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Tropical Petal
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Sometime following the arrival of a new year, a letter arrives at the Vesper Society, addressed to a certain "Penny Ainsley".
It is simple, straightforward. A hand-folded envelope containing a photograph and a note - though, the true present there, are the memories. Rare was it in such a world for messages to be delivered in physical media - but when inter-dimensional customs are involved, it was better to be safe.
"Hey. Nickel here," the note begins, written in the precise script of someone with a steady hand. The words are stilted, carefully chosen like pieces taken out of a box and assembled together.
"Thank you for inviting us over to that party. It must be tough being one of the new girls to such a place, being so small. It is hard to take the initiative, asking the commander of your facility to organize such a get-together was thoughtful of you. Do you find it scary? Even so, us small folk, we've always got a blade or two up our sleeves. You'll do fine as you figure things out."
A pause, a discernible gap in the paragraphs being written. To the reader, an implication arises. The seeking of advice from someone more experienced in social interaction; manners and politeness. Like a beast asking how to speak and walk like a person.
"Sorry that Astrolysis broke the food table. Guess she was having so much fun meeting someone just like her. Dunno how she knew that Roz looks like her, given that Astro's blind and she's not, but I guess their spirits are alike in some ways. They sure got excited after they boozed it up together though. Can't say I see two people streak through the streets like that back in my world."
Another pause, another consultation for advice.
"It's good that there was no trouble in the end. I do not know what 'law enforcement' is, but I assume disciplinary action would have followed. But it was fun."
The author of the letter is clearly contemplative. The strokes of the word "fun" looked as if they were drawn out, each taking more than a second to carve into the paper. A word rarely used by the author.
"Maybe we could come again when you are done?"
The faint smell of ash lingering on the paper contrasted the child-like imagined tone of the author herself.
"From one soul in a facility to another, I hope that you figure out what you're gonna do. Maybe it involves stabbing people. Whatever it is, don't regret it.
PS. Astro's got a present for you too."
There's a brief gap - the letter is turned over. Scrawled on the back in big, fingerprint-marked letters in barely legible font...
"I PUT SOME SNACKS. EAT THEM. THEY TASTE GOOD. I KNOW BECAUSE I ATE SOME OF THEM. SHARE WITH THE BIG FUZZY ONE."
Upon shaking the envelope, several plain paper wrappers fall out - sliced open by a talon and licked clean of any crumbs. Then, finally, at the very bottom, a single bar of cocoa and nutrients emerges, untouched. Why someone would put the wrappers back IN the envelope, is another question.
At very least, the experiences of that day remain in picture form: a condensed memory. And a little bittersweet taste from another world.
A duo of presents from those of another context, another conflict.
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