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loud-brain · 2 years

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(pt.1) Still no dust devils 24 days later and we still driving. like the air itself is a puckered flower, dessicated, tossing itself into the arid breath of the mojave like it's the rapture. Every time I look out the window my vision splits. My headlights and taillights gig with each other like a ragged stepdad when he yells for his son, Jerry Lewis, Jerry, Jerry, I say, Jerry Lewis, son of a bitch, Where are you? Jerry, Jerry, get up here, Jerry, Jerry Lewis, son of a bitch, Jerry, son of a bitch, Jerry Lewis, son of a bitch, Jerry Lewis, son of a bitch, son of a bitch, Jerry, I yell, Jerry Lewis, son of a bitch, Jerry Lewis, Jerry Lewis, son of a bitch. He never came.

Have you ever seen The 400 Blows?' I ask Angie. 'No,' she says. "he should show you that movie, take you to the little hair orgy chocalate building café tea-all of this right by Jette.'

Look out the window. Edge Hill wins again. It's strong night cold wind coming in off Mojave canyons sucking our grapes from the vine... only our Southland wine can't coax out a single fluffy daisy dog... a sigh is left... Caroline Zdrimolski and I sit down atop Miguel's little redony crushing machine.

‘we waited and waited,' Caroline says, distressed, 'still no dust devils. Maybe they couldn't hear us.'

19-, 20-somethings Angel Dorado's eyes water and said, ‘they crushed a batch at zero gravity. Alert VP Sara Miller. says action. We canceled catering.’

20 luiers 1 miller, Jones eyes home quiet in vineyards

gated movie ranch wont see what he walks now

high embargo end of trip with president wherein no bug sit five

guaranteed, with such calamifications, chiel eighteen hundred lush harness clothing gets threats high mission

slight sabertooth sentiments alone

exploits arrased

despite braces germ joinberminded

tough fabric

63 jazz yacht practice feels insult until spider with head amid

95 devil stray lives link to server artists come off

44 cat was badly treated inside trombone rich and howdy smiles & of music:

1\ www baby cd

2\ bottle sang album

3\ drive no polish lunch atop their cuff nights sear casino comb

4\ serenity vitality intravenously distributed with warm blood into jug brake brief

5\ Jette alpha that pray swole double fire extinguisher sucks.

#loudbrain #artificial intelligence #desert #poetry #loudbrain collective

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x22wg · 5 years

Text

Shore Leave (part 10)

Fresh from the gym, Michael Burnham stepped out of the shower with a soft moan of contentment from the warmth still lingering on her skin. Catching a glimpse of her profile in the mirror gave her pause, unable to look away. It still felt unfamiliar and strange to see herself like this. Such curves and just... so much of them. Michael found herself mesmerized by how the roundness of her belly curved into plump lovehandles, studying every crease and burgeoning roll with detached curiosity.

Touching her chubby cheek, Michael could not help but smile. While it felt like she barely recognized herself... when she had come face to face with the "Red Angel" down on Essof IV, her mother had known who she was right away.

Finishing drying her hair, Michael laughed at the absurdity of it all: She had nearly died trying to lure herself back from the future, only to learn that not only was her mother alive but a time traveller. And somehow she had decided what was most shocking about the whole thing was her mother seeing through a bit of extra chub. Perhaps that asphyxiation had killed off a few brain cells and Dr. Culber just didn't want to admit it.

"At least this helped against the temperature fluctuations." Michael patted her chunky flank and remarked wryly: "I suppose Georgiou wasn't lying about 'protecting me'..."

Burnham's hand moved to the front of her potbelly, relieved to see that she was making progress reversing the effects of the Emperor's "care". Sliding her hand up an invisible ruler she confirmed that her belly probably didn't stick out further than her – admittedly significantly fuller – breasts.

Her confidence surged, convinced that her efforts were paying off: Going to the gym. Carefully monitoring her nutrition intake. Being away from Tilly...

...Michael slumped, her confidence evaporated in an instant. Heaving a sigh she slouched down onto a bench. Lovehandles quivered with the impact as her belly pooled onto sprawling thighs. It let her stew in her lonesome misery for but a short while before she was called to action by a hungry growl.

Burnham knew better than tempt fate by starving herself and quickly finished up to make her way to the mess hall. Silently she imagined a carefully selected list of nutritious dishes. More vocally she groaned at the mental blandness. No wonder Tilly thought she was too serious and dull.

Michael shook her head as she walked down the corridor: What Tilly thought of her was the last–

"Oh. Hi there." Stopping a few meters away, Tilly shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other and held up a tentative palm by way of greeting. Her elusive gaze flitted to Burnham's damp hair: "Fresh from the gym, huh? Been working out? I thought we were going togeth– oh never mind! Gotta stick to the regimen, right? Get swole. Rawr!" For emphasis, Tilly flexed her arm and felt her own veiled bicep. "...haha..."

Awkwardly stroking her own arm, Burnham was grateful for the redhead's defensive blathering: her attempt to fill the awkward silence between them. "Yeah..." she said eventually, failing miserably to affect a carefree air: "I just popped by for a bit..."

"Uhh-huh."

She wasn't fooling anyone. She was every bit as uptight as Tilly thought she was. "Uh... I better go..."

"Yeah, I was just... uh.. heading to the lab."

"Right..." Burnham made a hasty retreat before she ended up making things even worse by blurting out what she was having for breakfast. A strictly regimented platoon of lentils, spinach, beans and– a final glimpse of Tilly's copper locks caught Michael's eye before she disappeared around a corner. Instantly the list in her mind evaporated and she stomped into the mess hall with frantic determination. She snatched up a tray and slammed it down in front of the replicator: "Cheeseburgers. Plural," she said tersely. "Add fries..." Michael paused for a moment. "...and chocolate fudge cake."

"Is this really necessary?"

Initially, Burnham had been quite willing to break from her daily routine to check in with Stamets in Engineering. After all, she was the one who would have to use the time suit they were attempting to synthesize. Not to mention, in a way, seeing the suit take shape brought her just that little bit closer to her mother. It was a small comfort in place of the emotional solace she craved in the wake of her mother's sudden, but devastatingly short, reappearance. Michael knew she had not left her willingly, but still it felt like rejection. Just like she herself had been rejecting her only other source of that comfort which she craved...

What Burnham was less enthused by was being met by Stamets, Jett Reno... and a measuring drone. "I thought this was about the suit?"

"It is," Stamets assured her, before adding rather more awkwardly – with an attempt at a reassuring smile to match: "It's just a precaution."

"You already have the schematics–"

Utterly unwilling to pull any punches as usual, Reno activated the drone's hover-mode to interrupt Burnham: "What my esteemed colleague here's trying to say is: we're dealing with a piece of kit more advanced than we – especially he – can fathom. It's not a prom dress we can take in and let out on a whim."

"It will fit," Michael said firmly. Saru had seen the Red Angel – seen her – on Keminar. Wearing the time suit. Ostensibly no heftier than her mother, on whose schematics the suit would be based.

"She has a point..." Stamets glanced over at Reno. Mischievousness tugged at the corner of his eye, eager to contradict his colleague for that jab she had just directed at him. "Any adjustments we make to the design now will be obsolete if Commander Burnham loses more weight."

Reno considered the matter for a moment before offering her begrudging acquiescence. She disabled the measuring drone as if to tell Burnham she was dismissed and said inscrutably: "...or gains it all back..."

"...and then she was like 'yeah?'" Tilly leaned forward, abandoning her malevolently nonchalant Georgiou impression to get her companions' attention by tapping Detmer's soufflé with her spoon: "That woman's a total psycho."

Seeing Owosekun and Detmer pause opposite her, Tilly realized what she had done and gently stroked the offended dessert as if to make it better: "Whoops..."

When this didn't seem to allay their concern, an apprehensive grimace spread across Tilly's face: "Shoot. She's behind me, isn't she..."

Turning warily, she breathed a sigh of relief that was quickly replaced by absolute bewilderment.

"Is this seat taken?" Michael asked evenly. The three women just looked at her like a stranger – which, to be fair, for the last couple weeks she had been at mealtimes. Then their eyes fixated upon her food tray as she sat down: filled almost to the brim with extra dessert.

"Oh... wow..." Tilly exclaimed shakily, the look on her face saying "who are you and what have you done with Michael Burnham?"

"Anyone want some cake?" Michael affected her most winning smile. "No? That means more for me then."

"Are you... alright?"

Burnham took a big bite out of her club sandwich, munching through her words: "Yeah, why wouldn't I be? Mmh, this is really good, you should try some."

Reluctantly, Detmer took a bite of the offered half, nodding in agreement as she chewed. "I didn't know this was on the regular menu."

"It took some convincing," Burnham said as she tucked into luscious dish after luscious dish, making theatre of how heartily she was eating.

"How do you 'convince' a machine?" Owo chuckled.

Detmer visibly relaxed as she accepted the rest of the sandwich: "Tilly, didn't you say you reprogrammed a food synthesizer to only make ice cream when you were a kid?"

As if slapped out of a trance, Tilly spluttered in confusion before feeling compelled to reply: "Uh... oh... what? Oh... that. It was just a matter of calculating the necessary protein concentration and small particle dispersion of emulsifiers."

"Right... of course..." Detmer managed to pretend to understand for all of three seconds before she burst out laughing. And just like that, the awkward atmosphere vanished.

"You gonna eat that?" Burnham asked jokingly, following up on the levity by pointing to Detmer's soufflé. Her humorous request was met with a smile, so chummy it was akin to a balm for her soul. She tucked into the dessert as it was offered to her, doing her best to reflect the warm camaraderie to Tilly beside her and smiling through chocolate-stained teeth.

"Seriously, is there anything you can't do?" Owo told Tilly, shaking her head in mild disbelief.

The redhead's eyes fluttered as she turned her attention away from Burnham to reply, rather morosely: "Well, too bad you can't power a time crystal with ice crea-heywaitaminute!"

Burnham thought her uniform should have fit better by now, compared to the last time she greeted a mystery guest arriving in Discovery's transporter room. She was certain it had felt less restrictive as of late, but having to walk at a brisk pace to keep up with Captain Pike really seemed to push the seams of her trousers to their limit. She made sure to file into the room after the captain so she could surreptitiously feel up her bum to make sure there were no hull breaches.

Feels so big... and round, she analysed before she snapped back to reality and quickly stepped up beside Pike before he caught on. They had to wait a moment for Tilly to arrive: A small eternity in which she could not quite put that round rear out of her mind... especially when Tilly came up from behind to join them.

Reflexively putting on her overbearing façade, Michael still raised a curious eyebrow when she glanced over at the redhead on her right: "Is that for me?" she joked, eyeing the bowl of spumoni ice cream in Tilly's hands.

"Ohh... no, no! I wouldn't want to ruin your diet! It's for... well, you'll see."

Before Burnham could retort, the trill of the transporter heralded the arrival of a young woman with wild hair and wilder fashion sense. Woad tattoos and nose ring was perhaps not the look Michael imagined for a planetary queen.

"Your Serene Highness, may I–" Pike said with respectful urgency, but was quickly cut off by an outburst of girlish enthusiasm:

"Tilly!" the queen of Xahea exclaimed with a big grin and rushed over to embrace her friend.

Burnham and Pike exchanged patient looks as the two women greeted each other with unbridled excitement. At least "patient" was what Michael was going for. Somehow a burning feeling was welling up inside her; petulant, almost childish.

"Po, this is Commander Michael Burnham," Tilly explained once the hugging was done and ice cream had been offered. She gestured towards the thin-lipped Burnham.

"Your roomie," Po observed, her second eyelids blinking curiously as she cocked her head slightly: "You look taller in your photos."

"Yes I've put on–" Burnham smoothed her uniform over her thick waist, somewhat self-conscious. "Wait... taller?" Expecting a comment on her weight, the queen's comment threw Michael for a loop.

Virtually vibrating with barely controlled excitement, Tilly continued by introducing Pike. He proceeded to give the queen a small bow, measured to the exact amount of courtesy expected of their respective stations: "Your Highness Me Hani Ika Hali Ka Po..."

"Po's fine."

"Right. Can you eat and walk?" Pike glanced down at the bowl in Po's hands. "I understand you can help us power a time crystal."

Taking a big spoonful of spumoni, Po nodded blithely and made to follow. Still somewhat perplexed, Burnham made up the rearguard, unable to keep from glowering as she watched Po and Tilly up front, all giggles as they huddled together.

#Star Trek Discovery #wg story #wg fic #michael burnham #michael/tilly #sylvia tilly #diet #chubby #chub #jealousy

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