Day 3, Week 1: Ariadne Black Part 1

Alan woke from a deep, heavy sleep. Water ran somewhere nearby—the shower, by the sound of it—a luxury he’d barely touched since arriving.

Ariadne was in her human form, standing by the desk and laying out a set of clothes with deliberate care. Alan recognized the dress immediately. It was Chloe’s. He wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Ariadne herself wore a short dress with blue floral patterns—something light, something summery. Alan realized he didn’t actually know whether a “summer dress” was a category of clothing or just a dress you wore when it was hot.

“I have to know,” Alan said. His voice was flat. “What were you trying to do? Yesterday was fucked up.”

“What—would you rather I’d told you and the rest of your harem that Christian had been a corpse on her bathroom floor before she came out the door you opened?” Ariadne shrugged. “I won’t pretend it went well. But Christian didn’t even know what had happened. I did my best to make it work.”

“I see.” Alan did feel grateful—but he had no intention of saying so. Whatever Ariadne had done, she’d done it to Christian, not for him.

“I have our date planned,” Ariadne continued lightly. “Picnic on a boat for breakfast, if you’re up for it. I even have a surprise—something more pleasant than yesterday’s. Though I haven’t earned your trust.”

“You haven’t,” Alan said.

Ariadne went quiet.

A moment later, Christian stepped out of the bathroom, bathrobe tied tight. She stopped short when she saw the clothes on the desk.

“Those aren’t my clothes,” she said.

“Yes, they are,” Ariadne replied, frowning. “I had a box for each contestant.”

“Wait,” Alan said, snapping his fingers. “Her transformation.”

Ariadne paused. “Oh. You’re right.” She looked again. “Do you think these were Chloe’s before?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Christian nodded once. “Um. It’s fine. You two have fun.” She disappeared back into the bathroom, the door closing with a sharp bang.

Alan exhaled. “Let’s go,” he said. Christian didn’t need more time with Ariadne. She needed space.

The boat slid free of the shore without a pilot. One of the strange dog-things had dragged it from the lake and vanished again, leaving Ariadne at ease behind the controls as if they weren’t necessary at all.

“What’s it like,” Alan asked, “going from Crawler to human?”

“I was already human,” Ariadne said, frowning. “This body is unpleasant. I know you’re not attracted to me like this. You flirted more when I was veriform.”

Alan thought about that. “It felt safer,” he admitted. “When you didn’t look human. Now it feels like I could hurt you. When you were a giant snake, you seemed invincible. It’s not fair—but it’s how it felt.”

“I hate being a baseline,” Ariadne said, looking out over the water. “Bipedalism means you’re always balancing. Your height makes every fall dangerous. Your head is too far from anything worth smelling. Your arms and legs snag on everything. Your hands are worse than my tendrils. Your food options are awful. I can’t hear as well, see as well, or move the way I’m used to.”

She paused.

“I can tolerate this,” she said. “But I don’t want to. It’s a strict downgrade, except in a few narrow cases.”

“What cases?” Alan asked. After that outpouring, he genuinely wanted to know.

“Crawlers are always in contact with our environment. Protective clothing doesn’t scale well—especially for the ground. A baseline in shoes can walk across hot or cold surfaces without noticing. Laurel can ride a horse. I can’t do that at my size. You burn fewer calories, even if your digestion’s limited. Your height helps with tools and navigation—but only in spaces built for you.”

“That’s… not nothing,” Alan said, surprised by how even the ledger sounded. “Couldn’t you combine the designs? Get the best of both?”

Ariadne snorted. “They’re mutually exclusive advantages. Limbs are bulky and fragile. Size supports everything else. You don’t get a happy medium. You get an if you try to stay human—or a you get a dragon.”

“Elf’s an upgrade from ogre,” Alan said, smiling despite himself.

“An ogre's body is honest,” Ariadne said abruptly. “And that's okay. It just… happens to you. No one asks what you want.” She laughed, sharp and humorless.

Alan frowned. “You mean—”

“I mean elves.” She cut him off and her hands fidgeted. “They make them beautiful so you forgive it. Make them sad so you don’t envy them. Ancient, wise, tragic—never built. Never allowed to just say, ‘This hurts, let’s fix it.’"

"I'm not sure if that's fair. A lot of people who love elves would love you. People like monsters. The metaphor works because it speaks to something real. Like, the X-Men are huge."

Ariadne shook her head. “They don't get to pick being mutants. They are born that way. Nightcrawler has fangirls, but Bella Swan freaks people out because she wants to be a vampire."

"Who?" Alan asked.

"Ugh, you haven't read the classics? She's the girl from Twilight. She realized that being a vampire was cool, and men hate the fuck out of her for it."

"Well, vampires eat people." Alan frowned.

"Not the ones Bella knew. Vampires who wanted to eat people and could control themselves, that made people mad as well."

"Well, a lot of people loved Twilight, right?" Alan muttered.

“So you think I shouldn’t hide,” Ariadne said lightly, “when I follow you to Roswell?”

Alan blinked. “That’s—too far. Even if some people would be okay, you’d get a lot of crazies.”

“Oh,” Ariadne laughed softly. “Just the crazies, then? Not the sensible people in your military? No helicopters? No vans without plates? You're saying the people who want to be sparkly vampires and would protest for the X-Men are the ones in charge?”

“That’s different,” Alan said. “I’m sorry.”

“So are you,” Ariadne replied. “You haven’t been a Crawler. You haven’t grown up knowing that someday the ogres will come to kill you and everyone you love—and that you have to be strong enough it won’t matter.”

She exhaled. “Our surprise is here.”

Alan looked up.

A far larger vessel loomed ahead—wood and ivory grown together into something impossibly elegant. It dwarfed their small craft.

“That,” Alan said, “is a much bigger boat.”

Ariadne smiled faintly. “She’s also my mother.”