Chapter Text
"Annect, you must do something." Viridia Mullbery, captain of the Cymbidium, paced around my modest observation room, careful to avoid treading on any of my haphazardly strewn vines. She made a show of pausing to look out of one of the windows that lined the walls of the nonagonal room, resting two of its hands on the windowsill while the other two hugged her waist. Though she had turned her back to me, I could tell that I was the full focus of its attention.
"You know I wouldn't be making this wellness check unless I thought the issue was quite serious." Her voice rang heavily with concern, though there was a low, barely perceptible hum underlying it that felt almost like… anticipation.
I tried not to dwell too much on what that could mean.
"Yes, I admit, I have been a little out of sorts lately - but that's just because I've been distracted with the gallery! Lots of new exhibits that require my attention. There's no issue, truly." That was what I had been telling myself, at least. I did my best to weave sincerity into my tones, and hoped that Viridia believed it more than I did.
I heard the subtle shifting sound of fingers pressing into wood, then the grinding of its sabatons on the floor as she turned in place to face me.
She gestured to all of the me threading across the floor and up the walls; a multitude of thin vines all originating from a messy tangle that surrounded my core in the center of the room, decorated with arrowhead-shaped leaves and clusters of pastel purple flowers. "Dear friend, how long has it been since you've gathered yourself up, left this stuffy room, and spent some time amongst the sophonts that you so lovingly run your gallery for? Have you even seen the new exhibits yourself - up close?"
A few of her roots drifted down and idly trailed across my chaotically sprawling self. I shivered slightly from the casual contact.
"Well… no. But, that's not necessary, really! The optic network in this tower lets me observe anything or anyone, anywhere in the gallery, with as much detail as I could possibly require. When I visit the gallery personally I can only effectively watch whichever section I'm in at the time." I could feel the attention that it focused on me; being under such intense scrutiny was an unfamiliar and slightly unnerving sensation. "S-so, it's really much more efficient for me to be in here where I can oversee the whole thing at once!"
Veridia began slowly walking towards me, and her roots began to further unfold and intrude into my space. I could feel the anticipatory hum in her tone rise in pitch by a few notes.
"Youngbloom, since you don't seem to have the grace to let me be polite about this, I will be direct instead. You are not adequately taking care of your own well-being."
The words made my rhythm skip; its proclivities were well known to me. Even if I didn't know her personally, I'd still know it by reputation, and I was starting to get an idea of what she might be anticipating. As my thoughts swirled, I didn't notice the vine that she had extended to wrap around my core until it was gently wending its way through the mass I still had surrounding it. She was standing close now.
Too close.
"You came aboard this ship to find a cute little xeno to take care of, yet you spend all your time in your hab just watching the world outside. How are you going to find a floret if you don't actually get to know any of the little ones?"
My voice rallied as I once again found a foothold in the conversation. "Oh, but that's what I've been watching for! I can evaluate so many potential florets as they're walking through the gallery. None have caught my eye so far, but I'm sure with the recent influx of patrons I'll find one soon!"
"Petal, finding a floret isn't only about who they are; it's about what you and they can be together. It's like a dance, or symbiosis - you'll never be able to take a good measure by simply watching at a distance. It's something that requires a vines-on approach."
My leaves quivered slightly as she pressed herself even closer.
"You need to be able to feel how you'll mingle, and meld." Its vine continued to invade my tangles, now sliding directly along my core's surface. "You can't really know that much about a sophont until you've been inside it - one way or another."
"O-oh yes, that is such a great point! I'll start compiling a shortlist of candidates that I can follow up on after-"
Veridia made a clicking sound with its tongue, and my thoughts went as pure white as my core when she squeezed it firmly against herself. Her previously restrained smile twitched in a way reminiscent of a twig snapping, and the corners of her mouth curled and widened to reveal an intimidating row of glinting, sharp teeth.
"Gloria, sweetheart. You're far too cute to be tempting me like this. I'm trying to do my due diligence as captain - and as a friend - but your excuses are making it so very difficult for me to control myself." The floorboards groaned as if being put under a great deal of pressure.
I found myself unable to speak, faced with the cavernous hunger now pouring out in waves from the monster that was embracing me.
"It's clear as day-" she used two fingers to lift one of my vines away from my core and examine it, "you're practically wilting in here; the stress is going to force you into an early rebloom if you stay like this. If you'd like to go that route, I could arrange to have you wake up afterwards in my nursery. I'd love nothing more than an excuse to make you my floret for a bloom and teach you how to take care of yourself properly."
Its grin flashed wickedly. "Doesn't that sound like fun?~"
I quickly hummed a nonverbal disagreement, still having a difficult time finding any words in my head.
"Or... You could take my advice and actually correct your predicament. I suppose." She sounded less than enthused about this option.
"W-what do you suggest?"
"Hmm." Her rhythm became difficult to read as I felt her wrestle her hunger back into whatever cage she had crafted to contain it. It mostly felt like a mixture of both professional satisfaction and personal disappointment.
"A pity," she added, mostly to herself, then resumed: "The gallery is a bad starting point, and I know you know that. Most of the patrons are already florets accompanied by their affini; this isn't the most independent-oriented area of the ring. You need to get out of your little bubble and interact."
She unwound herself from around me as she spoke, retracting its vines and roots back inside of itself, but not before giving my core one last blissful caress.
"I recently had some low-priority wellness check request forms come across my desk. If you take care of one or two, I'll consider it as a show of good faith that you're going to start taking your well-being more seriously. Do we have a deal?"
"Y-yes. Okay. Deal. The gallery probably won't fall apart if I take a short break, and maybe it would do me some good to get out and socialize."
"I guarantee it will. But on the off chance it doesn't," her grin widened again, "my offer remains open~"
"Gloria Annect, 4th Bloom, she/her. You must be Samantha. It's nice to meet you!"
Sitting alone in one of the small wooden boats that facilitated transportation around the Cymbidium's 4th habitation ring, I rehearsed my greeting and reviewed the wellness check request.
Sam - I assume short for Samantha - had lived in a community of independents aboard the Cymbidium for the last few years. She had received a couple of wellness checks in the past, but seemed to be quite competent at taking care of herself. This check seemed more of routine concern than anything, so I could understand the low priority.
"Gloria Annect, 4th Bloom, she/her. Hi, you must be Samantha. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Her little community was located on one of the archipelagos that dotted the largely-aquatic ring. Based on what little I could dig up about her on the overnet I wasn't expecting her to be the one per se - but who knows who else I might meet on the way?
Taking the transfer shuttles from my home on the 1st hab ring to the 4th was pleasant, and relatively uneventful. It gave me time to do a small search for background info on the subject of today's outing.
"Gloria Annect, 4th Bloom, she/her. Samantha - can I call you Sam? It's so nice to meet you!"
"Sam" Rider, 26. She had been a designer back in the accord, but now spent much of her time as an avid artist, specializing in abstract pieces. (I made a mental note to ask if she'd like to exhibit something in my gallery). She had a small but consistent group of friends - Snow, Nicha, Christy, and Terrace - that went on weekly hikes, and she lived alone in her art studio-slash-hab. She'd had a few romantic relationships over the last few years, the longest lasting just over 61 days.
Samantha went to therapy every two weeks, and was up to date on all of her vet checkups. Along with some general mood stabilizers prescribed by the vet, she had also taken to drinking a weak class D tea before painting to help her stay honest with her art.
"Gloria Annect, 4th Bloom, she/her. Samantha, it's so very nice to meet you!"
Her favorite food was an old Terran dish called "spaghetti casserole", her favourite drink was milk tea, and her favorite colors were - in descending ranked order - blue, purple, and burgundy. She was an adorable 5'9", had adorable steel-grey eyes, and her wavy shoulder-length hair was an adorable chestnut brown. Her favorite search term appeared to simply be "ENF", which I learned to be a niche type of florn.
Perusing her genealogy and family tree didn’t turn up anything particularly noteworthy, but pulling down her electronic journal and running it through a few custom search filters did provide some potentially useful tidbits. She was afraid of heights, and loved the smell of petrichor. She was dominant in her right hand, but did most of her art with her left. Once, when she was 7, she was stung by a flying insect and since then has had a strong aversion to needles and injections of any sort.
"Gloria Annect, 4th Bloom, she/her. Hello, Samantha. It's nice to meet you."
I also compiled some data on things like her physical measurements, nutritional intake, sleep schedule, resting heart rate, and other metrics of that nature that could be quickly requested from her hab's AI.
This was my first time performing a wellness check, so I wanted to make sure I had at least some context to help understand her better. The last thing I wanted to be was unprepared.
The boat brought me along a number of charming waterways that carved their way through the independent community, lined on both sides by seed-like buildings of various shapes and sizes that had clearly been grown in place. Before long I arrived at a small dock just outside of Samantha's house. It was a little ways off what appeared to be the main thoroughfare, but not isolated by any means.
I lifted myself out of the boat, and the wooden dock creaked slightly under my roots. I noticed a few Terrans walking past along the walkway, very pointedly not noticing me in return. They were admittedly rather good at it - they would need to be in order to stay sustainably independent - but it was just so adorable how they couldn't control the fractional increases in the depth of their breathing, or the micromovements visible around their eyelids as they made the conscious decision not to look at me.
Fighting off the urge to follow them at a minimally frightening distance, I reminded myself of my job. I would have plenty of time to peer about the neighborhood after I had wrapped up the task at hand. If I didn't do at least that much, I… I honestly had no idea how serious Veridia had been about her offer, but she wasn't a sophont that I felt safe testing the boundaries of.
I crossed over to the front entrance of Samantha's hab, then stopped to take a quick look at my tablet. With a few taps I brought up the layout for the single-story home, with a slowly pulsing green dot that indicated Samantha was currently in her art studio. That was wonderful, maybe I'd get a chance to watch her at work! I found the process of creatives to often be just as fascinating as the end result, which is why I made my gallery open to both completed works as well as live demonstrations and workshops and the like.
It seemed a bit rude to interrupt her, so I made a few more taps to disable the visitor notification she had set up for the front door, and let myself in.
The interior was warmly lit, and appeared well-lived in. I might say it verged on cluttered, but the collections of art and trinkets and curios that lined her shelves and cabinets appeared to be arranged with intent, and the lack of dust was solid evidence that their density was a choice rather than an inability to organize.
As I made my way to the back of the house where the studio was located, I couldn't find any signs of neglect in the upkeep of the hab, which was also a good sign. I typed a few cursory notes into my tablet so that I'd be able to fill out my report in adequate detail later.
There was audible music coming from the studio at a reasonable decibel level. Downtempo, largely synthesized instrumentation without vocal passages, and an emphasis on notes in the lower ranges of what I understood Terrans could perceive audibly. The vibrations felt quite pleasant on my leaves and coming up through the floor through my roots, though I wondered how much Samantha could truly appreciate the very lowest and most decadent of those frequencies.
I rounded a corner and entered the studio, where I found Samantha applying paint to canvas in rough but confident strokes. She turned her head to look at me and my carefully-practiced introduction withered on the vine as I came face to face with my floret.
In that fraction of a second, I knew.
Veridia was right. There was no way I could have noticed from afar. She needed me. She was screaming for me. A million subtle data points; from the set of her jaw, to the way she held the paintbrush, to the lack of trace hormones that would indicate a recent orgasm - all intertwining and connecting and pointing to the single conclusion that she was miserable.
None of the other affini who performed her past wellness checks had noticed, but that's because she was my floret, and her misery was in a language only I could hear. But I was here now, and I knew what she needed, whether or not she realized it herself.
Without wasting any time, I launched myself forward to embrace her. We collided with her in-progress painting in my haste, knocking over the easel, but there were no universes where I could keep my vines off of her for a single instant longer. The paints she had been holding made long streaks down the wall after I ushered them from her hand, and I wrapped her in my foliage to cushion her landing as I brought us both to the ground.
She opened her mouth to scream, but she had already told me everything I needed to know. I gently covered the lower half of her face with my palm to stifle the sound, and spoke to her soothingly. "Shhh, shhh. It's okay. You don't need to say anything. I'm here. Shhhh." At the same time, my thin tendrils swiftly divested her of her painting smock, and the ill-fitting dress shirt and trousers she was wearing under them.
Her ineffective struggles against my grasp let me know I was making the right choice, almost as much as the tears now streaking down her cheeks, or the cute little sobs being muffled by my hand, or the hardness forming between her legs. I gazed down into her two eyes with all of my nine as I cooed at her reassuringly, "Don't worry, my flower, I'm not going anywhere."
She was contorting her body in a way that made it difficult to remove her tenting underwear, so I simply tore it off of her. She was now laid completely bare beneath me, no barriers remained in the way of my grasping, groping vines as they learned every square inch of her decadent skin. She was beautiful. Precious. Perfect.
Mine.
Though I did take care to not spend too much time examining her cute little cock; I didn't want to overstimulate the poor dear. The way her body shivered and twitched as I gently touched her most sensitive parts told me everything I needed to know about just how wonderfully sensitive she was.
My vines curled and wrapped and wound around her in every conceivable way, tantalizing over the texture of every wrinkle and follicle and pore, and I could feel her settling down a bit. Her vocalizations had reduced to sweet little whimpers against my palm, and she was hardly struggling at all, though her heart rate remained elevated.
I wished to remedy this with my now-dripping injectors, though I recalled her aversion towards needles. This also brought to mind one of her medical records from six years back which noted her tendency for muscle spasms in her lower back, so I wrapped a few additional vines under her waist for support.
I would need to get some grafts for alternate xenodrug administration to avoid injections in the future, but for now, I would do my best to distract the sweet flower from her fears.
"Just keep looking here, sweetpea, everything is going to be perfectly fine." I intoned sweetly, as I felt for an ideal injection site on her thigh. She did as I bade her, unable to pull her gaze away as the typically featureless phytoflesh of my face split horizontally to reveal a mouth lined with short, pointed teeth, and a long, slick tongue that unfurled lazily from the new opening. A bundle of thin vines began to slide themselves between her legs, as a delicate trail of sap dripped down from my tongue and onto her cheek.
All at once, I plunged my injector into her thigh, pressed the bundle of vines up and inside of her, and removed my hand from her face to press my mouth down onto hers, filling her warm cavities with the parts of me that fit so perfectly. She reacted to the injection, screaming into me with renewed thrashing, but I anticipated this reaction and had fine-tuned the dose of class E's accordingly, which were now flowing into and through her nervous system.
I basked in the indescribable feeling of being inside my floret - in more ways than one - integrating the wide buffet of new sensory information available to me while the sedatives started to do their work, and she once again became mostly still. The dose was precisely calculated to get her within a handful of BPM from her typical basal heart rate, followed by a slow drip-feed to dial it in before I gently removed the needle. The injected compound could also have a soporific effect in high enough quantities, and I didn't want her missing any of this joyous milestone.
Now that she was finally relaxed in my grasp, I took my time luxuriating in her body - both inside and out. I held her close, and took in every iota of her sensation that I could. After what felt like an eternity of satisfaction, I lifted my head to regard her fondly, and she gazed back with shallowly-focused eyes. "Who… who are you…?" she asked, weakly.
"Gloria Annect, 4th Bloom. It's a pleasure to meet you, Samantha. I'm here to perform a wellness check."
“Oh, again? I just had one like, six months ago.” Samantha stepped away from her easel to set her paints and paintbrush down on a nearby table. “Also it's, ah, just Sam. Short for Samuel…”
My perception snapped back to reality, where Samantha was still standing in her studio, fully clothed, untouched by my vines. That was a wonderful fantasy, but it was my fantasy - not hers. She was still screaming for my help, she was still mine. But I wouldn’t let my eagerness ruin perfection. What she needed - what she deserved - was a much more subtle approach.