starcustard extras

gen's knees

The Nousus were having dinner.

The slavekids of the kitchen surged forwards, eddying around the haughty, blubbery landmass that was Mistress Organza Nousu, depositing cutlery and steaming dishes upon the silver table, and retreating again in an off-white wave.

Organza made a noise of disapproval and the corners of her painted-on lips sagged. The slavekids should have been out of sight by the time she arrived at the dinner table--but every day, it seemed, she arrived a little earlier, throwing them into urgent haste and confusion.

Another wave surged, this time in the more acceptable form of her own offspring.

'Children!' she snapped. 'No skateboards at the dinner table!'

The perpetrators grumbled and shoved, ramming spitefully into the shins of the slavekids still trying to get out of the way.

Today Organza Nousu was wearing a necklace of green spacepearls, which rolled back along the fat of her body as she rolled forwards until they got wedged in a bulging crease of her leather-like skin. She slithered and curled herself onto a round, padded stool, nearly the same width as the table, and lost interest in her children as her big, orange eyes fell upon the selection of food.

Her twig-like arms could only reach as far as the metal extensor limbs placed at the edge of the table. A lazy prod and flick of the extensor brought a bowl of spacecanapés tumbling onto her plate, and her eyes were already on the next dish along.

It was then, once Organza and the minislugs had all seated themselves and greedily begun, that Gilt Humphrey Nousu lumbered in. He grunted and sat himself opposite his wife.

'Mother wants to visit,' he said.

'Not at the dinner table, husband,' replied Organza. 'We're eating.'

'Has the girl been fed?'

'It was your turn.'

'Hydie!'

'Oh, don't bring her here,' said Organza. 'Why can't she wait? She puts me off my food.'

'Hydie!'

Gen appeared at the doorway, looking detached and solemn as usual in her grubby white pyjamas.

Gilt Nousu stared. 'What in the name of all things hideous is that?'

Organza glanced at Gen distractedly, pausing for a moment to look critically at the massive blue bow stuck to her head. 'She's always loitering,' the slug complained, reaching for the spacegravy jug. 'I thought it would make her look better around the place.' She glanced again at Gen, irritably. 'Why does she have those legs, anyway? With those things on them. Those--'

'Knees?' suggested Gilt.

'Yes, those things. They're unsightly. I don't like it when she moves. She's too...' Organza waved the jug in a vague gesture, screwing up her face.

Gilt gazed at his wife, waiting for her to finish the sentence. She did not.

'Make her go away,' she said instead.

Gilt waved her off, completely forgetting the reason he had called her in the first place. Gen turned and glumly plodded back to her room.

'Pass the sprouts, husband.'

Gilt Humphrey Nousu passed the sprouts.