Author's Note:
It was a damn close vote guys, but after tallying the numbers, readers voted for "Follow Corani Upstairs" than the Couch option. Thus, despite the deceptive percentage, it squeaked by a win (we're talking within 3 votes here, so it was still quite close).
Either way, remember your vote matters because
man
have these been nail biters!
Previous choice:
Follow Corani upstairs
Deckard turned to stare across the wide vistas of
Dread Harbor
's myriad spires, towards the pale gold towers of immaculate, if unimaginative construction. They jutted up towards the void like upturned needles in the starlight, like little pinpricks bristling in his chest.
The tired gunslinger's heart was a confused, lonely thing. He hadn't seen Corani in years, yet the day he came back to see her he was already contemplating joining her in her bed. Maybe he really wanted her; maybe he was just taking her for granted.
...Or maybe he was just tired of the loneliness, the primal need to free himself from his self imposed isolation, in whatever trifling way he could.
The answers to his unasked questions were not to be found staring out at this thrice-damned station, however. He lingered downstairs for a few more minutes, both to gather his courage and settle the frenzied butterflies in his stomach.
He paced the polished floor, pausing for a moment at her massive aquarium filled with exotic fish from across the galaxy. A yellow
Joo-Zi
fish wriggled up to the glass, attaching one of its myriad tentacles to the surface in a vain attempt to get at Deckard. He stared into its four, glassy eyes for a long moment, then moved on.
He perused the tall, imperial bookshelf that loomed against the wall. The tomes on the shelf were in perfect symmetry, organized alphabetically by subject. It was dry reading for the most part: treatises on intergalactic banking, annotated histories of the sixteen Great Megacorporations, the collected lectures of Dr. Heinlein on the subject of modern astrophysics.
There was even a gigantic anatomy compendium featuring the different
Seminal
races. Intrigued, Deckard pulled it out, flicking through the pages. He was greeted with the diagram of a Loupian's bone structure, how different breeds bred different bone density, jaw structure, and even basic endoskeleton design.
Flipping at random, he skipped past the different sections at random. He saw a cross-section of a Catian's powerful calf muscles, a Human's outsized brain, an Elf's calibrated eyeball and a Dwarf's thick skull. Each was unique in their own way, each distinct in subtle manners to their fellow
Seminal
species.
He had learned all of this in when he'd been a medic, of course, but it was strange for Corani to have something like this.
...Or, on reflection, maybe it wasn't.
Deckard closed the book and set it back in its place on the shelf. He downed a final shot, set the glass upon the windowsill, and trudged upstairs with unsteady footsteps.
Reaching the second floor of Corani's apartment was like ascending into her inner world. The stairs were laid out such that the climber reached the top with their back turned, allowing whomever was upstairs to get a good, long look at them before they entered.
Clever girl
. Deckard thought with pride.
You remembered my lessons about hideouts.
The first floor of Corani's apartment had been immaculate but fake, a blatant attempt to present herself to visitors in the most favorable possible light. The decor had been opulent to the point of theatrical.
But upstairs... upstairs was where she dropped all pretense, and became the woman he knew.
The second story itself was a single, gigantic room: a sheltered cove of feminine warmth hidden like an attic from the cold austerity below. The walls were painted in long, tribal lines of happy yellows and soft reds, providing a welcoming atmosphere.
Unlike the downstairs, her bedroom was entirely devoid of ostentation. Near the center of the room was an old, ratty couch of faded tan. Deckard smiled when he realized it was the
same
ratty couch that he had left behind in his apartment on
Dread Harbor
. All those years, and Corani had kept it close.
Pink scented candles were everywhere, crowding every available surface and casting the room in a cheery firelight glow. The smell they gave off was sweet, but unobtrusive. Like crisp mountain air tinged with mint and honeybloom.
Another, smaller bookshelf sat in the corner, near her bed. It's contents were of far less esoteric fare than the one she put on display downstairs. Crime dramas, two-bit horror stories and adventure dime novels cluttered her shelves in a haphazard, disorganized fashion. It looked like nothing so much as the aftermath of an earthquake hitting a city block.
A worn novel rested upon her nightstand like an old friend next to her bed. It's faded cover and well-thumbed pages attested to Corani's repeat readings. It was a cheesy interspecies romance story, of a kind the Catians in particular were fond of consuming.
Deckard had seen that exact cover of a Catian woman draped in dramatic fashion across the lap of a supple Elven Male in a pleasure garden before. His Catian step-sisters had been overly fond of the series, though he could not recall its name. He recalled having thumbed through one of the earlier books as a young teenager, only to close it red faced in embarrassment as he skimmed over a particularly graphic paragraph.
Next to the salacious book sat an empty wine glass, with an open, half empty bottle of Argian Merlot next to it. He smiled: it was a gutter-wine, of a kind Corani would never be caught dead drinking in public.
Her bed was a large, circular Pryde-mattress, set low to the ground. It was made in the traditional fashion: much larger than a king size, built with half a dozen bodies in mind.
There were no covers, for the Pryde were instead supposed to share their body heat. Deckard felt a low sadness sweep over him as he imagined Corani in that bed. He wondered if she got cold in the evenings.
Just as Deckard was getting his drunken bearings, Corani emerged from her spacious walk-in linen closet. She'd let her hair down, having cleaned the excessive Catian makeup off her face.
Gone were her erotic clothes and trappings denoting her station as the premiere whore of
Dread Harbor
. She had dressed herself instead in a white shirt and blue-padded leggings that clung tight to her lower body. She was in her pajamas. Deckard couldn't help but notice she wasn't wearing a bra.
Corani paused in place as her gaze fell upon the gunslinger standing awkwardly in the middle of her room.
"Oh!" She murmured, a note of surprise in her voice. "I... honestly didn't think you'd join me."
Deckard felt a twinge of guilt and embarrassment bubble up from his gut. He shifted from side to side, not knowing how to respond. The drink had made him bashful.
"We... we don't have to-" He began.
Corani's eyes widened, realizing she'd struck him directly in the ego. "No! Deckard, of course it's okay. I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to." She disarmed him with that awkward smile of hers. "I just... wasn't expecting it, is all."
She extended her hand, her eyes swirling with reds and blues. "Come! Come sit. I wanted to show you something, anyway."
Having already surrendered to his instincts, Deckard complied. Feeling like an intruder in this sacred place, he walked over and took her extended palm in his. Her grip was soft, but firm. She subtly squeezed his hand as she pulled him to the bed.
He sat down, planting his feet and spreading his knees equidistant to his waist. His spine went rigid, his body tense, either with anticipation or terror. He could no longer tell the difference. His cheeks were hot, his head was spinning from the whiskey in his gut.
Corani sat down next to him on the bed, ignoring his stiff posture and settling into his personal space. He could feel her body heat next to his, his pulse quickening as he slowly came to terms with the fact that this was really happening.
"Hold on, I need to reach the-" Corani clambered halfway across Deckard's lap, reaching out with her arm to grab a small remote sitting on the bed. He inhaled, smelling the sweet scent of her body in such close proximity. Deckard watched her lithe spine bend this way and that as she hovered over him, before pulling back to her original place.
"Got it." She said, flashing a smile at him. She pressed a button, and the room darkened. "Listen to this."
Deckard listened. He smiled as the sound of gentle rainfall filled his ears, emerging from hidden speakers in the ceiling above.
There was a soft pitter-patter to the noise, as if the water were striking off of large, verdant leaves, flowing down in glutted rain channels like waterfalls into the dim canopy below. He could picture it so vividly.
Green, arboreal colors sprouted in dim reflection on the walls, shadows sweeping back and forth like dense foliage in the heart of the jungle. The room darkened to a primeval color, as if the world around them were shaded by tall trees, lit only by candlelight.
He heard a bird call, followed by another rising in the far distance. It was a Kryll, one of the four-winged wonders of Corani's homeworld of Catia. Deep in the farthest distance, he heard the whooping cry of a red-maned Gildobeast.
"I use this to fall asleep, sometimes." Corani said, threading her fingers through Deckard's own as she rested her head on his shoulder. "Just curl up with a pillow, look at the wall and imagine myself on Catia, wandering through the Mother Garden.
"It's..." Deckard murmured, his raspy voice giving out on him.
