‘As the Gear Turns’, a Xabrec holovid drama, had been recommended to Ashi by Beryn, who had told her that one of his daughters had been binge watching it lately. In the lee of the tidal wave of her anger, Ashi felt empty and drained. So, she filled the emptied part of her soul and energy with the story about a cheap speeder mechanic meeting the daughter of some Xabrec noble family and, in fourty minute stages, attempting to charm her out of her clothing.
He never quite succeeded, which Ashi suspected was why the show had so many episodes.
It served. It let her heal a little. Beryn had wanted her to wear robes, so she had tried that for a while before boob sweat made her feel entirely too disgusting and she’d shed them for a loose shirt, no bra, and the softest sweat pants she could find in her drawers. Pillows made the apartment floor cushy, and her low table made a great stage for the show playing out in pretty blue hues.
Food delivery. Mumbled thanks. Back to mindless consumption, just with more fatassery.
Ashi had just managed to doze off seven episodes in when her comm chirped, and she sat up to dig around for it in the pillowed mess to pause the holovid and answer.
“Oh. Hey, Ko. What’s up?”
At least it wasn’t Beryn. Or Althea. Ashi flopped back and resumed her lazy sprawl.
“Flying bored, Starlight.”
“That sucks,” she observed.
“How are the little moons doing?”
Ashi sprawled out in what she thought would be an alluring way before the holocomm, giving him her best annoyed look as she hooked her fingers beneath her shirt hem and started to work it bit by tight bit up her midriff. At first the pilot sitting on the other side seemed amused, but he suddenly leaned forward and peered at her. She heard him whistle.
It wasn’t a dog-whistle or a catcall. He sat back. “What did you do to your hands? You burn them or something?”
Ashi stopped, let her shirt go, and looked down at them. Kark. She had somehow managed to forget this.
“Sort of.”