[center][h2]When the Night Makes You Numb, Part 4 - (Day 3, Evening)[/h2]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/XD4YybU.png[/img][/center]

A collab between [@Xandrya] and [@Wanderingwolf]

The moon of Pelorum hung low in the sky, like a bird lazily carried by the tropical breeze. Cal's jaw was slack as he leaned against the mule; his silver case leapt into his hand. He watched far off as a couple of young folk carefully clutched a bundle of pink flesh to their chests in turn while waiting on the night bus. The lighter flipped on, he held out the cigarette. That yellow moon hung low and bright, he could almost see Alana's eyes there blinking back beneath those dark brows--[i]"Da Shiong La Se La Ch’wohn Tian!"[/i] (trans. explosive diarrhea of an elephant)

Captain Strand's expletives played second fiddle to the show the man put on as he wildly beat out the fire that had engulfed the brim of his favorite hat. "[i]Lio Coh Jwei Ji Neong Hur Ho Deh Yung Duh Buhn Jah J’wohn![/i]" (trans. stupid son of a drooling whore and a monkey) 

Eyes from the newly minted parents turned to the man who now held a smoldering hat and a defeated expression, "[i]Shuh Muh?[/i]" He said, throwing up his hands at the pair who decided to forgo the bus in favor of walking. (trans. what?)

Cal leaned backward against the mule, before sliding to the ground. Propping his elbows on his knees, both hands held the still smoking hat by what remained of the brim. She was gone. She was really gone. He'd been trying to forget her--and now? He looked at the moon. And now he never could.

She waited, and then waited some more. Imani practically melted into her seat, finding herself being entertained by passerby and the occasional rush due to an emergency. But an undefined amount of time later, the doctor returned with a holyman in tow, the latter holding an urn with both hands. His expression was slightly apologetic, but mostly serious. Probably the very same face he presented whenever he dealt with a death, and given his profession, that must be quite often. 

"Ms. Imani, I'm Father Francis. Here are Dr. Lysanger's ashes..." he stretched out his arms to offer her the urn. "If you're up to it, I can say a prayer from any faith you follow."

She took the urn, wanting to already be out of that place. "Mighty kind of you, and the effort is appreciated but I'm not too keen on religion." Imani then wished them a good day and turned on her heel, hoping to find Cal nearby and not be a stranded hitchhiker. 

But as luck would have it, he was still in the area. Imani picked up the pace, settling in next to him once she was at his side. "I had her cremated...otherwise I believe her body would have been used for some students to poke around on, and I dunno, figured she deserved a better send-off than getting used as a lab rat." Imani waited for his reaction, whether that was an angry outburst or a simple acknowledgment devoid of emotion, he was completely within his right. 

He let her words sink in while still staring at the skies. Not only was Alana gone, but she was dust. Breaking his brooding gaze for the simple, utilitarian urn in Imani’s hands, his mind cast backward–would she have wanted to be an experiment? As a medical professional, it weren’t out of the question. Selfishly, he didn’t want that for her. If he were in Imani’s boots, he probably would have done the same, and so he finally said, “I reckon you’re right.”

Cal stretched out a hand to touch the urn’s lid in Imani’s lap. The old adage was something like, ‘ashes to ashes and dust to dust.’ The saying had a finality to it, true, but what he got most from it was the insignificance of everything in between. One day you’re riding across the sky, the next, dust. He swallowed hard. 

“It’s late,” he said, rising. Mounting the mule, he kicked it to life, tossing what was left of his hat into the gutter. He idled there a moment; waited for Imani to saddle up. Waited for something to touch him in the void he was swimming in. He’d had his anger already. When Alana left he was plenty furious. Now he was left with the hole left behind by anger, pain, and grief. The last words he said to her still tattooed his brain: ‘you do your gorram job and I’ll do mine.’  And now it’d keep playin’ for a spell, he wagered. Keep playin’ until he drowned it out with the usual suspects.

His face said it all; no words needed. Imani helped the captain secure the urn as they prepared for their return to the Doll. She could only ponder as to the many thoughts racing through his mind in that moment. Imani had never had a significant other whom she'd be devastated over losing, thus she didn't have many empathetic words of consolation to offer Cal, nothing really other than her company. 

"Trade me?" she gently placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping he'd take her offer.  

Cal didn’t have to think about it, feeling the tap on his shoulder. He threw his leg over the mule and stood, not making eye contact with Imani as she took the driver’s seat. Once she was settled, he saddled up behind her and placed one arm around her side for stability. Hours ago she had wrapped her hands around his waist to the beat of the music; sober yet sotted, and just plain sad, the Captain didn’t lose sight of the irony.

Imani glanced over her shoulder, confirming Cal had plopped down and readied up for the ride. She didn't further speak as she revved her up, and a moment later she welcomed the breeze making a slight mess of her hair.