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If there was one plus side to sitting on her ass in the hallway, under the guise of being totally-just-a-vending-machine, it was that it gave Audrey ample time to test the new flesh and muscles inside her and how to use them. She was getting a pretty good handle on it, too– endgame goal: coin-less dispensary. She isn’t sure what part of her made everything relax when the coins came in, probably something that retained its inorganic material and function, but the more she practiced, the easier it got to urge them down without it. One so far! But the amount of effort and concentration had given her her new body’s equivalent to a headache, so not quite worth it yet. But a necessity nonetheless, given they were running on a finite supply of change. She could throw some back up if need be, but it was a relatively unpleasant experience she didn’t exactly look forward to.
She stretches out her various legs, muscles tight from being folded up under her for the better part of eight hours. It was a lot better now that she wasn’t on hardwood– sure, she may or may not be technically using a dog bed right now, but the bar for comfortable living was on the floor nowadays, so she’ll take it. It was orthopedic and all! Those things were expensive!
“Morning, Audrey!”
Blinking the sleep from all her eyes, she smiles at Sam before catching the bag slung over his shoulder, and some of the others still by the door, dropping off assorted gear. An early morning expedition…? Maybe she should join, if they’d just give her a–
She notes the clock. 2 P.M. ?!
“Sorry! You were sleeping really soundly!” Well, that would explain the time. And why she was kind of hungry. She somewhat wishes someone would’ve woken her up, but mostly just felt guilty she wasn’t around to help. It seems all had gone well, whatever they were doing, at least. He slips a dollar coin into her coinslot, to let her reply. “I figured you must need it.”
[It’s alright, not like we have a timeclock. What’s on the agenda tonight?]
It’s what she would’ve said, at least, if the can had come out.
The feeling of smooth metal working its way through her internal systems had mostly ceased to faze her by this point, but this…was new. Audrey squints, able to pinpoint, vaguely, where the can was. She could feel its silhouette, where it stopped, and pushes, attempting to urge the thing along–
She freezes, able to feel the shape of it more accurately by tensing around it, and to her absolute horror, it was sideways . Typically, they moved with the tab facing downwards, carefully pushed along in her interior, as opposed to the free-fall of actual vending machines. This…had yet to happen, and frankly, she’s a little unsure what to do.
Audrey presses on it with a bit more force and finesse, trying to finely toy with it in a way that set it straight, taking an amount of strength that required her not to breathe– to no avail, and now it was stuck, and sore, and she was lightheaded.
She must have been making a face as she tried, because Sam was visibly concerned, hand hovering in front of him, struggling to know what to do. “Are…you okay?”
Hmm. Maybe…
Getting an idea, she instead redirects her focus into sending the dollar coin back out, thankfully still making its way down that particular track. It was a little slimy, and he cringes as he retrieves it, but she thinks he gets her line of thought. Eyes all pointing down to the slot, he reinserts it, and she readies another can.
[Sorry, I think that one got stuck! I’ll figure it out. Anyways, don’t worry about me.]
The label etched with her dialogue, she readies it– from a different compartment. From her own limited idea of her new anatomy, each individual can storage all lead to the same canal, so theoretically, she could knock it free–
Thunk . The two cans smack together, and the sensation causes her to jolt. She feels a shift, though it doesn’t leave her automatically. She pushes down, hoping the added weight and mass will help.
It…doesn’t. Even worse, the second can is pressed right up against the compartment in a way that stings where it pokes, stabbing into something delicate.
Her frustration turns a bit into earnest panic. Unable to think of anything else, she turns one of her legs up enough to thump herself in the “chest”, despite the fact she couldn’t hit anywhere even close to where it was stuck.
“Uhh…Audrey?”
As desperately as she wanted the things out, there wasn’t anything she’s sure he could do to help, and the last thing she wanted was to cause a scene– she rather disliked the attention on her. Thankfully, the upside of so many people in one place was this whole thing was going entirely unnoticed.
Sighing, Audrey threw him his best “what can you do?” look, mimicking a shrug as close as she can. He smiles, though he’s clearly still worried. “Well alright…let me know if you need anything.”
She had to figure something out, but she’d rather figure this something out alone, if she was frank. That was the downside of his apartment, no privacy, for the time being. She wouldn’t complain! It was so, so kind of him to let her in– where it was warm, bright, rat-less (ish. At least the baby and Squeakums were people-ish, and didn’t try to nibble at her if she stayed still too long). And after spending so much time going moderately mad stewing in one place, she rather liked the noise for the most part.
But right now, she felt like an animal needing a dark, solitary corner to pass away in. Perhaps that was dramatic, but this was pretty mortifying, as far as she was concerned.
Seeing her chance to skitter away, she does so, opening herself only so much as was needed to slip a tentacle out and open the door. They’d all probably figure she needed space, floor 3 was pretty consistently safe nowadays and people were in and out as needed, when the confined space was too much.
Moving, as it turns out, was deeply uncomfortable – it felt like someone was pinching her stomach as she walked, were she still human shaped. And it was starting to get a little painful, probably thanks to her genius of idea putting another can on it. Stellar decision making while still half-asleep, she supposed.
Once the door shuts behind her, she meanders a few feet way before trying again, putting all her focus in soloing out the muscles around them. It does little more than wriggle them in place, too heavy to be turned around. Were they those stupid juice boxes, she could probably push them around, but the cans were just too hefty. Worse, they were sloshing – okay, well, they all did that, but in the storage compartments she couldn’t feel them nearly as much. In the much thinner canals where they connected to her tray, she could feel them with much more accuracy. to her great dismay. Every swing of her body swirled the fluid inside them, she could borderline feel the carbonation. It was…a sensation, that was for sure.
Okay, well, she obviously wouldn’t make progress like that. Maybe she needed the opposite approach, maybe she needed to relax to get them out. She should’ve just gone back to napping! Satisfied with the idea, she lowers herself to the ground, tucks her legs into her pouch, and focuses on releasing the tension in every plane of flesh, every tendril, let her innards sag looser in her inner compartment. She'd done full body relaxation in the past, it wasn't that hard!
…
…
…
…
This was also not working. Fuck . Okay, now she was actually getting worried for real. The damn things were starting to hurt, putting pressure on things that made her feel wobbly and weak. She needed them out . She almost wishes she was purely mechanical, so someone could just unscrew something and get them out. But nooo, she’s fleshy and soft inside, probably close to popping a blood vessel with all the effort.
It wasn’t her most ideal choice, given the ruckus it would cause and what she knew, from experience, was a deeply unpleasant feeling of her entire inventory bouncing around in her, but she attempts a jump, still struggling to coordinate all her limbs into the action. It has the most impact of anything she’s done thus far, but not in a good way, smacking all the cans inside together, working those two into walls of meat in a way that felt like getting tied in a knot, and overall made her feel both like she got the air punched out of her and like she had a million golf balls bouncing around inside.
Frustrated, she breaks into a run down the hallway, before forcing herself to stop as suddenly as she can. Like getting a pebble out of your breaks. Everything bounces forward, smacks against their respective homes, but doesn’t move. And now she just feels nauseous.
This was horrifying. What if every compartment did it? They didn’t have infinite coins to test it. Were they going to have to cut them out of her or something? It was the same suffocating dread welling up when she’d realized she was going to run out, doomed to a life time of silence, uncertain Sam would find a way for her to restock. There was no frame of reference for what to do, no guidance that existed for her, it's not like anyone would know what to do for a human goddamn vending machine.
The apartment door creaks open, it needed an oiling bad. Oh god, had she summoned him with the thought? They probably all heard her, she wasn’t exactly stealthy in this form…
Except he doesn’t step out. Instead, it’s Hellen, ducking slightly to avoid hitting her head. She can see the woman’s bright eyes all the way from her spot, and wants to shrink in, tempted to mush herself back into the vending machine disguise, though she thinks that’d make the growing soreness in her core worse . It already cramped all her internals in a way that made her feel like throwing up.
Aaaand she was coming closer. Awesome! Fantastic! She actually legitimately wanted to curl up and die. Had he told her what seemed to be happening?
“Are you alright?” She stops, seeming to remember Audrey can’t respond without a can. “Ah. Blink twice for yes, three times for no.”
Oh, she hasn’t had to do this in awhile.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
“Something’s wrong?”
Blink blink.
“Is it your body?”
Reluctance. Blink blink.
“Where?”
Did she think she was injured? Sick? Did it fall under either category? How the hell is she supposed to blink that? Great, her favorite part of her change: having to play charades.
Letting a tentacle slip out, she pokes at her mouth: the tray, to someone looking at her. Hellen nods. Blink blink blink. Blink blink blink.
“...Your cans won’t come out?”
Oh. She actually got it. Blink blink.
“That’s a problem.” Yeah, it was. “Can it be fixed?”
Audrey curves her two outermost legs in a shrug.
“...Would you let me try?” She tilts her head. “I’ve messed with a machine or two.”
That was…not super reassuring, but running out of options, she supposes she has little choice. Looking past her, to make sure no one else came out to check the noise, she tilts one of her feet into a “come here” motion and skitters off to where the wall dipped wider in the hall, with the other, actual vending machine they’d long since emptied of its contents. If she was going to expose her internals, human organs jumbled to fit spread across the interior of a boxy carapace, only Hellen was going to see it. At least she’d have a smidge of understanding, keeping her own mutation hidden herself.
Preparing herself for whatever reaction she may get, Audrey swings her front open, shivers when the air meets all her various trails of viscera. She was glad she had eyes on the inside, too, so she could see the other at the same time- as much as she realizes she might not want to.
“Oh.” Well, it wasn’t disgust, at least. “This complicates things.”
It sure did.
“I can still try.” Audrey’s interior eyes widen, watching her put her hand near the protrusions of her compartments, but stop several inches short. “May I?”
…Blink blink. She couldn’t just leave it like this…Surely the other couldn’t do that much damage. If she trusted anyone not to actually harm her, Hellen would be on the list.
Nodding, Hellen gently presses her fingertips to one of the rectangular organs in front of her. A great deal of the anatomy was obvious, the heart, lungs, stomach, and intestines are like the human counterparts, just different in size and placement. She knew what to avoid. She didn’t know what she was touching now, but it wasn’t hard to guess it was related to Audrey’s dispensing mechanics. Pressing down slightly firmer confirms the suspicion, able to feel each cylinder inside, through the layer of tissue.
Audrey jolts, she pauses. “Does it hurt?”
Blink blink blink. Just unusual. No one’s…really done this since her change, minus that patting down from Sam, which had been strictly all exterior anyways.
“Okay.” The hand drifts, idly feeling every panel up. Each one felt the same, just with the amount of cans varying in each pocket, the muscles within tense with every press as it mushes the cans against her. She feels a little bad that a thin layer of mucus is without a doubt coating the woman’s hand by now, but Hellen didn’t seem particularly squeamish.
If…she didn’t know better, and maybe she didn’t, she’d say the other even looks fascinated?
“Are they stuck around here?” Blink blink blink. “Can you show me where?”
Timidly, one of the miscellaneous tendrils inside her unfolds from its spot to wrap around Hellen’s hand. She seems a little surprised, but doesn’t stop her, allowing her hand to be maneuvered carefully behind a train of intestine.Thankfully, none of it hurt, like Audrey imagined having an organ touched would– and for someone of such size, the other woman is awfully delicate with her touch, only sliding her fingers further when prompted.
It immediately becomes more obvious where the actual problem was. Audrey can’t see it herself, but she can feel the fingertips tracing the protruding lump of the cans, like her nerves are being used on her behalf, feels them rub together when prodded. It makes her shiver, she really didn’t think this body could still put her through new things, but now she’s not sure it ever will stop surprising her.
“I see.” She lets Hellen go, and keeping her hand on the mass, Hellen slips her other underneath the intestines to approach it from the bottom, where the tube narrows back into its normal shape. One settles on the top can, the other sort of in between where there’s a smidge of give due to the curvature of the objects within. The tendril that’d been holding her shrivels and cringes.“Push when I do.”
Feeling a little embarrassed, Audrey blinks twice. It’s not like she had other options!
“Now.”
She does, in time with careful insistence from the hands on her, trying to urge the cans further. Sweat beads on her exterior, earnestly putting her all into it, but even with the combined effort, it just closes her tighter on them– one of the things rotates, but doesn’t move an inch. Pushing and clenching was a thin line and neither was helping at all. She sort of wants to cry.
“...Hm.” Hellen repositions, gripping the bottom can with both hands now, trying to turn it upright, in case doing so would allow it to come out naturally. Doing it in one direction makes it push onto the other, and a leg kicks out as Audrey wheezes. “Sorry.” She tries the other way, but there’s no give– it pushes on where the adjacent canal curves, allowing no room to maneuver it. Even with another push, all it does force it against the bend in a way that feels not unlike developing a blister, a burning little circle of irritation. “I’m not sure this is going to work.”
She may actually start crying. It’s all so much– the dread of possibly not being able to speak again, at least not from those compartments, especially where she isn’t sure she can get any of the cans out now that they’re in. She’s getting exhausted, the welling anxiety not helping, but none of these muscles were meant to push that hard and so rapidly, and doing so is quickly sapping all she has out of her. Oh god, would they have to surgically intervene? Could anyone here even do that???
“I have another idea.”
Blinking tears out of her multitudes of eyes, even the ones on her front look to Hellen, hopeful.
“Can I reach inside somehow?”
…C. Could she? Audrey…sure knew where stuff came out, but…
A tentacle flip-flops in a sort of “maybe?” motion, because it’s not like she ever tried to put…anything anywhere, aside from how she somehow intuitively knew where the cans went. Certainly not whatever’s above her tray that the cans exited from, since it was…well, an exit. The thought of doing so almost feels...lewd, makes her entire exterior feel hot. She’s not sure if it’s possible, or if it would hurt, but…
“These all lead to your tray, correct?” She’s tracing over every tube, the ones not currently sharing the clogged one's predicament all go concave under her touch. It tickles. Blink blink. “So I assume there’s an opening above it.”
…Audrey places her focus there, and something she wasn’t previously aware of, not consciously anyhow, puckers when she tries it. There sure was.
“It’s a shorter distance than reaching from the top, and the other cans would be in the way.”
Frankly, she wasn’t needing the convincing. She was so so beyond desperate at this point, and a hand, as slightly terrifying as it was, sure beat a scalpel. Blink blink. Pause. Blink blink. Permission to try. Hellen nods, before rolling up her sleeve, folding it over her bicep to keep it in place. Audrey trails the lines of inky hair, the slight definition of muscle. Any other time, the sight of strong arms would’ve been an appealing one, but given the context…
“I’ll be gentle.”
Suddenly, the old, mildew-stained ceiling was very interesting. She couldn’t just say stuff like that! Oh god, she really really hoped her heart wasn’t audible or visible in the fact it was beating faster, hopes her internal temp didn’t rise in a way that could be felt. She’s surprised the sodas aren’t boiling in there.
So maybe she’s looked. She always liked husky women. And Hellen was just always there. Whatever, she was allowed to be mildly attracted to people! She didn’t plan on acting on it, anyhow.
Hellen kneels, the only way she could possibly lower enough to reach into the tray, Audrey does her best to position herself helpfully. It’s an awkward angle nonetheless, but it doesn’t faze her, who blindly slides her hand into the tray and up, up until meeting a ceiling of skin, which flutters when touched. It was significantly more sensitive than anything else she’d pressed on thus far, everything else sort of felt like when a limb lost circulation, but now it was more like fingers in a throat, in terms of…
Audrey was. Not finishing that thought! Frankly, she’s very glad she can’t see it happening, but boy does she feel it, jumping when there’s a featherlight brush over the slit the cans came out from. She wishes she had a name for any of these various parts, maybe that was her frontier to coin. It was just so strange , not going into any one adjective– it wasn’t painful, thankfully. But it wasn’t anything other than odd either, just reactive in the way bodies tended to be, twitching in response to stimuli.
Wet from where they’d previously been exploring, there’s only slight resistance when the tip of two fingers breach. Audrey had mourned her vocal cords to this point, but now she was suddenly grateful she couldn’t make any noise past a sharp inhale. That–! That was. No. She can handle this. It was so goddamn strange but didn’t hurt, she only clamps down because she’s surprised. One of the tendrils accidentally shoots out and grabs Hellen’s unoccupied hand. Sensing the need for comfort, she squeezes back, thumb running over the rubbery skin, and it sends her awash with something.
“Does it hurt?” Blink blink blink. “Alright.”
The fingers slip in further, to the knuckle, without much difficulty. Definitely a squeeze, giving the impression the organ was only meant as an exit and knew it, but like anything, it could be made pliant. Hellen stills, only slightly rubbing, if anything, before scissoring them, trying to nudge her open further–
She. Gets the distinct impression this woman had a lot of practice with a similar action, and was treating this not that much differently, or maybe was just really, really good with her hands. Small blessings. It works, alongside a thumb gently brushing the exterior slit, in a manner that was actually a little calming. Audrey does her best to relax, though it’s her instinct to clench, trying to give her better access. When the ring of muscle finally gives, another finger is carefully tried, and when able to slip in, a fourth, all but her thumb inside her. There's a fluttery rise of titillation as they enter, her mind unable to help comparing it to the feeling of a more human action.
…There. Was no way. This thing was not her junk, Audrey didn’t know what was but she knew this sure wasn’t. But to her great shame this…was still kind of doing it for her. The intimacy of having some deeper part of her opened in a way that distinctly felt like being fingered was just too much. The area was sensitive , she felt like a skyscraper lighting up, and every little bump and rub felt in high definition. There’s an erotic je ne sais quoi to being worked like a machine that frankly seemed impossible to have experienced in any form but this one, almost enjoying the methodical and somewhat clinical way the other was exploring her ins and outs.
She should stop her. She should totally stop her. This was wrong. She had no way to communicate to Hellen what this was now doing to her, that while there wasn’t any particularly erogenous tissue here, the exploration and sudden feeling of being a little fuller is crossing some of her metaphorical wires. And even if the cells there weren't built with arousal in mind, they were still sensitive enough to count, all compounding into the same rise of heat in her guts.
Meekly, she taps on her arm. Hellen meets some of the eyes mixed between her internals, and she hopes, hopes her stare is enough to get it across, she’s about to start writing Xs on her arm just in case–
“It’s fine.” Audrey tenses, and the other no doubt feels it, because any movement she does is getting echoed around her hand. The fingers curl in a little petting motion in response. There…there was no way she…knew? “Unless you want me to stop.”
…
…She didn’t. Because she needed the cans out, yeah, but also because…
She could…be normal about this. So normal. So so normal about a handsome, toned older butch shoving her fist inside her. Just super normal.
Blink blink.
“Good girl.”
The free hand pats her exterior, by all outside appearances praise for being brave but she swears Hellen is gauging her for a reaction, can see slightly into the mask, where the pupils are big and black, watching her.
Oh, god. She knew. She KNEW and she was fucking with her too. Hellen! The icecube! Of all the times to have a humorous bone in her body! Like this wasn’t embarrassing enough– Audrey wishes she had teeth there just so she could chomp. Unreal!
…And nice. Something else somewhere tightens and well, she supposes she has a general idea of where her junk is now, because that organ was certainly getting excited. She could tell that feeling apart well enough...Great. She has a guess the memory of all this will haunt her whenever she gets around to doing anything with it.
Carefully, tentative, Hellen tries her thumb–
Her entire fist goes in with a sudden pop , only a few seconds of effort needed, and Audrey tightens on it so hard it makes the woman grunt, fingers uncomfortably pressed together.
“ Relax .” Painstakingly, she does, and she hates to say it but she’s trembling with the effort not to. Her body just had the natural urge to hold on. In stark contrast to the discomfort of the cans, she wanted to feel the hand in detail.
Hellen hums in curiosity as she fans her hand back out, a motion that causes Audrey’s many feet to paw at the floor pathetically. There was no lubrication, which in hindsight, was probably a boon for anyone who had to hold what came out of her, but it doesn’t seem to be necessary. The interior is undeniably flesh, but it’s pillowy, silky, her slight testing friction not seeming to cause her any pain. If anything, the hold on the free hand tightens, encouraging.
Hellen pushes further, sinking until half her forearm is inside. Her fist hits the junction where all the chutes meet, a motion that knocks all the air out of Audrey’s lungs on the door. Feeling around for an entrance, she finds one she think vaguely lines up with where the cans were, and is pleased when it opens to her without the same resistance as the outside. She didn't want to put the poor girl through more stretching.
The intentions are good, but Audrey briefly rounds back around to wishing she had vocal cords, so she could tell her that was the wrong one. But it was at worst a waste of time and she wouldn’t really complain because– well. Hellen’s fingers find the end of it, pressing against the slit keeping stocked cans in place, and she damn near accidentally releases all the cans within at once. When she startles she tightens around what is, she realizes with a dizzying combo of shock and arousal, nearly the woman’s entire arm . The limb is thick, keeping the muscles around it spread open and making her feel full in a way that thrilled, was satisfying, made her want it to stay . She wanted to grind back into it, and only keeps still through propriety and an act of god.
She wishes suddenly that every tunnel felt as full as that one did, wants to be overwhelmed. Wishes too that the other hand was in her actual hole all the way at top, wet in a way that she begged to be indiscernible from any other fluids of hers, lest she die from embarrassment on the spot. Once she caught on to the fact the other was, maybe not intentionally, but at least not trying not to arouse her with all this, her self control was rapidly shattering. Audrey didn’t bother even trying to fight off the dirty thoughts that arose– if this was going to happen, may as well enjoy it.
“Oh.” She’d realized, pulling her arm out and free of the channel it had entered, and oh indeed, it coming out was an entirely different beast. Like the cans dropping, but multiplied by hundreds in intensity, the friction of the downward movement sending sparks up the related nerves in a way haphazard bumps of a can couldn’t– if she could talk, she would have no doubt whined. The sudden give and the loose soreness left behind felt not unlike the aftermath of a good fuck.
She barely processes it before she’s going through it again, this time the hand creeping up the correct passage, up to the bundle of cans that started this whole thing. She holds back from tightening around her, at war with letting the woman work and greedily holding onto this as long as she can. It dips slightly back into unpleasant territory as she prods them, the area sore and irritated, a constant low pressure she’d somewhat forgotten about in favor of suddenly learning several things about herself.
Hellens fingertips reach just short of the bottom can, her nails scraping the label. Shuddering at the strained motions, Audrey freezes when the other leans against her, trying to get more leverage, even another inch of reach. She's distracted momentarily by Audrey’s tendrils winding into her hair and the strap of her mask, curling around the nape of her neck and under her jaw, unconsciously grabbing at her to ground herself, but leaves them, not a harm so long as they don’t wander too close to the eyes. It seems like it’s necessary for holding herself together, her box-like form shaking against her and the floor.
“Push.”
Doing so with the arm in her has her scratching at the floorboards despite not moving, searching for purchase her new, malformed feet couldn’t manage, because it was just so much . It was overstimulating in a good way, a little like getting shocked, contrasting the motion of her reaching further, but it works, allows the can to drop just the bit more necessary to get somewhat of a grip on it. It’s enough for two of her fingers to pinch the top, turn it so it’s tab down, and even just by righting it there’s RELIEF . Audrey honestly hadn’t expected it to be so immediate, even with the other still there, and she inhales sharp as knuckles bump off the walls of the organ as it’s gripped fully, pulled down, everything on that side of her body seizing–
The arm is slowly pulled free, the sudden rush halting, heart thumping– Audrey is too out of it to be embarrassed by the audible squelch when the hand is out, can only squeeze her eyes shut at the sensation of the hand holding the can, much thicker than the item alone, passing back through that slit.
When she opens them, vision a little blurry, the can is being turned in Hellen’s palm. The label’s peeling off, the ink that was once legible conversation smeared every which way, but it was otherwise intact. She blinks sluggishly watching the other investigate it, not really sure what she’s looking for, but appreciating the break. Putting it aside, she turns her attention back to Audrey, all her limbs spread out beneath her, meekly closing her body a tad.
“Can you get the other on your own?”
Could she, if she tried? That hadn’t worked so well before, and now, as worn as she was, to try feels too monumental an effort.
…And her internals still thrum, blood rushing, feeling suddenly too empty . She'd been, she realizes with a near sob, close.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
Frankly, she’s past the point of embarrassment, if the look she gets is as knowing as she thinks it is.
“Alright.” She opens herself back up to her a little too eagerly, splitting her body to allow Hellen in, pulling her legs under her into their pouch to avoid any embarrassing movements. It was happening enough on its own, trembling again when aside from a brief, initial splay of her fingers, she swallows the fist again with no issue, feels it snug inside. Every nerve was frazzled, unused to being touched, activated under the smooth pressure of being rested on while the other obstruction was rooted around for. A thumb bumps the sore spot the first can left behind and she never considered herself liking a smidge of pain, but a flashbang of something floods her system when it does and–
Even if she could say anything to imply it was all too much, Hellen was focused on that other can, coaxing her to push only with the movement of her fingers and she’d have to think later about how easily, without words, she’d listened, like her innards were a fine tuned instrument to her. Fingers grab it, the can is thicker with a fist, nudging against everything raw and boiling hot, yanking on the curvature of soft walls and muscle–too much, too much–!
Two things happen at once: The arm is smoothly pulled out, one too-quick rub against everything she was too aware of, sending sparks across every plane of Audrey that makes her tendrils curl and her multitude of eyes unfocus and her legs pummel each other in their pouch. And whatever mechanism within that controls her ink fails on her, perhaps had even been directly hit, causing a blue-black rush of ink to follow, rushing past Hellen's arm and splattering out all over her tray, the floor.
For a few blissful moments, eyes closed, brought within an inch of her life, Audrey forgets she isn’t human and doesn’t question the wet slick she feels leaving her. She was simply going through too much at once: floaty haziness in the form of afterglow, gratification that had her yearning for a cigarette, tear-invoking relief she wouldn’t have to relive that awful period of wondering if she was doomed to silence, vague background embarrassment about this whole thing, exhaustion from the emotion and her body's reactions both.
Blearily, her brain screams at her to remember the other person here, to do something back, it’s the only thing that gets her sticky eyelids to reopen–
Only for them to fully open in world-ending mortification at the sight of Hellen’s arm fully black, dripping thin lines of a mucus-like ink that coated nearly up to her shoulder, soaking the rolled up fabric of the coveralls. She holds it out, the can still clutched in hand, the object almost unrecognizable under the sticky substance.
“Huh.” Is all she has to say for it, lightly shaking her arm in an attempt to get some off. It drips into thinner and thinner lines until breaking and splatting onto the floor.
A can smacks its way down her– embarrassingly loose –dispensary organs into her tray, without her own volition, eyes and mouth stuck open at the sight. It bouncing around on its way down makes her buck in overstimulation. She feels like she got dragged behind a truck.
Hellen takes it with her clean hand.
[IM SO SO SO SO SO SO SORRY IM SO SORRY I DIDNT KNOW THAT WOULD HAPPEN AND I DIDNT KNOW IT WOULD FEEL GOOD IM SO GRATEFUL YOU HELPED I WAS SO SCARED I DIDNT KNOW WHAT TO DO HAVE YOU DONE THIS BEFORE?]
Audrey becomes vaguely aware of what was written on it after the fact, and that was a humiliating new feature she’d have to work to prevent: stream of consciousness cans.
Hellen huffs, her chest bouncing with the sound, and she’s not sure if she should be relieved or more embarrassed that her response to this all was to laugh.
“It’s fine.” She pulls a rag from her back pocket. “And it looks like you’re functional again.” She wipes at the drippy can, before turning it around to her arm– it soaks up the majority of it just fine, but her skin is no clearer after. “Oh. It stained.”
IT STAINED. Oh, good god, Audrey has never wanted so badly to be back on floor 1, getting sniffed by rats in darkness and solitude. She wanted to sink into the floorboards and disappear. Every step of this process was tailored to make her as pathetic as possible. She’s never going to live this down ever. Her inner monologue is a megaphone to herself: YOU CAME AND IT STAINED HER ARM.
“I’m sure it’ll wash out.” Hellen places all but one of the cans on the table, grunting as she gets up from the floor. She vaguely recognizes the can she's still holding as the first to dispense, with the messed up label peeling off. She passes the rag off to Audrey, though it’s so damp it may not help her at all.
Her eyes run over Audrey, now shut, many eyes meekly meeting her back, tray-mouth in a grim, shy line and Audrey really doesn’t want to know what she looks like right now– she just knows she feels warm, sweaty, and worst of all, vaguely sticky. She’s never wanted a shower so bad, but they were still figuring out how to make Sam’s accessible for her. Asking Hellen to hose her down may never make her able to speak the other woman again without dying inside, if this doesn’t already.
The woman knew, had read it plain on the can that she had both willingly and unwillingly gotten off on this, on having her explore her freakish new anatomy with gentleness and intent. That she'd all but loved getting filled full with a bunch of woman. That one appraising comment was going to replay in her head for weeks .
Seemingly satisfied with whatever she was looking for, Hellen gives her a curt nod. “Let me know if you need repairs again.”
…Did…did that mean what–
Ka-chink.
………………… Did she just open the damn–
She lifts her mask up a smidge, just enough to give access to her mouth, the outermost teeth clenching onto the metal rim to keep it pouring into the correct place. It was plain cola. Lukewarm, but she wasn’t picky, and in times like these, Hellen would be remiss to waste food.
Audrey watches, horrified, as she just stalks off back to the apartment, arm obsidian and drinking from the same can that…whatever. She was more concerned with trying poorly to wipe the evidence of this incident off and compose herself, and most importantly, not daydream about the feeling of those hands all over her and inside her again for the rest of the night.