A Macross 7 Fic

 

Love Bug

 

By Kirstian Lezubski

 

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

 

            For a moment, she contemplated burying herself in her bed and sleeping for the rest of the day; it seemed like the best solution.  Her fingers crawled out from under the heavy quilt, and gripped the corner, tugging it lazily over the top of her head.

            A loud squeak issued from another corner of the large apartment; Mylene Jenius groaned in response, and curled her knees up to her chest.  “Gubaba...”

            The brown-haired being hopped up alongside her and nuzzled its side against the bump under the quilt.  When Mylene grunted and moved an arm out to push it away, Gubaba glared at her and hopped over her shoulder, pushing its face against what she had left uncovered by the blanket.

            “Ne, Gubaba!”  The persistent little thing... Mylene batted it away from her forehead and pulled the entirety of her self under the dome of her quilt.  Outside, the creature poked at her, digging in the mattress to join her under her protective shell, and Mylene rudely tucked the blankets in under her body to disallow any entrance.

            Gubaba sounded a whimper, and Mylene opened one eye through the colour-stained darkness, before exhaling a raspy breath and lifting the blanket up.  Her pet made another squeak of happiness, and then darted underneath, crooning as it rubbed up against her cheek.

            “Gubaba...” Mylene turned her face away, pushing it into the pillow to make it stop, and then dropped a hand over the alien creature.  “Stop that,” she mumbled into her arm, and it kicked and squealed for a moment, trying to escape, before letting out an exasperated sigh and falling still.

            Her mouth tasted terrible, and as Mylene scrapped the top of her tongue with her teeth, an odd feeling coursed from the depths of her stomach up to her throat.  Beside her, Gubaba pulled away, as she lurched her head forward once, sure that along with foul bile, last night’s - heck, last week’s dinner was going to escape her stomach.

            After an eternity of a moment, though, the nausea subsided, but Mylene only felt worse.  Knowing very well that any moment she could and most likely would vomit, she chose the only sensible path.

            Gubaba thankfully hopped off of the bed as Mylene released him from her steely grip, and it ran circles around her unsteady feet as she tentatively tested the ground.  It was cold, even though she had carpet, and she did not seem to trust it; but, when another bout of sickness swelled in her throat, she stumbled off of the bed and into the bathroom.

            Gubaba watched her worriedly from underneath the bed as Mylene doubled over, fell to her knees and attached herself to the cold, clean porcelain.

            After a moment of retching, she found herself shaking; either because of the spasms each wave of nausea brought with, or the childish fear of sickness that she so despised, she did not know.  Either way, when she could talk again, Mylene turned her head to the side and begged the tiny pet to join her; it was a comfort to have it snuggle up against her side and mew in concern.

            Almost an hour passed, in which the sickly girl hung over the toilet, ready to eject all food particles from her body.  It was wearisome, the process of almost vomiting, and soon, Mylene leaned her back on the wall, closing her eyes.  She would have groaned, if it would not had make her feel worse; so, instead, she sat silently, Gubaba nuzzling it’s head against her stomach.  Soon, her breathing regulated, and she fell into a sedated sleep. 

 

            She did not know when she woke, curled up on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, but only that her stomach was calmed.  Resting peacefully at her head was Gubaba, small wisps of brown hair fluttering as it breathed.

            Mylene took a long moment to recall the events of the morning; slowly, she sat up and cupped her pet in her hands.  It shifted and piped up in argument, not wanting to be moved, but settled when it was placed gently down on the much more comfortable pillow of the bed.

            What time had it been when she had woke, the first time?  Now that she thought about it, the sky had been light; probably nine, or ten, in the morning.  The digital clock that sat alongside her bedside lamp now read eleven forty-two.

            Her pyjamas felt sticky and damp, and soon, she discarded them into the laundry basket, not pondering the odd fact that, in the cold of the bathroom, she had been sweating so profusely.  Then, she sleepily moved into the shower, and habitually turned the tap all the way to the left, drawing her hand back as the scalding water dropped on her skin.  After she turned down the temperature and the water did not burn her, Mylene stepped in and closed the shower door.

            It was a repetitive and calm feeling, the warm water pelting down on her shoulders and face; her eyes closed, she leaned back against the wall and turned her chin into her chest.  Soothed, for the moment, Mylene Jenius thought of nothing and relaxed, the unruly bubbling of her stomach put out of mind for a while.

            Today... why did she feel so terrible... she would have to rest... she wanted to rest... stay home and rest... maybe call mom... no, mom would get worried, she always was... phone dad... no, dad was always busy... Gamlin-san...?  No, he was always as busy as dad... she wanted to call someone... Ray...?  No, Ray would get worried, too...

            Fire Bomber was supposed to rehearse today...

            Mylene ran a hand through her hair, slowly sinking down into a sitting position on the floor of the shower, knees drawn up against her breasts.  Today, of all days... she did not want to go over there... Ray would probably get worried and send her home again, and Basara wouldn’t even care...

            The water felt nice...

 

 

 

 

            Spiritia...

 

            So far, the specimens had been very cooperative.  Most of the selection was weak, and gave in without a struggle, leaving their precious Spiritia ripe for the taking.  And, they took.  Vessels without a purpose, this was all they were.  They had no need for the Spiritia; they were full of it, the powerful force brimming over the meagre container of their furiously pumping hearts, being wasted with trivial lives and trivial emotions.  It was a gift, relieving the clueless forms of their Spiritia; they never again had to think, had to live.  They were free, all because of him.

            But, a few were determined to ruin the dream.  His dream.  Spiritia Farming.

            They would not wait much longer, could not wait much longer.  They needed to be awakened.  They needed energy.  They craved energy, they hungered for it, as their confined vessels ached for release, as the frozen flesh begged for warmth, as the jowls desired the pulp of blood and bone...

            A shiver ran down his spine; how this treacherous physical body limited him so!  What he would give, for the taste of blood, for the ever-engulfing power of galactic Spiritia...

            Spiritia Farming...

            Those damned samples!  Something would have to be done...

            A plan.  A plan, of some sort, first.  Dreaming.  This had long ago been accomplished, when the Anima Spiritia sample had verified the first doubts of the mission’s success.  A dream had been created, to halt the obnoxious intervening of the Anima Spiritia.  Now, this dream was almost reality.

            Spiritia Farming...

            Who would have thought it would be so troublesome to obtain?  A sigh escaped the human lips; a human act.  Damn this body and its human tendencies!

            “Geppelnitch-sama...?”

            Below him, a small form bowed, then straightened it’s back.  The compact body looked up at him with confused eyes, before sparking and gaining confidence, speaking forth loudly enough to make the voice clean and clear.

            “We will depart soon.”

            What an annoyance, he was.  Like a broken pup left to die, Gabil attached unmercifully to his self-proclaimed saviour and whined and begged for attention at every possible moment, needing approval and a mission to keep him busy.  He needed to succeed, to please his master.

            “And what of the colour of my dream?”

            Gabil leaned forward, bowing once more before he answered.

            “Your dream, Geppelnitch-sama, is the colour of triumph.  Those who defy you, will feel your absolute and complete power.  They will feel the pain of Spiritia Dreaming!”

            What an over-dramatic nuisance...

            His body turned away, and Gabil stood, flicking a wing out in impatience.  He wished to be out, in the black of space, draining the life out of those problematic samples, wanted to leave them listless and dead, barely able to breathe, unable to think, unable to revolt; wanted to kill them.

            He couldn’t wait to get out there, and let loose the magnificent force of destruction that he would harbour in the palms of his hands...

            “Go,” was all Geppelnitch said, and the form below him did not catch the suddenly human tone, the annoyance and aggravation flowing underneath the steady, monotonous voice.

            Gabil turned on his heels and his wings shot out powerfully.  The purple webbing shuddered, stretched taut, and his fur lifted on end.  A sneer flirted with his thinly pressed lips as he stalked out of the room, and at his sides, the demonesque limbs fluttered and snapped in eager anticipation.

            The beauty of morbidity!