{"sf1_id":1349888,"sf2_id":"3egGR5Be","title":"Silver Lining (Chapter 6)","author":"DecoFox","words":5241,"posted_at":"2018-07-10T01:23:00.000Z","tags":["Action","Adventure","Airplane","Art deco","Border Collie","Couple","Decopunk","F/M","Female","Flight","Flying","Interwar","Love","Military","Mystery","Novel","Retro future","Sci-Fi","Science Fiction","Sky","Steam Punk","Straight","Swing","Vintage","War","Western","Western Swing","airship","combat","dieselpunk","tomboy"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1349888-silver-lining-chapter-6","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/3egGR5Be","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/62/82/62826f0e-937e-47f9-8f4e-56970411408b","description":"#6 of Silver Lining\n\nGreentext\nSecond Person Present\nNovel-Length, by chapter.\nWIP\nYou, a newly minted combat pilot with all the associated buckle and swash, find yourself signed up to escort an airship carrying mysterious cargo to places unknown. It feels good to be the real deal finally, just like in the books and moving pictures, even if they did assign you a border collie for a partner. And besides, the two of you aren't in over your heads or anything, right?","content":"Chapter VI, Midnight Feature  \n  \n\\\u003e \"Anon?\"  \n\\\u003eWhitney's right eye blinks open and flickers like a kerosene lamp in the darkness.  \n\\\u003e \"Anon, you awake?\"  \n\\\u003e You might have been half-way to sleep, but you doubt it would have paid off anyway. You've all but given up on that. There's still a hint of adrenaline residue in your blood, and it's been tickling your nerves and waking you every time you get close. You aren't sure how long you've been lying there, but it feels like weeks, and you don't have anything to show for it but a series of strange and flighty dreams.  \n\\\u003eYour eyes creak open the rest of the way. A dense but penetrable darkness greets you, its thickest regions warded to the corners of the room by the faint glow of the warmly-shaded icing lights filtering through the fog on the porthole. Rain still patters on the envelope, but only faintly. You can scarcely hear it for the omnipresent drone.  \n\\\u003e \"Yeah, Kid. I'm awake. What's up?\"  \n\\\u003eHer other eye flickers open and stares thoughtfully up at the ceiling.  \n\\\u003e \"I 'dunno. I just--,\"  \n\\\u003eShe falters.  \n\\\u003e \"Just what? Can't sleep?\"  \n\\\u003eShe nods sleepily and turns her head to you.  \n\\\u003e \"Not for shit. Did a minute, but it didn't last. You neither, though, huh?\"\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003e \"No.\"  \n\\\u003e \"How's your bruise?\"  \n\\\u003eIt actually hadn't been too bad until she'd reminded you of it, at least so long as you didn't try to sleep on your stomach. The tender ache doesn't waste any time working its way back through your ribs now that you're thinking about it again.  \n\\\u003eOf course you'd be dead if the railing hadn't caught the bullet, so it's not like you can complain.  \n\\\u003e \"Fucking sucks. How's your shoulder?\"  \n\\\u003eHer cot creaks and whimpers as she shifts onto her side and tugs at the collar of her nightshirt.  \n\\\u003e \"Looks like shit, but fur always makes gashes look like shit unless you do the whole shave-and-bandage thing, and fuck that. Don't hurt that bad though, not since I doused it in alcohol. Shirt's ruined.\"  \n\\\u003eThere's something curt and measured about her manner. You wouldn't say you know her well enough to read her, even if you could make out her ears and whiskers in the darkness, but you do get the impression she's avoiding something. You consider leaving the issue, but your curiosity gets the better of you.  \n\\\u003e \"If it ain't the pain, what's keeping you up?\"  \n\\\u003eShe sighs through her teeth.  \n\\\u003e \"I--\"  \n\\\u003eHer head falls back to her pillow and she buries her muzzle into the fabric.  \n\\\u003e \"It ain't your problem, Cap'n. I can handle myself. I'm fine; I promise.\"  \n\\\u003eYour heart twitches empathetically. The back of your mind finishes shuffling ideas and issues its prediction.  \n\\\u003e \"You, uh..., you ain't seen someone killed before, have you Kid?\"  \n\\\u003eShe winces, the shimmer on her eyes blinking out as she shuts them.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003e \"Dead, yeah. Killed, no. Just keep thinkin' about him is all. But it ain't your problem. I'll be fine in the morning; I can handle it.\"  \n\\\u003eYour heart twitches again, seizing on the image of that guy you saw stabbed in the alleyway by the docks when you were fifteen. You sit up on the edge of your bed.  \n\\\u003eThe air's grown brisk and clammy overnight, and it makes short work of your boxers and nightshirt. You can't help shivering a little.  \n\\\u003e \"That's not nothing. Come on, we're in this together; tell me what's up. I could help. Really.\"  \n\\\u003eShe shakes her head.  \n\\\u003e \"I appreciate you lookin' out for me, but I'll get over it. Really.\"  \n\\\u003ePart of you wants to listen to her, but your heart isn't about to let that happen. Yawning, you roll to your feet and sit on the edge of her bed instead.  \n\\\u003e \"Kid....\"  \n\\\u003e She leaves her muzzle buried.  \n\\\u003e \"What happened to my rack being my space, huh?\"  \n\\\u003eA faint whimper stains the venom in her voice.  \n\\\u003e \"Give it a rest.\"  \n\\\u003eYou set your hand on her shoulder; she groans under her breath.  \n\\\u003e \"That's sweet of you, Cap'n, but I'm telling you I'm fine. Just a hell of a first day, you know? Like you said?\"  \n\\\u003eHer voice cracks a little at the end. You sigh and scratch at her fur a little.  \n\\\u003e \"Well this ain't my first time, but my first time stuck with me a long time too. It's okay for it to bother you; it'd bother anyone.\"  \n\\\u003e \"Yeah? Well then it bothers me. So what? Leave me alone.\"  \n\\\u003eThose last three words actually sting a little, but you keep scratching.  \n\\\u003e \"Kid, in our line of work I'd wager this ain't going to be the last time either of us faces this sort of thing. At this rate it ain't likely the last time this voyage. It's stressful shit, and it ain't easy for anyone, but you don't 'gotta deal with it alone. Got it?\"  \n\\\u003eShe flops onto her back.  \n\\\u003e \"Guess they aren't kiddin' about humans not being too good about midin' their own fuckin' business.\"  \n\\\u003eThat stings pretty good too, especially because it's clear from her voice that she's serious.  \n\\\u003eAnd shit, maybe you should listen.  \n\\\u003eMaybe it isn't any of your business.  \n\\\u003eBut she's looking at you now, and it's clear she's upset. She's fighting, and fighting valiantly, but the corners of her eyes glisten with tears.  \n\\\u003eAnd she's a stupid kid who doesn't know what she got herself into.  \n\\\u003eAnd you're supposed to help, right?  \n\\\u003eLike a proper partner? A proper friend?  \n\\\u003eShe'd have been there for you, wouldn't she?\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eYou'd have liked to think so.  \n\\\u003eYou swear under your breath and take hold of her paw, but she swats you away.  \n\\\u003e \"I said I can fucking handle it! Call me Kid all you want, but I ain't 'gonna let you treat me like one. This is my problem, and I'm sorry I fucking mentioned it. Maybe I'm new at this, but I'm your partner, and not your fucking charge. Leave me alone.\"  \n\\\u003eThose words again.  \n\\\u003eLeave me alone.  \n\\\u003eHer voice snaps again, but it doesn't do much to dull their edge.  \n\\\u003eThere's something familiar about them.  \n\\\u003eYou back off and let your hand fall into your lap instead.\u0026nbsp;  \n  \n\\\u003eYou know that phrase. It hurts like a son-of-a-bitch, but like the dance it takes you a second to place it:  \n\\\u003eThat evening watching the baseball game your Freshman year of high school, when you'd finally worked up the courage to ask Sarah, whom you'd thought a friend, to Homecoming, but she was sitting with some jock, and you'd only gotten as far as approaching before she drove you away.  \n\\\u003eLeave me alone.  \n\\\u003eLike she'd never even seen you before.  \n\\\u003eYeah, you remembered this.  \n\\\u003eRejection.  \n\\\u003eRejection like the first time.  \n\\\u003eIt hurts bad enough to give you pause.  \n\\\u003eEnough to make you swallow and choke a little on the word \"Sorry\".  \n\\\u003eAlmost enough to turn and go, but something stops you.  \n\\\u003eFor a moment you think it's courage or a sense of responsibility, but it turns out you can't take the credit.  \n\\\u003eWhitney's just got your hand pinned.  \n\\\u003eShe's sitting up now, blankets pulled up around the waist of her baggy nightshirt and eyes dull in the shadows.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eShe doesn't look nearly so rugged without all the thick flannel and the gun on her hip, but her fur seems to do a decent job of keeping her from shivering. She's got your hand pinned in one paw and her forehead resting on the other.  \n\\\u003eThe anger in her seems to flicker and die. A heavy silence settles for a few long seconds, then she curses some weird Avalonian phrase you don't understand.  \n\\\u003e \"I--, I didn't fucking mean that. You're just tryin' to help, and it ain't like you're wrong either. I don't have a lot of practice gettin' looked after, is all. Ain't ever been one to ask for help, and I ain't used to being a burden. I fucking hate it, and I snapped. But that's not your fault. Ain't snapped like that in a real long time; 'Dunno what happened.\"  \n\\\u003eShame leaks into her voice as she speaks. She hangs her head and stares at the floor, ears flattening.  \n\\\u003e \"It's okay, Whitney.\"  \n\\\u003e \"No it ain't. I'm laying here tryin' not to be a burden, and I'm making a goddamn scene instead. Turns out I'm pretty good at being childish when I'm tryin' not to be. Usually pretty good at stopping myself these days. Least I thought so.\"  \n\\\u003eShe shudders and loosens her grip on you. You find yourself taking hold of her paw again.  \n\\\u003e \"You're just stressed.\"  \n\\\u003e \"That ain't an excuse.\"  \n\\\u003e \"No, but it's an explanation.\"  \n\\\u003eThat seems to satisfy her. She sighs and falls back against the wall.  \n\\\u003eThe truth is you really don't mind. Odds are you're going to embarrass yourself one of these days, and you're glad it was her turn first.  \n\\\u003e\"Ain't like I'm perfect either,\" you add, seizing the opportunity to secure a little insurance for that eventuality, \"Just so happens I've dealt with this particular thing before, and I reckon we ought to look out for each other. Got to fly together, after all, and that means we've got to trust each other, too.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eShe smiles weakly at that.  \n\\\u003e \"Yeah, well, while we're not mentioning things about each other, could we not mention this?  \n\\\u003e \"Sure, Ki--\"  \n\\\u003eYou stop yourself, probably a little too late.  \n\\\u003e \"You'd probably rather I just called you Whitney, huh?\"  \n\\\u003eShe shrugs.  \n\\\u003e \"If tonight's any indication, I could stand to get over myself. Call me whatever you want. But thanks. So are we going to play shrink, or what? Got one of those couches for me? What do you want to know?\"  \n\\\u003eNow that she isn't fighting you, you aren't so certain anymore. You know what you want to tell her, but not much in between. You settle on the first thought that comes to mind.  \n\\\u003e \"What is it you keep thinking about?\"  \n\\\u003eShe seems to give that some thought, shutting her eyes and squeezing your hand a little in the process.  \n\\\u003e \"That it was real. It don't quite seem like it, but it was. The way he grabbed at the wound, how scared and hurt he looked, it was all so fucked up. I ain't a little kid; I know this shit goes on; I' known a long time. But it ain't like seeing it in a picture. He was like, a real person, you know? Like us.\"  \n\\\u003eShe hangs on the last syllable for awhile, hunting words.  \n\\\u003e \"I 'dunno. I'm talking nonsense, ain't I?\"  \n\\\u003eYou think you know what she's getting at, at least a little.  \n\\\u003e \"It's not nonsense.\"  \n\\\u003eShe squeezes you again.  \n\\\u003e \"I mean, he probably had fucking dinner plans he was looking forward to when he got off watch. He was right fucking there, and then he was gone. Just like that. And someone did it to him, and we don't even know why.\"  \n\\\u003e \"Yeah. Yeah, I get you.\"  \n\\\u003eShe relaxes a little and settles some of her weight onto your shoulder.  \n\\\u003e \"...and, and it's fucking selfish of me, and I swear I ain't a coward, but it could have been anyone, you know? You? Me? Fucking scary to think about, and every time I try to push it away it pops right back up. In that little I slept I had a fucking dream, n'....\"  \n\\\u003eShe swallows, trailing off.  \n\\\u003e \"...but I'll be okay. I've got to be. Don't really know what you could say that would make it okay, but I guess I ought to thank you for tryin'. At least unless there's some kind of trick to it, but I don't reckon that's so. You do get used to it though, right?\"  \n\\\u003eIf there are any tricks, you sure as hell don't know them.  \n\\\u003e \"I guess people just get used to it. Reckon we'll have to.\"  \n\\\u003eShe cocks her head.  \n\\\u003e \"You ain't used to it?\"  \n\\\u003eGod, you fucking wish. You suppose this is what it means to be the real deal, but shit, you could have died, and it would be a bold-faced lie to say you weren't thinking about it too. And maybe you've seen someone killed before, but you sure as fuck don't like to be reminded.  \n\\\u003eBesides, between the Captain's warning and the skirmish in the bay, your hopes for a peaceful voyage have been all but dashed. At this rate you might as well be shipping off to war.  \n\\\u003eThat was fine when you were high on adrenaline, but that didn't last.  \n\\\u003eReality had been setting in pretty hard since then, little tendrils of doubt and regret rising up from the darkness to probe you for weaknesses.  \n\\\u003eMaybe there's not much for you back home, but you'll be damned if you aren't already starting to miss that little seaside town.  \n\\\u003eAnd maybe you're not cut out for this after all.  \n\\\u003eYou could have been a barnstormer, or joined the mail service.  \n\\\u003eYou could be camping out under the stars right now, not a care in the world.  \n\\\u003eBut no, you'd wanted to be a rugged hero, even though you knew it wouldn't be like the movies. So here you were.  \n\\\u003eBut you were the real deal, and you could handle it, right?  \n\\\u003eTruth be told, it would probably be weighing on you a lot heavier if it weren't for her.  \n\\\u003eYou realize you're leaning on her a little, too.  \n\\\u003eShe must have noticed, because she turns to you again, concern in her eyes.  \n\\\u003e \"What's the matter, Cap'n? Ain't what I said, is it?\"  \n\\\u003e \"No.\"  \n\\\u003eA flash of consideration crosses her face, then conviction replaces it.  \n\\\u003e \"And it's your first voyage, same as mine?\"  \n\\\u003e \"Yeah.\"  \n\\\u003e \"...you're scared, ain't 'ya, Cap'n?\"  \n\\\u003eThere's a grim certainty in her voice that seems to make it ring even truer than it might otherwise.  \n\\\u003e \"Yeah.\"  \n\\\u003eTo your surprise she actually seems to relax at that, and she slings her arm over your shoulder again. For a minute you get that warm feeling you did from the dance.  \n\\\u003e \"Well, I don't reckon I could be a whole lot of comfort, but at least it's both of us, huh?\"  \n\\\u003e \"Yeah. And I appreciate it, Kid. Reckon we'll be okay so long as we stick together.\"  \n\\\u003e \"Here's to trust, then.\"  \n\\\u003eFor a second you think she's going to go for the flask again, but she offers you her other paw instead, and you shake.  \n\\\u003eHer grip isn't as firm and certain as it was that morning, but it doesn't seem any less ernest.  \n  \n\\\u003eSilence falls. The two of you stare out the window a while, watching the droplets of dew creep across the glass and letting the drone of propellers wash over and drown you. She leaves her arm where it is, her warmth driving away the worst of the dampened air. Your nose seizes up a little over having her so close, but you don't pay it any mind.  \n\\\u003eIn time her ears and whiskers sag, and for a moment she seems to sleep, but then she jolts awake again and startles you out of your trance.  \n\\\u003eShe swears under her breath and yawns again.  \n\\\u003e \"Hey, Cap'n?\"  \n\\\u003e \"What's up?\"  \n\\\u003e \"If we're stuck sitting up together, you want to like, watch a movie or something? Ya 'know, to get our minds off it?\"  \n\\\u003eThe waver in her voice almost makes it sound like she's asking you to prom. But fucking hell, that idea sounds wonderful. If only you were magic.  \n\\\u003e \"How do you reckon we do that?\"  \n\\\u003eShe smiles, and for once it doesn't look quite so forced.  \n\\\u003e \"Just a sec.\"  \n\\\u003eShe shuffles the blanket off and rolls out of bed.  \n\\\u003eYou can't help noticing she doesn't have a whole lot on under that shirt, and make a point of glancing away while she rifles through her bag.  \n\\\u003eWhen she emerges, it's with an intricate brass instrument a little bigger than a typewriter.  \n\\\u003e \"The fuck is that thing?\"  \n\\\u003eShe sets it delicately onto the bed and starts fiddling with dials, looking more than a little self-satisfied as she works.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003e \"Projector.\"  \n\\\u003eHoly shit, is she serious? You've never seen a projector that wasn't taller than you were. You knew Avalon made some pretty weird shit; they were a favorite subject of speculation in Popular Mechanics magazines, but you tended not to put much stock in the claims. They'd famously met Europa's rifled muskets with repeating arms in their brief war a century before, but little was known for certain about what they'd been up to since.  \n\\\u003eProjectors, evidently. Even if such a device had existed in the Eastern Union you reckon it would have cost more than a house, but here it was in front of you.  \n\\\u003eBut come on, it can't really be a full projector, right? Where would it even keep the film?  \n\\\u003eYou lean in to inspect it more closely, and Whitney whips out a slender knife.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003e \"Hey Cap'n, you weren't using the reading light on the table under the window, were 'ya?\"  \n\\\u003eThe fuck? You furrow your brow, though you feel a lot better now that her voice isn't wavering so bad.  \n\\\u003e \"No, why?\"  \n\\\u003e \"Perfect.\"  \n\\\u003eShe reaches between her rack and the wall and retrieves a slender wire. Then she loops it in her fist and cuts it with a firm, sudden jerk.  \n\\\u003eGuess you won't be using that light later either. You resume your inspection while she whittles away at the jacketing around the copper.  \n\\\u003eYou still aren't seeing any film reels, but you do find what you're pretty sure is the object end of the device.  \n\\\u003eAt least you think those are lenses; for some reason there's three of the fuckers, and they're arranged in a compact triangle. They're also some of the smallest lenses you've ever seen.  \n\\\u003eSuddenly Whitney interrupts your marveling.  \n\\\u003e \"Might not want to look right at that, Cap'n. I'd also appreciate it if you didn't fog the lenses.\"  \n\\\u003eYou glance up to see she's braided the wire with another, somewhat thinner one that leads into a series of vacuum tubes. It's a pretty clean job, too, or at least you think so. You can make sense of the magnetos in your engines, but beyond that electricity may as well be magic as far as you're concerned.  \n\\\u003e \"Sorry.\"  \n\\\u003eShe shrugs and goes back to work, slotting a cable from the projector into the tube assembly with an odd-looking plug.  \n\\\u003e \"How far away do you reckon that far wall is, Cap'n?\"  \n\\\u003eShe gestures back toward your rack.  \n\\\u003e \"I 'dunno. Nine feet?\"  \n\\\u003e \"Can I, uh, get that in DeciTails?\"  \n\\\u003e \"Huh?\"  \n\\\u003e \"Yeah, didn't think so.\"  \n\\\u003eShe tabulates some quick math on her fingers, then works a scroll wheel on the machine.  \n\\\u003e \"Alright, let's see how bad we screwed that measurement up. Could you flip the switch for that light for me?\"  \n\\\u003eYou stop yourself a little short of doing so.  \n\\\u003e \"You sure that contraption ain't 'gonna explode, Kid?\"  \n\\\u003e \"That's what the tubes are for. Rectifier and transformer.\"  \n\\\u003eYou have no idea what those things are. You try to keep from making that overtly obvious, but she doesn't seem to have much trouble reading your face.  \n\\\u003e \"Just trust me, Cap'n. Shook on it, didn't we?\"  \n\\\u003eYou had been thinking more along the lines of watching each other's back and not keeping too many secrets as opposed to whatever this Tesla shit was. At least she's jacketed the copper she exposed with a bundle of tape. You're not sure how much that helps, but it does make you feel better.  \n\\\u003e \"Aw come on, Cap'n. We were in a gunfight, this ain't nothin'. It won't bite, I promise.\"  \n\\\u003eThere's a hint of that whimper again. You force back your cautious mind and bury it. She needs this.  \n\\\u003e \"And you done this before?\"  \n\\\u003e \"Plenty.\"  \n\\\u003eYou sigh.  \n\\\u003e \"Alright.\"  \n\\\u003eThe switch snaps under your finger and the transformer tubes slowly come to life with a dim copper glow.  \n\\\u003eSo far you haven't heard any bangs or smelled any fire. You sit down beside Whitney again, and she flips a toggle on the machine.  \n\\\u003eA low whir starts, slowly at first, and then faster. The base of the device issues a series of squeaks and whimpers and then a high-pitched whine, and suddenly the far wall sputters to life with a hazy, distorted glow. Ripples of static march across it in narrow rows, and then suddenly they snap together and--  \n\\\u003eHoly fuck, it's in color!  \n\\\u003e \"Mhmm,\" Whitney confirms, suggesting you'd made that exclamation out loud, \"well, sorta. The colors are pretty fucked up, so either you suck at estimation or I suck at math. Just a sec.\"  \n\\\u003eIt actually takes you a second to notice what she's talking about, but you start to see it as you stare. The colors are washed out and stained with red, green, and blue ghosted outlines, as is the screen itself.  \n\\\u003eShe fiddles with the dial a little more though, and the ghosts slide together and sharpen up into a logo.  \n\\\u003eAntex Thermionics.  \n\\\u003ePort Dyson, Avalon.  \n\\\u003eGold lettering on a teal and black seal.  \n\\\u003eHoly shit it's vivid.  \n\\\u003eYou'd heard about experiments with color in moving pictures, but you'd always assumed it was just a novelty and doubted it would catch on even if it could be made to work reliably.  \n\\\u003eThe image jumps and shifts to to a watercolor painting.  \n\\\u003eYeah, color is definitely not just a fucking meme. This thing could produce an entire movie like this? You could get very used to that.  \n\\\u003e \"What do you want to watch, Anon? Got a few you might recognize, but you guys don't record in color. We've colorized a few, but they don't look nearly as good as the real thing.\"  \n\\\u003e \"Mostly westerns on both counts, I take it?\"  \n\\\u003eShe smiles sheepishly.  \n\\\u003e \"All the hollywood movies, and about a third of the Avalonian ones. Got to imagine it'd be pretty weird for a union guy to see a western with anthro actors shot in Avalon though. We're used to it, but I won't make you.\"  \n\\\u003eActually, you're rather curious now that she mentions it. Not much about Avalon makes it across the ocean. Seeing one of their movies would be a hell of a thing, especially if it meant to depict you.  \n\\\u003e \"It's fine. Just put on your favorite; I trust you.\"  \n\\\u003eShe gives you a skeptical look, face half-lit in the glow from the projector.  \n\\\u003e \"Really?\"  \n\\\u003e \"Shook on it, didn't we?\"  \n\\\u003eHer ears flick nervously, but she's grinning.  \n\\\u003e\"Okay. You don't got to like it though; You want somethin' else, you tell me. Might have to watch it in black and white, is all.\"  \n\\\u003e \"I'm sure it'll be fine, least so long as your taste in movies is better than your impulse control.\"  \n\\\u003eShe narrows her eyes and dramatizes a snarl.  \n\\\u003e \"Fuck you, Cap'n.\"  \n  \n\\\u003eAfter a minute or two of rifling she emerges with a slender, gray box.  \n\\\u003eYou can't make out its features in the darkness, but if that's a film reel somehow, it's fucking tiny.  \n\\\u003eNo bigger than a book.  \n\\\u003eWhitney fiddles with it for a minute, then with something on the projector. The latter spits out a cash register sort of mechanism with a ringing sound to match, and then swallows the gray box thing whole.  \n\\\u003eYou give up the last bit of hope you had for understanding what the fuck is going on here. Whitney seems to notice, and, to your annoyance, take a good deal of pleasure in noticing.  \n\\\u003e \"Magnetic tape,\" she chirps, \"Ain't an engineer, but basically they print the tape with instructions that tell the projector how to draw the images instead of the actual images. Guess you can fit a lot more instructions than you can pictures. Ain't 'gonna lie, that don't make a lick of sense to me, but....\"  \n\\\u003eThe projection ripples again, then refreshes to a slow pan across a dry-looking expanse of desert. In full motherfucking color. Holy hell if Popular Mechanics could get their hands on this thing.  \n\\\u003e \"...pretty neat, huh? They only came out a couple years ago. Probably spent more than I should snapping one up, but here we are. Reckon if anything was going to vindicate this purchase, it'd be tonight.\"  \n\\\u003eShe shifts a little as the title and credits roll, making a show of finding space for her tail but edging up to you in the process.  \n\\\u003eThe Sheriff Marty Wales  \n\\\u003e Starring Josey Robins  \n\\\u003eYou don't recognize any other names, not that that's surprising.  \n  \n\\\u003eIt's a decent movie, actually, though she's right about the actors being a bit bizarre. Now and again the backgrounds get a little obvious too, but you can overlook that. It's not like shooting on-site would have been an option.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eThe content itself isn't so far removed from a hollywood production as you were expecting.  \n\\\u003eMaybe a little cheezier in places, but in others it might actually be more serious. Avalon doesn't skimp on themes regarding loyalty and betrayal. It seems they have a bit more of a stomach for violence, too.  \n\\\u003eWhitney actually looks away once or twice. You suppose that adds up, but she still seems to take exceptional zeal in the revenge scenes.  \n\\\u003eThe story, close as you can tell, follows the travels of the eponymous sheriff and the Cherokee partner he picks up along the way.  \n\\\u003eThe latter is portrayed by some sort of hyena. You're not sure if that's racist.  \n\\\u003eIt's engaging enough, but it does drag on awhile. By the top of the second hour you're fading.  \n\\\u003eIt seems like Whitney might be too.  \n\\\u003eAt some point she'd inched closer to you again, or maybe it was you that had done it.  \n\\\u003eYou're resting heavily on each other now and the blanket is pulled over and around the both of you.  \n\\\u003eIt might have been a little awkward had the day been better, or if you weren't so goddamn tired, but as it was they couldn't have paid you enough to move.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eShe's warm and soft, and you'll be damned if she doesn't make you feel secure,  \n\\\u003eIf she doesn't make you feel like you belong.  \n\\\u003eYou ain't belonged in a very long time.  \n  \n\\\u003eWhitney's asleep by the beginning of the last act.  \n\\\u003eJosey Robins, or whatever his character's name was, is helping his family defend their homestead with a pair of six-guns.  \n\\\u003eWell, it ain't really his family. They met on the road. He saved someone's life; someone saved his, and as they went on, they sort of adopted each other.  \n\\\u003eSomething about it makes a lot of sense to you. You reckon you might have been able to place it if you weren't all but asleep yourself.  \n\\\u003eBut it feels correct, and only more so each time he puts a bullet through the head of someone who sought to rend them apart.  \n\\\u003eAnd you'll be damned if your arm hasn't found its way around Whitney's waist, and her head onto your shoulder.  \n\\\u003e And if it doesn't feel pretty correct, too.  \n\\\u003eYou could be like them, couldn't you?  \n\\\u003eA sort of family?  \n\\\u003eYou ain't ever really had a family.  \n\\\u003eDidn't really think about it much either, at least not 'till now.  \n\\\u003eYou hadn't thought you needed one, but what if you were wrong?  \n  \n\\\u003eThen the screen flashes and the audio pops, hisses and dies.  \n\\\u003eThe change in lighting shatters your trance. For a few seconds you try to cling to the splinters, but they float away before you can get a grip on them and melt into the static on the screen.  \n\\\u003eThe fuck had you been on about, anyway?  \n\\\u003eSome sort of sappy shit you don't quite remember.  \n\\\u003eNot that it seemed wrong; it didn't.  \n\\\u003eJust not so profound as it had when half your mind was sleeping.  \n\\\u003eYou shake some of the mist from your eyes and rub at your forehead with the ball of your hand.  \n\\\u003eYour ribs ache, your head aches. Your eyes ache. Your arms ache.  \n\\\u003eFuck you, you're tired.  \n\\\u003eAt least now you might have a shot at sleeping.  \n\\\u003eWhitney's passed out on you shoulder, snoring quietly.  \n\\\u003eHer ears are resting and her tail is still. Her muzzle hangs open a little, lips parted along a shallow, contented smile.  \n\\\u003ePoor kid deserves it; she's been through a lot today.  \n\\\u003eYou both have.  \n\\\u003eShe plays tough, but you know the truth.  \n\\\u003eChrist do you know the truth.  \n\\\u003eAnd you know you feel better with her there beside you, but you can't stay forever.  \n\\\u003eYou give her waist one last reassuring squeeze and set about planning your escape.  \n\\\u003eThis is her rack, after all.  \n\\\u003eHer space.  \n\\\u003eAnd as much as the back of your mind is screaming at you to stay, you don't belong here.  \n  \n\\\u003eBut she'd sleep better if you stayed, wouldn't she?  \n\\\u003eYou know you would.  \n\\\u003eShe's right, though, even if she apologized. You're her partner. You owe her a little respect.  \n\\\u003eSo you lean forward and guess at the switch that turns the projector off, then shift her weight to your arm and lie her down as gently as you can. She shifts a little, but doesn't wake.  \n\\\u003eA bittersweet vacuum seems to open up between you as you let her go.  \n\\\u003eIt tugs at your shirt as you sit up.  \n\\\u003eOh yeah, the blankets. It's fucking cold out here.  \n\\\u003eYou wouldn't be overstepping your boundaries to tuck her in, would you?  \n\\\u003eShe must be cold. You're fucking freezing.  \n\\\u003eSo you throw the blankets over her, probably with a bit more precision and delicacy than you meant to.  \n\\\u003eTrouble is, now you're close again, and the tug is even stronger.  \n\\\u003eYour cold, dark rack sulks in the far corner, looking almost impossibly far away.  \n\\\u003eYou could slip under the blankets yourself, you know? Just for a little while?  \n\\\u003eIt looks awfully warm and comfortable.  \n\\\u003eThe closer you get, the more the feeling tugs at you.  \n\\\u003eIt tugs until you collapse and slide in beside her, and warmth washes over you like a tidal wave.  \n\\\u003eIt just feels so fucking right. With your back to hers, it feels like the two of you are untouchable.  \n\\\u003eYou could take on the world pressed together like that.  \n\\\u003eIt might be difficult; it might be frightening, but if you were scared all you had to do was press a little closer.  \n\\\u003eAnd so long as you fought, you'd never end up like that poor bastard in the cargo bay.  \n\\\u003eMaybe she was a stupid kid. Maybe she didn't know what she'd gotten herself into. And maybe you were projecting more than a little. But now you had each other, and whatever happened, it would be okay.  \n  \n\\\u003e...you should go to bed.  \n\\\u003eBut what if you didn't?  \n\\\u003eWhat if you stayed right where you were?  \n\\\u003eWhat if you just slept?  \n\\\u003eHere.  \n\\\u003eWith her?  \n\\\u003eWhat if you belonged?  \n\\\u003eYou try to give that fair consideration, but you don't get very far before the warmth and the sleepy drone of the propellers crawl up and swallow you.  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"Silver Lining (Archival Version)","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1349887-silver-lining-chapter-5.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1349889-silver-lining-chapter-7.json"}}