Go get a lead on the leader

You walk back to base camp, then down the stairs, then down a hallway, then past Jorrel, then-- wait.

"What are you doing?" You ask, standing next to Jorrel. He's leaning back, looking up at something near the top of the door.

Jorrel, absent-mindedly, muses out loud, "I'm trying to understand what a Brak Room is. Is it a place, an object, a... whatever."

"Going to use it in a play?" Usually that gets him talking. Ask him anything about what he might be writing or might think about writing, and Jorrel can talk for hours. Get him to talk about pretty much anything related to relations and he'll clamp up like a... like a clam. You need to get out more.

"I was thinking so. People are still raving about the one where three idiots gets stuck on a conveyer belt and, instead of heroically saving them by pushing the release button, the hero accidentality--"

"I'm still sorry about that one." You mumble. "Sorry."

"Why? It made for a fantastic story and we're still here." Jorrel’s expression seems to be wavering between judgement and disgust. Understandably it settles on confusion.

"You guys almost died!" Your voice breaks and might have given Jorrel the impression that you're about to cry since he abruptly changes topic. Can’t fault Jorrel for that. You’re a handful and when you cry it tends to be a waste of time. Can’t fault anyone for not wanting to deal with you, really.

"It also commands - whoever lived here - to only employ E. What is E? How many?"

Thinking for a moment, you guess, "Robots. The answer is always robots with these guys."

"Or biological monstrosity!" Shuddering, he takes the conversation somewhere else entirely. "Anyway, wanna see what's behind this door? It's the least threatening I’ve found, soooo...."

"Sure!" From your jacket pocket, you grab a couple of glow-sticks and crack them with a satisfying snap. Inside, the liquid begins to glow a pale green. It won’t be much better than darkness, but preferable to only Jorrel’s flashlight.

The door hasn't crept more than an inch before something lunges from inside the room. A sliver of black liquid hisses through the air, barely missing Jorrel and hitting the wall behind you. With a splat and a sizzle, the wallpaper starts bubbling, deforming in a neat line as the black liquid spills down the wall.

"Move it!" Jorrel shouts, shoving you out of the way as another acid spit hisses past you.

You land, hard, for the second time today. Jorrel whips his flash-light around ready to use it as a cudgel. To compensate you throw the glowsticks through the crack. Now, whatever lurks behind the door, can enjoy proper ambience suitable for its creepiness.

Not more than a minute could have passed since Jorrel shoved you, still, it feels like hours. Waiting in anticipation for any movement. And then it comes - a clicking - a clacking. From the lowest point of the door, a long metallic spider-leg creeps out. Jorrel smashes it instantly. You can't take any chances with ancient man machines. It might be shooting liquid from its legs. The leg might be a sonar device that'll leave you deaf for half a day. It might provide condiment for a salad bar. You never ever know what bullshit might be waiting.

You pull out a wrench from one of your handy pockets and deftly make it back on your feet, following closely behind Jorrel as he barges into the room. Jorrel is still trying to get an overview when you spot your attacker. They’re small circular things with spider legs. A middle casing with a boiling liquid swills inside a glass dome, as they crawl on walls and ceiling, everywhere. Unable to get a proper count, you spot at least twelve.

"Spider bots, crawling on counter right and some on sink left!" Like the idiot you are, wasting time on words, you barely manage to react in time - swatting a lunging spider-bot out of the air with your wrench - before it gets to Jorrel. For good measure you give it a lesson on workplace safety with the underside of your steel lined safety-boot.

Which you’re not wearing.

You vividly recall that flash of glass in your feet. Or it just so happens you’re picturing it again, as your foot has reached terminal velocity with the spider bot’s glass dome.

But, instead, you plonk harmlessly on it, losing balance as the spider bot moves away, beeping annoyed.

Jorrel lets out a battle cry, ducking under a trail of black liquid, before ripping a spider-bot from its vantage point and throwing it at another bot, readying itself to shoot. One of the bots makes a whooshing noise, as it sucks in some brownish things you're only now noticing are littering the Brak Room floor. Before you can impart an important lesson on it, too, another bot on the floor starts to sputter and grind. Steam rises from its core and then it shoots.

At you. You’re pretty sure it’s the same one from earlier, giving you the stank eye as it shoots.

A deadly bold of acid collides with your foot and… nothing. The spider bot beeps at you. It seems oddly… friendly. Maybe a little sad. You end its embarrassment with a good whack of your wrench.

Moments later, Jorrel and you stand victorious. Robot legs and gears scattered across the room, bots leaking their dangerous black liquid, instead of blood.

Jorrel scoops some up and tastes it. Then he lifts a bot, with its core still intact, above his head and tilts it so the liquid spill into his mouth.

"What?" He asks, as you regret having made the blood analogy just now. "It's coffee. Look at the beans on the ground."

You pick one off the floor. Sure enough, it's a genuine coffee bean.

"Did not think we would score something this am-ah-zing today. Sacks of it." Jorrel opens cupboards and closets. "Bunch of other stuff too. But, you know, hecking coffee! We're going to fund the expedition on this haul alone!"

The expedition you're going on. That expedition which is happening in a couple of days. The one you haven't told anyone in your family you're going on, yet. You reply, weakly, "Yay!"

"Right!?" Jorrel says, his face beaming with childish joy. "I'm going to haul this to base camp. You go check on the others."

Almost out the door, Jorrel goes, "Wait! Could you..." He sets the flash-light on a nearby table. Jorrel looks thoughtful for a moment, before swiping bits of a bot off the counter, then jumping up and sitting on it. "Thank you," he says, clearly struggling, "it's- you know, hard."

Here you go again. You're this weird receptacle of other people's misery and worries, always have been. For some reason they seem to trust you with their thoughts and feelings. Maybe they can sense you've got plenty of space for more shit on the ever growing crap-pile that is your mental state? You should probably tell him you're not a good listener. That you're in no place to give advice or remotely someone you should think of as capable.

Instead you say, "Take your time. I know." Dammit. Propping a three-legged chair against the wall closest to Jorrel, you lean against it. You're close enough that, if he wanted to, he could rest his legs on yours. He could, if he wanted to, run a hand through your hair. "Anything I can do?"

Breathing deeply and steeling himself, Jorrel replies, "No, no. Just have to man up and ask." He gently kicks your knee, his legs swinging off the counter, and runs his hands through his own hair. Finally, he asks, "Do you think Emalie and I fight too much?"

Woof. Okay. Sure. You giving relationship advice. This is going to end in triple homicide and two graves.

"I don't know. What does Emalie think?"

"Haven't asked her, but I'm pretty sure that'd end in a fight, too." Jorrel wears the face of someone **** to hug their great grandmother goodbye at her funeral. "She tells me to get my shit together, you know. Our expedition is my responsibility. If I fuck up and get one of us killed, that's on me. Or worse, we return after one terrifying night like cowards. We're going on this journey and - I don't know - It feels like she doesn't trust me to make sure things go smoothly."

You sit in silence for a moment. "That's not your responsibility."

"What do you mean?"

Every fibre in your being tells you to back pedal, to get out of the conversation before you say something stupid and Jorrel starts actually kicking you. Your instinct tells you that Jorrel is an unquestionable leader of your gang. Any sort of challenge to that means a swift **** at the social kill squad. Your instinct also tells you not to go diving in old ruins. You're not that great at listening to your instinct.

"You're sort of the de-facto leader of our group - I guess - not to pressure you or anything. I get it. I really do. You're amazing by the way, great job. So, I'm not saying you're bad at it. What I'm saying is..." Your eyes go wide, looking up at Jorrel. So you elaborate, "I'm saying that we're all in this together. I get why Emalie wants you to step up, but I do think it's unfair of her to expect you to be solely responsible and please don't tell her I said that."

Jorrel just smiles.

Is it a sleep with one eye open smile or a I'll tell her smile, you can't quite make it out. Your internal facial recognition software hung its hat and left for the holidays about twenty years ago.

Jorrel does not do the sensible thing and yell at you, speaking softly and looking down, he says, "I'd like to believe that."

"It's true. We're all in this together." You almost reach a hand to put on his thigh. A sort of universally pre-programmed gesture of it's going to be alright, I'm with you. With a little effort, you manage to tap a rhythm using the tip of your fingers, cleverly avoiding doing anything that can be misinterpreted. "Whether you argue too much - I don't know - I think couples argue the amount they need to. My parents do it all the time. I think that's how you love. Without conflict you're not really two people trying to get along."

"I can see that. Still, feels like it shouldn't be that complicated, should it?"

"Maybe it's supposed to just as complicated as you think it should?"

"Huh..." Musing, Jorrel chuckles and shakes his head before declaring, "Time to man up. No more of this emotion garble! I'll start hauling stuff back to base camp and you go check on the other."

Just before you make it out the door, Jorrel adds, "And I'm not telling you that because I think you're stupid. I just need to say this stuff out loud - thank you for understanding. And... Thank you for listening. I really appreciate that you always manage to make time for that, despite everything."

Your cheeks start burning again as you dip out the door with an awkward thumbs up. Walking back down the passage, you can hear the sound of Jorrel dragging stuff around. Maybe it's because you're lazy, but you can't help imagine what it would be like to have him haul you in his arms.