almost perfectly clear, but carry notes of harsh herbs usually reserved for hallucinogenic incense. In the time it takes me to raise it to my lips, an oily layer forms on top, differing densities separating from one another. I do my best not to taste it as I throw it back; this one's not meant to be savored though it tries twice to be.

"Damn, Merion, had enough?" Jori asks.

I match her giggle with one of my own but it comes out with a shrug. "I'm not really feeling it at all yet, sorry."

"Well we need to fix that, don't we?" She pats Leonov on the cheek and he stands again, only slightly unsteadied by so many drinks himself. "I'm gonna fix you up something that works real well for Leo."
She partially uprights herself, wrapping her arms around his long neck. "Don't worry big guy, you get one too."

They're not gone for long, but in their absence I find myself disconnected at some level from the mood that gently grips the others. I laugh along and patter, happy to be here of course, but I really can't help but feel just a little frustrated with this new limitation of my changing body.

When Jori returns, she carries two tall glasses, the contents of which fizz almost aggressively. High-pressure bubbles surge from a gray and sienna lump at the bottom, like a boiling stone, but she barehands the drinks just fine, as do I when she passes it to me.

"Don't drink just yet," she says with all the urgency she can muster right now. "Until those bubbles stop it's actually really poisonous. Don't put the clay in your mouth, either."

I give it a tentative sniff but it's surprisingly odorless. "What is it?"

"Never got the name of it," she shrugs. "When I got to visit the Red Diamond, some sannag working there shared it with me. It's basically a mix of tonic, solvents, and some of the good stuff they pickle lizards in. The clay just uh..." she tries lacing her fingers together, with initially worrying difficulty, but she's a lot farther gone than I am by now. "...just kinda grabs onto all the stuff you don't want."

"Sounds... potent."

"Oh yeah, the living probably shouldn't have more than a shot," she cackles. "Start reeeal slow."

She gestures expectantly, and as I look back down to the drink, I find that only a few stray bubbles are occasionally released. My eyes shift again, Yhana is watching too, as if excited for my reaction.

Leonov drinks before I do, and doesn't react, but I know that's no good metric for myself. There's only one way to find out for myself. I tip it back. There's hardly any flavor to it, it's all scent. My sinuses open wide and I can feel tears culminate, but I manage to swallow it. It feels as though it boils the moment it hits my stomach.

"How is it?" Yhana asks.

"Well, it's uh... definitely unlike anything else I've had," I express as tactfully as I can.

"Oh, you're fine, I know it's garbage," Jori assures.

"Gimme some." Yhana lurches forward, a forearm on the table as she plucks the concoction from my hands.

"Alright, but only take a li— fucking Yem, Yhana..." She's as lost in the sauce as my advisory is on her ears; half the amount flows down her throat before I can even finish, and she passes the remainder back to me.

"Wooooooooow, that is garbage," she admits through squinting, teary eyes. She passes it back to me, and then as she flings herself back into her spot, she brings a hand up to her chest. At first I fear she's in pain, but then her cheeks inflate, unable to hold back a deep belch that brings Dahlia and Sal's conversation among themselves to a sudden halt.

Yhana rests back, practically deflated from it, but waves her fingers dismissively. "Like you all haven't been full of em."

I'm a little hesitant to finish the drink, but I do. The clay ball remains stuck to the bottom, but I brave some of the last few drops carrying its sediment. They are foul, but the numbness they impart on contact has me wondering if maybe this will do the trick.

Unfortunately, all it leaves me with is a bad aftertaste and a lot to be desired, even as Leonov droops in sleepy discombobulation. I can feel a slight heaviness set into my body, but my mind is still here.

I lean back, letting the little gathering progress mostly around me rather than with me, but at least I get to enjoy the ambience of it. It's nice to be surrounded by people I like.

I jolt after a few minutes when a hand clamps my shoulder; I know that grip well enough by now to tell whose it is without lifting my head.

"What's up, Yhana?" I ask.

"I wanna know what..." her slurred words trickle to a halt as she regathers them, "...I wanna know what's up with you. Are you good?"

"Am I...?" My eyes lock with hers for a few seconds, darting around to the others, then to myself, where they remain idle. "I mean yeah I'm having a great time."

She pats my shoulder, and then gently tugs a couple of times, prompting me to move as she cranes back upright. "Merion needs a restroom, where's it at?"

"Oh no, was the drink too much?" Jori asks. "It's just around the corner in the hall."

"Something like that. Come on."

I prove too slow for her liking, so Yhana takes me by the hand and pulls me to my feet. "I'm fine though?" I squeak out in not really much of a protest, but I'm around the corner before I know it.

Yhana guides me into the restroom, more spacious than hers even with its enclosed stalls surrounding toilet and tub respectively, compartments within a compartment.

"Yhana, I'm fine, really," I insist. Truth be told, I've had no need of it at all since Nym's therapy, which might have worried me if it wasn't so damn convenient.

"Yeah that's the problem," she says, kicking the door shut behind her. "You've been all... breathe-y in that little room and I dunno if the others know what they're feelin but I know what I'm feelin. Youuu're totally sober. Leonov looks like a wilted tree, so... you should be absolutely wrecked by now."

"I mean... you're still standing up straight," I point out, though as I say it I can't help but note the sway in her legs, even as she braces herself on a towel hook. "...Mostly."

"I have an idea."

"Is it an idea you'd like sober?"

"I wanna eat you," she states. "So... yeah."

I test the edge of the counter that houses the ceramic bowl sink for stability, and slide back onto it to half-sit. "Yeah, that tracks... Your stomach will be so full by now though."

"Juuuuust drinks. Haven't touched the... whatcha call em..." she snaps her fingers several times as she searches for the right words. "...the things for snacking on the table, it's clean."

She's got a point. "I don't know if bathing in it will make a diff— oooooh, wait."
I stop objecting as I put together what she's getting at.
"I didn't even think about that, do you think the others—"

"Shushhh," Yhana goads, gently holding my muzzle shut, though I just as gently pry her back off. "I don't think they noticed or cared, the only reason I did is because I've... tried you before, you know? Got previous experience."

"You're alright with that though? I'll remind you, I haven't started coagulant again yet, so we'll be nearly inextricable."

"Good. You need this."

"I mean... I guess I'd like it," I admit. "Alright, where do you need me?"

Close quarters like this lend nothing to ease; there's hardly enough room for me to fully stand without leaning into her."

"Tub," she directs, sliding open its compartment. "You can stay dressed I'll get your clothes after."

"Right," I agree, sidling past her. "You've got your extract, right?"

"Mmmhm!" As I look, she's already taking a deep swig of it, and then drops the bottle back into her coordinate.

"Good." I settle down into the tub; it's deep and accommodating for morph proportions. It likely comes in handy for bathing Leonov, and the jet nozzles embedded in the side add a level of luxury rarely seen back in the Directorate. Not that I'll be getting to enjoy them tonight.

I look to Yhana again as she situates herself on the flat housing of the tub, my heart beginning to rush with anticipation. I can't tell if it's good or bad. But it's there. All I can really do is go with it.

"So, it feels weird to say thanks for this," I chuckle, "but, well... thanks."

"What are friends for?" she grins.

"Eating, evidently."

"Damn right."

She rests her palm on my head, a soothing touch at first, but as she begins to focus her energy, I gently nudge it away.

"Hey, you're really drunk. Let me do it."

"You can do... oh yeah, I forgot you could," she concedes.

Admittedly, I've never turned it on myself before, but I know well how the numbing rush of dissolution should feel as it crashes through me. I place my focus deep into my core, willing the rest to let go.

It's like suddenly finding myself in an ice bath; not plunging into it, but simply existing there without transition. I feel the motion of vapor and ooze before I feel its chill. I can't coordinate myself fast enough, but Yhana is already on it, steaming the excess out of my clothes as she pulls them aside.

Her fingertips delicately engage the shimmering black surface as she pulls every last gram of me into a compact sphere, about as big around as I am tall. She gives it back to me, suspended on sparking filaments to effortlessly manage its deceptive weight, and, standing up, I take it, placing it in my coordinate for later reintegration.

And then she takes me, pulling me out of the smooth basin and shifting her grip so I can sit in the palm of her hand instead. I brace myself as I rise so fast, at least from my perspective, to snout level with her. I curl my tails in the interest of shielding my body, even though I know how moot it is.

"You don't wanna wash me first or anything?" I half-joke.

"You don't think you'll be sanitized on arrival?" she asks, and the sheer intensity of the alcohol on her breath convinces me.

"Fair point. I'm ready when you are."

And that's all it takes. She flips her palm, broad tongue curling up to meet me, reeling me safely over to the far side of her fangs.

I settle down on my belly, letting her do what she needs to prep me. Her tongue works a persimmon-scented coat into my fur, getting it slick and flat, ready for the trip down. It's not the gentlest she's ever been, but certainly far from the roughest, so I've got no complaints.

Gradually shifting me to the back of her tongue, I peer down into the inviting darkness of her throat, steeling myself for the drop. I'm not as ready as I thought I'd be when she tips back and slides me smoothly into it, but I feel no fear beyond the initial startling.

Her throat closes around me, form-fitting, gripping my waist most of all for leverage as I sink behind her collarbones, the bulge that was the last evidence of my body becoming imperceptibly lost inside hers.

My secondary vision does me no good here, her warmth surrounds me in opalescent cascades, so I track my descent by hearing and touch. The sluggish bass of her heart, rising to its most resonant, and then becoming rapidly more and more muffled as the gastric groan below me claims prominence.

It claims me, too. I enter her stomach with a splash; it's as full as it could be without causing her discomfort, I have to imagine. The sheer volume of liquid inside, mixing into an extremely potent cocktail she hasn't even properly metabolized yet, almost fully submerges me but for the smallest bit of headspace near the valve at the top. I keep my eyes shut even as I emerge, bracing myself against the ballooning walls. Even this stretched out, there's not enough room to tread water.

Well, not water. She really should get some, once she's got the room, or she's in for a serious hangover. Does that mean I am too, once our senses start to mingle?

"How is it?" she asks, thumping her belly a few times. That sets something off though, and most of what precious little air there is is forcefully ejected in another graceless burp. "...You tasted different this time."

"It's different in here than the other times, too," I call up. "I'm gonna run out of air soon though, so I won't be able to talk much."

"I mean I can try to just... you know, suck in more," she offers.

"You're at capacity as it is, I'll be fine. I don't really need air if I'm trying to rest. I could probably ferment off of this much alcohol for days too."

"Ohhh don't tell me that, I'll wanna keep you."
That earns a nervous, admittedly flustered laugh from me, but she continues on before I have to formulate an actual reply. "Shame you won't be talkative under the surface though."

"I mean, tap once for yes, twice for no, never fails, right?"

"Guess you got it figured out!"

I must already be feeling more lax than usual as her attitude meshes into mine, but I guess it's like she said, I was starting to affect folks just by breathing the same air anyway.

That suspicion gains credence as she returns to the living room, and the blindsight I made note of last time confers the impression of the group eased into restful positions. Sal and Dahlia are hip-to-hip, leaning against opposite armrests, and Jori is playing with the seams of Leonov's mouth, dreamily muttering to him.

Yhana's return does still get Jori's attention though. "Is Merion alright?"

"Better than ever," she replies. "I'll be taking care of em tonight."

"That's good of you. Will they be long?"

"Hm? No, they're right here."

Jori huffs, but it softens into a breathy laugh. "Goddds Yhana don't eat someone in my bathroom come on..."

"It's fiiiiiine, they're fine, you're fine... it's fine."

I surrender to the booze bath as Yhana topples sideways, only partly onto the couch even as she situates herself. I drape myself over the natural inward bend of her stomach, massaging in between the deep ridges of supple flesh. I exhale, emptying my lung to prevent myself from floating away from my cozy perch. At once, a sensation like a weak, static fizz warms me, playing nicely with the growing haze of drunkenness; automatic fermentation, trickling enough energy to operate in a low-power state.

And that's all I need, really. It feels so nice to relax on my own terms, in anything other than a clinical position, getting to truly decompress.

I almost don't notice Dahlia standing up until she brushes against Yhana in mid-turn to coax Sal to follow her. "This guy will need help getting home, I think we're gonna get going otherwise you'll have to keep us through curfew."

"You could if you wanted to," Jori offers.

"Looks like you're already going to be playing host anyway, I won't impose further." I feel Dahlia's hand on Yhana's back as she says it, a single gentle stroke with an almost motherly touch.

Sal groans as she pulls him upright, resting his head over hers for support as she guides him through the narrow space between Yhana and the table, getting him more appropriately braced at her side in preparation for their walk down the hall.

"Good night, everyone," Dahlia bids on behalf of them both, "it was good seeing you all again. Please hydrate."

The cavity of Yhana's chest croaks out a mumble to reply as coherently as she can muster. Through a single borrowed and half-shut eye, I see Jori, who has either the most temperance or stamina of us all, slip out of Leonov's loose embrace, giving one of her own to her departing guests and accompanying them to the door.

Though that eye drifts shut, Yhana speaks up upon hearing Jori return to the room. "Ahh shit... hey Jori?"

"Hey Yhana," she replies. She whispers something indistinctly but the distance and coddling tone indicate it's for Leonov, whom I can hear shifting into activity as well.

"Are you sure it's alright to crash here?"

Jori chuckles, floor creaking beneath the rug as she comes over, offering a gentle pat on Yhana's head. Our ears flick in tandem.
"You're not going anywhere like this. I'll be up early to check on you, okay?"

"Okay..." Yhana sighs drowsily. She even nuzzles into that offered hand a little more, but can't keep her head up for longer than a few seconds.

"Is Merion still alright too?"

The liquid medium provides some resistance, but I manage to thump the wall with my fingers splayed hard enough to be felt.
"They say yes," Yhana says on my behalf.

"Good," Jori chuckles, stepping away. "I'll just be a door away if you need anything. Sleep well, you two."

"Mhmmm..."

And pretty soon, things get quiet. At least conversationally.

All around me, the sounds of my shelter carry on. The rise and fall of her breath, like the sound of a storm outside a home. The low, almost purring growl of labyrinthine tubes further on, rocking me like a ship on a sea. And the constant, slow percussion of her pulse.

It's most significant somewhere beyond the threshold of this organic aquarium, but I can feel its aftershocks here, the rush of warmth in the walls, the momentary and slight changes in their tension. My own rhythm already matches. I wonder when it happened.


I catch myself sometimes, nearly drifting off to sleep only to jolt back out of it, and switching into a more comfortable position. Over time, I work my way to the lowest point, curling up and enjoying its snug hold on me.

I'll miss this.


Once more, I almost sleep, but I hear a murmur clearly enough to rouse me, at least a little bit.

"Did you say something, Yhana?" I start to say, but it's only mouthed, voicelessly, for my total lack of air.

But the chorus of internals around me carry on the same as ever, their rhythm uninterrupted by speech. I shrug it off, and rest my head again.

The next time, it's not a murmur but a clear voice. I don't recognize it.

"Ohhhhh friend you are in trouble it seems?"

I make the mistake of opening my eyes, but I squint them shut again as tight as I can with minimal stinging.

"Hello?" I mouth.

"Trouble?" it says again, from no direction I can find. As if from inside my head.

Alright, I'll play along. "Look, you probably shouldn't be... probing random heads like this," I think back, though articulation is difficult even in my thoughts now. "I get it, I'm a necroharmonic too, but I..."
Something occurs to me that probably should have occurred to me much sooner.
"Hooold on, hold on, you shouldn't even be able to reach me in here."

So it's just the psychoactive tea then, right?

"I have my ways, friend! You are not so worried about your situation it seems so I will be wishing you good night yes?"

"...Yeah, sure, good night." Okay so maybe it's the tea.

The other voice corresponds no further. I should probably be worried about that but I'm far too sleepy.

"Good night," I mouth again.

I would have been alert to it, a precautionary ear out just in case, if even that didn't take such effort now.

I wonder what I'll think of this if I remember it in the morning?