Limitless Evolution As a Snake

I let out this breath I didn’t know I was holding, and it turns into a low hum without me even trying, my coils rumbling with it in a way that would probably terrify literally anyone else who saw me right now.

It’s nice, having people to come home to that actually love you; that’s definitely new and sort of sad. The kind of new that makes me wonder what the catch is, but still, I could get used to this.

I mean, I’m already used to it, if I’m honest, but sue me, I’m allowed to enjoy it twice. The ten-million-credit casino debt is still out there. My father’s group is probably watching the building. But none of it reaches this bed. Right now, it’s just soft breathing, warm skin, and me, an overgrown snake with too many issues, feeling more at peace than I have in longer than I want to admit.

I close my eyes and let the quiet win.

Lyra’s the one on my left, and she’s gone and cuddled right in against my side, her face, usually tense and focused when she’s awake, is completely soft and relaxed and doing her tough undercity cop thing. Her mouth’s parted just a little, and every breath comes out slow and even, this quiet little rhythm that I can actually feel through my scales where she’s pressed up against me. Her silver hair is a mess, fanned out across the pillow, a few strands stuck to her cheek.

Every now and then she lets out this tiny moan, barely even a sound, more like a hum caught in her throat, and shifts her hips like she’s chasing something in a dream. I don’t ask; I mean, I’m pretty sure I know what she wants. But I’m not interrupting this; I’ll just let her do it.

Cherry’s got her leg thrown clean over my tail as she claimed it hours ago, foot tucked against my scales, and she’s still going with the sleep-mumbling, low and slurred and mostly nonsense.

”...apartment’s actually nice,” she mutters, frowning like she’s arguing with someone in her dream. ”Not bad, not bad at all.”

I have no idea what apartment she’s talking about or who she’s defending it to, but I let out a quiet huff of air through my snout that’s basically a laugh. She’s got one arm flung above her head, the blanket bunched down around her waist, and honestly, asleep like this, mumbling about real estate to nobody, she’s somehow both the cutest and hottest thing I’ve ever seen, which feels like it shouldn’t be possible, but here we are.

I stay real still between them, not wanting to wake either one up, just soaking in the warmth and the quiet and the two heartbeats I can feel through my scales, slow and steady, completely unbothered by the fact that their pillow is a giant snake.

For once, my head’s not racing. No debts, no casino floor, no chips sliding across felt, no suits trying to get me to sign things I don’t understand. Just this, just them.

I let my tongue flick out one more time, tasting the air, tasting them, and then I let my focus soften, coiling in just a little tighter around both of them like I could keep the whole rest of the world out if I just held on close enough.

—————————

Morning comes too fast and drags us all downstairs to some little coffee shop tucked into the bottom floor of the building, and I’m not built for mornings, not built for people, definitely not built for whatever’s about to happen at the counter.

The guy behind it has six arms. Six of them, all moving at once, steaming milk, grinding beans, stacking cups, and he’s got this big dumb happy grin on his face like serving coffee is the greatest privilege of his entire life.

”Morning! What can I get you folks!” he says, way too loud for how early it is, tail flicking behind him like an excited dog.

I slide up first because that’s what a guy in charge does; he goes first, he sets the tone. ”I’ll take a large flat white.”

All six arms pause mid-motion. ”A what?”

”Flat white.”

Old mate, do they not have flat whites in Ami?

[System: Think America; some cafes do, some cafes dont.]

”Is that a person? Sorry, I don’t understand.”

”It’s coffee,” I whined, even though if I’m honest, I heard some rich lady say it once in a show and never actually found out what it meant.

”Uh.” He looks at me like I just asked for a bowl of soup with a fork. ”I can do you an iced amicano?”

”Sure, iced america, that works. I have no idea what I just agreed to, but I say it with total confidence, because confidence is ninety per cent of being a mafia prince, and the other ten per cent is not getting shot.

Old Mate pipes up in the corner of my vision, unhelpful as always.

[Old Mate: Mate, that’s not even a real word; you just made up iced america? Hahaha, legendary.]

Cherry’s next, practically vibrating out of her coat. ”Um, sorry, hi, could I get, um, the unicorn one? The drink? With the, um, sparkles, if you have sparkles, and maybe it’s pink. Sorry, I don’t know if that’s a real thing.”

The spider guy’s grin somehow gets even bigger. ”The unicorn one! Yeah! I’ll, uh, I’ll figure something out!” Two of his arms immediately start grabbing bottles of syrup that definitely don’t belong together, and he looks thrilled about it.

Lyra cuts in, her voice even. ”Espresso shot, just the shot.”

”Espresso shot, got it, love the confidence,” he says, already pulling the lever.

I really want to yell wrong lever, but no one but old mate would get the joke.

I stand there trying to hold all three orders in my head. Flat white, which is now iced amicarno somehow, unicorn sparkle mystery drink, espresso shot. Simple stuff, just three things. I’ve survived combat with things that wanted to eat me alive; I can surely remember three coffee orders.